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Matthew is Mine	By : flagfish Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 9688 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, nor do I make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
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All eyes were on Francis and Arthur at this moment of shameless depravity, so that no one noticed that Ivan had paced absently onto the stage. He gazed at the two with leisurely amusement, eyebrows slightly raised and scarf still falling idly from around his neck. From his hand there dangled quite distinctly a bottle of vodka, half empty, and he slowly raised it to his mouth as he continued to watch.
Arthur noticed him, actually, but, far beyond the point of speech or any comprehension at all, he merely stared, breath coming hot and hands still gripping at the metal pole. Ivan walked toward them, and the ladies began to notice, gasping quietly, one by one, he walked to Arthur without a word and slowly ran one finger against the wet tip of his member beneath.
Arthur's cry was indistinguishable from among the chorus of whines and moans he'd been emitting already, and he watched with eyes glazed as Ivan brought his finger slowly to Francis' mouth.
Surprised, Francis gasped, not having expected Ivan there just yet. But the digit pressed in, and he licked at it even as his eyes questioned the other boy.
"So I am getting you second after all,"
Ivan said with the most unsettling, innocent smile.
"Ah—well—"
Francis laughed nervously, slowing down a bit, to Arthur's dissatisfaction.
Outside in the back yard, Alfred had Matthew breathless against the side of the house. Cowboy hat hanging at the back of his shirt, long fingers playing idly at the front of Matthew's trousers, to hell with this whole event, baby brother, I just want you—
He didn't say it aloud. He wanted Matthew to say it, to hell with it all, I only want you, big brother—
But Matthew didn't. He didn't resist, either, he seemed rather into it, in fact, but it bothered Al a great deal that he expressed no intention to forego the event; Matthew could be such a little punk sometimes…
Whatever happened to that time in the bath, when he'd distinctly told him he won't play with others again, when he'd distinctly promised to Alfred, just you, why was he so chill with all this, what the hell was going on…?
Alfred kissed him hard, possessively, he held him very tightly to himself, but it didn't matter how tightly he held him, or what he forced him to promise, at the end of the day, if his baby brother wanted out, there was nothing he could do. And he'd secretly hoped that this event would have Matthew ultimately declining, realizing to whom he really belonged, I don't really want any of that, I only ever wanted you, Al—
—except he didn't.
Matthew was hardly traumatized by the prospect of playing to the crowd, he was completely chill, it was irritating, it was annoying as hell—
And just when Alfred thought he'd really had enough, then things got even worse—
"Ah, I'm sorry, Al, we really should stop, or we won't last for later—"
Still breathing hard with arousal, Alfred stared back with silent disbelief. We won't last for later…? Are you fucking kidding me…?
That's what you care about? Lasting for a bunch of gawking, rabid girls—
But there, before him, Matthew carefully disentangled his long limbs from in-between his own, cheeks still flushed as he smoothed back his hair and put his hat back in place, presumably to return back in the house—
Leaving Alfred frustrated and astounded, staring after him in shock, you blew me off for—for some stupid performance—
Of course, the performance was the main event that night, after all. After all, Alfred had planned the event out, himself.
"Yeah,"
He said when he found his voice at last, "yeah, that's right, you go ahead."
Ivan walked slowly around Francis and Arthur, gazing at them with quiet introspection; it was unsettling, Arthur would have glared back if he could manage to find that much self control, and Francis winked, that's right, you'll get me next, though next never quite sat right with Ivan.
"So!" Ivan grinned casually, "whose idea was it to have you wear this much stuff?"
Francis was partway through mentally composing a reply when there came a distinctive tug at his blazer. He let go of Arthur in a moment of surprise when Ivan pulled the sleeves away from his arms, and then removed the coat altogether.
"Don't the ladies wanna see you naked? Last time I screwed you, your body looked pretty nice—"
"They—" Francis grinned, words cut short when Ivan pulled him back by the hair, "—they wanna see you take them off me, of course—"
"Ah…!" there came the reply, "Of course…!"
Arthur fell forth a bit from the impact, breathing hard and gripping the pole for support.
"Hey, Russia…! What are you doing up here…! And—and you shouldn't be drinking, didn't you listen when America said—"
From behind Francis' shoulder, Ivan reached in with one large hand to tilt Arthur's chin back a bit, in his direction. He moved in very close and spoke with unsettling softness against his temple,
"You can stay or you can leave, but I'm having my turn now."
"I think he should stay,"
Francis laughed softly, and Arthur stiffened, suddenly at full awareness as he attempted to turn around,
"Hey, hey…! I won't be sat here and made to deal with the two of you together! Like how you perverts handled Canada—"
Francis held him in place, long arms enveloping around his front, "Is someone jealous again?" he crooned, teeth closing slowly at the delicate shell of his ear, "really, England, at your age…"
"L—like you act your age...!"
Francis held his arms out again as Ivan proceeded to unbutton his shirt, and Arthur made a failing attempt to unravel himself and gracefully take his leave.
"I don't think the ladies requested you and me and Russia together…!" he hissed at Francis, who promptly held him in place.
"I don't think the ladies are opposed," Francis replied, and the ladies expressed in fact that it really was quite all right.
"I'm opposed! I don't even wanna be up here with you…! I—"
"Shh…" Francis crooned, one hand coming slowly over Arthur's mouth, "if you calm down, I'll give you something nice—"
"Are you having a laugh! I don't want anything from you! I—"
Ivan was rather enjoying this lively exchange, enough that he allowed Francis the freedom to get out of his shoes and turn to face him, Arthur still in his arms and still quite unyielding.
"You're just moody because I pulled out," Francis murmured at Arthur's ear, and, as in heartfelt compassion, he slowly ran the palm of his hand along the small of his back, down to the curve of his behind and to the wet entrance from there.
"That better?"
he crooned as his fingers slowly slid inside, and Arthur gasped, stiffening all at once.
"It is, isn't it," Francis went on to say, carefully stroking him from within.
"G—go to hell—"
Arthur's words were confirmation enough, so, without pulling out, Francis drew him closer toward Ivan then.
"Can we share?"
He asked the taller boy, smiling as he gazed up, and Ivan was all smiles and warm regard as his large hand came down on the top of Francis' head, forcing him down to his knees. The boy's yellow hair swung awkwardly forth, disheveled, he nearly lost his hold on Arthur as he stumbled down, and then Arthur stumbled down with him, as well.
"Hey—! Just what do you think you're—"
"Help me out, England,"
Francis winked, long hair messily covering his face in a tangle of golden bundles, "I've only got one free hand." He continued gently to stroke Arthur inside, so whatever expletive the other boy had prepared remained uselessly frozen at his lips, instead.
"You—using just one hand had never stopped you before—"
"Help me anyway,"
Came the reply, Francis gazing up at Ivan as he reached not with his free hand, but with his teeth, in order to undo his belt. Arthur watched with mute astonishment, partway subdued by Francis' ministrations and partly in awe of the effortless talent with which he worked at the latch and the metal clasp.
"You know it looks good," Francis crooned around the buckle, "you know you also wanna—"
"I—I don't—"
He continued watching for several moments more before, very slowly, he leaned in as well, long fingers careful around the zipper before pulling it down.
Underneath, the fabric was warm, tight, both he and Francis stared with undeniable anticipation, "this is what I'm getting," Francis softly whispered, and there in Arthur's eyes there was for the first time the very real flash of envy, why you, anyway?
Ivan watched patiently, allowing them to take their time in undoing his trousers, in sliding their long fingers under his briefs, amused by their impatience and their appetite—
The women in the audience leaned forth when at last his briefs came down, there came the soft mechanical snap of phone cameras, and quiet whispers of fascination.
Arthur and Francis both stared for several moments before they both leaned in, hands coming on the hard length, fingers intertwining, fighting for dominance—
"Move," Francis hissed, "wait your turn—"
"This was your idea…! Don't be a twat about this now…!"
"Huhu! Feisty, are we!"
Before this could go any further, Ivan's hands came down on both of their heads, forcibly pressing them against him.
"Play nice, or he's out,"
He said with a lighthearted grin.
For several moments, both boys cringed, eyes tightly closed from the impact. Ivan's hand still in his hair, Arthur parted his lips, breath coming humid against the hard member. He couldn't help himself; he wanted badly to have him, for whatever reason—
Very slowly, he reached forth with his tongue, expiration hot as he lapped at the firm surface. Then his hands tightened on the member, he lapped gradually along the surface from the base up, hungrily—
Francis quietly watched, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end, it looked so good—
His fingers tightened on Arthur's he moved in, as well, and began to lap at the member from the opposite side, over the wet tip, determined, possessive, as to steal him from Arthur again—
Over in the kitchen, Alfred had emptied half the contents from the fridge, half the boxes in the cabinet and also some containers from the shelves above the stove—
At last he'd come across some sweets, some dark sauce made from fruit, ingredients like syrup and sprinkles, and, finally, cake—
Uncharacteristically annoyed, he was in no mood to perform that night. He leaned back against the fridge with an entire box of desserts and began to eat them slowly, trying to pretend as best he could that he didn't hear the talk emanating from the living room nearby.
To be continued…
- 37
- 38
- 39
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Matthew is Mine