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)
metamorphosis2010-03-31 05:12 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-03-31 05:12 pm
Entry tags:
57;
Title: In times of war
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG
For 30smiles' prompt 'temptation'.
When they fought, they kissed. When they hated, they made love. When each apologized, they were defiant. Nothing was simple, yet nothing was complicated. In the end, it was just war. Every move was calculated to hit the enemy’s weak spot, to make them crumble and worsen and fall under the other’s might. Nothing done in affection was true – for one of them, at least – and nothing done in hatred was false – for one of them, at least – so it didn’t matter. It never mattered like they thought it would. It never mattered.
For Spain, at least, the kisses and touches and hugs and whispers were real; they were in pure affection. For England, they were nothing but barbs sent to poison, sent to destroy and hurt and worsen; they were false truths. For England, every cut and gash was real; they were in pure hatred. For Spain, they were the last grasps of a friend trying to save another; they were a holy order.
Yet sometime temptation caught the better of them; sometimes, the kisses were real and powerful, and sometimes the wounds were deeper and forceful. Either one of them would submit, or one of them would strike to kill.
It was war, and not even the tightest of smiles exchanged between nations in meetings with their royalty could foul it.
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG
For 30smiles' prompt 'temptation'.
When they fought, they kissed. When they hated, they made love. When each apologized, they were defiant. Nothing was simple, yet nothing was complicated. In the end, it was just war. Every move was calculated to hit the enemy’s weak spot, to make them crumble and worsen and fall under the other’s might. Nothing done in affection was true – for one of them, at least – and nothing done in hatred was false – for one of them, at least – so it didn’t matter. It never mattered like they thought it would. It never mattered.
For Spain, at least, the kisses and touches and hugs and whispers were real; they were in pure affection. For England, they were nothing but barbs sent to poison, sent to destroy and hurt and worsen; they were false truths. For England, every cut and gash was real; they were in pure hatred. For Spain, they were the last grasps of a friend trying to save another; they were a holy order.
Yet sometime temptation caught the better of them; sometimes, the kisses were real and powerful, and sometimes the wounds were deeper and forceful. Either one of them would submit, or one of them would strike to kill.
It was war, and not even the tightest of smiles exchanged between nations in meetings with their royalty could foul it.