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)
metamorphosis2010-04-20 04:17 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-04-20 04:17 pm
Entry tags:
75;
Title: Skeleton
Characters: Spain, England
Rating: PG
For LJ's 30smiles' prompt 'How troublesome...'
The bones crack under his boot and he grimaces at the blood beginning to stain his wooden floors. Under him England gasps for breath and only finds the warm crimson fluid, growing paler with every passing moment. Spain twists his grimace into a smile and kneels, boot still jabbing and cracking into the other’s ribs. He nudges it harder, moves closer (just an inch or two of space left), and presses his lips to his enemy’s cheek. There’s no cracking of bones or chuckles of madness now; just the soft wheezing and gurgling of a man who should die but wouldn’t.
“I’ve always hated fighting you,” he murmurs into England’s ear, tongue flicking out to catch a drop of blood rolling down, “because there’s always so much blood, and it’s troublesome to get it out of wood.” England wheezes a response and shakes his head, eventually just pressing his cheek against the warm fluid-soaked wood and breathing in the sharp, metallic scent. Spain gets off of him, kicking him as he does so, wincing at the pained yelp and satisfied snap of ribs. He removes his bloody gloves and sets them aside, beginning to undress for the night.
“Are you—- really going to sleep in here while I—- bleed to death?”
“You know that we don’t die as easily as that. But yes, I am.”
England didn’t even have a response; he just gave a wounded sigh and tried not to move, eyes squeezed shut with tears. Spain maneuvers around him once he’s finished, dressed only in a sheer white shirt buttoned halfway that went to the middle of his thighs, and slips into bed, murmuring contentedly into the soft pillows. He peeks open an eye to see England clawing his way towards him, dragging half of his body on the ground as he tries to remain as dignified as ever.
‘How troublesome,’ Spain thinks without rush or worry. ‘He doesn’t know when to give up.’
The moving stops at the foot of the bed when England realizes he can’t climb up with only one arm and decides to just sit there, staring at the wall. Spain smiles and cuddles into his blanket.
Satisfying, if troublesome.
Characters: Spain, England
Rating: PG
For LJ's 30smiles' prompt 'How troublesome...'
The bones crack under his boot and he grimaces at the blood beginning to stain his wooden floors. Under him England gasps for breath and only finds the warm crimson fluid, growing paler with every passing moment. Spain twists his grimace into a smile and kneels, boot still jabbing and cracking into the other’s ribs. He nudges it harder, moves closer (just an inch or two of space left), and presses his lips to his enemy’s cheek. There’s no cracking of bones or chuckles of madness now; just the soft wheezing and gurgling of a man who should die but wouldn’t.
“I’ve always hated fighting you,” he murmurs into England’s ear, tongue flicking out to catch a drop of blood rolling down, “because there’s always so much blood, and it’s troublesome to get it out of wood.” England wheezes a response and shakes his head, eventually just pressing his cheek against the warm fluid-soaked wood and breathing in the sharp, metallic scent. Spain gets off of him, kicking him as he does so, wincing at the pained yelp and satisfied snap of ribs. He removes his bloody gloves and sets them aside, beginning to undress for the night.
“Are you—- really going to sleep in here while I—- bleed to death?”
“You know that we don’t die as easily as that. But yes, I am.”
England didn’t even have a response; he just gave a wounded sigh and tried not to move, eyes squeezed shut with tears. Spain maneuvers around him once he’s finished, dressed only in a sheer white shirt buttoned halfway that went to the middle of his thighs, and slips into bed, murmuring contentedly into the soft pillows. He peeks open an eye to see England clawing his way towards him, dragging half of his body on the ground as he tries to remain as dignified as ever.
‘How troublesome,’ Spain thinks without rush or worry. ‘He doesn’t know when to give up.’
The moving stops at the foot of the bed when England realizes he can’t climb up with only one arm and decides to just sit there, staring at the wall. Spain smiles and cuddles into his blanket.
Satisfying, if troublesome.