I have writer's block. :( So I wrote out an idea that's been bugging me. Enjoy? Enjoy~

Pairing: mentioned Arthur/others, mentioned Matthew/others, Arthur/Matthew

Warnings: language, slash, OOCness, fail, sexual situations

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

"You want me to what?" Matthew asked politely, blinking in confusion as his Prime Minister merely sighed.

"Pretending to not have heard me will not get you out of this, Matthew." The human said firmly. "This is a request from the Queen—"

"She's only a figurehead." The blond nation muttered, earning an icy frown from his Boss. "Diefenbaker was much more frightening." Matthew added, sliding down in his seat and crossing his arms.

"And comparing me to past Prime Ministers will only give me reason to confiscate your season passes for the Leafs."

"Go ahead." The nation challenged. "I don't like them anyways."

"And the Canadiens."

At that Matthew's face reddened and he looked more like a petulant teenager than the personification of the second largest country in the world.

Stephen Harper promised to never mock Obama behind his back ever again because the man was a saint if he had to deal with this impetuous, teenage attitude on a daily basis. Who was armed. And wasn't tempered by an inherent politeness.

Honestly, his kids didn't give him half as much attitude as Matthew did sometimes.

"Think of this as a vacation." He offered with a slight smile, altering his tactics to sound more cajoling.

"I'd rather go to Cuba." The other said stubbornly, jaw set.

The Prime Minister's smile vanished. "All you do is have sex when you visit Cuba." He reprimanded.

Matthew smirked, his demeanor taking on a decidedly French air. "Have you seen his—" He laughed lightly when his Boss's expression darkened. "Sorry, Boss." He murmured contritely. "But, you do realize that most of my visits to Arthur end the same? There's only so much rain and reprimands someone can take before you gag Arthur and—"

"You're going to find Mr. Kirkland and take him back to Westminster, no matter what." Harper said coldly, shuffling his papers and swiftly cutting off his nation. "You will not kill him—I don't care if he will eventually reawaken, don't do it. Understood?"

"No. Why me?" Matthew asked. "And how am I supposed to find him?"

"Because, according to the Governor General and the Queen, he is most fond of you and more inclined to listen to you and you're rather close—"

"Yes, decades and decades of varying degrees of dependence will do that. So will years of sleeping with each other. Oh, and not to mention I've been right when he was wrong and I made him look stupid at Suez, not that that was hard because he was being stupid."

Harper pretended not to hear him. He was too used to his nation's snide comments to be truly affected. Besides, Matthew was genuinely nice and would probably make him a batch of "I'm sorry for being a hoser" maple brownies tomorrow. "As for where to find him, the CSIS brought these documents. Apparently he is moonlighting as a guitarist for an punk rock band."

"The CSIS?" Matthew asked curiously, taking the folder and flipping through it.

"The intelligence agency."

"Oh right." The violet-eyed boy responded distractedly. "Is Arthur wearing leather pants?"

"You realize now the urgency to retrieve him?"

"Yes." The Canadian said, eyes concerned. "He's too old to be gallivanting in such tight pants. He could hurt himself." His eyes flickered back down and he winced. "Maple. I'm fairly limber but even I wouldn't be able to…"

His Boss cleared his throat pointedly.

Matthew gave him an innocent smile.

"Haha, yeah I heard about Iggy's little midlife crisis." Alfred's voice laughed, loud in his ear. "This is like, what, the third in the past fifty years?"

Matthew smiled, cell phone pressed to his ear as he maneuvered out of the airport. "I suppose, brother." He raised an arm to hail a cab. "I don't really keep track."

"Aren't you guys fucking?"

"Sometimes." Matthew conceded, slipping into the taxi with his carry-on in his lap. "But it's a very open relationship. You know how promiscuous he is."

"Yeah, and you're not too picky because you're attention starved."

"You're a dick." The northern nation said flatly, pulling the phone away to give the address to the driver. "And I hate you."

"That's not what you said last week." Alfred chirped and Matthew could make out the faint sound of leather squeaking as the superpower leaned back in his chair.

"Last week you couldn't talk." Matthew reminded, tilting his head back against the worn seats and looking out the window at rolling hills. "You were doing something more useful with that big mouth of yours."

The cab driver turned up the radio. It was none of his business.

"Yeah, yeah, broski." Came the dismissive response. "How was your flight?"

"Not bad." Matthew shrugged. "My Boss upgraded me after I brought him brownies."

"You really need to stop being such a douche, bro."

"I lost the World Juniors."

"You can't keep using that as an excuse."

The music was loud, melding with the roar of the crowd and the thrum from the amps. The lighting was dim, strobes flickering around the dank warehouse as teenagers, dressed in bright rags of street wear, moved against each other, writhing and rocking to the noise.

Matthew leaned quietly in the corner, fading into the obscurity of the darkness, as he watched, violet eyes lined with black liner, the band perform. The singer, a bleached blond with bruised eyes, wasn't so much as singing as he was screaming into the mike, a tassel of shredded silk hanging from the stand as he stomped the beat onto the stage as he snarled the words. Behind him, in the center of the stage, the drummer, bald and shirtless with numerous piercings, pounded away on the drums swiftly. The bassist, a short, wispy South Asian, sang backup even as his fingers whisked across the strings.

And off to the right, wearing sinfully low leather pants that looked painted on and a matching vest with a silver chain looped around his neck and waist, was Arthur Kirkland, sandy blond hair shooting every which way, as he furiously strummed his guitar.

The Canadian smiled fondly as Arthur smirked at the crowd, baring his teeth with a fairly malicious curl of his lip.

"You couldn't have just bought a Bentley?" He mused quietly, shifting his stance and surreptitiously pulling up his torn black jeans and tilting his head back to continue watching his former guardian.

"Francis would be jealous." Matthew said casually, forearm resting against the chipped doorframe as he leaned into the room.

Arthur's head shot up from where he was nuzzling the pale neck of a slender blond.

"Matthew?" He asked, somewhat hoarsely, a little disbelieving.

"He's a cute one." The girl smiled slowly, crooking her finger in a 'come hither' gesture. "Always wanted to do two at once."

"Get bent you lot." Arthur snapped, standing up so the girl toppled out of his lap. "Should be studying for your A levels, anyways."

His band mates snorted. One by one, each boy put out their cigarettes and trooped out. The drummer picked up the girl and, hand slipping down to her rear, led her out. The lead singer winked at Matthew on the way out as Arthur gave him a sulky glare (expression smoothing when Matthew turned back to him).

Once the humans left the room, Matthew shook his head in amusement and fully entered, shutting the door behind him and turning back to face Arthur, hands on his hips.

The Englishman merely looked at him defiantly.

"I don't even know where to begin." The blond said softly, shaking his head. "You disappear for three weeks, evade your intelligence—"

"I trained them. Of course I could evade—"

"Tell your own Prime Minister to 'piss off', call Alfred a 'poser', and break your Gibson on Francis's head." Matthew rattled off. "And all of this after stumbling into Parliament high off your ass on opium."

"You get high. Or are you forgetting the emperor of the banana boat incident?"

"This isn't about me." Matthew said dismissively, cheeks heating up as those memories rushed back unwillingly. "I'm not trying to relieve my glory days. Though, perhaps I should be grateful you haven't tried to re-conquer India."

"I didn't have the crew." Arthur explained, looking almost regretful, crossing his legs and drawing Matthew's attention to the bulge in the front of his jeans. Suddenly, he grinned rather predatorily, uncrossing his legs but keeping them open wide. "See something you like, pet?" He asked lightly.

Matthew's gaze met his and the Canadian blushed darker and looked away. "All I see is a rather pathetic midlife crisis." He snapped.

Arthur, all dark grace and sensuality, rose to his feet and stalked over to Matthew who stepped back until he was backed against the vintage vanity set up in the grungy room. Hands gripping the edge, Matthew leaned back, hair sticking to the mirror, as Arthur leaned forward, pupils dilated.

"But, you must admit, poppet, that I still have some magic in these old fingers." He purred, leaning forward and kissing the underside of Matthew's jaws. Said fingers skirted around the waist of Matthew's jeans, sliding under them and brushing against warm skin. His lips slid to the other's pulse point and he whispered, "Its been a while, hasn't it love? Been feeling rather randy lately I have." To punctuate his point, he rolled his hips against Matthew's front, relishing in the quick intake of breath he received. He grinned, fingers sliding around the other's waist and slipping into the back of his jeans, massaging the skin just above the other's rear. "We should shag right here. I'll bend you right over this and make you scream." He whispered, peppering kisses down Matthew's pale neck and down to his collarbone peaking out from the V collar of his shirt.

"Tempting." Matthew laughed breathlessly, resting his hands against the other's side and pushing him away firmly. "But your piercings bother me." He poked at the other's lip ring, eyes glancing over the numerous studs in Arthur's ears and his pierced eyebrow. "And Francis always told me to never put out in public unless I was either very drunk or you had done something sweet to earn it."

Arthur pulled back and gave him a very cross look. "I got rid of the slag, didn't I?"

Matthew frowned. "You're really not romantic." He said haughtily, nose scrunching up in a rather adorable way. Arthur, rather enamored by the gesture, tried to lean forward to kiss it but was pushed away again. "Even Alfred sweet talks me before trying to get into my pants."

"Are you saying that git is better than me?" Now the Brit was affronted, stepping backwards. "Poppycock."

"To be honest, both of you are so mediocre, that there's no competition." Matthew shrugged, patting Arthur's shoulder consolingly.

"Well, then why the bloody fuck do we keep doing this?" Arthur asked heatedly, hands curling into fists at his side.

"Because I like you." Matthew smiled softly and Arthur felt something twist and melt in his chest.

Matthew was so lovely. A bit acerbic and frosty at times, but it was much better than the doormat image he projected in front of others.

"Now come on." The younger nation said gently, taking Arthur's hand. "Everyone is worried. Even Alfred and Francis. Al has been texting me nonstop and Francis hasn't moisturized in days."

"I don't care if those tossers were worried." Arthur scowled, entwining his fingers with Matthew's.

"I was worried." Matthew said off-handedly. "So, lets go home please."

"Of course, love." Arthur didn't even cast a longing look at his abandoned guitar on the dingy brown couch.

"Now that Iggy has decided to embrace his oldness, I propose we renew debate on Proposal 385: Operation Moon Pie." Alfred said brightly, smacking the conference table decidedly. "All in favor, say 'Aye'! All opposed, go fuck yourselves!"

Matthew snickered as Germany manhandled Alfred off the stage and proceeded to wrestle control of the meeting before it could devolve into chaos. The muscled nation, after giving Italy a warning glare, began to speak, his accented voice already lulling the gathered nations into a haze of sleepiness.

"Hater." Alfred grumbled, having snuck over to Matthew and taking his seat. Then, giving his near twin a mischievous grin, he leaned over and whispered loudly, "I heard something interesting, yo."

"If its about Finland and Sweden, its only a rumor. We have no conclusive proof that Finland tops. And, no, Sealand still thinks that they're wrestling." Matthew said boredly, dutifully scratching notes in the margins of his folder.

"Its not about that." Alfred rolled his eyes. "Its about you."

At this Matthew looked up, interest piqued. It wasn't often that people remembered to gossip about him and when they did, it was always funny. "Really, eh?"

The superpower nodded, his voice turning excited. "Someone has a crush on you."

At this Matthew's eyebrows dropped and he gave the other a bland look. "Alfred, we are way too old to be playing this game."

"Its Arthur!" Alfred waited expectantly, but received a blank look. "Aw, c'mon brosideon, I heard that he hasn't had sex with anyone but you in months. And its not because he can't get it up. And, according to Poland who heard it from Hungary who heard it from Austria who heard it from Spain who heard it from some guy called Portugal, he's been looking at your picture and sighing longingly."

"Longingly?" Matthew asked slowly, a warm feeling unfurling in his chest.

"Longingly." The older nation repeated seriously. "Face it, Mattie, Arthur wants you like a fat kid wants cake."

"I am inordinately fond of Matthew." Arthur said, taking a deep breath and needing to talk with someone who knew him fairly well and could give him half-decent advice.

"Vraiment?" Francis asked wryly, giving the waitress a charming smile as she set down his coffee. Once the woman left, he regarded Arthur with bored azure eyes. "Because even though you flew at Pierre Trudeau in a jealous rage and threatened to lock Mathieu in a chastity belt and cried like a infant the night he finally became independent, I never would have guessed."

Unfortunately, that person was Francis. Arthur didn't really have many friends and, sadly enough, Francis did know him well. It was rather depressing.

"I did not fly at him in a jealous rage." Arthur sputtered. "He disrespected my Queen but I forgave him." He added primly. "Because I am a gentleman."

The Frenchman smiled teasingly. "So tell me, mon lapin, you were not the least bit jealous when you heard of Mathieu and Cuba's affair? Or his dalliance with the Netherlands following the war? Or how about the nights he spends with Alfred?"

"We were never exclusive." The island nation said stiffly, thick eyebrows furrowed in ill humor, as he stirred milk into his tea. "And Gab and I—"

"Have not been intimate in months." The other blond answered smoothly.

"My sex life—"

"—or lack thereof."

"—shut your mouth—is none of your business, you bastard." Arthur pointed the delicate silver teaspoon at the other nation viciously. "But, yes, I admit monogamy holds a certain appeal."

"And perhaps, because you were so used to have Mathieu around for so long, at your beck and call, that now, because he is independent, you do not like sharing him. You wish to call his attention back to you. But, because he is independent, he is busy with his own life, away from you. And to get his attention, you act out."

"Its bad enough that Austria likes to counsel everyone, but you too?" Arthur snorted derisively. "You're full of shite."

Francis ignored him. "That would explain your recent indiscretions. Running off to join a band, attempting to bait Spain into war, trying to put together a pirate crew to terrorize fishermen, having sex with nubile blonds in order to fill the emptiness in your shriveled heart—"

"Wanker." The Englishman scowled, his fingers trembling around the teacup. If he were a weaker man, he'd throw the scalding tea in the other's smirking face. But he was a gentleman and it'd be a waste of a perfectly lovely cup of tea.

But seeing Francis cry after failing to get milky tea out of his poncy silk shirt would be worth it…

"Just admit you want him to yourself." The other European rolled his eyes. "You are emotionally stunted and unromantic, but you aren't completely hopeless." He gave his best frenemy a stern look. "Just don't confuse him for Alfred."

Arthur wrung his hands, pacing up and down the hallway. He had already gotten some strange looks from some nations, but he ignored them and continued with his feverish pacing.

He wanted to ask Mathieu out for dinner.

He had never really asked anyone out to dinner.

He also couldn't remember which door belonged to Matthew.

"Oh bollocks." He swore.

"Something wrong, Arthur?"

The Englishman, mind whirring and still internally raging, vaguely recognized the voice and unthinkingly snapped, "Everything is just fine and fucking dandy, so don't bother me you twit!"

"Um, alright then."

It was only until the nation left and five minutes had passed that Arthur realized that it had been Matthew.

"Oh bloody hell." He groaned.

This might be a bit harder than he thought.

I am going to keep leaving Trudeau/Canada hints until a fanfic of said pairing appears. :I I want Trudeau/Canada so bad it hurts. It hurts. -cries- I might even end up writing it if I don't get. So, for the love of all things good and holy, stop me!

Also, yes, Arthur is now trying to woo Matthew. Why? -shrugs- Cause I felt like writing it lol. I purposely wrote Canada as a bit of a douche. I like to think he's not completely squishy and sweet. Mostly, but with a hidden douchey streak that only special people get to see. Like his Boss. I'm sorry Canadians. I can't take your PM seriously. Its okay. I can't take US presidents seriously either. I hope I didn't offend anyone.

Also, I can't really see nations as monogamous in relationships because they live far longer than humans so the same sort of ethics don't always apply. Lets be honest, I like the idea of Matt getting it on with the world. But I also like UK/Can.

Yes, I realize there are other things I need to finish. But...writers block. -pouts- I also have a USCAN in the works, so yay?

So...wanna see this continued?