fic: Broing Out
Jul. 9th, 2011 08:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Broing Out
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: America, Canada. Mentioned Russia > America > Ukraine and France/Canada.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1735
Author's note: kink meme, anything goes. Originally intended for this other request, but it went awry. Apparently this America decided to be 1) on the straighter side and 2) not wanting to picture his 'parents' having sex (while apparently this Canada is really kinky and would get off on it). Which is hilarious given how much daddy kink I've written with these guys.
Ahem.
More for Melly's birthday package /o/
*
The first thing that Canada did when America arrived at his place to chill was lead him into a room and point to a bigass box of stuff with his name on it. Literally even, in sharpie and everything.
"I've been telling you for the past thirty years to come get your mail," Canada said in his passive-aggressive, I-need-a-maxi-pad voice.
"Jeez, I'll do it, I'll do it," America said. "Just chill out already."
"I am chilled out–It's winter," Canada said.
"That's an awful joke, bro," America said.
Canada cracked a smile. "It was worth a try, eh."
"Why do you keep getting my junk anyways?" America said. He bent down to examine the contents. There were large manilla envelopes, faded and yellowed regular envelopes of all sizes and shapes. Most of them seemed to be posted from the USSR.
"Because they keep mistaking me for you, duh," Canada said. "As per usual."
"I'd take it as a compliment, bro. It's not every day you get to be mistaken for being awesome."
Canada rolled his eyes. "I'm off for a beer."
"Ooh, bring me one too!"
"You can have a beer when you're done sorting through this. And don't you dare just toss it." Canada turned his Don't make me go 1812 on your ass, bitch gaze on him. America decided to not push his luck.
"Yeah, yeah, don't get your lacy little girl panties in a twist," America said.
"For the last time, those were France's, not mine," Canada said.
"I don't even want that mental image," America said. Canada snorted and closed the door behind him.
So America set off to go through thirty year's worth of mail. He started with the USSR, which took up the majority of it, as that'd definitely prove to be useful. He grabbed the first manilla he saw and opened it up. Tons of photographs slipped out. He grabbed the first one on top, which happened to be of Russia himself. At first glance, America wondered why there was a huge flesh-colored snake there. Did he get the memo on America hating snakes? The more he looked, the more freaked out America was. He didn't even know Russia had snakes. Wasn't it too cold for the little scaley creeps to exist?
He took a quick look at the letter that came with it. Dear Amerika. Since you seem so interested in sending me condoms, I figured you must have an interest, da?
He then noticed that Russia was only wearing a scarf in that picture, and was posed pin-up girl style. America nearly dropped the manilla. Holy shit, that was Russia's—?! He checked again, only to find out that yes, it was. He reeled, wanting to huddle in a corner of unmanliness. No wonder Russia kept sending him 'small condoms.' Getting cockslapped by that would cause a broken jaw. Or maybe broken neck.
But it only took a few minutes to bounce back. So what if Russia was bigger? America could actually drop his pants without having guys and gals scream and run away in terror and the beast he'd just unleashed. Canada was bigger than him, and that didn't make him cool. His awesome was back. Shazam.
There was a lot personally from Russia. He even sent a few Christmas cards with his whole family, and dressed in reindeer outfits and elves and stuff. America raised a brow at the blond in the santa dress with giant breasts. Which one was that? No, not Belarus, she was the crazy one...Ukraine! That was it! He started humming a Beatles song. The Ukrainan girls really did knock him out. He'd totally love seeing her dance in that Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini. Mmmhmm.
There was still a ton more to go through, but America figured it was probably just more love letters from Russia, all which sort of sounded like those creepy domination fantasies you read in letters to Playboy–Not that he read it for anything other than the articles, mind you– so he decided it was time for a beer break. He headed to the kitchen where Canada was already working his way through the six pack and doing the crossword puzzle.
"Hey bro, guess what?" He didn't wait for Canada to guess. He never did. "Russia totally has the hots for me. You know, I bet that's why this whole cold war happened. He thought I was ignoring him so started a sorta war just to keep my attention."
Canada looked up from his crossword puzzle.
"That's idiotic. Those were from after the cold war had already begun," Canada pointed out.
"Oh, yeah. Well, I'm sure his mancrush on me had something to do with it. Also, his dick is enormous and his sister is hot."
" First off–do you even know the meaning of too much information? Second, which sister?" Canada said.
"The blond," America said. He grabbed a can of beer and popped the top.
"...They're both blond."
"The one with the big breasts," America said. He cupped invisible tits and pushed them up.
"Oh, Ukraine. She's nice. We've been friends for a while."
"Seriously? You're holding out of me, bro! You should introduce me to her sometime."
"How about no? We really don't need another threat of nuclear war. There's already North Korea, China and half the middle east you've pissed off. You don't need to add Russia back onto that list."
"I was just sayin'–"
"Not a chance."
"Also, you forgot France," America said, in a rare instance of remembering France could actually fight and had a surprising amount of nukes hidden away.
"France isn't going to bomb you, even if you keep calling him names. I made him promise not to no matter what a dick you were to him," Canada said. He lifted a beer can to his lips and took a swig.
"Thanks for taking the fall for me," America said, patting him on the shoulder. "I appreciate it."
"It wasn't really that hard. Well, actually, it was," Canada said with a mischievous grin.
America made a gagging noise. "Ugh, bro. Cut it out."
"Oh Mon Dieu Canada, you are so biiig~" Canada said in a perfect mimic of France's voice.
America grabbed the nearest couch pillow and started hitting him while Canada laughed, kicked up and tried to escape the hold. They wrestled, bro style. Canada reached for the pillow, but America caught him in an armbar. Canada grabbed at his low riders with his free hand.
"Ugh, not the pantsing," America said, and let go of his armbar to pull them up. Canada used this chance to tackle him to the floor and put him in a hold. America, who was a little stronger and a lot more awesome managed to push him off, and it would've gone on like that, except their glasses had gone flying during the scuffle.
"Take five," America said. He blindly hunted for his glasses and hoped they hadn't gone under the fridge again.
"Or ten," Canada grumbled. "France doesn't like other people bruising me up."
"Dude, Canada, too much information," America said. He finally located them and happily found that they weren't broken in the process. Apparently, Canada had too, though it looked like his left lense might've cracked.
"You're paying for those," Canada grumbled.
"Hey, you're the one who keeps rubbing his healthcare in my face. You pay for it," America said.
Canada rolled his eyes.
"You know, Russia is really big," America said. "Like you know everything is bigger in Texas? That's like Russia and Ukraine, times a gazillion."
Canada smirked. "Looks like he isn't the only one with a mancrush."
"Nah, we hate each other, remember? I'd totally do his sister though."
"Sounds like you'd do them both~" Canada said in that sing-songy, 'I'm going to tell papa/I know this better than you.' voice.
"Dude, shut up."
"You're just destined for a Slavic orgy, admit it," Canada said smugly. "Next thing you know, you'll be going 'that Poland 'chick' is hot.'"
"Just for that, I'm going to spend the next Christmas party hitting on your best friend," America said.
"Well, if you're so determined to get your face smashed in with a faucet, then I can't stop you. Besides, it's only fair considering I'll be in a back room screwing your former father figure senseless," Canada said flippantly.
America groaned and tried to get the mental picture out of his mind. It was hard, considering France had leaked the sex tape and the image of his hairy ass was now burned in America's mind. To say nothing of the realization the Canada called France papa in bed.
"I am totally releasing a sex tape one of these days," America grumbled. "Just so you can have the same mental scarring that I do."
"I'll be looking forward to seeing Poland like, totally top you," Canada said cheekily.
America threw another pillow, and the wrestling started all over again.
"Could we have one party which doesn't turn weirdly incestuous?" America said, mid hold.
"You could try saying that without your hand on my ass," Canada said.
"Whoops. Wrestling fail," America said. He lay back on the floor, brushing his hands off.
"Seriously, America. What is your problem? Did England turn you into a total prude? You didn't even have him as a father figure during the Victorian years. Or did France and England invite you into a threesome like they did with me?" Canada asked.
"...France and England asked..." America began. He faltered, his face turning into a blank mask of horror. "I need more alcohol to kill these brain cells which you have tainted with that image."
Canada laughed, and America knew he'd never hear the end of it.
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: America, Canada. Mentioned Russia > America > Ukraine and France/Canada.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1735
Author's note: kink meme, anything goes. Originally intended for this other request, but it went awry. Apparently this America decided to be 1) on the straighter side and 2) not wanting to picture his 'parents' having sex (while apparently this Canada is really kinky and would get off on it). Which is hilarious given how much daddy kink I've written with these guys.
Ahem.
More for Melly's birthday package /o/
*
The first thing that Canada did when America arrived at his place to chill was lead him into a room and point to a bigass box of stuff with his name on it. Literally even, in sharpie and everything.
"I've been telling you for the past thirty years to come get your mail," Canada said in his passive-aggressive, I-need-a-maxi-pad voice.
"Jeez, I'll do it, I'll do it," America said. "Just chill out already."
"I am chilled out–It's winter," Canada said.
"That's an awful joke, bro," America said.
Canada cracked a smile. "It was worth a try, eh."
"Why do you keep getting my junk anyways?" America said. He bent down to examine the contents. There were large manilla envelopes, faded and yellowed regular envelopes of all sizes and shapes. Most of them seemed to be posted from the USSR.
"Because they keep mistaking me for you, duh," Canada said. "As per usual."
"I'd take it as a compliment, bro. It's not every day you get to be mistaken for being awesome."
Canada rolled his eyes. "I'm off for a beer."
"Ooh, bring me one too!"
"You can have a beer when you're done sorting through this. And don't you dare just toss it." Canada turned his Don't make me go 1812 on your ass, bitch gaze on him. America decided to not push his luck.
"Yeah, yeah, don't get your lacy little girl panties in a twist," America said.
"For the last time, those were France's, not mine," Canada said.
"I don't even want that mental image," America said. Canada snorted and closed the door behind him.
So America set off to go through thirty year's worth of mail. He started with the USSR, which took up the majority of it, as that'd definitely prove to be useful. He grabbed the first manilla he saw and opened it up. Tons of photographs slipped out. He grabbed the first one on top, which happened to be of Russia himself. At first glance, America wondered why there was a huge flesh-colored snake there. Did he get the memo on America hating snakes? The more he looked, the more freaked out America was. He didn't even know Russia had snakes. Wasn't it too cold for the little scaley creeps to exist?
He took a quick look at the letter that came with it. Dear Amerika. Since you seem so interested in sending me condoms, I figured you must have an interest, da?
He then noticed that Russia was only wearing a scarf in that picture, and was posed pin-up girl style. America nearly dropped the manilla. Holy shit, that was Russia's—?! He checked again, only to find out that yes, it was. He reeled, wanting to huddle in a corner of unmanliness. No wonder Russia kept sending him 'small condoms.' Getting cockslapped by that would cause a broken jaw. Or maybe broken neck.
But it only took a few minutes to bounce back. So what if Russia was bigger? America could actually drop his pants without having guys and gals scream and run away in terror and the beast he'd just unleashed. Canada was bigger than him, and that didn't make him cool. His awesome was back. Shazam.
There was a lot personally from Russia. He even sent a few Christmas cards with his whole family, and dressed in reindeer outfits and elves and stuff. America raised a brow at the blond in the santa dress with giant breasts. Which one was that? No, not Belarus, she was the crazy one...Ukraine! That was it! He started humming a Beatles song. The Ukrainan girls really did knock him out. He'd totally love seeing her dance in that Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini. Mmmhmm.
There was still a ton more to go through, but America figured it was probably just more love letters from Russia, all which sort of sounded like those creepy domination fantasies you read in letters to Playboy–Not that he read it for anything other than the articles, mind you– so he decided it was time for a beer break. He headed to the kitchen where Canada was already working his way through the six pack and doing the crossword puzzle.
"Hey bro, guess what?" He didn't wait for Canada to guess. He never did. "Russia totally has the hots for me. You know, I bet that's why this whole cold war happened. He thought I was ignoring him so started a sorta war just to keep my attention."
Canada looked up from his crossword puzzle.
"That's idiotic. Those were from after the cold war had already begun," Canada pointed out.
"Oh, yeah. Well, I'm sure his mancrush on me had something to do with it. Also, his dick is enormous and his sister is hot."
" First off–do you even know the meaning of too much information? Second, which sister?" Canada said.
"The blond," America said. He grabbed a can of beer and popped the top.
"...They're both blond."
"The one with the big breasts," America said. He cupped invisible tits and pushed them up.
"Oh, Ukraine. She's nice. We've been friends for a while."
"Seriously? You're holding out of me, bro! You should introduce me to her sometime."
"How about no? We really don't need another threat of nuclear war. There's already North Korea, China and half the middle east you've pissed off. You don't need to add Russia back onto that list."
"I was just sayin'–"
"Not a chance."
"Also, you forgot France," America said, in a rare instance of remembering France could actually fight and had a surprising amount of nukes hidden away.
"France isn't going to bomb you, even if you keep calling him names. I made him promise not to no matter what a dick you were to him," Canada said. He lifted a beer can to his lips and took a swig.
"Thanks for taking the fall for me," America said, patting him on the shoulder. "I appreciate it."
"It wasn't really that hard. Well, actually, it was," Canada said with a mischievous grin.
America made a gagging noise. "Ugh, bro. Cut it out."
"Oh Mon Dieu Canada, you are so biiig~" Canada said in a perfect mimic of France's voice.
America grabbed the nearest couch pillow and started hitting him while Canada laughed, kicked up and tried to escape the hold. They wrestled, bro style. Canada reached for the pillow, but America caught him in an armbar. Canada grabbed at his low riders with his free hand.
"Ugh, not the pantsing," America said, and let go of his armbar to pull them up. Canada used this chance to tackle him to the floor and put him in a hold. America, who was a little stronger and a lot more awesome managed to push him off, and it would've gone on like that, except their glasses had gone flying during the scuffle.
"Take five," America said. He blindly hunted for his glasses and hoped they hadn't gone under the fridge again.
"Or ten," Canada grumbled. "France doesn't like other people bruising me up."
"Dude, Canada, too much information," America said. He finally located them and happily found that they weren't broken in the process. Apparently, Canada had too, though it looked like his left lense might've cracked.
"You're paying for those," Canada grumbled.
"Hey, you're the one who keeps rubbing his healthcare in my face. You pay for it," America said.
Canada rolled his eyes.
"You know, Russia is really big," America said. "Like you know everything is bigger in Texas? That's like Russia and Ukraine, times a gazillion."
Canada smirked. "Looks like he isn't the only one with a mancrush."
"Nah, we hate each other, remember? I'd totally do his sister though."
"Sounds like you'd do them both~" Canada said in that sing-songy, 'I'm going to tell papa/I know this better than you.' voice.
"Dude, shut up."
"You're just destined for a Slavic orgy, admit it," Canada said smugly. "Next thing you know, you'll be going 'that Poland 'chick' is hot.'"
"Just for that, I'm going to spend the next Christmas party hitting on your best friend," America said.
"Well, if you're so determined to get your face smashed in with a faucet, then I can't stop you. Besides, it's only fair considering I'll be in a back room screwing your former father figure senseless," Canada said flippantly.
America groaned and tried to get the mental picture out of his mind. It was hard, considering France had leaked the sex tape and the image of his hairy ass was now burned in America's mind. To say nothing of the realization the Canada called France papa in bed.
"I am totally releasing a sex tape one of these days," America grumbled. "Just so you can have the same mental scarring that I do."
"I'll be looking forward to seeing Poland like, totally top you," Canada said cheekily.
America threw another pillow, and the wrestling started all over again.
"Could we have one party which doesn't turn weirdly incestuous?" America said, mid hold.
"You could try saying that without your hand on my ass," Canada said.
"Whoops. Wrestling fail," America said. He lay back on the floor, brushing his hands off.
"Seriously, America. What is your problem? Did England turn you into a total prude? You didn't even have him as a father figure during the Victorian years. Or did France and England invite you into a threesome like they did with me?" Canada asked.
"...France and England asked..." America began. He faltered, his face turning into a blank mask of horror. "I need more alcohol to kill these brain cells which you have tainted with that image."
Canada laughed, and America knew he'd never hear the end of it.
