Figured I'd say this prior to this chapter 'cause I forgot to do it before…oops...
Parings in this story are:
Francis/Arthur (Obviously)
Alfred/Matthew (It's the main one, so, sorry those who don't like it…)
Ivan/Matthew (One sided – you'll see)
And…any other ones I decide on come the time need be…

WARNING: Accent rapeage, 'The morning after' effect, talk of rape, sarcasm, fourth wall crackage, language, language rapeage, actual rape (or…just sex, depends on how ya' look at it), author diversions, and teenage angst.
Translations are at the bottom. Except for the Pittsburgese…but that should be easy to figure out…maybe…
Anyway, on with the show! (or story; whatever)

"Matvey, Sveetheart. Would you mind going to the store and getting the things on this list?"

A pause before, "Sure, Father." The small figure moved to raise itself from its position when a large hand grabbed its arm.

"На русском языке." A command.

"…Отец?"

"Good boy. Now, go." The hand released its grip on the boy, who in turn continued to raise himself off of the mattress.

"I hope you don't mind if I get a shower first, Отец. I'm…kind of a mess…"

"Of course not, мое дорогое. Be careful. You know vere the pain killers are."

"Yes, Папа. Of course I know where they are." The boy grunted as he stood, feet hitting the hardwood with a small thud. He padded slowly out of the room before opening the door across the hall. He grabbed himself some clothes and worked his way slowly to the bathroom.

Slowly because the pain in the small of his back was excruciating and with every step, he was wincing and grunting out a noise of discomfort.
Yes, Matthew indeed needed pain killers. Lots of pain killers. But, as always, the temptation to overdose on them simply wasn't there. He was happy.

Happy.

Happy as ever since forever; so he'd always say.

This was how he has lived for as long as he could remember; with his father, Ivan Braginski, who loved him dearly. Dearly enough to make Matt feel good. Feel loved. Feel wanted. Feel needed. Feel seen.

The teen groaned as scalding water sprinkled itself down his body.

He was out the door twenty minutes later (after taking four pills and changing into clean clothes, which included long sleeves and a scarf; both to hide bruises that marked his father's love) with his cell phone in his pocket. It was on, always, so that his dad could call when he wanted to.

Typically, Ivan would not have allowed his charge to leave, but the child was a teenager (sixteen years, four months, seventeen days, nine hours, and twenty-three minutes; to be exact, but who's counting?). In order to keep him under his control, Ivan had to give a little to get a lot.

It was easier than one would think though. Simply because the boy knew Ivan could kill him if he wanted to. But neither male dwelled on that small fact. Especially the younger.

Now, despite what people may think, Ivan wasn't really all that creepy. His neighbors thought the man was a freak because they very rarely ever saw him unless he was outside tending to his sunflowers or coming home drunk and stumbling. The only thing they knew about his personal life was that he had a son, he loved vodka, and that the man had sex regularly.

The first was known because, every so often, the boy could be seen in windows, going to get groceries at the store, or out getting the mail.
The second was known because there were boxes of the bottles left out for the recycling man to collect.
The third was known because the giant Russian was a vocal man.

A very vocal man.

No, Ivan wasn't creepy. In fact, he was a wonderful guy once you got to know him.
And you got past the whole 'he kidnapped a poor, defenseless child after knocking another one out and now uses the child he kidnapped for sex' thing.

But, that's not really important in the whole scheme of things, is it?

Matthew stood quietly in line, tapping his foot in beat with the J-popish music that was coming from the stores speaker system:

"Marukaite chikyuu
Jitto mite chikyuu
Hyotto shite chikyuu
Boku Hetalia!"

The teen would have been satisfied with listening to the song quietly had it not been for the person standing behind him in line. Matthew had yet to turn around, and, in all honesty, he didn't want to. The person sounded annoying, to say the least, and either way, Matt was taught to never talk to anyone if he could help it.

Strangers might try to take him away from his father. The thought of which broke Matthews heart.

But, in this case, the person was really getting on the boy's nerves. What with his off-key belting of the lyrics – not even the right ones – and his constant bumping into Matt whilst dancing in the checkout line.

"Be-subo-ru, Amefuto, Fuyu ni wa Aisuhokke!
Basuke mo atsui zo!"

"Would you be so kind as to shut yo—" Matt had been in the process of turning around to face the man who was bugging him a bit too much (really, you'd think someone would have already yelled at the guy) when he actually got a good look at him.

Impossibly tall (not as tall as his father, but taller than himself by a good five, maybe six inches, if not more) and well-built; the man had muscles, that's for sure. Wait, man? No no no, this guy couldn't have been any older than Matthew. His face was too bright, too youthful; too handsome. And was that a bit of tummy-pudge showing through the American flag T-shirt? Yes, yes it was. Matthew's eyes widened and he bit down on his tongue. This guy was, in all possible meanings of the word, hot (Seriously. Like, every meaning. He was attractive, more than likely so attractive it was illegal, and his skin was lightly tanned, so it would be slightly heated to the touch) and Matt couldn't stop staring.

"Huh? What were you about to say?"

Well, he couldn't stop staring until the guy talked that is.

His voice was strange. A bit southern drawlish, but with a strong Pennsylvanian Scottish-Irish accent that was typically found in the North-Western side of the state, while still holding on to what many had dubbed 'Pittsburghese'. (Matthew knew of the accent because he had spent his entire life (or at least all that he could remember – all of his memories started around the time he was five and when he first woke up in Ivan's bed with the man looming over him and – that was the start of all of his happy moments) in the area and knew how the words were pronounced) He blinked hard.

"Huh?"

"Zackly what I said! You were yellin' at me n' I just wanted to know why."

"Umm. S-sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Naah. Now don't get all embarrassed! It's fine. I know I don't have the best voice, but whatever. I'm Alfred! You can call me Al, if you want. N'you?"

Matt paused, unsure as to how he was supposed to actually handle this particular situation. (Years of near solitary confinement tend to do that to a person.) He shuffled from one foot to the other before, "I'm Matthew," he sighed, "Matt, I suppose."

A smile (more like a blinding patch of sunshine, but who's paying that much attention) crossed over Alfred's face, his July sky eyes narrowing when the muscles in his face contorted to fit his grin. (Really, it had no place being that large) Matt nodded a bit, taking in the guy's (Alfred's – he reminded himself lightly) body a bit more. He was lanky, but well proportioned. Sort of. His legs were a bit too long and his feet a smidge too wide, his arms whisked through the air as he talked, matching the speed at which the words were tumbling out of his mouth.

Yes, tumbling.

Matthew's face twitched.

He hated it when people wasted words.

He hated it more than the police who, as Ivan had warned, would take him away without a moment's hesitation simply because they could.

In his humble or not so humble opinion, people really needed to learn to keep their mouths shut. There was no sense in saying anything unless it needed to be said. Idle prattle was not a part of his life and he never liked it when it was part of someone else's.

The blond shook his head before walking (more like shuffling with a slight limp) forward in line and starting to lay his items out on the belt.

Eggs.
Bread.
Sugar.
Cup Cake Holders.
Whipped Cream.
Condoms.
Mittens.
Apples.

Alfred kept right on talking. His words quick and precise, like he'd always had this conversation planned out, but was simply waiting on the right moment to have it, yet, it still seemed sporadic, as if he never gave a thought to what spilled from his lips. It was hard to make heads or tails of this kid, and Matt was starting to get a serious headache.

"Hey? Hey, Matt? Yeah, hey. You look like you're my age. Why haven't I seen you at school? Is it our mascot? 'Cause I totally agree with you on that! Who wants a penguin as a mascot? Well, unless you count the Penguins, but they're a professional hockey team, not as good as half the Canadian teams my dad likes to watch, 'm I right?"

Matt turned his head to look at Alfred but continued laying items down.

Turkey Gravy.
Three Pounds of Chipped Ham.
A Block of American Cheese.
Bottle of Ketchup.
Tissues.
Unscented Lotion. Nontoxic.
Honey and Vanilla Shampoo. (Ivan's favourite smell.)
Plastic Spoons.
Condoms.
Box of Mechanical Pencils.

He'd have to be careful here. "I'm...homeschooled."

"Homeschooled? Sounds fun. 'Cept, not really. I like school; kinda. Ok. Yeah, no. I really don't like it alls that much. Well, not at all actually. I really don't have lots of friends, ya'know? Everyone thinks I'm annoying and even the teachers don't really bother getting to know me, ya'know?"

Understatement of the year.

"But, whatever. Irregardless of all that stuff. I 'member whenever my one teacher actually forgot I was there and didn't give me any tests or the homework pages or grades. Jest saw my name on the roster one day and freaked, then gave me a passing grade because she had forgotten I was there. Well, not forgotten really. I've been told I'm kinda unforgettable, but she jest kinda blocked me out, ya'know? So she sorta forgot I existed…"

Bubble Gum.
Shaving cream.
Nair. (Because Ivan made Matt shave his legs and Nair was the easiest way.)
Notebook.
Band-Aids.
Advil.
Condoms.
Aleve.
Motrin.
Listerine. (For times where Ivan didn't really want sex, but still wanted something.)

Matt was really starting to wish he hadn't come to the store. But, alas, his father had asked him, so here he stood, praying to whatever deity that existed that this guy would just shut the fuck up already because I am seriously thinking of stabbing you with the item separator stick thingy. Matt paused in his musings, What are those things called anyway…? and turned roughly to Alfred.

"Would you kindly shut up for a second?"

Alfred blinked, snapping his mouth shut and tilting his head to the right. Matt breathed through his teeth sharply at how— cute it really was. The teen's hair, a darker shade of blond than Matt's, had fluffed itself to the right and the one piece that had been standing straight up was now pointing amusingly at a rather large woman in the next line over. Alfred's face, while questioning, had an air of "this is all an inside joke between you and me, and I'm still waiting for you to laugh" which made Matt feel really awkward. Like really, really awkward.

"I'm sorry. You are actually kind of annoying, and I really just want you to shut up, please."

"That'll be seventy-six dollars and eighty-one cents please."

"Eh?" Matt tilted his head a bit towards the cashier. He'd forgotten she was even there. Oops.

The woman sighed, glaring at her fingernails before looking up. "Seventy-six dollars and eighty-one cents. Please." Her words were clipped and tense, filled with anger. Or stress. Didn't really matter, Matt wasn't going to stick around long enough to see what became of it. He handed over the money with a fabricated smile and started maneuvering the bags into a cart.

"Hey, Matt? Matt? You should totally stop bein' homeschooled and start comin' ta my school! We would be best friends for sure! So's I wouldn't be lonely anymore!"

Matt blinked slowly before turning to look at Alfred. He was, to say the least, confused. This was not something he was expecting the teen to say. Lonely? How could this kid be lonely? He was so social? Was that the word? "…Yeah. Sure. I...I'll ask my dad."

He definitely wasn't going to ask his dad. That would be crazy. Insane even. His father was—overprotective, to say the least. And, in all honesty Matt couldn't even see himself li—

"Oh! Thank you so much, Matt! I'm looking forward to that! I can't believe how lucky I am today! I mean, I found twunny bucks on my walk over here; school was canceled 'cause the power got knocked out by the storm last night and the generator died; and now I have a new friend, well…now I have my first friend! Well, I mean besides my stuffed rabbit, Rebel, but he doesn't count (crap now I gotta apologize ta him when I get home 'cause that was kinda mean). I'm totally gonna show y'off now!"

If Matt had been in pain before, he was in more now. Alfred had, in his joy, tackled Matthew to the ground. The boys were now laying there, Alfred hugging Matthew tightly, and Matthew groaning in anguish. "A-Alfred? O...off. Hurt-"

"Huh? Oh." The taller blond slid off and stood, sticking out his hand to Matt. The boy grunted and took the offered appendage, rubbing the small of his back as he straightened himself up. "You okay? Sorry. Didn't mean ta hurt you—well, hurt you more 'cause, well-"

"Hurt me more?"

"Yeah 'cause you were alls limpin' and stuff when you walked in, 'n' I just tackled you and probably hurt you more. Sorry."

"No, no. I'm fine. Uhh, see you, Alfred." Matthew turned, gripping the cart handle, and stalked off. He heard Alfred behind him muttering other apologies as he turned to the cashier, who was ticked because the two boys had held the line up for about five minutes. Matthew chanced a small glance at his phones clock and gasped. Dear God, he was almost late!

Ivan started as the door opened. "Sorry Отец! I didn't mean to be late! There was trouble at the st—" Matt didn't actually get to finish his sentence because Ivan had him pressed against a wall with his arm across the boy's neck.

"I'm not mad, мое дорогое. Put the groceries away and bring me my things. I'll be in my room." The Russian pulled back and stalked off down the hallway. Matt shivered.

The groceries were put in their proper places within ten minutes, and Matt had a bag with his father's things (all three boxes of condoms, the lotion, and the tissues) in it. He slowly knocked on the Russians door. "Папа?"

"Come in, Matvey." The door opened slowly as Matt peeked in, confused as he glanced around. His father was nowhere to be seen.

"Father? Where are you?" He walked in further, passed the door, and heard it close. He turned his head slowly to see Ivan standing by it and heard the click of the lock. Odd, the boy thought, usually Papa gives me a day to get better before we do it again. He paused before his eye brows shot into his hairline. What…what if he knows? What if he's doing this to punish me…what if he's not going to make love to me…what if he's going to hurt me! Oh god, what have I done!

Ivan cupped the boys face, slightly amused at his whimpering. The last time he'd made that noise, the boy had been eight and it was when Ivan had actually taken his virginity. (Really, Ivan's not stupid. He knew a small child, like a five, six, or seven year old, couldn't take him, not all of him at least, up the ass. Prior to that, he'd only had the kid suck him off and give him hand jobs – the boy was amazing at them now of course; years of practice – or Ivan would sometimes do the same to the boy; make him feel pleasure. Let the kid know Ivan could dish out exactly what he was receiving.) Ivan laughed a bit. "Calm down, Matvey. This is only normal, da? You want to make Папа happy, da?" Matt nodded slowly, handing the bag over to the man. "Good. Now, give Papa a show. Strip for me."

Matt obliged, slowly unknotting his scarf and allowing it to swing down around his arms as he went about unbuttoning his shirt. He slipped the blue cloth off of his arms and moved on to his pants as the shirt hit the floor. Within seconds he was down to his boxers, the scarf still fluttering around his body. The teen flicked his fingers around the elastic hem of his boxers when they were caught by the Russian. Violet eyes glanced up, widening slightly at the sight. He'd been so preoccupied with stripping he'd failed to notice his father do the same. The man was standing there naked, his member already hard and twitching.

Matt was tackled backwards onto the mattress. His body twitched at the feeling of the still soiled sheets; his father hadn't changed them since the night before and—wait, what? What was Papa doing?

Matt gasped as he felt the scarf tighten around his wrists before his arms were pulled above his head and the other end of the scarf tied to the bar above the bed. This, curiously enough, made his shoulder blades hang flush against the headboard. Matt had never understood why the bar was there, it was just a piece of metal sticking out of the wall, like a sturdy curtain rod. He'd asked his father, but the man just shrugged, told him not to ask questions, and pounded inside him once more. At that point in time, Matt had forgotten about the metal bar in lue of something more pressing.

Now he was wishing he'd asked his question after the fact.

It was the first time his father had ever done this to him. Maybe he was mad? Matt whimpered again, shifting a bit on the mattress. His boxers were slowly lowered and tossed to the floor. The room filled with low chucking.

" Kolkolkolkolkol…my little Matvey. Not even slightly aroused by his Папа? I can fix that. Come on, Matvey. Make Папа happy. Papa deserves it, da? After giving you a roof to live under; food in your stomach. I keep you alive. You need me. Please me, Matvey."

"That man at it again?"

"Yeah. You'd think he'd have the courtesy to screw whenever no one in the neighborhood is here."

"Agreed, honey. They go at it way too much." A pause before; "And, didn't his son just walk in the door?"

"Yeah, twenty, maybe thirty, minutes ago. Poor kid. You'd think he might spare the boy's innocence just once, but noooooo."

"Yeah. I wish we could do something for the poor dear."

"At least it's not our kid."

"…we don't have a kid."

"We could try for one…."

"Normally, I'd be all over you when you say that, honey, but that noise is a serious turn-off."

"You—have a point. Sadly."

It wasn't until morning, when Matthew woke up, did he realize five things.

One, he was still tied to the bar by his scarf.

Two, since he could feel the stickiness between his thighs, he knew Ivan had, once again, forgotten to use protection (odd; how he hadn't noticed it the night before while writhing underneath the man).

Three, Ivan was nowhere in sight (and wouldn't be for another few hours, seeing as it was ten in the morning and Ivan started work at eight and returned anywhere between four and seven).

Four, he really had to pee; and five, for some strange reason, and he wasn't sure why, he was thinking of the shopping trip he took the other day and of the boy he met. What was his name again? Elton? Albert? Alfred? Yeah; Alfred. That was it. Matt shifted a bit.

Pain shot straight up his spine and the teen grunted. "Ooooouch….okay. Let's just try and get this scarf off me." He pulled himself up slowly, so slowly. He ended up standing, not straight, because that would make his spine twinge, and fiddling with the cloth using his fingers and teeth. Twenty minutes later, he was free and all he could see was red. Red raw wrists and dried once-scarlet blood on the offending piece of clothing; the now useless piece of clothing. He pitched it into the garbage can as he worked his way off of the bed.

Shower. That's what he wanted right now; a shower. A hot shower to wash off his skin. To wash out his skin.

The water came down warm and within minutes the small bathroom was steamed up and smoky. Matt slowly started to wash his skin and rinse out his sore areas. He ignored the feeling between his thighs and, instead, lathered his hair up with shampoo and washed it out. His mind was wandering, as it tended to do while he showered, and it kept returning to that stupid teen in the store.

Why had such an annoying nuisance left such an impression? How did he? Why was he on Matthews mind anyway? Frustration loomed in the corners of his thoughts and, suddenly, the teen realized the water had gone stone cold. He leapt from the contraption faster than he had moved any time prior, nearly knocking the curtain off, but soon was cursing himself as his back twitched with that old, familiar pain. He reached for some pain medication before toweling himself off.

Better. Much better. Now, how long had he been in that shower? He walked from the bathroom and eyed the clock in the kitchen as he walked passed it to his room. Noon. He'd been in the shower for over an hour. Yikes. It's a wonder he wasn't all pruney. He peered down at his fingers, only to find that they were, in fact, very pruney. Well, damn. Wonder how long it takes Alfred to get all pruney when he takes a shower?

Wait. Wait, what? He could not have just—no. No. No way did he—did he? He couldn't have-could he? No. No of course not.

Yeah. Yeah he did. (If there was one thing that was nice about Matthew, it was that he was always honest with himself. Well, honest when it came to matters other than his father.) He did just think about Alfred. Alfred and a shower. At the same time. What the hell? He paused. Blinking slowly, he shook his head a bit.

"I'll ask him. I will. The worst that can happen is he'll say 'no', right?"

"Ask me what, Matvey?"

Matt stiffened and whipped around. He gripped the knot he had made in his towel and blinked sluggishly at his father.

"Ask me what, Matvey?"

"May I attend public school? The one with the penguin as a mascot?"

На русском языке. – In Russian.
Отец? – Father?
мое дорогое – My Dear
Папа – Daddy or Papa

I was watching a hockey game at the time, sue me.
Go hockey! –still attempts to find a favourite team– I'm thinking Leafs or Oilers. :D
Anyone catch the Canadian History jab? I did. (Obviously, I did write it there.)

How does Ivan know Matt's age down to the minute? He doesn't. Matt was five when he was kidnapped and Ivan just started doing the math from the day he 'tooked his away'. :D

Who has that conversation at the end? No one knows. :D After I wrote it I started thinking about who it could've been, but came up with nothing. So I left it alone.

I apologize for having it take so long. D: It took a while to get it to my beta, and she did her job, but then I procrastinated. (Not really. I had lots o school stuff. Ehh, what can ya' do?)

And yes, that scene was hard to write. There was more. More meaning a lot more detail, but I didn't feel comfortable posting it, so I deleted it and fixed that part so it worked/flowed. Maybe later in the story I'll get braver? Do know.

Anyway, thanks to my beta for betaing it and thank YOU for reading! And reviewing? I love reviews; they're easy to chew. :D