"Al, hey, hoser, wake up." Matthew prodded at the sleeping boy, kneeling next to his bed. If there was one thing Alfred was good at it was sleeping. He could sleep through almost anything, yet, he never seemed to sleep through the feather-light touch of his hand. "Please?"

"Can't it wait 'till morning, Mattie?" Alfred grunted softly and rolled over, his eyes meeting with a pair a few shades darker than his own.

"Nope." Matthew shook his head, his sleep tousled hair bouncing around his head. He lowered his voice to one barely above a whisper. "I really need to talk to you tonight."

Alfred sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "Mattie, look, I love you, but leave me alone." He reached out and ruffled his hair, patting his cheek.

"See? That's just it. I love you too."

"Yeah? That's kinda how it's supposed to go, dork. Go to bed."

Matthew huffed and shoved at his shoulder, glaring at him in the darkness. "You don't get it! Alfred, I love you."

"Well I love you too." Alfred grinned and edged closer to him, bumping their noses together, gently stroking the younger's hair down. "Now get to bed, cowboy. We've got things to do tomorrow." With that being said Alfred burrowed back under his blankets, his eyes falling shut and his jaw going slack.

Idiot.

Matthew grumbled and pushed him over, edging his way into bed next to him.

"Huh? Matt?" Alfred murmured, his sleepy brow furrowing as he was shoved to the side and his bed was invaded. "What?"

"I'm sleeping here tonight. Scoot over and give me some blanket."

Alfred laughed and obliged, tossing half his comforter over the smaller boy, looping an arm over his waist and burying his face in the soft curls of golden hair. "Alright. G'night, Mattie. Sweet dreams, bro."

"Yeah, yeah. Night, hoser." He muttered and buried his face in his brothers chest. "Je t'aime plus que je n'aurais dû, mon chou."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"...Did you just call me a cabbage?"

"Yep."

"Oi, boys, get up. We're leaving." Arthur barked from the 's head popped up first, his hair tossed around his head and his cheeks tinted red. "Hmm? What time is it...?"

"Time to get your asses up, that's what time it is." Arthur grumbled. "Matthew, if you'd be so kind, could you please kick your brother and knock him up for me? I'm pretty sure if I do it I'll end up kicking him all the way back to America."

Matthew nodded and flopped his head back down. He wrapped a leg around Alfred's twisting them together and shaking him lightly. He ran his fingers along his jaw, smirking slightly as his fingers drug against the rough cheek, catching on stubble. "Al, c'mon. We have to go. Dad's at the door."

Alfred flopped over and groaned, tossing a pillow over his head. "No. Dad can go jump off a bridge."

"I should have thrown you off a bridge, lazy twit." Arthur muttered and stepped in the room. He didn't really think much of them sharing a bed. They usually ended up in the same one on any given night anyhow. Even at the age of 17 they usually ended up passed out on the same bed, or crawling into each others at some odd hour of the night.

"But Dad! I'm tired! Mattie kept me up all night."

"Non! What was mon chouchou doing?" Francis appeared in the doorway, his arms wrapped around the thin brit.

"I was just bugging him, Papa. Don't worry about it." Matthew sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes and groping around for his glasses. He found them and set them on his nose, adjusting them into place before handing over Alfred's.

Arthur grumbled and batted at Francis, shoving at him. "Not in front of the kids."

"Oh, please. Don't be so grouchy, mon cher. I'm sure they've seen worse than this at school." Francis chuckled and nuzzled into Arthur's shoulder, beaming at the boys.

Alfred grinned and nodded, finally sitting up and setting his glasses on his nose. "Damn right we've seen worse. Just the other day me and Mattie-"

"Matthew and I." Arthur corrected.

"Mattie and I were going to the bathroom. We heard these funny noises coming from one of the stalls."

Matthew nodded and took over. "We didn't really want to go in, but I had to use the restroom and Alfred was just being curious."

"So we went in! I don't think they knew it, but we could see everything. Our stalls don't have bottoms so we could totally see everything."

"Their legs were sticking out and so were their bottoms, almost."

"Oh! Oh, dude! Remember? I think they finally heard us come in so they tried to be all quiet!"

"But they only ended up getting louder!" Matthew nodded and burst into laughter, remembering just how ridiculous the poor couple looked.

Alfred laughed with him, leaning against him and grinning. "But yeah. You guys can snuggle all you want, man. Don't worry about it. Besides. It's not like we haven't walked in on you guys before."

Arthur and Francis both blushed. "I told you to lock the door." "I did, mon cher!" "Then how the bloody hell did they get in!?" "We don't always do it in the bedroom!" They hissed back and forth, glaring at each other.

Matthew blushed softly and shook his head, leaning his head on Alfred's shoulder. "It's okay. It's only natural, right?"

"Yeah. Aren't you guys the one's always telling us that it's," Alfred paused, putting on his best British accent. "'Sex is a natural part of life.' and that it's 'Okay to explore your sexuality'."

"Yeah! And," Matthew imitated his fathers French accent, smirking up at him. "'l'amour is what you make of it. No matter who, what, or where.'" Matthew had learned to live by his fathers words. Love was love, no matter what.

No matter with who...

"We did say that. But that doesn't mean it's okay to have sex in public." Arthur muttered, turning around and taking Francis by the collar, pulling him from the door. "We'll be waiting downstairs. Hurry up and get your stuff together."

Matthew nodded and stretched out his arms, pulling his knees up to his chest and letting his head rest on them. "Do you really believe that, Al?"

"Believe what?" He yawned and flopped back in the bed, laying on his arms and smiling up at him. "That our dads are total whores that can't keep their pants on?"

Matthew chuckled and shook his head. "No. That love is love no matter what. No matter who or when or why."

He shrugged and nodded. "I guess so. Love is all blind and stuff. Doesn't know time. Doesn't know shit, really."

"It really doesn't." Matthew agreed, smiling at him and chewing his lip. His smile cracked into a grin and he shoved into him, ruffling his already fluffy hair. "Now get up and get dressed, lazy."
"Jeez! I'm going, I'm going." Laughing, he leaned forwards and ruffled Matthew's hair right back.
"Al! Dammit! Stop! My hair's hard enough to deal with!" He squeaked and batted at his hands, inching away from him and his hands. His hair, as soft as it may be, was a total bitch to comb out. The second he got it somewhat controlled and taken care of it decided to bunch back up and curl closer to his head. He had to brush it and tame it and work at it to eventually get it to fall perfectly. Once it was in its place, though, it stayed fine and dandy the whole day.
Alfred grinned and stuck his tongue out, sitting back and laughing. "Sorry. You're just too fun to mess with!"
Matthew huffed and glared at him, standing from the bed and moving to his. "Sure I am. Whatever. Just button up and lets go."
"But what if I don't wanna?"
"Do you honestly think I want to?" According to their fathers they were going on a 'family trip'. A family trip to some ungodly corner of the world that both of the boys were probably going to hate. Matthew glanced sideways at Alfred, his violet eyes narrowing. If there was going to be food involved then Alfred would have the time of his life. Ass.
"You seemed into it at dinner a few nights ago." Alfred said, his hands gripping the edge of his shirt. He pulled it up and over his head, the plain white garment falling to the floor beside him.
Matthew blushed a deep red, heart rate picking up just a bit. Stupid Alfred...Stupid Alfred and his stupidly perfect body. It was sculpted in all the right places, pliable and squishy in the perfect spots, fucking perfect. That ass. "S-shush. I only did that for Papa. N-now pick up your shit."
"I'm going, mom. Yeesh. Gimmie a break. I'm seriously tired! What the hell was last night about anyhow?" His boxers came off next, his rump in full-view.
Matthew gave an indignant gasp and turned around quickly, his fingers twitching as he tried to work a brush through his hair. "Nothing. I just needed to talk to you."
"About?"
"What do you mean about?"
Alfred snickered softly as he tugged on a fresh pair of boxers, turning to face him. "Heh. A-boot."
"Alfred!" Matthew snapped, turning to face him and glaring. "Don't make way of the fun I pronounce my words!" he paused, a slight smirk forming on his lips. "At least I don't go 'round droppin' my g's and callin' people partner, cowboy." He mimicked his brothers slight drawl. Alfred didn't get his slightly southern accent from living in the southern part of the United States. Hell, he'd lived in London his whole life! He only got his little 'accent' from obsessively watching Old Western movies and sitting on his ass 24/7.
"I don't always drop my g's!"

"And I don't always say 'aboot'."

"Fine, fine, whatever. But seriously, what the hell were you goin' on about last night? I mean, you normally crawl into bed with me and shit but you're normally not as...I dunno, clingy." Alfred shrugged, running a comb through his nearly perpetually perfect hair. It always looked good. Whether it was sleep-tousled or slicked back it looked amazing. Matthew envied that about him. Sure, he could get his hair to look good but when he woke up his hair usually looked like a badly groomed poodle.

"I wasn't being clingy," Matthew muttered, ripping the brush through his hair. "I was just, I don't know, I just needed to sleep with you."

"Huh. Well, you kept sayin' 'I love you'. I figured somethin' must have spooked you."

"Nothing 'spooked' me, Al. I just love you. That's all." Matthew's cheeks blushed crimson and he sighed, his hair starting to cooperate. He pulled it back into a rubber band when it was finally tamed (as best it could be), a few strands hanging down and framing his face.

"I love you too. You know that." Alfred grinned and tugged at one of the stray strands, ruffling his hair. "Hey, did Papa tell you where the hell they were taking us?"

Matthew batted at his hand and punched him in the chest, staggering backwards. "No. He didn't tell me anything. Papa never tells me anything. Actually, I take that back," Matthew wrinkled his nose, "Papa tells me too much."

"Pfft, don't I know it, man. The guy's an open book. Well, an open book when it comes to his love life. Christ, remember that time during Christmas last year when he tried to tell us about the time he got Dad to dress up like some kind of sexy Santa?"

Matthew stifled a laugh, nodding. "Yeah! And they had 'fun' with candy canes~"

"I thought Dad was gonna explode, bro. Oh, man, remember his face?"

"It was so red I thought his eyebrows might burn off!"

Both boys burst into laughter at that, Alfred nearly doubling over.

"Oh, oh, god. That was the best Christmas ever." Alfred grinned and sat down on the bed, Matthew following after him and sitting next to him

He nodded in agreement, leaning on his brothers shoulder. "Not according to Papa. He still thinks the best Christmas was our first Christmas. Our first Christmas together as a family."

"Yeah, and Dad's convinced the best Christmas will be when we're both out of the house."

"Well Dad's kind of an ass," Matthew chuckled and tilted his head up, smiling brightly at him.

"I have no idea why Papa's still with him. If I were with him I'd have dumped his ass on the second date. He doesn't ever stop yelling, he's always angry about something, he cleans obsessively and he can't cook worth a shit."

Matthew blinked a few times, a sly grin spreading over his face, violet eyes sparkling behind thin glasses. "I bet he's real good at something else... If you catch my drift."

Alfred grinned back and nodded. "Given the amount of noise we hear at night I'd reckon you're right."

They both broke into laughter again, throwing in a few mimicked cries and moans, laughing harder and harder.

"I thought I told you little bastards to get dressed and ready!" Arthur called up the stairs, his fist cracking down on the grainy wooden banister. "Stop laughing like mentally challenged hyenas and hurry it up!"

"Shh, mon cher, it's not that bad," Francis spoke soothingly, strong arms curling around the Brit's thin waist. "They're just being boys. Doing boy things."

"Hands off, Frog, I'm still mad at you," Arthur spoke roughly, arms crossing over his chest as he squirmed from the Frenchman's grasp. "I swear to God, you don't know how to keep your mouth shut."

"Neither do you. That's not the only thing you can't keep shut either." Francis smirked at him and leaned on the wall. "Not that I'm complaining."

Arthur rolled his eyes at him and leaned against the opposite wall. "That's not the point, Francis. This isn't about me. This is about our idiot children and the fact that they're still not ready yet," he put emphasis on the last four words, aiming his voice up the stairs. "The hell are they doing up there? Really?"

"They're just packing, getting their things together," he waved a hand dismissively. "Be thankful we don't have two girls. They'd be up there for hours."

"Oh, you mean they'd take hours to get ready like you?"

Francis smiled at him and rolled his eyes. "It takes time to look this fabulous."

"No shit. I've seen you in the mornings; you look like a bloody mess."

"You don't look like a million bucks either, mon amour. Your eyebrows look bushier at midnight."

Arthur ran a finger over his eyebrows self-consciously, his lips pursing. "My eyebrows aren't that bad," he paused for a beat, then smirked wildly at him, sliding down the wall and perching on a stair. "They're nothing compared to your hair at night, Fuzzball."

"I'm not a fuzzball!" Francis huffed and sat down next to him, leaning his head on his shoulder. "You're a fuzzball."

"I'm not a fuzzball, Fuzzball," Arthur turned to face him, a genuine smile spreading across his face. Ah, Francis really was a dear. He was cute all pouty and huffy. Adorable. Ass-ish, but adorable. "Look, you may be a fuzzball, but you're my fuzzball, alright?"

Francis cracked a smile and leaned into him, their foreheads pressing together. "Can't I just be your lover?"

"No. You know I detest that word." For the love of everything, it had taken him twelve bloody years to even admit he loved the man! Being called his lover made his skin crawl and his jaw tense. It just...Irked him. It irked him in way no one could imagine. "I'll be your husband, but that's it."

"Good enough for moi," Francis' smile grew and his hand sought out Arthur's their fingers knitting together. His wedding band flashed in the light, a soft blush blooming on his cheeks. They'd been married for just over nineteen years now, their twentieth anniversary looming not that far off in the distance. Twenty years...Twenty years of living with constant 'abuse', poor cooking, fighting, arguing, plates being thrown at heads and things being set on fire... And love. Twenty years of absolute love.

Arthur and Francis had met when they were both still young, both still figuring out the world and trying out a bit of everything. Arthur had been fifteen at the time and Francis had just hardly crossed the threshold into adulthood. They'd met by chance. They became fast friends and that was that. Arthur didn't realize he was head-over-heels for the man until they'd known each other for five years. Once he did, though, he repressed the feeling, shoving it back. After all, Francis was Metrosexual. At least, that's what he claimed to be. He dated all the pretty girls and then came home to Arthur, falling asleep on his couch while he ranted about the sizes of their breasts and the smells of their hair.

Somewhere along the way Francis managed to fall for Arthur. Somehow he fell for the tiny man with the angry face and bushy eyebrows. It baffled Arthur to this day how he could like someone like him.

But it had happened. They'd managed to both fall in love, both confess it in the same cheesy way (flowers and awkward cards on a valentine's day neither of them would forget), and somehow they'd managed to get bloody married.

And then adopt two idiot children.

Arthur smiled fondly and stroked a hand through his partner's hair. His husband. His idiot, flirtatious, overly argumentative husband... God, he loved him. A blush covered his cheeks and he leaned in again, heart beating just a bit harder in his chest as their lips neared. No matter how many times they kissed each one felt like the first. His chest would tighten and every muscle would tense, eyes growing wide in half a second of panic before their lips touched.

After they touched everything went to hell, of course. All of his inhibitions fled and he was left with nothing but intense passion and lust, wanting to do nothing more than smash their bodies together and press every inch together.

He noised softly and closed the gap, kissing him deeply and feverishly.

Hands tangled in hair and bodies pressed together, lips moving in a desperate dance. They made rather lewd noises they kissed, Arthur somehow ending up pressed to a wall with Francis' hand edged under his shirt.

"Jesus, get a room, you nasty-asses!"

"That's pretty, ah, intense, eh?"

"Seriously."