Ye Olde Kink meme?
Re-reading old Canada/America Hetalia works from the kinkmeme age. Found one of my requests that had a full started but never finished. Just posting here under a cut to have the beautiful thing saved in one place.
Request was: Matthew and Alfred Williams-Jones are twin brothers attending Gakuen Academy. Al is the school`s golden boy, while quieter Matt tends to be ignored when not on the ice with the hockey team. Neither has ever managed to have a serious relationship, until one night in their room, Matthew figures something out... Cue start of Incestuous Relationship!
Obviously incest is taboo, so they have to keep this a secret from everyone. Maybe they even try to quit but can`t? But somehow, someone finds out and spills the beans. Rumours spread like wildfire and their lives start to unravel rapidly from there. Resolution is up to anon, but OP does like her angst with a happy ending.
I have seen other AU incest fics with different plots. But something that`s very important to me in this one is that MATTHEW is the one who initiates the relationship, and who tops. (He should also be the older twin, should that come up.)
Optional Plot Bunnies:
1. Arthur is the one who tells, because he wants Alfred for himself. (NOTE: In Gakuen, Francis and Arthur are NOT the twin`s parents or older brothers, but upperclassmen at school.)
2. Kiku is the only friend of Alfred`s who doesn`t abandon him. (As a few years back, Al was the one who helped Kiku recover from his depression and self-imposed isolation, so he`s loyal to Al even if he doesn`t approve per se.)
3. Someone (Arthur, Bad Friends?) tries to force sex out of Al because of the rumours. Something like “You`re such a slut that you`ll even sleep with your own brother, why not me?” (Anon sees Al as actually getting worse than Matt because of his previous high status at the school.)
They Said To Stop
It's probably love, love is definitely right.
But why does it hurt, and why do tears await us?
Unaware of how I am, they tell me not to start,
They tell me you will not come to me.
Unaware of my heart, they tell me not to love,
They tell me that I cannot have you.
Alfred once complained Matthew’s gaze was too intense; Matthew nearly forgot until he catches himself staring, and even now it’s too late for Francis has already called him out. So Matthew leans against the bleachers and shoots a coy smile back at Francis, shrugging his shoulders carelessly as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Yeah,” he says in response to the question just asked. “Alfred is fairly popular.”
At that Francis snorts. Sprawled as he is on the bench behind Matthew, he has to shade his eyes to look down at the field - squinting as he watches the football team run laps. “An understatement, naturally. What honour did the yearbook committee bestow upon him last year? Most likely to break hearts?”
“Sounds about right,” laughs Matthew in reply, filing his papers away and lengthening his body into a stretch. When he finishes he settles comfortably against Francis, whose eyes are still trained on the field. “I thought you were going to help me with my composition, but obviously you just wanted to ogle the cheerleaders.”
Francis is quick to grin, lazily lifting his hand to ruffle Matthew’s hair. “C’est vrai,” he drawls, fingers lingering on Matthew’s lone looping curl. “Youth is to be enjoyed! You cannot waste it writing French compositions, unless of course you are writing an ode to our school’s cheerleaders. In which case, I would be more than happy to assist.”
“I’ll email it to you tonight,” replies Matthew with a shake of his head. Stuffing his books away, he stands and hoists his knapsack onto his shoulders.
Goodbyes exchanged, Matthew leaves Francis lolling on the bleachers and makes his way back down toward the school. Matthew pauses only briefly - tries to catch Alfred’s eye as he runs past, but if his brother notices, he keeps his eyes resolutely trained on the field.
Still, Matthew has a sense of satisfaction when the coach yells, “concentrate Jones!” a minute later.
-------
Strange, how one sexually awakens - that one day you’re suddenly noticing the pleasing pitch of another’s voice, eyes thirsting to drink them in. Matthew was never conscious of this desire until he came home one afternoon and found Alfred sprawled across his bed, naked and half-erect.
“I couldn’t do it,” Alfred laughs, hiding his eyes with the back of his arm. “I thought it would make me an adult, y’know? But I couldn’t get it up for her, not when I thought about it. You shouldn’t treat people like that. Use them.”
And through the babble, Matthew unravels the whole story. About the college girl Alfred had met downtown, the one his friends dared him into asking out. How he’d skipped off English for the past week to meet her, pretending he knew more than he did about sex. Brought her all the way back to his room and only once they were naked realized he was too terrified to actually go through with it.
Matthew dumps his knapsack by his own bed. Sits across from his brother and finds himself admiring the profile of Alfred’s sprawled form.
“You should never have gone along with their dare in the first place,” he points out. “Wasn’t that the first clue you weren’t being mature?”
Alfred gives a quiet snort, peeks out at Matthew and rolls his eyes. “You’re only ten minutes older and not exactly an expert on social pressures,” he reminds, “but thanks for the lecture.” Then Alfred shifts, flushing as if he’s suddenly become aware of himself. “Quit staring,” he complains before scrambling to pick up his clothes, pulling them on without saying another word.
Embarrassed, Matthew pretends he wasn’t just thinking how nice Alfred’s ass is.
-------
Despite being twins, they’ve never kept to the same circle of friends. Perhaps its because their personalities are so different. Alfred likes attention, thrives on people noticing him and isn’t afraid to put himself out there. He’d quickly joined a half-dozen clubs their first year of high school, finally narrowing his commitments down to the football and baseball teams. Matthew reckons - rightly so - that everyone in their school knows the name “Alfred Jones”.
Matthew on the other hand has been slow to make friends. Oh there are many people he knows: upperclassmen like Ludwig and Ivan from the hockey team. Francis also quickly took him in when their French teacher recommended Matthew get an upperclassman for a tutor. But Matthew doesn’t see them much outside of school, not like Alfred who spends weekends hanging out at friends’ houses.
And wasn’t that where the trouble started? If he’d socialized more, interacted with his classmates (Ivan’s sister was his age, a cute but shy girl who sat behind him in French class) than maybe there wouldn’t be a story to tell now.
-------
Even when he’s nervous, Alfred is a horrible tease.
Matthew can hardly bear it anymore when Alfred presses kiss-swollen lips to his ear, laughter warm against the ear canal. “Hey, do you want to fuck me?”
And it’s always like this. Matthew waits for the invitation, the one that inevitably comes when he’s trapped Alfred against the bed and the wall. When kissing is no longer enough to satisfy them, but Matthew is too scared to act lest Alfred say no.
Funny how fear of it ending renders him motionless, when he was the one to begin everything.
-------
Matthew has never been entirely comfortable around Arthur. The older boy is friendly enough, but Matthew is always left with the impression there’s something Arthur doesn’t quite like about him. When he told Alfred, his brother had laughed and said he was too self-conscious. That’s Alfred’s reply to everything: “Matt, you’re too self-conscious.”
Francis is sprawled out on the bleachers again, attentive to the field. Today Matthew doesn’t let his attention wander, focuses instead on his composition; or more precisely, the red corrections Francis has marked across it. Beside him on the bench sits Arthur, fanning himself with the poems he’d been working on moments earlier.
“I can’t believe you dragged me all the way out here,” he snaps at Francis, shooting a glare his classmate’s way. “Just so you can ogle the cheerleaders!”
“Mon ami, there is sufficient eye candy for you too or else I would never have suggested you join us.”
Arthur splutters, indignant, a furious blush spread across his cheeks. He’s about to retort when Matthew gives a cough, trying to politely interrupt them. Francis seems happy enough for the distraction. He devotes so much time to Matthew’s question, Arthur leaves them in a huff - the bleachers trembling as he stalks past.
-----
Alfred’s favourite booth isn’t tucked in a corner of the restaurant. It’s right in the middle, amongst all the chaos of the local McDonalds. He practically has to drag his brother there, using guilt tactics to remind Matthew this is the only time they’ll see each other after classes this week, and every week after.
And it’s the same deal every Thursday: a large cola, a large fries, and two double cheeseburgers. Matthew dutifully picks the pickles off his patty and leaves them for Alfred, wiping his hands on a napkin so he doesn’t have to taste dill. And there’s a routine to the motion. Alfred laughs and jokes about that one time Matthew ate too many dill chips, and Matthew kicks him under the table, reminding Alfred fast-food doesn’t stay hot long and shouldn’t he be eating the burger he insisted on having?
Alfred can’t tell his brother how much he loves this hour they spend together each week, but he feels like Matthew knows. They’ve been coming here since middle school, when their combined five-dollar allowance was enough to purchase a shared meal. The owner knows Alfred now, even offered him a job when school let’s out next summer. He certainly knows the menu by heart.
And it’s an unwritten rule that when someone from school approaches their table, undoubtedly seeking Alfred out, he smiles and politely declines to speak with them.
“Not now, I’m hanging out with my brother.”
-------
They’re too old to be sharing a room, that’s what Matthew says one summer. He’s already talked with their parents - plans to move his bed down to the basement. And Alfred sits stunned for a minute, staring first at his brother, then at the wall behind him; sweeps his eye up along the wallpaper border, the one with spaceships and aliens that Alfred had picked out when they were children.
“No.” Alfred is adamant, adamant, Matthew stay upstairs with him. It’s too cold in the basement, and the mould will bother Matthew’s sinuses. There isn’t even a proper fire escape, and while Alfred would risk anything for his brother in the event of disaster, isn’t it easier to just keep living upstairs?
“I’m not scared of the basement,” points out Matthew, as if insinuating Alfred is (and he isn’t, hasn’t been since he was ten). “I just thought maybe you’d like your own space.”
“But this will always be our space, whether you sleep here or not.”
The words seem to have the effect Alfred wants. Matthew sighs and gives him a perplexed look, than nods and agrees to stay.
-------
Maybe it’s cabin fever, but as winter drags on Alfred can’t hold in his need to see Matthew past lunch hour. There’s something desperate that begins clawing at him during second period, and before he realizes it he’s ditched his friends, setting off through the maze of hallways to find his brother.
And he feels better when they’re tucked together in the corner of a forgotten stairwell, pressed so tight he can feel the heat of Matthew’s body through his varsity jacket.
“Someone’s bound to notice if you act strange,” Matthew says in a low voice, so quiet Alfred can barely hear him. He’s paranoid about cameras and microphones, about students lingering on the upper level eavesdropping.
“I never see you anymore, not since you entered the advanced stream. I don’t see why it matters.”
And he honestly doesn’t, because it’s not like they do anything but touch. Shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, sometimes heads knocking together when Matthew leans against him, exasperated. Surely other siblings do the same, Alfred thinks. Even before this all began, it wasn’t so unusual to spend a lunch hour together.
Things have just become more impulsive, is all.
------
Alfred can’t remember a time when he wasn’t the most outspoken kid in class. People have always been drawn to him, mimicking his actions and unconsciously assuming his manner of speech. Perhaps that’s why they’d railed against him so hard, that year Kiku became his best friend.
Kiku was quiet, like Matthew but not. Sullen is the word that still comes to mind, recalling how Kiku shut himself off from the entire school.
Then one day, one week, one month he hadn’t attended class. Alfred had asked the teacher if he couldn’t take Kiku his homework assignments, find out what was wrong. She’d been reluctant at first but finally relented. And so, clutching an address and a ridiculous amount of self-confidence, Alfred properly introduced himself to Kiku.
It didn’t go so well, at first. But he got use to the doors shut in his face; began to talk right through them. Once he discovered Kiku liked videogames, things began to improve. Soon they were having quite lively debates, which admittedly was Kiku interrupting Alfred’s long, winding monologues with a rebuttal or two, but was progress nevertheless.
Kiku returned to school a month later. Somehow, he worked hard enough to stay in Alfred’s grade, perhaps motivated to stick by the one person who had proven loyal.
It was a long time until everything was fine, but Alfred felt just being there made the situation better.
-------
It is Alfred’s firm belief that no one knows Matthew better than he does. They can’t possibly, because they’ll never understand what it’s like to be connected so intimately with your other half.
And that’s what Matthew is, the ‘yin to his yang’ as Kiku so eloquently puts it.
Yet Alfred hates how they have to hide everything. Hates that when Matthew fucks him, he has to suppress his screams with a mouthful of pillow. It’s not even like their parents are home - but they’re both paranoid the neighbours in the semi-detached next door will hear them.
Alfred revels in it all the same. Demands Matthew draw it out, slow and teasing, just to prolong the sensation of fitting together so perfectly.
They still sleep together at night. Not just the nights Alfred watches horror movies at Kiku’s, either. Their parents don’t care, if they notice at all. Sure it’s a little juvenile and the bed seems smaller than it use to, but Alfred doesn’t mind how Matthew wraps their bodies together, so they don’t fall out in the middle of the night.
------
Popular opinion says Arthur Kirkland has a stick up his ass.
Or at least it does after Alfred yells it in the middle of a hallway, during lunch hour no less.
It isn’t like Alfred has anything against the other boy; he just comes off as a little overbearing. And one day, he’d had enough and told Arthur so.
Things have been awkward since then. Are still awkward, and Alfred cannot believe he’s the only person - the only person in his entire school! - stuck with detention today.
Which Arthur just happens to be administering, as head of the student council.
(He wonders idly if it isn’t a conspiracy against him; if the others aren’t off in another room somewhere, having detention without him.)
“I’m suppose to meet Mattie at Mickey D’s today,” Alfred groans into his desk, face planted against the cold, smooth surface in despair.
“You shouldn’t fall asleep in class then. Third time this week! What on earth are you doing, staying up all night?” Arthur sets his book down, nails Alfred with an accusatory glare.
“Worshipping your giant eyebrows,” Alfred shoots back defensively - only to immediately regret it. He isn’t blind to how Arthur raises a hand, lets it hover self-consciously near his temple before abruptly changing course, as if he were going to scratch behind his ear the entire time.
“You’re meeting Matthew, right?” Arthur asks when the awkward moment has passed. Alfred nods his head in reply, too dejected and now too guilty to attempt speech again. “If anyone asks, I was feeling ill and let you off early.” There’s a sigh as Arthur unclasps the buckles of his messenger bag, stuffing his book inside. He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “The things I do …”
Alfred perks up. “Really?
“I know you well enough to know you would never lie about a date with your brother,” replies Arthur dryly, sliding his bag onto his shoulder and waiting expectantly for Alfred to do the same.
Alfred’s barely listening anymore, hastily grabbing his jacket and knapsack. He’s halfway up the stairs before he thinks to turn, grinning back at Arthur. “You’re awesome, just so you know.”
“Then you can write an ode to my benevolent superiority in detention tomorrow. Now get out of my sight.”
Alfred doesn’t have to be told twice. And when he bounds into the restaurant fifteen minutes later, Matthew is still waiting for him, homework spread over the tabletop of their booth. He smiles when he sees Alfred, and it makes Alfred’s heart leap just a little, knowing Matthew is happy to see him.
He slides into the booth across from his brother, barely able to contain the grin splitting his face.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.”
---
Matthew isn’t known for taking decisive action - he prefers the more subtle forms of expression, the type that once led to him gluing all Alfred’s plastic green army men to the floor. It ends in the same amount of trouble, but it draws less attention.
So when it happens, no one is more surprised than Matthew.
“Matt,” Alfred says, sounding remarkably calm considering his brother just tried to suck his face off. “What was that?”
“I, I don’t know,” admits Matthew, both infuriated and frustrated with himself. He does know of course, but would deny until death that he’s dreamt about kissing Alfred.
“I have to go out,” he hears himself saying suddenly, recoiling from where he’d all but shoved Alfred into the wall. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“It’s midnight!” Alfred points out, an odd panic rising in his voice. Matthew has never heard it before, and is galled to know he’s the cause of it. “Where are you going?” Alfred repeats when Matthew is unresponsive, pulling on yesterday’s jeans and fumbling to find his hoody in the laundry basket.
“I’ll crash somewhere.”
“You don’t know anyone to crash with.”
“Well sorry!” Matthew finds himself snapping, “We’re not all blessed with an endless supply of friends!” He pretends he doesn’t see the hurt look on Alfred’s face. It’s gone a minute later anyhow; Alfred is never anything less than perfectly happy. Perfectly normal.
The cold air hits Matthew like a reality check. He huddles into his jacket and walks with purpose down the street, pretending he has somewhere to go in case Alfred is watching from the bedroom window.
In the end he spends the night at a twenty-four hour coffee shop. Orders coffee after coffee just to keep himself awake.
Awake so he can punish himself, recalling how excited that kiss made him feel.
-------
That autumn, Matthew agrees to attend the homecoming game for the first time. He sits squished in between Francis and Arthur up at the top of the bleachers, wearing one of Alfred’s school jerseys and ball cap, just another body in the sea of blue and white.
Growing up with Alfred, it’s inevitable Matthew knows the rules. As such he spends the majority of the game explaining them to Arthur - not that he minds much, especially since they’re inevitably losing by a score of 28-0 in the fourth.
But Matthew enjoys himself nonetheless; smiles at those glimpses of Alfred trying to boost team morale. Alfred is the best their school has had in a long time, but it hasn’t been enough to turn the school’s fortunes around. And while Alfred pretends he can take the pressure of carrying the team on his shoulders, Matthew knows better. Even Alfred is struggling these days, though admittedly, Matthew hasn’t helped his focus much by showing up to each practice.
They won’t see each other after the game. There are certain conventions Alfred has to keep, and as the star player the dance committee is relying on his charisma to draw crowds to the gymnasium. But Alfred has promised to sneak out as early as possible. Whispered it against Matthew’s lips that very morning.
And Alfred is never one to break promises.
-------
At some point during the night Matthew must fall asleep, the groves of the table imprinting on his left cheek. He rubs at the indents scattered across his skin as he pushes upward, taking in the bustling coffee shop around him.
Taking in Alfred calmly sitting across from him, picking the raisins out of a donut.
“Oh god,” Matthew groans and slouches back down, pressing his forehead to the edge of the table and hoping that if he shuts his eyes tight enough, Alfred will disappear. Instead Alfred steps on his foot, shoving the donut across the table like a peace offering.
Like Alfred’s the one who should be apologizing.
“Mom and Dad are freaking out, y’know.”
Matthew nudges the pile of raisins away, picking at the remnants of the donut. Alfred’s expression is neutral but his hand darts forward, their fingers brushing, as Alfred grabs a raisin and pops it into his mouth.
“Had them call the school, so we’re free to play hokey today.”
Matthew can’t even give Alfred a reply, just nods weakly.
------
Alfred’s a good kid, but he always finds trouble. That’s what the teachers say, shaking their heads with a mixture of amusement and regret. Always has to play the hero, no matter how many times he is punished for it.
The rumours began in the first class after lunch - that in the cafeteria, Alfred defended a girl from the terrifying Ivan Braginsky. But the story morphs and soon the whispers talk about how it was really a gang from the high school a district over and that Alfred is sporting a black eye.
Matthew worries all through history and then all through the detention period, camped out in front of Alfred’s locker. He watches the shuffle of feet curve around him until finally the halls are silent and Alfred trudges up the stairs from the first floor, grinning sheepishly as he waggles a hand hello.
There’s no black eye, just a bandage peaking out from under Alfred’s bangs.
“I’m checking under it when we get home,” threatens Matthew, hoisting himself up and stepping aside as Alfred spins open his lock. The locker door clangs loudly against its neighbour; Alfred grins.
“You worried all afternoon, right?”
“They said you- oh never mind,” huffs Matthew, curling his arms around his torso. “Was it Ivan?”
“You know how we get,” replies Alfred with a shrug, throwing a textbook into the back of the locker and rooting for his jacket. He waves a hand flippantly back at Matthew, quoting: “You are quite an idiot, friend, da?. I couldn’t just let a comment like that slip, him calling me a friend.”
“Right.”
“Right.” Alfred slams the locker shut and smiles brightly at Matthew, “I knew you’d see it my way.” Then quickly, before Matthew can react, Alfred leans over and presses his lips to the corner of Matthew’s mouth. “Buy me a cola?”
“Alfred!” Matthew hisses but Alfred waves him off with a laugh, grabbing Matthew’s bag and dragging him down the hall.
Neither of them sees Francis staring at them from the door of the neighbouring classroom.
-------
A sticky note on the refrigerator says Matthew’s favourite corned beef sandwiches are inside. Matthew fingers it absently, stalling.
“I don’t mind, you know,” Alfred says from his perch at the counter, feet twisting around the legs of the stool. “If this is what you want.”
“Alfred -” Matthew starts as he clenches a fist, worrying his bottom lip and turning to meet his brother’s eyes. “Don’t do this.”
“I’ve thought about this a lot,” continues Alfred, plowing on like he hasn’t heard Matthew at all. “We can make this work.”
Matthew grits his teeth. “This. Can’t. Work.”
There’s a pause, and Alfred stares at Matthew, appraising. And Matthew wills himself to look stern and unyielding, not tired and hopeless like he’s really feeling.
Alfred raises an eyebrow and cracks a smile. “Pass me a sandwich, love.”
It’s hard to decide which desire is greater: wanting to punch Alfred, or wanting to hug him in relief.
Alfred loves hockey season - loves how Matthew lets all the barriers fall on the ice rink, confident and aggressive, completely sure of his moves. Alfred feels like a part of him lives on through Matthew’s time on the rink. All those long hours spent as children, plastic sticks and a rubber ball, aiming at a square they chalked onto the garage door.
Kiku shuffles in the stands next to Alfred, hunching down into his coat and stuffing his hands inside the pockets. Hockey doesn’t interest Kiku, but Alfred supposes his enthusiasm must be infectious. When he’d proudly proclaimed he was attending Matthew’s first game of the season, Kiku had just smiled in that slight way of his, inclining his head and nodding - following Alfred straight to their current seats.
“Your brother is a different person on ice,” comments Kiku quietly, eyes scanning the players as they line up. Matthew is talking with a teammate Alfred recognizes as Ludwig. Their heads are bent together, eyes masked under the visors’ glare.
“This is Matt at his best,” confides Alfred with a wicked grin.
-------
“Your feet stink,” is the first intelligible sentence Alfred strings together upon waking. It earns him a kick to the shoulder; when he looks up, Matthew is glaring at him. Okay, more like narrowing his eyes in a suspect manner but Alfred gets the point. “Kiss?” Alfred asks cheekily.
“Not until you brush your teeth,” grumbles Matthew, tapping the pen in his hand impatiently. It’s then that Alfred notices the pile of textbooks weighing down the covers, the notebook perched against Matthew’s knees. Curled between Alfred and the wall, Matthew has already tugged on his favourite hoodie and grabbed Pop Tarts from the kitchen.
Alfred flips open one of the books, making a face. “Why’re you so hung up on learning French? Everyone knows English will be the universal language.”
“I think it’s nice.” Matthew gives Alfred another shove with his foot. And ah - Alfred knows that face, too. “Anyway, why should other cultures forget where they came from?” Matthew continues hastily, trying to cover up his embarrassment. “I think it’s amazing that some people are bilingual. I wouldn’t mind studying French at college.”
College is something they haven’t talked about, and the word gives Alfred pause. But then he plows on mercilessly, “if you start eating snails and dressing in skinny jeans or flowered shirts, I disown you, Francophile. Although,” Alfred adds thoughtfully, grinning as he jumps up from the bed and heads for the bathroom, “the skinny jeans could be really hot.”
Behind him, Matthew chirps, “Mon frère, je t’aime,” in a tone that sounds more sarcastic than affectionate.
-------
If anyone minds Alfred’s presence in the change-room, they don’t comment. Ludwig gives him a curt nod, and Ivan smiles widely. “You have come to join the team, finally?” he calls as Alfred passes, laughing when Alfred yells back “not while you’re here, Braginsky.”
All of it is familiar. Even the ridiculously pleased expression on Matthew’s face - like he expects Alfred to just forget about him one day, going home after the game without a second thought.
“You came,” he says in disbelief when Alfred works his way over. “I thought you didn’t care about hockey.”
“I don’t care about hockey,” Alfred counters, barely hiding his suggestive tone and grinning as Matthew’s cheeks flush. No one notices in the clamour of the locker room. Sliding onto the bench, Alfred begins fishing around for Matthew’s equipment. “Going out with the team?”
“Depends.” Matthew leans over, his untied shoe perched beside Alfred. “Something better might have shown up,” he says, so quiet Alfred would miss it if he wasn’t listening for the cue. “Kiku left?” Matthew asks casually as ties his laces.
“Yao dragged him off somewhere, yeah.”
Matthew’s silence thereafter is what makes Alfred shiver in anticipation.
-------
At first, even Alfred is inclined to believe he’s being ridiculous. But as Christmas draws nearer and Matthew spends an increasingly large amount of time with Francis, he starts to wonder.
And really, he can’t help but sulk as Matthew frets about what tie he’ll wear to brunch at the Bonnefoy’s. After church, of all things.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Matthew frowns as his tie pulls into a crooked knot. “Francis’ parents apparently like me and I’m not going to pass up an opportunity to practice conversational dialogue. Besides which, they’re amazing cooks.”
“French class has ruined you. Next you’ll say we can’t have Mickey D’s anymore because it’s not pâté.”
To Alfred’s despair, Matthew is so intent on taming his curl that he doesn’t even roll his eyes. It’s an annoyance Alfred carries with him the rest of the day, even when guys from the team surround him at the weekly Sunday Football meet up.
-------
Tomorrow Alfred will tell his friends about the greatest blowjob he’s ever had. It won’t be a lie, not really. Matthew gives amazing head, and never leaves Alfred anything less than satisfied.
But he won’t tell his friends about how Matthew spreads him open; neglects to mention that he loves the feel of Matthew filling him, the tangle of bodies and the soft grunts in his ear. There’s something reckless about how they fuck now. It’s no longer confined to a single bed in an empty house (easy in, easy out); they’ve grown bold.
Whenever Alfred sees their parents sitting on the couch, he wonders if they cleaned it well enough. That smudge on the fridge he spots over dinner … is it from earlier, when they jerked off after stumbling in from school? It was all they could do before to keep on top of the laundry, but now soiled sheets and grubby pants seem to be stockpiling in the corner of the bedroom at an alarming rate.
If Matthew shares his brother’s fears, he never says.
They just keep stumbling forward, like the blind leading the blind.
-------
Kiku finds the first note. The small beige envelope falls to the ground when Alfred swings open his locker, rushing to jam his textbooks inside. Its mystery writer has scratched Alfred’s name across the front in pencil, but otherwise the letter is sparse.
“I know?” Alfred holds the paper up to the light, frowning. “Vague.”
“Perhaps there is another letter,” comments Kiku insightfully. But Alfred hasn’t received another envelope - at least, not that he can see amongst the mess of papers crammed into his locker.
With a shrug, Alfred stuffs the paper into his pocket, forgetting it instantly. “I’m going to see Matthew’s game, wanna come?”
Aaaaand that's as far as it went so far as I can find. My heart~!
Request was: Matthew and Alfred Williams-Jones are twin brothers attending Gakuen Academy. Al is the school`s golden boy, while quieter Matt tends to be ignored when not on the ice with the hockey team. Neither has ever managed to have a serious relationship, until one night in their room, Matthew figures something out... Cue start of Incestuous Relationship!
Obviously incest is taboo, so they have to keep this a secret from everyone. Maybe they even try to quit but can`t? But somehow, someone finds out and spills the beans. Rumours spread like wildfire and their lives start to unravel rapidly from there. Resolution is up to anon, but OP does like her angst with a happy ending.
I have seen other AU incest fics with different plots. But something that`s very important to me in this one is that MATTHEW is the one who initiates the relationship, and who tops. (He should also be the older twin, should that come up.)
Optional Plot Bunnies:
1. Arthur is the one who tells, because he wants Alfred for himself. (NOTE: In Gakuen, Francis and Arthur are NOT the twin`s parents or older brothers, but upperclassmen at school.)
2. Kiku is the only friend of Alfred`s who doesn`t abandon him. (As a few years back, Al was the one who helped Kiku recover from his depression and self-imposed isolation, so he`s loyal to Al even if he doesn`t approve per se.)
3. Someone (Arthur, Bad Friends?) tries to force sex out of Al because of the rumours. Something like “You`re such a slut that you`ll even sleep with your own brother, why not me?” (Anon sees Al as actually getting worse than Matt because of his previous high status at the school.)
They Said To Stop
It's probably love, love is definitely right.
But why does it hurt, and why do tears await us?
Unaware of how I am, they tell me not to start,
They tell me you will not come to me.
Unaware of my heart, they tell me not to love,
They tell me that I cannot have you.
Alfred once complained Matthew’s gaze was too intense; Matthew nearly forgot until he catches himself staring, and even now it’s too late for Francis has already called him out. So Matthew leans against the bleachers and shoots a coy smile back at Francis, shrugging his shoulders carelessly as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Yeah,” he says in response to the question just asked. “Alfred is fairly popular.”
At that Francis snorts. Sprawled as he is on the bench behind Matthew, he has to shade his eyes to look down at the field - squinting as he watches the football team run laps. “An understatement, naturally. What honour did the yearbook committee bestow upon him last year? Most likely to break hearts?”
“Sounds about right,” laughs Matthew in reply, filing his papers away and lengthening his body into a stretch. When he finishes he settles comfortably against Francis, whose eyes are still trained on the field. “I thought you were going to help me with my composition, but obviously you just wanted to ogle the cheerleaders.”
Francis is quick to grin, lazily lifting his hand to ruffle Matthew’s hair. “C’est vrai,” he drawls, fingers lingering on Matthew’s lone looping curl. “Youth is to be enjoyed! You cannot waste it writing French compositions, unless of course you are writing an ode to our school’s cheerleaders. In which case, I would be more than happy to assist.”
“I’ll email it to you tonight,” replies Matthew with a shake of his head. Stuffing his books away, he stands and hoists his knapsack onto his shoulders.
Goodbyes exchanged, Matthew leaves Francis lolling on the bleachers and makes his way back down toward the school. Matthew pauses only briefly - tries to catch Alfred’s eye as he runs past, but if his brother notices, he keeps his eyes resolutely trained on the field.
Still, Matthew has a sense of satisfaction when the coach yells, “concentrate Jones!” a minute later.
-------
Strange, how one sexually awakens - that one day you’re suddenly noticing the pleasing pitch of another’s voice, eyes thirsting to drink them in. Matthew was never conscious of this desire until he came home one afternoon and found Alfred sprawled across his bed, naked and half-erect.
“I couldn’t do it,” Alfred laughs, hiding his eyes with the back of his arm. “I thought it would make me an adult, y’know? But I couldn’t get it up for her, not when I thought about it. You shouldn’t treat people like that. Use them.”
And through the babble, Matthew unravels the whole story. About the college girl Alfred had met downtown, the one his friends dared him into asking out. How he’d skipped off English for the past week to meet her, pretending he knew more than he did about sex. Brought her all the way back to his room and only once they were naked realized he was too terrified to actually go through with it.
Matthew dumps his knapsack by his own bed. Sits across from his brother and finds himself admiring the profile of Alfred’s sprawled form.
“You should never have gone along with their dare in the first place,” he points out. “Wasn’t that the first clue you weren’t being mature?”
Alfred gives a quiet snort, peeks out at Matthew and rolls his eyes. “You’re only ten minutes older and not exactly an expert on social pressures,” he reminds, “but thanks for the lecture.” Then Alfred shifts, flushing as if he’s suddenly become aware of himself. “Quit staring,” he complains before scrambling to pick up his clothes, pulling them on without saying another word.
Embarrassed, Matthew pretends he wasn’t just thinking how nice Alfred’s ass is.
-------
Despite being twins, they’ve never kept to the same circle of friends. Perhaps its because their personalities are so different. Alfred likes attention, thrives on people noticing him and isn’t afraid to put himself out there. He’d quickly joined a half-dozen clubs their first year of high school, finally narrowing his commitments down to the football and baseball teams. Matthew reckons - rightly so - that everyone in their school knows the name “Alfred Jones”.
Matthew on the other hand has been slow to make friends. Oh there are many people he knows: upperclassmen like Ludwig and Ivan from the hockey team. Francis also quickly took him in when their French teacher recommended Matthew get an upperclassman for a tutor. But Matthew doesn’t see them much outside of school, not like Alfred who spends weekends hanging out at friends’ houses.
And wasn’t that where the trouble started? If he’d socialized more, interacted with his classmates (Ivan’s sister was his age, a cute but shy girl who sat behind him in French class) than maybe there wouldn’t be a story to tell now.
-------
Even when he’s nervous, Alfred is a horrible tease.
Matthew can hardly bear it anymore when Alfred presses kiss-swollen lips to his ear, laughter warm against the ear canal. “Hey, do you want to fuck me?”
And it’s always like this. Matthew waits for the invitation, the one that inevitably comes when he’s trapped Alfred against the bed and the wall. When kissing is no longer enough to satisfy them, but Matthew is too scared to act lest Alfred say no.
Funny how fear of it ending renders him motionless, when he was the one to begin everything.
-------
Matthew has never been entirely comfortable around Arthur. The older boy is friendly enough, but Matthew is always left with the impression there’s something Arthur doesn’t quite like about him. When he told Alfred, his brother had laughed and said he was too self-conscious. That’s Alfred’s reply to everything: “Matt, you’re too self-conscious.”
Francis is sprawled out on the bleachers again, attentive to the field. Today Matthew doesn’t let his attention wander, focuses instead on his composition; or more precisely, the red corrections Francis has marked across it. Beside him on the bench sits Arthur, fanning himself with the poems he’d been working on moments earlier.
“I can’t believe you dragged me all the way out here,” he snaps at Francis, shooting a glare his classmate’s way. “Just so you can ogle the cheerleaders!”
“Mon ami, there is sufficient eye candy for you too or else I would never have suggested you join us.”
Arthur splutters, indignant, a furious blush spread across his cheeks. He’s about to retort when Matthew gives a cough, trying to politely interrupt them. Francis seems happy enough for the distraction. He devotes so much time to Matthew’s question, Arthur leaves them in a huff - the bleachers trembling as he stalks past.
-----
Alfred’s favourite booth isn’t tucked in a corner of the restaurant. It’s right in the middle, amongst all the chaos of the local McDonalds. He practically has to drag his brother there, using guilt tactics to remind Matthew this is the only time they’ll see each other after classes this week, and every week after.
And it’s the same deal every Thursday: a large cola, a large fries, and two double cheeseburgers. Matthew dutifully picks the pickles off his patty and leaves them for Alfred, wiping his hands on a napkin so he doesn’t have to taste dill. And there’s a routine to the motion. Alfred laughs and jokes about that one time Matthew ate too many dill chips, and Matthew kicks him under the table, reminding Alfred fast-food doesn’t stay hot long and shouldn’t he be eating the burger he insisted on having?
Alfred can’t tell his brother how much he loves this hour they spend together each week, but he feels like Matthew knows. They’ve been coming here since middle school, when their combined five-dollar allowance was enough to purchase a shared meal. The owner knows Alfred now, even offered him a job when school let’s out next summer. He certainly knows the menu by heart.
And it’s an unwritten rule that when someone from school approaches their table, undoubtedly seeking Alfred out, he smiles and politely declines to speak with them.
“Not now, I’m hanging out with my brother.”
-------
They’re too old to be sharing a room, that’s what Matthew says one summer. He’s already talked with their parents - plans to move his bed down to the basement. And Alfred sits stunned for a minute, staring first at his brother, then at the wall behind him; sweeps his eye up along the wallpaper border, the one with spaceships and aliens that Alfred had picked out when they were children.
“No.” Alfred is adamant, adamant, Matthew stay upstairs with him. It’s too cold in the basement, and the mould will bother Matthew’s sinuses. There isn’t even a proper fire escape, and while Alfred would risk anything for his brother in the event of disaster, isn’t it easier to just keep living upstairs?
“I’m not scared of the basement,” points out Matthew, as if insinuating Alfred is (and he isn’t, hasn’t been since he was ten). “I just thought maybe you’d like your own space.”
“But this will always be our space, whether you sleep here or not.”
The words seem to have the effect Alfred wants. Matthew sighs and gives him a perplexed look, than nods and agrees to stay.
-------
Maybe it’s cabin fever, but as winter drags on Alfred can’t hold in his need to see Matthew past lunch hour. There’s something desperate that begins clawing at him during second period, and before he realizes it he’s ditched his friends, setting off through the maze of hallways to find his brother.
And he feels better when they’re tucked together in the corner of a forgotten stairwell, pressed so tight he can feel the heat of Matthew’s body through his varsity jacket.
“Someone’s bound to notice if you act strange,” Matthew says in a low voice, so quiet Alfred can barely hear him. He’s paranoid about cameras and microphones, about students lingering on the upper level eavesdropping.
“I never see you anymore, not since you entered the advanced stream. I don’t see why it matters.”
And he honestly doesn’t, because it’s not like they do anything but touch. Shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, sometimes heads knocking together when Matthew leans against him, exasperated. Surely other siblings do the same, Alfred thinks. Even before this all began, it wasn’t so unusual to spend a lunch hour together.
Things have just become more impulsive, is all.
------
Alfred can’t remember a time when he wasn’t the most outspoken kid in class. People have always been drawn to him, mimicking his actions and unconsciously assuming his manner of speech. Perhaps that’s why they’d railed against him so hard, that year Kiku became his best friend.
Kiku was quiet, like Matthew but not. Sullen is the word that still comes to mind, recalling how Kiku shut himself off from the entire school.
Then one day, one week, one month he hadn’t attended class. Alfred had asked the teacher if he couldn’t take Kiku his homework assignments, find out what was wrong. She’d been reluctant at first but finally relented. And so, clutching an address and a ridiculous amount of self-confidence, Alfred properly introduced himself to Kiku.
It didn’t go so well, at first. But he got use to the doors shut in his face; began to talk right through them. Once he discovered Kiku liked videogames, things began to improve. Soon they were having quite lively debates, which admittedly was Kiku interrupting Alfred’s long, winding monologues with a rebuttal or two, but was progress nevertheless.
Kiku returned to school a month later. Somehow, he worked hard enough to stay in Alfred’s grade, perhaps motivated to stick by the one person who had proven loyal.
It was a long time until everything was fine, but Alfred felt just being there made the situation better.
-------
It is Alfred’s firm belief that no one knows Matthew better than he does. They can’t possibly, because they’ll never understand what it’s like to be connected so intimately with your other half.
And that’s what Matthew is, the ‘yin to his yang’ as Kiku so eloquently puts it.
Yet Alfred hates how they have to hide everything. Hates that when Matthew fucks him, he has to suppress his screams with a mouthful of pillow. It’s not even like their parents are home - but they’re both paranoid the neighbours in the semi-detached next door will hear them.
Alfred revels in it all the same. Demands Matthew draw it out, slow and teasing, just to prolong the sensation of fitting together so perfectly.
They still sleep together at night. Not just the nights Alfred watches horror movies at Kiku’s, either. Their parents don’t care, if they notice at all. Sure it’s a little juvenile and the bed seems smaller than it use to, but Alfred doesn’t mind how Matthew wraps their bodies together, so they don’t fall out in the middle of the night.
------
Popular opinion says Arthur Kirkland has a stick up his ass.
Or at least it does after Alfred yells it in the middle of a hallway, during lunch hour no less.
It isn’t like Alfred has anything against the other boy; he just comes off as a little overbearing. And one day, he’d had enough and told Arthur so.
Things have been awkward since then. Are still awkward, and Alfred cannot believe he’s the only person - the only person in his entire school! - stuck with detention today.
Which Arthur just happens to be administering, as head of the student council.
(He wonders idly if it isn’t a conspiracy against him; if the others aren’t off in another room somewhere, having detention without him.)
“I’m suppose to meet Mattie at Mickey D’s today,” Alfred groans into his desk, face planted against the cold, smooth surface in despair.
“You shouldn’t fall asleep in class then. Third time this week! What on earth are you doing, staying up all night?” Arthur sets his book down, nails Alfred with an accusatory glare.
“Worshipping your giant eyebrows,” Alfred shoots back defensively - only to immediately regret it. He isn’t blind to how Arthur raises a hand, lets it hover self-consciously near his temple before abruptly changing course, as if he were going to scratch behind his ear the entire time.
“You’re meeting Matthew, right?” Arthur asks when the awkward moment has passed. Alfred nods his head in reply, too dejected and now too guilty to attempt speech again. “If anyone asks, I was feeling ill and let you off early.” There’s a sigh as Arthur unclasps the buckles of his messenger bag, stuffing his book inside. He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “The things I do …”
Alfred perks up. “Really?
“I know you well enough to know you would never lie about a date with your brother,” replies Arthur dryly, sliding his bag onto his shoulder and waiting expectantly for Alfred to do the same.
Alfred’s barely listening anymore, hastily grabbing his jacket and knapsack. He’s halfway up the stairs before he thinks to turn, grinning back at Arthur. “You’re awesome, just so you know.”
“Then you can write an ode to my benevolent superiority in detention tomorrow. Now get out of my sight.”
Alfred doesn’t have to be told twice. And when he bounds into the restaurant fifteen minutes later, Matthew is still waiting for him, homework spread over the tabletop of their booth. He smiles when he sees Alfred, and it makes Alfred’s heart leap just a little, knowing Matthew is happy to see him.
He slides into the booth across from his brother, barely able to contain the grin splitting his face.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.”
---
Matthew isn’t known for taking decisive action - he prefers the more subtle forms of expression, the type that once led to him gluing all Alfred’s plastic green army men to the floor. It ends in the same amount of trouble, but it draws less attention.
So when it happens, no one is more surprised than Matthew.
“Matt,” Alfred says, sounding remarkably calm considering his brother just tried to suck his face off. “What was that?”
“I, I don’t know,” admits Matthew, both infuriated and frustrated with himself. He does know of course, but would deny until death that he’s dreamt about kissing Alfred.
“I have to go out,” he hears himself saying suddenly, recoiling from where he’d all but shoved Alfred into the wall. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“It’s midnight!” Alfred points out, an odd panic rising in his voice. Matthew has never heard it before, and is galled to know he’s the cause of it. “Where are you going?” Alfred repeats when Matthew is unresponsive, pulling on yesterday’s jeans and fumbling to find his hoody in the laundry basket.
“I’ll crash somewhere.”
“You don’t know anyone to crash with.”
“Well sorry!” Matthew finds himself snapping, “We’re not all blessed with an endless supply of friends!” He pretends he doesn’t see the hurt look on Alfred’s face. It’s gone a minute later anyhow; Alfred is never anything less than perfectly happy. Perfectly normal.
The cold air hits Matthew like a reality check. He huddles into his jacket and walks with purpose down the street, pretending he has somewhere to go in case Alfred is watching from the bedroom window.
In the end he spends the night at a twenty-four hour coffee shop. Orders coffee after coffee just to keep himself awake.
Awake so he can punish himself, recalling how excited that kiss made him feel.
-------
That autumn, Matthew agrees to attend the homecoming game for the first time. He sits squished in between Francis and Arthur up at the top of the bleachers, wearing one of Alfred’s school jerseys and ball cap, just another body in the sea of blue and white.
Growing up with Alfred, it’s inevitable Matthew knows the rules. As such he spends the majority of the game explaining them to Arthur - not that he minds much, especially since they’re inevitably losing by a score of 28-0 in the fourth.
But Matthew enjoys himself nonetheless; smiles at those glimpses of Alfred trying to boost team morale. Alfred is the best their school has had in a long time, but it hasn’t been enough to turn the school’s fortunes around. And while Alfred pretends he can take the pressure of carrying the team on his shoulders, Matthew knows better. Even Alfred is struggling these days, though admittedly, Matthew hasn’t helped his focus much by showing up to each practice.
They won’t see each other after the game. There are certain conventions Alfred has to keep, and as the star player the dance committee is relying on his charisma to draw crowds to the gymnasium. But Alfred has promised to sneak out as early as possible. Whispered it against Matthew’s lips that very morning.
And Alfred is never one to break promises.
-------
At some point during the night Matthew must fall asleep, the groves of the table imprinting on his left cheek. He rubs at the indents scattered across his skin as he pushes upward, taking in the bustling coffee shop around him.
Taking in Alfred calmly sitting across from him, picking the raisins out of a donut.
“Oh god,” Matthew groans and slouches back down, pressing his forehead to the edge of the table and hoping that if he shuts his eyes tight enough, Alfred will disappear. Instead Alfred steps on his foot, shoving the donut across the table like a peace offering.
Like Alfred’s the one who should be apologizing.
“Mom and Dad are freaking out, y’know.”
Matthew nudges the pile of raisins away, picking at the remnants of the donut. Alfred’s expression is neutral but his hand darts forward, their fingers brushing, as Alfred grabs a raisin and pops it into his mouth.
“Had them call the school, so we’re free to play hokey today.”
Matthew can’t even give Alfred a reply, just nods weakly.
------
Alfred’s a good kid, but he always finds trouble. That’s what the teachers say, shaking their heads with a mixture of amusement and regret. Always has to play the hero, no matter how many times he is punished for it.
The rumours began in the first class after lunch - that in the cafeteria, Alfred defended a girl from the terrifying Ivan Braginsky. But the story morphs and soon the whispers talk about how it was really a gang from the high school a district over and that Alfred is sporting a black eye.
Matthew worries all through history and then all through the detention period, camped out in front of Alfred’s locker. He watches the shuffle of feet curve around him until finally the halls are silent and Alfred trudges up the stairs from the first floor, grinning sheepishly as he waggles a hand hello.
There’s no black eye, just a bandage peaking out from under Alfred’s bangs.
“I’m checking under it when we get home,” threatens Matthew, hoisting himself up and stepping aside as Alfred spins open his lock. The locker door clangs loudly against its neighbour; Alfred grins.
“You worried all afternoon, right?”
“They said you- oh never mind,” huffs Matthew, curling his arms around his torso. “Was it Ivan?”
“You know how we get,” replies Alfred with a shrug, throwing a textbook into the back of the locker and rooting for his jacket. He waves a hand flippantly back at Matthew, quoting: “You are quite an idiot, friend, da?. I couldn’t just let a comment like that slip, him calling me a friend.”
“Right.”
“Right.” Alfred slams the locker shut and smiles brightly at Matthew, “I knew you’d see it my way.” Then quickly, before Matthew can react, Alfred leans over and presses his lips to the corner of Matthew’s mouth. “Buy me a cola?”
“Alfred!” Matthew hisses but Alfred waves him off with a laugh, grabbing Matthew’s bag and dragging him down the hall.
Neither of them sees Francis staring at them from the door of the neighbouring classroom.
-------
A sticky note on the refrigerator says Matthew’s favourite corned beef sandwiches are inside. Matthew fingers it absently, stalling.
“I don’t mind, you know,” Alfred says from his perch at the counter, feet twisting around the legs of the stool. “If this is what you want.”
“Alfred -” Matthew starts as he clenches a fist, worrying his bottom lip and turning to meet his brother’s eyes. “Don’t do this.”
“I’ve thought about this a lot,” continues Alfred, plowing on like he hasn’t heard Matthew at all. “We can make this work.”
Matthew grits his teeth. “This. Can’t. Work.”
There’s a pause, and Alfred stares at Matthew, appraising. And Matthew wills himself to look stern and unyielding, not tired and hopeless like he’s really feeling.
Alfred raises an eyebrow and cracks a smile. “Pass me a sandwich, love.”
It’s hard to decide which desire is greater: wanting to punch Alfred, or wanting to hug him in relief.
Alfred loves hockey season - loves how Matthew lets all the barriers fall on the ice rink, confident and aggressive, completely sure of his moves. Alfred feels like a part of him lives on through Matthew’s time on the rink. All those long hours spent as children, plastic sticks and a rubber ball, aiming at a square they chalked onto the garage door.
Kiku shuffles in the stands next to Alfred, hunching down into his coat and stuffing his hands inside the pockets. Hockey doesn’t interest Kiku, but Alfred supposes his enthusiasm must be infectious. When he’d proudly proclaimed he was attending Matthew’s first game of the season, Kiku had just smiled in that slight way of his, inclining his head and nodding - following Alfred straight to their current seats.
“Your brother is a different person on ice,” comments Kiku quietly, eyes scanning the players as they line up. Matthew is talking with a teammate Alfred recognizes as Ludwig. Their heads are bent together, eyes masked under the visors’ glare.
“This is Matt at his best,” confides Alfred with a wicked grin.
-------
“Your feet stink,” is the first intelligible sentence Alfred strings together upon waking. It earns him a kick to the shoulder; when he looks up, Matthew is glaring at him. Okay, more like narrowing his eyes in a suspect manner but Alfred gets the point. “Kiss?” Alfred asks cheekily.
“Not until you brush your teeth,” grumbles Matthew, tapping the pen in his hand impatiently. It’s then that Alfred notices the pile of textbooks weighing down the covers, the notebook perched against Matthew’s knees. Curled between Alfred and the wall, Matthew has already tugged on his favourite hoodie and grabbed Pop Tarts from the kitchen.
Alfred flips open one of the books, making a face. “Why’re you so hung up on learning French? Everyone knows English will be the universal language.”
“I think it’s nice.” Matthew gives Alfred another shove with his foot. And ah - Alfred knows that face, too. “Anyway, why should other cultures forget where they came from?” Matthew continues hastily, trying to cover up his embarrassment. “I think it’s amazing that some people are bilingual. I wouldn’t mind studying French at college.”
College is something they haven’t talked about, and the word gives Alfred pause. But then he plows on mercilessly, “if you start eating snails and dressing in skinny jeans or flowered shirts, I disown you, Francophile. Although,” Alfred adds thoughtfully, grinning as he jumps up from the bed and heads for the bathroom, “the skinny jeans could be really hot.”
Behind him, Matthew chirps, “Mon frère, je t’aime,” in a tone that sounds more sarcastic than affectionate.
-------
If anyone minds Alfred’s presence in the change-room, they don’t comment. Ludwig gives him a curt nod, and Ivan smiles widely. “You have come to join the team, finally?” he calls as Alfred passes, laughing when Alfred yells back “not while you’re here, Braginsky.”
All of it is familiar. Even the ridiculously pleased expression on Matthew’s face - like he expects Alfred to just forget about him one day, going home after the game without a second thought.
“You came,” he says in disbelief when Alfred works his way over. “I thought you didn’t care about hockey.”
“I don’t care about hockey,” Alfred counters, barely hiding his suggestive tone and grinning as Matthew’s cheeks flush. No one notices in the clamour of the locker room. Sliding onto the bench, Alfred begins fishing around for Matthew’s equipment. “Going out with the team?”
“Depends.” Matthew leans over, his untied shoe perched beside Alfred. “Something better might have shown up,” he says, so quiet Alfred would miss it if he wasn’t listening for the cue. “Kiku left?” Matthew asks casually as ties his laces.
“Yao dragged him off somewhere, yeah.”
Matthew’s silence thereafter is what makes Alfred shiver in anticipation.
-------
At first, even Alfred is inclined to believe he’s being ridiculous. But as Christmas draws nearer and Matthew spends an increasingly large amount of time with Francis, he starts to wonder.
And really, he can’t help but sulk as Matthew frets about what tie he’ll wear to brunch at the Bonnefoy’s. After church, of all things.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Matthew frowns as his tie pulls into a crooked knot. “Francis’ parents apparently like me and I’m not going to pass up an opportunity to practice conversational dialogue. Besides which, they’re amazing cooks.”
“French class has ruined you. Next you’ll say we can’t have Mickey D’s anymore because it’s not pâté.”
To Alfred’s despair, Matthew is so intent on taming his curl that he doesn’t even roll his eyes. It’s an annoyance Alfred carries with him the rest of the day, even when guys from the team surround him at the weekly Sunday Football meet up.
-------
Tomorrow Alfred will tell his friends about the greatest blowjob he’s ever had. It won’t be a lie, not really. Matthew gives amazing head, and never leaves Alfred anything less than satisfied.
But he won’t tell his friends about how Matthew spreads him open; neglects to mention that he loves the feel of Matthew filling him, the tangle of bodies and the soft grunts in his ear. There’s something reckless about how they fuck now. It’s no longer confined to a single bed in an empty house (easy in, easy out); they’ve grown bold.
Whenever Alfred sees their parents sitting on the couch, he wonders if they cleaned it well enough. That smudge on the fridge he spots over dinner … is it from earlier, when they jerked off after stumbling in from school? It was all they could do before to keep on top of the laundry, but now soiled sheets and grubby pants seem to be stockpiling in the corner of the bedroom at an alarming rate.
If Matthew shares his brother’s fears, he never says.
They just keep stumbling forward, like the blind leading the blind.
-------
Kiku finds the first note. The small beige envelope falls to the ground when Alfred swings open his locker, rushing to jam his textbooks inside. Its mystery writer has scratched Alfred’s name across the front in pencil, but otherwise the letter is sparse.
“I know?” Alfred holds the paper up to the light, frowning. “Vague.”
“Perhaps there is another letter,” comments Kiku insightfully. But Alfred hasn’t received another envelope - at least, not that he can see amongst the mess of papers crammed into his locker.
With a shrug, Alfred stuffs the paper into his pocket, forgetting it instantly. “I’m going to see Matthew’s game, wanna come?”
Aaaaand that's as far as it went so far as I can find. My heart~!