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If U Seek Alfred	By : CyreliaJ Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 3629 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia or any of its characters. I’m also not making any money off of this.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
My apologies for the ridiculously long wait. All I can offer is that I’ve had some RL issues- of the good kind- and I foresee getting back to regularly producing things. Thank you to everyone for your patience and reading. And watch for a few bits of past France/Canada. Blink and you might miss it.

Part 4

Canada’s entire attention was on the belt now and that single digit paused inside of him as he stared, the rise and fall of his chest rather prominent as he struggled to contain the excitement and anticipation and hold it back and god he had no idea how he was gonna make it through this. England held the pipe between his teeth, looking down with such a perfect and practiced disdain that Canada was completely pulled into that subservient mindset where it was so easy to obey because that was what brought pleasure and reward and as excited as he was he was also in that beautiful calm place where everything made such perfect precise sense that it was bliss. He watched those long fingers mesmerized as England slid the soft leather belt out from the loops slowly, the faint hiss as each loop passing through drawing it out, promising him so much when he finally felt the lash across his skin and England just caressed it slowly as it passed from one hand to the other, his fingers trailing over the leather as if it were his most precious and delicate possession.

“Take that ruddy finger out of your filthy little arsehole and lick it clean,” he said between the pipe held in his teeth snapping the belt to punctuate the sentence perfectly making everyone but Canada jump at the sound. Canada swallowed hard, the strong smell of the smoke, the old leather being stroked practically under his nose, and England’s own scent, the lingering aroma of old wood from the chest he kept the sweater vest in surrounding him along with that salty air and Christ how he’d always wished that the other would’ve taken him on one of the long voyages instead of seemingly forgetting about him at home. Canada obeyed, carefully not to respond too eagerly, shivering in spite of himself ‘cause of course he cleaned himself out- the only taste was the faint saltiness of his skin- but God England made it sound so dirty when he said it, that Canada felt deliciously wanton and coarse. And as Canada licked the finger clean like it was an ice lolly to England’s satisfaction, his other hand was gripping the soft skin of his inner thigh hard, nails making small half moons on his pale flesh.

“Enough.” The belt snapped loudly again, reverberating throughout the room and this time there wasn’t a jump but a wince from the rest and a soft curse from America and Germany as he dropped the screwdriver or whatever it was he was fiddling with but Canada just turned and looked at the old leather belt swinging in a teasing arc and he licked his dry mouth, a soft series of unintelligible vociferations escaping like he was praying to it. He was breathing heavier- the anticipation dizzying- and England stepped back a few measured feet purposefully in the wide center aisle, half sitting on one of the other tables. He took another drag, pipe in hand, and gestured to the floor. Canada followed with his eyes and he turned his body quickly, almost falling off the front table as he swung a leg over the other remembering how England like to lambaste him and tell him that in times like these he resembled less an obedient colony than an awkward newborn animal.

Half falling to the ground, just so damn eager to please he silently cursed himself for slipping up and letting England see such shameful zeal and he really should’ve turned and focused back on Austria and got his control back knowing that this was going to be too much too fast and it was supposed to be a shock process but one done in steps. But he just couldn’t bring himself not to dive in full tilt and take a hit of that amazing high of being so completely under England’s control no matter how bad he’d feel about it later- and after all, wasn’t he trying to show America just how much fun they could have with him like this and Maybe with America a little less vanilla when it came to his male self- so he remained on his knees before the older nation staring at the ground for those agonizing moments as he waited for whatever was coming. England just slid the pipe back in between his lips and leaned forward, trailing the belt from one of Canada’s broad shoulders to the other watching him shiver, watching the strong trapezius muscles jump with what had to be satisfaction because Canada knew that he only let these long silences linger when he was particularly pleased or aroused.

“Did you really think that daddy would let you go so easily. Matthew?” England asked at last, and Canada shifted just slightly into the right position because he knew exactly where this one was going; it was one of his favorites. His head wasn’t just looking at the ground for control anymore it was bowed in defeat, ‘cause right now it wasn’t 2009 but 1838. And England had just swiftly quashed his rebellion, lording all the power of the British Empire over him seeming to see him in a different light after all those years pining for America because this was when he told him after his punishment to come see him in his study because this was only the tip of the iceburg. Oh but today he wasn’t getting off with just a dressing down and a humiliating public display in the stockade, no no no. This time in this dark little fantasy world they created, the virgin Colony would be shown his proper place in front of everyone, and as England put a foot forward, the polished leather shoe in front of him, Canada whispered softly, feeling the saliva pool in his mouth already,

“I’m sorry daddy... I just wanted you to notice me daddy.” God he could almost see himself in the brilliant polish of that leather…

He watched the foot move closer, and he sat back on his heels staring at it, not daring to look up until England commanded it and the hard sole of the loafer moved from the floor to his naked thigh. Hands behind his back circled his wrists and he rubbed at them slowly, holding his trembling in place and he could feel the stretch of muscles as his entire upper half trembled.

“Is that so?” England asked in that low dangerous voice and let the sole of his shoe slide down Canada’s thigh until it touched his knee then back up again until the tip of the loafer met the tip of his erection and it was all he could do not to whimper and beg as England pressed, his hands rubbing more insistently at his wrists. “Perhaps then, you useless little sod, you should’ve thought about the consequences of such foolish acting out...”

“I’m so sorry daddy,” he rushed and half squeaked when that foot pressed down harder on his cock until he whimpered and sobbed knowing just how much England loved to hear it and it took a near act of god not to push up harder until it went from a dark flush to fucking purple ‘cause that’s when it almost made him lightheaded and delirious.

“Then why don’t you show daddy how sorry you are?” He moved that foot back to the floor and Canada had to slow his descent or else he’d end up smacking his forehead on the floor like that one time in the hotel in Berlin which thank god was carpeted. Hands forward on all fours, wrists slightly pink, he practically bowed before him as he kissed the tip of England’s burgundy loafer and just enjoyed knowing that England and everyone else was watching only him, even if only half of them would even remember his name later.

“I’m sorry daddy,” he whispered as England’s feet shifted just the slightest bit. He kissed the top, with another soft apology and lapped at the hard leather smelling more than tasting the polish knowing he must look a sight on all fours with his ass up in the air licking England’s shoe. Oh but he didn’t care because daddy was letting him lick his shoe and daddy was shivering and blowing that smoke down the more earnestly he cleaned.

“Dude that is gross!” America made a rather obvious gagging noise as he watched his brother go down on England’s fucking shoe. Okay yeah he was all about different strokes for different folks but holy crap he kissed Canada on that mouth. “Oh man is that what you guys get up to?” He blinked a few times wondering what the hell kind of other weird shit they were doing and-

“If I recall correctly I believe Matthew told me the last time you had relations you forced him to urinate and then lick it off of your fingers.” Austria hadn’t looked up from the book as he answered and America was about to tell him that he didn’t remember asking for his snooty ass opinion when he realized just what Austria had said in front of everyone and jerked his arms swearing as he remembered that oh yeah he was still chained to the wall.

“He told you that?!” America coughed and practically whispered again the same. “He told you that?” Okay his face had to be bright red by now because the last thing he needed reported back to the Kremlin was that America was some kinda freaky pervert. “That was supposed to be private!”

“My point stands,” Austria murmured as America spluttered indignantly because those were two totally different things! That was well... it wasn’t... It was him dammit! It was him and his brother and not stupid nasty England who was enough of a dick he probably walked through a bunch of nasty shit just so it would be even more gross or something.

“So Alfred, are all Americans so deviant?” Russia asked him with a smirk.

“Shut the hell up, Ivan. Aren’t you and Yao supposed to have some kinda thing? Last I check you couldn’t find Canada on a map let alone want to fuck him.” And then of course Russia just got this stupid thoughtful expression on his face as he considered the question and America could hear him murmur “Canada... Canada... that sounds so familiar...”

“How the hell are you fuck a guy you don’t even remember?!” America yelled right in the face of that stupid sunny grin.

“You see how mad you get? You answered your own question, comrade,” he teased and America might have really gone a round with him if his ears didn’t perk to the sound of England talking again and why he was so attuned to that old jerk talking he had not idea.

“You see, Matthew, daddy always notices you,” England said and as America was just in time to cut in loudly with “You are a lying sack of limey shit, Arthur!” But of course just like when he was a colony and England was in the middle of reading something when the attention seeking little tit wanted attention England hardly even noticed and continued on without faltering in the slightest. “Ivan, if you will be so kind to see to Alfred...” He kept his eyes on Canada, stroking the other’s throat with the belt as if it were an extension of himself and he watched as Canada struggled not to close his eyes and lean into the caress, taking a quick stock of the other’s reactions because while it was a rush knowing how submissive he’d trained Canada to become he’d learned early on that he had to be the one to make sure things didn’t go too far; Canada didn’t trust America enough... and trusted him too much. Good lad, you know I’m the only one in the room now, don’t you?

“Yes, daddy,” Canada answered perfectly, his voice breathy as England moved his foot in a well practiced execution of balance and pressed Canada’s erection against his stomach.

“Tell me, boy, who do you belong to?” he asked pressing a little harder with the flat sole of the loafer and Canada once again wrung his hands behind his back and fought to answer the damn question without pushing his hips back up ‘cause God England was killing him.

In his peripheral vision England could see Russia approach, walk behind Canada, and pick up the discarded underwear with a soft titter and then walk back to America. Canada saw nothing of the sort and America’s further shouts died on his lips before he could get them out as he watched Canada staring up at England like he was the second coming and damn it all Canada hadn’t ever looked at him like that! What the hell was he missing that Eyebrows seemed to have in spades? Cause if it was just a matter of acting like a high and mighty prick then- “I always feel so nervous around you Al.” Canada’s words, spoken so long ago before they ever even kissed came back to him and he realized that for whatever reason, for whatever stupid reason that England of all people made him feel safe. I’m the hero, Mattie! Not him, me! That’s supposed to be me! But didn’t Canada just say he didn’t need a hero? Well then what the hell did he want? Didn’t he tell his brother a million times that he was terrible at shit like this and- And I never said anything... I just slapped you on the back like we’re just fucking brothers and not brothers who’re fucking... not like lovers and... He looked across at Russia holding the damn makeshift gag and practically spat out, “Oh hell no you are not- putting that in my mouth.”

“Does that mean we get to do it the hard way?” Russia asked him with a cheerful grin and in spite of himself, America looked down knowing the subtle innuendo was intended for just that and- Holy mother of... fucking shit! Is that thing for real!? That... I thought Mattie had a big one but that has to be a damn joke cause no one’s dick is-

“Don’t worry Alfred, you’ll get to see what a real man looks like soon enough,” Russia taunted as if reading his thoughts. He poked at America’s stomach through the sweatshirt even as America growled, determined not to open his mouth. “I’d show you but you know I don’t usually go for the... “big boned” types...”

“You miserable son of a- mmmph!” Okay, so much for not opening his mouth. Jesus Christ he couldn’t believe he fell for that one. This is all your fault, Mattie! He looked away, at first looking left, but that forced him to remember the two brothers waiting to fuck Canada, Prussia half draped over a preoccupied Germany saying god only knows what in German and wildly he didn’t know if it was better or worse that Germany was more interested in fixing his PDA than Canada. Stupid Gilbert is just talking about the weather, Al, America told himself even though he knew damn well what schlampe meant- he could say shit like that in every language even if he couldn’t ask for directions- and how the hell was Austria sitting there still reading?! Wasn’t he supposed to be overseeing this shit?!

With a desperate whimper, America looked instead to his right as Canada kept calling England “daddy” but oh god just hearing his brother’s voice so breathy and needy without seeing the two of them and smelling the musk of his arousal from slightly sweat dampened underwear balled up in his mouth he could feel the heat in his body building in spite of himself, and even looking down at the monster tenting Russia’s slacks, the anger, the frustration was slowly being read by his body as something else entirely cause god he hated Russia so fucking much right now but that cock had to be a thing of beauty and America always did like things supersized. Dammit, Florida, didn’t you cause enough trouble in the 2000 election?! This is not sexy, not at all, I don’t care about that asshole Ivan’s cock and it’s probably not even gonna fit ‘cause Mattie’s ass is always so tight and-! Dammit that was not the line of thought he needed to be taking. He closed his eyes against it all but he could hear Russia whispering out something obscene in Russian- it had to be ‘cause his voice was never that deliberately sexy over the damn hotline to Moscow- and when he came back to himself and heard Canada gasp out “I belong to you, daddy,” it was so easy to believe it was him he was talking to. Oh god this was going to be the death of him.

America was no longer on either of their radars and looking back, Canada would once again question why on earth he ever thought this was a good idea, but when England pressed the flat of his shoe harder to Canada’s cock, holding his cock trapped and tight and god if England would tell him to come he’d come so hard especially when England twisted just so, so skilled at walking that threshold between agony and intoxicating pain and the only thing that would make it better would be-

“I don’t think you really believe that, Matthew,” England chastised as he watched the other drifting slightly and blew another puff of smoke, pipe back between his teeth, snapping his fingers once to which Canada mouthed ‘green’. Oh, lovely. He turned his foot a little to the right, the smooth sole of the leather- he’d taken care to clean any overly rough grit from the bottoms before America’s arrival- twisting the foreskin stretching it, watching Canada’s eyes shut deliriously.

“I don’t think you really understand that I own this,” he continued with a few more insistent presses over the swollen cockhead watching Canada bite his lip and squeeze his eyes tightly and oh how he knew his darling boy just wanted it so badly as he continued to twist his hands behind his back, rubbing at the skin of his left wrist and gasp out, “IdodaddyIswearIdo...”

England traced a path with the folded belt lightly teasing across Canada’s bloodied cheek even as he continued to milk the sticky precome from the other’s cock with the sole of his shoe.

“Oh no no, my boy. I think daddy needs to teach you your proper place.” He slapped the folded over belt against Canada’s face just hard enough to sting, hard enough to squeeze one of those delicious fucking gasps from those perfect cocksucking lips. He took another long drag on the pipe, once more tipping his head back to let Canada watch the thick rings of smoke rising up into the air, letting the other try to squirm and behave himself, hearing his hand rubbing his wrist even harder behind his back. England set the belt down on the table, just next to him, keeping it within Canada’s field of vision and then carded his long fingers through those wavy, sweat damp locks, tightening his grip until he felt Canada’s entire lower half shaking beneath his foot with need. He pressed his heel down in warning, the hard sole exerting just enough pressure on Canada’s balls to make him swallow a breath, make his eyes flutter, force that heavenly half drowned vociferation from his throat that always reminded England of the half choked sobs he’d make with a cock shoved down his throat.

England held the pipe aside entirely, dropping his gaze to the waning burn inside the chamber as if Canada were merely an afterthought. He took the metal tool from his pocket and began retamping the tobacco, pretending not to notice the way Canada’s attention shifted from the pipe to his crotch as he spoke.

“You’re going to suck my cock you insolent little tosser and remember that good little colonies are only here for their daddy’s pleasure, understand?” Leaned back against the table, it wasn’t too hard to keep his foot pressed and grinding against Canada’s cock and he deliberately kept his focus on the task at hand even as the fevered, “yes daddy,” was rushed out and Canada indulged in finally burying his face in England’s crotch, lips parted, hungrily mouthing the thin fabric. He tasted the material of the pants, and both smelled and tasted the faint smoky aura they’d absorbed because England never forgot every last detail when he was serious like this and Christ Canada could smell the sharp musk of his arousal with his every hot breath. He fumbled with the buttons- why England had to have all these damn buttons- seeming such a perfect nervous colony to everyone else watching.

Of course nerves were hardly at the forefront of his mind; it had been almost three years since he’d been with England. And oh how proud of himself he’d been that he’d held himself in check- a quick little slip up with South Korea not withstanding- and had completely thrown himself into every stupid thing America had wanted him to do because he was going to make this work. He was going to be perfectly happy with his brother and no one else and once he held out long enough he’d tell him it could be just to the of them and no one else. He’d forced thoughts of his father figure to the back of his mind, stayed perfectly perfunctory when he saw England, didn’t let his gaze drop anywhere but his face and contented himself to claw the ever loving hell out of his sheets at night as he thrust the slick real skin molded dildo in and out and oh god oh god he could hardly get the stupid buttons undone!

He blinked, willing his eyes back into focus as the second and then third hard metal riveted button slid through the hole and Canada forced his breathing to remain steady as he undid them, the too damn tiny buttons on the union jack boxers fighting the urge to suck the sweat damp fabric and taste every last bit of England’s lingering essence. The hard press of England’s shoe against his cock hurt so good, the pressure intense and incredible and he felt like he’d explode the second England moved it and god the unyielding weight was so damn thrilling he wanted to lay back and let England grind and push until he came all over the polished leather just so he could have the privilege of licking it off.

His fingers finally touched that hot shaft and he breathed out a soft, “ohgodyesthankyou…” as he carefully freed the entire length. England always told him he didn’t need to coddle it but oh half the fun was that first feel of that thick, heavy shaft in his hand and even as large as Canada’s hand was, that dim part of the back of his mind that screamed “90th percentile!” when it came to girth always imagined that it just barely fit as his fingers circled it. Oh... oh yes daddy it’s just as thick as I imagined. He shivered, head completely in the delirious moment as if he truly were kneeling on the cold ground with England’s revolver staring him in the face and as he finally held that hard shaft in his hand, he brought his other up, as if he needed them both to encircle it and oh god he knew it was gonna force his mouth open so wide to take it in but daddy wanted him to suck it, daddy wanted him to fucking choke on it as he would say and that was just what he was gonna do.

He hadn’t lied to America. His brother was definitely was longer than England’s seven and a half inches- yeah… yeah he’d measured- but when it came to girth, when it came to a thickness that forced him open wider than he’d ever thought possible, America couldn’t ever hope to compare. And as Canada pushed back England’s generous foreskin with his thumbs and kissed the head reverently like a good colony, he could feel his own cock throb, feel the extra wetness of the fluid being drawn out by England’s unforgiving shoe and he panted, face flushed, “Thankyoudaddythankyouthankyou…” before he was even asked. Oh but in this scene, he wasn’t Canada well trained British territory cocksucker of 1900, he was the provinces of Upper and Lower Canada, rebellious colony who needed to learn his proper place, who needed to learn the right way to take that hot, hard thickness down his throat and suck it- as America would say- like it had the fucking antidote in it. Jesus, England could be so cruel knowing how badly he wanted to take it and worship it but instead, Canada forced himself to go slow, to hesitate, to blink his eyes and slowly bring his tongue to lap at the bulbous glans as if he’d never done so before in his entire life.

Fire in the pipe burning anew, England took another long drag, savoring the expensive tobacco, the hands eagerly gripping the base of his cock, the lovely boy at his feet, and shivered just slightly as he blew the smoke down, watching Canada go still for just a moment and flutter his eyes, licking his lips as if he were tasting it directly from England’s mouth. He looked down, keeping his hips still as Canada played the part splendidly and tentatively licked, even wrinkling his nose at the salty precome that slowly pearled at the slit of his cockhead. That’s it m’boy, you do that so damn well. And if England didn’t see him quickly licking the faint traces from his mouth, didn’t see his eyes shut for just half a tic to savor the taste he teased out, he almost would’ve believed him.

“Poor ickle Matthew doesn’t like it?” he taunted from above, letting his heel once again put the slightest pressure on Canada’s sac. Canada whimpered and held England’s cock tighter in response. “Then you don’t have to do this... and maybe we’ll raise the tariffs and the taxes instead?”

“Oh please daddy,” Canada begged looked up, the two of them knowing damn well that he was begging for him to stop drawing it out, to drag him up by the hair and bend him over the table and open the St Lawrence River like it never had been before, but England merely smiled nastily and placing a hand over Canada’s, held the wide base and slapped the other’s face.

The only sound that escaped him was a squeak of protest and he felt his hands grow slightly sweaty when England’s broad palm close over his fingers so fucking commanding as he slapped his face again with his heavy cock.

“Then you better suck it, poppet,” he ordered, smacking the head against Canada’s pouting pink mouth, loving the look of the sticky strand of fluid that joined them. Canada lapped at the lingering taste trying to control his breathing, head bowed, muscles tight when England pressed on his cock again, grinding his foot like he were putting out a cigarette over the sensitive head like such a sadist- not because it hurt oh it hurt, but it hurt like when America liked to suck his hypersensitive post orgasmic cock, hurt. No, because he wanted to touch himself, get himself off so badly, but with England’s size eleven loafer trapping his cock so efficiently he couldn’t if he fucking tried and- Oh god yes, feed it to me, daddy, make me take it all, daddy! England was slowly pressing the large blood engorged glans into his mouth, forcing it wide open, hissing half in pain, half in delight when Canada’s teeth couldn’t help but scrape over it.

He could feel England’s large hand on the back of his head forcing him forward, and one of his own hands slipped, clutching at the other’s shirt as he tried to keep his balance. England’s foot pressed harder and a result and he almost choked, the gasp coming to him suddenly and fuck when he did that he felt England shudder above him as if he’d come just from that alone. Damn, I almost think you like it better this way… And oh he wouldn’t put it past England to get off on the thought of his teenage colony, so young, so inexperienced, coughing, gagging on the obscene thickness being forced down his throat. Canada could feel the pulsing steadily increase in his lower abdomen, his cock felt so full and yes, that really did sound just so hot now that he turned it over in his head once or twice, didn’t it?

He’d long grown accustomed to taking England’s length- he took America’s after all- and it was habit to relax his throat, to let his girth slide down his throat easily so that he could bury his face in England’s thick blonde pubic hair and drown in the musky scent and oh god it was the best when he caught him right before stepping in the shower. England liked to be such a “gentleman” but France once told him how much he loved it dirty, the filthier the better and France said it with such disdain that Canada almost felt sorry for how much the other was clearly missing out on. Your loss, my gain, papa... and I think you’ll just love this daddy- I know I will. I’m boring, Al? I couldn’t act my way out of a paper bag in bed? Just watch me.

It took conscious effort on his part to not relax his throat and really his gag reflex wasn’t terribly strong, but that was the challenge, wasn’t it? And as England’s cock bent, started to rub his throat, he took a deep breath and felt it tighten, felt it forcing past his tonsils and Canada gagged. He felt the loosening of the fingers on his hair, saw the brief look of concern on England’s face as he looked up because Canada almost never gagged on it any more, and he gave a brief wink. The answering expression on England’s face when he realized exactly what Canada was doing was enough to make his cock twitch, enough to make his balls tighten and oh god oh god he was gonna-

The heel bearing down was the only thing that pulled him back, and taking advantage of the loosened grip, Canada pulled back, one hand artfully played to his throat as he coughed. He wretched again, thankful that it took a double dose of ipecac syrup to actually make him vomit and saw the saliva and precome coughed from his mouth to the floor.

“I can’t...” he gasped out looking so pitiful, so pathetic that England took another long draw on the pipe to calm himself ‘cause fuck if he didn’t want to come all over Canada’s red and flushed face right then and there. And America might’ve been screaming around the gag in the background but all that Canada heard was England’s half ragged voice swearing, all he felt was England backhanding him, hard enough to turn his head, to excite him, to make him wonder if he’d pushed daddy enough to make him lose control ‘cause that was one of his favorite games and the more they played the harder it was and the sweeter it was when England called a halt and just fucked him: fucked him until he screamed himself raw, fucked him until there were bruises from his back, shoulders, any fucking thing hitting the desk, the wall, the hard wooden floor and he was really beginning to think that it was the height of idiocy to think that he’d just walk in and have a quick go ‘round with England and just call it quits because he felt a sense of belonging just like he did with America and why on earth did he always have these brilliant realizations at the worst possible moments?

He’d almost laughed in France’s face once when the other commented on how unhealthy the balance of power was between them personally, but France wasn’t there when England would kneel in front of him where he sat on the edge of the tub and oh so carefully clean and dab at his wounds. Where England would brush the hair from his eyes even when he protested that he wasn’t a kid anymore and press lips to his forehead and call him his darling boy. France wasn’t there when the sat on front of the fire, Canada reciting Yeats, lying stretched on the sofa, his head resting on England’s lap while the other solicitously stitched the tears in his clothing. France wasn’t there for a lot of things really and while he might have been a harlequin perfect attention, doting, and passionate lover- Canada still considered himself fortunate the handful of times he experienced it firsthand- he really could be terribly lacking in other areas.

Of course if England had been perfect, if he’d fulfilled every desire that stemmed from Canada’s sexual duality, he might never have fallen so hard for his own damn brother, but that was neither here nor there and right now there was that silent battle of wills and in that moment England regained his composure and spared a small smile for Canada as if to say “nice try” before taunting him with another masterful puff of smoke exhaled, inhaled back through his nose again and then blown out so silky towards him. Canada looked away with an embarrassed murmur.

“I’m sorry daddy... it’s... it’s so big I don’t think I can...” He looked at England’s cock again, breathing heavily, slowly, timidly stroking it, knowing how easy it would be for England to draw France in like he had once before, but if they ever had a rule during this it was to never bring up that name no matter how intense the scene grew.

When he was still New France, before he was the Province of Canada or even Upper and Lower, before France had ever tossed him aside and given him to England he had a hard on for the older nation the size of a hockey rink. And when he was older, but still young, young enough that France didn’t dare touch and England hardly paid him any mind he’d have Kumajiji watch the door for the governess while he took his cock and jacked off thinking of papa’s rough stubble running along his skin- sometimes he’d even take the scratchy wool long johns and rub them over the insides of his thighs and come fucking buckets against them whispering a sinful “Papa”.

And when he was still a defiant territory, when England was still training him to be the perfect little submissive acquisition he leaned in one night and whispered to him as Canada’s mouth hovered above his cock “Go on then, suck it like you’ve always wanted to suck off that wine loving frog.” And he’d stopped, feeling sick, feeling a thousand different things at once as he shut down completely and inadvertently forced England to stay an extra week as a result to try and undo the damage. But oh when he’d finally lost his coveted virginity to Austria after World War I England had done the cruelest thing of all to break him of that ignorant desire; he let Canada have him.

“Oh god... oh god, papa...” And there was the stubble against his neck, not as rough as he’d dreamed but it was there. It was there and he could live with that and arch up just a little more and maybe France would just think he was that into it. And if his fingers tangled hard in France’s hair and urged him harder and deeper and urged him to make it slam in til it hurt, scrape the skin from his face it was only because he wanted this so badly. God he just didn’t feel it quite enough it was almost but just not... He could hear that indulgent sigh as France pulled back, as his hips moved slowly, Christ so slowly and he playfully tweaked Canada’s nose- and if he ever did that to England it was no wonder the man hated him- and whispered with that gentle admonishment “Francis, Matthew, call me Francis. How many times must I tell you? You’re not a child anymore, no?” And he’d kissed him again, kissed that blank expression on Canada’s face, kissed him like sweet red wine and some other bodice ripping nonsense as he rocked into him and as he looked into his eyes, Canada wondered if it were only so he could see his own reflection.

Canada looked away and made a study of the white curtains and the candles and all the other romantic trappings England would say were a waste of time and he bit his lower lip because he was the one who wanted to be here after all and wasn’t this his perfect little fantasy?

“You don’t need to be so gentle… Francis,” he managed out, voice far less steady than he had intended and there was that far too soft press of lips to his forehead and it was all he could do to stay with him and not just scream or…

“Ah but I want to petit… The first time should be…” Ah right... the lie.

”I thought I wasn’t a child?” mumbled far too quietly but France heard it and cocked his head oddly, curiously and just chuckled that careless laugh as if it wasn’t taking everything Canada had to press the issue and he really had no idea how France was so cavalier.

“As you wish, Mattheiu…”

And he came. France was either too vain or too considerate a lover for him not to but he lay there spent, staring at the ceiling wondering why he was there and it occurred to him as he smiled at the other and complimented him and stroked his ego why he was there. When he watched him sleep, the sheet around his waist, that soft sensual mouth curved in slumber Canada realized with an almost empty feeling that everything he’d so beautifully built up over the years had been nothing but fantasy. Of course England would let him see that in the worst possible manner but didn’t he always say that Canada was utterly unteachable unless it was by some lesson or another and he supposed that wasn’t just England being an overbearing controlling asshole but honest. And ashamed, mortified, he’d rolled over, bit his fingers until they bled on those satin sheets as he jacked off, closed his eyes, and thought of England ‘cause France was the perfect fucking lover but not for him... Not that that realization ever kept him from trying again.

And as he worked his hand slowly up and down the spit slick shaft he realized that this time he wanted to bring the game even farther. Right now he wasn’t even thinking of America or the fact that this was even happening at all to in some madcap way supposed to start rebuilding what had been torn apart with his brother. Right now his mind was in the game, in England’s game where the rules were laid down and Canada obediently went along until he felt wicked and rebellious and pushed and pushed until England either gave or put him in his place. And now -even if England had irrefutably declared the decision his own when he felt that Canada was ready- he was going to break that final taboo and show just how far he’d truly come for him. He took a deep breath, a slight genuine nervous feeling spiking through his veins as he readjusted Quebec on the bridge of his nose; the rest of them might not understand the significance of what he was about to say but England would never miss it; daddy never missed anything.

“It’s so big, daddy...” he repeated, his focus solely on the fat cock in front of him as he leaned in, lips pressed to the prominent vein along the side. “It’s so much bigger than... than papa’s...”

Canada felt the foot pressed to his cock slow and become static, felt the slight tremor through England’s body, heard the slight hitch in his breath and look up, his violet eyes sparkling with that challenge as he upped the stakes even further. He thought of America briefly in that moment, how his brother so often accused him of being a passive aggressive little snot but only England ever called him on it. Only England understood how much he loved the subtle power play and how much he loved pushing the boundaries daddy had set with subtle defiance. And the look of raw surprise on the older nation’s face as Canada looked so innocently over the thin rims of Quebec and drew the soft foreskin into his mouth and just sucked, letting his teeth run recklessly over the skin and he could see England’s fingers on the pipe clench the bowl just that much tighter, see the strain as he breathed in the warm smoke and exhale out that shuddering breath. Please, daddy, tell me I’ve pushed you far enough, daddy, Please god put it in, god fuck me...

“Fuck me,” that slightly darkened expression in Canada’s eyes spoke to England and cor if he didn’t put a hand to Canada’s hair, twist his fingers in those soft silky locks- Fuck, he really did get his hair from France- and tighten and pull and come one step from yanking backwards, shoving him to the hard floor of the conference room and buggering him senseless right then. Canada had never looked so fucking sexy either on his knees, both his hands around England’s cock and Christ he knew how England loved to feel those sharp teeth, loved to feel them scrape over the head, feel his tongue lap at the slit, feel his lips close over just that tip and fucking suck like he was trying to suck the goddamn come out through a straw. Cheeky boy, I didn’t think you’d take it this far, but you don’t even remember America right now, do you? I knew if I let you wait... let you go long enough thinking you didn’t need it that when you finally caved, that when Alfred finally did some predictable thoughtless thing to push you to me you’d be bloody gagging for it.

Please daddy… Canada’s eyes didn’t leave his and his mouth moved by memory, knowing so damn intimately ever part of England’s cock that he didn’t even need to look anymore as he worked, both hands gripping it childishly, his tongue moving in long broad swipes knowing how much of a tease it was when he circled the sensitive cockhead and flicked at the slit, forcing it open just that slight bit around his tongue. He made a second deliberately abortive attempt to deep throat him, his lips stretched almost painfully wide around the shaft and once again instead of letting his throat relax, instead of going down in one fluid motion he stopped, his throat convulsed again and he looked so delightfully humiliated and embarrassed with his red face and the tears in his eyes from the over stimulation to his sinuses. He sniffed, and shut his eyes tightly as if it were oh so difficult to take it, his voice hitched, he could feel every fucking bit of skin scraping his throat as the tight orifice closed, trying to force the invader out and reflexively his jaw closed, his teeth pressing around the wide shaft –as carefully controlled as he could manage- making England hiss, making that shoe press harder against him again.

He pulled back once more, coughing, so close to having taken it, just another inch to go, but instead releasing England’s cock entirely, hands to his throat, head bent, a hand over his mouth as if it really was too much, as if the salty clear fluid was unfamiliar and unpleasant, even as he licked his palm and sucked at the skin just so he could taste it even more. You’re killing me, you’re making me want it so bad but how can you keep so steady? God you can be so cruel so… And even as he watched England’s unsteady hand and felt the tight grip on his scalp, he knew it’d take something just a little extra because as much as he loved pleasing daddy, he wanted it so badly he wasn’t above playing dirty to get it. Moving his hand, he looked away, knowing his face was already red and he wrung his hands together anxiously.

“Please daddy,” he whispered, “please…” fuck me “stop… I can’t… I can’t do this.” Please fuck me, daddy… “P-papa never makes it hurt like this…” He couldn’t do it if he tried and that’s why I need you… “Please I… I’ll do anything just…” fuck me, god fuck me…”I can’t do this anymore…”

Canada inhaled deeply when he felt England blow another disdainful puff of smoke in his face, containing the excited shiver as the warms spread through his entire body. He knew he had England when he mentioned France again and yes he felt England move his foot, felt the almost painful surge of blood recirculating through his cock and whimpered when he was half dragged upwards by the scalp. His hands clasped over England’s in a faint fabricated protest, his legs shaking, half asleep and as he stumbled to his feet he felt himself thrown face first onto the desk, scrabbling to catch himself at the last moment before his entire face crashed into it. Yesyes do it, daddy. He was breathing heavier already, pushing against the rounded edge of the conference table with a soft keen chanting barely above a hush.

“Pleasedaddypleaseplease…” waiting for England to put those strong hands on his ass, spread him wide and drive it home ‘cause god he’d prepped himself ahead of time for just that and- “Ahh!” he jumped when he felt the leather belt lash across his exposed ass.
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