(no subject)
"Tel pere, tel fils"
Part II
Pairing: Eventual Franada
Rating: PG right now. NC17 eventually.
Warnings: Mild language, slight incest overtones
It wasn’t any secret which of his two children Francis favored. He loved them both, but Matthew held more of his heart, more of his pride. Alfred wasn’t a disappointment, but he was growing beyond his means, getting himself into ridiculous trouble with some of the Middle Eastern nations while his people suffered the after effects. God knew he tried to talk to the boy about the entire mess, but Alfred was too hard-headed to listen. Always wanting to the play the hero, that boy was, even when a hero wasn’t needed. Sometimes a hero of his calibur only clogged things up even more.
Impromptu visits weren’t usually his style. It was only polite to call ahead and request permission to visit the other party, unless the other party was Prussia, who invariable told him to fuck off whether he called first or not. But Matt stayed on his mind these days. He worried about the boy while all the other nations seemed to forget he was there, even when he was taking up a chair around the meeting table, complacent as always. What would happen if they all kept ignoring him? Would he start to fade out, as Gilbert had? Surely not - Gilbert lost his entire kingdom and became a member of Germany’s household again. That couldn’t happen to Matthew, not as strong as he was underneath that weak outer appearance. His people were happy, Francis could feel that if he tried hard enough; it was just the other nations turning a blind eye to him, likely because he had never performed some extreme act of bravado or made an ass of himself just to garner attention.
France closed the door behind himself and went to the younger nation, wrapping him in a tight hug, arms about his shoulders. Everyone -including Alfred - fought France’s hugs because they were notorious for leading into something rather unpleasant for the unsuspecting party. He did it on purpose most times, just sliding his arms around their midsections, pressing his hands flat against their backs and gradually sliding them lower until a slap or shove interrupted the process. Only Arthur tended to hang on a little longer than was necessary.
Matthew sighed against his chest, and Francis distinctly felt his shoulders sagging before the younger man pulled away and took a measured step back.
“If I had known you were coming, I would have made lunch. I wasn’t hungry myself, so I decided to skip this afternoon,” he said, bright smile sliding back in place and chasing off any worry trying to claw its way to the front of France’s mind.
“Ah, no worries. Gilbert insisted on lunch and a few drinks after this morning’s meeting. I am..how does your brother say..good to go?” The Frenchman laughed, but Matthew’s smile only twitched a fraction. “We have not had a proper moment alone for quite some time. I wanted to come and see how you have been getting along out here by yourself. I would have brought Alfred along, but he mentioned last weekend you two were planning to meet for dinner this evening. I assumed he would already be here.
“I take it you are well?”
Matthew’s house was just too big and empty. He had that little..bear-thing rolling about, but that wasn’t decent company. That too was another worry -Matthew seemed to be alone wherever he went, whether in a crowd of people or in his own home. But the boy didn’t look particularly upset this afternoon. A little tired perhaps, but that was to be expected after such a lengthy plane ride.
“Alfred’s plans seem to have changed. He’s very busy. Very important. And I’m doing just fine. Thank you for asking. I have coffee going in the kitchen, if you would like a drink.”
Francis nodded, but Matthew had already turned for the kitchen, leaving the elder to slide his shoes off by the door and trail after him a few moments later, pausing to lean against the doorframe and watch. The boy had his back to the door, methodically preparing two mugs on the kitchen counter. Somewhere between the foyer and the kitchen, he'd lost that dreadfully typical red sweatshirt, revealing an equally boring plain blue shirt. Even from behind, Francis wouldn't have been able to mistake Matthew for Alfred. Alfred had gotten a bit thick through the backside, while Matthew stayed slender despite the ridiculous amount of sugary syrup he liked to pour on his food. Even ten feet away Francis could see the edges of his shoulder blades through that shirt, subtle bumps shifting beneath the fabric as he moved. He knew how they felt, had had his arms resting there less than ten minutes ago, but there was fabric in the way, wasn't there? If he went and lifted Matthew's shirt, revealed his narrow waist and all the bony knots of his spine, straight up to where his back broadened, and touched, what would those edges feel like under his fingers? Would he even make it up past the soft dip there at his lower back, the spot where he knew he'd find the lightest grossing of golden hair, right above the edge of Matthew's jeans?
By the time Matt turned and handed over the steaming cup, Francis' mouth had gone quite dry, and he very nearly burned the roof of his mouth with his first drink. The other nation stayed leaning against the counter, cradling his drink in both hands, eyes turned towards the floor. Had he even noticed? What would he have done if he caught Francis staring at him like that, the same way he stared at pretty things in the bars at night? Probably not a damn thing, Francis realized a bit sadly. Matthew was heartbreakingly beautiful, but apparently hadn't realized this himself. The elder nation certainly had, and Matthew's voice and that word he uttered drove Francis' heart into his throat.
"Papa...about..about Alfred.."
Part II
Pairing: Eventual Franada
Rating: PG right now. NC17 eventually.
Warnings: Mild language, slight incest overtones
It wasn’t any secret which of his two children Francis favored. He loved them both, but Matthew held more of his heart, more of his pride. Alfred wasn’t a disappointment, but he was growing beyond his means, getting himself into ridiculous trouble with some of the Middle Eastern nations while his people suffered the after effects. God knew he tried to talk to the boy about the entire mess, but Alfred was too hard-headed to listen. Always wanting to the play the hero, that boy was, even when a hero wasn’t needed. Sometimes a hero of his calibur only clogged things up even more.
Impromptu visits weren’t usually his style. It was only polite to call ahead and request permission to visit the other party, unless the other party was Prussia, who invariable told him to fuck off whether he called first or not. But Matt stayed on his mind these days. He worried about the boy while all the other nations seemed to forget he was there, even when he was taking up a chair around the meeting table, complacent as always. What would happen if they all kept ignoring him? Would he start to fade out, as Gilbert had? Surely not - Gilbert lost his entire kingdom and became a member of Germany’s household again. That couldn’t happen to Matthew, not as strong as he was underneath that weak outer appearance. His people were happy, Francis could feel that if he tried hard enough; it was just the other nations turning a blind eye to him, likely because he had never performed some extreme act of bravado or made an ass of himself just to garner attention.
France closed the door behind himself and went to the younger nation, wrapping him in a tight hug, arms about his shoulders. Everyone -including Alfred - fought France’s hugs because they were notorious for leading into something rather unpleasant for the unsuspecting party. He did it on purpose most times, just sliding his arms around their midsections, pressing his hands flat against their backs and gradually sliding them lower until a slap or shove interrupted the process. Only Arthur tended to hang on a little longer than was necessary.
Matthew sighed against his chest, and Francis distinctly felt his shoulders sagging before the younger man pulled away and took a measured step back.
“If I had known you were coming, I would have made lunch. I wasn’t hungry myself, so I decided to skip this afternoon,” he said, bright smile sliding back in place and chasing off any worry trying to claw its way to the front of France’s mind.
“Ah, no worries. Gilbert insisted on lunch and a few drinks after this morning’s meeting. I am..how does your brother say..good to go?” The Frenchman laughed, but Matthew’s smile only twitched a fraction. “We have not had a proper moment alone for quite some time. I wanted to come and see how you have been getting along out here by yourself. I would have brought Alfred along, but he mentioned last weekend you two were planning to meet for dinner this evening. I assumed he would already be here.
“I take it you are well?”
Matthew’s house was just too big and empty. He had that little..bear-thing rolling about, but that wasn’t decent company. That too was another worry -Matthew seemed to be alone wherever he went, whether in a crowd of people or in his own home. But the boy didn’t look particularly upset this afternoon. A little tired perhaps, but that was to be expected after such a lengthy plane ride.
“Alfred’s plans seem to have changed. He’s very busy. Very important. And I’m doing just fine. Thank you for asking. I have coffee going in the kitchen, if you would like a drink.”
Francis nodded, but Matthew had already turned for the kitchen, leaving the elder to slide his shoes off by the door and trail after him a few moments later, pausing to lean against the doorframe and watch. The boy had his back to the door, methodically preparing two mugs on the kitchen counter. Somewhere between the foyer and the kitchen, he'd lost that dreadfully typical red sweatshirt, revealing an equally boring plain blue shirt. Even from behind, Francis wouldn't have been able to mistake Matthew for Alfred. Alfred had gotten a bit thick through the backside, while Matthew stayed slender despite the ridiculous amount of sugary syrup he liked to pour on his food. Even ten feet away Francis could see the edges of his shoulder blades through that shirt, subtle bumps shifting beneath the fabric as he moved. He knew how they felt, had had his arms resting there less than ten minutes ago, but there was fabric in the way, wasn't there? If he went and lifted Matthew's shirt, revealed his narrow waist and all the bony knots of his spine, straight up to where his back broadened, and touched, what would those edges feel like under his fingers? Would he even make it up past the soft dip there at his lower back, the spot where he knew he'd find the lightest grossing of golden hair, right above the edge of Matthew's jeans?
By the time Matt turned and handed over the steaming cup, Francis' mouth had gone quite dry, and he very nearly burned the roof of his mouth with his first drink. The other nation stayed leaning against the counter, cradling his drink in both hands, eyes turned towards the floor. Had he even noticed? What would he have done if he caught Francis staring at him like that, the same way he stared at pretty things in the bars at night? Probably not a damn thing, Francis realized a bit sadly. Matthew was heartbreakingly beautiful, but apparently hadn't realized this himself. The elder nation certainly had, and Matthew's voice and that word he uttered drove Francis' heart into his throat.
"Papa...about..about Alfred.."