Title: All's Fair in Love and War
Authoress: Ankaris123
Disclaimer: APHetalia is property of Hidekaz Himaruya.
Summary: "Like you said, Alfred," his breath tickling his sweat-damp neck, "it's just a game." Shenanigans at the laser dome. USCan.
Important Notes and Warnings: Swearing and male on male heavy petting? I'm going to stick an M on this just to be safe, ahahahaha.
A/Ns: I unearthed this some time ago while cleaning my room. I thought I'd type it up and finish it. And yes, I'm still alive!
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Multicoloured strobe lights scoured the playing field of black ramps and netting in repeated patterns. Through the synthetic background music came the stomps of sneakers on wood, robotic voice recordings, and most prominently the beeps of laser guns firing.
Ducking around a barrier decorated in glow-in-the-dark stripes, Alfred sprinted out of No-man's Land with a wild laugh, shooting randomly over his shoulder. He gave a celebratory whoop as his digital vest congratulated him on his excellent aim.
There were a lot of easy prey along his route but he decided to ignore them until he came across a target he couldn't let pass by. Crouching low, he peeked around the corner, sniggering as the red laser pointer of his gun hit Gilbert square in the back.
"Alright! Who the fuck shot me?" the albino man screeched, brandishing his gun in every direction. "Who the fuck shot the awesome me?"
Alfred continued on cackling, racking up a couple more kills on the way, one of the more notabe was from an unassuming Arthur who immediately turned on his accomplice Francis, screaming 'France, you traitor!' at the top of his lungs and thusly attracting enemy fire.
"Please refrain from disclosing sensitive information while in public-" the rest of Ludwig's words were drowned out by incoherent cussing and other background noise.
By the time the American got to the opposite side of the arena, he'd shot ten people. Someone screamed 'Latvia!' a level up.
He had barely laid a foot onto the ramp that sloped steeply upwards to Level 2 when he forced himself to an abrupt stop, grabbing onto a barrier for support. Three pairs of eyes blinked and stared up at him. Wiggling the fingers of his free hand in greeting, he vaulted over the ramp railing.
"Get him!"
The eight-year-olds stampeded up the ramp, laser guns poised and into the middle of a makeshift two-sided frontier war reminiscent of trench warfare minus the trenches.
When they had disappeared from the immediate surroundings, Alfred poked his head out from around a hidden niche and continued picking his way carefully through the levels until he reached the highest vantage point of the field.
Staying low, the last corner to the final ramp came into sight. Rounding it, he jerked back as his vest emitted the sound effects of death.
"Oh, it's just you, Al." Sitting on the square landing at the very top was Matthew, his glowing blue vest a beacon against the black paint. There was a frustrated relief in his tone.
"Just me?" he laughed when his brother nation rolled his eyes but shuffled over so the two of them could squish into the cramped area.
"I thought you promised to try playing on the ground level," Alfred breathed, shifting to get comfortable. "You know what Germany said about camping and sniping."
"I did," Matthew groaned, eyebrows furrowing. "For the first fifteen minutes, but, ugh, fuck, I-, wait a moment."
Turning over onto his side, the younger blond aimed through a round hole punched through the side board.
"I. Fucking. Hate. Kids!" he said through gritted teeth emphasizing each word with a precise shot at the unsuspecting masses below. He must be really upset to be swearing so badly.
"Aw, I don't think they're so bad," Alfred said, not commenting on the way their limbs were pressing together and instead shuffled closer.
"Of course, you don't mind. You have impossible stamina so you can actually run away from them. Every goddamn time I run into a bunch, they chase after me. I spend more time and energy losing them than I do shooting. Fucking kids are too dumb to remember there's a cool off period after someone 'dies'."
"Matt, Mattie, hey," Alfred chuckled, catching hold of the other blond's face between his palms so they looked eye to eye. "You're taking this too seriously. It's all just fun and games! And you're not supposed to run in here, that's against the rules."
"It's called speed walking," he grumbled in response. "And you weren't exactly walking either."
"True that." His wide torso shook with rich chuckles as ruffled the other blond's sweat-sticky hair much to his annoyance. "Seriously though, the kids aren't bad, it's more fun with them around."
"You're the only one who thinks so, Al, and don't you forget the time Ivan freaked the living daylights out of a group of them. There's a reason why we don't do public sessions."
Alfred crinkled his nose at the familiar human name basis with which his brother addressed the other nation.
That had been a couple months ago. After going for several sessions, the group of nations agreed to a regular post-World meeting laser tag session for team building and releasing stress. They had been attending mostly public sessions unless discussions kept them in the conference room until late into the afternoon. On one occasion a family was celebrating their little boy's tenth birthday at the dome they frequented and the place was swarming with youths. Several, including the birthday boy, had the misfortune of running into the former Soviet nation who was in a less than content mood. Let's just say his mere appearance was enough to cause his own equals to scatter at first sight. From then on, they tried to book private games; otherwise Russia was to sit out.
"Yeah, but that's what he gets for being a Commie. Those kids should be scared!" said Alfred, more than eager to side with his citizens' reactions. Matthew only shook his head and turned back to the peephole.
"How is it that the maintenance folks haven't patched up that hole anyways? It's completely unfair."
A circle of plywood the size of a knothole was tossed into his lap, one flat side was painted black and the other stuck to a large luminescent star-shaped sticker.
"Oh, Mattie, you devious cheating bastard." But a wide grin stretched across his face as he said this.
"It's called taking advantage of opportunity."
"I don't know, looks like cheating to me." Of course, both of them knew Alfred would not rat his brother out on it anyways. There were some things you didn't do.
Feeling a bit sulky that the Canadian's attention was glued to his limited view of the lower platforms, Alfred put his own gun in the corner and turned draping an arm around the other's waist. He would've pulled their bodies flushed together if not for the bulky harnesses strapped to their torsos. Obviously they were not desired for cuddle comfort.
"Aw, ew," Matthew squirmed, "Al, stop it."
"Hmm?" he hummed, mouth nipping at the soft exposed skin of his neighbour's neck.
"Stop that, I'm gross."
"Well, I think you're sexy."
"I'm drenched in sweat which is gross," the slender blond retorted firmly, wiggling to turn around so they were face to face, laying on their sides. "No, I don't think anyone but you could pull that off."
"Are you calling me sexy?" Alfred questioned sly and teasing, his fine eyebrows arcing upwards suggestively. He nuzzled the other's red cheek, the sensory panels on their vests knocking together from the adrenaline-accelerated rise and fall of their chests. In an expectedly brazen move, Matthew turned his head to catch his lips.
"I'm not saying I'm not," he replied just above a whisper when he pulled away. The coyness to his response was ruined by his nervous habit, chewing on his reddened bottom lip. Alfred laughed, the warm glow inside growing not just from his brother's flirtatious words, and kissed him again, brushing away the strands of fair blond hair sticking to his face.
"Man, these things are getting in the way," fingers trying to find a way to slip under the stiff harness. Hands hastily slapped them away from the straps.
"We're not supposed to take them off in the middle of the game," Matthew hissed in warning. "And we're not doing anything more in here. Especially in here."
"Come on, bro. You look tense, why don't you let me take your mind off your problems?" His fingers migrated south to the waistband of the tight dark denim of the Canadian's jeans despite protests. He almost had the zipper when an abrupt electronic sound pierced his ears.
"Oh, you did not just do that."
The laser gun's muzzle was still pressed to his vest. Matthew grinned sheepishly but with a certain smugness.
"So what if I did?"
"Then this means war."
The commotion below sufficiently drowned out their noisy scuffle on their little platform overhead. There was a thud as Matthew's gun was tossed aside, as far as the rubber cord connecting it to the harness would allow. Limbs entangled, the superpower hovered breathless over his northern neighbour, forcing him into submission with the weight of his body. Once in a while, a fit of rebellious energy possessed the smaller blond and forced him to exert his strength, effectively keeping Canada's wrists pinned down.
"My…win." Hot breath mingled in the narrow space between their faces. Not yet ready to admit defeat, Matthew gave one last buck that only succeeded in stoking the fire. They groaned in unison.
"There…there are ca-, cameras…"
"They won't…see anything," he reassured him though not really confident about it himself. To be honest, his mind wasn't occupied with trivial issues like that, not when he had Matthew right where he wanted him, flushed and panting, trembling pleasantly under his ministrations.
"A-Al…," his breath hitched and then, with desperation, cried, "-A, …America!"
He pulled back so he could see his brother's face and was met by watery violet-blue eyes.
Ah…
The choked hiccup was the last straw.
"Mattie? Are you-, …!"
In one fluid movement, their positions reversed. Matthew snatched up his laser gun jumping to his feet and staggered backwards down the ramp. Alfred put up no resistance, bent double on the floor and clutching at his injured parts.
"S-son of a-…!" he cursed, facial expression clenched in pain. "That-, that was dirty, you-!"
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Matthew fixed his jeans and looked down at his twin. Kneeling he slipped his hand underneath both of Alfred's and palmed him gently, almost soothingly.
He was unable to bite back the gasp.
"Like you said, Alfred," his breath tickling his sweat-damp neck, "it's just a game."
The light petting stirred a horrible insatiable craving for a moment before the contact was gone. Uneven footsteps made their way down the ramp as Matthew went to rejoin the battlefield. Once on even ground, he flashed him one last smirk and disappeared.
Groaning, Alfred let his head drop and hit the black-painted boards, trying to ignore the aching, both good and bad. It was just his luck that Matthew pushed his buttons in every single way possible.
Rising to sit against the boards, his fingers in their search for his gun, hoping dearly that it was not damaged, brushed against a small object. He picked it up, raising it to eye level, then realizing what it was, pocketed it quickly without remorse. The sticker had lost most of it sticky-quality anyways.
Feeling somewhat compensated, Alfred too rejoined the game in its last minutes, tailing the unaware Canadian and managed to give him a less than friendly slap across the behind before the time ran out.
Like he said, it was taking advantage of opportunity.
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A/Ns: I don't even know how it ended like this, hahahaha. I wrote the first part of this a year ago in the back of a bus and yeah, I was pissed off at the kids in the dome. I sure like being mean to America, don't I? Man, I've still got so many one-shots lying around…
Thank you for reading!