Matthew didn't know what to expect after he snuck into the ice rink to watch his brother practice (and to deliver Alfred's forgotten breakfast) but he certainly did not expect to see him shamelessly making out with Ivan 'that Russian assface' Braginsky, to quote Alfred directly. He didn't even know that Alfred was gay.

A strange development, to say the least, since Alfred refused to even look at Ivan upon learning that there was rival figure skater he had to share the rink with. The fact that Ivan was previously a ballet prodigy did not help at all. Alfred had swore to bash his face in the ice two years ago when Ivan had narrowly beaten him for gold. Seeing the two willingly interact without hostility was extremely rare, if not improbable.

But there they were, basically fucking each other against the wall. He didn't even know that Alfred was gay.

"Fucking douchebag," Alfred murmured between kisses, straightening up every once in awhile when his skates threatened to make him slip. Ivan replied with something equally intelligible and equally insulting.

Matthew watched two in some sort of horrific fascination. He didn't even know that Alfred was gay.

But when Alfred's hands snaked down to grab Ivan's admittedly nice ass, Matthew felt the need to interrupt.

"Hi, guys?" he said timidly. They froze.

Alfred pushed Ivan away and gracelessly stumbled on the ice. "Fucking— what— shit— you?" Alfred asked, surprised.

"Collected as always," Ivan said, turning to Matthew to shake his hand, "you're that idiot's brother, I believe? My deepest condolences," he greeted warmly.

"Ignore him, Matt, he's upset he lost to this idiot last summer. Bet you would have liked the nationals, huh?" Alfred glared at Ivan with a rather terrifying mix of loathing and lust.

Ivan returned the look with a smile just as disturbing.

Matthew thought he should speak up before the two started mouth-sexing each other again.

"Al, I brought breakfast, but...aren't you supposed to be practicing?"

"Breakfast!" Alfred cheered as he ripped the paper bag from Matthew's hands, "But yeah, I was practicing. What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb, Alfred, I—"

"He means that your footwork is so appalling it is evident that no effort went into it all. But I suppose no amount of practice could help you," Ivan supplied.

Alfred shot him that look again. Ivan seemed to like it.

"No, I meant this thing between—"

"There's more than empty space between his ears? I thought he would have nothing where normal people had brains," Alfred said.

"Well, I mean, it's probably not healthy—"

"Excuse me, Matthew, but dear Alfred might not appreciate the two of us discussing his cholesterol in front of him."

Ivan smiled, Alfred clenched his fists, and Matthew felt his hope crumble.

"I'd kick your ass, Braginsky, but your face is too high up," After a moment, he added angrily, "it's a really nice ass."

"Well, I'm sorry you're so short, Jones. If you were taller than a fetus I'd be able to sock you in your diamond-sharp jawline." Ivan was six-foot eight; Alfred was a head shorter.

Alfred narrowed his eyes and lunged at him. Ivan tripped and fell onto the ice with a painful thud, and Alfred landed on top of him.

"Why you—" Alfred punched him in the nose. Ivan tried to kneed him in the stomach, managing to successfully throw Alfred on the ground next to him.

"Al, no—"

Ivan threw himself on Alfred and socked him and Alfred retaliated by wrapping his legs around Ivan's waist to pull him down. He grabbed onto his arms and the two suddenly paused.

Matthew decided that he should take advantage of this wonderful opportunity to break up the fight before it got too out of hand. "You two," he called out as he started towards them, "get off of the—"

"You stupid, sexy, bastard," Ivan breathed as his hands rested firmly on the other's hips.

"You're so hot when you act like such a dipshit," Alfred snarled as he viciously attacked Ivan's lips with his own.