Title: Of Mounties and Mary Jane
Summary: In the middle of a forest in Canada, Gilbert finds himself lost, injured, and without cellphone reception, only to be rescued by a sweet and charitable Mountie. Oh how kind he is, sharing his "good stuff" with Gilbert. AU, Smut, Drugs, CanadaxPrussia (in other words: Seme!Canada) For PetitePomme.
Warnings: Smut, AU, CanPru (?), drugs, blatant disrespect for any and all morals (but, pfft, who needs 'em).
Disclaimer: APH—not mine. And nor will it ever be. (Thank God for the web.)
A/N: For the dearest Petite Pomme! Thank you for being so amazingly patient with me, especially because of my two week camp and then all my technical problems. She asked for Seme!Mountie!Matthew (along with other things, which I believe are there…you'll have to look and let me know if I missed anything. :'), and that is what she shall get.
In which manry Canada is manry and bottom Prussia is...very bottom.
This was so not awesome.
Here he was, the marvelous Gilbert Beilschmidt, stuck out in the middle of friggin' nowhere. Tired, hungry, injured, and more than possibly frostbit. Why he had agreed to come on this godforsaken ski trip still baffled him. He didn't particularly like skiing (and after trying to learn snowboarding when he was little, he sure as hell wasn't going to try it again), he hated the cold, and he really didn't like ice. Especially right now.
He flipped open his phone, noting exasperatedly that the battery was fully charged, but the dreaded words "No Service" covered the picture of a little yellow chick. He groaned and started typing a melodramatic SOS text message that, when finished, he put into the drafts folder.
So, after having been passed out for… Gilbert looked at his phone again for the time, a way too cheery 11:10 glowed back at him… approximately two hours, he was chilled to the bone, aching in places he didn't even know existed, and his nose really itched, but he didn't dare touch it because he was fairly sure it was badly scratched up and possibly even broken with the way it was throbbing.
Wonderful.
So, Gilbert waited. And waited, and waited, and continued to wait. He didn't really know why, or what for, but he waited. And while he waited, he examined. The pine trees towering over him, the fallen log he was leant against, the snowy blanket that laid itself across everything. He examined his boot (the other one had gotten lost... somewhere), his torn up gloves, his jeans (with the newly made hole in the one knee), and that goddamned bird.
"It's all your fault, Gilbird," he grumbled, glaring tiredly at the bird nestled in the front of his partially opened jacket. Gilbird peeped quietly in its sleep. "Yeah, yeah." Gilbert exhaled deeply through his nose, watching with a dreary fascination as the feathers on the little bird's back shivered and shifted.
He pulled his phone back out.
11:37.
Damn it. He didn't know what to do. Maybe he'd just be lost out here forever? That'd be horrible. No internet? No beer? No comfy beds? Madness.
He hadn't ever gotten lost before, taken a class about what to do when lost, or watched TV about someone who did.
He picked up a nearby branch and chucked it into the dark woods across from him. It whistled through the air before he heard it smack into a tree.
He glanced at his phone again.
11:37.
Gilbert sighed heavily, then shivered. He brought his knees up closer under his chin, careful not to squish the bird in his lap. Boredom leading his actions, he browsed through his phone, eventually settling on a demo game of Bejeweled. He turned the volume up loud, trying to drive away the creeping feeling that there were vicious, human-eating animals in the woods.
His phone chimed as he connected lines of same icons. He was actually getting pretty good, making his ways quickly through the levels, before the game stopped him, stating that the demo was over and if he would like, he could buy it. He stared at the cellular device for a few moments before growling and turning the damned electronic off. Gilbert huffed, a small cheep reminding him to be gentle with his movements.
Then there was a noise. Somewhere off to the right of him. The padding of feet on snow, the cracking of twigs, and the heavy panting of a large animal. His eyes widened as he turned quickly, searching into the darkness for a glimpse of the animal. The little bird had made its way up into the place between his neck and the fuzzy hood he had pulled up over his ears. The animal could no longer be heard, and he worried that it was waiting to pounce. He looked around himself for a weapon, after finding none, he internally began to hit himself for throwing the branch earlier.
"Hello?" Gilbert wasn't sure if he had really heard that, but he turned his head back towards where he had heard the animal. "Hello?"
That time he was sure. Someone was out there. "Hey!" He yelled, making an effort to sit up a bit taller (and hitting himself internally again for such a un-awesome reply). "Over here."
It was like seeing an angel—no, it was like seeing that first frosted glass of alcohol after a hard day of work. It such a relief. His savior was donned in a gallant red jacket, leather boots, and a flat brimmed Stetson hat.
Gilbert giggled at the man's get-up. "What the hell are you supposed to be?"
"How long have you been out here, eh?" The man gave him a worried look.
"A little while, I suppose," he managed between snorts.
"What's your name?" The man bent over him, shining his flashlight along Gilbert's body.
"Gilbert Weillschmidt, and get that fuckin' thing outta my eyes."
"Eh…"
The man–sweet guy, though a little shy, believe it or not, named Matthew Williams–had managed to persuade a very loopy Gilbert to come back home with him. "Home" was a cozy little cabin, tucked deep into the forest. Apparently, Matthew was a Mountie (Gilbert had to ask what that was) and that tonight was supposed to be part of his week off.
"So, why were you out there?" Gilbert asked, wrapped in several blankets on Matthew's couch (having refused to go anywhere near a hospital, not that Matthew particularly minded, seeing as how the weather wasn't exactly too agreeable).
"I should be asking you that," Matthew sighed, handing Gilbert a cup of tea.
"Sure, I'll tell you…after you tell me," he grinned, accepting the warm drink with much gratitude.
Matthew stared at him for a second. Two seconds. Three. "Fine." He sat down in the chair across from Gilbert. "I was out for a walk with Kumakiko." Kumakiko, Kumatowa, Kumaroma, or Kumajirou (the latter was what the collar had said, and that's what Gilbert was going to go with if he found he was unable to call the beast the neutral "it") was the animal Gilbert had heard in the woods. Kumajirou was a white, and abnormally large (fat) Pyrenean Mountain dog. "It is my property after all," Matthew whispered to himself, and though Gilbert heard him, he ignored it.
"Boring," he yawned. "It would've been much more interesting if you were tracking some sort of serial killer and informed me that she could be outside right now."
"W-what? Wait…why a she?" Matthew rose an eyebrow at Gilbert as he set his hat on the coffee table. "Most serial killers are male. Most people assume that most serial killers are male."
"I happen to know a girl–two actually–who would definitely change 'most people's' minds." Gilbert scoffed.
"Oh...kay." Matthew chuckled.
"Natalya is fucking bat-shit insane, I tell ya." Gilbert repressed a shudder, sipping at his drink.
"Natalya, eh?"
"Yup, she also has an insane older brother–"
"Ivan? Ivan Braginski, right?"
Gilbert looked up at Matthew is shock. "You know them?"
"Of course," Matthew smiled. "They used to live around here."
"Oh, my God. When?" Gilbert was excited now, sitting on his feet and leaning forward, the blanket on his shoulders had fallen off, exposing him in the clothing that seemed too big for him (Matthew had leant him some clothes to stay warm while his damp clothing went through the wash.)
"Back in high school, I lived right next to them." Matthew's cheery grin turned into a grimace as he asked, "Does Natalya still want to marry him?"
"Holy shit, she was like that back in high school?"
"Unfortunately." Matthew chuckled at Gilbert's expression.
"I guess that makes sense." Gilbert paused, thinking, before he asked, "What was Ivan like back then?"
Matthew bit his lip as he thought, "I don't know. We were friends, but I can't–"
"Wait, wait, wait," Gilbert interrupted, holding up a hand. Setting down his now-empty mug, he asked, "You were friends with Ivan Braginski? You sure you don't have him mixed up with some other fucked up Russian guy with a crazy sister that wants to have little incest babies with him?"
Matthew furrowed his brows. "The one and the same." His voice rose a little at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement. Matthew understood why not many other people had understood–or approved in Natalya's case–their friendship, but he was a little surprised at how shocked Gilbert was to learn this. He chocked it up to an attribute of Gilbert's to be melodramatic.
"Wow…how I have underestimated you."
"Ehh…"
The talk carried on with a much more comfortable tone, and it was much later, while they were both immersed in their conversation about just how "fucking awesome" syrup was, that Gilbert realized something.
"Hey, we're in Canada, right?" He asked, leaning forward as a grin crawled its way across his face.
Matthew gave him a look before nodding hesitantly, "Yeah."
"Well…pot is legal here, right?"
"Well, yeah, bu–"
"You got some?"
"Gilbert! What the h–"
"Don't lie to me, Matthew." Gilbert smirked as he watched Matthew suddenly become interested in his hands.
Matthew bit at the inside of his cheek, contemplating ways to distract Gilbert, get him interested in something else. When he came to the conclusion that Gilbert probably wasn't going to let it rest, Matthew sighed heavily and looked up at the expectant albino.
He had expected the begging face, but he didn't expect how pitifully adorable it was.
"F-fine," he muttered, ignoring Gilbert's happy cheering in favor of getting up and walking off, attempting to hide the blush spreading across his face.
"I told you this was a good idea, Mattie," Gilbert grinned at the man lounging next to him on the couch as he held out the half-smoked joint.
Matthew waved his hand dismissively in the air before he took the offering from Gilbert. "You didn't say anything of the sort," he said, taking a deep inhale. He held it and then breathed out slowly, leaning his head back as he did so, adding to the haze in the room. "Besides, how is this a good idea? You're smoking my weed and we barely know each other."
Gilbert snickered as he took the joint back, "I think you need to relax."
"So, why were you out there, eh? You never did tell me," Matthew asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as Gilbert blew smoke.
"Two of my friends brought me up for a ski trip. Since I'm too awesome to ski and they can't stand to part with me, we just sat in the lounge-slash-café and talked, drank, played cards, etcetera. At some point, we all moved out to the balcony—I think it was because Francis needed a smoke, can't really remember—doesn't matter," Gilbert waved his hand dismissively. "And then Gilbird, this little guy here," he pointed at the top of his head, "decided to run–fly, whatever–off and so me, being the awesome gentleman I am, went after him to make sure he didn't get eaten by beavers."
Matthew rose an eyebrow at this, but said nothing.
"I followed him out to this really remote edge of the woods thing and—now, I swear, some sort of bear or giant beaver or something attacked me!" Matthew watched with keen amusement as Gilbert gestured dramatically with his hands, guessing that possibly, just possibly, the man had tripped and just didn't want to own up to it. "Maybe it was Kumajirou…" he glanced behind the couch where the bear-dog glared sleepily back up at him on his place on his dog-bed. Gilbert shivered and slunk back next to Matthew. "A-anyways, and so whatever it was ran off and I got up, walked my hurt ass in circles and eventually sat down to rest and try my phone…then you came along."
"Hmm," Matthew muttered as they settled down after Gilbert's retelling of his ridiculous ordeal.
They sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, as old-time Tom & Jerry flashed across the screen. Jerry endlessly teasing and inciting Tom, while the cat followed blindly, always trying to catch the damned mouse.
"I feel bad for the cat," Gilbert said, frowning.
"Why?"
"It's always chasing the mouse, right?"
Matthew had to think a moment before replying, "Something like that, yeah."
"He never catches him, right?"
A longer pause this time before, "Mm-hmm."
"And every single time, he's getting outsmarted and hurt. That's so unfair."
"But he's trying to kill the mouse," Matthew pointed out, frowning.
"That's what cats are supposed to do. They're supposed to catch and eat the stupid mice that make holes in our walls and live in said holes with their matchbox bed and candle lamp."
Matthew gave him a look before shaking his head softly and taking a drag.
Matthew, in a moment of stoned confusion, angled his head down until his lips were pressed awkwardly against Gilbert's in something one could hardly call a kiss.
But Gilbert pressed back.
When they pulled away, there were no shocked reactions; there was just immediate reconnection.
Falling onto Matthew's bed, Gilbert moaned, wrapping his arms tighter around Matthew's neck, pulling him closer to entangle their tongues. Matthew groaned into his mouth as he worked quickly to unbutton the other's shirt. It was removed swiftly, carelessly being cast to the floor, other pieces of clothing eventually meeting the same fate.
Matthew pressed his groin into the other's, reveling in the cute noises he made. They panted in sync, their tongues twirled in a dance that neither of them knew, but were masters of. Hands touched the exact right places, and when Matthew knew Gilbert was ready, he pushed one finger in slowly–after having Gilbert suck on the digits for nearly a whole excruciating minute–allowing Gilbert to cling to his shoulder blades–creating little grooves with his nails–and hide his face in the crook of Matthew's neck.
Gilbert moaned, digging his nails in deeper and struggling to remember to breathe, while Matthew was doing all of those wonderful things to him—nipping at his collar bone, tracing distracting little circles around his nipple, feathering touches down his side, and those fingers. Every time Matthew hit that one spot inside, Gilbert had to try his hardest not to fall apart in his hands right then. He almost cried when they left him.
"Relax." He complied, and he was wonderfully rewarded for doing so. The sensation took his breath away and he rocked his hips, eliciting a throaty groan from Matthew. Gilbert brought their mouths back together, working their hips together like a pro. Matthew dragged his hand down from the back of Gilbert's head, along his chest, dipping his fingers momentarily into his navel, and further down until he felt the curly hair. He wrapped sympathetic fingers around Gilbert's length. Skin against skin, they became the same being, falling into a steady, simultaneous rhythm.
They both weren't able to last long, climaxing only moments apart. Spent and cold, Gilbert waited only until Matthew pulled out to tuck himself under the covers, pulling the top quilt under his chin, taking comfort in the arm draped possessively over his hips.
He kept his head down for the ride, looking at his hands, when an arm wrapped itself around his midsection and pulled him against the console. He nearly jumped out of his skin when two chapped lips pressed themselves tenderly against the corner of his own. As soon as the presence left, he turned, doe-eyed, to stare quizzically at the younger, yet somehow much taller, man. Matthew was looking straight, but Gilbert could see the faint red tinge dusting his cheeks.
It was so cute, Gilbert nearly squealed. Instead, he smiled softly to himself and leaned his head against Matthew's soft shoulder. He wanted to maintain his small amount of dignity, especially in front of his new...companion.
A/N:
Don't do drugs, mmm'kay? Or else you'll start writing horrible fics… such as this.
Don't know the actual laws about marijuana in Canada, but I do know it is semi-legal (at least for medication purposes, but to what extent, I don't know).
I'm sorry, I really couldn't get the image of Canada and Prussia watching cartoons while high. xD Okay, so I'm not really sorry, but whatever. Omigawd, this was huge though. Seriously, after going back over it, I'm like, "Holy sh–…" and then I celebrated by watching reruns of Criminal Minds and eating Thai food. : )
Oh, and yeah—HAPPY ENDING?
P.S.– Doesn't anybody else think that the "official" Fem!Canada looks like she belongs in a porno? As, like, a teenage girl? Was that what he was going for? Whatever, that doesn't bother me so much as the fact that… SHE DOESN'T HAVE HER CURL. FFFF. I know, I'm picky.