Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia
Author's Notes
Thoughts/ Flashbacks/ Texting
Notes/ Letters
"Talking"
Simple enough, no?
Alright, so this is a short fic dedicated to England/Canada which doesn't get enough love.
Warning: This has a drunken sex scene. You have been warned. If you're not into mansex, then don't read it.
And no flaming! If you don't like yaoi, then go away! And if you don't like sex scenes, well too bad! I'm writing them until FFN bans me! Besides, it's not that bad, since I'm not too good at this stuff.
Texts From the Past:
Text-Subject:Hi
To: ArthrKLand
Hey, you want to meet up today?
From: Matthieu103
Text-Subject:Hi
To:Matthieu103
Sure thing, love. I'm heading over right now.
From:ArthrKLand
Text-Subject:RE:Hi
To:ArthrKLand
You don't have to come over. We could meet somewhere in between or at your place.
From:Matthieu103
Text-Subject:RE:Hi
To:Matthieu103
Aww, but I want to!
From:ArthrKLand
Text-Subject:RE:REHi
To:ArthrKLand
I love you so much. See you soon.
From:Matthieu103
First Person POV: Matthew
Aw shit.
Arthur Kirkland.
My brain froze up and suddenly I felt very sweaty. Shit.
Arthur Kirkland. My heart seemed to stop.
So much for "over him," right?
Shit, he's coming over! And I'm not exactly feel my best at the moment...
"Hello... Matthew," he said.
"And Gilbert," Gilbert added, giggling a little. "Hi, Artie, it's been aaaa wwwhile, hasn't it? I've been-been thunking-thinking that you didn't want to see me or something-!" His grip tightened around my waist.
"Of course not, I've just been terribly busy," Arthur replied, somewhat condescendingly.
"So you have been avoiding me?" Gilbert asked, with somewhat clarity. "Of course! Is it 'cause you don't like me? It's ok if you don't, it really is, 'cause I never-ever really liked you! And you know what-you know?" Suddenly, he let go of me and he lurched forward, grabbing Arthur by the shoulders. I flinched a little, worried about what Gilbert was going to do in his current inebriated state.
"It's 'cause you hurt poor Matthew's feelings here," he said. He was trying to whisper, but when you're drunk, your whisper-voice is at the level of a shout to people with normal hearing. Several party-goers glanced over at us, some embarrassed, some interested, and some just glancing. "And I-I never would've treated him bad and it'snotfairthatyougothimwhenIwa stheonewhoreallywantedhim."
"What was that last?" Arthur asked, his bushy eyebrows flattening to an almost normal thickness. I grabbed Gilbert's arm and yanked him back and put a hand over his mouth.
"I-Ignore him, he's very drunk," I stammered, trying very hard not to sound too drunk myself. Damn, I wish I hadn't drunk so much! Why hadn't I anticipated Arthur's presence here? He and Elizaveta were still friends, duh, that should've been a warning! "And-and... you know?" I smiled awkwardly.
Then Gilbert licked my hand and I released his mouth, my cheeks flushing a dark, dark red that would've matched the blood rushing to my face. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and I prayed to the gods that right now, at this opportune moment, please give me a heart attack so that I can get into an ambulance and just-!
"So-um, how are you doing?"
My eyes perceptibly widened.
He sounded nervous.
Arthur Kirkland, the wittiest, sharpest-minded, harshest-tongued Brit with a reputation for being bitter, stubborn, and dry sounded like a freshmen talking to his first crush.
Instantly, my admittedly frail confidence soared.
"I-uh, been good," I said, nodding. My eyes closing as I tried to keep the room in focus. Gilbert mumbled something and sat down a hard thump. "Um, you okay, Gil?"
"No," he sighed. "I was so close, then-now stuff's ruined...thanksalotArtie."
"What?"
"Nothing."
He leaned back and I concentrated worriedly on his face. He seemed disappointed, sour almost, and he suddenly looked sober, like all of his problems had been pushed away by booze but had then come back to swarm around his head again.
Ah, how being sober sucks!
He looked sober. I wasn't sure if he was though. Poor guy. I was still feeling buzzed myself, so my own moment of sudden soberness wasn't quite there yet.
"You okay, Gilbert?"
"Mm-hmm."
Text-Subject: (none)
To: HondaKiku6852
i hope mattie gets laid 2nite. preferably hard, hahahah!
From:theTrueAmericanHero
Text-Subject: (none)
To:theTrueAmericanHero
He and Gilbert seem to be "hitting it off" as I believe you Americans say.
From:HondaKiku6852
Text-Subject: (none)
To:HondaKiku6852
Srsly man? AWESOME! hope he gets laid 2nite! plus, meh b mattie will finally be happy!
maybe wen he wakes up tmrow he'll have a bf 2!
From:theTrueAmericanHero
First Person POV: Gilbert
Damn that damn Kirkland stepping in like that!
I glared at him weakly from my position of weakness. From down here, he looked like he was smirking down at me, like he was saying, You see, Gilbert? Matthew will never be yours, just look at the way he's looking at me. It's been years that he's been rejecting you and it's been years since we were dating, but he still looks like he's in love with me. Can't you see it, in his eyes? He likes me, not you. Give it up.
Damn. I glanced sourly at Matthew, whose eyes were firmly glued on the British twit. Damn, damn, damnit!
What was so great about him? He was a bitter guy with an inflated sense of self-importance and a condescending disdain for humans beings that bordered on pessimism somewhere akin to nihilism. What does Matthew see in this guy?!
And more importantly, what doesn't he see in me?
My night's ruined.
I was hoping to get laid tonight, or at least get Matthew to see me in a different light. I was so close, but once again, I'm foiled by the foppish Brit.
It's been years, it's been four years, it's been four years and he hasn't been in a relationship with me for all that time. All that time, you've been chasing him and he's rejected you. But after all those years, he still gets that soppy look in his eyes, that adoring smile on his face, and it's all for me, the guy who dumped him!
Give up, Gilbert. Just give up and save yourself the trouble.
Things seriously suck.
And you can tell they really suck because I'm drunk right now, but I still have the capacity to feel disappointed, let-down, and a failure. All my hurt feelings are swelling up inside my body and I just want to fling them at the two of them, curse and swear and insult Arthur and beg, please oh please, will you please take me, Matthew? Please, what is it I can do to make you want me the way I want you? I miss you so much, I love you so much and I'd never leave you and I've never hurt you, oh please, why can't it be me you stare at like that-?
God, I need to get more plastered.
I didn't want to leave the two of them at it, but the desire to drown away my feelings overrode that desire, so I stumbled off in search of more booze...
Besides, when Kirkland was in the room, it's like no one else exists in Matthew's eyes...
First Person POV: Arthur
"I heard you've been into-ah, marketing?"
Brilliant, just brilliant Kirkland.
I felt like every light in the room was directed at me. Damn, was it just me or was it hot in here?
Matthew stared at me, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with this weirdo.
"I've been studying for a bachelor's degree in Marketing," he said. "I've been considering a position in the marketing field like an Account Executive or Marketing Manager or just a Strategy Analyst."
My, did he have to sound so put together?
My throat felt ridiculously dry. I took a sip of the wine from the glass in my hand, my face flushing with Matthew's eyes on me. I chanced a quick look and he seemed polite, distant. Not overly interested, but interested enough not to simply ignore me.
My body felt jittery and my legs felt weak.
Suddenly Gilbert stood up and lurched away, murmuring something about not being drunk enough.
"Um, are you sure you should be standing up?" Matthew murmured, grabbing a hold of Gilbert's well-toned arm, his bright violet eyes concerned. I felt something unfamiliar spike through my chest, setting my teeth on edge.
"'M fine. You two can be alone," he practically spat me, his eyes hard with an emotion I couldn't read. Jealousy? Hate? Sadness? Fury? I only had a second before he abruptly turned his back on me and walked away.
"He seems depressed, don't you think?" Matthew said. My eyes immediately flew back to him, focusing on his face.
I didn't expect him to look so well.
I mean, not that I expected him to be ugly or something! I just didn't expect him to look so... inviting.
His face, once round and cute, had filled out well, now sharper and smoother, more mature. His hair was longer than I remembered, falling to the nape of his graceful neck. He was taller than he'd once been. He used to be half a foot smaller than me, but now he was almost taller than me. When he was a teenager, he'd been awkward, with those awkward adolescent curves and edges and gawky angles. Awkward.
But now, his height and his weight corresponded smoothly. His white shirt hugged his skin, showing off a slender, willowy body made up of lean muscle. All the angles had smoothed out into curves, the delicious kind of curves you wanted to rest your hands on. His skin was delicately pale, no longer discolored and shaded the way it had been in the old days, shaded with red blotches and dry skin. His smile was no longer half-hearted or meek; it was gentle and understanding.
And a little bit awkward.
That gave me a little confidence. He was still the same Matthew behind the all-grown-up body. Still the same awkward little Mattie.
"I don't know. He seems more bitter, which is definitely how I remember him, so I'm not sure," I said. Okay, still not at my best, but can you blame me? If your first boyfriend, a kid you saw as more of a friend than a romantic interest, suddenly appears looking not only sexy, but beautiful and self-assured and more amazingly attractive than he ever did when you were kids, wouldn't you bathe in the awkwardness of the moment?
"Right," he said, letting out a little laugh to cover up the awkwardness I was making.
My eyes zoomed in on his lips.
Did he always have such alluring lips? Were they always so noticeable or was that the wine talking? I hadn't been drinking too much, had I?
"You know Gilbert is jealous of you," Matthew said suddenly. Then he blushed.
"Ah-uh, I did not know. What of, specifically?" I asked, distracted the by sudden color change in his face.
"I-uh, it's nothing, really," he mumbled. "So I've heard you've been writing popular young adult novels. How's that going?"
"Uh, yes, I have! It's been going really well, actually. I've been on the New York's Bestseller list for quite a while now," instantly I regretted saying it. Now I sounded like a total self-absorbed twat. God, why didn't things come out the way they were meant to when I was talking to him? Then it occured to me: I've never been this nervous talking to him. Why the change? He was still the same Matthew I knew.
Get your head together, Kirkland.
First Person POV: Matthew
I don't know if it was the booze, but suddenly I wasn't feeling so upset to see him anymore. It was probably the beer talking, but maybe we could catch up. Be friends again. I didn't have to act or feel like a lovesick fool around him. That was so high school. I hadn't seen him in two years. Plenty of time to get over it, right? He was a mature adult and you know what? So was I. I came here wanting to find a friend. Maybe I could get in touch with a few of the originals.
"That's really great," I complimented him.
"Ah, it's nothing," he said.
"Don't be so modest," I grinned at him. "You're famous. You know what people say when I go the lectures? They say 'you seriously went to school with Arthur England, aka old Iggy Kirkland? That is so cool!' You should see when I tell them I actually dated you. It's the only time they've ever been jealous of me."
I sneaked a glance at him. I felt a little exposed now, like I'd revealed something deep and secret, but I shook the feeling off. It really wasn't.
Be mature, Matthew. Don't be such a child. That's a perfectly okay thing to say.
"I suppose so. I mean, the critics don't think so!" Arthur said, his voice somewhat high-pitched. He laughed and I smiled, a little awkwardly because the laugh seemed very forced. He was staring at me strangely. I couldn't tell why.
Was he upset to see me here?
Was there something wrong with my hair? I tried to resist the urge to pat it down to make sure.
"Oh, yes. I saw a few reviews of it," I said.
"Did you read any of... them?" Arthur asked.
"Of course," I said earnestly. Then I thought about killing myself for sounding so eager. "I've read three. I thought they were a little unfair when it came to... The End of the New Era. And it wasn't fair to say that As Cold as Fire was a terrible romance, because I thought it was an amusing satire of a romance. They didn't really get that, did they?"
A new light had begun to glow in Arthur's eyes.
"Thank you! You understand! I was lampooning the classical romance, not trying to please some silly, shallow women wishing to live their fantasies through the indulgent world of Nicholas Spark's flights of idealism. Romances aren't nowhere near as cliched as our imaginations would have us believe! And love is messy and chaotic and complicated. It's not something you can really know and recognize at 'first sight.' I can't believe women believe in that nonsense! It's all a bag of shite!"
He was talking about love. How romantic. And sexy. He was the same old Arthur, opinionated and judgmental and so, so sexy about it.
I began shaking my head, a smile steadily growing on my face. My intoxicated mind was starting to hurt, but it was a pleasurable hurt, like a vibration that felt harsh on tender skin, the kind of harsh you want rubbed all over... oh god, my metaphors are getting more and more perverted. It's definitely the alcohol. Maybe I should bail before I start to tear off my clothing.
Isn't that why you came here?
"Be quiet, drunk mind," I said outloud.
"What?" he said.
"Okay, I've been shitting you," I giggled. "I've been very, very drunk for a while now. I am not in my right mind right now. Could you tell?"
Third Person POV
Arthur laughed raucously.
It was almost midnight. Most people were outside of Edelstein Manor, all of them laughing and giggling, some of them hugging one another around the waist to keep from falling over, some just watching on. He'd consumed a considerable amount of wine and vodka, which was definitely a mistake, but at one point, they'd run out of wine and Roderich only had vodka and other spirits as reserves. Later, Arthur would regret it when the two mixed together and he was vomiting over a toilet, but his night was just starting. When it ended, he would regret it. But for now, he would enjoy the moment.
The two of them were the only ones still inside. They were sitting on the couch togeter, the both of them smiling and giggling at pretty much everything from the carpet to the unremarkable white ceiling.
"I just-I just don't think the world ap-appreciates my genus! I mean genius! I mean... no, wait, that is what I meant," Arthur said bemusedly. Matthew looked at him lazily, his head lolling a little. He was feeling a little dizzy, a little whoozy. He'd been plastered before Arthur, so his drunkness was out-of-his-mind drunk while his British friend's drunkness was more of the giggly-the-world-is-crap-but-I-don't-care drunk.
Which is why, later, as well as being sick out of his mind, Arthur would regret what he was about to do.
"Ha, Arthur, you really, you don't know just how-I mean, you don't know how lucky Francis is!"
Suddenly his wandering mind jerked back on track.
"Wha-what was that?"
"I mean... Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," Matthew snorted. He fell to his side, his head falling directly into his lap. "What I meant was that Francis doesn't realize how lucky he is! I mean, you're a smart guy and you're sour, but you're nice and compassionate and witty. You've always got something clever to say and you've got a lot of-got a lot of depth. I like that. It's nice. And you're not overly talkative either! You know, I was never much of a talker, but you-you were never much of one either. You dropped a sarcastic quip and an acerbic opinion and people-people always ignored it because they thought you was, were just being grouchy and pessimistic, but I always new be-er. I mean better. Hahah, beer!"
Arthur erupted into giggles.
"You know, no one's ever noticed that. Thank you for noticing... dat! It's pretty-pretty taken for granted. Just-just like you."
Matthew's head shifted. "What?"
"Everyone thinks you're that quiet kid, the nice, boring one, but they're wrong. You're such a good guy and you're such a-such a beautiful individual and I-I really fucked up, didn't I?"
Even when you're drunk you are capable of feeling more than happiness. Matthew was experiencing alcohol-induced giddiness, but now he felt a little touched. And both were too drunk to really consider how awkward the moment would be if they were sober.
Come to think of it, the moment probably would never had happened without the presence of alcohol.
Matthew sat up abruptly. Arthur folded his legs and turned to face Matthew. The brunette chuckled and did the same, noting that the two of them were like high school girls about to hold each others hands and tell stories and gossip.
"I'm sorry," Arthur blurted. "I'm really sorry. I just used you. I wanted a boyfriend so that Francis would stop hitting on me. But then-then I realized you were more than just a nice guy. You're sensitive and gentle and fragile, but-but you're not a pushover, you know? You're not weak-minded or weak-willed and you're super-intelligent and people don't realize it. You don't talk, you listen. And you don't-you don't think about yourself, you think about others first. It's so-so kind of you. And I know I'm a skeptic, a cycnic, and something of a misanthrope, but-but you know, someone like you is-is a once-in-a-lifetime guy. Any-any guy who has you is damn lucky!"
Matthew started crying. He nodded, his eyes bright and teary, his smile disconnected and broken looking.
He grasped Arthur's hands in his, unconsciously rubbing the rough skin.
"Then why did you cheat on me?"
Texts from the Past:
Text-Subject: (none)
To: McDonald'sIsGod
Arthur, thank you so much for the sweater! I loved it! Did you really knit it by yourself?
From: Matthieu103
Text-Subject: (none)
To:Matthieu103
Srsly? Dat lame ass rly knitted it? c i told u he was a pansy!
god, that is so lame.
From:McDonald'sIsGod
Text-Subject:RE: (none)
To:McDonald'sIsGod
I don't understand why you don't like Arthur.
From:Matthieu103
Text-Subject:RE: (none)
To: Matthieu103
i dont get how a nice gy liek u cud like an ass like him. he is such a jerk!
i dont think u shud date him. he's gonna break ur heart 1 day.
From:McDonald'sIsGod
Text-Subject:RE:RE: (none)
To:McDonald'sIsGod
Don't worry about me. I'll be fine, Al.
Love you, buddy.
From:Matthieu103
First Person POV: Arthur
Guilt hit me like a truck slamming into, well, me. Only, it was an emotional hit, and a really hard one at that.
Sorry, I'm feeling weird. I can't enunciate properly.
Hmm, how did I explain it? How do you explain your heart cracking and shattering into a million tiny shards, all painfully coated with a burning poison exploding and scathing your insides, writhing and boiling against your vital organs and reminding you,
Psst, you remember your heart? Remember where it used to be? Remember when it used to work? When it was functioning right? Psst, not it's gone. Now it'll never be the same, not after it broke. Not it'll always be just a memory of how it used to be. Your organs may work, your mind may be in tact, hell, your heart might still be pumping blood and oxygen into your brain, but...
...the emptiness
...is still
...there
...and your heart
...feels like it's
...still broken, dead,
...even when it's still beating.
Damn, I am good! That must be the poet in me. Maybe I should write that down. Oh wait, what? Where was I?
Oh yeah. Kissing the shit out of my former boyfriend who I treated like shit because I thought he was just some kid, whose name I forgot until now, whose heart I effectively crushed the way mine felt oh-so-recently.
Oh wait, I wasn't there? Oh what the heck.
I couldn't think. I couldn't think of what to say when Matthew looked at me with his beautiful, soppy, sensitive, big, violet eyes and peered right into my heart, my cold, still-beating heart at the time, and asked me in a heart-broken voice why I cheated. And why had I cheated? Why, why, why. The word beat alonside my heart, thumping louder and louder every passing second, pounding faster and faster until I felt the word explode inside of me.
...Boom...
...perfectly in sync with my heart.
Haha, perfect metaphor for what I was feeling. See? See? I'm a genius! I mentioned earlier how love was messy?
Oh, wait, you don't care about that.
So an explosion of feelings made me feel like utter shit because how could someone cheat on someone as lovely as Matthew? I stared at him, wanting to give him an answer, but I just couldn't.
How do you explain to someone that you cheated because they weren't what you wanted, what you fantasized about? How did you tell someone you loved them, but not the way they clearly loved you? How did you apologize for being an idiot, for mindlessly throwing away a love that you didn't think you wanted?
Only asshole play with people feelings like that. But I'm more than an asshole, because I played with his feelings.
And I smashed them into pieces and left him for dead out in the cold.
And now, how did I explain the motivation for my actions?
I couldn't remember. Not when drunk and maybe not even when sober, because my boyfriend Francis, the one I crushed your feelings for? I was getting tired of him. And I was thinking about dumping him the way I dumped you all those years ago.
Damn, don't I feel like a prick now?
I looked into Matthew's eyes, thinking about how painful my revelation was going to be.
But then my mind began to drift again (I blame the alcohol). I ended up staring at his lips instead.
And then a brilliant idea came to me, a brilliant way to get out of explaining what a dick I was.
Well, it seemed brilliant at the time.
I lunged forward and kissed him directly on the mouth, grabbing his silky, pretty brown hair and kissed him like my life depended on it.
And well, my heart was broken, my mind was lost in a world of a drunken haze, and my body was aching, so maybe I was dying.
I don't know. I can't justify my actions from there. I certainly didn't feel like my normal eloquent self. I didn't feel like Arthur England. I felt like old, unnoticed, unknown and insignificant Iggy Kirkland.
But kissing Matthew so fiercely and holding him so tightly, so fiercely (did I already say that? Oops, whatever) to my chest made me easily embrace old Iggy Kirkland.
That and a helluva lot of beer.
But shhh, don't ruin the moment.
Third Person POV
Elizaveta Hedervary had many needs.
One, of course, was food. Water. Shelter. All the necessary needs of her life, all the things she couldn't live without.
But then, there were the things she wanted so badly that if she didn't have them then her life might as well be meaningless.
Roderich. Love. Affection. Long nights together and waking up in the morning knowing he's there.
Some might've said it was "romantized notion" and a cliche but when you consider that she had all of these things, the notion was not only possible but a reality.
Elizaveta Hedervary was a good person. She was kind and good-hearted and humorous and strong-willed with a strong sense of morals. She knew right from wrong and knew assholes from good people. She had a temper, but it wasn't a bad thing at all, merely her sense of injustice was somewhat inflated.
A good person. She'd never cheat on her husband and would never use him for his money.
But sometimes, well, sometimes she had more needs.
And one of those needs was sex.
Good, hard, rotten to the core, dirty sex, plain and simple. It was no secret her sexual preferences were very... deviant, to say the least.
It was no secret that she had a great deal of kinks and preferences, all very specific and well-thought out.
She wasn't a slut, certainly, but she was most definitely not an innocent school girl.
Unless you wanted her to be.
-giggle-
Elizaveta, at the moment, was very disappointed in her party so far.
Oh, the people were lovely, yes, and she was having a nice time catching up with them. Roderich seemed to like her friends and was having a very "cultured" exchange with Ludwig over whether Mozart was a German or an Austrian, and everyone seemed very happy and excited, what with the drinking and dancing and general tomfoolery (Heracles putting a lamp on Sadiq's head, Veneziano mooning the shy and very embarrassed Kiku, Alfred strip-teasing a dozen girls with an erotic dance that Elizaveta's pictures had caught and would be used for blackmail later). It was crazy, but not too out of control.
But things just weren't as sexy as she'd been hoping for.
Kiku and Heracles were definitely sexually attracted to one another despite Kiku claiming heterosexuality, and she was hoping enough drink would get them doing the dirty in one of Roderich's ready bedrooms. But while Heracles would've happily done so, Kiku hadn't drunk enough to lose all of his inhibitions. He still skirted away from Heracles's overly-friendly hands, though now he was at least smiling.
Sadiq and Heracles definitely had some sort of hate-sex relationship going on, but thus far, Sadiq had only shown the hate part and didn't seem to interested in the latter.
Veneziano and Ludwig? Drunk enough to kiss in public, but Veneziano wasn't used to beer and he was looking ready to pass out any second. He was leaning on Ludwig now and they probably weren't going to do anything dirty here. The German would probably just take him home.
No, nothing too sexy going on with them.
But oddly enough, the last person she'd expect to want to get down and dirty in her house while knowing she was a bona fide pervert/voyeur was the one giving her the most material.
When Matthew Williams had arrived, she'd done her customary teasing. The most she'd expected from him?
Maybe a kiss on the cheek, or on the lips, maybe a little timid makeout session.
When Kiku had spotted Gilbert and Matthew making out like they were, well, drunk, she'd squee'd and rushed over there. She'd gotten a maybe 0.20 second long video of them rubbing lips and bodies, (oh how sexy two men could be together), but then they'd stopped.
And there had been little to no action after that. What a disappointment. Oh well. Maybe she should just stop being so childish.
Well, no, not childish. A child wouldn't get a sexual rush when seeing two men (or, occasionally, women) going down on each other.
No, she wasn't childish, she was immature. Adolescent. Yes, that better fit her.
She wandered off a little, her head a little dizzy, her brain mildly buzzed. She knew not to drink too much. Never get too drunk when planning on being a voyeur. You really need your wits about you when being a pervert.
She briefly considered finding Roderich to see how he was getting on, but her mind wasn't intent on this. She'd last seen him speaking with a new friend of hers, a guy named Vash. They seemed to have taken something of a liking to one another, despite being very different in personality. Guess Vash was going to star in one of her doujinshis... she really needed to see Kiku about that. She had a storyline and a setting in her head, but he was the excellent artist, so-
Elizaveta stepped into the living room on the bottom floor. It was somewhat messy. Someone had knocked over a vase earlier and the fragments were still there along with a few red stains that she knew Roderich would be very displeased with. There were some scuff marks on the floors and walls and even, somehow, on the ceiling (the hell?). And the cushions from the red couch were scattered everywhere. The mirror that had hung over the table had been taken down... for some reason. She wondered where it ended up and why it had disappeared.
All in all, very tame. Not bad. No vomit on anything except the lawns and in the kitchen sink/ trash can and the toilets. Thankfully once he vomited, he left, usually with someone more sober to drive.
And then, she heard a moan.
Carefully, using her Pervert Stealth, she edged over to the wall and peered at the source of the noise.
And when she saw who it was, she silently squee'd inside her head.
Arthur Kirkland. Grumpy, middle-aged going on twenty-one British author Arthur Kirkland, her childhood friend, the one who used to hit people with whatever book he was reading... was shoving his tongue down her quiet, polite, and well-mannered friend Matthew Williams' throat. Kissing him like his life depended on it. Shoving the shy Canadian down into the couch and rubbing against him like a cat, nuzzling into his neck, and groaning the way a dog growls.
She gasped.
She'd struck gold.
First Person POV: Matthew
What happened after Arthur began to kiss me? Honestly, I don't remember, not clearly.
I remember the emotions I felt, I remember vague, blurry images of that night, and I remember Gilbert's hurt face and Alfred's scandalized, furious face, but the exact details escape me.
A cauldron of emotions washed over me, overwhelming me with a sense of pain. Old pains I'd thought I left behind suddenly felt as fresh as the first time I'd been wounded. But what was worse than the pain, was knowing that I was ecstatic. I was happy, overjoyed, and wanting, oh so much want. I needed him, wanted him the way a person wants a warm hand to hold, not the hot, frenzied way he wanted me.
When he touched me the way he desired, using me the way he wanted to, I accepted it, reveled in it, because it felt like heaven.
And yet, again, the pain hurt, but knowing that I was inflicting the pain on myself, willingly and gladly accepting his drunken love, hurt me to the core the next morning.
It had just been so long since I felt this way. Alfred, Gilbert, with them it was just sex, would've just been sex. I didn't "love" them that way. Having sex with Arthur after such a long time awakened feelings that had lied dormant since he'd crushed them. I always repeated to myself that I was over him, really over him, way over him, but the feelings were just repressed. And that angered me. Why couldn't I let those feelings go? I wanted to, so badly.
Happiness: For some reason, kissing Arthur even after so long felt so right, so much more amazing than I remembered it.
Shame: Was I giving in to Arthur again? Was I a fool? A fool who gets used and abused by anyone who so much as winks at him?
Anger: Why? Why did I have to fall for this damned bastard every time he so much as entered the same room? I thought I was over him.
Regret: I regreted every second of it, yet if I could do it again, I wouldn't take it back.
Loneliness: I knew. I knew once Arthur was done, I'd be alone.
Pathetic: Despite knowing he'd leave me alone once he was done, I still did it. I still kissed him back, still sanking my heart and soul into his once more, knowing that he was only temporary, that he was getting laid, not making love. I knew it well. But I still did it. Why?
Maybe I wasn't as "over" Arthur Kirkland as I'd hoped.
Hands fumbling in the dark, grasping and groping in a frenzied need for skin.
Skin, smooth and supple.
Fingers skittered across sensitive, tingling skin, searching, wanting, desiring, loving.
Slipping under clothing and settling into the dark like a criminal, doing unspeakable acts under the covers.
A hand settled on a smooth stomach, asking for permission, begging, pleading wordlessly.
Two hands hesitantly took a hold of the bottom of a white shirt, nervously tugging it up above tossed blond hair and throwing it off into the darkness somewhere.
They settled on wiry, strong shoulders and trembled as they slipped down to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with each one.
Another pair of hands, perhaps impatient with the pace, helped them along, eventually getting too frustrated to even bother with the last two; the shirt was torn, the last two buttons ripped free, and another white shirt went fluttering to the ground like a ghost.
Two pairs of hands, one hesitantly slow and the other frantically brave and daring.
Lips collided together, wildly slipping open to allow tongues to engage in a fiery dance of passion, teasing and languid, lazy and sensuous, warm and moist, sweet and short, teeth nipping.
When they seperated, they settled on skin, pressing warm skin onto a long, pale neck, marking it as their own, even though it never would be again. Leaving dark, distinguishable marks, blackish purple bruises like territory markers to warn others from touching.
Theirs to touch and theirs alone.
The last layers of clothing slip off, leaving smooth, almost perfect human bodies laid bare behind closed doors. Smoothly, slender fingers ask for permission and are swiftly granted it. They slip into tight, tense skin, the most intimate part of the body, stroking teasingly, preparing and waiting patiently. Lips clasp once more in a desperate attempt to distract from the discomfort, to ease away the tension.
So long, so long since it's last been. Fingers press further inside, digging deeper and deeper until they find that one spot, that soft, sensitive part of the most intimate place. They drive themselves in, wedge their length up to the knuckle inside. Hips buck, pushing them deeper, and lips slip open to release a pleading moan.
"You ready?" lips whisper in the darkness.
Nodding, then grasping shoulders reassuringly, trying to relax and make the job easier.
Slowly, carefully, pressing inside its partner.
Slow, slow, slow, easing into it, resisting the urge to ram inside like a jack rabbit on speed, because it's not fucking, it's making love.
Or, so it might seem, hidden in the darkness.
Sighing, gasping, panting, then moaning. The rough, lewd smack of skin against skin as the pace increases, taking and taking and taking as much heat and pleasure as desired, more pleasurable than what can possibly be imagined. Sinking in and out and in and out, wonderful friction sparking a fire within stomaches and coiling deeper and tighter inside. Not much longer now. The coils tighten unbearably, sinking deeper inside, painfully deep.
A hand tenderly seized an eching length, roughly rubbing the tip, then sliding down, thumb stroking slowly, fingers jerking upwards and downwards, then increasing in roughness and speed. The feeling is intensified. Painfully, painfully tight, painfully hot, hips jerk, searching deeper, searching for an inner heat, an inner tightness and intimacy not yet reached. Bucking wildly, fingers digging hard enough to break skin, on hips, on the shoulder blades. And finally, finally the heat explodes, burst into a million white stars that explode behind eyelids as climax is reached. A sharp cry and a scream erupt from two pairs of lips.
Panting, gasping, coming down from a high, hips still lightly stimulating the partner and thrusting gently to ride out the last few tingles. They cease. Pulling out, a pair of lips press against the other, kissing briefly before a hand comes to stroke a warm cheek.
"I love you," is whispered.
A body collapses down onto the thinner, more slender body, all muscles limp, limbs long and relaxed with release. Blond hair tickles a sensitive neck as a pretty face sank down into a warm pillow, utterly exhausted, eyelids fluttering shut.
For a moment, violet eyes flash in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.
Then they too shut, and one last sigh (content? disappointed?) is heard before silence, broken by slow, quiet breathing of two slumbering souls.
Texts From the Past (cont.)
Text-Subject: Need you
To:McDonald'sIsGod
I need you to pick me up right now.
From:Matthieu103
Text-Subject:Need you
To: Matthieu103
Wut's wrong? wut do u need?
From:McDonald'sIsGod
Text-Subject:RE:Need you
To:McDonald'sIsGod
I need you here right now, please. I need to get out of here.
From:Matthieu103
Text-Subject:RE:Need you
To:Matthieu103
ok. cming to get u.
wut's wrong?
From:McDonald'sIsGod
Text-Subject:RE:RE: Need you
To:McDonald'sIsGod
Arthur's cheating on me.
U were rite. but pls, rite now i just want 2 leave. dont make a scene, pls, not now.
From:Matthieu103
Sex scenes are hard for me, so I tried this one from a different angle. Tell me what you think of it since I'm new to this stuff (well, relatively since I've read plenty, just never tried writing it). Also, can someone please review? I don't know why, but I'm oddly invested in this three-shot and I'd appreciate it if my hard work was at least recognized. Please review. Bye.
