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Domino	By : CyreliaJ Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1962 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own hetalia or any of its characters. I'm also not making any money off of this.

Chapter List
- 1-Domino
- 2-Part 2
- 1
- 2
Note/WARNING: I will warn everyone that this part gets considerably darker. We're getting into very murky moral and ethical issues as well as bad decision making. Depending on your views/life experiences this might be a very trigger-y part where emotional manipulation/imbalance of power is concerned, violence, not entirely kosher daddy kink, incest play, and angst. Some people will be disturbed, others titillated. I vaccilate between both myself because where fiction is concerned I find some pretty creepy shit arousing. I might continue this in another story or leave it where it is. That being said, I want to thank everyone for reading. I challenged myself to write this in the manner it is while still trying to keep everyone sympathetic if not relatable. C&C is always welcome- I'm a poor judge of how other people will perceive my stuff.
   Christ he looks like Francis. Matthew reaches up his fingers wrapping loosely around the shoulder belt. He lets it lazily linger, head turning subtly, eyes darting between the buckle of the seatbelt and Arthur’s groin. Arthur doesn’t miss that subtle glance. Fucking acts like him half the time too... at least how he used to be when... shut it, already he’s not him. He’s a fucked up kid who probably wants to close his eyes and pretend it’s his daddy fucking him and you’re stupid enough to be driving him to a motel because he looks like-
“I’m not your bloody father,” Arthur says suddenly as he makes a right. He licks his lips absently with just a small darting out of a thoughtful tongue. Arthur steps harder on the gas as he approaches the onramp forcing his eyes back to the road.
“You could be,” Matthew answers smartly. “I’ve never met him.” He lets go of the shoulder belt and threads those restless fingers through his hair tucking a leg underneath him. “Orhecouldbedead...” comes a soft mutter.
“S’what you’re gonna be if you don’t knock off the attitude and put on your fucking seat belt.” Nice, Arthur. Tell him you’re not his old man then tell him to put his fucking seat belt on. Brilliant, that.
   Matthew leans his head against the window with a small defiant smirk.
“What am I?... I’m Matthew Williams, total delinquent. I like to live dangerously. What am I rebelling against? Whaddya got?...” He ducks his head speaking more softly looking almost embarrassed. “Classic Brando... right?” Arthur hears another click of the phone camera and sees the light as Matthew swipes a thumb across the screen. “Guess you wouldn’t know that... being... being from the other side of the pond they say... huh?” His voice wavers faintly seeming to Arthur to be desperately seeking acceptance. Matthew bites his fingernail when Arthur doesn’t immediately answer. Arthur bites his cheek so he’ll stop staring from his peripheral vision.
   “Unless your mum is a lush named Francis,” Arthur mutters as his hands grip the wheel more tightly. “Then you can stop getting your knickers in a twist because I’m definitely not-“
“M-maybe I like that.” Matthew sits up suddenly looking about to crawl across the seat. “Maybe that just makes me want it even more.” Christ do you even know what the hell you’re saying you little twit? What are you doing, Arthur? You haven’t thought about Francis in months now and one stupid teenager... Arthur looks at Matthew in the rearview mirror with an unreadable expression. One stupid teenager with golden blonde hair... one teenager who looks at you like... knock it off, they’re nothing alike. Francis was never this awkward, this nervous this... God you idiot if you had a son like you talked about he might even look like... Arthur swallows, feeling a cold stabbing lance through him. At the same moment he feels his cock stiffen even more. It makes bile rise in the back of his throat. “Maybe you don’t know what the hell you want and bloody hell why are you sitting in my fucking car...”
   Arthur almost worries that the wheel will break as hard as he’s gripping it. Matthew untucks his legs and clutches the dark red cloth of the seat..
“If you don’t want to fuck me why am I here? That’s all this is I mean...” He throws himself back against the seat and chews on the drawstring of his hoodie with a frown as the old car glides to 80. “If you don’t want me then...” God you have no fucking idea. You have no idea what the hell you’re doing to me sitting like Francis reborn as a kid without ten years of a fucked to hell relationship and a goddamn drinking problem. Sure, call me “daddy”, I’ll call you Francis and we can do this every now and then til I get thrown in fucking jail or kill myself... Stop it, Arthur. You should’ve left him on the ground when you shoved him away stop thinking with your fucking dick already and just- “-just... take me home,” Matthew says without emotion watching the streetlights on the highway passing by. “If you take the next exit and go back up Dixie you can-“
“Cor... don’t tell me where you live, you cannot possibly be that stupid!”
   “And what if I am?” he fires back. And what if you’re a stupid kid who has no fucking idea what shit the world is and what if I’m a fucking desperate fucking pervert who’s one step from stopping the car and teaching you a damn lesson you’ll never forget because you just had to make me think of that miserable lying cheating-
“And what if I’m gonna slit your charming little throat and throw you in a dumpster?” Arthur growls as they pass the exit for Wagner Ford Rd and Hell is less than a few minutes away. Matthew smiles, hand in the pocket of his hoodie and that smile is so remnant of Francis that Arthur almost swears he sees the man’s face in Matthew’s stead. He doesn’t jump when the crackle erupts practically in his ear nor when he sees the bright light flashing in the darkness. Something else to thank the bastard for when you see him in Hell is fucking nerves of steel, Arthur. You think you’re gonna scare me with that? Try having your lover fire a fucking gun at your head ‘cause you came home late and he wasn’t sober enough to realize you weren’t a fucking robber. He sees Matthew wearing a perfect teenager’s smugness
“And what if my brother bought me this for my birthday ‘cause he can’t always be there, what then?”
   Arthur barely spares him a glance as the sight of the small stun gun brings him back to the present. He almost ignores him save for the click of that obnoxious camera. Arthur checks the rearview mirror once- checks the side. There aren’t any lights from other cars but on a Wednesday night he isn’t terribly surprised. He hits the brakes hard, watching as Matthew drops the stun gun, thrown violently against the dashboard with a scream that would make him laugh under any other circumstances. The shoulder belt digs into him uncomfortably and he turns the volume of the radio down just as Pink starts encouraging him to try.
“I told you to put your fucking seatbelt on,” is all he says as Matthew is rocked back and forth hitting the seat and the door. Arthur slows as he turns onto the exit ramp, coming to a full stop while Matthew sits back holding his shoulder looking up at the headliner sucking in a breath through his teeth. The first thing he goes for is the phone on the floor to take another picture. Arthur barely stops himself from stomping it through the carpet. He smiles when Matthew takes the seatbelt with a wince and buckles it for the last few moments of the ride.
   Matthew looks almost surprised when they pull into the parking lot of the motel stopping to idle in front of the lobby.
“Did I finally knock some sense into your head?” Arthur can feel his heart still racing with adrenaline and he watches Matthew’s defiant pouting mouth with his hand lingering on the buckle of his own seatbelt. Say yes. Tell me to drop you off at a fucking bus stop or take you home or I don’t even care but the longer you make me sit here looking at you... The camera takes another picture while Matthew molds his expression from pained and tired to a sophomoric approximation of defiance. Arthur reads the answer before Matthew even says it. It doesn’t matter what Matthew says. It doesn’t matter that’s it’s a poorly worded come on with an equally empty expression. Arthur turns his head in time to catch Matthew slump back against the window with the affected look of a tortured poet. He doesn’t need a camera to capture the eternal image of the young man leaning pitiably against the window staring at the illuminated sign advertising waterbeds and free adult movies as he walks around the car.
   When he comes back out a few minutes later shoving the receipt in his coat pocket he catches sight of Matthew again, this time watching not the sign but him. His left index finger has been tracing idle patterns on a breath steamed glass canvas. It’s wiped away when Arthur walks closer and he stops in the cold still air blinking a few times, feeling a heavy sleep head give way in the chill air to a hot rise in his face. Matthew’s face isn’t full of vapid ardor but the ghost of longing for something that isn’t really there. And as he becomes increasingly aware of Arthur’s scrutiny still some ten feet away his mouth curls into a small haphazard smile that’s forgotten to be coy or wanting. Arthur wants it. I need to fuck you. He walks briskly around the car and gets in, silent as he drives around to park in the back. He takes just long enough to throw a blanket over the leather case in the rear seat still not sure what to say when he looks across the seat to see Matthew grabbing his bag, the stun gun disappearing into his pocket. Arthur locks the door and takes the room key out.
   “It’s over here,” he says as he starts walking toward one of the rooms on the lower level. He doesn’t hear Matthew’s footsteps and turns in time to see him photograph himself leaned back against the door. Arthur waits for him. Francis would do that too if he’d thought of it. He’d fill the house with pictures of himself if he could. You were probably just an afterthought in every one of them and for God’s sake he’s been gone for two years now! Matthew puts the camera back in his pocket and hesitates almost shyly as he pushes off the car taking a few uncertain steps looking like a newborn foal born into the world in a halo of polluted air and artificial light that keeps the darkness of the new moon at bay. He draws himself with a put upon strut throwing all the times he’s done this before into that walk. His fingers brush the sleeve of Arthur’s coat as if he would take his hand and he gives another smile that’s far too excited to belong in this sordid picture. Arthur turns his head away.
   “Come along then,” he says curtly. Matthew follows him far more eagerly than he should. Arthur walks to the room quickly, half fumbling with the keys when Matthew steps behind him so close that he can feel his warmth, can fee his body heat. His vision swims. God blood pressure… there’s another sign you’re getting too old for… Don’t think about it, Arthur just stop thinking already. Arthur drops his keys with a soft curse. Matthew is already bending down, picking retrieving them with a brief pause to look up with a soft reassuring smile as if it is Arthur who is the one that needs to be led by the hand. Arthur reaches for the key but Matthew steps to the side. He lets out a breath when Matthew puts his hand behind his back and looks down seeming unsure if the teasing is welcome.
“I can’t very well open the door without the key, now can I?” Arthur asks softly.
   Matthew’s shoulders relax just the smallest amount. He drops his backpack on the ground.
“Maybe… maybe you should comegetityourselfdaddy,” he rushes in a barely audible whisper. His long eyelashes flutter behind the thin frames of his glasses over cheeks faintly flushed with the cold. Arthur takes another deep breath feeling the shaking in his lungs, feeling his entire body threaten to start trembling from the tension. You’re fucking torture, you know that… This isn’t exciting, this isn’t a game… But he can’t help but play along not allowing the smile that tugs the corner of his mouth.
“Give me the key, Matthew.” It strikes him again how paternal he sounds in that moment. It seems to strike Matthew as well as he takes a playfully obstinate step back biting his lower lip with a shake of his head. He looks so young and vulnerable. I need to fuck you so badly.
   Arthur reaches out and grabs Matthew by the shoulder before he can dance away- firm but not painful.
“Give daddy the keys…” His voice is thick, tongue almost sticking; dry in his mouth as he forces the words to Matthew’s ear hearing a soft cry so quiet he almost questions its existence. He can feel Matthew breathing harder against his neck, resting his cheek on his shoulder and he closes his eyes dizzy. This is it, Arthur, last chance, shove him off, take him the hell home and tell him you’ll kick his arse if you see him pulling this shit in there ever again… He’s not Francis, he never will be Francis and you’re not just playing a fucking game with a man your own age he’s young enough to be your-
“Godyes...” God yes… He hears the key rattling faintly behind Matthew’s back and steps forward- steps the last bit of space between them down to nothing. He feels Matthew press against him, knees half buckling together a slight twist to his body as Arthur’s hand snakes down and around Matthew’s body reaching for the key trapping him in an awkward embrace.
   His fingers walk down Matthew’s wrist and he can feel the fluttering pulse beneath his thumb as he pulls the key from his grip, turning his wrist, letting the backs of their hands linger together. Matthew, in that moment, raises his other arm and takes what Arthur imagines must be a crooked shot of the back of his head and Matthew’s own half obscured face. He hums softly as he types something on the phone with one hand. Arthur almost drops the keys when he recognizes it.
“Gymnopédie…” he breathes out, eyes wide. That’s his song. As I live and breathe that’s his fucking song, He shoves Matthew back holding him at arm’s length eyes wide. “Where did you hear that song?” Why, God are you fucking with me?!
“I… It... it was just-“
“Why do you know that song?!” Matthew shoves the phone back in his pocket almost looking as if he might reach for the stun gun again when Arthur shakes him hard.
“ItwasonStartrek!”
   “W-what?” Arthur blinks at him, dropping his hands to his sides.
“Star Trek... Next Generation you know the episode where...” Matthew frowns and sighs, looking down when Arthur continues to stare. His hands go back in his pockets the playfulness vanishing from his face. “Yeah... right... I shouldn’t just assume everyone’s seen that...” He forces a laugh and Arthur doesn’t know whether or not to laugh or cry himself. Star Trek. Bloody Star Trek, of course. Why not? Why the fuck not of everything... Arthur shakes his head as he unlocks the door practically kicking it open.
“Get inside already.” He turns to the road, staring at the dead empty street and the near empty parking lot. The air is cold on his face, makes his nose burn. Of course that’s all. It’s the air. It’s the cold. It’s your stupid ridiculous head you damn fool. God, just turn on the telly for a few and maybe we can... yeah... you’re alright now... you just needed a moment to-
   “A-Arthur?” He turns back into the room letting the door close behind him at the address. Right. Arthur. Better he calls you by your damn name than any of this other nonsense. Arthur stops, leaning back against the door watching Matthew’s hands frozen midway to unzipping the black hoodie. He can see for the first time the slender pale neck leading down to collarbone. Matthew takes his silence and takes another picture letting that hand stay on the zipper capturing an eternal moment of uncertainty. Matthew lowers the camera slowly as Arthur walks around him, removing his coat, draping it over the back of an old wooden chair seated at a scratched up table. He sits down “Are we... still doing this?” Matthew turns his body staying facing towards him with a shuffle of his feet waiting for an answer. The phone goes back in his pocket. No, of course we’re not doing this because “this” is the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had in my life and apparently the seventh worst idea you’ve had in yours. Arthur takes out a cigarette to calm his nerves eyes moving slowly up Matthew’s body.
“You may be sixteen, Matthew,” he finds himself saying as he lights the cigarette, “but I’m still your father and I expect to be addressed like it.”
   Matthew’s eyes are bright in response to the words. Arthur blinks a few times as he drops his eyes down to the cigarette watching it burning. There’s no way that you just… Matthew unzips the hoodie and drops it on the floor. Arthur looks up at the sound bringing the cigarette to his lips with a steady deliberate hand.
“I know I raised you better than that, pick it up.” Matthew lips his lips with a soft, “yessir.” No. You need to- He shuts it off as he watches Matthew hang the hoodie on an old wire hanger in the closet taking the phone out. The loose Blink 182 T shirt hangs off him unattractively spilling over baggy jeans to black sneakers like a Hot Topic waterfall. Matthew looks questioning, Arthur still seated on the chair smoking. He starts to slowly pull up the T shirt more hesitant than teasing. He stops to take another picture. It’s a wonder he hasn’t dropped the damn thing yet. “That’s a good lad. Did you finish your homework?”
   Matthew swallows but answers him immediately.
“Yeah… Y-yes sir.” He pulls the shirt over his head folding it while looking at Arthur. “I outlined the historical significance of the Lincoln-Douglas debate but the paper isn’t due ‘til Friday so…” Arthur shakes his head and smokes while he palms his crotch. He swallows a groan, hand lingering, rubbing lightly until he feels his prick swelling sticky and hot against his underwear.
“You know how I feel about unnecessary procrastination, Matthew.” Arthur watches him place the folded shirt on the dresser, hands rubbing slender arms. When he turns around his nipples are peaked with the cold, goosebumps dotting the rest of his slim, pale body. The camera clicks again as Matthew looks away from the lens.
“I’m sorry.” He speaks the apology as if it were real. “But I… I just wanted to be with you tonight.” He’s so unlike Francis, Arthur thinks that the physical resemblance is almost unbearable. God, I want to fuck you.
   “Your mother must be missing you.” He squeezes the bulge in his pants hard, fingers squeezing the filter of the cigarette tighter. Matthew bites his lower lip, face on fire as he undoes the button of his jeans sliding them over his hips. There’s a faint tilt of his hips, thrusting against air, his cock hard, trapped in tight white boxer briefs sitting low beneath his navel. His belly button dips in, his stomach trembling. Matthew bends over, lowering jeans to the floor speaking softly as he steps out of them. There’s a small bitter twist to his mouth as he talks to the worn carpet and sets the phone down snapping a shot of his face inverted over the screen.
“You know she’s working, Daddy.” The jeans that he steps out of and carefully folds bear resemblance to some several hundred dollar pair Francis used to own. “She’s always working… But it’s money… good money… money for all of us… that’s what she wanted… that’s what Al wanted so…”
   Matthew drops the jeans on the dresser hard his mouth moving as he continues to talk to himself. Arthur doesn’t hear what he says as he toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks. When Matthew looks at him again wearing nothing but his underwear stretched out with a large bulge it’s with a pleading needy expression. It makes Arthur want to come right there when he asks, “Do you like looking at me?” His arms cross over his chest and he readies the camera for another picture angled up from the pile of clothes. The timer counts down five before the flash. Arthur puts the cigarette out. Matthew pushes his slipping glasses back up on his face. Arthur sits back, spreads his legs, letting the beige fabric do the speaking for him, hiding nothing of his cock pressing up tightly against his slacks. He moves his hand letting Matthew stare, breaths growing slightly heavier.
“What do you think?” he asks before putting his hand back into place with another rough ragged rub of his palm.
   “Come here.” Matthew uncrosses his arms and reaches for the phone. Arthur opens his mouth to tell him to leave it when he remembers that the phone was part of the agreement. Matthew tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear stopping when Arthur shakes his head. He looks at the phone screen again.

“But we don’t-“
“You know I don’t like to repeat myself.” Matthew nods quickly, walking over, standing in front of him looking down, legs slightly spread, skin still puckered. He keeps his mouth obediently closed looking Arthur in the eyes. The look at each other silently, Arthur’s mind a brilliant white blank and he stares into Matthew’s eyes above him large through the thin frames of his glasses. “Turn around,” he says not breaking that searching gaze. Matthew turns, squeaking in a muted version of his scream in the car when Arthur pulls him to straddle his lap. He hears another snapshot as Matthew’s head is bowed down. He starts to set the phone on the floor but instead holds into it tighter.
   He squirms and Arthur hisses moving his hands to Matthew’s hips pressing the soles of his shoes hard to the floor. Steady. God you feel so good, fuck I need to fuck you so badly… His hands slide slowly, moving hard across his soft skin stopping on Matthew’s thighs. They shake beneath his hands and he forces himself to be still, pressing his forehead to the back of Matthew’s neck smelling tea tree shampoo. His breathing is heavy, his pulse increasing at a rapid rate and he can feel himself panting against Matthew’s cool bare skin. His hands kneed, squeeze those thighs and he hears Matthew’s hitch of breath, feels him stop moving entirely keeping his motion in check with Arthur’s own self-denial. Arthur says a soft prayer he used to hear Francis recite in some of his darker hours. But you’re not him. You’re so much better than him… He squeezes Matthew’s thighs hearing another hitch, another stifled moan and looks when he feels Matthew’s arm shift. He hears the scratch of nails as Matthew scrapes down his throat, down his chest, fingers tightly curled a soft series of “tsss tsss tss escaping him.”
   “Move,” is all Arthur says and Matthew pants hard, trying to find purchase on the carpet with his bare feet.
“Yes, daddy,” he whispers toes touching, legs spreading wide until the he has more leverage, shifting, squirming, finally pushing up off the floor with a painfully slow rock. Matthew whimpers softly, Arthur moving his right hand over the juncture of Matthew’s thigh, brushing past his balls, resting hard on his cock. He hears the camera click another shot- unsteady with the shaking of Matthew’s hand. Arthur moves his left hand up, over Matthew’s taut tense stomach as he moves again, a slow torturous undulation back and forth as if he could meld their two bodies together into a single writhing entity. Arthur groans softly as Matthew grinds down against him, not increasing his pace, hand closing over Arthur’s when it reaches his chest, holding it there as he moves harder but not faster. God I want…
   Matthew rocks between Arthur’s palm over his erection and the hard cock pressed against his ass. There’s another click of the camera following a soft series of whines as Matthew’s back arches, as his head tilts back, wavy hair tickling Arthur’s face the way that- The way that nothing. I don’t want to see him anymore. I just want to see Matthew. Matthew beneath me, Matthew with his eyes closed, with his legs around my waist, Matthew without the damn camera. He watches Matthew’s hand holding that phone start to slacken and sees the numbers on the phone displaying the time after 1 o’clock. Yeah and there isn’t enough time for that, you idiot. That’s it. This is it. This is what you have. You have minutes, you have seconds for a quick one night stand and you wouldn’t last much more than a few thrusts at this rate anyway and… I need to fuck you so badly I can hardly stand it but…
“Tell me,” He whispers to the warming skin of Matthew’s back. “Tell me what you want, my boy.” He feels Matthew drawing still, feels the sweat palm clamped around the back of his hand tighten possessively as Matthew’s head drops down again to some indefinable place on the floor.
   “I want to you to…” He stops, lip drawing between teeth from an aborted “f’- from an aborted “fuck”. Arthur swallows hard allowing his own hips a small needy thrust up. Just a little… just tell me to- “You want to fuck me,” Matthew says letting go of his hand. He turns his head and takes another picture as he does looking past Arthur’s head to the peeling wallpaper. “Like… like I guess I need to call time out and check just so I don’t say anything…” He huffs, recollecting his thoughts and shakes his head. Arthur slowly releases him and Matthew stands. He calms his breathing, taking the reprieve to pull himself back, aching, hard, watching Matthew looking at him with a wry cynical grin looking unbecomingly like Francis. “SorryIthinkIjust…” He clears his throat. “Just got a bit caught up in everything I’m probably just tired and I have a lot going on and uh…’ he waves his hands remnant of an anime character. “I wanna do this… you er… really badly,” he says with a bounce for emphasis.
   God, you are the most frustrating most ridiculous… Christ I think I’m gonna blow in my pants but that’s it then, isn’t it? Fuck, leave, so long and all that. Right, boy, that’s how it works. I don’t want to date you. I don’t want to be your fucking boyfriend I want to fuck you. I want to… I want you to be him. No, I want you to be better than him. I want you to be every damn thing he should’ve been no matter what the hell I have to do to make you that way so let’s just leave it with a fuck already because thoughts are thoughts and this is bad enough but doing that is what makes someone a fucking psycho or-
“How badly?” Arthur asks unable to help the way his voice drops when he asks. Matthew looks at him snapping a perfect picture of blankness.
“Are we uh… that’s… that’s part of the uh scene again, right?” He scratches the back of his neck looking for affirmation.
“How badly…” Arthur repeats thinking that he should feel far more revulsion than anticipation at what comes next “…do you want me to only think of you and not your brother?”
   Matthew looks at him- seems to look through him when he thinks about the question- the phone is ready to drop out of his hand.
“That’s… that’s like… like a weird English joke orsomethingandit’snotfunny.” Matthew takes a step back shifting from one foot to the other. “You’re not really my father… Arthur,” he says more to himself, eyes darting everywhere but Arthur’s face. “I don’t have a father. I have a mother who loves my brother more than me but it’s not like she doesn’t love me at all and this was a bad idea and I should’ve listened to Al when he said the first time I was gonna meet some weirdo some day and I…” His breathing gets heavier and he takes another step back looking ready to hyperventilate. He looks at Arthur desperately and then looks at his clothes. Don’t do this. Do NOT-
“I could be,” Arthur says keeping his voice soft when Matthew walks towards his folded clothes. “Isn’t that what you said?”
“I don’t-“
   “You said that makes you want it even more,” he presses. “Or were you lying to me when you said that?” Arthur swallows down a burble of laughter in the back of his throat. “Answer me, Matthew.”
“I wasn’t lying! I wouldn’t lie to you!” Matthew’s voice is strain unaccustomed to yelling. He brings a hand up to his mouth in a belated stifling of the shout. Arthur is startled as the wall bangs next door to him and he too jumps. He looks at Matthew red faced, distraught, and wonders if that’s how he must have appeared to Francis all those times that... The thought makes him ill.
“Put your clothes back on,” he says turning his face into his hand. “God just… just get dressed and get out of here I don’t know what I was-“
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Matthew repeats stubbornly. Arthur doesn’t look at him. “I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t I just want-“
“Shuttup. Shut. Up. This was a mistake. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here even doing here with you.”
   “What do you mean?” Comes the sudden panicked question. “What’s wrong with me?” Arthur looks up startled to see Matthew standing right in front of him again. He stands. I’ll be damned if I’m the one looking up at you like I’m the child. Why the hell can’t you just get dressed and leave already? Don’t you get it? This is fucked up crap and if I was your damn father I’d- His hands are on Matthew’s face. Matthew’s face is soft, smooth, warm and terribly alive under his rough hands. Arthur stares at the bed behind him.
“There’s nothing wrong with you... not in the way you’re thinking anyway,” he mutters letting his hands fall to the back of Matthew’s neck.
“If that’s true then why can’t you even look at me?” Because if I look at you I’m going to start having those thoughts again. Whether I’m thinking of him or not looking at you, seeing you standing there almost naked looking at me like I have all the damn answers isn’t what I...
   Matthew’s hands are over his, and now it’s him that focuses on some part of Arthur’s green sweater vest.
“Why won’t you look at me?” I can’t fix anything. I couldn’t fix Francis after ten years and I damn sure can’t fix you. You’re too... warm... You’re so warm. Arthur moves his hands acutely aware of every bit of skin pressed to his as he puts his arms around Matthew. God, why do I still want to fuck you so badly? He holds him tighter. He holds him tightly until every muscle in his arm burns and he can hear Matthew draw each shallow breath against the shell of his ear.
“You don’t want me to look at you.”
“I want you to look at me... only at me, daddy...” Arthur loosens the embrace, seeing for the first time as he steps back the phone lying on the floor. Matthew’s face is pale, calm, and devoid of any expression. He looks like he’s carved out of wax as he stands there.
“Real fathers don’t want to bugger their sons, Matthew.”
“Maybe I like that,” parroting the words in a soft desperate whisper. “Maybe that makes me want it more.”
   Why is everything you say makes me...
“I’m not going to fuck you tonight.” He watches the near instant fall of his face, the shut of his eyes, the tight pressing of pink lips together. I want to fuck you more than anything on Earth right now.
“But...”
“I’m not going to fuck you the next time I see you.” Again as soon as the words leave his mouth he sits Mathew’s head lift up, violet eyes bright, vibrant looking at him with such beautiful clarity he can feel rather than see the small understated smile beginning. I have never more in my life wanted to do anything as badly as fuck you.
“Y-you mean you-“
“But if you’re a good boy, Matthew.” Matthew straightens up even more as he picks up his phone. You’re going to hell, Arthur. “I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” Matthew takes a picture as he bends to retrieve the device and Arthur is jealous of the view of the lens. You’re going to Francis’ fucking Catholic hell. “Do you understand?”
   Matthew stands and lets that smile remain just beneath the surface waiting for sunlight to bring it to bloom.
“Yes.” Arthur leans in and presses his lips gently to Matthew’s forehead body a strange sea of tranquility.
“That’s a good lad. Now get dressed and I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”
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Domino