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Sunder	By : tamasama Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 4271 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no profit from the writing of this work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
CHAPTER THREE

The man let out a long moan through the gag in his mouth, watching with blood-shot eyes as heavy boots moved past his vision, accompanied with the ever-present sound of lead dragging against concrete. The ground was cold, even in the night’s sticky heat, and bits and pieces of shattered bottles bore into his flesh each time he tried to wriggle away. His hands were bound behind his back, the tightness of the barbed wire slicing his flesh and cutting off his circulation. There was no reason to tie his legs, they had been broken hours ago with the same shining pipe that was held lazily in the man’s fingers as he stalked about the room, filling the space with the soft and melodious sound of his humming. Wang Yao, third-generation Chinese-American, squeezed his eyes shut when he approached, towering over his shaking form with a smile so soft and gentle that it made his flesh crawl. The violet-eyed man’s kind smirk and gentle demeanor was almost worse than the pain and slow, methodic torture Wang had experienced that night.
The pale man dropped to a squat with one smooth movement, balancing himself with the help of the long and blood-stained pipe he held, before he reached out and tenderly pulled the black elastic band from Wang’s hair. The smooth strands fell freely across his face and shoulders, and the man softly pushed a few locks from the Asian’s eyes. “You are pretty, just like girl.” The gentle compliment was spoken slowly and thickly accented, as if it took considerable effort to pronounce the words without fumbling them into a convoluted mess. Wang tried to pull his head away from the leather-clad hand to no avail, and the man laughed lightly.
Minutes slipped by soundlessly as he just stayed there, running his gloved fingertips through Wang’s long brown hair, his warm gaze sweeping over the smaller man’s features slowly. “It hurts?” He finally asked, tilting his head to the right, and Wang nodded as fresh tears beaded the corners of his eyes.
“That is good. Your pain is beautiful.” The bound man squeezed his eyes shut upon hearing the words. Everything hurt, everything was bruised and bloodied and all at once he wished for the man to stop his childish games and put an end to it. The now dull throb of shattered kneecaps, the holes in his fingertips from where long and twisted nails had been hammered, the burning of his cheek that was split almost to the ear. Countless bruises, a handful of broken ribs, the scratching pain of where the gag rubbed against his flame-blistered tongue. He wanted it to be over and done with, even death was better than the continued torture. He opened his eyes again and glared at the man, who was far too heavily dressed for the season, and let out a string of muffled words.
After a moment of contemplation, he pulled the gag from Wang’s lips and waited for him to speak.
Wang struggled with his tongue, stiff with small burns, before he managed to formulate a coherent sentence. “Kill me.” Violet eyes lit up at the request and an expression like he had just won some grand prize danced over his features. He wasted no time in bolting upright to stand and lift the long pipe over his head. Wang vaguely noticed how the silver light of the full moon that poured in through the window illuminated the man’s nearly platinum blonde hair as the metal pipe arced through the air.

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When Matthew awoke at the hour of one in the PM, he was greeted with his brother straddling his hips with an expectant grin on his face. The younger blonde groaned and tried to roll over, but it seemed impossible with Alfred’s weight holding him in place. “Go away.” He muttered groggily, rubbing his dry eyes slowly as Alfred rocked his hips against him with a comically suggestive eyebrow wiggle.
“I’m in the mood for a good ol’ wake-n-bone, little bro.” He said as he leaned down, stark naked, and plated a soft kiss on Matthew’s forehead.
“Isn’t Arthur still here?” The last thing he wanted to do was disturb their guest with Alfred’s loudness. He knew the look in the Brit’s eyes every time he was around his brother, and regardless of whether or not the man in question noticed, Matthew just was not comfortable flaunting his relationship before his lovesick friend.
Alfred left a wet trail of kisses over Matthew’s face and down his neck before he sucked some of the slightly salty skin between his lips and nibbled. His words were muffled as he busied himself dry-humping the man beneath him, “I think he went home last night. He wasn’t on the futon when I got up this morning.”
Matthew sighed harshly and rolled his eyes, “Fine, but you’re gonna do the dishes when we’re done.”
“That’s cool.”
Matthew pushed Alfred back to sit up, pull his nightshirt over his head, and fling it to the floor. “Don’t you think we should shower first?” He asked as he tilted back to begin tugging at his own red and white pajama pants.
“Way ahead of you, I’ve actually been up for a couple of hours now.” He gave a toothy smile before leaning forward to lick along Matthew’s neck and let his hands travel over his smooth sides. He was so soft and warm under Alfred’s fingertips, his scent intoxicating. He let out a little whine when Matthew pushed him away again to move on the bed.
“I’ll have time for foreplay when I’m dead.” The younger man said, motioning for Alfred to lay down with a little nod of his head.
“You’re no fun, ya know that?” Alfred grumbled, lying on his back. Matthew shook his head and made a little swivel with his fingers, so he rolled over and lifted his ass in the air with a light blush. “Quit staring at me, it’s creepy.”
“You’re fat.” Matthew stated flatly, pinching the side of his brother’s thigh and earning himself a hard glare.
“Well I guess that makes you a chubby-chaser.” He mumbled, turning his eyes away in embarrassment. Matthew just shrugged as he slid his index and middle fingers into his own mouth and slicked them with spit, and used his other hand to start stroking himself to life. Alfred’s thighs twitched a bit when his little brother pushed his wet digits against his entrance, rubbing around the tight muscle, then began to slowly sink inside. He moaned softly and lifted his head a bit to try and watch himself being fingered, his cheeks burning pink.
Matthew leaned down over him and pressed his fingers deeper, stretching and teasing the sensitive hole, “Were you doing weird things in the shower again?”
Alfred’s eyes squeezed shut and he shivered at the feel of the warm breath ghosting over his ear, “I-It’s not weird.” He murmured and arched his back into his brother’s skilled fingers with a low moan. So he had the habit of playing around a bit while he bathed? He did it for Matthew, who was often times too impatient to go about properly preparing him and would end up causing quite a bit of pain when he tried to push inside. That was not to say he didn’t enjoy the solo prep time or anything, but he found it to be horrifyingly embarrassing when his brother brought it up.
“Quit being a douche and fuck me.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Matthew said with a little smirk, lifting himself onto his knees and looking about the unkempt floor. “Where the heck did the lube go?”
“Who cares?” Alfred snapped, and yelped sharply when the younger man pulled his fingers out and pressed the head of his member against his entrance. “Use spit or something, dick!”
Matthew chuckled and spat into his hand, “I was kidding, I don’t want you limping around the house again.” After he had slicked himself with a little grimace at the vulgarity of using saliva, he slid the tip against Alfred’s hole a few times before pushing in slowly. His brother was hot and tight, squirming slightly beneath him as he pushed in inch by agonizingly pleasurable inch.
Alfred pushed back against him, his inner walls squeezing hungrily, “Go hard, Mattie…” His voice was little more than a lustful gasp against the sheets. Matthew grumbled something about having just woken up but pulled out almost all of the way to slam back in forcefully. Alfred moaned loudly as Matthew pounded into him, his toes curling at the rapidly building pleasure of himself being filled.
“Do you have to be so loud?” Matthew asked him through pants, taking hold of Alfred’s hip to help steady himself as each movement threatened to knock his balance off center.
“It’s only ‘silent and cold’ or ‘bloody and shrieking’ with you,” Alfred managed to pant as his hand snaked down between his own legs and took hold of his dick, “there’s no middle-ground.” Matthew grumbled at him to ‘shut up’ and Alfred managed a breathy laugh as he stroked himself in time with the hard thrusts that were pushing him forward on the mattress from time to time. Pleasure coursed through him when his prostate was finally hit and he cried out loudly, arching his back and increasing his hand’s pace.
“Is it good for you, too?” He asked as he bit his lip.
“What is this, some crappy internet porn rag? Of course it is, don’t ask stupid questions.”
“I love you, Mattie.” Alfred’s eyelids fluttered shut as he felt the pressure of imminent release building.
“I know, now stop talking for once.” Matthew muttered, leaning over the older man to bite his shoulder blade lightly, his eyes scrunching shut at the feeling of Alfred’s inner walls clamping down tightly. He pushed in a few times as far as he could go, knowing his release near. He was so close, the pleasure building into an apogee of physical euphoria-
The bedroom door slammed open hard enough to crash into the wall with a resounding ‘bam’, “Hey! Shut the fuck up in here!” Arthur roared with a hard glare. Matthew let out a little shriek and rolled away from Alfred while tugging the sheet up over himself in embarrassment.
“Can’t a bloke shoot up in peace around here without listening to your god-awful racket?!” The petite man’s clutter of bracelets clanked loudly as he slapped the door frame.
“I thought you said he went home!” Matthew snapped at Alfred, who had rolled off onto the floor and was in the process of tugging on a random pair of jeans.
“I told you he wasn’t out there earlier!” The older man cried, face burning pink.
Arthur threw a folded newspaper onto the floor, “I went out to pick up some breakfast, you bloody idiot!” He fumed angrily as he untied the tourniquet around his lightly bleeding arm with practiced efficiency. He spun on his heel and stormed from the room, grumbling loudly.
“Cock block.” Alfred muttered from his spot on the floor.
Matthew ran his hand over his face in exasperation and sighed loudly with a shake of his head. “How embarrassing.”
Alfred crawled over to the newspaper that lay on the floor as Matthew went about getting dressed.
The Most Violent Murder Yet?

Thirty year old Wang Yao was discovered dead in an abandoned warehouse last night at about 2:45am, by an eyewitness who has requested to remain anonymous. Police officials are certain that it was the work of the newest serial killer to terrorize our city, aptly dubbed ‘The Romantic Torturer’ for the sunflowers and Cyrillic symbols for the word ‘Beauty’ that have been at both crime scenes.
A cry of “what the fuck” could be heard throughout the neighborhood.
Alfred stormed into the living room, skimming the report with an expression of pure rage painting his features. He found Arthur sitting cross-legged on the futon with the TV turned to the BBC, patiently melting a few rocks of methamphetamine in his bubbler. He threw himself down next to him and Arthur shot him an icy glare.
“Watch it, you fat idiot! Do you have any idea how easily these things break?!”
“Shut the hell up, Arty, you’ve got enough cash to afford a mountain of those damn things. Now,” He turned the page for his friend to see, “what the fuck is this shit?! Me and Mattie aren’t in here ‘til page nine or something!”
Arthur circled his butane lighter’s flame around the tiny glass sphere, watching as the little crystals melted into a smooth puddle and thick smoke circled about. He removed the heat and took a long and slow hit, then leaned back and let the pure white cloud of smooth smoke float up from his mouth and obscure his features as he spoke, “How the hell should I know? I’m not a reporter.”
“Bear claws? Thanks, Arthur!” Matthew’s small voice could be heard from the kitchen, accompanied by the clanking of dishes and silverware.
“It was a rhemorical question.”
“Rhetorical.” Arthur said, leaning forward again to prepare another hit of the already solidified drug.
“What the fuck ever!” Alfred snapped, crunching the newspaper into a ball and throwing it across the room. Matthew sauntered in and handed a plate to Alfred, then smiled and offered one to his friend. Arthur waved it away as he inhaled the smoke slowly.
“I’m sorry you had to walk in on that, Alfred said you went home.” Matthew apologized, taking a seat on the bean-bag chair. Arthur just grunted as he ran the flame in slow circles. “You dyed your hair. It looks good.”
Arthur smiled lightly at the compliment, pushing his softly shaking fingers through his now blue-tipped locks unconsciously. He turned his eyes to Alfred and his smile turned to a glare, “Way to not even notice, you git.”
Alfred waved him away like one would shoo a bothersome insect, “I noticed, and it looks cool. I thought I told you that already.” Arthur’s scowl softened into a gentle smile at the words.
“You’re too stupid to tell the difference between thinking and speaking.” Matthew mumbled through a bite of pastry, leaning back and pulling the remote from the floor to flip aimlessly through the channels. Alfred stuck his tongue out at him childishly before he dug into his breakfast, chewing away noisily.
Arthur stood to set his pipe on the cardboard box, then reached into his pocket to produce a small plastic container of little Buddha-stamped pills, and ovular white ones. Alfred pursed his lips and frowned, rolling himself over on the futon to eyeball his friend. “How much have you had today?”
Arthur tilted his green eyes up and to the right in thought as he went about crushing the Vicodin with his specially designated spoon, “Hit of china white, couple benzos, I’m tweekin’ pretty hard at this point, and now these lovelies.” He replied, popping the ecstasy pills onto his tongue and washing them down with a quick pull from his flask, then went about pushing the spoon-flattened powder into neat lines.
“You’re gonna die, dude, and Mattie’s gonna do some weird shit to you.” Alfred pointed out and was hit in the back of the head by the projectile remote. As his brother went about quietly chastising his ‘crass idiocy’, Alfred deftly ignored the diatribe and watched the white powder disappear up his older friend’s nose with a little grimace. Something like that should probably hurt, he decided.
Arthur let out a long and contented sigh, wiped his nose, and promptly fell face-first onto the makeshift table with a dull ‘thump’. Alfred burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the spectacle and Matthew scrambled up to check on his friend’s health. He lifted his head and pressed his index and middle finger against his throat for a few seconds, before he dropped him back onto the box-table and shrugged. “He’s fine, just passed out.”
Matthew stood, thought about something for a moment, then dropped back down to his knees beside Arthur’s unconscious form. He stared at him for a moment, then poked his cheek. Poke, poke, poke, slid his finger down Arthur’s warm neck. He had a fabulous complexion for someone who imbibed enough drugs in a day to kill a bus full of kindergarteners. He was warm, and smooth, with the tiniest hint of a tattoo peeking out from the neck of the looser shirts he occasionally wore. Such soft, smooth, delicate flesh. Arthur was truly something else. Truly something-
“Cut that shit out!” Alfred snapped, slapping his brother’s hand away. When had he gotten up? “Help me carry Arty over to the futon and stop being such a freak.” He was already wrapping his hands under the man’s shoulders and pulling him up from the floor. Matthew rolled his eyes and went about helping his brother carry him, who was thankfully quite light. After they had dropped him unceremoniously onto the futon, Matthew stretched and announced his need for a shower. Alfred tried to follow, but was sent away with a few politely spoken, yet incredibly harsh, words. He let out an angry ‘huff’, then flopped down at Arthur’s feet with his arms crossed.
His shockingly wealthy friend groaned lightly and opened his eyes. He looked around a bit before his gaze landed on Alfred and he smiled. A little trickle of blood flowed from his left nostril as he rolled himself over onto his back and extended his arms. “Give me a hug, lad.”
“’Lad’? What are you, eighty?” Alfred chuckled, noticing that Arthur’s pupils were absolutely massive. His friend wriggled about on the old seat, waving him closer with a lop-sided smile and that shockingly eye-catching stripe of red trailing from his nostril and bending over the small inclination of his upper lip.
Alfred rolled his eyes and leaned to the side to pull his terribly inebriated friend into a chaste hug, scrunching his nose at the sharp and antiseptic scent of meth that seemed to permeate Arthur’s being to the very core. He let out a little yelp when Arthur pulled him into a firmer embrace, shocked that someone so slight and wanton with their physical health could be so strong. He laughed lamely and started trying to disconnect himself from the man with a soft “Whoa, Arty, chill.”
He was yanked down to nearly laying over the rather ‘punk’ man, holding himself up with this arms. Somehow, Alfred had never noticed how his eyes were the same color as tender spring leaves, or how his lips parted ever so slightly when he smiled, or the exact shade of the tiny whisper of a yet to be shaven mustache decorating his upper lip. Arthur’s cheeks were colored the most minute shade of pink, and his right pupil appeared to be dilated further than his left. The older blonde ran his fingers softly across Alfred’s jaw, his black-tinted nails scraping the smooth skin ever so slightly.
“I like you, Alfred.” He muttered breathily, letting his fingers play through the taller man’s hair.
“Dude, that’s just the X talking.” Alfred chuckled, pulling away slightly. Arthur pulled him back, his face stone serious.
“No, I mean it. I really, really like you.”
“You really need to lay off the dru-” Arthur yanked him down and slammed their mouths together so hard that for a moment Alfred was worried he had chipped a tooth. His eyes flew open and he let out a series of muffled grunts that were meant to sound more like “what the hell” as Arthur forced a rapidly deepening kiss from his lips, more shock than lack of strength keeping him from wrenching himself away. By the time Arthur’s pierced tongue had finally forced it’s way into his mouth, Alfred had composed himself enough to pull away, panting heavily.
He wiped the vagrant spit and stripe of blood from his lips with the back of his wrist as he spoke, “Dude, what the fuck?!” His face was burning bright red as he stared down at Arthur in shock.
“I really do like you, Alfred.”
“That’s all you gotta say? Arty, you know I’m with Mattie.”
“He wont care.”
The words actually pissed Alfred off more than he had expected, “Fuck you he wont.”
Arthur moved a bit on his spot on the futon, his hand snaking over his torso to pull up his shirt and expose his flat, pale stomach. “I bet he never lets you top.”
Alfred bet the universe that it would be impossible for him to blush any harder than he was, “What does that matter?”
“I’ll let you.” Heavily lined eyes blinked slowly, one at a time, as he spoke and lifted his shirt higher. Alfred immediately lost his cosmic wager when Arthur stopped lifting his shirt and flipped his fly open with practiced ease.
His face burning with awkward embarrassment, Alfred turned away to stare at the floor and mumble out a few unintelligible words while adjusting his glasses. He hated it when Arthur mixed his stash when Matthew was not around, it had always made him act so weird and touchy-feely. How many time had the Englishman come on to him that week? Three now, probably. All at once he wondered if he tried the same thing with his brother and a stab of jealousy hit him. Alfred could barely stand the fact that his brother liked to mess around with the people they were killing, so the idea of him and Arthur, who was to remain very much alive….
The bathroom door clicked open and Matthew emerged with a contented sigh, rubbing his head with a towel and pushing his glasses into place. Arthur yanked his shirt down far enough to conceal his open fly and lifted his hand in a small wave.
“Hey, I was worried you’d die while I was in there.” Matthew said with a relieved smile, laying his towel across the back of the futon to dry. Arthur just shrugged.
“Gentlemen are resilient.”
Matthew chuckled and plopped down onto the beanbag chair, then began pulling a comb through his damp hair. “So what are we doing today, Alfred?” He asked, turning his attention to his brother.
Alfred forced a smile, his mind still full with thoughts of what may have happened between Matthew and Arthur, and leaned back to think. “Well, we should probably go see Ludwig and drop the new vid’ off… Then maybe go hit up that warehouse where they found that sunflower-loving douche bag’s last person. Look for clues or something.”
“With no forensics, right? Somehow I doubt we’re gonna find much.” Matthew set his comb on the floor and went about using his fingers to push his hair into place.
Arthur slowly rose to a shaky sit and rubbed the bridge of his nose before speaking. “I… I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Gross, Arty! Go to the bathroom then!” Alfred said, grimacing and scooting away.
“…I can’t feel my lips.” Was all the man managed to mumble before lurching over and emptying his stomach all over their floor.
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About an hour later, after they had cleaned the mess Arthur made and deposited him on the kitchen floor to avoid another mishap on the carpet, Alfred and Matthew entered Ludwig’s shop. The tall man was sweeping the cheap tile floor with a look of mild irritation on his face.
“What’s up with you?” Alfred inquired with a tilt of his head. Ludwig just let out a long and heavy sigh, shaking his head and setting the broom aside.
“You Americans are so filthy.” He nodded toward Matthew, “See him? You could take a few lessons.” Alfred turned to see his brother wiping his feet on the entry rug. He rolled his eyes and walked back to the doorway to give his shoes a few passes over the old mat, then turned back to Ludwig with an eyebrow raised as if to say ‘there, we cool now?’.
Ludwig gave an abrupt nod as he set his broom aside and walked behind the immaculately cleaned counter, motion for the men to follow. Once they had entered the back room, a small and dimly lit place decorated by a large grandfather clock and metal desk, Ludwig took a seat and asked them what product they had for him.
While Matthew fished the DVD from his bag, Alfred leaned up against the desk. “We actually got two yesterday, but we only have one camera so we only have this douche bag guy Mattie worked on. Oh, and I need some info.”
“What could you possibly need to know that I would have heard about?” Ludwig asked, lacing his fingers together, his posture impeccable.
“You’ve heard of this new guy, right? Romantic something-or-other, the papers are calling him.” Ludwig nodded and reached out to take the disk from Matthew. “Well I need to know if you’d have any idea who that might be or where to find him. Assuming it’s a him.”
“And how would I know that?” The older man asked, swiveling in his desk chair to poke the ‘on’ buttons of his television and DVD player.
“You deal in some pretty unsavory shit, Luddy, so I feel like you may have met someone who could be suspicious. They say he writes something in Cyrillic, whatever that is, at all of his scenes.”
Matthew all but faded into the sparse shadows of the room as he sat down on the floor up against the wall before he spoke, “Cyrillic is what Russian writing is called.”
“You know any Russians, then?” Alfred asked as Ludwig pushed the disk into the machine and poked ‘play’. He sat there for a moment and eyed the screen, rolling the question over in his mind. “I get a few customers that are obviously Russian, with the accents and everything. Three of them, two men and one woman.”
“Let’s focus on the dudes for now.”
“Well, one’s quite old. Probably in his fifties, and the other appears to be pretty young. Older than you two… Maybe twenty-five? Big guy, usually wearing this beige jacket that you would think would kill him in this heat.”
Alfred leaned forward in interest, “Big as in fat or big as in buff?”
“It’s hard to tell with the coat.”
Alfred nodded, the sounds of Lovino begging pathetically a dull hum in the background. He stood there a moment, thinking, before he pushed himself up to stand. “Think that’s our guy?” He asked, turning to look at his brother.
“Seems like pretty shaky grounds to start pointing fingers around with.”
“We should go check out that warehouse.”
Ludwig smoothed his hair back as he spoke, “Why are you looking for him?”
Alfred let out a huff of air and crossed his arms over his chest, “He’s been stealing my headlines and it’s pissing me off.”
“That has to be the most foolish thing I’ve heard all day. What makes you think he’ll take kindly to you guys tracking him down if you manage it?”
“If he’s a dick about it, we’ll just have to take him out.” Alfred said it with such conviction that Ludwig actually chuckled. “So you wanna buy this one?”
“Yes, I feel like the length alone will get me a good price. Also, whatever you’re doing here, Matthew, seems like just the thing your biggest fan will enjoy.”
Matthew blushed beet red, turning his eyes from the screen with a tiny embarrassed squeak. Alfred turned to look at the screen and frowned deeply. “Ew, Mattie, what the fuck?”
Matthew wanted to climb into a hole and die.
“Anyway,” Alfred said with a disgusted scowl and turning away from the television, “What do you mean by ‘biggest fan’?”
“That big Russian man, he buys almost everything you guys drop off. He’s actually kind of creepy, always in here with that weird happy-go-lucky smile.”
“Nothing wrong with being in a good mood.” Alfred said as Ludwig switched the player off and stood to make his way back to the counter. The brothers followed closely behind, Matthew still staring at the ground like it had suddenly become extremely interesting.
Ludwig opened the cash register and began rifling through bills. “It’s not a normal happiness, it’s like this permanent little smirk. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but it’s very unnerving.” He turned and counted out a full $300.00 and handed it to Alfred before depositing the excess cash back into the register and closing it.
“We’d like to stay and chill a little, but we got shit to do.” He said, shoving the bills into his pocket and turning to walk away.
“Let me know what comes of it.” Ludwig said as they walked from the store and out into the mercifully cool daylight air. The door shut with the little jangle of the bell and Alfred pushed his hands into his pockets.
“Are we going to the warehouse right now?” Matthew asked quietly, looking at the people walking up and down the streets with what could only be described as a mix of fear and repulsion.
“I dunno dude, if I look away you might stick your dick in something.” Alfred snapped, turning on his heel and storming down the sidewalk.
“D-don’t leave me behind!” Matthew yelped weakly, shuffling after his brother. “Why are you so mad, it isn’t like you didn’t do anything to Feliciano.”
“I didn’t! I never do, you dick-ass!”
“…‘Dick-ass?’ Anyway, there’s no way I’m believing that.”
“I don’t cheat.”
“Not even the dead ones?” Matthew asked incredulously. “’It ain’t cheating if they ain’t breathing’, or so they say.”
“Especially not the dead ones! That’s disgusting! And who the hell says that anyway?”
Matthew raised an eyebrow as he rushed a ways past Alfred and spun around to look at him while they spoke, “Everyone.”
“More like no one.”
“So what about this Russian fan guy?” The younger man asked, intent of changing the subject.
“We’ll check him out later, we gotta see this scene first.”
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Two buses and about twenty minutes of walking had the pair standing outside of an old cannery warehouse. It was large and adorned in yellow police tape, run-down and out of the way. Alfred chastised himself for never having scoped the place out for a potential ‘kill spot’ ages ago as they ducked past the incessant commands of ‘police line, do not cross’ and walked into the old building. The dirty floor was littered in the shattered remnants of what were probably liquor bottles from some college kid’s party or a hobo’s excessive bender, and most of the windows were but a few shards of glass clinging feebly to neglected panes. It was heavily shadowed and stank of dust and the heady reek of stagnant blood curdling in the summer heat.
Alfred wrinkled his nose at the offending scent and covered his mouth with his hand. Filtering the air through his fingers helped a bit, but nothing could hide the sharp odor entirely. Matthew seemed unaffected by the unpleasant scenery and was scanning the area near the door for anything that could suffice as a clue. Alfred looked to the far wall and saw the tape lines that had outlined the body, and the large scrawling symbols across the wall. From the streaks of blood that lined the floor, it looked as if the killer had finished the guy near the center of the room, then dragged him to the far wall and sat him up to write the word just above his head.
“What the fuck’s the point of that?” Alfred muttered to himself, sauntering lazily over to the wall and looking around. Dirt, glass, and blood were all that appeared to have been left behind by the police. It was a shame, really. Near the patch of blood in the middle of the room was another series of arcing splatters. Alfred knew what caused that; beating with a fairly long and blunt object. Like a bat, a pipe, a golf club, or a big stick. A small twist of barbed wire lay in the corner, and upon further inspection was smeared with blood. A few cigarette butts littered one corner of the room, but there was no way to tell if they belonged to the man that they were looking for or were left behind by whoever had shattered about fifty bottles across the floors.
“You find anything?” He asked his brother, still eyeing the floor.
“Tell me what I’m supposed to be finding and I’ll let you know.” Matthew called back, kicking shards left and right.
Alfred sighed heavily, “I don’t fucking know, anything out of the ordinary?”
“Stop your stupid little tantrum already, Alfred. That guy’s dead, there’s no point in being so jealous!” Matthew snapped, leaning up against the wall.
“Well maybe if you’d stop trying to fuck everything on two legs I wouldn’t be mad! I bet you and Arty even-”
“Arthur?” Matthew laughed humorlessly, “Thanks but no thanks, he’s my friend and that’s it! Besides, even if in some bizzaro world I liked him like that I know he wouldn’t try anything because he’s not that kind of guy. Yeah, he’s a junky, but that doesn’t make him a slut. He wouldn’t try anything, knowing we’re… ya know.”
“In love?”
“Hardy gosh darn har, Alfred. Put your woman away, if I wanted some chic to talk my ear off all day with that sappy crap I’d find one.” Matthew glared at him and turned on his heel to stalk from the building.
Alfred stood there a moment, chewing the side of his lip in frustration, before he rushed out after his little brother. He found him sitting on an overturned trash can. He walked up next to him and just stood there a moment in silence. “Why are you such an asshole?”
Matthew said nothing, opting instead to turn his face away from Alfred and kick a rock across the concrete. Alfred called his name a few times, but to no avail. He moved closer and poked his thigh with the tip of his sneaker, but was still unanswered. “What, you gonna ignore me all day now?”
Nothing but another little pebble being kicked across the way.
“Oh c’mon dude, you know I was just kidding.” Still nothing. “Hey, hey, Mattie… Dude, I didn’t mean it, don’t be mad alright?”
Silence on Matthew’s part.
“I’m sorry!” Alfred’s voice began to take on a rather whining tone, “I wont bug you about it anymore, okay? You can do what you want, cuz I know you don’t really like them, like them.” He moved a bit closer and dropped down to a squat. “I promise, you can do what you want with anyone and I wont complain.”
Matthew turned to look at him and smile lightly, and Alfred absolutely beamed.
He lifted himself from the can with a long yawn. “It’s getting pretty late, let’s start heading back. I wanted to make some Hamburger Helper for dinner, so I don’t want to get back too late.”
Alfred just nodded and started following him back the way they had come.
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By the time they had reached their house, the sun had sunk low into the horizon and was casting murky pink light across the city. They were discussing how the were going to go about finding the “weird Russian guy” Ludwig had mentioned when Alfred stopped and glowered at the door. It stood slightly ajar, and no sound came from inside.
“Fucking Arty left the god damned door open again? I swear, if we got robbed I’m gonna kick his ass.” He pushed the door open and stepped inside to be greeted with darkness. Matthew shut the door and Alfred flipped on the light, and stopped dead in his tracks. In the living room, leaning over Arthur (who had apparently moved back onto the futon), was a rather large man in a thick jacket. He sat there, face excessively close to the sleeping man’s, just staring at him.
“Who the fuck are you?” Alfred demanded, wishing he had not left his gun on the other side of the room, yet glad that he always left his bat by the door. He pushed Matthew back a ways, blocking him with his body.
The man turned, a gentle yet unnerving smile stretching his lips. “Alfred, Matthew, you’re home.”

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A/N:

I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia, the BBC, Vicodin, DVDs, or Hamburger Helper.
Thanks to everyone who’s reading this! Reviews are always appreciated and encouraged.

I’m sorry for the wait, everyone. I’ve had some terrible writer’s block (check my author page for more information on this and other things I’m working on) and my betas have fallen behind painfully so I’m firing them.

Thanks for the reviews and rates, guys! I'm glad I'm entertaining at least one other person, so thanks for the support. :3c
Candy: Don't follow the guro scene? If it interests you, check out gurochan.net. Also, how do you think it's going to turn out? I'm curious to know if I'm being too obvious here.
Jevia: Thanks for the kind words, I can only hope they aren't too wildly OOC.
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