Snow Men

[historize]

Title: Snow Men
Author/Artist: historyblitz
Character(s) or Pairing(s): [Canada/Russia] I've never seen Canada/Russia before. So I gave it a go. It feels sort of wrong. Haha! I feel dirty. Mentions of America, France and England.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Definitely not worksafe; Russia being a little bit bizarre
Summary: Russia shows up at Canada's house with an offer that he initially refuses but Russia wants to become one anyway.

As a note, this has no political or historical connotations that I am aware of.

Originally posted here.






Canada was just sitting down to a cup of hot chocolate when there was a hearty BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! on his front door. He almost dropped his cup, setting it down quickly and standing.

Snow was falling outside. It had been a beautiful day, passing into a cold, snowy night. He only had a few lights on, one in his study and one in the hall. It gave the house a dim, warm look but it was comfortable and cozy on these chilly nights. That was all that really mattered.

He looked at the clock. It was nearly midnight. Who on earth would be out on a night like tonight? Certainly not America. He’d just call. Maybe it was someone who’d been stranded?

He patted down his sweatshirt when the booming knocks came again. “I’m coming. I’m coming,” he muttered.

He went to the door, flannel pajama cuffs hanging over his thick, white socks and whispering along the floor. But even those articles didn’t keep him warm when he opened the door.

He heart nearly stopped cold in his chest and his eyes went up and his mouth fell open.

“Hello, Canada,” said his visitor, smiling.

Canada took a step back, staring upward. “Uh….um…Russia." He blinked and cast about a little. "Uh. Hi.”

Russia took a step forward, just inside the door. Canada stepped back again. “What are you doing here?”

“May I come in?”

You’re already in… But he flailed a little and nodded. “Um. Okay. Yeah. Uh.” He dodged around Russia to close the door and walked a wide circle back around him. “Um…did you walk…er, it’s kind of late?”

Russia was brushing snow off of his large shoulders. “I thought that might be the best time. America would not be pleased to know I was here. Your brother is very protective.” He made a curious sort of sound, almost like a cough crossed with a snicker and smiled. It made his pale, violet eyes glint.

Canada suddenly felt very small. Now, come on. What would England do? You’re not a wimp, Matthew. “Do you want some tea?”

“Only if you have nothing stronger.”

“I don’t have any vodka…I have beer, though.”

Russia peered down at him. “That will suffice.”

Canada felt sort of unnerved to have Russia in his home. He was even more unnerved at the idea of turning his back on the man. But, England had always told him to keep a stiff upper lip and France had encouraged him to always act natural, or at least superior. Keeping a stiff upper lip, he could do. Act natural, probably but acting superior wasn’t really in his ballpark. Canada was a tough, outdoorsy, modest young man. He both admired and hated his outgoing brother America, and skirt-chasing father-uncle France but had no desire to be like either one of them.

So he did turn around and walk to the kitchen, expecting Russia to follow him. When he went to the refrigerator and looked back, he saw that Russia had not. He shrugged a little and got out two longnecks.

He waited a moment, took a deep breath and then crept over and peered around the corner. He blinked in surprise. Russia was looking at his coat. It was something Canada had made for himself some time ago and he was always fixing it. He preferred it to the thinner, expensive store coats. It was made of leather and fur and it was soft and warm. He took a step into the foyer. “Uh, Russia?”

“You made this yourself, yes?”

“Um. Yeah, I did. Several years ago.”

“It is in good shape.”

Canada was extremely off-footed. He had never seen Russia so…well….casual and not creepy. “Russia, are you all right?”

Russia turned his violet eyes on him and he smiled. “Yes. Thank you for asking.” He stepped forward and took one of the beers.

“You can, uh, take off your coat if you want?”

“I am fine for now. Do you want to know why I am here?”

“Oh, yes. Uh. It’s pretty late and the weather isn’t really good for travel and…”

“Don’t be paranoid, Canada. Drink your beer. You are not as unreasonably hard-headed as your brother.”

Canada wasn’t sure if that was an insult or a compliment or, really, what it had to do with anything. He’s acting really, really weird. He’s usually so creepy.

“You have your links to England and France, Canada, but you have roots with me too.”

Canada blinked. “Well, yes. When the land bridges were still intact and…all that…our lands were connected. People migrated down through here…”

“Yes,” Russia said and then he smiled that wide, spooky smile. “So it’s almost like you’re a part of me, too.”

Canada had been halfway to his mouth with his beer, but he stopped mid-air when Russia said that. “I guess it could be seen that way. Abstractly.”

Russia raised his beer and took a drink of it, watching Canada with a focused, narrow gaze.

It made Canada feel vaguely uncomfortable.

“Your country is like a mirror of mine. What it could be, anyway.”

Canada put his beer down and stared at him. He can’t possibly be offering…I mean…there’s no way… He was silent for a long moment and then found his voice again. “I like my country.”

“Yes, you are a tough people who keep to your own business, unless England or America calls for your help. You could be more.” He kept smiling and put his beer down, leaning closer to Canada. “Haven’t you ever thought about that?”

Canada looked down and then he stood up. “I don’t really want to discuss this,” he said, with more strength then he felt as he looked down at Russia.

And then Russia stood up, dwarfing Canada. “Why not?” He was still smiling pleasantly.

“I just—“

And then the phone rang. Canada silently sighed in relief, there could have been no better moment. He turned away and went to get it, picking it up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Matthew!”

Canada blanched. And there could be no worse person to call at this moment. “Alfred…uh. Why are you calling so late?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry, bro. Look, just a quick question. I was watching this hockey game on ESPN, right? And there’s this team and they got a penalty for ‘icing’ and I thought, ‘Oh, cake!’ but I know that’s not right, obviously--though cake sounds good right now--so I was just curious what that meant? I mean, I got the ‘sticking’ part because this one guy totally whacked this other guy upside the head. It was cool! And then—”

Canada listened to him ramble and smiled. His brother was like no other. And America knew everything about football but couldn’t seem to remember any of the rules of hockey. A real pity since hockey and football seemed pretty closely related, except that one was on ice skates.

Russia was moving, listening to the conversation. As soon as he heard it was America, he smiled more and approached Canada from behind.

“Alfred, Alfred!” He said, trying to stop him from rambling. He chuckled. “Icing is when a player shoots the puck across two red lines, one of them being the opposite team’s goal line with no interception.”

“Well, what’s that for? Seems sort of silly. In football—“

“Hockey is different. It’s so that the game doesn’t—“ And that was when Russia reached around him and touched his chest. Canada gasped, jumped and nearly dropped the phone.

“Matthew?”

Canada was frozen, shoulders hunched, feeling Russia’s large hands on his chest. He looked down at them and then up over his shoulder. Russia just smiled.

“Matthew? Hey? Matthew? You still there?” America was starting to sound concerned. “Matt?”

“Yeah,” Canada choked out. “Um, sorry. Uh. Um. I just…uh. Sorry. What?”

A few hundred miles to the south, America pulled the phone away from his ear, looked at it funny and then replaced it. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” Canada replied. He tensed again when one of Russia’s hands moved down. “Um. I think that, uh, what we were talking about?”

“Hockey…icing regulations.”

“Oh, uh, right. Um. Icing.”

Russia’s smile was getting bigger. Seeing that Canada was going to try and go on like everything was fine amused him greatly. He breathed a little in Canada’s free ear and smoothed his hand over his narrow hip, dipping inward. He could feel Canada shudder under his touch.

Canada started to get back on the thread of his conversation but he jumped a little again, feeling Russia’s fingers move down the front of his flannel pajama bottoms. His tongue suddenly felt thick and his throat felt like it had closed up. He breathed in sharply and screwed his eyes shut.

“Matthew,” America said slowly and this time, had the tone that he definitely figured something was up. “Are you alone?”

“Uh,” Canada bit his lip. “Um, I should go. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“Matt, wait. What’s goin’ on?”

Canada couldn’t tell him. He just couldn’t. How could he explain that it was Russia who was touching him like this, massaging… “Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll call you later.”

“Matt, dammit! What the hell?”

America would lose his mind if Canada told him.

“I will call you in the morning, Alfred.”

There was a moment of silence and then, “All right, fine. But if you need something…if something is happening…”

“I know. Thank you, Alfred.” He hung up and grabbed onto the wall to keep himself from falling. “Russia, don’t…”

Russia curled his arm around Canada’s waist, holding him up and continued, rubbing him.

“Ah, Russia…” His eyes were wide and frantic and he grabbed onto the arm around his waist. It was like a band of steel and he couldn’t move it at all. “Russia, please…”

Russia paid no heed, just continue and worse, Canada could feel himself starting to react. No, no, no! Canada thought, biting his lip.

Russia seemed to notice and his eyes twinkled. He stopped rubbing him and Canada almost sighed in relief; that is until a large hand moved up and then slipped under his flannel pajamas.

Canada’s back stiffened. “Russia! Wait—ah—!” His eyes screwed shut as a warm, calloused hand wrapped around him.

Russia pressed a kiss on the side of his neck and tightened his arm around Canada’s middle. He lifted the younger nation right off the floor.

Canada kicked his feet a little, clinging to the arm around him. “R-Russia!”

But all Russia did was carry him into his study and sit on the couch, placing Canada in his lap. His back was to Russia’s chest.

“Matthew,” said Russia pleasantly, as if they were discussing ice-fishing techniques.

It sounded like a foreign language; so strange on Canada’s ears. His breath was shortening and he squirmed. He felt as though he had been enveloped by the other. Russia was so big and he was…not.

Russia seemed to know exactly what to touch though, as he twisted his wrist slightly and raised his thumb over Canada’s cock. Russia felt Canada shudder and was pleased. The younger’s tight grip on his arm was starting to falter. Russia slid the arm around Canada’s waist, putting his hand on his stomach and then slid it under his sweatshirt. Hearing the boy make a keening sound, and yet desperately trying to muffle it was, somehow, endearing. His heavy hand slid up a hard, muscled torso until he reached his nipple, which he tweaked, just to hear Canada muffle another whimper.

He was making all these enticing little sounds. These nns and ahhs and trying so hard not to. His face was flushed almost as red as his sweatshirt. Russia nosed the nape of his neck and moved his hand faster.

Canada came silently, stiffening suddenly. His back arched, his eyes screwed shut and he grit his teeth, holding his breath. Then he slumped, panting.

Russia took the opportunity to let go of him and pull his sweatshirt off, tossing it aside. The young man shuddered in his lap and turned to look over his shoulder. “R-Russia. Uh…I…” He tried to get up, but Russia grabbed his waist, bodily turned Canada to face him and then and pulled him back, forcing him to sit again.

Russia smiled at him, corners of his mouth practically curling up his face.

Canada felt a bolt of fear and he flinched back.

The other’s violet eyes hardened. “Canada.”

Canada’s eyes were wide, more then a little nervous. “Russia...?”

“Soon, everyone will become one with me. There is no reason to be nervous.”

“I’m…I’m not….nervous. I just--just--”

Russia’s eyes lit up in amusement. “No?” He leaned in and kissed him.

Canada froze again, the feeling of Russia’s mouth obviously unfamiliar. A strong hand snaked into his blond hair, keeping him from moving away. The other hand went down to his cock again, touching him lightly, skimming his fingers up and down.

Canada put his hands on Russia’s chest, trying to push back a little but it was like pushing on a brick wall and the ministrations were fogging his brain. The lips on his own were firm but not harming him and the hand on his cock…it was big and calloused and…it felt….felt good…a faint groan escaped him before he had the mind to quell it.

And then he was, timidly, kissing Russia back.

Russia felt a surge of satisfaction. Something like…victory. He broke his kiss and started to nip down Canada’s throat. His finger’s curled into his blond hair and tugged a little, forcing Canada’s head back so to give him some room.

Canada’s fingers curled into Russia’s coat as the elder made his way down his collarbone. Canada hardly noticed him shifting. Then, suddenly, the younger was on his back on the couch, looking up at the hulking figure of Russia. The man’s violet eyes were focused but surprising clear, while Canada’s blue ones were glazed.

Russia smiled down at him. It seemed that all Russia did was smile. And then he twisted his wrist again and reminded Canada that that wasn’t true. He writhed a little on the cushions, squirming as Russia made his way down his chest, nipping and licking. When Russia reached his cock, he did not hesitate to lick it and he looked up to take in the site of Canada grabbing desperately into the cushions, trying not to make a sound.

Russia licked him again and then sucked down on him. That broke Canada’s silence and he moaned, breathing turning rough. “Have you never done this before, Matthew?”

Canada panted, not bothering to notice the use of his name. “N-no…no….never….” He shuddered and groaned as Russia went down again. “R-Russia…”

When Russia came back up, he was on his knees. When he had removed his boots, Canada wasn’t sure but with one hand, Russia started to open up his coat and with the other, began to stroke him again, torturously slow.

Canada had half a mind to pay attention now. He had no idea what Russia wore under his coat and was half-surprised to see that it was a very normal looking button-up shirt. He forgot when Russia twisted his wrist again.

The next time his eyes opened, Russia’s chest was bare. He had never been sure, given how big Russia was, if he was simply a big man, or just wore a lot of layers. It was a mix of both. Once Russia removed his layers, he was still very large. Bigger then America, for certain.

Russia leaned down and then all Canada could think of was the delicious, hot, slick mouth on him and--Oh, God, it feels amazing. Why hadn’t I ever thought to try this? Russia swallowed around him and Canada whimpered, haltingly whispering, “Russ-ia…”

And then he was coming again, body tensing ramrod stiff and pouring into that heat around his length while large, rough hands held his hips down.

He slumped back into the couch, breathing hard and fast. He could feel sweat on his face.

Russia sat up and smiled. There was an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. He licked two of his fingers and then knelt over Canada.

“Russia…wait a second…please…I’m…”

“I’m afraid there can be no waiting.”

Canada blinked a little of the fog away. “Wait…R-Russia…I…” And then his eyes shot open and, at the same moment, Russia kissed him to muffle his yell.

One cool finger was wiggling its way into him. Canada cried out and jerked but Russia’s other hand went to his throat, curling around it and holding him down. Canada was forced to still at that, looking down at Russia’s hand nervously.

Russia, of course, just smiled.

With little other option, Canada forced himself to relax. He was panting again, biting his lip. When the second finger wiggled in, Canada whimpered again, tensing himself to fight but the hand on his throat tightened a hair, reminding him to stay still.

Long, thick fingers massaged into him and Canada’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Russia simply watched him, enjoying the spectacle. Canada was a country who, typically, did not stand out. He did not have the big personality of America or France and he was not as stern and iron-fisted as England could be. But sometimes, Russia would watch him and Canada would get a flash in his eyes of stern finality that England had or the almost criminal slyness that France held. Though Russia attributed these not to those two nations but to himself. Because, of course, Russia deemed himself a part of Canada’s roots.

He could think of no better way to unlock this boy. And that he did, massaging and rubbing inside of him, making the boy squirm and writhe and moan. Groaning now, in something further away from pain and closer to pleasure. Whether he was ready or not, Russia deemed him so.

Canada suddenly found himself being lifted. Russia was settling himself back on the couch and he tugged Canada to him. His limbs felt like putty and he didn’t fight him. His hands, not as large as Russia’s but almost as rough, touched down on the other’s broad shoulders. “Russia,” he started.

But Russia interrupted him. “Stop, for now, Matthew.” And Russia lowered Canada onto himself.

Canada cried out, fingernails digging into Russia’s shoulders. He groaned, suddenly cursing in French.

Russia smiled to see the normally reserved young man say such things and he reached up, gently removing Canada’s glasses and setting them aside. “Are you all right?”

Canada was breathing hard, head bowed but he glanced up a little at Russia’s question. Frankly, he could not think of an answer. His mouth had stopped working.

The smile he received in response was tainted again with that edge. Russia kissed him and his hands grabbed onto Canada’s hips and started to move him.

Canada yelped again, anchoring himself on Russia’s shoulders but could not concentrate on returning his kiss. His head bowed again, forehead touching Russia’s neck. He was all right with that and he sucked brutally on Canada’s bare shoulder instead.

“You are very tight, Matthew.”

Canada groaned in response as he started to move with him. And, for the third time, long fingers wrapped around his cock and started to stroke in time. Russia muttered something in his own language but was interrupted when Canada’s mouth found his.

Canada kissed him hard, viciously, pushing against him. His tongue edged out, experimentally slipping into Russia’s mouth. His death grip into Russia’s shoulders slackened and his arms slipped around his neck and now he was definitely helping, panting hard.

Russia wrapped an arm around Canada’s waist, keeping his other hand on his cock, pumping faster. It wasn’t long before Russia said something, voice thick, in his own language and he came inside of Canada.

Canada shuddered, as Russia kept stroking him and came a few moments later. Canada collapsed on top of Russia. ”Ivan…” He panted against his throat and closed his eyes, exhausted.



When Canada awoke the next morning, he found himself in bed. For a moment, he wondered if, perhaps, he had just had a very strange dream but then he tried to move. He flinched, as his whole lower body seemed sore. He was slow to get up. He was wearing his pajama bottoms again and his socks and sweatshirt were lying on the foot of the bed. He grabbed these and put them on, as his floor was cold and picked up his glasses from the nightstand.

He couldn’t be entirely sure of what would be weirder. Doing what he had done with Russia…or dreaming about doing what he had done with Russia.

Had he seriously done that? It had happened, right?

Slowly, he made his way through his home. Everything was relatively neat. In the study, everything was clean. In the kitchen, though, where the two bottles of hardly touched beer. There was a slip of paper by them.

Canada adjusted his glasses and picked it up.

Moscow.

He turned the paper over but there was nothing. He knew what it meant, of course. Russia was in Moscow. “If I ever change my mind, I guess…”

He looked out the window, then at the wall by the phone and the whole thing played out in his head. He shook himself, swallowing hard and licked his lips.

“Deadly,” he said quietly and he laughed a little nervously, running his fingers through his hair. He went to the refrigerator and got himself a cold beer.

For the record, he completely forgot to call America.