Re: Arctic Council (3/?)
anonymous
October 1 2009, 01:12:34 UTC
For the record, author!anon is also Canadian. I love my country... but I also love having him trapped under a pile of sweaty men.
---
Canada refused to let the blush creep into his cheeks from those words, that leer. He willed the heat down, the blood down, and dropped his body down to twist away from Russia's grip. It worked, but he could only back away a few feet before he was blocked by the foot of his bed.
Trying to scrap together his dignity, Canada shook the hair out of his face and straightened his glasses. “Th-that's enough!” he sputtered. “I don't know how you got in here--”
“Paper clip.”, the Scandinavian interjected.
“That's not important! I'm asking you to leave!” No, I'm telling you to leave. I'm making you leave. Get the fuck out. Why couldn't he say it?
Russia looked wounded. Slipping into his lower, warning voice, he said “Not yet quite yet. We have so much left to discuss.”
Canada caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Denmark was stepping forwards; he whipped around to face him, and realized too late how bad a move it was; as he turned his back, he felt Russia's arms slipping around his own, pinning them behind his back.
The hold lifted him up a bit, throwing off his balance while trapping him. He saw Denmark reaching out, and braced for some sort of impact-- but none came.
When Canada worked up the nerve to open his eyes, he found the older nation standing close, very close, idly playing with the knot of his tie.
Denmark still looked excited, interested, but not particularly dangerous even as he fingered the loop of cloth around the helpless man's throat. That was, until Canada kicked at him-- it didn't connect, but he slid the knot higher and tighter on the makeshift noose. His smile widened, and the look in his eyes sharpened just a little.
The pressure was slight. It certainly wasn't enough to choke, but it was a message. A message that was fully received-- Canada's eyes couldn't have gotten much wider, and his lip had started up that goddamned quiver again. He stilled his legs, trying to make himself look more calm than he felt.
“Sooo...” Denmark drawled, expression relaxing again. “What is it that I've been saying about your body?”
This time, he couldn't stop the flush that was turning his face maple leaf red. Gritting his teeth, Canada replied “You've been saying that p-part of me is... your's.”
“And exactly which part was that?”
“Hans Island.”
Denmark snickered, shaking his head, and Canada frowned. “I know that.” he explained. “I mean which part of your body, this body.” Here, he splayed his fingers against the younger nation's chest for effect.
Canada gaped. Denmark saw it, but seemed to misinterpret his confusion; with exaggerated, slow words and a wicked grin, he elaborated.
“Tell me what it is I've been claiming.”
Canada burned, squirmed. He locked his eyes onto the dark collar of the Scandinavian's shirt. It only seemed to amuse Denmark further, though, when he tried to firm the set of his jaw. He tucked two fingers beneath Canada's chin and gently tipped his face up.
“Seriously, you're not gonna help?” he said. He sighed dramatically, and shrugged. “Fine, I'll just have to guess.”
Now Canada didn't look away, couldn't look away, as the Dane drew nearer. “It's got to be something small...” he mused, and Canada felt the breath fanning against his face. Canada went cross-eyed as the other man brushed the tips of their noses together. “Hmm... nope.”
He pulled back a little, eying Canada for a new target. An idea seemed to occur to him, and he snickered again at his own cleverness.
---
Canada refused to let the blush creep into his cheeks from those words, that leer. He willed the heat down, the blood down, and dropped his body down to twist away from Russia's grip. It worked, but he could only back away a few feet before he was blocked by the foot of his bed.
Trying to scrap together his dignity, Canada shook the hair out of his face and straightened his glasses. “Th-that's enough!” he sputtered. “I don't know how you got in here--”
“Paper clip.”, the Scandinavian interjected.
“That's not important! I'm asking you to leave!” No, I'm telling you to leave. I'm making you leave. Get the fuck out. Why couldn't he say it?
Russia looked wounded. Slipping into his lower, warning voice, he said “Not yet quite yet. We have so much left to discuss.”
Canada caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Denmark was stepping forwards; he whipped around to face him, and realized too late how bad a move it was; as he turned his back, he felt Russia's arms slipping around his own, pinning them behind his back.
The hold lifted him up a bit, throwing off his balance while trapping him. He saw Denmark reaching out, and braced for some sort of impact-- but none came.
When Canada worked up the nerve to open his eyes, he found the older nation standing close, very close, idly playing with the knot of his tie.
Denmark still looked excited, interested, but not particularly dangerous even as he fingered the loop of cloth around the helpless man's throat. That was, until Canada kicked at him-- it didn't connect, but he slid the knot higher and tighter on the makeshift noose. His smile widened, and the look in his eyes sharpened just a little.
The pressure was slight. It certainly wasn't enough to choke, but it was a message. A message that was fully received-- Canada's eyes couldn't have gotten much wider, and his lip had started up that goddamned quiver again. He stilled his legs, trying to make himself look more calm than he felt.
“Sooo...” Denmark drawled, expression relaxing again. “What is it that I've been saying about your body?”
This time, he couldn't stop the flush that was turning his face maple leaf red. Gritting his teeth, Canada replied “You've been saying that p-part of me is... your's.”
“And exactly which part was that?”
“Hans Island.”
Denmark snickered, shaking his head, and Canada frowned. “I know that.” he explained. “I mean which part of your body, this body.” Here, he splayed his fingers against the younger nation's chest for effect.
Canada gaped. Denmark saw it, but seemed to misinterpret his confusion; with exaggerated, slow words and a wicked grin, he elaborated.
“Tell me what it is I've been claiming.”
Canada burned, squirmed. He locked his eyes onto the dark collar of the Scandinavian's shirt. It only seemed to amuse Denmark further, though, when he tried to firm the set of his jaw. He tucked two fingers beneath Canada's chin and gently tipped his face up.
“Seriously, you're not gonna help?” he said. He sighed dramatically, and shrugged. “Fine, I'll just have to guess.”
Now Canada didn't look away, couldn't look away, as the Dane drew nearer. “It's got to be something small...” he mused, and Canada felt the breath fanning against his face. Canada went cross-eyed as the other man brushed the tips of their noses together. “Hmm... nope.”
He pulled back a little, eying Canada for a new target. An idea seemed to occur to him, and he snickered again at his own cleverness.
Then cupped a hand around Canada's groin.
Reply
I love how you've written him so far. There doesn't seem to be enough fanfics about him.
I can't wait for the next part!
Reply
And OP is Canadian too, is it bad that I like seeing my country gangbanged?
Reply
Leave a comment