yousei-san (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flair) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
metamorphosis2010-03-25 04:16 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-03-25 04:16 pm
Entry tags:
53;
Title: Replica
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG
It made his stomach lurch and knot itself up. Standing there, gun pointed right between the eyes of his enemy, and England couldn’t bring himself to kill the damn man. Spain held his hands up as if to shield himself, but when he noticed the gun beginning to shake, the shoulders droop slightly and the hands slack, he drew himself up a little higher.
The gun clattered to the floor, England clutched his hand to his chest as if it was burned, and Spain laughed, long and hoarse.
“Even when given the opportunity, you can’t…?”
No reply. He sucked his breath in through his teeth, cradling the hand and hating himself for it.
“What makes you stop, Inglaterra? What makes you pause and ponder and refuse to do it?”
His throat was hoarse and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his mouth to work. Spain smiled and stepped closer, laid a hand on the quivering nation’s cheek, pressed kisses to the lightly tanned skin – from sea, he assumed – and shook in silent mirth. England backed away and then sped off, boots thumping hard against the cobblestones and leaving quite a scene behind him.
How could he ever admit that the reason he couldn’t kill him was because their eyes were the same, exact mirror images?
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG
It made his stomach lurch and knot itself up. Standing there, gun pointed right between the eyes of his enemy, and England couldn’t bring himself to kill the damn man. Spain held his hands up as if to shield himself, but when he noticed the gun beginning to shake, the shoulders droop slightly and the hands slack, he drew himself up a little higher.
The gun clattered to the floor, England clutched his hand to his chest as if it was burned, and Spain laughed, long and hoarse.
“Even when given the opportunity, you can’t…?”
No reply. He sucked his breath in through his teeth, cradling the hand and hating himself for it.
“What makes you stop, Inglaterra? What makes you pause and ponder and refuse to do it?”
His throat was hoarse and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his mouth to work. Spain smiled and stepped closer, laid a hand on the quivering nation’s cheek, pressed kisses to the lightly tanned skin – from sea, he assumed – and shook in silent mirth. England backed away and then sped off, boots thumping hard against the cobblestones and leaving quite a scene behind him.
How could he ever admit that the reason he couldn’t kill him was because their eyes were the same, exact mirror images?