Title: Love is a Thing to Become and Eternally Be
Rating: M. And it's not just for swearing.
Pairings: America/Canada/America
Warnings: Uh, sex between male nations (though honestly, if you're reading Hetalia fanfic you cannot be surprised), violence and slight historical liberties in places. Sex in this part, if you don't wish to read it, I can give you the low down, just fire off a PM my way.
Disclaimer: Standard and not actually useful disclaimer goes here.
Author's Notes: De-anon from the kink meme, no doubt a few people recognize this. I'll slowly post edited chapters here, once a week or so. I won't give a schedule, I'll never follow it.
xXxXx
Matthew is sick of wars, he doesn't understand why Alfred keeps making more. Matthew can't, just can't go with him this time. He went to Korea, and then he went to Suez and faced Arthur's and Francis' scorn and ire, but he can not go now.
Alfred accepts this with a nod, and then he is gone and Matthew feels his throat tighten but he doesn't cry. He won't. They don't see one another for ten years, and it makes Matthew miserable, because there isn't anything to distract him, no overbearing Arthur, no wars, no economic crisis. He's feeling particularly down on a rainy November night, half listening to the radio as it talks about a protest at some university in America.
Matthew's most preoccupied with the busy hum of American draft dodgers. Having Alfred's people come to live in his land is a strange feeling. It isn't like with other immigrants, there is no conflict between his love for all who wish to be a part of him and the hate his people have for the Other. No, Americans are mostly accepted, as brothers, and it fills Matthew with a mixture of joy and sadness. It is on this rainy night, half listening to the radio half to the hum of his people all across his lands when a knock comes on the door.
Matthew doesn't get a lot of visitors. He's not like the Europeans who are all surrounded by each other. All he's ever had was Alfred. Ivan was there for a while, but the Russian had had no interest in him whatsoever, so it did not really count in Matthew's mind. The other reason he doesn't get visitors is no one can remember where or who he is.
That is why Matthew flings open the door, mostly expecting it to be a human salesman but he's still excited. His excitement vanishes and is replaced with a mixture of confusion and jubilation. Alfred is on his front step, soaking wet with no luggage to be seen and Matthew has a flash back to that day in 1876 and he smiles.
"Alfred, what are you doing here?" He asks, gesturing for him to come inside. As the northern nation shuts the door, realization dawns on him and he turns swiftly, violet eyes wide. "You're draft dodging?" he exclaims, not sure whether he should be amused of horrified. Alfred gives him a grin and it's tired but still beautiful and Matthew wants to kiss him but he refrains, at least for now.
"No," Alfred says slowly, looking a little sheepish, "I'm not a draft dodger, I'm a conscientious objector." He says it with such pride that Matthew is able to somehow smother the laughter which wants to bubble out of his chest and mouth.
"Oh," he says instead, a little dumbly, and then turns on his heel, leaving a confused America in his foyer.
"Matthew?" The nation calls, watching the other go upstairs. Alfred takes a step to follow when Matthew's voice drifts down to him.
"Don't you move Alfred F. Jones," he calls, tone scolding, "I'm getting a towel and some clothes, so don't you dare drip on my carpet." Alfred grins at that, the tension in his broad shoulders loosening a bit at the fondness in Matthew's voice.
"Alright Matt," Alfred calls back. He stays standing where he is on the wood floor. To stave off the boredom Alfred looks around, taking in the pictures on the wall.
Most are, Alfred notes, not of Matthew. There is one fairly recent on of Arthur and Francis, from just before the Suez Crisis no doubt, as they aren't exactly happy with Matthew after that incident. There were several of his Prime Ministers, a few with him but most without, as well as several photos of Alfred himself. Alfred frowns at this, but only for a moment, when he finds a collection of photographs on the table in the foyer.
One is of him after just landing in London during world war 1. He's smiling, and Alfred remembers the shock and pure relief on Matthew's face when the American troops came to ground. The next two pictures are also from the wars. The first is Matthew seated with a number of men, some of whom Alfred recognizes. Half are wearing the old Canadian British uniforms of the first war while the rest are obviously English. Turning the photo around reveals the words "14th Battalion, 1st Canadian Division and the Yorkshire Regiment, Wed. April 21st, 1915". The next photo is a group of grim looking men at makeshift breakfast tables. Alfred doesn't even need to look to figure out the date, but Matthew's neat writing on the back of the old photo confirms what he already knew.
"June 6th, 1944, 3:30am," comes Matthew's voice softly from behind the still wet blond. Alfred gently puts the photo back down and turns to look at Matthew. He's holding a towel out and Alfred accepts it gratefully. Without a second though he tugs off his wet garments, depositing them on the floor. Matthew says nothing about it, just watches Alfred calmly, gentle eyes focused and evaluating. Once Alfred is dry Matthew takes a step forward, running curious fingers down his sides.
"They leave bruises." Matthew says, and it's almost but not quite a question. Indeed, Alfred does have bruising all up his ribs, though they are constantly faded and yellow, never fully healing or getting worse. He nods, a sudden tiredness taking over his senses.
"Yeah," he says and it's slow and thick, and Matthew stops his examination, instead taking Alfred's hand in his. Without a word Alfred is tugged upstairs, though only after Matthew picks up both the towel and the wet clothing. Matthew leads Alfred into his bedroom, and Alfred is strangely relieved to find it more or less the same as it was ten years ago. "Mattie, I missed you," he says as Matthew pushes him gently on the bed. Matthew pauses at that, head cocked a little to the side before he responds.
"I missed you too Al," he whispers, climbing into the bed until he's hovering over Alfred. "I missed you so much." Alfred sighs at that, eyes fluttering shut as Matthew presses a soft kiss to his lips.
The kiss is everything Alfred has been needing since this war started. It starts off dry and chaste until Alfred nudges forward a bit and Matthew deepens the kiss, tongue gently, always gently, pushing past Alfred's chapped lips to probe his mouth. Usually the two would be engaged in a mock battle of sorts, but for now Alfred is mostly passive, trusting Matthew to give him what he needs.
Matthew pulls away from the kiss, one hand ruffling Alfred's hair the other stroking his face carefully. Matthew doesn't say anything, but he gives Alfred a long look before pressing a kiss to his jaw. That kiss is followed by another, and then another and soon kisses are being trailed down Alfred's neck. Matthew pays special attention to that spot behind Alfred's ear, smiling a little as Alfred cocks his head to the side and sighs happily.
Matthew pays some more attention to that spot before heading back downward until he reaches Alfred's nipples. Delicately he takes the right one into his mouth, not biting, simply sucking gently and lapping at it. The other nipple is being lightly rolled between calloused fingers and it makes Alfred arch ever so slightly, giving a tiny, tiny moan.
The moan makes Matthew stop and switch nipples, now sucking on the left. He continues for an entirely too short period of time before pulling away. He's since shifted his weight so he's straddling Alfred and the blue eyed nation rolls his hips a little once his nipples are no longer receiving the attention he feels they deserve.
"Shh," Matthew soothes, rubbing his hands daintily up Alfred's chest and down his bruised sides, "I want you to relax Al," he tells him. Alfred nods, he understands, really, and leans his head back, closing his eyes. Matthew gives a satisfied hum
With that the northern nation lifts his weight off Alfred, shifting so he was between the lean naked thighs. Alfred is about to open his eyes when nothing happens only to have Matthew's mouth engulf his still mostly limp member.
Alfred's eyes snap open of their own accord after that, and Alfred takes a deep shuddering breath to try and calm down. Matthew doesn't move, just hold him like that, one hand stroking Alfred's thigh in a calming manner. Eventually Alfred manages to control himself, a blush high on his cheeks and chest straining a little. Slowly, Matthew begins lapping at the half hardened organ in his mouth, moving up and down languidly.
Despite the slow pace and the hands on his hips Alfred moans and writhes, legs twitching a little when Matthew brushes his balls. It's been ten years since Alfred has touched someone else this way, much less been touched. Ten years of tension and stress and a little bit of pain. He'd gone to Vietnam, done his duty, for his men, but that had really only expounded things.
So now, with Matthew's careful ministrations, Alfred is a mess. He tries desperately to buck into the slick heat engulfing him but Matthew's hands never waver, and soon, to soon, Alfred comes with broken whimper of Matthew's name. Matthew pulls off once Alfred's done, completely spent. He places a small kiss on the inside of Alfred's trembling thigh before looking up at Alfred.
"You okay?" He asks quietly and Alfred nods, eyes a little wet.
"Yeah, yeah I am," he breaths, looking at Matthew with big eyes. "Can you..." he trails off because he doesn't know what he wants to say. Matthew looks at him expectantly, gently kneading Alfred's stomach as he does.
"What is it Al?" He questions softly, voice barely a whisper, "what do you want."
"You!" The southern nation blurts, "I want you inside of me." And it's embarrassing, dammit, asking for sex, and a part of Alfred is already berating him, fear that Matthew will make him beg for it creeping up.
"Alright Al," Matthew says instead, and relief fills Alfred like a wave, "I can do that."
"But just for me," Alfred adds, and his voice doesn't waver, dammit, not even as Matthew quickly strips off his clothes.
Matthew, depositing his shirt on the floor, gives him a look, violet eyes full of love and a small smile, one Alfred only gets to see because no one else can be bothered to make it shine, the idiots, plays on his lips. "Of course only for you Alfred," Matthew says, pulling himself up to place a kiss on Alfred's lips. "It was always only you." With that he was between Alfred's legs again, one hand reaching under the mattress.
"I can't believe you keep the KY there," Alfred teases, grinning a little. Matthew smiles, white teeth shining.
"Well, not only here," he says before slicking up a finger. "This will be a little cold," he warns and slowly pushes the digit in. It is cold, and it makes Alfred tense but only for a second before he relaxes. Having already had a very good orgasm he's not all that tense, so Matthew manages the first finger without a problem.
He works the lone finger for a moment, small twists, in and out until he feels Alfred can take the second. He pulls out, slicking them both and returns to his preparations. Alfred is once again hard, writhing in pleasure as the fingers prod and poke that one little spot. Despite how not satisfying the two fingers are Alfred's hips still grind down on them and it doesn't take long for Alfred to be panting again.
After entirely too long, Alfred feels, Matthew slicks up his last finger and pushes three in. Usually the fit would cause a burn, but his previous orgasm and the almost mind numbing preparation already have left Alfred quite loose.
As the three fingers worked in and out rhythmically Alfred looses himself in the pace, allowing himself small moans and cries until finally he can not take it anymore. "Please Matt," he says, trying not to sound too wanton, "please I need you." Matthew just hushes him tenderly before pulling his finger completely from Alfred's body.
"Alright Al, just calm down," he says and Alfred struggles to regain his breath. Matthew lubes up, pausing at Alfred's entrance until he sees the other nation calm visibly. With that, the violet eyed nation pushes in. The heat is glorious, and Matthew struggles to keep any semblance of coherence. Alfred doesn't tense in pain at the intrusion, instead he's open and welcoming, hips angling just slightly upward to allow Matthew better access.
"Ma-att," Alfred stutters once the other is all the way in, "move please oh god please." Matthew complies with a fluid roll of his hips, smiling affectionately. He repeats the motion, a thrill going up and down his spine when he hits Alfred's prostate making him arch up and keen loudly. Matthew is the only one who gets to see Alfred like this, and the thought makes his heart warm and head fuzzy.
Soon, too soon, Matthew's thrusts become a little sporadic and he has to hold back a groan when Alfred's inner muscles start tightening. Below him Alfred his meeting every thrust, his brilliantly blue eyes squeezed shut, head thrashing. Nimbly Matthew reaches down and starts to skillfully work Alfred's cock. Immediately Alfred tenses, toes curling and back arching sharply.
"MattMattMatt," Alfred whimpers out before it dies of in a series of short staccato 'oh's. Matthew follows Alfred's example, giving another thrust, harder than the others, before stilling, arms trembling as he comes with nothing more than an almost inaudible whisper of Alfred's name. Staying like that for another moment Matthew gingerly pulls out, flopping down next to Alfred. They simply lay like that, Alfred's breaths slowly evening out until Matthew forced himself to stand, half staggering to the bathroom.
Alfred watches him go, blue eyes half lidded, and he heaves and unconscious sight of relief when Matthew returns, wash cloth in hand. Matthew swiftly but delicately wipes Alfred down, cleaning off cum and lube before he wipes himself down. He then looks at the cloth and Alfred before shrugging, tossing the cloth onto his pile of clothes.
"They need to be cleaned anyway," Matthew says crawling back next to Alfred. Alfred chuckles inaudibly at that, happy to snuggle. Matthew rests his head on Alfred's chest, Alfred's arm around his shoulder. "Sleep tight," he slurs tiredly, violet eyes dropping shut as sleep takes over. Alfred hums in response, his own eyes closing as the two lay entwined on Matthew's slightly sticky sheets. Outside the door Kumajirou uncovers his ears, sending the door a disgusted look. Waddling down the stairs the miniature polar bear shakes his furry white head.
"Ick," he says definitively, and then heads off to hunt house hippos.