Thanks for all the support and ideas! You guys rock! Here's an extra long chapter, just for you. Enjoy~
Warnings: slash, sexual situations, language, OOCness,
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
"I saw you looking at me, in the crowd, those bloody eyes practically begging me to shag you." Arthur leans forward, voice gruff. "Nearly knocked me off the count, wanker."
"I'm…sorry?"
"How about it then?" The guitarist asks ignoring his words, nonchalantly snubbing his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. With a rakish smile, the musician just looks at him—green eyes dark with lust and humor, as though he knows exactly what effect he has on Matthew. Leaning back, the man just continues to smirk, sensual and scorching, legs spread apart, arms lazily thrown onto the back of the ratty couch.
Matthew just swallows roughly, unable to tear his indigo eyes away from the long legs clad in black leather, glistening under the dim lighting. Lazily dragging a hand through untamed sandy spikes, Arthur's grin widens—revealing more of his teeth—knifelike and dangerous and the Canadian would be a dirty, filthy, lying bastard if he said it didn't turn him on.
Running one hand down his bare chest, the skin pulled taut as he leans back, gaze never leaving his, and the Brit finally rests his hand on his crotch, fingers tapping impatiently against the bulge. "We'll make some gorgeous music, luv."
Matthew's hands tighten around his backstage pass, the sharp edges digging into his palm and he feels a bead of sweat roll down the nape of his neck. "I don't think—"
"That's just it, poppet." The guitarist laughs throatily. "You don't need to think. Just slip on over and take a seat." He pats his thigh.
"That's okay." Matthew says brightly, nervously twirling a strand of his hair (its not like he expected the guitarist of the band to call him out and offer to sex him up after the concert), missing the heated gaze that locks on the gesture. "I—"
"Come here." Arthur orders, voice daring Matthew to disobey.
And Matthew, who has a poster of this man above his bed and who jerks off to his solos, wouldn't dare disobeying because it has only been his desire to touch his idol and now his idol is offering so much more and only a complete and total idiot would pass up this moment, walks up to the man, allowing himself to be tugged down into the older man's lap.
And Arthur wastes no time burrowing his calloused fingers into Matthew's soft hair, lips already pressed against his and tongue nudging at the seams. When his hands tug teasingly at Matthew's locks and the boy breaks the kiss, gasping at the spark of heightened pleasure, the musician chuckles against the corner of the blond's mouth. "Fuck, pretty boy, you play nicer than my Gibson."
Matthew is flushed and thrumming with need and he grasps the other's shoulders and scoots forward, grinding down against the musician and drawing out a shuddered groan from the man below.
"That's more like it luv." Arthur gifts him with a kiss on his chin. "Tell daddy what you want." He coos before sucking hard at Matthew's skin, hands gripping the other's waist.
"Fuck me, daddy." Matthew moans, trembling in delight when Arthur's gaze darkens and his grip on the younger man tightens and the next thing Matthew realizes is that he's on his back on the couch and above him—
—Is not Arthur but Alfred with an enormous shit-eating grin on his stupid face.
"Oh daddy~" His brother moans, blue eyes fluttering shut as the other blond purposely raises the pitch of his voice. "Fuck me now~ I need your coc—"
Matthew, notes with no small sense of satisfaction that Alfred's nose cracks under the force of which Matthew swung the pillow and that his brother's face smacks against the corner of the nightstand in the suite.
"SWEET BABY JESUS!" Alfred shrieks, cupping his nose with both hands, a bruise already blossoming under his eye. The nation glares up at Matthew accusingly, blue eyes watering.
Matthew, though already feeling guilty, just looks away with indifference, already adjusting his bed sheets to shield his morning wood.
"Whoever said that you were the nice one..." Alfred begins, voice hampered by his hands. "…was retarded. You're a douchecanoe, bro."
"How did you even get in?" Matthew demanded, ignoring his brother who was now going on about how Matthew was evil and how he was no longer a sidekick candidate and how he could no longer enter Alfred's clubhouse or use his underground bunker during the Zombie Apocalypse.
"I hope they eat your brains first." Alfred pouts, pulling his hands away and whipping out his pocket mirror. He frowned, poking at his nose tentatively and then the bruise. "And I stole your spare card key. Duh."
Matthew sighed, falling back against the mattress. "That's really creepy, brother."
"You'll thank me when I save you from those ninja assassins or Russia when he's lonely."
There really was no point in arguing. After all, it wasn't as though Matthew didn't have Alfred's house bugged.
After finding out about the other's plans to invade him in case of war with England years ago, the nation of Canada decided it was better to be safe than sorry.
Plus, now he had at least a dozen albums filled with material to tease Alfred with for decades.
"By the way, you have some serious daddy issues little brother." Alfred sighed. "You've got it bad."
"I know, I know."
The blue-eyed nation pushed his self off the floor and sat on the bed, nudging and poking and whining until Matthew grudgingly scooted over and let Alfred curl around him.
"He loves you a lot." Alfred said softly. "I wouldn't even use you in theoretical battle plans against him if I thought you were unimportant to him. I think we just need to get him to realize it." He rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. "We need to be aggressive."
"We need to make sure he'd be receptive." Matthew added.
The North American brothers were silent for a moment before they both said, in identical flat tones. "But he's dense."
"How was the date?" Francis asked excitedly, ambushing Arthur in the restroom of the hotel lobby before the meeting. The Englishman, who was zipping up his trousers, jerked forward, snarling a vulgar epithet at the nosy Frenchman, hands protectively covering his crotch.
"For the love of the Queen, can't a man piss without being molested?" Arthur snapped, face reddening in anger.
Francis rolled his eyes, stepping back as Arthur moved towards the sink, still muttering obscenities under his breath.
"The date, cher." Francis said again, boredly studying his manicured nails. "Lunch with Mathieu."
"I ordered the cheapest steak." Arthur said smugly, earning a glare from Francis.
"I enjoy eating there, connard." The blond stomped his foot. "I can never go back now. You ruin everything."
Arthur responded dryly. "It's a gift, really." He turned off the tap, grabbing a paper towel.
Francis rolled his eyes. "And Mathieu?"
The sandy-haired man paused, eyes flickering downward then he brightened, the image of said nation returning to memory after a brief struggle. "Oh, yes, Matthew. The dear boy had duck."
"Et?" The Frenchman looked expectant.
Arthur stared at him in confusion. "We ate and came back to the hotel. What else do you want me to say?"
Francis looked incredibly disappointed. "You did not hold hands? No kissing in the park? No ******-"
"Good lord, man!" Arthur whirled around, a scandalized glare set on his face. "What the bloody fuck is wrong with you? He's like a son—"
"No." Francis said sharply. "Alfred—as much as you deny it—is like a son to you." His azure eyes were shrewd. "You do not look at Alfred the way you look at Matthew."
The air thickened, Arthur glaring at Francis, hands knotted in the paper towel.
"Rubbish." He said icily.
And immediately Francis saw and he changed his tactics accordingly.
He was skilled at that, you know.
Body relaxing, the blond chuckled amusedly. "Of course. I was teasing, mon lapin. But, you have not been spending as much time with Matthew lately. You're playing favorites again."
"Hardly." Arthur snorted, shoulders less tense.
Francis smirked. "If I hadn't forced you to go have lunch with him—"
"You haven't been able to force me to do anything for years—"
"—then you admit you felt guilty for forgetting Mathieu—"
"—I didn't forget you twat—"
"—tu as oublié—"
"—enough with that blasted language of yours—"
The two devolved in a round of bickering and were, subsequently, late for the conference.
But Arthur, though he'd never admit it aloud, knew Francis was right.
And Francis? Well, he's usually right about these things.
"Flower language!" Matthew said suddenly, straightening and grabbing Alfred's elbow excitedly. The other blond looked up from his Blackberry though didn't stop in his lazy chewing of the handful of French fries he had just stuffed into his mouth.
"..eh?" He mumbled around the potato, cheeks plump with fries.
"Arthur was really into it, way back." Matthew said excitedly, for once overlooking his brother's eating habits. "You know, using flowers to send a message. Red roses meaning a declaration of love and so on."
Alfred's face was blank for a moment longer before understanding dawned in his eyes. Then excitement began to blossom in his eyes and he, with some difficulty, swallowed the load of French fries in his mouth. "You're a genius Mattie!" He ruffled the other nation's hair affectionately. "Lets go."
"Now?"
"When else? Besides, I'm all out of fries." Alfred wiggled the empty, greasy carton in front of Matthew's face in emphasis. "Besides, its not like anyone will notice that you're not here nor will they care if I leave."
Matthew sighed. He was pretty invisible.
"Excuse me Miss?" Alfred said charmingly, flashing a bright smile at the pretty young woman behind the counter at the florist's. "My brother and I need some help. We need a bouquet that says 'Please pin me to the nearest hard surface and fuck me so hard that I can't walk straight for a week'."
The pretty young woman blinked in bemusement, smile seemingly frozen. "Umm…?"
Matthew, who was searching through the roses with a critical eye, groaned and rolled his eyes heavenward. "I'm a good nation, right? I don't get into stupid wars, I play nice. Yet you still punish me?"
"Then how about one that just says 'Fuck me'?" Alfred asked. "No? Then something that says 'I love you. Do you love me?'"
"Well, is this a confession? Or assurance?"
"Um, confession." The blond said confident. "And if we could throw in some flowers that say fu—"
"I understand, sir. You want to make sure the receiver knows that an invitation for intercourse is issued." The young woman said, a rosy flush on her cheeks.
Finally, after a few more choice words to the heavens, Matthew marched over to the desk and grabbed Alfred's arm, giving the young woman an apologetic look. "Its alright, Miss. I've already decided the flowers." Then with a sidelong look at Alfred, the slender blond began to drag his brother over to the brightly colored blossoms.
"I can't take you anywhere." He grumbled, fingers tightening around Alfred's arm. "If I was capable of having children, I still wouldn't because I'm terrified they'll end up like you—"
"Totally awesome and hot?"
"Irresponsible, shameless, nosy, creepy, tactless, and annoying." Matthew huffed, feeling a rant rise in his chest. Maybe he could go for four hours this time.
But then Alfred sniffled, a hurt look on his face.
"And totally awesome and hot." Matthew sighed, violet eyes softening. "And capable of moments of breathtaking brilliance in between the phases of stupidity."
"I love you too Mattie." Alfred chuckled, eyes suspiciously pink. "Now what did you choose?"
"Primroses." Matthew began, ghosting his fingers over the delicate blossoms. "Silent love. Or red tulips, a declaration of love."
Francis quickly hid his grin behind a hand when he entered the conference room the next morning to see Arthur marveling at a lush bouquet of deep red tulips in his assigned seat (Germany having assigned seats after Romano somehow ended up next to Francis and threw a bitch fit of epic proportions and nearly started a war between the two countries.)
"Oh ho ho~" He grinned, brushing back his blond hair. "Je suis fier. Tres bien, mon chou."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred patting Matthew on the back, tugging the blond close and mussing up his hair, both young nations wearing bright smiles.
Glancing back at Arthur, he noticed the Englishman watching the display, his sharp eyes catching something in the other's face fall infinitesimally before the sandy-haired man looked back at the tulips.
"Looks like you still need Papa's help, petit." Francis shook his head. "Tous ces hommes—imbéciles."
"Now you just gotta bust a move, Matt!" Alfred said excitedly. "And before you know it, it'll be bom chicka wah wah!" He shook his hips with each word. "And then we can go back and pick out sex tips from Cosmo and get you manscaped and then you can and Arthur can play out your dirty little fantasies all night loooonnggg~"
"…And just when I decided to not leave you at Russia's mercy."
"You say something?"
"Nope, of course not."
"One comment and I'll castrate you, frog, and there's no guarantee it'll grow back." Arthur said calmly, bouquet in hand as he excited the conference room, Francis skulking behind him.
"It seems you've got a secret admirer." Francis noted slyly. "Any idea who?"
"As if I'd tell you. You gossip more than an housewife." Arthur responded brusquely, heading towards the elevators.
"Is there anyone who you want it to be?"
"Fuck off."
"Is he cute?"
"Belt up." Arthur snapped, flushing. "And what makes you think it's a 'he'?"
Francis threw him a look. "Are you still that close to India? I did not think so."
"Its really none of your business, git." Arthur grumbled, furry eyebrows knitting together.
"He deserves so much better." Francis lamented, azure eyes unable to tear away from those beastly eyebrows. "At least someone well-groomed." He poked at the brow, nose wrinkling in disgust.
And that sparked another argument between the two European nations.
"Oh. Francis. Arthur."
The soft voice caught the attention of both nations, effectively ending their lengthy bickering.
"Mathieu! Mon bébé." Francis cooed, throwing his arms around the younger nation. "You look so lovely." He lovingly caressed the nation's pale cheek, taking in the sight of his former colony dressed in dark jeans—well-fitted too, the Frenchman noted in pleasure, eyeing the way the denim clung to Matthew's lean legs—and a dark green sweater. "You're always hiding in those atrocious sweat-things. You might as well be running about in a sack." Francis scolded, cupping Matthew's face and tapping his nose sternly.
Turning to Arthur, who was quiet, the older nation asked, holding back a smirk, "Doesn't he look stunning?"
Coughing awkwardly, Arthur shuffled his feet and glanced at Matthew before looking away. "Absolutely fetching, my boy. A very sensible sweater, that is."
"You gave it to me." Matthew said softly, violet eyes looking only at Arthur.
At this, Arthur looked at Matthew, eyebrow raised. "…I did…didn't I?" He murmured. "I'm surprised you wore it."
Francis looked impressed. "So your designers aren't a fluke?"
Before Arthur could snap back, Matthew cleared his throat. "I like this sweater." He smiled shyly at Arthur who returned the gesture, eyes affectionate.
The trio was quieted, but before the silence could become too oppressive, Matthew cautiously cut in. "I'm about to meet Alfred for dinner. You guys are more than welcome to come along."
"Where?" Francis asked suddenly.
"Well, I asked him to meet me there but—"
"Then you two go." Francis interrupted, casually shoving Arthur (after snatching the tulips) towards Matthew. "I will wait for him and we shall meet up with you soon."
Matthew glanced at Arthur, visibly hesitating until Francis made a shooing motion with his hands.
"If you insist…" He trailed off, wanting to be alone with Arthur but still not quite sure about leaving his brother alone with his near-constantly horny father figure.
"Lets just go, Matthew." Arthur said firmly, grabbing the younger nation's hand and leading him away as Francis grinned victoriously.
"Yes, Mr. Williams, I do believe there is a place for you here in Parliament." Arthur chuckled, cupping the younger man's face and pressing his thumb against the blond's plump lower lip. "And I daresay a boy as patriotic and dedicated and skilled as you will have no problem getting elected either." He chuckled softly to himself, tucking a strand of curling hair behind Matthew's ear.
Matthew hummed lightly around the man's member in response, dragging a husky moan from the politician.
Arthur watched Matthew with concern, inwardly torn between admiring the other's red blush—red like the roses of England—and checking to see if the younger nation was ill.
"Matthew?" He ventured, noting with confusion the way the glazed look in the other's face vanished and was replaced with embarrassment. "Are you alright, lad?"
"M'fine." Matthew mumbled, rubbing his face tiredly. "I'm actually not that hungry, Arthur."
The Englishman stopped walking, immediately turning and resting the back of his hand against the other's forehead. "You're not feverish."
"I'm just not hungry." Matthew admitted. "I'll call Alfred and Francis and let them know."
Arthur nodded, somewhat disappointed in the turn of events but Matthew honestly didn't look well. As the younger nation made the calls, Arthur sighed and looked around, spotting an ice cream vendor across the street.
Wordlessly, the older nation hurried towards the vendor, catching him just before the other turned a corner.
"Arthur?" Matthew called out, trying not to feel bad when the other ignored him. "Yeah, sorry, Al. I can't go through with." He paused, listening to his brother's outburst. "What? He's buying ice cream I think. No, I can't. Because I keep thinking about his dick." He frowned, violet eyes frosting over. "Stop…stop laughing Alfred…" Rolling his eyes, he hung up on the other nation who was nearly dying with laughter.
Just in time, too, because Arthur was making his way back with two popsicles in hand.
Unfortunately, Arthur walked right past him before stopping in confusion. "I swore I left him right here…" The man wondered, puzzled.
"Arthur." Matthew sighed.
"Sorry Matthew." Arthur apologized, doing a double take when he turned. He handed over a popsicle with a small smile. "You'll feel better."
Warmth bubbling in his stomach, the younger blond took the icy treat and unwrapped it, happily popping it into his mouth and sighing in contentment.
Of course, when he opened his eyes and saw Arthur and realized he had a mouthful of a delicious, but phallic-esque shaped treat, he choked.
"Yes, just like that." Arthur whispered, lifting his hips up and encouraging Matthew to swallow more. "That's my boy."
Matthew was inwardly sobbing. "Why me?" He sniffled, thankful that Arthur was too busy looking away.
"Lick it before putting it in your mouth." Francis's voice sounded from his ear and Matthew nearly jumped.
"Yo, Mattie." When Alfred's voice was heard, Matthew realized that, at some point, he had been bugged. "Listen to Pervy-pants."
Matthew ignored them, content just to eat his popsicle in peace.
"DAMN IT MATT, BE SEXY." Alfred shrieked.
"For once, I agree." Francis added. "You're wasting your sex appeal."
And realizing he would never, ever get peace, Matthew sighed and pulled out his popsicle with a little pop.
"Alright there?" Arthur asked.
"Yeah." Matthew mumbled, the palest of blushes dancing across the bridge of his nose as he stared at the icy treat.
It was raspberry, his favorite.
A surge of love for the man next to him shook him and strengthened his resolve. With a deceptively innocent smile at Arthur, Matthew gave the popsicle an experimental lick at the bottom. Attention now on the popsicle, the blond gave the ice a long lick up the side, red tongue dragging up slowly. Mouthing the tip, Matthew pursed his lips slightly and sucked, making a happy noise when the tangy juice hit his tongue.
And Arthur? Well, his green eyes were locked on the sight.
Taking more of the popsicle into his mouth, Matthew sucked a little more forcefully, cheeks tugging inwards with the effort.
"Take it in deeper." Francis hissed.
Challenge accepted. Matthew slowly drew the treat back into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the quickly disappearing snack.
Arthur coughed uncomfortably, glancing back at his melting popsicle but chancing looks at Matthew.
"Go Matt go!" Alfred cheered. Unfortunately, in his excitement, he managed to dislodge his own microphone and a shrill, scraping noise resounded loudly in Matthew's ear, causing him to gasp and jerk and accidently take too much of the treat in one go.
In short, he gagged, biting down on the popsicle and started coughing, face turning red as he bent over, hand on his throat.
"Epic fail." Alfred whispered, Francis tsking as well.
Matthew, even as his eyes watered, swore to hurt Alfred later.
Arthur, at first sign of the other's distress, jumped up and began to rub and pat Matthew's back, comforting the nation with soothing and gentle words. "Perhaps it'd be best if we just headed back? I'll make you a nice cup of tea." Secretly, he was thankful and decided that maybe he wouldn't buy Matthew popsicles. Ever. Again.
Matthew, still coughing and a little humilated, nodded reluctantly.
...I feel so dirty now... -hides under blanket-
French:
tu as oublié = you forgot
Je suis fier. Tres bien, mon chou = I am proud. Very good, my chou (cabbage, if I remember right)
Tout ces hommes—imbéciles. = All these men-idiots.