Chapter Text
There's a cut on Diego's lip when he sits down next to you and orders a drink. He's seething, anger radiating off of him in waves that you can physically feel. The bartender ignores him, paying more attention to the older blonde woman to your left and you can tell that it irritates him more. For a second, the world around you shifts and changes and you can see Diego reach over the bar and grab the bartender by the collar of his shirt, slamming his head into the wood.
"Don't," you say with a warning, blinking the future away and sliding your drink over to him. "It doesn't end well." you warn him, the sight of Diego with a bullet wound in his shoulder already fading away as he takes your drink- a sour cherry gin- and finishes it in one go.
"You gotta stop doing that shit, Eight." he sounds annoyed, the alcohol momentarily roughening his voice.
"I don't do it on purpose." you tell him for the millionth time. And its true. You've never really spent your time looking for the future, it just came to you whenever it wanted.
"Whatever."
You scoff at his attitude, growing annoyed that he was trying to take his anger out on you. "You and Lila fight again? Is that why you're here, pouting?"
"I'm not fucking pouting!" he hisses, and you shift in your seat, the glass he accidentally hit missing you as it tumbles to the ground and shatters by your feet, watered down vodka wetting your shoes.
"What did you do this time?" you ask, ignoring his outburst. "I thought things were getting better."
"I," he starts, his voice guttural "Didn't fucking do anything."
"Then why are you so mad?"
He takes a second to answer, running his hand through his hair and tugging at the short strands. He looked miserable. Like someone had stolen his favorite toy or something. "Diego...?" you press, annoyance shifting into worry.
"Stanley's not my kid." There's a pain to his voice that makes it sound as if he was trying to speak underwater or if he was holding back the need to cry. "Lila lied."
"Shit," you say, turning to look at him. "Diego, I'm so sorry." gently you reach for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his knuckles and giving them a squeeze. It might have taken him a minute to settle into his role as a father, but he had done so. Happily. With an excitement you had never seen in him before.
Lila was horrible for lying to him. For manipulating him like this. "Why the hell did she do that?" you ask, squeezing his hand once again.
Diego pulls his hand away from yours, once more tugging on his hair. "She's fucking crazy? I don't fucking know."
The man behind the bar finally slides his drinks towards him and Diego wastes no time in throwing them back, ordering more. You do the same, knowing that right now wasn't the time to tell him that maybe he shouldn't drink his problems away.
"Do you want me to go talk to her?" you ask and he scoffs.
"And say what?' he reaches across you, grabbing your drink as soon as its placed in front of you and tosses the straw aside. "I got it. I don't need your help."
As he brings the glass to his lips the world becomes a haze, your vision blurring and shifting until you see Diego passed out on the staircase. There's a bottle of tequila broken on the stairs, glass embedded in his hand. Lila finds him, and she's screaming at him. You can't really focus on what she's saying, the sound muffled. Diego startles awake, and he accidentally kicks Lila.
You close your eyes as her head hits a stair, flinching at the noise.
"Stop drinking." you groan out, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. It doesn't do anything to stop the vision from playing over and over in your mind. "Please." you add, hearing his voice in your head. You might not like the woman but you didn't want her dead. Most of all, you didn't want Diego to deal with that kind of pain.
"Stop looking into my future." Even though he sounds angry, he sets the glass down, listening to you.
"Trust me, I want to. You think I like seeing these things?" you bite back, the vision already fading. "Yours just happens to be so strong." You snatch the glass and take a sip, swishing the bitter alcohol around your tongue before you swallow.
"What did you see?" he asks.
"You being a fucking idiot."
"Jesus!" he shouts, slamming his hands on the table. "Don't I have enough going on already? Cut me a fucking break."
With a sigh you apologize. "You're right. I'm sorry... Are you doing okay?"
Diego shrugs, looking down at the glass. There's a moment of silence where you wonder if perhaps you should leave him alone and stop trying to look for answers when he clearly didn't want to talk about any of this, but he sighs, straightening up before taking your drink from your hand and nursing it in his own. His fingers had brushed against your knuckles, his skin rough, calloused and warm. He looks at the Cherry Sour, swirling it in the cup almost as if he's contemplating whether or not to heed your cryptic warning.
"No." he mumbles before bringing it to his lips.
That future with Lila dead on the stairs doesn't reappear so you don't snatch it back. He needed the drink more than you right now, anyways. "No?" you press for more.
"No. I'm not okay. I-I," he swallows his stutter, clenching his jaw before exhaling loudly. "Part of me wanted this to happen, you know? I can't be a fucking dad, just look at me." He motions to himself with his hand. "I'm not exactly cut out for it."
"That's not true." you say quietly. "I think you're a great dad."
Diego scoffs, sipping at the drink. "No I'm not."
You reach for his free hand, taking it in yours and making him look at you. "Lila might have lied about Stan, but Diego, you stepped up. You treated that kid like he was your own flesh and blood. Everyone else saw it. You were a good father and when we solve this whole Kugelblitz disaster you're going to have another chance to show that to yourself." You squeeze his hand, running your thumb across his knuckles. "You don't have to be so scared that you're going to turn out like dad. He didn't care about us... not like you cared about Stan."
You smile at Diego, once again squeezing his hand.
He looked like he was seconds away from crying, but he finishes the drink, blinking away all emotional distress from his face. "Thanks..." he says so quietly that you almost miss it. "I didn't think I needed to hear that."
You shrug, finally letting go of him. "You don't have to thank me."
Besides you, Diego sets the empty glass down and once again runs his hand through his hair. "I," he pauses, meeting your eyes. "I was so happy- having a kid, being with Lila... It was like all this time I was missing something I didn't know I wanted so badly. But she ripped it away from me and I don't know if I'm angry or relieved or-." he groans, shaking his head. "I think I probably would have done something stupid if you hadn't been here."
You smile at him, trying to lighten the mood "You still have time. Don't let me stop you from achieving all that you can."
His laugh is light as he shakes his head. "I think I'm good for now but thanks for the vote of confidence."
You try not to focus on the warmth that spreads through you at the sound of his laugh, your smile growing a bit. "Are you doing better?"
He lifts his shoulders, dropping them dramatically. "I'll be fine." He seems to have caught you looking at the glass in front of him that he played with, slowly running his index finger across the rim. Stopping and pulling his hand away, he makes a noise that has you looking back at his face. "You don't gotta worry. I'm not drinking anymore."
"You sure?"
"Look, whatever you saw definitely scared the shit out of you. I'll listen to you this time." As if to prove a point, he waved over the bartender and asked to close out your tab. "Anyways, I don't think alcohol is going to do anything to help."
You watch as he pulls out his wallet and nod. "Thanks, Diego."
"Whatever. It's not that expensive."
You roll your eyes, deciding not to tell him that you were thanking him for listening and preventing a horrible future from becoming a reality. "If you're all finished with me, I'm going to go find Five then. See what new idea he's come up with."
As you begin to stand up, you feel Diego's hand close around your wrist, holding you still. "Wait," he says as you freeze and look at his face. His brows are knitted together, something in his brown eyes that you can't exactly read.
"Wait?" you repeat, hoping to get more out of him.
"I won't drink... but can you stay with me? Just a little longer?" Diego's voice is unnaturally gentle, sad. "We don't have to stay in the bar. I just..." He doesn't finish.
But you don't need him to, you could see the fear in his eyes. The loneliness. He doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts, with his emotions. You wondered if he knew that the hand that held you was trembling.
Five could wait, you decided, smiling lightly at Diego. "Want to go up to the roof?"
Diego hadn't meant to sound so pathetic when he asked you to stay with him. But he did, and it aggravated him even more. He should have been relieved when Lila had told him the truth. He didn't want a damn kid, he never had and swore that he never would. So why was it that he felt so empty? The bond that he swore had been there between Stanley and him gone, a fragment of his imagination.
He had trusted Lila, even though from the first time they had met she had done nothing but lie to him. Of course she would have lied about this, he should have been smart enough to know that this was another one of her stupid games.
He lets go of your hand, wishing that he had finished that drink before the bartender had taken it away. Sure it tasted like shit, all watered down from the ice, but it was the easiest way to stop thinking. But he promised you that he was done, he wasn't about to go back on that.
"Come on," you say, keeping him grounded here, in the real world, instead of in his thoughts were no matter how hard he tried to stop, things just kept circling back to Lila and Stanley.
Diego stands and follows you to the elevator, where you're both quiet. Part of him wants to tell you that he's changed his mind, that he wants to be alone. But that part is a liar. He doesn't want you to leave. To leave him alone. He doesn't want you to be another person that leaves him.
"You do that a lot, why?" you ask, leaning against the wall of the elevator.
"Do what?" he asks, confused.
"The whole-" you lift your hand and run it through your hair, pushing it away from your face. "Running your hand through your hair thing."
He hadn't realize that he did that so often that it was noticeable. "It's a bad habit." he does it again, this time to make sure that his hair wasn't a mess. He didn't want to look like shit just because he was feeling it. "I don't really know why I do it."
"It's not good to mess with your hair like that. You're going to end up bald."
For a second, he panics, wondering if perhaps you had another of your visions. "Is that like a sure thing? Did you see it in the future?" He didn't want to be bald. He had shaved his head for the police academy and it did not look good at all.
There's a single pause where you look at him like you were going to tell him something bad but then you laugh, shaking your head. "You should see your face!" you curl into yourself, and he frowns, relieved but annoyed. "I didn't see anything, I was just messing with you."
He scoffs, but you only laugh harder and he finds that he can't stay mad. Not when its so contagious and he finds his lips curling upwards a bit. "Funny." he says sarcastically, pushing himself from the wall the moment the elevator slows to a stop on the last floor.
"You're not mad, are you?" you ask from behind him following him as he walks to the emergency staircase and pushes the door open.
"No. Come on, before the alarm goes off." he grabs you by upper arm and pulls you into the stairway, following you and pulling the door close behind him. He finds himself stuck between the door and you, his fingers still wrapped around your bicep, your face near his.
Maybe it's the alcohol, or the anger that still refuses to leave him, but for a split second he sees Lila in your place and all the progress he has done disappears down the drain. He lets go of you, bringing his hands to his head and running them down the shaved sides.
"Diego?" You speak his name so softly that he chuckles humorlessly. He wasn't used to soft. To the gentleness that you were offering him. He knew biting words and screaming fights that went unresolved until it got too heavy to bear and instead of fixing the issue, he left. Or they left.
"Can I ask you for a favor, Eight?" He opens his eyes, finding yours looking at him with worry. The handle of the door was biting into his lower back painfully but he didn't have the strength to move. To care, honestly. "Can you check and see what the future is like?"
Does he give Lila another chance only for it to bite him in the ass? Does he have kids of his own? Is he kind to them? Do they like him? Or is he a spitting image of Reginald Hargreeves, treating his children like commodities instead of people?
Your eyes soften, and he doesn't like how sad you suddenly look, your brows pushed together as the corner of your mouth twitches. He knows what you're going to say. That you couldn't do that. That the future was too finicky for you to get straight answers.
"Nothing good comes from chasing the future, Diego. Trust me."
"Please." he presses, even though he knows that you're right. "At least tell me there's going to be a day when I don't hurt so badly anymore." his voice cracks at the end, and he has to look away from you to keep from crying, his eyes trailing the textured off white ceiling.
He feels you wrap your arms around him, and instinctually he wants to push you away, stiffening as you hold him. Diego wants to yell and shout and tell you to get the fuck off him, but you squeeze him, arms around his in an awkward embrace, and his anger shatters. His breath comes out shaky, his vision blurs and his arms lift and push yours out of the way so that he could hug you back.
His tears fall silently as you hold him, his face finding the hollow of your neck as he pulls you closer to him. He doesn't say a word, holding you tightly as he lets himself cry. You stroke his back, the same way Grace used to do for him and he breaks again, his inhale loud and broken against your skin.
"It's okay, Diego." you whisper so close to his ear. "You're okay."
You don't seem to care that he's trembling, that your skin is wet with his tears, that he's dug his nails into your shirt so hard that he's afraid that he's ripped the fabric and broken your skin. You just hold him, soothing his back.
Did you know this was going to happen? Had you seen it already? Is that why you knew what to do, what to say? He wants to ask you but he can't find the will to come down, let alone his voice. He pulls you closer, his hand finding your lower back.
"It's okay," you repeat, your hand sliding from between his shoulder blades to the nape of his neck.
The pain inside of him, the one that he had been trying to deny existed from the moment Lila had told him the truth grows and grows until its all that he can feel, his knees bucking underneath him.
For a moment, even with the threat of doom hanging over his head, he had been happy. He had a son, a woman who loved him, a family he could take care of and protect and show that he was just as deserving as anyone else. Only for it all to be taken away from him.
You don't say anything as his breathing begins to even out and he finds that he can't cry anymore. He's thankful for that, partially horrified at not only having broken down so intensely but in front of you, no less. If you opened your mouth and said something he was worried that in his shame he'd snap and bite at you like a feral dog.
He loosens his hold on you, shifting his head so that his forehead rests against your shoulder, the familiar ache of a headache forming behind his eyes. You're still rubbing soothing circles on his neck, one hand planted firmly on his back. He doesn't want to pull back. Doesn't want to see the inevitable pity he's bound to find in your eyes.
He's nothing short of pathetic right now. But maybe he's always been pathetic. Look at him, crying over a something as mediocre as a lie.
"Sorry," he says against the tissue of your shirt. "Just..." he wants to warn you about what would happen if you tell another soul but he doesn't have the strength. "Just give me a moment."
Your fingers are light as they run along the length of his neck, your head brushing against his as you nod. "Let's sit down." you suggest quietly and pull away from him. At first he doesn't want you to move, his arms holding you still until he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, willing himself to let you go. His arms slowly move from around you and fall limp at his sides as he straightens up,.
He lets you lead him towards the stairs, sitting beside you when you pat the space. He can't look at your face, worried that he'll find something there he wont like. Instead he keeps his eyes on his hands, his shoes, the concrete of the stairs.
"I'm sorry." he repeats into the silence that's spread between them. Now that he has a clear mind, he's suddenly repulsed by his actions. Clinging and crying on you like that was embarrassing to say the least.
When your hand finds his, your fingers intertwining with his own before you pull it towards your lap, he almost pulls away reflexively. But you hold on tight and he doesn't have the strength to fight. "How are you feeling?" you ask, ignoring his apology and he's thankful for that.
"Like I've been split in half." he says honestly, his eyes moving from the stair to your intertwined hands. It felt nice, having you hold him, the warmth of your skin seeping into his. "It's a shit feeling."
You squeeze his hand. "Yeah," you whisper. "I know."
For a moment, the silence returns and it's not heavy and choking for once. It's pleasant, welcomed after everything. Diego doesn't find himself slipping into his thoughts in it, instead he focuses on the barely there sound of your breathing. His own slowly beginning to match yours.
Sitting here next to you, he felt as if the world around him began to crumble and end, he wouldn't have felt a single thing but relief, glad that it was you he spent his last moment's with.
Diego turns and looks at you and maybe its due to all his emotions running wild inside of him, or the fact that for some reason the world always looked clearer after crying, but he feels like he's looking at you for the very first time. His eyes linger on the curve of your nose, the slight downward curl your lips took on when you thought about something. He trails the curve of your neck, your collar still damp with his tears. He could still feel the warmth you had radiated there. Could still smell the almost floral, clean smell that perfumed your skin, that had filled his lungs.
You had your eyes closed, head tilted against the metal railing but he knew that you weren't asleep. Were you here with him in this very moment? Or had you slipped into the future once more, living something that he hadn't yet? He squeezes your hand, pulling it towards him and you blink and open your eyes, turning to look at him with that hazy look that came from being in two places at once.
"What did you see?" he asks, voice low. He wondered if what he wanted to do and what you saw were the same thing, or had the future already changed for you? For him?
"I..." you trail off as he leans in, his fingers softly tracing the curve of your cheek until he's cupping your face. He shifts his body towards you, the space between you both closing. He glances down at your lips and he felt himself lick his own.
He watches as you close your eyes and lean into his touch and that's all it takes for him to break what little distance there is between his mouth and yours, kissing you.
At first, its soft and gentle and he plans on pulling away but you let out a small whimper, lips parting just the slightest and he groans and deepens it, fingers digging into your scalp.
His lips guide yours, the kiss harsh as he buries himself in the sensation, in the warmth of your mouth, the softness of your lips. He can taste the salt of his tears in the kiss and it mingles with the sweetness of your mouth, his tongue tracing the length of your lower lip before it slipped inside of your mouth.
Your response is immediate, your lips parting to welcome him, inviting him into the depths of your being. His heart races at the intimacy of the gesture, at the way you respond to him with such fervor. It's a heady sensation, the feeling of being wanted and needed so desperately.
His hand wanders down the curve of your neck, over your shoulder, down your arm. He wants to feel you, to sink into you and forget the world around him. He finds himself tugging at the hem of your shirt, swallowing your moan.
Reluctantly, he pulls back, opening his eyes to find you flushed and panting, your lips dark and swollen. "Come here," he says, his voice guttural as he pats his lap, his cock swollen underneath his hand. He wanted you on top of him as he explored every inch of your body.
"Diego," the sound of your voice, choking around his name has his cock lurching in his jeans. "I can't." you say and suddenly he's brought back down to reality, the fog that had clouded his mind beginning to clear.
Maybe he should be disgusted with his actions, throwing himself at you because in his mind he'd twisted his sadness into arousal. But instead of feeling any sort or remorse or need to apologize, frustration bubbled up in his throat until he said the only thing that he could. "Why?" What was stopping you?
The question seemed to catch you off guard and you frown and open your mouth but struggle to find the words so Diego decides to help, moving until he's kneeling between your legs, his lips once more on yours. This time, the kiss is a plea, sweet and slow and eager.
He wants you, his lips trailing down to your neck and back up to your jaw, hungry and desperate for an answer. "Tell me." he groans against your skin, pulling you closer to him by your hips. Every touch he placed upon your skin made you shiver, he could feel it. You wanted this as much as he did so why were you so keen on pushing him away.
He nips at your neck and you let out a whine, squeezing him with your thighs.
"This means something different to me." you finally say, so quiet that he almost misses it, his mind focused on the taste of your skin. He pulls back slightly, looking at you through hooded eyes. You looked so torn, as if you were enjoying his ministrations while at the same time telling yourself that this wasn't right.
He feels his heart sink at the same time that his cock twitches and begs for you. He knew what you meant. He could see it in your eyes, could feel it under your skin, conflict raging hot under his touch. He knew that he had to stop, that he needed to stand up and leave but he didn't want to. You were so sweet, so kind, so soft.
Unlike Lila, unlike anything he had ever experienced. Where Lila bit and scratched until he was full of wounds and pain and anger, you soothed and kissed and filled him with an intoxication that he wanted to drown in. He brings your hand to his mouth, turning it until he's kissing your wrist, your heart beating against his lips. "Then show me, Eight." he begs, his voice a desperate plea. "Show me what it means to you."
It was selfish and wrong and maybe after it was all over, he'd come to regret it. But right now he wanted you. Wanted to sink into you, into your warmth. He needed to feel wanted. To feel anything but the anguish that had settled in his bones. He wanted to forget and you offered him the perfect opportunity to do so. "Please."
You kiss him and he stops thinking. Your lips are on his, your hands pushing his arms out of the way, struggling with the buttons on his shirt. Your breath comes out ragged against his lips as he helps you undo his holster, letting it drop to the ground as your mouth finds his neck. Your tongue is hot against his flesh, your teeth grazing the skin there before you lift your head and kiss him again.
You were so gentle even though he didn't deserve it.
His shirt falls to the ground, your hand tracing his chest, the scars that litter his body. It rests against his abdomen, slowly inching lower and lower until you're squeezing his cock through his jeans and he lets out a low moan.
Diego lets you tease him, tossing his head back as you stroke and squeeze him, your mouth on his Adam's apple. He groans, whispers your name and you undo his belt, his button, his zipper. He feels your hand slip inside his boxers, flesh against flesh, your thumb against the tip of his cock, wet with precum. You drag it down his length and he shivers, sinking his fingers into your waist when you close your fingers around the base and slowly begin to stroke him.
He wishes he had taken you to a room. He wanted to lay you down and taste your cunt. He wanted you to cum on his tongue, your hands in his hair, his name on your lips.
You twist your fist around the head of his cock and his thoughts shatter, his mouth once more on your neck, kissing and panting, laving at the skin there with his tongue.
"On top," he growls, pushing your hand from his cock and picking you up so that he can switch positions with you. He moves until he's the one sitting on a step and you're straddling his hips, fingers digging into his shoulders.
"You're so beautiful," he groans lifting his hips until his cock connects with your cunt, the fabric of your pants soft as he helps you roll your hips against him. You whimper and he wastes no time in kissing you, tasting your desire.
You moan his name against his lips and warmth pools in his belly, filling his veins. "Lean back, " he tells you and you obediently do as told.
He wanted to devour you whole, but settles on quickly pulling your shirt off of you, tossing it towards the door. His lips find your collarbone and he kisses and nips at the skin there, his cock running along the length of your clothed cunt.
His lips trail lower and lower, one arm keeping you from falling, the other one finds the clasp of your bra. Easily he undoes it and it joins your shirt on the floor.
His mouth is on your nipple, suckling and licking it until its hard and you're moaning his name, pulling him closer. Gently he bites down on it, the salty taste of your sweat making him groan and reach for his cock.
"Diego!" you shout, voice reverberating in the empty staircase. He's switched to your other nipple, stroking himself in tandem to your moans.
"Get up," he struggles to talk, letting your nipple slip from his mouth. "I want my cock in you."
You blink a few times, letting him help you to your feet, his hands wasting no time in pulling them down alongside your underwear. Sitting down, he's almost face level with your cunt and he's tempted to have you put a leg on his shoulder so he could taste you, his fingers stroking the neat patch of hair between your legs. He tells himself that next time, he will.
"Come here," he whispers, leaning back. He wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and holds it towards you. "Come ride me, baby girl." He squeezes, a drop of precum welling at the tip before it rolls down the underside of his cock, gathering between his fingers.
You place your hands on his shoulder, slowly kneeling on the step as you toss your other leg over his hips. You're flushed, panting, brows knitted together and before you can straddle him fully, his hand is on your face, holding your cheek.
He knows that its unfair to you. That this would hurt you more than him, but for once in a very long time, Diego felt at peace. The repercussions didn't matter. Not right now, at least.
He leans into you and kisses you. His lips soft, tender. This kiss is slower that the others, careful. He pulls back and looks at you, you're face twisted as if you were on the edge of crying.
"I love you," you finally admit out loud and his heart breaks and forms back together all at once, inhaling sharply from the pain. Your voice trembles as you reach for his cock and hold it against your cunt, slowly easing down on it. "I love you, Diego." you repeat, milking him as you take the first inch. His mouth falls slack, groaning from deep in his chest at the feeling of you around him, his eyes still on yours. He can't look away. He has to look. Has to remember everything about this moment.
You're hot and wet and so, so fucking tight around his cock, your walls clenching and unclenching as you take another inch, gasping for a breath.
"I love you." you keep saying, digging the knife deeper into his chest.
"I know." he finally answers, leaning his head on your shoulder as you bottom out, the tip of his cock tightly nuzzled in your cunt. It feels like heaven, like the last two pieces in a puzzle. His fingers dance along your curved spine, making you shiver and squeeze him even harder.
He wishes he could say it back, rocking his hips as he moves inside of you, pulling out and pushing back in. He wishes that it had been you, not Lila that he had fallen in love with as you wrap your arms around him and gasp as he keeps a steady, languid rhythm.
Diego kisses your shoulder as you match his pace with your hips, nails sinking into his back. He wishes that time would stop and it'd be you and him, trapped here forever.
"Perdoname," he whispers against your skin, pushing his cock deeper into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. He repeats his apology, picking up his pace and trailing kisses up your neck.
"I love you," you cry out, gently pushing him away as you bounce your hips, matching his pace. You take his hand and place it over your heart, riding him as he slows and feels how hard it beats under his palm. "I've always loved you, Diego. My heart has always been yours." you're breathless as you talk, taking every inch of him.
"I wish things were different," he whispers, voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths. And part of him truly, honestly wishes that it was.
He can almost feel your heart breaking, digging his fingers into your hips and holding you still as he begins to fuck you desperately, your name falling from his lips as you grow tighter, wetter.
Did you see this moment coming? Or in your eyes had the future been different? Was there a world out there, where he did not break your heart? Diego looks into your eyes, finds the pain and anguish there that he had selfishly caused and he cups your face in his hands. "En otra vida," he speaks quietly, too scared to say it in english. "Yo te prometo que soy tuyo."
You let out a muddled whimper, your rocking growing frantic as you get closer to your orgasm, tears welling in your eyes. "Do you promise?" you choke out and Diego nods, kissing you.
His lips ask you for forgiveness for hurting you just because he was hurting. They move in tandem with yours, sweet and painful at the same time, the pressure in his cock growing and growing as you bounce harder and harder, squeezing him until he lets out a growl and bites down on your lip.
You come first. His mouth is still on yours, the kiss turning into something sloppy and dirty as you moan his name and unravel on top of him, pussy tightening around his cock with such strength that for a moment he doesn't hear or see anything, the world around him turning into a white haze.
When his senses come back, you're chanting his name, twitching and rocking against him, coming down from your high.
"One more," he pleads, smoothing your hair away from your face. "Come around my cock one more time."
Maybe you're just as desperate as he is to make this moment last because you nod lazily and he smiles at you, the pressure at the base of his cock growing and growing as he begins to piston into you, lifting himself from the step. One hand caresses your head, the other one sinks into the flesh of your ass, holding you against him as he cums inside of you at the same time you clench down on him harder, mouth seeking his.
He knows that he's broken your heart. That even though you're panting and holding onto him, he's lost you forever. You lean against him, spent and broken, pussy still milking him for all he's got.
He kisses the side of your head gently, in no rush to move, to have this come to an end. Reality waited for him, for you at the edge of the staircase but he just wanted a second more.
He caresses your back, kissing your temple, your forehead, your shoulder. Where he found skin, he kissed. Silent apologies for what he's done to you, for what he could not offer. His fingers retrace the length of your spine, up and down, over and over again. You've laid your head on his chest, trying to catch your breath and he doesn't mind. Finds the way your chest rises and falls against him to be soothing.
He doesn't know how long both of you stayed there before he slides out of you with a groan, breaking the spell. You sit up, and already he misses your warmth, growing cold as he helps you to your feet, helps you gather your clothes and once more slip into them.
He makes you turn around to clasp your bra together, kissing your shoulder blade. He smooths down your hair when you pull your shirt on, kissing your forehead for the last time when you're both dressed and decent, the smell of sex clinging to you, to him, to the staircase.
He hopes that you find a future where you forget all about him. Where you find someone worthy of your kind heart, of your soft words, of your gentle nature.
"I'm sorry," he repeats for what seems like the hundredth time, taking your hand and kissing your fingertips. This apology is for using you, for taking advantage of the love in your heart. Whatever he had done in the past to make you fall in love with him, he's sorry.
You nod, pulling your hand away from his. "I know." you say quietly, sadly. You don't look at him, and he doesn't reach for you.
Guilt settles into his heart, heavy and bothersome as he pushes open the door and leaves you alone in the staircase.