This isn't the first time Ukraine has visited Canada. Not at all. She's been there quite often, for they have an excellent relationship that is older than Canada has been sovereign. (Older than her sovereignty, too, a little voice reminds her.)
But it's the first time in a long time that she has been on the prairies. It was Canada's idea. Instead of them hanging around Ottawa and Toronto like they usually do, why not visit the places where her people (their people, the voice reminds her again) actually live?
And so they've spent their week together trekking across Manitoba and Saskatchewan and Alberta in a rented car with nothing for company but the AM CBC Radio channel and each other. Somewhere along the way it stopped being Ukraine and Canada, but Katyusha and Matthew in that little red car. And that's when things change for them.
They stop at the edge of a field on one of their whims and Katyusha runs out into a wheat field, golden and ripe and swaying, and she basks in the prairie sunshine. She had felt the compulsion to stand in the wheat, see if she could feel it growing around her. Instead she feels the breath of wind make the heads of wheat stroke her hands and legs and any part of her body they can reach, and she relaxes and basks in the sensations. When a pair of warm, work-roughed hands appear at her waist she merely leans into them and lets a smile breeze over her mouth.
"Katyusha, Katyusha," Matthew sighs. "Do you want to keep going?" His breath caresses the back of her ear as his hands stroke her sides.
"No," she says back, and she brings one hand over his, leaning into his shoulder and watching the swaying fields of gold. "Here. I want you here." He takes his hands off her waist and pulls back, and she almost thinks she's offended him, except then he turns her so that they are face to face. She smiles and he smiles, and when he kisses the corner of that smile tenderly she knows he wants her, too.
"Are you sure?" he asks gently. It is his gentleness, his careful attentiveness to her needs and wants, that makes her so willing to fall into his arms.
"Yes," she replies, and then she leans against his front and kisses his lips soundly, with lips and tongue and a little bit of teeth. He kisses her back the same and purrs into her mouth, and the sound reverberates through her body. She pushes against him as the wind picks up, not for warmth but for the assurance he is there. She can feel him quivering like the wheat in the wind. She wonders if perhaps he is affected by the wind and his land like this all the time.
He brings his kisses to her neck so she looks up, offering him all her skin to taste and torment. Her eyes lock on the sky, and she is overwhelmed. It is cloudless and vast and so blue and alive she finds herself overpowered and nearly falls into her partner. He is kissing and licking and sucking her throat, but drowning in the sky does nothing to diminish the sensation. If anything, it is magnified until all she can comprehend is his touch and kisses and the blueblueblue in her eyes. His land and sky and mouth make her dizzy and she suddenly realises that her breath is gone, stolen by the overload of feeling. As soon as that realisation sinks in she tears her eyes from the blue and sucks in the dry prairie air.
He comes up from her neck and looks down at her in concern. "Too much?" he asks. She shakes her head, because all she wants is more, more, more. But he chuckles fondly and nuzzles her cheek. "The sky here is… different. Powerful." He holds her close. "Don't try and take more than you can handle." He pulls back and clasps her hands, pulling down just a little. He's anchoring her to the ground and wheat and the scent of the earth and kissing her chastely all across her face.
He pulls her down, until they are surrounded completely and entirely by stalks of wheat and the smell of moist earth. One stalk is entangled in his windblown hair and she moves a hand up to untangle it. He catches her hand and kisses the palm.
Something she had learned through their time together is that he loves to kiss and be kissed, just as she prefers hands to lips and touches to her back to her ample breasts. So she leans forward and pressed her lips to his, and his hands go to the small of her back and he massages the muscles there with his thumbs. The pleasure from that alone pushes them forward.
Both of them wear practical clothing, mud-splattered denims and durable button-up shirts, for the trip is a dusty one and the weather changes faster than could be thought possible. Through a long kiss she undoes the buttons of her shirt, but he does not slide it off his shoulders, just murmurs in long-dead First Nation tongues as she lets her fingers wander his chest. She tries for the zipper of his pants, but is cut off as he deals with her own shirt. He leaves a line of kisses down her chest, halting to touch her necklace with one reverent finger, and between her breasts after every button, stopping only at the bottom of her bra and lingering there.
She nearly throws her shirt away once it's off, but he sets it carefully on the dirt and goes to fumble with her bra. Despite all the time they've spent together and all his ease in sex, he has never been able to handle her bra without some struggling and good-natured laughing. This is no exception, but the familiar actions don't break the spell hanging around them. So she just runs her hands down his back under his half-on shirt and waits for him to finish.
He leans towards her face once the bra is set aside and her eyes flutter shut. She waits for him to kiss her, but all she feels is his hot breath on her chin as he asks, "What do you want?" His voice is hardly a whisper, but she hears it more clearly than the wind that scours bare fields and makes the wheat undulate around them.
"Your hands," she breathes back, eyes still closed. She keeps them closed so that she can better feel his hands holding her, allowing her to lean slowly back until her back is in the dirt. She crushes a few stalks under her weight, and she feels one brushing her shoulder as it waves, another one under her back pressing where his thumb had been only a little before. The dirt feels a little wet and soft under her skin. The smell around her is comforting, for it is like home.
Her eyes open when his hands take her breasts. She does not take as much pleasure from the touches as another woman would, but it feels good and he knows her body well enough to know what makes her breath hitch and what makes her moan. But she doesn't look at him. Instead, she falls into the sky again, sees the living blue and feels every one of his touches shaking her to the core of her being.
She is hyper-aware of it when he stops touching, letting his bare chest glide over hers and breathing into her mouth. It's a reminder for her, not to get enraptured with the sky for too long. She turns her gaze to the finite, friendly blueness of his eyes instead as she draws in a shuddering breath.
"Please…" she says once she is no longer gulping the dry air. He complies happily, smiling against her cheek and letting one of his hands slide down her bare stomach and slipping under her denims and panties. As his hand works there her eyes slam shut and she thrashes while he goes back to lavish attention on her neck. Her hips rise to meet his hand while she tries to pull her pants off with her panties, his free hand joining to help.
Before she can reach her finish, he pulls his hand away and pins her to the ground, and she feels her orgasm ebb away. She makes noises and accuses him of being a tormentor, but he brushes those words aside because he knows she doesn't mean them. He sits up and does his best to strip off his pants, making a satisfied sound when he is freed of them, and then pulls her into his lap. He presses his hands firmly against her back and smiles at her.
He slides into her ready body with a slow, gentle kiss and moves slowly inside her, allowing her to find a rhythm and guide him into it. He is a good lover, and once he finds a pace they like he keeps it, allows it to intensify but never changes it suddenly.
Once they have set a pace and he is steady, one of his hands goes to cradle the back of her neck as she looks upwards. This time she only thinks about the growing pleasure she feels and breathing in and out and in, so that she can stay in that blissful state where every sensation is as infinite as the heavens. She feels him inside and against and around her, and she surrenders. She is his, completely and irrevocably his, and she comes screaming his name to his cloudless sky.
She falls into him and is aware of a warmth blooming inside her, and is aware that they are falling into the dirt, this time it's him crushing stalks of wheat under his back while she does her best not to float away. He tightens his hold around her and she is content to be there and belong, body and soul, to him alone.
By the time Katyusha's stay in Canada is over the spell of the Saskatchewan sky and wheat is broken. But the effects linger, for something is different between them now.
Nations have many partners, for sex is just another way of furthering international relations. England and Portugal have been together so long they hardly ever have sex anymore. A lingering kiss is all it takes. Canada and America are the world's biggest trading partners, so they are together at least once a week, sometimes more (America always tops and there's still tariffs on softwood lumber), even where their relationship is on tenterhooks.
But Matthew is suddenly jealous that in less than a week's time Ukraine will be with Australia, although it's been that way for a while. Now, though, he wants to do something to claim her, let Jack know that he may have Ukraine, but Katyusha is his. So before they get out of the little red car he pulls her close and sucks and nibbles at her collarbone until there's an obvious red mark under her shirt. Then Katyusha puts a necklace around Matthew's neck, the one she wore in the wheat field, and he realises this is her way of claiming him.
In the airport he kisses her long and lingering, and she responds so wonderfully it takes all his willpower to not just steal her away and return to the open fields. But Matthew lets her go and gets himself back home. He has to prepare himself for America's visit.
When America does come to Canada he's surprised that he would wear a necklace and remarks on it. Canada replies that it was a gift, nothing more, but doesn't let America take it off. When Australia and Ukraine have sex he sees the red mark on her collarbone, the claim that's been staked, and says nothing. And Katyusha keeps her eyes locked on the sliver of sky she can see from her window, and tries to lose herself in Matthew's embrace.
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A/N: Kink meme material, obviously.
I know, sex is not one of my strong points. It's kinda depressing that this may be the first fic that deals with Canada/Ukraine sex. (I did see one on the kink meme that was Canada/Ukraine/America, but it was even lousier than this.) You know, explicitly. And, of course, hetero sex in Hetalia? What is this nonsense?!
I feel super terrible for this but the title is stolen from the children's book "Who Has Seen the Wind" by W. O. Mitchell. Mitchell was a Saskatchewan native who wrote extensively on small town life on the prairies (he gets the credit for the Jake and the Kid stories from the CBC Radio) and "Who Has Seen the Wind" includes a beautiful description of the prairie and a personification of the wind in the first chapter. So yeah. (Guess who was on my reading list this year.)
Thank you very much for reading and tolerating my not-so-good sex scenes!