Uhm so yeah, I had nothing much better to do with my time than write some 2p!Caname porn with my oh so crappy English writing. Be lucky it's not un French mostly because French don't know nothing on 2p, of what I know. Well, anyways, enjoy the slight-kinda-SPN crossover because I've got the idea while watching old episodes on TV x)
This… has absolutely no real story. It's sucky, my first time to write them and also one of my few attempts to make something directly in English, so this sucks a lot and it's late as crap around here, so yeah. There's a little bit of smut, and no story again and also my lack of knowledge of a lot of terms.
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« Dark side of the moon »
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Matthew's old Ford was a solid, red one that could be seen from miles in the forest. It was older than everything that could be found, a couple of decades than them and rusty, orange and black spots everywhere to be found around the wheels and even at some places in the cabin. It was the one he would use to travel in a forest, and now they were in a clear field, an old caravan that smelled of beer and sweat on the back of the pick-up—the covers reeked awfully, Alfred washed them before going and changed them, but still, he wondered if those very long hunting trips had stained the mattress irreversibly—not that he minded smelling Matt's wood scent everywhere, though.
It felt rather nice for the American to be here and that it was his brother who asked him on a little road trip in the forest of Québec Province—thick, dark forest of pines and all of those pointy tree, typical of the great north—made him feel slightly special since Matt would always hunt alone and Al was a vegan and couldn't help himself for shit while out in a forest that wasn't made of concrete and skyscraper—just as Matthew would be completely helpless in big towns that he didn't knew since forever.
Alfred smiled as he watched the stars and leaned on the hood, hands behind his head, watching the autumn sky of Canada while groaning about how cold it was, fidgeting a little on the cold paint of the truck until Matthew came beside him and watched him do with a blank expression, not letting anything much but boredom to be read. Alfred grinned at him, extending his arms like a child demanding a hug, lazily wriggling his fingers to him.
Matthew looked away and sighed, "Come on, Al, stop doing that. I'm not coming to give you a hug. You're past the age where you'd need any."
"Ya're cold hearted, then ! So cold in yar fuckin' excuse for a country, my balls' gun' fall off !" Alfred pouted and huffed a cheek, turning around and then sitting on the hood, swinging his feet on the bumper and making a loud rattle, "C' mon, what's it gun' hurt ya, jes' a lil' hug. Dun' be shy, bro ! And what's 'rong in a hug that's just to share sum' body heat since it's that cold in ya're hole ?"
Matthew frowned and his nose wrinkled—he was obviously losing his cool and Alfred absolutely loved to see him do, and to also sometime suffer the aftermath of pissing his stoic brother off—bruises, broken bones, blood everywhere on his clothes, bite marks… He loved pain, especially if his brother would be the one to inflict it. As he approached, the Canadian stated in an ice cold voice, slamming his hands on both side of Alfred who slumped back on the hood, grinning fiercely by then, "Don't fucking call my country a hole, fuckbag. You have no ideas of what even happened in it or what we do. You scumbag should shut the hell up or I'll grab an axe and kill you like la Corriveau killed her seven husbands."
The brunet American laughed and slipped his bony arms around the neck of the other, enjoying to see him like that since now he wouldn't complain about some slight closeness, gripping the plaid shirt he wore in his hands, teeth grazing over his own lips as he replied back, "Aww, Matt, dun' worry… I'm jes' kiddin', your country's far from a hole, y' know ? S' like the fuckin' bottom of it. S' that better or wors—"
The Canadian growled and gripped the other jaws with one rough hand from cutting down trees and killing some moose and bears, Alfred though with a bit of excitation, still watching him with defiant eyes as the other looked down on him, mouth in a thin line and so serious, eyes cold like ice of November or the air of late December—it was only early October, but a shiver went down Alfred's spine as he reached to place both of his thin hands on the wrist of his sibling, but the latter just grabbed his own wrist to hold them in place above his head.
And then, Alfred's stare told him, that's right, right like that ya fuckin' grizzly. Restrain me, hurt me, y' know how that turns me on.
Matthew sighed and leaned above the other, resting himself between the opened and given legs, Alfred slightly writhing under him, grinding against his harder body to tease him, annoy him and gain something more, because Alfred always wanted something. He always knew that he was some kind of loose slut, and if it wasn't near him, Matthew would tell he'd be mostly ashamed of his brother's behavior, "Shut that fucking hole, you. Or I may leave you to be eaten by some bears or wolves around. Or I'll kill you with my own hands."
/Ya would never hesitate on killin' anyone… I'd feel pretty important if ya would for me…/
Alfred ripped himself free from the hand that kept him from speaking, smiling widely while he looked at him defiantly, smile wide and showing his canines, slightly feral looking. He didn't spoke, but that was mostly because he leaned upward to press his lips against his brother's thinner mouth, waiting for a reply of some sort, which came a moment later, a needed wait, when Matthew pressed back.
The would waste no time in being gentle to each other, since both of them would feel awkward to do it softly too often, if none of them would be sick or injured, and Alfred found himself just a moment later stripped down, shivering under the chilly wind and snuggling up to his younger brother to find some heat while they would bond like that, silently gazing at the moon with a crooked grin, appreciating the harsh rocking, the raw friction between them. He loved every bites, every nips, every scratch he could get… Even when he bruised himself against the old, rusty paint of the Ford.
And when he spoke again, it was to say, "And maybe if you killed me, I wouldn' care… cause when y' hurt, when y' hit, s' all cause y' care, s' all cause y' care enough to get angry t'ward a shitty bein' like me… And I wouldn' care cause maybe, yeah, maybe I love ya… I think there's a sayin' that say ya hurt those you love… and ya love those who hurt ya…"
Matthew pulled away, looking at him with a slightly contorted face, putting as much effort to look as stoic as ever than to thrust harshly into his brother. There was a slight blush on his face, which made Alfred grin even more. "Didn't I told you to… to shut up ? It's not like you to say that sort of things…"
Another kind of smile was on Alfred's lips now—he looked actually happy, less cocky, more caring, "Maybe I want ya to… to prove me ya love me ? Hurt me, Matt. Real' bad."
The Canadian only rolled his eyes, his grips on his wrists becoming more firm as he complied with a little smile, "You're a weirdo. You're lucky to be somehow right. I don't even know how this can be."
* proceeds to cry in a corner because it's so bad *
Wow, this turned quite worse than expected. My style in English is… ugh… bad, really BAD… Al's quoting the Fight Club movie—I don't remember this quote in the book or my memory fails me. Oh well, I guess that if you enjoyed this just a little, I'd be happy !