(A/N: Wow, this is finally finished. Sorry I'm not updating every week now, but school has become such a time suck. I swear that I haven't dropped Tough Market and as soon as I post this, I'm going straight to work on that story. So, this sequel oneshot was also inspired by my Science textbook. It said that an invasion of continental polar air masses moving southward from Canada bring a cooling relief to America in the summer, and attached was a picture of a big arrow going into the States from Canada. I've been meaning to write this for a while and that serious heat wave in the U.S. back in July convinced me to go for it. And to my Australian readers, I apologize. Somehow, Australia became the main antagonist in this story. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this oneshot that once again bends all scientific facts of weather and geography )
Cold Wave
"It's so hot…" America whined, stripping off his suit one piece at a time in an attempt to cool off, but nothing was helping the blistering heat overwhelming him. For God's sake, he hadn't had a summer as hot as this week in nearly a decade, and there wasn't any sign of relief coming soon. To make things worse, he had to suffer through a global meeting with only his boxers to cover him as he burned up. After the brutal El Niño last winter, he couldn't afford to miss another meeting, but at least it was in Canada.
In Canada, America thought as he smiled inwardly, remembering how amazing it felt the first time he ever entered his brother (not counting his successful "invasion" back in the War of 1812, as the Burning of York was far from consensual and cost him the White House). If anything good had come from that winter, it was the flowering of their relationship. Hey, if he could stand all those years of sexual tension and unbearable heat, he could stand this. After all, he was the hero, the epitome of determination and liberty, and he would do anything for his people, even if that meant sitting through a boring meeting.
Canada watched in a sort of horror as his brother stuffed the oppressive clothes into his briefcase, but he didn't bother to reprimand him with how much America was suffering from the heat (It definitely wasn't because he was too focused on his body, nope). He'd heard that America was having hundred-degree weather pretty much all over the place, but seeing it firsthand made it easier to be sympathetic.
The short blonde strands of America's hair were plastered to his forehead and the nape of his neck; even Nantucket, his prominent cowlick, was wilting with moisture. Sweat trickled down like tears over the sun-kissed skin before slipping under the soaked waistband of his shorts, absorbing in the creases of his inner thighs…
Canada bit his lip as he felt a twinge in his lower regions, regions that were already plenty heated, as the sound of his country's weather stations ran rampant throughout his mind. We are experiencing a heat wave here in Ontario…
"America, what the bloody hell is wrong with you?" England asked, raising an ample eyebrow as he surveyed his former colony from across the meeting table. "I understand that you are dealing with high temperatures, but this is absolutely ridiculous! You look like you're going through menopause, and at least those women have the decency to keep their shirts on."
"Be happy I even decided to leave my shorts on," America snapped, groaning inside his head as he realized he even sounded like a woman in menopause. "Look, can we all stop staring at me like I'm some sort of freak and get on with the meeting?"
Glancing farther down the meeting table, Canada realized that all of the nations had their eyes on America's sweltering body. A possessive jealousy surged through his veins, especially when he noticed Australia's lusting gaze. He shivered slightly, remembering how Australia had caught the two of them in a compromising position the previous winter. Oh, he'd been surprised, surprised enough to awkwardly walk right out. That wasn't enough to stop him from calling Canada the next day with the slur of alcohol on his lips, asking if he and his Oceanic buddies could join the next time.
Canada had hung up immediately, cheeks red in mortification. "'Prim and proper' my ass," Canada had told his brother afterward.
All America could say was, "I like your ass."
The memory made his shoulders sag as the rest of the nations reluctantly took their eyes off America and continued with the meeting. Is that really all you could say? Canada thought, tuning out the monotonous drone of Germany's speech. He called me up asking for an orgy and that's all you could say? Don't you even care?
Returning his attention to the meeting, Canada noticed some of the countries sneaking glances at America now and then and it infuriated him with insatiable insecurity. Don't let them look at you, his violet eyes silently implored his lover. Why would you do that? God damn it, Al, you're supposed to be mine.
It was a futile though, as America had no idea the stares were far from purely curious. Perhaps Canada was being paranoid, but he couldn't help but feel like every nation was sending his brother lusting glances, each one wanting a piece of his luscious body. But that was it: lust. Plain, simple, lust.
They don't know you like I do. They don't know the way you talk to me in the morning after, how you lick my ear and laugh when I squirm. They don't love you like I do. They don't, they just don't.
Canada glanced to the clock and groaned quietly, as there wouldn't be a break for at least another twenty minutes. Slumping farther down in his chair, Canada sighed and tried to find something else to focus on, but the only thing that tickled his attention was America. Slowly, his hand crept over his brother's, sensing the slick heat as he grasped it in his.
Feeling the gentle fingers caressing his, America glanced to his left and smiled, giving his lover's hand a squeeze. Canada felt the butterflies flitting about through his crowding lungs, but as soon as his lover's touch had appeared, it was gone. America had drawn his hand away, leaning back in the chair as his chest heaved up and down, pearls of sweat making their course down the map of his torso. Sighing, Canada looked at his hands, hands that knew practically every inch of his brother's body, and studied each line and wrinkle.
"M-Mattie, I love you, and I'm sorry, but can I fuck you?"
He frowned, letting his hands fall to his lap. The whole basis of their relationship had been sex, driven by El Niño. At the time, that had been enough for him because they had said they loved each other. But Canada knew love could fade, fluctuating within a person until it decided to stay or leave for good, for better or for worse.
Looking down the table, there was France gazing wantonly at England, licking his pen with enough mastery to make anyone feel uncomfortable. Canada knew far too much about the two nations' hot-and-cold relationship. One night, they would be getting it on, and the next, they would have a nasty fight because France was loyally unfaithful. In the end, he would ultimately return to his "petit lapin",as he called England, and the cycle would start all over again. The two just couldn't live with or without each other.
Canada glanced back to his lover, hoping their relationship would never turn into that. All he wanted were the nights spent watching TV together, holding hands and just being with each other. Even if Alfred ended up clinging to him because of a horror movie and couldn't sleep that night, Canada didn't care. Every second spent was precious to him. With the world in the state that it was, it was hard for the two to even see each other. America was always off trying to fix the economy, help third-world countries, fight wars, and so much else. There was a lot on his plate and the amount of down time he had was limited. Granted, Canada was just as busy, but he felt his brother took on too much of a load. A nation could only bear so much responsibility.
When they finally got together after days, sometimes even weeks, the North American brothers would be clawing the clothes off each other before they even stepped through the door. With this utter need to touch and be touched, they would go straight to the bedroom and make as much love as they could. Canada would find himself lying in bed afterward, twirling a strand of America's hair as he begged the night to stay with him, just stay.
With every encounter ending in sex, Canada wondered if America would ever grow bored of him, and God, that scared the hell out of him. His insecurity just seemed to grow without end and he felt with every precious, passing second that America was falling farther away.
Canada lowered his head and looked to the hands limp in his lap, wishing America's were in his and laying over his heart, slowly stroking the skin through fabric; something to remind him that this really was love.
. . .
When the meeting came to a break, Canada watched all the nations rise from their seats and file out of the room, but America was still sweating it out in his chair. Sighing, the northern nation decided to stay behind, drawing up the courage to confront America about his actions. "Al-"
"Hey." Canada looked up to find Australia in the doorway, fiddling with the bandage on his nose. "America…and, um…"
"Canada."
"Canada. Right. You mates coming?"
"Yes," Canada aloofly told him, gathering his papers together in a pile on the table. "We'll be out soon, so go on ahead."
"No worries," Australia waved it off. "If you're gonna be out soon, we could all get lunch together. In fact, we could get some ice blocks and let them melt real slow. Always a crowd-pleaser."
Face burning, possessive rage boiling under his skin, and desperately suppressing the urge to give the fellow a painful reason to wear a bandage on his nose, Canada politely replied, "I-I think we're good, Australia. You can go."
"Really, I-"
"No, really. Leave. Now."
Australia blinked as he sensed the animosity in that small voice, starting to realize that Canada did not want him there. Placing his hands on his hips as he shook his head, Australia stated, "You know, Canada, that's not very nice."
Hands shaking in frustration, Canada slowly stood up from his chair and walked over to the Oceanic country, forcing him outside the room. Closing the door behind him and glaring Australia straight in the eye, Canada softly threatened, "I'm asking you to leave us alone. If I were you, I would do just that."
"Now, now, I'm not looking for a blue," Australia assured him, not the least bit intimidated. "All I wanted was to spend time with my two favorite countries."
"Well, Al and I have some important things to discuss, so I guess that'll just have to wait."
Smirking, Australia lowered his eyelids and baited, "You seem cranky today. Looks like the ankle biter didn't get enough sleep last night."
Canada's mouth twitched in response. Determined not to let him get the better of him, he shakily replied, "Y-Yeah, well, that's what h-happens when you spend the night with your brother."
Australia raised a bushy, brown eyebrow. "Oh, that so?"
"Y-Yeah. That's so. It was great, too. Fucking amazing."
At this, Australia burst out laughing, palm smack against his forehead. Canada watched in anger, clenching his teeth and fists as the Oceanic nation clenched his sides. "The fuck is so funny?" he asked, voice trembling.
"Ha, ha, wow, just wow. I'm just gobsmacked by how blatantly insecure you are."
"You-!"
"What are you so afraid of? That I'm gonna steal your brother away from you? You're that insecure about your relationship?"
Canada lips ran dry as his heart ached, unable to deny or refute the questions. Tears teased the rim of his eyes and he swallowed, throat swollen and tight, his breaths coming in too shallow. Leering as he leaned in close to Canada's face, Australia stared intensely with green irises and warned, "Well, if I were you, I would keep an eye on your mate. I might just decide to give it a burl after all."
With that, Australia turned on his confident heel and strolled away, leaving Canada behind to dwell on his words. Once he rounded the corner, Canada slumped down in front of the door and broke, quiet sobs choking out of his lungs, knees pulled to his chest. It hurt; it hurt so much to even think of Alfred being stolen away from him. To lose him now, after the many years of pining that finally led to what they had now…the idea was unbearable.
No, Canada thought, wiping at his eyes as he sniffled, no, I'm not going to lose him. Not me. He's mine. Mine. Still, the words were less than self-assuring coming from a self-doubting heart.
Pulling himself together, Canada blinked a few times and sighed, slowly making his way back on to his feet. With a little dusting off and rubbing of eyes, he reentered the meeting room, hoping America wouldn't notice he had been crying. Lucky for him, his brother was still in his seat and suffering, barely aware of anything but the heat engulfing him. "H-Hey," Canada greeted him.
"H-Hi," America replied, eyes closed and body perspiring. "What were you guys talking about? I heard laughter at one point."
"O-Oh, nothing, just…just worldly affairs. The usual. So, u-um, the break started a while ago. D-Do you want to get some food?"
"Don't want any…"
"Al-"
"Mattie, I'm dying here…" Alfred complained, throwing his head back as he panted. The look on his face could easily be misinterpreted as orgasmic, making Canada shift his stance, his slacks rather tight now.
Pretending to be nonchalant, Canada folded his arms and asked, "A-And what would you like me to do about it?"
Oh, Mattie was not playing this game with him. "Come on! Give me a cold wave, for God's sake!"
"Al, I can't control the weather. You know that." You know El Niño never would've happened if I could control these things.
His expression softened as his blue eyes implored the northern nation to give in. "Then t-touch me or something. Your hands are always so cold. Please, Mattie…"
Before Canada could reply, America climbed onto the meeting table, scattering papers around as he got on his knees with his back to his brother. Canada swallowed, feeling his Adam's apple bob up and down as America tugged suggestively at the elastic of his shorts. Ontario was awake and throbbing inside his pants, feeling the hunger building up and blinding him. There it was: that intense need to touch him.
His eyes flitting about as he blushed, Canada walked over to the door and clicked the lock shut. Getting on top of the table with his brother, the northern nation hesitantly pulled America's shorts down and slipped a hand between his legs. Canada was surprised to feel a rush of adrenaline as America moaned from the chilled fingers running up and down his length. God, he needed more of that, just more. Stroking faster, Canada rubbed his arm against his lover's balls, watching as America's thighs shivered and snapped shut to trap him.
America moaned at the cold friction in his inner thighs, balls, cock, just everywhere. It was the most mind-blowing relief after days of sweltering heat, with the arctic tingling from the pleasure coursing through his veins. "Oh, oh, M-Mattie, oh, God, G-God yes, yes, y-yes, oh…"
That's right, Matthew thought, his breathing starting to hitch with the stimulation of his lover's voice, moan for me; only for me. Let me be the only one you see, touch, love. Oh, let me, let me, oh, let me inside you.
America squealed as an icy finger coated in saliva penetrated him, recoiling immediately in an attempt to pull away from it. "Matt, what the fuck are you doing?" he shouted, unable to remove himself from the intruding finger since Canada had a lock on his waist.
"I-I'm just helping you cool off," he shakily explained, licking and slipping in another digit before his brother could protest. "You said my hands were cold, so I thought this would help. Relax."
America realized with horror that he was on all fours, held in place by the grip on his waist, and Canada's fingers were fucking invading him. "…Oh my God, you're trying to fuck me…"
"…Is that okay?"
"No fucking way, Mattie. No fucking way."
"Al, come on!"
"No way am I letting you top!"
"But you never let me!" Canada groused, not only irritated that his lover was being so stubborn, but that he was refusing him. "Don't get me wrong, I love being the bottom, but I'd like to see you writhing beneath me sometimes, too!"
"Well- nnh!" America's words cut off as his brother stretched him, making his eyes go wide and lips tremble.
"That's right, just shut up and take it," Canada coaxed him with firm strokes as he worked on preparing his brother.
Having no way of countering whatsoever, America shut his mouth and futilely tried to squirm away. He forced himself to keep in every little whimper as his lover stretched Lake Huron and Lake Erie apart with his fingers. It was so tempting to stop biting his lip and let out the sounds, but he wouldn't give in.
Yet, when Canada's fingers brushed his prostate, he couldn't suppress the low groan rumbling through his throat. "Ah, I think I found Michigan," Canada remarked, his smile sweet and smug as his brother glared at him over his shoulder.
His eyes burning with arousal and frustration, America demanded, "You…y-you get your fucking cold fingers out right now."
Furrowing his brow, Canada curtly replied, "All right, but then I'm not going to touch you at all."
"Mattie, that's not fair!"
"No, what's not fair is that you won't let me top!" Canada shouted at him, ripping out his fingers in a fury. Unable to hold himself back, the words spilled out from the broken dam of his mouth. "What's not fair is that you don't give a fucking damn about my needs and how I feel! You don't care that it hurts me, it hurts me so fucking much to watch the others undressing you with their eyes - which, by the way, isn't too hard considering you did the job for them - and to see you just let it happen! God damn it, Al, you're supposed to be mine!"
His chest heaving up and down from letting out all his emotion, Canada tried to calm his breathing, a sense of relief coming over him. Finally…finally he said it; after it was eating him up inside. But that release was short-lived once he saw the look on his lover's face: a guilt cocktail with a lemony twist of acidic pain. And shit, there was enough of that drink to pass around the bar fifty times over.
"…Mattie," America addressed him with watery blue eyes, "I'm sorry, I-I didn't know they…that you...I mean, you didn't say anything."
Canada felt his tongue crumbling like sand, just like any possible argument he might've formed. It was true that he hadn't said anything outside of the turbulent thoughts in his head, and America was no mind reader. Timidly averting his eyes to the tabletop, Canada murmured, "…W-Well, I…I don't know…I thought…I thought you should've known. I mean, the way they were looking at you, i-it was so obvious what they were thinking a-and you weren't telling them off a-and…I mean, I know you've n-never been one to read the atmosphere, but…God, I bet I sound fucking stupid."
America sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead before he slinked over to his lover and put an arm around him. "Mattie, you gotta tell me when things are bothering you. If this relationship is gonna last, and believe me, I want this to last, we have to communicate."
The words resonated in Canada's chest, bouncing off the walls of his living cavern in rhythm with his heart. Yet, he still clung to his insecurity, mumbling, "…D-Doesn't it bother you?"
"Doesn't what?"
"How they were looking at you!" he snapped, regretting it as he saw America flinch. Resting his head on his knees, Canada continued softer, "…They looked at you like they were watching porn, Al. I don't understand why that doesn't bother you. I mean, maybe I should expect that after you didn't even blink when Australia wanted an orgy-"
At this, America couldn't help but burst out laughing, surprising his brother. "Mattie," he explained as he wiped at his eyes, "Mattie, the guy was friggin' drunk."
"Drunk or not, he was serious!" Canada bit the inside of his cheek, continuing, "…He's serious now. I…I think h-he wants to take you from me."
"So what?" America asked with such a childlike sincerity that it took Canada off guard. "I'm not interested in him or any of the others, so why should any of that matter? I love you, Mattie, you. Not them, you."
Canada's violet eyes dilated and he felt the words strike him like chords on a guitar. There it was, oh there it was: that wave of relief, utter security tugging his worries back into the tide and erasing the stumbling footprints of their relationship. That's right, he thought to himself, feeling the rich air filling in his lungs, Alfred doesn't care about the others. He wants me. He loves me.
Grabbing his lover's hand as he took a shaky breath, Canada placed it over his heart and let America feel the beat. "I-I love you, too," he whispered, Al's words starting to quell the anxiety buried in him.
Smiling, America laid his head on the other's shoulder, blonde strands of hair bristling against his brother's skin like golden wheat fields in the wind. "I know you do," he assured him, gazing affectionately into Canada's eyes. "You're mine and I'm yours. It's always been like that, Mattie, always."
Feeling his words rekindle the confidence in him, Canada pushed his lover off and pinned him to the meeting table, sending even more papers fluttering through the air. The surprise splayed all over America's face only stirred him up even more. "M-Mattie, what are you-?"
"You're right," Canada agreed, his hands confining his brother's wrists to the table as he straddled his torso. "I'm yours and you're mine. So, please, for the sake of God, Al, please cover up when the others come back. I-I can relate to what you're…feeling right now…"
"El Niño," America stated so easily, seeing right through him with flat, knowing eyes.
Swallowing the lump in this throat, Canada continued, "R-Right, but look, I-I don't want them to see you like that, okay? I just…I want you all to myself, and by that, I mean everything. They don't have the right to see you like this. Only I do. …Do you get where I'm coming from?"
"Y-Yeah," America answered, looking his lover clearly in the eye as he began to pant again, the cooling relief he'd received wearing off. "I understand, but why is it s-such a big deal? So they're looking at me. So what? I said it before: I don't have an interest in them."
Folding his arms, Canada asked, "How would you feel if I undressed in front of everyone in the meeting room and they were all staring at my body?"
America entertained the thought, imagining his brother in tiny red shorts at a global meeting, the expanse of his Great White North on full display before everyone's eyes as he panted and sighed with unabashed vulnerability. In mere moments, there was a possessive fire raging in his blood, fury boiling up as he felt a need to gouge out the eyes of every nation staring at his Mattie.
"…Oh."
"Yeah, 'oh'."
"O-Okay, I get it now, but…i-it's so hot…" America whined, squirming about in his brother's grasp, his sweat bleeding into the ink of the meeting papers still on the table. "I'm burning up and I don't wanna put a-anything else on…"
"Well, I was trying to fix that earlier, but you stopped me."
"…How is fucking me going to f-fix anything?"
Pushing an errant lock of blonde hair out of his face, Canada blushed as he answered, "W-Well, it worked with El N-Niño, right? Maybe we can, you know, r-ride it out, I-I guess."
America blinked as he lay there, contemplating his options. They could very well "ride it out" and hope it worked, but his pride as the dominant one in the relationship wasn't too eager to allow it. Thinking back to what his lover had said not too long ago, he accepted that Mattie had a point: it wasn't fair that Al was the only one topping, as much as he liked it that way. There needed to be a balance in their relationship and…although he wouldn't admit it…a part of him really wanted to know what it was like to be fucked.
"…Ask me."
"Wh-What?"
Smirking in a way that was not suited for someone pinned to a table, America said, "Mattie, come on, you know what I'm talking about. Tell me the first thing I said to you when I walked in. Ask me."
Canada raised an eyebrow in confusion as he tried to understand what the hell his brother was talking about, and then-
Oh.
It clicked.
"Get it now?" America asked, that teasing grin making good use of its upturned corners.
Canada nodded, taking a shaky breath as he relaxed his grip on America's wrists. "Yeah…yeah, um…A-Al, I love you, and I'm sorry, but can I fuck you?"
Tilting his head to the side, America smiled affectionately. "I thought you'd never ask. So…" The southern nation slightly arched his back off the table as his voice trailed off, slowly grinding against the mess of scattered papers beneath him. "We better get a move on before the lunch break ends. Wouldn't be cool to have the others walk in, right?"
Canada blushed deeper, stuttering, "I-I locked the door, s-s-so they shouldn't be a-able to get in. B-But yeah, let's, um, l-let's start." Talk was talk, but now that he was actually going to be topping, Canada felt his confidence level drop to a near all time low. With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned his own shirt and trousers, discarding them on the floor as he spread his brother's legs and simply breathed, the puckered hole staring at him so foreign. He loosely sucked on two digits before pressing them in. Well, he'd already started stretching earlier, so he shouldn't have tightened much since then.
America grimaced as the cold fingers entered him, involuntarily tensing around them as his hands scrambled to clutch something. The only materials ready were the meeting notes, papers that his fists happily crumpled in some form of comfort. "Nnh, g-getting right to it, huh?"
"D-Does it hurt?" Canada asked him, afraid he might be moving too fast, but his anxiety was getting the better of him.
America took a breath, first relaxing the muscles in his upper body before he tried to loosen up below. "Nah, I-I can h-handle it. I'm the h-hero. Th-This is, nnh, n-nothing."
Taking his word for it, the northern nation cautiously stretched the muscled rim, watching for his brother's reaction to the motions. The contorted expressions on America's face weren't too reassuring and his entrance was still pretty tight, so Canada's fingers scrambled fretfully inside him as he searched again for America's sweet spot.
America felt the moan rise out of his throat as his prostate was brushed, blue eyes fluttering and toes curling. "O-Ohhh, more, oh, m-more of that, th-that, please, oh…" Relieved that Al was reacting to his touch and loosening up, Canada complied and ran the plump pads of his fingers over the flesh wall between his fingers and the gland. His thighs tried to squirm away from the pleasure, and when Canada lightly prodded the sensitive gland, America let out a pathetic whine. Oh, he could feel the unstoppable tingling, the flush gracing his flesh, and it was so good, oh, the heat melding with the icy contact was so good.
"Sh-Should I put another in?" Matt asked, needing reassurance that he was doing at least a decent job because he felt awkward as hell.
"Oh, screw…just screw i-it," America demanded, panting harder now. "Just c-come in already."
"A-Are you s-sure?"
"Mattie, I w-want relief, damn it. Just d-do me already."
"All r-right…I-I-If you say so, th-then…" Shit, he was stuttering so much, but he couldn't help it. This situation was nervewracking to him, as he was far out of his comfort zone and by his own plea, nonetheless. Taking out his fingers, Canada looked at his brother's pucker and then to his own cock, blushing all the while. "U-Um, I'm, um, I'm n-not lubed up or anything."
Groaning, America lifted himself off the table and back onto his knees. "Well, I guess we'll have to f-fix that," he muttered, crawling over and ducking his head between his lover's legs. Canada squealed as America deliberately licked him in the most teasing way possible, lightly tonguing the tip and swirling around the slip. The moment his cock was lodged in the wet warmth of America's mouth, he let out an airy moan, imagining he was inside of him. Oh, the sucking action was simply mind numbing as he pulled in and out, in and out, and in, oh, in…
With a slick pop, America took away the shelter of his lips, leaving his lover shivering and whining from the way the cool air caressed his cock. "I think it's g-good enough now," Al remarked as he laid back down, wrists facing the ceiling as he wore a borderline smirk.
Quite sure that yes, his dick was practically sopping with a thick coating of saliva, Canada took a deep breath and took hold of his brother's hips, bringing them up to level with his manhood. Afraid he wouldn't be able to go through with it if he didn't enter him right now, he threw all caution to the wind and pushed in.
Oh.
His violet eyes shot wide open as his whole body twitched in ecstasy, with nipples hard as pebbles pursed in the sand.
Oh my.
The pulsing ring of American heat sheathed tightly around his sword was so good, he thought he would either cum or explode catastrophically within the next three seconds.
"Oh my god, oh my god, ohh, o-oh, oh my g-god…" his lips spilled with a voice climbing in pitch faster than a plane to the sky.
"M-Mattie, wh-what the fuck?" America groaned out, his breathing rapid, erratic, and oh so erotic. "Why- it, it's, nnh, so, s-so h-h-hot…"
"I'm, oh, oh my god, I'm s-sorry," Canada apologized through his pleasure, barely comprehending the tight vessel of throbbing heat surrounding his member. "B-But I can't h-help it. I can't…I, oh, I c-can't control how h-hot you make me." He'd felt the thermal weather tickling his groin for nearly a week now, teasing him with rampant thoughts of sex and dear God, it was worth it, so worth it.
Alfred winced as he tried to relax like a rag doll, but the burning stretch of his anus made his muscles lock into place, stubbornly tense. A part of him tried to convince himself that it wasn't all that bad, but that was a feat beyond his means. The contact of their skin was scalding, as if a seat buckle left in the relentless noon sun had been branded into the walls of his hole. Throwing back his head in some hope for relief, he whined, "M-Mattie, it's too h-hot…"
Canada gazed at him with worrying half-lidded eyes, taking note of the rampant flush of his brother's body. "A-Al look at me." The northern nation cupped a hand under his lover's chin and another around his cock, making Al moan pleasingly, the arctic rush sending chills down his arched spine. "T-Take your time and tell me to m-move when you're ready." He was going to wait no matter how much his dick wanted to bitch slap him right across the cheeks for holding back.
America nodded pathetically, gasping, "Okay," as he tried to calm his wild pulse and loosen his muscles. Lying back on the table, his sweat-slicked skin held to the wood as if there were suction cups, America tried to empty his mind and just relax. His legs trembling and spread, he managed to get his breathing under control, his hole growing accustomed to the member inside of him. Thoughts surfacing in the back of his mind, the country wondered if this was any bit like what Matt had felt during their first time as a couple. A twinge of shame struck him as he remembered how he'd pushed his lover to adjust his limits to match his raging sex drive. At the moment, their positions were switched, and shit, those guilt cocktails just kept coming down the bar at top-notch speed.
With a pleasant sensation of relaxation taking over him as the pain in his backside dulled to barely noticeable, Alfred looked to his brother and told him, "G-Go ahead, Mattie. Show me what y-you've got."
Taking a sigh of anxious relief, Canada steadily pulled out until his head was just inside the rim and thrust, moaning all the while. With every roll of his hips, Matthew explored the territory, his cock mapping every ridge, every ripple, every delightful contraction of the frontier.
A shrill mewl escaped America's lips as his hole stretched with the thrusts, choked by the rutting against his sweet spot, the Great Lakes state. With the sensations twisting up inside of him, it was no wonder why Mattie was always writhing as if every cell in his body was bursting with ecstasy when they made love. Squeezing his thighs together in rhythm with the anal contractions to intensify the friction, America grabbed at his brother's shoulder blades, his hands desperate to clutch. "Oh, M-Mattie, you're, y-you're so g-g-good, ahn…"
The words were electrifying to Canada's ears, tantalizing words striking all the way down to the xylophone of his spine. "Oh my, my, A-Al," he squealed as his length was engulfed time and time again in vacuum-tight canal of his lover's ass. With the speed of his snapping hips, the joints of his pelvis gyrating furiously, Matthew let his lips fall open with wanton moans. America's terrain was rubbing him in all the right places, its hills and valleys lodging perfectly around the shape of his dick. I've been waiting for you, America's body seemed to tell him, his rim mirroring the elastic band of a slick, hot, and beautifully custom-made glove.
Yet, the intense sensations were almost unbearable, so thoroughly focused in one area as it slowly spread throughout the bloodstream. Canada's whines and whimpers drew into the air as he tried to aim his shaky thrusts, an increasingly difficult task considering how overwhelmed he was with pleasure. "Nnh, ah, ah-h-haahh, haa, oh my, oh, n-nhn, ah, haaa…"
Canada's hips stopped with an abrupt jerk as he heard a rattling noise, his head snapping to face the locked door with horror. "O-Oh, oh, shit," he muttered to himself, fingernails digging into his lover's skin.
"Bloody hell?" he heard England curse, the doorknob clanging violently now. Soon, his British fists were pounding against the strong wood, making Canada flinch.
"What is wrong, mon petit lapin?" came France's voice.
"What do you think, you wanker? Some git locked the door to the meeting room! I bet this is America's doing. I couldn't find the bastard at all during the break."
"Arthur, you know as well as I do that America ran off to a McDonald's. Perhaps Germany locked the room. You know how paranoid the man is."
"Well, what are we supposed to do, just wait for him to come back?"
"Italy probably dragged him off to get pasta. There's an Italian restaurant only a block from here, so we can look for him there."
"Fine. Who does that bastard think he is, making us look for him?"
As the nations left and the sound of England's complaints faded away, Canada let out a shaky sigh of relief before he turned his attention back to America, violet eyes wide in fear of being caught when they returned. "Al, what do we-"
His words cut off with a delighted whimper as America bent up to kiss him, twiddling the perky nipples with his fingertips. Successfully eliciting a moan to the mouth, Alfred sucked on his brother's lower lip for a while longer before breaking apart. "Mattie, I'm s-so close..." America whispered, impatiently bucking his hips to encourage the northern nation to keep moving. "Please, M-Mattie, I want to c-cum so b-bad. D-D-Don't stop now."
As his brother's rim contracted around his member like the pulsing pump of a heart, Canada moaned softly, but his eyes were wrought with a frantic worry. "Th-They'll hear us…when they c-come back…"
"Then we…we'll just h-have to speed things up so they w-won't," America stated matter-of-factly.
Canada nodded in agreement, taking in his words as an idea came to mind. "Y-Yeah, we'll just have to be quick. Um, I…h-hold on." Pulling out slowly, savoring the slick, hot friction that gave him delightful shivers, he watched as Al gazed at him in confusion.
"M-Mattie, what are you-?"
"I t-told you to hold o-on," Canada interrupted, placing his cool hands on his brother's perspiring skin. "Just tr-trust me."
Spreading America's legs as far as they could without pulling a muscle, the sun-kissed thighs and calves reaching for the ceiling, Canada plunged inside of the southern nation. Like an arrow to the center of a target, he made a direct hit to America's prostate, his adrenaline running wild as he watched his lover's reaction. "AH!" Alfred squealed, his cerulean eyes flying open before wilting eyelids halfheartedly shielded him from the pleasure, his hungry lips trembling with stuttering breaths.
Bull's-eye.
"O-Oh, Mattie, I, ah, haa, give me m-more, more…"
Happy to oblige, Canada wrapped an icy hand tightly around his lover's gleaming cock and milked the piercing wails right out of his throat, fiercely rolling his hips right into Al's sweet spot. "Ohhh! Ah, ah, th-there, right there!"
The sweat spilling over their bodies made every thrust a passionate slap of skin, the sound mingling with airy moans and wanton mewls. Never before in the centuries they'd shared had Canada heard his lover make such addictive noises: shrill, faltering whines that ceased with sharp gasps.
The angle was blunt and delightfully unforgiving, granting intense but desperate poundings into the sensitive bundles of nerves that turned America into a twitching mess of a marionette. His pride all but thrown out the window, the southern country arched and squirmed over the wooden surface, breath frantic as he closed in on the climactic finish line.
"Ahh...ah- haa! Oh my, oh my- ahh! Oh, oh, Mattie, oh, ohhh! Oh! Oh my god! AH, I'm-" Al threw his head back as the orgasmic string snapped in him, a tickling heat climbing up his balls to his penis as it twitched violently, semen spurting from his slit. He felt the weather-induced fever of his body break, satisfying relief washing over him as his nationwide temperatures dropped down to a comfortable range. Oh, that's so much better, he thought, languidly rocking his hips in the erratic rhythm of Matthew's thrusts, wanting to see his lover climax despite his tired limbs.
Canada gripped his lover harder as the semen stream surged through his groin, lips quivering in a gasping moan as he released inside of his brother, rings of contraction running up and down his length. The climactic adrenaline fading from his system, he pulled out and collapsed on his back, his chest rising and falling in rhythmic synchronization with his brother's. "F-Feeling better?" he asked breathlessly.
Amber waves of grain plastered to his face, America mumbled, "S-So much better. I mean, I feel k-kinda gross and stuff, but the heat is gone." He ran his fingers through his short hair and took a long breath. "Oh my God, the heat is gone. Like, you have no, no idea…Okay, you do, but…yeah, I'm shutting up now."
Canada chuckled, accidentally placing his hand on a sheet of semen-splattered notepaper on the table, replacing his lazy smile with a disgusted grimace. "Shit, we made a mess of the table," he commented, surveying the white substance staining the wood.
"Fuck it," America muttered, wiping the sweat off his brow as his blue eyes stared off in space in the afterglow. "The table can deal with it itself.…"
"The table is an inanimate object, Al."
"Your mom's an inanimate object."
"You're an inanimate object." Canada smirked, remarking, "Oh wait, no you're not. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been writhing and moaning so much while I was fucking you." In a rare instance, America's face flared red in embarrassment and Canada fought to suppress his laughter, the sight just too priceless. "What were you saying? 'Oh Mattie, oh please, more, give me more'?"
His pride critically damaged, America sputtered, folding his arms as his cheeks burned like the Arizona desert. "That's it, I'm not letting you top again."
It was Alfred's turn to smirk as his brother's face fell. "Al…" Matt whined, pouting like a stubborn child. "Come on, you're not serious, right?"
Smiling, the southern nation further ruffled his lover's tousled waves. "Nah, of course I'm not. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it."
Nervously twirling a lock of golden hair, Matthew blushed, stuttering, "…S-So, I was good?"
Al grinned amiably, admitting, "Mattie, that was fucking amazing. Seriously, I had no idea how good that would feel. I…um, you know, I wouldn't mind doing that again. I-If you ever wanted to, I guess."
A warmth falling over his heart, softer and sweeter than the heat of El Niño, Canada stole at his lover's lips, arms loosely tangled around America's neck. They lay there in mutual bliss, silent aside from the sucking sounds of their mouths and a couple of breaths here and there. They were exhausted, sexually spent, but the closeness of their bodies, the contact of their lips…it was comforting.
Soon, furious feet pounded in the hall outside and they broke apart, remembering just where they were and what they were supposed to be doing: having a meeting. England and France were arguing, but from the many footsteps outside the door, it was safe to say the rest of the nations were with them. Only one thought crossed Canada's mind:
Fuck.
"France, what the bloody hell made you think Germany would have the key?"
"Mon amour, he practically runs the conference no matter where we are! Of course I would think so! And you didn't disagree with me at the time!"
"That was before I realized…er…"
"Canada."
"Canada was hosting this time! And don't you dare call me out on that! You thought we were in America when we walked outside!"
Canada sighed, rather used to his "parents" of all people mistaking him for his brother. Well, that didn't really matter at the moment. The more pressing issue was how to convince the others that no, they totally hadn't been fucking in the meeting room…even though they had.
Sliding off the table, the northern nation hastily gathered up the strewn clothes, including America's underwear, and searched through America's briefcase for his brother's suit. He sighed, reminded of how Alfred has just stripped in front of everyone at the beginning of the meeting. The insecurity was grappling in his lungs again, trying to climb back up, but he pushed it away. "Quick, get dressed," Canada commanded, throwing the clothes at his brother before pulling on his own.
America obliged and stepped onto the floor, feeling a slight twinge in his ass as he slipped on his boxers. He ignored the minute pain, though he grimaced as the cum dribbled out of his pucker, seeping into his underwear. Pushing the thought of how utterly gross it felt out of his mind, he kept getting dressed, somewhat surprised that the suit wasn't so oppressive anymore. "Dear God, I can actually wear clothes again."
"Al, keep your voice down," Canada whispered as he zipped up his trousers.
"Come on, Mattie, with all the confidential information we talk about in this room, they have to soundproof it. Look." A mischievous grin making its way onto his face, America shouted, "HEY ENGLAND, YOUR FOOD SUCKS BALLS!"
"What the- America, I knew it was you! Open the door, you bloody Yank!"
"…Okay, so, they don't. Wow. That kinda worries me."
Canada slapped a hand to his forehead. Seriously, he loved his brother, but he was a moron: a moron that had a knack for making things worse.
"AMERICA!" England yelled, trying to beat down the door with his bare fists.
"England, go away…" America whined, wanting him to shut his limey trap, but fat chance of that happening. "Mattie and I are busy…" Canada's face flushed as he heard this, but he was too concerned with his telling appearance to reprimand him.
England stopped for a second while his mind processed the implication behind the words, blushing as France let out a perverted, "Oh hon hon…"
"America, open the door this instant! We have a summit to continue, in case you've forgotten, you fucking twit!"
Letting out a frustrated groan, America complained, "Oh, fuck the meeting! Can't we do this tomorrow? I'm tired…"
"I don't care if you're tired! None of us have the time to sit around here all day while you laze about on your fat ass!"
"Well, excuse me, princess, but I kinda have to laze around on my sexy ass, mind you, because it's a little sore. So, sorry if I don't feel like getting up and opening the door.
"Al!" Matthew hissed, his cheeks burning bright red as he frantically buttoned his shirt.
Deciding he did not want to think about the context of his former colony's words, Arthur shook his head and threatened, "…America, open the door or, God help me, I will send in reinforcements."
"Reinforcements?" Canada asked, looking to his brother in confusion, who just shrugged. In a few moments, they heard strange thuds and scrapes from above and looked up, their eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles. The two screamed bloody murder as a water pipe burst through, clinging to each other as the intruding metal continued to hack away at the panels.
"OH MY GOD, ENGLAND CURSED THE PLUMBING! WE'RE GONNA DIE! WE'RE GONNA DIEEEEE!"
Catching a glimpse of a scarf and beige hair, Canada told him, "W-Wait, Al, it's just Russia!"
Alfred stared at him in blank horror. "THAT'S EVEN WORSE!"
"You offend me, comrade."
They shrieked again as Russia spoke, looking up into the destroyed section of the ceiling to find his creepy gaze, a childlike smile prominent on his face. America glanced toward the door, commenting, "Honestly, England, of all the countries here, you chose Russia? …N-No offense, Russia. Please don't kill me…"
Outside the door, England mumbled, "Well, Australia is supposed to be there, too."
"Hey, mates!" Australia greeted them, poking his head out alongside Russia in the ceiling.
Oh, motherfucking, tap-dancing beavers in a barrel, Canada thought, the corners of his mouth twitching in annoyance. The one person I was just dying to see.
The Oceanic country took one look at them in their ruffled state and asked, "Aw, you guys were rooting? Why didn't you tell me? We could've had a threesome."
Canada groaned, flipping him the bird and demanding, "Australia, get the fuck out."
"Hey, no need to get your grundies in a bunch."
"Get out."
"But-"
"Now."
"Sorry," Australia informed them, "but you have to open the door first."
Rolling his irritated violet eyes, Canada shouted, "We'll open the door! Just get out of here!"
Australia smirked as he crossed his arms, shaking his head from side to side. "No, you have to open the door now. England's orders."
Exasperated as he threw his hands into the air, Canada stormed toward the door and unlocked it, violently flinging it open so that the wood collided with the wall. England, France, and the other nations all recoiled in response.
"H-Hi," Canada stuttered, trying to ignore the heat rising in his face as the others surveyed his disheveled appearance from top to bottom. "Look, I'm tired, Al's tired, that table and all of your notes are covered in various bodily fluids, so why don't you leave us alone to clean everything up, and we can continue this tomorrow? I suggest you all return to the hotel and fucking relax because I know that's what I'm gonna do, okay? I'm hella tired and I don't feel like hosting this conference right now, especially when none of you can recognize me or even see me, so run along and have a good day."
With that, Canada slammed the door and locked it again just in case, fixing his eyes on the two nations hanging out in the ceiling. "That also applies to you guys."
"Oh, rack off," Australia complained, sticking his tongue out at Canada. "I bet America wouldn't mind if I stayed here." He put on a toothy grin and asked the nation, "So, what do you say, America? Wanna root?"
Smiling, America possessively wrapped his arms around Canada and licked his soft earlobe, earning a strangled squeak from his lover. "No thanks," he declined, gently kissing and sucking all the way down to Canada's collarbone, savoring the way he squealed and squirmed. "I'm not one to cheat. Besides, I'm more than satisfied with my little Mattie."
The words and kisses filled Matthew with an unbearable bliss, his shallow breathing accompanied with a small grin as his lover sucked at his neck.
Australia pouted in defeat as he crawled away, mumbling, "Fine, I'll just go make out with New Zealand. Your loss, mates." After replacing the ceiling tile, Russia followed him, humming a creepy children's rhyme that reverberated throughout the air ducts like an ancient curse.
With them out of the way, America let go of his brother and laid back on the table, wanting to rest. Canada ran his hands through his hair in a sort of relief, at least until the humiliation fully hit him. "Oh my God, that was so embarrassing!" he whined, slinking down to the table as he covered his face. "They know…everyone…they all know…"
"Come on, it's not that bad," America assured him. "At least they know we're off-limits now. If it makes you feel any better, I thought what you said to them was pretty badass."
Canada sighed, curling his weary fingers around his brother's. "What are the chances that either England or Germany is going to rant to our bosses about this?"
"Hm, I'd say about the same as whether the sun will rise tomorrow."
"Oh man, Harper is gonna be pissed as hell…"
"Hey, I'm sure Obama's gonna be pissed, too." America stretched his arms upward, continuing, "We'll just have to explain it to them so that they'll feel awkward, let it go, and say, 'Just don't let it happen again'."
Pushing a lock of hair out of his violet eyes, Matthew asked, "…Guess we can't blame it on El Niño this time, eh?"
Alfred laughed, his voice echoing throughout the room. Resting an arm on his lover's shoulder, he wiped at his eyes. "That's the answer to everything, isn't it? Just blame it on El Niño. Blame it all on El Niño."
. . .
Canada sighed as he pulled the hotel curtains closed, masking the urban lights with beige and green drapes. It had been a long and exasperating day, one filled to the brim with frustration, humiliation, rebuking, and some shameless pleasure. The moment he got back to his hotel room, he had flopped onto the soft bed in exhaustion and fallen asleep just like that. After a modest nap, still weary eyes had woken up to a dark room and the night skyline of the city, the stars barely visible in the array of lights coating the buildings. The nation found himself staring at the scene before reluctantly getting up, stretching his limbs as he pulled the curtains closed.
With two slender fingers absentmindedly tugging at the buttons of his shirt, Canada recalled how he'd tried to draw out a reasonable excuse for his actions from the folds of his brain, but Lady Luck was not on his side. Unable to come up with anything, he had told Stephen Harper straight up over the phone that he gave in to a "fit of passion" (as awkward as that had been for the both of them) and would take responsibility, apologizing and promising it would never happen again.
Fuck, that had sucked.
No, really, it had sucked. There was nothing worse than having your boss chew you out for being an irresponsible host and ruining the proceedings for the day. Well, aside from having everyone find out that you and your brother were in an incestuous relationship, that is.
When his cell phone suddenly rang through the silence, Canada screamed, nearly jumping out of his skin. Looking at the caller ID, he was relieved to find that it was not his leader's name branded on the screen, but America's. "Al?" Canada asked as he picked up the phone. "What's up?"
"M-Mattie, I'm c-c-cold…"
Well, that was new.
"…Are you serious?"
"B-B-Before I left for the meeting, I s-set the AC on full-blast in my h-h-hotel room…I just got back and now it's c-cold…"
Sighing, Canada offered, "Well, you can stay in my room tonight if you want. You know, until yours warms up again. J-Just don't tell your boss. I don't think he'd approve after…today."
"D-Don't need to tell me twice. Obama's pissed off at me as it is. I'll be r-right over, 'kay?"
"Mm-hmm. See you soon." Matthew pressed the end button on his phone and collapsed back onto his bed, folding his arms behind his head. That nap hadn't been nearly enough. His limbs were leaden, his eyes heavy, and his body felt much less than well rested.
Within a few minutes, there was a light rapping on the wood and he dragged himself to his feet to answer it. "Come on in," Matt offered as he opened the door to Alfred's trembling frame, leaning in to leave a lingering kiss on his cheek.
"Th-Thanks," Al mumbled with a smile, noting as he walked in that the temperature was cool, but better than the chill of the hallway; much better than the artic atmosphere of his own hotel room. Immediately scrambling under the blankets of the bed, he sighed and rested his head on the pillow, arms wrapped tight around himself. "G-God, I hate air conditioning. I hate being cold."
Laughing, Matthew climbed under the blankets and molded his side to his brother's. "You hate being hot and you hate being cold. There's no pleasing you, is there?"
"Mm, if only I had a knob to control my temperature, like on a bathtub or a shower," America thought aloud, huddling up against the northern nation in an effort to steal some of his body heat. "Just comfortably…warm. Like…like porridge."
"…Excuse me?"
"You know, like that Goldilocks and the three bears story. The porridge was too hot, and the next bowl was too cold, but the baby bear's was just right. I'd like to be like that."
Letting the words run laps around his head, Canada gave the idea of being "just right" a little more thought. If things were "just right", there wouldn't be any conflict, any insecurity, or any misinformed assumptions. Third-world countries would be a thing of the past, the global economy would be stable and thriving, and issues would be resolved without the sacrifice of bloodshed. People would learn to love more passionately than they hated and just live in the moment instead of worrying about every little flaw in their relationships.
Still, he knew better than to wish for things to be "just right". The world would never be "just right", no matter how many heated communists, socialists, and capitalists preached their ways. There was no way to calculate who was right and who was wrong; only what was more effective. The world was the same: sometimes it was wrong, sometimes it was right, and sometimes it was left. But the earth was there and had to be accepted as it was, with all its hate, love, and heartbreak. Life wasn't life without a considerable balance of suffering and solace. And that was "just right".
"Mattie, I'm tired," Alfred murmured halfway into the pillow, his lips lethargically forming words.
"Then go to sleep."
"Are you gonna sleep, too?
"Definitely. I'm fucking exhausted."
"Mm, me too…" America trailed off, mouth falling limp as he drifted into another land. Soon, the sound of Alfred's even breathing filled the room, the tepid air tickling the hairs on Matthew's neck. It made him shiver, the heat surprisingly soothing despite the constant love-hate relationship he shared with it.
Heat could be an insufferable force, tearing lovers apart by the sweat of their skin. Yet, with destruction and suffering came rebirth and comfort, always waiting patiently right around the corner. Sometimes, people needed a cold wave to come along and remind them that when it came down to it, a little heat wasn't all that bad.
Canada smiled, curling up closer to his lover, savoring the exchange of warmth between their bodies as his eyelids slowly clothed his sight.
No, no it wasn't that bad at all.