Attention, everyone, this chapter is rated M – for Matthew's actions and Arthur's thoughts…

And many thanks to Essence of Gold, for beta-reading this chapter! You are officially awesome! (since I am currently living in Berlin, I consider myself Prussian enough to say that)

Secretly, Ivan had come to the conclusion that he must have died and gone to heaven without noticing it. It did in fact surprise him a little bit, because he had done nothing to deserve this kind of afterlife and had sort of counted on going to the deepest pits of hell should he ever have the misfortune to die. On the other hand, though, it was quite possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him; so he sure as hell wasn't complaining, no pun intended.

After decades, centuries of yearning, he finally loved and was loved in return; and he would never, ever let go of the boy in his arms. His battered heart felt as if it was ready to melt away and the sensation was making him a bit uneasy, because Ivan had good reason not to trust his heart… it wouldn't have been the first time that the capricious organ took figurative to literal.

Other than that, though, he was fine.

No, scratch that. He was as far beyond 'fine' as any living being could possibly get without attaining a higher plane of existence. But then of course, if he was dead, it didn't matter, because heaven definitely was a higher plane of existence.

… And those thoughts were confusing him. As was the fact that Matthew seemed to be perfectly at ease in his current position – namely, in Ivan's lap and wrapped into his arms like a stuffed animal.

He's not afraid of me. He's enjoying this as much as I am.

It was just too good to be true.

Ivan had been worried about being unable to find the right words, hence all the practicing with Elizaveta, but as it turned out, words weren't even necessary. Matthew understood, accepted, and reciprocated; and he made all that quite plain without words.

He's wonderful, Ivan thought in awe. Why waste your breath on stammered sentences when you could employ your lips and tongue in much more creative and exciting ways? This seemed to be Matthew's credo, and Ivan couldn't have agreed more.

Matthew's nimble fingers gently removed the scarf from his neck, something that Ivan would not have allowed anybody else to do, and placed it on the armrest of the sofa they were sitting on. Then his lips returned to trace the way his fingers had outlined, peppering soft, breathy kisses along Ivan's neck. Ivan leant back his head, stretching lasciviously like a large, lazy, and very content cat. He closed his eyes. His fingers dug into Matthew's back. It was bliss.

Matthew had reached his collarbone, undoing the first two buttons of Ivan's shirt, his tongue flicking out to…

Oh God, yes, please… more…

He couldn't even think coherently anymore; not that it mattered much. Thinking was overrated, too.

Ivan let out a low, rumbling moan. He slid his hands down to Matthew's hips, then beneath his shirt, touching incredibly soft naked skin, and he felt a shudder run through the lithe body pressed against his.

Teeth grazed the flesh above his collarbone. Ivan gasped and decided that Matthew's shirt had to go now. And maybe he was a bit abrupt, because suddenly several white, pearly buttons parted with the smooth fabric. Ivan paused, afraid that he'd gone too far, but to his surprise, Matthew chuckled. It was a wonderful sound, and something deep inside Ivan snapped.

" Я люблю тебя," he blurted out, "I love you, Matvey…"

Arthur was by no means a nosy person. In fact, he considered himself to be as polite and discreet as a proper gentleman could be, and it saddened him that he had apparently not been successful in passing on those virtues to the nations he'd raised; even though he appeared to have done a better job with Matthew than with Alfred.

However, there was a point where despite a gentleman's best efforts, politeness had to stand aside in favor of forceful, decisive action. And no one in his or her right mind could argue against the fact that action was needed when their quiet, gentle, innocent son was alone in a room with RUSSIA.

Actually, Arthur felt a lot like waging bloody war on Russia right now. He had been imagining all the horrible things that could possibly be happening to Matthew right now for the past five minutes – ever since a bewildered Kiku had told him about that private little lunch arrangement.

He would have words with Elizaveta. Actually, he would probably lay her over his knee and spank her with his own bare hands, and there would be nothing kinky about that. And Francis! He would bloody murder Francis! Right after he had castrated Ivan and left him to bleed to his gruesome death, of course.

Racing along the corridors and up too many flights of steps, Arthur thought that he would probably murder Kiku, too, for not taking better care of the elevators inside his conference buildings. Of course all three of them had to be down at this highly inconvenient moment.

In his fury and confusion, Arthur actually burst into the wrong room twice, before finally reaching room 402. The first room was empty, its furniture covered in white dust sheets, but the second held a group of four fellow nations who were not happy to see him.

As to why Vash conducted secret negotiations with China, Turkey and Brazil, Arthur had no clue, and right now, he did not particularly care either. However, he did not appreciate being shot at, nor did he appreciate to hastily have a door slammed into his face by a scowling Yao. They would have words about that. All five of them. As soon as he had dealt with his other, more pressing problem.

When he finally reached the right room, Arthur did not bother to knock, and that turned out to be a very great mistake. Apparently, politeness even in the face of crisis did have its uses after all.

Arthur rushed into the room, and in his hastiness almost tripped over the carpet. He caught himself, blinked, and realized that he had walked into his own nightmare.

The good news was – Matthew seemed healthy and unscathed, and Ivan was not making any threatening moves whatsoever… well, unless you considered delivering a blowjob a threatening move. For all Arthur knew, he might still have been trying to bite off vital organs… and he was so not going to follow that train of thought.

Actually, it was quite puzzling (not to mention disturbing) to see Ivan in that particular place and position; if anything, Arthur would have placed him at the receiving end, judging that Ivan would never lower himself to pleasure his lover. He was mistaken, apparently. Of course, knowing Ivan, it was probably all part of some sinister plan to incorporate Canada into Russian territory. From the looks of it, he was succeeding, too.

Yet all these considerations did nothing to change the fact that it was Matthew, Matthew, who was the other participant in this vile display. Little Matthew, who was most definitely not supposed to have sex. And especially not with Ivan. And even less right in front of Arthur's eyes, because no parent should ever have to see such things.

"What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?" Arthur cried out, unable to contain his horror and fury any longer.

Both Ivan and Matthew froze, though only for a moment. Matthew's face lost all color, until he looked as pale and translucent as a ghost. His eyes were wide with horror. "A-Arthur…?" he whispered incredulously.

Ivan, on the other hand, appeared very calm, and that, Arthur knew, was a bad, bad sign. BAD with a capital B, A, and D. He slowly raised his head and turned. His cheeks were ablaze, but so were his violet eyes, and they were just about the scariest thing Arthur had seen in his entire life.

He had been dead wrong. Ivan had not been planning on doing unspeakable things to Matthew. But he seemed very, very determined to do unspeakable things to Arthur now.

Arthur did the only reasonable thing he could do: he fled the room as fast as he could. Running for his life being chased by a bloodthirsty maniac had not been part of his plan for the day, but it still seemed a much better idea than actually letting that maniac catch him.

Arthur vowed never again to enter an unlocked room without knocking first.

Maybe Arthur's plan for the day hadn't included being chased through the corridors by a murderously furious Ivan, but Matthew's certainly hadn't included ending up in a linen closet, either. Yet that was where he now huddled; hot tears of frustration and embarrassment streaming down his cheeks.

Life was terribly, terribly unfair.

And fate was an asshole… Arthur, too, come to think about it.

He was in the process of alternately hitting his head and his fists against the walls of the closet, when the door suddenly burst open and a panting, slightly disheveled Cuban stumbled inside.

"Matteo?" He exclaimed.

Matthew stared at him blankly. "Fidel…?"

Of all the strange things to happen on top of everything else…!

Fidel pulled the door shut and flipped the light-switch; then he turned around to face Matthew. Due to the rather limited space; they were very close to each other.

"Oy, Matteo, what happened to you…? You look all white-faced and shaken!" Fidel greeted him.

"Um… I don't want to talk about it…"

"Come on; I promise not to tell anyone! Talking about it will make it better!" Fidel looked at him expectantly.

Matthew didn't really believe that, but he also didn't believe that things could possibly get any worse, and besides, Fidel was his friend. And quite possibly the only person alive who did not think that having an affair with Ivan was anything extraordinary.

"Have you ever had a parent walk in on you…?" He asked.

Fidel shook his head. "No. But I was raised by Antonio, and he is quite understanding when it comes to those things, so I don't think it would have been that bad."

Matthew hadn't considered that before, but guessed that Fidel was probably right.

"Bully for you. I just had Arthur walk in on me and Ivan."

Fidel whistled softly, his dark eyes widening. Shock and amusement mingled in his expression. "Arthur? Ay, Matteo, I don't envy you that experience…!" He shook himself like a wet dog. "What did he say?"

"I don't remember. I was sort of busy dying of embarrassment."

"Huh. By the way – how in God's name did you end up having sex with Ivan during your lunch break? Don't get me wrong, amigo, I do admire your grit, but still… that's not usually your style, is it?"

"I don't know!" Matthew replied, getting exasperated. "It just… well… I guess I lost it. But it's Kiku's fault, too, for telling Arthur where to find me. I mean, he knew that Ivan and I were having a private meeting…"

"Yeah, but I suppose that by 'private meeting' Kiku understood something along the lines of a classified conversation. He certainly didn't expect you to get physical with the bogeyman. Was it worth the trouble, at least…?"

"Up to the point where Arthur burst in… yes."

"Hm…" Fidel mused, "Well, it seems that you had quite the interesting lunch break there."

'Interesting' being the new record of understatement.

After a brief, slightly awkward silence, Matthew sighed and asked: "So… why are you here?"

"Me?" Fidel blinked. "Oh… I'm hiding from Vash, you know. He sort of wants to kill me right now."

"What exactly did you do?" Matthew asked suspiciously.

"I asked Mariechen out. Vash didn't seem to like that much."

Matthew stared at him. That crazy Cuban!"Why…?" He asked, shaking his head. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

Fidel just shrugged and smiled. "She's cute, isn't she? Nothing wrong with asking a cute girl to go out with you and have some fun…"

"Yes, but this particular cute girl has an overprotective, trigger happy older brother. I think it's a bad idea, Fidel."

"Like getting all hot and steamy with Ivan in a conference building and forgetting to lock the door…?" Fidel asked pointedly.

Matthew's face flushed scarlet.

"Uh… point taken."

Fidel: Cuba. I neglected to mention it earlier. Maybe it's a bit childish, but I just couldn't resist using that name…^^

Mariechen: Liechtenstein. "Mariechen" is a diminutive of Marie or Maria. I think it fits.