Chapter Text
Klaus wants to make a joke about Number One always coming first, but for the first time in his life, he doesn't feel like teasing.
"Why?"
"Because Dad says so."
Luther doesn't ask questions after that.
Klaus had half-expected his brother to push his face into a pillow, take him from behind and think of England (or, Allison), but instead he's torturing them both by fucking Klaus missionary-position.
Luther stares straight ahead, jaw grit and eyes burning into the wall as the headboard slams against it rhythmically: one achingly controlled and measured thrust after another.
He knows it's Luther's first time. Hell, Luther is so repressed that Klaus doubts he even masturbates. His cock is thick and even though Klaus had made sure to stretch himself out beforehand, it had hurt when Luther first pushed inside of him. Luther approached it like he did any other mission: never checking in on whether Klaus was okay and focusing instead on moving forward, ever the good boy scout.
Klaus closes his eyes and takes it, focusing on the feeling of being dragged up and down the mattress, trying not to think of his Reginald's cold grey eyes telling him this is all he's good for.
Klaus wonders if Luther is even enjoying this. His brother is breathing harshly through his nose and making close to no sound. His usually pale neck has turned a bright, raw red, as if years of pent-up emotion is locked in there and threatening to get out. Luther has kept his distance from Klaus, body deliberately raised so their torsos are barely touching and head held high, and Klaus toys with the idea of reaching up to lick the line of sweat along the thick vein pulsing below Luther's jaw. Just to see if his control would slip.
He doesn't, though. He knows Reginald wants him to stay passive. On the receiving end. He keeps his hands curled in the bedsheets and comforts himself with the fact that no ghosts have appeared to watch him get fucked, at least he can bare it alone-
Then Luther accidentally finds that little bundle of nerves inside of Klaus that makes his flaccid cock stand to attention and a breathy little moan escape his lips.
Their eyes connect for the first time - Luther's wide and scared.
Klaus wonders if they're both thinking about how Klaus sounded just like that bitch in the porno they had gathered to watch one night with Diego and Ben, right before they all found out just how rigorously monitored they really were, Reginald somehow just knowing-
Klaus arches his hips against Luther's stilled ones and hooks a tentative leg up and over his shoulder to urge him to keep going, because maybe he should be allowed to enjoy this too, maybe he does like the way he's being stretched out as Luther thrusts back in, deeper than before. Less controlled. Huge hand pushing Klaus's thigh even further back in response to the noises now spilling out of Klaus with abandon. Because if Klaus is intended for this, then maybe he can just shut off and give himself over to that feeling of his brother's cock hitting that sweet spot that had only ever been touched with his own fingers before, again and again-
Luther comes first and Klaus regrets not making that joke.
It's almost frightening, the way Luther had kept so silent and stoic right up until the very last second, and then tilts his head back to let out an animalistic roar as he slams Klaus up against the headboard one final time.
He tries to pull out before coming inside of him but Klaus springs forward, and with grim determination, holds onto his brother tightly with fingers pressed into his muscled shoulders. Luther lets out a confused sound but doesn't fight back, one hand moving to the small of Klaus' back to push him closer, hips stuttering as he sinks every last drop of his seed into Klaus.
Then it's over and Klaus is falling back onto the mattress and Luther still refuses to look at him.
His eyes are shut as he hovers above Klaus, chest heaving. Klaus notes absently that hair has started to grow there, light and wiry, in the shiny slick between his pectorals. Klaus touches his own smooth chest, feeling his rabbit-fast heartbeat begin to calm.
"Did you - ?"
Klaus realizes what Luther means only after the huge hand is pawing blindly under the bedsheets and grasps hold of Klaus' still half-hard cock. Oh. With the same steely resolve one might use when unclogging a toilet, Luther gets Klaus off with three perfunctory strokes.
Klaus whines when he comes and Luther whips his hand away as if he's been burned.
The mattress shifts under Luther's weight when he finally stands, drawing his body upwards to full height. Klaus wonders if Luther feels changed in the same way Klaus does: used up, sore, virginal no longer. Or maybe it's different. Maybe Luther feels like a man now.
Klaus hates him, for a brief moment.
"I'll get - a towel." Luther says, stilted, his back to Klaus.
Klaus guesses that this means Luther intends to clean his come out of him. What a nice boy.
"You always were one to prove Daddy raised you right."
He tells himself he meant it to be a light-hearted jib, to break this awful tension between them, but it rings out harsh and damning. Luther's head lowers and his shoulders sink. He retreats to his bathroom without another word.
Klaus waits until he hears running water until he stiffly gets to his feet and walks - or, he realizes with a hiss, limps - out of the bedroom.
Reginald has him up in stirrups and inspects his hole to make sure he isn't lying.
A gloved finger pulls out of him and Klaus hisses, stomach churning as he feels Luther's seed drip out of him. Reginald removes his surgical gloves and discards them in a bin, seemingly satisfied.
He makes some notes on a pad and Klaus is reminded of a boring agricultural documentary he had found Five watching one day, where a farmhand had been tasked with observing and taking count of how many cows the bull had bred that day.
"We all gotta get our rocks off somehow, right?" Klaus had quipped, and Five had rolled his eyes lazily, teleporting from his bed to slam the door in Klaus's face.
"Did you - ?" Reginald stops himself.
Klaus suppresses the hysterical bubble of laughter in his throat. Reginald and Luther can both make peace with killing for a living, but they still can't bring themselves to ask Klaus if he had a fucking orgasm.
"After." Klaus answers, staring at the wall over Reginald's shoulder.
Reginald gives a satisfied nod, as if it's better for Klaus to not have enjoyed the act itself.
"This will help a great deal in controlling any…wayward urges that your brother may have."
Klaus wonders if he knows about the way Luther and Allison hold hands under the dinner table when they think nobody is watching. It occurs to him, bitterly, that he may not be the only one being punished here - but that train train of thought is cut short when his Father's heavy hand claps down on his bare shoulder.
"Keep up the good work, Number Four. You will assist Number Two tomorrow."
It's only after Reginald has left and Grace is gently - so very, very gently - easing him out of the stirrups that Klaus allows himself to cry.