Pairing: Russia/Canada, France/Canada, America/Canada, England/Canada
Warning: Non-Con, Nation-in-Heat, Society being a Jerk
Summary: Matthew's luck in escaping his heats has finally ended, and the result isn't something he's going to like.
Notes: In-progress Kink-meme fill.
When Matthew 'graduated' – and he uses the term lightly – he chose to do what his siblings did and go out into the world to make something of himself. He had no idea what he was in for when he first set out.
His first job interview went well, he'd impressed the manager of his ability to effectively sell the small nick-knacks that the shop made it's living off of. It wasn't until the manager had found out he was a Carrier that it all went bad. “I can't hire you,” the shamefaced managed had admitted. “My overhead won't let me.”
It was something he heard repeated over and over and over again. It took him almost a year to find a place that would hire him despite his Carrier status. The company who hired him, originally hired him as a receptionist cum-secretary of sorts. He went in on his first day expecting to have a job, to work, finally, to be able to do something with his life. It turned out the company manager had hired him to be eye candy for the office – as a way of luring new customers in. He served coffee, wasn't allowed to touch any equipment and had whatever work he did managed to get, taken away and credit given to someone else. He wasn't even allowed to answer phones.
He hated it. Hated every moment he spent smiling through his teeth at people who took the work he begged for and passed it off as their own.
His sister advised him to, “Bear with it. Eventually they'll either come to their senses or you'll find a new job.”
His brother had been far more blunt with his assessment, “Face it Matt. You're a carrier, and you're under aged to boot. No one's going to let you do more then the bare minimum.”
He hated it all, but what could he do? A paycheck was a paycheck after all.
Matthew would like to think that he slept, but it's more of time spent with broken, shattered images flashing before him, as he twitched in a restless state. Sometimes he's burning up, fire licking him, all around him. Other times, it drifts away from him, slow and steady like a cloud of smoke. It's broken, disjointed the way he feels during this period of rest.
But it's not quite rest.
It's more of his mind taking leave, leaving his body behind. In a way he's aware of the small tugs, and placement of his limbs, of how the men around him, murmur at his body, and pet him. It's a quiet break that ends too soon for him. Before long he's squirming against the bed sheets – they feel rough against his too hot skin, and he feels like something is trying to force it's way out of his skin. Too much, not enough.
“I don't like the look of this,” the Englishman says behind him somewhere. “Even for a first Fire, he's not responding right.” Matthew wants to agree with him, but he's not sure what is normal for a Fire, let alone a first Fire. And all he really knows is that he honestly feels like he's burning up, and that he's desperately wanting someone to fuck him.
A cool hand touches his forehead, and damn him, but he pushes up into the touch, a noise working it's way out of his throat. “Hm. Ivan?” The Englishman asks what must be the Russian something – he's not sure, because if it doesn't lead to them doing something, he can't dredge up enough energy to care.
He's burning up, his body wants someone, anyone at this point really to just fuck him, and he's so very tired of the constant feeling of insane need slashing through him. A second, different hand, almost cold to Matthew, and far bigger then what the first one was, touches his neck. Before he can stop himself, he's leaning into it, whimpering.
He doesn't much like that he's acting like every stereotypical Carrier he's ever heard of.
The Russian hums under his breath at him, stroking Matthew's too tight-hot skin with his cooler hand. “It could be backlash effect,” the voice rumbles. “It is not uncommon, but I have not seen such an extreme effect in years. Time will help our little bird, but we must be careful, or he may drive himself into, how do you say, trouble?”
Matthew felt like he was in trouble anyways, pushing into the cool hand, a whine rising in his throat.
There was two paths in life for a North American Carrier. Matthew was lucky to have been born in Canada, safely away from the European countries that still held very medieval practices in regard to Carriers. The North American countries were, after all was said and done, very liberal with their laws, permitting Carriers to hold full time jobs, have equal pay and benefits – and vote. They could do all that a normal could do, except they were required to show up to a government run Safe House for their Fires until they turned 21, the age in which a Carrier was determined to be an 'adult'.
They were still encouraged to go to a Safe House for their Fire afterward, and many did, viewing it a safer alternative then trying to wait their Fire out in the privacy of their own home. After a Supreme Court case upheld that legally a Carrier couldn't be raped during the Fire, the rare unattached 'adult' Carriers usually went to the safety of the government run Safe House, where they could at least determine who would be easing them. The under 21's didn't get to choose who eased them – the law said that they were unable to logically choose, so a parent, or court appointed guardian, had to.
The second path, the one that about thirty percent of all carriers ended up falling into, was one rarely acknowledged, the one that could have been lifted straight out of the European traditions. While a carrier was under eighteen, and still in school, once a year, they were 'chosen'. A group of highly selected men and women, who had undergone stringent government testing, came into the schools to select a carrier, who would be theirs for life. These men and women were the smartest, brightest and best of their school year. They would only get one shot at choosing a carrier – if they didn't find one by the end of the year, they never would get another chance to simply be given one. In general the younger a carrier, the more likely they were to get chosen by one of these selected people.
Matthew had one close call in his life, and had escaped it. If he'd been chosen, his life would have been much different. He'd've been sequestered away, bred every Fire, and traded back and forth between the upper class, as they tried to get specific traits in the next generation. He'd gotten lucky.