Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

Suicide by Proxy	By : tamasama Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 2305 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis powers or any of the characters depicted herein. This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to the events of any person's life, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter List
- 1-Introduction
- 2-Love
- 3-Lust
- 4-Hate
- 5-Envy
- 1
- 2
- 3
Love

Wake up, rise and shine, get the hell outta bed and face the morning. Soft yawn and long stretch, ow, something popped ow ow ow oh wait, now it's better. Matthew pushed his sleep mask up from his eyes and squinted into the bright light that flooded his room through the large window, opening and closing his mouth with loud wet smacking noises. Great, his mouth tasted like ass. Just beautiful. He pushed himself out of bed and padded toward the bathroom, rubbing his sleep-crusted eyes and waiting for the thick haze to lift itself from his mind. He had left his alarm clock ringing on the side table so Kumajirou would eventually wake up. It was already ten o' clock and there was much to be done. The lawn needed mowing, the kitchen needed cleaning, the bathrooms needed scrubbing, the food needed cooking.

He fumbled with the bottom of his nightshirt for a moment before he remembered that he wasn't wearing pants. Although he lived alone he was always sure to keep the toilet seat down, since when you flush it teeny tiny little droplets of your urine (amongst other things) spray up into the air if you never put it down. Gladly, he never forgot to lift it before he took a leak, and today was nothing new. As he went he picked the little crusties from his eyes and flicked them into the bowl to be flushed. One-two shakes and done, clear the throat and spit into the tepid water before closing the lid and flushing. As he washed his hands in the sink he inspected his face. Well, his complexion was a little clearer than normal, but it was nothing to throw a party about.

He didn't bother to wash his face since he was getting into the shower anyway. He always felt he needed to man-up about getting into the spray. He was the type to turn the water on and let it run, periodically testing the temperature with his outstretched hand until it felt just right, only to still cringe away from it like a kicked puppy as he slid past the curtain and stepped in. The water was more warm than hot. Luke-warm like everything else about him. Grumbling about the idea he turned his back to the spray and let it cascade over his head and down his back, shutting his eyes tight to keep the droplets from dripping into them. The shampoo he used because his brother used it was first, quarter-sized dab in his palm then into his hair. Yeah, work that shampoo, Canada. Getting squeaky clean for America (whether he noticed or not) was always one of his favorite things to do. Scratch the scalp to slough off that dead skin, no reason to rub it into the lower strands since the water was going to take it there anyway. He tilted his head back and rinsed it out, turning his head this way and that to be sure that all of the suds had washed away. Once he was sure it was clear he poured the conditioner, also a copy of what Alfred used, and worked it in.

He had a hair-tie hanging on the temperature control that he used to tie his wavy blonde hair up into a high ponytail so that the conditioner could do its job while he took the time to wash the rest of himself. Wash cloth covered with his own preferred body wash in hand, he started at the face and worked his way down. There was no way he was going to rub it all over his face after he had used it to watch his feet or tender bits, of course. Scrub, scrub, scrub, there went the dirt of the night swirling down the drain with the soapy bubbles. Once his hair and body were rinsed (this he did all at once) he turned the water off and once he had squeezed and shook the extra water from his person he stepped out onto his plush rug and grabbed his clean towel. Dried the hair first so it wouldn't just leak and get his body wet again, then the rest.

Next were the teeth, which he did happily considering the nasty flavor sleep left in the mouth, then he cleaned his ears while he combed his hair. Swab in left hand, comb in right, switch. By the time he stepped out of the bathroom he felt like a new man. Well, not as new as he would have liked, but new enough at least. As he made his way to the kitchen he thought about taking a bit of advice from Japan and leaving his shoes by the door when he got home; maybe he wouldn't have to sweep everyday. He thought about this often but just never got around to implementing the practice, so of course he was going to have to sweep up the little bits of gravel that had fallen from the treads of his boots the day before. He couldn't have company come into his house if it were dirty, and especially not if that company was his favorite Country Next Door.

And so counters were scrubbed, tables were shined, knickknacks were dusted and the floors were once again swept and mopped. Shine the doorknobs, wax the candles, swap out the light bulbs so they wouldn't suddenly sputter out and make him look like a slob. Preen the plants, arrange the cutlery, iron the serviettes, take a break for some Vi-Co and a jam buster, back to work.

By the time it was noon he was all finished up indoors. Now he was standing on his porch, rake in hand, surveying the grounds to assess the damage. Some leaves (as were to be expected in the fall), some misplaced driveway gravel, and the grass was a whole millimeter too high for his standards. He sighed heavily, disgusted with himself for letting his home fall into so much ruin. What did Alfred think of him, he had only been over yesterday so Matthew was sure he would have seen the state that everything was in.

"Hey, hey," Canada could almost hear him whispering to Tony or Japan, "Did you hear about Mattie's house? What a dump!" Which would either be followed by a round of hearty laughter at his expense, or more believably, answered by a flabbergasted "Who?"

"Why aren't montages real?" He muttered to himself as he set out with his rake, readying the grass for a well-deserved mowing. If only he weren't around, he wouldn't have to worry about things like this anymore. Somehow he felt that if there was no more Canada, the world would be better somehow. But that was what he was cleaning for, wasn't it? If he kept himself busy he had less time to dwell on depressing things, the same way that if he kept working he had an easier time dealing with his raging and somewhat slant-y emotions surrounding his big brother. The little things were what really mattered, right? Life wasn't all about the bigger picture, right? So every dish he washed, every leaf he raked into the large black trash bag, every little strand of blonde hair he collected either directly from the source or off of particularly grabby sofas were the pieces of the seemingly endless jigsaw that was his life.

But that wasn't really the point, now was it?

Somehow he wanted more and less all at once. He wanted to shed his skin and step into another (Alfred) so that he could leave his own troubles behind and find a new life (Alfred) where he could feel a little more at ease (Alfred) and actually (Alfred) be able to relax (Alfred Alfred) and be happy (A-L-F-R-E-D F. J-O-N-E-S). If only it were that easy. Or maybe it was? He had always felt that he tended to over-think things.

He threw the big bag of leaves over his shoulder and carried it back to the house Santa Clause style, leaving the rake leaning up against the big oak tree in his front lawn. The bag went into the garage for later, which was where the lawnmower was. Mowing the front and back yards ate up almost forty-five minutes, which left him with what? A little less than an hour to finish everything for America's visit. He hurried inside, nearly knocking Kumajirou over in the process, and hustled to the kitchen to cook. 'The quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach'.

"More like the quickest way to a man's heart is through his chest." He muttered as he pulled the ingredients for his home-made pancakes from their respective cupboards and set them onto the counter. Once he had put the batter together and mixed it until it was smooth, he took a rather sharp peeling knife and drug it across his wrist. No, not attempting suicide, he knew that you cut vertically for that. Just deep enough to get a fairly good and controllable flow of blood which he positioned over the bowl and let dribble into the batter as he whistled 'Canada oh Canada' in good humor. Once he was sure that there was enough to make it worthwhile and just slightly alter the flavor but not enough to muck up the color he pulled his hand away and wrapped it in a few paper towels, leaning against the counter nonchalantly as he waited for the bleeding to stop.

He always made them like this and Alfred always commented on the 'weird, but definitely good' flavor of his cooking. After the blood came a little tendril of saliva, and last but not least he tilted his head over the bowl and gave it a vigorous scratching until a few flakes of dandruff floated down and into the pancakes-to-be. A quick stir and they were ready to be cooked. As he heated the stove he wiped his hands on his jeans and checked the time. The food should be done by the time the USA got there, and he always had an appetite.

"I'm hungry!" Kumajirou said loudly from the table where he had been sitting for some time now.

"Yeah, yeah. These are for Alfred, eh, so you can have some cereal." The Canadian said, walking to the pantry to grab the box of lightly sweetened corn spheres. 'Kumariko tested, Matthew approved'.

"Fine, I don't want your AIDScakes anyway, goof."

"Hey, call me that again and I'll have to ask you to go outside and rough it like a real bear." Matthew whispered angrily, pouring the cereal into a bowl and reaching out for the milk. Where the heck did Kumadora learn that kind of language anyway? After he served the animal his breakfast he went about cooking the pancakes and preparing the dishes. Yeah, he knew what was in them, but what did it matter? It all came from him anyway, what was he expected to do, be disgusted by his own pieces? Well, maybe he was just a little, but not in the sense of 'Eew! My spit!' as much as it was 'Eew! Me!' while looking into a mirror.

While he was working on flipping the round little cakes he heard the familiar sound of Alfred's shiny and cool car pulling into his driveway. The sound made him feel like he was going to have a coronary, his heart jumped so hard. He was here he was here he was finally here! Matthew could see him from the window, sliding from the plush seats and self-consciously flicking a cigarette away from himself. He didn't smoke very often, and when he did he tried to hide it, which Canada found to be quite funny. Like there was anything about his brother that he didn't know. He knew that Alfred always used his left foot when he started walking, he knew that he preferred his onions raw over fried on burgers, he knew that after a bit of writing his handwriting began to develop loops and got pretty sloppy until it barely looked like English anymore. He knew how many hours a week he spent surfing porn on the internet and which video games he liked the most. He would feel like a loser if he hadn't calculated that his brother smokes, on average, one pack of cigarettes for every two weeks. Preferred hundreds because 'the shorts look all stubby and stupid', hated menthol, liked to see how long he could keep the stack of ash before it fell.

He couldn't help but smile as Alfred just walked through the door without bothering to knock, bellow a loud "Wussup, Mattie!"

"I'm in the kitchen!" He called back as loudly as his soft voice allowed, fighting back the hot blush that was staining his cheeks.

"Yo bro, that smells damn good." Alfred remarked, plopping down onto a chair next to the almost finished Kumajirou.

"I guess if you like AID-" The bear's biting response was cut short when Matthew spun around and glared at him, knife in hand.

"I think you should go upstairs and play, Kumajelly." He 'suggested', eyes narrowed as he walked over to the bear and took his empty bowl.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Kumajirou muttered, hopping down from his seat and walking away. "You just wait 'til whoever that was that takes care of me gets home, he'll show you what for."

"I am who takes care of you!" Canada yelled after the fluffy white animal, only to be ignored. He sighed and shook his head as America laughed and tilted himself onto the two back legs of his chair.

"Hey, four on the floor, buddy." Matthew said as he went back to the stove and pulled the pan from the heat. Of course he was ignored as he prepared the plates, and Alfred just tilted further back, trying to balance himself without using his hands. When he carried the plates to the table and set them out, he gave the chair the tiniest of kicks, sending Alfred tumbling to the floor with a loud slam.

"Maple, Alfred, what did I tell you? I knew you would fall!" He exclaimed, coming to his brother's aid.

"I dunno, I totally thought I had it but I guess not." America laughed, taking Matthew's outstretched hand and using it to pull himself from the floor, rubbing the back of his head in pain. Upon request he turned and showed the little forming bump to his little brother, wincing as his fingers softly danced over the wound.

"Do you want some ice?" Canada asked, bending to pick up the fallen chair. Alfred declined and Matthew pocketed the few little hairs he had taken for later. They went about their meal and the US decided to take his brother's advice and actually sit properly.

"How does everything you cook always taste so good?" He asked some five minutes later, his mouth full of food.

"The secret ingredient is love." Matthew replied jokingly, making a show of fluttering his lashes and clapping his hands together. In all honestly the secret ingredient was love, a love so deep and strong and pure that he added the thing closest to his heart that he could get to without dieing just to get the idea across, but there was no way he was going to tell Alfred that.

"I'm sure it was something closer to rat poison." America laughed, and a little piece of food dropped from his mouth and onto his plate.

'It should have been, it could have been, then we could eat them all up and die and we'd be right here together until the end of the world and the sun blows up or something.' Matthew thought as he casually swiped up the little piece of fallen food from the older man's plate with his index finger and popped it into his mouth. He then laughed belatedly at the joke. Ha ha ha, so so funny Mr. Jones, you should be in stand-up, you could be the next John Candy and by golly you would go further. Please, please, stop or I'll moisten my gitches and then where will we be?

If the American was at all disturbed by his younger sibling eating food that fell out of his mouth like it was the most normal thing in the world to do he didn't show it. Instead he just went on telling Canada about the time he had when he went to Japan's house last and how much fun it was. Went mountain climbing, he said, went to the beach and had an episode. An episode? Yeah, an episode, like in Japan's cartoons. Every Japanimation had an episode at the beach, didn't it? Heck yes they did and Alfred got to experience it firsthand. How cool is that? Cool? Way cool!

What have you been doing? What, you went to Cuba's house recently? What, he punched you in the head even though you were holding a sign saying 'Hi, I'm Canada'? Hahahahaha, hilarious! Catching up was all just so much fun, right? Right? Right? Or something like that anyhow. Talk-talk-talking, with food in his mouth and uh-oh! Is he choking? Maybe, this looks serious! Oh, wait, he's alright. Darn. Keep on truckin', keep on talkin', keep on walkin'. Wait, what? You want to spend the night? Let me check my schedule (so I can remove anything I was supposed to do tomorrow. Prime Minister? Screw the Prime Minister!).

"Let's play games!" Alfred said, standing abruptly once he had finished his meal. Canada nodded and told him to set it up while he took care of the dishes. Once the American had left the room he took up the dishes and brought them to the sink, rinsing one while he ran his finger across the one his brother had used. He put it into his mouth and sucked the flavor off as he slid his own rinsed plate into the dishwasher, then rinsed Alfred's after putting the used fork into his mouth and working every bit of red, white, and flavor from the utensil. Alfred should turn his spit into a soft drink or something, because Matthew was sure that it would fly off of the shelves in record numbers. He was also sure that he would buy them all himself and to hell with the needy public. Once he had practically licked the fork clean he tossed it into the dishwasher with everything else and shut the door, but didn't start it because that would have been a waste of water.

By the time he got into the living room Alfred had the game ready to go, clearly set on beating him in "Italian Plumber Sports", specifically tennis. Knowing himself to be rather slow at… well anything physical, really, Matthew tried suggesting something like golf but the American would hear nothing of it. And so tennis it was, and of course Canada lost pathetically at every match. Always one to rub it in, Alfred constantly berated his pathetic score and apparent lack of hand-eye coordination the whole way through. By the time Alfred swung his controller a little too hard and sent it crashing into the wall hard enough to eradicate the little white stick and create a rather sizable dent, the canuck was almost happy to see it happen.

"Well, now that you managed to break my house again, how about we do something a little less hands on?" He asked with a polite smile, kneeling over the broken plastic pieces next to Alfred and helping him pick them up.

"That's cool with me, dude. I'll get someone to come over here and fix your wall tomorrow or the day after, 'kay?" He let out a somewhat awkward sounding airy chuckle as he dumped the last of the wall pieces he held into the trashcan Matthew had carried in from the kitchen. "So what did you want to do?"

See if you react the same way I do when the small of my back is licked. "We could watch a movie?"

"I'm cool with that, what you wanna watch?" He asked, plopping back onto his bum with his legs crossed.

The look on your face when I make you cum. "Well I did just recently buy that horror about the ghosts in the house where everyone just stands around and screams at nothing."

"W-well if you insist." America stuttered, adverting his blue eyes from his brother's purple ones, trying to mask his obvious fear.

Matthew suppressed a smile. Alfred could be so cute. It made him wish that he could be as cute as well, but of course he was just plain-old forgettable Canada, the country with that one mounty sitting around somewhere on a horse in the woods, and the lord of maple syrup. Master of free healthcare and silly accents (according to his brother, anyhow). God of politeness and patience. Sigh. He was really coming to dislike himself, and the more time he spent with America the more he wanted to have what he had, to be what he was, and to just… become him completely. Sadly that wasn't possible, unless it was, but if it was he sure as all things didn't know how to make that happen. Anyway, who you were was all in the mind anyway, so even if he somehow managed to switch skins with his sibling he was sure that all at once the country called Canada would be known and no one would remember what America was.

A little while later, after they had taken a bathroom break and Matthew made popcorn, they sat together on the couch and got ready for the movie. America had insisted on covering himself in a blanket and holding a pillow, as well as sitting pressed up against Matthew. Of course he wasn't going to complain about the close quarters or anything, but having Alfred's quivering body pressed up against him for the duration of the flick seemed like a somewhat bitter pleasure. He would be right there, right freaking there, but Canada would just have to sit there and pretend he wasn't burning up inside while he tried to pay attention to the film.

As it turned out, that was exactly how it turned out. Lights off, movie on, people wandering about on the screen in a house while the cameraman struggled to make it look more like a reality show than a well-directed piece. People screaming around about sounds that never happened and the camera shaking as if the guy operating it was having a stroke. And all the while Alfred was absolutely terrified, and shaking, and grasping Matthew's arm like it was a lifesaver in the middle of a tsunami and he had been thrown overboard. Every little bump and rustle seemed to send new shocked terrors through the grown man's body, which in turn shook Canada about on the couch until he was beginning to feel a little motion sick.

But it was heaven all at the same time. He was so warm, and soft where a man should be soft and firm where he should have been (aside from the belly). He smelled amazing, the old stale cigarette smoke just adding to his already multifaceted scent, and his hair brushed across Canada's face every once in a while and it felt like silk or something. Smooth and inviting on all levels and erotic in a tickling kind of way. At one particularly scary point he jumped and snatched Matthew harder, burying his face in the crook of his neck. The Canadian thought he was going to have a heart attack at the feel of Alfred's quickened breathes ghosting across his flesh and the occasional brush of those luscious lips as he shakily formed frightened words about whatever the hell was happening on the screen that Canada had stopped being able to care about ages ago. Breath, breath, breath, don't think about it watch the movie watch the movie watch the damn movie oh god oh god oh god, oh hell I have a boner now how the heck am I supposed to hide this?

He tried crossing his legs, but that hurt. He tried thinking of old people naked, but the image was quickly blotted from his mind when Alfred let out a little moan of fear into his shoulder that sounded terribly sexual considering the state of mind that he was in. Finally he opted to just turn his body slightly away from the US in the hopes that he wouldn't jump on him and accidentally touch it. Is that the remote in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? Oh god so, so, so, so happy. But that wasn't what he needed to be thinking about, gosh darn it, he needed to focus on the movie and stop thinking impure thoughts about pushing Alfred over right now and getting as close to him as still having skin would allow.

And finally the movie was over and Matthew was fairly confident that Alfred had passed out from fear. Turing a little to look at him confirmed it, he was clearly out, with a distressed look on his sleeping face and the smallest bead of drool starting to slip from the corner of his mouth. He smiled and lightly brushed some of his hair back for no apparent reason. It was far too short to be held back by anything. Knowing Alfred to be an extremely heavy sleeper he leaned forwards and pressed their foreheads together and softly whispered his name. No response. Gathering every ounce of courage he had inside himself he tilted the sleeping head back slightly and moved a little closer, hesitated, repeated Alfred's name. No answer again, he closed the gap between their lips and…

Time stopped, the world outside the tiny bubble of space around them disappeared. Matthew could almost hear sappy movie music playing and fireworks exploded and the universe gained sentence and deemed that very moment and place to be the epitome of everything before and after, on all planes and dimensions of existence. Oh god oh god oh god they were so soft and warm and Christ on a cracker they were actually smoother than they appeared to be. All at once he had a powerful urge to bite them, just bite them right off and eat them because all at once he knew for a fact that they would be delicious. Instead he stuck his tongue out and ran it over those plump lips, just barely dipping it between them before he lost his nerve and pulled away, flushed, a little sweaty, and panting like he just ran a mile.

After he had rearranged Alfred on the couch in a way that would be comfortable, he made his way to his room with the full intention to rub one out, but the moment his head hit the pillow he was sound asleep. Apparently love was more tiring than he had thought.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Suicide by Proxy