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valmoraDe-anoning from the kink meme and backdating to not spam flists.
Title: untitled
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Canada/America
Rating: PG-13 excluding some mild language
Disclaimer: incredible degrees of not mine
Notes: originally posted at the kink meme for this prompt, linked at the kindex here.
Summary: America is, at once and to his dismay, both a fundamentalist Christian and subject to his desires as a Nation. Internal conflict ensues.
The sunlight fell soft-warm on America’s face, muted by stained glass and shadows from the high arched ceiling. He had taken his cross off when he sat down in the pew, held it between his palms as he prayed, whispering to himself, eyes closed. Even Nations did not receive personal messages from God, and how America would have liked one, to know what to do next. I am poured out like water –
Someone sat down beside him, and his train of thought stuttered, words running out of his mind until he remembered where he had been, and went again. Only when he was finished, They shall come, and shall declare his righteousness unto a people that shall be born, that he hath done this, did he open his eyes and look over.
Canada had his hands clasped, eyes closed – hardly an angel, with his married gays and his drug use. America was already in a bad mood, feeling guilty and ugly and sinful, knuckles infected-weeping under their bandages from his fighting with insurrectionists in Iraq and Afghanistan. This just made it worse, having Canada in his church in his house –
But it was nice to see him praying. Europe as a whole was getting faithless – France would laugh whenever America mentioned prayers, and while North Italy would pray, perfect Catholic, he’d leave Mass to go straight to (Protestant, otherwise sensible, except for his faith in science instead of God) Germany to get fucked up the ass. Somehow America doubted that that particular sausage counted as the Catholic equivalent of kosher.
But America was hardly in a state to cast stones. He’d been visiting colleges this past month to see what the children were doing, and dragged Canada and China along with him. The problem was that so many colleges were so permissive, and Nations are always suggestible – well. It had all culminated in a half-drunk session of amazing sex with Canada, followed by sober amazing sex the following morning before any of the partygoers woke up to their hangovers.
He’d been feeling disgusting ever since, trying anything he could think of to cleanse himself short of trying those ex-gay programs - even his faith didn’t go far enough for those. Maybe it was just the way things were for Nations, that he wasn’t really homosexual, just… afflicted.
He could have resisted, if he’d tried.
Canada finished praying, setting his hands back down on his thighs, and looked over. “All done?” he asked.
“Yeah,” America said. “Let’s go. Didn’t help me any.”
“I’m sorry,” Canada said, tilting his head slightly. The light from the stained-glass windows fell in blue streaks over Canada’s face. America wanted to trace his fingers over the lines, press his mouth to the blotches of bright red left by the glass angel’s robe on Canada’s neck.
“You should be,” America said, standing. “You disturbed me.” He grinned, knowing Canada would take it as a joke when it wasn’t funny at all.
Title: untitled
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Canada/America
Rating: PG-13 excluding some mild language
Disclaimer: incredible degrees of not mine
Notes: originally posted at the kink meme for this prompt, linked at the kindex here.
Summary: America is, at once and to his dismay, both a fundamentalist Christian and subject to his desires as a Nation. Internal conflict ensues.
The sunlight fell soft-warm on America’s face, muted by stained glass and shadows from the high arched ceiling. He had taken his cross off when he sat down in the pew, held it between his palms as he prayed, whispering to himself, eyes closed. Even Nations did not receive personal messages from God, and how America would have liked one, to know what to do next. I am poured out like water –
Someone sat down beside him, and his train of thought stuttered, words running out of his mind until he remembered where he had been, and went again. Only when he was finished, They shall come, and shall declare his righteousness unto a people that shall be born, that he hath done this, did he open his eyes and look over.
Canada had his hands clasped, eyes closed – hardly an angel, with his married gays and his drug use. America was already in a bad mood, feeling guilty and ugly and sinful, knuckles infected-weeping under their bandages from his fighting with insurrectionists in Iraq and Afghanistan. This just made it worse, having Canada in his church in his house –
But it was nice to see him praying. Europe as a whole was getting faithless – France would laugh whenever America mentioned prayers, and while North Italy would pray, perfect Catholic, he’d leave Mass to go straight to (Protestant, otherwise sensible, except for his faith in science instead of God) Germany to get fucked up the ass. Somehow America doubted that that particular sausage counted as the Catholic equivalent of kosher.
But America was hardly in a state to cast stones. He’d been visiting colleges this past month to see what the children were doing, and dragged Canada and China along with him. The problem was that so many colleges were so permissive, and Nations are always suggestible – well. It had all culminated in a half-drunk session of amazing sex with Canada, followed by sober amazing sex the following morning before any of the partygoers woke up to their hangovers.
He’d been feeling disgusting ever since, trying anything he could think of to cleanse himself short of trying those ex-gay programs - even his faith didn’t go far enough for those. Maybe it was just the way things were for Nations, that he wasn’t really homosexual, just… afflicted.
He could have resisted, if he’d tried.
Canada finished praying, setting his hands back down on his thighs, and looked over. “All done?” he asked.
“Yeah,” America said. “Let’s go. Didn’t help me any.”
“I’m sorry,” Canada said, tilting his head slightly. The light from the stained-glass windows fell in blue streaks over Canada’s face. America wanted to trace his fingers over the lines, press his mouth to the blotches of bright red left by the glass angel’s robe on Canada’s neck.
“You should be,” America said, standing. “You disturbed me.” He grinned, knowing Canada would take it as a joke when it wasn’t funny at all.
