Snow Men: Part Two
May. 11th, 2009 06:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
historizeTitle: Snow Men: Part Two
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
historyblitz
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Canada/Russia and a hint of Canada/America at the end, side appearances by England and France.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Not worksafe.
Summary: Basically, an extension of this fic. Now Russia is going to be a bad influence. And Canada will explore his inner-France.
Originally posted here.
Canada never did go to Moscow. He liked his country and he had no desire to make it anything different. Russia didn’t call or send him letters or spontaneously show up in the middle of the night ever again. So Canada assumed what had happened was done.
In a way, he was sort of…well….intrigued. Not by Russia’s form of government but by Russia himself. By Ivan. When America would talk about Russia it no longer held any mystique. Canada had seen Russia….well….
Not that he could say any of that. And when he thought about it, he found himself uncomfortably warm. It didn’t help that every once in awhile he’d wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and hot and covered in his own release. He would slump back on his bed and groan a little. How come the guy wouldn’t get out of his head? He did not want to be dreaming about Russia.
Right?
He tried not to ponder that too much.
The next summit was the following month and Canada would be heading to Germany with his boss. He put on his crisp suit, the only one he owned and packed his sweatshirt and jeans and got on a plane.
He wasn’t thinking too much about what might happen when he got there. After all, this was work. He waved to America at the airport and the taller young man approached him with his new boss, who was wearing some cool sunglasses. “Hi, Alfred.”
“Hey, bro!” America pounced on him, grabbing Canada in a headlock and rubbing his knuckles into his hair.
Canada yelped and tried to fight him off.
America’s president looked alarmed for a moment but Canada’s prime minister just waved it off. “They’re like this all the time. Come on.” And they strode off together.
“Alfred! Lemme go!”
“What’s the magic word!”
“Oh, I hate you so much!” Canada was starting to laugh though and he punched at America’s stomach.
“Would you two leave off? You’re making a scene.”
America and Canada looked up to see a very unimpressed England, arms crossed.
“It was Matthew’s fault,” said America instantly.
“Nu-uh!”
England rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you two grow up, ever?”
“Oh, but it’s good to see them still getting along, yes?” France sidled up, slipping an arm around England’s shoulders. “Right, Arthur?”
England gave him an icy look. “Don’t touch me. And don’t call me Arthur. You can call me England.”
“I love it when you’re mean to me.” France laughed and winked at America and Canada.
America burst out laughing. Canada coughed into his fist, trying not to smile.
England reached up and whacked France upside the head. “You git. Stop up that nonsense.”
France snickered. “And on that note! America, Canada; don’t end up like us. Now! Let’s go. There is a fancy bed and room service and gorgeous staff awaiting to serve me.”
So the four of them walked, chatting amiably (except for England, who was doing his best to ignore France).
"When's Australia getting in?" America asked, reaching up and flicking Canada's ear.
"He said he had something to do," England said, waving a hand airily and watching as Canada kicked America in the shin. "He'll be in tomorrow."
"Yes! We can play video games!"
Canada snorted. "Like he'd want to lay around and play video games. Lazy."
"Shut up." America pouted. "You're mean, Matty."
"You can talk!"
"Daaaad!"
"Shut up, both of you! And don't call me that! It's 'England'!"
"Can I call you 'Dad' too?"
England shot France a truly dark look, listening to America's and Canada's smothered snickers. If looks could kill...
When they got their rooms situated, they all met down in the lobby and made their way into the summit compound.
On their way in, Canada's mind suddenly blanked for a moment, his smile vanished and his heart seemed to jump into his throat because the doors opened and Russia was standing right there. England gave him a regal nod. France gave him a saucy wave. America just looked at Russia, then away, following England. Canada felt his stomach turn and he tensed as he made to pass him, eyes determinedly on the floor.
A hand descended on his shoulder, making him stop. He looked up at Russia.
Russia smiled. “Are you well, Canada? It has been some time since we spoke.”
For a moment, Canada couldn’t speak at all. He felt heat building in his ears.
Russia’s eyes grew wide, amused. “Is something wrong, Canada?”
Canada shook his head.
Russia’s hand drew him a little closer. “You look a bit pale.”
“Canada!”
Canada jumped and looked. America was standing by his chair but he was glaring at Russia. England had paused with a stack of papers, watching them.
Canada stepped back from Russia’s hand, trying desperately not to let his mind wander that way. “M’fine. Thankyouforasking.” He stumbled back a step again and then turned, hurrying over to America.
America grabbed his arm. “What the hell was that? Are you okay? Did he do something to you?”
Canada, abruptly, felt sick. “No. Just. Surprised me.” He glanced up and saw England was still watching him closely. France was standing with him but he was looking pointedly at his ink pen. Canada looked back down. “I’m fine. Just surprised me.”
America threw a suspicious look at Russia and then pulled out Canada’s chair. “Have a seat. I’ll get you some water.”
Canada slumped into his chair, feeling weak in the knees, and sipped the water America gave him.
For Canada, the meeting seemed to last forever. He usually enjoyed them. It was his time to socialize with the other nations but this one seemed to drag. He looked up once and blinked to find Russia’s gaze fixed on him. He stiffened in his chair and looked down, keeping his eyes on his notes.
America was sitting next to him and the longer the meeting went on, the paler Canada seemed to get. Maybe he’s sick…. America thought but then he noticed Canada tense and he looked at him and then around the room. He almost did a double-take when he looked at Russia, who was looking predatory. America followed Russia’s gaze back to Canada, who was staring hard at his notes but not writing anything.
America reached under the table and touched Canada’s arm to get his attention. He whispered, “What’s wrong?”
Canada shook his head and looked away.
America’s eyebrows furrowed and got a piece of paper and wrote on it: Are you sick? and then slid it over to Canada.
Canada read it and wrote: No, I’m fine. and slid it back.
Liar.
Stop it, Alfred.
Did Russia do something to you?
Canada made a show of rolling his eyes and refused to write an answer.
America’s nose wrinkled and he wrote: Something is up with Canada. He slid the paper to his right, to England.
England, used to America getting bored during meetings and usually wanting to play hangman, sighed and grabbed the paper. But when he read it, his eyes hardened a little. He wrote: Canada can handle himself. Don’t overreact. It may be nothing.
America pulled insistently on England’s sleeve and gave him a beseeching look.
England rolled his eyes and wrote: Stop thinking that Canada is just another extension of you. He doesn’t need to tell you everything.
America blinked when he read that and looked reproached for a moment. Then he wrote: I don’t! Just—he really doesn’t look very good. He’s pale.
He’s always pale.
America looked frustrated. Look, you guys think I’m an idiot and stuff but I’m not stupid. Something is wrong.
France leaned over from England’s right and whispered. “Are you two playing hangman?”
“No,” England snapped quietly and shoved him away.
An hour later, they broke for lunch.
“Matthew,” America started.
“Stop!” Canada snapped, making America blink in surprise. Canada bit his lip. “I’m fine. Please just stop asking me.” He grabbed up his papers and turned away, hurrying out.
America watched, dumbfounded and felt his shoulders sink. He looked over at England.
England shuffled his papers and said, “Don’t overreact. Just leave him be for a little while.”
“But something is—“
“Yes, I can see that. But harping on it obviously isn’t going to make him anymore forth-coming.”
France leaned against the table and said, quietly, “Maybe Russia said something to him.”
England could have strangled him. He sent a searing look at France. “Are you trying to make things worse?”
America, though, had already turned and was watching Russia talk to Belarus and smile at Germany, shaking hands with him. Both England and France looked at America, watching his back slowly stiffen with tension. When Russia left the room, America followed him.
England sighed and looked at France. “Brilliantly done, France.”
“Well, better for him to get it out of his system now, rather then later.”
“Better later, when he can go home and stew there not stew about it here when we’re supposed to be making progress. You know how he gets about Russia.”
“I’m just interested to see what will come of this.” France smiled.
England sneered at him and stalked out of the room.
America stalked after Russia. “Hey! Russia!”
Russia showed no surprise. He just smiled pleasantly. Belarus stood beside him, watching America and looking as though she were picturing him insides-out. “Good afternoon, America.”
“What’d you say to Canada?”
Russia’s eyebrows lifted. “I asked how he was doing. Is that a problem?”
America bristled. “No, you just—“
“No? Then what is the problem?”
“He looked ill. He was just fine before you stopped him. What did you do?”
“Always so suspicious, young America. Perhaps one day, when you are a more experienced nation, you will see that not everything is a slight against you.”
America grit his teeth. “This isn’t about me! It’s about Canada! What did you do?”
Russia smiled. “Did it ever occur to you that perhaps he didn’t tell you because he doesn’t want you to know?”
America stiffened. “Russia!” His voice was starting to rise in volume. “He’s my brother and I—“ and then something whacked him in the head. “Ow!”
England gave Russia a long-suffering look. “Excuse me.” He shoved America.
America swore. “What are you doing?!”
“Attempting to keep you from making a total fool of yourself. Come on.”
“But--!”
“Shut up,” England overrode him in a bored sort of voice, grabbing his collar and pulling him away.
When France passed, he gave Russia a cheerful smile and another wave as he followed.
Canada slumped down on his bed, rubbing his forehead. He hadn’t expected to have that kind of reaction when he saw Russia. It was weird. His whole body had just….felt…weird. He was finding it hard to describe. He just needed a nap. He couldn’t eat. So he dosed off.
He awoke some time later and rubbed his eyes. His glasses had made an imprint on his face, so he took them off and set them on the bed. When he turned over to check the time—
“Ahhhhh—!” Canada threw himself back across the bed, grabbing his glasses and shoving them on again. He back hit the wall and he put a hand to his chest. “Geez! You scared me half to death!”
Russia smiled down at him. “I do hope not.”
“How did you get in here? I locked the door!”
Russia smiled and spread his hands and then shrugged.
Canada kept his back against the wall, waiting for his heart to slow down. “Is the lunch hour over?”
“Long over,” said Russia. “You missed the second half of the meeting. England kept America from coming up here to check on you. So I check on you instead.”
Canada rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You had a very interesting reaction when you saw me. You were not thinking you would react that way?”
Canada looked up at him and nodded a little. “It was weird.”
Violet eyes glinted at that sentence. “Is that so?” He sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Um, yes.”
“It’s not often anyone sees you with a temper.”
Canada looked aside. “America means well…”
“But you couldn’t tell him. Understandable. I am interested in that part of you.”
Canada looked up. “That…part of me?”
And Russia smiled, which gave Canada a chill. “The parts you don’t show to others.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around one of Canada’s ankles and started to pull him.
“Ah--!” Canada grabbed onto the blankets, but they just slid with him until Russia had drug him over. “Russia!”
Russia let go of his ankle and touched his suit jacket instead. “You have a lot of potential. You seem satisfied to trail in the shadows of England, France and America.”
“I don’t want to become one of your satellite nations.”
Russia smiled. “I know. But I do enjoy hearing you stand up for yourself. You are showing me something that you aren’t showing others.”
Somehow, that idea made Canada wary. Is that Russia’s way of…being in control? “I can stand up for myself.”
“But you are a rather quiet young man. And somehow, I doubt the others have seen what I have seen.”
That was true and it made Canada’s ears hot to hear it. He looked aside again. Russia took off his glove and touched Canada’s chin, turning his face. And again, Canada was made very aware of the overall largeness of Russia. He felt dwarfed by him. Canada had, land-wise, the second largest country in the world but even then, Russia was still twice his size. And Russia’s active military was far larger then his own. He was older, had been in many wars. He had—
“Your mind has wandered, Matthew.”
Canada blinked, realizing that it had. “Ah. Sorry.”
Russia’s fingers meandered down, tracing along his esophagus. “What were you thinking about?”
“Um, just…politics.”
“Between your country and mine.” Russia fanned his fingers around, curling around Canada’s throat.
He glanced aside. “Yes.”
Russia squeezed a little and Canada stiffened, reaching up and grabbed his wrist. “Has anyone ever tried to kill you, Canada? As in, very seriously attempted to take your life?”
Canada craned his neck a little, away from Russia’s possessive fingers but they only tightened when he moved back. “No…I have been involved in war…but no one has ever declared war on me.”
Russia smiled, securing his grip on Canada’s throat and then lifted his other hand, going to his tie. “What would you do if someone did?”
Canada kept looking down nervously, watching Russia work the knot in his tie. “I would…call up the military, of course and—“
“You would seek assistance from America and England, yes?”
“Well, yes. They are my allies.”
“What if they were the ones to declare war on you?” Russia got the tie undone and let it hang around Canada’s collar and then moved on to the buttons of his shirt.
Canada shook his head. “No. They wouldn’t.”
“How do you know? You have such faith in them?”
“We have our differences but…Alfred is my brother and Arthur is…like a father…”
“America and England went to war.”
“That was different. That was…Alfred was different.”
“Like a rebellious teenager,” said Russia, getting Canada’s shirt open.
Canada was starting to shift, his fingers digging into Russia’s arm. “Well, sort of. Alfred is a good person. So is Arthur.”
“England once created an empire and ruled his subjects with an iron fist. He is sort of the big brother to all of you. One of the most fearsome since the fall of Rome.”
“England has…a rough…past but…he’s…he’s different now.”
“Beside the point, Matthew.” Russia slid his hand over Canada’s chest. “What would you do if they all declared war on you?”
“I would…” he trembled a little at the light touches. “I would…appeal to France.”
“And if France sided with them?”
Canada looked distressed at the thought.
“The thing you must realize, Canada,” said Russia, thumbing one of his nipples. “Is that alliances don’t last forever. Who would have thought that, by the end of World War Two your brother and I would be patting each other on the back and then, hardly ten years later, on opposite sides. Times change, Canada.” He tilted Canada’s chin back, to force him to look up. “I once held alliances with many but they all told me I was too cruel.” His fingers tightened on Canada’s throat. “That I wasn’t kind.” They tightened again. “They all left me.” Again.
Canada choked a little. “Russia…”
“Yes, they no longer called me ‘elder brother’ any longer. Just Russia.” His eyes were gleaming and his grip was tightening. “They called me a Red Monster. A beast. That I—“
Canada wheezed, eyes getting wider. “Russia! My--!”
“I wanted them to stay. I made some of them stay. And they hated me for it.” The mad smile was back, edging up his face. “But I wanted them to become one with me again. Join me, yes? China is a little like me. I think—“
“Ivan—!”
Russia blinked and released him. “Ah, Matthew. I am sorry.” He wrapped Canada in his arms and pulled him into a hug.
Canada wheezed, head on Russia’s chest, trying to get his breath back. He reached up, touching his throat. Russia leaned back to check out his skin and then leaned in, lightly kissing his neck.
Canada made a soft sound and tried to keep his wits about him. “We shouldn’t…I mean. Alfred or Arthur might come looking for me. If they do…”
Russia kissed his mouth, instantly overpowering him.
Canada’s fingers dug into Russia’s coat again, trying to lean away to break Russia’s kiss but it didn’t work. The more he leaned back, the more Russia leaned forward until Canada moved a hand onto the blanket and used it to shift himself backwards.
That didn’t work either. When he separated, Russia reached out and grabbed his leg, pulling him back over. Russia put a hand on Canada’s shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.
Canada was, at once, terrified and excited. He wasn’t sure where the excited part was coming from but it was there, humming along in his belly like he was going to attend the final hockey game of the season…only…more fluttery. His stomach was fluttering.
Why me? The thought filtered in unasked for as Russia bit his shoulder and drew his lips down his chest. If it were about power, he wouldn’t go for someone like me. He’d go for Alfred. If it were about dominance and control, he’d go for Alfred too because Alfred is stronger then me and rebellious and dominate… He bit his lip. Unless he’s just using me to get to Alfred…
That was a sobering thought and it made him pause and stare up at the ceiling.
Whether Russia noticed or not, Canada didn’t know. He was brought back from his thoughts with Russia opening his trousers.
Russia handled him a little rougher this time and Canada reached down to stop him. “Ivan,” he said, noticing now that using his name appeared to catch his attention more often, “Alfred or Arthur may come looking for me. This…shouldn’t…not now….”
Russia looked up at him and instead of frowning; his smile grew. He lifted a hand, grabbing Canada’s wrists snugly and kept the other on his length, slowly stroking him. “You are certain? You want me to stop?”
Canada’s breathing hitched and his first thought was, No…I don’t… but…he shouldn’t be thinking like that. Not about Russia. He should not be thinking like that about Russia. “I….” He swallowed hard.
Russia’s eyes became amused. “You feel like you should stop because it would be the right thing to do but you don’t want to. Why is that?”
Canada licked his lips, trying to shut out what Russia was doing to him. “We’re…we’re at a summit. And if Alfred…if he…”
“He would assume that I was doing this to you against your own will when, actually…” and his hand stopped, giving Canada’s length a stiff squeeze, “you want it.” He looked a little triumphant. “But you don’t believe you should.”
Canada looked down and nodded.
“This world isn’t always such an easily mapped place. Sometimes, you have to be selfish.” He started to move his hand again.
Canada bowed his head, biting his lower lip and breathing hard and fast through his mouth. Russia let go of Canada’s wrists, licked his lips and leaned into him, taking his mouth forcibly and grinning when the other moaned softly. Canada’s fingers dug into his coat again.
From that point, Canada’s fingers seemed to move by their own will, tearing open Russia’s coat in a surprising show of strength and then pulling him closer by the front of his shirt. Russia frightened Canada but somehow…that fear was…hiding. Canada found himself invigorated by the mix of gentleness and rigid control that Russia employed. He was losing himself in the sensations. Things he had never felt before.
Russia smiled down at Canada. Usually, the others would still be trembling, afraid of the pain he would inflict upon them, as he so often did but Canada seemed to completely change in this situation. He was steadily becoming braver. Russia looked only bemused as Canada seemed to move on autopilot, unbuttoning Russia’s uniform. The boy’s fingers were timid then, uncertain as they touched down on skin, as if afraid it would be icy cold. But General Winter moves for you, as well.
Canada opened his eyes a little, looking at the scarred flesh that the layers hid. Russia was covered in them. Ragged, red rips all up and down his torso. He sat up a little, gazing at them.
Russia looked down and then at Canada, taking one of his hands and laying them on his chest. “Beautiful, yes?”
Canada looked thoughtful. “They must itch when the weather changes.”
Russia smiled. “They do.”
Canada smiled tremulously and the moment he did, he found fingers on his chin. His eyes went down, looking at Russia’s fingers.
“I have never seen you smile,” said Russia, who appeared to be examining him.
Canada squirmed. “I smile. It’s not as though I’m sullen all the time.”
Russia’s eyes twinkled at him. “You smile for your brother when he teases you. You smile for England and France when they bicker. You smile when Australia attempts to wrangle New Zealand and when Ireland puts thumbtacks on England’s chair.”
“You make me sound like a bad guy.”
“More a slippery one.” Russia’s fingers moved down to his throat again.
And for awhile, he was aware of nothing else. He was pushed down on his back again and Russia’s hot, demanding mouth licked and nipped over his body.
There was something attractive about where his mind went…it was like release from his own body. A peculiar sort of psychological freedom that he couldn’t really put into words but at all other times that he restrained himself and was constantly the victim of his own harsh self-critique…all of that vanished when he was…well, like this. Canada wasn’t sure how to describe it. He didn’t have the experience to identify something like that.
And as Russia removed his scarf and used it to tie Canada’s wrists to his headboard, he found he didn’t much care. He groaned, sweat beading at his brow, as Russia kissed his thigh.
“Sometimes,” Russia murmured, “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.”
That made Canada blink and he looked down at Russia.
He smirked. “Trying to figure out if that’s what I am doing?”
Canada was panting. He licked his upper lip. “Russ—ah!”
Russia had leaned in, sucking on the head of his length. He licked down the side, dragging his tongue up again and teasing him.
Canada moaned softly, writhing. His fingers twisted and curled into the scarf, wondering absently how the hell a scarf could be adequately restraining him (and then promptly reminded himself that it was Russia’s, after all). “Russia—“
“Do not call me Russia right now.” He licked him, teasing.
“Ivan—I…I want to…” His fingers squirmed desperately in the fabric of the scarf.
“You want to come or to be free?”
Canada’s face was flushed. He was panting. “Please…my hands…”
Russia’s mouth quirked. There it was—that peculiar glazed look Canada would get in his eyes when he was ready to participate, rather then be submissive. He leaned over him and untied his hands but even Russia wasn’t quite prepared for how fast he found himself on his back.
He blinked, looking up at the ceiling and pushed himself up on his hands, watching Canada, whose glasses were slipping dangerously down his nose. He had Russia’s trousers open and his fingers were jamming themselves in to touch him, at the same time, leaning forward and mimicking what Russia had done earlier to him, kissing his chest.
Russia, outwardly, barely showed a flinch when Canada curled inexperienced fingers around him. He placed a heavy hand on Canada’s shoulder as he fumbled to try and mimic what Russia had done to him. He ran his hand up and down, trying to find a rhythm.
Russia reached between them and touched his hand. “You touch too lightly, Matthew.” He took Canada’s fingers and drew them up to his mouth. Canada’s eyes followed as Russia licked them. “And too dry.” Russia felt Canada shudder a little and he lowered his fingers back down to his length, where Canada automatically curled them around him. Russia adjusted his grip and breathed in silently when he started to stroke again, this time slick and rough.
Canada listened for the little changes. Russia was not prone to showing much of what he was feeling. He just gave a creepy, deceptive smile. So Canada leaned forward, kissing Russia’s collarbone, listening to the subtle changes in his breathing. He could feel his heartbeat increasing.
A bead of sweat dripped onto Canada’s glasses but he hardly noticed when he looked up, seeing Russia’s eyes drift close. Canada swirled his thumb around the head of his cock and Russia’s shoulders rose about an inch and Canada felt something hot on his hands. He looked down, seeing the results of climax properly this time. He shifted his weight, moving in a daze as he got down, nosing Russia’s thigh.
“Matthew…”
Canada looked up, taking his length between his fingers and he smirked. Surely that was the French influence in him that was watching for a reaction as his tongue snaked out and licked him.
Russia’s breath hissed a little between his teeth. He lifted a hand, settling it in Canada’s hair. He felt a ping of satisfaction at Canada’s smirk, knowing now that the boy was getting adventurous; moreso then he’d imagined.
Canada took his time exploring with his tongue. He had never felt or tasted anything like this before and feeling Russia twitch and hearing the restrained panting was somehow, incredibly satisfying. More then that, it was powerful. He curled his lips around the thick head of Russia’s length, sucking on it, massaging his tongue against it. He felt Russia’s fingers tighten in his hair. He made his way lower, taking him in deeper and that was when he heard a tiny sound from above. It was muffled instantly but it resembled a tiny moan.
Canada took him deeper and slipped a hand down, touching the hot sac but at that, Russia’s hand curled into a fist and jerked him up by his hair. Canada flinched and grabbed Russia’s arm and then stopped.
Those violet eyes were wide and staring, that mad smiling stretching across his face. His tongue flicked out and licked his upper lip. Maybe he’d felt control was slipping away from him? Canada didn’t have time to wonder because Russia was suddenly shoving him down and not letting him up this time. His rough fingers flitted down Canada’s body, slicking them up on his damp skin and pressed into him.
Canada flinched and screwed his eyes shut. Russia had his free hand on Canada’s neck again, squeezing every time Canada squirmed. Russia was moving rougher and faster. He was on the edge of those times…that he couldn’t quite remember…when he saw everything too wide and didn’t know his own strength. He hardly registered that Canada was biting his lip, twitching and flinching.
Russia did not lift Canada up this time but kept leaning over him. He took his free hand off Canada’s throat and slid it down to his leg, lifting it, guiding it around his waist and then that hand went to his cock. Pleasure and pain, clearly torn, was his expression as Russia both stretched him and stroked him, massaging inside and out. Canada was digging his fingers into the blankets, moaning softly. His back arched when Russia finally pulled fingers away.
Russia gave Canada no time to take stock of himself. He grabbed his wrists and pinned him down with one large hand, leaning over him and pushing into him. Canada yelled, rising in pitch and volume, which Russia was quick to smother by forcing the fingers of his free hand into Canada’s mouth. Russia stroked his tongue, touching his teeth and Canada closed his mouth around them so he could swallow, inadvertently sucking on them.
Canada’s back arched, sucking on Russia’s fingers, heat pooling in his belly. His glasses were foggy and his face was hot and his eyes were glazed and….Russia was….Way up high in the winter sky, two little snowflakes caught my eye…
A singsong echoed in his head as Russia’s thrusts became more violent. He was free in his own head, writhing and reveling in the heat. Down to the ground they fell without a sound.
Somewhere, he suddenly understood why England had gone to such lengths to keep France away from Canada and America when they had been younger. But…but…
He moaned, feeling a mouth descend on his throat and bite. He cried out. And before very long, It was snowing all around.
And then all he seemed to see was snow. His vision blurred and went white. He arched against the hard body above him and then sunk. A great weight suddenly collapsed on him and he could hear harsh and heavy breathing. He breathed hard in Russia’s ear.
Russia’s fingers left his mouth to clutch possessively at him, wrapping iron-hard arms around him.
When Canada awoke with the alarm, he was, once again, alone. And once again, his room was impeccable. He sat up, rubbing his shoulder and blinked when his hand hit a bandage. He touched the spot.
“Ah,” he murmured. “That’s where Ivan bit me…” For some reason, it made him smile a little. “Nice of him to bandage it.”
He got up slowly, checking himself over. He was sore again and bruised in several places, especially at his wrists and arms. In the mirror, he examined the bite and looked over his nude body. He felt amazingly relaxed, which surprised him. He even smiled at the mirror because…how to even begin to explain?
If he had to put a word on it…it would probably be...well, “Liberating,” he said to his reflection and chuckled faintly.
When he took a shower, he had a very difficult time keeping his mind in the present. It kept flitting off elsewhere, into a space where he wasn’t alone and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. He wasn’t in love with Russia. And he would never have an alliance with Russia. He didn’t trust him. But…there was something there that was intoxicating, something he hadn’t realized had been in him.
He checked the time when he got out and dressed. As he knotted his rumpled tie he thought, Maybe I’ll ask France to take me to a good tailor and get myself something nice…
He grabbed his briefcase and went downstairs. This time, he entered confidently. America and Australia were talking, laughing, and making digs at each other. England was dipping a tea bag into a steaming mug and France was sitting pensively, thoughtful. He headed for them, setting down his briefcase. “Good morning,” he told them.
“Good morning, Matthew. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes,” he answered England. “Much.”
“I suppose you got some rest?” France said to the table, though, for some reason, he was smiling faintly.
Canada paused for a beat and then, the lie coming easily, said, “Yes.”
Australia jumped on him from behind, making Canada yelp. “Oi, brother! Jus’ got in! You should say hallo to me, first!”
Canada looked back, laughing and elbowed him. “I would if you wouldn’t jump on me!”
America patted his shoulder. “You feeling better?”
Australia cackled. “Look ‘ow big brotherly he is!”
“Shut up,” America said, keeping his eyes on Canada.
“Yes,” Canada said, smiling. “I’m fine.”
Australia almost said more but then jumped on the table and ran along the length of it when he saw Ireland come in. He jumped off, calling, “Auntie!” And pounced on her.
Russia, Germany, Belarus and Ukraine came in after her. Canada found Russia’s eyes almost instantly (and unintentionally) and he felt his stomach twist. America turned to see who he was looking at, which made him frown and look between Canada and Russia again. “What is going on, Matthew?”
But by then, Russia had approached. “Good morning, Matthew. I heard that you were sick. It’s good to see you better again.” He reached out, gently patting his shoulder.
Canada smiled and took the cue from Russia, though perhaps he shouldn’t have. “Thank you, Ivan. I appreciate it.”
Russia turned and walked away. America looked bewildered but England’s eyes had shot up and he was staring at Canada in something like disbelief. He knew. Call it old age experience, intuition or whatever but England knew. And Russia had used Canada’s real name and…and…
But then France was tugging on his arm, pulling him into his seat. “Just leave it, Arthur.”
England gaped at him. “What? You—you—!”
But Canada didn’t see any of it because Russia’s touch had made heat spike in a way that was slowly becoming familiar and he spent the entire meeting looking around the room, not even trying to pay attention. He wasn’t sure why it was coming so easily but he would look for too long at Sweden and start to wonder what he was really like behind closed doors.
Canada blinked at the thought and looked down at his papers, a little embarrassed. But he couldn't keep his eyes down and he looked at Germany and Ukraine and…
…and then he felt a touch on his shoulder and then a jerk and he felt his collar suddenly pull back.
“Ow!” He whispered and looked over at America, who was gaping at his bandage.
“What happened?” America demanded, jostling his collar.
Canada looked at him for far too long and in that moment saw him in an entirely different light. He’s my brother. I shouldn’t think like that. His head tilted to the side, staring up at those clear blue eyes. We’re not blood relations though.
“Matthew?” And America blinked, watching Canada’s mouth curl up in a strange smile.
“If you come with me,” he whispered, “when the meeting is over. Come with me to my room. I’ll tell you. Okay?”
America looked perplexed but he nodded. “Okay….”
Canada’s smile got bigger and he nodded and looked away, trying not to start laughing. God, what’s wrong with me? He glanced around the room and saw France, openly staring, a hand over his mouth.
Canada gave him a little wave.
France choked and grinned and had to look away, shaking. His motion caught England’s attention and he leaned in, berating him in whispers.
Canada looked across the room at Russia, who was looking back. Those violet eyes bore into his and his smile spoke only of innocence. Canada smiled back at him, sly echoes on his face.
“You know, we should work on our diplomatic relations, Alfred.”
America did a slight double-take, walking next to him down the hallway. “Huh?”
“You know,” said Canada, “try and make things better between our people.”
“Oh, right, yeah. Good idea. Our bosses should talk. I’ll send mine a text.” America took out his phone.
Canada opened up his door and stepped aside to let America in. “Yeah, we should talk too.”
He shut the door and locked it.
“Okay. Cool.” America sent the text and flipped his phone shut, pocketing it. “Now, what happened? What’s the bandage for? You've been acting really weird.”
Canada took off his jacket, tossed it down and approached him.
“Matt?” America had never seen the look before that Canada was now wearing. “Wait…Matt…what are you…” He took a step back. “Are you okay?”
Canada smiled sweetly and shoved him back on the bed. His eyes lit up, went wide and eerie in a way that America abruptly recognized. “Yes. Now shut up.”
Author/Artist:
historyblitzCharacter(s) or Pairing(s): Canada/Russia and a hint of Canada/America at the end, side appearances by England and France.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Not worksafe.
Summary: Basically, an extension of this fic. Now Russia is going to be a bad influence. And Canada will explore his inner-France.
Originally posted here.
Canada never did go to Moscow. He liked his country and he had no desire to make it anything different. Russia didn’t call or send him letters or spontaneously show up in the middle of the night ever again. So Canada assumed what had happened was done.
In a way, he was sort of…well….intrigued. Not by Russia’s form of government but by Russia himself. By Ivan. When America would talk about Russia it no longer held any mystique. Canada had seen Russia….well….
Not that he could say any of that. And when he thought about it, he found himself uncomfortably warm. It didn’t help that every once in awhile he’d wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and hot and covered in his own release. He would slump back on his bed and groan a little. How come the guy wouldn’t get out of his head? He did not want to be dreaming about Russia.
Right?
He tried not to ponder that too much.
The next summit was the following month and Canada would be heading to Germany with his boss. He put on his crisp suit, the only one he owned and packed his sweatshirt and jeans and got on a plane.
He wasn’t thinking too much about what might happen when he got there. After all, this was work. He waved to America at the airport and the taller young man approached him with his new boss, who was wearing some cool sunglasses. “Hi, Alfred.”
“Hey, bro!” America pounced on him, grabbing Canada in a headlock and rubbing his knuckles into his hair.
Canada yelped and tried to fight him off.
America’s president looked alarmed for a moment but Canada’s prime minister just waved it off. “They’re like this all the time. Come on.” And they strode off together.
“Alfred! Lemme go!”
“What’s the magic word!”
“Oh, I hate you so much!” Canada was starting to laugh though and he punched at America’s stomach.
“Would you two leave off? You’re making a scene.”
America and Canada looked up to see a very unimpressed England, arms crossed.
“It was Matthew’s fault,” said America instantly.
“Nu-uh!”
England rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you two grow up, ever?”
“Oh, but it’s good to see them still getting along, yes?” France sidled up, slipping an arm around England’s shoulders. “Right, Arthur?”
England gave him an icy look. “Don’t touch me. And don’t call me Arthur. You can call me England.”
“I love it when you’re mean to me.” France laughed and winked at America and Canada.
America burst out laughing. Canada coughed into his fist, trying not to smile.
England reached up and whacked France upside the head. “You git. Stop up that nonsense.”
France snickered. “And on that note! America, Canada; don’t end up like us. Now! Let’s go. There is a fancy bed and room service and gorgeous staff awaiting to serve me.”
So the four of them walked, chatting amiably (except for England, who was doing his best to ignore France).
"When's Australia getting in?" America asked, reaching up and flicking Canada's ear.
"He said he had something to do," England said, waving a hand airily and watching as Canada kicked America in the shin. "He'll be in tomorrow."
"Yes! We can play video games!"
Canada snorted. "Like he'd want to lay around and play video games. Lazy."
"Shut up." America pouted. "You're mean, Matty."
"You can talk!"
"Daaaad!"
"Shut up, both of you! And don't call me that! It's 'England'!"
"Can I call you 'Dad' too?"
England shot France a truly dark look, listening to America's and Canada's smothered snickers. If looks could kill...
When they got their rooms situated, they all met down in the lobby and made their way into the summit compound.
On their way in, Canada's mind suddenly blanked for a moment, his smile vanished and his heart seemed to jump into his throat because the doors opened and Russia was standing right there. England gave him a regal nod. France gave him a saucy wave. America just looked at Russia, then away, following England. Canada felt his stomach turn and he tensed as he made to pass him, eyes determinedly on the floor.
A hand descended on his shoulder, making him stop. He looked up at Russia.
Russia smiled. “Are you well, Canada? It has been some time since we spoke.”
For a moment, Canada couldn’t speak at all. He felt heat building in his ears.
Russia’s eyes grew wide, amused. “Is something wrong, Canada?”
Canada shook his head.
Russia’s hand drew him a little closer. “You look a bit pale.”
“Canada!”
Canada jumped and looked. America was standing by his chair but he was glaring at Russia. England had paused with a stack of papers, watching them.
Canada stepped back from Russia’s hand, trying desperately not to let his mind wander that way. “M’fine. Thankyouforasking.” He stumbled back a step again and then turned, hurrying over to America.
America grabbed his arm. “What the hell was that? Are you okay? Did he do something to you?”
Canada, abruptly, felt sick. “No. Just. Surprised me.” He glanced up and saw England was still watching him closely. France was standing with him but he was looking pointedly at his ink pen. Canada looked back down. “I’m fine. Just surprised me.”
America threw a suspicious look at Russia and then pulled out Canada’s chair. “Have a seat. I’ll get you some water.”
Canada slumped into his chair, feeling weak in the knees, and sipped the water America gave him.
For Canada, the meeting seemed to last forever. He usually enjoyed them. It was his time to socialize with the other nations but this one seemed to drag. He looked up once and blinked to find Russia’s gaze fixed on him. He stiffened in his chair and looked down, keeping his eyes on his notes.
America was sitting next to him and the longer the meeting went on, the paler Canada seemed to get. Maybe he’s sick…. America thought but then he noticed Canada tense and he looked at him and then around the room. He almost did a double-take when he looked at Russia, who was looking predatory. America followed Russia’s gaze back to Canada, who was staring hard at his notes but not writing anything.
America reached under the table and touched Canada’s arm to get his attention. He whispered, “What’s wrong?”
Canada shook his head and looked away.
America’s eyebrows furrowed and got a piece of paper and wrote on it: Are you sick? and then slid it over to Canada.
Canada read it and wrote: No, I’m fine. and slid it back.
Liar.
Stop it, Alfred.
Did Russia do something to you?
Canada made a show of rolling his eyes and refused to write an answer.
America’s nose wrinkled and he wrote: Something is up with Canada. He slid the paper to his right, to England.
England, used to America getting bored during meetings and usually wanting to play hangman, sighed and grabbed the paper. But when he read it, his eyes hardened a little. He wrote: Canada can handle himself. Don’t overreact. It may be nothing.
America pulled insistently on England’s sleeve and gave him a beseeching look.
England rolled his eyes and wrote: Stop thinking that Canada is just another extension of you. He doesn’t need to tell you everything.
America blinked when he read that and looked reproached for a moment. Then he wrote: I don’t! Just—he really doesn’t look very good. He’s pale.
He’s always pale.
America looked frustrated. Look, you guys think I’m an idiot and stuff but I’m not stupid. Something is wrong.
France leaned over from England’s right and whispered. “Are you two playing hangman?”
“No,” England snapped quietly and shoved him away.
An hour later, they broke for lunch.
“Matthew,” America started.
“Stop!” Canada snapped, making America blink in surprise. Canada bit his lip. “I’m fine. Please just stop asking me.” He grabbed up his papers and turned away, hurrying out.
America watched, dumbfounded and felt his shoulders sink. He looked over at England.
England shuffled his papers and said, “Don’t overreact. Just leave him be for a little while.”
“But something is—“
“Yes, I can see that. But harping on it obviously isn’t going to make him anymore forth-coming.”
France leaned against the table and said, quietly, “Maybe Russia said something to him.”
England could have strangled him. He sent a searing look at France. “Are you trying to make things worse?”
America, though, had already turned and was watching Russia talk to Belarus and smile at Germany, shaking hands with him. Both England and France looked at America, watching his back slowly stiffen with tension. When Russia left the room, America followed him.
England sighed and looked at France. “Brilliantly done, France.”
“Well, better for him to get it out of his system now, rather then later.”
“Better later, when he can go home and stew there not stew about it here when we’re supposed to be making progress. You know how he gets about Russia.”
“I’m just interested to see what will come of this.” France smiled.
England sneered at him and stalked out of the room.
America stalked after Russia. “Hey! Russia!”
Russia showed no surprise. He just smiled pleasantly. Belarus stood beside him, watching America and looking as though she were picturing him insides-out. “Good afternoon, America.”
“What’d you say to Canada?”
Russia’s eyebrows lifted. “I asked how he was doing. Is that a problem?”
America bristled. “No, you just—“
“No? Then what is the problem?”
“He looked ill. He was just fine before you stopped him. What did you do?”
“Always so suspicious, young America. Perhaps one day, when you are a more experienced nation, you will see that not everything is a slight against you.”
America grit his teeth. “This isn’t about me! It’s about Canada! What did you do?”
Russia smiled. “Did it ever occur to you that perhaps he didn’t tell you because he doesn’t want you to know?”
America stiffened. “Russia!” His voice was starting to rise in volume. “He’s my brother and I—“ and then something whacked him in the head. “Ow!”
England gave Russia a long-suffering look. “Excuse me.” He shoved America.
America swore. “What are you doing?!”
“Attempting to keep you from making a total fool of yourself. Come on.”
“But--!”
“Shut up,” England overrode him in a bored sort of voice, grabbing his collar and pulling him away.
When France passed, he gave Russia a cheerful smile and another wave as he followed.
Canada slumped down on his bed, rubbing his forehead. He hadn’t expected to have that kind of reaction when he saw Russia. It was weird. His whole body had just….felt…weird. He was finding it hard to describe. He just needed a nap. He couldn’t eat. So he dosed off.
He awoke some time later and rubbed his eyes. His glasses had made an imprint on his face, so he took them off and set them on the bed. When he turned over to check the time—
“Ahhhhh—!” Canada threw himself back across the bed, grabbing his glasses and shoving them on again. He back hit the wall and he put a hand to his chest. “Geez! You scared me half to death!”
Russia smiled down at him. “I do hope not.”
“How did you get in here? I locked the door!”
Russia smiled and spread his hands and then shrugged.
Canada kept his back against the wall, waiting for his heart to slow down. “Is the lunch hour over?”
“Long over,” said Russia. “You missed the second half of the meeting. England kept America from coming up here to check on you. So I check on you instead.”
Canada rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You had a very interesting reaction when you saw me. You were not thinking you would react that way?”
Canada looked up at him and nodded a little. “It was weird.”
Violet eyes glinted at that sentence. “Is that so?” He sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Um, yes.”
“It’s not often anyone sees you with a temper.”
Canada looked aside. “America means well…”
“But you couldn’t tell him. Understandable. I am interested in that part of you.”
Canada looked up. “That…part of me?”
And Russia smiled, which gave Canada a chill. “The parts you don’t show to others.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around one of Canada’s ankles and started to pull him.
“Ah--!” Canada grabbed onto the blankets, but they just slid with him until Russia had drug him over. “Russia!”
Russia let go of his ankle and touched his suit jacket instead. “You have a lot of potential. You seem satisfied to trail in the shadows of England, France and America.”
“I don’t want to become one of your satellite nations.”
Russia smiled. “I know. But I do enjoy hearing you stand up for yourself. You are showing me something that you aren’t showing others.”
Somehow, that idea made Canada wary. Is that Russia’s way of…being in control? “I can stand up for myself.”
“But you are a rather quiet young man. And somehow, I doubt the others have seen what I have seen.”
That was true and it made Canada’s ears hot to hear it. He looked aside again. Russia took off his glove and touched Canada’s chin, turning his face. And again, Canada was made very aware of the overall largeness of Russia. He felt dwarfed by him. Canada had, land-wise, the second largest country in the world but even then, Russia was still twice his size. And Russia’s active military was far larger then his own. He was older, had been in many wars. He had—
“Your mind has wandered, Matthew.”
Canada blinked, realizing that it had. “Ah. Sorry.”
Russia’s fingers meandered down, tracing along his esophagus. “What were you thinking about?”
“Um, just…politics.”
“Between your country and mine.” Russia fanned his fingers around, curling around Canada’s throat.
He glanced aside. “Yes.”
Russia squeezed a little and Canada stiffened, reaching up and grabbed his wrist. “Has anyone ever tried to kill you, Canada? As in, very seriously attempted to take your life?”
Canada craned his neck a little, away from Russia’s possessive fingers but they only tightened when he moved back. “No…I have been involved in war…but no one has ever declared war on me.”
Russia smiled, securing his grip on Canada’s throat and then lifted his other hand, going to his tie. “What would you do if someone did?”
Canada kept looking down nervously, watching Russia work the knot in his tie. “I would…call up the military, of course and—“
“You would seek assistance from America and England, yes?”
“Well, yes. They are my allies.”
“What if they were the ones to declare war on you?” Russia got the tie undone and let it hang around Canada’s collar and then moved on to the buttons of his shirt.
Canada shook his head. “No. They wouldn’t.”
“How do you know? You have such faith in them?”
“We have our differences but…Alfred is my brother and Arthur is…like a father…”
“America and England went to war.”
“That was different. That was…Alfred was different.”
“Like a rebellious teenager,” said Russia, getting Canada’s shirt open.
Canada was starting to shift, his fingers digging into Russia’s arm. “Well, sort of. Alfred is a good person. So is Arthur.”
“England once created an empire and ruled his subjects with an iron fist. He is sort of the big brother to all of you. One of the most fearsome since the fall of Rome.”
“England has…a rough…past but…he’s…he’s different now.”
“Beside the point, Matthew.” Russia slid his hand over Canada’s chest. “What would you do if they all declared war on you?”
“I would…” he trembled a little at the light touches. “I would…appeal to France.”
“And if France sided with them?”
Canada looked distressed at the thought.
“The thing you must realize, Canada,” said Russia, thumbing one of his nipples. “Is that alliances don’t last forever. Who would have thought that, by the end of World War Two your brother and I would be patting each other on the back and then, hardly ten years later, on opposite sides. Times change, Canada.” He tilted Canada’s chin back, to force him to look up. “I once held alliances with many but they all told me I was too cruel.” His fingers tightened on Canada’s throat. “That I wasn’t kind.” They tightened again. “They all left me.” Again.
Canada choked a little. “Russia…”
“Yes, they no longer called me ‘elder brother’ any longer. Just Russia.” His eyes were gleaming and his grip was tightening. “They called me a Red Monster. A beast. That I—“
Canada wheezed, eyes getting wider. “Russia! My--!”
“I wanted them to stay. I made some of them stay. And they hated me for it.” The mad smile was back, edging up his face. “But I wanted them to become one with me again. Join me, yes? China is a little like me. I think—“
“Ivan—!”
Russia blinked and released him. “Ah, Matthew. I am sorry.” He wrapped Canada in his arms and pulled him into a hug.
Canada wheezed, head on Russia’s chest, trying to get his breath back. He reached up, touching his throat. Russia leaned back to check out his skin and then leaned in, lightly kissing his neck.
Canada made a soft sound and tried to keep his wits about him. “We shouldn’t…I mean. Alfred or Arthur might come looking for me. If they do…”
Russia kissed his mouth, instantly overpowering him.
Canada’s fingers dug into Russia’s coat again, trying to lean away to break Russia’s kiss but it didn’t work. The more he leaned back, the more Russia leaned forward until Canada moved a hand onto the blanket and used it to shift himself backwards.
That didn’t work either. When he separated, Russia reached out and grabbed his leg, pulling him back over. Russia put a hand on Canada’s shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.
Canada was, at once, terrified and excited. He wasn’t sure where the excited part was coming from but it was there, humming along in his belly like he was going to attend the final hockey game of the season…only…more fluttery. His stomach was fluttering.
Why me? The thought filtered in unasked for as Russia bit his shoulder and drew his lips down his chest. If it were about power, he wouldn’t go for someone like me. He’d go for Alfred. If it were about dominance and control, he’d go for Alfred too because Alfred is stronger then me and rebellious and dominate… He bit his lip. Unless he’s just using me to get to Alfred…
That was a sobering thought and it made him pause and stare up at the ceiling.
Whether Russia noticed or not, Canada didn’t know. He was brought back from his thoughts with Russia opening his trousers.
Russia handled him a little rougher this time and Canada reached down to stop him. “Ivan,” he said, noticing now that using his name appeared to catch his attention more often, “Alfred or Arthur may come looking for me. This…shouldn’t…not now….”
Russia looked up at him and instead of frowning; his smile grew. He lifted a hand, grabbing Canada’s wrists snugly and kept the other on his length, slowly stroking him. “You are certain? You want me to stop?”
Canada’s breathing hitched and his first thought was, No…I don’t… but…he shouldn’t be thinking like that. Not about Russia. He should not be thinking like that about Russia. “I….” He swallowed hard.
Russia’s eyes became amused. “You feel like you should stop because it would be the right thing to do but you don’t want to. Why is that?”
Canada licked his lips, trying to shut out what Russia was doing to him. “We’re…we’re at a summit. And if Alfred…if he…”
“He would assume that I was doing this to you against your own will when, actually…” and his hand stopped, giving Canada’s length a stiff squeeze, “you want it.” He looked a little triumphant. “But you don’t believe you should.”
Canada looked down and nodded.
“This world isn’t always such an easily mapped place. Sometimes, you have to be selfish.” He started to move his hand again.
Canada bowed his head, biting his lower lip and breathing hard and fast through his mouth. Russia let go of Canada’s wrists, licked his lips and leaned into him, taking his mouth forcibly and grinning when the other moaned softly. Canada’s fingers dug into his coat again.
From that point, Canada’s fingers seemed to move by their own will, tearing open Russia’s coat in a surprising show of strength and then pulling him closer by the front of his shirt. Russia frightened Canada but somehow…that fear was…hiding. Canada found himself invigorated by the mix of gentleness and rigid control that Russia employed. He was losing himself in the sensations. Things he had never felt before.
Russia smiled down at Canada. Usually, the others would still be trembling, afraid of the pain he would inflict upon them, as he so often did but Canada seemed to completely change in this situation. He was steadily becoming braver. Russia looked only bemused as Canada seemed to move on autopilot, unbuttoning Russia’s uniform. The boy’s fingers were timid then, uncertain as they touched down on skin, as if afraid it would be icy cold. But General Winter moves for you, as well.
Canada opened his eyes a little, looking at the scarred flesh that the layers hid. Russia was covered in them. Ragged, red rips all up and down his torso. He sat up a little, gazing at them.
Russia looked down and then at Canada, taking one of his hands and laying them on his chest. “Beautiful, yes?”
Canada looked thoughtful. “They must itch when the weather changes.”
Russia smiled. “They do.”
Canada smiled tremulously and the moment he did, he found fingers on his chin. His eyes went down, looking at Russia’s fingers.
“I have never seen you smile,” said Russia, who appeared to be examining him.
Canada squirmed. “I smile. It’s not as though I’m sullen all the time.”
Russia’s eyes twinkled at him. “You smile for your brother when he teases you. You smile for England and France when they bicker. You smile when Australia attempts to wrangle New Zealand and when Ireland puts thumbtacks on England’s chair.”
“You make me sound like a bad guy.”
“More a slippery one.” Russia’s fingers moved down to his throat again.
And for awhile, he was aware of nothing else. He was pushed down on his back again and Russia’s hot, demanding mouth licked and nipped over his body.
There was something attractive about where his mind went…it was like release from his own body. A peculiar sort of psychological freedom that he couldn’t really put into words but at all other times that he restrained himself and was constantly the victim of his own harsh self-critique…all of that vanished when he was…well, like this. Canada wasn’t sure how to describe it. He didn’t have the experience to identify something like that.
And as Russia removed his scarf and used it to tie Canada’s wrists to his headboard, he found he didn’t much care. He groaned, sweat beading at his brow, as Russia kissed his thigh.
“Sometimes,” Russia murmured, “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.”
That made Canada blink and he looked down at Russia.
He smirked. “Trying to figure out if that’s what I am doing?”
Canada was panting. He licked his upper lip. “Russ—ah!”
Russia had leaned in, sucking on the head of his length. He licked down the side, dragging his tongue up again and teasing him.
Canada moaned softly, writhing. His fingers twisted and curled into the scarf, wondering absently how the hell a scarf could be adequately restraining him (and then promptly reminded himself that it was Russia’s, after all). “Russia—“
“Do not call me Russia right now.” He licked him, teasing.
“Ivan—I…I want to…” His fingers squirmed desperately in the fabric of the scarf.
“You want to come or to be free?”
Canada’s face was flushed. He was panting. “Please…my hands…”
Russia’s mouth quirked. There it was—that peculiar glazed look Canada would get in his eyes when he was ready to participate, rather then be submissive. He leaned over him and untied his hands but even Russia wasn’t quite prepared for how fast he found himself on his back.
He blinked, looking up at the ceiling and pushed himself up on his hands, watching Canada, whose glasses were slipping dangerously down his nose. He had Russia’s trousers open and his fingers were jamming themselves in to touch him, at the same time, leaning forward and mimicking what Russia had done earlier to him, kissing his chest.
Russia, outwardly, barely showed a flinch when Canada curled inexperienced fingers around him. He placed a heavy hand on Canada’s shoulder as he fumbled to try and mimic what Russia had done to him. He ran his hand up and down, trying to find a rhythm.
Russia reached between them and touched his hand. “You touch too lightly, Matthew.” He took Canada’s fingers and drew them up to his mouth. Canada’s eyes followed as Russia licked them. “And too dry.” Russia felt Canada shudder a little and he lowered his fingers back down to his length, where Canada automatically curled them around him. Russia adjusted his grip and breathed in silently when he started to stroke again, this time slick and rough.
Canada listened for the little changes. Russia was not prone to showing much of what he was feeling. He just gave a creepy, deceptive smile. So Canada leaned forward, kissing Russia’s collarbone, listening to the subtle changes in his breathing. He could feel his heartbeat increasing.
A bead of sweat dripped onto Canada’s glasses but he hardly noticed when he looked up, seeing Russia’s eyes drift close. Canada swirled his thumb around the head of his cock and Russia’s shoulders rose about an inch and Canada felt something hot on his hands. He looked down, seeing the results of climax properly this time. He shifted his weight, moving in a daze as he got down, nosing Russia’s thigh.
“Matthew…”
Canada looked up, taking his length between his fingers and he smirked. Surely that was the French influence in him that was watching for a reaction as his tongue snaked out and licked him.
Russia’s breath hissed a little between his teeth. He lifted a hand, settling it in Canada’s hair. He felt a ping of satisfaction at Canada’s smirk, knowing now that the boy was getting adventurous; moreso then he’d imagined.
Canada took his time exploring with his tongue. He had never felt or tasted anything like this before and feeling Russia twitch and hearing the restrained panting was somehow, incredibly satisfying. More then that, it was powerful. He curled his lips around the thick head of Russia’s length, sucking on it, massaging his tongue against it. He felt Russia’s fingers tighten in his hair. He made his way lower, taking him in deeper and that was when he heard a tiny sound from above. It was muffled instantly but it resembled a tiny moan.
Canada took him deeper and slipped a hand down, touching the hot sac but at that, Russia’s hand curled into a fist and jerked him up by his hair. Canada flinched and grabbed Russia’s arm and then stopped.
Those violet eyes were wide and staring, that mad smiling stretching across his face. His tongue flicked out and licked his upper lip. Maybe he’d felt control was slipping away from him? Canada didn’t have time to wonder because Russia was suddenly shoving him down and not letting him up this time. His rough fingers flitted down Canada’s body, slicking them up on his damp skin and pressed into him.
Canada flinched and screwed his eyes shut. Russia had his free hand on Canada’s neck again, squeezing every time Canada squirmed. Russia was moving rougher and faster. He was on the edge of those times…that he couldn’t quite remember…when he saw everything too wide and didn’t know his own strength. He hardly registered that Canada was biting his lip, twitching and flinching.
Russia did not lift Canada up this time but kept leaning over him. He took his free hand off Canada’s throat and slid it down to his leg, lifting it, guiding it around his waist and then that hand went to his cock. Pleasure and pain, clearly torn, was his expression as Russia both stretched him and stroked him, massaging inside and out. Canada was digging his fingers into the blankets, moaning softly. His back arched when Russia finally pulled fingers away.
Russia gave Canada no time to take stock of himself. He grabbed his wrists and pinned him down with one large hand, leaning over him and pushing into him. Canada yelled, rising in pitch and volume, which Russia was quick to smother by forcing the fingers of his free hand into Canada’s mouth. Russia stroked his tongue, touching his teeth and Canada closed his mouth around them so he could swallow, inadvertently sucking on them.
Canada’s back arched, sucking on Russia’s fingers, heat pooling in his belly. His glasses were foggy and his face was hot and his eyes were glazed and….Russia was….Way up high in the winter sky, two little snowflakes caught my eye…
A singsong echoed in his head as Russia’s thrusts became more violent. He was free in his own head, writhing and reveling in the heat. Down to the ground they fell without a sound.
Somewhere, he suddenly understood why England had gone to such lengths to keep France away from Canada and America when they had been younger. But…but…
He moaned, feeling a mouth descend on his throat and bite. He cried out. And before very long, It was snowing all around.
And then all he seemed to see was snow. His vision blurred and went white. He arched against the hard body above him and then sunk. A great weight suddenly collapsed on him and he could hear harsh and heavy breathing. He breathed hard in Russia’s ear.
Russia’s fingers left his mouth to clutch possessively at him, wrapping iron-hard arms around him.
When Canada awoke with the alarm, he was, once again, alone. And once again, his room was impeccable. He sat up, rubbing his shoulder and blinked when his hand hit a bandage. He touched the spot.
“Ah,” he murmured. “That’s where Ivan bit me…” For some reason, it made him smile a little. “Nice of him to bandage it.”
He got up slowly, checking himself over. He was sore again and bruised in several places, especially at his wrists and arms. In the mirror, he examined the bite and looked over his nude body. He felt amazingly relaxed, which surprised him. He even smiled at the mirror because…how to even begin to explain?
If he had to put a word on it…it would probably be...well, “Liberating,” he said to his reflection and chuckled faintly.
When he took a shower, he had a very difficult time keeping his mind in the present. It kept flitting off elsewhere, into a space where he wasn’t alone and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. He wasn’t in love with Russia. And he would never have an alliance with Russia. He didn’t trust him. But…there was something there that was intoxicating, something he hadn’t realized had been in him.
He checked the time when he got out and dressed. As he knotted his rumpled tie he thought, Maybe I’ll ask France to take me to a good tailor and get myself something nice…
He grabbed his briefcase and went downstairs. This time, he entered confidently. America and Australia were talking, laughing, and making digs at each other. England was dipping a tea bag into a steaming mug and France was sitting pensively, thoughtful. He headed for them, setting down his briefcase. “Good morning,” he told them.
“Good morning, Matthew. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes,” he answered England. “Much.”
“I suppose you got some rest?” France said to the table, though, for some reason, he was smiling faintly.
Canada paused for a beat and then, the lie coming easily, said, “Yes.”
Australia jumped on him from behind, making Canada yelp. “Oi, brother! Jus’ got in! You should say hallo to me, first!”
Canada looked back, laughing and elbowed him. “I would if you wouldn’t jump on me!”
America patted his shoulder. “You feeling better?”
Australia cackled. “Look ‘ow big brotherly he is!”
“Shut up,” America said, keeping his eyes on Canada.
“Yes,” Canada said, smiling. “I’m fine.”
Australia almost said more but then jumped on the table and ran along the length of it when he saw Ireland come in. He jumped off, calling, “Auntie!” And pounced on her.
Russia, Germany, Belarus and Ukraine came in after her. Canada found Russia’s eyes almost instantly (and unintentionally) and he felt his stomach twist. America turned to see who he was looking at, which made him frown and look between Canada and Russia again. “What is going on, Matthew?”
But by then, Russia had approached. “Good morning, Matthew. I heard that you were sick. It’s good to see you better again.” He reached out, gently patting his shoulder.
Canada smiled and took the cue from Russia, though perhaps he shouldn’t have. “Thank you, Ivan. I appreciate it.”
Russia turned and walked away. America looked bewildered but England’s eyes had shot up and he was staring at Canada in something like disbelief. He knew. Call it old age experience, intuition or whatever but England knew. And Russia had used Canada’s real name and…and…
But then France was tugging on his arm, pulling him into his seat. “Just leave it, Arthur.”
England gaped at him. “What? You—you—!”
But Canada didn’t see any of it because Russia’s touch had made heat spike in a way that was slowly becoming familiar and he spent the entire meeting looking around the room, not even trying to pay attention. He wasn’t sure why it was coming so easily but he would look for too long at Sweden and start to wonder what he was really like behind closed doors.
Canada blinked at the thought and looked down at his papers, a little embarrassed. But he couldn't keep his eyes down and he looked at Germany and Ukraine and…
…and then he felt a touch on his shoulder and then a jerk and he felt his collar suddenly pull back.
“Ow!” He whispered and looked over at America, who was gaping at his bandage.
“What happened?” America demanded, jostling his collar.
Canada looked at him for far too long and in that moment saw him in an entirely different light. He’s my brother. I shouldn’t think like that. His head tilted to the side, staring up at those clear blue eyes. We’re not blood relations though.
“Matthew?” And America blinked, watching Canada’s mouth curl up in a strange smile.
“If you come with me,” he whispered, “when the meeting is over. Come with me to my room. I’ll tell you. Okay?”
America looked perplexed but he nodded. “Okay….”
Canada’s smile got bigger and he nodded and looked away, trying not to start laughing. God, what’s wrong with me? He glanced around the room and saw France, openly staring, a hand over his mouth.
Canada gave him a little wave.
France choked and grinned and had to look away, shaking. His motion caught England’s attention and he leaned in, berating him in whispers.
Canada looked across the room at Russia, who was looking back. Those violet eyes bore into his and his smile spoke only of innocence. Canada smiled back at him, sly echoes on his face.
“You know, we should work on our diplomatic relations, Alfred.”
America did a slight double-take, walking next to him down the hallway. “Huh?”
“You know,” said Canada, “try and make things better between our people.”
“Oh, right, yeah. Good idea. Our bosses should talk. I’ll send mine a text.” America took out his phone.
Canada opened up his door and stepped aside to let America in. “Yeah, we should talk too.”
He shut the door and locked it.
“Okay. Cool.” America sent the text and flipped his phone shut, pocketing it. “Now, what happened? What’s the bandage for? You've been acting really weird.”
Canada took off his jacket, tossed it down and approached him.
“Matt?” America had never seen the look before that Canada was now wearing. “Wait…Matt…what are you…” He took a step back. “Are you okay?”
Canada smiled sweetly and shoved him back on the bed. His eyes lit up, went wide and eerie in a way that America abruptly recognized. “Yes. Now shut up.”
