Whim or not, Canada is fully drawn in. Thrillingly, desperately so as he drinks in Ivan's sudden advances. Any rational thoughts that might have been left to Canada dissolve like ice in warming water. The nip, the hand in his hair, the possessive hold all make him warmer. (No doubt his face is reflecting that.) The look in Russia's eyes was perhaps the one thing that could have brought him down, but ice doesn't stand much chance in hot water.

At the question Canada ducks his head, buries the nose that Russia had just kissed into his scarf and nods. He blinks, realizing that one hand is still tightly holding Russia's, and the other has come to rest on his thigh.

His mind skips, trying to think of the closet place they can get to to be private. Besides the washroom (that's probably not good), they are downtown. Should be a hotel close...