61;

[flair]

Title: Après nous le déluge.
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG

For 50scenes' prompt 'Pain'.

Leafing through maps, England often gets papercuts. He's unlucky like that. He disregards them, leaving fingerprint bloodstains on the crisp white parchment, slipping them between his fingers and lightly tugging out the ones he wants to inspect. Every once in a while he'll become distracted by the stinging sensation that accompanies it and sticks the offended digit in his mouth, sucking on it like a brooding child.

It was rare for Spain to visit him these days – such visits were fortunately far and few in between – but when he did, he always had fresh papercuts. He's very unlucky like that, he guesses. Spain always takes one look at them, gives a scornful remark, then takes the calloused hands into his own and kisses every cut he can find.

A different kind of pain arises at these times and he at least lets him finish before pulling away and laying his hands flat on his desk, standing up and ordering the country of passion out of his study this very instant. Spain flashes him a stunning smile and swaggers out – swaggers, such nerve and cocky address! - and with those hips swaying just so he can never resist from catcalling and hooting about such girlish curves.

To which Spain replies, “Why are you even looking?”

And that usually shuts him up, because he sincerely has no idea.