Warning: Yaoi, If you are offended, don't read, etc, etc.

A/N: This was written before the actual holiday, so it's not late! *le gasp* This year was the one when I finally learned the story of St. Patrick, and he was originally English, not Irish!

If you want a soundtrack: This whole time I was thinking about the band Flogging Molly (Irish music=awesome). Anything by them. And also I was thinking about that one Care Bears episode where grumpy bear is being all grumpy until he finds a four-leaf clover, makes some bad wishes, and almost destroys Care-a-lot or something like that. Oh, random childhood memories~

Fiddle music drifted up from downstairs, and Matthew wondered why people couldn't just be traditional anymore. Americans over-celebrating. Whose idea it was to screech along on an electric violin and why was beyond him, and that combined with the music and shouts was starting to fry his brain like a pancake. Matthew chose the simplest way out of his predicament and hid on the bed under his bear's lovely sound-muffling fur.

But even layers and layers of stuffing were not enough to silence the sound of a door slamming open. A messy-haired albino strode in, swaying on his feet with a lazy smile.

"Gilbert, this holiday isn't just an excuse to drink."

The Canadian was worried and wondered if it was wise for them to be alone at the time. It was hard to trust someone who had an empty light in their eyes and was covered in shamrocks and tacky beads.

Matthew could see that Gilbert wanted his shirt off by the way he was tugging at it; so far he hadn't had the coordination to grab a button and slip it through the fabric yet.

To the albino, the buttons were just like one of those puzzles one took on the car on long road trips for something to do, the ones that you knew you could do but gave up on after ten minutes. In his mind he could picture his pet bird picking at them, because the yellow puffball had been sitting on his head and nibbling his fingers all night. He felt around in his hair to see if Gilbird was still there, but the bird must have flown the coop minutes ago.

Looking down to see where to put his foot next, he saw an eye with glasses peeking out from under a white pillow.

"Gilbert, come on!" Matthew tried again. "Um, It's also Italy's birthday, so we could always celebrate that, too. We don't have to both get drunk."

Is he going to pass out? What should I do then? Do I just wait it out? He'll probably have a headache when he wakes up so maybe I should get a washcloth or something...

"Mattie—I can't see you right—those glasses—" The white-haired nation lazily flung a hand out where he thought he could see light glancing off a metal frame on his lover's face, and it actually hit something besides Matthew's nose.


The rattling sound the glasses made when they hit the floor was the only thing Matthew had to go on when he tried to find them. With his eyesight he was almost as useless as his boyfriend right now. Gilbert dropped down next to him and immediately grabbed the glasses, wondering when he suddenly became more coordinated.

Up close, the Canadian was smothered by the sweet, musky scent coming off of Gilbert, way too familiar and on him to be cologne.

"Please don't pass out on me."

"Keep me awake. Here." The albino pulled out three gold coins from his suit pocket and dropped them like a magician over Matthew's golden bronze hair. Instead of vanishing, the chocolate coins slid off Matthew's hair into his lap. Fool's gold. How ironic. Well, at least he brought me something from downstairs; I like chocolate.

"Entertain me."

"How?" Matthew really wondered what was going through Gilbert's mind.

"Pleasure me."

"Gil, no, I'm not a stripper!" Even his own ears didn't think he sounded convincing, so Matthew shyly looked down and started peeling the thin wrapper off his chocolate circles.

"Awesome. Shouldn't my wish be your command?"


Gilbert shook his hat off and four-leaf clovers fell from it like confetti.

"I get 16 wishes."

"Sixteen isn't even a multiple of three," Canada stubbornly insisted. "The tradition says you get three wishes per clover. And you have to find the clovers yourself, or they don't count."

Or he could just wish on maple leaves, like I do. None of the ones I ever find are red, though, which I don't get because I live in Canada and that makes no sense. And I'm not sure Gil's wish would be the same as mine. He couldn't possibly wish for more attention, Matthew thought.

Gilbert steadied himself and tried to leave again, and he was almost successful. If Matthew hadn't pounced on him, the albino would have collapsed outside the suite on a carpet with fading stains instead of inside on the bed with Matthew pressing him into the mattress. The Canadian wasn't in the holiday spirit yet, and wasn't brave or outgoing like England's guests on the floor below. He wasn't even confident in his ability to be heavy enough to keep his boyfriend from bolting off again.

"Would you mind not crushing the awesome me?"

I'm actually heavy enough to crush someone? Usually it's the other way around...

"Ja, go to the party or something. You're killing the mood, and you're not even wearing green."

The Canadian wasn't sure if he had heard right at first, but then he remembered that he really was invited to the party downstairs. His name was tacked on to the end of his brother's invitation hidden beneath a green ribbon. The card only acknowledged him as "America's brother", but he was just glad he was included.

Alfred forgot him again, so he had gone along as Gilbert's guest. In all the excitement of being invited Matthew had failed to remember that he didn't do well at parties, being constantly bumped into or cut in front of in line for a non-alcoholic drink, or just being ignored. Kumajiro wasn't entirely fond of the loud, floor-shaking music either, and the flashing lights made both of their heads hurt.

Even now Matthew was beginning to feel like he had just drank too much maple syrup and felt the start of one of his sugar headaches coming on. I probably can't expect Gil to be sweet to me tonight, but I hope he's okay; he's usually a jerk when he's drunk. Oh Maple, what have I gotten myself into?

"Truth is, this shirt is really comfortable." Matthew couldn't say the same for Gilbert's outfit, which looked scratchy and tight.

The man underneath him attempted to push himself up, but he couldn't find enough space to bend his arms.

"I-uh, think it'd be better if you stayed here," the sober one advised.

"Just one m—"

"I don't want you getting hurt!" Matthew's voice almost reached normal volume levels at this exclamation. He leaned heavily on the Prussian's back.

"Since when has this awesomeness ever gotten hurt? Luck o' the Irish, remember?"

Gilbert was starting to scare Matthew with his invincible attitude. Matthew could feel tears at the edges of his eyes and he was afraid to wipe them away because Gilbert was definitely stronger than him; he wasn't too keen on the idea of being flung backwards onto the floor.

Last time Gilbert had gone drinking for an entire night Matthew had discovered him on a street corner covered in broken glass. The blood had matched Gilbert's eyes, which he remembered well. He knew his face and skin had gone as pale as the albino's at the sight, but the Prussian hadn't even been shaken.

Coming from all the noise of a popular bar and girls in flashy makeup and sweat, Matthew wondered why his boyfriend even noticed him afterwards.

"But—no, I'm serious."


The violet-eyed man lessened the pressure. Was the effect of the beer wearing off?

"Please." Matthew rolled off of his companion, and he heard something pop. Gilbert groaned. "Arthur warned me that there might be some riots in the streets tonight. Y'know, the usual, eh?"

The fog in Gilbert's head was starting to lift, just barely. It was starting to settle in in Matthew's though, for it was nearing midnight. He just hoped Gilbert didn't reply with another halfhearted "awesome".

The screeching fiddle had stopped playing, and the sound of the audience clapping could barely be heard. Gilbert didn't move for a while, just rolled over. He thought about how Francis and Antonio were still downstairs, still waiting on him. He figured they could excuse his absence and get lost among all the people downstairs again, so he could stay.

Matthew watched him nervously, and let out a huge breath upon realizing that Gilbert didn't just bolt off.

"I feel like Scheiße," the Prussian laughed. He could still faintly taste the last drink he had on his tongue, but it didn't fit in the context of the calm, comfy hotel room.

It was like a bubble where the only part of sane England existed. Outside there were probably a few inebriated guests breaking into cars and alarms sounding amid all the shouting. But the majority of these sounds didn't get a chance to include Matthew in all their dangerous merriment. He had drawn the curtains shut long ago, and was now hoping the quiet would help Gilbert. Matthew lazily unbuttoned his flannel shirt and used it as a pillow; he didn't feel up to scooting up the extra few feet to the head of the bed.

Before he knew it he had stilled, and noticed his breathing had slowed. Relaxed and slightly aware, he heard the bed creak and start to associate itself with his dream as well as felt his limp arm lifted and something being stuffed under it.

Matthew gave a jolt when he heard the door slam, and he felt sleepier than before and a tinge of fear. The light had gone off as well, and the stuffed bear under his arm was now the only thing keeping him company.

I knew it! I knew he'd leave! Oh no, I have to stop him and bring him back before he does something stupid!

The Canadian polished his glasses with his shirt to get the smudges off from when he had almost fallen asleep with them on, took a breath of air to clear his head, and left. Discouraged by what he knew to expect of parties in the past, the North American boy waited at the threshold.

What if I can't find him? I doubt I could find anyone in that mess downstairs without getting trampled...maybe I should get a shirt on. Or I could just paint my chest green, I'm sure some people do that, but it would be hard to get off...

A clinking noise from the small bathroom made him turn around again. Normally he wouldn't have noticed it, but in his mind he had been looking for any excuse to stay in their room. Matthew could see light creeping under the door; apparently his boyfriend had not left.

Well I guess if you drink that much it's only a matter of time before you have to... you know.

The door was slightly ajar, but he knocked anyway.

"Gil? You ok?"


"What?" Gilbert sounded a little winded. He wasn't... injured or anything, was he?

Two gunshots outside startled the maple-loving boy, and he stubbed his toe on the bottom of the heavy wood.

"Ow..." he hissed.

Heavy as it was, the door still swung open and revealed the person Matthew had been looking for.

"Oh, Maple, those were either guns or firecrackers and I don't think-"

Blue eyes and red ones were as wide as fully-grown maple leaves and bird eggs. The Prussian had convinced himself that he was slowly starting to sober up, but at the moment he couldn't see any reason to stop pleasuring himself.

"Uh, Gilbert?"


Matthew's hair curtained his face as he stared down at the floor, feeling his blush grow to the tips of his ears. Blond curls rested on his collar, which was starting to feel a little tight. He absently traced a tile with his toe, awkwardly standing in that one spot until he realized he could move. He tripped out of the room, resolving to just wait out the holidays in Canada from then on so he wouldn't be caught in any more uncomfortable situations. The feeling of arousal snuck into his jeans like a dirty leprechaun and Matthew felt himself getting hard. He closed his eyes, trying to wish himself back to his home of bears and ice hockey as he didn't know what to do.

"Matthew—" His name was a whisper on Gilbert's lips, but it also sounded strained.

Curiosity got the better of him and he turned around. He could do nothing but stare and feel his blush get heavier.

Both of them had come to a standstill, so Gilbert broke it by grabbing Matthew's wrist and pulling him towards him.

"I got horny... waiting for you."


"Francis and Antonio mentioned you and we imagined all the things I could probably get away with half-drunk."

Canada's glasses fell onto Gilbert's chest when he was yanked forward, and he managed to catch himself before he crushed his only way of seeing straight. So he set them to the side and slowly lowered himself onto his boyfriend's chest, since that was what Gilbert was going for.

Matthew was getting a little more comfortable with the situation and he rested his head on Gilbert's neck, hoping the shower rod above wouldn't fall and crush his skull. He told himself this was why his eyes were closed.

But he couldn't help paying attention with his four other senses. His groin tingled when Gilbert rutted against it, and he found himself spreading his legs more and wanting to press down, but he still had a few qualms. Matthew didn't feel safe knowing he felt safe with a drunk person. He moaned into the albino's neck.

"Come on, Mattie!"

Gilbert was giving Matthew the perfect opportunity to top, but he apparently wasn't going to take it, and, well, he couldn't either. He ran a finger along the nape of Matthew's neck, feeling a drop of sweat there. It would be so much better if that sweat covered both of their bodies, and if Matthew were at least smiling.

A sigh escaped his lips and he rolled over so Matthew would be on the bottom.

"Wait—" Matthew said. Gilbert was getting annoyed. "I—you won't be too rough, will you? Antonio told me that one time after sex he couldn't sit down for days. I need to be able to sit, you know for meetings and stuff because someone has to be responsible! And the world has to know the beliefs and views of the nation of Canada!"

Halfway through his speech Gilbert figured that his lover was never going to fully undress himself at this rate, so he scooted forward and tried to grab Canada's zipper with his teeth. Due to his drunken state he missed, but Matthew could still feel his hot mouth near the area he needed it most.

It was satisfying to feel Matthew's fingers pull his short hair and press him harder into his crotch, and hear his gasps as he kept missing. Gilbert realized he'd never get it right, so he just yanked Matthew's boxers off with his pants.

When the cold air hit his cock Matthew looked away again, and didn't even look down even as he felt Gilbert plant kisses up all the way to his member. The kisses slowed when Gilbert noticed something was wrong with his Canadian cutie, when soft violet eyes wouldn't look him in his.

"You ok? This not awesome enough for you?"

As for himself, Gilbert's member was starting to ache from the lack of release, so he absentmindedly started stroking himself again. He bit his lip, and as his senses returned little by little he was no longer sure if it was the right time or place. Did Matthew seem upset?

St. Patrick's day was a rough night, and Matthew couldn't take the next addition to the recent dump of emotions. Guilt welled up at the sight of Gilbert getting off alone, because it should have been Matthew's hand on him, making Gilbert replace his constant babble with genuine moans. What the Canadian really wanted to see was how Gilbert would react to his touches, his hand caressing that pale skin. Lovingly.

Suddenly he wasn't shaky anymore. Matthew pulled Gilbert's hand away and replaced it with his own while leaning in for a kiss. It registered in Matthew's mind that he was the one in control that night; why?

Their kiss was wet and barely sloppy, for Matthew wasn't sure and let Gilbert lead for the most part. The tip of his tongue touched the back of Gilbert's mouth and he pulled back because he didn't want to choke him. Gilbert always said Matthew's lips tasted like maple syrup.

Navigating by feel alone, Matthew lightly massaged Gilbert's member, stopping and licking his fingers before he got to the tip.

Sharp nails clawed his back, and Canada gripped Gilbert's cock what he thought was a little too tightly, but the Prussian was usually a little rough.

"Ow, Gil, that hurts!"

Gilbert moved his fingers so his nails were no longer scratching Matthew's skin.

Matthew nudged the legs of the man leaning against the tub apart further with his knees and continued softly stroking his length. Gilbert bucked into his hand and Canada felt the nails on his back again. They ended up switching positions so Canada's back was against the tub and Gilbert rested on his chest so he wouldn't scrape him. In this new position it was also easier for Matthew to place soft kisses on Gilbert's temple.

He moaned softly, and Matthew remembered the question that had been on the tip of his tongue since the beginning of the night.

"Mmmm, Mattie, you feel so good, you're going to me come, silly!" With his last bit of coherence the albino reached his arm up and ran his hand through Matthew's hair.

Right before he needed it, Matthew lightly wrapped his hand around the base of Gilbert's throbbing cock.

"Wait, um, I have to ask you something."

"Pssht! Not now! Can't it wait?" His hips wriggled, trying to loosen Matthew's hand further.

Said person bit his lip, trying to make a decision and rotated his hips against the other's leg to get some friction.

"No. I just—you usually forget everything when you're drunk." He removed his hand from its current position and trailed it up his boyfriend's chest. "Will you forget this? Or—me?"

"Ahh—um, well, could you get on with it! If awesomeness could be killed you'd be killing it."

Matthew bent his head to whisper in his ear.

"If I do this now…Are you more likely to forget me in the morning? No matter where we wake up in the morning—on the cold bathroom floor, a bed worthy of a five-star hotel or the sad excuse for one in this dump—you'll probably wake up and step right over me, and get on with your daily life."

Something in the albino's head ate through the fog, and the influence of the booze was starting to fade. He was shocked and wondered what he had done to make his Mattie feel so horrible.

He stood up and purposely strode out of the bathroom with Matthew in tow, reaching back to turn off the light at the last moment, as if to shroud in darkness the place where he had said those awful things. This would only work in some alternate universe, though, because they both needed a place to do their business during their stay in England.

Prussia bent down and placed one arm behind Matthew's knees and the other to support his neck before he straightened and was carrying Matthew bridal-style. He almost stumbled a few times, but managed not to fall.

The proud owner of the white bear (that had probably taken the hint and hidden somewhere) couldn't help but smile, and neither could Gilbert, his grin still showing that he wanted to share in some devious fun before the party ended.

Plopping his Mattie on the comforter again, he leaned over him and reminded him he wasn't as forgettable as he thought, just more of a more…mysterious character than most. How he would never forget the few nights they had shared together, and if he started getting the slightest bit forgettable it would just make him want to remember more, and how he'd come back again, and again, and again.

"Can we finish now? Ohh, ahn, please," he slurred.

Canada was surprised how Gilbert had, in a few seconds, gone from straddling him with his slight body of lean muscle, to tenderly laying his head on his chest. He stroked his hair, and eventually continued his strokes and moved toward Gilbert's bottom.

"But as far as I can see, I'm the one on top now," Gilbert nonchalantly observed. He pushed himself up, leaving Matthew blanketed by the cold air.

When he didn't immediately feel anything pressing at his entrance, Matthew sat up and gripped the sheets threateningly.

"Did Francis steal your lube again?" Canada asked, pulling Gilbert's fingers to his mouth and running his tongue over them.

"No, not this time. Antonio beat him to it. I was joking about it being tomato-flavored, but he didn't hear the full thing and thought I was being serious. Italian sports cars make good getaway vehicles, as you'd expect."

Before he responded Matthew gave his own fingers a once-over with his tongue as well.

He chuckled softly and wasn't paying attention as he penetrated himself with his index finger, and soon his chuckle turned into a groan. Either his finger probably wasn't slick enough or he was doing it wrong.

Concern made its way onto Gilbert's face, but he was sure his Matthew wanted this as much as he did. Figuring the best thing to do was get it over with, so he pressed two fingers inside of Matthew at once, and it stung like alcohol on an open wound. He would have complained, but it just hurt too much so he ended up whimpering instead. Couldn't Gilbert be gentle once in a while?

The Canadian barely felt it when Gilbert pecked a kiss on his forehead, but he thought he heard a mumbled apology. He couldn't move his own finger either, for it was stuck with Gilbert's. He was afraid it would hurt even more to take it out, so Gilbert's fingers just moved alongside his.

When Matthew got over the discomfort of Gilbert scissoring his fingers, he thought the next time he did it would be a good time to withdraw his index finger.

He jumped when Gilbert found the spot he was looking for.

"Bet it feels good, right?" He looked down at Matthew with a predatory grin.

"Mnn—ah, yeah. But it would have been better if-" he trailed off. The pleasure was starting to get to him and all he could think about was how good Gilbert's fingers felt inside of him until they drew out.

"Better if what?" the Prussian asked, lifting the leg of the person beneath him and resting it on his shoulder. He gave Matthew time to speak before pushing into him to make it easier.

"Maybe not better, less, ah—painful—if you'd managed not to lose the lube, eh? Romano's probably in this same position right now if Antonio didn't get in an accident."

"He doesn't abuse the speed limit like the Italians (and sometimes I) do, and he lives close, so I wouldn't worry. Don't worry about anything. And right now, like that, you look completely unforgettable."

After he had "loosened up" and slept for a few hours, Matthew, with the help of Gilbert, had uncovered the Irish spirit inside him and allowed his crazy lover to drag him back downstairs for the last remnants of the celebration. It was still dark, and the white-haired personification swore that if you pretended hard enough the air would turn green. Matthew knew this wasn't true and that his boyfriend had just been too drunk to see realistically.

Neither of them believed there was such a thing as a slow Irish song, but the speakers contradicted them by playing one now.

The more confident one of the two dug around behind the counter for a last bottle of beer and poured a mug for each of them. Matthew watched uneasily as the brown liquid foamed over the top. Was he expected to drink that stuff? What would he lose by drinking that stuff?

"A toast," Gilbert proclaimed.

"Yeah, why don't we? Toast is better than beer for breakfast anyway." Matthew's violet eyes looked hopefully into Gilbert's, saying "please don't make me drink this stuff". The albino rolled his eyes.

"Toast anyway then. To us. It can be symbolic."

"Okay, then."

Matthew raised his glass and ignored the liquid dripping over his hand and making it stickier than it had been earlier. Just holding it seemed wrong, and it was heavier than he expected. He had to adjust his wrist the first time so he wouldn't drop his drink and spill it on the confetti littered floor.

The Prussian raised his with practiced ease and said: "To...MATTIE AND GILBERT and Gilbird if he wants to be thrown in there." They clinked glasses and the Canadian didn't even get a chance to throw in his two cents before a giant gulp of alcohol rushed down Gilbert's gullet. Kumajiro wasn't added to the toast, either because Matthew was distracted or was simply returning the favor of not remembering his pet's name. Of course he couldn't expect Gilbert to.

"I thought it was symbolic," Matthew said and quirked an eyebrow.

"I meant for you."

"Oh." Well, he was glad Gilbert respected his choice not to drink. "Can I pour this in the sink, then?"

He rolled back the sleeves of his pajamas and prepared to do exactly that and then wash his hands afterward. Halfway to the sink Gilbert caught up to him and pressed their lips together so they could share an open-mouthed kiss before checking out of the hotel and finding a new place to go. The full mug was squashed between their two bodies and some of the beer sloshed onto the Prussian's pajamas and covered an electric guitar. He couldn't think of any Canadian instruments when he was buying pajamas, so he got guitar-patterned clothes instead because they were cool.

"Yeah, I guess." Maybe he had had enough for the night.

I really must have had enough drinks if I think I've had enough drinks. I'm not my normal awesome self...

"This mug is heavy, maybe I should put it down," Matthew worried.

Gilbert brought his hand to cup his cheek and leaned in again, pressing their noses together and watching his boyfriend go cross-eyed. In their haste Matthew he had left his glasses in the bathroom.

Their breathing sped up and Gilbert was about to steal another kiss when some dipwad outside stole their moment. By running inside and announcing his presence with a hollow bang on the wall. That poor instrument.

"Who's go' a pint? 'Cause we're not done celebra'ing yet!" he yelled. The enthusiastic man jumped up on the stage without even using the stairs, and a few of his friends walked calmly in the door after him. They all winced when he raised his arms and brutally banged his fiddle on the stage until it was no more than polished wooden shards with some springs and strings.

The meek Canadian shuddered and then hung his head.


"I just never thought I'd be impressed with anyone's idiocy except for yours."

"I can top that if you want," Gilbert bragged.

"Don't hurt yourself. I—I love you."