Title: (untitled)
Author: MoyaoftheMist
Characters/Pairings: (virgin!)Cuba, (stripper!)Canada, (Cuba/Canada), America, and the full version of the first scene also had Austria/Hungary/Prussia as well as Spain/France, but I cut it to improve the flow…
Summary: For a prompt for my best friend based on this picture. Basically, Cuba meets Canada at a strip club and ridiculous amounts of fluff ensue.
Rating: PG(-13?)
Warnings: FLUFF, human names, FLUFF, and I guess stripping. Also my exhaustion.
The first time that Ramon met Matthew, it was Ramon's twenty-first birthday, and the worst best friends in the world had dragged him to a strip club. They were two of the only people in the world who knew Ramon was bi, and even though he knew that they were trying to tell him they approved, this was not the way to do it.
And then Ramon saw Matthew. In a white cowboy hat and clothes so snug they left little to the imagination, a young man hooked one leg around the pole and arched his back. He was fit, but had a sweet and too innocent face—he was blushing and had his eyelashes half lowered as he met Ramon's gaze. Ramon's mouth was dry.
And suddenly he found himself being forced into the seat in front of the cowboy, a wad of one dollar bills being crushed into his palm as Gil looked rapturously up at the man. Ramon had the sudden urge to shove Gil when the blonde knelt on the platform, swinging his legs to rest on either side of Ramon. In the moments that Ramon had looked away, he'd fully removed his shirt, and the soft, smooth skin glistened with sweat from the exertion of—dancing. Ramon shut his eyes tight and tried to remember how to breathe.
"Hi," the blonde said.
"Uh—" Words! He knew words! "Ay, dios mio—" English! English! "I mean, um, my friends made me come—no, wait, that's not—" Ramon shut his eyes and shoved the wad of bills at the man. "You dance good!"
His heart felt like it was on the verge of failing when he peeked out of the corner of one eye, but the blonde was smiling.
"Thank you," he whispered, kissing Ramon on the cheek. Ramon's heart clawed at his rubs and his face burned. The kiss burned. The man's closeness burned. The man smelled like maple syrup and—and Ramon couldn't think about that if he wanted to be able to walk out of here with any dignity left.
"If you like my dancing, I'd better keep it up," the man said. The way he talked about dancing made Ramon's temperature rise. His hoodie was much too warm and constricting. He couldn't breathe. The man leaned forward as he got back to his feet. "I'm much better with a partner, though."
Gil slapped Ramon on the back, startling him enough that he squawked and jumped.
"He's a virgin," Gil hissed conspiratorially. "We brought him here for his birthday."
"I hope you have a happy birthday, then, eh?" the cowboy asked, winking, and Ramon curled in on himself, twisting with embarrassment. Gil just guffawed, downing another beer.
"I bet you could give him quite a birthday," Gil said, leaning forward. Ramon did shove him, this time—and got a warning glare from a nearby bouncer. Ramon buried his hands in his hoodie pocket as Gil laughed louder. He hid his face under the hood, not looking at the cowboy on stage.
"I'll treat to a lap dance!" Toni said cheerfully. "I've been saving up for this forages."
"I'll pitch in, too!" Gil said. "Mein Gott in Himmel, look at him! Oi, Mongo, you're so far under that hoodie that—"
"Shut up!" Ramon hissed. "Just—just shut up! No lap dances!"
It was then that Ramon realized the music was fading. He sat up with a start. The cowboy was looking back over one shoulder, grinning at him; he blew Ramon a kiss.
"Happy birthday," he said, then sauntered backstage.
It was clear to Ramon, as he sank down in his seat, that Matthew did stupid things to Ramon's stupid tongue—and that thought just made it even worse.
Two hours later, Ramon was sitting across from Matthew at a diner, and he was sure that there was no way that anyone could ever call him forgettable.
"You should have seen his face!" Matthew laughed. He pulled the straw out of his milkshake and licked the whipped cream. "He thought there was a ghost in the house for weeks. All I had to do was scratch at his door, and—" laughter overtook him, and Ramon joined in.
"You didn't!" Ramon gasped. Matthew nodded, still trying to catch his breath.
"I did," Matthew said. "And I rigged his old chemistry set so that it'd drip red food dye through the ceiling of his room, too. He cried for weeks."
"I bet that he never called you a wuss again!" Ramon said. Matthew grinned.
"Oh, no, he learned his lesson," Matthew said, his laughter finally subsiding. "But Dad was furious about the stain on the ceiling…" He trailed off, frowning, and Ramon opened his mouth to speak, but Matthew just shook his head. "Don't ask," he said, his voice suddenly soft. "Don't ask about my parents."
"How's your shake?" Ramon asked. Matthew smiled.
"Maple is my favorite flavor," he answered. "I just wish that they used real maple syrup instead of maple flavoring."
"You smell like maple," Ramon said, then caught himself and covered his face. "I mean. Ugh, that probably sounded weird, but I—I just meant—I mean that you smell nice. Maple is nice. You're nice. That's," Ramon groaned, pressing his forehead against the table. "It suits you. I mean. You're maple-y." Ramon pulled his hood up. "Ay, dios mio, just kill me and put me out of my misery, please."
Matthew laughed brightly.
"I like you, Mongo," he said. "You know, considering the way we met, I didn't picture us going out for milkshakes."
"And burgers," Ramon said weakly, managing a smile as he looked up at Matthew. "God, do you know how beautiful you are when you smile?"
Matthew blushed, ducking back into his own hoodie.
"My brother gets all the tips, you know," Matthew said, looking away. "He's more rugged looking—it might just be his confidence, but he's also better at working the stage, and the act just works better all around if he's there. People aren't too interested in me; I'm just Al's shadow."
I'm interested, Ramon wanted to say, We've spent two and a half hours just shooting the breeze, and I feel like I've known you for years.
The words caught in his throat, though, and Matthew sighed, pulling out his wallet.
"I'll treat," Ramon said, grabbing for his own wallet.
"It's you're birthday, eh?" Matthew said. "Don't worry about that."
"Can we—you know—another date?" Ramon asked, rising slightly. "I'll treat then!"
Matthew looked at him for a long moment, then smiled.
"I'd like that."
Ramon wanted a second date. He wanted a third date. He wanted to go stare at the stars with Matthew—wanted to go to the movies, take him to nice meals out on the town, treat him to everything from ice skating to bowling and the arcade.
He also wanted to kiss him and snuggle up with him on cold nights, but that—that seemed impossible.
Their second date was at a science museum with Matthew's brother, Alfred—also a stripper—as a chaperone.
"Three feet away from my brother at all times. I have a license to concealed carry and I practice shooting every weekend, so don't get any funny ideas."
"Al," Matthew said, gritting his teeth. "If you shoot him, I will get Arthur to curse the house, just like in that movie that we watched yesterday. I will get ghosts to claw at your walls at every hour of the night, make sure that they drip blood on your bed while you sleep, and set up TVs in every room of the house to let Sadako in to claim you."
"I knew that was why you were showing me that movie!" Al shouted, his voice shrill as he pointed a shaking finger at Matthew. "Don't you dare, Mattie! Don't you even dare!"
Despite Matthew's threats, Alred stuck to them like glue. He laughed loudly and obnoxiously at his own jokes, went on long, rambling speeches about scientific advancement, and got altogether too obsessed with the room that was full of turbines as he set about making the perfect paper airplane.
It was then that they managed to sneak away from Al and find a room full of video games from over the last several decades.
"Traveling exhibit," Matthew explained.
Ramon hadn't expected Matthew to be so ruthless when playing video games, nor had he expected him to be so intense and focused and giddy and oh, that look in his eye, predatory and vicious—
They were both flushed when Al found them, and they ran away while laughing nearly too hard to breathe.
Their third date was a secret from Al, who had sworn to shoot Ramon on sight. They snuck off to the county fair; they'd hung out and texted nearly constantly over the last couple of months, but hadn't gotten to see each other.
It was sunny for once, but not too warm—Ramon wanted to be the one draping an arm around Matt, watching him smile gratefully as his shivering stopped… But Matt never got cold. Ever. Let alone in September, even if the pacific northwest was cold every single day of the year, in Ramon's opinion.
So it was Matt who pulled Ramon in for a hug, rubbing his arm as Ramon fought down a blush. Matt's smile was warm, caring, and altogether too beautiful for Ramon to handle.
At the end of the date, Ramon took Matt's hands and looked him in the eye.
'I want to kiss you,' he'd rehearsed. 'I'm falling in love with you.'
What came out was this:
"Today was nice. Well! I mean, actually it was better than nice. It was… I don't know what it was. And I know that maybe you don't like me like—well, I mean, you at least like me enough to put up with me. And I like going on dates with you. Unless these aren't dates! Ay, dios mio, maybe these weren't, and they don't have to be—I mean, I still had fun, and I'm okay with just hanging out and being—"
It was at this point that Matt kissed him.
Matt kept his job, and Ramon found that he didn't mind much after Matt explained that he thought of Ramon every time he went on stage. Ramon lost his job and found a new one.
They found that living together would cut their monthly expenses in half.
They moved in together, and even though they shared a bedroom, Ramon insisted on sleeping on the floor. One night, when Matt had just gotten back from a bad day at work and Ramon was massaging the tension from his shoulders, Matt began to cry.
"Don't you want me?" Matt asked. Ramon floundered.
"Are you kidding?" Ramon asked. "Matt, you're sex on legs. You're beautiful and way too nice for your own good and I love you and of course I want you."
"So why won't you just share a bed with me?"
"In your line of work, everyone looks at you and thinks about sex. When you get home, and you look so tired, I just… I just don't mind waiting."
"…Are you seriously the old-fashioned kind of person who wants to wait until marriage?"
"I don't mind if you aren't a virgin—that wouldn't bother me—I mean, not that you aren't. Or that you are. Or just. I just meant that." Ramon covered his face and groaned. "Ay, dios mio, I can't think when you start talking about sex."
"Okay, okay, calm down. Just sleeping. The sex can wait, but I still want to cuddle."
Matt gets home at 4am on most nights and 6am on long ones. Ramon works as a bartender—goes in at 6pm and comes back at 2am. He has enough time to shower, tidy up the kitchen, and throw together dinner or breakfast before Matt gets back. Matt showers, they eat, and then wind down together by playing whatever video game they're working through at the moment.
Usually Matt has sore spots from working the pole; Ramon usually tries to ease the ache while Matt regales him with stories from the night. Ramon has learned that Matt likes to hold someone while he sleeps; Ramon has also learned that Matt kicks and snores in his sleep, but only when he goes to bed drunk.
Ramon keeps it to himself, because Matt doesn't kick very hard, and he always nuzzles Ramon's shoulder after doing so.
They'd been living together for a year and dating for nearly two years when Ramon took Matt back to the diner they'd gone to on their first date. Ramon knew by this time that rehearsing wouldn't help, but he tried anyway.
"Matt," he began, "You're the kindest person I know—you give directions to lost tourists, dive into the street to rescue cats from cars, always insist on giving me the last bite of anything tasty, and never fail to say just the right thing when people are hurt. Your smile is distracting and makes me feel warm—I've never been as happy as I am with you. So, Matthew Williams, would you do me the honor of marrying me?"
At least, that's what was supposed to happen.
Before he could get past the first word, Matt held up a hand.
"Ramon," Matt said, "You are person I know. Whether you're making sure I never run out of maple syrup, making my favorite cookies while I'm at work, giving me massages when I get home, frantically getting me more than I could ever need to survive a cold, or just secretly doing my chores when I work extra hours, you are always, always taking care of me. Better than that, you let me take care of you without getting insulted, always respect my decisions, and have the patience of a saint."
Ramon's heart stopped as Matt pulled out a little, black box.
"Ramon Téodoro Alejandro Roberto Fernando López Famosa y Hernández García," Matt said, holding out the ring, "would you do me the immense honor of becoming my husband?"
Wordlessly, Ramon pulled out the ring box he'd intended for Matt and slid it over.
Matt stared at the box for a long, long moment, then burst out laughing.
"I wish I could have heard your proposal!" Matt laughed. "Oh, Ramon, I'm so sorry that I interrupted—"
"Iloveyoupleasemarryme!" Ramon said, hastily throwing open the box. Matt beamed.
"Francis does love wedding planning," Matt grinned. "I guess I'll have to call Al and share the happy news." Ramon looked at him, and Matt's smile grew a little more fierce. "By which I mean rub it in his face."