Cherry Pie

Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia or any of it’s characters, I’m also not
making any money off of this.



Cherry Pie

By Cyrelia J

Part 1






Canada definitely got more attention when he was a woman. Even sitting
on the barstool alone waiting for America he could feel everyone’s eyes
on him. He -no, it’s she for now- She went to automatically correct her
posture but realized she wasn’t actually slouching. Canada tended
to forget that she sat up straighter when she was a woman. She took
another long drink of the cold Molson somewhat disappointed that she
was going to miss the game tonight but after last month’s incident she
couldn’t blame America for arranging their rendezvous at a dance club
and not a sports bar. Really, her brother acted like a drunken bar
fight was the end of the world. Canada was far more disappointed in
breaking the strap on her favorite pair of heels than she was at having
to get bailed out of jail.



She shifted on the stool and looked at one of the large plasma screens
on the wall checking the time again. Great, America was over an hour
late. It’s bad enough I have to miss the game tonight because he
doesn’t think I can behave but he doesn’t even have the decency to show
up on time? I should tell him off. She huffed and took another drink
looking around. He’ll probably show up in a pair of fucking jeans and a
fucking t shirt after I spent a stupid amount of time getting ready,
too. As another man walked by that night and let his eyes linger a
little too long, she supposed the effort had at least paid off.



Canada was dressed to kill tonight in a short red strapless dress. The
material was some sort of lycra poly blend something or other that wore
like a second skin. She was pretty sure she could see the outline of
her belly button when she looked at herself in the mirror. When she had
first tried the garment on in the store her face had been as red as the
fabric and she’d determined hell would freeze over before she bought it..


“There is no way in hell I’m wearing this thing outside,” she’d hissed
from behind the fitting room door.

“Cmon, Mattie,” she heard America’s voice from the other side. “It
can’t be that-“ He was brought up short as she threw the door open red
and embarrassed.

“Look at this!” she looked around furiously as she half whispered half
yelled. America had looked alright, along with half the store.

“I can’t go out in public like this. I look like a damn Barbie doll.”

“No way, bro, Barbie never had abs like that.” He ran his calloused
fingers over the shallow ridges of her stomach muscles. They had both
been somewhat surprised  after the “magic” transformation that
Canada still retained the same height and weight; it had merely been
redistributed into a rather buxom and strong female body.

She hadn’t complained about that although America had been initially
put out that she wasn’t petite. Hell, he could still pick her up as if
she weighed nothing so he really had no right to complain. And right
now she was about to hit him when she caught the looks -and the
attempts at discreet leers- from some of the stores other patrons. One
woman grabbed her male companion’s arm and dragged him bodily from the
store. It was then she realized, uncrossing her arms, that it might be
nice to be noticed for once.


She knew that she wouldn’t enjoy this type of scrutiny on a regular
basis, but here and there with the help of America’s –well, Tony’s
really- device, it was quite exhilarating. Naturally the first time
America had suggested turning into a woman for “shits and giggles” she
thought he was absolutely crazy. What was he trying to imply, after
all? But she’d almost never been able to say no to him and admittedly
she was curious. Sitting here now, she was rather glad she let America
talk her into it. She was desired and noticed and in spite of his
protests to the contrary she felt like America actually wanted her
more.



Canada crossed a leg and looked down at the clear heels she was
currently sporting. Poland had a lot to say about the subject of clear
heels when she’d gone shopping with him; Poland had quite an opinion on
a lot of things she’d realized that day.


“Like seriously even Chris Rock did a bit about those things. You can’t
go wrong with black pumps. Black pumps say “classy”. Clear heels say
baby mama white trash.” He actually had taken a breath here and looked thoughtful. “Well...
you are banging America after all...” They picked up an extra pair just
in case.



She took another drink and then realized the bottle was empty. Another
look at the clock revealed that America’s lateness had gone from
fashionable to fucking ridiculous. It’d serve his ass right if I just
had fun without him, she thought irritated. A smirk crossed her face as
she turned towards the small dance floor. They agreed to meet
downstairs where the dance area was a lot smaller and more visible. She
was about to use that to her advantage. Alright, Al, you’re gonna stand
me up without so much as a phone call? And she had in fact checked with
the bartender in the middle of her musings; no messages for Maddie
Williams. She wasn’t gonna read him the riot act tonight; she was going
to get even.



Canada walked out onto the small dance floor tired of merely watching
everyone. She asked the bartender to put the two beers she’d had on
America’s tab. He was well known here, after all as odd as she had
initially found that. She’d always thought him more rock than hip hop,
but hey, she loved all types of music. She didn’t recognize the song
that was playing but the bass was loud and the beat was fast; that was
good enough for her. He could use a reminder that they were hardly
exclusive and if he ever wanted to take that step this sure as hell
wasn’t the way to go.



Hands tangling in her short hair, she closed her eyes, enjoying the
rhythm and letting her body move as it wanted. Her hands slid down,
running over her stomach and hips and she felt that odd thrill as if
she were fondling someone else entirely. It wasn’t long before she felt
a warmth that wasn’t from the crowd around her and she opened her eyes
to see a tall -he had to be if he was eye level with her in those
heels- muscular man in front of her. She licked her lips as she eyed
him up and down; he was doing the same.


“See anything you like?” She asked thrilling at how much America was
going to flip his shit when he finally arrived.



“Yeah, girl,” he answered in a husky baritone. “Ain’t never seen a
sistah with eyes like yours.” It still amazed her how different she
appeared to humans, but she supposed it made sense; they saw what they
wanted to see. Canada looked around briefly but still didn’t see
America. Well fuck him. It would serve him right to have to take her
smelling of human: even better to have a human’s seed leaking out of
her.


“Got them from my mother,” she answered easily leaning in closer so he
could hear her soft voice. She continued the movement of her hips to
the music taking note of how his eyes moved down to her chest; large
tracts of land seemed to appeal to both humans and nations alike. “I
think my date ditched me. You wanna dance?”



She watched his eyes light up and the smile broaden his face. She took
another moment to admire him; she loved the long dreadlocks pulled back
from his face.


“Hell yeah, baby! Can’t imagine the fool that would leave you here
alone but I ain’t complaining. Mmm, turn around and let me look at
you.” Canada complied with a slight flush to her face. She’d understood
on an intellectual level that her female form was... well as America
had put it “totally fucking hot”, but really accepting it was sometimes
odd. She heard a loud “Dayum” from behind her and couldn’t help the
heat she felt as she looked back at the man; it was nice to feel
desired.


“So, dance?” She asked again, tucking her short blonde – well to him
she supposed it must be black- hair behind one ear. She didn’t need to
ask twice.



Another loud beat started playing and this time she recognized the song
within 2 seconds. I wonder if I should be embarrassed, she wondered as
the DJ announced an “old school classic”. This is what they call old
school now? Jeez, RUN DMC is old school... why do I even know that? She
never could quite pinpoint why on earth she liked this song- it was
American misogynist hip hop at its finest- but damn if it didn’t always
make her want to move. She never said as much to America lest he never
let her live it down.  Of course he also refused to believe any
decent rap ever came out of her country either. Hello, was War Party
chopped liver? For fucks sake he even tried to claim K’naan was his
after hearing Wavin’ Flag.



As soon as she heard “three six nine,” she was moving with abandon. She
kept her eyes open, watching for any signs of America but as her hips
rocked back and forth and she let the prompt of “get low” lead her she
found she wasn’t really paying attention. Her partner moved behind her
and she felt his large, strong hands on her waist as she danced. He was
behind her, grinding into her and a small exhilarated smile was one her
face while they moved. Canada was definitely impressed by the hard
length she felt against her ass. Arms above her head she undulated with
him, eyes half mast.



It was hot in there, almost too hot on the dance floor and she could
feel herself just wanting to drown in his heat and scent: a mix of
Ralph Lauren’s “Romance” and black and milds. It was too much too soon
though, and as the second chorus started up she pulled away just
slightly. Canada shot a promising look over her shoulder before she
bent over and started shaking British Columbia rather expertly. She got
low. She let her body drop slowly, her ass still gyrating with the beat
until she nearly did hit the floor. She started to rise again slowly,
bent at the waist and he was behind her again with an excited shake of
his head and a rough smack to her ass. He bent over her for a moment
and she was definitely liking his flexibility.


“Mmm, girl I could tear that ass up,” she felt his breath hot in her
ear and felt her legs wobble just slightly before he moved again. His
fingers tangled in her short hair, hips snapping as if he were fucking
her.



The song blurred without stop into some odd track about not being an
alcoholic just drinking a lot, and that was when she caught sight of
America entering the club. Even in the shitty lighting it was hard to
miss the accent lights glinting off his golden hair and those eyes,
like hers, were bright and nearly incandescent. As always that caught
her attention first, but what really stood out was his dress. I knew
it! A fucking ratty t shirt and blue jeans! A pack of cigarettes-
Marlboro’s like “real men smoked- was rolled up into the sleeve. He
didn’t actually smoke them; he’d been carrying around what seemed to be
the same crinkled up pack since the 50s. They were probably state. The
brief glare she shot at the scuffed sneakers could’ve blistered paint.
She had a passing painful memory of cutting her fucking labia shaving
while she watched him swagger in like James fucking Dean slept in his
clothes and rolled out of bed. Y’know what, fuck you, Al.



Her partner’s grip loosened after a time and he let her up. Canada
turned around and straddled his leg, her arms around his neck. She
smiled as he licked his lips. He seemed to just now realize that she
wasn’t wearing a bra. She hadn’t needed to really: whether it was some
odd side effect of the transmogrifier or simple part of being a nation
she wasn’t sure. In any case she –and judging by the expression her
partner as well- wasn’t complaining. As she rutted against his leg she
could feel America’s eyes on her and her entire body warmed up. That's
right, Al. Watch me. Watch and kiss it, jerk. He had to be seething.
Served him right.



Seething might not have been exactly the word to describe what America
was feeling as he finally spotted Canada on the dance floor (it was
damn hard to miss a 5’11” goddess in red), but it was pretty damn
close. Alright, so maybe he was a little late: couldn’t have been more
than fifteen minutes, could it? And maybe he wasn’t exactly dressed to
the nines but at least his clothes were clean. He figured she’d be
pissed and probably have a few choice words for him- or not; Canada
could really be a passive aggressive prick sometimes. He’d be more
likely to hear some snotty song on the radio about 1812 than he’d hear
“Hey Al, you were a real asshole last night.” But this? This was too
much. Okay so waking up in the gutter in Amsterdam wearing, a skirt, a
diaper, and clown makeup that one time kinda sucked but this?! Aw hell
no.



He saw Canada’s eyes meet his for a fraction of a second and he saw
that glare. Okay fine, so she was really pissed. He was still expecting
her to excuse herself from the Lennox Lewis wannabe that was fucking
dry humping her and come over to him. She turned back around and his
eyes widened in surprise. You little… She really turned her back on
him. She really just turned around and started rubbing against that
asshole! Christ she never would’ve done that when she was a guy!



Hell she’d have still been at the bar waiting for him with a drink not
slutting it up on the dance floor in that dress- ohgodthatdress- with
her ass half hanging out for everyone to see and dammit he was not
turned on by the outline of those white cotton panties she always wore
‘cause England said only trollops wore thongs… and didn’t Canada just
listen to every goddamn stupid thing eyebrows said… how the hell did he
know what her underwear looked like anyway... and like he would fucking
approve of that slip of fabric she had on! And why in god’s name did he
think it was a good idea to convince her to wear that in public… oh
right, that was when he thought she’d be just as shy and mousy as she
was as a guy except past experience had seriously taught him otherwise
and nonono he was not getting hard watching that fucker feeling her up!
...Well fuck.



Alright then, if that’s how you’re gonna play it… If she was trying to
piss him off she was doing a bang up job of it. He stalked over keeping
his expression deliberately neutral for the moment. He was only gonna
kick that clown’s ass if he had to. It wouldn’t be very heroic to
assault a random stranger; even if his hands were all over Canada’s
ass. He approached the two without preamble, shouting over the music.


“Hey sis, am I interrupting something?!” His smile was tight and didn’t
quite reach his eyes. Canada looked at him briefly but turned to her
dance partner first before answering. She didn’t stop moving. “Did you
want something, Al?” She asked in a tone that clearly said she didn’t
want to talk to him. America couldn’t stop the look of annoyance on his
face this time as he addressed mister tall dark and
getyourfuckinghandsoffshesmine.


“You think you could give us a minute, Milli Vanilli?” He didn’t even
make a pretense of being polite.



The loser groping Canada responded in kind. “Hey man, I think if yo
sister wanted to talk to you she would. You wanna wait over there til
we’re done, LL Fool J?” America definitely wasn’t smiling now. Neither
was Canada, really, but she was forgotten as America gave the other man
a shove as he practically snarled, “I ain’t waitin’ to talk to my own
fucking sister, clown.” She knew he could’ve pushed him a lot harder,
but for a human it was a damn sight more aggressive than it needed to
be. The guy took a step back but he wasn’t backing down.


“Hey man, you got a fucking problem?!”


“Yeah I got a problem with punks that can’t keep they hands to
theyself!” Okay, not good, not good… Canada was torn between being
nervous and being pissed. America was soaking the atmosphere up like a
sponge and at this rate there was no way it was going to end well.



She could hear the quieting down even with the loud music and the
others in the club were definitely watching them. Calm down, you idiot
and let’s leave before you do something stupid.


“Al,” she interjected with a frantic hiss, “You made your point let’s
just-”


“So I’m a punk now cause I ain’t turn down a bitch wantin to fuck?“ …On
second thought, if you don’t knock his ass through the fucking wall, I
will. America, completely on the same wavelength only barely restrained
his strength at the last moment. Even so, the guy ended up floored by
what was really only a light jab in America’s opinion. He turned to
Canada still riding the adrenaline high, furious with her for letting
that asshole feel her up and now she was looking at him like he didn’t
know what.



“Al-“ she began only to yelp as he grabbed her and threw her over a
broad shoulder like a fucking caveman. He wasn’t hearing any of it and
she wasn’t about to make an even bigger scene by fighting with him.
There were enough catcalls as it was and she was thankful that none of
the other patrons heard the fact that he was her brother. She also was
oddly turned on by the possessive look as he grabbed her. She’d never
gotten to see it when she was a guy; perhaps she ought to try and
overcome her natural reticence in that body as well…



The walk to the car seemed endless.



“God Mattie, I can fucking smell you,” was the first thing America said
as he walked into the parking lot. He swore the crisp autumn air was
deliberately feeding the scent of her arousal directly into his
olfactory senses. Canada opened her mouth to respond but ended up
moaning instead as America slid his hand underneath her skirt and
stroked the damp cloth between her legs with a finger. He teased her
slit through the fabric and shivered as he heard her moan and felt her
thighs tighten. The finger worked its way under her panties and he felt
the smooth hairless skin immediately.


“Oh Christ, you shaved it.” He massaged and rubbed that soft skin,
still sensitive from said shaving earlier. Fuck, her pussy was getting
so wet that he easily slid that finger into her heat. She whimpered and
whined and there was something just so fucking sexy about those higher
pitched noises.



Canada’s voice was always softer than his and yet hearing the needy
effeminate whisper of “please Al, please please” it was somehow more
desperate and wanting. He added another finger and could feel her body
rocking on his shoulder trying hard to get more. Canada’s hands
clenched and unclenched and she saw the club getting further away
wondering just how the hell far out America parked. Fuck your fucking
car getting scratched did you really have to park way out here?!
America’s fingers pulled out and Canada yelped as she was
unceremoniously deposited on the hood of his full restored ’69 impala.
She was thankful the hood of the electric blue muscle car had been
reinforced because the last time America had gone from aroused to
hysterical sobbing in less than 5 seconds flat.



Canada caught his gaze, the intensity of his stare making her shiver.
He brought his fingers to his mouth, sticky with her juices and licked
them clean. “Mmm.” He loved the way she tasted. She smirked and quickly
slipped her panties off tossing them to him. “You want a taste?” There
was a slight blush on her face as she asked. She had never quite
understood why it was easier to be sexual when she was a woman than a
man. America certainly appreciated the change when it didn’t involve
strange men in clubs and with a cocky leer he twirled the undergarments
around his index finger.


“Oh I do I do,” he drawled leaning over her. His fingers moved between
her spread legs stroking her wet slit. He licked his fingers off again.
“But what if someone comes by~?” he sang rather evilly, she thought.



“Al…” she moaned in protest her hips tilting up. So help me asshole if
you don’t do something. Alright so it wasn’t much of a threat inside of
her head and he laughed softly at her glare. God she was sexy all
spread out and needy. His hips pressed against the grill of the car,
the pressure hardly a relief against his aching cock but hell at least
with the suspension lift it was the right height. His eyes moved down
to her chest, the thin scrap of fabric doing nothing to hide her hard
nipples and fuck if he wasn’t tempted to pull the dress down and slide
his dick in between those gorgeous tits. Canada caught that look and it
never failed to arouse her. America looked like he wanted to devour her
whole and she reached down giving that innocent pleading expression
she’d perfected.



He was nearly undone by that wide eyed look coupled with the way her
long fingers held her swollen pink pussy open for him; she’d even
painted her nails.


“Please?” Now how could a hero resist a plea for help like that? He
shifted, his strong hands holding her soft supple thighs apart eagerly.
She was so wet for him, the musk of her arousal made him nearly dizzy
as he greedily lapped her wetness. He sucked her swollen labia, rutting
against the grill of the car. Canada moaned, hands tangling in
America’s hair as she struggled to keep quiet.


“Al… god Al…” she whimpered as his teeth nipped and stretched the
sensitive folds. His breath felt so hot against her skin and when his
tongue slid inside her slick and questing she found herself panting
harder, pushing her hips up, wordlessly begging him for more.



The car rocked as she shook, as she tried to urge him to move his mouth
to that ache. She trembled and whined, the heat from her overcharged
body warming the cold metal around her. “Please…please… hurts… hurts…”
And God did it hurt, her swollen clit throbbed and ached and she didn’t
have a fucking car grill to hump. His head lifted, eyes meeting hers
and he merely smirked that shit fucking eating America grin and instead
pushed three fingers inside without preamble. She brought a hand to her
mouth and bit down hard on her finger tasting blood. Ohgodgodgod you
dickhead... America watched her practically seize and fuck if he didn’t
just want to fuck her right here on the hood of his car. But where was
the fun in that?



His fingers curled, he finger fucked her hard, keeping the pressure on
that velvet front wall. Her eyes were shut tight, her head shaking back
and forth violently as she felt the urge to- nononono. She felt like
she had to pee so badly and she didn’t want to- she knew that wasn’t it
but it was so hard to let go- and America didn’t let up at all. He
watched her shake and held a hip still as he worked, his breathing
heavy, eyes watching as her tits bounced and her eyes screwed shut.
Poor Canada: trying so hard to hold back. He always had to force it out
of her but it was always so fucking good. “C’mon baby, squirt for
daddy,” he whispered and had she been more coherent she’d have hissed
that she would not call him fucking daddy because she was older dammit
and stop fucking trying. At least she would have thought it.



Canada’s body needed no further coaxing. Her hips moved more violently,
rocked with his thrusts. America shifted his body to the side and did
that... that... She never could quite follow his explanation but he
knew exactly what he was doing when he scissored his fingers and
corkscrewed them seemingly at once. He shivered, his cock throbbing
insistently as he watched the stream of clear fluid arc over the hood
and hit the blacktop. Christ it must have been at least five feet.


“Fuck yeah,” he breathed and withdrew his fingers licking the slick
sticky come from them once more. “Should I fuck you now, Mattie?” he
asked stepping back.



Her eyes fell to the large bulge tenting the tight jeans he was
wearing. She licked her lips looking hungrily cause god she loved his
cock. It still ached, her clit still hot and throbbing because of
course that asshole would make her come without letting her really
come. She breathed heavily thinking as best as she could, removing the
bloodied hand from her mouth, and sitting up on an elbow. Her lipstick
was smeared, intermingled with blood, and she looked completely wanton
as she lapped at the rapidly healing wound. America unzipped his jeans,
careful to avoid a There’s Something About Mary moment since he wasn’t
wearing underwear. The head of his thick uncut nine inches was slick
with precome and he stroked it slowly. She looked as if she could just
devour it and he smirked.


“C’mon…” she whined drawing her legs up careful not to let her heels
scratch the paint.



He put a knee on the hood, cock in hand, and rubbed the head against
her clit. She whimpered and he lightly slapped at the hardened nub.


“Oh God…” Canada could feel her body on edge, her face flushed, her
legs trembling. She was so close and as he alternated between rubbing
and those quick little pulses, the ache increased, almost painful and
the slick inner walls of her pussy contracted in short bursts. Watching
those nipples get impossibly harder, watching the sweat beading on her
skin and the way her hips moved America almost came himself. He tugged
his balls with a quick and rough jerk, and then with a completely
wicked expression slapped her clit with a sharp motion.



The sound she made was somewhere between a yelp and a gasp as she was
abruptly jerked back from her orgasm. It took her a moment to collect
her bearings but once she did she sat up fully, furiously, as he
finished zipping his jeans back up.


“You-!” She pushed herself off the hood with shaky arms, legs wobbly as
she stood. America was already backing up making a poor attempt to hide
his laughter. He wasn’t going to let her hit him. Canada might not
normally have the confidence to put her strength behind it as a guy but
she sure as hell did as a woman- and that was better left for the
bedroom.


“Hold still you-“


“Sexy beast?” he teased dancing out of the way again. Asshole! Her mind
supplied, but she merely glared daggers huffing at him annoyed.



“C’mon, Mattie, let’s go. Sooner we get back to the hotel the sooner we
can take care of your little problem.” He winked as he fished for his
keys. She turned with a grumble and retrieved her panties from the hood
of the car. My little problem, he says like he can just shut it on and
off. She wrinkled her nose at the wet cotton underwear and balled it up
with a sigh. She was not putting those back on. Canada pulled the dress
back down- for all the difference it made- and admired America’s ass in
his jeans as he unlocked the passenger door. He paused, leaning in, his
breath hot against her ear.


“Besides, if I fuck you now, my cum’s just gonna leak out of you and go
to waste.” He punctuated the remark with a hard squeeze to her ass. She
shivered and took a deep breath. Her body had just finally started to
come down and all at once again she could feel the warmth running
through her nerves.



“Just you wait, Mattie, I’m gonna fill your holes so full you won’t be
able to stand it. Can your healthcare system handle that many American
immigrants?” Yes, oh God yes, she thought as he left her and walked to
the driver’s side. Her mouth felt dry as she got into the car and she
was careful to keep her skirt pulled down over the freshly detailed
vinyl. Her leg shook impatiently as she watched America turn the car
over and pull his laptop out from under the seat. Really, Al, you’re
gonna mess around with that ?! “Al…” she began rather insistently as
he booted up the ibook. She heard him mutter something about rims and
sat back with a huff rolling her eyes. She was going to kill South
Korea for buying him those damn Pimpstar rims.


“American Flag or sexy lady?” he asked in was seemed all earnest and
she groaned.