Hetalia kink meme part 22
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hetalia kink meme
part 22
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Canada almost wants to scream how do you not see at all of them because it's so damn obvious to him. He wants, needs them to look upon him with scorn, take him away from America and tell him again why all this is wrong, what it'll never happen.
It never does though: he's invisible, always has been.
So when, one insane day, when he's standing next to America in the hall, while no one else is there, Canada presses his lips to America's without thought, he expects nothing of it. In a way, it's good if nothing happens here, if America screws his beautiful face up in disgust and walks away because maybe he will finally learn.
He learns entirely the wrong thing when America turns into it, returning the pressure with desperation, hands roaming and drawing Canada closer closer. They're so breathless, yet air couldn't matter less.
Until a door slams further down the corridor. They suddenly remember who they are, where they are, why it can't happen and spring apart, swiftly sorting their clothes and adrenaline runs through both their veins with nervousness at being this close to caught.
England levels an odd look at them, but generally ignores it.
A nudge, a note and a text later, Canada finds himself in America's suite, continuing where they'd been forced to stop earlier. Canada tries, desperately, to persuade himself that it's just a fling, a shameless fuck on both their parts, not making love - it's just sex, satisfying physical desires, not emotional ones.
Because flings are okay. Well, not okay, still frowned upon, but recognised as a usual rule-flaunting behaviour that most nations indulge in regularly. Relationships, however, are not.
The third time it happens, his reasoning is getting shaky. Neither of them are drunk, it's been less than a week since the last rendezvous and nations can go for years without any, and he's still in America's bed in the morning. There had been little desperation, slow and loving - he's frightened. He never meant it to escalate to this, ever since he was young enough to know yes from no he's been told that this is forbidden. Taboo. Impossible, never to be thought of. England and France had looked so repulsed when he'd asked whether they were his parents - to them, everything was wrong with that. Canada doesn't like breaking the mold in ways like this, and this is getting dangerously close to that.
He tells America as much when he returns to the room, two plates of slightly burnt toast and jam, with two glasses of orange juice.
America tilts his head once he's put Canada's breakfast in front of him, smiles and says, 'I guess so'.
Canada then fully realises that he's in love, not just lust like he thought.
America doesn't help, gently wiping his tears away with his thumb, kissing him and stroking his hair, allowing all his bumbling worries to tumble out.
How could I drag you into this? What will they say? We should stop. We have to stop before this goes even further stop stop stop-
But he never moves away.
Various things cement it for him. The first time they sleep and don't have sex, just happy to be in each other's presence. How they go out for coffee and watch movies, talking for hours at a time. The way that when they're away from nations, their hands entwine.
They can get away with the sex, as long as it's not too often and sounds rough. But the dates, the holding hands, the other things, they have to hide them all.
It's so hard - when they stand near each other in meetings they always have to resist the temptation to lean together, or act like partners instead of just friends, keep the facade of brothers when they've never felt like that at all.
The guilt gnaws at Canada while they're apart, and he wonders how long it'll last.
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In these occasions, Canada always asks if America's sure.
And once, America gets annoyed.
"Canada. It's been three months. Don't you think I would have left already if I didn't want this?"
He finds that he never considered what his paranoia was doing to America.
He tries harder after that, enjoys everything more because he's not watching over his shoulder all the time and sees how he might have strangled the relationship before anyone else had a chance.
They get braver, buoyed by the lack of treaties between their countries, the fact that their borders aren't merging together. There aren't any physical repercussions on them at the moment, and neither of them can understand why it's been forbidden. But Canada is not a trailblazer: he won't be the one to change things, not when he can only just keep his head above water trying to cover his tracks, gritting out diplomatic meeting when he means a date.
Because maybe it's just that they're young and stupid, haven't seen the true effects of war on their kind, although they've heard stories. How England and India were suspiciously close at one point, but look at them now.
Occasionally, he drowns underneath it all, breaks down in his locked office keeping it quiet like everything else in his fucked up life. But then America tends to arrive within half an hour, offers him a fresh donut, smiles and Canada remembers why he's doing all this in the first place.
Because he loves America.
And isn't that all that matters?
England stares them down like naughty children, arms crossed in front of him.
"How many times have you both been told about things like this?"
He'd found them in a McDonalds somehow, discreetly kissing as they waited for their order to come through, and had blown up. Now they sat in his office, on seperate chairs. Like that could solve it.
"This will affect your politics, you know. It makes everything a bloody mess-"
"No it doesn't." Canada mutters under his breath, anger bubbling up.
"Yes? What was that?"
He can no longer hold all these emotions, shame, guilt, anger. He defiantly meets England's piercing gaze and is pleased to find that his former mentor shrinks back slightly.
"It's been a year, and nothing's happened."
England narrows his green eyes, and out the corner of his vision, Canada spots America fighting a grin.
"It will. Perhaps nothing has happened yet, but it will and I can say I told you so-"
"So what?" England looks affronted. "I am, we are old enough to sort it out. We might be younger than you but we're still adults too!"
"Impertinent child! You've seen nothing!"
"I've seen everything! When have emotions ever changed anything for me, eh? Through all the times you all fucking ignored me, through all that loneliness, did my country falter? No. So through this, the best thing that's happened, am I supposed to believe something will suddenly change because it's a different emotion? Tell me that." Canada spits out, daggers raised because he's so fed up with all this creeping and acting like they're behind enemy lines.
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Canada bares his teeth in frustration that the self-proclaimed 'pays d'amour' might not rise to his defence, but England turns to America.
"I suppose you'll have your own two cents to put in on this?"
America smiles sweetly.
"I think Canada can defend us both perfectly, actually. My only comment is that you, and all the rest, are looking on this from, like, the fourteenth century. Perhaps you should look at Germany's relations a little closer?"
And with that, he stands, pulling Canada out the room behind him until they're a safe distance away. "Wow, you were on fire back there bro! So awesome!" America enthusiastically bundles him up into a tight embrace, which turns to soothing circles on Canada's back as he mumbles through his tears that he hates doing that.
"We'll make it."
Canada wants to believe that so much.
A year later, and everyone knows.
It's not like they could have really shunned them anyway, Canada now sees: America's too dangerous to ignore, and alliances are the most important no matter what.
But what surprises him is that half of them don't even try. In fact, he thinks he sees relief in a few eyes.
A few nations act how he'd expected them to, China turning his nose up and loudly proclaiming about the youth. Russia frowns at them both, as if confused. A whole raft of African nations look conflicted, needing America's support but, being older, not as flexible about any of this. Germany serves as damage control, moving the topic on fairly quickly, (But Canada knows he's the recipient of one of Germany's rare grins) and it's a relief. Almost nothing changes.
A hesitant knock resounds on his door later on, and Canada opens it to reveal a meek looking Hungary, so he invites her in. After making a drink for the two of them, she looks up at him.
"How did you tell him?"
He thinks back to that heated exchange in the hallway the first time.
"I didn't, at first..." At her inquiring expression, he briefly recounts how they got together, how scared he'd been. It's cathartic, letting it out to someone unrelated.
"Because I... For a long time, I've wondered about telling Austria."
Canada is stunned - he never once truly considered that there might have been others exactly like him, in love but too afraid.
"I don't know Austria well enough to say how he'd take it... But if there's one thing I wouldn't revoke, it would be starting this." He looks down at his hands, wrung together. He thinks he's in no position to give advice. "I've been scared, but I never regretted it. Perhaps... Perhaps it would be easier for you if he knew. But it's up to you." He smiles weakly at her, and is surprised to find a determined look on Hungary's face. She stands, clenching her fists.
"I'll tell him. If it goes badly, I can start moving on. If it goes well..." She trails off, leaving them both to think of the consequences, then grins at Canada. "Thank you. I'll tell you the result, either way!" Turning on her foot, she waves before marching out again.
Canada prays for her profusely.
"It could have gone better, but I did it!" Her voice calls from the receiver, early in the morning. Canada smiles wryly, understanding that she can't see it.
"Could've gone better?"
"I'll tell you later. But I think... I think it's going to be alright, he just needs some time. He probably didn't allow himself to think about it before, so... It will be fine. I believe in him." Even over the phone, her voice shines with hope and relief, and he can't help but smile.
"I'm glad."
And he truly means it.
Canada never meant to be the first to do anything; he never meant to lead. He's always tended to follow, but he thinks, if he can change things even slightly for the better, he'd do it again in a heartbeat.
Plus, he wouldn't be doing it alone, Canada surmises, smiling faintly at America's sleeping form. It's always easier to start a fire with two torches than one.
(Argh what a cheesy ending. Hope you liked though!)
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I'll probably be back with more comments when I can be more coherent.
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Only thing is, I think "cheri" is the feminine form. I'm not much with French, though, so I might be wrong.
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