Francis beams and ruffles his hair affectionately.
"Mon cheri, it is when you feel warm with someone. You want to be sharing every moment of your life with them."
He frowns and his brows bunch together with causes Francis to laugh.
"You'll understand soon, child. Love is like shaping a diamond. It takes time."
Oh, how Matthew wishes that he understands when he is standing by Alfred while the American is chattering excitedly about his Great Canyon is better than the Niargra Falls.
His stomach is twisting and flopping and performing all kins of aerobatics inside of him. It's fluttering with the intensity of a billion angry butterflies and squirming like he swallowed a hundred earthworms.
Then Alfred gives him that smile. That dazzling and charming smile which is capable of making a rock fall for such an insufferable partiotic idiot who decorates his bed with his own national flag.
Alfred is walking Matthew home, boasting about his new aircraft after a delicious dinner at a renowned diner just on the outskirts of town that served amazing burgers and even poutine. A pleasantly surprising cheesy poutine with the richest gravy that caused his tastebuds to explode. It's perhaps the most considerate Alfred's been in a long while. Then Alfred grabs at Matthew's hand, looking just a little embarassed because heroes don't hold hands unless their counterparts want to. Matthew laughs, then Alfred laughs and they laugh together.
They hold hands.
And Matthew thinks he's in love.
But ah, what is love? How can he be in it if he doesn't know, right? And Alfred is watching his thriller flicks, trembling under a comforter with cold feet pressing against Matthew's thigh.
Matthew absently eats the popcorn, pretending to be interested in the gruesome and action oriented movie while deep in thought. Though he really can't think with the scent of Alfred that clings to the comforter pressing against his nose, decorated with little American flags.
He leans into Alfred's alluring heat, feeling the body against him shift to envelope his with strong arms that tuck him snugly beside Alfred.
He almost falls asleep, but he doesn't, being absolutely content to just stare at the television and not really watching. Because he feels every involuntary tremble from Alfred whenever sudden screams rip through the speakers of Alfred's plasma television and the reverberating laugh in Alfred's torso whenever the protagonist does something unheroic and stupid. Matthew tries to swallow and finds his mouth sort of dry and he thinks it's the popcorn.
They cuddle.
And Matthew thinks he's in love.
"How dumb do you think I am?" He snaps, gritting his teeth. Alfred is looking a little stunned but also upset, tossing down his cup of soda just a little too heavily onto the marble counter of Matthew's kitchen.
"You know what? I don't have to do this. Why do I even bother? You'r practically me anyway, I shouldn've just annexed you."
Matthew is the one who sweeps Alfred's glass onto the ground with a thundering crash that mirrors the sound in his taut chest. He marches up the stairs and slams the door behind him, burying his face in his hands.
Why does it hurt so much? Is this what love is as well? Because there is a warmth that spreads through out his body and makes his eyes are sting with fresh tears. Matthew is frustrated and angry, wishing he is no longer in love with that burger-eating-hero-complex-McDonald-fucking dumbass.
When he does gather enough courage to walk outside his room while dabbing at his red puffy eyes, he sees that Alfred's fallen asleep while sitting by his door with a mug in the shape of a beaver in his hands.
A new mug to compensate for the glass that Matthew broke.
Matthew traces the buck teeth on the beaver and he bites his cheek.
Diamond
Francis beams and ruffles his hair affectionately.
"Mon cheri, it is when you feel warm with someone. You want to be sharing every moment of your life with them."
He frowns and his brows bunch together with causes Francis to laugh.
"You'll understand soon, child. Love is like shaping a diamond. It takes time."
Oh, how Matthew wishes that he understands when he is standing by Alfred while the American is chattering excitedly about his Great Canyon is better than the Niargra Falls.
His stomach is twisting and flopping and performing all kins of aerobatics inside of him. It's fluttering with the intensity of a billion angry butterflies and squirming like he swallowed a hundred earthworms.
Then Alfred gives him that smile. That dazzling and charming smile which is capable of making a rock fall for such an insufferable partiotic idiot who decorates his bed with his own national flag.
Alfred is walking Matthew home, boasting about his new aircraft after a delicious dinner at a renowned diner just on the outskirts of town that served amazing burgers and even poutine. A pleasantly surprising cheesy poutine with the richest gravy that caused his tastebuds to explode. It's perhaps the most considerate Alfred's been in a long while. Then Alfred grabs at Matthew's hand, looking just a little embarassed because heroes don't hold hands unless their counterparts want to. Matthew laughs, then Alfred laughs and they laugh together.
They hold hands.
And Matthew thinks he's in love.
But ah, what is love? How can he be in it if he doesn't know, right? And Alfred is watching his thriller flicks, trembling under a comforter with cold feet pressing against Matthew's thigh.
Matthew absently eats the popcorn, pretending to be interested in the gruesome and action oriented movie while deep in thought. Though he really can't think with the scent of Alfred that clings to the comforter pressing against his nose, decorated with little American flags.
He leans into Alfred's alluring heat, feeling the body against him shift to envelope his with strong arms that tuck him snugly beside Alfred.
He almost falls asleep, but he doesn't, being absolutely content to just stare at the television and not really watching. Because he feels every involuntary tremble from Alfred whenever sudden screams rip through the speakers of Alfred's plasma television and the reverberating laugh in Alfred's torso whenever the protagonist does something unheroic and stupid. Matthew tries to swallow and finds his mouth sort of dry and he thinks it's the popcorn.
They cuddle.
And Matthew thinks he's in love.
"How dumb do you think I am?" He snaps, gritting his teeth. Alfred is looking a little stunned but also upset, tossing down his cup of soda just a little too heavily onto the marble counter of Matthew's kitchen.
"You know what? I don't have to do this. Why do I even bother? You'r practically me anyway, I shouldn've just annexed you."
Matthew is the one who sweeps Alfred's glass onto the ground with a thundering crash that mirrors the sound in his taut chest. He marches up the stairs and slams the door behind him, burying his face in his hands.
Why does it hurt so much? Is this what love is as well? Because there is a warmth that spreads through out his body and makes his eyes are sting with fresh tears. Matthew is frustrated and angry, wishing he is no longer in love with that burger-eating-hero-complex-McDonald-fucking dumbass.
When he does gather enough courage to walk outside his room while dabbing at his red puffy eyes, he sees that Alfred's fallen asleep while sitting by his door with a mug in the shape of a beaver in his hands.
A new mug to compensate for the glass that Matthew broke.
Matthew traces the buck teeth on the beaver and he bites his cheek.
He kisses Alfred on the cheek.
And Matthew thinks he's in love.