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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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“Don’t look away,”
Ivan said, smile composed and knowing, eerily patient as he prompted Matthew to move his face away from his hand. His warm, large fingers remained secure as he held on to Matthew’s head, so he could see exactly what Francis and Kiku were doing.
Eyes shimmering and cheeks burning with blush, Matthew gazed despite himself, and, grinning in return, Francis took Kiku’s wrist, eyes darting to Matthew and back as he leaned in with absolute chivalry to kiss the boy’s hand.
Perpetually composed, Kiku almost kept from flinching—almost—as there passed through his face just the faintest shiver, just the faintest clenching of teeth, and when Francis leaned in to lick slowly at his lips, he merely averted his gazed away.
“You have a crush on America, don’t you,”
Francis whispered, red lips stretching into a wicked, knowing smile against Kiku’s ear, and, before remembering to guard himself, Kiku heard himself gasp, and this was infinitely rewarding to Francis, whose laugh came guttural and low against the boy’s ear; this was all the confirmation he needed.
“Then you shouldn’t really mind,” he crooned, teeth closing gently on the cartilage shell of his ear.
“I’m not America,”
Matthew heard himself say, surprising even himself with both the extent of his cognizance and his boldness, and, with feigned compassion, Francis crooned back,
“Bien sur que non,”
Of course you’re not.
But, long fingers wrapping slowly around Kiku’s wrist, he lead him with clear intent toward the glistening member below, steady as he closed the boy’s hand around the hard flesh. Face burning red, Kiku again looked aside, feeling despite himself the wet slide moving firm beneath his fingers as Francis guided him along.
“You know that America does this to him,”
Francis smiled, words ghosting ethereal against the delicate folds of his ear, and now Matthew blushed even deeper, unable to speak under the pleasant torment of their hands.
“Is that so,”
Kiku said softly, and Ivan found himself marveling at the obvious jealousy there, Kiku was jealous of Matthew, Matthew who practically melted with shame.
“He’s very possessive, your brother,” Ivan said softly against Matthew’s ear, “Alfred doesn’t’ like you to play with anyone else—“
“S—stop it,”
Matthew heard himself say, and his voice was serious, weak, defensive somehow as he tried again to turn his face.
His hand still on Kiku’s, Francis then slowly took the hard member in his mouth, sliding in slowly, proficiently, the three of them watching as Matthew cried out despite himself , helpless despite his attempts to suppress—
Francis didn’t release him for a long time. He took him all the way in, steady, and sliding deliberately against the very back of his throat, time and again, until Matthew’s own hands came slapping hard against his own mouth to stifle himself, until at last Ivan managed to pry them aside.
His eyes were liquid, desperate, tormented and disturbed, but when at last Francis let him go, he very nearly pressed his hips upward to reach him again, defeated entirely and far beyond shame.
“Go on,”
Francis crooned, he was speaking to Kiku, Kiku whose large eyes gazed silently, quiet and filled with composure; he wanted this, too.
Go on.
Francis’ fingers still secure around his hand, Kiku gazed down at the member beneath, glittering wet, it was naked and hot—
Matthew might have protested, bitter and angry and hurt, I’m not America, don’t enjoy it so much, but his body betrayed him, helpless and aching almost for relief—
“Like this,”
Francis whispered, and, taking Kiku’s wrist, he gently guided his hand farther down, bringing two of his fingers apart and against the wet entrance. Matthew cried out as they slowly slid in, and, closely observing, Francis said gently,
“all the way in—“
His large hand closed on Kiku’s wrist and, steadily, he guided him in the full way, down to the knuckles, and told him to stroke up.
Ivan was smiling, hands already firm at the sides of Matthew’s face as to hold him in place, knowing all too well just what was to come—
And Matthew did, too, because this wasn’t foreign, this wasn’t secret, and Alfred had always been really so good, so proficient and practiced when he had done this—
From the other couch, three sets of eyes watched transfixed, astonished and desperate,
Oh! Matthew—!
He brought his hands to his face, biting down on his palm, hair long and soft as it fell in his brow, over his eyes and into his mouth, and, sliding it away, Ivan said gently,
“How does it feel, Matthew? Is that good?”
And, brows knotted in surrender and far, far beyond shame, Matthew just barely managed to nod, whispering, yes, please, please, yes—
“Is this what Alfred does to you,”
Ivan gently smiled, and it was a wicked, horrible question, heartless and cruel toward Matthew and Kiku as well, but, far beyond surrender and subject entirely to physical torment, Matthew breathed,
Yes, he does this to me, his voice echoed tremulous, yes—
Go on,
Francis whispered, and even as he kept Kiku’s hand firmly in place within the other boy, he urged him to take the member in his mouth, and because, this time, Matthew really was going to cry very loud, Ivan leaned in to kiss him, hands steady on his wrists.
Matthew’s voice came muffled when he came, a sweet, innocent cry, eyes tearing wet and abdomen tensing, his whole body rigid as he struggled in Ivan’s grasp.
“Don’t swallow,” Francis whispered in Kiku’s ear, and, at last, he gently slid Matthew’s long legs down from over his shoulders, sliding partly away as to give Japan room—
Gently, carefully, Kiku climbed over Matthew, onto the couch, and his touch was so gentle, so careful and feathery light that Matthew had wondered if he was there at all—
They gazed at each other, both of them silent, curious, odd—
Delicate eyelashes batted softly over large, dark eyes before Kiku leaned down to kiss him, and, as he tasted himself on his tongue, as the glistening fluid streamed hot and white down along Matthew’s lip, out the corner of his mouth and along his neck and his jaw, he felt just the slightest bout of pain, because nobody had ever kissed him this way, touched him so gently, or held him so close—
—without thinking or hoping or pretending he was Alfred, instead.
To be continued…
A/N: Credit for the small bits in French here and there goes to my good friend and partner in crime, Iosane who is French Canadian.
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Matthew is Mine