A flush spread over Canada’s cheeks, even as a knot twisted in his stomach, whispering words into his subconscious. The silence in the room was deafening when America wasn’t talking. A thought was forming in the back of Canada’s mind, but he didn’t dare think upon it further. His brother slumped against the wall, as if suddenly remembering how tired he was. Canada took the opportunity to clear his throat,
“America,” he didn’t know what to tell him after that. I feel faint, but you must be feeling better, didn’t seem appropriate.
America’s tired eyes turned to his brother’s, even as his hand fell from his mouth, scraping against the points of his canines. Canada wondered how he could have missed their elongated edges before. A cough finally reached the air from America’s throat again, and he clutched at his throat in absence of mind,
“What’s happening to me?” As if terrified that Canada would voice the answer to what they were both thinking.
Letting go of the hurt on his neck, Canada inched closer on the bed to his brother. America’s breath caught in his throat, the sound dancing in the air with the creak of bedsprings. He pushed out an arm, as if to keep Canada distant from him. He tried to shield his body from his brother, curling in on himself.
“Don’t.. Don’t come closer. I can’t- I-” a shuddered exhale, and Canada pushed the arm down, settled in front of his brother, facing the curled up body by the wall. He snaked a hand around America’s arms, pressed it to his chest.
He beat of a heart ran rampant under his fingers. America’s look of surprise almost convinced him that his brother had forgotten he had one. America’s hand drifted from his throat to rest over Canada’s fingers.
“You’re not dead. Your heart’s beating strongly,” and suddenly it occurred to Canada that he wasn’t sure who he was reassuring. “Something like this can’t kill you.”
The hand flexed over his own, as if unsure weather to believe Canada’s words. His eyes shifted from their enclosed hands, back to Canada face, where eyes shone with a barely controlled tremor, “What if it happens again?” Canada’s mouth went dry at the whisper. America’s words stumbled into his very core, and he realized. Heard the fright in the words, and directly veiled under that, the curiosity America had in everything he said. And oh god, he heard it and realized and knew,
America was going to need to do this again.
Perhaps multiple times. Even as a routine in all possibilities. Though, if the necessity presented itself again, and America pushed it off, grew chilled and delirious. Starved off the feeling until someone came to visit just like Canada, and America, half dead in misery and delirium, couldn‘t find his conscience to stop himself. If Canada hadn’t stopped him earlier, just how far would his brother have gone?
And the second realization twisted into his stomach, rose up to his throat, where it stayed a lump of cold discomfort - something that couldn’t be swallowed. America seemed to realize it to at that same instant.
“What if I kill someone?
Dear god, he could. There was always the possibility that he could. And just who would be there to stop him when America had his hands around one of his own citizens throats. Or comfort him from hysteria when he looked down at the half dead human in his arms and convince him that it wasn’t his fault. Or be strong enough to put themselves in America’s hands and trust that the other would stop when they said so.
Canada knew the answer had been wringing in his gut for the past ten minutes. He took a deep breathe, let the air fill with a stagnant pause as he let the words form on his lips. He was doing this for his brother.
He was terrified even as America reddened eyes squinted in confusion. It seemed like his voice took centuries to travel to Canada’s ears,
“What?” America’s fingers flexed over his brothers hand on his heart with the question. Canada let his hand slip from the grasp, and allowed himself to clench the sheets beneath them.
“I..” he averted his eyes, “If it happens again, and you think you need to-” His eyes flashed to America’s mouth for the second, eyeing the dried blood touching the corners of his lips. “I’ll do it. I mean, you can use me to um, help. You’ve already done it once already, might as well finish what’s been started eh?” And at the look of horror on America’s face, he quickly explained himself,
“Not that way of course! But, we both know you’ll stop if I say so now. And it didn’t hurt that much. It mostly surprised me. And if it makes you feel better… I’ll do it.”
The room itself seemed to be holding it’s breath after Canada’s words. He watched as his brother straightened himself out against the wall, uncurling in the slightest hesitance. His expression was wary, as if trying to find a reason why this was the horrible idea they both knew it was.
“What about England?” he ventured, and Canada’s eyes flashed,
“Angleterre pouvez aller à l'enfer! Just bite lower and I’ll just start wearing cravats. You and I both know that this is the only answer. We can‘t die from blood loss, and I‘m stronger than any of your citizens. France once told me that he was shot through with a cannon ball, and remained on the field for five days bleeding before he was found. This is the most sensible choice we have.” he breathed deeply, then closed his eyes, calming his frustration. His fingers were twisted into the sheets by his knees, and he took care to unwind them. When he opened his eyes again, America was staring at him with tired eyes, as if the entire conversation exhausted him.
“Canada…” a breath of resignation, wherein Canada’s own got caught in his throat. He turned on a small smile, a flicker of his exuberant self shining through, “You’re not French anymore.”
Canada let out a breath of amusement, his shoulders sagging from their taught position. He shook his head, and it was at that moment that he knew everything was going to be alright.
“No, I’m not.”
More silence, broken only by the flicker of shadows against the walls from the gas lamp. And then America shifted against the blankets, uncurled himself fully and pushed away from the wall.
“Alright…Alright” America’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Canada leaned into the touch until his brother’s knees were on either side of his, and America was leaning over him. He forced himself to breathe evenly. A warm stupor was filling his body again and he felt the heat reach up into his cheeks as America grasped both his shoulder and half dragged him closer. Canada placed trembling hand on his brother’s waist, steadying him overtop of him.
“Tell me when to stop if I go too far.” America sounded scared, but his eyes were returning to that gorgeous ocean haze that Canada had fallen into earlier. He almost scoffed at the words, but nodded instead for his brothers sake.
“I always do.” And one last quirked smile from America that made this all seem like a game, and not something that could potentially kill either of them, and then he leaned in.
This fic is so awesome! ^-^ I've never enjoyed a vampire story more, and this seems so much more of a realistic portrayal of how someone would feel if they just became a vampire and realized they needed to feed. Good job Author!Anon,
Canada was entirely more aware this time, and could feel the short breaths of America spilling over his cheek as his brother leaned into him. Felt the briefest brush of cheek against cheek, cool against warm, and his fingers twitched at America's hips, clutched, pulled him closer against him. America accommodated by shuffling closer until they were both comfortable.
"Don't tell England," came whispered into his ear, and it seemed like the words traveled at light speed down his body to tangle in the center of his chest. Canada closed his eyes. His breathing sounded too loud to himself.
"I won't." Oh god, they wouldn't be able to tell anyone. Not when across the ocean, Europe was frenzied over witches and demons who would slink into the shadows of night with similar intentions. No, they wouldn't be able to tell.
And then the hot line of America's tongue traveled from the base of his neck to the top and Canada almost forgot the breathe once more. Hot and wet against his dry skin, and his face heated up at the feeling. Then it happened again, and again, and oh god he must be licking off the dried blood from before. He thanked himself that his eyes were closed as that delicious daze returned.
Canada swallowed deep in his throat, withheld a shudder as America paused for the contraction of his throat to stop, and then there was that tongue again.
God, that delicious, heated, rapturous tongue. He couldn't understand how America could be so hot when just an hour ago he was freezing to the touch. This, Canada could enjoy, along with that fog encompassing his mind, dragging him deeper and deeper until he couldn’t even remember where he was other than that America was with him, on him and he felt closer than any boundaries or borders could permit. So when America wobbled on his knees against him, unsteady in front of him, Canada pressed his hand down his brothers sides and clenched into the cotton of his shirt and pulled- There was a jostle as America leaned forward at the same moment that Canada did. A stagnant moment where America didn’t want to let go of hid brothers neck, and sounds of wrinkling bedsheets under them took over. Eventually they settled, both in the center of the bed, knees tucked under them as America sat in Canada’s lap, arm pressed flush against his shoulder, carefully holding his northern brother’s neck while his fingers traced the curls at his nape. It almost felt like a heatfelt hug, thought Canada. Although he could barely feel America in his lap, like the country was afraid to hurt him anymore by adding weight in his lap. And the position they were in was hardly as innocent as a hug. More likely embarrassing with America’s legs on either side of his. Practically obsene in fact. He was sure if England ever saw him now, the man would fall from shock. That, or perhaps drag him away and give him another stern lecture about proper conduct in front of others and how to be polite and curteous in the absolute most gentlemanly way. Canada groaned at the wave of embarrassment that washed over him at the thought, only the feel more when America quickly jolted against him and leaned back to stare with inquisitive eyes, afraid the noise was from pain. He was breathing heavily, Canada could hear him trying to quiet the noise as it came out. His face scrunched up at how awkward this all was between them. Awkward and embarrassing and wholly new, but was it really like they had any idea what to do anyways?
“Sorry, just thinking. I feel fine.” He shifted awkwardly under America, stared at his hands holding the shirt infront of him.
“Your eyebrows are furrowed,” whispered America, he was leaning into his shoulder again. Canada wanted to laugh because America’s were too. But America’s lips closed over the part of his throat that still stung from sensitivity, and he let the laughter die in his throat, focused on keeping still.
Writer!Anon hasn't given up on this yet! Just been a bit busy from moving and school starting, and then I had to transfer the files onto my new laptop. I'll got about 5-7 more parts just for this scene in particular (part 1) but depending how patient OP is, as well as how much assignments I have, I may write a 2nd part following their relationship through the civil war and 1812, and then finally a 3rd part where the nations discover them (lol prompt where are you? ;A;) Thank you for your patience so far!
OP is just about dead from the awesomeness of this part.
And speaking of that, yay update! And don't worry, I totally understand how real life can get in the way or stuff like that.
And as long as you do fill I am very patient. I can wait, don't rush yourself. As long as the author doesn't abandon the story I can wait for however long. Also I am intrigued on what you have planned for the Civil War and 1812, drama!.
I love the way that you are describing the actual event. Nice.
Can't wait for the next update and once again, wonderfuly done on this part.
Oh yes! I'm glad you didn't abandon this. This whole fill is made of AWESOME. \;A;/ I can understand IRL stuff getting in the way though, even though I'm seriously dying of impatience to read more.
There was a very obscene sounding suck, and he practically melted under the other. The spot twitched in pain, the skin raw and abused and pressured by mouth and tongue. America licked at the puncture he’d made earlier, closed his lips over it, ran his tongue over it once more. Then again, and again, and it was doing horribly delicious things to the temperature in the room, thought Canada.
He could feel himself bleeding under tongue and lips, his heartbeat reverberating loudly through his head from a mixture of shock and something he didn’t really want to describe. But that feeling twisted inside of him, deeply rooted, so he couldn’t forget it for even a minute. Squirming, and hot, and yearning, and god it felt amazing when America sucked just…ohgodyes right-there. There, where it was just a bit too raw, but he could forget the prick if he concentrated on the way his brother’s tongue ran over the puncture marks, and the way a hand massaged the other side of his neck, kneading and tugging in mindless direction.
When America leaned away once again, it left Canada feeling disoriented, and entirely more sated than he should have been. America, however, was panting a storm on the edge of frustration. He seemed to be struggling with words, as he closed his eyes and raked a hand halfway through his hair before clutching at the roots.
“Canada, I can’t- It’s not enough, I need to-“ he spoke feverishly fast, as if his mind was a blur and it was his job to gather tangled threads and somehow make a pattern out of them.
Canada’s mouth felt dry, and he felt embarrassed that his breathing had become partially laboured from their activities. He licked his lips, pursed them to try and stop the chapping. He almost started when America grabbed his shoulders and pulled him against him. He could feel his brother shudder against his body, forehead pressed against his shoulder. Absently, in the far recesses of his foggy mind, he realized America was having trouble with something and so he lifted a hand, cramped from clutching at cotton fabric harshly, and soothed down the line of America’s back. The body gripping on top of him froze.
“Canada, are you okay with this?” and the twist of fingers in the shoulders of his shirt compelled him to take this more seriously than he had any other moment in his life. Because America was scared, and he was the only one who could help.
And he thought about it, actually thought about it, and when he did, and felt the strain from the broken skin on his neck, and his brother against him, with nothing but stained cotton and skin (borders) between him and me, and him and me, and him and-
“Yeah”, he breathed.
In response America dragged his head up to that punctured spot and it itched in anticipation. He dipped his head against it, nuzzled his nose into the curve of Canada’s neck, the strands of his hair curling and falling against skin that didn’t belong to him.
“This isn’t enough. I need more” And Canada’s breath stopped because –ohmercy, he didn’t think it would really be this shocking to hear that.
But maybe America didn’t notice, or he was too wrapped up in explaining, but he felt the lightest press of sharp somethings –teeth, god those are teeth- press against that itch.
“I need…” And then those teeth lifted away and there was a squeeze of arms grounding him to the here and now once again.
So glad to see this updated, author anon! I wont give up on you, I feel the same way with my current fill because I'm always so busy.
I was actually thinking about this the other day, and I was super excited to see it on the fill list! Great chapter, I love how America is scared and Canada seems perfectly fine. Can't wait until you get into more modern times and how they deal with it as adults.
I just JUMP in glee whenever I see this has been updated. It is painfully slow since the updates are so rare but I'm not giving up if you're not giving up. =3=! This is amazing, hot and adorable.
And besides I totally have no right to complain about the rare updates. I'm even worse with my own fills. orz
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1789 - Part 7
(Anonymous) 2010-08-24 06:47 am (UTC)(link)“America,” he didn’t know what to tell him after that. I feel faint, but you must be feeling better, didn’t seem appropriate.
America’s tired eyes turned to his brother’s, even as his hand fell from his mouth, scraping against the points of his canines. Canada wondered how he could have missed their elongated edges before. A cough finally reached the air from America’s throat again, and he clutched at his throat in absence of mind,
“What’s happening to me?” As if terrified that Canada would voice the answer to what they were both thinking.
Letting go of the hurt on his neck, Canada inched closer on the bed to his brother. America’s breath caught in his throat, the sound dancing in the air with the creak of bedsprings. He pushed out an arm, as if to keep Canada distant from him. He tried to shield his body from his brother, curling in on himself.
“Don’t.. Don’t come closer. I can’t- I-” a shuddered exhale, and Canada pushed the arm down, settled in front of his brother, facing the curled up body by the wall. He snaked a hand around America’s arms, pressed it to his chest.
He beat of a heart ran rampant under his fingers. America’s look of surprise almost convinced him that his brother had forgotten he had one. America’s hand drifted from his throat to rest over Canada’s fingers.
“You’re not dead. Your heart’s beating strongly,” and suddenly it occurred to Canada that he wasn’t sure who he was reassuring. “Something like this can’t kill you.”
The hand flexed over his own, as if unsure weather to believe Canada’s words. His eyes shifted from their enclosed hands, back to Canada face, where eyes shone with a barely controlled tremor, “What if it happens again?” Canada’s mouth went dry at the whisper. America’s words stumbled into his very core, and he realized. Heard the fright in the words, and directly veiled under that, the curiosity America had in everything he said. And oh god, he heard it and realized and knew,
America was going to need to do this again.
Perhaps multiple times. Even as a routine in all possibilities. Though, if the necessity presented itself again, and America pushed it off, grew chilled and delirious. Starved off the feeling until someone came to visit just like Canada, and America, half dead in misery and delirium, couldn‘t find his conscience to stop himself. If Canada hadn’t stopped him earlier, just how far would his brother have gone?
And the second realization twisted into his stomach, rose up to his throat, where it stayed a lump of cold discomfort - something that couldn’t be swallowed. America seemed to realize it to at that same instant.
“What if I kill someone?
Dear god, he could. There was always the possibility that he could. And just who would be there to stop him when America had his hands around one of his own citizens throats. Or comfort him from hysteria when he looked down at the half dead human in his arms and convince him that it wasn’t his fault. Or be strong enough to put themselves in America’s hands and trust that the other would stop when they said so.
Canada knew the answer had been wringing in his gut for the past ten minutes. He took a deep breathe, let the air fill with a stagnant pause as he let the words form on his lips. He was doing this for his brother.
“I guess that’s what I’ll be here for.”
1789 - Part 8
(Anonymous) 2010-08-24 06:49 am (UTC)(link)“What?” America’s fingers flexed over his brothers hand on his heart with the question. Canada let his hand slip from the grasp, and allowed himself to clench the sheets beneath them.
“I..” he averted his eyes, “If it happens again, and you think you need to-” His eyes flashed to America’s mouth for the second, eyeing the dried blood touching the corners of his lips. “I’ll do it. I mean, you can use me to um, help. You’ve already done it once already, might as well finish what’s been started eh?” And at the look of horror on America’s face, he quickly explained himself,
“Not that way of course! But, we both know you’ll stop if I say so now. And it didn’t hurt that much. It mostly surprised me. And if it makes you feel better… I’ll do it.”
The room itself seemed to be holding it’s breath after Canada’s words. He watched as his brother straightened himself out against the wall, uncurling in the slightest hesitance. His expression was wary, as if trying to find a reason why this was the horrible idea they both knew it was.
“What about England?” he ventured, and Canada’s eyes flashed,
“Angleterre pouvez aller à l'enfer! Just bite lower and I’ll just start wearing cravats. You and I both know that this is the only answer. We can‘t die from blood loss, and I‘m stronger than any of your citizens. France once told me that he was shot through with a cannon ball, and remained on the field for five days bleeding before he was found. This is the most sensible choice we have.” he breathed deeply, then closed his eyes, calming his frustration. His fingers were twisted into the sheets by his knees, and he took care to unwind them. When he opened his eyes again, America was staring at him with tired eyes, as if the entire conversation exhausted him.
“Canada…” a breath of resignation, wherein Canada’s own got caught in his throat. He turned on a small smile, a flicker of his exuberant self shining through, “You’re not French anymore.”
Canada let out a breath of amusement, his shoulders sagging from their taught position. He shook his head, and it was at that moment that he knew everything was going to be alright.
“No, I’m not.”
More silence, broken only by the flicker of shadows against the walls from the gas lamp. And then America shifted against the blankets, uncurled himself fully and pushed away from the wall.
“Alright…Alright” America’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Canada leaned into the touch until his brother’s knees were on either side of his, and America was leaning over him. He forced himself to breathe evenly. A warm stupor was filling his body again and he felt the heat reach up into his cheeks as America grasped both his shoulder and half dragged him closer. Canada placed trembling hand on his brother’s waist, steadying him overtop of him.
“Tell me when to stop if I go too far.” America sounded scared, but his eyes were returning to that gorgeous ocean haze that Canada had fallen into earlier. He almost scoffed at the words, but nodded instead for his brothers sake.
“I always do.” And one last quirked smile from America that made this all seem like a game, and not something that could potentially kill either of them, and then he leaned in.
Re: 1789 - Part 8
(Anonymous) 2010-08-24 07:04 am (UTC)(link)OP.
(Anonymous) 2010-08-24 07:59 pm (UTC)(link)Love. Complete and total love for you.
I love this, I am in love with this.
Can't wait for the next update.
Re: 1789 - Part 8
(Anonymous) 2010-08-24 10:28 pm (UTC)(link)1789 - Part 9
(Anonymous) 2010-09-14 04:12 am (UTC)(link)cheek as his brother leaned into him. Felt the briefest brush of cheek against cheek, cool against warm,
and his fingers twitched at America's hips, clutched, pulled him closer against him. America accommodated
by shuffling closer until they were both comfortable.
"Don't tell England," came whispered into his ear, and it seemed like the words traveled at light speed
down his body to tangle in the center of his chest. Canada closed his eyes. His breathing sounded too loud
to himself.
"I won't." Oh god, they wouldn't be able to tell anyone. Not when across the ocean, Europe was frenzied
over witches and demons who would slink into the shadows of night with similar intentions. No, they
wouldn't be able to tell.
And then the hot line of America's tongue traveled from the base of his neck to the top and Canada almost
forgot the breathe once more. Hot and wet against his dry skin, and his face heated up at the feeling. Then it
happened again, and again, and oh god he must be licking off the dried blood from before. He thanked
himself that his eyes were closed as that delicious daze returned.
Canada swallowed deep in his throat, withheld a shudder as America paused for the contraction of his
throat to stop, and then there was that tongue again.
God, that delicious, heated, rapturous tongue. He couldn't understand how America could be so hot
when just an hour ago he was freezing to the touch. This, Canada could enjoy, along with that fog encompassing his mind, dragging him deeper and deeper until he couldn’t even remember where he was other than that America was with him, on him and he felt closer than any boundaries or borders could permit. So when America wobbled on his knees against him, unsteady in front of him, Canada pressed his hand down his brothers sides and clenched into the cotton of his shirt and pulled-
There was a jostle as America leaned forward at the same moment that Canada did. A stagnant moment where America didn’t want to let go of hid brothers neck, and sounds of wrinkling bedsheets under them took over. Eventually they settled, both in the center of the bed, knees tucked under them as America sat in Canada’s lap, arm pressed flush against his shoulder, carefully holding his northern brother’s neck while his fingers traced the curls at his nape. It almost felt like a heatfelt hug, thought Canada. Although he could barely feel America in his lap, like the country was afraid to hurt him anymore by adding weight in his lap. And the position they were in was hardly as innocent as a hug. More likely embarrassing with America’s legs on either side of his. Practically obsene in fact.
He was sure if England ever saw him now, the man would fall from shock. That, or perhaps drag him away and give him another stern lecture about proper conduct in front of others and how to be polite and curteous in the absolute most gentlemanly way. Canada groaned at the wave of embarrassment that washed over him at the thought, only the feel more when America quickly jolted against him and leaned back to stare with inquisitive eyes, afraid the noise was from pain. He was breathing heavily, Canada could hear him trying to quiet the noise as it came out. His face scrunched up at how awkward this all was between them. Awkward and embarrassing and wholly new, but was it really like they had any idea what to do anyways?
“Sorry, just thinking. I feel fine.” He shifted awkwardly under America, stared at his hands holding the shirt infront of him.
“Your eyebrows are furrowed,” whispered America, he was leaning into his shoulder again. Canada wanted to laugh because America’s were too. But America’s lips closed over the part of his throat that still stung from sensitivity, and he let the laughter die in his throat, focused on keeping still.
Re: 1789 - Part 9
(Anonymous) 2010-09-14 04:14 am (UTC)(link)Re: 1789 - Part 9
(Anonymous) 2010-09-14 04:19 am (UTC)(link)OP
(Anonymous) 2010-09-14 04:48 am (UTC)(link)And speaking of that, yay update! And don't worry, I totally understand how real life can get in the way or stuff like that.
And as long as you do fill I am very patient. I can wait, don't rush yourself.
As long as the author doesn't abandon the story I can wait for however long.Also I am intrigued on what you have planned for the Civil War and 1812, drama!.I love the way that you are describing the actual event. Nice.
Can't wait for the next update and once again, wonderfuly done on this part.
Re: 1789 - Part 9
(Anonymous) 2010-09-14 07:36 am (UTC)(link)1789 - Part 10
(Anonymous) 2010-10-11 04:22 pm (UTC)(link)He could feel himself bleeding under tongue and lips, his heartbeat reverberating loudly through his head from a mixture of shock and something he didn’t really want to describe. But that feeling twisted inside of him, deeply rooted, so he couldn’t forget it for even a minute. Squirming, and hot, and yearning, and god it felt amazing when America sucked just…ohgodyes right-there. There, where it was just a bit too raw, but he could forget the prick if he concentrated on the way his brother’s tongue ran over the puncture marks, and the way a hand massaged the other side of his neck, kneading and tugging in mindless direction.
When America leaned away once again, it left Canada feeling disoriented, and entirely more sated than he should have been. America, however, was panting a storm on the edge of frustration. He seemed to be struggling with words, as he closed his eyes and raked a hand halfway through his hair before clutching at the roots.
“Canada, I can’t- It’s not enough, I need to-“ he spoke feverishly fast, as if his mind was a blur and it was his job to gather tangled threads and somehow make a pattern out of them.
Canada’s mouth felt dry, and he felt embarrassed that his breathing had become partially laboured from their activities. He licked his lips, pursed them to try and stop the chapping. He almost started when America grabbed his shoulders and pulled him against him. He could feel his brother shudder against his body, forehead pressed against his shoulder. Absently, in the far recesses of his foggy mind, he realized America was having trouble with something and so he lifted a hand, cramped from clutching at cotton fabric harshly, and soothed down the line of America’s back. The body gripping on top of him froze.
“Canada, are you okay with this?” and the twist of fingers in the shoulders of his shirt compelled him to take this more seriously than he had any other moment in his life. Because America was scared, and he was the only one who could help.
And he thought about it, actually thought about it, and when he did, and felt the strain from the broken skin on his neck, and his brother against him, with nothing but stained cotton and skin (borders) between him and me, and him and me, and him and-
“Yeah”, he breathed.
In response America dragged his head up to that punctured spot and it itched in anticipation. He dipped his head against it, nuzzled his nose into the curve of Canada’s neck, the strands of his hair curling and falling against skin that didn’t belong to him.
“This isn’t enough. I need more” And Canada’s breath stopped because –ohmercy, he didn’t think it would really be this shocking to hear that.
But maybe America didn’t notice, or he was too wrapped up in explaining, but he felt the lightest press of sharp somethings –teeth, god those are teeth- press against that itch.
“I need…” And then those teeth lifted away and there was a squeeze of arms grounding him to the here and now once again.
“Canada, are you okay with this?”
Re: 1789 - Part 10
(Anonymous) 2010-10-11 05:21 pm (UTC)(link)more more mooooore?
Re: 1789 - Part 10
(Anonymous) 2010-10-11 05:28 pm (UTC)(link)I was actually thinking about this the other day, and I was super excited to see it on the fill list! Great chapter, I love how America is scared and Canada seems perfectly fine. Can't wait until you get into more modern times and how they deal with it as adults.
Re: 1789 - Part 10
(Anonymous) 2010-10-12 05:24 am (UTC)(link)I look forward to the next parts~
Re: 1789 - Part 10
(Anonymous) 2010-10-12 10:27 pm (UTC)(link)And besides I totally have no right to complain about the rare updates. I'm even worse with my own fills. orz
op
(Anonymous) 2010-10-13 12:52 am (UTC)(link)That being said yay an update!
This was oddly sensual, I like how you described the process and everything and unsure Alfred.
Bravo!