Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing this sort of story. I'm not to experienced with writing this sort of content, so I would really appreciate comments and reviews on my writing style. I didn't want it to be too risque, but not stale at the same time. Please read and review, and tell me how I did and if you liked it.
November 10th, 1917.
The main Entente lines near Ypres.
The Belgian rains continued to cascade down on the battlefield of Flanders. The rains had already turned the region into a quagmire of mud, water, barbed wire... and corpses. The countless artillery shells and underground mines blasted the little village into oblivion. And it was across these "fields", near the brick stained mud flat that bore the name of Passchendaele that the Canadian Corps had crossed in the face of stern German resistance.
Under these bottomless pits of quicksand like mud and mire, countless Germans and Canadians now lay buried, their bodies, forever entombed on the spot where they fell.
The Battle of Passchendaele was over. Thousands of young lives had been taken for little gain. But Passchendaele village had been taken, and for General Haig, that was all that mattered.
In one of many water filled shell craters, Canada sat. He was soaking wet, freezing cold, tired and hungry. Beyond the endless din of the artillery, he could only hear the staccato tapping of the rain on his helmet. He cradled his rifle between his legs, awaiting a German counter attack he prayed would not come.
Just as he let his head hang low, he heard a familiar voice.
"Canada?"
Canada looked up, and at the lip of the crater, stood England, bushy eyebrows and all.
"What can I do for you England?" Canada asked, his voice even quieter than normal.
"I just came to... see how you've done. I have to say, it's certainly damn fine work."
"Well, you're very welcome."
England looked out over the muddy plains, still covered in the debris of countless battles before it, and the many corpses in various states of decay.
"Of course, I don't expect any less of a good fight from you and your chaps." England looked down at Canada.
Canada's uniform was torn in places, and a bloody bandage covered his right hand. Dark bags sat under his eyes, signs of many a week spent without any rest. His body and clothes were caked with mud, dirt, grime and blood, both fresh and dried. He was bruised, and covered in scratches, a particularly nasty one across his cheek, with the blood under it long dried.
"Say, Canada..."
"What is it?"
"What's that on your epaulette?" England asked, noticing a small glob of pinkish material on Canada's shoulder.
"Must be some brain from that jerry whose head I caved in." Canada casually flicked the glob away, not showing any sign of discomfort or disgust.
"I see..." England tried not to throw up. "Say, I know I can't promise this to all of you quite yet, but... I think maybe a night back at headquarters could do you some good. You can have a chance to wash up a bit, sleep in a proper bed for once, what do you say to that?"
"I don't know... Germany could be back again at anytime..."
" Come on, I don't think that kraut will be back anytime soon, especially when he knows you lot will be waiting for him."
"Well, if you say so." Canada rose to his feet and walked slogged through the muddy water over to England.
"That's the spirit! Some rest, warm food in you, and you'll be back in tip top shape!" England took hold of Canada's hand, and pulled him out of the hole. England suddenly paled when he looked back at the spot Canada was sitting at. He saw that Canada was sitting in relative comfort on a leather German boot, with a sizeable portion of its previous owner still dangling from it.
"Bloody Mary." England said under his breath. He turned, hoping to ask Canada how he could sit on someone's leg like that, but Canada was already walking on the duckboards leading back to the Entente headquarters.
"Hey! Wait for me!" England called out as he ran after Canada.
Later, at the Entente Headquarters.
England watched as Canada walked down the trenches, on his way to get a hot meal. The rain was still pounding down.
"What is your petite garcon doing back here England?" the voice he wanted to hear the least right then and there sang from behind him.
"I'm giving him a few days rest, France." England growled.
" I heard he had another successful battle at Passchendaele ridge." France said, putting his arm around England's shoulder.
"He did, just as I knew he would." England pushed the arm off of him. "But right now, I'm worried about him."
"What do you mean?"
"He's changed. He seems so empty, and determined."
"I told you, he's a nation now, and he's finally beginning to realise his place in the world. He's started to be like this ever since you put him in his first real battle."
"What do you mean?"
"A few years ago, at Ypres, when Germany started using those disgusting and terrible gas attacks, we all ran away, but he stayed, and he fought..."
"..And almost lost his eye in the process."
"And later, at Le Somme, you only managed to break through after he showed up, and started taking many of those trenches."
"My tanks are what won that battle!"
"You can just keep telling yourself that." France patted England on the head. "And of course, we can't forget the Impenetrable and unbreakable Vimy Ridge."
"Both of us tried to take it, and we thought it was invincible."
"But he did take it. I told you, that was when he became a real nation. He's the most reliable and fiercest fighting force you have!"
"That's the problem, he and Australia keep getting the bloodiest assignment's because they're that good at breaking stalemates. Germany always prepares for the worst when they hear he's coming."
"Are you envious of the glory they've been getting?"
"Oh, sod off you frog bastard! Don't you have a bleeding mutiny or twenty to stop?"
"Whatever you want to think England." France chuckled as he walked away.
"That's why we fought this fucking battle! Because of you and your bloody incompetent command!" England shouted after him.
England sighed. He hated when he agreed with France, though he'd never say that to his face, or even admit to agreeing with him period for that matter. He decided he should just let Canada enjoy a night out of the trenches, and so he returned to his own dugout.
France meanwhile, walked down the trench line, on his way to his own dugout, when he spotted Belgium, taking shelter from the rain.
"Ah, Belgium, how are you on this miserable night?" France asked, in his usual manner.
"As you said, France, miserable." Belgium replied.
"What if I told you something that may cheer you up?"
"You may try France, but I don't think you'll succeed."
"Oh, really? What's wrong Belgium? Why aren't you your cheerful self?"
"Because I've been watching this war destroy my lands and my country's men for so long, and I want it to end." Belgium turned away from France, burring her mouth into her knees.
"Hmm... I know what you mean. My soldiers have lost their will to fight as well. I'd very much like this war to end too."
"Do you want to start cheering me up? Or just join me in wallowing in sadness?"
"Wallowing is so unladylike, no? Perhaps Canada could provide you with a true companion and a shoulder to cry on, no?"
"Canada is here?" Belgium's eyes suddenly lit up as she turned to France. "I mean, is he?" She suddenly tried to hide her glee.
"Yes, back from another hard battle at Passchendale. It seems to me that what he could use now is some company, and knowing him, he'd prefer it female."
"Well, If the feeling overtakes me, then perhaps I'll indulge him." Belgium said, returning to her previous state.
"Oh, I'm certain it will, ma Cherie." France said as he walked away.
Belgium watched as France walked out of sight before she ran off to see Canada.
Canada let his fork drop into the now empty meal tray sitting on a table in his dugout. Fatigue began to overtake him, and he felt that at any moment, he would pass out. He stood from his chair and tossed his tunic onto the nearby cot. From what he was used to, Canada felt that he was in the bedroom of a sultan or a prince. He was inside, had a bed, and he was far enough behind his lines that he didn't really have to worry about shells, or bullets or gas or raiding parties our counter attacks or anything really. And yet he felt as though it wasn't right, knowing that there were so many now trying to catch any sleep in the same kinds of shell holes that he had been sitting in hours before. Others, who most likely were dead by now. Sighing as he unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt, he tried to simply relax and enjoy a night off the line.
Canada heard the sound of a knock on one of the supports behind him. He turned, and saw Belgium, carrying a large basin of water, steam rising out of it, a few rags dangling from its lip.
"Hello Canada, I hope I'm not disturbing you or anything like that." She said, trying to hide her struggle with the weight of the basin.
"Oh, no, not at all Miss Belgium." Canada replied, "Would you like some help with that?"
Belgium nodded, and Canada took the basin from her.
"Would it be too much for me to ask what you're here for?" Canada asked politely.
"I heard you had a rough time out there, and I thought that maybe you'd like to wash up."
"Well, that's certainly kind of you; I guess with all the fighting I've been doing, I haven't had the time to wash up properly." Canada chuckled.
"If you like, I could do it for you."
"That's certainly a... interesting proposal." Canada stuttered, as he started to blush.
"It'll feel wonderful, I promise!" Belgium said with a smile.
"I guess it would be rude of me not to take your offer..."
"Exactly!" Belgium giggled.
Canada placed the basin on a nearby table, as Belgium pulled over a chair and sat him down in it. She then took one of the cloths and wringed out some of the excess water, before she started to wash the back of his neck. Canada felt a bit awkward at first, but he soon settled into it.
"You certainly are dirty Mister Canada!" Belgium said, commenting on the dirt that had accumulated on Canada.
"Yeah, I guess I haven't been able to have a proper wash in a few weeks."
"But I see you still manage to keep yourself shaved!"
"Well, England always told me that you should always go into battle looking your best."
As Belgium washed Canada's neck, she heard a soft, and familiar chortle from outside. She turned, and saw France peeking in.
"Was that France?" Canada asked, about to turn his head when Belgium quickly draped the cloth she was holding over his head, and balled up another one to throw at France. She quickly hurled it at him, but he was able to move aside, and out of sight. Belgium took the cloth off of Canada's head and re-soaked it.
"No, it was not." She replied coldly.
"If you say so..." Canada said.
"Here," Belgium said as she walked around to Canada's front. "Let's take off those glasses so I can wash your face."
"Okay, sure."
Belgium took hold of Canada's glasses, and gently slipped them from his face. She stared into his deep blue eyes, for what seemed to be an eternity for her.
"Belgium? Is something wrong?" Canada asked.
"Oh! No, I'm sorry, nothing's wrong." Belgium giggled, trying to hide her now blushing face as she placed Canada's glasses on a nearby desk. She went back to him after taking a wet cloth from the basin, and began to clean the blood and dirt from his face.
"Canada?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"What's your country like?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I'd just like to know."
"Well, there are lots of forests and mountains, and vast prairies..."
"I've heard its very cold and snowy there."
"Well, mostly up in the North Pole. It's very beautiful when the sun is setting or rising every six months. And there are times when the night sky lights up with beautiful colours."
"I've heard of those, the northern lights, right? I'd love to see them someday. I miss when my country was beautiful. I enjoyed walking through the quiet farmlands and rolling hills, without a care in the world."
Belgium tried to avoid eye contact with Canada, as she kept washing his face.
"Oh Belgium," She thought to herself, "Why can't you just tell him how you feel? What could the worst thing he can say be? It isn't like me to keep my feelings bottled up, but when I'm around him, my stomach gets all tight, and..."
"Belgium?" Canada asked.
"Yes? Is something wrong?"
"You stopped washing my face a while ago." Canada chuckled.
Belgium looked down, and to her surprise, Canada was right. Her hand was actually on his chest, and when she pulled her hand away she caught a quick glance of it.
"I'm sorry, it was an accident!" she cried, blushing.
"It's alright, there wasn't any harm done. But you seem like you've got something else on your mind." Canada asked.
Belgium got to her feet, and turned around.
"Canada? What do you think of me?" She asked
"What do you mean?"
"I just want to know."
Canada got up from the chair and walked up behind Belgium.
"Well, I think you're a very nice and wonderful girl, and you seem to be the kind of woman who just wants to live a life without all this violence and hate and such, and if you don't mind me saying so, I find you to be quite beautiful."
Belgium turned around and looked into Canada's eyes again, her heart beating hard, and her stomach tightening. He mouth quivered, as though she was about to say something, when she acted upon the uncontrollable urge to lock lips with him.
"Belgi...mmf?" Canada tried to say before he was cut off by Belgium's kiss.
Belgium pulled away, and when she saw what she had done, she backed away.
"I...I... I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me, and I..." Belgium began to tear up, and she began to back away further.
"Belgium, wait!" Canada said as he quickly went over to her. "When did this all start?"
Belgium looked down at her feet.
"Ever since that day, when you risked your life in no man's land to come and save me, I became obsessed with you, I'd follow all of your battles, and every time you were taken off the line I'd try to find that adorable little hair curl of yours and try to muster the will to say things like this to you, but I just couldn't do it." Belgium tried to hold back her tears.
Canada took her hand in his.
"Do you really feel that way Miss Belgium?" He asked, lifting her head gently by the chin, and meeting her eyes with his.
"Yes... yes I do." She whispered.
Canada pressed his lips against hers, and Belgium slid her hands to his shoulders and pulled his body closer to hers.
"Miss Belgium?" Canada asked after he pulled back from the kiss.
"Yes?" She replied.
"You don't have to call me Mister Canada if you don't want to, you can call me Matthew, my name."
"Then call me Emma please." Belgium replied, before she started to giggle.
"What is it?" Canada asked .
"I just realized that your kisses taste like maple syrup." Belgium smiled.
"Well, yours happen to taste like waffles." Canada replied.
"Are you certain?"
"You're right, I guess I should check again." Canada planted another kiss on her lips, Belgium moaned quietly.
"Matthew?" she asked.
"Yes?" Canada replied.
"Could... could you unbutton your shirt? Just a bit more?" She blushed.
"Be my guest." Canada chuckled. Belgium slowly undid a few more of the buttons on his shirt, and ran her hands over Canada's chest. It was very firm to her touch, and while he wasn't very defined, or very muscular, Belgium still enjoyed the way it looked and felt. Keeping her hands on his chest, she leaned up for another kiss, which Canada eagerly accepted. Their kiss continued for a moment, until Belgium pulled away, taking hold of Canada's wrist and tugging him over to the cot.
"Sit here, and I'll make it a bit more intimate, Okay?" she asked.
"Alright then." Canada watched as Belgium walked over to the blanket serving as a door cover of sorts, and checked outside to see if anyone was nearby, or to be more accurate, he watched her behind as she went to check if anyone was outside. Belgium arranged the blanket so that it was covering the doorway as much as it could, and then went over to one of the oil lamps and turned it down, darkening the room a tad. She then sat down beside Canada on the cot.
"Now then, since you showed me your chest, I suppose it's only fair that you should see mine." Belgium said, as she rested her hand on Canada's lap. Her slender fingers began to undo the buttons on her tunic, and soon, Canada had slipped it off her, and now he began to undo the blouse she was wearing under it. When it was finally undone, Canada slipped it off and revealed her slender arms and shoulders, and to his surprise, her distinct lack of under garments. Belgium pushed him onto his back, and with cat like grace, she climbed on top of him.
"Do you like what you see?" she asked as she ran her fingers through Canada's hair.
"I most certainly do." Canada said as he glanced down at her breasts, which, while they weren't nearly as large and prominent as Miss Ukraine's, they were still quite sizable. Belgium placed her hand on Canada's cheek and kissed him again as Canada slid his hand down under her skirt. Belgium moaned softly as she felt Canada's hand brush her inner thighs and his finger as it ran up and down her "special area." Canada then sat up, bringing Belgium up with him, so that she was now sitting on his lap, and holding on to him as he continued to gently touch her.
The area between her legs growing warmer and warmer with each passing second, Belgium felt as though nothing could upset or anger her at that moment. Until she heard the all too familiar chortle of France, that is. Turning her head, she saw him peeking inside the room. Canada thought he heard the familiar sound as well.
"Is that France again?" He asked, before Belgium pulled his head towards her burying it into her bosom. Belgium quickly shot France an angry stare, and France slipped out of sight.
"Now Canada, what did I teach you to do when a girl buries you into her chest?" France whispered to himself.
Hoping France to be gone, Belgium was about to push Canada back a bit, when she suddenly felt an incredible sensation. Looking down at Canada, she discovered that he was now kissing and gently sucking on her breasts, she moaned in barely contained pleasure, as France sneaked away outside.
"That's right mon petite garcon, that's what ze mademoiselles' like." France giggled to himself as he heard Belgium's soft cries and moans. "I wonder what England would think if he saw his little soldier acting as soldiers do?" And with that he dashed chuckling to England's dugout.
By now, Belgium had pushed Canada back on to his back, and now he watched as Belgium slipped off her skirt and panties, tossing both away. With only the stockings going up above her knees left, she slowly loosened his belt and undid the buttons of his fly, and pulled the pants down enough to reveal his organ. It was already beginning to swell. She crawled back up and locked eyes with her lover, and then began to rub her vagina against him. As she did this, she locked lips again with Canada.
"Matthew?" she whispered.
"Yes?"
"Please... put it inside of me."
Canada obliged, and he slid himself inside her slit. Belgium moaned as she felt herself being filled. Supporting herself with her hands on his chest, she began to move her hips upwards and downwards, slowly at first, but she began to gradually increase her pace. Canada placed his hands on her hips, and grunted as he felt her, warm and soft, rubbing against him.
Outside, through the pouring rain, France made his way to England's dugout. He peered in, and saw that England was lying on his bed, fast asleep. He tiptoed over to the slumbering person.
"Angloterre... wake up!" He whispered, tapping on England's head.
"Huh, eh? Wha..." England stammered, as he roused himself. "France? What the hell are you doing here. You'd better not be trying anything funny!"
"Oh, no no. There's just something I must show you."
"Oh no. I've fallen for that one before. Not a second time."
"It's not like that. Just come with me."
"It had better not be something that'll cause me to hit you, because I will hit you."
"Just come on."
After taking his hat and raincoat, England followed France through the trench line, stepping in mud puddles and becoming soaking wet.
"I swear to the heavenly powers, France. This had better be worth getting soaked and getting covered in mud for." England growled.
"We're here." France said, stopping him at Canada's dugout.
"A dugout. How wonderful. Y'know, I was sleeping in a dugout just like this. You really, really didn't have to drag me, out in the pouring rain, to see something, I WAS CURRENTLY IN!"
"Take a quiet peek inside." France giggled.
England rolled his eyes and peeked into the room, paling as he watched Belgium bob up and down, moaning and giggling. His eyes fixated on her heaving chest. France yanked him back.
"Oh, wonderful, now I'm a bloody voyeur. Thank you; this is exactly what I wanted." England said, cradling his head in his hands.
"Oh, that's not all..."
"Oh, really? What else could this situation possibly elaborate on?"
It was at that moment, England heard Belgium ecstatically crying, Matthew! Matthew!
"CANADA?" England yelped, before slapping his hands over his mouth.
Belgium stopped moving, looking straight ahead, her eyes burning with anger.
"Okay, now, I'm fairly certain I just heard England there." Canada said, beginning to look over to where he heard England's voice, but Belgium quickly flipped his head back, and planted her lips on his, pushing his mouth open and forcing her tongue inside. Canada moaned and tried to push her off.
"That's... a new one!" Canada gasped.
"You... didn't like it?" Belgium moaned.
"No...no... just... maybe a little bit of warning."
"Like this?" Belgium repeated her action, gentler this time. Canada was far more welcoming, running his hands down her back, as he heard her soft moaning.
France followed England as he stomped his way back towards his dugout.
"I... Cannot... Believe that you showed me that." England growled.
"What's wrong England? Are you such a prude? You really should grow out of that Victorian mindset."
"Shut your goddamn frog mouth!"
"Oh, you're just surprised at seeing Canada in that way? Interlocking with a beautiful woman in the deepest expression of love... and pleasure."
"La la la la la! I can't hear you! LA LA LA LA LAA!" England screamed. "Dear God I hope she didn't hear me."
"Oh, what will the harm be?"
"She's likely to kill us if she knows we were watching!"
"Oh, she probably knows I was watching..."
"Aw, Bollocks." England moaned.
Back in Canada's dugout, Belgium pulled herself off of Canada's mouth.
"He...here." Canada whispered, as he gently slid her off of him, and over beside him. He rose up, and opened her legs, and slid himself back inside of her. Belgium sighed as Canada slid his arms under her back, and she locked her legs and wrapped her arms around him, trying to get as close as she could to him, moaning as she felt his gentle rhythm inside her. Canada could only hear her moans and cries as he felt her soft skin against his. Soon, Canada felt his heart begin to race, and he found himself pulling away from Belgium, and increasing his rhythm, grunting loudly as he felt a sudden euphoria wash over him, his moans intermixed with Belgium's screams as she felt a sudden, intense warmth fill her. Canada gasped, supporting himself as best he could above Belgium. He looked down, and Belgium looked back up to him, her eyes half closed, her sweat covered body quivering, as a familiar white substance began to seep out of her vagina. Canada felt a sudden weakness slam on top of him.
"M...maple!" he managed to gasp before his arms gave out and he dropped on top of Belgium.
Belgium somehow managed to roll him off of her. Canada laid on his back, breathing heavily, as she lowered herself on to the bed, resting her head on his chest.
"Matthew... you were wonderful." She giggled, tracing a random pattern with her finger on his chest.
"You... you're welcome..." Canada gulped.
Belgium pulled herself up, giving Canada a kiss on his cheek. Canada responded by laying his hands on her back and holding her tighter.
"My insides feel so warm..." Belgium sighed, as she felt Canada's gentle warm breath on her shoulder. "...and there's a joke I could make, involving maple syrup... but I won't make it." She giggled.
Canada chuckled, resting his head back on the cot's pillow. He turned, and gazed into Belgium's half closed eyes.
"I'll... have to go back to the trenches in the morning." Canada said, stroking her cheek.
"No you won't. You're going to stay and have breakfast, with me." Belgium said as she reached down to pull the blanket up to cover the two of them.
"Will you make waffles?" Canada asked.
"Only if you bring the maple syrup." Belgium said as she nuzzled her head into Canada's shoulder, before the two soon drifted off to sleep, cradled in each other's arms.
The next day, after Canada had reluctantly returned to the trenches of Passchendale, Belgium angrily stomped her way down to the Headquarters, lugging a large bucket of ice cold water with her. She looked into the dugout, France and England had their back turned to her, as they were studying a map on a table.
Without warning, she heaved the contents of the bucket onto England, a sharp and shrill scream exploding from his mouth as he leapt up in the air. She then quickly slammed to empty bucket onto Frances head, a loud DOINK! Echoing from inside.
"WHAT IN ZE HELL WAS THAT FOR?" France cried from the floor, lifting off the bucket and rubbing the large "goose egg" on his head.
"HOW COULD YOU LOOK IN ON US LAST NIGHT? YOU ALMOST RUINED A PERFECT EVENING!" Belgium screamed, her eyes burning in the pure fury of a maiden scorned.
"Oh! So it went well then?" France chortled.
Belgium responded with a swift kick to the head, catapulting France backwards.
"Francis, you are a disgusting and vile pervert!" Belgium scolded as he pushed Frances head lightly into the dirt with her foot. "And if you ever try to do that again, I will relieve you of your balls!"
"I didn't see that much!" France protested.
"I wasn't too surprised to see the carpet matched the drapes as it were!" England laughed.
Belgium slowly turned around, her green eyes glowing crimson red, almost matching the hue of her cheeks. England's loud laughter slowly died down.
"I... regret nothing." He smirked.
The End