In case it's not immediately obvious, I've never been skiing, or to Switzerland. Eischoll is a real place, but the internet can only tell one so much...
"This might have been a very, very bad idea…" Matthew murmured. He didn't think anyone had heard him – the van was an absolute uproar. His brother was driving – who had let Alfred drive in Europe? He couldn't even stay on his side of the road in America; he was having just about the worst time remembering that everyone drove on the left over here. Matthew had given up looking out the window and yelling out about obstacles, although Arthur had not – he and Alfred were in a heated argument about … well, it had been about driving; now it was something about units of wood and cigarettes and a lot of other nonsense.
Behind his row, sitting in the back of the van, were Antonio and Romano. Those two were always a handful, between Antonio not being able to keep his hands to himself and Romano not being able to handle more than five seconds without yelling about something and someone was kicking the back of Matthew's seat and really, what had possessed him to agree to this–
"What was a bad idea, cher?" Francis asked, reaching up running a lazy hand through Matthew's hair. The little blonde squeaked in surprise, looking down at the man who was sprawled across his lap.
"I thought you were sleeping!"
"I was, until someone began to kick my seat." He raised his voice to shoot the comment back at Antonio, who mumbled something back in rapid-fire Spanish that sounded rather dirty (but what would Matthew know, everything seemed to sound dirty in Latin languages, or maybe that was just French…). Francis returned his impossibly blue eyes to meet Matthew's. "Now, what is it that you are worrying needlessly about?"
Matthew sighed, putting on a pout and looking out the window. They were winding through a particularly scenic patch of the Alps, and the terrain made a nice distraction from being completely lost in Francis' eyes. "I'm not worried," he muttered. "Just… well, it's awfully loud…"
"Life is no fun without some complications," Francis purred. "Besides, we would be up in the resort for Christmas – don't you want to be around family and friends for the holidays?"
Matthew shrugged, knowing that Francis was right and not liking to admit it. When Vash had offered Francis free accommodation in this stretch of the Alps (in compensation for not airing some particularly lurid details of his personal activities when alone and presumed to be unwatched), he had sullenly admitted that the suites were meant for six occupants – two to a room, three bedrooms around a small living area. Francis immediately volunteered Matthew as his date, asked Antonio to come as a friend, and told Matthew that he could invite whomever he wanted, as well. Alfred, once hearing that, would not allow anyone else to take the spot. And so, with the obligatory addition of various significant others, this particular party was formed.
"I assure you, mon Mathieu, I'll make this little trip worth your while," Francis said with a smile, threading his fingers in Mattie's hair and pulling him down for a kiss –
- which was violently broken when Alfred swerved the car, squishing everyone against the far wall as he took a corner way too fast. "Get away from my brother, perv! The only reason I agreed to come along was to make sure you didn't do anything to him."
"Al!" Mattie squawked, but Arthur interrupted him with a smack to the back of the head.
"I thought you came here because you wanted to spend the holidays with me," he griped.
"Well, that, too –" Alfred back-tracked.
"Eyes on the road, git!"
"Vaffanculo, all of you, either keep the car steady or let someone else drive!" Romano interjected.
"Now Lovi, that's not cute –"
Matthew closed his eyes in defeat. Francis just smiled and kissed him again. They passed the rest of the drive in this exact manner, alternately swearing and yelling and kissing, until they pulled up at Eischoll and the resort above it.
It was a small resort, just above a charming little town with the same name, that was tucked inside a snowed-in valley. The woman at the front desk – a cute young woman that reminded them vaguely of Liechtenstein – welcomed them happily.
"We don't have a lot of guests here for the week, but please feel free to use all the facilities!" she said, handing them a key to the rooms. "Mr. Zwingli has assured us that your entire stay is complimentary."
Francis, who had been in charge of checking in, smirked flirtatiously at the woman. "Thank you, cherie, I'm sure that this will be quite an adventure." Matthew raised an eyebrow, swiping the key from him and marching through the rustic lodge area and up the stairs to the rooms, beckoning to the others and leaving Francis alone and slightly bewildered. He quickly caught up to Matthew, hugging him from behind and burying his face in the boy's back, almost causing him to drop his bags.
"Francis!" Matthew complained.
"Now, ange, don't leave me behind!" Francis said in a mock-scolding tone. "You never know what voracious women might want to snap me up." Matthew rolled his eyes and shrugged out of the embrace, but smiled as he did so.
"I've got your half of the luggage, so grab some of this for me, please," he said, impossibly polite as always. Francis kissed his nose and did as he was told just as Alfred and Romano passed him, dragging their own bags. Alfred smacked Francis on the back of the head as he passed, and Romano, liking the idea, kicked him in the back of the leg.
Maybe Matthew had been right – this might have been a rather bad idea, to invite them along.
Antonio passed them as well, keeping as far away from Arthur as he could and patting Francis on the head. "You get used to the abuse," he said cheerfully, chasing Romano up the stairs.
"You really don't get used to the stupid, though," Arthur quipped, coming up behind them.
And so vacation began.
Their rooms were… very nice, to be sure. Vash didn't do things half way. Mattie and Francis, arriving last to their suite, of course got last pick of the rooms - but it didn't matter much; they all seemed fantastic. Mattie rolled his luggage into the middle of the room, spinning to look at his surroundings. He laughed.
"It looks so nice!" he said happily. The room was wood-panelled, and half of the outer wall was a floor-to ceiling window spreading out into a beautiful view of the white, pristine slopes. Beside the window was a single bed, draped in red, and across from that was a modern-looking television. It was simple but pretty and warm and Matthew felt suddenly happy.
He stopped his joyful spinning as Francis grabbed him around the waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Does it suit you, mon ange?" he asked. Matthew nodded, grinning.
"Yep. Never have I thought that I'd be so grateful that you take dirty videos of other countries."
"Mmm…" Francis hummed into Matthew's neck, running his hands along the nation's sides and hips. "They're old videos, in any case. I haven't done filmed anyone since we got together you know…"
"I – figured…" Matthew gasped, feeling slightly cold fingers creeping under the warmth of his thick sweater. "Francis, stop, th-the door is wide open!"
Francis shrugged, biting down on Matthew's neck. "They're our guests; they'll just have to deal with it. Besides – I'm suffering enough between the two of those couples. Antoine does not know the meaning of 'personal bubble' and somehow Arthur and Alfred cannot rid themselves of that pervasive stench of sexual tension, despite the many times I've heard them copulating in empty conference rooms."
Matthew blushed, pulling away from Francis' advances. "O-okay, I really didn't need to hear that one. And, as much as I find… you… enjoyable," his blush deepened to faintly unhealthy levels, "I'd rather wait until we're absolutely alo-"
"Come on, come on, there's still plenty of daylight left!" Alfred shouted, bouncing into their room without preamble, dressed in some hideous plastic ski-suit with a garish stars'n'stripes pattern stamped into it. "I wanna hit the slopes!"
Antonio skidded in after him, pulling Romano by the scruff of his thick, cable-knit sweater. "Lovi has never been snowboarding!" he squealed. "How is this possible – we have to remedy this situation!"
"Che cazzo stai dicendo?" Romano cut in. "Who the fuck cares? It's a waste of time, anyway -!"
"Aiyaaa…" Antonio whined, falling face-first onto Francis and Matthew's bed. "It's not a waste of time –"
"Alfred, where are you – what in the blue fuck do you think you are wearing?" demanded Arthur, becoming the sixth member of the party crowded into Matthew and Francis' room. Matthew's face had gone quite red and he was starting to shrink into the background, cowed slightly by the amount of noise and the demands and the invasion of his personal bubble.
Francis noticed that Matthew was becoming transparent around the edges, so he crossed to behind his boyfriend, pressing his palms against the younger boy's ears. Matthew shivered a little under his touch. Then, Francis pursed his lips and let out a shrieking, earsplitting whistle. The other four guests in the room immediately froze and shut up.
Francis smiled pleasantly, but there was a bit of spark in his eyes. "Thanks, mes belles, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room, oui? We do indeed have a common area… I'm sure that if you would like to organize some outdoor activity we can comply but until then leave the room."
Antonio was the first to recover, sitting up and pouting at Francis. "Meanie. Come on, Lovi, lets get ready – I'm taking you snowboarding!" He dragged the squawking Italian from the area.
Arthur sighed. "Excuse me, frog, for infecting your precious air." He crooked a finger at Alfred. "If that was too subtle for you, bloody American, he means that you aren't welcome."
Alfred stuck his tongue out at Francis and they left as well, closing the door behind them. Only then did the Frenchman remove his hands from Matthew's ears. Matthew was blushing.
"Th-thanks…" he said quietly. Francis smiled.
"Put on something warm; I believe the consensus is that we are going outside," Francis told him. "I'll joint you in a moment."
Matthew nodded.
Francis slipped out of the door, to find the others sprawled out in the common area. He clapped his hands to get their attention, standing over Antonio, who was spread-eagle on the carpet.
"I'm going to say this once, and once only," he said pleasantly. "You will do nothing to upset Matthew on this trip, comprenez-vous? I aim to make this a perfect Christmas for him, and you will not get in the way of that."
"Aww, don't take yourself so seriously!" Alfred complained from his position in an armchair by a gas-powered fireplace. "This is my brother we're talking about; you don't have a monopoly on him!"
Francis sniffed, sticking up his nose. "I don't suppose you noticed how much he hates having his personal space violated?"
"Huh. Awfully hypocritical of you," snorted Arthur.
"I do not mean it like that, rosbif; I simply mean he values his space – perhaps because so many people tend to sit on him?" He shot a look at Romano, who refused to meet his gaze.
"That was once," the Italian complained.
"Nevertheless, when you swarmed the room you made him uncomfortable. So could you please, please do your best to not upset him? For me?" Francis may have looked pleading, but there was a bit of Robespierre left in him; he was not asking, per se.
Antonio waved at him from the floor. His voice was muffled in the carpet. "We'll be good, promise! Won't we Lovi?"
Lovi growled, but even Francis could tell that he wasn't actually going to say no to a direct request from Antonio. The boy had mellowed out – marginally – since they began to go out.
"I wouldn't do anything to piss off Mattie, jerk," pouted Alfred. Arthur just rolled his eyes.
"I'm doing it for the kid, not for you, frog."
Francis smiled. Even if they sometimes forgot him, everyone in the room truly loved Matthew. They just needed someone to remind them to show it.
He slipped back into their room, where Matthew had put on a windbreaker over his signature sweatshirt, as well as a pair of black ski pants. He pulled out something from his luggage.
"I know it's kind of early to be giving this to you and everything, but I figure you could use it now," Matthew said, shoving a bundle of yarn at Francis. The man shook out the bundle, holding it up. It was a crocheted cap, rather tasteful, in off white, rimmed with thick stripes of blue and red. Francis laughed, immediately pulling it on over his ears. It was at least a size too big.
Matthew flushed. "Sorry – I didn't know how big to make it; I used Al to size it but he's always been kind of big-headed."
"It's perfect," Francis assured him. "All of my hats constrict my hair and crimp it. This is nice and floppy."
Matthew shook his head, smiling. "Are you ready to go?"
Francis laced up a pair of boots. "Yes. Shall we brave the elements?"
"Wimp," retorted Canada.
Francis stuck up his nose, though he winked at Matt. "I do not apologize. You are a frozen, frozen soul if you can weather the snow easily."
"With very cold hands."
Sure enough, Matthew's hands were very cold. He slipped them under Francis' shirt, pressing them against the small of the man's back, before dashing out of the room, daring a whining Francis to catch him.
"Who in the fucking hell thought it was a good idea to attach a board to your feet and then fall down a fucking mountain?" demanded Romano with a screech, stomping into the chalet, face chapped and red and cold water dripping down his cheeks. He was trying to pretend that tears were not mixed in with the melting snow. Antonio was fluttering around him, leading him inside, rubbing his arm, apologizing in rapid-fire Spanish.
Francis welcomed the new arrivals happily, pointing them towards an electric thermos of cider the management had set up in the corner of the resort common area. He had retired here at first opportunity, begging Matthew off "in favor of keeping his extremities free from frostbite." Matthew had kissed him and stuffed snow down the back of his jacket. His shirt was still wet.
"I'm not going out there for the rest of the week!" complained Romano. Spain poured them both mugs of cider, promptly burning himself as he tried to drink some. Romano turned his curses to Antonio's stupidity as Arthur stomped in, looking freezing, and plopped himself in front of the fireplace without a word to the rest of them.
"Angleterre, finally giving up?" Francis asked, putting down the book that he had been reading as he waited for everyone else to abandon the "great outdoors".
"That bloody American is unstoppable," Arthur complained.
"You would know~," Francis said, grinning lewdly.
"That's not what I meant!" Arthur protested, waving a frozen hand vaguely in the man's direction, too cold to even think about throttling him – yet. Francis was going to milk that opportunity. "Anyway, he and Matthew are taking to this weather like ducks to water. It's frightening – they're hurtling down those slopes fast enough to break their necks."
Francis frowned slightly, as usual unable to understand the North American twins' magnetic attraction to the dangerous and exciting. It tended to worry him, how foolhardy and reckless the two could be, especially when together. Arthur saw the look of distress on his face, and shook his head fondly.
"They'll be fine, frog; if they haven't killed themselves yet, it's not going to happen in the near future." He stood, still shivering a little, and padded over to the large metal thermos to retrieve his own cider.
"Mmm…" Francis hummed. "I suppose that you are right. Though I suppose it would be good for you if dear Amerique were injured tonight – you would never be able to top under other circumstances."
Arthur primly dumped half of his cider in Francis' lap.
Francis let out an absolute squeal, launching himself to his feet and immediately beginning to strip off his pants. He was still wearing his plastic ski-suit bottoms – thank God, or else he would have a very awkward burn to explain to Matthieu that night – but that did not save him from the fact that it hurt very much.
"Angleterre!" he wailed, removing his pants and boots with a practiced alacrity. "That is a worse move than hitting my beautiful face!"
"Put your pants back on!" Romano yelled, burying his face in his hands. "My eyes – you're not even wearing proper underwear!"
It was absolutely proper underwear – he was going outside to exercise, therefore a jock strap was perfectly acceptable…
"F-francis?"
Francis looked up to find Matthew standing in the doorway to the chalet, face the color of the stripes on Alfred's American flag ski pants. Alfred, was, in fact, right behind him, and sported a color similar to Matt's. However, while Matthew's face was an adorable, embarrassed grimace (and Francis did not think himself remiss to suppose that there was just a spark of desire in his eyes as well), Alfred looked absolutely murderous.
"Stop stripping, Frenchie!" he yelled, clapping gloved hands in front of Matthew's eyes as if to shield him. Francis could not help a bit of a chuckle. It wasn't as if the boy hadn't seen all that and more~…
"This is little Angleterre's fault," explained Francis, unconcernedly. His thighs still smarted from the burn, actually, but it was much more fun to keep up the charade of "I know what I'm doing, honest, and by the way I took your brother's virginity." It made Alfred angry, which amused Francis to no end.
Matt didn't bother removing Al's hands from his eyes. "Um… why are you not wearing pants?"
"My clumsy British friend seems to have spilled hot cider on them," Francis shrugged. Arthur was smirking, perched back on his seat near the fire and sipping his drink as if nothing was wrong.
"O-oh."
"Get the fuck out of here if you aren't going to cover up!" Romano screeched, moving his face from his hands to somewhere in the vicinity of Antonio's chest. Well, that move wasn't obvious or anything. Antonio was absolutely in heaven – he was staring at England with something like grateful adoration and stroking Romano's hair carefully. Francis smiled a little, glad it was going well with somebody.
He turned back to Alfred and Matthew. "I'm afraid I'm not entirely unscathed, though!" he announced dramatically. "I've seemed to have been scalded rather grievously." He could see Matthew's frown beneath Alfred's hand.
"Oh, um, does it hurt a lot?" the Canadian asked, beginning to try to pry his brother off of him. It wasn't working well.
"It would certainly hurt much less if you would help me rub some lotion on it~~"
"You can reach that yourself," Alfred huffed. "You don't need Mattie to – oof!" An elbow landed heavily in his stomach, managing to strike right beneath his diaphragm and causing him to choke painfully. Matthew stepped away with a rather satisfied look on his face, reminding everyone in the room who had ever played hockey against him just what he was capable of.
"If you want my help, I can..." Matthew offered, still a little shy, coloring more deeply now that he was able to properly look at Francis.
"Let him help – just get out of here!" yelled Romano from his position against Antonio's shirt.
"As you wish, ma belle épine," Francis cooed. Matthew just snorted, and they retreated to their room.
As they disappeared up the stairs, Antonio just laughed. Now that the threat was gone, Romano shoved himself away from the Spaniard's chest. "What's so funny, bastard?" he demanded. Spain just held up his digital camera, pulled out somewhere in the dramatic shuffle. It was a picture of all the nations in the room - Romano with his face buried in the couch arm, Alfred covering Matthew's eyes, Arthur looking too smug for his own good. Standing proudly in the middle of the frame was one Frenchman with very little clothing.
The cute receptionist from that morning entered amid scandalized swears from a traumatized Romano. "Do you need more cider?" she asked pleasantly.
Arthur looked up demurely. "I don't think that will be necessary."
That evening, Alfred walked in on a very, very disturbing sight.
His brother – his darling baby brother – was kneeling on the floor, his back to the door, his upper half completely bare and stripped down to his boxers on the bottom. His face was between Francis' bare legs.
"Oh, Matthieu, right there, that feels so good…" Francis moaned, his head thrown back and sweat shining on his brow. "S'il vous plaît… un peu plus…"
"What the fuck?" Alfred yelped, frozen in the doorway.
Both nations jumped, Matthew immediately spinning to stare at his brother with a mix of annoyance, embarrassment, and chagrin. Francis just crooked an eyebrow and grinned.
"A-Al, why didn't you knock –"
"Die, Frenchie!" Alfred squawked, throwing himself at the older man.
"Alfred!" Matthew whined in exasperation, shoving a shoulder into his stomach and effectively making him collapse, wheezing, on the floor in five seconds flat.
It was only then that Alfred realized Francis' underwear, undesirable as it was, was still on.
"It's not what you think," Matthew moaned, watching his brother writhe and gasp on the floor. "And stop being a baby; you only got the wind knocked out of you."
"Y-you w-weren't… you… know…" Alfred gasped. "Sucking … him –"
Matthew, raising an eyebrow, held up a tube of aloe gel. "He asked me to help him with a burn. So I helped him with a burn."
"Why are you… naked?" asked Alfred, beginning to recover and sitting up.
"I was all wet and snowy – you pushed me into a snowdrift when we were racing, remember?"
Alfred flushed, scrambling to his feet. "Well- I mean – I was just being a conscientious big brother! I was doing my duty!" However, he didn't stick around long enough to hear any response Matthew might have given, scrambling, red-faced, out of the room.
Matthew looked up at Francis, shaking his head. "Sorry, my brother is –"
"I know, cher. And it was rather funny," he smiled.
As Alfred ran out, Antonio appeared in the doorway. He didn't make mention that both of its occupants were only wearing boxers, nor did he seem to even notice. "I know we all have different Christmas traditions, but since its Christmas Eve anyway – can we agree on exchanging presents tonight?"
Francis looked down at Matthew. "Is that alright with you?"
Matthew nodded, blushing a little. "Actually, I was hoping to give it to you tonight, anyway."
"Yaaay!" crowed Antonio. "Lovi is gonna love my present!"
"What are you babbling about?" came a muffled yell from the common room.
"Nothing, querido!" Antonio called back. He turned back to Francis and Matthew. "Meet in there in about ten minutes?"
"Sure," Francis told him. "Although… can we make it a bit later? Say an hour?"
Antonio smiled knowingly. "Sure, sure, if you insist."
"Oui, I do."
"I'll get the others out of the room – we'll go get hot chocolate or something," Antonio promised him, leaving abruptly and closing the door. It swung open again in very short order, and Antonio appeared again. "I forgot - Matthew, you might wanna take a look at your Christmas present early." He tossed a camera at Matthew. "It's the picture; you can't keep my camera!"
Matthew looked down, only to be greeted by the tableux that had taken place in the common area a few moments before. He blinked, blushed, and turned the camera off.
France smiled at him. "Now what was it that Antoine gave you?"
"Eh... nothing, really..." Matthew muttered, carefully putting the camera out of sight and promising himself to put the picture on his laptop later.
Only the best Christmas present ever...
At least, that's what he thought until Francis pressed him to the bed.