Canada lived on the edge, something not a lot of people know. As such, it works to his advantage, especially when it comes to you. Every touch, every breath, every gaze directed towards your adoring form was malicious and needy and oh-so full of love.
You were none the wiser.
That allowed for moments like these, moments where you have a couple of drinks and fall asleep in his bed. Maybe it was the maple whiskey (delicious), or maybe it was your natural desire to get closer to the Canadian like he knows you've always wanted. There's a certain smile you give him that you don't give to others, a special, delicate touch your fingers have whenever you brush his arm or encase him in a hug. He was hoping you or he could confess tonight, but, it never came up.
Canada decided to bide his time beside you, taking one last sip of his whiskey before setting it down on the bedside table. In this position, he was leaning over you, your faint, alcoholic breath wafting over his nose. You were so sweet, so delicate and oh, why not? It wouldn't be the first time he kissed you in your sleep.
His lips were soft, the chapstick he uses was well worth the money. This meant he could feel every ridge and crest your lips had to offer, a small moan leaving you from the nice feeling of the kiss. Your body shifted beneath him, legs curling in before stretching out on either side of his left one. His knee was in prime position for your crotch, the thin, booty shorts barely a barrier when you accidentally rut against his limb. A gasp had your skin prickling with goosebumps, mouth opening into Canada's as you did it again.
You were lost in a wet dream, using his thigh to get yourself off and fuck was he into it. His mind short-circuited, face imploding with red from the situation at hand. Jeez, he was sprouting a half-chub before but now his cock was badly aching and straining against his pants. Why did he have to wear jeans tonight?
A slight coldness made him look down, Canada experimentally moving his knee into you. You moaned, glistening a wet streak of arousal on his pant leg. He's not gonna wash these for a while. And how he was dripping a little cum patch of his own, his cock leaking so verily that he would assume he was in the throes of an orgasm now - if it weren't for the rising stimulation you were giving him.
And, you weren't even touching his dick yet.
Canada fell back on his haunches, eyes glassy as he helped you rut into his leg. Would you make him cum without touching him? You could, too. Yeah, you could do anything to him. Large hands pawed at your clothed breasts, your bra was worn and gave way, heavy tits in his palms made him salivate. Oh Gods, you feel so against him, your thighs so warm and he could only imagine what it was like inside your gushy cunt-
"Ngnn-!" Canada doubled over in orgasm, his cum spurting out through the seams of his jeans and spraying onto your body, curling around your bellybutton and bare skin since your shirt rose up. "I'm sorry," he apologised, moving himself around so he could get lower. His eyes were teary, breath panting. He had to free his cock or else it would become way too unbearable. Canada's body was moving on its own, his hand unzipping so he could hold his limp cock. The knob was leaking, the flesh sensitive. His hot breath rippled the spilt cum on your stomach, the squelching of masturbation filling the air because he couldn't help himself. "I'll clean you up, good, yeah?" His tongue moved out, licking and lapping at his own jizz off your belly.
His other hand started playing with your pussy through your underwear, lust-drunk and needy to the point of no return. He couldn't confess earlier, maybe if things go too far tonight then he can surprise you in the morning. You'd have to agree, there's no way you'd say no.
