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California King

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"Are you sure about this?"

America bit his tongue against his initial sarcastic reply, and instead concentrated on breathing slowly and evenly through his nose. He shifted his weight slightly from one knee to the other and back, causing the shackles around his ankles to clink gently against the bar between them. His new mattress was just a bit too firm to accommodate his current position, but it was a little too late to make some crack about needing to "break it in" now.

"What about this scenario, Mattie, strikes you as unsure?" he asked.

His brother didn't respond immediately, hemming and hawing and clearing his throat as he started and abandoned half a dozen answers in the space of more time than the question really demanded. To make matters worse, America could hear Canada nervously fiddling with the cat o' nine, and the gentle swish of the leather straps against each other caused America's balls to draw up closer to his body, irritation warring with the lust that had been building as each restraint slipped into place.

"You just…I don't…what if I hurt you?" Canada finally managed. "I mean, really hurt you? That is...I get that the point is what if...."

America fought back a sigh and tried to twist toward the sound of Canada's voice. This was not a simple process, as his wrists were manacled together and attached at his nape to the thick leather collar fitted snugly around his neck, and his elbows were the only thing keeping him from toppling face-first onto the sheets. Also, with the blindfold on, he could only guess at the correct direction to turn.

"C'mon, babe." He tried to keep his voice low and gentle, the way he would speak to a panicky horse. "We've talked about this. You've known me longer than pretty much anybody. You know what I can take, and you know how I feel about you. I…we'll both be fine."

"It’ really want this? Really? From me? I'm just not sure…."

"I am. I trust you." He gave Canada his best winning smile.

Canada sighed heavily. "I know, Al. But -- "

Irritation and lust, lust and irritation. Irritation was starting to win.

"…But? Are you suddenly not okay with this?" Maybe the spreader-bar had been a bit much to ask for. Then again, Canada hadn't exactly protested at the suggestion.

"No, it's just that -- "

"Then what's with all the questions?"

"…What do you mean?"

America did his best to shrug casually, but in his current position the movement came across as something between a hiccup and an itch in the middle of his back. "I'm just saying, I thought we had talked all this through, and now you seem like you want to back out." As if speaking the thought made it possible, a dash of anxiety splashed into the lust-irritation cocktail churning through his gut.

"I never said that!"

"Then what, Mattie?" America let his head drop back between his shoulders, shifting his weight again to tug briefly against his wrist cuffs, reminding himself that they had at least gotten this far. All the emails, the talks over coffee, the weeks of reassurances, bickering over details, deciding on a safe word, drafting of a goddamn script, it had all culminated in this. However, he couldn't quite stop himself from muttering, half to himself and half into the mattress, "Because Prussia sure as hell never asked this many questions."

"Excuse me."

The ice in Canada's voice and the implied violence in those two simple words caused America's toes to curl in anticipation, breath catching in his throat, and the only thing he could think was yes yes God yes thank you finallyfinally as he heard the cat hiss through the air --

-- and thump harmlessly against the bed, next to his left ankle.

The bedroom door slammed, followed quickly by the staccato thumping of feet going down the stairs. A few seconds later, he heard the fainter but no less final sound of the front door slamming, too.

"Well, fuck," America said to himself, tugging experimentally against his bonds.

He wondered absently if it would be better or worse if Tony found him first.