Matthew is Mine

The quiet motion of gears turning in the ancient hallway clock.

Somewhere overhead, a helicopter flying past.

Eyes tightly shut, stiffly writhing, Vash resisted in Ivan's grasp, low sounds of protest, muffled and forlorn against Francis' lips.

Very gently, Ivan kissed his neck, tongue trailing up toward his ear, and, biting at the cartilage shell, he whispered something very softly.

Vash's eyes went big, he tried to no avail to turn away, Liechtenstein could see that he was blushing.

Beside Taiwan, Hungary gazed forth straight-faced, entirely composed; there was something she knew.

In Ivan's grasp, Vash surrendered at last, but, as soon as Francis let go, his green eyes shot a death glare directly at Matthew.

He wasn't struggling anymore, but, tight rein on his temper, he hissed to him angrily,

“You've got some nerve, America.”

Matthew blinked.

“I'm not—”

Ivan's hand came down on his mouth.

"Right now," he whispered,"yes, you are."

Even Liechtenstein didn't correct her brother.

Ivan's lips stretched in an evil grin, “so act the part.”

Matthew blushed.

When Ivan released Vash, the boy didn't take his sister and bolt. He weakly released Liechtenstein's wrist, and, absently stroking the place where he'd grasped her, she gazed silently at him, and then at the others.

That was Canada, she would tell him at some later time.

“Let's get this over with,”

Vash murmured, eyes closed with annoyance, voice quivering with rage contained.

This, Elizabeta knew, was a matter of blackmail.

She would never have known, nobody would have known, if Roderich hadn't told her.

Late into the night, helpless and subject to the ministrations of her hand, yes, yes, we did, voice defenseless, vulnerable, curiously soft, what would you like to know.

Oh, she knew in explicit, elaborate detail about Roderich and Vash. Francis and Ivan had nothing on the extent of debauchery that once upon a time transpired there.

Certainly, Vash wouldn't want his sister to know.

“Don't screw this up, Matthew,” Ivan whispered, “go on.”

Go on?

Did Alfred and Vash—

“Curse you,”

Vash whispered, eyes closed in irritation, hands tightening into fists,

“Don't make me do this, myself.”

“Oh, God—”

Liechtenstein breathed, heart racing as she watched this unfold. Did Alfred and Big Brother—?

Alfred, you beast, Matthew thought, and, slowly rising from the couch, he took his place across from Vash, towering a good height above him.

He never was—

He never could—

Taiwan gazed from Hungary to the boys and back.

What's going on? What—?

All eyes were on Matthew as, very slowly, gently, his long fingers came against the bony angle of Vash's chin.

Too gently; that's not how Alfred would do it.

Nobody knew better than Matthew just how Alfred would do it.

He tilted the boy's chin up in his hand, grinning, actually grinning, and leaned down all at once to seize his mouth.

Vash moaned helplessly, but he didn't resist; Liechtenstein can see the whole thing, he thought, what a complete nightmare.

Why is she watching this, anyway. Curse you, damn you, America.

You like him. Don't you. Roderich would say, elegant and quiet, and Elizabeta wouldn't reply, but he wasn't mad, he wasn't upset, Yeah, he would say very softly, I like him, too.

Ivan and Francis watched with vast interest, Francis' wrists still bound behind Ivan's neck. Would you look at that.

Canada, Matthew, dominating. What a joke.

More curious still was the fact that Vash was unquestionably following suit, complacent and reserved as Matthew slowly lowered him onto the couch, naked as the day he was born as he climbed in Vash's lap,

What'll it be, Switzerland, however shall we work this out.

Taiwan pulled Liechtenstein back onto the couch, both she and Hungary afraid that she'll ruin things, try to save her brother or God knows what.

But Liechtenstein made no such attempt; her gaze turning from Matthew to her brother and back, she thought for the moment that she loved them both.

Unbeknownst to Matthew, he was far more gentle than Alfred could ever have been, and, slowly giving in, Vash blushed furiously as he thought,

Damn you, Alfred—

—you're far more delicate this time.

To be continued...