Hetalia kink meme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hetalia_kink) wrote2011-02-26 01:33 pm
hetalia_kink) wrote2011-02-26 01:33 pm
Past Part Fills Part 2 -- CLOSED
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The Wit Of The Staircase 7/?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 04:44 am (UTC)(link)*
Oddly, Matthew had little to no guilt or paranoia over being head over heels for a guy. His mére had been more the 'sin first, and repent at leisure' type. When he'd left Quebec, and her, there'd been a few visits to an Anglican church, but after a few visits, in an place unfamiliar of the stain glass windows, and bishops he knew, it was forgotten. He still remembered his rosaries, the prayers, and the beautiful insides of the churches, but they had little bearing, or relation to what he felt for Francis. Which, he reminded himself, was based purely on recognition of beauty via an artist's eye.
...that dream last night that involved whipped cream notwithstanding.
The Kirklands were not a religious sort. They visited the C of E when needed, but such stolid propriety did not change their life. They did not call down the wrath of an angry God when misdeeds happened, but merely the opinions of the neighbors. The second instance was knowing from a young age, almost instinctively that Arthur was not interested in girls. Ever since he'd reunited with Al, both of them had spent lots of time on the Kirkland estate through the years. Despite all the jokes of Arthur being burdened with continuing on the noble lineage, any times when girls had been brought to subtly work in that direction, Arthur had treated them with civility, but utter indifference.
Matthew was an observer. He saw how Arthur looked at Alfred, even from a young age. And to him, the outsider, the watcher, this was perfectly normal and part of the sphere of his life. Arthur loved Alfred, Alfred was an idiot, and that was the way of things. So the gay identity crisis never really had a chance to take root with him. Every time someone tried to paint homosexuality as a perversion, an atrocity, he thought of Arthur. And despite his quirks (the mood swings, his violent temper, cynicism and his awful cooking) the creature they portrayed did not match up.
So it was that his denial mostly sprung up from fidelity – or rather, the lack thereof. If his love of Francis was merely based on aesthetics, it meant that heartbreak wasn't looming on the distance.
In the end, those tired words he kept telling himself even he didn't believe.
*
The Wit Of The Staircase 8/?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 05:42 am (UTC)(link)"I'll pass out the drills," Francis said.
"Oh, thank you," Mme. Belgique said.
Matthew stared at the wall and trying to not focus on the fact that Francis had been in two of his classes. He could just hear one of those nature shows running a commentary in his head. The wild Canadian uses its natural camouflage to escape the predatory Frenchman...when he isn't dreaming of being eaten by the wild Frenchman whilst covered in whipped cream...
Mme. Belgique called upon a few other students, who thoroughly raped and defiled the French language with their pronunciation (and she said his Québécois was bad.) Matthew snuck a sidelong glance at Francis. The side of Francis' jaw was twitching. His half-smile (smirk, really) looked more like a grimace.
Finally, Mme. Belgique called on him. Funny, that she was one of the only teachers to notice he was actually a part of their classroom (save for attendance calling).
"Matthieu. Your turn."
Matthew could read most of this in his sleep. Somewhere along the line, his mind just went into autopilot and he read it off, in the Québécois that Mme. Belgique so detested. He had read halfway through it before he realized the words he was reading off. Français– sucer – coq? Oh, this was not the plain old drill he was looking for. It was most definitely not about how Jean and Marianne went to buy bread. Not even remotely.
I want to suck a Frenchman's cock.
As realization dawned on what he'd just said, the class started to crack up. Apparently their only hint of French proficiency involved vulgar words. He scanned down the paper. His replaced homework was filled with steadily more vulgar things.
"Well, if you're offering, Matthieu." Francis winked.
Matthew pushed the paper away, his face burning. Mme. Belgique gaped. She must have been fairly new at teaching, for it seemed that her mind had gone at a complete blank that one of the notorious bad boys in school (and such a charming one, at that) had just turned her class into unmitigated chaos. She could only stare as her students whooped, laughed, chattered, and threw papers around. It beared more than a passing resemblance to a zoo.
"I'll see myself out to the principal's office. I wanted to appreciate her décolletage, anyways," Francis said. He waved to the class, which was now in a state of pandemonium, winked again, and they rose up a cheer.
Matthew pulled his hoodie down over his face and sunk in his chair.
*
The Wit Of The Staircase 9/?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 05:48 am (UTC)(link)Matthew had feared that the incident in French class would forever mark him as Cocksucking Jones, but nope. That would actually require someone remembering him. Francis had gained even more notoriety for pulling a prank on 'that one guy in French class.' Matthew still remained 'that one kid in the hoodie', and somehow people didn't connect the two.
His head had been throbbing the whole day since then. Thankfully no teachers called on him, because he probably couldn't have answered a thing. Then again, they rarely did call on him.
He was just packing up his art supplies. His teacher was out, taking a phone call. Everyone else had gone home, but he had requested to have a little more time to work on a project. It was part that, but a lot of it was how much he wanted to avoid being caught by the trio when he went out. Of course it backfired, given that Francis now knew what classes he took. Not fifteen minutes in, and his graceful shape was at the door, leaning in and watching with an enigmatic smirk. Matthew's heart raced just at the sight of him. At this point it was equal parts fear and attraction. They meshed together, each becoming stronger because of the other. Fear and want, anxiety and lust grating at his nerves and rubbing his insides raw. Francis walked in, so sure of himself. The precision, yet carelessness of his walk made Matthew want to draw him. They'd been practicing movement, these days. Some had done horses, or cats. He had just wanted to put to paper Francis moving.
"I believe this belongs to you," Francis said. He opened the notebook and flipped through the pages. A fond, yet faintly predatory grin came over him as he looked at each drawing. "If you want to draw me so badly, you're welcome to do so."
He closed the notebook and came a bit closer. Matthew stepped back from his canvas on reflex. His bag was on the floor, too far to get. He shook his head in a quick jerk.
"N-No. I was merely sketching people. I do that sometimes," Matthew said.
"Really? In this notebook, there's no one but me. Am I that good of a muse that everyone else is ignored by your watchful eye?"
"I have other notebooks," Matthew said.
"Ah, but you see, your work tells otherwise. This is the work of someone who is in love."
"I–I'm not," Matthew said. He tried to lift his chin in defiance, but the deep blush was undermining the action. Francis advanced, and Matthew took a step back. This only resulted in him being cornered with his back to a wall, with Francis leaning in towards him Francis grazed his lower lip with his thumb.
"You're a poor liar, Matthieu. I bet you're a virgin. You've probably never even been kissed, have you?" Francis chuckled and leaned closer. "....I should rectify that."
And he was so close, so close. Matthew could smell him, heady and felt his breath catch. He wanted this, wanted to be kissed and soundly deflowered so badly– Yet the image of the trio passed through his mind. Catching him at his locker, teasing him in French class, and being caught flirting, and doing more than just flirting with most every girl around. Irritation – even anger flooded up in his chest, and pressed the wanting back.
"V-va donc pétaler dans les fleurs!"
Matthew pushed him away, hard. He ran from the room, glad to not come across someone who would wonder like he was running like some teen from a horror movie when it came to him that there was no weight on his shoulder.
He'd forgotten his bag. Again.
Merde.
It wasn't like he could gack notes from Alfred. Not to mention that his house keys were in there, and he'd have to sit outside, or attempt to shimmy through some windows to get in. To say nothing of his project, which meant he'd lost another notebook – another notebook which happened to be filled with yet more sketches of one Francis Bonnefoy, making his declaration of being not a creepy, obsessed, lovesick stalker that much unbelievable. So it was that he shuffled back to his classroom, where Francis was waiting for him, looking faintly amused by it all.
The Wit Of The Staircase 10/?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 05:51 am (UTC)(link)He laughed weakly, and didn't meet Francis' gaze.
"Did you tell me to go pick flower petals?" Francis asked, his tone veering between incredulity and amusement.
Matthew nodded.
"I think I was being insulted, but I can't for the life of me figure out how."
"It wasn't an insult...it's a suggestion," Matthew muttered.
"Oh, so you were telling me casse-toi – to fuck off?"
"No, not in those rude of terms, no," Matthew said.
He took his notebook and shoved it into his bag, and threw it over his shoulder.
"You lied, by the way. This notebook is all of me, too," Francis said. He held up his other, newer notebook.
Matthew pulled it away from him and shoved it too in his bag.
"There's others at home," Matthew said.
"And am I in any of those?"
"...Some," Matthew admitted.
Francis looked pleased at this revelation.
"You're stronger than you look. I think you left bruises," Francis said. He opened his shirt, a short-sleeved white dress shirt, and examined his chest. He had a swimmer's body, leaner than Alfred. In the light, Matthew caught glimpses of hair so light that it was almost translucent across his chest and arms.
Matthew was torn between his instant reflex to apologize, and the urge to tell Francis that he deserved it for what he did in French today. Francis hummed slightly, and cut him off as he took Matthew's hand by the wrist, convinced his balled fist to open, and then placed Matthew's hand on his chest. He could feel the steady pulse of Francis' heartbeat, muscle and skin and slightly coarse hair under his touch. Francis' hand was still over his, soft, with a touch that made Matthew sure that his skin would be seared. Suddenly, he felt very hot. He knew he was blushing, although that wasn't the only place blood was flowing to.
"Isn't this what you want, Matthieu?" Francis said.
"My...My teacher will be back any minute," Matthew said, a pleading tinge entering his voice. "We could be caught–"
"So you're saying that you want to go somewhere more private, hmm?"
His Adam's apple bobbed. Oh, he wanted to lick his neck. Matthew bit his lip and tried to stifle the moan in the back of his throat. He didn't entirely succeed. All his anger had burned itself out, and all that was left was pure wanting. Here he was, touching Francis, and it felt so good that all he wanted was more.
"Don't you, Matthieu?" Francis said, his voice a hoarse, suggestive whisper. He heard the sound of footsteps, his teacher's high heels on the floors. He didn't want to draw his hand away.
"I..."
"Time is running out, Matthieu. Make your choice."
"I....yes."
"You made the right choice, Matthieu."
Matthew wasn't so sure. Francis took him by the wrist and all but dragged him out of there. He didn't even bother to do up his shirt again. He took him towards the direction of the green, well tended sports fields – fields where Alfred would be practicing, and Arthur would be watching. Somewhere that was most definitely not private.
"Um, Francis—"
"I know what I'm doing, Matthieu. Trust me."
That was really too much to ask, but Matthieu kept quiet. The halls had been mostly empty. The cheerleaders were practicing their cheers while the football team did some practicing of their own. They took a detour to the back of the bleachers. There were bits of broken glass and cigarette butts, and a yellow, used condom half buried in dirt.
"Do you think your brother could see you here, through these gaps?" Francis asked. He peeked out, to where the rest of the players were.
"Maybe? I don't know...."
Francis smiled. "Good."
Matthew opened his mouth to protest, to question, but broke off when Francis pulled him close and covered Matthew's mouth with his own.
The Wit Of The Staircase 11/?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 07:07 am (UTC)(link)He thought for a moment that Francis was just breaking for air, but he ran his hand through his hair to straighten it, and did up his shirt.
"That's enough for now," he said. "Dream about me, Matthieu. Think about me when you touch yourself. I'll be back to finish the job soon enough."
Then he winked, and left, leaving Matthew confused, wanting more, and with a damn painful case of blue balls.
*
A shower later, Matthew settled down to try and get his mind off of Francis, because the when it came to Francis, the only coherent thoughts were what the bloody hell just happened, eh? and I really, really, really wish he hadn't stopped. He tried the net, but nothing interesting was happening on the blogosphere, so he grabbed a book and settled down on the couch. Good ol' Neil Gaiman never let him down. He'd be drawn into another world in no time. It was only when there was a large slam to alert that Alfred was home that he looked up from the streets of London Below.
"Welcome back," Matthew said.
"You too. What are you reading, anyways?
"Neverwhere," Matthew said. With a plain sort of protagonist who turned invisible to the world by falling through the cracks, of course it was a hit with him. To say nothing of the sheer awesome of Neil Gaiman's world building and prose and well, everything.
"Neil Gaiman? Again? I swear, you are so gay for him, Matt. You probably have a shrine in your closet for him."
"I happen to appreciate his writing style," Matthew protested.
"I can't hear you over the sound of your utter gay fanboying over him."
Matthew pitched a pillow Al's way. It bounced off harmlessly. Stupid Al and his stupid abs of steel.
"Hey, I don't go on about your mancrush on Peyton Manning!"
"My feelings for Peyton are a pure, beautiful, and totally awesome thing. Your Neil Gaiman thing just makes you look like a stalker who needs to get laid," Alfred said.
"You have a shirtless poster of him on your wall. And I'm surprised the lips aren't gone at this rate."
"The difference is that I'm awesome, and you're not. Case closed," Alfred said.
Matthew threw another pillow at him. Alfred just laughed.
A thought struck him. Do you think he can see? And so, another worry was added to his piles. He put a bookmark in and set the book aside.
"Uh, Al... You didn't see anything yesterday, right?"
"Like what?"
"While you were practicing..."
No, if he'd seen anything, then Arthur and Alfred would be storming Francis' house right this instant. Matthew shook the worry away.
"Nothing. Forget I said anything."
"Don't be a weirdo, Matt."
"Oh, I just heard that so-and-so went out there with one of the trio make out and wondered if you'd seen," Matthew said, as casually as he could manage.
The Wit Of The Staircase 12/?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 07:10 am (UTC)(link)"No...." Matthew said. He laughed, and it sounded fake. "Why would I?"
"Good," Al said. "Otherwise I'd have to smash their faces in."
Leave it to Alfred to never notice any subtlety. Matthew had a sinking feeling. Yet another thing that separated Matthew from the rest of the teenage population was that he wasn't one for hooking up. Al had a longstanding joke that Matthew would go right up from first kiss to 'picking out wedding rings' – even if he hadn't kissed anyone, really kissed anyone before Francis. He could never quite grasp the mentality of sex for sex's sake, and always had a feeling that if he'd ever done the 'friends with benefits', he'd simply fall in love with that person. Or it'd turn into a messy drama of him being jealous, and in general killing the no strings attached thing. Of course, having friends with benefits would imply that he actually had friends. Friends besides Alfred and Arthur, anyways. And they hardly counted given that one was his brother, and the other happened to be in love with his brother.
*
He hadn't seen Francis since that day, except in passing. Francis hadn't stopped to talk to him then, being too busy flirting with a Senior. Matthew wasn't really sure what'd he'd do if he had. In fact, a part of Matthew wondered if he hadn't dreamt the whole thing up, well, up until he found two of the trio at his locker. He tried to pass them to get his things, only to find Gilbert stepping in his way.
"You need a password to pass here," Gilbert informed him. "Hint: it involves Frenchmen and sucking."
Matthew flushed. He tried to step around him, but Gilbert moved to meet him, step for step. "Go on, say it. You know you wanna." His grin was maniacal.
Calling his brother was always a last resort when it came to it. He didn't want to pansy out, and cling to his brother's coattails, but he also didn't think the odds were even. And knowing this trio, there was no telling what they'd do. Matthew squared his shoulders, and tried to look as defiant as one could when they were going crying to their big brother.
"Hello, Al–"
The phone was swiped from his grip, and he found himself looking into Francis' gaze.
"Merci," Francis said. He could still hear Alfred asking what it was as Francis turned the phone off.
Francis bent down and kissed his cheek. Matthew flushed, his whole world freezing for a moment. He leaned into the cool metal of his locker, trying to regain his equilibrium. And then, just like that, they were gone. By the next day, his cell phone had been returned to his locker with no damage to speak of. It did smell strongly of Francis' cologne, which made Matthew very curious as to what adventures his phone had been on without him. The point he couldn't exactly grasp was why the trio had ganged up on him, simply to take his phone and return it before the day was done. Then again, with the trio, who could tell? He didn't have a large address book. Alfred and Arthur were about it. It'd be easy to get either of their numbers from someone else, if that was the point.
--
Matthew, sweetie. I think you really want to wash that phone. I'M PRETTY SURE IT GOT MOLESTED.
The Wit Of The Staircase 13?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 07:22 am (UTC)(link)*
Like any good social outcast, Matthew spent his weekends lurking in the blogosphere, listening to music, and watching cable tv. Alfred generally went out on parties, and by now Matthew had a feeling that he did it solely to piss Arthur off, as it always sent Arthur into rages which he'd just have to untangle and it wasn't pretty. He always kept his phone on during the weekend, in case he had to go do the cleanup duty of picking up a drunk Al, trying to keep Arthur away from a drunken Al, and picking up milk, because no one ever remembered to get the milk in this household. He was killing time with Robot Unicorn Attack when the phone rang. He didn't even bother to look at the read out, because he knew Arthur's cell was broken.
"For the last time, Alfred, I'm not giving you the key!"
There was loud music in the background, and laughter – the kind of sneering laughter that seemed awful familiar.
"...Who is this?" Matthew said.
"Hmm, who do you think, Matthieu? Whoever could it be?"
Oh. Oh.
"Er...Hi."
"What is this 'key' you were mentioning? Your room? Your heart? Or maybe, your chastity belt? If so, would you give it to me?"
"Uh....."
Francis laughed. Matthew could hear Gilbert laughing in the background as well.
"I'm looking around and not seeing you here. Why is this?"
Because he was a pariah, and the only way he could possibly get invited was if Alfred took him along? And even if he did go with Alfred, he'd be tagging along on his big-brother's fame and tolerated at best while they did their best to ignore him? Because he'd rather go to a gallery instead of getting drunk and sleeping with strangers?
"Oh, t-that was today– I thought it was tomorrow– "
Matthew was sure he sounded completely fake, but it was better than telling Franics Bonnefoy that he wasn't there because he was a complete loser.
"Come then. There's no excuse."
"Er, what am I supposed to wear?"
"Quelle horreur . Whatever will you do? I personally you should wear a sparkly miniskirt," Francis said.
"What–"
"Oh? Do you think that Feliks might hit you for wearing the same attire? Stop being a girl. Just come as you are."
Gilbert started singing a Nirvana song in the background. Matthew had a mental image of him doing an air guitar as he did so. Matthew looked down. He had on a black teeshirt with Vampire Weekend printed on the front, and a pair of jeans. Well, it wasn't as if they were going to a black-tie event....
"Alright, I'll be right there–"
"You have magic powers which tell you where the party is located?"
"Just give me the address. I'll look it up. I rely on mapquest for all my magic powers."
"Ugh. The internet."
"The only thing Francis ever used the net for was porn. And even then he probably broke his computer by trying to use the CD-drive as a cupholder," Gilbert cut in.
"Casse-toi, Gilbert."
*
A couple made out near the doorway. Several drunk girls in short skirts and halter tops were on the dance floor, while drunken boys cheered them to take their tops off. A few stoners passed around some weed in the corner, while what appeared to be a chugging contest was taking place in the kitchen.
Antonio was making out with Lovino on the couch. Every so often, Lovino would break apart to take a few heaving breaths and swear at Antonio. This backfired, as Antiono found this adorable.
Gilbert had apparently drunk the most of them, as he was dancing in his boxers and screaming I'M FUCKING AWESOME. The boxers incidentally, were white with hearts on them.
Francis was nowhere to be seen. Matthew had a sicking feeling that he was being played with again. He lingered, looking through the corners, past the girls in halter tops and miniskirts,
Just as he made it down the hall, thinking of taking a back way out and forgetting this ever happened, someone's hand was on his wrist, and he was pulled into another room.
The Wit Of The Staircase 14?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 07:48 am (UTC)(link)"Hush. It's just me," Francis said.
"Oh, Francis. Y-you startled me."
"Je suis désolé. I thought you'd know it was me."
Matthew rubbed at his cheek. That sound of surprise had been more than a little unmanly. It was something he'd rather have not had Francis seen. Even Al, who'd tease him forever would be better than looking like a pansy. Though Francis seemed to have not noticed.
"Merde, this alcohol is disgusting. Good thing I brought something good along."
There was a mostly full bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and a pair of crystal glasses which he had a inkling were borrowed. He poured out both glasses, and beaconed. The room he'd been pulled into seemed a sort of study, with books on law and a desk. The floor was of wood, (which made him feel a bit better. If any spilled, it would be far easier than say, a white carpet.) And the rest of the colors all different shades of maroon and mahogany. He sat on the floor, across from Francis and took his wine. He tried to look more sophisticated, and not a complete wine virgin, but Arthur and Alfred were the ones who drank. He always got designated driver by default status. He took a careful sip, and tried not to cough when it burned at his senses. He considered Francis over the glass, who had already taken a few sips of his own. The light was dim, as Francis had only lit the lamp on the desk. The door, being of a heavy wood make, dulled the sound of the music from the other room.
"..you know, if you wanted my number, you could have just asked," Matthew said.
"Hmm. I could have. But what fun would that be?"
Fun for whom?
"I believe we have some unfinished business," Francis said. He leveled his gaze, fixated so completely on him that Matthew felt utterly naked. Matthew swallowed, tasting wine in his mouth. Francis too would taste of wine now, and with every kiss he'd get a little drunker.
"Relax. Have some more wine. The night is still young."
Matthew complied, drinking a bit more of the wine. He did feel more relaxed, though a certain buzzing dizziness clouded his thinking. Francis came closer, until Matthew could smell the wine off of him, mixing with his heady cologne.
"You want me, don't you, Matthieu?"
The wine kept his mind free from the agonizing pulling back, the restraint and outdated things like logic, common sense and self preservation. It was as if every thought came out unmitigated.
"..Yes. I want you."
Francis smiled. "Très bien."
Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 14?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 08:37 am (UTC)(link)You made Matt like Neil Gaiman. Neil Gaiman. NEIL. GAIMAN.
You seriously do not know how much I absolutely adore you for that little fact and everything about this.
Have my undying affection <3
Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 14?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-22 03:01 pm (UTC)(link)AND HOLY SHOT, HE WROTE GOOD OMENS WITH TERRY PRATCHETT! The book took a bit of getting through (I'm so used to Pratchett's writing alone...) but was amazing.
Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 14?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 04:41 pm (UTC)(link)Vampire weekend is such a cute band,
And yes, I'm addicted to Robot unicorn attackOooh, I'll be hopelessly awaiting your continuance ;u; I'll send my love in the meantime? <3
Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 14?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 10:50 pm (UTC)(link)Things you are awesome for:
~The bad friends trio being slightly bully~esque in their treatment of Matthew but still making them lovable, like Gilbert in heart boxers.
~Making Matthew, Arthur, Kiku, and Eduard different types of nerds that would not necessarily hang out together.
~Saying you may do a USUK parallel storyline.
~Spamano!
~Making Matthew an artist, and Francis a photographer, and incrperating their artistic pursuits well in the story.
~Naming your story this, because it has disappointed me endlessly that the English language does not have a phrase for this and I was happy to learn that French does.
~Mentioning Robot Unicorn Attack, because I was playing it right before I read this.
I know that there are more things you are awesome for but I shall try to shut up now. Know that I am here F5ing.
Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 14?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-19 12:07 am (UTC)(link)Pop Culture References: A+
(Anonymous) 2010-04-19 05:17 am (UTC)(link)Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 13?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 08:01 am (UTC)(link)But this is so amazing.... so I have to forgive you....
Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 12/?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-22 02:52 pm (UTC)(link)Just read the whole thing in one go
(Anonymous) 2010-04-18 07:39 am (UTC)(link)I also adore the Quebecois cussing. And the fact that the French teacher is like 'NOM NOM NOM'. I always laugh when French teachers get like that.
Oh my god, captcha. Really? 'lays opaquer' LOL
And because I am an idiot and didn't fill in the two words, now it says 'who classier' and I am dying of giggles all over again. Who indeed.
Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 8/?
(Anonymous) 2010-04-20 03:15 am (UTC)(link)