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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
- 17
- 18
- 19
“In the cupboard, above the tin containers—other tin containers—no—Alfred—”
Many years ago, Arthur and Alfred stood at the kitchen counter, Arthur with an apron, Alfred with a shirt full of crumbs.
“This?”
Alfred asked, large hands holding up a transparent jar of glass, and Arthur looked up, reaching to take it from him.
“Yeah, thanks, that’s the one—”
“What is this, Francis’ weird cooking herbs?”
“Herbs,”
Arthur replied, emphasizing the h, “it’s pronounced hhherbs.”
“Whatever.”
“Now, how much does it say to add…”
Arthur gazed into an open cooking book, hands wiping absently at his apron, and, at his side, Alfred already was sampling the dough. Without looking up, Arthur reached to slap his hand away.
“You’ll get a stomach ache, don’t eat that.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“You’re gonna have to wait. Now be a good boy and go wash up.”
Alfred sighed, fully grown and already towering far above Arthur in height but still under his care. He proceeded out of the kitchen and up the stairwell, beginning to unbutton his shirt as he opened the door to the bathroom. There were no towels on the rack.
None in the hallway closet, either, maybe in Arthur and Francis’ bedroom—
Over the years, Alfred had developed quite an aversion to going in there. It wasn’t that their perverse escapades were in any way restricted to the bedroom, but there was something about the fact that they slept together—
In the same bed—
Almost every night—
No matter how much they hated and loathed one another, how much they quarreled and fought, nearly every night—
This was more than just sex—
There’s no love relationship that isn’t also a love-hate relationship.
Alfred stepped inside, composing himself as he headed for the cupboard; at least there were some towels inside. Towels, and Francis’ assorted silken robes, and also Arthur’s pajamas—
Did you have a nightmare, Al? Would you like to sleep in our bed tonight?
Light blue pajamas, dark blue stripes, cotton. Slender arms that once were so strong, so large and protective around him, the soft scent of cotton, the fresh feel of clean—
There’s no way a shirt this size could fit Alfred now, it was far too small.
Forget it. Alfred grabbed one of the towels off the shelf before closing the cupboard door and heading back out of the room. From downstairs there emanated the familiar smell of food burning, and also the sweet smell of tea, the sounds of dishware clinking in the kitchen, Arthur humming to himself—
Alfred tossed his clothes to the floor and stepped into the bath, dully aware that he was somehow dissatisfied.
***
He left a puddle on the bathroom floor. He left his clothes there in a pile, wet tracks in the hall on the way to his room, yellow hair stuck in the drain.
“Alfred, can’t you clean up once in a while,” Matthew sighed as he stepped into the bathroom after him, “your stuff’s all over the place…”
“Yeah, sorry,” Alfred said as he shut his bedroom door, rubbing the towel in his hair before tossing it aside and lying down on his bed.
“Alfred…! Matthew! Supper…!”
There came Arthur’s voice at some later time, and Francis was home by then, Alfred could hear them arguing, Francis helpfully offering input on the food Arthur made, Arthur retaliating, the fight that followed after that, just like every night.
Arthur called his name three times before finally Alfred came trotting down the steps, properly washed up and dressed, like a good boy.
“Help your brother set the table,” Arthur said, polishing utensils before thrusting them in Alfred’s hands, and Alfred quietly complied, setting them down and then helping to carry out one dish of charred food after the next.
He wasn’t happy.
Francis wasn’t happy either, slowly wading his fork through the mound of goo on his plate, wondering to himself why Arthur didn’t just wait for him to get home and make a proper meal.
“S…so…!”
Matthew smiled nervously, trying to lighten the mood,
“I beat Alfred at hockey today…!”
“Oh, good for you, Matthew—!”
Arthur said, patting him gently on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” Alfred deadpanned, “tell him what we did after that.”
Matthew flushed all at once, growing silent as he stared at his plate.
Francis’ gaze rose from his food, wandering from Alfred to Matthew and back.
“So, what’s in this, Arthur,” he said, “it’s very…interesting…”
Alfred and Matthew ate dutifully while Arthur glared at Francis across the table.
“Funny you should say that, considering you haven’t had a single bite.”
“I…” Francis replied with an elegant smile, lifting his fork and allowing the stuff to drip from it, slowly,
“I don’t know if it’s possible to bite into this sort of thing…”
“Why, you—!”
Arthur seethed, slamming his fists down on the tabletop.
Alfred and Matthew looked up.
“Nobody’s forcing you to eat it, you know…!”
“Whew, that’s a relief,”
Francis replied, tossing his napkin to the tabletop.
“Ah…I think it’s just fine! Mmm…!”
Matthew smiled, voice very small and quiet, but Arthur merely glared as Francis stormed off.
***
Needless to say, Francis slept on the couch that night.
“That frigid ice queen…”
Alfred could hear him murmur as he arranged the blankets there, somehow still cheerful, smiling in self-mockery, what can you do…
You brought this on yourself, Alfred thought as he proceeded up the steps to his own bedroom, glass of milk in hand.
He lay in bed for several hours, staring at the ceiling, irritably awake, listening to the soft sound of rain outside, night birds calling, the house settling.
He was hungry.
He sat up very slowly, bare feet coming in contact with the cool wooden floor, hair still ruffled from the sheets, eyes staring blindly into the darkness of the room. After his vision adjusted, he rose to his feet and proceeded to walk to the door, out of the room and down the hallway, past the bathroom and Matthew’s bedroom and in the direction of the stairwell, when he caught sight of the door to Arthur and Francis’ room.
The door was slightly ajar, darkness emanating from within.
Unlocked? Feeling compassion toward Francis, perhaps?
Alfred hesitated. Very slowly, he reached for the handle, sliding the door open and very quietly stepping inside.
Arthur was sound asleep, serenely passed out on his side of the bed as Alfred paced closer. He gazed down in the darkness at the messy strands of his hair, spiky as they scattered across the pillow, eyes closed, limbs slender beneath the blue pajamas.
You used to seem so big,
Alfred marveled with childlike curiosity, and, slowly, Arthur’s eyes batted partway open.
“Nn…” he murmured groggily, “Francis?”
Alfred frowned.
“I’ve had a nightmare,”
he said with soft bitterness,
“can I sleep with you tonight.”
Arthur blinked, rubbing lethargically at his eyes as he gazed up.
“Alfred…” he said, yawning, “really, at your age…”
“Yeah,” came the reply, “at my age. I’m really scared.”
“Eh….” Arthur murmured, “have you lost your mind? Quit joking around and go back to bed.”
But Alfred was already helping himself, climbing in at his side. Arthur sat up and stared at Alfred lying angrily to his left, making himself quite at home as he glared with all the petulant fury of a small child.
“Well…!” Alfred said, laughing aloud, “I feel much better now…!”
Arthur continued staring, both amused and disturbed, and finally lay back down.
“Where did I go wrong with that boy…” he murmured to himself as he turned to sleep. “Fine, just…just go to sleep, then.”
Alfred grew silent and continued glaring, his gaze practically piercing through the back of his head.
“I want you to hug me,”
He said with quiet annoyance,
“Like you used to when I was a kid.”
“What?”
“I won’t feel better unless you hug me.”
“I thought you said you already feel better.”
“Now I’m back to being scared.”
Arthur turned around, making a face and wondering what in the hell had gotten into him.
“You’ve been a right pain in the neck these past few days…”
“I said I want a hug.”
“Alfred, you know…”
But he sighed in defeat, finally giving in.
“I guess it can’t be helped…”
He moved closer and gathered him into his arms, the slender digits of his hand raking gently across Alfred’s back. He really had grown so big...
Alfred said nothing, slowly leaning his head in the crook of his neck.
Still dissatisfied.
“Alfred, you’re pulling my hair.”
“Kiss me.”
“What?”
“I want you to kiss me.”
“You’re pulling my hair, and you’re acting really weird, Alfred, can you—“
Arthur disentangled himself partway, trying to move his head, but then Alfred pressed him back unto the mattress, holding him down by the wrists as he gazed down.
Arthur glared up.
“Now, wait just one minute! What in the hell has gotten into you, stop messing around…!”
“Does it look like I’m messing around?”
“Haha, right, right…this has gone far enough, get off me and get back to bed—”
But Alfred didn't budge, his hands tight and curiously strong, chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of breath, rogue strands of hair sliding over his forehead and falling softly forth.
Arthur could merely watch in astonishment as he leaned slowly toward him, realizing that he was intent on having his way.
Alfred kissed him very gently, curiously, eyes closed, with a strange hunger that was somehow both sweet and very unsettling. He resisted, struggling weakly in his grasp as he tried to turn away, inhaling deeply through his nose. Alfred’s mouth was insistent on his, passionate, having at him with forlorn desperation.
“G…get back to your room,”
Arthur murmured weakly on his release, but he was no longer struggling; the damage was done.
To be continued…
- 17
- 18
- 19
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Matthew is Mine