CHAPTER XII

It was seven in the morning, the sun penetrating the curtains as Matthew woke to the sleeping face of the boy beside him. There was a faint rumbling sound coming from somewhere, likely what had roused him from his slumber, but it soon stopped. Still groggy, he rose from the sofa, being careful not to wake Alfred with his movements. A dull ache was beginning in his backside, and he blushed mildly as he remembered the reason why it hurt.

Smiling seductively to himself, Matthew pulled on his boxers and unzipped jeans, thinking of how his lover had done just the opposite the night before. That was right: Alfred was his lover now. The simple concept was enough to make his heart swell inside his chest.

He bent down to pick up the used condoms and tissues on the floor, kicking the lube bottle under the couch. Alfred's father had to be sleeping upstairs, so there wasn't any way to sneak it up there at the moment. Feeling a slight discomfort as he strolled quietly into the kitchen, Matt dropped the materials into the trash can.

Just when the Canadian was about to turn around to continue getting dressed, he heard soft thuds emanating from somewhere nearby, but not inside the house. The door to the garage suddenly budged open, and Matthew recoiled once he realized it was Alfred's dad tiptoeing into the house.

Arthur jumped when he saw the boy standing there, clamping a hand to his chest in an attempt to calm himself. "Matthew, you gave me a fright! What are you…?"

His voice trailed off as he took in the sight before him, and Matthew averted his eyes in shame. With the unzipped jeans almost sliding off his hips, and the prominent love marks on his neck, it was obvious what had happened. This was definitely not how he wanted to present himself in front of his lover's father.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Arthur cleared his throat and spoke. "…O-Okay, let us…sit at the counter and you can…explain this all to me."

Matthew simply nodded, making his way over to the side of the counter. Hyperconscious of the twinge in his backside as he walked, the Canadian was unable to stifle a pained groan when he sat down. The situation was mortifying, and he trembled uncomfortably under the scrutiny of those green eyes.

Glancing behind the boy to his son sleeping soundly on the couch, Arthur sighed, running fingers through his tousled blonde hair. It was then Matt realized the man looked almost as disheveled as himself, and the question arose in his mind.

"All right," the Brit began, "where do you want to begin?"

"…I thought you came home last night."

"O-Oh…I…w-work went later than I expected," the man sputtered, "so, since I didn't want to wake you guys up, I…spent the night at…Francis's place."

His unkempt appearance suddenly made sense, and Arthur caught the knowing look on the boy's face. "…Now's not the time for that, Matthew. I want you to tell me what happened."

"M-Mr. Kirkland-"

"Please, just…just call me Arthur."

A pang of sorrow hit the boy as he reminisced about the days back at the ring. The first-name basis they operated on…he didn't want to associate that with anyone else in a higher authority.

"W-With all due respect, M-Mr. Kirkland," Matthew addressed him, trying to fight back the tears, "I-I'd prefer not to refer to you by that."

Seeing the hurt in the boy's violet eyes, Arthur asserted, "I just want you to feel like you can talk to me about…this. I have a pretty good idea of what's going on, but I want to hear it from your mouth."

"O-Okay, um…" Matt began, focusing his eyes on the countertop, "well, we…we found Toris."

Arthur's eyes widened in shock. "You're kidding me."

"N-No. Al and Gil went to the farmer's market and…and they ran into him and brought him back here. We were celebrating last night-"

"We?"
"Oh, uh, me, Al, Eliz, Gil, Toris, and a friend Toris made, Feliks. That's…that's why there's all those empty pizza boxes out in the garage.

"Yeah, I was wondering about those."

"So…I talked with Toris, and…he wanted to stay with Feliks. And you know, it's not like we had anywhere to go, anyway. I thought it was a good idea, so…that's his part of the plan."

"And what about you, now?"

Matthew's face flushed deeper, and he stuttered, "Wh-When everyone l-left, I talked about it with A-Al, and I told him th-that even if T-Toris hadn't decided th-that, I-I wanted to stay h-here. …A-And then we…we…he recalled me to life."

Furrowing his ample eyebrows, Arthur inquired, "…Is that what they call it now?"

"N-No," Matthew answered. "J-Just us…in my c-case."

"…I don't understand. 'Recalled to life'? Isn't that from one of Dickens' works?"

"Yeah, A Tale of Two Cities. I-It's because…before I got here…Toris and I said we were going to start life over. But then…all of this happened, and Al said he would start life over with me. …L-Last night just made it official. I don't…really know how to explain it but…I…for so long…I felt numb; dead…untouchable. …But now I'm alive."

"Matthew…"

"This was the first time…I didn't feel used. This was the first time I felt…loved."

Arthur looked again to his son asleep on the sofa. A kind chuckle arose from his lips, and the Brit declared, "He definitely loves you. I know that."

The boy watched attentively as the man fished something out of his pocket. "Here," Arthur said, handing over a key ring.

Perplexed, Matthew picked up the ring, noting the single key and a plastic frame of some sort. "…What?"

"It's your own key to the house," Arthur explained as the Canadian's eyes dilated in surprise. "I'd been thinking about it for a while now, and I decided to go through with it. That's what my extra work was last night. Francis is actually…really good at making copies of keys. So, I swiped Al's key ring the other day and brought it to him after work. I planned to be back earlier, but…there were so many keys, and…well, things didn't go as I…planned, so to speak."

Matthew nodded, faintly taking in the words as he stared at the key ring. "Wh-What's the plastic thing f-for?"

"Oh, think of it like a clear locket. You can take a picture, like one from a photo booth, and fit it in there. In fact, I got one for Al, too." He pulled another set of keys out of his pocket and laid them out on the counter.

Still insensitive to anything but the significance of the metal in his hand, Matt asked, "…You're letting me stay? Permanent residence?"

"Yes," the Brit confirmed, smiling peacefully. "You're practically part of the family now. I doubt we could get by without you; I know Al couldn't. …I mean, let's face it: my cooking is terrible."

The two laughed loudly, unaware that they were disrupting Alfred's sleep. He groaned a bit, tossing on the couch until he finally complained, "Augh…why are you guys laughing so early in the morning?"

They turned their attention to Alfred as he sat up, rubbing at his bleary eyes. When he could see and survey the scene before him, a confused look crept onto his face. His father was sitting across from Matthew, who was half-naked…and Al was entirely naked, with only the blanket to cover him. "…Um, what'd I miss?"

"W-Well," Matt informed him, "your dad knows about, um, last night, and he's letting me stay here."

"Permanently?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my god, thank you!" Alfred shouted, jumping off the sofa to hug his dad to death, dragging the blanket with him. "Thank you, Dad, thank you so much!"

"Alfred!"

"What?"

"Put some clothes on," Arthur commanded.

"…Right…" the American agreed, smiling sheepishly as he pulled the blanket in front of him. He glanced to Matthew, who quickly diverted his eyes from his lover's body, cheeks flushed as he was caught red-handed. "…Hey, Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I guess I'm not a virgin anymore, huh?" Alfred put it bluntly. His father slapped a hand to his forehead as Matt fell victim to another fit of hysterics.

"…You know," the Brit began as he rubbed his temples, "most parents would punish their kid for saying something like that, but I'm going to let it slide."

"Well, at least we used protection. Don't most parents like that?"

"Matthew's clean and he can't get pregnant."

"Well, then be happy we didn't get our stuff all over the couch."

"Al…" Matthew complained, hiding his face in his hands.

"Wait, just where the bloody hell did you get protection?" his father inquired, putting two and two together when Al smiled guiltily. "…You went through mine."

"I guess being gay really does run in the family," Alfred declared, patting his father on the back as Matt doubled over again.

"Ha- ow, ow," the Canadian griped, the dull ache in his backside intensified by his laughter.

"Ah, Matt, I'm sorry," Al apologized. "I really…hurt you, huh?"

"It's going to hurt no matter what, but…thanks for using the…lube. Otherwise, it'd be much worse; trust me."

"Let me find something to soothe that," Arthur suggested, going to the cabinets to look for pills or a salve to relieve the pain.

"You would have something for that, wouldn't you, Dad?" Al taunted him. "After all, you must use it a lot in your relationship with Francis."

"Alfred, you are treading on very thin ice."

"I'm just saying, I want to know what's going on between my dad and my future dad. …Wait, am I allowed to have two Dads?"

"Alfred-"

"Oh my god, does this make Francis my mom? He has a beard! Can't you be the Mom? No wait, your cooking sucks. But he has a beard!"

Bursting into another fit from the ridiculous conversation Alfred was having with himself, Matt pleaded, "O-Okay, please, no more. Ow."

. . .

"Alejandro, ¿por qué sales? ¡Eres el amor de mi vida!"

"Lo siento, pero no estoy enamorado de ti."

"¿Por qué?"

"Hay otra persona."

"¡No es verdad!"

"Why do Spanish soap operas even exist?" Matthew asked himself as he flipped through the channels. It was near noon on a school day, and Alfred's dad was at work, so the Canadian was all alone with only the television to accompany him. Already, he had cleaned the house, washed dishes, made the beds, done laundry, and anything else he could do. The boy was completely bored, and Toris was likely off somewhere with Feliks.

He sighed, thinking that he could always write in his journal, although nothing remarkably noteworthy had happened since Alfred and he had made love a few days ago. His heart fluttered whenever he reminisced about that night, and he pulled the key ring out of his pocket to gaze at the picture within the plastic frame. Inside was a copy of a photo they had taken in one of those photo booths, with Matthew blushing as his boyfriend kissed his cheek.

It was still so hard to believe that he was a permanent resident of the household. For sure, he'd thought Mr. Kirkland would want to banish him for sleeping with his son, but the man seemed to understand the passion between the young lovers. Fingers gracing the casing, he wished Alfred was home so they could exchange kisses, kisses all over their bodies…

Matthew shook his head, giving himself a mental slap to the brain. God knew it wasn't good for him to get caught up in such thoughts when he wouldn't be able to get relief for several hours. Besides, the boy had been trying to fight the sex-centered side of him, but nothing could stop his prick from jutting out every time he saw that confident, beautiful face…

"Ah, shit," he groused, now completely aroused. "Why do I do this to myself?" In an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, Matt laid back on the sofa and moved his hips around, as if to find a blind spot in the jeans for his erection to fit. Instead, all it did was create friction, and he felt ready to just rip open the zipper and jerk-off.

The phone rang suddenly, and Matthew groaned, dragging himself off the couch to answer it. "K-Kirkland residence."

"Hello, Metyu."

All of the blood in his veins ran cold as the voice crept under his skin, freezing the nerves of his soul. Matthew's eyes widened as he realized in horror that no one else was home…and he was calling.

"I-I-Ivan…"

"I am glad you still remember me, dear Metyu," the Russian stated, twirling a lock of his beige hair like a teenage girl chatting with her best friend. "It was not nice of you to leave without a goodbye. It was not nice of Toris either."

"H-How did you-?"

"You have forgotten about my…friends in higher places? I am able to twist the law to my demands."

"…H-How much d-do you kn-know?"

"Let us see…I know that you are staying at the Kirkland address. I know that you have met up with Toris. I know that you are in love with that American boy…ah, what was his name…Alfred Kirkland. For that, I will have to reprogram you when I bring you back to the ring."

Tears welled up behind those violet eyes, but Matthew refused to let them fall. "…W-Why-?"

"You did not think I would just let you go, da? The business needs you; both of you."

With his teeth chattering underneath his numbed lips, Matthew asked, "…W-Why T-T-Toris? He's d-d-damaged."

"It is true. I would not profit well from him in his condition, so…I will find another use for him. More tests, if you will."

The Canadian simply stood there, trembling uncontrollably under the intimidation of the man's authority. He refused to speak, fearing what would follow.

"Metyu, you do understand why I am making this call, do you not?" Ivan's tone turned chillingly threatening as he continued, "If you do not come quietly, I may have to take…precautionary actions against your beloved 'family'."

"N-No!" Matt shouted, gripping the phone tighter than ever with clammy hands. Tears finally escaped out of the corners of his eyes, streaming down his cheeks as he shook. "N-No, pl-please don't…hic…d-don't…"

"Metyu, are you crying?" Ivan chuckled cruelly, shaking his head back and forth. "You have gone soft. While the sound is absolutely delightful, I will have to fix that, da?"

"D-Do what you- what you want w-with me!" Matthew cried. "But pl-please…l-leave them a-a-alone!"

"There is no need to yell. As I have said, come quietly and I will not harm them."

Staring at the key ring in his hand, with the picture of his boyfriend and him, the Canadian asked, "…C-Can I leave a-a note?"

"How strange…Toris requested the same thing. I have made a note for you to leave. You may sign your name at the end if you wish. Just come outside."

It was then that Matthew realized the Russian was outside his house the whole time. Glancing cautiously to the paneled glass windows bordering the front door, he gasped and dropped the phone once he recognized the face peering in. Ivan waved to him, his own violet eyes piercing the boy like a thousand icicles.

Taking a deep breath, Matt prepared himself for what lay ahead, trying to numb his senses as his feet walked instinctively to the door. Trembling hands turned the key into the lock and thrust the door open.

"Good boy," Ivan mocked as the boy emerged from the house, patting his head as the door closed. "Here is the note, and here is a pen. Do not think you will get away with writing anything other than your name."

The Canadian nodded sullenly, reading over the note and signing it "Love, Matthew" before sliding it under the door. Locking the house behind him, the boy stared forlornly at the key ring.

"Is something wrong?" the Russian asked, noting the pitiful expression on his pet's face.

"…If I leave the key here, someone might break in."

In response, Ivan tore the key from the ring, tossing the metal hoop onto the porch steps. The man grabbed his pet's arm and walked toward the road, where a familiar van was parked. On the way, he dropped the key down the storm drain. "There you go," he stated, pulling the vehicle's door open.

Inside was Toris, looking just as miserable as his friend. At the sight of him, the Canadian scrambled in and embraced him, knowing that, once again, they were in the same boat.

"Hello, Matthew," Ismael greeted him from the driver's seat. He had always liked the boy, though the feeling was never returned.

"…H-Hello, Ismael." How he hated the overwhelming scent of Cuban cigars that wafted from the man. Hell, how he hated the man himself.

"So," Ivan began, "shall we take a few seconds to admire this neighborhood? This will be the last time you two will ever see it."

When Matthew murmured something as he gazed to the house, the Russian asked, "I am sorry. What did you say?"

Turning his head to face his owner, Matt replied, "…I said nothing."

The Russian smiled with false kindness, deciding to let it slide. "We are ready to leave."

"To New York," Ismael declared, pressing down on the gas pedal.

Alfred, Matthew thought as he watched what had been his home slip out of sight forever, thank you for the new life while it lasted.


(A/N: My friend informed me that the Romanization of the Russian translation of "Matthew" is "Metyu". You learn something new every day. Also, I apologize if my Spanish was incorrect.)

Paraphrased Translations:

Alejandro, ¿por qué sales? ¡Eres el amor de mi vida! - Alejandro, why are you leaving? You are the love of my life!

Lo siento, pero no estoy enamorado de ti. - I'm sorry, but I don't love you.

¿Por qué? - Why?

Hay otra persona. - There's someone else.

¡No es verdad! - It's not true!