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Matthew is Mine	By : flagfish Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 9688 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, nor do I make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
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“Like this. Does this hurt, like this?”
“Like—”
Matthew on Alfred's desk, Arthur and Francis away, many winters ago, Alfred's breath hot and hesitant over Matthew's naked shoulder, long fingers partway inside him, Matthew's arms wrapped around Alfred's neck, tight against the moist skin beneath—
“Does it hurt?”
“It—ah—! Yeah, yes, it hurts—”
“Kay, I'll pull out—”
“N—no, it's okay, keep—ah! Okay, okay, pull out.”
“Okay.”
Matthew rested his head on Alfred's shoulder, long hair pouring like yellow silk over the angular bend—
“Okay—okay, I'm okay, try again—”
He whispered, and, swallowing quietly, Alfred replied,
“You sure?”
He was hard, painfully hard behind the restraint of his trousers, aroused without regret and without shame, Matthew was used to it by now.
“Yeah, I'll tell you if—”
“Okay.”
Breath coming warm, humid against Matthew's ear, Alfred very gently slid his finger in again, Matthew helpfully parting his thighs, and the long arms tightened all around his neck, he gasped, brief inspiration through clenched teeth, and Matthew, Matthew, your glasses are digging into my skin—
“S—sorry—”
Matthew breathed, without any intention of doing anything about it.
Then, head still tight against his brother's shoulder, blue eyes shot open, big and astonished, and, mouth frozen agape, he stared forth from beneath diffuse strands of hair—
Alfred smiled, gently kissing the top of his head.
“That it?”
He asked softly, and Matthew's stunned silence was confirmation enough.
His long, slender fingers clenched hard at Alfred's hair, glasses still digging, lips still apart—
“So you do like this, then,”
Alfred whispered, gently stroking his fingers up, and Matthew managed to nod.
***
Ivan and Francis made out for a long time.
Almost as though, up to this moment deprived, Ivan wanted at last to taste Matthew on his lips. Francis still had most of his clothes on, and, tapping him gently at the fly, Ivan said,
“Take this off.”
The women watched with uninterrupted attention as Francis' large hands reached expertly for his trousers, sliding them off with knowing proficiency, accustomed as he were at undressing to please.
And please he did; Ivan was quite amused, reaching with one fluid motion to pull him into his lap, and then, sliding his hair behind one ear, he mused aloud,
“How shall we do it, then, France?”
France didn't need any further encouragement; he laughed quietly to himself, knowingly, you're in luck, ladies, you're in for quite a show. He straddled Ivan's hips from both sides, hair pouring forth as he kissed him, large hands prying away at the long scarf.
“You wanna tie my wrists with this,”
he crooned, and it came as a simple fact more than a question.
Even Matthew watched transfixed as Papa held out his hands, and Ivan followed through.
“What else do you wanna do to me?”
Francis breathed, lips moving millimeters from Ivan's,
What else do you wanna do?
Arthur and Francis on the kitchen table, the cue for Matthew and Alfred to leave, a routine, familiar sight, that's how it was, Arthur and Francis taking turns humiliating and undoing one another, that's life.
Curse that wine bastard, Arthur would mumble from over a bottle of Scotch, defeated, exhausted and spent and drunk enough to admit this aloud, curse him, he really is good.
It wasn't long before Ivan had Francis at his mercy, upside-down as promised, Francis' long hair scattering on the floor and swaying forth with each thrust, entertainment at its best, Ivan's strong fingers firm at the narrow angles of Francis' hips, smile quiet and serene even as he had at him.
It really did hurt when first Ivan moved in, Francis smiling with masochistic pleasure, arms around Ivan's neck and wrists bound, allowing him to guide himself in slowly, Russia's pale eyelashes coming down in a long moment of satisfaction.
“You weren't kidding,”
France exhaled slowly, trying to remember when last he was so exquisitely impaled—
Francis' blue eyes, gazing silently at Matthew, silent and poignant, seductive, hair swinging from over Arthur's shoulder, Matthew's hand tightening in Alfred's, trembling wet, we shouldn't be here, Al, let's get the hell away, both then fully-grown, neither speaking up, both staring, staring, frozen curiously in place, and neither Francis nor Arthur asked them to leave, Francis merely stared—
Alfred's hand came slowly over Matthew's eyes, perverts, he whispered, and, sensation returning at last, he pulled hard at Matthew's hand, come on, let's get out of here, let's bolt.
No one covered Matthew's eyes now, and he watched everything, eyes big and curious, unquestionably aroused, he watched with every bit as much interest as the ladies as Ivan held Francis in his arms, dominant and strong, as though Francis were weightless, a slender, nubile toy hanging helpless in his grasp—
No one heard the doorbell when it rang, no one heard the knocks, no one paid attention as, exhausted of waiting, Vash at long last allowed himself in, and, on entering the living room, stood frozen at the entrance, astonished and blushing crimson red—
His eyes met Liechtenstein's and, for several silent moments, eternity seemed to pass—
Time seemed to have stopped as he strode across the living room, grasping his sister by the wrist, hard, unable even to find words—
Liechtenstein panicked, mouth frozen in horror and mind racing through explanations, when Switzerland's voice broke the spell, he marched up to Francis and Ivan and hissed aloud,
“What in the hell is the meaning of this...! Is this the kind of party this is! If—”
But his words were cut short when, still in Ivan's arms, Francis seized his mouth, passionate, aggressive, Ivan helpfully holding Vash in place—
Still captive at the wrist, Liechtestein gasped, eyes darting from Francis to her brother and back.
To be continued...
- 14
- 15
- 16
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Matthew is Mine