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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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"Right here,"
Ivan motioned for Francis to move closer, and, as to demonstrate what he wanted him to do, he leaned farther against Arthur's thighs and slowly ran his tongue against the wet surface, from his spent member farther to his perineum and his thighs, and Francis followed suit, licking his lips and grinning at the prospect of tormenting Arthur's helpless form, but, even as he obediently followed suit, he murmured to Ivan in response,
"I hope you don't think I'm getting him ready for you, after this you're fucking me."
"Oh, I am having you get him ready for me,"
Ivan replied with the sweetest grin, unfazed as he waited expectantly for Francis to comply nonetheless.
Francis frowned, gazing with quiet annoyance.
"Ha-ha…!" came suddenly Arthur's voice from below, "serves you right, you per—hey!"
He was cut short by a quick slap to the thigh on Francis' part,
"Watch it, England…! You're in no position to be singing taunts…!"
But despite it all, Arthur continued laughing, enjoying immensely the way Ivan had put the other boy in his place.
"You won't even be able to handle Russia," Francis sneered, "you have no idea what you're in for."
"I thought I asked you to get him ready for me?"
Ivan said with unsettling serenity, and Francis practically sulked as he bent forth to comply, waves of yellow hair falling over Arthur's naked hips.
"What about me," he murmured like a hurt child, "everyone said they wanna watch you give it to me."
"Is that what everyone said?"
For once, Francis found himself wishing that Alfred had somehow managed to kick Ivan's ass the times he had tried. Too bad he was a stupid American, each time Ivan beat him to a pulp, Alfred would cheerfully come back for more, grinning with good-natured threats about how presumably the hero was gonna triumph that time.
It was vastly amusing to Francis, who was no match for Alfred, himself, the times he'd come to kick his ass, presumably for what he and Ivan had "done to Matthew."
Funny, that.
All the ladies wanted to see more or less everyone "do things to Matthew" tonight, and Alfred had somehow okayed all of that.
It can't be helped, Francis sighed as he proceeded to lap at Arthur's thighs the way Ivan wanted, he'd be lying if somehow he pretended he didn't like that, as well. Ivan grinned, I knew eventually you'd come around, if he could, he'd pet Francis condescendingly on the head.
Arthur, who was delirious and overly-sensitive with aftershock, clung on to Francis' narrow hips unawares, disheveled spikes of his hair hanging down beneath him as he struggled weakly in response to their ministrations.
Some minutes later, Ivan had asked Francis to lean forth and grab Arthur under his arms, holding him right-side-up again as Ivan proceeded to lower his legs to his own hips. Francis complied, gazing with unquestionable dissatisfaction as he watched the other boy proceed to have at Arthur instead of him.
"You bastard,"
He murmured, addressing them both, and he found himself secretly hoping that England would find he's in over his head.
The blood slowly returning to the rest of his body, Arthur gazed with quiet curiosity as Ivan held his thighs apart, the large head of his member was hot, glistening, it felt nice at the sensitive skin just outside his entrance, "go on," he heard himself murmur with stifled impatience, he'd spent so much time on his own, playing with himself, perversely, deliberately using items too large to possibly ever fit—
But this was far nicer than anything else that he'd tried, just watching Ivan move against him from the outside like that, slowly, he thought he would reach forth and put it in, himself, if he weren't restrained—
Ivan smiled, taking his time,
"You're a little pervert just like Francis, aren't you," he softly laughed, and Arthur stiffened, suddenly offended,
"H..hey! Don't go comparing me with that tosser—"
"Hey, England! You want me to drop you?"
"I want you to get lost…!"
"No way in hell, if anyone's getting lost, it's you, I'm not leaving till I get some action from Ivan—"
"Is that so?"
Ivan asked, quite enjoying their argument and making no promises at all to follow through on Francis' expectations. Before either of them could respond, he moved forth then with his hips, wet sounds emanating from below as he slowly pressed the head in.
"Ah—ahhn—"
Arthur gasped, his naked abdomen arching in response, long legs stiffening behind Ivan's thighs—
His eyes closed, lips moving agape as he fought for composure, resisting the urge to allow the member farther in. It was good, oh, fuck, it was so good—
He was tremendously content, smug to have Francis watch this, in your face, wanker, he was gonna make it look even better than it was.
It worked, too, Francis was really quite annoyed, he really considered dropping Arthur, he didn't really care if that pissed Ivan off, but he kept a tight rein on his temper and watched, defeated—truth be told, it really was a thing to watch.
"Wo ist Amerika,"
Where's America
Vash grumbled irritably, the palms of his hands still plastered to his sister's eyes,
"Ich muss mit ihm über dieses Event reden. Ich werde da auf keinen Fall mitmachen!"
I need to talk to him about this event. There's no way I'm following through!
"Du hättest ihn die ganze letzte Woche darauf ansprechen können, und zwischen den Meetings, man sagt Dinge nicht in letzter Minute ab,"
You had all last week to talk to him about this, and during the meetings, you don't call things off at the last minute
Roderich replied with quiet irritation as he followed Vash on his journey down the hall. The boy deliberately avoided the living room as he proceeded through the corridor farther into the house,
"Dieses Event hätte von Anfang an gar nicht stattfinden sollen, erst diese—diese Party, und jetzt das—"
This event shouldn't have taken place to begin with, first that—that party, and now this—
"Als ich Amerika zuletzt gesehen habe, hat er—oh, da ist er—"
Last I saw America, he—oh, there he is—
Roderich said on spotting Matthew in the nearby den. He was standing before a large mirror, carefully straightening his blazer, like a child nervous on the first day of school.
"America…!"
Vash exclaimed, hands still on Liechtenstein's eyes, and he flushed suddenly when Matthew turned around, all at once realizing his mistake.
Matthew, who remembered nothing about their night at the party, merely grinned shyly in response,
"I'm Canada, actually…"
Even dressed explicitly in his Review Order uniform, he was still mistaken for his brother, it seemed…
"C…Canada—"
Vash stammered, surprised and confused by how calm the other boy seemed about this. He searched Matthew's face for signs of embarrassment, resentment—but there was nothing—
Matthew merely smiled back, good-naturedly, like nothing had happened at all—
"Would you know where America is?"
Roderich asked, and Matthew's eyes rose up and to the right as he thought about this.
"We were in the back yard not too long ago, maybe he's still in the kitchen—"
He motioned for them to follow as he left the den and headed down the hallway, navigating through France's large home with casual familiarity.
This was all very unsettling to Vash, infuriating, he was vastly annoyed with everything that had happened, he still hadn't recovered from the shame of being made to perform at the last event, from being so far subjugated, all while his little sister watched—
How many people knew about that? Just how far had the news even spread? Did Alfred know? Did Roderich?
Pacing down the hall that night, he hated having to deal with Roderich face-to-face again, awkwardly, irritably, it brought back old memories and feelings so carefully restrained, Vash wouldn't be made to play at the same game twice, he wasn't going to make a spectacle of himself that night, not in front of Roderich, not again, like that—
He very nearly bumped directly into Matthew's back when the taller boy stopped short at the kitchen entrance.
"What in the—Alfred…?"
Matthew murmured, almost a whisper, as his eyes fell slowly over the horrible mess in the room. Alfred gazed up from his third or fourth container of ice cream, covered with stains and syrup and crumbs, cross-legged and unimpressed as he leaned against the back of the fridge.
"Alfred, what in the hell….?"
Matthew asked as he slowly paced inside, wading over the bins and containers upturned on the floor.
"Are you crazy? What are you doing?"
"…hello…!"
There came the reply, Alfred grinning as he waved to Matthew and the others who have followed in his wake. He made no effort to get up and continued merely to shovel ice cream messily into his mouth, until Matthew knelt at his side and then grabbed the spoon out of his hand, annoyed.
"What the hell, Alfred, have you lost your mind? Have you forgotten you're getting up on stage in like twenty minutes—"
"Give me that," Alfred grumbled as he reached for the spoon, "I'm not going up on that stage."
"Not all messy like that, you're not! For the love of God, Alfred, are you drunk?"
Now Alfred glared quite irritably at his brother, finally taking the spoon from his hand.
"No, Matthew, I'm not drunk. Not like you were at that party."
Whatever Matthew was going to say next remained uselessly lodged at the back of his throat as he stared back at Alfred, mouth frozen where once he had a long-forgotten reprimand prepared.
He quietly blushed, blue eyes darting across Alfred's face with a mixture of embarrassment and surprise before slowly he lowered his gaze.
Roderich and Vash watched from the doorway, slowly scanning the disheveled mess in the room, and the brothers arguing by the fridge nearby.
"Ah—"
Roderich started, but his voice subtly trailed as Alfred continued,
"Well, but you're all sober now, and apparently that makes no difference. So go for it, bro."
"Alfred, what in the hell is the matter with you? You were the one who said no alcohol."
"Yeah, exactly, and you're just as big of a whore, regardless…!"
Alfred turned angrily toward Matthew, one finger accusingly pointing, chocolate syrup dripping onto his shirt.
Matthew stared with mute astonishment, eyes big and glittering with a thin film of tears.
"N—now that's just not fair…! This whole event was your idea…!"
"Yeah, what was I supposed to do, sit by and watch you get with those women behind my back—"
"Get with those women behind your back…? Alfred—"
"No, man, fuck you," Alfred cut him off, fingers running messily through his hair as he gazed back down at his ice cream, "I don't even know how many guys you got with that night, you don't even know, you don't even remember whom you topped, that was supposed to be me—"
"Mon bien-aimé, mon héros.
Au moins tu admet que j'ai toujours sauver ton petit cul dans la bataille. "
Four pairs of eyes turned slowly in the direction of the sound, Liechtenstein's small voice emanating softly from the doorway.
Very gently, she reached upward to remove her brother's hands from her eyes.
"You all—you all need to stop fighting—"
She quietly said.
Vash gazed forth in surprise, astonished as his little sister slowly paced toward Matthew and Alfred. Her green eyes inspected them slowly, and then she turned her head toward Roderich and Vash.
"Mon bien-aimé, mon héros, that's what Mr. Canada said to Big Brother then. You were too drunk to remember—weren't you."
Alfred looked up in confusion; Matthew blushed.
"But it wasn't meant at Big Brother, was it. My only beloved, my hero—
—America, that's you."
She lowered her eyes to her feet then. "Even when you slept with Big Brother, you only thought of Mr. America."
"H—hey!"
Vash stammered, cheeks flushing bright red, "don't say stuff like that in front of—"
—in front of Roderich—though, really, he was entirely shocked to hear his sister speak of things like this at all—
She slowly turned to face them both, eyeing Vash directly.
"And you," she softly said, au moins tu admet que j'ai toujours sauver ton petit cul dans la bataille—at least you admit I'd always have to save your ass in battle—"
Her eyes rose toward Roderich, then back to Vash.
"H—hey—"
Roderich quietly murmured, uncomfortably aware that something unsettling was going on. She paced then toward them, small hands gentle as she took hold of theirs, then brought them together.
Vash blushed immediately, impulsively withdrawing away.
"Both of you, all four of you, you're all making the same mistake. You knew, didn't you, Big Brother, that it was Mr. Canada back then. Mr. America wouldn't speak to you in French."
"A—I—"
Matthew murmured shyly, having no recollection of the entire event. "W—was it Switzerland? Was that the person I…"
"Sh…shut up…!"
Vash muttered, still squirming to get away as his sister deliberately held Roderich's hand in his. He was completely humiliated at that moment, he thought he wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole.
"I—I really think this isn't—"
Roderich quietly murmured, but he, too, was too stunned to act.
"Y…you topped Switzerland…"
Alfred felt himself go pale as he turned his gaze to Vash with disbelief.
"They were blackmailed," Liechtenstein said, "neither of them wanted to. Because each of them was already in love with someone else."
Before Alfred could interject, she turned back toward him and Matthew, deliberately gazing at the younger brother then.
"Innocence—peversion—"
The words came forth just barely audible,
"—were there ever really such things—"
She felt Vash's eyes at the back of her neck.
"—aren't we all merely human, doesn't everybody want—to be touched—Mr. Williams and Mr. Jones, sex isn't the same thing as love—how nice it was for Mr. Canada to finally get some attention—but it does hurt, doesn't it, when the person you love sleeps with somebody else, so please, both of you—"
"Francis—!"
There suddenly came a loud exclamation from the direction of the hall, and all eyes turned to Arthur, who stood wet and disheveled at the entrance, naked as the day he was born, eyes trailing with horror over the mess in the room.
"Francis, you get your sodding arse down here…!"
To be continued…
—
A/N: Credit for the lines in German goes to LumCheng; credit for the lines in French goes to Iosane.
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Matthew is Mine