Snow Men: Part Three
May. 11th, 2009 06:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
historizeTitle: Snow Men: Part Three
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
historyblitz
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Canada/America, side helping of France/England
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Not worksafe. Also, language.
Summary: Because now I'm kind of getting into the idea. Part three of this: [1 and 2]. Also, that fiend, Canada. France will be so proud.
Originally posted here
Canada fucked America hard.
He did it to America the way Russia had done it to him. Forcefully persuasive, and refusing to take no for an answer. He wasn’t sure precisely what made him decide to take this route—but America was someone he had never been able to quite match. And when he looked up at him, blue eyes the mirror of his own, and looking so concerned…
He suddenly imagined Russia’s eerie gaze and it just seemed like a good idea.
So he shoved America down on the bed, feeling his eyes go wide but not registering the significance. But America did and America stared at him as if he’d never seen him before.
“M-Matthew….you…”
Canada wasn’t big enough to tug America around so he just got on the bed and leaned over him. “You talk too much.” And he kissed him.
America jolted, which made everything worth it. His fingers curled into the blankets and he stared straight ahead at Canada. But he could only picture….
Russia. His eyes looked just like Russia’s.
It made him shudder because picturing Canada like Russia was not something he ever wanted to contemplate. Canada leaned back and removed his glasses and then reached forward and removed America’s. He placed the twin sets on the stout, cherry wood night table.
“Alfred,” Canada murmured. He smirked, sliding a hand up his arm.
America, for a moment, looked speechless and then he scooped up a little voice. “….Matt?”
Canada had wanted America to react but he should have expected that, of course, it would take more then that to get a reaction from his brother. America was surprised but nothing else.
When Russia came to my house…
There had been the phone call. Then the study and it had all been a massive build up…and then…
So he tried again, reaching forward and grabbing America’s shirt. The buttons flew off and he reached in to touch.
“M-M-Matt! What are—!”
“Wow, don’t tell me you’re that dense?”
“Why are you acting so weird?”
Canada didn’t answer. He leaned in, nipping gently under his jaw. Remember, if Russia had been forceful, you would have thrown him out but he started gently and worked his up to dominating. He couldn’t forget. He felt America’s pulse quicken and his fingers slipped up his chest, tweaking his nipple.
America stiffened, biting his lip. Canada heard a shudder of breath in his ear and let his eyes wander up.
His eyes were so wide and blue—
--when he sat down next to him in the grass. It was warm and soft and brown and dead around his bare toes but Canada didn’t care. He allowed the silence to stretch between them.
America had emerged from his house that morning, drawn and pale. Prussia and France were still asleep, recovering from the battle. Canada had snuck down to visit after England left and he found the house quiet, eventually stepping off the battered porch to peer into the back yard, where he saw his elder brother sitting.
“I won,” America whispered. His voice had a shake in it that Canada hadn’t heard since they were children.
Canada nodded. “You did.”
America looked at him, eyes wide and somehow dim. “Are you angry with me?”
Canada looked down and then up. His hand slid over America’s knuckles. His smile was fainter. “England can’t even tell us apart. Most often, he forgets I exist. You were always the favorite, Al.”
America tried to smile in return. “Maybe he’ll pay more attention to you…”
“He won’t.”
America flinched. It was slight and if Canada were any other, he wouldn’t have seen it. “He might—“
“He won’t,” Canada repeated. “You know he won’t. He’ll only wish I was you.”
America looked away from him, turned his palm up and gripped his brother’s hand. “I won’t forget about you.”
Canada felt something swell inside his chest that had never been there before. He leaned forward and hugged him.
He leaned up and kissed him. He felt America tense and flinch under his hands but not move away. “Al,” he said, panting softly in his ear.
America grit his teeth but couldn’t suppress the full-body shudder. “M-Matt…what’s this…what’s this all about?”
Canada’s hands went to America’s belt and his mouth went to the other’s chin. He kissed it, speaking in breathy murmurs. “Can’t you guess?”
America’s fingers were clawing into the sheets. “I…yeah but…”
“Is it bad?” Canada brushed his mouth against his.
America groaned a little, pushing back into the kiss. He breathed in deeply, hands rising, gripping the air and then landing on Canada’s shoulders. His mouth opened. Canada could feel that heat pooling in him, rising as he listened to America’s quickening breath. He could see it for what it was now and he yanked off America’s belt and threw it aside. The shirt came next, roughened hands pushing the garment from America’s broader shoulders, tearing it away. His hands moved more naturally over America then they had over Russia. They moved without him having to think. Grasping, clawing, bruising his skin, holding him down and nipping his ear, biting into his shoulder. America squirmed under him and suddenly seemed to find his strength, gripping into Canada’s back with crushing brutality.
But he couldn’t let America get too comfortable. Oh, no. Else he would try to take control from him. America was used to being in control. Again, Russia’s words echoed in his mind. ….the best way to conquer a people is to convince them that it is for their own good. That they will like it. Make them like it…
He wasn’t trying to conquer America, just Alfred. So he put a hand on his brother’s bare shoulder and smiled at him. “Let me, Alfred…”
America blinked at him. “What…Matt…”
Canada only smiled, opening up his slacks. “Please?” He leaned down, taking America’s length inbetween his fingers. He kept his eyes locked on America’s when he licked him.
America made a choked sound, back arching. He groaned, hands carding into Canada’s silk soft hair.
Canada tickled the tip with the point of his tongue, watching him writhe. So this…is power. He curled his lips around the head and sucked. This must be how Francis feels when he and England used to fight…
It really should be this way. Canada sucking and licking and nuzzling America, bringing him to his mercy. It was sort of fun. There was a twisted sort of enjoyment—
--as he crept down the hall, thinking that England would surely cane him if he knew he was up. He tried not to think about it. At least he hadn’t brought America with him. He was still sleeping in their bed, curled up on his side with his mouth open. He would have given them both away.
Besides, all he really wanted was a drink of water. He was hungry too and maybe if he managed to approach England, he could get a bit of white cake. That would be nice. And he’d actually get to eat it without America throwing a tantrum.
Getting jealous.
Canada shook his little head and banished it from his mind when he heard a low groan. He blinked and perked. What was…
There, again.
“A—ah! Fuck, Francis!”
Canada’s hand flew to his mouth at the curse.
There was a low chuckle, almost like a purr. “Oh, quiet. You’ll wake the boys.”
“You—ah!”
Maybe he was…well…what was…it sounded like England was dying. He hurried down the hall, slowing when he neared the expansive arched walkways into the front room. He peeked around the wall.
Well, there was…there was England and he wasn’t dead but….but why was his belt around his wrists like that? And why was France leaning over him, well…practically with his head in England’s lap and…
England was moaning and for some reason, Canada felt embarrassed, face feeling hot but it was like being down on Saint James or Bond Street…he couldn’t look away from the sights he saw.
France had something in his hand then…that…
Canada frowned. He looked down at his nightshirt, contemplating why on earth France would be holding that and then…wait, now he was licking—
Canada gasped, mouthing falling open.
Much, much louder than intended.
England jumped and swore, spotting him. “Dammit!”
France whirled around and blinked. “Matthew!”
Canada yelped and turned around and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him.
America was groaning, fingers massaging through his hair. It felt good. Really good. Something about it that Canada couldn’t really describe, as Russia had been more prone to pull his hair while America’s fingers….were….were….different.
“Does it feel nice, Alfred?” He swiped him, dragging his tongue up slowly, slowly.
He choked. “Y-yeah…it’s…really good…you’re….you’re…good at this….”
Canada smiled, sucking down the length of him, fingers sliding up his thigh to touch his sac. The muscles in America’s thigh shook and his breathing faltered—
--and suddenly he was moving. Canada wasn’t quite prepared when America surged up, lifting him, both of them suddenly off the bed and Canada’s back hit the wall with a loud thump. It winded him and in the second it took him to recover, America was pinning him, shoving a leg between his own and rutting against him. Canada jolted at the feeling, whimpering. When he looked up, his eyes met America’s.
He smiled. “Never pictured you like this,” he said, breathless. “I kind of like it.”
Canada didn’t have time to respond, America’s mouth hard and covering his own. He threw his arms around his neck, shoving his fingers into his hair, clinging. America pushed, hands jerking down to scramble with Canada’s slacks, shoving them off his hip without unbuttoning them. Canada jerked as the fabric scrapped over him, arching against the wall.
America shoved them down the rest of the way, bodily lifting Canada and kicking them aside, putting him down again and grabbing his cock in his fist, stroking roughly. It nearly made Canada weak in the knees. He started to sink against America’s chest, digging his fingernails into his shoulders. But America ground into him, hips creating hot friction and reminded Canada of what he was doing. His legs straightened and his head tilted back and touched the wall. He licked his lips and surged up, capturing America. His mouth opened, tongue flicking out and exploring, stroking America’s with his own. That made America groan; a rough, low, commanding sound that made Canada’s length twitch.
“Matt….Matt…I want to…to…” He seemed to struggle, face flushed red, trying to get out a complete sentence as he arched into Canada’s hips.
“Too impatient,” Canada managed, somehow summoning a smirk.
“Fuck you,” America ground out, pressing against him, grabbing both their cocks and stroking.
No, no. He’s in control again. Take it from him. Canada shifted, trying to ignore that calloused hand. God, it feels good. This isn’t a sin, right? Good thing I don’t really go to confession much. He pressed his mouth against his throat. “Al,” he rasped. “Alfred….”
America’s other hand was skirting around his hip, dipping below and slipping down the curve of his rear. The fact that it was his brother—even if it wasn’t by blood—should not have been as arousing as it was.
Canada groaned again, shifting to accommodate him--No! Take control from him! His hands moved in a flash, wrapping around America’s throat.
He stiffened, eyes shooting open, hands gong still. “What the--!”
Canada’s smirk turned into a grin, squeezing lightly. “No.” His eyes widened a little again. “No.”
America felt a flash of ice in his gut. God…he looks….like Russia. Looks like Ivan when he smiles like that. It was creepy as hell. America pulled back a little but Canada came forward, pushing his stiff cock against America’s stomach, fingers gently massaging at his neck, getting tighter.
“Matt--! What the hell--!”
And then Canada released one hand from his throat and struck him across the face. America staggered, clearly not prepared for the blow and Canada pounced on him. He grabbed America’s belt and looped it around his throat. Canada pushed him, shoving, slammed him down on the bed and secured the belt to the bars of the headboard.
He sat back, eyes narrowing, looking down at his brother. He strangled a laugh. America still looked surprised, naked and belted to the headboard by his throat. He tried a smile, though he looked slightly off-footed. “Didn’t think you’d be the kinky type, Matt?”
Canada, on a whim, pulled out his most disarming smile. It was sweet and kind and beforehand had only been used in a tender moment. Now…”Sometimes, Alfred…people can surprise you…” He slid his hands up, one went to America’s cock and the other went to America’s mouth. He pumped him with his fist and plunged his fingers in, forcing his brother to suck on them.
America groaned awkwardly but then gave in, licking and sucking at Canada’s knuckles. His hips arched against the bed, thrusting into the air, into Canada’s hand. Canada just watched for a moment, something buried and deep down….enjoying the image.
Enjoying it? Was that right? Watching his elder, stronger, louder brother….like this.
America’s eyes suddenly met his own and his face jerked back from Canada’s fingers. “Matt,” he said, voice gruff. “Don’t smile like that. It’s creepy.” He groaned. “And Christ, can we get on with it? Fucking do something.”
He kept smiling. “Why’s it creepy? And what do you want me to do?” He tightened his grip on America’s cock.
“It’s—it’s….” he lifted his hips higher, and the headboard thumped into the wall. “…it’s….like….Russia….” He grit his teeth. “And fuck, I want you to touch me or ride me. Fucking pick!”
Canada’s eyebrows shot up, amused. “Really?” He suddenly wondered what it’d be like if Russia were here too…
“Really! Can we just—ah, fuck—Matt, c’mon!”
Canada’s fingers, slick and shiny with America’s spit, slid down his chest and hip. He let go of America’s length.
“Ah, hey—don’t! What are you--!” He reached up, grabbing onto Canada’s shoulder, starting to pull him down but Canada’s other hand shot up, curling around the belt and jerking it. America gagged and went still, staring up at him. “…M-Matt…”
“No,” he whispered. He wedged America’s legs apart, reached down and plunged his slick finger into him.
“Ahh--!” America’s cry jolted Canada but it wasn’t enough to startle him out of this.
This.
What was it?
Who cared; besides, America’s cock had just stiffened even more.
Canada let his fingers slip down the belt, touching America’s throat and sliding down his chest. His other hand wiggled in closer to America’s body, forcing another finger in. He thrust hard and fast, trying to find what Russia had found in him. Whatever that…that had been.
And suddenly, America cried out again, eyes screwing shut.
That must be it. Canada stretched his fingers inside of him, curling them and recognized that he was touching something. Wow.
He added another finger, kneading the spot. Canada was straddling one of America’s thighs by now, moving against him faintly. America writhed, tried to jerk up and gagged when the belt cut into his neck. “Matt! Matt—I—fuck!”
“Yes?”
“Matt—goddammit!”
Canada laughed but nodded. After all, America might just break the belt. He drew his fingers out of him, watching him shudder and got between his legs. He raised his fingers, licking his hand generously and then reached down, touching himself.
His eyes closed, surprised at how it made him wince, a tiny cry escaping him. When he opened them again, America was staring at him, eyes glazed and hungry. Dark.
Canada leaned over him, putting his hands on either side of him and lined himself up. He hesitated for just a moment…staring down into America’s eyes.
“Matt--!”
No, he couldn’t listen. Canada shoved into him and nearly collapsed. Somehow, he had not expected this…not…God…
America thrashed a little, throat straining against the belt. Canada panted, nearly overwhelmed, unable to do anything but feel it. Feel how hot and tight and how America was shaking….
He whimpered, struggling to hold himself up.
America started to shift, impatient. “Matt—Matt, fuck, you’ve got to move…!”
Canada was panting. His eyes drifted up. “Wh-what?”
“Fucking move, Matt! Dammit, c’mon!”
Canada’s eyes narrowed and he straightened his arms. “Quit whining.”
“Wha—“
“Shut up.” His hand went up to the belt, jerking on it.
“Fuck, stop doing that!”
Canada yanked it again and America wheezed. In his silence, Canada collected himself. He quaking nerves settled and he drew back. He looked down, burning the image of this into his head and then shoved into him again, hard and fast.
America’s hands shot up, grabbing onto Canada’s arms. He grabbed into America’s sweat-slick hips and drove into him.
Carnality. Brutality. This is the other kind of power. Sexuality. This doesn’t require soldiers at all.
France was much smarter than everyone gave him credit for. Canada would only think to remind himself to tell him later. Later when he wasn’t…wasn’t doing this…this…
He sped up, pace mindless as he fucked America hard. The headboard slammed into the wall again. Canada leaned down, forcing America’s head back and capturing his mouth, biting into his lips.
America’s groan was muffled by Canada’s kiss. His tongue slipped into his mouth, biting back at him. He could barely see Canada, eyes blurred by sweat and lack of glasses, but everything was running together, only able to hear the sounds of their breathing, synchronizing, finally. "M-Matt--!"
Canada was shaking with effort. "W-what!"
"Need you to...to--ah, dammit--!"
Canada understood in a flash, thinking of Russia, of course. What Russia had done to him. So he reached down, blinking sweat from his eye, and curled his hand around America's cock. He stroked him, timing it with his thrusts.
Muscles tightened, America's voice husky as he growled deep in his chest. Heat was building behind his eyes. His lung were burning.
And suddenly, Canada gasped and cried out—as if something he hadn’t expected had happened—and America felt hot and wet. “Matt…!” Of course, he thought, Matt can’t hold out…he isn’t-- He couldn’t finish the thought because Canada was still stroking him, somehow.
His eyes rolled back into his head and he came, spilling all over Canada’s hand and bare stomach.
Canada fell. He slumped down on his brother’s chest and just laid there, unable to move. He was breathing hard, still seated inside of him. America managed to lift a hand, fingers clumsy on the belt, but got it undone. He slumped down into the blankets, that hand going to his throat, feeling the welts. How am I going to explain…
Oh, it didn’t matter. He let his hands fall on Canada’s shaking back. Abruptly, it all came together.
Canada acted weird around Russia. Disappearing for the second half of yesterday’s meeting. Russia had been gone too. This morning, Canada had used Russia’s first name. And he seemed to have suddenly developed a sexual appetite. It was......
Fuck...
America closed his eyes....and, soothingly, rubbed Canada’s back.
Author/Artist:
historyblitzCharacter(s) or Pairing(s): Canada/America, side helping of France/England
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Not worksafe. Also, language.
Summary: Because now I'm kind of getting into the idea. Part three of this: [1 and 2]. Also, that fiend, Canada. France will be so proud.
Originally posted here
Canada fucked America hard.
He did it to America the way Russia had done it to him. Forcefully persuasive, and refusing to take no for an answer. He wasn’t sure precisely what made him decide to take this route—but America was someone he had never been able to quite match. And when he looked up at him, blue eyes the mirror of his own, and looking so concerned…
He suddenly imagined Russia’s eerie gaze and it just seemed like a good idea.
So he shoved America down on the bed, feeling his eyes go wide but not registering the significance. But America did and America stared at him as if he’d never seen him before.
“M-Matthew….you…”
Canada wasn’t big enough to tug America around so he just got on the bed and leaned over him. “You talk too much.” And he kissed him.
America jolted, which made everything worth it. His fingers curled into the blankets and he stared straight ahead at Canada. But he could only picture….
Russia. His eyes looked just like Russia’s.
It made him shudder because picturing Canada like Russia was not something he ever wanted to contemplate. Canada leaned back and removed his glasses and then reached forward and removed America’s. He placed the twin sets on the stout, cherry wood night table.
“Alfred,” Canada murmured. He smirked, sliding a hand up his arm.
America, for a moment, looked speechless and then he scooped up a little voice. “….Matt?”
Canada had wanted America to react but he should have expected that, of course, it would take more then that to get a reaction from his brother. America was surprised but nothing else.
When Russia came to my house…
There had been the phone call. Then the study and it had all been a massive build up…and then…
So he tried again, reaching forward and grabbing America’s shirt. The buttons flew off and he reached in to touch.
“M-M-Matt! What are—!”
“Wow, don’t tell me you’re that dense?”
“Why are you acting so weird?”
Canada didn’t answer. He leaned in, nipping gently under his jaw. Remember, if Russia had been forceful, you would have thrown him out but he started gently and worked his up to dominating. He couldn’t forget. He felt America’s pulse quicken and his fingers slipped up his chest, tweaking his nipple.
America stiffened, biting his lip. Canada heard a shudder of breath in his ear and let his eyes wander up.
His eyes were so wide and blue—
--when he sat down next to him in the grass. It was warm and soft and brown and dead around his bare toes but Canada didn’t care. He allowed the silence to stretch between them.
America had emerged from his house that morning, drawn and pale. Prussia and France were still asleep, recovering from the battle. Canada had snuck down to visit after England left and he found the house quiet, eventually stepping off the battered porch to peer into the back yard, where he saw his elder brother sitting.
“I won,” America whispered. His voice had a shake in it that Canada hadn’t heard since they were children.
Canada nodded. “You did.”
America looked at him, eyes wide and somehow dim. “Are you angry with me?”
Canada looked down and then up. His hand slid over America’s knuckles. His smile was fainter. “England can’t even tell us apart. Most often, he forgets I exist. You were always the favorite, Al.”
America tried to smile in return. “Maybe he’ll pay more attention to you…”
“He won’t.”
America flinched. It was slight and if Canada were any other, he wouldn’t have seen it. “He might—“
“He won’t,” Canada repeated. “You know he won’t. He’ll only wish I was you.”
America looked away from him, turned his palm up and gripped his brother’s hand. “I won’t forget about you.”
Canada felt something swell inside his chest that had never been there before. He leaned forward and hugged him.
He leaned up and kissed him. He felt America tense and flinch under his hands but not move away. “Al,” he said, panting softly in his ear.
America grit his teeth but couldn’t suppress the full-body shudder. “M-Matt…what’s this…what’s this all about?”
Canada’s hands went to America’s belt and his mouth went to the other’s chin. He kissed it, speaking in breathy murmurs. “Can’t you guess?”
America’s fingers were clawing into the sheets. “I…yeah but…”
“Is it bad?” Canada brushed his mouth against his.
America groaned a little, pushing back into the kiss. He breathed in deeply, hands rising, gripping the air and then landing on Canada’s shoulders. His mouth opened. Canada could feel that heat pooling in him, rising as he listened to America’s quickening breath. He could see it for what it was now and he yanked off America’s belt and threw it aside. The shirt came next, roughened hands pushing the garment from America’s broader shoulders, tearing it away. His hands moved more naturally over America then they had over Russia. They moved without him having to think. Grasping, clawing, bruising his skin, holding him down and nipping his ear, biting into his shoulder. America squirmed under him and suddenly seemed to find his strength, gripping into Canada’s back with crushing brutality.
But he couldn’t let America get too comfortable. Oh, no. Else he would try to take control from him. America was used to being in control. Again, Russia’s words echoed in his mind. ….the best way to conquer a people is to convince them that it is for their own good. That they will like it. Make them like it…
He wasn’t trying to conquer America, just Alfred. So he put a hand on his brother’s bare shoulder and smiled at him. “Let me, Alfred…”
America blinked at him. “What…Matt…”
Canada only smiled, opening up his slacks. “Please?” He leaned down, taking America’s length inbetween his fingers. He kept his eyes locked on America’s when he licked him.
America made a choked sound, back arching. He groaned, hands carding into Canada’s silk soft hair.
Canada tickled the tip with the point of his tongue, watching him writhe. So this…is power. He curled his lips around the head and sucked. This must be how Francis feels when he and England used to fight…
It really should be this way. Canada sucking and licking and nuzzling America, bringing him to his mercy. It was sort of fun. There was a twisted sort of enjoyment—
--as he crept down the hall, thinking that England would surely cane him if he knew he was up. He tried not to think about it. At least he hadn’t brought America with him. He was still sleeping in their bed, curled up on his side with his mouth open. He would have given them both away.
Besides, all he really wanted was a drink of water. He was hungry too and maybe if he managed to approach England, he could get a bit of white cake. That would be nice. And he’d actually get to eat it without America throwing a tantrum.
Getting jealous.
Canada shook his little head and banished it from his mind when he heard a low groan. He blinked and perked. What was…
There, again.
“A—ah! Fuck, Francis!”
Canada’s hand flew to his mouth at the curse.
There was a low chuckle, almost like a purr. “Oh, quiet. You’ll wake the boys.”
“You—ah!”
Maybe he was…well…what was…it sounded like England was dying. He hurried down the hall, slowing when he neared the expansive arched walkways into the front room. He peeked around the wall.
Well, there was…there was England and he wasn’t dead but….but why was his belt around his wrists like that? And why was France leaning over him, well…practically with his head in England’s lap and…
England was moaning and for some reason, Canada felt embarrassed, face feeling hot but it was like being down on Saint James or Bond Street…he couldn’t look away from the sights he saw.
France had something in his hand then…that…
Canada frowned. He looked down at his nightshirt, contemplating why on earth France would be holding that and then…wait, now he was licking—
Canada gasped, mouthing falling open.
Much, much louder than intended.
England jumped and swore, spotting him. “Dammit!”
France whirled around and blinked. “Matthew!”
Canada yelped and turned around and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him.
America was groaning, fingers massaging through his hair. It felt good. Really good. Something about it that Canada couldn’t really describe, as Russia had been more prone to pull his hair while America’s fingers….were….were….different.
“Does it feel nice, Alfred?” He swiped him, dragging his tongue up slowly, slowly.
He choked. “Y-yeah…it’s…really good…you’re….you’re…good at this….”
Canada smiled, sucking down the length of him, fingers sliding up his thigh to touch his sac. The muscles in America’s thigh shook and his breathing faltered—
--and suddenly he was moving. Canada wasn’t quite prepared when America surged up, lifting him, both of them suddenly off the bed and Canada’s back hit the wall with a loud thump. It winded him and in the second it took him to recover, America was pinning him, shoving a leg between his own and rutting against him. Canada jolted at the feeling, whimpering. When he looked up, his eyes met America’s.
He smiled. “Never pictured you like this,” he said, breathless. “I kind of like it.”
Canada didn’t have time to respond, America’s mouth hard and covering his own. He threw his arms around his neck, shoving his fingers into his hair, clinging. America pushed, hands jerking down to scramble with Canada’s slacks, shoving them off his hip without unbuttoning them. Canada jerked as the fabric scrapped over him, arching against the wall.
America shoved them down the rest of the way, bodily lifting Canada and kicking them aside, putting him down again and grabbing his cock in his fist, stroking roughly. It nearly made Canada weak in the knees. He started to sink against America’s chest, digging his fingernails into his shoulders. But America ground into him, hips creating hot friction and reminded Canada of what he was doing. His legs straightened and his head tilted back and touched the wall. He licked his lips and surged up, capturing America. His mouth opened, tongue flicking out and exploring, stroking America’s with his own. That made America groan; a rough, low, commanding sound that made Canada’s length twitch.
“Matt….Matt…I want to…to…” He seemed to struggle, face flushed red, trying to get out a complete sentence as he arched into Canada’s hips.
“Too impatient,” Canada managed, somehow summoning a smirk.
“Fuck you,” America ground out, pressing against him, grabbing both their cocks and stroking.
No, no. He’s in control again. Take it from him. Canada shifted, trying to ignore that calloused hand. God, it feels good. This isn’t a sin, right? Good thing I don’t really go to confession much. He pressed his mouth against his throat. “Al,” he rasped. “Alfred….”
America’s other hand was skirting around his hip, dipping below and slipping down the curve of his rear. The fact that it was his brother—even if it wasn’t by blood—should not have been as arousing as it was.
Canada groaned again, shifting to accommodate him--No! Take control from him! His hands moved in a flash, wrapping around America’s throat.
He stiffened, eyes shooting open, hands gong still. “What the--!”
Canada’s smirk turned into a grin, squeezing lightly. “No.” His eyes widened a little again. “No.”
America felt a flash of ice in his gut. God…he looks….like Russia. Looks like Ivan when he smiles like that. It was creepy as hell. America pulled back a little but Canada came forward, pushing his stiff cock against America’s stomach, fingers gently massaging at his neck, getting tighter.
“Matt--! What the hell--!”
And then Canada released one hand from his throat and struck him across the face. America staggered, clearly not prepared for the blow and Canada pounced on him. He grabbed America’s belt and looped it around his throat. Canada pushed him, shoving, slammed him down on the bed and secured the belt to the bars of the headboard.
He sat back, eyes narrowing, looking down at his brother. He strangled a laugh. America still looked surprised, naked and belted to the headboard by his throat. He tried a smile, though he looked slightly off-footed. “Didn’t think you’d be the kinky type, Matt?”
Canada, on a whim, pulled out his most disarming smile. It was sweet and kind and beforehand had only been used in a tender moment. Now…”Sometimes, Alfred…people can surprise you…” He slid his hands up, one went to America’s cock and the other went to America’s mouth. He pumped him with his fist and plunged his fingers in, forcing his brother to suck on them.
America groaned awkwardly but then gave in, licking and sucking at Canada’s knuckles. His hips arched against the bed, thrusting into the air, into Canada’s hand. Canada just watched for a moment, something buried and deep down….enjoying the image.
Enjoying it? Was that right? Watching his elder, stronger, louder brother….like this.
America’s eyes suddenly met his own and his face jerked back from Canada’s fingers. “Matt,” he said, voice gruff. “Don’t smile like that. It’s creepy.” He groaned. “And Christ, can we get on with it? Fucking do something.”
He kept smiling. “Why’s it creepy? And what do you want me to do?” He tightened his grip on America’s cock.
“It’s—it’s….” he lifted his hips higher, and the headboard thumped into the wall. “…it’s….like….Russia….” He grit his teeth. “And fuck, I want you to touch me or ride me. Fucking pick!”
Canada’s eyebrows shot up, amused. “Really?” He suddenly wondered what it’d be like if Russia were here too…
“Really! Can we just—ah, fuck—Matt, c’mon!”
Canada’s fingers, slick and shiny with America’s spit, slid down his chest and hip. He let go of America’s length.
“Ah, hey—don’t! What are you--!” He reached up, grabbing onto Canada’s shoulder, starting to pull him down but Canada’s other hand shot up, curling around the belt and jerking it. America gagged and went still, staring up at him. “…M-Matt…”
“No,” he whispered. He wedged America’s legs apart, reached down and plunged his slick finger into him.
“Ahh--!” America’s cry jolted Canada but it wasn’t enough to startle him out of this.
This.
What was it?
Who cared; besides, America’s cock had just stiffened even more.
Canada let his fingers slip down the belt, touching America’s throat and sliding down his chest. His other hand wiggled in closer to America’s body, forcing another finger in. He thrust hard and fast, trying to find what Russia had found in him. Whatever that…that had been.
And suddenly, America cried out again, eyes screwing shut.
That must be it. Canada stretched his fingers inside of him, curling them and recognized that he was touching something. Wow.
He added another finger, kneading the spot. Canada was straddling one of America’s thighs by now, moving against him faintly. America writhed, tried to jerk up and gagged when the belt cut into his neck. “Matt! Matt—I—fuck!”
“Yes?”
“Matt—goddammit!”
Canada laughed but nodded. After all, America might just break the belt. He drew his fingers out of him, watching him shudder and got between his legs. He raised his fingers, licking his hand generously and then reached down, touching himself.
His eyes closed, surprised at how it made him wince, a tiny cry escaping him. When he opened them again, America was staring at him, eyes glazed and hungry. Dark.
Canada leaned over him, putting his hands on either side of him and lined himself up. He hesitated for just a moment…staring down into America’s eyes.
“Matt--!”
No, he couldn’t listen. Canada shoved into him and nearly collapsed. Somehow, he had not expected this…not…God…
America thrashed a little, throat straining against the belt. Canada panted, nearly overwhelmed, unable to do anything but feel it. Feel how hot and tight and how America was shaking….
He whimpered, struggling to hold himself up.
America started to shift, impatient. “Matt—Matt, fuck, you’ve got to move…!”
Canada was panting. His eyes drifted up. “Wh-what?”
“Fucking move, Matt! Dammit, c’mon!”
Canada’s eyes narrowed and he straightened his arms. “Quit whining.”
“Wha—“
“Shut up.” His hand went up to the belt, jerking on it.
“Fuck, stop doing that!”
Canada yanked it again and America wheezed. In his silence, Canada collected himself. He quaking nerves settled and he drew back. He looked down, burning the image of this into his head and then shoved into him again, hard and fast.
America’s hands shot up, grabbing onto Canada’s arms. He grabbed into America’s sweat-slick hips and drove into him.
Carnality. Brutality. This is the other kind of power. Sexuality. This doesn’t require soldiers at all.
France was much smarter than everyone gave him credit for. Canada would only think to remind himself to tell him later. Later when he wasn’t…wasn’t doing this…this…
He sped up, pace mindless as he fucked America hard. The headboard slammed into the wall again. Canada leaned down, forcing America’s head back and capturing his mouth, biting into his lips.
America’s groan was muffled by Canada’s kiss. His tongue slipped into his mouth, biting back at him. He could barely see Canada, eyes blurred by sweat and lack of glasses, but everything was running together, only able to hear the sounds of their breathing, synchronizing, finally. "M-Matt--!"
Canada was shaking with effort. "W-what!"
"Need you to...to--ah, dammit--!"
Canada understood in a flash, thinking of Russia, of course. What Russia had done to him. So he reached down, blinking sweat from his eye, and curled his hand around America's cock. He stroked him, timing it with his thrusts.
Muscles tightened, America's voice husky as he growled deep in his chest. Heat was building behind his eyes. His lung were burning.
And suddenly, Canada gasped and cried out—as if something he hadn’t expected had happened—and America felt hot and wet. “Matt…!” Of course, he thought, Matt can’t hold out…he isn’t-- He couldn’t finish the thought because Canada was still stroking him, somehow.
His eyes rolled back into his head and he came, spilling all over Canada’s hand and bare stomach.
Canada fell. He slumped down on his brother’s chest and just laid there, unable to move. He was breathing hard, still seated inside of him. America managed to lift a hand, fingers clumsy on the belt, but got it undone. He slumped down into the blankets, that hand going to his throat, feeling the welts. How am I going to explain…
Oh, it didn’t matter. He let his hands fall on Canada’s shaking back. Abruptly, it all came together.
Canada acted weird around Russia. Disappearing for the second half of yesterday’s meeting. Russia had been gone too. This morning, Canada had used Russia’s first name. And he seemed to have suddenly developed a sexual appetite. It was......
Fuck...
America closed his eyes....and, soothingly, rubbed Canada’s back.
