Seventeen - Canada/America
Title: Seventeen
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: One-sided Canada/America, mentioned America/England
Summary: Canada remembers his one night with America.
Disclaimer: Totally not mine.
Notes: Written for the kink meme. I was going to wait to post this with another fic, but I haven't been too inspired lately...
Seventeen days. Four hundred and eight hours. Twenty-four thousand four hundred eighty minutes. One million four hundred sixty-eight thousand eight hundred seconds. It seemed like so much longer, but that was how long it had been since he had last seen Alfred. Not that he was counting or anything.
Matthew groaned as he kicked the covers off of himself and onto the floor. It was clear to him that sleeping was not an option, at least for now. Memories of that night played over and over again in his mind, this routine no different from the past sixteen midnights. And like all those past nights, he felt himself begin to grow hard as he let himself become immersed in his memories.
They had been drunk - Matthew to a much lesser extent, but drunk nonetheless. He knew at the time it was a bad idea, but Arthur was no where to been found and, though Matthew was not sure if Alfred had noticed his boyfriend’s absence, he knew the blond’s not-so-subtle touches were getting to be too much to be ignored. He gave in, and the two had headed back to Alfred’s place.
What happened next was not much more than a blur to Matthew. Clothes were shed and deep, sloppy kisses were shared. One thing led to another, and, despite that nagging voice in the back of Matthew’s mind, nodonotdothis, they had made love. At least, ‘making love’ was the term which Matthew liked to use when describing their encounter.
With these thoughts now fresh in his mind, Matthew slipped a hand under his flannel night pants, and took hold of his growing erection. He pumped it slowly, bringing himself to full hardness.
It was a drunken one night stand. Matthew understood that, but it meant so much more to him than that. So much more than it should.
The Canadian pulled his hand from his pants and flipped himself so he was supporting himself on his hands and knees. He pulled the pajama bottoms just over his hips, freeing his length. He moaned quietly as he once again took hold of the throbbing organ. He let out a shuddering breath and, closing his eyes, began to stroke.
“Alfred…” he whispered, thinking back to that night. Leaning forward, he shifted his weight to free his other hand. Pale fingers inched their way down his side and toward his entrance. They teased there and his breath hitched.
Seventeen days ago, Alfred had been the one hovering at his entrance, and oh god it had been amazing. He’d give anything to feel that fantastic sensation once again, that pleasure mixed with the smallest amount of pain that made things even better, so much more real. But seventeen days ago, he had surrendered himself to this, to being forever alone with nothing to comfort himself but his hand.
He couldn’t bear to do it, to stay that night. Alfred had passed out just moments after he had came, leaving a more sobered Matthew alone with his thoughts. The other man seemed so happy with Arthur. He couldn’t do anything to jeopardize Alfred’s relationship, no matter how much he may want him for himself.
So he pulled himself out of bed and Alfred’s arms and proceeded to clean the two of them off. He redressed the other blond and, with a final soft kiss, Matthew left. He prayed to every god he knew of that Alfred would wake up with no recollection of that night’s events.
Matthew pushed one finger through that tight ring of muscles. A second was added soon after and he hooked his fingers, stroking his insides, searching for that spot that made him see stars. The blond’s hand sped up as he brushed against those nerves and cried out. He imagined Alfred above him, the American’s cock buried deep within him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
He began to rub against his prostate furiously, his other hand matching the pace of the fingers inside of him. It wasn’t much longer before he came hard with a loud groan, Alfred’s name on his lips.
Matthew collapsed on the bed, spent, and tried to focus on the more pleasant points of their encounter as he allowed post-coital sleep to begin to take him. That phone call from Alfred the next morning, though, invaded his now clouded mind.
“What the hell happened last night? I seriously can’t remember a thing. I was super wasted, yeah?”
“Yeah. I…I took you home before you could do anything too stupid.”
“Oh, you were the one that brought me home? Thanks a lot, Matt. You’re an awesome friend.”
Matthew smiled a sad smile. “No problem, Al.”
Sixteen and a half days since he had last spoken to Alfred. He still didn’t know if he could face him any time soon.