[Fanfic] - Sticky
Title: Sticky
Rating: R for sex
Characters: Prussia/Canada/Prussia; America, France, England, Spain, Hungary
Summary: Prussia gets turned on seeing Canada eating maple syrup and they quickly get a room. And have risque times. With maple syrup involved. Followed by a bit of fluff, a slightly cracky meeting, and a quick closet tryst.
Warnings: Possible OOC and confusing verb tenses, sex, Prussia’s mouth, Canada’s mouth
De-anon from the Kink Meme - also, my first fanfic ever. No seriously. Hetalia, what have you done to me, with your gay nation porn?!
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Sticky
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They were getting dinner in New York, the night before another world meeting. The booth the nations were seated in was a bit too small, and Prussia was wedged between the window and Spain, who kept (unconsciously, he thought) leaning into him to avoid France’s more overt molestations. Luckily, England was across from France - perhaps he could divert the pervert’s attention that way.
“Francis, your toys are on the other side of the table. Play with them.”
France leaned on his elbow, peering over at Prussia. Or, perhaps it’d be more accurate to say that France gave the appearance of leaning - it’s more like he was poised in the air, just so, and the arm was there for aesthetic effect. Prussia was used to this, and didn’t care. “Ah, Gilbert,” he lilted, flashed a small smile his way - “are you jealous? I can switch seats with dear Antonio; I could pay attention to both of you - non, all of you - that way.”
From across the table, America abruptly laughed, England muttered something under his breath and kicked France in the shin, and Canada just brought up a pale hand to cover his slight smile. Prussia thought it was a cute smile and probably shouldn’t be covered. On his side, Spain seemed oblivious, perusing the menu.
“As if I’d be jealous of you! You’re not worthy of molesting me! Stay right where you are.”
France gave a lingering sigh, tilting his head to the ceiling while making a gesture which probably meant something like ‘what to do, what to do?’ “If you insist,” he finally said, and sent a wink over to the other three across the table.
In his seat Prussia silently fumed. He hadn’t been in that great of a mood to start with - his day was not going at all as wonderfully as it should have been! He was supposed to have gotten to the hotel, blinded his Canadian lover with his awesomeness, and then they would have spent the rest of the night having hot, hot sex. (Amazing and loud hot sex that everyone else would be jealous over.) Because, really, it had been far too long since he’d seen Canada...the poor guy was probably in Prussia-withdrawal by now! But no, by the time he’d thrown his luggage in the room (ignoring West’s complaints - not like he was gonna use it anyway, he always stayed with Italy) and found Canada, Canada had been found by America and England. Then France and Spain came up and insisted on eating somewhere “acceptable”, and that was that.
And now France was hitting on Canada, and Prussia should’ve been the one to be hitting on Canada, but he wasn’t even sitting beside Canada because his idiot brother had insisted that he sit by “Mattie,” and Prussia wasn’t even sure the rest of them knew that he and Canada were hooking up, nor did he know if he wanted them to know - and speaking of hooking up, sheiße was he horny, and they hadn’t even ordered yet, and - and -
The waitress arrived, none too soon.
The restaurant served breakfast 24/7, so Canada, of course, ordered pancakes. Prussia knew no one else’s pancakes could even come close to Canada’s, so he opted for a steak instead. He didn’t pay much attention to the good-natured bickering between the three near the end of the table, nor France attempting to flirt with the waitress (which prompted more bickering from England and goading from America), nor Canada and Spain’s polite conversation about folk music in their respective countries. He just looked out the window and imagined what he was going to do to Canada once they get back to the hotel room instead. It was lame, he knew, and he thought he should enlighten the table with his thoughts (on whatever they were talking about, his thoughts are surely better anyway), but....whatever. If the great Prußen felt like sulking, he was gonna sulk. So there!
A nudge at his foot. He whipped up his head, about to yell at France, but Canada caught his eye instead. “You alright?”
Prussia’s first instinct was to laugh and snap back “Of course I am! The great Prussia is always alright!” et cetera et cetera, but it was Canada, and he actually cared, cared a lot, and would never make fun of him for being Not 110% Awesome today...so...
“Yeah,” he responded quietly, “I’d just rather be back at the hotel.” He added a charming smirk here for good measure.
“Oh, tired already, Gilbert? I wanted to go out to a bar after this!” Spain cut in, all wide smile and bright eyes.
Prussia grunted. “Jet lag.”
Spain looked confused for a moment - Prussia cut in with an exuberant “But we’ll go out tomorrow night for sure! When I’m in top form!”
Spain threw his head back and laughed, and they started concocting debaucherous schemes for the following evening. It lightened Prussia’s mood, a bit.
---
The food came. America’s burgers took up a lot of table space, but he was wolfing them down so quickly (despite England’s gripes and France’s affronted look) that it probably wouldn’t be an issue for much longer.
Prussia’s attention was diverted to Canada, though. He took the syrup that came with his pancakes, and drizzled it on the back of his hand. His eyes flickered up to Prussia’s, briefly, before lowering, and a slight smirk twitched his lips before he raised his hand and took a delicate, testing lick.
Prussia stared. His bite of steak was stuck hovering on the end of his fork above the table. Did Canada know what he was doing? Canada’s eyes flickered over again, before he took a much longer, slower lick, up the back of his hand, cleaning off most of the syrup, before settling back and licking his lips. Of course he knew what he was doing, Prussia thought - he shouldn’t forget that his boyfriend is full of surprises, and can have claws when he wants to. It was one of his very favorite things about him, after all. How he even noticed him in the first place - Canada challenged him to a hockey game out the blue, probably planned that too - Prussia’s thought process was interrupted by France’s questioning.
“Mathieu...what - “ France was cut off by Canada’s clueless-sounding “Eh?” Canada looked over to France, the picture of innocence.
“You are licking syrup off your hand, dear,” France gestured over to him, something between a smirk and satisfied smile on his face.
“Ah!” Canada exclaimed, “I was testing it to see if it was okay....” He looked down to his hand, appraisingly, and said “But I like my own syrup much more. Good thing I usually carry some around!” He whipped out a bottle from...somewhere...and dabbed some on his finger, licking that off too with a showy swirl of his tongue that caused Prussia’s pants to stir. “Much better,” he concluded.
The rest of the table was silent, until England grumbled over at France. “Shut it, frog, he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. Stop being a pervert.” Oh, but he does, thought Prussia.
England’s response sent the two into another bout of bickering while Spain looked on bemusedly. Canada used the opportunity to full-on smirk at Prussia, and gave the finger one more swirl while raising his eyebrow.
--
“Gimme that!” Prussia exclaimed.
Canada let out a small laugh, and responded with “You want syrup on your steak?” while stroking his slim fingers up and down the neck of the bottle. Prussia glared.
“It’s maple syrup - I’m sure it would be great!”
“On a steak,” Canada deadpanned.
“Yes! Now give me that bottle.”
“Mmm...no,” and now he was swirling his fingers around the top with one hand, damn him, damn him, damn him. Damn him and his beautiful, wonderful, oh-so-talented fingers to Hell.
Even while putting up his argument, Prussia couldn’t remove his eyes from those roving fingers. “Psh. I will put syrup on my steak my steak if I want to - so, hand it over already!”
Canada laughed again, and this time his tone was teasing. “Not yet. You always use it all. You can, later-” a predatory smile here - “after I’m done.”
“Why the fuck would you want to put syrup on your steak, Gilbert?” America asked between hamburger bites.
“Because-” his attention was momentarily distracted by Canada’s hand moving down the bottle, slowly pouring the syrup - how could someone make pouring syrup erotic, anyway?! “-because maple syrup only makes food taste more awesome!” Probably makes Canadians taste more awesome too, his brain added.
America chewed and looked at his burger, thoughtful for a moment behind his glasses. “Sounds gross,” he shrugged. Took a slurp of cola, then went back to inhaling his food.
Prussia tried to pay his food as much attention as America did, but Canada was right across from him. And he was essentially mouth-fucking his bites of pancake. Mouth slightly open, fork in, slowly, slowly, tongue poked out underneath the fork and lapped up any dripping syrup there, slight pink lips moved forward, delicately, over the bite -
Fuck. Fuck. Prussia was definitely hard now. Pay attention to your food, you’re better than this, he scolded himself. That didn’t stop him from squirming slightly, trapped between the sticky leather of the seat - not as sticky as the syrup on Canada’s lip, his traitorous brain added - and the glass of the window, when Canada finally pulled the fork from his mouth, and licked the tines of the fork for good measure. And then winked. He winked at Prussia. Prussia didn’t know if he’d ever seen Canada wink. He did know that it was hot. It brought back memories of other hot, sultry things Canada had done, between the sheets, on the floor, on the couch, on the counter, in the car -
FUCK. He tried to derail that train of thought. Canada brought the next small bite to his lips and just let it play there a moment, rubbing it back and forth slightly, almost imperceptibly, before he gave an experimental nibble, head cocked slightly to the side. The streetlight outside the window caught him in just the right way, seemed to highlight the curve of his cheekbone, fall of his hair, quirk of his lips as they tasted the pancake....Prussia wanted to fuck him into the table. Or against the window. Or even on this sticky booth. Now. But he couldn’t do anything except grip his silverware lest he touch himself, couldn’t do anything but squirm, trapped, against that damned window and the damned booth, couldn’t do anything to stifle his appreciative moan except shove a piece of steak in his mouth and pretend that the steak was just that damned good.
The torturous show continued and for some reason no one else seemed to notice, and after the last bite Prussia was relieved - until Canada whirled a finger around his plate and licked it off his finger with that delectable pink tongue, again. Prussia snapped.
“STOP THAT!” he commanded, startling the other nations at the table and even some people sitting nearby.
Canada’s gaze snapped up at the battle-tone in Prussia’s voice, a dark, smouldering look in his eyes that sent a jolt down Prussia’s spine; the look only lasted a second before changing to pretend surprise, violet eyes large and eyebrows raised, with that finger still in his mouth.
“Hm?” Spain asked as America simultaneously spat out “What the fuck?!”
France looked over his glass of wine and laughed softly. “Is something wrong, Gilbert?”
“He...he keeps stepping on me,” Gilbert glowered.
“Really now?”
“Yes,” he hissed at France. “And no one steps on my amazing self without retribution!” He kicked at Canada under the table, but Canada just smirked. Snarky little fucker.
France just ‘hmm’d’ before draining his glass of wine.
“I already paid,” America said into the silence, “my boss said I could use my card on burgers the first night - isn’t that great?! - so now we don’t have to worry about split checks and all that jazz-” He prattled on through everyone’s surprised “thank you”s and England’s “You git, I doubt he meant for all of us!” and soon enough it was time to leave. Prussia had settled down - enough to stand up at least.
On the way out, America elbowed Canada, saying “I’m gonna be in France and England’s room tonight - wanna come with?”
Canada blushed slightly and laughed a “No thanks. I’m going to bed.” With me, Prussia thought.
America hmph’d. “We not attractive enough for you or something?” he asked, arms thrown out wide in question and a huge grin on his face.
“Oh, shut it,” was Canada’s only response.
They walked out into the bright, busy night.
---
Prussia slammed Canada into the wall while the hotel door was still open, ambushing him with forceful nips and kisses wherever he could find skin. Canada somehow got a leg untangled from Prussia’s body, and closed the door with his foot even while his arms pried off Prussia’s jacket. Their lips met in a sloppy crash, a result of both their haste to taste one another and the low light in the room; Prussia didn’t mind, the recklessness of lips and teeth and tongues only caused his arousal to burn brighter, caused him to grind against Canada harder, bodies pressed hip-to-hip. Canada made an appreciative noise in response, clutched Prussia’s shoulder while arching his neck under Prussia’s forceful assault on the sensitive skin there.
Then Canada snapped his head down, reached a hand to Prussia’s jaw, and wrenched it up, before kissing him again, deeply, forcefully - and, mmm, he loves it when Canada gets like this - aggressive - because maybe even more than sex, Prussia loves a good battle. And when it was both at the same time? Well, hell yes.
And despite his public (non-)persona, Canada has proven time and again to be a worthy opponent. So Prussia continued this fight for dominance, drew one hand harshly against Canada’s hip while the other skittered up his side, underneath both the scratchy material of the shirt and the weight of the hoodie; in the back of his mind he mused about how against a hotel wall was much more appropriate for battle than the bed, anyway -
“Bed,” Canada gasped, though his hands didn’t try to move them away from the wall, or anywhere but closer to one another, really.
It was like that kid was a goddamn mind-reader. And out to ruin Prussia’s plans, to boot.
Prussia growled in his throat, and didn’t bother removing his lips from Canada’s neck to snap back “No way. You’ve been a damn cock-tease all - fucking - evening - “ he punctuated each of these words with a grind of his hips; Canada’s whimper was music to his ears, “- and I’m not gonna be bothered with wasting time moving to the bed. It’s time for payback.” At this, a truly terrifying smile settled on his face and he moved back from Canada a little, just to let him see.
Unfortunately, it only seemed to phase Canada slightly, because after a brief pause he turned his head, lips twisting into a small smile. “I was just trying to make dinner more interesting,” he said, softly.
Prussia scowled. “Is this another phrase for ‘being a cockteasing son-of-a-bitch’? Because in that case, dinner was very inter-”
“You seemed bored,” Canada interrupted lightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Just trying to brighten you up a little.” Here he let his expression soften, indigo eyes large, open, honest.
Ugh, he’s doing that cute thing again, Prussia internally moaned. He couldn’t resist cute things; Canada knew it. Even worse was that he knew Canada was being honest. However impure his actions in the restaurant, he really did just want to make Prussia’s day better. Ugh. That soft, adorable, maple-loving, polar-bear-hugging, bed-loving, pansy motherfucker. Prussia tried to ignore that this thought crossed his mind in a rather fond manner. Damn. Canada’s softness was rubbing off on him.
“Beds are so...normal,” Prussia tried. “Too normal for a couple as hot as - “
“I want to use the bed,” Canada snapped. Canada was hard to argue with when he got that tone - it meant he really, really wanted something. He didn’t use it often. Prussia wondered for a moment why the bed was so important anyway - “we’re wasting time debating on it...” Canada’s voice (and searching hands) interrupted his thoughts. “Bed, eh? Gil?” He nuzzled Prussia at the junction of ear and jaw, then lifted his head to reveal an entirely-too-cute pout.
Well shit. Fine.
Prussia jerked him roughly and shoved him over to the bed, then with all the quickness and grace of a predator going in for the kill, draped his body over the awkwardly-sprawled Canadian.
Canada just smiled up at him, rubbing his hands up and down Prussia’s sides.
“You said you wanted to use my syrup, right?” the tone slightly teasing.
Prussia swallowed heavily, despite himself. “This better be fucking good,” he groused.
In lieu of a verbal response, Canada grabbed his ass and ground up against him. Prussia growled and smashed their lips together, using his hands to hurriedly shove up the clothing covering Canada’s upper half. Off flew the hoodie; Prussia nipped and bit at Canada’s exposed stomach while Canada fumbled with the buttons on his scrunched-up dress shirt.
Prussia began to nibble a line of bruises against the bottom of Canada’s ribcage. His eyes flickered up - this was going way too slowly. He sat up on Canada’s lap, making sure to grind their erections together in the process (which produced a low, needy noise from Canada), and reached out and ripped the shirt open.
Canada scowled and sat up, nipping Prussia below his ear. “Goddamnit, Gilbert,” he huffed, “you’re going to ruin all my shirts.”
Prussia smirked; Canada, out of nowhere, flipped them so that he was kneeling over Prussia. He ran his hands up Prussia’s shirt, then let his nails scratch bright red marks down his ribcage. Then he shouldered out of his ruined shirt and produced that same bottle of syrup.
Prussia’s eyebrow quirked. “What’s this all about?”
“I did say that you could have some once I was done,” Canada replied, lust making his voice rather hoarser than normal. “Shirt. Off.”
Oooo, Prussia liked when he got like this. The shirt came off in record time, and Prussia used an idle hand to rub Canada’s thigh along the outside of his pants.
The top of the bottle snapping open seemed loud in a room which was silent save for their panting breaths. Canada quickly reached out one arm and shoved Prussia back down to the bed with it, leaving it braced there to keep him down. He let his eyes rove over Prussia’s form for a minute, deliberately letting Prussia watch him watching him.
“Mattie, if you want me to let you do this, you should hurry the fuck up.”
Canada grinned. “Oh, you’ll want to let me do this.” With that he touched the tip of the bottle to Prussia’s right shoulder, and slowly drew a diagonal down his torso, all the way to the prominent hipbone exposed by Prussia’s too-low pants.
“God, you’re gonna do some slow seduction-type shit aren’t you,” Prussia glared.
Canada’s reply was only a small laugh as he closed the bottle lid with his free hand.
“Ugh. I know you’re into that sappy shit, but I’d rather have a sloppy fu-”
Prussia’s tirade mutated into a moan as Canada bit down on his shoulder, hard. His other hand shot up to grab Canada’s hip while Canada lapped at the mark, then continued along the trail of syrup, leaving swirls of sweat, syrup, and saliva in his wake. Prussia thought that combination of the sharp scent of Canada’s sweat and the sweet smell of syrup was gonna drive him mad.
Canada nibbled along his collarbone, letting the fingers of one hand play along the muscles of his shoulder, while the other hand tightened around his bicep and nails dug in.
A muffled groan while Prussia shifted on the bed, letting his exploratory hand slide up Canada’s back.
Canada moved lower, laving his tongue across Prussia’s chest. “Mm,” he muttered, “you’re such an attention whore. I’ll bet you just fucking love laying back and letting me worship you with my mouth.”
God damn was Gilbert ever glad that Canada had none of England’s famed repression issues.
“Ah -” a flick of a tongue “-fuuuck, Matt,” - a groan as Canada twisted a nipple lightly in his teeth - “keep worshipping.”
And that’s exactly what Canada did. He moved lower down Prussia’s body, waist at Prussia’s knees - Prussia’s hand moved to grip the hair behind Canada’s ear - let the hand on Prussia’s bicep trace lightly down the inside of his arm, nails digging in at the elbow, tickling at the wrist, before it moved to cup the side of his ribcage.
The light licks across his ribcage and sternum almost made him laugh. “Rougher,” Prussia grimaced, tugging Canada’s hair, ” that shit tickles.” An evil smirk graced Canada’s face as he bit down hard and let his nails re-trace their paths on his ribcage.
The back of Prussia’s mind pointed out that he might be bleeding now, but his only response was to arch up into that touch and rub a knee against Canada’s clothed erection, panting.
When Canada got to Prussia’s stomach, he paused. Prussia glanced down - keeping eye contact, Canada let his syrup-smeared mouth lightly drag along the faint lines of Prussia’s abs. Prussia’s breath shot out of him, and Canada let his eyes fall nearly closed, almost nuzzling his stomach, punctuating the dragging with lazy open-mouthed kisses.
His hand pressed lightly against Prussia’s erection, then the button to his pants was quickly opened. Canada smirked, leaned back on his haunches, and pulled down Prussia’s pants and boxers in one movement. An awkward moment of fumbling off shoes, Prussia’s clothing, and then Canada’s pants; then the two were looking at each other, fully naked in the dim light filtering in through the curtains, Prussia propping himself up with his elbows and Canada still kneeling above Prussia’s knees.
Prussia would never get tired of this view - Canada was beautiful. Still, there were more pressing concerns.
“You missed a spot,” he said, pointing to his syrup-covered hip.
Canada promptly lowered himself to Prussia’s hipbone, one hand splayed along Prussia’s thigh and the other stroking Prussia’s length. Prussia let out a small grunt, thrusting up a little into the touch and resisted the (sissy!) urge to stroke Canada’s hair out of his face.
Prussia watched Canada’s lovely tongue trace the line of his prominent hip carefully. At the top of the bone, Canada whorled his tongue, then started all over with wide, messy licks. Oh fuck, Prussia thought, Canada must know what that does to me... Prussia groaned, decided that repressing urges like that British pansy wasn’t cool anyway, and allowed his fingers to play in Canada’s hair and splay down the column of his neck.
A few more moments were spent like this, Prussia sliding the pads of his fingertips down, gasping at the feel Canada's blood thrumming through the thin skin of his neck. Reveled in how the muscles of Canada's throat moved under his hand. Just - appreciated. Then Prussia noted his trembling fingers and said “Hey, I thought I got to taste.”
Canada looked up a moment - those violet eyes were gorgeous. “What?”
“The syrup?”
A smug look appeared on Canada’s face. “Ah.” He grabbed the bottle, covered two fingers with the stuff, and held them out. “There you go.”
Oh how funny, ha-ha, Prussia thought. He threw Canada a dirty look, then decided that, well, if he’s gonna be like that...Prussia would just give him what he wanted.
He leaned forward and grasped Canada’s fingers with his lips, then bit down slightly on their tips. He sunk down further, to the second joint, then pulled up, letting his tongue lick off the syrup on the way. Another swipe of tongue, this time along the outside of the two fingers, and then a fleeting kiss was placed at Canada’s knuckle. Prussia’s hand shot out and he grabbed Canada’s wrist, then nibbled his way back to the top of the fingers, tongue curling out to soothe after every bite. Prussia continued to ravish Canada’s fingers with his mouth; finally ne nudged the digits apart, flicked his tongue across the webbing separating the two, then swiftly engulfed the pointer finger all the way down to the knuckle.
Canada swore softly in French and stared down at him, eyes dark with lust yet somehow luminous in the dim light. Prussia knew that look - it meant Canada wanted to fuck him so hard he’d forget his own name. It’d taken Prussia a while to come around to the idea, but after a surprisingly fun night involving hockey tape and entirely too much beer, he found that bottoming wasn’t as bad as he remembered. So generally, Prussia went along with it when Canada occasionally got that look.
Canada’s fingers lightly cupped Prussia’s balls, then made their way lower, brushing against him.
“Hey,” Prussia kicked out, making Canada lose his balance, “you’re using lube if you’re gonna do that.”
“Mmm, I was just teasing,” Canada mildly replied.
Prussia huffed through his nose. “You’ve been teasing all evening. C’mon,” he punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers, “let’s do this.”
Canada hopped lightly off the bed; he returned a moment later with the lube in one hand and snatched up the syrup bottle with the other.
“You are not fucking me using syrup.”
Canada simply raised an eyebrow and then poured a dollop on the head of Prussia’s cock.
“Oh.”
Prussia watched as Canada did that open-mouth thing again, as trails of sticky syrup followed his mouth down from the head to the base. Canada drew his lips back up to the head, glancing up at Prussia and giving the tip a playful lick. Then he swirled his tongue around, lapping up the syrup before engulfing him further, and, oh, God -
Prussia dropped back down to the bed, biting one hand to stifle his noises while the other fisted in Canada’s hair.
Canada was so good at this, ugh, it was absurd how someone could be so good at this - his head moved up and down, twisting, taking Prussia as deep as he could every time, sticky-sweet saliva getting all over the place - Prussia loved sloppy blowjobs and Canada knew it.
Canada made a small sound of warning, and Prussia felt one finger slide in. The absolutely incredible oral sex more than made up for the odd intrusion, though. Soon enough more fingers had joined and Prussia was keening through his own abused fingers and writhing on the bed.
Prussia made a strangled sound before a loud “whoa Jesus stop that-” Canada flew back, alarmed, before Prussia added “Oh, no, it’s just - “ he paused for a second to catch his breath “- I was waaay too close.”
Canada smiled, smoothing his hands down Prussia’s torso and kissing Prussia almost chastely. “I hope that means you’re ready...you fucking yourself on my fingers while trying not to let on how much you like it is entirely too hot,” he breathed.
Instead of commenting, Prussia pulled him down into a bruising kiss and hoped his appreciation came through that way. Their bodies touched along their lengths and they tangled against each other, the strange sensation of sweat sliding and syrup sticking only highlighting their closeness. That intoxicating smell of mingled sweat and syrup invaded Prussia’s senses again.
They pulled apart from each other; Canada’s hand went to the lube while Prussia’s went to the syrup. Canada looked up. “What are y-”
He was cut off by Prussia laughing and swiping a syrup-covered hand down his jaw and neck.
Canada froze and blinked cutely for a moment. “Huh?”
Prussia’s only response was to snort and hitch a leg up over Canada’s lower back, yanking the nation’s groin closer to his. Canada stilled for a moment, then watched Prussia as he slowly slid in. They stayed like that, dripping with sweat, perfectly still but with panting breaths, neither one breaking eye contact.
Then Canada tentatively put a hand on Prussia’s hip - slid back an inch, slid smoothly forward again, gradually building up to long, slow, smooth, powerful strokes.
He hit the right spot, and Prussia let out a ragged groan and clawed down his back.
“Like that, eh?” Canada gasped between thrusts.
“Faster,” Prussia ordered; his partner complied. Prussia yanked Canada down by the hair, eliciting a muttered French something, and began attacking the syrup covering Canada’s neck and jaw. Licks and bites were punctuated with obscene-sounding slurps as they broke apart and came together with each thrust. Prussia’s nose knocked into Canada’s jaw, so he twisted the hand in Canada’s hair, pulled him in even tighter, and scraped his teeth near the turn of the jaw. Hard. Canada shuddered and keened while Prussia arched into him, letting out a breathy “hey M-Matt -”
Canada made a noise of acknowledgment, dug an arm underneath Prussia to wrap around and support them both, and started pumping Prussia’s length with the other hand. Prussia let out a hoarse cry (right into Canada’s ear, which threw off the rhythm for a second) followed by a quiet “fuck, yes, like that -” punctuated between gasps and kisses to Canada’s neck, ears, and hair.
Prussia’s orgasm took him by surprise - he tightened, then abruptly twisted up toward Canada’s body with a loud grunt, eyes closed, hands clawing up Canada’s back and sides, semen adding a new layer of stickyness between them while his heel slammed Canada in deeper.
Through the fading haze of lust, Prussia realized that Canada had dissolved into incoherent mostly-French babble - he was close. Prussia could help, there. He yanked Canada’s head up, ran his teeth up that syrup-smeared, marked-up throat, kissed his earlobe, and then breathlessly murmured a stream of German into his ear.
A sharp inhale, followed by “Fuck, Gil-” and Canada slammed into Prussia, hard, head still held up at an odd angle by Prussia’s hand in his hair. His eyes fluttered halfway shut; Prussia turned his head so that they were looking at one another through the end of his orgasm. He’s a bit of voyeur fluttered through Canada’s thoughts, but he was too incoherent to latch onto it.
--
Canada flopped down, back first, to the mattress. Prussia turned to the side and draped himself over the prone figure. They stayed like that, sticky and silent, the slow return of regular breathing the only indication of time drifting lazily by.
“Mm, we should clean up,” Canada drowsily stated.
Prussia paused to glance over their entwined figures. “Not yet.”
“But we’re sticky,” Canada nearly whined.
“I like sticking to you.” Prussia’s response was out of his mouth before he could catch it. His eyes widened and - and goddamnit he was blushing.
Canada’s eyes widened a little too. Prussia thought that the subsequent smile that lit up his face could probably out-blind his brother’s.
“Shut up.”
Canada just continued smiling.
“You’re not allowed to repeat that. Ever.” Canada nodded, eyes still bright.
Prussia shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with this comfortable intimacy (How does that work? flitted through his head), but not with the stickiness at all. He propped his head up with his arm, threaded his fingers through his sweaty hair, and let his eyes travel slowly down Canada’s body. After a moment - “I’m topping in the shower,” he said with a wolfish grin.
Canada smirked at that. “Sounds good.”
“I’m topping,” Prussia repeated, “and you’re going to appreciate it.”
“I always do.”
Prussia let out a ‘hmph’ and tossed his head a little. “Well yeah. It’s me. Who wouldn’t? But I meant - you’re really gonna appreciate it - me. Appreciate me very loudly. Very vocally. You’re gonna scream so loud we’ll wake up the whole goddamn floor.”
“Ah. You have a tendency to make me do that,” Canada replied easily, not bashful at all. It hit Prussia that Canada must be as comfortable with this as he is. Canada leaned his head close to Prussia’s ear. “You’re really good at it, actually.” He nibbled there, moved his arm and let the backs of his fingers brush slightly over Prussia’s hipbone. “The best.”
Oh man, just hearing that made all of the evening’s teasing worth it. Hot blond singing his praises. Naked hot blond singing his praises - soon, screaming his praises. Yeah, that sounded good.
But...for now...he shifted even closer to Canada, turned the nation to the side to face him, and breathed in their mingled scent. Somehow, his semen was a good match for the smell of Canada’s sweat and syrup. Wildly different notes that made an odd - but good - fragrance. He stretched up against Canada, lodged an arm under their shared pillow. His other hand slowly rubbed up and down Canada’s back as Canada’s thumb continued its rubbing of his hip. Canada’s other hand tenderly stuttered and slid through the combined mess on Prussia’s stomach, despite the awkward angle. It dropped and Prussia slid their bodies closer.
It struck him that they were pretty much cuddling - actually, very much cuddling. It didn’t happen too often, yet Canada never pushed for it, or even addressed it, despite being a serial cuddler (if that bear was anything to go by). Prussia could only assume that Canada was letting him ease into it at his own pace. He appreciated it. When Canada was pushed into a corner far enough, he just pushed right back - but when Prussia was....well, he had a tendency to go a little apeshit. Like, battle-crazed, run-dozens-of-people-through-with-his-sword apeshit. He knew it; he figured Canada must know it too, because Prussia got all the space he needed. As a result, it was Prussia who was drawing the two of them closer, was making things more serious - hell, he thought of them as exclusive at this point, though he hadn’t brought it up with Canada yet. Still, Canada was probably smart enough to know that Prussia thought of him as his boyfriend. Maybe they’d never have to have that talk, ugh.
He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Canada’s temple, twined his legs with the blond’s long, lean ones. Just to warm him up for their next round in the shower. Definitely. Yeah.
---
OMAKE #1
---
The next morning Canada is up early; Prussia groans and wrenches the covers back over his head. He wasn’t much of a morning person to begin with, and they were up late last night.
“Why’re you up so early?” he asks, voice muffled by the covers over his head.
He hears Canada’s shuffling stop, then the sound of a briefcase clicking shut.
“Uh...I...ah...toldHungaryIwouldmeetherforbreakfast - “
Prussia pulls the covers down to his nose and squints at a sheepish-looking Canada, groggily. “Hungary? The fuck? I didn’t know you two even spoke.”
Canada manages to look even more embarassed than before. “We...ah...trade. Things. You know.”
It was too early for these kinds of revelations, Prussia thinks. “You and Hungary trade porn,” he states, face blank.
“Um...” Canada twists his hands around each other, worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “Y-yeah.”
If Prussia didn’t know Canada better, he wouldn’t have believed it. Looking at the awkward and adorable Canadian, and then trying to picture him and Hungary swapping porn, well - his brain feels like breaking. He sighs. It was definitely way too early for this.
“This is so not cool. It is way too early for this,” he mumbles his thoughts grumpily. His eyes are closing on thier own accord. He hears Canada shuffle in place a second, then start to leave. “You’re telling me all about this later,” he states in what was hopefully a forceful manner. He was too sleepy to care much.
Canada laughs, a slight, light sound that matches the blinding sun streaming in. “A-alright.”
“No, really. I can’t imagine how you began trading porn with Hungary.” Okay, that definitely sounded sleepy.
“She started it,” was murmured, almost too quietly to pick up.
“Mmph,” is the only response that makes it out of Prussia’s half-asleep body. Well, at least that part made sense, he thinks, before he drifts off to sleep again.
---
Prussia makes it to the meeting, quite late, and ignores Ludwig’s stern words in favor of making as big and impressive a scene as possible on his trip from the doorway to the empty seat beside France. Hey, these poor saps had gone all morning without his awe-inspiring presence, and now he had to make up for the disservice.
Inevitably, though, Prussia is made to stop the inspiration, and the meeting calms down. For a bit - until Prussia thinks it’s safe to dig through his bag. He settles for cackling maniacally while lobbing marshmallow peeps (so cute!) into people’s drinks - it was only making a huge improvement to them, really, peeps were great! - but eventually those were taken from him and the meeting got boring again. Psh, those sissy losers just couldn’t see how cool peeps were.
He stops paying attention to the meeting entirely about five minutes after the peeps are taken, and instead begins to draw a very impressive peep battle across his notes. The bunny-peeps had toothpicks for pikes, but were losing horrifically to the chick-peeps (of course), who had those plastic swords that came in tropical drinks. And, you know, could fucking fly. He put a speech bubble above one of the airborne peeps - “Why didn’t you bring bows, you shit-for-brains losers?“ it taunted. Maybe he should give them shields, too, though what would be a good shield for a peep? Though, if there weren’t shields, he could draw more melty-marshmallow blood all over the pl--
His phone is buzzing in his pocket.
He flips it open under the table, only to see a video message reading
“From: Birdie
Subject: I think you’ll find this ‘interesting’”
Prussia looks over to Canada, who glances back, both hands clasped on the table. What the hell? Canada just smiles serenely - well that couldn’t be good - and turns his head back toward the front of the meeting room.
Frown crossing his face, Prussia opens the clip - and his jaw drops. It’s - it’s them, the night before, having sex on the bed oh wow did they make a hot couple and oh yeah Prussia can’t stop staring, he might be drooling, this is awesome -
“Ah, Prussia, are you watching porn in the middle of Anglettere’s spe-”
Hungary’s frying pan comes out of nowhere and beans France in the head with a loud clang, before Prussia can do anything except close the message.
What. The. Hell.
He looks from Hungary’s triumphant smirk and wink across the room, to France, wincing and holding his head, then over to Canada’s smile hiding behind that hand again.
It clicks. He sends a furious glare over to Canada, but Canada turns and prompts England to continue with some soft-spoken question that must have been relevant to his presentation; the meeting continues, strange situation between the three forgotten.
Prussia is still glaring daggers at Canada when his phone buzzes again. He momentarily debates the wisdom of opening another message from that particular pervert (because there is no arguing that point now - really, how many of France’s tendencies did he inherit, anyway?); but, seeing as he is impatient and it is a simple text this time, he opens it.
“Lunch break: make-up sex, broom closet, I bottom?”
Prussia glowers at the screen a moment, looks up to see if anyone is paying attention - they aren’t, right, he’ll have to remedy that in a second - and sends back “We’ll have to keep ur mouth shut, unless u wanna share my Awesomeness with everyone. Gag u with ur tie or somethin.” Ha-ha. Canada would have to keep quiet! Oh, sweet revenge. It is all he can do not to let out a crazed laugh. Nah, actually, he does laugh - it gets the attention turned to him, right where it belongs anyway.
He looks over to see Canada’s eyes flicker in amusement, possibly lust, and gets back one word. “Deal.”
---
OMAKE #2
---
Prussia hastily shoves Canada into the closet and yanks the door shut behind them. He hears Canada hit the back with a soft “oof” - Prussia trips and stumbles into him, throwing an arm out just in time to keep himself from catching the wall with his face. Canada yanks him close, their hands frantically claw against each other, heaving breaths loud in the confined space - Jesus, Prussia was hard already.
Rabid, sloppy, violent kisses, with forceful teeth and tongue, half the time missing their mark and landing half on cheeks and chins. Prussia’s hands scrabble against Canada’s belt and Canada interrupts his fingers’ path to the zipper by grinding against him harshly with a moan - oh good, he was hard too - he feels Canada’s hands rip open the buttons to his shirt, one splayed out against his chest. Prussia grinds a thigh between Canada’s legs and moves his hands up instead to undo Canada’s tie, overshooting in his haste and knocking against Canada’s jaw. His own shirt slips down his shoulders and Canada uses the opportunity to lean in, biting and rubbing the exposed collarbone with a small satisfied sound.
Prussia pulls back and hastily shrugs his shirt the rest of the way off, stuffs it into Canada’s mouth - Canada’s head is pushed back an inch and hits the wall with a small thump - then wraps the tie around his head - once, twice - ties a quick knot, securing the makeshift gag in place.
Canada finds his hand in the dark and presses a small tube into it - huh, lube. Prussia gives a small laugh and shakes his head - he’d comment later - more important things to worry about. He fumbles with his own pants and barks to Canada: “Pants. Now.” While he slicks up his fingers and cock, the silence is broken by sounds of Canada complying and the “thunk” of something hitting the floor along with some shuffling, then the sound of Canada’s arm hitting the side wall as he almost loses his balance. Suddenly Canada hooks a bare leg up around his waist and yanks Prussia’s hand down to his crotch. “Demanding today, huh?”
Canada makes a small “mmph” and places his thumb on Prussia’s lips, rubbing there. Prussia nips the tip, lets out a small laugh, and says “I’ll see what I can do,” in response to Canada’s unvoiced request. “What a slut,” Prussia teases as one finger enters Canada. The talk brings forth a drawn-out, stifled moan; the action causes Canada to reach up and grip Prussia’s shoulder tightly while grinding down on his hand.
“Really,” Prussia drawls out his whisper, working his finger in and out quickly, eliciting choked sounds from the younger, “so dirty, recording us. I’ll bet you got off on it, didn’t you, you little whore - “ what would have been a loud yowl without the gag sounded - “knowing someone would see us later. Watch us fucking. Knowing later that you could watch us...” More fingers had been added by now, and Prussia twists his hand with the next statement. “Any time you wanted,” comes out in a low growl.
Canada makes more muffled sounds in response, brings his grip down to Prussia’s bicep and digs in tight, and grinds down even harder. Prussia feels sweat seep through the dress shirt under his hand on Canada’s side; feels sweat drip down his own temple. He smirks, even though it will go unseen in the dark.
“You deserve to be fucked into this wall. But I’ll bet that’s what you want anyway, isn’t it, Hure?” he spat in a hoarse whisper.
Canada yells, loud even through the gag, and the nails on Prussia’s bicep break the skin. Prussia can hear his breath coming in unsteady bursts from his nose - the air puffs against his shoulder, irregular staccato rhythm.
“Well fine. You’ll get what you want...verdammte Dirne,” and with that, Prussia rips out his hand and slams into Canada without preamble, sets up a punishing pace amid Canada’s desperate keens and stuttering breaths.
Prussia grabs a slick hipbone and reaches one arm behind Canada to grip the back of his neck, fingers curling in the sweaty strands at the nape. His hand slips a little on the hip, causes him to slam even harder into Canada than he intended - Canada arches into the contact even more in response.
“You’re g-gonna have to-” pant, pant “-latch on a little tighter if-” a groan “-if you want me to jack you off,” Prussia gets out over Canada’s continued noise.
A muffled moan in reply. Canada quickly shifts the angle of his body against the wall and the leg around Prussia’s waist hooks over the arm on his hip instead; Prussia jerkily raises his arm higher for better access - “oh shit, that’s good,” he breathes.
He brings free his arm down and begins stroking Canada with rough, fast pulls. Canada was trying his best to shout through the gag - he is such a loud bottom if you start talking first, Prussia marvels, not for the first time. Prussia decides to egg him on, switches completely to German - a high pitched, needy sound tears harshly from Canada’s throat at that and his hand rips down Prussia’s back. It causes Prussia to lose his composure with a sharp “Ach!” He stills, hips shuddering, flattening himself and Canada against against the wall in one fluid movement while a weak moan escapes.
“S-Sheiße,” he shakily says into the dark room, face pressed into Canada’s neck with one hand clutched tightly to the other side of Canada’s head. Prussia swallows audibly over Canada’s panting, letting the aftershocks of his orgasm wear off before he pulls out.
He pulls back a bit, swiftly takes Canada’s hands in one of his and twists them all together behind Canada’s back, then sends them both crashing to the floor in a tangled heap. One arm remains trapped between the floor and Canada’s back, which is arched at an awkward angle, while the rest of him lays sprawled over one side of Canada’s hips and torso. His free arm resumes stroking Canada; Canada resumes his noise.
Prussia brings his face down to bite hard on the bony clavicle through the cotton dress shirt. Canada tries to shift, move his arms, but Prussia clenches them solidly and leans a little harder on Canada’s hip, tangles his legs with Canada’s for good measure. Canada groans, and Prussia takes it as his cue to resume talking.
“Mm, look at you, moaning beneath me in a broom closet like my courtisane. Shouldn’t you be doing something more productive right now? Discussing a new trade policy or something? But no, you just can’t keep it in your pants, can you? Couldn’t wait until tonight? Knowing your filthy mind, you probably spent the rest of the morning dreaming about my amazingness topping your brains out.”
Canada tries to writhe against him, but to no avail - Prussia is a solid weight upon him. He begins to tremble, close to orgasm. The volume goes up.
About time, Prussia thinks. Damn, but it was hard to tell how close Canada was without the language clue!
Prussia switches to German and his harsh battlefield voice. “Come for me,” he barks - and that does it. Canada’s hands in his clench almost painfully, hips jerking up abruptly, his shout loud even through the gag.
Canada’s breaths slow. Prussia untangles their arms, unties the tie, and slowly places a trail of kisses along Canada’s sternum while Canada removes the rest. With an almost indulgent movement, Canada reaches up and pulls Prussia in for a languid kiss, fingers tangling in his hair.
A few moments, tongues slipping softly against one another, and they pull apart - “We’re probably out of time,” Prussia quietly remarks, laughter evident in the tone. They clean up as much as possible with Canada’s sock, quickly shuck back on rumpled and ruined clothing, banter back and forth in laughed whispers. They draw each other in for one last kiss, and then slip back out into the hall.
---
Things We’ve Learned: Prussia likes it rough, likes to watch, likes his oral sex messy, and usually does something silly or disruptive when there start to be too many ~feelings~ floating around. Canada is a pretty intuitive dude, a cuddle monster, digs dirty talk in bed or in a closet lawl, and apparently has a language kink.
My omake has an omake! Basically the first omake was part of the request, and then some anons wanted to see that hot closet action, and then it wouldn’t leave my head...so yeah.
Got any concrit to throw my way? Do it! Do it! You know you wanna!
Rating: R for sex
Characters: Prussia/Canada/Prussia; America, France, England, Spain, Hungary
Summary: Prussia gets turned on seeing Canada eating maple syrup and they quickly get a room. And have risque times. With maple syrup involved. Followed by a bit of fluff, a slightly cracky meeting, and a quick closet tryst.
Warnings: Possible OOC and confusing verb tenses, sex, Prussia’s mouth, Canada’s mouth
De-anon from the Kink Meme - also, my first fanfic ever. No seriously. Hetalia, what have you done to me, with your gay nation porn?!
---
Sticky
---
They were getting dinner in New York, the night before another world meeting. The booth the nations were seated in was a bit too small, and Prussia was wedged between the window and Spain, who kept (unconsciously, he thought) leaning into him to avoid France’s more overt molestations. Luckily, England was across from France - perhaps he could divert the pervert’s attention that way.
“Francis, your toys are on the other side of the table. Play with them.”
France leaned on his elbow, peering over at Prussia. Or, perhaps it’d be more accurate to say that France gave the appearance of leaning - it’s more like he was poised in the air, just so, and the arm was there for aesthetic effect. Prussia was used to this, and didn’t care. “Ah, Gilbert,” he lilted, flashed a small smile his way - “are you jealous? I can switch seats with dear Antonio; I could pay attention to both of you - non, all of you - that way.”
From across the table, America abruptly laughed, England muttered something under his breath and kicked France in the shin, and Canada just brought up a pale hand to cover his slight smile. Prussia thought it was a cute smile and probably shouldn’t be covered. On his side, Spain seemed oblivious, perusing the menu.
“As if I’d be jealous of you! You’re not worthy of molesting me! Stay right where you are.”
France gave a lingering sigh, tilting his head to the ceiling while making a gesture which probably meant something like ‘what to do, what to do?’ “If you insist,” he finally said, and sent a wink over to the other three across the table.
In his seat Prussia silently fumed. He hadn’t been in that great of a mood to start with - his day was not going at all as wonderfully as it should have been! He was supposed to have gotten to the hotel, blinded his Canadian lover with his awesomeness, and then they would have spent the rest of the night having hot, hot sex. (Amazing and loud hot sex that everyone else would be jealous over.) Because, really, it had been far too long since he’d seen Canada...the poor guy was probably in Prussia-withdrawal by now! But no, by the time he’d thrown his luggage in the room (ignoring West’s complaints - not like he was gonna use it anyway, he always stayed with Italy) and found Canada, Canada had been found by America and England. Then France and Spain came up and insisted on eating somewhere “acceptable”, and that was that.
And now France was hitting on Canada, and Prussia should’ve been the one to be hitting on Canada, but he wasn’t even sitting beside Canada because his idiot brother had insisted that he sit by “Mattie,” and Prussia wasn’t even sure the rest of them knew that he and Canada were hooking up, nor did he know if he wanted them to know - and speaking of hooking up, sheiße was he horny, and they hadn’t even ordered yet, and - and -
The waitress arrived, none too soon.
The restaurant served breakfast 24/7, so Canada, of course, ordered pancakes. Prussia knew no one else’s pancakes could even come close to Canada’s, so he opted for a steak instead. He didn’t pay much attention to the good-natured bickering between the three near the end of the table, nor France attempting to flirt with the waitress (which prompted more bickering from England and goading from America), nor Canada and Spain’s polite conversation about folk music in their respective countries. He just looked out the window and imagined what he was going to do to Canada once they get back to the hotel room instead. It was lame, he knew, and he thought he should enlighten the table with his thoughts (on whatever they were talking about, his thoughts are surely better anyway), but....whatever. If the great Prußen felt like sulking, he was gonna sulk. So there!
A nudge at his foot. He whipped up his head, about to yell at France, but Canada caught his eye instead. “You alright?”
Prussia’s first instinct was to laugh and snap back “Of course I am! The great Prussia is always alright!” et cetera et cetera, but it was Canada, and he actually cared, cared a lot, and would never make fun of him for being Not 110% Awesome today...so...
“Yeah,” he responded quietly, “I’d just rather be back at the hotel.” He added a charming smirk here for good measure.
“Oh, tired already, Gilbert? I wanted to go out to a bar after this!” Spain cut in, all wide smile and bright eyes.
Prussia grunted. “Jet lag.”
Spain looked confused for a moment - Prussia cut in with an exuberant “But we’ll go out tomorrow night for sure! When I’m in top form!”
Spain threw his head back and laughed, and they started concocting debaucherous schemes for the following evening. It lightened Prussia’s mood, a bit.
---
The food came. America’s burgers took up a lot of table space, but he was wolfing them down so quickly (despite England’s gripes and France’s affronted look) that it probably wouldn’t be an issue for much longer.
Prussia’s attention was diverted to Canada, though. He took the syrup that came with his pancakes, and drizzled it on the back of his hand. His eyes flickered up to Prussia’s, briefly, before lowering, and a slight smirk twitched his lips before he raised his hand and took a delicate, testing lick.
Prussia stared. His bite of steak was stuck hovering on the end of his fork above the table. Did Canada know what he was doing? Canada’s eyes flickered over again, before he took a much longer, slower lick, up the back of his hand, cleaning off most of the syrup, before settling back and licking his lips. Of course he knew what he was doing, Prussia thought - he shouldn’t forget that his boyfriend is full of surprises, and can have claws when he wants to. It was one of his very favorite things about him, after all. How he even noticed him in the first place - Canada challenged him to a hockey game out the blue, probably planned that too - Prussia’s thought process was interrupted by France’s questioning.
“Mathieu...what - “ France was cut off by Canada’s clueless-sounding “Eh?” Canada looked over to France, the picture of innocence.
“You are licking syrup off your hand, dear,” France gestured over to him, something between a smirk and satisfied smile on his face.
“Ah!” Canada exclaimed, “I was testing it to see if it was okay....” He looked down to his hand, appraisingly, and said “But I like my own syrup much more. Good thing I usually carry some around!” He whipped out a bottle from...somewhere...and dabbed some on his finger, licking that off too with a showy swirl of his tongue that caused Prussia’s pants to stir. “Much better,” he concluded.
The rest of the table was silent, until England grumbled over at France. “Shut it, frog, he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. Stop being a pervert.” Oh, but he does, thought Prussia.
England’s response sent the two into another bout of bickering while Spain looked on bemusedly. Canada used the opportunity to full-on smirk at Prussia, and gave the finger one more swirl while raising his eyebrow.
--
“Gimme that!” Prussia exclaimed.
Canada let out a small laugh, and responded with “You want syrup on your steak?” while stroking his slim fingers up and down the neck of the bottle. Prussia glared.
“It’s maple syrup - I’m sure it would be great!”
“On a steak,” Canada deadpanned.
“Yes! Now give me that bottle.”
“Mmm...no,” and now he was swirling his fingers around the top with one hand, damn him, damn him, damn him. Damn him and his beautiful, wonderful, oh-so-talented fingers to Hell.
Even while putting up his argument, Prussia couldn’t remove his eyes from those roving fingers. “Psh. I will put syrup on my steak my steak if I want to - so, hand it over already!”
Canada laughed again, and this time his tone was teasing. “Not yet. You always use it all. You can, later-” a predatory smile here - “after I’m done.”
“Why the fuck would you want to put syrup on your steak, Gilbert?” America asked between hamburger bites.
“Because-” his attention was momentarily distracted by Canada’s hand moving down the bottle, slowly pouring the syrup - how could someone make pouring syrup erotic, anyway?! “-because maple syrup only makes food taste more awesome!” Probably makes Canadians taste more awesome too, his brain added.
America chewed and looked at his burger, thoughtful for a moment behind his glasses. “Sounds gross,” he shrugged. Took a slurp of cola, then went back to inhaling his food.
Prussia tried to pay his food as much attention as America did, but Canada was right across from him. And he was essentially mouth-fucking his bites of pancake. Mouth slightly open, fork in, slowly, slowly, tongue poked out underneath the fork and lapped up any dripping syrup there, slight pink lips moved forward, delicately, over the bite -
Fuck. Fuck. Prussia was definitely hard now. Pay attention to your food, you’re better than this, he scolded himself. That didn’t stop him from squirming slightly, trapped between the sticky leather of the seat - not as sticky as the syrup on Canada’s lip, his traitorous brain added - and the glass of the window, when Canada finally pulled the fork from his mouth, and licked the tines of the fork for good measure. And then winked. He winked at Prussia. Prussia didn’t know if he’d ever seen Canada wink. He did know that it was hot. It brought back memories of other hot, sultry things Canada had done, between the sheets, on the floor, on the couch, on the counter, in the car -
FUCK. He tried to derail that train of thought. Canada brought the next small bite to his lips and just let it play there a moment, rubbing it back and forth slightly, almost imperceptibly, before he gave an experimental nibble, head cocked slightly to the side. The streetlight outside the window caught him in just the right way, seemed to highlight the curve of his cheekbone, fall of his hair, quirk of his lips as they tasted the pancake....Prussia wanted to fuck him into the table. Or against the window. Or even on this sticky booth. Now. But he couldn’t do anything except grip his silverware lest he touch himself, couldn’t do anything but squirm, trapped, against that damned window and the damned booth, couldn’t do anything to stifle his appreciative moan except shove a piece of steak in his mouth and pretend that the steak was just that damned good.
The torturous show continued and for some reason no one else seemed to notice, and after the last bite Prussia was relieved - until Canada whirled a finger around his plate and licked it off his finger with that delectable pink tongue, again. Prussia snapped.
“STOP THAT!” he commanded, startling the other nations at the table and even some people sitting nearby.
Canada’s gaze snapped up at the battle-tone in Prussia’s voice, a dark, smouldering look in his eyes that sent a jolt down Prussia’s spine; the look only lasted a second before changing to pretend surprise, violet eyes large and eyebrows raised, with that finger still in his mouth.
“Hm?” Spain asked as America simultaneously spat out “What the fuck?!”
France looked over his glass of wine and laughed softly. “Is something wrong, Gilbert?”
“He...he keeps stepping on me,” Gilbert glowered.
“Really now?”
“Yes,” he hissed at France. “And no one steps on my amazing self without retribution!” He kicked at Canada under the table, but Canada just smirked. Snarky little fucker.
France just ‘hmm’d’ before draining his glass of wine.
“I already paid,” America said into the silence, “my boss said I could use my card on burgers the first night - isn’t that great?! - so now we don’t have to worry about split checks and all that jazz-” He prattled on through everyone’s surprised “thank you”s and England’s “You git, I doubt he meant for all of us!” and soon enough it was time to leave. Prussia had settled down - enough to stand up at least.
On the way out, America elbowed Canada, saying “I’m gonna be in France and England’s room tonight - wanna come with?”
Canada blushed slightly and laughed a “No thanks. I’m going to bed.” With me, Prussia thought.
America hmph’d. “We not attractive enough for you or something?” he asked, arms thrown out wide in question and a huge grin on his face.
“Oh, shut it,” was Canada’s only response.
They walked out into the bright, busy night.
---
Prussia slammed Canada into the wall while the hotel door was still open, ambushing him with forceful nips and kisses wherever he could find skin. Canada somehow got a leg untangled from Prussia’s body, and closed the door with his foot even while his arms pried off Prussia’s jacket. Their lips met in a sloppy crash, a result of both their haste to taste one another and the low light in the room; Prussia didn’t mind, the recklessness of lips and teeth and tongues only caused his arousal to burn brighter, caused him to grind against Canada harder, bodies pressed hip-to-hip. Canada made an appreciative noise in response, clutched Prussia’s shoulder while arching his neck under Prussia’s forceful assault on the sensitive skin there.
Then Canada snapped his head down, reached a hand to Prussia’s jaw, and wrenched it up, before kissing him again, deeply, forcefully - and, mmm, he loves it when Canada gets like this - aggressive - because maybe even more than sex, Prussia loves a good battle. And when it was both at the same time? Well, hell yes.
And despite his public (non-)persona, Canada has proven time and again to be a worthy opponent. So Prussia continued this fight for dominance, drew one hand harshly against Canada’s hip while the other skittered up his side, underneath both the scratchy material of the shirt and the weight of the hoodie; in the back of his mind he mused about how against a hotel wall was much more appropriate for battle than the bed, anyway -
“Bed,” Canada gasped, though his hands didn’t try to move them away from the wall, or anywhere but closer to one another, really.
It was like that kid was a goddamn mind-reader. And out to ruin Prussia’s plans, to boot.
Prussia growled in his throat, and didn’t bother removing his lips from Canada’s neck to snap back “No way. You’ve been a damn cock-tease all - fucking - evening - “ he punctuated each of these words with a grind of his hips; Canada’s whimper was music to his ears, “- and I’m not gonna be bothered with wasting time moving to the bed. It’s time for payback.” At this, a truly terrifying smile settled on his face and he moved back from Canada a little, just to let him see.
Unfortunately, it only seemed to phase Canada slightly, because after a brief pause he turned his head, lips twisting into a small smile. “I was just trying to make dinner more interesting,” he said, softly.
Prussia scowled. “Is this another phrase for ‘being a cockteasing son-of-a-bitch’? Because in that case, dinner was very inter-”
“You seemed bored,” Canada interrupted lightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Just trying to brighten you up a little.” Here he let his expression soften, indigo eyes large, open, honest.
Ugh, he’s doing that cute thing again, Prussia internally moaned. He couldn’t resist cute things; Canada knew it. Even worse was that he knew Canada was being honest. However impure his actions in the restaurant, he really did just want to make Prussia’s day better. Ugh. That soft, adorable, maple-loving, polar-bear-hugging, bed-loving, pansy motherfucker. Prussia tried to ignore that this thought crossed his mind in a rather fond manner. Damn. Canada’s softness was rubbing off on him.
“Beds are so...normal,” Prussia tried. “Too normal for a couple as hot as - “
“I want to use the bed,” Canada snapped. Canada was hard to argue with when he got that tone - it meant he really, really wanted something. He didn’t use it often. Prussia wondered for a moment why the bed was so important anyway - “we’re wasting time debating on it...” Canada’s voice (and searching hands) interrupted his thoughts. “Bed, eh? Gil?” He nuzzled Prussia at the junction of ear and jaw, then lifted his head to reveal an entirely-too-cute pout.
Well shit. Fine.
Prussia jerked him roughly and shoved him over to the bed, then with all the quickness and grace of a predator going in for the kill, draped his body over the awkwardly-sprawled Canadian.
Canada just smiled up at him, rubbing his hands up and down Prussia’s sides.
“You said you wanted to use my syrup, right?” the tone slightly teasing.
Prussia swallowed heavily, despite himself. “This better be fucking good,” he groused.
In lieu of a verbal response, Canada grabbed his ass and ground up against him. Prussia growled and smashed their lips together, using his hands to hurriedly shove up the clothing covering Canada’s upper half. Off flew the hoodie; Prussia nipped and bit at Canada’s exposed stomach while Canada fumbled with the buttons on his scrunched-up dress shirt.
Prussia began to nibble a line of bruises against the bottom of Canada’s ribcage. His eyes flickered up - this was going way too slowly. He sat up on Canada’s lap, making sure to grind their erections together in the process (which produced a low, needy noise from Canada), and reached out and ripped the shirt open.
Canada scowled and sat up, nipping Prussia below his ear. “Goddamnit, Gilbert,” he huffed, “you’re going to ruin all my shirts.”
Prussia smirked; Canada, out of nowhere, flipped them so that he was kneeling over Prussia. He ran his hands up Prussia’s shirt, then let his nails scratch bright red marks down his ribcage. Then he shouldered out of his ruined shirt and produced that same bottle of syrup.
Prussia’s eyebrow quirked. “What’s this all about?”
“I did say that you could have some once I was done,” Canada replied, lust making his voice rather hoarser than normal. “Shirt. Off.”
Oooo, Prussia liked when he got like this. The shirt came off in record time, and Prussia used an idle hand to rub Canada’s thigh along the outside of his pants.
The top of the bottle snapping open seemed loud in a room which was silent save for their panting breaths. Canada quickly reached out one arm and shoved Prussia back down to the bed with it, leaving it braced there to keep him down. He let his eyes rove over Prussia’s form for a minute, deliberately letting Prussia watch him watching him.
“Mattie, if you want me to let you do this, you should hurry the fuck up.”
Canada grinned. “Oh, you’ll want to let me do this.” With that he touched the tip of the bottle to Prussia’s right shoulder, and slowly drew a diagonal down his torso, all the way to the prominent hipbone exposed by Prussia’s too-low pants.
“God, you’re gonna do some slow seduction-type shit aren’t you,” Prussia glared.
Canada’s reply was only a small laugh as he closed the bottle lid with his free hand.
“Ugh. I know you’re into that sappy shit, but I’d rather have a sloppy fu-”
Prussia’s tirade mutated into a moan as Canada bit down on his shoulder, hard. His other hand shot up to grab Canada’s hip while Canada lapped at the mark, then continued along the trail of syrup, leaving swirls of sweat, syrup, and saliva in his wake. Prussia thought that combination of the sharp scent of Canada’s sweat and the sweet smell of syrup was gonna drive him mad.
Canada nibbled along his collarbone, letting the fingers of one hand play along the muscles of his shoulder, while the other hand tightened around his bicep and nails dug in.
A muffled groan while Prussia shifted on the bed, letting his exploratory hand slide up Canada’s back.
Canada moved lower, laving his tongue across Prussia’s chest. “Mm,” he muttered, “you’re such an attention whore. I’ll bet you just fucking love laying back and letting me worship you with my mouth.”
God damn was Gilbert ever glad that Canada had none of England’s famed repression issues.
“Ah -” a flick of a tongue “-fuuuck, Matt,” - a groan as Canada twisted a nipple lightly in his teeth - “keep worshipping.”
And that’s exactly what Canada did. He moved lower down Prussia’s body, waist at Prussia’s knees - Prussia’s hand moved to grip the hair behind Canada’s ear - let the hand on Prussia’s bicep trace lightly down the inside of his arm, nails digging in at the elbow, tickling at the wrist, before it moved to cup the side of his ribcage.
The light licks across his ribcage and sternum almost made him laugh. “Rougher,” Prussia grimaced, tugging Canada’s hair, ” that shit tickles.” An evil smirk graced Canada’s face as he bit down hard and let his nails re-trace their paths on his ribcage.
The back of Prussia’s mind pointed out that he might be bleeding now, but his only response was to arch up into that touch and rub a knee against Canada’s clothed erection, panting.
When Canada got to Prussia’s stomach, he paused. Prussia glanced down - keeping eye contact, Canada let his syrup-smeared mouth lightly drag along the faint lines of Prussia’s abs. Prussia’s breath shot out of him, and Canada let his eyes fall nearly closed, almost nuzzling his stomach, punctuating the dragging with lazy open-mouthed kisses.
His hand pressed lightly against Prussia’s erection, then the button to his pants was quickly opened. Canada smirked, leaned back on his haunches, and pulled down Prussia’s pants and boxers in one movement. An awkward moment of fumbling off shoes, Prussia’s clothing, and then Canada’s pants; then the two were looking at each other, fully naked in the dim light filtering in through the curtains, Prussia propping himself up with his elbows and Canada still kneeling above Prussia’s knees.
Prussia would never get tired of this view - Canada was beautiful. Still, there were more pressing concerns.
“You missed a spot,” he said, pointing to his syrup-covered hip.
Canada promptly lowered himself to Prussia’s hipbone, one hand splayed along Prussia’s thigh and the other stroking Prussia’s length. Prussia let out a small grunt, thrusting up a little into the touch and resisted the (sissy!) urge to stroke Canada’s hair out of his face.
Prussia watched Canada’s lovely tongue trace the line of his prominent hip carefully. At the top of the bone, Canada whorled his tongue, then started all over with wide, messy licks. Oh fuck, Prussia thought, Canada must know what that does to me... Prussia groaned, decided that repressing urges like that British pansy wasn’t cool anyway, and allowed his fingers to play in Canada’s hair and splay down the column of his neck.
A few more moments were spent like this, Prussia sliding the pads of his fingertips down, gasping at the feel Canada's blood thrumming through the thin skin of his neck. Reveled in how the muscles of Canada's throat moved under his hand. Just - appreciated. Then Prussia noted his trembling fingers and said “Hey, I thought I got to taste.”
Canada looked up a moment - those violet eyes were gorgeous. “What?”
“The syrup?”
A smug look appeared on Canada’s face. “Ah.” He grabbed the bottle, covered two fingers with the stuff, and held them out. “There you go.”
Oh how funny, ha-ha, Prussia thought. He threw Canada a dirty look, then decided that, well, if he’s gonna be like that...Prussia would just give him what he wanted.
He leaned forward and grasped Canada’s fingers with his lips, then bit down slightly on their tips. He sunk down further, to the second joint, then pulled up, letting his tongue lick off the syrup on the way. Another swipe of tongue, this time along the outside of the two fingers, and then a fleeting kiss was placed at Canada’s knuckle. Prussia’s hand shot out and he grabbed Canada’s wrist, then nibbled his way back to the top of the fingers, tongue curling out to soothe after every bite. Prussia continued to ravish Canada’s fingers with his mouth; finally ne nudged the digits apart, flicked his tongue across the webbing separating the two, then swiftly engulfed the pointer finger all the way down to the knuckle.
Canada swore softly in French and stared down at him, eyes dark with lust yet somehow luminous in the dim light. Prussia knew that look - it meant Canada wanted to fuck him so hard he’d forget his own name. It’d taken Prussia a while to come around to the idea, but after a surprisingly fun night involving hockey tape and entirely too much beer, he found that bottoming wasn’t as bad as he remembered. So generally, Prussia went along with it when Canada occasionally got that look.
Canada’s fingers lightly cupped Prussia’s balls, then made their way lower, brushing against him.
“Hey,” Prussia kicked out, making Canada lose his balance, “you’re using lube if you’re gonna do that.”
“Mmm, I was just teasing,” Canada mildly replied.
Prussia huffed through his nose. “You’ve been teasing all evening. C’mon,” he punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers, “let’s do this.”
Canada hopped lightly off the bed; he returned a moment later with the lube in one hand and snatched up the syrup bottle with the other.
“You are not fucking me using syrup.”
Canada simply raised an eyebrow and then poured a dollop on the head of Prussia’s cock.
“Oh.”
Prussia watched as Canada did that open-mouth thing again, as trails of sticky syrup followed his mouth down from the head to the base. Canada drew his lips back up to the head, glancing up at Prussia and giving the tip a playful lick. Then he swirled his tongue around, lapping up the syrup before engulfing him further, and, oh, God -
Prussia dropped back down to the bed, biting one hand to stifle his noises while the other fisted in Canada’s hair.
Canada was so good at this, ugh, it was absurd how someone could be so good at this - his head moved up and down, twisting, taking Prussia as deep as he could every time, sticky-sweet saliva getting all over the place - Prussia loved sloppy blowjobs and Canada knew it.
Canada made a small sound of warning, and Prussia felt one finger slide in. The absolutely incredible oral sex more than made up for the odd intrusion, though. Soon enough more fingers had joined and Prussia was keening through his own abused fingers and writhing on the bed.
Prussia made a strangled sound before a loud “whoa Jesus stop that-” Canada flew back, alarmed, before Prussia added “Oh, no, it’s just - “ he paused for a second to catch his breath “- I was waaay too close.”
Canada smiled, smoothing his hands down Prussia’s torso and kissing Prussia almost chastely. “I hope that means you’re ready...you fucking yourself on my fingers while trying not to let on how much you like it is entirely too hot,” he breathed.
Instead of commenting, Prussia pulled him down into a bruising kiss and hoped his appreciation came through that way. Their bodies touched along their lengths and they tangled against each other, the strange sensation of sweat sliding and syrup sticking only highlighting their closeness. That intoxicating smell of mingled sweat and syrup invaded Prussia’s senses again.
They pulled apart from each other; Canada’s hand went to the lube while Prussia’s went to the syrup. Canada looked up. “What are y-”
He was cut off by Prussia laughing and swiping a syrup-covered hand down his jaw and neck.
Canada froze and blinked cutely for a moment. “Huh?”
Prussia’s only response was to snort and hitch a leg up over Canada’s lower back, yanking the nation’s groin closer to his. Canada stilled for a moment, then watched Prussia as he slowly slid in. They stayed like that, dripping with sweat, perfectly still but with panting breaths, neither one breaking eye contact.
Then Canada tentatively put a hand on Prussia’s hip - slid back an inch, slid smoothly forward again, gradually building up to long, slow, smooth, powerful strokes.
He hit the right spot, and Prussia let out a ragged groan and clawed down his back.
“Like that, eh?” Canada gasped between thrusts.
“Faster,” Prussia ordered; his partner complied. Prussia yanked Canada down by the hair, eliciting a muttered French something, and began attacking the syrup covering Canada’s neck and jaw. Licks and bites were punctuated with obscene-sounding slurps as they broke apart and came together with each thrust. Prussia’s nose knocked into Canada’s jaw, so he twisted the hand in Canada’s hair, pulled him in even tighter, and scraped his teeth near the turn of the jaw. Hard. Canada shuddered and keened while Prussia arched into him, letting out a breathy “hey M-Matt -”
Canada made a noise of acknowledgment, dug an arm underneath Prussia to wrap around and support them both, and started pumping Prussia’s length with the other hand. Prussia let out a hoarse cry (right into Canada’s ear, which threw off the rhythm for a second) followed by a quiet “fuck, yes, like that -” punctuated between gasps and kisses to Canada’s neck, ears, and hair.
Prussia’s orgasm took him by surprise - he tightened, then abruptly twisted up toward Canada’s body with a loud grunt, eyes closed, hands clawing up Canada’s back and sides, semen adding a new layer of stickyness between them while his heel slammed Canada in deeper.
Through the fading haze of lust, Prussia realized that Canada had dissolved into incoherent mostly-French babble - he was close. Prussia could help, there. He yanked Canada’s head up, ran his teeth up that syrup-smeared, marked-up throat, kissed his earlobe, and then breathlessly murmured a stream of German into his ear.
A sharp inhale, followed by “Fuck, Gil-” and Canada slammed into Prussia, hard, head still held up at an odd angle by Prussia’s hand in his hair. His eyes fluttered halfway shut; Prussia turned his head so that they were looking at one another through the end of his orgasm. He’s a bit of voyeur fluttered through Canada’s thoughts, but he was too incoherent to latch onto it.
--
Canada flopped down, back first, to the mattress. Prussia turned to the side and draped himself over the prone figure. They stayed like that, sticky and silent, the slow return of regular breathing the only indication of time drifting lazily by.
“Mm, we should clean up,” Canada drowsily stated.
Prussia paused to glance over their entwined figures. “Not yet.”
“But we’re sticky,” Canada nearly whined.
“I like sticking to you.” Prussia’s response was out of his mouth before he could catch it. His eyes widened and - and goddamnit he was blushing.
Canada’s eyes widened a little too. Prussia thought that the subsequent smile that lit up his face could probably out-blind his brother’s.
“Shut up.”
Canada just continued smiling.
“You’re not allowed to repeat that. Ever.” Canada nodded, eyes still bright.
Prussia shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with this comfortable intimacy (How does that work? flitted through his head), but not with the stickiness at all. He propped his head up with his arm, threaded his fingers through his sweaty hair, and let his eyes travel slowly down Canada’s body. After a moment - “I’m topping in the shower,” he said with a wolfish grin.
Canada smirked at that. “Sounds good.”
“I’m topping,” Prussia repeated, “and you’re going to appreciate it.”
“I always do.”
Prussia let out a ‘hmph’ and tossed his head a little. “Well yeah. It’s me. Who wouldn’t? But I meant - you’re really gonna appreciate it - me. Appreciate me very loudly. Very vocally. You’re gonna scream so loud we’ll wake up the whole goddamn floor.”
“Ah. You have a tendency to make me do that,” Canada replied easily, not bashful at all. It hit Prussia that Canada must be as comfortable with this as he is. Canada leaned his head close to Prussia’s ear. “You’re really good at it, actually.” He nibbled there, moved his arm and let the backs of his fingers brush slightly over Prussia’s hipbone. “The best.”
Oh man, just hearing that made all of the evening’s teasing worth it. Hot blond singing his praises. Naked hot blond singing his praises - soon, screaming his praises. Yeah, that sounded good.
But...for now...he shifted even closer to Canada, turned the nation to the side to face him, and breathed in their mingled scent. Somehow, his semen was a good match for the smell of Canada’s sweat and syrup. Wildly different notes that made an odd - but good - fragrance. He stretched up against Canada, lodged an arm under their shared pillow. His other hand slowly rubbed up and down Canada’s back as Canada’s thumb continued its rubbing of his hip. Canada’s other hand tenderly stuttered and slid through the combined mess on Prussia’s stomach, despite the awkward angle. It dropped and Prussia slid their bodies closer.
It struck him that they were pretty much cuddling - actually, very much cuddling. It didn’t happen too often, yet Canada never pushed for it, or even addressed it, despite being a serial cuddler (if that bear was anything to go by). Prussia could only assume that Canada was letting him ease into it at his own pace. He appreciated it. When Canada was pushed into a corner far enough, he just pushed right back - but when Prussia was....well, he had a tendency to go a little apeshit. Like, battle-crazed, run-dozens-of-people-through-with-his-sword apeshit. He knew it; he figured Canada must know it too, because Prussia got all the space he needed. As a result, it was Prussia who was drawing the two of them closer, was making things more serious - hell, he thought of them as exclusive at this point, though he hadn’t brought it up with Canada yet. Still, Canada was probably smart enough to know that Prussia thought of him as his boyfriend. Maybe they’d never have to have that talk, ugh.
He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Canada’s temple, twined his legs with the blond’s long, lean ones. Just to warm him up for their next round in the shower. Definitely. Yeah.
---
OMAKE #1
---
The next morning Canada is up early; Prussia groans and wrenches the covers back over his head. He wasn’t much of a morning person to begin with, and they were up late last night.
“Why’re you up so early?” he asks, voice muffled by the covers over his head.
He hears Canada’s shuffling stop, then the sound of a briefcase clicking shut.
“Uh...I...ah...toldHungaryIwouldmeetherforbreakfast - “
Prussia pulls the covers down to his nose and squints at a sheepish-looking Canada, groggily. “Hungary? The fuck? I didn’t know you two even spoke.”
Canada manages to look even more embarassed than before. “We...ah...trade. Things. You know.”
It was too early for these kinds of revelations, Prussia thinks. “You and Hungary trade porn,” he states, face blank.
“Um...” Canada twists his hands around each other, worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “Y-yeah.”
If Prussia didn’t know Canada better, he wouldn’t have believed it. Looking at the awkward and adorable Canadian, and then trying to picture him and Hungary swapping porn, well - his brain feels like breaking. He sighs. It was definitely way too early for this.
“This is so not cool. It is way too early for this,” he mumbles his thoughts grumpily. His eyes are closing on thier own accord. He hears Canada shuffle in place a second, then start to leave. “You’re telling me all about this later,” he states in what was hopefully a forceful manner. He was too sleepy to care much.
Canada laughs, a slight, light sound that matches the blinding sun streaming in. “A-alright.”
“No, really. I can’t imagine how you began trading porn with Hungary.” Okay, that definitely sounded sleepy.
“She started it,” was murmured, almost too quietly to pick up.
“Mmph,” is the only response that makes it out of Prussia’s half-asleep body. Well, at least that part made sense, he thinks, before he drifts off to sleep again.
---
Prussia makes it to the meeting, quite late, and ignores Ludwig’s stern words in favor of making as big and impressive a scene as possible on his trip from the doorway to the empty seat beside France. Hey, these poor saps had gone all morning without his awe-inspiring presence, and now he had to make up for the disservice.
Inevitably, though, Prussia is made to stop the inspiration, and the meeting calms down. For a bit - until Prussia thinks it’s safe to dig through his bag. He settles for cackling maniacally while lobbing marshmallow peeps (so cute!) into people’s drinks - it was only making a huge improvement to them, really, peeps were great! - but eventually those were taken from him and the meeting got boring again. Psh, those sissy losers just couldn’t see how cool peeps were.
He stops paying attention to the meeting entirely about five minutes after the peeps are taken, and instead begins to draw a very impressive peep battle across his notes. The bunny-peeps had toothpicks for pikes, but were losing horrifically to the chick-peeps (of course), who had those plastic swords that came in tropical drinks. And, you know, could fucking fly. He put a speech bubble above one of the airborne peeps - “Why didn’t you bring bows, you shit-for-brains losers?“ it taunted. Maybe he should give them shields, too, though what would be a good shield for a peep? Though, if there weren’t shields, he could draw more melty-marshmallow blood all over the pl--
His phone is buzzing in his pocket.
He flips it open under the table, only to see a video message reading
“From: Birdie
Subject: I think you’ll find this ‘interesting’”
Prussia looks over to Canada, who glances back, both hands clasped on the table. What the hell? Canada just smiles serenely - well that couldn’t be good - and turns his head back toward the front of the meeting room.
Frown crossing his face, Prussia opens the clip - and his jaw drops. It’s - it’s them, the night before, having sex on the bed oh wow did they make a hot couple and oh yeah Prussia can’t stop staring, he might be drooling, this is awesome -
“Ah, Prussia, are you watching porn in the middle of Anglettere’s spe-”
Hungary’s frying pan comes out of nowhere and beans France in the head with a loud clang, before Prussia can do anything except close the message.
What. The. Hell.
He looks from Hungary’s triumphant smirk and wink across the room, to France, wincing and holding his head, then over to Canada’s smile hiding behind that hand again.
It clicks. He sends a furious glare over to Canada, but Canada turns and prompts England to continue with some soft-spoken question that must have been relevant to his presentation; the meeting continues, strange situation between the three forgotten.
Prussia is still glaring daggers at Canada when his phone buzzes again. He momentarily debates the wisdom of opening another message from that particular pervert (because there is no arguing that point now - really, how many of France’s tendencies did he inherit, anyway?); but, seeing as he is impatient and it is a simple text this time, he opens it.
“Lunch break: make-up sex, broom closet, I bottom?”
Prussia glowers at the screen a moment, looks up to see if anyone is paying attention - they aren’t, right, he’ll have to remedy that in a second - and sends back “We’ll have to keep ur mouth shut, unless u wanna share my Awesomeness with everyone. Gag u with ur tie or somethin.” Ha-ha. Canada would have to keep quiet! Oh, sweet revenge. It is all he can do not to let out a crazed laugh. Nah, actually, he does laugh - it gets the attention turned to him, right where it belongs anyway.
He looks over to see Canada’s eyes flicker in amusement, possibly lust, and gets back one word. “Deal.”
---
OMAKE #2
---
Prussia hastily shoves Canada into the closet and yanks the door shut behind them. He hears Canada hit the back with a soft “oof” - Prussia trips and stumbles into him, throwing an arm out just in time to keep himself from catching the wall with his face. Canada yanks him close, their hands frantically claw against each other, heaving breaths loud in the confined space - Jesus, Prussia was hard already.
Rabid, sloppy, violent kisses, with forceful teeth and tongue, half the time missing their mark and landing half on cheeks and chins. Prussia’s hands scrabble against Canada’s belt and Canada interrupts his fingers’ path to the zipper by grinding against him harshly with a moan - oh good, he was hard too - he feels Canada’s hands rip open the buttons to his shirt, one splayed out against his chest. Prussia grinds a thigh between Canada’s legs and moves his hands up instead to undo Canada’s tie, overshooting in his haste and knocking against Canada’s jaw. His own shirt slips down his shoulders and Canada uses the opportunity to lean in, biting and rubbing the exposed collarbone with a small satisfied sound.
Prussia pulls back and hastily shrugs his shirt the rest of the way off, stuffs it into Canada’s mouth - Canada’s head is pushed back an inch and hits the wall with a small thump - then wraps the tie around his head - once, twice - ties a quick knot, securing the makeshift gag in place.
Canada finds his hand in the dark and presses a small tube into it - huh, lube. Prussia gives a small laugh and shakes his head - he’d comment later - more important things to worry about. He fumbles with his own pants and barks to Canada: “Pants. Now.” While he slicks up his fingers and cock, the silence is broken by sounds of Canada complying and the “thunk” of something hitting the floor along with some shuffling, then the sound of Canada’s arm hitting the side wall as he almost loses his balance. Suddenly Canada hooks a bare leg up around his waist and yanks Prussia’s hand down to his crotch. “Demanding today, huh?”
Canada makes a small “mmph” and places his thumb on Prussia’s lips, rubbing there. Prussia nips the tip, lets out a small laugh, and says “I’ll see what I can do,” in response to Canada’s unvoiced request. “What a slut,” Prussia teases as one finger enters Canada. The talk brings forth a drawn-out, stifled moan; the action causes Canada to reach up and grip Prussia’s shoulder tightly while grinding down on his hand.
“Really,” Prussia drawls out his whisper, working his finger in and out quickly, eliciting choked sounds from the younger, “so dirty, recording us. I’ll bet you got off on it, didn’t you, you little whore - “ what would have been a loud yowl without the gag sounded - “knowing someone would see us later. Watch us fucking. Knowing later that you could watch us...” More fingers had been added by now, and Prussia twists his hand with the next statement. “Any time you wanted,” comes out in a low growl.
Canada makes more muffled sounds in response, brings his grip down to Prussia’s bicep and digs in tight, and grinds down even harder. Prussia feels sweat seep through the dress shirt under his hand on Canada’s side; feels sweat drip down his own temple. He smirks, even though it will go unseen in the dark.
“You deserve to be fucked into this wall. But I’ll bet that’s what you want anyway, isn’t it, Hure?” he spat in a hoarse whisper.
Canada yells, loud even through the gag, and the nails on Prussia’s bicep break the skin. Prussia can hear his breath coming in unsteady bursts from his nose - the air puffs against his shoulder, irregular staccato rhythm.
“Well fine. You’ll get what you want...verdammte Dirne,” and with that, Prussia rips out his hand and slams into Canada without preamble, sets up a punishing pace amid Canada’s desperate keens and stuttering breaths.
Prussia grabs a slick hipbone and reaches one arm behind Canada to grip the back of his neck, fingers curling in the sweaty strands at the nape. His hand slips a little on the hip, causes him to slam even harder into Canada than he intended - Canada arches into the contact even more in response.
“You’re g-gonna have to-” pant, pant “-latch on a little tighter if-” a groan “-if you want me to jack you off,” Prussia gets out over Canada’s continued noise.
A muffled moan in reply. Canada quickly shifts the angle of his body against the wall and the leg around Prussia’s waist hooks over the arm on his hip instead; Prussia jerkily raises his arm higher for better access - “oh shit, that’s good,” he breathes.
He brings free his arm down and begins stroking Canada with rough, fast pulls. Canada was trying his best to shout through the gag - he is such a loud bottom if you start talking first, Prussia marvels, not for the first time. Prussia decides to egg him on, switches completely to German - a high pitched, needy sound tears harshly from Canada’s throat at that and his hand rips down Prussia’s back. It causes Prussia to lose his composure with a sharp “Ach!” He stills, hips shuddering, flattening himself and Canada against against the wall in one fluid movement while a weak moan escapes.
“S-Sheiße,” he shakily says into the dark room, face pressed into Canada’s neck with one hand clutched tightly to the other side of Canada’s head. Prussia swallows audibly over Canada’s panting, letting the aftershocks of his orgasm wear off before he pulls out.
He pulls back a bit, swiftly takes Canada’s hands in one of his and twists them all together behind Canada’s back, then sends them both crashing to the floor in a tangled heap. One arm remains trapped between the floor and Canada’s back, which is arched at an awkward angle, while the rest of him lays sprawled over one side of Canada’s hips and torso. His free arm resumes stroking Canada; Canada resumes his noise.
Prussia brings his face down to bite hard on the bony clavicle through the cotton dress shirt. Canada tries to shift, move his arms, but Prussia clenches them solidly and leans a little harder on Canada’s hip, tangles his legs with Canada’s for good measure. Canada groans, and Prussia takes it as his cue to resume talking.
“Mm, look at you, moaning beneath me in a broom closet like my courtisane. Shouldn’t you be doing something more productive right now? Discussing a new trade policy or something? But no, you just can’t keep it in your pants, can you? Couldn’t wait until tonight? Knowing your filthy mind, you probably spent the rest of the morning dreaming about my amazingness topping your brains out.”
Canada tries to writhe against him, but to no avail - Prussia is a solid weight upon him. He begins to tremble, close to orgasm. The volume goes up.
About time, Prussia thinks. Damn, but it was hard to tell how close Canada was without the language clue!
Prussia switches to German and his harsh battlefield voice. “Come for me,” he barks - and that does it. Canada’s hands in his clench almost painfully, hips jerking up abruptly, his shout loud even through the gag.
Canada’s breaths slow. Prussia untangles their arms, unties the tie, and slowly places a trail of kisses along Canada’s sternum while Canada removes the rest. With an almost indulgent movement, Canada reaches up and pulls Prussia in for a languid kiss, fingers tangling in his hair.
A few moments, tongues slipping softly against one another, and they pull apart - “We’re probably out of time,” Prussia quietly remarks, laughter evident in the tone. They clean up as much as possible with Canada’s sock, quickly shuck back on rumpled and ruined clothing, banter back and forth in laughed whispers. They draw each other in for one last kiss, and then slip back out into the hall.
---
Things We’ve Learned: Prussia likes it rough, likes to watch, likes his oral sex messy, and usually does something silly or disruptive when there start to be too many ~feelings~ floating around. Canada is a pretty intuitive dude, a cuddle monster, digs dirty talk in bed or in a closet lawl, and apparently has a language kink.
My omake has an omake! Basically the first omake was part of the request, and then some anons wanted to see that hot closet action, and then it wouldn’t leave my head...so yeah.
Got any concrit to throw my way? Do it! Do it! You know you wanna!