Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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“Ow! You got me!” Canada giggled and let go of Kumajiro, climbing on top of America as he lay on his back in front of the fire, his face surrounded in the flickering glow. The boys switched places, unconsciously rolling closer to the fire. England wanted to tell them no, it’s dangerous, be careful - but found himself unable to speak without giving himself away. His voice, he felt sure, would have been higher-pitched and more strained than its usual self, as he clenched his butt cheeks together and tried to control his breathing.
Canada seemed unhappy on the bottom; he was aware and nervous of America’s insane strength. If he’d looked within himself, he’d have found that same strength in himself deep down; he just didn’t feel the need to look. Canada quickly turned America on his back again, and they both laughed, even as they swapped pinches.
Hidden behind the white fabric so tightly locked into the embroidery hoop, England’s painfully growing bulge seemed to throb every time the boys touched each other; chest to chest, groin to groin, hand to face, in the way very small children are wont to do. It was almost unbearable as he rested his head on the back of the chair, trying to ignore the sensitivity of his vital regions to even the slightest movement. He was sure he could feel every thread of cotton in his pants, every knot of the weaver’s loom. His own needlework lay forgotten in his lap; it was all he could do not to put his hands in his pants and finish for himself. He always found himself needing to meter that thought; Not in front of the children, though. Not in front of the children.
It was that same chair he found himself taped to many years later, oh, so many years. Blindfolded and bound to the wooden frame, England could hear the scrape of heavy metal on heavy metal alongside the thud of burning logs shifting in the fireplace.
“Is he tight in that chair?” Canada’s voice.
“Yeah, I reckon so,” America’s this time. England pushed his head back in the chair, trying to peek out of the bottom of the blindfold. He could see little but the light from the fireplace and two pairs of legs - one clothed and one not.
“Hey, not yet, not yet! You’re too keen there, man.” The clothed legs approached and the blindfold was firmly pulled down further over England’s eyes.
“No, it’s okay; you can take it off now if you want. Unless you wanna…”
“I thought I was going to shed first?”
“Papa might appreciate it better if you do it when he’s watching.”
In spite of himself, England felt a slow blush rise over his cheeks and caress the edge of the blindfold. It wasn’t the only thing threatening to rise.
“Well, if you reckon,” America said, though he sounded far from certain. He undid the blindfold, and the world came into view for England - first blurrily, then achieving clarity after a few blinks. Letting the blindfold dangle in one hand, America stepped back. England glanced around, his eyes still growing accustomed to the muted light in the room.
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Canada laughed, nervous and lilting.
“It’s okay; you can look. I don’t mind.
“And in answer to your question, you don’t remember this place?”
England glanced around again; it had been a long time, but perhaps...maybe...
“This is the house the wino built for you. Your first house. It’s hardly a house; more a shack”. Canada smiled fondly at that; a shack it might have been, but it was the first real kindness anybody had ever shown him.
“I always loved this house. I still like it as well as my current one.”
“I thought you’d make more noise about being brought up here. You know, scream, cry - we did kidnap you after all.” America said, sitting down on the bed at the back of the room, the crisp sheets crunching under him.
“Why would I mind? If it’s you.” England murmured. “Of course, you could have just asked.”
“Oh...If we’d told you our intentions, I don’t think we’d have managed to get you here,” said Canada. “We know you wouldn’t want to admit to it.” He stood, prodding the fire again as America tossed another log onto it and moved his chair back. The flames reflected in his glasses, hiding his eyes for a moment. It occurred to England that poking the fire was dangerous, particularly in Canada’s unclothed state - but before he could do more with the thought he found himself entirely too distracted by Canada’s vital regions. They moved slightly as he did, and England’s red blush sneaked over his nose and threatened to rise to his forehead.
America stood deliberately in England’s line of sight, obscuring Canada from view and slid the back of his hand over Canada’s cheek softly, drawing his attention from the blaze. Canada smiled, and America mirrored him perfectly. Canada slipped a kiss into his brother’s palm as he withdrew and headed towards England, crouching before him. He grinned.
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