"Fuck, Matt... your ass is awesome," Prussia groaned, thrusting back into the willing, open body. He pushed Canada's legs further back so he was almost bent in half. Gilbert grabbed the heavy cock that was practically bouncing in front of him, twisting the head in his hand. Moaning, the Northern American nation fell back into the goose down pillows, his body curling and spreading with Prussia's every whim. He panted, reaching up to drag Prussia closer, his teeth finding their way to a pale shoulder.

"You're not so bad yourself," he mumbled, sucking at the blossoming bruise.

The dissolved country thrust even faster, fucking Matthew into the mattress. "Ngh... Damn straight. I'm the most awesome fuck buddy ever." He wound his free hand in Canada's silky locks, and pulled him up for a deep kiss. Prussia pulled back with a nip to his lips, and grinned. "You love my five meters, don't you?"

Matthew opened his mouth to reply but then Gilbert hit that perfect spot and all he could do was gasp, a stream of French tumbling out in one breath as he hit it again a few thrusts later. He tightened around the ex-nation, his legs parted as wide as they could possibly go. "Gilbert!" he gasped, crying out when the hand left his cock and a devious finger wriggled in between the tight ring of muscle and Prussia's cock. He had thought he'd been stretched to the limit before, but Gilbert seemed to have a lot more faith in the size of his asshole.

He could tell that neither of them were going to last much longer, so Gilbert pumped Canada's cock even faster with his free hand, ego not allowing himself be the first to come. It all felt so good; he wished it could last for hours. But as it was, Prussia felt the tightening in the pit of his stomach all too soon.

Canada shook his head and his lips parted in a silent cry, but only for a moment. One swipe of Gilbert's thumb over the head of his cock was his undoing and he came with a cry that must have been heard by his nearest neighbors. The ones that lived a few miles away at the base of his mountain. He shook, collapsing back into his bed and tightening around the older nation as he tried to catch his breath.

A few more thrusts, and Prussia felt his orgasm overtake him. He kept moving hips hips through it, milking his cock. When he was empty, he pulled out and fell beside Canada, all pants and grunts as he tried to make himself comfortable while moving around as little as possible. "Hey... if I stay the night... can you make pancakes in the morning?" Gilbert said, trying to catch his breath.

Matthew laughed, lifting a hand to brush the long blond strands out of his face. He looked over at the albino on the pillow beside him and grinned. "Is that supposed to be an equal exchange?" he asked softly, damp chest rising and falling as his breathing slowly returned to normal. "My pancakes are as amazing as your presence, huh?"

"Well I wouldn't go that far, but your pancakes are pretty good. Not as awesome as me, but still pretty damn good." He put his hands behind his head, making himself comfortable. "Besides, to get home I would have to get on the plane, and it would be forever 'til I got to bed. This is actually a pretty inconvenient booty call." At least he had a private jet that he had borrowed from his brother.

Canada snorted and rolled over, groping around for the thick comforter that had been relocated to the floor around the beginning of the night. He pulled it up and tossed half over the equally naked Prussian, burrowing under the down-stuffed blanket. "Booty call, huh? Aren't those supposed to be one-time things?"

He shrugged, pulling the comforter up. "Well it's not like we're dating or anything. I call you up when I want some booty, so it's a booty call. Fuck, you think about these things too much." Never one to 'cuddle' after sex, Prussia rolled over and closed his eyes. "Damn, jet leg sucks."

Matthew finally sobered, deciding idly that it was probably what always happened after the high of sex faded. He shifted to his side and turned his own back to the other, burying his nose into the blanket. "Yeah," he agreed softly, and though he knew Gilbert had probably already fallen asleep, he offered a quiet good night to the silence of the room.

Gilbert awoke to the smell of pancakes and bacon. God, best booty call ever. He got out of the bed and spent a good three minutes looking for his boxers. Once they were on, he went downstairs to see the Canadian at the oven. "That smells good."

Matthew glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Thanks. Good morning." He turned back to the scrambled eggs, moving the yellow bits around to cook them evenly. "You look like you could use a few more hours of sleep."

"Probably. But I can always sleep more on the plane." He sat down to the pile of pancakes and grabbed a few, digging in. "Fuck, best pancakes ever. Seriously. You should move in with me so I get these every day." Not just pancakes of course. His own personal chef with benefits.

"I don't think so," Matthew replied after a moment spent pretending to consider the suggestion. "You sort of have no economy and sex doesn't pay the bills around here."

He shrugged and grabbed some bacon. "Whatever. Then send me a Canada robot that can make me food. I could add a few... extras to make it even more fun, but those wouldn't be for in the kitchen." He was a better lay than England, that was for sure. The Brit was always complaining about shit.

"Mmm, robots are more Alfred's thing," Canada said softly, taking the food off of their burners and depositing what was left onto a large platter, setting it in the middle of the table. "But he looks enough like me, so he'll probably do, right?"

"If the robot can cook like this. Hey, shouldn't this be Canadian bacon?" Prussia held up the one strip of bacon that was left, waving it around a bit.

Canada rolled his eyes. "Just eat the bacon, Gilbert."

Breakfast was a long and nearly painful affair wherein Matthew listened to all of the obnoxious stereotypes Gilbert could come up with at a moment's notice, trying to tune him out instead of throwing something at his smirking face. Even so, it was only a partial relief when Gilbert stood and stretched, a meaningful look in his eye. "Your flight leaving soon?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Well, I'm not taking a public plane, but I bet my pilot is getting bored. But yeah, thanks for breakfast." The albino grinned and went upstairs to get the rest of his clothes. Not that it would be the first time his pilot saw him in his underwear, but he didn't need to make a habit of it.

Matthew said goodbye at the door, lifting a hand as Gilbert traipsed past him and out the door, making his merry way down the mountain with a bag slung carelessly over his shoulder. He let it fall only when Gilbert had disappeared on the trail through the trees. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Turning back into the cabin he straightened up, regarding the white polar bear looking at him curiously from atop the sofa. "You know, I bet he didn't even make the bed."

"...And I found out how to fix the economy too!" America was saying at the podium for the meeting. He either ignored or didn't notice the collective groan through the room. "You see, McDonald's is gonna come out with a new burger! It's going to be called the spaghetti burger, so it will be spaghetti in a bun! With huge juicy meat balls inside, and with really meaty sauce! It'll be super cheap, so everyone can eat them and still pay off their house. There, problem solved."

It was too much for Canada, though, who had been trying to ignore the familiar roiling in his stomach. Unable to stand it for a moment longer, he excused himself (though no one seemed to notice) and darted from the room. He knew he wasn't going to make it, and right outside the conference hall he grabbed the nearest garbage can and what little contents there were in his stomach were upended into the bin. Once his body's involuntary convulsing came to an end, he panted, clutching the heavy plastic rim for support, whimpering to himself. It was happening again.

Of course, that just happened to be when France was coming back from making out with the secretary from the second floor. Just his luck. "Matthieu? Are you alright? What is the matter, mon cher?" He knelt down beside the shy nation, who was considering the distinct possibility of vomiting for the second time just as his body lurched. After a long moment of pathetic heaving, Matthew turned exhausted, wet eyes toward France.

"I don't know," he murmured, rubbing at his eyes. "I-I've been sick for the last couple of weeks... I can't keep anything down and I'm always tired and... and I don't know what's wrong."

Francis tilted his head, putting his hand on Canada's back for comfort. Well, and maybe for a little grab. "That's strange... normally nations aren't sick for that long without some sort of natural disaster. Have there been any troubles in your country?" That was usually the reason for them to be sick or hurt.

Canada didn't even have the energy to swat Francis' wandering hand away. He shook his head. "The economy isn't the greatest, but it's no worse than usual... everything is fine. I think it's a personal problem." He placed a ginger hand against his own stomach, wincing at the threatening spike of pain.

At that gesture, France raised an eyebrow. "It's been a few weeks you say?" He dropped his voice to a lower tone, not wanting anyone else to hear but also being vaguely aware of how sexy it sounded when he did so. "Here, we should go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up, non? Ah, and tell me, how long before that did you last make love?"

Matthew nodded absently and allowed Francis to pull him along. "Why does that matter?" he asked quietly, wondering to himself, 'Made love?' When indeed.

Once in the bathroom, France set about cleaning Matthew's face. "Ah, nothing, nothing. It probably isn't that anyway; it has not happened for so long! I don't see a reason why it would happen now. Probably just a strange flu." He smiled reassuringly, running his fingers through Canada's hair. After all, he still remembered those years when he was taking care of the small colony, so he always tried, at least, to keep an eye out for him more than the other countries who he just wanted to romance.

The Canadian hummed quietly, waiting for his once-father figure to finish his touches before he ducked near the sink, cupping a bit of the faucet water into his hands and rinsing out his mouth. He felt fingers playing with the hair at the base of his skull and forgot for a moment to resist. He had always found comfort in France's touches as a child, and however rarely it happened anymore, he always fell under the spell of those long fingers. "Yeah, probably," he agreed quietly, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. Matthew offered France a tired smile. "Thank you, Francis, but I think I'll just head back to my hotel for now."

He nodded, putting his arm over Matthew's shoulders. "I can take you. Wouldn't want you going by yourself, cher." And if by that time he was feeling better...

But just then, England came bursting into the bathroom and slammed the door to one of the stalls. A few minutes later he came out and seemed surprised to see them there. "Damn frog... save your perversion for after the meeting."

"This is nothing perverse, but I'm not surprised you would think that, pervert. Matthieu is sick," Francis explained, arm tightening around the shy nation.

"I know," England hissed, placing his hands on Canada's shoulders. It amazed Matthew that after hundreds of years, even though he had quite a few inches on the former empire, England still managed to make him feel like a child. Not all the time, of course, just at certain moments. Moments like these when the look in his bright green eyes was positively piercing. "Matthew, why didn't you tell me?"

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't think it was so serious!" he answered quickly, flustered and nauseous. The hands squeezing his shoulders made him want to cry, which was just... just pathetic for a full grown nation. England reached out to touch his cheek, the frown on his face deeply concerned.

"Of course it's serious! This just doesn't happen every day, you know! Why, if the fae hadn't said something first, I probably wouldn't have even known until you started showing! Really now." He huffed, turning to glare at France with his fists on his hips. "And you. What were you thinking, letting him keep this from me. How long have you known?"

"Known what?" Mathew said, his tone high and somewhat strained.

From that, Francis was beginning to think that his suspicions were correct. After all, England always had ways of knowing these things. Still, he pushed Arthur's hands away when the short nation seemed about to touch Matthew again. "Canada, I asked you when the last time you had made love had been. Was it a couple weeks before you started feeling sick?" He glared at the island nation so he would know that he had just said something he shouldn't have.

Violet eyes wide, he nibbled on his lip. This probably wasn't the time to mention that he hadn't ever really made love... or that it wasn't any of their business. "N-no, it was... more like four weeks," he answered quietly, turning red. "Why? Do you think that's why I'm sick?"

"Oh, sweet, you aren't sick," England tutted. "What a terrible thing to call it!"

"Oh shut up, rosbif; can't you see that he doesn't understand? The last time this happened he was just a small colony!" France tutted and turned Matthew around to face him. "But he is right, you are not sick. You see..." How to delicately word this... "... in the past, nations would bear children, instead of finding them like we found you and your brother." So much for delicacy. "Well, most nations were just found, but a few were born. For example, Holy Roman Empire was born of Germania and Rome."

Matthew's eyes widened owlishly and looked back and forth between his former parents. He pointed a shaky finger toward himself. "W... wait. You're not saying that I..."

England's eyebrows shot up. "You- oh my. You weren't trying to keep it from me? Damn." He took on a sheepish look. "Forgive me, dear, I just assumed you knew..."

Matthew shook his head, stepping back. He felt sick all over again and turned, grabbing the nearest garbage can and retching deep inside.

The French nation held back his hair, knowing from experience how much that helped. "Really, could you be any more dense? Here he is, mon pauvre fils, thinking himself ill! And you just go and assume he was trying to keep it from you, you insensitive pair of talking eyebrows," he complained, turning around to glare at the other country.

England bristled. "Well you didn't exactly help, did you? You probably knew and just weren't going to tell him. What if he'd thought something awful was happening when he started to grow, hmm?" The former empire moved closer, his hand on the small of Canada's back. "Let it all out, love."

"I did not know! I had my suspicions, but nothing beyond that. And besides, it isn't something for me to tell! If Mathieu wished to tell you, though I don't see why he would, then he would tell you. How are you feeling, petit? Any better?" France rubbed his back, trying to prove that he was the most loving parental figure in the room.

Matthew clutched his stomach. "I'm not p-pregnant!" he coughed, looking up at the two urgently. His face was pale, but his eyes were wild. "That's... I don't know what happened in ancient Europe, but I'm not. I... I just can't be."

England frowned and glanced slightly to the left. A young, lithe creature perched upon his shoulder murmured something behind her tiny hand and he nodded. "Matthew, I'm afraid there is no other explanation. It may be beyond your understanding, but you have a child, some form of landmass, growing inside of you, and that's that."

"You must understand- we are not built like humans. If we were, we would age and die. So what happens is that when powers beyond us wish for a new nation, or simply land mass as the idiot said, they will impregnate the country closely associated with this land mass. So when that nation makes love, the semen will be absorbed into the lining of the derièr, to a small dormant womb which is in each of us. There a baby is created!" France explained, doing his best to illustrate it with many awkward hand motions.

Arthur cleared his throat, knowing what would be coming next in the explanation and not wanting the pervert to say it. "About a month before the baby is born, a... birth canal will start opening up, so that the baby can be born. Don't worry, the birth canal will go away a week or two after birth. Or is it a month... Sorry, Matthew, we elder nations have a basic knowledge of this, but I admit that it isn't exactly a frequent occurrence, and not all facts are easy to remember... Are you alright?"

Matthew covered his mouth. "Merde," he whispered. "How do you know all of this? Oh, no, no, never mind, I really don't want to know."

"Er. Right." Arthur glanced at Francis. "I understand. Obviously, it isn't always like this. Sometimes we just... are. And sometimes we are born. A nation in and of itself, though, is never truly made from a union. The Holy Roman Empire fell terribly, you know. He disappeared, and from what was left of his people became one and from all of that appeared Germany. So it isn't as though an entirely new nation is going to be yours. Does that make sense?"

"Not at all. Sort of. I really need to lie down."

"Oui, let us take you to the hotel. This meeting isn't that important anyway," Francis said, trying to help him get up. It would do him no good to lie on the cold floor. "May I ask, do you know who the father is? Not that you have to say if you don't want to, of course."

Canada shook his head and went to the sink first to rinse the acrid taste from his mouth. His lips pressed in a thin, tight line and Arthur's expression softened. He gave France a weary glare. "I trust you to take him back to the hotel swiftly. I will cover for your absences. Rest assured, you filthy wino, if he so much as sheds a tear in your presence, I will rip out your eyes and shove them up your ass."

The Frenchman rolled his eyes and practically pushed Arthur out of the bathroom. "Just go. It's not like he is the first pregnant person I have dealt with." Just possibly the first that he wasn't a part of. He went back to Canada and put his hand on his shoulder. "You can make it to the car, oui? I can get a bag in case you get sick again."

Matthew felt awful and slowly made his way from the room. "There's nothing left. I'd just dry heave." The mere thought of food was torture, but his stomach clenched with the pain of hunger. He winced.

"Here, drink some water first. Little sips. And when we get to the hotel you can have some crackers, that always helps." He saw a water fountain and directed Canada there. "Just small sips, parfait. You are doing so well." He started wondering what England was going to tell everyone. Knowing him, probably something boring like they needed paperwork from the hotel.

Touched by his kindness, Matthew quickly wiped hot tears from his eyes and did as he was told, his mind reeling and his heart clenching. He was with child. Prussia's child.

This could only end badly.

Gilbert put some clothes in a grocery bag, tying the top. He figured it would be better if he actually had some extra clothes to wear, so it wasn't like last time when he saw he had a cum stain on his shirt on the plane ride back. Oh yeah, one last thing. He took out his phone, did a quick search of his contacts, and put the cell to his ear. "Hey Matt! Wanna fuck?"

The other line was quiet for a long moment. Then, "Um... n-now probably isn't the best time... I've got... paperwork and Kumashiru and I'm running low on firewood, so..."

"Well it'll be a few hours 'til I get there, so you'll probably have all that shit done by then." Prussia covered the phone and yelled in the direction that Germany probably was, "I'm going out! Don't call me!" After all, he had only been turned down by Canada once, and that was because a hockey game was on.

"R-really, Gilbert, I... I'm not..." The line crackled and thumped before a voice, quiet and tired finally concluded, "Sure. Okay. I'll leave the back door unlocked."

That was all the Prussian needed to hear. He hung up the phone and headed to the air strip.

Many, many hours later, when dawn was breaking over the vast mountainside and through the bedroom window, Matthew sat, clutching the blankets in his lap. He gnawed on his lower lip before clearing his throat and nudging the body beside him with his toe. "Gil... Gilbert, wake up."

He just groaned and rolled over. "I'll leave when I wake up, just let me sleep longer." It felt way too early to be waking up after a good fuck. A strange fuck though. Canada had been pretty quiet. He usually screamed at least when he came. Not that it mattered much, it was still good.

"Come on, it's important," Matthew urged, a little frustrated. If this was the way it was to be, he'd have to tell Gilbert, right? Even if the Prussian didn't know what to make of it at first, surely he would understand the importance and at least participate in a civil, halfway decent relationship so that the child wouldn't grow up feeling somehow incomplete... right?

Finally Gilbert opened his red eyes, squinting in the light. "Fine, what is it? Want a morning fuck or something?" That was always nice when he woke up with a hard on. Not this morning though, and it didn't look like Matthew had one either.

It took Matthew a short moment to calm the budding temper Gilbert stirred with the remark. "No," he said, taking a deep breath. "I just thought maybe we should, um... talk."

Prussia laughed, pushing himself up against the head board. "That sounds like you're gonna break up with me or something. Fuck, we're not even dating. Or do you wanna talk about like hockey or something? Because I like hockey. Fucking awesome. So many fights!"

"Uh..." Canada was surprised that the other had been willing to talk at all. "Well, yeah, hockey's good. Let's talk about hockey." Well, at least it was something. How to transition a violent game played on ice to explaining the fathering of one's child, though, was going to be a bit of a challenge...

"Alright. Wanna play tonsil hockey?" Gilbert wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. If he was woken up early, he didn't want it to be just for talking about a game after all.

"Wha- no!" Canada huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Please, Gilbert, not everything has to be sexual, okay? You've been around for hundreds of years. Can't you think of anything else to say?"

He sighed at the rejection. "Well sure I can, but do I really want to? If we're not gonna have sex then can I at least have pancakes?" If we wasn't getting sex or pancakes, was there really a reason to stay? They had never 'talked' before, not since they started this whole fuck-buddy thing anyway, so why now?

Matthew's stomach churned at the thought of pancakes. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand and closed his eyes, trying to quell the urge to vomit. "Not this morning," he answered after a moment, thinking about anything but food.

Gilbert backed up a bit. "Uh, are you alright? You look kinda green..." If he was going to barf, Prussia wanted to be as far away as possible. He hated it when people threw up. It was disgusting!

"Nn, I'll be... oh... urgh." He hastily untangled himself from the blanket and sprinted into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him as he heaved what little contents of his stomach there were.

Red eyes wide, Prussia went to the bathroom and stood at the door. "Are you alright?" His answer was the wince-inducing sound of Matthew puking again. "Um... can I help?" He didn't want to just leave, but he also didn't want to be there when someone was throwing up. It was fucking gross.

On the other side of the door Matthew struggled with the weight on his arms, holding himself above the porcelain goddess, sick and miserable. He glanced weakly at the door and felt his hair sticking uncomfortably against his cheeks and forehead, tasted the acrid bile in his throat and knew that if he allowed Gilbert to come in, he would only be disgusted. Still, he deserved to know... but...

Taking a deep breath he answered, "N-no, I'm fine." If Gilbert decided to come in anyway, he would tell him. It would mean that he did care, that he could disregard obviously forced brush-offs. He could be good for the child.

The albino wasn't sure what to do. He was never good with these types of things. "Ah... right... well then, I hope you feel better. I'm just gonna go." Yeah, he could send him a get well card or something. That was a good idea. A better idea than staying around with someone who was obviously sick. And could make him sick. And besides, Canada said he was fine!

Matthew listened, staring intently into the white bowl through the sounds of Prussia shuffling around the room for his clothes, traipsing down the stairs, and the final slam of the front door. He felt... odd. Sick. Numb. He shouldn't have been surprised; he knew what this was to Gilbert. He was sure that he had wanted just the same in the beginning.

Standing shakily, he flushed the toilet and turned on the shower, intent on washing away the vomit and the scent of Gilbert that clung to him like a bad dream.