To my bestest Franada fangirl, Utaria, because this was her idea to begin with. Thanks for letting me write it~ Sorry it took so long.
As always: R18, daddy-kink, Electra complex, brother complex, yaoi, BL, smut, 2P! and as ever, heavy use of 'Papa' during sex.
Thinking of doing one of these for USUK. Crap. That bug has bitten me again…
Oh, and just a note; I write 2p!Matthew the opposite of how I write his 1p!
America: 1p!Al, 2p!Fred
Canada: 1p!Matthieu, 2p!Matthew
France: 1p!Francis, 2p!Francois
England: 1p!Arthur, 2p!Artie
There's the imperative; Fuck You
And the reflexive; Fuck Me
And of course you may hear these both together,
in the combined form, the Imperative-Reflexive;
Go Fuck Yourself.
Use Of The F Word In Canada – Bowser and Blue
It was the equivalent of having your trailer-trash relatives come and stay in your nice, clean house and having them burn the place to the ground. Well, perhaps not quite that bad. But Fred had almost torched the white house last time he was in Washington, which was kind of surprising, because he and Al generally got on like a house on fire (excuse the pun). Despite their polar opposite personalities, they both had a love for playing games, so cops and robbers was always on. Al would play the cop and Fred would be the robber. The only difference was that if he wasn't watched, Fred would actually rob someone.
Because of this, the location of the Whole World Meeting wasn't held in any capital city (especially after the Washington debacle), but rather in a big house in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. That way there would be less collateral damage than there would be in a populated area. Note that it says less instead of no. It was kind of hard to have the sadistic, chaotic doppelgangers around without at least one small disaster, cattle mutilation or other such. 2Ps or Player Twos, the video-game inclined Alfred called them. Well. One of the Alfreds. As every country had some form of governing system, each country also had an underworld, a dark past and a dirty history. It was the '2Ps' who took care of that – or whichever part of it the nation themselves didn't govern.
As such, they were like chalk and cheese. Artie, the 2P version, had on one very memorable occasion bent a struggling Arthur over his knee in the middle of a meeting and spanked him with a kitchen spoon until the handle broke for his excessive use of the word bloody. 'It's so rude! And he wouldn't listen to me!' the alternate had said tearfully.
Though, oddly enough, the two versions that got on the least were the Canadas. Matthieu detested his dark counterpart for his disregard for nature and his boorish attitude and Matthew thought that Matthieu was a pussy. It was as simple as that. Much to the surprise of everyone at the meeting, they had to be seated at opposite sides of the conference room to stop whatever conversation (argument) they were having from turning into an out-and-out debate (brawl). Yes, it could be safely said that the Canadas brought out the absolute worst in each other.
Despite the fact that they were practically identical (Matthew's hair was a shade or so lighter, and his eyes were an unsettlingly bloody shade of red) they did their damnedest to look different. Matthieu was wearing a dove-grey suit with a mid-range blue shirt, his hair loose and his glasses seated sensibly on the bridge of his nose.
Matthew had a black suit and a red shirt – ideally he wouldn't be wearing anything so formal, but the meetings had a dress code. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail and a pair of sunglasses sat jauntily on the end of his nose.
One other curious thing about the nations and their alternates; because of their flipped personalities, the Player Twos seemed to have flipped relationships as well. Countries who hated each other, the Alternates were practically in love. Take Canada and America as an example. Alfred and Matthieu were best of bros. Fred and Matthew were constantly one wrong word and an 'oh yeah?' from kicking the living shit out of each other.
So while Francis was a doting father and an excellent lover to his Matthieu, Francois was… not. In fact, the alternate Frenchman's charge had often been seen sporting the signs of a vicious beating when he was younger and sometimes still did – for old time's sake. Matthew didn't even know that Matthieu and Francis were doing the horizontal (/vertical/diagonal/any vaguely flat-looking surface) tango. That was until one fateful Whole World Meeting – WWM – when everyone was heading if not to bed, then to their rooms. Matthieu had stopped to have a word with Alfred about trade with Alaska, and on his way back to his and Francis' room, he'd been accosted by Matthew,
"Going to get daddy to read you a bedtime story?" he sneered, nodding at the door that the less antagonistic Canadian was heading for.
"You should really stop projecting your daddy issues onto me," Matthieu sighed irritably, "It's unhealthy."
At this moment, Francis, hearing them, called out, "Matthieu? Mon amour, come to bed!"
"Aw, how cute, you even sleep tog-" red eyes widened in shock. Only long-time couples got rooms together. Long-time being at least fifty years. It kept the tensions and break-up/hook-up rate of the meeting to a minimum, "Dear God! That's disgusting! You- He- Fucking! And you have the hairy balls to tell me I have daddy issues! You're – Father-fucker! You probably still call him Papa when he's got his cock up your ass, don't you?"
"Jesus Christ, you do!"
"Like you ever get laid!" Matthieu muttered, wrenching open the door and slamming it shut behind him. He could still hear his alternate making over-exaggerated gagging noises through the heavy wood of the door. Absolutely positive that his twin was trying to piss him off and succeeding spectacularly, the frustrated Canadian sat down on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched and tense. Gentle fingers danced over his back, pressing at tense knots of muscle until they released.
"Chouchou, what's the matter?" Francis asked quietly, leaning against his sullen-looking son.
"If you listen carefully, you can still hear Matthew calling me an incestuous freak," he muttered darkly. They weren't really related, but they were as close as, and it was the one aspect of their relationship that people were most uneasy with, especially Matthieu's little habit of calling Francis Papa. Matthew had been spot on with that guess. It was also the aspect of their relationship that Matthieu was most uncomfortable with sharing.
"Mon amour," the Frenchman's chin rested on his shoulder, arms snaking about his son's waist, "I love you, nothing else matters." Matt turned, pressing his lips against his lover's eyebrow – the closest part of him,
"I know, and I love you, too. I just wish that other people could see it that way, too."
Francis turned his face into Matthieu's neck, his Matthieu and kissed the skin he found there, "Why don't we do something to cheer you up?" he proposed between kisses.
The younger man twisted, cat-like in the other's arms, snuggling closer with a devious grin all over his sweet face, "Matthew's down the hall, isn't he?"
"As far as I am aware, yes," the Frenchman liked where this train of thought was headed.
"Then why don't we really give him a reason to complain?"
Matthew was on the very verge of tears. Frustrated tears. That soppy, namby-pamby, passive-aggressive little shit-head had gone too fucking far this time. No matter what he tried, he couldn't seem to block out the sounds from four rooms over. He'd tried headphones – the sick fucks just seemed to get louder. He'd gone for a walk – they'd still been at it when he got back. Fucking rabbits. He'd put a pillow over his head but that hadn't done jack shit. He'd raided the minibar, but then the sounds had started making him horny, so he'd stopped drinking.
"O-oh! Papa! Harder! Fuck me harder!"
They had to be doing this on purpose.
"There! There! Yes! Papa! Yes!"
They were mocking him.
Just because he didn't have anyone to love him.
"I- I'm- Aa~nh~ A-Ah! Papa!"
Matthew clutched a pillow to his chest, angry tears streaming from his eyes and sitting uncomfortably against his skin, making the pillow beneath his head damp and unpleasant. Even wimpy, polite and passive Matthieu had someone to love him, even if it was his father. Matthew hated that he was so very, very lonely.
They arrived late for the meeting, muss-haired and tired, but really pleased with themselves. Francis' I-Just-Had-Sex grin was enough to let the entire room know exactly what had happened last night, as if the pleasured yells that echoed through the corridors hadn't given the entire building a live broadcast at the time.
Matthieu wore his own sleepy, self-satisfied smile and slight limp with pride. He had ridden his Papa like a horse. A really wild, sexy, French horse.
So maybe he was getting filthy looks from pretty much everyone on his floor, but the one person he'd actually been trying to get a rise out of was glaring a hole through the table and not even looking at him. Well, fuck him, too.
The meeting went on.
Matthieu lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, fingers stroking absently through Francis' hair as the Frenchman snuggled sleepily against his chest. The whole issue with Matthew was really bothering him. The Doppelgänger had been looking between Francis and Francois all day. Jealously comparing them. There was a disturbing longing in the other's sharp red eyes as they ran over Matthieu's lover, and the more amenable Canadian been growing steadily more and more over-protective by the second until he had joined the other French-speaking countries – they were grouped by preferred language rather than alphabetically – and sat beside his lover, head resting on Francis's shoulder as he glared daggers at Matthew.
His French lover hadn't minded, but Matthieu was still concerned. What was it that made Matthew stare at his France that way? Surely he had his own? Even if Francois was brutal, sick, sadistic, cruel and just plain heartless. Okay, so maybe he didn't have his own lover.
Matthieu stared at the dark ceiling and the red, blue and green spots that danced before his naked eyes. That was it! The Canadian's mouth popped open in shock. Matthew was jealous. Matthew wanted what Matthieu had. A lover. A father. Someone who would love him. Someone who would hold him on cold nights.
"I know what his problem is!" he said at last, rather louder than intended.
"Mmne too," Francis muttered with his face buried in his son's shoulder, wondering why the fuck the other was talking about that at this time of night, "Too much red meat."
"What? No! Who are you talking about? Well – actually, it might be. Matthew could eat a moose," the doppelgänger had a propensity for packing away the protein.
"He has," was the moaned answer, "I never want to hear an animal scream like that again."
"Oh my- Really? That's revolting," Matthieu wrinkled his nose, cuddling his lover closer protectively, kissing his pale blond hair. "But that's not what I was talking about. He's jealous of us. Of what we have."
"C'est bon, mon amour, now go to sleep," Francis rolled over. Matthieu was talking too much.
"Papa~" the Canadian cooed in his ear, wrapping his arms around the Frenchman, "I have a huge favour to ask you~"
Another day. Another disgusting day of being somehow unable to look away from Matthieu and Francis kissing and cuddling during the break. They'd been together how long? Since just after the first World War. And they hadn't gotten out of the hormonal-teenager phase yet? For fuck's sake…
Matthew sulked. They kept shooting him sidelong glances and looking like they were laughing at him.
"It'll be just like me," Matthieu promised, stroking his fingers through Francis' hair tenderly.
"Mon amour, he is your exact opposite," the Frenchman protested weakly. He was already considering the idea, curse Matthieu for appealing to that one stupid fantasy he had had decades ago. How had he even remembered it? But then again, being the meat filling in a French-Canadian sandwich sounded utterly delicious.
"Hey, Matthew! Matthew, wait a second! Can I have a word?" the more polite version called out, jogging after his twin, who was striding away from him with determined speed. "Excuse me," Matthieu grabbed the other's shoulder. Matthew turned around, snarling viciously,
"Get the fuck off me!" the darker twin jerked the other blond's grip, "I don't want to catch your incest." In partially feigned disgust, he wiped off the cloth of his blazer where Matthieu had touched with a gloved hand. No sick, kinky, mildly alluring germs for him.
"Fine then, don't listen to what I have to say. You're only missing out on a proposition that could change your life," the other Canadian gave a carefree shrug. He wasn't particularly fussed if Matthew didn't want to play his game; that was fine. His loss.
"I have a proposition; go fuck yourself," the other's red eyes narrowed, and there was a scornful sneer to the curl of his lip.
"That," Matthieu replied, a calm smile on his face, "Is exactly what I'm trying to do."
Francis was waiting for them when an oddly confident Matthieu lead a wary-looking Matthew to their room. The second player's breath was coming short and quick. Was this some kind of trap? He hadn't seriously just been invited to a threesome had he?
A lazy, self-confident smirk bloomed on the Frenchman's lips as he appraised the two Canadians before him. Right, Matthew thought, yes. I have been invited to a threesome.
Matthieu's arm curled around his twin's waist, only to have it pushed off roughly. Matthew let out a shameful gasp of surprise as Francis nipped at his earlobe, where had he come from?
"Uh-uh-uh, ma cher," he cooed, fingers working at the buttons of the frozen man's shirt, letting the red material fall to the floor.
"Wait a minute," Matthew protested, trying to push the other two away and failing miserably as they nipped and kissed up opposite sides of his neck, their arms caging him. The bastards were tag-teaming him, the alternate Canadian realised with a pang on indignation, "You're going kind of fa-aah~" the red-eyed man broke off as someone's hand moved to pop the button of his trousers and give his fly a helpful tug to that the whole ensemble fell to the floor and Matthew was left in his boxers and socks.
"What was that?" Matthieu chuckled, nibbling at his doppelgänger's earlobe, making him gasp. Though that might have been because Francis had just started playing with his nipples; rolling and flicking them until they were hard, there was no way to be sure.
"I think," the Frenchman said; a wicked grin on his lips, "That he thinks we're going too fast."
"Really?" Matthieu's breath ghosted over the skin of Matthew's neck, "Are we going too fast?" the usually reserved Canadian bucked his hips, grinding them against his dark twin's ass.
A deep breath in through his broken nose did nothing to calm the alternate's racing heartbeat.
"Why are you two still wearing clothes?" he said in a surprisingly small voice, trying hard to drag his eyes away from the floor as he toed off his socks.
Matthieu and Francis exchanged excited grins, exultant fingers racing through buttons and zips until all three of them were bare and in varying degrees of half-hard. Matthew's eyes were directed to the side, not at either of them and certainly at his own naked body. Matthieu's large, pale hand gripped his chin turning him to look at Francis' kindly smiling face.
"Look at him," Matthieu whispered in his ear, lips stroking the cartilage as he spoke, "This is the man who is going to fuck you, and you're going to call him Papa while he does it." A shiver traced its fingers over the dip of Matthew's spine at the other's words, and suddenly he wondered if this was what it was like … Almost, maybe, if this was what it was like to be loved?
The word was just on the tip of his tongue. Go on, he urged himself. It's fucking sick, and it's fucking wrong, but it'll feel so fucking good.
"Papa," he whispered, butterflies beating their wings against the inside of his skin, "Are you really going to fuck me?"
Francis' warm smile only widened as he stepped forward, reaching behind Matthew and pulling Matthieu forward so that the doppelgänger was trapped between them. The regular Canadian lowered his head, leaving gentle kisses along what was essentially his own neck and shoulders. The Frenchman murmured against Matthew's mouth,
"Oui, mon fils, I am," before kissing him proper, tongue slipping between surprised lips, exploring and tasting this familiar yet new mouth. The same as Matthieu's but at the same time not.
Matthew let his twin manoeuver them over to the bed, pushing and twisting to that the red-eyed man's back hit the duvet, Francis over him. The Frenchman's hair was wild and his eyes bright as he leant over Matthew, raining kisses down on the younger nation's face.
"Shift over, Papa," Matthieu said, a playful pout on his lips – someone was enjoying this way too much if the glint in his eyes was anything to go by – "I want to suck myself."
"By all means, chouchou, whatever you want," the Frenchman said, graciously moving aside, nuzzling against Matthew's neck and leaving possessive, oddly affectionate marks all over his skin.
Matthieu smirked, propping himself up on his elbows between his twin's thighs the fingers of one hand traced the V of his hips while the other gave teasing caresses to his sac. Licking his lips, the indigo-eyed Canadian dropped his open-mouthed self a heavy wink and licked the straining erection before him from base to head, drawing a bas groan from his counterpart, followed by a keening whine as he swallowed him down. Matthieu bobbed, sucked, hummed licked and nipped at the cock between his lips with apparent relish until Matthew was writhing beneath him.
Unbidden gasps, moans and mewls of pleasure left the darker Canadian's lips as he was drawn closer and closer to his release – only to have Matthieu pull back, a teasing grin on his face as Matthew whined unhappily; he wanted to cum down that smiling throat.
"It wouldn't be fair of me to make you cum, now would it? Not when Papa hasn't had a turn. Right Papa?" he turned to Francis, who looked up from Matthew's messily decorated shoulders and chest with a smile,
"Merci beaucoup, Matthieu," he smiled, taking the Canadian's place between the sprawled man's thighs, a bottle of lube in his hands. Matthew's eyes widened, heart hammering in anticip
The Frenchman took a moment to admire his catch. It wasn't often that anyone got to see either of the Canadas like this, and he was probably the only nation on earth who could say that he'd seen them both like this; flushed, panting and desperate, proud erections leaving smudges of precum on the taut skin of their stomachs.
"Please," the co-conspirators looked in astonishment at the man spread between them, "P-"he struggled with the words, "Papa, brother. Be gentle with me?" Matthieu and Francis looked at each other, then at the genuine fear in the other's eyes and then back to each other.
"Of course," Francis purred, decanting a generous quantity of slick gel onto his fingers, "Of course, mon fils."
"Anything for you, brother dearest," Matthieu murmured – if that was how he wanted to play it, that's how they'd play it - stroking the other's hair back from his forehead, watching Matthew's wide, red eyes clench shut as Francis' first finger pressed into him. Who would have thought that one of the nastiest of the alternate nations would be such a screaming bottom in bed? Ordinarily to cross Matthew was to risk life and limb, but now here he was with a gentle Frenchman's fingers teasing him open, his breath coming short as his double's hand curled around his member, stroking him. He looked so very fragile. It was odd to think that a man who was ordinarily so vicious, violent and rude could be so vulnerable, almost …hopeful.
Matthew bit his lip as Francis' fingers stretched a little too far and Matthieu put out of mind the question of what exactly his Canadian counterpart was hoping for and kissed his lips reassuringly, pale hands stroking the cheeks of that familiar face. Maybe it was conceited to think so, but Matthew was rather beautiful like this.
A wide grin split Francis' lips as Matthew let rip with a long moan, bucking his hips into the Frenchman's hand as he touched the Canadian's prostate.
"Aah!" he bit down on his lip, only to open it again as France took full advantage of that sensitive spot, fingers pressing insistently against it with his middle finger as he added the third and final digit, "Hnng- A-ah! Papa! Oh-o-oh," flexing and stretching them while the doppelgänger writhed and moaned in pleasure, his face flushed and his red eyes misty as he drew Matthieu down into a hot, needy kiss.
Francis watched in lustful awe as they two Canadas kissed. Their fingers tangled in each other's hair, low sounds of desire echoing and mirroring in their throats. Matthieu sucked Matthew's lower lip into his mouth, tugging on it gently before pressing an invading tongue into the more violent Canadian's mouth, inviting his tongue to play a game. Beautiful, the Frenchman thought happily, smiling fondly at his sons. Though he had had nothing to do with Matthew's upbringing, Canada was still his and surely that meant both of them? Of course, any normal father would be discouraging this sort of behaviour.
"Matthew, cher," his voice was rough with want, and it sent twin shivers up the Canadas backs as they broke their kiss to look at him,
"Oui, Papa?" was the simultaneous answer, and the trio couldn't help but smile at each other. Matthieu was finding that he rather liked his usually wild counterpart in bed. He was oddly sweet and placid once his thighs were spread.
"Are you ready?" Matthew nodded, sharp-looking teeth biting down on his kiss-bruised lower lip as he lifted his hips invitingly. Francis smiled, stroking a lubed hand over his member, jerking his head at Matthieu. The Canadian not currently on his back stroked the other's cheek; his hand lingering as he almost reluctantly moved behind Francis and took the lube he offered. Stretching Francis didn't take as long as stretching Matthew had. That was just one of several reasons that the Frenchman was taking point on this; Matthieu was a caring lover, but he was by no means gentle.
Slowly, Francis rocked his hips forward until the throbbing length of his member was surrounded by Matthew's tight heat. The Canadian's breath was coming heavily, but that didn't stop him from moving against Francis, not allowing himself time to adjust.
"Calm down, chou," the Frenchman soothed, thrusting forward at a gentle pace; offering a rather delightful view of his ass to the Canadian behind him, "You'll hurt yourself like tha-aah~!" he broke off as Matthieu entered him, his back arching as he was at the same time completely filled and thrust deeper into Matthew. Three guttural moans of satisfaction filled the air.
"He did that to me the first time, too," Matthieu growled, nipping sharply at the crook of Francis' neck, "Just show him what you want and he'll give it to you." The penetrated Canadian nodded, his head thrown back, his hair tangled on the sheets.
"Please, Papa," Matthew said breathlessly, "I want more~" his words petered out into a moan as he bucked his hips against Francis', the head of the Frenchman's cock brushing against his prostate and sending waves of pleasure jolting through his system.
"You heard frère, Papa, he wants more," there was a deliciously dark edge to Matthieu's voice as he thrust forward, pushing Francis in, the effect of his movement affecting all of them. With this thrust he had managed to hit both of their prostates at once, making Francis moan and Matthew gasp,
"Again! Please!" the second player said; his voice was breathy, needy and delightful to the others' ears. But Francis was still going to slowly for either of the Canadas' liking, despite their maddening thrusting, he refused to give in – he was stubborn that way.
"Please, Papa! Brother!" the friction provided was not enough. Matthew needed more. This was driving him steadily insane with a want that needed to be satisfied. Deeper, harder, more.
"Go on," Matthieu growled in Francis' ear, nipping at the cartilage as he did so, "Go on, Papa. Fuck him like he's me." To emphasize his point, Matthieu snapped his hips forward harshly, powering into the men beneath him, ripping a grunt from Francis and a keening scream of ecstasy from Matthew as both of their weight slammed into his sweet-spot, whiting out his vision.
The elder nation offered no more resistance, moving in tandem with his sons' thrusts, arching his back and thrusting harder into Matthew when Matthieu hit his prostate. Yells, groans, moans, expletives and exclamations of pleasure heated the thick air, a thunderhead of sexual delight building around them. Pressure built as a rainstorm would, the condensing gasps of lust growing louder, the thrusting becoming more frantic, the tangle of arms, leg and bodies drawing tighter together as the coils of orgasm did.
"Matt- Ah! Oh-Ooh~ Matthew! Matthieu!" It was predictably Francis who came first – and wedged between two rutting, grinding Canadians, who wouldn't? – drawing twin moans of,
"Papa~!" from the Canadas as he tightened around one and released into the other, triggering simultaneous orgasms, which only made the Frenchman moan hoarsely.
They tumbled together onto the sheets, six hands cleaning up bodies that may or may not have been their own – they were all a little too tired to care.
Once clean, Matthew disentangled himself from the mess of limbs, shaky-legged and sore-backed, he began toeing at the various piles of clothing on the floor, trying to find his pants at the very least.
"What do you think you're doing?" Francis asked; a paternal ring in his voice that made the red-eyed Canadian jump a foot. He had heard a harsher tone from his own father, but this voice didn't sound like the owner was going to beat him six ways from Sunday.
"Getting my shit together to go, duh," he said, attitude returning full force. Well, except for that undignified yelp he let loose with as two different-sized hands seized him and yanked him bodily onto the bed.
"You had sex with us; you can cuddle with us," Matthieu murmured against the other's love-bitten shoulder.
"Besides, it's late," Francis added as he stroked Matthew's pale hair, "And you can't find your clothes."
"I think I'd rather like to do that again," Matthieu said, smiling pleasantly on Matthew's left, "You can cum in my mouth next time," he promised with a wink.
"Oui," the Frenchman concurred, having enjoyed the sight of Matthieu going down on Matthew, "I would like that also. So, cher, if you're ever in the neighbourhood and you're feeling bored; look us up"
"Fuck damn it," the doppelgänger muttered moodily as he snuggled into their arms, "Only because I can't find my fucking pants."
"Of course," the other two agreed.
They entered the conference room walking three-abreast, which caused a bit of a stir. Not only were the Canadas not arguing, but they seemed to be tolerating each other's presence with remarkable civility.
Oh course, not all press is good press.
"Well, well, well, look who's joined the Cupcake Brigade! Giving out free hugs, Mattie?" Fred drawled nastily from where he's been chatting with Artie.
"No, but I am ripping out throats," The Canadian snarled back.
With feral snarls, the second players were rolling on the floor in a flurry of kicks, punches and curses.
"Zut," Francis said mildly, leading Matthieu past the brawling brothers, "And there I thought we had him tamed."
The indigo eyed Canadian laughed as the sounds of Germany and Russia trying to break up the fight and Francois – who justifiably scared the living bejesus out of everyone there – succeeding where they had failed reached his ears, "I think I like him better this way."
Yeah. In my head, 2P!Canada is one volatile, violent sumbitch. But he's a kitten between the sheets. And very lonely. And secretly shit-scared of 2P!France.
This took me way too long to write.
Did you know that where I'm from R18 generally means that whatever it is costs eighteen bucks? The downside of the South African rand (ZAR).
On the other hand. I am so pleased with myself. Normal updating shall resume shortly.