February 25, 1960.

America hadn't meant for it to happen, really he hadn't. Most importantly, he hadn't expected to actually do it. But he did, and while he was originally proud of himself, none of that elation mattered now that he apparently had to pay the price for it.

The scariest part of the whole thing was probably the sharp anger swimming in Canada's eyes. Something about the fierce, chill-inducing glare Canada was sending his way made America's hairs stand on end. He had never feared his brother before now. Hell, he had never known fear quite like this before now.

"America….you made a grave, grave mistake," Canada's voice sounded as frosty as a thousand icicles scraping down one's skin.

America couldn't bare it, especially since he was completely helpless. Canada had actually gone and tied him up; America's arms uncomfortably stiff above his head, ropes crisscrossing over his torso to secure his entrapment, and (probably most unfortunate and embarrassing of all) his legs tied apart, spread-eagle. He was at the mercy of his deranged brother, who looked like he was about to gut America like a fish.

"I'm sorry okay, I've said it a million times and I'll say it a million more! I didn't mean to! It won't happen again Canada for the love of God pleeease untie me! What the hell are these ropes even made of?" What was the point of having super strength when it didn't help him in times of need?

"They're made of the toughest steel in the world. You won't be able to break free so stop trying. You will face the consequences," the soft voice spoke, still as frosty as ever. With that, he brought forth a large knife from seemingly no where. America blanched uncomfortably.

"Why the hell do you have that?!"

"I use it to hunt caribou."

It was clear that behind that soft, lax exterior the nation usually carried around with him, Canada was actually just a fucking nut job. God, America was so screwed. "Wow that sounds like a fun hobby, say, what exactly are you gonna do with that since there are, yanno, no caribou in sight?"

Canada stepped closer, and, much to America's utter dismay, expertly sliced through the fabric of his pants and underwear, leaving a huge hole. Legs spread apart as they were, America's ass was now completely exposed and open.

He gulped noticeably.

Putting the knife away, Canada then brought out his beloved hockey stick, which was strewn with scrapes and chipped paint.

"Which side of my stick would you prefer, America?"

Sweat prickled down the sides of his face as he stared, gaping at the hockey stick. "Oh. Oh wow. Yeah, see…I'm not sure if this is such a good idea. We've gotten along pretty well, yanno? Like our international relations have been pretty good. We don't really want to tarnish our awesome record like this do we?"

"You made a very big mistake, America, you need to be punished." Honestly, Canada was sounding less and less like a person and more like a robot repeating a nightmarish mantra to a child trying to sleep. "I'll repeat it again, which side of my stick would you prefer?

"Ha… is this a trick question? Definitely not the blade, man!"

"So you prefer the shaft?"

"…."

"So you prefer the shaft?"

"FINE, I guess! God can't I make it up to you some other way? Like a more reasonable method where people come together to settle differences and reach a compromise where both parties are left feeling satisfied with the outcome and –"

"NO."

America stopped trying to reason with the crazed lunatic. Obviously there was no way to make an agreement with a madman.

He wiggled in discomfort as the stick drew closer, sparing a quick glance at Canada's angry yet concentrating expression. America didn't have time to mentally prepare himself as Canada's hockey stick was thrust inside his ass with an incredible amount of force. His head was thrown backward and he let out a guttural screech which turned into an embarrassing moan. It appeared that the stick had hit his prostate on the first try. And god, was it deep.

The thrusting became relentless after that, Canada making sure the stick was as far up America's ass as physically possible for each blow; and America groaning uncontrollably in the midst of his punishment. Canada hadn't even slicked up the shaft beforehand either; he just forced it in without any sort of lubrication! God, what a douche.

Ten minutes of getting fucked with a hockey stick, America's ass was burning and his pleas of desperation were finally answered (the cum stains on the inside of his pants showed that maybe he hadn't hated the punishment as much as he tried to let on). Canada finally cut him free of the ropes and America let his abused body lay there, trying to let the pain subside.

"Did you learn your lesson?" Canada asked, standing above him. At least he sounded a lot less threatening than before.

"Hell yes. I am never going to beat you at ice hockey ever again."

A/N: On February 25, 1960 - America beat Canada 2-1 in Ice Hockey at the Winter Olympics; it was an unexpected surprise for sure. Even though in this fic, America promises never to beat Canada again, America does manage to win the World Cup of Hockey against Canada in 1996. I wonder what Canada will do to punish America then :)

Unfortunately, I'm not even a huge fan of CanAme or USCan (whatever it's called lol) but I got this idea in my head and I had to write it. I can't resist torturing America at any chance I get.

Thanks for reading!