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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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Ivan's light hair fell over his brow like a curtain of silk, deceptively soft, his words, too, were eerily gentle, Francis turned his head to kiss the large palm of his hand as it swept past his mandible, affectionate almost, paternal—
You'd think this was for their personal welfare, what he let them do, they almost thought so, as well, eager, competitive, possessive, fighting gently with one another, their hands grasping at his thighs unawares, move it, get lost, it's my turn, it's mine—
The fluid ran clear out the corner of Francis' mouth, and Arthur lapped at it slowly, impatiently, "Dirty boy," Francis crooned around the tip of the member at his lips, his fingers taunting, mischievous just at the soft curve of Arthur's behind, he wanted Arthur to ask him to slide them in again, he wanted to hear him, just so he could chastise him for that, too.
Ivan's hand wandered with quiet curiosity along the stubble at Francis' cheek, and then just at Arthur's jaw, the shell of his ear, his lower lip—
He grinned down at him with unsettling serenity as the large digits tugged just the slightest bit at his mouth, you wanna taste it again, don't you, Francis isn't being fair—
"Get me a beer,"
Elizabeta pulled on Feliciano's wrist, hard enough almost to make him tip his entire tray, and he stumbled gracelessly in an attempt to balance it.
"Hey, watch it, you're—"
Lovino grumbled in irritation, handcuffed to his brother as he were, and forced nearly off balance as a consequence.
"Shh…!"
She silenced them both with a quick sway of the hand, eyes transfixed on the stage all the while.
Ivan held his finger out to Arthur expectantly, and Arthur reached after it with stifled desperation, hand tightening at the skin of his thigh as he took the digit in his mouth,
"Is that good for you?"
Ivan asked, and it was, but not quite as good as what Francis was having—
Arthur watched Francis out the corner of his eye, his hair softly swaying, lips glistening red, Ivan pressed deep in against him, deliberately, as far as it would go, Francis, you whore, you can take it—
And Francis could, he enjoyed it very much, arrogant almost as he glanced triumphantly at Arthur, so you think you could do this just as well?
Slowly, luxuriantly, Ivan proceeded to pull out, the member emerging slick and brilliant from in-between Francis' lips, glittering wet in the lamplight of the ceiling fixture, and before it were even completely out, Arthur reached after it with impatient greed, lapping at the wet surface, taking it possessively into his mouth—
"That doesn't matter,"
Francis whispered, tongue running absently just at his lip,
"He's gonna fuck me first."
Before Arthur could respond, Francis slid his fingers just at his entrance, teasingly, deliberately, as to make a point of what Arthur won't be getting—
"Who says I'm fucking you at all?"
Ivan asked with the most innocent smile, and, ever the gentleman, Francis grinned in response, entirely unaffected as he continued to stroke the other boy from beneath,
"I do believe the ladies expressed a great deal of interest in seeing you fuck me."
"Oh, is that so?"
"Damn straight…!" from the audience, and "That's right!" and "Go Russia, give it to him…!"
Francis tilted his head back just enough that the girls could see him wink.
"Oh, I see…!" Ivan laughed with mockery of innocent understanding, "so this is what they want…"
Francis nodded, grinning in reply, when Ivan then went on to say,
"…and so they don't want to see me give it to England, too?"
Again there came cries of approval, Arthur's cheeks burning red as the member slid out from within his mouth.
"H—hey…!"
He stammered, "I never said—"
His words were cut short when the member then moved in again, and Francis laughed,
"He's a pervert, Russia, he thinks whining this way makes him any less of a slut—"
Arthur tried to protest, but he couldn't very well put up a fight the way Ivan held his head in place, moving in deliberately, mercilessly, till the member slid wet at the back of his throat—
He did like it, it really was nice, Arthur's eyes fluttered shut, he'd envied Francis since he saw him do this to Ivan moments before, he'd never admit it aloud—
Then, all at once, the member slid out, glittering wet with fluid as both Arthur and Francis reached after it then.
"Not now—"
Came Ivan's voice, and, his hands at both their heads, he pulled them back by the hair, forcibly—
He knelt down toward them, one long digit curiously raising Francis chin, and his eyes darted across the boy's face with quiet introspection before he leaned in slowly to lap at the fluid just at his lip.
"You're still far overdressed, isn't that right?"
Arthur, who had been watching with mild amusement, was taken entirely off guard when Ivan reached for him then, large hands grasping just under the thighs. He actually cried out, long limbs flailing as Ivan lifted him with one solid swoop, holding him upside-down with his legs bent just over his shoulders, the fabric of his clothes pressed against his naked body from behind.
"What in the bloody hell—!"
Arthur cried out as he struggled and writhed, to Ivan's vast amusement,
"Put me down! What the hell is the matter with you, put me down…!"
Now also on his feet, Francis grinned as he gazed down at Arthur's face, greatly entertained, and Arthur grasped angrily at him when then he stepped closer—
"Go on,"
Ivan grinned as he said, ignoring Arthur's struggles entirely, and they both gazed down at Arthur's member, still hard from before—
"Wh—what in the hell are you two doing—"
Arthur stammered with suspicion, his words dying suddenly at his lips as he felt Francis' mouth—
"Nnn—! H…hey! S—stop—"
His arms came around Francis' waist all at once, nails digging deep at the small of his back,
"Get your bloody mouth off me and—and put me d—down—"
"Now, England," Ivan sang with uninterrupted composure, "be a good boy and get France out of his clothes—"
"Bollocks, are you mad? I said, put me down—!"
"Do you think he needs some discipline?"
Francis crooned gently, grinning just over the tip of Arthur's member as he leaned forth to kiss Ivan then.
"I'll give you discipline, you wine bastard id—ah!"
"England, I thought I told you to get him out of his clothes?"
"Put me down…"
But his protests were now growing weaker, he slowly gave in, succumbing despite himself to the pleasant ministrations from above until his words gave way to incoherent murmurs and slurs, stifled at the narrow bend of Francis' side—
Clumsily, shakily, the slender digits of his hands worked at doing away with Francis' trousers, tugging weakly at the cloth, blindly, vaguely aware of the metal clink of his belt as his pants fell to the floor,
"There," Ivan's voice came from somewhere above, "was that really so hard—"
"G…go to hell—"
came the weakened reply, and, still lapping at him, Francis crooned,
"Shall we punish him?"
"I'm about to punish you,"
Ivan smiled good-naturedly, and it certainly sounded to Francis like something quite nice.
Arthur's thighs stiffened tightly, narrowing all at once around Ivan's shoulders, and Ivan watched with uninterrupted fascination as Francis had at him then, eyes closed, hair swinging, hand glistening slick as he stroked Arthur all the while,
"Like the little whore you are,"
Ivan crooned as he whispered to him, go on, France, get him off—
Arthur grasped hard at Francis' naked hips from beneath, his own lips sucking gently at his member, weakly, defeated, tasting himself from before, his voice came stifled when he came, fingers digging mercilessly into the flesh of Francis' back, the fluid streaming hot along his own thighs, his pelvis and his abdomen, Francis and Ivan lapped at it with strange desperation, kissing each other, cleaning him off—
Alfred had given up on performing altogether. Propped against the side of the fridge, he sat on the floor with a large tub of ice cream in his lap, digging at it sulkily with a spoon.
This was stupid, this whole event was stupid, and Matthew was especially stupid, and also France was stupid for hiding all the various desserts he'd made.
Alfred found them, of course, over time, he'd left nothing spared, he'd been through every container and every dish and every confectionary box, they lay in absolute disarray all over the floor and the table and counter, and Alfred didn't really care, where was Matthew, anyway, was he already on stage, Alfred didn't really wanna know—
"Was tust du denn hier,"
What are you doing here,
Vash glared quietly as Roderich opened the front door, and his hands rose as of their own accord to cover his sister's eyes; Roderich was dressed like a woman, somehow.
"Du bist spät,"
You're late,
There came the reply,
"Du hast Glück, dass du noch nicht dran bist."
Lucky for you, you're not up on stage yet.
Flushing bright crimson, Vash gritted his teeth, now also wanting to cover Liechtenstein's ears.
"I...ich were nicht auf diese Bühne gehen...!"
I…I'm not going up on that stage…!
"Ist das so. Witzigerweise ist das nicht, was hier im Programm steht."
Is that so. Funny, that's not what the program here says.
"G—gib mir das...!"
G—give me that…!
Liechtenstein gazed with one curious eye as Vash removed one hand from her face to examine the sheet.
Sure enough, there he was on the program, just after Feliciano and Lovino.
"Auf keinen Fall! Und... und ich will nicht, dass meine Schwester das sieht. Sie ist unschuldig und außerdem steht sie nicht auf so etwas...!"
There's no way! And…and I don't want my sister seeing this! She's innocent, she's not into this sort of thing…!
"Was geht hier vor?"
What's going on here?
Ludwig's voice interrupted them as he joined at Roderich's side; he was dressed in women's clothes, as well, and Vash found himself secretly terrified lest a similar fate also awaited him.
"Schweiz, du bist spät dran. Willkommen, Liechtenstein."
Switzerland, you're late. Welcome, Liechtenstein.
To be continued…
—
A/N: Credit for the lines in German goes to LumCheng - thank you!
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Matthew is Mine