The next morning was definitely not one of Alfred's favourite days. Sure he had woken up with hangovers like this before, but it was never a good sign when he passed out in one place and woke up in another. At least he knew where he was this time and for the time being, had no idea just what made him drink that much to begin with. Well, he could barely think over his headache anyway. "God dammit..." He groaned, rubbing his face as he sat up in bed.

Who took him home anyways? He didn't phone anyone to ask, and he was one hundred percent sure he didn't slip in a plea for a ride in his hate message to Ismael. Though as long as he wasn't raped, he figured it was ok. Well, his ass didn't hurt like after his failed attempt at gay sex.

When his headache subsided for a moment, he got up and went into his kitchen. Grabbing the advil, he downed two and chased it down with a small sip of water. Hopefully that would keep the pain at bay. Alfred looked over to his bookcase at all the pictures of him and Matthew as if he was told to by his brain and was surprised at what he saw. Frowning, he went over to the one picture frame that was now empty and saw a note in its place.

It only took a second before Alfred went back to his room and changed into clean clothes. He was going to go and show that son of a bitch that he didn't deserve what he did. Even if he was the one to give him a ride, it didn't give Ismael an excuse to steal his stuff!

Driving to Ismael's house, Alfred glared at all the light outside at all the noise. Seriously, was the whole world trying to piss him off right now? Still, he needed to go and give the gay Cuban a piece of his mind and get the picture back.

It wasn't until he almost broke down the other guy's door that he realized he wasn't there. Just his luck too that his headache seemed to want to come back. But if he wasn't home, where else could he be? Would he be... Well, it was the only other place that made sense unless he was already at a bar somewhere.

Alfred got back in his car and sombrely drove to the graveyard where Matthew was buried. He felt bad that he had nothing to leave at the grave if Ismael wasn't there, but he would just have to get more flowers the next time then. It was only a short walk from where he parked and he could see the tall form standing in front of his brother's grave. Of course he would be here, the ass. "Finally came to say goodbye?"

Sighing, Ismael turned away. "I don't need company here." Dammit, why did he have to come? It didn't even bother him that Alfred thought this was the first time he was here. Who cared what he thought, anyway? The only problem was that he had interrupted his story to Matthew about how he had found a perfect maple leaf today.

"You took a picture." He waited for a few seconds, watching as Ismael kept his eyes trained on the tombstone. "At least look at me when we talk."

Still not turning around, Ismael chose his words carefully. He didn't want to fight in front of Matthew's grave. "You have a million pictures of him. What's the problem with me just having one? Like my note said, it was my fee for taking you home."

"I didn't say you couldn't have a picture, you just can't have that one." Alfred frowned, stepping closer. "And I said look at me. Matthew can't hear you anymore."

"No." Ismael said, still looking at the tombstone.

Growling, he grabbed the other man's shoulders and forced his body to face his own. "I said look at me!" It wasn't until he yelled out that he noticed the tear tracks down his face. Alfred swallowed nervously but didn't let go. "I want that picture back. Please." He added in spite.

Wiping at his face, Ismael instinctually put his hand on his jacket pocket, where he had put the picture. "It's just one picture. You seriously hate me that much that you can't let me have one picture?" He had never been able to take pictures of Matthew, he always said it was too embarrassing. But he had let Alfred take all those pictures of him, of course.

Letting go, Alfred put his hands in his pockets and looked to the ground. "It's just that one. If you want you can come look at the rest and choose a different one, but I need that one."

"What's so special about it?" He had just picked one of the pictures, not knowing it was held so dearly by Alfred. He started taking it out of his pocket, but paused, wanting the answer first. Maybe if he held out, he could get more than one picture.

"It's nothing you would care about." Alfred snapped, looking back to Ismael. "You can have as many as you want, I just need that one." He knew he sounded pathetic now, but that picture meant more to him than any of the others.

Taking the picture out, Ismael passed it to him. "You better keep that promise. What's so good about this picture?" He really wanted to know now, since Alfred was being so insistent. He really didn't want to deal with this guy, but if he could get more pictures...

Snatching the picture from his hand, the American admitted. "This was the last picture I got of him before he died... It was maybe just a couple days before..." He could feel his own eyes start to get glossy, but he promised himself he wouldn't cry in front of the enemy.

Nodding, Ismael looked back to the grave stone. "Can we go get some pictures now?" He waited for the hesitant nod, before stepping closer to the grave, and putting the perfect maple leaf amongst all the flowers. "Alright, let's go."

Not bothering to see if Ismael was following, Alfred asked over his shoulder. "Did you drive or walk here?" He really hoped he wouldn't have to be around Ismael any longer, but if he had to give him a ride then he would.

"Walked. My place is only about ten minutes from here." Which was good, because it meant he could visit Matthew more often. He probably spent more time at his grave than he spent with him when he was still alive.

Sighing, Alfred asked. "D'ya want a ride then?" He really didn't want to be civil to the man who stole his brother and made him gay, but it was the least he could do when they were around his twin's grave.

Looking back at Matthew's grave, Ismael prayed to whoever could hear him to give him the strength to not fight. "Sure. I deserve it after I had to carry your heavy body last night." The wind started blowing, making the yellowing trees move.

"I'm not fat if that's what you mean." He grumbled as they walked to his car. Getting into the drivers seat, he barely waited for Ismael to get inside before he was driving off toward his house. He still hadn't stepped into Matthew's room since his death, and Alfred was hoping that Ismael wouldn't expect to be allowed either.

They rode in silence, neither looking at each other. Ismael thought back to a night, so long ago, when Matthew had begged him to give Alfred a chance, to not hate him. At the time, he had said it was impossible. That was definitely the truth, as they could both feel their hate for each other.

Getting to his house, he slammed the car door shut once he was out and stormed up to the front door. "You can choose any of them here, but I'll beat the shit out of you if you even breath into Mattie's room."

Rolling his eyes, Ismael looked at the pictures. "I was probably in there more than you were when he was alive, so why am I the one that's banned?" He picked a few where Matthew looked the happiest, one he had obviously just finished a hokey game, another he was playing in the snow, and the third he was watching the sun set, and had this lovely, far away look in his eyes. He figured these would be the best out of them all.

"'Cause I haven't been in there since he died, and you're sure as fuck not going to be the first one." Alfred really didn't need to think of just what they did in there, especially when he wasn't home to stop them. He always dealt with the Cuban just for Matthew, but now he was getting seriously pissed off that he was still in his home.

Annoyed, Ismael took the three pictures. "Fine. I'm leaving. Next time you get drunk, arrange a ride before hand cause I won't do it again." He walked out of the house, unable to deal with all the memories of Matthew that were there. The whole house was like a shrine to him, and the fact that Alfred had not gone in his room yet just proved that more so.

Hearing the door shut, Alfred sighed. He really hated being at home now since it reminded him so much of Matthew. Just being alone inside felt as if he was going to suffocate from all the memories... Just being alone...

Despite his hatred for the Cuban, the blond went to the door and opened it, glad to see that he wasn't too far. "Hey Ismael!" He yelled, getting his attention. "Come back."

Turning around, he frowned. "Why? You wanna punch me or something?"

"Look," he started, rubbing his neck. "I know we both hate each other, but I really can't stay here alone. Can... Can you stay here for a bit? I promise I wont rip your head off or anything. I just can't be around all of Matthew's stuff."

Walking back, Ismael pushed past him. "If you don't like being around his stuff, then get rid of it." It was stupid to keep holding onto it after Matthew was dead. Keep the things that were important, and if he really didn't want to sell the rest, he could put them in storage.

"You're the one who was crying over his fucking grave. At least I care about what he was like when he was alive, not now that he's dead." Alfred ground his teeth together to keep himself from lashing out at Ismael. "I can't just pretend as if I never had a twin. And you think it was bad, losing a lover. Try losing the only other person who knew every little thing about you, from how you like to brush your teeth to just the right words to make you cry your heart out over a bad relationship in order to heal."

"Too bad you didn't know much about him." Ismael said quietly, looking over the pictures once again. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't jealous of Alfred. At least Matthew had told him his real feelings, instead of hiding them away.

Holding himself back from hurting Ismael again, Alfred sneered. "What do you mean, I didn't know much about him. He and I lived together! I knew that he would always moan about how much he cared about you, and the fact that you were so perfect for each other and that 'Ismael was the perfect person to turn gay for'." Seeing the neutral expression on his face, the American yelled. "How can you stand there and be so calm you bastard?"

Stepping closer, Ismael grabbed Alfred's hand, and even when he tried to pull it away, he pressed it to his own chest, making him feel his heart beat. "You feel that? I'm not calm. And I haven't been since I tried calling Matthew, only to have a nurse pick it up and tell me that she was sorry, but he was dead. How could I be calm?"

Alfred paused for a moment, his hand curling into a fist against Ismael's chest. "I was there... I watched him die." Even with his tough attitude, tears were trying to get past his eyelids as he closed them in defeat.

"You... you were..." Ismael said, slightly shocked. But he shouldn't be. Of course they would call his brother, it only made sense. Hell, Matthew probably asked them to, so he could see him just one last time. "Fuck I hate you." He mumbled, going to sit on the couch. Things were getting so fucked up.

"Well the feeling is mutual!" He snapped, going into the kitchen. There wasn't much for alcohol in the fridge, but he did have some beer. Hopefully that'd be better than nothing. Plus if worse came to worse he could just buy some vodka or something and drink it straight up. "Hey fucker, do you want some beer?" Alfred wasn't quite sure why he offered, but it was proabably the last couple years of having to be polite around Ismael for his twin.

Leaning back, Ismael looked for the remote for the TV. "Sure, whatever." If he was going to stay here, then he might as well be comfortable. Flipping through the channels, he finally found something good that was on.

Throwing the can at him, the blond went and sat in his chair. Why the hell did he want Ismael here in the first place? Oh right, so it wouldn't be so awkward. Hah. "... What the fuck are you watching?" He asked, nose crinkling in disgust.

"Project Runway." He said simply, guarding the remote. He had started watching it because Matthew liked it, and then he got hooked himself. "Wouldn't expect a straight like you to enjoy it, so feel free to go into another room."

"..." Alfred just watched for a few seconds before gulping back his beer. "You're so fucking gay it's hilarious." With a snort he drank more from his can. Damn beer having barely any alcohol in it.

"Yeah, I'm surprised you let me in your house, knowing how gay I am. You probably think it's contagious, since you practically let me fuck you the other day." Even if they hadn't finished. Not that he really wanted to, though, considering how much he hated Alfred.

Bristling, Alfred hissed. "Almost, but it doesn't mean anything if neither of us came from it." And plus he wasn't gay, he was just doing it to prove a point. Matthew was the only one who was going to swing the other way in his family.

Getting off the couch from an impulse, Ismael went closer to Alfred. "Then maybe we should continue? I promise this time I will make you cum." He wasn't really sure if he was serious, or just wanted to rile him up some more. Maybe the later, because it felt weird with them being so civil to each other.

Glaring up at Ismael's broad form, he just snorted. "Good try, but I know you're just looking for a quick fuck. Plus I don't have any lube around." And he sure as fuck wasn't going to do it dry with how painful it was with stretching and lubrication. Opening another can of beer, he downed half of it in one chug. "I'm not angry enough to care either."

Sitting down beside Alfred, but not too close, Ismael gave a small laugh. "Not like I would do it anyways. I was just trying to play with you a little." He continued watching the show, trying to ignore the voice in his head asking why the hell he was still here.

Alfred continued to sit there awkwardly, once in a while taking another sip of his beer. Eventually he grew bored of trying to watch hot chicks be models and eyed the remote beside Ismael. Planning out his attack, he waited until the other man shifted a bit before jumping over him to grab the remote. "AhHA!" He yelled, getting a hold of it.

"Hey!" Ismael yelled, then grabbed Alfred by the crotch. He was surprised, and the Cuban took the opportunity to grab the remote back. "That's why you never fight with a gay guy."

Beating back his blush, Alfred growled. "That was low man." Only waiting a second, he launched himself again to get the remote, this time backing up once he had it so he could push Ismael back with his feet. "I'll kick your teeth in if you try to get it back." He warned, changing it to a football game.

Grabbing one of the feet, Ismael licked his tongue up the bottom of it before sucking the big toe into his mouth. "Now change it back."

"You dirty fucker! I'm not changing it back!" Alfred snapped, pushing Ismael's face away with his other foot. That was disgusting! Who knew just what was on his feet in the first place? Did all gay guys get off on sucking each other's feet and cocks or what?

Pouncing on him, Ismael pinned him down to the couch, holding his wrists so tight they would probably bruise. "Give me the fucking remote, dammit!" The only reason he ever watched football was to look at the asses. He would much rather watch hockey.

Snarling, Alfred almost spat in Ismael's face but stopped with the position. "Get the fuck off me." He tried bucking him off, but it only made him hold on tighter. "I'm not changing the fucking channel! It's my house anyways!"

"You're the one who begged me to stay, so I should be able to pick what I wanna watch." Ismael looked down at him, seeing how apprehensive he was about their position. "Am I intimidating you? Or are you turned on?"

"Neither, bastard." He grumbled, trying not to show that he was actually quite freaked out with their position. "Now... Let me go..."

Thinking about it, Ismael lowered his body some more, so he was more on top of Alfred. "No, I don't think I will. After all, last time I didn't get to finish, so you owe me an orgasm."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Alfred turned his head so he could watch the TV. "Get off me." He said quietly, hoping that the small tremor in his voice was only in his mind. After all, his heart was beating uncomfortably fast and he had become hyper aware to the body on top of his. "Get off me you faggot!"

Pushing their crotches together, Ismael was satisfied by the barely muffled moan coming out of Alfred. "I miss the feel of his body." He whispered, letting his head drop so he was looking at Alfred's chest and not his face. "It's been too long, without him."

"S-Stop talking about him." Alfred almost pleaded, his voice going lighter. "I... I can't handle it when you talk about him like this." Especially not when he was getting turned on by another guy on top of him. He was supposed to be one hundred percent straight! How could someone like Ismael make him start to get hard already?

"...I need to talk about him... No one else will listen..." When he had come out of the closet, all his friends had ditched him, and for two years after he had found companionship in guys who were willing to fuck him. Then he had met Matthew. So now, he had no one, except for this man who shared only two things with him. They both cared about Matthew, and they both hated each other.

Grimacing for a moment, Alfred stared into Ismael's eyes. "Are you going to fuck me or what? If no, kindly get the fuck off me and you can have your own pity party somewhere else. If yes, then shut up and kiss me bastard."

A seconds hesitation, then Ismael started ravishing his mouth. It was a much rougher kiss than he had ever given Matthew, who preferred the slow, sensual kisses. But this wasn't Matthew.

Not surprised by the reaction but still shocked that he was kissing a guy again, Alfred retaliated quickly by arching up against Ismael. He might not be gay, but he knew what felt good for himself, and it would probably be the same for others too. Gyrating his hardening cock against the other, the American didn't even think of the consequences of his actions.

Moaning slightly into the kiss, Ismael started getting Alfred's shirt off. When they parted to lift it over his head, he figured it would be a good time to ask. "Do you have hand lotion? Or any type of body oil? Or anything at all?"

"Fuck, I don't know. I have conditioner?" He said with a shrug. Really, he just wanted to get this done and over with so he wouldn't have to think about just how wrong it all was.

Grunting, the Cuban looked to the coffee table and saw a thing of hand lotion. "This will work." He kissed him again, working on Alfred's pants and pushing them down, feeling the wet material of his boxers. "Are you sure you're not gay?"

Alfred just snorted. "Of course I'm not gay." Arching into the touch, he grunted. "Take your shirt off now." Once again, he didn't want to be the only naked one. He never liked it when he was having sex with his girlfriends either.

Shaking his head, Ismael dragged his dread locks over the tanned chest. "Take it off for me." He held up his arms to make it easier.

"I already said I'm not gay so just take the fucking thing off." Alfred argued, not wanting to have a hand in his own destruction. He really just needed to not think about this, and have Ismael do whatever he wanted.

"Fine then it's staying on." He went back to taking off Alfred's underwear, quickly making sure he still had the makeshift lube with him.

Growling, Alfred caved in and reached up to the hem of Ismael's shirt. Pulling on it violently, he made sure to scratch his chest and sides with his nails as the garment was taken off and thrown to the side. "Are you going to make me take off your pants too, cock sucker?"

"Sure why not. Speaking of that though I'm not sucking you off again since you came on my face last time." He squeezed out some hand lotion, sticking his first finger in. It still felt just as tight as last time.

"You deserved it, queer." The blond winced as the finger explored around inside of him. "Lift your hips so I can get them off." Already he had the zipper down and could feel the heat radiating from the bulge. Just how big was Ismael anyways? It wasn't like he got a good look before.

Doing what he said, Ismael let his pants be taken off. He gave a laugh as he saw Alfred's cock twitched. "Did I hit your sweet spot again? Feels good, doesn't it?" He added a second finger, this time giving him a little more time to adjust.

Shutting his eyes, he answered. "Not as good as driving into a pussy but you wouldn't know that." Still, his mind couldn't stop his body as his legs spread wider for Ismael's fingers. "And I still don't like cocks."

"I've has sex with girls. I just didn't like it. And trust me, a guy's ass is way better than any girl's pussy." It was actually amazing he could have gotten hard. Curling his fingers, he started moving them more inside Alfred.

Wincing as he was stretched wider, Alfred scoffed. "You must of had some pretty nasty vaginas if you think an ass is better."

Biting the skin above Alfred's belly button, Ismael added his third finger. "Asses are tighter. Vaginas are like fucking a donut in comparison." The hand lotion made it very soft compared to last time, strangely.

The blond winced in pain as he was stretched again by three fingers. "Just get it over with then. I'm sure my ass is virgin enough for you still." Alfred didn't really know why he was trying to get fucked by Ismael, but he guessed that it was almost like his own dare: 'fuck me on the couch that you used to sit on with Matthew'. Of course it was petty and extremely unconventional, but he still needed to do something.