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wewerenotthefirst · 11 years ago

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Spanada, EngCan (some dub con, historical fuckery, id!fic) -- it's not over tonight

Arthur’s face is bruised and he’s bleeding from the mouth when Antonio drops him on the floor of the cabin.

Matthew almost runs to him, but Antonio slides over to him, hooks an arm around his waist and presses his mouth to his bare neck.

“You talk so much about sweet America, you forgot to mention the little treasure you had hidden away just a few leagues away.” Antonio says softly, imprinting each word with his breath against Matthew’s skin.

Matthew trembles, feels Antonio’s hand against his ribs. He blinks, eyes going wide, and Antonio kisses his neck again.

Matthew bites his lip.

Arthur says nothing.

II.

“There’s no need for shame.” Antonio murmurs. “You don’t have to be quiet. I am not like him. I want to know when you’re happy, what you like.”

“He’s a child.” Arthur says finally. He had been silent when Antonio stripped Matthew, hadn’t said anything when Matthew had arched away, murmuring no, wait, had been still when Antonio spread Matthew across his lap and then with his fingers while Matthew hid his face into his neck. “You b—“

“Hardly a child.” Antonio murmurs, two fingers languidly circling Matthew’s rim. “He’s just embarrassed.” And he kisses Matthew neck, saying, “He’s usually very eager. This little wolf of mine, baying to the moon while I touch him.”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath, and Matthew opens his mouth to ask Antonio once again, to stop, to make Arthur leave. The back of his neck burns all the way down to his back. Sweat pools, and he wonders if Arthur can see, if he’s watching the slide of Antonio’s fingers.

His eyes burn.

Arthur doesn’t speak again and Matthew climaxes with a shout, is pliant when Antonio lays him back and kisses him, rutting against his inner thighs until Matthew’s skin is sticky with his seed.

III.

Matthew had held out for weeks, had put up with Antonio’s curious fingers, his broad hands and warm smile. Antonio would curl around him in bed, hide under the sheets with him, and pet his stomach, his slender thighs.

Matthew had tried to tell him he was nothing like Alfred, had held his knees together and curled in on himself. Francis had called him inhospitable and cold, and Arthur had said he was wild and headstrong.

Antonio, though, had kissed him and laughed, had called him his little wolf, just like he did when he caught Matthew in the woods while his city burned at Antonio’s heels.

He had been kind, for a conqueror, for someone who laughed over canon fire. He had called him by his name, never slipped up or sighed when the wind blew too cold.

Arthur hadn’t come and Matthew had cried and Antonio had said, “How cruel of England,” and Matthew had cried into his fearsome red jacket while Antonio stroked his back.

IV.

“If you want to go back with him, just unlock his chains.” Antonio murmurs, stroking the curve of Matthew’s cheek. “But you can stay with me. I can love you. Your forests don’t frighten me. And in the winter you will sleep with me.”

He leaves Matthew and Matthew wraps the sheets around himself. He looks at Arthur.

But Arthur just looks down and says nothing.

Matthew stares at him from the bed, mouth going tight and cheeks burning.

Antonio brings him home, puts him in Lovino’s care.

Lovino looks at him and sighs, rubbing at his forehead and looking irritated. But he takes Matthew to his room and washes the dirt from under his fingernails and says, “We have Mass tomorrow.”

And they go to Mass the next day, with Lovino firmly between Matthew and Antonio, wearing a glare each time Antonio yawns or winks at Matthew.

VI.

Lovino firmly and loudly puts his self in Matthew’s life, taking over tutoring duties. He can’t speak Spanish, but he drills Latin into Matthew’s head until Matthew can conjugate in his sleep. He organizes Matthew’s lessons, raps his knuckles when he dozes.

Matthew spent a lot of his days just around his politicians, but Lovino keeps him busy, barks out orders until he realizes that Matthew goes quietly without any fight.

Matthew thinks he must be Antonio’s second-in-command, but Lovino eventually tells him that Antonio raised him. Matthew, briefly, wonders if Lovino and Antonio were lovers. He asks and Lovino actually pauses to laugh, a full-on belly laugh that makes Matthew flush.

But Lovino just shakes his head, says something about Antonio having a certain type, and then hustles Matthew off to a bath.

VI.

That night, Lovino pulls him aside and says, quietly, “You’re special here, kid. Try to stay that way.”

Matthew blinks up at him but Lovino says nothing else, just tucks Matthew in and blows out the candle.

VII.

Matthew learns what Lovino meant when the monarchies show up at Antonio’s castle for a meeting. Antonio has him dressed up, keeps him at his side, one broad hand on his back while the monarchies filter in.

Francis gives him a faint smile, unhappy and quiet. Matthew isn’t sure what to think of the melancholy in his eyes, especially when Francis couldn’t have been faster in leaving his shores.

Antonio’s allies just eye him, with curious looks and knowing smiles, and Lovino pulls him closer when Antonio bounds over to Prussia.

When Arthur walks in, the room goes quiet; wall-to-wall, all the way up to the vaulted ceiling it seems all the air leaves the room.

Arthur says nothing, rests by Austria and looks at everyone with barely disguised contempt.

Antonio grins broadly.

When he calls Matthew over to him Lovino whispers, “Don’t let him grope you too much.”

(Matthew quietly slides Antonio’s hand off his thigh when the other pulls him into his lap. He only understands later, when Antonio comes to his bed for the first time in a fortnight, ravenous and hard, pressing Matthew into the sheets.)

VIII.

“I hate being blunt, kid.” Lovino says after he shoos Antonio out of his chambers. “You’re here now, and you need to keep him interested.”

IX.

When Antonio tries to send him out of the next meeting, Matthew, with Lovino’s advice burning in his ears, shakes his head.

Antonio’s smile freezes and his gaze narrows, but Matthew presses closer, fingertips idly fussing with the brocade on his jacket.

He says nothing, tries to think of what to say, while Antonio humors him. At length, he looks up and presses a kiss to the underside of Antonio’s jaw.

There’s a pause and then Antonio laughs. He doesn’t say anything, but he pulls Matthew into his lap.

Arthur declares war and Antonio laughs, pulls Matthew close and says, “He’s a terrible loser, isn’t he?”

Matthew nods, but his heart pounds.

He remembers Arthur watching him during meetings, watching the way Antonio pressed his cheek to his curls, the way Antonio turned his head for a kiss right as Arthur was speaking.

(“I’m a pawn.” He says softly when Lovino chastises him for not having his translations done. “He never wanted me, just Arthur’s rage.”)

(Lovino’s a good man, so he just sighs and pats his shoulder. “At least you realize it now.”)

XI.

Matthew grows up under Lovino’s tutelage and in Antonio’s bed. It’s a hard game. He accepts Antonio has other lovers, better lovers, more handsome ones.

But Matthew has Lovino and Lovino is devilishly clever and ruthless, and if it weren’t for Lovino’s voice in his head, Matthew thinks he would have been shipped back to his land.

As it stands, Antonio probably doesn’t want to risk it.

“I want you close.” He whispers, bracketing Matthew in bed, nuzzling his cheek. “I won’t lose you to him.”

It helps that Antonio mostly wants to see Arthur broken and lost.

And so long as Arthur watches him with those starving, wounded eyes, Antonio will never let Matthew go.

XII.

“You were a child.” Arthur hisses, pulling Matthew into the shadows after the conference. “He’s a beast and I will—“

“I’ll scream.” Matthew says, voice cracking. He feels the weight of Arthur’s scowl and he tries to shake away, tries to get out. When Arthur holds fast, Matthew continues, “Let me go.”

“I will burn every last one of his ships.”

“Arthur, I said—“

“I will bring you home.” Arthur says, fiercely, gaze heated and Matthew jerks away. His shoulder aches but he steps away swiftly when Arthur reaches out for him again.

He remembers what Antonio had said, so long ago, when he held Matthew close while Arthur watched on the deck.

“I wish you had fought for me back then.” He spits out, feeling furious and happy when Arthur flinches.

XIII.

Arthur gives Alfred his independence, and Matthew sinks to his feet and sits on the rug while Lovino just looks at him.

“I don’t understand.” Matthew says numbly. “He threatened to salt and burn his land. He said…he said…”

“He wants you.” Lovino says softly, squatting in front of Matthew and touching his shoulder.

XIV.

Matthew suddenly can’t stand the Spanish court, so he asks Lovino how he can get home.

Lovino rolls his eyes. But he says he’ll take care of it.

And he does.

Matthew doesn’t know what he says, but he’s on a ship back home.

XV.

If it was hard with the French, it’s doubly difficult with the Spanish. The English argue louder, but when the French and Spanish team up against them, they quiet.

Matthew curls up in his house and presses the heel of his palm between his eyes.

He was just a child. He didn’t expect this.

XVI.

Antonio visits, sinks into Matthew’s bed and fucks him on his first night there. He groans, says he missed Matthew and Matthew kisses him, drags his fingers through his thick brown hair and doesn’t ask about the war, doesn’t ask about the fine scars on Antonio’s chest. He doesn’t ask about the bruises, the exhaustion carved into Antonio’s face.

“You tell me if anyone gives you a problem.” Antonio murmurs, voice sleep thick as he pulls Matthew to his chest. “I will hunt them down, right into the woods, and I’ll kill them.”

He sleeps but Matthew cannot, Antonio’s words echoing in the silence of the room.

XVII.

There isn’t anyone who remembers the English rule and even Matthew wonders if it was so bad.

So he goes to Alfred.

Alfred hugs him for a long while, his voice thick when he asks Matthew if he’s hungry.

“I’m fine.” Matthew replies, bemused, but Alfred just looks at him with damp eyes for a long while.

Alfred fills in the blank pages, tells him that Arthur left in the middle of their meeting when he heard the Spanish flag was seen offshore, that Arthur raced up to Canada, saw the damage, and just collapsed into the ash.

“He was a wreck, Matthew.” Alfred says quietly. “He said Spain kidnapped you, lied to you. He said he…” He trails off, gaze flicking downward while Matthew says nothing.

“Antonio is good to me.” Matthew says firmly, quietly. “He loves me.”

“He’s ruining you.” Alfred retorts. “You’re just a warm body to him.”

Matthew flinches at that and Alfred reaches out, but, unseeing, Matthew rises to his feet and storms out.

It isn’t how Lovino taught him. Lovino would tell him to stand his ground, to make Alfred choke on his words.

But it isn’t a lie.

XVIII.

“Why did you go with him?” Alfred asks years later.

Matthew smiles, bitterly, says, “For the same reason I went with Arthur that first time. I couldn’t not follow him.”

XVIX.

When Matthew comes to a conference, on his own, Arthur looks haggard and worn. Matthew gives him a lofty look, hides his concern when he goes to kiss Antonio’s cheek before retreating to Lovino’s side.

Arthur corners him that night.

Matthew wakes up pinned to his bed.

“Quiet.” Arthur orders softly, his bulk keeping Matthew pinned. His palm lies hard on Matthew’s mouth, and Matthew can feel his mouth against his ear. Matthew breathes out harshly through his nose, and Arthur stills. At length, words shaking, he mumbles, “I’m not going to hurt you, Matthew. I wouldn’t.”

And Matthew thinks, bitterly and viciously, that all Arthur did in the beginning was hurt him. Where was he when Antonio set his home aflame? When he gutted his soldiers? When he dragged Matthew to his ship, when Matthew was too busy hoping for Arthur’s red coat to even shout out?

The tears burn and slip down his face, and suddenly Arthur is off him, staring down at his hand while Matthew hides his face in the pillow.

“You should have been there.” Matthew chokes out after a few minutes. He doesn’t know if Arthur is still there. “You lied, you lied.”

The bed sinks and Arthur lets out a heavy sigh.

XVX.

Arthur found him, barefoot and playing in the tall grass. His heels are stained with soot and he smells like gunpowder, but Arthur sweeps him up into the air, holds him close.

“I’d move the mountains for you.” He promised, wiping dirt off Matthew’s cheek. He smiled, tapped Matthew’s nose. “Darling boy, I’ll keep you safe.”

XVXI.

The war drags on and eventually Antonio calls Matthew back, holds him close, his chin resting on Matthew’s head.

Matthew wants to tell him that his people support him, that they support the Spanish crown, but that’s a lie.

Matthew loves him, though. He’s certain, mostly.

But he can’t say that either, not when Antonio gives him a tired smile.

Matthew expects to be given away in a peace agreement.

XVXII.

Lovino takes him to the Spanish countryside, makes him tend to tomato plants, but doesn’t say anything when Matthew sits down and says, “I was wrong. I should have stayed with Arthur.”

And it all comes rushing out, that his people hate the Spanish crown, that the Spanish soldiers hate the natives. He tells Lovino about the clashes between the languages, how a church was burned to the ground. Matthew grips his cross tensely and tells Lovino that he visits Alfred regularly, but not to plot against Antonio, just because Matthew is lonely. Matthew says he’s lonely a lot, always has been, and maybe that’s why he went with Antonio. He says a lot, rambles while Lovino sinks next to him.

He tells him that Arthur visits him during conferences, that Arthur says frightening things to him, tells him that he’ll bring him home, that he loves him (here, Matthew chokes), that Matthew was just a child, that Spain’s a monster.

“I love him, though.” Matthew mumbles. “But it feels wrong.”

Lovino sighs, louder, and crosses his arms. “You were a child.” He says at length, squinting because he’s looking into the sun. “You were a pretty child, and Antonio has a weakness for pretty things.”

Matthew hangs his head and Lovino pulls him close. Gruffly, he says, “They’re both idiots. You should be independent.” Quieter, he says, “We should all be.”

XVXIII.

It takes a few more years and finally something shifts. Maybe the lack of money makes them more desperate, maybe it’s Arthur’s new king, but suddenly the English strike when the Spanish are too busy with the Americans.

Matthew’s head throbs and when he looks up, Arthur is there, bruised and unsmiling and sweating.

Matthew moves to rise but Arthur moves faster, reaches for the cross around his neck.

With a sharp tug, he tears it away, uncaring of the beads that tumble across the wood floor.

And then Arthur leaves without a word.

XVXIV.

“It’s my right.” Arthur hisses when Matthew shoves him. Arthur just pushes him back, holds him to the mattress by his wrists. Matthew’s bones ache, so he expects bruises, but he bites Arthur’s lip when he kisses him and swears, in Spanish, when Arthur tells him to be still.

“It’s my right!” Arthur repeats, louder, shaking and eyes bright.

“Fine!” Matthew snaps, because he’s not a child, now, and he has a voice, and he’s been quiet for so long. The last time he said no it wasn’t heard, but he shouted it louder this time.

But no one listened, now or then, so Matthew realizes that such a word isn’t within his power.

But he survived in Spain’s court. His heart might still be there. Who knows?

Matthew doesn’t.

But he hisses, “Take your ‘right,’ then. Because that’s all it is, isn’t it? Because you went to war for the right to fuck me, didn’t you?”

And he lays back, still and shaking, enraged and cold.

Arthur says nothing.

XVXIVI.

“I went to war because I love you.” Arthur says in the morning. “I gave Alfred independence because I love you. I gave up almost everything because I love you.”

Matthew turns his face away, because Lovino told him to not let them guilt him, that Matthew’s guilt and Matthew’s love and Matthew’s understanding is for his people, first.

Arthur searches his face, his own tired and wane.

“I love you.” He says softer, fainter. “I saw you playing in the field and I wanted you, and I was ashamed and I couldn’t…”

XVXIVII.

He sees Antonio at another conference and his heart thumps helplessly. It must have been love, Matthew concedes, because it hurts to see him.

But Arthur stands behind him, face unmoving when Antonio drifts past.

Arthur moves to kiss him, later, when Antonio is looking, but Matthew tilts his head away.

He was young, then. He won’t make the same mistakes.

#engcan #spanada #spain/canada #aph: england #aph: canada #history bending sorry #this was supposed to be longer but i gave up #bare bones fic #id fic #i don't even know #ukcan #aph: spain #sorry guys this is weird #aph: south italy #dub con #not really non con bc there is consent

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