I am an unrepentant UK/Canada shipper. I should just give up on US/Canada forever. :| -sees mob on the horizon- Ahaha, jk, jk. But I am madly in love with the pairing at the moment. So...say hello to this little bitch of a plot bunny. Lets just see where this goes...
Warnings: language, excessive sexual situations, fail, OOC-ness, Iggy not having satisfying sex
Pairing: UK/Canada
Disclaimer: I don't deserve to own Hetalia. Seriously, I really don't...
"Yes yes yes so bloody close." Arthur grunted, digging his fingers deeper in the already abused, motley flesh of his lover' hips as his thrusts became more erratic, more desperate. "Oh pet, my beautiful, precious—" His eyes screwed shut as he bent closer to the blond, his sweaty hair clinging to his face as the Englishman burrowed his face into the other's neck, murmuring incoherent endearments against rose red skin.
With one particularly vicious snap of his hips, the older nation felt his release tear through him and lean, impossibly long legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him closer. Arthur, already trembling with post-coital tremors, collapsed bonelessly onto the prone body below him, eliciting a soft exhale of breathe from his lover.
He panted, reluctantly peeling himself of the other's sweaty body, and rolled to the side, already reaching up and, grasping the other's chin between his thumb and forefinger, tugged the other over for a chaste kiss.
"Did you…?" He trailed off, pointedly, lips scant centimeters from the other's face.
"No." came the tired response and Arthur bit back a curse.
"Matthew—"
"It's okay." The North American nation reassured softly, already twisting towards his former caretaker and pressing up against the other's scarred body, sweet and kittenish. "Don't" he pressed a kiss to Arthur's jaw "worry" another to his cheek "about" one more to the corner of his mouth "it." He whispered, lips brushing teasingly along the other's.
And then, with a firm kiss on the lips, Matthew twisted back and untangled himself from the sheets, rising out of the bed.
Arthur watched, raising himself on his elbow, as the younger blond stretched. Green eyes traced the curve of the other's spine down to that strange little dimple in the small of Matthew's back that introduced the other's well-defined, prominent rear and muscled thighs. The delta where his upper thighs met his rear gleamed wetly in the sudden lamplight after Matthew carelessly flipped on the switch. Arthur's seed dripped down the back of the nation's milky thighs and the sandy-haired man would be a filthy liar if the sight didn't set his loins aflame.
"Just give me a minute, poppet and I'll be right as rain." He said with smirk.
"No, no its fine." Matthew repeated, looking over his shoulder and smiling at the other. "I'll just…take care of it." He said lightly, not once looking down at his leaking, flushed erection.
"Nonsense. Get your arse back here and—" Arthur, who had been pushing into a sitting position, suddenly froze, eye twitching when his back protested at the sudden movement.
The younger nation's faintly amused expression turned to that of concern. "Don't move!" He commanded, his voice betraying his worry. "I'll get some ice."
And, with that, he jogged out of the room, pounding down the stairs, as Arthur slumped back down onto the bed.
"Blast." He muttered, already sulking into his pillow.
"I would say it is because you are English, but somehow even that fails to describe how your current failure."
"You are the absolute last person to lecture me on failing, frog." Arthur hissed, leveling a ferocious glare at his longtime frenemy.
"At least I have never let a lover leave unsatisfied." Francis retorted, absently swirling his wine glass.
"Shut your gob!"
"Well, if you do not want my help…" The other European nation trailed off suggestively, already slipping out of his chair.
Arthur scrambled after him, grabbing his elbow and pulling him back down. "Sit back down, wanker."
Francis sighed, loudly and sounding incredibly put-upon. "Fine, fine." He said airily, sipping leisurely from his drink. "Continue."
"And then he gave me some aspirin, iced my back, and gave me a massage." The Englishman said curtly. "Then we went to sleep and shared a taxi to the conference."
"No 'morning delight'?"
At this Arthur reddened, scarlet reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. "…He said he didn't want me to strain my back any further."
Francis began to chuckle. "So he was not in the mood."
Arthur growled, looking very much like a flustered cat (his eyebrows bristling).
"It seems to me, cher." The older nation began, a vaguely mocking grin on his lips. "That Mathieu finds you rather boring."
"Complete and utter crock."
"The magic is gone."
"Bollocks."
"The milk has soured."
"False."
"As Alfred would say, the 'honeymoon is over'."
Arthur stared at the other, fury bubbling in his stomach. "Matthew loves me, git."
"I never said he did not." Francis chided. "Merely that he is bored and cannot achieve climax because of it." The blond watched as the other nation spluttered for words, finally giving up and huffing, crossing his arms and tilting back in his seat.
"Bored?" Arthur repeated flatly. "I fail to see how."
"You're not a very good lover." Francis shrugged, ignoring Arthur's indignant snarl, sipping his wine. "And, mon petit needs a lover who can keep up with his youthful vigor." He smiled sympathetically at the other. "Try to spice things up."
"Um, Arthur." Matthew began casually, eyes somewhat concerned as his lover hummed under his breath, snapping the handcuffs shut. "What's the occasion?"
"Hm?" Arthur pulled away, watching appreciatively at the way Matthew's arms were pulled taught, his biceps straining slightly with the new position. With a crooked grin, the former Empire leaned down and licked a languid stripe up the other's muscle, earning a giggle, before he bit down on the damp skin.
"Oh…" Matthew breathed out, his voice dipping into a coo, as he squirmed pleasantly under the other.
"Do I need an occasion to try something special?"
Matthew just smiled innocently, blinking his large eyes coyly.
"Minx." Arthur teased, tugging on the other's errant curl. When Matthew mewled and a pink blush flitted across his cheeks, his eyes darkened and he continued with his ministrations, alternating between dragging his nails down that single strand of hair and wrapping it around his finger and pulling.
When Matthew was appropriately whining and panting, his hard-on pushing against his boxers, Arthur smirked victoriously.
"Boring, my arse." He muttered, already tugging Matthew's boxers down to free his prick.
"Hurry up." The wavy-haired blond grumbled, lips twisted into a scowl as Arthur teasingly slid the cotton fabric down his legs. "Just tear them off. They're Alfred's."
"Well, if they belong to that prat." Arthur began, before pausing. "Why are you wearing his knickers?"
Matthew gave him an incredulous look. "You've never worn Uncle Alistair's underwear?"
"Heavens no! He's completely starkers under that blooming kilt of his."
"Well…do we have to talk about this now?" The Canadian punctuated his question with an buck of his hips. "I want you in m—"
"Are you shagging him on the side?"
"What? Of course not! He's just as selfish in the bed as he is out!"
"So you have fucked him."
Matthew looked frustrated. "Yes, okay, once." He sighed. "But it was a really long time ago and I was lonely and he was just there."
Arthur said nothing.
"It didn't mean anything, Arthur." Matthew pleaded. "Trade between us was starting to take off—"
"You never mentioned it before."
"Because I knew you'd react like this." The other snapped, glaring up at his former guardian. "Why are you acting like this? Am I bringing up your century long sexcapade with Japan or France or Portugal or with over half of the world?"
Arthur looked somewhat contrite. "I'm sorry, love." He said softly, hoping an apology would be enough to soothe the anger on the other's face. Because, he'd be damned if he'd say anything along the lines of 'You're so young and I feel like a randy codger next to you and the fact I can't make you orgasm makes me feel woefully inadequate so I am lashing out at your past dalliances'.
(Which, you know, was technically true.)
Matthew just scowled at him. "I'm not in the mood." He gritted out. "Now uncuff me."
Arthur grudgingly moved off the bed and began to rummage around the room, picking up his trousers and searching through his pockets. After a few moments of fruitless searching and a few more minutes of frantic searching in the room with Matthew sighing and staring up at the ceiling, Arthur laughed nervously.
"I may have misplaced the key."
"And we tried again a few weeks later, but it was the same bloody issue." Arthur complained into his phone.
"Well…perhaps something else new?" Francis suggested, leaning back against the balcony, phone held between his ear and shoulder as he blew kisses at his pretty neighbor on the floor above him.
"Hey Mattie! I just got this new game from Kiku—OH GOD MY EYES." Alfred wailed, dropping the still-wrapped-in-plastic game and clutching his eyes as he turned around, blindly, and ran right into the wall, ricocheting back and crashing into the floor where he twitched (and moaned something that sounded like "they burn…they burn…").
"Oh for fuck's sake." Arthur grumbled, his head dropping and forehead falling to rest between Matthew's shoulder blades.
Matthew, who was currently pinned to his kitchen table by Arthur's firm body, cursed and jerked back, squirming and shoving the Englishman's hands off him.
Arthur swore when Matthew shoved him away, his prick still painfully hard and coated in lube. Glaring daggers at both blonds, the older nation reluctantly tucked himself back into his trousers as Matthew rushed to pull up his pants and shirt before washing his hands and smoothing his hair back into some semblance of tidiness.
"Al! Al!" He shouted, kneeling next to his brother and shaking him. "Should we take him to a hospital?" He asked, a little frantic, looking back at Arthur.
"What's the point?" Arthur snapped, leaning against the cabinets. "The wanker can't really die." He added, under his breath. "Oh, but how I wish that he would."
"Matthew, if you could glance over this proposal, I'd be quite…grateful…" Matthew's Boss blinked disbelievingly, the proposal slipping from his hand and landing with a dull thump.
"Fuck it all." Arthur swore, staring darkly at the middle-aged human (who quickly averted his eyes).
"Crisse. Boss!" Matthew babbled, already elbowing Arthur in the face and pushing himself off his desk, hands scrambling for something to cover his cock (and spare his poor Boss any more glimpses of the Great White North—glorious and free).
"And now we're both unsatisfied." Arthur stirred some milk into his tea. "And stop laughing or I will stab you with this spoon." He held the delicate, silver sugar spoon threateningly at the chortling blond.
"Perhaps," Francis paused to cackle. "You should lock the door first."
"Are all those really necessary?" Matthew asked curiously, watching in bemusement as the older nation checked each and every lock he had installed on the door to his flat.
"Quite necessary, love." Arthur replied distractedly. With one final satisfied nod, the sandy-haired man turned around and smiling charmingly at the other. "Now, where were we..?"
Matthew smiled, a little weakly. "Arthur, I have something to tell you."
"Can't it wait, pet?" The older nation murmured, sauntering towards the other with hooded eyes.
"No it really can't—"
"I have quite the night planned for you." Arthur purred, eyes narrowed as he tilted Matthew's head up slightly with one finger. "I'll have you screaming by the end—"
"I think we need to take a break."
"—and you'll cum like you've nev—I beg your pardon?"
Bwhahahahahaha. For once I'm working with an already existing UK/Canada relationship. Poor Iggy is an old man with a sexy, young lover. Poor Canada has his own issues.
Btw, I imaged Stephen Harper walking in on England balls-deep in Canada and I nearly bust a lung laughing. I think I scared everyone around me. XD
Worth continuing?