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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
- 3
- 4
- 5
CHAPTER FOUR
As the man slowly stood, even more intimidating at his full height, Alfred reached out to his side to take up his bat. “Who the fuck are you, why are you in my house, and what the fuck did you do to Arty?” He asked slowly, his gaze flitting from the smirking stranger, to Arthur, and back.
The violet-eyed man unbuttoned his jacket slowly as he spoke, “My name is Ivan.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a long metal faucet pipe that he held at the base at his side. “You are the Skin Brothers, da?”
“How do you know who we are?” Alfred demanded, tapping the bat on his calf lightly as he sized up his opponent. He knew that his high physical strength would be the deciding factor if things came to blows, and the man‘s size would probably slow him down considerably.
This’ll be easy. He thought confidently, a small smile forming on his lips.
The man’s face lit up at the confirmation of his guess at their identities. He looked back down at Arthur for a moment, and then all at once he rushed the brothers, pipe raised high and a wild look in his eyes. Alfred was shocked by Ivan’s speed and barely had enough time to raise his bat to block the pipe’s jarring blow. The weapons clashed hard enough to send a painful reverberation down the length of Alfred’s bat that left his hands tingling and sore. He pushed back hard enough to knock Ivan back a few steps and swung, missing his shoulder by a few centimeters, and was sent sprawling back by a heavy kick to the hip.
Matthew ran past them and into the living room, knowing himself useless in head-on confrontation. He tried to rush to where Arthur lay to check if he was still alive but was cut off by the sharp whizzing sound of the pipe swinging just above his head. He had just barely managed to dodge it by dropping to the floor and letting out a small yelp at the pain that shot through his knees upon impact.
Ivan let out a disturbingly carefree giggle as he lifted the pipe to aim for Matthew again, “This is fun!”
“’Fun’ my ass!” Alfred yelled, hopping from the floor and swinging at the tall man again, only to be blocked with ease. Each connection of wood on steel sent painful tremors through his arms, but he continued his onslaught to distract Ivan from his relatively helpless brother. He swung for Ivan’s ribs once, twice, three times before the pale man hopped back, twisted into a crouch, and launched his pipe through the air. Shocked by the move, Alfred had no time to dodge and was struck square in the thigh. He cried out loudly at the intense pain but did not fall, his left hand going immediately to try to rub the sore spot. It was becoming painfully clear that he had grossly underestimated Ivan, and the confined space of their entry-way was severely limiting his mobility. So much for any kind of agility he could have counted on.
“Well that was fucking stupid, how’re you gonna block me now?!” He laughed in triumph, limping slightly as he prepared himself to swing. His bat arced down, aiming for Ivan’s head, and his eyes grew wide when the man dropped to the side and produced two sickles from his jacket in one smooth movement. He swung out, caught Alfred’s weapon, and with a strong flick sent it clattering to the floor and rolling away. His thick jacket rustled noisily as he sprung from the floor and lunged at Alfred and took a few controlled swings. Alfred barely managed to move away in time, and his heart sunk when his back collided with the door.
Ivan grinned and stood straight, spinning the sickles nimbly in his hands as he approached his cornered opponent slowly. And then he laughed, a light and oddly soothing sound, as he pushed the blades back into his jacket. “You are better than I thought. Which are you, Alfred or Matthew?”
Alfred’s mind twisted a thick haze of confusion over and over before he licked his dry lips, swallowed back his fear, and replied. “I’m Alfred, that’s Mattie.”
“I love your work.” Ivan said, his face a show of childish admiration.
“Our… Work?” He raised an eyebrow, trying to place the man’s accent. It was so thick that it was actually slightly difficult to understand what he said, and Alfred was grateful for the deliberately slow way the man spoke.
“I am your biggest fan!” Ivan declared, extending his arms out at his sides as he turned to look back from Alfred to Matthew, who was on his knees whispering quietly to Arthur. “You bring out such beauty in your work!” He took a moment to eye Arthur.
“Who is that?” He called out to Matthew.
He jumped a little at the question, and turned slowly to eye the strange man. “This is… This is Arthur, our friend.” He swallowed slowly before continuing, “Did you do anything to him?”
Ivan shook his head, “Nyet, I was only watching him.”
“Why?”
“He is broken, and very lovely. He called for you many times in his sleep.” He said, turning to address Alfred. The blonde raised an eyebrow at the information but said nothing.
Matthew spoke up quietly, “Why are you here?”
“I wished to meet you.” Ivan said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Matthew said nothing and cast a look at his brother, who shrugged softly.
“And why did you attack us?” He inquired, rising to his feet.
“I thought it would be thrilling,” Ivan said in excitement, “And it was, very much!” He walked over to where his pipe lay and scooped it up, then made his way toward the beanbag chair with the metal sliding noisily across the floor behind him. He plopped down on the seat lazily and cast a grin toward both of the men before his gaze landed on Matthew and stuck.
“I have heard that you were looking for me.”
“Looking for you…?” Matthew asked, and suddenly realization dawned. “You’re that Romantic Something guy?”
Ivan scoffed, “A foolish title.”
“Well, ours is pretty dumb too. It’s like all of the good reporters were on vacation and they just threw something together off of the tops of their heads.” Matthew chucked, shrugging slightly. Alfred came into the room to sit at Arthur’s feet; somehow the man had not been woken by the rather loud burst of excitement only moments ago. He tapped his hands on his own thighs a few times, thinking.
“You’re invading our territory.” He finally said, glaring at Ivan.
“How do you mean?”
“That’s why I wanted to find you, so I could tell you to pack up and go somewhere else.” Alfred snapped, “You’re stealing my headlines and getting people even more worked up then they already were. It’s gonna get real fucking hard to find some good people if you keep doing whatever weird shit it is that you do and freak everyone out about ‘stranger danger.’”
“There are more than enough people in New York, Alfred.” Ivan stated, crossing his ankles and toying with his pipe.
“I’ve told him that about a thousand times.” Matthew said with an exasperated little chuckle, “He’s pretty thick-headed sometimes. So, I hear you knocked off a couple of people so far. You new to this, or…?” He leaned forward in interest.
Ivan nodded, “Yes, I have always had a great…” He searched for the right word for a moment, “interest in such things but I was very busy back home and had no time. Life is so easy for you Americans, there is so much time for resting and hobbies.
“I came to this city because I had read that you two were here, and I had wished to meet you.”
That’s just creepy. Alfred thought with his gaze flitting to his brother, who appeared to be filled with a mix of embarrassment and a kind of self-satisfaction upon hearing that he had a “fan.”
Arthur groaned from his spot on the cheap couch and forced his eyes open. “Alfred, good morning.” He murmured groggily and sat up.
“We’ve got a guest, and it’s just started getting dark.” Matthew said.
Arthur turned his attention to Ivan, who offered up a little wave. “Who the hell are you?”
“That commie sunflower-loving bastard we were looking for.” Alfred interjected when Ivan began to speak, “And he’s just leaving.” The interest in his brother’s eyes when he looked at the man made his insides crawl with jealousy. Matthew never looked at him like that, and some newbie piece of shit like this didn’t even deserve his brother’s attention, much less his growing curiosity.
“Stop being rude, Al.” Matthew snapped at him under his breath. “Ivan, I’d love to hear more about you, would you mind staying a little longer?”
“Of course not, if it is okay with Alfred.” Ivan said, with a little nod in the man’s direction.
Matthew shot his brother a hard glare and raised his eyebrows, and Alfred glowered. “I guess you can hang out for a couple hours.”
The men’s eyes met and for a moment and Alfred could have sworn Ivan’s gaze held a kind of mocking expression. His hands balled into fists but he kept silent when Matthew began to shoot out questions: Where are you from? How old are you? When did you first start getting interested in that kind of pass-time? How was your first? Was it hard? Was it messy? Was it supposed to be messy? What’s up with the sunflowers and stuff? Do you only go for men or was that a thing of convenience? What are your methods?
Russia. Twenty-seven. When I was a child, after I saw a man shot in a mugging. Exhilarating, everything I had thought it was going to be. Somewhat. Da. Da. They enhance the beauty. Women are ugly and lumpy. I am not sure yet, I have been experimenting.
‘Ugly and lumpy’ he says, what kind of stupid shit is that? ‘Enhance the beauty’ my ass, what a fag. Alfred thought to himself, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. Russia looks like Candy Land anyway, why the fuck does Mattie think this guy’s so cool?
Matthew excused himself to prepare some coffee for everyone, politely expressing his sincere interest in further conversation with Ivan as he gave a little wave and walked into the kitchen. Alfred sat there, resting his arms on his knees and silently studying Ivan. The Russian met his gaze and they sat there a moment, the only sounds in the room coming from the light clinking of mugs resonating from the kitchen. Their gazes remained locked as they sent out a thousand silent insults. Ivan rested his arms over the sides of the over-sized beanbag chair and crossed his legs, relaxing lazily. His smile quirked up at the corner in a silent chuckle and he winked suggestively.
Is he fucking hitting on me? Alfred thought to himself, adverting his eyes for a moment before looking back at the man. Ivan just smiled, his eyes mocking at Alfred’s failure at some kind of primal power-play. Alfred glared at him and abruptly stood, then made his way into the kitchen.
Matthew was watching the little brown drip within the coffee maker with a patient disinterest. Alfred stalked up behind him and patted him on the shoulder. “Dude, you’re wasting the good coffee? Just give him that instant crap.”
Matthew turned to look at him. “I’m not giving a guest instant coffee.”
“Oh come on, dude, why can’t I just send him home yet? He’s fucking creepy.” Alfred whispered, pushing his hands into his pockets and bouncing lightly from foot to foot.
Matthew stood up straight and turned to face Alfred completely, and crossed his arms over his chest. “He isn’t creepy, Alfred. What’s your problem with him?”
“What the hell do you mean ‘he isn’t creepy?’ He was creepin’ on Arthur, broke into our god damned house, tried to kill us because he thought it was ‘fun,’ and now he’s claiming to be some fan?”
“I thought you wanted fans! Now there’s one sitting in our living room and you’re whining at me about it!” Matthew snapped.
“Well when I said I wanted fans, I didn’t mean creepy Communist dudes that-”
Matthew’w voice shot out like a knife, softly spoken yet shockingly commanding and harsh. “He is staying and I don’t want to hear your crap anymore, Al, or so help me I will gut you while you sleep.” He spun around, blonde hair fanning out in a gentle arc, and leaned down to begin watching the coffee pot once more. “Now get out there and be civil for once. This is why I don’t have any friends.” The last thought came out as a mutter more to himself than to Alfred.
The older man cleared his throat awkwardly, fished for something to say and found nothing, so he just nodded weakly and walked back into the living room. He dropped himself heavily onto the futon and leaned against the armrest indolently.
“You have a very large home.” Ivan commented offhandedly, looking about the room.
Alfred snorted. “Not really.”
“My apartment is quite small.”
“You broke? I suppose you’re used to being poor, right?” Alfred pushed his fingers through his hair casually as he spoke.
“I was too busy working as a boy to finish my education. I had many mouths to feed in my home for a very long time. Oh, I forget!” His smirk grew. “You must not know of ‘hark work’, you could not have dug a ditch in your life. Tell me, Alfred,” He leaned forward and laced his fingers together, “do you know what a ‘shovel’ is?”
Alfred clenched his hand into a fist a few times, ready to call the man to blows, when Matthew walked into the room in a cloud of apologies for the time he had taken. He handed out the mugs, mismatched thrift store novelty items (complements of Alfred), and sat down. “I would love to see your work. Would you happen to have anything you keep from it?”
“I take pictures.” Ivan said, leaning slightly to the right to reach into his jeans pocket and rummage around for a moment. He finally fished out a small stack of photographs and leaned forward to hand them to Matthew.
“You just carry them around? The fuck?” Alfred asked.
“I brought them in case this meeting would go as well as it has.” Ivan explained, taking up his pipe again to toy with it. Matthew riffled through the photos, nodding appreciatively.
“This is pretty good, Ivan. Very clean, well executed. Look, Alfred,” He said, leaning over toward his brother and holding the pictures out. They were all from various times during Ivan’s last victim, Wang Yao, and became increasingly gristly as time went on.
Alfred scowled as they neared the end of the series, and turned his head away to stare off at nothing. “That’s disgusting. You know I don’t have a stomach for that kind of nasty shit.”
“You need to grow some taste.” Matthew said, leaning back to his spot. Arthur snored softly in the small moment of silence that permeated the room, then Matthew handed the pictures back to their owner.
“May I?” Ivan asked, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
“May as well.” Alfred snapped, “Since it seems like everyone that comes over just insists on fucking up Mattie’s air. He’s asthmatic, you know.”
Matthew rolled his eyes. “I am not, and never have been. At least complain about something that’s real, Alfred. Go ahead, Ivan, I don’t mind.”
The man nodded appreciatively and placed a cigarette in his mouth, then flicked his lighter a few times before it flared to life. He took a long, slow drag, and blew the smoke out in neat little grey-white circles. The room was quiet but for Arthur’s unintelligible sleep babble (when had he fallen asleep?) and the nearly silent sound of Ivan’s breathes as he blew the smoke out in various interesting ways.
Matthew’s voice ended the calm hush. “Do you think you could show me?”
Ivan lifted his head from it’s perch resting against the back of the chair. “What?”
Matthew cleared his throat nervously. “Would it bother you if I went with you on your next hunt? You know, to see your process in-person?”
The Russian man’s face lit up and he pushed himself to lean forward. “Of course, Matvey. I would be honored.”
Alfred twitched at the man’s use of his brother’s nickname. No one called Matthew that but him. Ivan was beginning to drag on his last nerve, but the last thing we wanted was for Matthew to get mad and “break up” with him again. It had taken him three months to get Matthew to even speak to him the last time, and he had no need to know how long it would take the next. All he wanted to do was punch the man square in the mouth, but instead he stood and excused himself to bed. Ivan offered up a little wave and Matthew nodded, and Alfred turned on his heel and stalked to his room to throw himself down onto the bed and fume.
“I’m sorry about him, he’s a little over-protective. He’s doing his ‘macho posturing’ thing, he’ll get over it in a few days. He did the same thing with Arthur.” Matthew explained, sipping his coffee
“Not a problem.” Ivan lifted his hand to stop the man’s apologies. “May I ask you something?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“I have read about it on the internet, but I have always wanted to know how you two got into this kind of thing in the first place.”
“It’s Alfred’s fault that we’ve been fugitives for so long. It sucks having no credit, I can’t even buy a car.” Matthew shook his head and sighed. “Well, I may as well give you the condensed version. The articles were pretty accurate, though.”
wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
It was early spring, in a small town in upstate New York, not far from Tupper Lake. Matthew, thirteen, Alfred, fourteen, and their father; a Mr. Ron F Jones of minimum-wage days wasted down at the local gas station, all lived together in humble settings. It was a close-knit kind of place, where cashiers continued to pump customer’s gas and everyone knew everyone else’s name. Seasonal illness flew fast, and rumors flew faster through the elderly women who considered themselves the community’s most affluent members. The Jones family stayed in a small house on the edge of town just along the side of a large corn farm. It was humble, and a little ramshackle, but it was homey and inviting in a “mom and pop” sort of way. They had a large yard, kept cleanly trimmed by their father, that was flanked opposite the farm by a large clump of trees. They had an old swing set, a sandbox that had seen better years when the boys were younger, and a small inflatable children’s pool.
Life seemed easy to the boys, who only had to worry about traveling to school every weekday and helping out around the house with chores on weekends. Their father never spoke of their financial issues when he came home late every night and threw together a dinner of microwaveable meals. They would sit in the living room on their worn old canary yellow hand-me-down couch and watch Keenan and Kell as they ate and their father knocked back beer after beer. The days slid by with the slow calm that only a stagnant kind of comfort could provide. Days melded into nights and it was as if one could feel every minute as they carried them through the years of their lives.
Alfred and Matthew were both in the same grade. When Alfred was supposed to have started Kindergarten, he had flat-out refused to go without his brother. Once it had become clear that he would not be swayed, their father caved in and allowed the boy to wait a year before he was to be enrolled. The older boy had a fairly large group of friends, and spent much of his time attending after-school clubs.
Matthew had always been a shy child, avoiding his classmates religiously and preferring to spend his time alone beneath the trees of the playground during recess. When they were home, the boys were nearly inseparable. Alfred followed his brother around everywhere, carrying one-sided conversations and helping Matthew in any way he could. Matthew was too short to reach an apple in one of the trees that dotted their property, and Alfred was there to climb up and retrieve it for him. Matthew was tired of walking, Alfred would lift him up and carry him piggy-back to where ever they were going. Matthew wanted new books, Alfred took up a paper route.
He thought himself Matthew’s personal super hero.
They shared their home with a black and white cat of mixed breed, Cally. Alfred took the most care of the friendly animal, feeding and watering and brushing and changing her litter box whenever he found it unable to be scooped. Every Friday night was Horror Night, where they would sit down as a family and partake in a few horror flicks that Ron had rented on his way home from work. Alfred would more often than not end up crying part-way through the film, then wake up shrieking in the night. Often times, Alfred would creep into Matthew’s room in the middle of the night and slip into his bed. Matthew had asked him a thousand times why he did not just ask to have the film genre changed to something else, but Alfred would always insist that he had to watch them for some vague and convoluted reason.
Every now and then, Matthew would disappear for a few hours. Alfred would search all about the house for him, and finally give up to watch cartoons. Matthew would always reappear in about two hours, just showing up behind Alfred like a ghost and announcing something along the lines of dinner being ready or requesting something. As time went on and Matthew consistently refused to tell him where he was going, Alfred followed him out into the small woods, ducking and dodging excessively as he pretended that he was a spy. Matthew wandered through a small footpath, talking to himself quietly (he was one to think aloud, and Alfred constantly told his that it made him look crazy) about what he planned on doing for his science project. A volcano or a diorama of the universe?
How generic, please grow some creativity, Mattie. Was one of the thoughts that had crossed Alfred’s mind.
He came upon a small clearing that shielded a large rock sitting in the shade and a small stake pounded deeply into the ground. A dog was tethered to the pole by a short leash, and Alfred recognized it immediately. She was a scraggily stray bitch from town; Everyone called her Shep, and no one knew why. The townsfolk treated her well, feeding her scraps and happily petting her on the sidewalks. She had a little plastic bowl full with water nearby, and wagged her tail happily when she saw Matthew.
He smiled and patted her head as he walked past to set his school backpack on the rock. She bounced happily when he came back to her, wagging frantically and lapping at his hands. He told her to “stay down” and pushed her away lightly, then sat down on the ground beside her. She sat down and he pulled a little plastic bag from his pocket: miniature sausages. He sat there and fed her, commanding an impressive repertoire of tricks before he rewarded her.
“These are your favorite treats, right?” He asked her, smiling as he motioned for her to roll over and she obeyed. “And I know what all tricks you can do.”
He had her stand, and then hop in a full circle before he offered the little bit of meat. “And I know your name, and I know your smell. How tall, how heavy…” He fell silent and Alfred wondered why anyone would care to know so much about a dirty stray dog. Clearly he had been keeping the beast in secret, since Alfred was positive that their father would never agree to take on another pet. It was hard enough to convince him to get Cally.
He had her sit and set the treats aside. He reached out and pushed his index finger into her mouth and ran it over the sharp bumps of her teeth and smooth heat of her gums, then past her nearly closed molars and onto her tongue. She looked around and twitched her ears at the sounds of small animals scurrying through the underbrush, uncaring of her mouth’s invasion. Matthew scooted closer to her on his butt, and leaned forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder as his finger continued to explore her wet maw. It was soft and rolling and so hot. Wet and inviting, yet unattainable for the sharp teeth.
Alfred sunk down to his knees, still peeking from behind a thick tree. He was absolutely perplexed as to why his brother seemed to enjoy poking a dog in the mouth so much. How much fun could it be, really? Matthew slowly extracted his finger and wiped the saliva on the dog’s fur, then pulled her into a loose hug. He nuzzled his face in her dark fur and pulled away. He made a little twirling motion with his fingers and she rolled over onto her back, looking at the treat bag expectantly. He crawled over her on his hands and knees and just looked her over for a good thirty seconds. He lifted his right hand and slipped his index and middle fingers back into her mouth and rolled them about her tongue. He pulled them out and they glistened with her spit, then he reached down and tapped the pads of his moist digits against the spade that was her vagina.
Alfred’s mouth fell open and his eyes flew wide. Ew! Gross, what the heck is that about Mattie?! He wanted to just walk away and pretend that he had never seen anything, but he was terrified that his brother would hear him trying to escape in the relative silence of the little woods. He wanted to turn around behind the tree and wait it out, but whatever was going on ensnared his attention and he could not force himself to tear his eyes away.
As Alfred wrestled with himself in silence, Matthew had just pushed his fingers inside. It was hot and so, so tight. A little upward arching bend, followed by a tight ring of smooth muscle that contracted deliciously when he rubbed her clit. He kneaded her soft inner walls slowly and gently, trying to loosen her up a bit. He didn’t want to hurt her, at least not like this. When she felt pliable enough he pulled his fingers from her and unbuttoned his jeans. He pulled them off, along with his red junior boxers, and tossed them aside. He rubbed her stomach a few times, then moved his hand down to the base of her underbelly and pushed lightly, gently massaging the soft flesh.
“C’mon,” He muttered, still pressing softly, “Hurry up or Ron’ll get worried and come looking for me.” Almost on cue, Shep wriggled a bit as a stream of urine flowed from her and onto the grassy earth. Matthew put his hand beneath the flow and caught some in his palm, and used it as a kind of impromptu lubricant. He aimed and pushed slowly inside of her and she wiggled a bit on the grass. She felt wonderful, wrapped so tightly around his juvenile dick, her insides twitching in feather-light waves as he began to move.
Alfred’s face was bright red as he reluctantly watched his younger brother thrust into the calm and decidedly uninterested animal with tiny moans slipping past his lips in random intervals. It was so wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong and he could barely think. This was what Matthew did when he wandered off? Come here and have S.E.X with a dog that was suffering unfortunate circumstances? When did he start? Why?! He shook his head vigorously, trying to clear his jumbled thoughts.
Matthew felt the familiar, yet still relatively new, sensation of imminent release building. He sped his thrusts, peeking down to watch himself slide in and out of her stretched sex. He shuddered and with a tiny hiss of breath emptied himself inside of her. He pushed in a few more times, riding the heightened sensitivity he experienced post-orgasm, before slowly pulling out. He held up a finger and commanded her to wait, and leaned over to take a little sausage from the bag. He sat back on his legs and watched as his spend dripped from her tender hole and slid across her fur to pool at the base of her tail. He gave her the treat and she took it daintily, then rolled over to snack it down then bend to the side and lick herself clean.
Matthew apologized to her for his short stay as he pulled his clothes back on and took up his bag, assuring her that he would be back the next day to make up for it. “Don’t worry, I’m not just using you or anything.” He said, “I really do like you. I meant it when I said I wanted to know everything about you.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked back toward their home.
Alfred waited for him to wander out of sight before he finally stood up and patted the pine needles from his rear and stretched out his sleeping legs. Pins and needles stabbed his calves mercilessly for a moment and he stood there, trying to massage them back to life. Once the pain had subsided, he started walking back toward his house, dwelling on the idea of setting the dog free, or telling their father, or (god forbid) confronting Matthew face-to-face on the decidedly odd behavior. Letting Shep go seemed like the best choice, but he feared that Matthew would somehow know that he was the culprit. The idea of telling their father died almost as quickly as it was formed, the last thing he wanted was for Matthew to get into trouble. Needles, sticks, and leaves crunched quietly underfoot as he walked, trying to figure out his best choice for action.
By the time he got home, both Matthew and Ron were sitting in the living room sharing a bag of Lays chips and watching the news. Alfred stood in the doorway awkwardly for a moment, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. Just out-right say “Hey Dad, Mattie was doing weird things in the woods.” There was no way he could say something like that so casually, so he just walked into the room and sat down on the floor opposite his brother. He cast him a glance out of the corner of his eye and watched him pop a chip into his mouth and chew it slowly before swallowing and quietly commenting on the current news story; something to do with school funding. Alfred looked at the TV but paid no attention to what the older gentleman on the screen was saying. After a few minutes, he excused himself to his room. Ron called out after him, reminding him of dinner, but he declined and wandered up to bed.
Matthew sat there a moment, tilting his head in thought. The only time Alfred declined food was when he was upset about something. He stood, told his father that he would be down when the meal was ready, and ascended the short flight of stairs to the second floor. Alfred’s room was on the right, just after the broom closet. Matthew knocked lightly twice before pushing the door out and flipping on the light. He closed the door behind himself and walked over to plop down at the foot of his brother’s bed.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, leaning back to look at his face. Alfred answered with a clipped “nothing” and buried his face in his pillow.
Matthew let his feet swing over the edge of the bed, still too short to touch the ground. He said nothing for a long while, then reached out to poke Alfred in the thigh softly. “Quit pouting, you big baby.”
“I’m not pouting, dick.”
“I’m gonna tell Ron you’re swearing.”
Alfred sat up in his bed and glared at his younger sibling. “You better not or I’ll beat you up.”
“Then come downstairs and eat.”
Alfred sat there a moment, fingering the hem of his nightshirt as he tried to ignore the groans his stomach was making and attempted for remember why he had thought missing out on a warm meal would make him feel better in the first place. As Matthew stood to leave, Alfred called out after him, “I‘ll be right down.”
Within a few minutes, Alfred had pulled on a pair of pajama pants and met them downstairs just in time for Rocko’s to start. They ate their dinner in relative silence, with their father interjecting something about his day at work every now and then.
Life went back to normal; the regular trips to and from school, laundry every Saturday night, dinner and cartoons. The only difference was that Alfred now followed Matthew off into the woods when he went, with no idea as to why. He found that his brother did not always do inappropriate things to Shep, and it actually occurred about two of every five or six times he went to see her. Normally he would just lean over the rock and work on his homework, or take Shep for a walk, or read. He would clean up after the dog and bury the leavings a ways away from the little clearing, and spend long hours teaching her new tricks. Once in a while he would discover another one that he had not known she could do, and always commented on knowing her all the more about her each time it happened.
On one sunny Tuesday evening, Matthew was making his usual trek out through the woods and Alfred was once again following him. He had put a few leaves and sticks into his hair and rubbed dirt onto his cheeks; he was pretending to be on an army mission. Matthew entered the clearing, and as normal set his bag on the large, flat rock. He patted Shep on the head and reached into his bag to retrieve a massive knife.
Alfred recognized it from the shed out back of their house. What Matthew was doing with it he could only wonder. He watched as his brother sat by the dog and began to pet her. After a few minutes, he spoke. “I’m pretty sure I know everything about you now.”
The dog let out a long yawn and shook her head. Matthew scratched her behind the ear and she turned into it, clearly enjoying the treatment. “I like you a lot, Shep. Don’t forget that, okay?” He motioned for her to roll over, and she did. He ran his fingers lightly over her lightly furred stomach, and lifted the blade with his other hand. She wriggled ignorantly on the grass, tail wagging furiously as he continued to stroke her belly.
“Good girl, Shep.” He cooed, and brought his hand up to her throat and held her down. He thrust the knife as deeply as he could into her stomach, and a hard yank drug it down to her crotch. A wretched and half-choked squeak of a yelp escaped her throat and she began to thrash horribly. He dropped the knife onto the ground beside himself and thrust his hand up into her gaping abdomen to reach up into her chest and locate her heart, his tongue poking out in concentration. He leaned over her and stared directly into her panicked eyes as he began to squeeze the rapidly beating organ. Hot blood poured from the wound and her thrashing was causing her slick organs to fall loose into the grass as she panted and whined harshly. Her heart fluttered frantically in his hand as she died, before finally constricting powerfully and then falling loose and useless.
Alfred felt like he was going to die of fear and each little sound the dog made his skin crawl and stomach turn. Of all the things he had to come to expect of his brother, this was not one of them It was like one of the horror movies he felt so compelled to watch, but real. So real, and so… Exciting. The way she had thrashed in panic, the nearly obsessive look of concentration in his brother’s eyes, the horrible terror he felt of his sibling that very moment. He saw Matthew pull his hand from the beast’s chest and look at the wet red in interest, before reaching to unzip his jeans.
Alfred leaned against the tree and peeked out in morbid fascination, the slamming of his heart in his chest far more pleasurable than it should have been.
Matthew worked to pull his clothes off without getting any blood on them, which proved to be quite a feat. He finally managed, and crawled back up to the dead animal. He took some of her blood and used it to slick himself before slowly pushing into her and shuddered lightly as he did so. She was still hot and tight, somehow he had expected her to just suddenly turn cold. He was actually a little disappointed. As he pushed into her again and again, he let his hands explore her soft insides. Rope after rope of intestines, little pink kidneys and her dark liver. He pulled some out, pushed some aside, until he came to the smooth red-smeared whiteness of the walls of her vagina. He could see himself inside of her, up the wet walls, and to her small womb. It was a fairly long, forked thing. Not the round humanoid uterus that he had anticipated. He poked it softly, then ran his finger down it’s length. He wrapped his fist around the length of her vaginal canal and squeezed, stroking himself with her sex. It felt amazing.
Alfred had unbuttoned him pants to pull himself out into the open air, and was pumping himself in time with his brother’s pushes. It made him feel so wrong, and dirty, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Something about the look of rapture on his brother’s face, or the terror that hung heavily around him at the whole ordeal, or the experience of watching the dog fight for it’s life, completely unaware that it was already too late.
Whatever the reason, his mind was too busy shutting itself down as his excitement grew, and with a little moan he spilled his seed onto the ground. Panting, he moved to zip his pants and lost his footing, and fell a little ways forward but caught himself on the tree. His foot struck out and landed squarely on a small branch, that cracked like thunder in the quiet of the forest. Matthew stilled immediately and his head shot up. He scanned the woods with his eyes as he slowly pulled himself from Shep’s corpse. He scanned his surroundings for a moment before his gaze fell on Alfred, who was still peeking out from behind the tree.
They stayed there a moment, staring at one another in silence. Alfred could feel the fine hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stand up at the horror of being detected. Matthew looked as if he were about to have a heart attack, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Alfred spun and sprinted as hard as he could back to the house. He jumped over logs and dips, zigzagged through tall trees, and finally burst out into the yard breathing heavily. His mind was blanked by the sheer shock at being seen, and the horrible knowledge that he would have to look at his brother ever again. He was terribly embarrassed and totally at loss as to what to do.
He jogged up to the house, breathing hard from his frantic dash, and shuffled inside. He went straight to his room and shut the door and it locked with a little ‘click.’ Matthew made it back about half an hour later, stiff with the fear of having been caught. He stood outside the old screen door, staring at the peeling green paint and chicken wire screen while he awaited the enraged call of his name from his father inside. He stood there for ten minutes, and finally when the call failed to come, he slowly slipped inside. He saw Ron sipping a beer and watching the Price is Right with a dignified disinterest, then crept up the stairs to eye Alfred’s door for a moment. Well, he hadn’t said anything yet, which was good.
He walked to the door and lifted his hand to knock, but then let it drop at his side. There was nothing he wanted less than to talk to Alfred at that moment. A thick and awkward aura filled the air, and he eventually decided to retreat to his own room and try to sleep. He took up some pajamas and stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind himself. He peeled his clothes off and ducked into the soothing spray to wash the remaining blood and dirt from his body. He was tired from burying her, so he only stayed in for a short while and climbed out with a heavy yawn. All of the excitement in the world couldn’t keep him up after the strain of such an eventful day, so he laid down in his bed and drifted off to sleep.
Alfred, on the other hand, spent most of the night fretting about the situation until he finally, exhausted, fell into a troubled slumber. He dreamt of Matthew up in some far-off place, asking for various things; sometimes money, or food, or help with some bullies. He would just sit there, unattainable, legs and arms crossed with that deceptively soft expression. Alfred wanted to help, but he found himself unable to find a way up to where his brother was. He woke up throughout the night, perplexed by the strangeness of his thoughts. He fell asleep one last time, and did not dream.
He awoke to the sound of his father knocking on his door and the searing light of early morning stabbing his eyes through a small slit in his navy blue curtains. He rubbed his eyes and squinted into the bright rays, calling out to his dad that he was, in fact, awake. Yes, he was aware that there was school that day. He pushed the blanket from his body and rolled up to a sit to stretch. He yawned lightly, scratched his side, and stood to walk to his dresser and rummage about for something to wear. He considered making time for a short shower, but realized that he would have to forgo breakfast to be ready for when the bus came, so he decided against it. He could always get in after school, so he grabbed his bag and went bounding down the stairs and landed in the living room with a loud ‘thump.’ He turned his head and saw Matthew, totally ready for the day (as usual, he was always up long before Alfred) and playing with Cally. Before he had a moment to even think about it, he dashed across the room and snatched the animal away, pressing her to his chest and glaring harshly at his brother.
“Hey! Give ‘er back, Alfred!” He whined, returning the glare with dangerous force.
Alfred shook his head vigorously, taking a step back and squeezing the cat tighter. “No, you’ll get all weird with her!”
Matthew’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he turned his face away and blushed red. “Why were you out there?” He mumbled through the little shade of hair that obscured his features.
“I was following you.” Alfred said, and cried out softly when the irritated cat struggled to get out of his arms and scratched him. He dropped her onto the floor and she bolted away down into the basement.
“Why would you follow me?” Matthew asked, looking up into Alfred’s eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“I never did it before. Promise you won’t tell Ron and I’ll never do it again.”
“Mean it?”
Matthew nodded, his face pale and gaze troubled. He seemed to sink into himself of the lumpy old couch, balling his hands into little fists pulling his arms in close to his body. Alfred thought it over for a moment, then nodded back. “Deal.”
Once again, life regained some semblance of normalcy. Days turned into weeks, which melted into months. One Friday night in June, Alfred found himself terribly shaken after watching the horror that was Hellraiser: Bloodline. He lay in his bed, listening to the shrieking of wind outside of his window and imagining monstrous hell-beasts crawling up from under his bed. Finally unable to stand it any longer, he collected his pillow into his arms and shuffled quickly to Matthew’s room. He slid into his brother’s bed and curled up beneath the blankets, pressed up against his bare back.
Matthew blinked his eyes open as he slowly awoke, then looked around himself a bit before realizing that Alfred was next to him. “Aren’t you too old for this kinda thing?” He asked groggily, scratching his chin.
“Shut up.” He was glad that Matthew had awoken, but he would be damned it he would ever tell him that. He scooted up closer to him, trying to curl up into the smallest ball he could muster.
“It’s just a movie.”
“So? It’s supposed to be scary, stupid.”
Matthew rolled over and pulled him into a somewhat stiff hug. “Don’t start freaking out in your sleep again, you kicked me in the stomach last time.”
Alfred relaxed a bit and stretched his legs out, having someone else nearby making him feel far more secure. He let his eyes fall shut and snuggled closer to his brother to sleep when something poked him in the stomach. What the heck? He thought, reaching down to figure out what it was. Matthew yelped and pulled away when his fingers touched it, and all at once Alfred knew what it was.
“Dude!” He squeaked, pushing back as far as he could without falling from the mattress.
“Shut up, it just happens when I’m sleeping sometimes!” Matthew snapped, rolling back over and pulling blanket up over his head.
Alfred lay there a moment, saying nothing, before he scooted closer and poked Matthew on the shoulder to get his attention. For a long while Matthew said nothing, then turned his head to look at his brother. “Yeah?”
He searched for words for a moment, opening and closing his mouth before he realized that he probably looked like a fish and stopped. He flitted his bright blue eyes up to meet his brother’s purple ones, then dropped his gaze down to watch his chin. “I, um… I… c-can I touch you?”
Matthew raised an eyebrow.
“Down there?” Alfred made a little pointing motion toward the other boy’s crotch. Matthew spun around and stared at him for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief.
“Why?”
“I was just thinking about before, when you… When you stabbed Shep, how you looked like you really liked it when you were… Doing stuff.” Alfred managed to choke out through his trembling, dry lips. “I guess I just wanted to see it again?”
“That’s stupid.” Matthew stated flatly, and Alfred’s blush climbed up to tint his ears. After a moment of watching his brother sputter uselessly, Matthew took hold of his hand and pulled it down between them to rest on the rise of his pajama pants. “Go ahead, if you just have to.”
Alfred stayed still a moment, unable to think of what to do with the warm firmness resting gently in his hand, before he decided that the best course of action was to stroke it lightly. Matthew’s finger twitched slightly and he let out a soft moan, rubbing himself against Alfred’s hand. He ran his fingers over it a few times before gathering up enough courage to dip his hand past the elastic of his little brother’s pajamas.
He wrapped his fingers around the younger boy’s childish member and squeezed, watching every minute change of expression Matthew made. His large eyes were glazed and half-lidded and his breaths came out in tiny pants as he thrust up into Alfred’s warm hand. Alfred thought back to his father’s porn magazines he had seen so long ago (they now seemed dull and drab in comparison to the feeling of his beloved little brother quivering against him) and remembered seeing the women commonly putting the men’s penises into their mouths. He thought about it a moment, knowing it where pee came from, and licked his lips in a nervous and slightly disgusted show of apprehension.
He used his free hand to push Matthew’s pants out of the way and wriggled down into the sheets, until he was entirely in the dark of the blankets. He stuck out his tongue and hesitantly touched it to the tip. It didn’t taste like anything, really, and smelled of soap. He let out a relieved little sigh and licked it again, this time slower with his tongue flat. Matthew took in a little hiss of breath and writhed his legs lightly at the new sensation. Alfred was a little awkward, clumsy and hesitant in his novice technique, but to Matthew it was one of the best things he had ever experienced. Just behind gutting the dog that he had nurtured and trained. He covered his mouth with his hand to muffle the already tiny gasps he made, taking hold of Alfred’s hair with no idea as to why.
Using both hands to push Alfred’s mouth further onto the entire length of his boyhood, Matthew came with a small shudder. Alfred made a choking, sputtering noise at the sudden intrusion in his mouth, and pushed away. He made a disgusted face and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“Gross! You should’a told me before the stuff came out.” He stuck his finger into his mouth and pretended to gag. The boys sat up on their knees and stared at one another for a moment, before Matthew looked away to the bed and spoke up.
“I’ll do you now.”
Alfred was taken aback, and muttered something along the lines of “If you have to.”
Matthew leaned down on all fours before his brother and eyed his crotch for a moment. He reached into the little flap in Alfred’s briefs and pulled out his member, quietly scrutinizing it. “It looks like mine.”
“Well it’s not like they’re all different shapes or anything. What did you expect, a purple rectangle?” He was bright red, nervous and heart fluttering, so he diverted his eyes and told his brother to hurry.
Matthew took the base in his hand for better control and slipped it into his mouth. In an attempt to mimic what his brother did, he bobbed his head up and down, trying to find a rhythm. Every now and then his teeth would scrape along the hot flesh and Alfred would let out a hissing little moan, twitching his hips further toward the heat. It hurt, but there was a strange pleasure to be had in the physical sensation. The very notion that Matthew; Object of a Thousand Crossing and Convoluted Emotions, was doing what he was doing far surpassed any discomfort. He would build up a kind of pain as his teeth grazed lightly over the head of Alfred’s dick, yet immediately remedy it with the soft bliss of his warm tongue and lips. It caused Alfred to radiate with both shame and another deep-seeded and unfathomable emotion he would not come to understand for another two years.
With a loud cry, having been only accustomed to the newly acquired pass-time of his hand, he pulled back and came, the slick substance shooting out across his brother’s mouth and cheeks. Matthew made and disgusted face and backed away, arms up as if to fend off attack.
“Gross, Alfred!” He yelled, jumping from the bed and snatching an old towel from the hamper to wipe his face. The older boy apologized profusely, claiming that he had not meant to get any of it on him, it just kind of happened. They argued back and forth for a moment, until their father yelled at them from the other room to go to sleep. They put aside their petty disagreement, got dressed, and climbed into bed.
A few months later, Alfred and Matthew climbed off of the bus together, arguing back and forth about the weekend’s chores. Who would do the dishes? Who would wash the walls? Alfred refused to polish anything, be it wood or metal, and his brother insisted that he was the one who had done it last. They traded rude words back and forth until, in a huff of anger, Alfred hit Matthew over the head with his backpack. He saw the look in his brother’s eyes, turned, and ran back to the house while trying to formulate some excuse as to why he should not find himself in trouble when Matthew told their father. Which he was sure to do.
And Alfred didn’t want to get his Playstation taken away again.
He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, knowing Matthew less than blessed in the field of athletics, and came bursting through the front door with a loud “He’s lying! I did not!” Silence answered him, and he looked around himself and saw no one. There was a note on the fridge, attached by an old moose magnet, which upon closer inspection read:
Sorry, boys, I’ll be home a little late tonight. Microwave yourselves something to eat and don’t wait up for me. We’ll have to move Movie Night to tomorrow, sorry Alfred I know you were looking forward to Scream. I’ll get a whole mess of movies on my way home to make up for it.
Matthew, make sure your brother does the dusting and shining this time. And be sure he showers, if he doesn’t don’t let him have any of the ice cream bars. Don’t try to cook anything on the stove or you’ll burn the house down. Love you, boys. Remember to lock up before bed.
Alfred crumpled up the note and threw it in the trash. The less his brother knew about what delicious food-stuffs to withhold and why, the better. Just then Matthew burst through the door, flush and panting. “Dad! Alfred hit me!”
“He’s not gonna be home ‘til late.” Alfred informed him, pulling open the freezer and retrieving an ice cream bar. “He said you’re supposed to do the dusting and shining today.”
“That’s not even fair!” Matthew groaned, dropping his backpack on the floor and yanking the door shut behind himself. He passed his shoes over the entry rug a few times before stalking into the living room, dipping his hand into the case of Coke on his way. He went into the room and plopped down in front of the couch, leaning his back on it, and flipped on the TV. A Simpsons rerun.
Alfred wandered into the room, biting his ice cream, and flopped down on the couch beside his brother. “We’re having a movie marathon tomorrow.”
Matthew nodded, and they watched a few cartoons before they got started on their homework (the younger insisted quietly heavily upon this) and afterwards started their chores. Alfred washed the dishes and swept while Matthew dusted, both deciding to hold off on the windows and walls to see if they could get away with skipping them for that week. Once they were done and quite famished, they got into a paper, rock, scissors battle to see who would be tasked with preparing their dinner. Matthew was losing five to one, but he just cast his brother the soft, pleading look he had perfected over the years and requested that Alfred cook.
And so he found himself in the living room, playing a game of Actua Ice Hockey 2, while Alfred wandered about in the kitchen with the food. The familiar beep beep beep of the microwave announced food, so Matthew slapped the ‘power’ button and changed the television’s input. Alfred walked in, balancing the hot little plastic trays with a small grimace at the warm discomfort they exuded against his forearms, and took his usual spot on the couch. He handed one tray, and a fork, to his brother and they ate over Pokemon commercials and the comedic styling’s of All That.
Their father was usually home by five o’ clock, but when he worked late he had the chance of finding himself home anywhere between ten at night and two in the morning. Depending on how many payrolls he had to scuffle through and how well the high school kids he was the assistant manager for cleaned the station, that was. Alfred and Matthew finished their dinner and sat for a moment in silence, and a quick meeting of the eye expressed a decision that was too embarrassing for them both to be spoken aloud. They dropped their empty off-brand Chicken Fajita instant meal trays into the garbage and bounded up the stairs, already starting an argument about who was going first.
Things had a way of becoming routine after a few weeks, regardless of the circumstances.
Matthew shut the door behind himself, uncaring to lock it since they were alone, and kicked off his shoes. Alfred ran over to the bed and threw himself onto it, grinning as he bounced a few times like an aggravated fish. He sat up, legs crossed, and timidly met his brother’s eyes. “I wanna go first.”
“Heck no you wont.” Matthew huffed as he crossed the room to push Alfred over onto his back. He began to unbutton the boy’s blue polyester shirt, fumbling with the tiny plastic circles every now and then. Alfred leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. When he leaned in for the mouth, Matthew quickly turned his head and the corners of his lips twitched in a half-hidden scowl.
“You wanna try something?” He asked, pushing Alfred back down slowly.
“What?”
“Can I put my thing in you?”
Alfred stared for a moment, then twisted his face in a confused expression. “Where the heck would you put it?!”
“In…” He turned away, too embarrassed to meet his brother’s eyes, and blurted it out in a barely audible mumble. “In your butt.”
“Ew, that’s gross! No! Why would you want to put anything in my butt?!”
“Well, you don’t have lady-parts, so where else would I put it?” Matthew asked, tilting his head slightly. Alfred looked up at him with a rather disapproving expression, so he added, “Let me do it and I’ll let you kiss me on the mouth.”
Alfred thought for a moment, weighing pros and cons, before he finally gave a tiny nod and turned his eyes away. He slowly let his knees fall away from one another, spreading his legs without any real idea of how to go about it all, and lifted his forearms up to block the majority of his face from his brother’s view. “Just get on with it then.”
Matthew took hold of the older boy’s jeans and pulled them down with some difficulty before he spoke. “Do you have anything I could use to get it wet?”
“Why would I have something like that?” Alfred murmured, peeking from between his arms.
“Well you’re older than me, I assumed you did that kind of stuff by now.” He made a kind of pumping motion with his hand.
Alfred cast him a glare and pointed across the room to his desk without a word. Matthew went to it and after a bit of rummaging through drawers found a little bottle of lotion. When he came back they went about a rather awkward shuffling to try and figure how it was all going to work, with a few less than kind words tossed back and forth, before Alfred wound up on his back with his legs spread and Matthew hovered over him.
“So… Do you just stick it in?” Alfred asked, embarrassed at the position he was in.
“Probably.” Matthew pushed Alfred’s legs a little further apart and took a moment to find a comfortable place to settle in before he went about trying to aim.
“Hang on a sec, you said you would… Ya know, on the mouth?” Alfred piped up, earning himself an exasperated eye roll.
“Fine.” The younger boy leaned forward over him, and just as their lips brushed the bedroom door was pushed in and their father came hurrying into the room.
“It was hard to fandangle, but I managed to get all of my stuff done nearly on ti-” He stood there a moment, clearly trying to process the scene, before he cleared his throat loudly. “If I say anything about this now I’m viable to get very, very angry. I suggest you go to your room, Matthew, right now.”
The boys disentangled themselves from one another, struck silent in the shock of being caught. Alfred silently slipped beneath his blanket and all but peeked out at his father. Matthew silently slipped back into his pants and abruptly stood and rushed past their father and down the hall to his own room. Ron instructed Alfred to stay in bed, and followed the other boy to his room.
When they were both inside he instructed Matthew to sit down. He paced back and forth a few times, let out a long and drawn-out sight, then finally turned to his son to speak. “I know… I know you boys are going through pu… Ah god damn it… Puberty and all of that, but there are just some things I can’t have you doing.”
Matthew sat silently, starving at his hands with his face burning red. Ron tapped the side of his thigh a few times with an antsy little movement before he let out another one of his tired-sounding sighs and went to the bed to sit down. “Like I said, you can’t be up to those types of things, so I’m going to call Grandma Gertrude tomorrow and see if she can hang on to you for a while. I know you’re younger, but you’re a little more put-together than your brother so I feel like you could handle it better. You’re a good boy, Mattie, and I’ll have her send you back when you boys are a little older and know a bit more ‘right’ from ‘wrong.’”
With that, he bid the boy goodnight and made his way to his own room with an awkwardly given rule that they stay in their respective rooms all night.
Alfred lay beneath his blankets for the next two hours, curled up into a tightly squeezed embarrassed little ball. I’m in so much trouble, he thought in alarm repetition, rolling this way and that in his little wool cocoon. After a long while, he heard the familiar creak of his door being opened and popped his head o0ut into his room’s relatively cool air.
Matthew slipped in, next to silent, and crept up to his bed. “Are you awake?”
“I’m looking right at you.” Alfred whispered at him, watching the younger boy grope about in the darkness.
“My night vision is terrible.” He grumbled, kneeling up against Alfred’s bed to whisper as quietly as possible. “Ron said he’s gonna send me to live with Gertrude in Canada.”
“Why Grandma?”
“She’s far away, obviously. Think about that, Alfred. I’d be all the way in Canada. You’ll never see me again. He said he‘ll send me there and I can never come back.”
When Alfred frowned at the idea, Matthew nodded reassuringly. “He wont listen if you just talk to him, trust me I tried. You need to do something about it.”
“Like what?” The older sibling asked, sitting up and tilting further to look at his brother.
“Hold out your hands.” Matthew instructed, and as soon as Alfred did he leaned forward and planted a soft, if not somewhat stiff, kiss on his brother’s lips as he reached into the side of his jeans and produced a hammer. He dropped it into Alfred’s hands while calm violet eyes looked into wide blue ones, then pulled away just enough to talk.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
Matthew cleared his throat, looking down at his empty mug. “I ran out of coffee, I’m gonna go get more. You want a refill?” He asked Ivan, standing up and taking both of the used cups. Ivan shook his head and Matthew cast a little polite smile.
“I’ll get back to this when I’m done rinsing these out. Feel free to use the toilet while I’m in here.” He called behind himself as he made his way into the kitchen. Once again, Ivan declined.
He tilted his head back and watched Matthew disappear into the other room before he rearranged the way he was sitting a little. He smiled a little to himself as he reached into his pocket to fish out another cigarette. These men, the so-called Skin Brothers, were far more enjoyable than he could have hoped for. The younger was attractive in a ‘cute’ kind of way, while the older was so easily excited it was more than fun to keep him on edge.
It is good I did not kill them. He thought to himself as his lighter flared for a moment and illuminated the room with its soft glow.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia, Candy Land, Keenan and Kell, Lays, Transformers, Superman, the Price is Right, Hellraiser, Playstation, Coke a Cola, the Simpsons, Actua Ice Hockey, Pokemon, or All That. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no money from the writing of this fan-made product.

Please excuse the drop in quality from before, as I mentioned before I now have no betas so I had to proof-read this myself. This was supposed to be a single chapter installment that went over their past, but I'm sure you'll notice that this chapter is about twice as long as all of the others. It's only at the halfway point if the flashback at this point so I was forced to break it into two parts. I actually rewrote the shota sex about four times to keep it somewhat believeable and have the awkwardness cranked up to 120%, hahaha.
…What the fuck am I writing? I hate animal abuse and it really pisses me off. I killed her quick to try and make up for it, but still… Oh god, my heart. Rocked out to Skrillix for this, it really helped me get the intensity jacked up high when it needed to be. Father Said is a great song, I’d recommend it to anyone with a taste for Dubstep. Reviews, comments, criticisms. All are welcome and very much encouraged, let me know how you feel so I can fix what needs to be fixed and make this the best it can be.

I update my author page pretty often, so if there's some slowness happening feel free to take a look and it'll probably have something about the issue. I'm sorry this took so long to get out, I've been unable to write for so long! Clean version isn't even done but I decided to put this out anyway just so people know it's not dead.
Shep

Born: Chapter four - Died: Chapter four

You were too good for your fate.
A moment of silence for our dearly departed plot device. ;_;
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