Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me. Thank you my dear Schauspielerinnen for beta-editing.
Author's notes/Warnings: There will be war and love and blood. Also, this is my very first real yaoi-story, so be gentle.
Broken Love
Chapter 1
MY Spectre around me night and day
Like a wild beast guards my way;
My Emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my sin.
'A fathomless and boundless deep,
There we wander, there we weep;
On the hungry craving wind
My Spectre follows thee behind.
William Blake
A young man's blue eyes slowly opened.
The war ground on in the north, back and forth with little gain. The Assembly had been reconvened and Father had gone to another meeting with the townspeople. The brothers lay together in silence in Matthew's canopied bed, dyed in candlelight.
"You are beautiful," Alfred told his brother when they were alone and hidden from the world. "From heat to toe, every part of you is beautiful." Immediately, he rebuked himself for saying something so stupid.
Matthew looked straight at him. "Hush, you idiot." His voice was flowing amber, liquid with his French accent. "If Father knew, he would…"
"Think us sick." Alfred worked at keeping his senses together. On late nights, however, he wanted to be inside Matthew so badly his body hurt.
Matthew frowned. "Hang us both." After a heart beat, he added, "This is pure madness. What if he has got eyes upon us? What if he suspects something already?"
"What if he has an army of owls spying on us?" Alfred cocked his head and laughed aloud.
Matthew's frown deepened. "This is no jest."
"Oh, I am utterly serious," Alfred said, feigning Arthur's voice.
Matthew studied his brother's face. "He hates me," he whispered, suddenly panicky. "He's afraid I won't meet his expectations."
Alfred scoffed and shook his head. "He is slow in the head and has anger issues. He can toss a mean face, but that is all." He gave a pause; in the soft yellow light, Matthew's blue, blue eyes made him look both feminine and shy. How could something this beautiful be a crime punishable by hanging? Images started to drift into his mind, filthy and unhindered. Alfred imagined fucking his little brother but tried to remain calm and nonchalant. Nonetheless, he could feel his cock getting hard. "No, he does not frighten me," he announced and kissed Matthew on the tip of his nose. "And neither should he frighten you."
"The things we do…" Matthew's fearful expression said it all. "It is folly, Alfred. Folly."
Alfred touched Matthew's chest and pushed him gently into the sheets. "A folly done for love," he purred, eyes half lidded.
Matthew smiled in disbelief and his heart did a little flip in his chest.
"If Father knew," Alfred continued as he lowered his head, "you wouldn't be here now, with me, would you? And me," he grinned, "I wouldn't be…," and kissed Matthew on his neck, "…doing…," and pulled up Matthew's vest and kissed him on his bare stomach, "…this," and discovered his hard cock beneath the thick fabric.
Alfred lifted his eyes and the two smiled at one another.
Matthew pouted. "Oh, you are so clever."
"Besides, I will tell him to go bugger himself with a hot poker the next time he treats you like an idiot child."
"Don't make waves. Don't rock the boat," Matthew replied and kissed Alfred.
Alfred kissed him back and moved a hand between Matthew's legs.
At first, Matthew resisted, batting Alfred's hand away and murmuring in fast French. But then his protests became whimpers and his breathing got heavier.
Alfred unsnapped the flap of his brother's breeches and slid further, down to the flesh below his belly. Matthew's skin was warm silk beneath his fingers.
This time Matthew didn't stop him.
Alfred leaned closer. "Is this alright?" He whispered right in Matthew's ear.
Matthew nodded. The boy was wet and eager. "Hurry," he urged, between kisses, as his fingers went to Alfred's waist. "Oh, hurry, hurry." He fumbled with Alfred's flap, but his brother was quicker. When Alfred's thumb brushed against his foreskin, he stiffened.
Alfred gripped Matthew's cock and began to stroke it with slow, loose strokes. At the sight of Matthew's parted lips, fluttering eyes, and listening to his harsh gasps, he could feel the heat rising inside him, a terrible sweet heat burning in his belly.
Can we truly love, Alfred wondered. No, he didn't want to know the answer. Some things he would rather not know. Matthew wanted to be with him more often, he had told him, I do miss you... between the sheets, one night after they made love. Alfred had lain beside him, Matthew's head pillowed against his chest, his groin aching with sweet soreness...
"Al-Alfred...," Matthew said, part moan, part yelp, and wrinkled up his boyish face.
Alfred knew that face and loved it. Blond hair, white skin, and eyes so blue they seemed violet. You could drown in them. And Alfred had. His hand moved faster.
One hand pressed flat on Alfred's back, the other one twisting sheets, gasps and muffled shrieks of pleasure were coming from Matthew. It was awful and amazing; Alfred's hand was clumsy and frantic and inept and the whole scene was rather vaguely comical, and Matthew exploded at the end.
Still out of breath, Matthew touched Alfred's face and said, "I am lost without you." He kissed him, a light kiss, the merest brush of his lips on Alfred's. "I am not whole without you."
Alfred made no reply, save with his eyes. There was hunger in his eyes. Alfred could feel his brother tremble as he slid his arm around him to turn him over. He kissed him again, Matthew's mouth opened for his tongue. He kissed him, kissed him hard until Matthew moaned, and pushed down his breeches.
Matthew murmured about the risk, the danger, about Arthur finding them like this, about God's wrath. Alfred never heard him, he put his finger into Matthew's mouth and Matthew sucked. When Alfred put his finger inside him, his feeble hands curled into fists. "Quickly," Matthew was whispering and whimpering again. "Alfred, oh, Alfred..."
Alfred added another finger and kissed Matthew on his shoulder, on his back, on his thigh. Matthew murmured incoherently and pounded against the pillow. So he kissed him again on his back and pulled out his fingers and licked Matthew's secret wetness, on and on until his chin and Matthew's puckered flesh were both soaked. Matthew gave a soft moan and shuddered.
Alfred undid his own breeches and climbed up and roughly pushed Matthew's bare white legs apart. One hand he slid up his thigh and grabbed onto a butt cheek. He spit in his free hand and covered his cock with the saliva.
"Quickly, brother, quickly, do it now, do me now..." Matthew's hand helped Alfred to guide him. "Yes," Matthew said as Alfred thrust into him. "Yes, my brother, my Alfred, yes, like that, yes, have me, have me..."
Alfred kissed Matthew's nape, kissed his ear, and stroked his lengthy blond hair. He had lost himself in Matthew's body. He could feel his brother's heart beating in time with his own, he could feel Matthew's warmth and wetness and his seed where they were joined.
That night, after their Father had returned, Alfred got very drunk. The streets were rising and falling with masses of people. Alfred was lying in bed while the ceiling moved like the sea and their Father was reading a pamphlet. Matthew waited, afraid to breathe. When Arthur Kirkland read to the end, he folded the pamphlet and stared at the cover page for a long moment. Then Arthur's chilly eyes fell upon Matthew and he took a sip of his cup of green leaf tea.
Alfred thought that the only way he could ever keep Matthew safe would be to run away and join the army. Perhaps right away, or very, very soon. Alfred was old enough.
This scenario was also scary, however. He imagined every possibility and saw himself facing the Frogs at Fort Beauséjour: teeth clenched, eyes narrowed, ready to shoot and slay; saw himself pulling a musket; saw himself riding a strong bay horse in the van of an army of redcoats; even saw himself walking toward the enemy with a knife and a tomahawk in his hands. Every image was as real as breakfast.
At the first light of the morning, Alfred woke up sullen. Matthew was gone. He left a goodbye note for him. "I will take up the quill and sign up," Matthew wrote, "Pour Nouvelle France."
Alfred stared at the cyanide sky, the stars, steady and guiding, were barely visible through the gathering clouds.
The stars smiled down on us back then.
"If we want to advance, we have to take our chances. Strike now, I say, swiftly from the shadows," Arthur whispered, his green eyes fixed on a small patch of forest in front of them. "They will all be dead by the time they know what hit them."
They had been lying here, waiting here for an eternity, screening the horizon for the invisible enemy. Alfred hurt, he was cold and hungry. "So... is this where I die for America?"
Arthur gave Alfred a cold look. "That is why I am here, Alfred. To make sure you don't."
"That is a consolation." Alfred nodded. He gave himself a moment to look at the stars again and inhaled deeply.
The stars smiled down on us back then, Matthew.
"Do you ever think about him?" Alfred exchanged a stone-faced look with Arthur. "About Matt…"
"I know whom you meant." Arthur fell silent for a long moment. Then he softened and found himself unsteady as he spoke far more honestly than he ever had wanted to. "I remember his name. I remember his face. He was family just as you are. And yet…," he paused, searching for words. "Here we are."
As much as Alfred had tried, he couldn't read Arthur's mind. But…This is it, Arthur's eyes were telling him. This is how it tastes like. Betrayal.
"Alfred, don't you dare ask me where we went wrong. We did not, your brother did. So quit looking at me like that."
"Like what?" Alfred asked, puzzled.
"You know like what."
Alfred didn't know.
"The honor it cost me, the shame... Christ...!" Arthur swore under his breath.
The moment was broken by the sound of a distant thunder. Alfred jolted but Arthur gratefully turned his attention to it. "It is going to rain," Arthur observed. Then he looked over his shoulder. "This is an army of redcoats and country men here, and a defiant one but still. My redcoats will fight. But your fishers dropped their nets, picked up their muskets and came to seek glory. What will they do when the enemy charges? Will they fight?"
"Aye, Sir." Alfred touched his brows with his knuckles. "Many may die and run… but they will fight."
"Mayhaps you're right." Arthur shifted onto his knees. "Keep your memories in your heart and your enemy in your sight, Alfred."
Arthur took his musket and had been on his feet already when he squatted down to Alfred and grabbed him by the arm. "Pray tell you will not let your heart lead you into folly."
Alfred shook his head. "You worry too much."
Arthur looked toward the hidden enemy camp. "I despise them," he said softly. "Oh God, how I despise them. Every bloody Crapaud deserves to die."
And together, they took off, dashing across the narrow strip of dark green field, leaving their life-saving foxholes behind.
To be continued...
Bavaria