Thanks so much for the reviews and favs and alerts everyone! The support for this crazy little story of mine makes me feel so warm and fuzzy. Cookies for you all! And please enjoy this next installment!
Warnings: language, insanity, OOCness, violence, etc
Pairing: eventual Arthur/Matthew (England/Canada)
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.
Alfred giggled obnoxiously in between large bites of pancake.
Francis, fingers idly stroking his stubbled chin, merely smirked benevolently.
Matthew, oblivious to the other nations, merely continued to innocently lap at his syrup-covered fingers before slipping his sticky digits into his mouth, humming cheerfully.
Arthur watched, a little slack-jawed with a flustered flush, at the sight. When Matthew let out a pleased little murmur before pulling his fingertips out of his mouth, leaving a shiny, almost obscene wetness on his lips, the Englishman's entire countenance seemed to twitch.
"Is something wrong with the pancakes?" The nation of Canada asked, then, after noticing that no one (except Alfred) was eating, in a worried voice. "I know its not much, but—"
"No, no don't worry, petit." Francis soothed, that knowing glint not leaving his sharp azure eyes. Then, with a pointed look at Arthur, the older nation gracefully began to slice his food into neat slivers.
Matthew, unconvinced, turned to Arthur with an uncertain look. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have something else? I could whip up some scrambled eggs and I have sausage—"
Here, Alfred began to snicker into his glass of milk. However his snickers abruptly turned into coughs when a well-timed kick from under the table, jostled his chair and forced the superpower to inhale his drink.
Arthur calmly began to tuck into his breakfast. "No worries, Matthew. I have always looked forward to your pancakes."
"If you're sure—"
"Yes, very sure. Now eat your food."
Biting back any further worries or arguments, Matthew quietly began to eat his maple syrup soaked pancakes.
Some people might assume he had a problem, what with his need to have maple syrup daily. But, frankly, it was just as much a part of him as were his trees and oil sands and no matter how much Alfred pushed and whined and bitched, he would never relinquish that deliciousness.
And, on a more serious note, when he didn't get his fix of syrup, bad things happened. Bad things like fertilizer-stealing pirates and baby seals meeting a bloody demise.
Ignoring his brother's pout, Matthew concentrated on his food, paying careful attention to each piece he speared, making a conscious effort not to let the syrup dripping from each morsel splatter onto the pretty checkered table cover. He savored each bite, chewing slowly before licking slightly at his lips, tasting the sweet, sticky residue.
Francis, for his part, was mentally patting himself on the back for forcing those etiquette lessons on the blond all those centuries ago. Because Matthew made eating look like the art form it was and judging by the predatory shine in Arthur's gaze, the Frenchman was not the only one appreciative of the Canadian.
After breakfast, Francis and Alfred disappeared without warning.
"Wankers." Arthur snorted, deftly avoiding Matthew's attempts to relieve him of the dishes he was carrying to the sink. "I'm old, boy, not invalid."
Matthew blushed a bit. "You're a guest." He protested, managing to snatch away the dishes and depositing them into the sink.
"How about you wash and I'll dry?"
The violet-eyed nation seemed to consider it, before finally huffing and scooting over so Arthur could stand next to him at the sink.
Matthew, face resolutely facing forward, didn't notice when Arthur stepped a bit closer than necessary so that his hip pressed up against his former charge's.
"Smooth." Alfred whistled appreciatively. "Iggy's got some moves."
"…Must we really be here?" Francis asked disdainfully, almost glaring at the dirty basement as though it caused him offense. And, truly, the three-week old pizza and dirty socks in the corner were quite offensive.
"Got a problem with the Man Cave, Frenchie?" Alfred asked distractedly, blue eyes focused on the sharp feed of the kitchen scene on his laptop. "Then talk to the hand, bi-atch." And he fluttered his hand—palm out—in the Frenchman's direction.
"Charming." Francis muttered, gracefully pulling up his feet and tucking his legs under him when he saw something skitter across the floor. "Sacré bleu."
"So…" Matthew began awkwardly, handing a wet plate to Arthur, nearly jerking away when their fingers brushed together. "How was your flight?"
"It was pleasant enough." Arthur said lightly, watching from the corner of his eye as the younger nation seemed to busy himself in scrubbing one particular plate.
The two soon lapsed back into silence.
"How is Her Majesty?"
"She's doing quite well. How…is…your…" Arthur paused. He couldn't remember if Matthew liked his Prime Minister or not. …Who was his Prime Minister again? And did he dissolve Parliament or was it back on? …He had a much better handle on these things before World War II. Perhaps it'd be safer to discuss something other than politics… "…wildlife?" He finished lamely.
Matthew's movement stilled and he looked at the older nation incredulously.
"How hard is it to stick your hand down his pants?" Alfred shouted at the screen, angrily.
"Perhaps we could demonstrate?" Francis suggested with a leer.
"Mayb—WHOA! HEY DON'T MAKE ME GET THE HOSE!"
Matthew was spared having to respond by a resounding crash and hysteric shriek and unrepentant chuckles that echoed throughout the house.
Arthur, who was already kicking himself for his incompetence, was spared from babbling out apologies.
A gunshot then burst out and Matthew looked more worried then. "Shouldn't we go check on them?" He fretted, already wiping off his hands on a nearby dishtowel and making his way to the door.
"Oh its not as though either of them can really die." Arthur reassured, adding, in a dark whisper, "Bloody shame that is."
"Matt! Tell Pervy McPervepants to stop bad-touching me!" Alfred wailed, dashing into the kitchen and colliding with his brother, wrapping his arms and legs around the younger nation. "No means no!"
"Al." Matthew said, his face smooshed against his brother's collarbone. "Did you say anything that could be construed as consensual?"
"I am going to kill that wanker." Arthur announced, annoyed and ready to take it out on Francis (as he was apt to), as he stalked out of the kitchen.
"…You have some timing." Matthew mumbled.
"Iggy was failing so hard." Alfred whispered back, detangling himself from Matthew. "Its not you, bro. It's Eyebrows. Your wildlife, seriously?"
"He's been out of the game for a while." Matthew reminded the other, turning back to the dishes, pointedly ignoring the distinctly violent crashes occurring somewhere in the house.
"Well, his incompetence isn't helping." Alfred grumbled, running his hand raggedly through his blond locks. "I'm starting to think we should drop all this subtle shit and just leave you naked on his bed."
"Somehow I think even that would go over his head." Matthew muttered tiredly, leaning back against the counter. "Anyways, Arthur's always been a romantic. Chivalry and courtly love and wooing—"
"And having unsafe sex against a grimy alley wall in Whitecapel with some strung out, syphilis-infected prostitute as rats scurry by." Alfred said flatly. "Yeah, the guy's a real Don Juan."
Matthew glared at his near twin. "That was a phase, Al."
"C'mon, Matt." Alfred rolled his eyes. "You know this whole 'gentleman' thing is still pretty novel for him. The guy was a pimp once upon a time." He grimaced, nose scrunching up. "How he managed to get laid with those nasty things—I'll never know but there must be something about him if you want his co—" Alfred was cut off as Matthew threw the dishtowel at him.
"I'm not going to just get naked and scream 'take me now'." The nation of Canada snapped, face rosy.
Alfred looked a little apologetic and he sighed, twisting the towel in his hands. "Okay, bro, okay." He tossed the abused towel back at his neighbor. "Besides, its you. I doubt he's just gonna hit it and quit it." The American looked thoughtful, hoisting himself up onto the counter with ease. "Maybe you guys should go on a few dates, a few candlelight dinners and sappy music even. It shouldn't be too hard, you already know each other. We just need to push you to the next level, y'know?"
"Yeah, yeah." Matthew agreed, half-heartedly. "We just have to get to that point." He frowned. "Maybe…" He paused, turning the words over in his head. "..in order to prove to him that I want him, I should be a little more aggressive?" His voice rose a little at the end, almost as though he himself was questioning the notion.
"To make him feel less like a pedo and more willing to bend you over the nearest—"
The violet-eyed nation slapped a hand across his brother's mouth (with more force than necessary) and rolled his eyes. "Sure, lets go with that for now." And then, "Are love and sex just one and the same for you?" He pulled his hand away. When Alfred gave him a smug, shit-eating grin, he stepped back warily and raised a golden brow.
"So…its love?"
Matthew's eyes widened. "Ididn'tsaythat."
"Oh man, bro." Alfred shook his head, an affectionate smile on his face as he stepped and slapped a brotherly arm around Matthew who was now blushing darkly. "You will get your man, Mattie. Even if I have to beat him over the head with a club and drag him to your feet."
"Francis will be indisposed for the rest of the evening. Afraid the ponce is completely—oh." Arthur, have just strode into the kitchen and rubbing his hands together (was that blood on his knuckles?), came to an awkward halt. "…Am I interrupting something?" He asked stiffly, taking in the sight of fairly intimate stance of the two blonds.
Alfred looked surprised for a moment, then, sparing a quizzical look at Matthew, a sudden epiphany seemed to dawn on his face.
"Of course not!" He said loudly, adding "ahahaha" as he proceeded to wrangle the other blond into a headlock and give him a rough noogie. "We're just playing around, Artie."
Matthew, thoroughly confused and somewhat annoyed as his brother's knuckles dragged across his scalp, then attempted to elbow the superpower in the gut and finally caught the other under his ribcage, earning a giggled curse.
Arthur just raised a heavy eyebrow and said nothing, though he did step forward and swat at Alfred's arm hard. "Enough of that. Leave your brother alone." He scolded, pulling his former charge away and wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders.
Alfred just watched the pair disappear, a small smirk on his face. "This just got a bit easier I think."
So, yeah, I think this chapter was shorter and more boring and for that I apologize. I hit a bit of a roadblock and I was hoping you guys could help out, since you did such an awesome job with the dream ideas. ^_^ To my readers familiar with Ottawa, what are some places Matthew could take Iggy to show himself off? Or any other attractions nearby that the two could go on a date at? Or, any ideas for dates really. Lol, I see Arthur as an old-fashioned romantic-y type of guy now that he's a little more mature (though he's still got a little delinquent in him which will come out later). And poor Mattie. He's got it bad. Tsk tsk.
Still worth continuing?
