A/N- This is pretty much a shameless excuse for me to practice writing smut. Seriously.

Disclaimer: I own no characters, and even the places I mention are real locations/ organizations. The prompt (America having silky french locks ala France) was from the kink meme.

Summary: America's just returned from a long stay in Mexico, and he's sporting a new look that Canada finds incredibly appealing. Who would have thought that he wasn't the only one to inherit France's silky french locks? Canada/America

Amber Waves of Grain

"I can't -oh, fuck, right there- can't believe you ne -ngh- never told me about thiiiis, Al."

America looked up from between Canada's splayed legs, blue eyes made all the brighter when coupled with his freshly sun-kissed skin. Even if it meant months of only his hand for company, America spending time in various relief groups offering their assistance in Mexico had certainly come with its benefits. America looked better than he had in months, the stress that had been sapping away at his vibrancy all but gone. He practically glowed against Canada's pale skin, the tanned fingers brushing against his inner thighs reminiscent of the sun's rays embracing the silver moon.

"Never told'ya what?" he asked between small, open-mouth kisses up and down the length of Canada's cock.

"About your haa-hair."

The hair that brushed tantalizing across his twitching stomach, as bright as waves of gold, waves and curls as they broke against the shore of Canada's skin.

"Wha' 'bou't?" said with lush, kiss-swollen lips pressed against the head of his cock. America suckled just so, teased with the tiniest grazes of teeth, and then took him in all at once. Canada's toes curled, and his hands flew to grasp at America's head.

"I haa-haad no idea it was so–oooh God, when did you get so good at this? wavy." So smooth, so gorgeous, so much like mine.

The vibration of America's laugh almost brought him to completion.

As if sensing Canada's nearness, America pulled his head away with a pop –and Canada may or may not have let out a frustrated whine at the loss of all that ohGodslickheatyes- and then he leaned in to run a wet stripe from base to tip with the flat of his tongue. All the way up those locks followed the trail, just barely grazing against his arousal, as taunting as the one whose head they hung from.

"When was I supposed to tell you?" America sounded amused now. His smile was pressed against Canada's stomach, and whenever he talked the bob of his chin and the vibrations of his throat would send small bursts of pleasure skittering to pool just below that spot beneath America's lips. "It's not a big deal."

It was more than a little difficult to form proper sentences when every puff of breath from America's mouth sent him one step closer to just pushing him onto the ground and fucking him then and there, but somehow, Canada managed to find restraint.

"It's just weird, I guess," he said, because that's the only thing he could think to say. It was weird, discovering something so mundane about America after hundreds of years of discovering his most bizarre, pointless of quirks. He felt as if he'd been walking around blind for centuries.

"Do you not like it?" America dipped his tongue into his bellybutton, circled its perimeter, and then blew on it. Canada shivered in an all too pleasant way. "'Cuz I can cut it, if it bothers you that much. I mean, I usually do- I just didn't really have the time, y'know?"

"Not weird like that," he corrected, and he drew a sharp breath as America nipped at his stomach before soothing the spot with a gentle kiss, "It just feels like I should have known. I've known you for my entire life, and I didn't even know your hair curls when it grows out."

Belatedly, "And don't. I kinda like it like this." It was oddly arousing, being able to grasp America's hair so easily, having so much to run his fingers through, and all the while knowing America could and did the same to his. Not that Canada would tell America that, of course. Keep it long because it turns me on.

"Mattie, you can be such a dork sometimes."

America straddled Canada's lap, kissed him one, two, three times on the lips, and pressed their foreheads together. Long since having abandoned their glasses, Canada's view of America's eyes was wonderfully unobstructed, and not for the first time Canada marveled in the light touch of gray amid the summer-sky blue, a kind of slate that reminds him of industrialization and mountain ranges. The moment could have been innocent, if not for the grinding twist of America's hips and the brush of his arousal against Canada's stomach.

"I've cut my hair short my entire life; how were you supposed to know? Chill, babe." He smirked wickedly, "You've got a long time left to learn everything about me."

Shaking his head amusedly, Canada took a firm hold of that hair, as soft and slippery-smooth as silk between his fingers, and pulled the man in, meshing their mouths together as if he wished to erase the seam separating their lips. America tasted like sunshine and wide, open plains and the heat-baked earth of his deserts. Beneath all that was something tangy and sweet and wholly Alfred, something that Matthew could never seem to get enough of.

America hummed into the kiss before breaking it to ask, "So, are you gonna fuck me now, or what?"

"Mmm, bed?" Canada asked, somewhat distractedly. From this distance, he could make out every individual freckle on America's face, dotting the bridge of his nose and cheeks like tiny flakes of copper. Canada found it ridiculously adorable, and he was a bit busy sucking and nipping at one of those sunspots, a tiny patch of them right below America's left ear. It was becoming a very attractive shade of red.

America moaned softly at the attention, the lips tracing the shell of Canada's ear ghosting hot tendrils of breath against his cheek. "N-no," he panted, arching his back and thrusting his chest forward as Canada circled a nipple with his finger until it pebbled beneath his touch, physically begging to be touched harder, more boldly.

So Canada grabbed his length, tracing the underside with his thumb briefly, then began stroking, firm and slow and with a little twist near the head, the way that he knew drove America wild.

"Oh, fuck, Matt…!" And God, when America said his name like that, writhing on top of him and bucking into his hand as free and wild as the wind, flushed red from ears to broad, sloping shoulders, it was no wonder why Canada couldn't help but comply, gave as much as expected and then some. "M-Matt! Don't wanna get uun-up. Here, n-now…!"

He'd hoped he would say that.

"Mmm, you sure?" he asked him, just to work America up. He kissed the blotched skin of his neck, delighting in the twitch it sent through America's cock. "I could fuck you into the mattress," rubbed his thumb along the engorged head, smearing pre-come and drawing out a long whine, "see all that hair spread out under your head, like sunshine," like a halo, like the first breath of life in springtime leaves, like something more radiant than light, "clinging to your face with sweat," like it was now, stray locks curling sweetly around America's chin and cheeks and brushing away centuries of worry and pain and war.

"Sure am," and America's grin was touched with the scorch of Sin City heat, a sultry promise, "'Cuz I wanna ride you until you pass out."

Hands grasped Canada's hair tightly, and he was pulled into another long kiss. It was more tongue than anything, a deliciously wet affair that left Canada panting breathlessly. America had always been good with his tongue, for as long as Canada had been with him. It was a talent learned at an earlier time, when America was young and free and so very infatuated with France.

Canada would probably be a lot more jealous if he wasn't reaping all the benefits now.

A string of saliva connected their tongues together when Canada pulled away. America flicked his tongue playfully against Canada's lips to break it, dipping shallowly into the warm cavern of his mouth and pressing a small, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. It was sensual and sweet, and Canada knew it was something invented just for him.

"Lube?" America asked somewhat breathlessly, gyrating his hips and grinding their arousals together.

"A-ah, I think there's some in the d-drawer over there." Canada gestured vaguely to the right, more focused on the rising heat of his skin and the flushed, naked man that was causing the spike.

"Gotcha."

And America promptly bent over backward and twisted in the direction of the drawer, flipping his hair back like one of his melodramatic movie stars, wrapping his legs firmly around Canada's midsection to keep himself balanced. It offered a lovely view of America's abdomen, toned abs and flat stomach flexing attractively, trembling softly as he riffled blind through the contents of the drawer while fighting to keep horizontal. The muscles of America's thighs tensed, solid and strong against his sides.

"Aha!" America crowed triumphantly, voice strained from his unnatural position. Snapping up sharply from his arch, hair following swiftly behind almost as bouncy as America himself -teasing in its flare and flutter, like someone tossing their locks after coming up from underneath the water for air - he waved the bottle in Canada's face.

"Do you keep lube in every drawer in the living room?" America laughed brightly at the embarrassed blush that dusted Canada's face.

"N-nah, just strategic places around the house," Canada answered in a pseudo-serious voice. He hears the click of the bottle opening before it's placed in his waiting palm.

"Really now?" America quirked a brow and grinned wryly.

"Oh yeah." He squeezed out a generous dollop into his hand and began to coat his fingers, conscious of the amount of time since their last coupling. "Like, that one? All part of my plan."

"Plan, you say?" Canada gasped as America's hand wrapped around his cock, slicking it up. The lube was cool, but heating quickly, and the sensation was pushing Canada's patience. "Sounds devious."

"Mmm, it worked, too." Canada sucked America's earlobe into his mouth, and groaned when America's hand tightened on his length. "You're in my lap, after all."

Without cue, America raised himself up on his knees and wrapped his arms around Canada's neck, lips already diligently at work creating a mark to mirror the one Canada left him. "And people think I'm the evil twin." The tickle of hair against his shoulder was a new but welcome sensation, feeling almost like silk rustling against his skin.

Canada braced America against him with a hand on his hip, cock twitching at the hardness pressed flush against his stomach. His other ghosted along the crevice of America's ass, index finger circling his entrance a few times before pressing in. It was hot and tight, much tighter than usual, and Canada, if possible, grew harder at the thought of finally, finally getting to experience this again.

Next time America said he had an idea to better his relations with Mexico, Canada was going to drag him into the bedroom and remind him just why he shouldn't.

Against him, America's body tensed, breath hitching oddly as Canada began to probe his passage and spread the lube around. He circled his thumb soothing along America's hipbone and peppered kisses around the plains of his chest.

"So, what'd you do in Mexico, exactly?" Canada asked, hoping to distract America from the burn of having his entrance stretched.

"U-umm, well, I spent a lot of it working at this orphanage in Baja California," he answered, voice tightening briefly as Canada slipped a second finger in beside the first. "A-ah, E-el Sauzal, near Ensenada. I mo-ooh, fuck-ostly helped to install different things and build rooms and stuff. The kids were great."

"Yeah? What were they like?" he kept the conversation going. Meanwhile, he began alternating between short, shallow thrusts of his fingers and scissoring motions.

America groaned into his ear, voice caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. "Real playful. They ,ngh, were all so happy." America smiled into his hair. "I'd play with them when I wasn't working. 'Kept me really busy, all of 'em."

"Busy enough to not give you enough time to cut your hair?" he teased, and the thrusts of his fingers grew deeper, longer, as he worked to find that bundle of nerves…

"Ha, yeah, pretty much," America agreed with a laugh. "That, and Mexico insisted it looked good on me, and well...you know how she can get."

Canada's eyes narrowed, the violet hue taking on a sharp edge. The motion of his fingers halted. "She didn't try to 'cross your borders' again, did she?"

"N-no!" America protested, already flushed cheeks taking on an even darker shade that touched even the tips of his ears. "She was really tame, except for maybe a few immigration comments… Oh, and that night we both had a bit too much cerveza."

"Hardy har har." Abruptly, Canada resumed his thrusting, adding a third finger for good measure. "You're so funny."

"Ouch! Be more gentle, you bastard!" America struck his back with a fist, but there was an underlying note of amusement in his tone that halted the apology that had blossomed on his tongue at the sound of America's cry of pain. When America spoke again, he was laughing. "Jesus, Matt. It was a joke. Possessive much?"

Very.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Canada sniffed indignantly. "So, did the two of you play nice?"

America snorted, probably at the phrasing, but thankfully, did not attempt to misconstrue the question. "Yeah, mom. I spent the last few days before I came back with her. She showed me some great surfing spots," and ah, the image of a wet America, board tucked under his arm and newly long, golden hair glistening in the sun, was a sexy image indeed, "and treated me to some awesome home-cooked Mexican dishes." He paused, then added, "Not that I don't have some awesome Mexican places of my own. Arizona has some great spo-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off by a loud cry of pleasure as Canada nudged his prostate. America rocked back against his fingers, hands pressing Canada's head to his chest, gasping as every twist of his fingers struck that same spot, over and over.

"Ah, ah, M-Matt!"

Canada pulled out his fingers, leaving America to groan at the loss.

"Ready?"

In response, America grasped Canada's shoulders and sunk down, tossing his head back, and oh, his hair did that tossing-flip thing again, and even if it was corny as hell on television, somehow America made it look ridiculously attractive.

America did not stop until Canada was entirely sheathed in his tight heat, eyes clenched shut and breath coming in short gasps. As much as he wanted to do nothing more than thrust in, deep and hard and holding nothing back, Canada restrained himself, allowed America the time to adjust. He focused on smoothing his palms over America's quivering hips and thighs, pressed kisses to the hollow of his throat and took pleasure in the little sigh he received in return.

When America rose up and dropped down, Canada met him with an upward thrust of his own that left both of them moaning. They established a rhythm quickly, eager and desperate after months apart. America bore down with a passionate abandon, eyes flashing with heat and bluer than the brightest skies and Canada mirrored his every move, worshipping his body with grasping hands.

And of all the things to catch his eye, Canada couldn't seem to get enough of America's hair, marveling at the differences, the way it looked against America's sun-kissed skin. It hung in a looser curtain now, curls and waves weighed down with sweat, bangs falling over his half-lidded eyes, clinging to his cheeks. Somehow, it managed to be both unnaturally cute and unbearably sexy in the same turn.

"A-Al!" he moaned as he feels his length slam home, directly against America's prostate. America mewled into his shoulder, writhing in pleasure on top of him, hips jerking and gyrating, grinding down and aiming for that spot again and again and again.

That hair glimmered golden from the corner of his eye, and Canada could not help but reach out and grasp it. He tugged, pulling America against him, chest to chest, so close he could feel America's heart thrumming fast and heavy on his skin. He carded his fingers through the locks, and they moved as sleekly and smoothly through his fingers as water. Meanwhile, he used the lack of distance to swallow America's noises, tongue diving into the wet heat of America's mouth.

Canada kept his fingers woven in America's amber waves until their movements broke down, degraded to shallow, sharp thrusts of the hip, until climax was roiling just beneath the surface. Hooking his hands just below the globes of America's ass, Canada helped him to rise and fall, harder and higher while, with half-mast eyes, he watched America grasp his own cock, furiously stroking, trying to keep time with the pace of their hips.

Climax rushed at him like an oncoming wave, sudden and strong, dragging him down to the deepest of pleasures with a powerful, otherworldly force. He cried out his release, the world washed briefly in a white light. Canada stiffened, felt himself filling America's tightening passage, and whispered his name against his chest.

Hands nudging America's away to take their place around America's length, Canada observed America's face shamelessly as he stroked him to completion. America's face was screwed with pleasure, held nothing back from the world, no matter how wanton.

Warmth slowly began to seep from Canada's chest to suffuse throughout him, and he knew it wasn't just from the afterglow.

"Matt!" When America came he bucked forward into Canada's hand and spilled his seed across their stomachs. Canada's heart, as usual, skipped a beat upon hearing his name called in such a manner, as if from the lips of someone who neither knew nor cared for anything else.

Not for the first time, Canada realized America was sensual and beautiful and everything and nothing like what Canada had always hoped for in a lover. He couldn't imagine doing this with anyone else, wanted to do this with America and America alone for the rest of his existence. It wasn't a new realization, but rather, one that had grown gradually, tempered from centuries of growing close and getting to know one another.

After a time America pulled himself up, standing shamelessly in front of Canada, not bothered by the stray trails of his essence running down his legs. He was smiling softly, sated as a cat that had just enjoyed a particularly good dish of cream. His kiss was soft and intimate.

"I love you." America's lips were still close enough that he felt every word as it was spoken.

Canada smiled and lifted a hand to brush the stray, sweaty bangs away from America's eyes, capturing the blue gaze and returning the favor, a chaste kiss that seemed to say so much more than they could possibly speak.

"I love you, too."

OOO

"Is this going to be a new obsession?"

They were spooning under the covers of Canada's bed, freshly cleaned, tired and utterly satisfied. America's arms were looped around Canada's waist, hands gentle on his back and head resting on Canada's shoulder, obviously not far from sleep. He was looking on in amusement as Canada ran his fingers through America's hair, working out kinks and snarls as he came upon them.

"Maybe." He kissed the tips of the lock in his hand teasingly. "I told you, I like it." And this time he turns his head to kiss America's forehead. "You look sexy."

America snorted. "And I didn't before?"

Canada laughed, and threw an arm around America to draw him in closer and hold him from behind, cradling him as surely as his border did.