Chapter Text
"Oh, daddy, please. Let me taste your come, I'll do anything. Please, just give it to me, I've been so good. I need it. Ohhh-" Five moans, long and low, and then he mutes the call, lifts his head from his pillow to snap at the figure loitering in his bedroom doorway, "What?"
"Can I borrow your ring light? Mine died."
"Sure." Five waves a hand over at his dresser, where he has three of the accursed things that leave strangely shaped blind spots in his vision. In his ear, Frank grunts and groans at him, mutters something that's probably supposed to be sexy. He unmutes just for a second to moan, again, soft and sweet and desperate. His eyes linger on Klaus as he untangles cables, retreats with his prize. "Nice outfit."
Klaus gives him the finger without turning around. Five snorts. Klaus hates being gifted outfits, regularly complains that having other people select them is not at all the point, Fivey, I exist outside of traditional norms and they just want me to perform gender!
Unfortunately for him he does look good in everything, and therefore multiple people who see his streams send him outfits including today what Five suspects is a very culturally inappropriate translucent belly dancer costume.
Frank gives a last, long groan and Five rolls his eyes, unmutes him to bite his lip and whine, plaintive. "Did you come for me, daddy? Mm, wish I could lick your fingers clean, keep part of you inside me all day. You're so good to me, daddy, always give me your cock when I-"
Frank hangs up, two seconds short of the next full minute spent on the line. "Yeah, fuck you too," Five mutters to the blank display of his phone, throwing it onto his bed. He sighs. He's not really in the mood for a stream tonight and it's not his scheduled time anyway, but his total earnings for the week are low, in the run-up to Christmas. Looks like people are spending their time thinking about their actual kids rather than trying to fuck a guy who looks like one.
Freaks.
He goes to make a sandwich, pausing to silently crack up laughing halfway down the stairs when he hears Klaus attempting some kind of vaguely mystical accent, pitched sweet and high, promising whatever his caller desires and more besides, Master.
Well, whatever brings the money in. They do pretty well for themselves, the rest of the year anyway. Their house is on the smaller side, but it's warm, cosy and in a desirable suburb where the neighbours remain blissfully unaware of what they do for a living. Five leaves for work in a suit, or what looks like one to anyone who doesn't look closely, keeps shorts in his locker at the studio so he can switch to a reasonable approximation of a school uniform. Everyone seems to accept his explanation of a hormonal imbalance too, although he suspects it's at least partly because he has had lengthy discussions about special and general relativity with Professor Desai a few doors down, and nobody wants to believe an actual teenager might be that much smarter than them.
Nevermind the fact that he could have done it when he was actually thirteen too, if his dad had actually let him leave the house and talk to anyone beyond his siblings. It's really no wonder he has social problems.
Klaus says having a superiority complex isn't a social problem. Five knows better.
Anyway, the neighbours have assumed they're an eccentric gay couple and it's close enough to the truth that they keep up the pretense without too much effort. It means attending the occasional neighbourhood barbecue or dinner party, occasionally having to hide two full streaming setups and a whole bunch of questionably shaped toys in the attic so they can safely reciprocate and invite people over for drinks, but it's really not so bad.
They manage to keep the fridge stocked and the lights on, anyway, even managing to save a little, most weeks. Five bites into soft white bread, ham and cheese as he switches over the rechargeable battery packs, scrolls on his phone through a few messages sent to his cam account, taps out a couple of suitable responses. He has to maintain his fanbase, after all. His tablet's on the counter, so he can check his Regulars spreadsheet and make sure he's ticking the right boxes for each one. Klaus wings it with charm and charisma, a willingness to apologise when he gets it wrong. That doesn't work so well for Five.
"Just getting out the bath. All warm and damp, wondering what to do next."
"Oh no! Tonight I've got homework but I'll be on stream tomorrow, long as I pass my chemistry quiz!"
"It's really no concern of mine what you do, creep. What makes you think I want to see your tiny dick? Even mine's bigger. Not that you'll ever get to find out."
Ugh. He stares at the thousands of dollars he's due to make this month for a while to make himself feel better, or at least less actively annoyed. He's got a few pictures from his last photo shoot in the bank, uploads one to his work socials, munches on a pickle and watches the Likes tick up for a while. He looks good, he knows, standing tall with his arms stretched over his head, looking haughtily down at the camera with his body clad in artistically-placed straps of red lingerie.
Klaus had to lay on the floor to get that one. Five smiles at the memory.
Sometimes he gets hate for how uncomfortable his appearance makes people. Tonight, things aren't so bad. He's blocked plenty of the worst ones, regularly posts on his "personal" account about his struggles to embrace his sexuality while looking the way he does.
That account is just difficult enough to find that nobody would stumble across it by accident, but anyone who does gets to feel like they're earning that parasocial insight into his real life. It's a delicate balance. He posts a picture of a sunset Allison sent him from her last trip to Ibiza and captions it with some wanderlust bullshit about wanting to feel the sun on his skin again. He might buy some swimwear actually; a few of his regulars have enjoyed that in the past. Nobody can say he's not generous with his creative choices.
He's lounging on the couch trying to whittle his basket down to six or seven essential items when Klaus stumbles in to join him, clad in loose silk pants now and nothing else, crawls on top of him and groans, "I hate everyone in this world except you," against his throat.
Five snorts, swaps his phone to his other hand so he can continue to scroll while running his fingers through Klaus' hair. Klaus doesn't mean what he says; nobody loves total strangers more than him, but he gives too much of himself and finds this whole process more exhausting than Five ever has. It brings in an entirely different audience and a very generous one, but some days Five wonders just how long he can keep it up before the inevitable meltdown. He kisses the top of Klaus' head, inhales the fruity scent of his shampoo and consciously releases the tension in his jaw and shoulders. Nothing gives him a reason to relax like this.
"Rough night?" he asks, touch straying down, fingers trailing soft lines up and down the bumps of Klaus' spine. His breath is warm against Five's neck. He's heavy.
"Not really," Klaus says, which means yes, snuggling closer. "Nobody ever says please, except me."
"Well. Giving the minimum amount of money that allows you to access restricted content means never having to be polite to people, didn't you know?"
Klaus grumbles pitifully. Five trades his phone briefly for the TV remote and puts cartoons on.
"You want to do a swimwear shoot soon?" he asks, when he feels a little more of the weight settle against him, when Klaus' breathing slows down and the hand he has curved around Five's hip isn't gripping almost tight enough to bruise.
"In December?"
"Yeah. We could go away. Caribbean, maybe?"
"We can't both come into work with a tan."
Annoyingly, Klaus is right. So far they have somehow managed to avoid all rumours of their connection at the studio where they both work and role-play a fairly convincing casual rivalry. If they both take the same week off and return having clearly travelled to the same place, rumours will start and it's only a short trip from there to strangers discovering the nature of their relationship. And then the other nature of their relationship.
And then Diego will kill one of them, probably Five. Some days he copes with the Thirteen Going On Thirty thing better than others. He seems to have settled into thinking Klaus is just a little bit of a creep, which-
Yeah, not that far from accurate, as he's proving at that moment, not fidgeting but shifting with intent, his talented mouth latching onto Five's nipple through his t-shirt and sucking.
"How can you possibly-" But Five breaks off on a helpless little moan at the electric sparks of pleasure, his hand is clenching into a fist in Klaus' hair, his back arching into the attention, his hips rolling against Klaus' thigh. He's wearing sweatpants worn thin and soft with age and they sit low on his hips so a tiny strip of his stomach is all that's exposed to Klaus' bare skin. He squirms, attempting to remedy that.
"I don't, not really." Klaus bites just to hear Five keen with pain and need, and he slides his hand under Five's shirt at that little gap, rucks it up until he can kiss the sting better skin to skin, hot and wet and persistent.
Five shudders. He's sensitive there, and he makes the most of it on his cam shows but nothing he does for himself or anyone else ever feels like this, winding him tight and soothing all at once.
"Fuck, I love you," he's helpless not to say, and Klaus' happy little hum vibrates across his skin. He's tonguing at the tortured peak he's made of Five's nipple, never the same way twice, and it's a blissful, distracting buzz of sensation, all of it pooling in the pit of his stomach. He's a tease, he loves to savour and Five has had to temper his impatience to give into it, over the years. He's never once regretted it.
And Klaus knows he can't stand asymmetry; he kisses his way across Five's chest, lingering on his sternum, pressing his lips there for a long moment to feel the pounding of his heart, the reactions he's induced. The air feels so cold where Five's sensitive skin is wet. His nipple is shining, hard and swollen with the attention and then Klaus devotes himself to doing the same to the other one.
It feels so fucking good, the relentless, non-urgent pleasure of it, Five barely able to move enough to grind his rising cock against Klaus' flat, firm stomach. He's held down by Klaus' weight on him, and he feels a little of the pressure of the day float away with the power of the loving body pressed so inescapably against his. He can't move, and so he doesn't have to. He can just let this happen. Nothing is expected of him, or needed. Klaus just loves to put things in his mouth, is a relentless and indulgent lover with an oral fixation and a weakness for the sounds Five makes when he's too out of his mind on pleasure to overthink. He's quiet, breathless, when he's not putting it on for a camera, and Klaus intimately knows the differences. He's studied them extensively. And he's heard both kinds, unlike absolutely anyone else. He is the only one Five trusts with this part of himself.
He sucks, and he bites, and he laps at what might be the iron tang of blood until Five is gasping, shuddering, almost-keens with the sharp intensity building inside him. Klaus pets his sides with his thumbs where his hands are wrapped around Five's ribcage, like anything could soothe him in this moment, lifts his mouth to ask, "Can I just suck your cock for a while?"
Well. What else can Five say to that but a breathless, obliging, "Sure."
Klaus hums happily and slides down, pausing only to brush his lips against whichever parts of Five's body take his fancy in the moment, with a slow, wondrous series of low sounds like he's the one being so intently pleasured. He toys with Five's waistband, hooks his fingers underneath it and savours the slow reveal of a sight he's seen hundreds of times. His eyes are beautiful, ringed with messy black pencil and dark with desire.
"Ah, I just need to-" Five's breathing catches; Klaus is so gorgeous, so distracting, perfectly and utterly his but, "My shopping cart's only reserved for fifteen more minutes, I need to check out."
"Do whatever you need," Klaus tells him, and then he swallows Five down in one smooth, practiced motion and Five's vision goes white.