-This is 2P!Canada, just to clarify once more xD This is also a reward for a deviant who won third place in the Prom Contest put on by the group in the description ^^ There will also be a link to their entry :3 Her reward was a drabble by me, and she requested a 2P!Canada drabble, so this is what happened ^^
*I do NOT own Hetalia, the Characters, or the Reader! I only own the plot and do NOT plan on making profit! The only payment I require is happy readers~
Most men are decent to be around; they are polite and have some self-control around the opposite gender. Most of them resist their natural urges and temptations. Most of them are unlike him. Mathew was simply another story.
You were once again cleaning the kitchen of the apartment that the two of you shared. Yes, you were a couple, and yes, it was fairly one-sided. You never asked to be his girlfriend; he just wouldn’t let you walk away. At first you were wooed by his persistence of earning the title of being your boyfriend, but once he gained that title, he became defunct. All he did was sit around all day and expect you to be at his beck-and-call, especially when his stomach was empty.
Speaking of which, you noticed that he hadn’t ordered you to make him a sandwich or get him another glass of whiskey. In fact, he hadn’t said anything from his spot on the leather couch in over an hour. Something must be seriously wrong.
Curious, you snuck into the living room, noting that the television was shut off; it was never off when Mathew was in the house. Your bare feet pattered against the flooring, making your presence known to the violet eyed Canadian. A strange, vexing aura filled the air as you approached the back of the couch. Cautiously, you placed your fingers on the back, slowly leaning in to peer over the edge.
Your brows knitted together when you discovered that your boyfriend was not lying lackadaisically on the piece of furniture like always; he was always on the couch. Something very strange was transpiring. With a small huff of perplexity, you took a step back as you prepared to turn on your heel to return to the kitchen. However, before you could execute your planned actions, two robust limbs wrapped around your middle section and pulled your back against a strong chest. Your eyes widened as your hands landed onto the hands of your captor. Hot breath on the junction of your neck and shoulders caused your body to shiver and your head to turn; your (color) eyes were met with silken locks of gold, a small curl protruding and nudging your cheek.
“Mathew?” you asked for clarification, though you were almost certain it was your Canadian lover. A hum was your response as the man nuzzled your neck.
“I’m hungry, sweetheart,” he spoke in a husky whisper, the tips of his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your neck. You released a sigh, but not of pleasure. You sighed at his incompetence.
“Then go make yourself a sandwi-“ Your words were abruptly cut off by a cursory remark.
“Not hungry for food,” he quickly replied, his arms gripping your middle more tightly to the point you could feel every indent of his sculpted body against your body. All of a sudden, a soft breath of ecstasy left your lips as he ground into you from behind, a low purr emitting from his chest. “I’m hungry for you, sweetheart.”