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Domino	By : CyreliaJ Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1961 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own hetalia or any of its characters. I'm also not making any money off of this.

Chapter List
- 1-Domino
- 2-Part 2
- 1
- 2
Notes: England Canada going from PG-13 to hard R though I make no promises it won’t get dirtier. I’m keeping this under 10k words God willing this part is right around 4. Warnings for LANGUAGE, ANGST, SELF ESTEEM ISSUES, SEX WITH A MINOR, DADDY KINK, CREEPY SUBJECT MATTER, UNSAFE BEHAVIOR and SMOKING
Part 1/2
Check?
11:01 PM
Fine. No place yet.
11:02 PM
   Matthew sends the message and once again looks carefully over the few empty tables. A red headed Hooters waitress looks at her phone while eating a donut. She sits cross legged and shoots him a smile before looking back down at the screen. Matthew smiles in return but quickly turns his attention down to the screen of the beat up Galaxy Note 2. She isn’t the one he’s been watching. His eyes shift to the left- to the man sitting bent over a laptop typing with one hand and alternating between sandwich and coffee in another. Matthew tucks a leg underneath him and carefully turns the next page of “Looking At Movies”, notepad and pen handy. He scribbles a few more half hearted notes before switching to a small nondescript doodle in the corner of the light blue paper- a fast sketched profile of the man bent over the screen. Matthew turns the camera on and takes a quick picture of himself with a serious expression down to the paper labeling it “in cognito” and saves it in a new folder dated 7/7/14. He’ll move the rest later.
   He doesn’t know the man’s name yet but he knows his hands. In the time since the man sat down, Matthew’s made a study of those hands. The first page was filled with half hearted notes on noir and far more detailed images of those hands releasing doves into the air like a magician. Matthew had waited long enough for the man to settle in- to take out the laptop from the leather bag and set his phone down- before he allowed himself to just... stare. Number four... Just like that movie... that book... maybe it’ll be my lucky number tonight. I’ll call you B. B for British like when you ordered that sandwich. B like buttoned up with those polished loafers and that sweater vest... But maybe beneath the vest, those ironed pants and that shirt you’re really loose. B like bet ‘cause you’re my last bet tonight or... Matthew smiles looking at the page with a small shake of his head before looking up again. Yeah or B like ball baster like Al’s gonna do if this doesn’t work out along with everything else he gives me crap about. Well sorry, Mr. Perfect, we can’t all be the second coming of Zack Morris from those Saved By the Bell reruns even if we are twins. Some of us just have to take what we can get and-
   And Matthew forces himself to keep his head up when the man- when Mr. B- lifts his own, as if sensing the eyes on him, and looks over. It isn’t a quick dismissive glance. It isn’t a curious but overall uninterested look. Matthew knows how to parse those out quickly enough. It’s a look of interest, possibly annoyance but Matthew affects a small smile and holds that expression with a quick snap of the phone camera angle upward probably only catching half his face as he looks at Mr. B. In his head this one’s already titled “waiting for Godot” even if it’s nothing but half his face and ninety percent nostrils C’mon... please... please let it be you. I’ve been watching you for the last twenty minutes and I love your hands and I love your mouth when you lick the coffee from your lips and I love the way your eyes go back and forth reading words and I think I’m in love already whoever you are. Mr. B still hasn’t looked away and he seems to be considering something. This is a big stop off 75 and if you’re traveling... it’s late enough you could turn in for the night, right? If you’ve been driving all day... or if you’re in town on business it’s not... not like anyone you know would be in the shittier part of Dayton of all places so you have to be thinking about it... please please be thinking about it.
   Matthew drops his eyes, counts to three and looks up again with more invitation. Mr. B is still watching him looking uncertain and here is where he feels butterflies and the rush of his pulse picking up when he dares to speak up.
“I’m sorry,” Matthew says as he sets his pen down looking quickly in embarrassment at his hot chocolate and snaps this one “making a play”. “I... I know I’ve been staring I guess I just-“
“I don’t have any money for the bus.” It’s not the answer he’s expecting but just hearing Mr. B speaking to him sounding so cultured to Matthew’s ears, a touch of annoyance injected into the words not doing anything but cementing in his mind that this has to be the one. He swallows for the moment that Mr. B fixes green eyes on him. He hadn’t taken notice before of the thick dark eyebrows but Matthew finds they complement the overall appearance of the man’s face really well.
   Matthew quickly shuts the book and tucks hair behind his ear laughing softly.
“Oh no I um... sorry... I’m not very good at this.” He’s very good at this- or at least he’s very practiced and the two seem to be more or less of the same thing. He sees the Hooters waitress leaving out of the corner of his eye and it’s just the two of them now on this side of the Tim Horton’s. There’s a small gathering of post college semi drunk partiers sobering up over coffee and donuts making a dull roar in another corner. Matthew made sure not to sit near them. It would only highlight the fact that he is very much not college aged in spite of the University of Dayton keychain dangling off his backpack. “It’s your hands, y’know... they’re...” They’re amazing, they’re incredible and big, strong, the like seeing them dancing over the keys of that chromebook and I never would’ve thought a guy dressed like you would have hands like that large and graceful and just a little more tan, with the muscles moving when you grip the cup like you lift weights and you don’t look the type but I want to get to know you better. “I guess I’ve kinda been staring but they’re really nice.”
   He gives that opening taking a long drink of the sweet cocoa capturing nerves with the click of the camera and he name “flirting with disaster”. Mr. B blinks at him as if he hasn’t been expecting to hear that in spite of any terribly obvious signals Matthew thinks that he’s been giving. Please... please God, I know the odds aren’t in my favor at all and I’d have better luck hanging around MJs or something but I can’t walk there like I can here and I won’t be able to drive ’til next year and I won’t be able to get the hell away from here ’til even longer than that if I’m lucky and please just say something already! Matthew toys with the pen, taking a deep breath.
“Yah, no, I don’t bugger little boys.” He drops the pen and can’t help the way that his mouth falls open unattractively. It’s a terrible picture. He takes it anyway and tries to take some of the sting out with “oh no he didn’t”. Little boys? Little boys?! I’ve been sixteen for at least four months now you stupid limey jerk! And... and didn’t you see the textbook?! And what the hell happen to tact and setting someone down gently and not acting like a prick and if we were in school I’d punch you so help me detention, suspension, I’d so give you what for and if not me then Al and... and calm down, Matthew, for God’s sake you’ve heard ten times worse than that. You’ve heard queer, fag, homo, all sorts of things and this guy at least still might be... okay okay you can do this, you can do this.
   “I’m nineteen,” he answers back sounding far more petulant than he’d like. Mr. B snorts into his coffee cup.
“And I’m the queen mother, right... God rest her soul” The words aren’t spoken unkindly- it almost seems to Matthew that the quick look he’s given is almost playful. It makes his heart pick up once more and he quickly shoves the props into his backpack- phone in one hand, hot chocolate in the other. Matthew sits down across from Mr. B in the booth seeing a look of surprise at his audacity followed up with a softly muttered “bloody cheek.” He doesn’t know what that means but answers with a satisfied smile all the same when that notebook is closed. Alright, Matthew, play time’s over so... He reaches into the pocket of his black hoodie and pulls out a real enough ID and slaps it on the table like a challenge. Matthew’s toes clench nervously in his sneakers as he lowers his head looking at the man’s blurry face over his glasses frames. He slides sweaty fingers over the ID right in front of him sliding it almost into the cup of coffee just stopping short.
“Matthew Williams,” he says softly, barely above a whisper, his throat suddenly tight and dry. “Nineteen, major in History second year at University of Dayton taking a course on film because it looked interesting...”
   Matthew licks his lips and nervously looks to the reflection of the two of them faint in the foggy February window taking another shot of himself in the booth- “daring to disturb”.
“I’m not... I’m not like doing this for money or anything I just... I just saw you and...” he hears the ID being slid back across the table as he suddenly takes notice of Nora Jones blaring faintly in the background. He sets the phone down putting it to sleep his fingers fidget with the strings of the hoodie ignoring the text that comes from Alfred. He knows it makes him look less the lie but feeling green eyes watching him with an intensity that’s beyond the sexual simplicity he’s accustomed to. Just finish the script already, Matthew. Al’s gonna start getting antsy if you haven’t gotten anywhere by now and mom gets home at 3 and if you’re not there... “If... if you don’t... I mean if you’re not into guys that’s cool right I just thought...”
“No.” Matthew’s fingers stop their motion as his head snaps up to look at the man trying to keep his face from betraying too much. Dammit I didn’t read you wrong I didn’t I... “No you’re not thinking for God’s sake just what are you-?!”
   Mr. B clears his throat and lowers his voice lest the party group turn their attention to the two of them.
“For one I don’t fancy every moment of my life popping up on instagram or twitter or whatever you little buggers are using nowadays.” Matthew tightens his grip on the strings as he looks back down at the ID that cost him a hundred and fifty dollars off the internet and a month of being his brother’s chore bitch to buy his silence. “Second, I don’t care if you get your mum to walk through that door right now and swear on a stack of bibles I don’t believe you’re a day over seventeen if that and third-“
“The camera’s for me, not you,” Matthew cuts in unable to help the automatic turn on of the phone and another agitated snap of his face the hot shot daring to be called “volley and thunder”. “And I’ve done this before y’know s-so I don’t need a damn lecture.” He grabs the ID and shoves it back in his pocket not wanting to look back up. “I’m not... I’m a not a virgin maybe... maybe I even do this a lot okay and maybe I like to take pictures of myself but I don’t take them of anyone else so it’s no one’s business but mine so... so if you’re straight fine tell me but don’t talk to me like this is some kind of after school special c-‘cause...” I’ve been lectured by youth pastors, teachers, truck drivers, every damn person you can think of and I don’t need it from... God, Matthew, what the hell does it matter if it’s this guy? ‘Cause he’s got an accent? ‘Cause he’s got those eyes or those hands or that... that he’s maybe the most gorgeous guy you’ve ever seen who’s given you so much as a second look?
   Matthew swallows and blinks away the stinging behind his eyes, feet shuffling on the floor. He hasn’t let himself cry in years and he isn’t about to start now. He photos “Houston, we have rejection.”
“Forget it, okay. I... I’m sorry I bothered you, sir, I hope you enjoy your stay in our fine United States of America.” Hah, right, good one, Matthew, that’s just like how Al would say it. He half laughs, half hiccups, half coughs- and he’s painfully aware in his head three halves equal some other impossibility but he doesn’t care. Matthew turns and grabs the backpack. Except Al wouldn’t be sitting here about to throw his drink across the table ‘cause some stranger in a Tim Horton’s won’t fuck him so how pathetic are you, Matthew? So pathetic that you can’t even get a guy at a fucking high school for the arts- they all fall for the “hot” twin. They want the one who’s all funny and athletic and down to earth and not the “unique one” which you know is just a nice way of saying “emo pussy” or the “selfie taking weirdo” and shit shit shit I just want to go home and at least I can calm down on the walk and just tell Al I struck out and get to hear him saying how stupid and crazy all this is anyway and what’s so wrong with just wanting a little...
   Matthew blinks again realizing that his other sleeve is being held by those fingers feeling anger give way to confusion.
“I didn’t say no, Matthew Williams.”
“H-huh?” Matthew feels the heat in his face clearing quickly as the man lets go of his sleeve and puts the notebook away. He throws on a brown leather jacket before dumping his tray and putting his plate up. The leather bag is looped over his head making him look more like a schoolboy himself than a grown man. Matthew is still looking at him stunned and can only think to title this picture “wut?”. The last of the coffee is down and discarded in the time it takes Matthew to decide to just throw his half finished drink in the can.
“I’m Arthur Kirkland, thirty seven- old enough to be your damn father but apparently not old enough to not think with my fucking cock tonight so help me God if you’re not at least fucking eighteen...” He trails off grabbing the leather bag practically throwing the door open while Matthew follows him with a high bordering on giddy.
“I wouldn’t tell you if I was... Mr. Kirkland,” he says swallowing giddiness down as Arthur takes out a pack of Marlboro red and pulls up a space of wall, breath visible in the chill air. Matthew takes that as his cue to do the same, only his vice is Blu flavored with vivid vanilla. He pauses for a sophisticated black and white filtered “passing the tobacco torch.”
   “Well isn’t ickle Mattie all grown up,” Arthur observes dryly. Matthew tenses.
“Don’t call me that. That’s what my brother calls me.” He takes a long defiant drag watching the pretty blue light at the end.
“Alfred.” Matthew almost drops the e cig when Arthur says his brother’s name. Arthur clicks his tongue. “I read your phone when you set it on the table. So then Matthew is your real name. Christ you twit I thought you said you’ve done this before.” Arthur takes a long unconcerned drag letting Matthew capture “shock and awe”. His hands are a little more shaky as he lets the vanilla nicotine calm his nerves. Stupid stupid, Matthew. That’s what mom would yell at you. No one else asks, no one else cares, no one else has ever said more than a few words or been curious God just go home, Matthew. Let Alfred get in a good laugh and don’t... don’t look at those hands. Don’t look at those lips, don’t be turned on by that smug face but you are. Of course you are, Matthew because you’re an idiot. Matthew laughs softly as he leans back against the cold wall, his backpack shouldering the cold.
“I guess you know it all... well... well we’re identical twins too. But I’m Williams, he’s Jones, and mom is O’Brien... sofigurethatoneoutsmartguy...”
   Matthew’s face screws into a pout as he snaps “it’s my party” and listens to Arthur laughing. Without watching him it allows him to focus more on the sound but it isn’t the jeering bite of one mocking him but rather the all too familiar sound of bitter self recrimination. He wrinkles his nose at the smell of the strong tobacco smoke.
“God if you’ve even given another bloke so much as a hand job I’ll eat my fucking wallet.” Matthew crosses his arms looking away, lips still pursed.
“Then you better go back in there and get some salt you stupid hoser...” Another mystery, jerk. Maybe I’ll throw in some French just to give you something else to think about. He does just that. “Maybe... maybe men think I have a... a certain... je ne sais quoi...” When he says it, it sounds like “jew new say kwa”. Arthur shakes his head smiling, eyes half closed. He speaks softly to himself as Matthew drowns his senses in vanilla again feeling the happy nicotine buzz.
“You’re crazy, Arthur... you’ve gone completely fucking starkers... alright...” Matthew turns and sees him inhale half the cigarette down with one deeply drawn breath and he can only watch nearly breathless himself. “Let’s see what you’ve got then, lad.” He drops the cigarette on the ground and grinds it out.
   Matthew lowers the e cig shoving it back in his jeans pocket, taking this time to notice Arthur is the same height that he is. Somehow he feels small in spite of that fact. Arthur’s left arm traps him, hands pressed to the brick he isn’t gentle when his calloused fingers cup Matthew’s face, tilting it quickly, lips pressing to his. Matthew grips the phone tighter and almost throws himself back against the wall. Almost. He closes his eyes, screwed shut tightly at first but relaxing when he feels Arthur’s mouth open. He mimics the motion and tastes tobacco and coffee before a count of three and barely remembers that he has another hand until his body takes a staggered lumber forward and his backpack swings nearly falling off his shoulder. He moves his arm, letting it drop, letting that arm wiggle and reach for Arthur’s hand as it drops. He holds it tightly terrified as Arthur catches his weight and lets a rough palm slide over his face to grab his hair and lap at his tongue fiercely. Matthew swallows, feeling moisture at the corner of his mouth, feeling sloppy wetness between them but most of all feeling Arthur give his hand a painful squeeze before releasing him entirely and shoving him backwards hard enough to make him trip and fall over the dropped bag.
   It’s instinct alone that makes Matthew take out the phone and photograph his fall from grace with a quirky “head over heels” a snapshot of old gum polka dotted concrete framing his flushed face. He looks up at the still night and the bright fluorescents outside catching his breath with a soft shifting whine as he rolls over and looks up on his hand and knees to see Arthur standing there wiping his mouth on the back of his hand looking down with the leather coat open, mouth slack, free hand clenching car keys in a tight fist. Those slacks do little to hide his erection. Matthew opens his mouth and he thinks he hears Arthur whisper to him that he wishes “the boy” would suck him right here. Matthew blinks, looking up at Arthur like he would a lover he hasn’t seen in a month instead of a stranger he’s never seen before in his life.
“I... I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing as he stands up and takes the bag again. He’s afraid to let his mouth turn to a smile. Arthur turns around and doesn’t speak to him but instead motions for him to follow.
   He looks... pissed? Matthew follows him quickly with a shake of his head. Was it me? Alfred always says my attitude is gonna get my ass kicked one of these days but I wasn’t... I didn’t mean to... or are you just mad at yourself? Like all those movies and books is it like... what they call self recrimination or... shit, Matthew just shuttup and don’t ruin this and... and oh God that’s not a rental. Arthur unlocks a black 80s Lincoln and Matthew and feel the sweat pool from his hand to the phone. He opens his mouth and closes it again as Arthur throws his bag over the front bench to the back. He looks at Matthew fingers holding the heavy metal door tightly. He’s breathing heavily and looks almost uncertain himself before pulling his face into an unreadable mask.
“Yeah she’s mine. I’m not here on holiday or passing through or whatever circumstance your other fellas were I s’ppose. I teach... at the bloody fucking University of Dayton... English, mind.” Matthew feels his legs turn to jello. “I’m getting in the car, I’m unlocking the door and I’m giving you a twenty count before I drive the hell off are we clear?”
   Matthew nods feeling his chest tighten and the cold steal his breath. He tries to draw a breath even as the clock in his head ticks down each second. He... Oh god... oh god oh god I can’t... I can’t do this, no way. This isn’t how this goes. I don’t know you. I’m not supposed to know you... Oh you wanted to know him didn’t you, Matthew? You wanted to know Mr. B. You wanted his name, you wanted everything and now you’re getting it and now you better run the hell home because this is too real and too much and you can’t... I can’t... I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this. I can’t like you I just... I just wanna fuck I just want to be a little less lonely I don’t want to... He takes few steps to the door painfully aware of how close the seconds are coming. I don’t want to know this. I can’t know this. What if I want to do this again? See you again what if I want... what if I... Matthew’s body is still moving and as he hits the internal count of three his hand opens the door and he throws himself inside staring at the woodgrain dash, backpack dropping between his legs, head bowed.
   “I’m sixteen years old. I go to Stivers. I’ve slept with six men since I turned sixteen ‘cause everyone my age wants to do my brother who’s so straight his head doesn’t turn.” He lifts his head and looks out the window and lifts the phone catching a sideways glance to Arthur taking a deep breath for “all the cards on the table”. “I won’t do it without a rubber so don’t ask . The phone... it stays out... I take pictures of myself it’s what I do y’know and...and I don’t think I can get off unless... unlessIcancallyoudaddy.” He feels the car roll to a stop, Arthur still looking straight ahead as the heat starts to kick out hot. Six guys left from the ten who let you in the car and the four who bailed from the twenty one you approached and the eleven that said no and the fifty you saw and the twenty you were too chicken shit to approach and the nine who had girlfriends or boyfriends... Matthew reaches for the door handle about to get out just as his ears pick up Arthur’s sharp intake of breath and the soft prayer to the lord.
“What motel?”
“W-what?”
“Tell me where I’m gonna fuck you, Matthew Williams.”
“Dayton Motor,” he replies without second thought. “If you don’t...”
“I know where it is...” More softer muttering that Matthew doesn’t hear as his heart makes itself known and alive beating vibrantly as Arthur turns on 92.9 and Billy Joel is saying it’s still rock ’n roll to him. Matthew texts Alfred the usual address.
b in the lot next door @ 2. U no the drill. Have fun Mattie <3
11:18 PM
Arthur starts the car moving again.
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Domino