DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers — Hidekaz Himaruya

BROTHERLY LOVE


SEVEN

NEW YORK CITY

NEW YEAR'S EVE 2012

Don't let me be lonely, Mattie. Not on New Year's Eve. You've got to come!" Al moaned. He was on his knees on the floor, hugging Matt's waist as Matt tried and failed to move, dragging Al across his bedroom. "It'll be lots of fun, and I'll be so lonely without you!"

"Fine," Matt relented. "I'll go. But Times Square is always so crowded on New Year's Eve."

Al leapt happily up. "Don't worry, Mattie," he teased cheekily. "You can hold my hand."

They left the house at seven o'clock and met the Italians at a pizzeria for supper, the four of them chatting excitedly about spending New Year's Eve in Times Square. They were soon joined by Gil and Ludwig, who let Feliciano slide up beside him, half-sitting on the German's lap; while Gil listed off what he had brought them all to drink, patting a satchel in explanation. Lars and Laura arrived next, followed by Eliza, who—miraculously—was dragging Roderick along behind her. Antonio was late, but, eventually, the group had assembled.

"This is going to be epic!" Al proclaimed cheerfully. Bright lights, loud music, a snow-storm of confetti, and at midnight: I'm going to kiss Mattiereally, properly kiss him. Al's heart pounded in nervous excitement when he glanced at his brother beside him. Matt looked good tonight, ripe for kissing.

At ten o'clock they fought their way toward Times Square. It was snowing, but the liquor in their bellies kept them warm. Several of them linked arms and pulled each other in a human-train down the street, provoking yells of disapproval from passers-by and people they bumped into. Unfortunately they couldn't get anywhere near the stage, having arrived so late, so they climbed onto the balcony of a closed Chinese Restaurant that overlooked the street. Al took a bottle—hidden conspicuously inside a brown-paper bag—from Ludwig and drank greedily, then made to pass it to Matt, except that Matt wasn't there. Al searched the long, crowded balcony and finally spotted him in the corner talking, rather seriously, to Lars. Feeling slightly uneasy, Al took another swig, and wondered: What does he want?


Matt, can I kiss you at midnight?"

The question had taken Matt off-guard. Lars wasn't usually so forward; it must have been the liquor, though, he didn't look particularly pissed. Actually, he looks sober, which made Matt feel all the more obligated to give him a proper explanation. "I think maybe we should talk," he said, feeling awkward. Lars gestured to the near-empty corner, and Matt followed him. The big Dutch boy had to duck beneath an overhang; he was growing into such a tall, strong-looking man—a very attractive one. His gravity-defying ash-blonde hair blew gently in the wind, and his careful, stoic eyes stared unblinkingly at Matt, waiting for him to speak. "Err... I hope I haven't given you the wrong impression," he started. "I like you a lot Lars, I consider you to be one of my best friends, but..."

Lars cocked his head. "You don't want to be with another guy?"

"No, it's not that," said Matt honestly. "It's a bit more... complicated. It's because of—" Al. It's because I love Al. It's always been Al; it'll only ever be Al.

Lars sighed. "It's somebody else, isn't it?"

The hurt in his voice, in his sage-green eyes, was hard to look at, but Matt did. "Yeah, I think so."

The Dutch boy nodded. He placed a big hand on Matt's shoulder and squeezed. "He's really lucky, Matt. But if things don't work with him, I'm next in line okay?" He smiled. "Your beau," he teased, ducking under the overhang as they returned, "is he here tonight?" Shyly, Matt nodded. "You'd better find him then, it's almost midnight."

The ten-second countdown started. Matt and Al locked eyes, and, in that instant, both knew exactly what the other was thinking. Matt tried to push his way toward Al at the opposite end of the balcony, but the crowd was excited and drunk and counting loudly, and nobody heard his plea: "Eh, excuse me— Could you just— Move!" He saw rather than heard Al's lips form his name: Matt! and wanted to reply, but got shoved back. He hit the metal railing hard and nearly lost his balance, but someone caught him. "Alright Mattie?!" Gil shouted over the noise, grinning happily; pale face flushed with heat and excitement. THREE, TWO, ONE—

Without warning, Gil pulled Matt into an unexpectedly hot, rough kiss.


Al's heart sank. Momentarily stunned, he stared at Gil and Matt, their lips locked together; Gil's hand was tangled in Matt's pale-blonde hair, holding the back of his neck. All around him his friends were celebrating, cheering loudly and toasting, and sucking each other's lips; falling over themselves in giddiness. But Al felt betrayed by Gil, who had—knowingly, or not—stolen Al and Matt's first kiss.

"Smile, Al!" Laura shouted, kissing his cheek. "It's 2013!"

"Yeah," Al forced a smile. "Sure—" Happy fucking New Year.

By the time Al finally reached Matt it was too late. The romance of New Year's kisses had ebbed and people were clamouring to get down from the balcony, pushing and shoving and shouting at each other. Matt looped his arm through Al's, keeping close as the bred-New Yorker cut a path through the crowd. He leapt down from the balcony, following his friends, and then caught Matt—not because Matt needed help, but because holding his waist was the closest Al was probably going to get to romance tonight. Discretely, he kept his hand on Matt's hip, guiding him to the street, where the crowd began to thin. "Anybody else hungry?" he asked, eyeing the busy McDonald's. Eating to quell my disappointment, he thought, only half-joking. But nobody heard him, too focused on their own midnight exploits: Lovino was tonsil-deep in Antonio; Feliciano was whispering to Ludwig as the German hailed a taxi-cab; and even Eliza had convinced Roderick to walk her home. The Van den Berg siblings had already left, claiming to have an early workday tomorrow, and Gil was making lewd gestures at a pair of equally inebriated girls, who smiled at him. Am I the only one who's not going to have sex tonight? Al thought in exaggeration. He sighed. "How about it, Matt?" he asked as the group dispersed. "You hungry?"


It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, and Al and Matt were sitting alone in Central Park, eating piping-hot French fries from McDonald's. Al grinned and took the fry Matt offered him, sucking the salt from his brother's fingers. They sat quietly, people-watching the rowdy, sleepless streets; rating everyone from drunkest to smuttiest to worst-dressed. It was a game they used to play from their balcony with binoculars when they were young. Al almost always won; he had a keen eye for strange things, but his heart wasn't in it tonight. He kept glancing at Matt, wanting to ask about Gil and what had happened, but a part of him was too afraid of the answer. Al had been so sure that Matt wanted to kiss him too; he had recognized the look in Matt's violet eyes—nervous excitement. But he hadn't said anything since.

Maybe I should just ask him, Al thought, finishing the fries. He lifted the carton and tossed it overhand, like a basketball, into a bin. I need to know if he feels the same way I do, because if not I'm wasting my time. If he doesn't love me like I love him, then I need to try to get over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Matt beat him to it:

"Al?" he said.

Al turned his head—and Matt kissed him. It took him a second to realize what was happening, that Matt was kissing him. That his brother's soft lips were sucking his; hot, wet tongue pressed against Al's lips, urging them open. In reflex, Al opened his mouth and suddenly felt Matt's tongue against his. And then, suddenly, he was kissing Matt back, leaning in and pulling him close, arms wrapped around each other; savouring the salty-sweet taste. It was deep and long, and when Al finally pulled back, Matt's lips were swollen. "Why did you—?" Al managed, staring in disbelief.

Matt shrugged, cheeks flushed. "I just really wanted to kiss you tonight, and I thought... maybe you wanted to kiss me too?"

Al's heart leapt. "Mattie, I've wanted to kiss you for months," he said. In proof, he seized Matt and kissed him again, forcing him down onto the hard, frozen ground.

"We should— go— somewhere," Matt gasped between kisses.

"Long Beach," Al suggested. Matt nodded.

Al hailed a taxi-cab and pulled Matt inside. He gave the cabbie the beach house's address, and then ignored the man's disapproval—glaring in the rear-view mirror. Al produced a long, low moan against Matt's lips, kissing him aggressively, slipping his hands beneath his brother's clothes; Matt's skin was smooth and cool, despite the pink flush colouring his cheeks. He felt Matt twist his fingers into his feathery, wheat-blonde hair as Al dragged his lips down the column of Matt's neck, kissing and sucking; nipping his collarbone playfully. It took an hour to get from Times Square to Long Beach, but it went by surprisingly fast—for Al, at least, who had his brother half-undressed. The cabbie had to bang on the window to indicate their arrival. "Oh, thanks— keep the change," Al said, shoving several bills at him. He and Matt walked side-by-side, holding each other, up the beach house's front steps; Al felt Matt's lips tickling his ear as he fished for his keychain, and, hands shaking in excitement, forced the key into the lock. Together they fell inside.

"Mattie, I love you," Al said, kissing him—once, twice, thrice. Guiding him into a bedroom.

Matt followed without resistance, leaning into Al: "I love you, too."

"I want you— now."

"Okay."

Young and virile, fueled by hot testosterone, Al and Matt fell lopsidedly onto the bed, tearing at each other's clothes. It wasn't the first time they had seen each other naked, and—hopefully, now that they had confessed their feelings—it wouldn't be the last. It was clumsy and messy and inexperienced; neither of them knew what he was doing. They let instinct guide them, exploring each other's lithe, teenage bodies. Al kissed and sucked and touched Matt in ways that he had only daydreamed about, drawing forth high-pitched erotic noises from his brother, which made him groan; he could feel his cock swelling in arousal. Matt squeezed his eyes shut and clenched the bed-sheets, chest rising and falling fast. Al leaned over him, straddling him as he worked his brother's hard cock, sweat beading between his shoulder-blades. When Matt's cock released in Al's hand, the American felt something stir in his stomach, signalling readiness. "Mattie, I can't wait—" he said, kissing Matt's thigh as he lifted him. "Mattie." He spread Matt's knees and pushed himself into his brother's body; slowly, at first, then he got more excited. It became fast and strong and uncoordinated, and Al felt dizzy with pleasure, rocking Matt's body.

"Ah-hah— O-oh God— Ah-Al!" Matt cried-out; Al's name dying on a moan. "Ah! Al—"

"Oh fuck!" Al gasped, clenching Matt's shoulders. "Mattie, I— oh— God, I love you—" I love you so much.


Mattie, you okay?" Al asked, breathing hard. "Hey." Tenderly, he wiped the tears from Matt's cheeks, and kissed him.

Matt nodded slowly. He felt stretched; exhausted. And pained. He hadn't expected sex to hurt so much. Maybe we did it wrong? he wondered, shifting: "Ouch!" He leaned back into the pillows, keeping his body perfectly still. Heart beating hard, he reached down and felt his thighs. "Al," he said nervously, feeling suddenly scared. "I'm bleeding." Al's face paled. "Is that... normal?"

"Err... I don't know." Al admitted, reaching for his cell-phone. He typed furiously, eyes wide; still panting.

"What're you doing?" Matt eyed him. "Are you Googling post-sex symptoms?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, what else do you want me to do?" said Al, slightly panicked. "I don't know... Does it... hurt?"

"Yeah." Matt saw Al cringe apologetically, but he didn't speak; just Googled. Matt sighed, relaxing a little. It felt nice knowing that Al was trying to take care of him, even after the fact of sex; in fact, he found his brother's frantic attempt somewhat comical. "You know," he said, shifting closer—biting back a gasp of discomfort, "if I have to go to the ER because of this, you'll be the one trying to explain what happened."

"I know— alien probing, right?" Al grinned.

"Yeah. Something like that." Matt snorted at the shocked look on Al's face. Quite obviously his brother was still somewhat self-conscious about his sexual performance, especially since nowhere in the smutty films he watched did anyone ever bleed afterward. Matt rolled his eyes. "I'm kidding, love," he assured his brother, kissing Al's cheek.

Al tossed his cell-phone aside. "Well, I think you'll live," he said, snuggling up to Matt. Yawning sleepily, he laid his head down on Matt's chest and closed his eyes. Matt couldn't resist combing his fingers through Al's blonde hair, surprisingly soft to the touch. Al sighed in contentment, already half-asleep. He said: "Mattie?"

"Hmm?"

"Happy New Year."


JANUARY 2013

Francis hung-up the telephone and walked to his lover's study, where he knew Arthur was working. He rapped his knuckles on the open door considerately, then sauntered inside. "I just spoke to Alfred," he said, waiting for Arthur's attention. The Englishman was typing, fingers flying over his laptop's keyboard. "He and Mathieu want to stay at the Long Beach house this week, until Mathieu has to go back to Ottawa on Friday. I told them they could. They spend so much time apart now, it's understandable that they want some time alone together. Arthur, are you listening to me?"

"Hmm? Yes, I am. The boys are staying at Long Beach," he recited, distracted. "That's fine."

Francis sighed. Playfully he leant down and pressed his lips to the back of Arthur's neck. When he jumped in surprise, Francis spun the desk-chair around and placed a hand on each arm, trapping Arthur. "The boys will be gone until Friday," he repeated, smiling seductively, "and I have tonight off."

He watched realization slowly dawn on Arthur's face, his English lover's lips curling into a receptive smile. In agreement, Arthur grabbed Francis' shirt-collar and pulled him down, somewhat roughly, into a kiss. Francis reached behind Arthur and closed his laptop. "I hope the boys can take care of themselves for a while."

"Mm... they'll be fine, chéri."


OW!" Matt yelled, biting his lip too late.

Al pulled quickly out of him and sat up. "Alright, too soon," he agreed, hurt by the tears in Matt's eyes. "You should've told me sooner," he said, feeling guilty but sexually frustrated. His cock was throbbing, still painfully erect. "Fuck," he cursed. "I'll be right back—"

Matt grabbed his forearm. "Sorry, Al."

Al forced a kind smile. "Hey, it's not your fault. I don't want to hurt you Ma-att!" He gasped when Matt's hand closed around his hard cock. "What're you— ah-hah!"

"I'll help you, Al." Matt pushed Al onto his back. Then he knelt down, between his brother's legs, and closed his soft lips around Al's cock. The American choked back a deep, throaty groan. Matt ran his tongue along the thick length and then sucked. His voice reverberated, purring: "Al." It vibrated against Al's hot, slick member, producing an embarrassing sound:

"Ah! Ooh Matt—" Al grabbed a chunk of Matt's hair and guided his rhythm. "Oh yes! Mattie— faster! Ah!"


That was... yeah, good," Al was still red-faced and panting. Matt grinned, wiping his chin with the bed-sheet. "When do you think you'll be able to..." Al nodded in indication, letting his eyes rake-over Matt's body, "you know... do it again?" He didn't want to hurt Matt, but he wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, knowing that in four short days they would be separated again for two long months. Sure, they would talk on the phone every night, and message each other—thank God for web-cams!—but Al wouldn't be able to touch Matt again until Spring Break. Oh God, I want to touch himI want to fuck him.

"Soon," Matt promised, pulling Al up. "C'mon, you need a shower."

The water was searing-hot and steamy, and the pressure was hard. It was a much bigger shower than Matt's dorm had been, but, as they climbed in together, both boys still laughed about the memory. "You looked so terrified," Al said, massaging soap into Matt's smooth skin. He mimicked Matt's fourteen-year-old expression. "Like you'd never seen a hard-on before."

"Well, can you blame me? It was you!" Matt defended himself. "And, if you recall, you didn't exactly respond like Casanova, Al. You wanted to sleep in Lars bed, remember?"

"I didn't think you'd ever want me to touch you again after that."

"Well," said Matt, guiding Al's hand to his cock. "I guess you were wrong."

Shower-sex, as it turned out, was much sexier in the movies. Al lifted Matt up, Matt wrapped his legs around his brother's tapered waist, and Al sunk deeply into him—then slipped. "AH!" they shrieked in union. Al's back hit the wall, feet slipping on the soapy floor. He caught himself, spreading his legs, and nearly dropped Matt. "Try this," he suggested, laying Matt awkwardly down on the shower tiles. But, though large, the shower wasn't big enough to fully lie down in, and they ended up somewhat contorted, legs in the air as Al fucked Matt. He was just getting into it when Matt choked; the shower-head was raining down on him, making it difficult to breath. They tried several awkward positions, but, in the end, they laughed more than they fucked, and wasted a full thirty-five minutes worth of water.

"You know what I've learned today?" Al asked, drying his hair—shaking it like a dog.

Matt wrapped a towel around his waist. "What's that?"

"Porn lies."


They ordered pizza and talked and laughed and tried to concentrate on TV-movies, but ended up kissing and fucking on the living-room couch. They kept the doors and windows locked and their cell-phones turned off, not wanting to be disturbed. They fell asleep on the couch, then woke in each other's arms and fucked again. They spent almost every minute together, and only left the house once in four days (they walked down to the convenience store when they ran out of soda-pop). "I love you. I've always loved you," they whispered to each other, where nobody could hear. It was fast-pace and enlightening, discovering things about themselves and each other they thought they had known. It felt surreal, getting to know each other on such a physically intimate level.

"I wish you didn't have to go back," Al said, lying beside Matt in bed. "I wish we could stay here forever."

"And I wish you would talk like Al and not some Victorian poet," Matt teased, poking at Al's sensitivities. In appeasement he kissed Al's nose, and added: "I wish you could come with me."

"Yeah." Pause. "Mattie, do you think what we're doing is... wrong?"

Matt was quiet for so long that Al started to feel self-conscious. Then he said: "No. We're more than brothers. We're best friends"—and lovers. "We've always been together. I can't imagine what my life would be like without you." Matt shrugged, as if it was incredibly obvious. "We belong together."

"Do you think we were meant to be adopted by the same parents?" Al asked. "Do you think it was fate?"

"Maybe."

Al smirked. "Now who's the poet?"


Al said goodbye to Matt on Friday, hugging him tightly, but their real goodbye was at the beach house on Thursday night. "I'll miss you," he whispered, subtly pressing his lips to Matt's ear, "I love you."

"Did you have fun at Long Beach?" Francis asked Al, waving as Arthur's car drove away. He wrapped an arm around Al's shoulders and squeezed paternally. "Usually you're upset when Mathieu leaves, but you look happy chéri."

"Yeah," Al said, smiling. "I am."


Mathew, you're grinning," said Arthur. He glanced sideways at his son, who was staring into the rear-view mirror, and he smirked, only mildly suspicious. "By the way, I never got to ask how your New Year's Eve was. Was is good, love?"

Matt nodded. "Yes. It was really good."