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metamorphosis2010-04-23 04:12 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-04-23 04:12 pm
Entry tags:
80;
Title: It's Only A Flesh Wound
Characters: Spain, England
Rating: PG
For LJ's 30smiles' prompt 'Papercut'.
England almost didn’t notice the slender cut bubbling up under his skin – but when he did he felt the stinging pain of realization come over and watched as spots of blood appeared crimson on his book. He hesitated, then put it down and stood. It wouldn’t do to get an old novella stained. So he hurriedly cleaned the blood off the pages – slightly waxy, he noted, the blood coming off with surprising ease – and dug into his desk drawers, muttering condolences to the usually perfectly-kept stacks.
When he stood up, plaster in hand, he felt arms encircle his waist and a head land on his shoulder.
“Are you hurt?”
“I wouldn’t be getting plaster if I wasn’t.”
“Mm.”
Spain tilted his head, rubbing his cheek into England’s neck and grinning as he felt the red flush creep up.
“Let me see it.”
England frowned, shook his head once, then thought better of it and held out his finger. Spain looked at it, chuckling – “It’s just a paper cut, Inglaterra.” – then took it into his mouth, running his tongue along the underside of the finger. He continued on, sucking lightly and nipping, drawing England closer with his other hand and murmuring appreciatively.
It ended rather soon, though, with Spain inspecting the now clotted cut and smiling proudly.
“Spit makes it heal fast.”
“Yes, but,” England’s voice was faint, “did you have to do it like that?”
Characters: Spain, England
Rating: PG
For LJ's 30smiles' prompt 'Papercut'.
England almost didn’t notice the slender cut bubbling up under his skin – but when he did he felt the stinging pain of realization come over and watched as spots of blood appeared crimson on his book. He hesitated, then put it down and stood. It wouldn’t do to get an old novella stained. So he hurriedly cleaned the blood off the pages – slightly waxy, he noted, the blood coming off with surprising ease – and dug into his desk drawers, muttering condolences to the usually perfectly-kept stacks.
When he stood up, plaster in hand, he felt arms encircle his waist and a head land on his shoulder.
“Are you hurt?”
“I wouldn’t be getting plaster if I wasn’t.”
“Mm.”
Spain tilted his head, rubbing his cheek into England’s neck and grinning as he felt the red flush creep up.
“Let me see it.”
England frowned, shook his head once, then thought better of it and held out his finger. Spain looked at it, chuckling – “It’s just a paper cut, Inglaterra.” – then took it into his mouth, running his tongue along the underside of the finger. He continued on, sucking lightly and nipping, drawing England closer with his other hand and murmuring appreciatively.
It ended rather soon, though, with Spain inspecting the now clotted cut and smiling proudly.
“Spit makes it heal fast.”
“Yes, but,” England’s voice was faint, “did you have to do it like that?”