content notes: fisting, dom/sub undertones, subspace, porn with feels - written for a kink meme request
Being embarrassed really isn't Alfred's style. Nervousness just gets in the way; you can't make decisions, get things done, or be very awesome when you're nervous.
Not to mention that it's terribly unheroic. Terribly, terribly, uncool.
Alfred reminds himself of this as he follows his brother to a booth in the back of the McDonald's they're in, balancing trays of food in each hand. He slides into a seat opposite of Matthew, arranging his two trays on the table in a way that still leaves some room for Matt's. Unwrapping one of his burgers, Alfred waits until Matthew pops open his own container of french fries - covered in cheese and thick, brown gravy and, damnit, why didn't Alfred think of that combination first? - before he goes for the Canadian's attention.
"Hey, Matty," Alfred starts, taking a large bite of his burger. He swallows, takes another bite. "How'd you feel about trying something new?"
"Hmm?" Matthew looks up to Al from his food, licking gravy from the corner of his lips before dabbing with a napkin. "New like what?"
"Like...," Alfred trails off, pushing the rest of his burger into his mouth before unwrapping another. He eats this one in three bites, unwraps a third, stomach fluttering as he tries to think how best to ask for what he wants. Slurping down his Coke only adds bubbles to the flutter in his belly and he doesn't realize how long he's been silent until Matthew prompts patiently, around greasy fingers,
"Well?"
Now or never. Now or never.
"Like putting your hand up my ass."
Alfred's words come out in a jumbled mess, muffled by the handful of fries he shoves into his mouth at the same time.
Matthew coughs and thumps his chest with a fist, nearly knocks his drink over reaching for it. After several gulps and a deep breath, he leans closer to Al and says, incredulous, "Are you serious?"
Now that his brother looks as flustered as he feels inside, Alfred finds it easier to put on his characteristic grin and say, "What? It's the next logical step, right? Fingers, dick, hand?"
"Alfred, you know that's not what I mean! We're in public!" Matthew groans, pitching his voice low. He leans back in his seat with a sigh, looking around to see if anyone is paying attention to them. Satisfied that, thankfully, no one is, he continues, fingers hovering over his poutine. "Besides, I don't think that's quite how that works."
"We can figure out how it works," Alfred responds between bites. He pauses then, face flushing despite his will. "I mean, if you want to."
A contemplative look passes over Matthew's face as he chews and swallows. He catches Alfred's eye. "It's something you want?"
Licking tiny crystals of salt from his lips, Al nods. "Yeah."
The fluttering in his belly begins anew as he holds Matt's gaze, trying his best not to distract himself by looking at the Canadian's curl instead. After a few seconds - Al would swear it was minutes - Matthew smiles as if he's suddenly figured something out.
"Let's try it."
Alfred's nervousness quickly fades into something else entirely.
"I can take more," Al insists later that night, on his knees with two of Matt's fingers already up his ass. He looks over his shoulder invitingly, wiggling his hips for emphasis. There's a moment where he sees the temptation cross his brother's face, violet eyes trained to the way Al moves, pushing back and forth on slick fingers, and Al's sure he's got Matthew hook, line, and sinker.
Then Matt stills Al's hips with his free hand, smooths it over the swell of Alfred's asscheek.
"Oh, Al. I know you can." He says it lovingly, like a compliment, curving his fingers inside of America to press teasingly against sensitive spots. Al moans encouragingly, dropping his head back to his pillow to offer himself up more. Matt pulls his fingers back and pushes them in again, as deep as he can, relishing the sudden jerk of Alfred's hips before removing them completely. Draping himself over Al's back, he lines himself up with the blonde's hole. "But not tonight."
"Why no—"
Matthew cuts off Alfred's protest in the middle, replacing his fingers with the thickness of his cock, careful and easy. This close, buried to the base inside of Al, Matthew can feel every tremor of his brother's body. Lips pressed to the patch of skin behind Al's earlobe, he feels the double-tap of Alfred's pulse when he rolls his hips, slow, slower. "You need to work on your patience."
Though it only takes Matthew a few hours of research to get acquainted with the finer particulars of Al's request, he waits a week and a half before bringing it up again. Matt finds that there's something charming about watching Alfred try to prove how very calm, not impatient he really is. Still, the way Al asks him for it silently, in his glances and in his kisses, hasn't gone unnoticed; the edges of Matt's patience are also worn thin.
It's not something he would have ever considered before Al brought it to light, but now the idea has taken root in Matthew's mind like a seed. Now, it's an image that floats behind his eyes when Alfred does even something as simple as bending to pick up a rollaway pen. Yeah, Matthew thinks. I'm ready.
He catches Alfred curled up on the sofa with Kumajiro, absorbed in what looks like an intense cowboy stand-off. Matt debates momentarily on whether to leave Alfred to his spaghetti western before deciding, no, nevermind.
He doesn't want it to come as a complete surprise when he gets back.
Bending near Al's ear, he gets America's attention with a kiss to his temple. "Going out," he murmurs, respectful of the action on the television. "Be back soon."
Alfred's eyes don't leave the gunfight on the screen but his lips do quirk up into a smile. "Why?"
"Just to grab a few things," Matt answers, moving away from his brother and towards the front door. He keeps his tone and expression as innocent as he can as he tucks his wallet into his pocket. "Thought we'd try something new later."
And that really gets Al's attention. He sits up abruptly, getting an earful of startled polar bear noises in this process. His face is hopeful and excited all at once. "Really?"
Matthew is already halfway out of the door though, and he's fairly certain he's gotten his point across, so he just shoots a smile Alfred's way over his shoulder and closes the door behind himself.
If his stomach is flip-flopping with excitement as he slides into the driver's seat of his car, it's only because he's about to give Alfred something he wants.
Really.
Alfred tries to continue his movie after Matthew leaves. After ten minutes of shifting and trying to lie comfortably, he realizes he's too keyed up to do so and shuts it off. His belly feels all fluttery again, like the first time they talked about it - this - but different too. The feeling creeps up into his fingers and down into his toes, ticklish and tingly and warm.
Al purses his lips against a sudden urge to giggle, pushing his toes into the plush carpet beneath him. It's not like they've never done anything kinky before - Al can vividly remember the time Matt bent him over and fucked his thighs, pressed tight and covered in fishnets the Canadian had found god knows where. And he'll certainly never forget the way Matt's tongue looked, felt, dragging over the sticky mess he'd left between his thighs.
He licks his lips.
Yeah, it's not that.
Alfred's feet know where he's going, even if his mind is a million miles away. That's how he finds himself half-hard and grinning stupidly at his blushing reflection in the bathroom mirror. This time, Al doesn't - can't - stifle his laugh. He's giddy and he can't quite pin down why.
So instead of thinking about it, he turns to the shower and twists the tap.
Should mellow me out, Alfred thinks, pleased with the deduction as he shrugs out of his shirt.
He kicks the bathroom door closed as an afterthought as he shimmies out of his shorts. It's not long before the heat of the shower thickens the air and fogs up Texas; it's a nice reminder to take them off. Al brushes the shower curtain aside and steps under the spray with a sigh, immediately feeling some of his tension melt away. Like the first touch of warmth after a morning spent in the bitter cold.
Oh yeah, that's way better.
Pushing wet hair away from his face, Alfred opens his mouth, letting some of the hot water pelt against his tongue.
He feels more grounded already.
When Matthew returns home an hour later carrying a discreet, black plastic bag, he's surprised to find the living room Alfred-less. Instead of his expectation - more noisy saloon brawls and gunfights - there's only Kumajaku, flipping the pages of a newspaper on the sofa. Toeing off his shoes, he asks the bear about Alfred's whereabouts, just to get a confused who? in return.
"Nevermind," he says, part to the bear and part to himself. Matthew doesn't know why he bothers sometimes; Kumajichi hardly remembers who he is on any given day, let alone someone else. Moving on, he peeks into each room as if they're on a checklist: not the dining room, not the kitchen, not the backyard.
Upstairs, then.
Matt wouldn't be surprised if Alfred had gone to take a nap; it's barely four o'clock. He takes the stairs up two at a time, fitting his bag under his arm snugly to minimize its noise. The bedroom light is on when he gets to the top; the bedroom door is open when he steps a little closer. He's preparing to call Al's name when he abruptly stops short of the bedroom's threshold, voice dying in his throat as he fully processes what he's just walked into.
America is lying in the middle of their shared bed, on his back, naked. Eyes closed and glasses askew, mouth parted and legs spread wide, Alfred has three slick fingers inside of himself. His free hand presses his cock, fully hard, against his belly as he rocks languidly against the sheets, fucking those fingers. Al's tongue darts out to wet his lips and Matthew's dick twitches as he licks his lips too, suddenly dry.
Stepping into the room, Matt's footfalls are silent on the carpet as he moves, trance-like, towards the bed. He doesn't take his eyes off Alfred, couldn't really if he wanted to, watching the way the blonde's body responds to his own touches. Alfred's teasing himself, wiggling his fingers inside of himself, pulling his lower lip between his teeth before letting them part again. The bed dips beneath Matthew as he kneels on it, stealing a kiss from Alfred's open mouth just as his tongue touches his lips again.
Alfred's breath hitches in his throat and he moans, his eyes fluttering open to meet Matthew's when the Canadian pulls away. There's never really an element of surprise between the two of them; no, there's always that tug in the back of their minds, orienting them together. Matthew lets his bag drop to the bed before leaning in for another kiss; Al meets him halfway, lube-sticky fingers grasping his shirt for leverage.
Hands bracketing Alfred's head, Matt kisses Al until they're both breathless; until he's trembling and wanting and his cock is throbbing hard against the confines of his jeans. For a moment, Matt wants nothing more than to unzip, slide between Al's legs, and fuck his brother senseless into the mattress beneath them.
But they've already made other plans.
This time when Matt pulls away, Alfred regards him with a dazed, lopsided grin. "Hey."
"Hey yourself." Matt's gaze sweeps over Alfred's body, taking in every inch of rosy, flushed skin. He touches his fingertips to Alfred's thighs, drags them over the blonde's skin as he walks around the bed and settles between his legs. His tone is light, teasing. "How long've you been like this? Couldn't wait, eh?"
"Not long," Al says sheepishly. The hand covering his cock falls away to reveal a thin, black strap fit snug around the base. He opens his legs wider. "Just wanted to be ready."
Matthew sucks in a breath. "This is new," he says, more a statement than a question. The ring stands out against Al's cock, makes it look prettier as it curves up towards his belly. Stiff, thick, and dark pink from root to tip, Al's cock twitches when Matt touches the strap, rubbing his fingertip over the soft, suppleness of it.
"Yeah." Alfred's fingers come to brush over Matthew's. Blue eyes meet violet. "Didn't want it to be over too soon, you know?"
It's an oddly honest confession coming from Alfred; Matthew's not sure what to do with it. He doesn't want to fumble it though, so he simply smiles in a way he hopes comes across as understanding, reassuring. "Right."
His fingers slide from beneath Alfred's to trace down over Al's balls, press gently against the slick, pink opening of Al's ass. Matt is acutely aware of his brother, propped up on his elbows, watching him with bated breath.
Alfred's slippery enough, loose enough, that there's no resistance at all. Two of Matthew's fingers sink inside of him, swallowed up by the clench of eager muscle. Alfred exhales, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he watches Matthew's fingers disappear.
Matthew pulls out, pushes again with a third, mesmerized by the ease in which Alfred opens up for him. He pauses there, drags his gaze up to meet Alfred's again.
An unspoken question.
"Keep going," Alfred answers. The steadiness of his voice is belied by the flex of his muscles around Matthew's fingers.
Okay. He can do that.
Alfred feels that strange giddiness welling in his chest when Matthew withdraws from him to grab his bag. It makes his belly flutter, his cock throb and, when Matthew's bag produces a larger jar of lubricant than they've ever bought before, it bubbles up through his throat and past his lips without permission.
The look Matt fixes Alfred with is part amused, part curious. He climbs back onto the bed between Al's legs, settling back on his haunches. "What's so funny, eh?"
Al feels a little silly as he says, "'s a lot of lube."
Matthew doesn't say anything like that, though. He just laughs too, softer. "It is."
He scoots closer to Matthew when palms to his thighs prompt it. Leaning back on his elbows again, he watches Matt dip his whole hand into the jar; watches it come out thickly-coated, wet and shiny. Desire coils and uncoils in his core; it pulls tight, thrums through his body when Matt's fingers are at his opening again.
"Starting with three, alright?"
Alfred licks his lips, exhales. "Go for it."
A pleased sigh escapes him as the first three of Matthew's fingers push back inside of him, easy and familiar. His head falls back as Matt curves them up, pressing and searching; widens them incrementally as he slides them out. Matt takes his time exploring, in and out, massaging with just the pads of his fingertips and-oh, that's nice.
His hips move with Matt's rhythm of their own accord, little jolts of pleasure zipping through his veins. It's good-Al gasps when fingertips touch a spot that makes his cock jerk-really good, but,
"Gimme another," Al says, pulling his head up to look at his brother through lust-lowered lashes. He can't suppress the shiver that comes as Matt pushes his fingers deep, spreads them apart. Matthew's free hand comes to rest on Al's knee, steadying him.
"You sure?" The touch of gentle concern in Matthew's voice, undercut by that way his accent goes all syrup-thick when he's turned on, makes Alfred's heart skip a beat.
"Yeah, 'm sure."
Al anticipates the stretch. It's part of why he wants this so badly, to feel so full he can't stand it, to push himself further than he's ever gone before. Al anticipates it but, when Matthew begins to push his fingers in again - thicker, slicker, cooler - it's so much more than he thought. It's new, it's uncomfortable, and yet there's a heat rolling in his groin, sparking like a flint strike with every millimeter Matt sinks deeper in.
Al's breathing is loud in his own ears; he knows he's panting open-mouthed-already and it's just four-but it's the only way he can remember how to breathe right now. He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, fingers twisting in the soft sheets beneath him. He already feels somewhere outside of himself, watching his body shake with the pleasure-pain-ache-throb of four fingers relentlessly spreading his ass apart.
Then Matthew stills, thumb pressed to the thin skin between his balls and ass, and Alfred's world tilts on its axis.
"Oh god, I'm-no-don't stop-" Al groans, crashing back into his body as his muscles flex and jerk around Matt's fingers, pleasure spiking firecracker-sharp in his core. It ebbs away just as quickly, simmers warm under his skin, and he's left buzzing and sensitive. Head lolling, his words come out like a breathless whine. "That was awesome, why'd you stop?"
"I'm as deep as I can go," Matthew says, moving his fingers slowly, one by one, to demonstrate. Something in Matthew's voice winds Alfred up tighter, makes his heart swell and his cock twitch-still hard, sticky clear fluid dripping from the slit to smear across his belly. "I wish you could see yourself right now, Al. You're gorgeous."
"I am?"
"Absolutely," Matthew hums, rubbing his free palm over all of the skin he can reach. "You're all flushed everywhere. Even here." He twists his hand slightly, pulling another shiver, another groan from Alfred. "Especially here."
Alfred wants to respond, he wants to - the words are just on the tip of his tongue - but Matthew's fingers are curling, prodding and stretching inside of him, scattering his thoughts. He can only focus on the sensation: twinges of ache that set his nerves alight; pleasure spreading through his body in pulses, swallowing the pain. He feels rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but shudder and pant and hold on.
And in the back of his mind, beneath the haze that's settled over him, Alfred's reminded that he's still got one more to go. The realization surfaces, somewhere between a giggle and a moan as Matthew slides out, pauses, and slides in slipperier than before. The cool lube is like a shock to Alfred's overheated system, soothing and startling all at once. He must have verbalized it - something - because Matt presses a kiss to Al's knee, says, "Relax and let me play a bit more, alright?"
Matthew's voice tugs at Alfred's core, grounds him long enough to remind himself to breathe. So he takes a deep breath, and on the exhale, he lowers himself to the bed, finally lying flat. He still has to raise his neck to see Matthew but it's even better now, because he can see the way his brother has been watching him all this time - like Alfred, here and now, really is the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen.
It makes Alfred feel like he's glowing; glowing and floating and warm, aching in his cock and his ass and his fingers where they still twist in the sheets. He wants to open more for Matthew, wants to see his eyes go wide with awe and desire when Alfred takes his whole hand inside of him.
He wants-
"I want," Al starts, his voice sounding somewhere faraway in the ether even as he feels the words leave his mouth, escalating in intensity. "More, Matty, please. I can take it, I want it, I swear-"
"Jesus, Al, okay," Matt breathes, and just like that, Matthew is pulling his fingers out slow and steady, leaving Alfred empty and wanting.
But not for much longer. Alfred's stomach flips in anticipation. He presses his hot face to his pillows, reveling in the coolness of the cotton, in the fact that Matthew never quite stops touching him. Over his calves, knees, and thighs in sweeping strokes; so absorbed in them, Alfred doesn't realize that Matt is talking to him until the touches halt and resume on his forehead, pushing sweaty bangs away.
And then he understands, opening his eyes to meet Matthew's, full of care and concern, love, desire.
I'm okay. Yes. Okay.
Matthew smiles, seems satisfied, so Alfred smiles dazedly too, parting his lips in expectation of Matt's meeting his own. This kiss is slow, drawing Al's voice out of him in breathy sighs and murmurs. Al doesn't want it to stop - and is pretty sure he says something to this effect - but his brother draws away anyway, assurances hanging in the air as he moves from Alfred's line of vision.
Shh. Move your legs up some for me, eh? Like this, this'll make it easier. Good, stay like that. I can't believe how you are right now, Al. Just, incredible. God.
Matt's words wrap around Alfred, sink under his skin and take root there. They make him feel cherished and adored as he goes with Matt's prompting, settling further on his back to bring his knees to his chest. He's completely exposed now, as wide as he can make himself on his own. Alfred stares up at the ceiling blankly, rubbing his fingertips over the backs of his thighs. Even his own touch feels good, better than usual.
Easy to get lost in.
He's centered by the press of Matthew's palm over one of his hands. Then comes more chill wetness spreading up inside of him, followed by pressure, insistent. Al's awareness narrows down to just his ass, where he can feel Matthew pushing, can feel himself opening wider bit by bit. Wider, fuller, further; Alfred is caught on the sensation, pleasure so sharp that it could almost be pain.
And Matthew's right there, murmuring - so good, Al, you're doing so good - when Alfred realizes that the whimpers he's been hearing are his own. Those soft, wrecked sounds are coming from his own throat; the oh god, yes, don't stop, Matty, please littered between them - all him. He feels as though he's gaping, stretched farther than he's ever been, and yet Matthew's still filling him up, deeper and deeper.
He's suspended on the edge of shaking apart, shameless in the way he only spreads more, lets Matthew push and push and push. Then Matthew stills, and everything in Alfred stills with him.
"Oh, oh god. It's, it's really up there, isn't it? Your hand. It's in. In me."
Alfred's words come out in a stream, a little slurred, a little awestruck; they hit Matthew like a bolt of lightning, burning up the air in his lungs. Breathless, it takes him a moment to respond, to lick dry lips, drag his gaze away from the warm pinkness enveloping him to the wrist and say, "Yeah, Al, yeah. All the way in."
Matthew's never quite seen his brother like this: blue eyes blown wide, glassy and unfocused; every inch of tanned skin ruddy and shiny with sweat; and open, so damned open, legs, mouth-Matt's cock throbs, hard, and he sucks in a breath, lets it go.
"Incredible," he can't help but repeat, watching Alfred's throat bob on a whimper as he finally, slowly closes his fingers together inside of him. He experiments with minutely twisting his hand this way and that, until Alfred is shaking, sobbing his name, over and over-Matty, Matty, god, Matty, please, please, pleasepleaseplease-
He can feel Alfred's whole body spasming around his hand, clenching desperately, trying to suck him deeper. So Matt tries it out, works his hand a little further into him, and Alfred keens, panicked and pleasured all at once as he comes apart at the seams, going limp and trembling against the sheets.
Alfred makes soft, hiccuping sounds as Matthew gradually pulls his hand free of him, fumbling over his fly with the other. He barely gets his cock out of his pants before he's coming hard, groaning, streaking Alfred's cock and belly with white. He leans over, pressing a kiss to Alfred's slack mouth. Alfred responds lazily, as if in a trance, letting Matthew kiss him until his noises taper off into quiet nothingness.
Later, after Matthew's guided Alfred through a hot bath and food, they curl up together in the bed, cocooned in pillows and blankets. Al's more peaceful than Matt's seen him in a long time, content to let him press kisses to his forehead, to rub his back when little tremors make him quake. Matthew is humming an old tune just under his breath, sliding his fingertips over the bumps of Al's spine, when the blonde speaks for the first time in hours, breaths puffing over Matt's collarbone steady and sure.
"Love you so much," Alfred sighs dreamily, still sounding somewhere faraway. His hold on Matthew tightens briefly before he goes boneless again.
He's asleep before Matthew has a chance to say it back.
He says it anyway.