DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers — Hidekaz Himaruya
BROTHERLY LOVE
THREE
It started slow. Al missed Matt and Matt missed Al—innocent enough. Especially for two boys who had spent the first fourteen years of their lives together, inseparable. They had grown up in the same house, after all, slept in the same bed; shared the same likes and dislikes, the same secrets and fears. They knew each other inside-and-out; not inappropriately at all, just familiarly. Arthur and Francis had adopted them simultaneously; they had been born in different places, but they had been raised as brothers. And who wouldn't miss their only brother?
OTTAWA
OCTOBER 2010
In October Al took the bus from New York City to Ottawa to spend Canadian Thanksgiving with Matt, and, since his arrival, the brothers had spent every waking—and sleeping—minute together. With special permission from the Headmaster, Matt took Al everywhere. He gave him a campus-tour and introduced him to the other boys, and then a group of them went uptown to play lacrosse with a rival school. They ate fast-food and crashed in the dormitory lounge to watch a marathon of bad films. It took less than twenty-four hours for the other boys to start making jokes, calling them Siamese-twins and such: "joined at the hip"—"never apart"—"can't tell one from the other". Lars cleared out to give the brothers some privacy, which they appreciated. He crashed in Mikkel and Bjørn's room for the weekend.
Perhaps if he hadn't left, an awkward situation wouldn't have presented itself—
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. "Hey, Matt? You'd better hurry if you want a shower," said Toris from the hallway. "Mikkel took a suspiciously long shower and the hot water's almost gone; you might get five minutes out of it."
"Oh fuck," said Matt, crawling out of bed. Al groaned. Both boys were filthy. Neither of them had showered yesterday after playing lacrosse, both too exhausted. They had decided to spend the night eating sweets and watching television, which hadn't helped, assuming that they could shower today. "Fucking Mikkel," Matt muttered unhappily.
"Wait, where're you going?" asked Al, sitting up.
Matt grabbed a black valise and a towel from his top drawer and headed for the door. "To shower, of course."
"But what about me? I need a shower too— ouch!" Al tumbled out of bed and face-planted on the floor. Then he leapt up, grabbing his satchel, and followed Matt out.
Matt stopped in the dorm's washroom. "What are you doing?" he asked, watching as Al started to undress. "Didn't you hear Toris? There's only enough hot water left for one— me."
"Huh? But I'm your guest," Al countered, pulling off his t-shirt. "Besides, that big Swedish guy tackled me when we were playing yesterday; I need a shower more than you do."
"Piss-off, it's my dorm," said Matt, inching toward the shower stall.
"Well... look there's two stalls," Al pointed. "We'll both just have a quick two-minute shower, okay?"
Al headed for the second stall, but Matt grabbed his forearm. "No, you can't use that one." Al lifted an eyebrow in question, prompting Matt to say: "Trust me, you don't want to use that one. It's an all-boys school, use your imagination." Al frowned; then realization dawned on him. His mouth formed a silent O of agreement.
"Well then, we'll just have to shower together," Al said, moving into the safe—clean—shower.
Matt gaped at him. "What? Don't you think that's just a little... weird."
Al shrugged. "Maybe... a little," he agreed. "But, whatever, I've seen you naked loads of times, Mattie."
"Yeah, but not since I was ten!" Matt hissed.
"And what? You've changed so much since then?" Al joked. "Seriously, you're making a bigger deal than it needs to be. Guys use public showers at the gym, right?"
Matt stared at him. "Mon Dieu, you're actually serious."
Al ignored him and removed his pajamas, tossing them aside. In only his boxer-shorts he climbed into the shower stall, and threw a glance over his shoulder. "If you're not getting in then I'm taking all the hot water for myself," he said casually. Matt stepped forward, then stopped; calling a bluff that didn't exist. Al sighed. "It's not like we're going to look at each other, not below the waist anyway. Don't look so fucking scared, it's me— your brother."
Finally Matt surrendered: "Fine!" he huffed. Glancing quickly from right-to-left, to ensure nobody saw them, he pulled off his clothes and climbed into the shower stall beside Al. Al pulled the curtain closed and inadvertently eyed his brother's slim waist. "Okay, we'll just... be quick." Matt flushed.
Matt turned the tap and a burst of cold water sprayed down on Al. He barely had time to register the ice-cold, however, before it grew warm—then hot.
Al removed his boxers and grabbed for the shampoo bottle. "Sorry," he said, brushing Matt's shoulder; his brother's pale skin was exceptionally soft. Al lathered scented soap into his wheat-blonde hair and tried not to think about it, consciously keeping his eyes on the back-wall. But when steam began to fill the stall, Al found that he had a hard time keeping his eyes focused. It twisted around Matt's young, willowy body. His brother leant back his head and let slippery curls cascade down his neck; his hair looked silky, making Al want to touch it. It was then that Al felt something stir in his stomach, and suddenly hewas very aware that he and Matt were not, strictly-speaking, related by blood. Why is my heart racing? he thought, feeling embarrassed. Why is my body— Oh fuck! he panicked. He forced himself to think of something cold; something revolting—like his fathers making-out—but it didn't work. His body was young and virile and hungry. He had to get himself under control before the hot water ran out; before Matt turned around and saw his brother's cock. Fortunately, and unlike Al, Matt kept his promise and remained facing the back-wall. Fuck, Al cursed himself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—
Al knocked over the shampoo bottle; it fell from the shelf and hit Matt. "Ouch, Al—?"
"S-sorry!" Al stuttered.
In reflex he knelt down to get the bottle and accidentally came into contact with his brother's smooth thigh. Matt panicked and slipped back: "Al, what're you doing?! I thought you— Oh." His eyes met Al's, blushing furiously.
Al tried to shield himself, but the shower stall was small. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Suddenly the water turned cold; ice-cold. Forgetting themselves, Al and Matt both shrieked and clambered to get out. Matt quickly turned off the tap, and Al handed him a towel, his head turned away in shame.
They didn't talk about it. Or Al's inadvertent episode—"it was the heat," thought Matt; "it was hormones," thought Al. And they certainly didn't tell anyone else; it was their secret—the first of many.
Al, what are you doing?" said Matt, sounding slightly exasperated. "That's Lars' bed."
"Yeah, but he's not here. So I thought I'd just—"
Matt threw a pillow that hit Al in the face. "Just get in," he said, pulling back his bed-sheets.
Al hesitated. "Are you sure? I don't think Lars would mind if I slept here." Matt frowned at him, unimpressed by Al's charade. Slowly Al conceded and crawled into the single-bed, trying to keep his distance from Matt.
"Oh, pour l'amour de merde," Matt muttered, moving closer to Al. He rested his head between Al's shoulder-blades, closed his eyes, and said: "Idiot."
Mattie, you decent?" Lars called. He opened the dorm-room door and poked his head in. His bed was unwrinkled; his side of the room untouched, perfectly clean. Matt's side—usually tidy—was a mess of stars-and-stripes. Al's big satchel had been dumped, spilling blue boxer-shorts and Captain America comics. Lars dodged the chaos, inwardly cringing, and moved to his dresser to get fresh clothes. In passing he glanced at Matt's bed: Al was lying on his back, open-mouthed and snoring, with his arm stretched out; Matt's head was resting on Al's shoulder, arm flung over Al's chest. Both were fast asleep, breathing softly. Matt's long eyelashes quivered; he was dreaming. He looked so peaceful, Lars thought, smiling unguardedly. So cute.
Suddenly Al opened his eyes. "Lars?" he said, frowning sleepily. "Are you... watching us sleep?"
"No," Lars said, collecting his clothes. I was only watching Matt. Then he left.