Warning: This story is rated M for shounen-ai/yaoi, sexual content (nothing explicit), and mentions of rape/abuse.

Summary: July finally comes around, and Alfred is more excited than usual for his birthday because Ivan is flying to America for the week. And with a plan for intimate time, that sounds great, but…what is their relationship exactly? Is this what people call "love"?

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters.

Note: This is the sequel to Kings. If you have not read that story, you need to do so before you begin this one. With that said, please enjoy!

Love?

Chapter 1: Privacy

"Strange maze. What is this place? I hear voices over my shoulder. Nothing's making sense at all. Wonder, why do we race when every day we're running in circles. Such a funny way to fall. Tried to open up my eyes. I'm hoping for a chance to make it alright.

"When I wake up, the dream isn't done. I wanna see your face and know I made it home. If nothing is true, what more can I do? I am still painting flowers for you."

―"Painting Flowers" by All Time Low

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

Arthur can't help but stare as Alfred sits on the floor in front of the door. Everyone else is in between the foyer and living room, setting up tables and moving furniture.

"Angleterre, leave him be." Francis appears behind Arthur, wrapping the other in his arms. "He is simply lovesick."

Once he shrugs out of the Frenchman's hold, Arthur mutters, "He should be helping."

"It is his birthday. Let him wait."

"Why did Russia have to be the last person to get here? Is that not the reason we all come the day before?"

Francis kisses Arthur's cheek. "I must return to the kitchen. If you feel the urge to keep company with him, sit."

Of course, Francis is gone before Arthur can smack him. However, the Englishman does sit down beside Alfred as the younger nation stares at the door. "Did he give you a timeframe?"

"Yeah, he's five minutes late. I think Mattie kidnapped him."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "I'm certain that Matthew is simply driving safely."

"Driving five miles over the speed limit won't kill anyone."

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

"Alfred assured me that he gave you the letter I wrote?" Ivan says as Matthew drives towards the house. Or at least Ivan assumes that's the direction they are headed.

"He did, and I read it," Matthew replies, trying to keep his tone serious, but there's something far too amusing about Ivan holding and nuzzling a giant cat in his lap. "You asked for my permission."

"I did."

"It's not really my permission to give."

"Nyet, it is very important to me that you approve of our relationship."

"And why is that?"

"Because Alfred loves you very much, and if you do not want us to be together, it will put strain on our relationship."

Matthew hums. "And what if I say that I don't want you anywhere near him?"

"Then I will be very sad, but that will not keep me away from him."

There's a long moment of silence.

"You are very much the kind of man I think Al needs in his life," Matthew finally says.

Ivan furrows his brow. "I am?"

"Someone who will push him. Someone with more experience in the world, but doesn't always use it against him." Matthew pulls into the driveway and parks among several other cars. Ivan assumes there are about fifty. "Yes, I approve of your relationship, but my threat is still in place."

"Of course. Thank you very much, Canada."

"Matthew, please."

"Then you may call me Ivan."

As they walk to the front door, Matthew says, "Be careful when you open the door; Al's been sitting in front of it since I left according to Francis."

"I will keep that in mind."

However, when Ivan opens the door, no one is there. Well, there are plenty of people, but no Alfred. Ivan recognizes the countries; the Italy brothers, Antonio annoying one of them while the other follows around Ludwig, Gilbert, Kiku, and Tino handing decorations to Berwald to hang. Then there are at least thirty people that Ivan doesn't recognize at all.

One of those people―a girl with short, curly hair and a tube top and miniskirt―shouts, "Daddy, your boyfriend is here!"

"Look a' that thang!" a teenage boy exclaims. He has short, spiky hair, and he's wearing a red, flannel shirt. Pointing at Lapushka―who is curled up in Ivan's arms and obviously not happy about the attention―he continues, "The old man never said nothin' 'bout the commies havin' coons bigger than dogs!"

While a few of the people laugh and Ivan tries to ignore the insults to him and his feline royalty, he hears, "You're late!"

When Alfred stomps into the huge foyer, Ivan isn't sure if he's welcome. "I-I apologize, Fredka. I could not help―"

Alfred yanks Ivan down by his scarf and presses their lips together while Lapushka wiggles up onto Ivan's shoulder to perch.

Silence.

Then a few whistles, and Ivan hears two girls' voices say in unison, "Get it, Papa!"

At that, Alfred pulls away and says, "That's just weird."

"Hm?" Ivan asks, still a little tipsy from the kiss.

"Veronica and Hannah," Alfred says.

Ivan doesn't ask. Instead, he murmurs, "It is very nice to see you."

Alfred smiles and wraps his arms around the other in a crushing hug. "Yeah, you, too."

"Russie, I require your assistance in the kitchen. You may embrasses Amérique later," Francis says from the hallway.

"Hey, it's my birthday!" Alfred protests into Ivan's chest. "He can French-word me if he wants to!"

Francis raises an eyebrow and leans against the wall with a smirk. "Oui, he can. And if he does, I will do more than just embrasser Angleterre, andyou will have no birthday cake tomorrow."

Arthur's eyebrow twitches from his place in the living room. "Francis―"

"Okay, fine. But only for like, an hour," Alfred says as he releases Ivan from his grip.

Once Ivan and Francis disappear down the hall with an unhappy and mewing ball of fluff, Alfred turns to his brother, who is standing among the observing guests. "What did he say was going to do to Artie?"

Matthew puts a finger to his lips. "I don't say those things aloud."

While Alfred turns a deep red, Québec chuckles quietly. On the other hand, Arthur rolls his eyes and says, "It means 'to kiss', you git. Matthew, do not encourage his misinterpretations and idiocy."

"Wait a second, amigo. Why do you know French?" Antonio asks from his place near the window. His arm is resting around Lovino's shoulders, and as soon as eyes turn to such a position, Lovino ducks away from the arm and mutters about Spanish idiots.

"Yeah, Artie. Why is that?" Alfred says with the best expression he can manage without laughing.

To give credit to Arthur, he doesn't blush or even stutter. "Our countries have been at war for centuries. Of course I know his language."

Matthew smiles and says, "That does make sense, Arthur, but Papa used to say that he wishes you never learned it while also ranting about hip pains."

"He just said that!" those two girls say in unison once again.

What Arthur says next is censored for being sexually explicit.

Antonio, Gilbert, Lovino, Feliciano, and most of the States and Provinces' jaws drop. Ludwig and Kiku both flush while Alfred shakes his head quickly and yells, "Dude, I didn't need to know that! About you! Or France! Or anybody!" He glares at his brother. "That was gross! Your fault!"

Matthew shrugs. "Haven't you wondered why Germany and Spain can speak Italian, Italy can speak German, and Romano can speak Spanish?" He glances at Sweden and Finland, who are standing in the corner seeming unfazed, though Finland's cheeks are slightly red. "And while I don't know this for a fact, I'm sure the same applies to Sweden and Finland. And Norway and Denmark." Well, now both Nordics' cheeks are blazing, even though Sweden keeps a straight face.

"Okay, but still! I didn't need to know!" Alfred groans. "Geez, don't you guys have any shame?"

Antonio laughs. "Pirates have no shame, former or otherwise."

"I hadn't noticed," Lovino mutters.

Alfred looks at his brother again. "And what's your excuse?"

"It amazes me that you think I'm that innocent, Al. We're twins; you should have figured these things out by now."

"Okay!" Dixie announces, clapping her hands twice. "States and Provinces, time for setting up the backyard!"

"Who put you in charge?" a man with a short ponytail asks.

Alfred snaps into parent mode for a moment. "I did. Listen to your sister, Jessie."

As the many, many States and Provinces file out the back door, Alfred mutters, "Your kids are better behaved than most of mine."

"You have fifty; I have ten," Matthew states.

Alfred rubs his temples and leans back against the wall. "I'm just glad that Texas is my glasses instead of another personification. I'm not sure if I could handle fifty-one."

In the kitchen, Ivan asks, "How many recipes do you make?"

"Roughly ten, I believe," Francis says as he pulls a spoon out of one of the drawers and dips it into one of his mixtures. "Taste."

Ivan crosses his eyes slightly to see what is on the spoon, but all he knows is that it's something white. It tastes delicious though. "Icing, da?"

"Oui. It is not the best for decorating, but Amérique loves it more than any other I have made."

Ivan continues to measure some ingredients for Francis, though the chef usually is able to "eyeball" it, as he says. It's nice, Ivan thinks. Lapushka is asleep in one of the bar chairs, purring softly, and he can hear voices in the living room, even if not what they are saying. It's hard to miss Alfred's voice nowadays.

"Amérique tells us that this will be his favorite birthday yet," Francis says, and while it seems random, Ivan is certain that it is not.

"Da, he seems very excited."

Francis nods. "Je le savais. I also know who he is excited about."

Even though he tries to keep his expression calm, Ivan can't help his smile widening. "D-da, we have something very special planned."

"Will it be your first time together?" Francis asks, though he seems completely focused on his task.

"Nyet, the second. We already…" Ivan thinks about how open he can be with Francis. He figures that he has much less trouble talking about sex than Alfred, but it still is something rather private to share with the other country. But he does like Francis's advice; it always seems to help. "I took him during his stay at my house. Now it will be the other way around."

"You seem nervous."

"A little, da."

Francis is quiet for a few minutes, but after he instructs Ivan to help him ice the cake, he finally says, "It helped me immensely to keep my eyes open, among other things. I undressed myself and put Arthur's hands on me rather than let him explore my body freely." A moment passes. "This is likely particular to me, but I did not realize that my hair is a trigger for me until he pulled it slightly."

"Do you ever…have panic attacks in bed?" Ivan asks.

"Once, but I am more likely to vomit."

Once they finish icing the bottom layer of the cake and add the second layer on top of it, Francis sets his spoon in the bowl and looks up at Ivan. "Russie, I want to make sure that…you do not have to give yourself to Amérique this soon. Or ever, for that matter. Do not feel obligated to do that just because he gave himself to you."

Ivan shakes his head even before Francis has finished speaking. "Nyet, I want to. I have tried before...by myself a few years ago, after...him. Touching in the same way. I had not done such a thing before, and it felt…good." He looks down at the counter, feeling his cheeks grow hot. "I did not know it could feel good to be touched there. When I slept with Alfred, it felt even better, and he enjoyed it, even in that position, so…" Ivan takes a breath, trying to find his words. "And he is understanding. I hear so many stories of women who cannot find a partner who accepts it and are called such horrible things, and it is even worse for men, but…Alfred does not do any of that."

Francis nods. "D'accord, if that is what you want. But it may not work out the first time. Even if it does, it might not be sunshine and flowers through it all; I guarantee that it will be difficult."

"I know," Ivan murmurs.

"But after you get used to it, it feels amazing," Francis continues. "I cannot describe the feeling of closeness and intimacy."

Ivan smiles as he thinks about the morning he and Alfred had slept together. "This is slightly off topic, but when did you know that you were in love with England?"

Francis laughs with a shrug, picking up his spoon again and continuing to ice the cake. "Who knows? We have fought and loved so many times that I do not bother to keep track anymore. Of course, we have settled down more in the past few decades, and even then, we have our moments. But that is part of la passion, oui?"

"Da, I suppose you are correct."

Before either could say anything more, Alfred bursts into the kitchen, and Lapushka yowls in fright, though he settles quickly when he sees who it is.

Francis frowns. "Amérique?"

Alfred ignores him and looks at Ivan. "Say something in Russian."

"What?"

"I said say something in Russian!" Alfred demands.

A moment later, all Alfred understands is "Francis" and "Lapushka", and even then, he's not sure. He wonders how Ivan doesn't trip over his tongue with that many consonants.

Alfred frowns. "Why couldn't I understand it?"

Ivan raises an eyebrow. "Possibly because you do not know Russian?"

Francis chuckles. "Amérique, there is more to it than that."

"More to what?" Ivan asks.

"Artie can speak French because he did the dirty with France," Alfred grumbles, seeming rather irritated. "It's a thing."

"I do not know what thing you are referring to, Fredka," Ivan says.

"What he means," Francis says, "is that when countries make love, they are able to speak the other's language. It is how Angleterre learned French."

"Yeah, so I should be able to speak Russian!" Alfred says.

Francis shakes his head. "Non, I said it is more complex. When Rusie took you, he took your language. The opposite must happen for you to know Russian."

Alfred flushes. "H-how did you know―?!"

"I apologize, but I told him," Ivan says.

"What? Why?"

"Amérique, leave it, oui? I do not gossip, especially in regards to such sensitive topics," Francis says.

"Since when?"

The Frenchman's eyes narrow slightly at the other, but he returns his attention back to the cake. "I could not tell you. Ignorance overrules facts."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alfred mutters.

"Careful, Amérique. I am making your cake."

That makes Alfred shut up.

After a moment of silence, Ivan says, "I-I did not mean to upset you, Fredka. I…um…."

"He wanted my advice on overcoming his past to be close to you." Francis looks up again, his eyes dark with anger. "Is that enough explanation or do you need a verbal picture?"

"France―" Ivan starts.

"My sex life is none of your business!" Alfred says.

"Fredka―"

"If you are sleeping with Russie, it is partially his business, and he shared some of it with me. Amazingly enough, it was not all about you," Francis snaps. "And was I not the one you contacted the last time you had sexual problems with him?"

Alfred opens his mouth, but Ivan says, "Please, do not fight. I did not realize that it would be such a problem―"

"What's going on?"

Ivan isn't sure if having Arthur is good or bad.

"It is nothing. Do not worry about it, mon ange," Francis mutters.

Arthur glances between his partner and his younger brother and then turns to Ivan. "What have I missed?"

"France and Alfred had an argument about…privacy," Ivan says carefully.

Alfred huffs and crosses his arms over his chest while Francis mutters something under his breath in French. Arthur frowns. "Il quoi?"

"Hey, no French!" Alfred demands.

"You're mad because Russia spoke to Francis about his sex life?" Arthur says as he turns to Alfred.

Francis shakes his head. "C'est bien, amour. Il ne comprend pas."

"No French!" Alfred repeats.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "We could all try to be adults, yes?"

"I like that idea," Ivan says.

"I don't want France―or anybody―sticking their nose in my personal life!" Alfred says, his voice rising in volume.

Ivan shakes his head quickly. "Then it is my fault, Alfred, not France's."

"That is not what angers me," Francis says, setting down his spoon with a little more force than needed. "I do not care about your sex life, and I would be content to not know anything about it. However, your lover is trying to overcome no small obstacle so that he can give you something much more precious than I think you can imagine, and all you care about is my involvement in trying to help? Help that was not forced on him, might I add." Electric blue fire heats Francis's gaze. "Be grateful that he wants to give you this. Otherwise, you are not even worthy of it in the first place."

With that, Francis pushes past Arthur and storms down the hallway. A door slams shut a few moments later.

Author Note: I'm back! And…uh…yeah, that was a little intense. No clue where that came from, but…you know. Stuff. Fingers hit keys, and my brain really has no control over what ends up in the document. So if you enjoyed the chapter, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!

Translations:

"Je le savais." – "I know."

"D'accord" – "Alright"/"Okay"

"Mon ange" – "My angel"

"Il quoi?" – "He what?" (I'm iffy on that one, so feel free to correct it if you know what a better phrasing is!)

"C'est bien, amour. Il ne comprend pas." – "It's alright, love. He doesn't understand."

A hint for next chapter:

"So that's the plan," Alfred finishes. "What do you think?"

Matthew looks at the paper of ideas and materials before he looks back up at his brother. "You really want to make this special, don't you?"