Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

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
- 8
- 9
- 10
One night, very long ago, Arthur had come into the kitchen very, very late, awakened by odd sounds emanating from downstairs. In those days, he slept very lightly, roused by even the softest sounds in fear that, heaven forbid, something had happened to the boys.
Wearing only his pajama bottoms, he stopped in his tracks at the doorway, staring at two small figures staring back frozen from the floor. When at last he turned on the light, whatever he was going to say remained silently lodged at the back of his mouth.
There, in the midst of a pile of upturned containers and bins, were Alfred and Matthew, small children at that time, faces and arms covered completely with sticky goo, clutching tins of syrup and fudge and God knows what else.
“It's his fault...!”
Alfred said all at once, finger pointed accusingly at Matthew, who, like a deer in headlights, stared up at Arthur.
Arthur's eyes trailed over the counter top, where, disheveled and sticky, there lay several more containers and boxes in complete disarray. There were bits and pieces of food here and there, sweets and mint and cake; the boys had had themselves quite a party, it seemed.
Tired and annoyed, Arthur closed his eyes, hands clenching into fists.
“Francis...!”
He screamed at the top of his lungs,
“Francis, you get your sodding arse down here....!”
Matthew and Alfred exchanged bewildered glances, Alfred partway through transferring the large container of fudge in his arms into Matthew's lap, when, moments later, there arrived at the entrance a mostly asleep, mostly naked, disoriented and disheveled Francis at Arthur's side.
He stared lethargically into the room for several seconds before, all at once, his eyes went wide, and, mortified, he gazed over his once-perfect kitchen with pure panic.
"...ma sauce aux canneberges...!"*1
he cried in despair, and then, moments later,
“…merde! Et ma crème brûlée…!”*2
He rushed over to the boys, picking Alfred up and placing him on the counter, unraveling his sticky hands to find sprinkles and cinnamon and colorful bits squished in-between, and now Matthew had started crying, one hand still lodged inside the syrup bin in his lap.
“Oh, no, no no no no....”
Arthur sighed, hand at his forehead as he rubbed at his brow, “I can't stand that sound...”
"Tout ça, c'est ta faute,"*3
Francis informed him, beginning uselessly to rub at Alfred's sticky hands with a towel,
“Pourquoi tu ne les a pas surveillés?”*4
“My fault...?” Came the reply, “and where exactly were you, Sleeping Beauty?”
Francis gazed at the sticky towel in his hand, and, irritated, he tossed it aside.
“You know these ingredients are very hard to find, that syrup was supposed to age for another several months.”
Now that the two of them were fighting, Alfred had started crying, too, and, with complete exasperation, both Arthur and Francis stood in the midst of the room, clutching their ears and muttering profanities under their breath.
“Don't curse like that in front of the children...!”
Arthur snapped, finally stepping into the mess and plucking Matthew up from the floor.
The syrup container dropped from the boy's lap and spilled completely onto the tiles, to Francis' dismay.
“Matthew—!”
He cried in aggravation, but Matthew already was far beyond the point of listening, wailing with piercing, agonizing cries in Arthur's arms.
“We have to wash them,”
Arthur said to Francis, who was on his knees on the kitchen floor, attempting uselessly to pick up and collect the various tins and tubs.
“You're right,” he replied at last, standing up slowly and placing the containers on the counter top.
And so, exhausted and sleep-deprived, Francis and Arthur took the boys upstairs and ran a bath, and then proceeded to wash them with quiet discontentment.
“You'll have a terrible stomach ache tomorrow,”
Arthur informed them unhappily, and both he and Francis were so far consumed with the prospect of having to clean the kitchen thereafter that neither had even begun to formulate the boys' punishment.
“Here,”
Francis said softly as he prompted Arthur to hand him the shampoo, and he proceeded in silence to wash Alfred and Matthew's hair. Arthur watched quietly, eyes heavy and tired as Francis' long fingers moved within the foam, slender and elegant, proficient, and somehow very gentle, and, for just a brief, transient moment, he forgot how angry the boys had made him, he forgot about the mess that wasn't going to clean itself—
—he forgot how very much he hated Francis from the bottom of his heart—
and, silently, washcloth still in hand, he leaned in and rested his head on Francis' shoulder.
Francis turned his head in surprise, mouth already agape with whatever insult or expletive he had prepared—
but he was tired, too; sighing to himself in resignation, he merely let it go, and he stared at Arthur for a long time before gently kissing his forehead, his hands still wet in Matthew's hair.
No words were exchanged for the rest of the bath, and after putting the boys to bed, Francis and Arthur went to sleep, as well, with the unspoken agreement to deal with the mess in the morning.
No words were exchanged, either, when, in bed, Francis began silently to kiss Arthur, and, without a word, Arthur began silently to kiss back.
To be continued...
___
A/N: Translation from French:
*1...my cranberry sauce...!
*2…shit! And my crème brûlée…!
*3 This is your fault
*4 Why didn't you watch them?
- 8
- 9
- 10
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Matthew is Mine