The Brampton Boy

A/N: Well, here I am with a very old MapleTea oneshot that I found in one of my folders. As usual, my human name for Cuba is Victor. -w-


Matthew had the most fun with Victor. The two of them always managed to empty an entire carton of Neapolitan ice cream in a single night, which they could split perfectly because Victor hated strawberry and Matthew hated vanilla, so they each cleaned out their respective flavors before sharing the left over chocolate. Mind you, their sharing never really entailed a spoon—their mouths worked just fine.

He felt the most at home with Alfred, when the two of them could spend hours doing nothing but talking. They occasionally dabbled in late-night drives on the backroads in Alfred's old Chevy truck, and burned up many a night by the lake in the back of the aforementioned vehicle.

His wild side arose when Gilbert was around. Their days together always began the same way: Gilbert would invite himself over for pancakes, and Matthew would gladly oblige. After ten a.m., they've never done the same thing twice; they had torn through the streets on the German's motorcycle, went rock climbing one winter, surfed at a local beach, and, hell, they even went paragliding once. Their ever-changing tastes were also well applied in the bedroom, which Matthew would never admit.

He cursed the most around Francis. Though, on the surface, this seemed like a bad thing, in reality it was…well, it was still pretty bad. But it was the best kind of bad there was. If anyone asked, the Canadian could only say he knew very well what Francis was famous for.

He learned the most from Ivan. Despite what most people thought, he wasn't at all uncomfortable around the Russian man—in fact, he quite enjoyed his company. Ivan had shown him how to shoot a sniper rifle and hit the bull's eye every time. He'd taught him several defense tactics, how to build gear from simple items, and even how to make a small bomb. Perhaps the most interesting thing the Canadian had learned from him, though, was how to make a man climax in less than ten minutes.

Matthew saw something in everyone, yet not one of them could make him fall head over heels in the way he desired to fall head over heels. Sure, he enjoyed his "friends with benefits" situations, but it did get a little stale after a while, knowing that there couldn't ever be more to his life. Or, at least, that was what he thought before Arthur Kirkland appeared in his life.

It was on a Friday, Matthew recalled, because Alfred had failed to make it into Canada in the time frame they'd agreed on, so he'd stayed home by himself rather than going out in search of more company. As it turned out, it was a good decision on his part.

He was sitting on the couch stirring absently at a cup of cold coffee when there were three light taps on his front door. In no particular hurry, he set the mug down on the coffee table and shuffled to the door in order to pull it open, only to catch sight of what were undoubtedly the most beautiful green eyes he'd ever seen. "Uh—Um, hello." the Canadian managed, sounding more meek than he'd intended. "Who are you?"

The man in the doorway blinked, and Matthew was oddly satisfied by the light blush that crossed his cheeks. "I was going to ask you the same thing… Pardon me, I must have the wrong address."

Just before the surprise visitor could step off the front porch, Matthew stopped him with an embarrassingly panicked, "Wait!"

The stranger—whose gold-blond hair suddenly looked very tempting to touch—turned back around and regarded Matthew with dark brows raised. "Yes?"

"Who…" Are you? Matthew considered asking that, then mentally tossed the idea, for he knew the other wouldn't be interested in talking to him. Still, he had to say something, or he'd leave the word he'd already spoken just hanging there. "Who were you looking for?" he inquired at last, his shoulders slumping a bit in disappointment at his own lack of confidence.

The glimmer that ignited in the man's emerald gaze looked to Matthew like it knew what he'd really wanted to say, which both unnerved him and made his stomach feel rather fluttery. "Oh, just some bloke I used to know in college. I suppose I'll find him sooner or later."

"If you've come so far to find him, he must be a lover, hm?" The Canadian leaned against the doorframe and forced a smile, hoping his question didn't sound too probing or creepy. At least the response would tip him off to whether or not this lovely Englishman had a mate of some sort… And, at once, it hit him that he was still hoping to gain a connection with this stranger. Boy, was he hopeless.

"Heavens, no. I've no romantic attachments in my life. Actually, I'm here for business purposes. I just know the gentleman I sought happens to live in Brampton."

Matthew nodded a total of five times before he realized he was staring at the other. Fantastic. Now this man was going to remember him as the six-foot-tall bobblehead that asked him creepy questions about his love life and came to the door wearing flannel pajamas with moose printed on them.

"My goodness," the Brit began, voice quivering in a way that made Matthew's face flush red. It was a shame he'd never get the chance to hear that again. "It is mighty cold out here, isn't it? Goodness," he repeated. "I guess I'd better get going."

"If—if you're cold, you could always come inside!" Matthew offered with a cheery tone and instant regret.

Those green eyes were yet again twinkling, and this time that twinkle was accompanied by a soft smile. "As lovely as the offer sounds, I'm afraid I must be getting back to the hotel before it gets too dark out."

"Yeah! Yeah, I gotcha."

"But…" The man bit his lip, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notepad and an ink pen. "Perhaps another time, Mister…?"


"Mister Williams."

"Another time sounds great, yeah!" The Canadian ignored how excited he sounded and hoped that the other man miraculously missed it. "Ah, what, um—what do I call you?"

"Arthur will do, love."

The response was a bit slurred, thanks to his surprised satisfaction at that almost affectionate-sounding nickname, but still audible. "In that case, just call me Matthew. Or Matt. Either one."

"Well it was nice meeting you, Matt." Arthur looked down to scribble his name and number in the notepad, then tore the page out and handed it to the other. "I'll be expecting a call from you very soon."

The taller of the two managed a lopsided grin in his stupor, and Arthur responded with a smirk that Matthew was surprised he detected, as it was barely-there and the Brit had turned away rather quickly.

"Goodbye, then."

"Later," was the other's rather weak reply.

He watched his new acquaintance depart in that well-tailored gray suit and hummed to himself as the car pulled out of his driveway and exited the premises. The paper in his hand was transferred to his pocket during his trip back to his living room couch.

That could've gone worse, he supposed. And though he couldn't be sure of what would happen with him and Arthur, he had a pretty good feeling about it, and that was good enough for the moment. And though he'd been relatively happy with the previous state of his sex life, there was something about that green-eyed Englishman that made his heartbeat accelerate.

It only occurred to him some months later, when the two of them had fallen asleep hand-in-hand on the hood of Arthur's car after a two-hour-long conversation, that he might just be in love.