Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

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
- 19
- 20
- 21
Alfred laughed, long arms firm and strong as he held Arthur in place, captive, helpless to sheer force he never wanted to admit that Alfred had, he had him up on the dresser, back to the mirror, the both of them naked at this point, disheveled and slicked with sweat, having just barely recovered from their recent escapades in the attic nearby—
“My turn,”
Alfred grinned, amd Kiku blushed at the proximity of their presence, the loudness of Alfred’s voice, far more realistic now that they were only several feet apart. Feeling more like a pervert than ever before, he moved silently into the space between the desk and the bed, wishing that he hadn’t come into the room to begin with but all the while morbidly amused.
Neither of them had ever acted so blatantly insulting and rude toward him as they were to each other, tearing away at each other even through this explicit display of simple love.
He was almost jealous.
Almost, he laughed inwardly in a moment of self-deprecation, almost, right.
From his position, even now that his eyes had gotten accustomed to the darkness in the room, he couldn’t see what they were doing, but he could hear, there was a light struggle, the wood of the dresser creaking, items falling haphazardly to the floor, the echo of breath and the quiet rustling of flesh sliding lightly against naked flesh—
“Not so hard…”
Arthur complained, surprisingly resigned to the notion of Alfred taking control,
“…you scratched me well good last time…”
Alfred’s voice came then with gentleness that sent unsettling shivers all throughout Kiku’s spine,
“Is this okay?”
What came next was silence, Arthur’s breath coming soft, they were kissing, Kiku realized, and he wanted almost to cup his ears so he wouldn’t be able to hear any more, but all the while he wished all the same that he had his video camera—
It must hurt, he mused silently, it must hurt to go at it on the hard dresser like that, it can’t be terribly comfortable, the creaking of the glass and the wood made all that clear enough—
He could hear them whispering to each other, short breaths and words and parts of words, the dresser rocking, the mirror knocking up against the wall, he blushed silently to himself, he thought of the times Arthur had had him over for tea—
Ever the English gentleman—
Now mere feet away, helpless and subject to Alfred’s ministrations, gasping in arousal within the strong embrace of his arms—
Alfred picked Arthur up and, still mid-delivery, carried him, practically threw him to the bed, Arthur’s voice a hoarse cry of surprise as he descended unto his back, Alfred bent him double, so close, so close—
Arthur’s spiky wisps of yellow hair scattering only a short distance away, almost near enough to touch—
Alfred suddenly released him all at once, pulling out to Arthur’s vast disappointment,
“Fuck’s sake, America—”
His voice was cut off mid-sentence before, still holding him double, Alfred seized his thighs, proceeding to lean over him and relentlessly to lap at his member, the slick perineum and the entrance beneath, Arthur’s back arching all at once off the mattress, sensitive, captive, surprised—
“Ah—! Oh—Alfred—! Oh, shi—”
Alfred laughed contentedly to himself, holding him securely in place as he proceeded forth, licking at the wet trails of fluid that streamed down along his thighs and the curve of his behind, tongue hot and insistent against his entrance—
Arthur laid his head tensely on the mattress, eyes tightly shut and out of breath, short locks scattering, feet waving high in the air, and when his eyelids gradually fluttered open, he kept his silence when, very vaguely, he came to recognize the distinct form of a human silhouette in the dark across the way.
Kiku stared back terrified, captive, please don’t say anything, his expression seemed to say, and, entirely at a loss for words or any rational thought at all, Arthur gazed back, I won’t.
He had been helplessly aware of Alfred and Matthew’s presumably private shenanigans often enough to know what this was, pretending not to know, not to hear, not to be aware and not to judge, is this a good idea, are they really much prepared, aren’t they still far too young—
Alfred and Matthew had experimented and explored each other since they were nearly children.
Was this normal, was this Francis’ bad influence, he wondered, would it make things all the worse if he reprimanded them and made it clear that he knew—
“What do you expect,” he’d yelled at Francis, “what with you making perverted advances at me in every which room in the house—”
Arthur was only partly cognizant then, skin electric and tremulous with charge, long fingers bunching, grasping at the sheets, overly sensitive as his gaze met Kiku’s in the dark. Neither said a word as both slowly reached for each other, tentative, curious, breath ghosting warm as they closed the small space between them, the slender digits of Kiku’s hands light against Arthur’s cheeks as he pressed his mouth to his.
His heart raced, he felt embarrassed, terrified, but curious and forlorn, what’s it like, England-san, America doing this to you—
The morning after Alfred had made his very first advances at Arthur all those years ago, he had wandered downstairs, dressed only in his briefs, having touched himself for a long time to relieve the tension long unspent, and he found Francis standing at the kitchen counter, back turned to the door, hair tied in a loose ponytail as he carefully worked at peeling the skin off a ripe peach.
He didn’t turn around when Alfred stepped in, long hair falling over his forehead and hiding his expression from view.
The peel emerged in a neat, pink spiral away from the fruit, settling elegantly on the plate beneath as with natural ease as Francis’ large hands worked effortlessly at the task, fingers slender and glistening wet; Alfred caught himself gazing at him quietly at work, despite himself.
“Bon matin, ma belle au bois dormant,”
Francis sang quietly without turning around, Good morning, my sleeping beauty.
It was almost painfully evident in his voice that he was somehow aware Alfred hadn’t slept a wink.
“…what?”
Alfred asked after a brief silence, not particularly interested in whatever Francis had to say in his kooky, incomprehensible language. He paced closer to his side, quietly gazing down at what he was doing, marveling despite himself at the artistic perfection with which the peel curved out onto the plate.
“So, America has come of age, has he,”
Francis gazed knowingly at Alfred out the corner of his eye, voice dangerously quiet and composed.
Alfred gazed back in mute astonishment, confused, wondering to himself what Francis knew, and how—and whether or not he cared—
Francis was oddly possessive of Arthur, Alfred began slowly to understand.
He’d finished with the peel, the peach glimmering a soft yellowish cream color in his hand, perfectly cut and glistening wet.
All at once, his arm reached around Alfred in one fluid, dance-like motion, coming securely at the naked bend of his waist and drawing him very close. Francis’ blue eyes darted across the boy’s face, silent, inspecting, knowing too much—
He was far too close, Alfred struggled, he could shake himself loose if really he tried, but Francis was surprisingly strong, his grip unnaturally firm as, without a word, he grasped at the elastic of Alfred’s briefs. Naked chest against naked chest, he brought his other hand beneath the boy's underwear, deliberately sliding the fruit hard against his member.
Alfred gasped, stiffening all at once, the contact very slippery and wet, a little cold, and Francis kept his hold firm on him as he pressed the thing against him from the tip to the base, to the scrotum beneath and then the perineum, insistently, hard and direct.
Without releasing Alfred, he then slowly pulled his hand out, face mere inches from his as he brought the peach directly to Alfred’s face, holding it hard to his mouth without letting go.
Blue eyes gazed back in mute panic, thin streamlets running down from Francis’ fingers and to his wrist beneath, and the older boy leaned in to lick at them in silence.
"Tu n'es encore qu'un gamin,"
He mouthed tonelessly, you’re still just a little boy.
Alfred struggled now, coming at last to his senses and breathing hard through his nose, but Francis merely smiled, laughing inwardly with vast amusement; this was really very cute.
“You think you taste pretty good?”
He asked, and finally Alfred managed to turn his head away, lips and chin glistening and sticky with fluid as he gasped for air. Francis drew closer, running his tongue slowly from the tip of his chin to his mouth, taunting, intrusive,
“Maybe England will think so, too,” he hissed, kissing him forcefully, hostilely, deliberately seizing his mouth.
Alfred fought back, strong enough to push Francis away and fully prepared to face whatever consequences followed punching him in the face, but Francis’ grip remained unexpectedly strong round his wrist as he then pulled him forcibly away and headed to the stairwell.
To be continued…
- 19
- 20
- 21
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

Matthew is Mine