[Hetalia] "Waiting For You"
TITLE: "Waiting for You"
AUTHOR: shuriken7
FANDOM: Hetalia
PAIRING: America/Canada
GENRE: Slash
PROMPT: 1. Focus @ fanfic50, 3. Forgiveness @ lover100
RATING: M for sexual situations
WORD COUNT: 3116
SUMMARY: Civil War. Canada has been waiting so long for him to wake up, and when he does, nothing plays out like he thought it would.
WARNINGS: Hetalia deals with personifications of nation-states. Some stories may be historical while others may be examining them as just people.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia.
A/N: Written for June Camp NaNo. Separate from Civil War America/England fics.
Canada felt as though they had been in this limbo forever, there was no moving forward and no going back. He and America would be forever trapped in this state. America hurting so badly that he had retreated into his mind. Canada would always be confused about why he was there, wiping the sweat from America's brow and laying beside him at night. He had been doing it for over a year. He managed to get messages back and forth to his own country, but England was mostly sending orders and they were followed more or less. It became much more frequent once he knew. Canada realized he had sent for him in a time of weakness, he had needed his big brother, his mentor. Seeing America like this had been too hard.
He snuggled closer against America's side, hooking an arm around him in a defensive way. He knew that England had feelings for him as well, although he didn't know what they were. Canada didn't feel threatened, but he had felt the need to let England know what exactly their relationship was. He had told him, in his quiet voice, that America was his and while England may control his lands, he couldn't control who he loved. England had looked confused and hurt, but Canada held his ground. England had left because of his obligations elsewhere, Canada was still here, holding vigil at America's side for when he would wake up.
It seemed as though most of the fighting was now over, the Confederacy was well into retreat. Canada idly wondered what that would mean for the grey-blue eyed nation that would make his way into America's body and take control. Would he die? Did he never truly exist and he would simply disappear? Would America absorb him? Canada almost did not want to know. He had to accept that Confederacy was a part of the one he loved, even though that part had frightened him.
Canada nuzzled his nose on the back of America's neck, remembering how it used to be. After their first time he had woken up just like this, pressed up against America's back. Although, instead of a cotton shirt there had been nothing between them. Just bare skin that he had felt against his chest and stomach, the contact going even further. He blushed at the memory.
They had shared their first kiss when they had been young, both burgeoning colonies. They had spent the day hunting, and were sitting by the campfire with some whiskey America had brought. Canada could recall feeling relaxed and he didn't even think before leaning over to kiss America. From the visits from France, events that were much begrudged by England, he had been told stories about this kind of thing. He didn't care that France was going to tease him endlessly or that England would be angry, he focused on the feeling of America's mouth against his and the way he was soon kissing him back. That was all it was then, a stolen kiss here or there underneath England's nose.
On one visit he had blushingly told France about how he felt, and the older nation had looked troubled. Canada asked him why. France told him that to be with ones so close to you is dangerous, there is always the chance that person may hurt you. Canada hadn't understood, but then he learned the painful lesson only a few years later. America had left England's protection and gained his independence, and then less than fifty years after that, they had fought again. Canada had fought too, all the while just wanting the truth from his neighbor about why he was doing this. It had been in a desperate moment during the war that they had their first time... Canada blushed further at that memory, pressing his nose against America's skin, breathing him in. The scent was so familiar it calmed his racing heart. His thoughts trailed over other moments, a stolen moment here, a choice to not see America there. The longing he had felt sometimes when he told himself no, it was not the right time...
He was brought back to reality when the body beside him shifted. He held onto him tighter, it was most likely another nightmare. America twitched and shook and he wished he could reach into his mind and make it stop. There may have been times when he was sure he hated him, but having seen what America was going through first hand he wouldn't wish this kind of pain on anyone. He held him until he was still and his breathing evened out.
"Shhh... America, it'll be alright. You're winning you know, people are ready to rejoin you." he said quietly, pressing his nose into America's hair.
At first he was met with silence, it had been like that for so long. He didn't expect to hear a small mumble, "Mmmm... Canada?"
Canada blanched, "America?"
"What's going on?" America rolled over and blinked at him, his eyes looking glassy and dazed. Canada was so relieved to see the bright blue eyes that he pressed America's face between his hands just so he could stare. America gave him a weak smile. "Your face is funny."
Canada blushed and released him, "America... do you know how long you've been asleep?"
"I was sleeping?"
Canada nodded, and swallowed, "What do you remember last?"
"Confederacy was fighting with me and then..." his eyes widened, "I don't know. Canada... how long have I been asleep?"
Canada bit his lip, wondering how best to describe what had happened to America. He decided straight was going to be best, even though it was going to be the hardest thing for America to absorb, "Over a year."
America looked downright shocked and just stared at him, as though waiting for the end of the not-very-funny joke. Canada nodded and put his hands back on America's cheeks, trying to keep him calm. Not wanting to risk the threat of a Confederacy resurgence. It had happened far too often and the experience frightened him every time. "I've been out of it... for almost a year?"
Canada nodded again.
"What does that mean? Is the war over?"
"I don't know. Maybe... since you woke up..." He was trying really hard to reign in his emotions. America was in no condition to give him what he desired in that moment. If America weren't looking so confused he would pull him in close and press their lips together. Anything for America to focus only on him. He wanted to focus on anything, anything that would keep him from retreating back within himself. America seemed to focus on a point somewhere near Canada's ear, unable or unwilling to look him in the eye as he processed the information. Canada closed his eyes and just listened to him breath. It was no longer that strangely steady rhythm of unnatural sleep, but erratic breathing. America's breath would quicken when he thought of something, perhaps reliving a terrible memory of what he thought he knew. Then it would slow and began more even, not in sleep, but in comfort.
When he felt fingers beneath his chin he looked up, America was certainly looking at him now. "You took care of me?" he asked, Canada became confused by the tone, it almost sounded accusatory.
"I did..."
"How long?"
"Since you fell asleep and didn't wake up."
"Over a year...?"
"Yes."
"Canada, I..."
"I would understand if you are upset that I interfered..."
"No, that's not it at all." he interrupted. Canada looked at him in surprise, America was smiling at him. It wasn't a confidence, brash smile that Canada was so familiar with. It was a bashful, apologetic one, "Can you forgive me for doing that to you Matt?"
An apology was the last thing Canada expected. All of the stress and exhaustion he had been feeling suddenly bubbled out over, and he laughed. An apology! "You are the biggest pain in the ass!" he chuckled, rolling away from America to lie on his back. It was all too absurd. He had been worried sick out of his mind for a year, and here was America acting as if all it would take was a simple apology. It was so like him, it made Canada want to smack him and kiss him in the same moment. He did neither, and continued to laugh.
America stared at him, shocked by his laughter or language or both. "I usually get the joke, but I don't see what's so funny here?" He tried to lean up on one elbow, his body weak, but he managed it. Canada looked up at him, a few more chuckles bubbling up his throat a few more times as he reached up and put his hand on America's cheek. The other nation leaned into the touch.
"You, I've worried about you. God knows I've missed you..."
"...you missed me?"
"Don't get a big head about it, it's inevitable that I would miss your loud voice and your obnoxious attitude and your complete disregard for anyone else's needs. Your complete idiocy when you don't realize that your actions cause trouble for me, you're so twisted and broken America..." He went on and on, spilling out everything he wanted to say, and America took it. When he realized he was repeating himself, he stopped. He looked over to America, he didn't shake and he didn't look like he was about to cry. That was the usual reaction he got when he went off on a rant. Canada furrowed his brow and looked back at him, wondering what America was thinking. He was expecting a congenial smile and maybe another apology. He didn't expect the stony silence, he hadn't even gotten a retort.
"I suppose I deserve that..." America said, dropping off his elbow to lay flat on the thin mattress that he had been laying on for so long his body fit into the indentation in the cloth. Canada sat up and looked at him. America's face was uncharacteristically sad. "I was broken... I am twisted..."
That admission made Canada pause. It was something he had been jokingly saying to the other for years. Sometimes he even believed it was true. However, hearing America repeat those words back to him didn't feel right. He felt guilty for saying those words. "America, I..."
America turned his back to him, "You can go home now..."
"America..."
"I think you've said enough, you don't need to waste your time with someone like me anymore. Doesn't England have you on babysitting duty to teach Australia and New Zealand how to be good colonies? He'd be pissed if he knew you were here. So just go."
Canada's heart began to race, this reaction was the last thing that he wanted. His chest ached. He wasn't just going to leave. But what could he say? He had promised England that he would say anything... "He didn't seem all that concerned."
America stiffened, "Did he know you were here?" America searched Canada's face for an answer, Canada couldn't think of anything to reply that wouldn't be an outright lie, "He saw me like that?"
Canada swallowed, the edge in America's voice sounded dangerous. He had heard that tone before. "I didn't know what to do... I sent for him."
America whirled on him faster than he thought he would be able to. He had Canada by the shirt collar, his fist twisting in it. "I need you to get out, Canada, before I do something I'm going to regret. How dare you let him see me like this!"
Canada grabbed his wrist, "America, he suspected what had happened to you anyway. He just wanted to take care of you, it had nothing to do with the bullshit that has happened between you two for the last 100 years!"
"Canada..."
"...I'll just go." He yanked America's hand off of him and headed for the cabin door, leaving behind everything, not even bothering to pull on his shoes. He slammed the door behind him and headed for the woods. He had barely made it into the trees when he stopped. he refused to leave it like this, but he could not think of how to go back now. America had finally snapped out of it, but unfortunately he had chosen to fixate on England, once again. It was never him. He had been a part of this, helping his soldiers in what ways he could... and he got nothing for it. It was completely and entirely infuriating. He began to walk back, no sound indicating that America had come out after him. It had rained the night before and his feet squelched in the mud. It was too much like the battle he had been at when America was still awake, men dying in the muck, fighting to decide what their country stood for. He shivered, although he was angry, he couldn't fault America for shutting down. He had been wrong to berate him.
Canada paused outside the cabin door, unsure of what to do next. He reached for the handle several times, but found that he couldn't do it. He didn't want to open that door and see America's face. He sat down on a stone that served for the step. He stared at the ground, at his feet covered in the soil of America's lands and just waited. He could be patient. He watched the shadows grow long and stretch across the ground until he was completely in shade. He watched as the tops of the trees gave up the last rays of sunlight and the natural light faded into night. The brightest source of light now was behind him, America must have lit a fire inside the cabin. Canada shivered, although he was used to the cold the night was still chill, and he felt lonely. He wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin there. Still waiting.
He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He must have drowsed off, considering that he hadn't heard him coming. America settled down on the stone beside him, their sides touching. He leaned over and settled his head on Canada's shoulder. Instinctually, Canada leaned his cheek on him. America smelled as though he had just taken a bath. They didn't say anything, just sat there in the darkness. The quiet was broken by the sounds on night creatures going about their business.
Canada didn't know when the embrace began to change. Perhaps it was when he loosened up as America hooked an arm around his waist. Or when he turned and kissed America on the forehead and America turned his face and brushed his lips against his neck. Or when Canada ran his fingers down America's arms, still amazed at how strong he could be even though he was so shattered. Whenever it happened, Canada couldn't resist allowing himself to be led inside and laid out on the bed they had been sharing for so long.
"America, I..." America put his hand lightly over Canada's mouth.
"I think this might be one of those times you told me that I shouldn't talk. And I've decided that you shouldn't either. I'm sorry... for a lot of things." Canada kissed his palm and nodded, agreeing to the silence, silently thanking him for the apology. America smiled then and leaned down, moving his fingers so that he could press their lips together. Canada knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn't stop himself. He wrapped his arms around America's neck and held him tightly, opening up to him.
America felt good moving beside him, he had lain beside him so long when he had been nothing but still, or worse trembling from a nightmare. He didn't resist as America reached for the buttons on his shirt. They worked slowly, layers and layers of clothing disappeared until they could see each other's skin. Canada brushed his fingers down America's ribs, noticing a few more scars. America sighed and pressed a kiss to Canada's shoulder, tracing his collarbone with his mouth. He tilted his head back, gasping as America hooked his fingers in the hem of his long underwear and pulled them off. He adjusted and reached for America's, finding them already sliding down his hips. America pressed against him, and Canada found himself rocking back. They rubbed against each other, their mouth's finding each other again. He swallowed America's groan as he came, and barely the touch of America's fingers on him brought him over the edge.
America lay against his chest and chuckled. Canada's body warmed at the sound, he had missed that sound. It was if America hadn't laughed in years. "I guess we're out of practice."
Canada laughed at that, he said without thinking, "Well, I haven't been with anyone since you." He clapped a hand over his mouth, realizing the words a moment after they had left his mouth. He hoped that perhaps this would be one of those times when America simply couldn't hear him. It wouldn't have been the first time when it worked for his advantage. But he seemed to have no luck, America stopped laughing and looked up at him. Canada blushed, but stared back.
America's cheeks flushed then and he looked away, putting his head back on Canada's chest, "I thought..."
"You thought...?"
America shook his head, "Nothing... I love you."
Canada put his fingers in America's hair and stroked his hair, he knew it was probably something, but he didn't want the comfortable moment to end after so much pain. "I love you too."
But it's still not the right time... he thought to himself. He couldn't sleep, and it seemed to take hours before America finally drifted off. Canada ignored how good he felt there and how much he wanted to wake him up with a kiss. But this all wasn't over, he couldn't be sure about anything. It was not an impossibility that the war wasn't over. When gray light began to filter through the windows, Canada carefully extricated himself from America's warm limbs, regretting his practicality when the cool morning air hit his bare skin. He gathered his clothes, taking his musket from the door. He scrawled out a short note on a scrap of paper, "You know where to find me when this over."
He took one last look before he headed out into the woods as he had intended to the night before.
You always know where to find me, and I'll be waiting for you.
AUTHOR: shuriken7
FANDOM: Hetalia
PAIRING: America/Canada
GENRE: Slash
PROMPT: 1. Focus @ fanfic50, 3. Forgiveness @ lover100
RATING: M for sexual situations
WORD COUNT: 3116
SUMMARY: Civil War. Canada has been waiting so long for him to wake up, and when he does, nothing plays out like he thought it would.
WARNINGS: Hetalia deals with personifications of nation-states. Some stories may be historical while others may be examining them as just people.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia.
A/N: Written for June Camp NaNo. Separate from Civil War America/England fics.
Canada felt as though they had been in this limbo forever, there was no moving forward and no going back. He and America would be forever trapped in this state. America hurting so badly that he had retreated into his mind. Canada would always be confused about why he was there, wiping the sweat from America's brow and laying beside him at night. He had been doing it for over a year. He managed to get messages back and forth to his own country, but England was mostly sending orders and they were followed more or less. It became much more frequent once he knew. Canada realized he had sent for him in a time of weakness, he had needed his big brother, his mentor. Seeing America like this had been too hard.
He snuggled closer against America's side, hooking an arm around him in a defensive way. He knew that England had feelings for him as well, although he didn't know what they were. Canada didn't feel threatened, but he had felt the need to let England know what exactly their relationship was. He had told him, in his quiet voice, that America was his and while England may control his lands, he couldn't control who he loved. England had looked confused and hurt, but Canada held his ground. England had left because of his obligations elsewhere, Canada was still here, holding vigil at America's side for when he would wake up.
It seemed as though most of the fighting was now over, the Confederacy was well into retreat. Canada idly wondered what that would mean for the grey-blue eyed nation that would make his way into America's body and take control. Would he die? Did he never truly exist and he would simply disappear? Would America absorb him? Canada almost did not want to know. He had to accept that Confederacy was a part of the one he loved, even though that part had frightened him.
Canada nuzzled his nose on the back of America's neck, remembering how it used to be. After their first time he had woken up just like this, pressed up against America's back. Although, instead of a cotton shirt there had been nothing between them. Just bare skin that he had felt against his chest and stomach, the contact going even further. He blushed at the memory.
They had shared their first kiss when they had been young, both burgeoning colonies. They had spent the day hunting, and were sitting by the campfire with some whiskey America had brought. Canada could recall feeling relaxed and he didn't even think before leaning over to kiss America. From the visits from France, events that were much begrudged by England, he had been told stories about this kind of thing. He didn't care that France was going to tease him endlessly or that England would be angry, he focused on the feeling of America's mouth against his and the way he was soon kissing him back. That was all it was then, a stolen kiss here or there underneath England's nose.
On one visit he had blushingly told France about how he felt, and the older nation had looked troubled. Canada asked him why. France told him that to be with ones so close to you is dangerous, there is always the chance that person may hurt you. Canada hadn't understood, but then he learned the painful lesson only a few years later. America had left England's protection and gained his independence, and then less than fifty years after that, they had fought again. Canada had fought too, all the while just wanting the truth from his neighbor about why he was doing this. It had been in a desperate moment during the war that they had their first time... Canada blushed further at that memory, pressing his nose against America's skin, breathing him in. The scent was so familiar it calmed his racing heart. His thoughts trailed over other moments, a stolen moment here, a choice to not see America there. The longing he had felt sometimes when he told himself no, it was not the right time...
He was brought back to reality when the body beside him shifted. He held onto him tighter, it was most likely another nightmare. America twitched and shook and he wished he could reach into his mind and make it stop. There may have been times when he was sure he hated him, but having seen what America was going through first hand he wouldn't wish this kind of pain on anyone. He held him until he was still and his breathing evened out.
"Shhh... America, it'll be alright. You're winning you know, people are ready to rejoin you." he said quietly, pressing his nose into America's hair.
At first he was met with silence, it had been like that for so long. He didn't expect to hear a small mumble, "Mmmm... Canada?"
Canada blanched, "America?"
"What's going on?" America rolled over and blinked at him, his eyes looking glassy and dazed. Canada was so relieved to see the bright blue eyes that he pressed America's face between his hands just so he could stare. America gave him a weak smile. "Your face is funny."
Canada blushed and released him, "America... do you know how long you've been asleep?"
"I was sleeping?"
Canada nodded, and swallowed, "What do you remember last?"
"Confederacy was fighting with me and then..." his eyes widened, "I don't know. Canada... how long have I been asleep?"
Canada bit his lip, wondering how best to describe what had happened to America. He decided straight was going to be best, even though it was going to be the hardest thing for America to absorb, "Over a year."
America looked downright shocked and just stared at him, as though waiting for the end of the not-very-funny joke. Canada nodded and put his hands back on America's cheeks, trying to keep him calm. Not wanting to risk the threat of a Confederacy resurgence. It had happened far too often and the experience frightened him every time. "I've been out of it... for almost a year?"
Canada nodded again.
"What does that mean? Is the war over?"
"I don't know. Maybe... since you woke up..." He was trying really hard to reign in his emotions. America was in no condition to give him what he desired in that moment. If America weren't looking so confused he would pull him in close and press their lips together. Anything for America to focus only on him. He wanted to focus on anything, anything that would keep him from retreating back within himself. America seemed to focus on a point somewhere near Canada's ear, unable or unwilling to look him in the eye as he processed the information. Canada closed his eyes and just listened to him breath. It was no longer that strangely steady rhythm of unnatural sleep, but erratic breathing. America's breath would quicken when he thought of something, perhaps reliving a terrible memory of what he thought he knew. Then it would slow and began more even, not in sleep, but in comfort.
When he felt fingers beneath his chin he looked up, America was certainly looking at him now. "You took care of me?" he asked, Canada became confused by the tone, it almost sounded accusatory.
"I did..."
"How long?"
"Since you fell asleep and didn't wake up."
"Over a year...?"
"Yes."
"Canada, I..."
"I would understand if you are upset that I interfered..."
"No, that's not it at all." he interrupted. Canada looked at him in surprise, America was smiling at him. It wasn't a confidence, brash smile that Canada was so familiar with. It was a bashful, apologetic one, "Can you forgive me for doing that to you Matt?"
An apology was the last thing Canada expected. All of the stress and exhaustion he had been feeling suddenly bubbled out over, and he laughed. An apology! "You are the biggest pain in the ass!" he chuckled, rolling away from America to lie on his back. It was all too absurd. He had been worried sick out of his mind for a year, and here was America acting as if all it would take was a simple apology. It was so like him, it made Canada want to smack him and kiss him in the same moment. He did neither, and continued to laugh.
America stared at him, shocked by his laughter or language or both. "I usually get the joke, but I don't see what's so funny here?" He tried to lean up on one elbow, his body weak, but he managed it. Canada looked up at him, a few more chuckles bubbling up his throat a few more times as he reached up and put his hand on America's cheek. The other nation leaned into the touch.
"You, I've worried about you. God knows I've missed you..."
"...you missed me?"
"Don't get a big head about it, it's inevitable that I would miss your loud voice and your obnoxious attitude and your complete disregard for anyone else's needs. Your complete idiocy when you don't realize that your actions cause trouble for me, you're so twisted and broken America..." He went on and on, spilling out everything he wanted to say, and America took it. When he realized he was repeating himself, he stopped. He looked over to America, he didn't shake and he didn't look like he was about to cry. That was the usual reaction he got when he went off on a rant. Canada furrowed his brow and looked back at him, wondering what America was thinking. He was expecting a congenial smile and maybe another apology. He didn't expect the stony silence, he hadn't even gotten a retort.
"I suppose I deserve that..." America said, dropping off his elbow to lay flat on the thin mattress that he had been laying on for so long his body fit into the indentation in the cloth. Canada sat up and looked at him. America's face was uncharacteristically sad. "I was broken... I am twisted..."
That admission made Canada pause. It was something he had been jokingly saying to the other for years. Sometimes he even believed it was true. However, hearing America repeat those words back to him didn't feel right. He felt guilty for saying those words. "America, I..."
America turned his back to him, "You can go home now..."
"America..."
"I think you've said enough, you don't need to waste your time with someone like me anymore. Doesn't England have you on babysitting duty to teach Australia and New Zealand how to be good colonies? He'd be pissed if he knew you were here. So just go."
Canada's heart began to race, this reaction was the last thing that he wanted. His chest ached. He wasn't just going to leave. But what could he say? He had promised England that he would say anything... "He didn't seem all that concerned."
America stiffened, "Did he know you were here?" America searched Canada's face for an answer, Canada couldn't think of anything to reply that wouldn't be an outright lie, "He saw me like that?"
Canada swallowed, the edge in America's voice sounded dangerous. He had heard that tone before. "I didn't know what to do... I sent for him."
America whirled on him faster than he thought he would be able to. He had Canada by the shirt collar, his fist twisting in it. "I need you to get out, Canada, before I do something I'm going to regret. How dare you let him see me like this!"
Canada grabbed his wrist, "America, he suspected what had happened to you anyway. He just wanted to take care of you, it had nothing to do with the bullshit that has happened between you two for the last 100 years!"
"Canada..."
"...I'll just go." He yanked America's hand off of him and headed for the cabin door, leaving behind everything, not even bothering to pull on his shoes. He slammed the door behind him and headed for the woods. He had barely made it into the trees when he stopped. he refused to leave it like this, but he could not think of how to go back now. America had finally snapped out of it, but unfortunately he had chosen to fixate on England, once again. It was never him. He had been a part of this, helping his soldiers in what ways he could... and he got nothing for it. It was completely and entirely infuriating. He began to walk back, no sound indicating that America had come out after him. It had rained the night before and his feet squelched in the mud. It was too much like the battle he had been at when America was still awake, men dying in the muck, fighting to decide what their country stood for. He shivered, although he was angry, he couldn't fault America for shutting down. He had been wrong to berate him.
Canada paused outside the cabin door, unsure of what to do next. He reached for the handle several times, but found that he couldn't do it. He didn't want to open that door and see America's face. He sat down on a stone that served for the step. He stared at the ground, at his feet covered in the soil of America's lands and just waited. He could be patient. He watched the shadows grow long and stretch across the ground until he was completely in shade. He watched as the tops of the trees gave up the last rays of sunlight and the natural light faded into night. The brightest source of light now was behind him, America must have lit a fire inside the cabin. Canada shivered, although he was used to the cold the night was still chill, and he felt lonely. He wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin there. Still waiting.
He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He must have drowsed off, considering that he hadn't heard him coming. America settled down on the stone beside him, their sides touching. He leaned over and settled his head on Canada's shoulder. Instinctually, Canada leaned his cheek on him. America smelled as though he had just taken a bath. They didn't say anything, just sat there in the darkness. The quiet was broken by the sounds on night creatures going about their business.
Canada didn't know when the embrace began to change. Perhaps it was when he loosened up as America hooked an arm around his waist. Or when he turned and kissed America on the forehead and America turned his face and brushed his lips against his neck. Or when Canada ran his fingers down America's arms, still amazed at how strong he could be even though he was so shattered. Whenever it happened, Canada couldn't resist allowing himself to be led inside and laid out on the bed they had been sharing for so long.
"America, I..." America put his hand lightly over Canada's mouth.
"I think this might be one of those times you told me that I shouldn't talk. And I've decided that you shouldn't either. I'm sorry... for a lot of things." Canada kissed his palm and nodded, agreeing to the silence, silently thanking him for the apology. America smiled then and leaned down, moving his fingers so that he could press their lips together. Canada knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn't stop himself. He wrapped his arms around America's neck and held him tightly, opening up to him.
America felt good moving beside him, he had lain beside him so long when he had been nothing but still, or worse trembling from a nightmare. He didn't resist as America reached for the buttons on his shirt. They worked slowly, layers and layers of clothing disappeared until they could see each other's skin. Canada brushed his fingers down America's ribs, noticing a few more scars. America sighed and pressed a kiss to Canada's shoulder, tracing his collarbone with his mouth. He tilted his head back, gasping as America hooked his fingers in the hem of his long underwear and pulled them off. He adjusted and reached for America's, finding them already sliding down his hips. America pressed against him, and Canada found himself rocking back. They rubbed against each other, their mouth's finding each other again. He swallowed America's groan as he came, and barely the touch of America's fingers on him brought him over the edge.
America lay against his chest and chuckled. Canada's body warmed at the sound, he had missed that sound. It was if America hadn't laughed in years. "I guess we're out of practice."
Canada laughed at that, he said without thinking, "Well, I haven't been with anyone since you." He clapped a hand over his mouth, realizing the words a moment after they had left his mouth. He hoped that perhaps this would be one of those times when America simply couldn't hear him. It wouldn't have been the first time when it worked for his advantage. But he seemed to have no luck, America stopped laughing and looked up at him. Canada blushed, but stared back.
America's cheeks flushed then and he looked away, putting his head back on Canada's chest, "I thought..."
"You thought...?"
America shook his head, "Nothing... I love you."
Canada put his fingers in America's hair and stroked his hair, he knew it was probably something, but he didn't want the comfortable moment to end after so much pain. "I love you too."
But it's still not the right time... he thought to himself. He couldn't sleep, and it seemed to take hours before America finally drifted off. Canada ignored how good he felt there and how much he wanted to wake him up with a kiss. But this all wasn't over, he couldn't be sure about anything. It was not an impossibility that the war wasn't over. When gray light began to filter through the windows, Canada carefully extricated himself from America's warm limbs, regretting his practicality when the cool morning air hit his bare skin. He gathered his clothes, taking his musket from the door. He scrawled out a short note on a scrap of paper, "You know where to find me when this over."
He took one last look before he headed out into the woods as he had intended to the night before.
You always know where to find me, and I'll be waiting for you.