It's been a long time but, finally, here is the last chapter of Mistletoe Kisses. I felt slightly ridiculous writing a Christmas story in April, but after I came across it by accident yesterday I knew I couldn't leave it unfinished. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and (as always) I apologise for any spelling/grammar mistakes. Please review and let me know what you think about the ending!
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers.
Arthur brushed past Mathew and stormed over to the offending mistletoe. He stretched up to yank it away from the ceiling, leaving a ragged, torn leaf still clinging to the place where it was pinned up. The Canadian stared, completely taken aback, as Arthur threw the mistletoe to the ground and crushed it under his bare foot.
Then the British man ground it under his heel, and finished by jumping up and down a few times on top of it. When his task was complete, he looked up at Matthew, a little red-faced.
Then he said somewhat defensively, "It's a parasitic plant anyway."
Matthew quickly nodded in agreement, too shocked to say anything. Arthur shot one last fierce glare at the pathetic, crushed bundle of leaves on the carpet before muttering, "Bloody Germans…" and trudging back up the stairs.
The Canadian boy bent down and gently peeled the remains of the mistletoe off the floor. "You have no idea how much trouble you've caused," he murmured.
How could one little plant have set off such a weird, traumatising, confusing series of events? Matthew sighed, shaking his head. It was far too early to think clearly about what had happened. Instead he cleaned up the mess Arthur had made and wandered back to his bed.
Three sleepless hours later, Matthew was making tea in the kitchen when Arthur burst into the room. The Canadian blinked at his guardian. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was even messier than usual, and he was clutching a wrapped present so tightly his fingernails had ripped through the paper.
"Tea?" Matthew offered weakly. Arthur stared at him as if the answer was obvious (which, now that Matthew thought about it, it was) and shot a glare that could have destroyed a small country at the radio, which was blaring out happy Christmas music.
"Here," the British man said shortly, shoving the prettily wrapped parcel at the Canadian boy.
"Thankyou," Matthew replied, abandoning the tea making to unwrap the present. He carefully peeled off the sellotape, unfolded the paper, and pulled out… the most hideous sweater he had ever seen.
It was maroon. With a reindeer on it. And bobbles. Plus, Matthew had a nasty feeling it was hand-knitted. "I- I don't know what to say," he whispered truthfully.
Arthur's eyebrows pulled together in a frown. "Aren't you going to put it on?" he demanded. Feeling slightly queasy, Matthew gingerly tugged the sweater down over his neck. It was big and ugly and bulged in all the wrong places.
Arthur didn't smile, but he made a satisfied sort of "harrumph" noise. Then he picked up one of the steaming cups of tea and told Matthew shortly, "I'll be in my study. Don't interrupt me."
"Wait, I haven't given you your present yet!" Matthew tried to say, but his guardian had already vanished in a whirl of eyebrows and tweed. The Canadian boy sighed unhappily, plucked at the maroon wool with his fingertips, and murmured, "Happy Christmas, Matthew."
Matthew was sitting in the lounge, nursing a mug of hot chocolate and generally feeling sorry for himself, when the doorbell rang. His shoulders tensed immediately, but then he remembered Arthur's attack on the mistletoe, and decided to risk it.
The Canadian yanked open the door to reveal what appeared to be an explosion in a glitter factory. After a few seconds observation, however, it turned out to be Feliciano in his Christmas outfit.
"Hello!" the ever-enthusiastic Italian boy screamed, "Merry Christmas, ve!" Behind him, Ludwig winced slightly. The blonde-haired German was dressed in a sweater that was only marginally less ugly than Matthew's own, and his face was sourer than a lemon.
"Er, come in," Matthew said uncertainly. Feliciano brushed past him and pranced into the lounge, with Ludwig trailing behind him.
"We're spreading holiday cheer," the Italian told Matthew in what (for him) passed as a serious voice, "We're giving everyone in the neighbourhood Christmas cookies!"
With a flourish, he produced a ribbon-covered parcel from somewhere and shoved it into the Canadian boy's hands. He unwrapped it a little reluctantly (remembering what had happened the last time he'd opened a present) and held up one of the slightly misshapen cookies. There was something strange about them, but he couldn't quite work out what…
Then it dawned on him in a horrifying flash of clarity. "Feliciano… do these cookies have pasta in them?"
"Ve~! Everything tastes better with pasta!" Matthew made a mental note to never, ever put one of those cookies anywhere near his mouth. Thankfully, he was spared the embarrassment of having to pretend to eat one by a strange squeaking noise.
Ludwig and Matthew both glanced at Feliciano, but for once he wasn't the source of the squeal. It happened again a few moments later.
Matthew looked up at the ceiling, wondering if Arthur was conducting some sort of experiment on rabbits, but Ludwig was staring sternly at the mantelpiece. Or, rather, the sellotape-encased package sitting on the mantelpiece.
"Gilbert's present," Matthew murmured, and the German man's blue eyes narrowed dangerously.
Ludwig leaned past Matthew to pick up the package, and at that moment Arthur stormed into the room.
He blinked, green eyes widening, at the sight of Ludwig (one arm above Matthew's shoulder as he reached past him, face closer to the Canadian boy's than normal) and let out a sort of frustrated screech.
"Bloody hell!" the British man fumed, "What else can I do? I shouted at Alfred, I took down the mistletoe, I forced you to wear a horrible jumper, and still people want to kiss you? Why are you so bloody irresistible?"
With surprising force, Arthur rushed past Feliciano, shoved Ludwig out of the way, and pressed his mouth against Matthew's lips.
So this is what a kiss is supposed to feel like, a small part of the Canadian boy's mind whispered, before Arthur's tongue lapped at his lips and he lost all sense of reality. The British man tasted of rain and forests and perfect, painful desire. It was hot and sweet and comforting and wonderful.
It might have been a second, or a minute, or a day, or a month, before Arthur released him. Matthew had lost all sense of time, all sense of everything apart from the feel of the older man's lips against his own.
There was a long, heavy silence. Feliciano looked slightly confused, but was beaming happily, Ludwig's brow was furrowed and the tips of his ears had turned bright pink, and Arthur… Arthur looked like someone who had just been told a horrible secret.
"You- He was trying to get to the package, wasn't he…" he said in a curiously strangled voice. Matthew nodded. His lips were still tingling, and he was sure he had a tomato-red blush on his cheeks that could rival Arthur's own.
"We should go," Ludwig barked out, and (grabbing Feliciano's hand to tug him along) hurried out of the house.
If the silence before had been awkward, this one was doubly so. A flood- no, a tidal wave- of emotions was rushing through Matthew's brain.
I'm in love with Arthur, his mind was screaming. Oh God… I'm in love with Arthur.
The British man himself had turned away, face burning, obviously deeply embarrassed.
What if it was a mistake? Matthew thought, panicking, What if he- what if he fell forward and landed on my mouth?
Then, in an uncharacteristic moment of recklessness, he muttered to himself, "There's only one way to find out."
He took a deep breath, thought once more about how flawless that kiss had been, and said quietly, "You don't need mistletoe to kiss me, Arthur."
The older man turned around so fast it must have been painful, emerald eyes shining with something that looked suspiciously like hope. Here goes nothing, Matthew thought, and leaned forward to press their mouths together once again.
A few hours passed before Matthew made pancakes and Arthur (despite complaining that they "weren't British") ate twelve of them. Before, blushing slightly, he finally presented him with his Christmas present (a limited edition leather bound copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream; "To replace the one you gave me."). Before they sat together on the sofa (far closer than they would have yesterday) to watch It's a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street.
But for the whole day, one thought kept reappearing in Matthew's mind:
Mistletoe is highly overrated.
