The night air is cool and crisp and Canada leans back, sitting on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. He doesn't know what he's waiting for; at least, that's what he likes to tell himself. The door opens and in walks America and Canada sighs.
"Canada," America's voice is like a heated caress against Canada's skin.
"America," Canada returns the greeting, not daring to meet his brother's eyes.
"Canada," America stumbles forward and the scent of alcohol is terribly overpowering. America is drunk, not too drunk yet, but drunk nonetheless.
Canada laughs shakily, edging away when America grabs his wrist. He presses his lips to Canada's, fingers slipping into his strawberry blonde hair, cradling his head for better leverage. America trails his tongue along Canada's lower lip and he moans, allowing his brother's tongue access as he rests his hands gingerly on America's back.
Canada knows exactly what to do next - it has almost become a routine - as he breaks the kiss to nibble on America's tanned, sun kissed skin, licking a heated trail down his neck, sucking, swirling his tongue on his collarbone, tugging at the collar of his brother's shirt. He kisses a heated trail up to the crook of America's neck, biting hard as he moans, arching up. Canada knows that when America's drunk, it can only mean one thing - he probably failed in his latest conquest. He doesn't ask who it is - he figures he's in know position to ask anyway - and he supposes there isn't any other way to comfort him, so he continues, fingers tracing America's spine as he bites down harder - hard enough to leave a bruise but not hard enough to draw blood. America moans, shivering in his embrace, hands fisting in his hair as he presses his head closer to his neck, wanting more.
They make their way towards the sofa and soon, Canada goes down on America, unbuttoning his pants, pulling down his zip and within seconds, he frees America's erection. He strokes him, rubbing his fingers against the tip in tiny circles, fondling his balls as he bites America's inner thigh, knowing that he loves the pain. In his heart of hearts, Canada enjoys the emotional pain it brings, because just for a little while, he can pretend that he's marking America as his, that America belongs to him, and him alone.
Canada scrapes his teeth against his brother's length, flicking his tongue across the tip, teasing the leaking slit. He sucks at it, fingernails digging into America's thighs as his hips buck forward, thrusting hard into his brother's mouth. Canada nearly gags but continues sucking anyway, tongue rubbing against the underside and oh fuck, America loves the friction. He starts humming, creating a delicious vibration that sends America over the edge and he pulls out as he comes, shuddering, spilling white all over Canada's glasses and face. He winces, removing his spectacles as America leans back against the sofa, panting heavily.
"America..." Canada looks up at his brother, chewing on his lower lip. "America," it comes out as a soft, plaintive cry.
America's eyes flutter open slowly and the look on his brother's face tells him that the name - whatever it was that he screamed when he climaxed - wasn't his. He doesn't remember, his head hurts like hell and the look on Canada's face tears him into a million pieces. He wants to apologise but he doesn't know where to start - would Canada even forgive him for using him just to satisfy his selfish desires? He struggles not to laugh at his stupidity; he's dead drunk but inside he feels sober and the pain threatens to swallow him whole. There's nothing left to be said. All he can settle for are two pathetic words that will never be enough.
"I'm sorry..."
a/n: for the kink meme. reviews are love and are greatly appreciated.