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)
metamorphosis2010-01-09 09:21 am
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-01-09 09:21 am
Entry tags:
20;
Title: Love and Hate Are Two Sides of the Same Coin
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG-13
Against him, above him, fingers curling on the chain like smoke curls around the air - lovingly, tenderly, a misplaced hatred of nothing delicate - with the smell of dirt and gunpowder and alcohol as his cologne, Spain presses a sharp knife to that beautifully tender throat and, though his attacker only pauses a moment to consider the danger before moving closer, noses brushing, with eyes calculating but playful (Spain doesn't like the look of that, not one bit, so he narrows his identical green eyes in frustration and feels a tiny smile tug at his lips) and he kisses the so-called 'boss', slow and passionate, like a lover (like Spain used to do, teasing, taunting, laughing as a flustered England tilted his head away and laid his head on his chest); Spain responds a beat late, returning the affectionate gesture by turning his head - but England won't have that, jerking his chin back and kissing him again, long and hard, wanting him, needing him, though he couldn't fathom a reason why he'd have either of those feelings for this nation, this country of mutts, and he supposes it's some inert compassion (but that doesn't explain the want) or a rush of old feelings (but that doesn't explain the need) but he just requires that Spain kiss back, just to feel those tender lips respond as his own, parting slightly and the tongue inviting him in, eyes closing and the knife dropping, replaced by both arms wrapping around England's neck and pulling him closer, closer, pressed against him and searching and touching and losing themselves in an old passion forgotten -
But it doesn't happen, and England finds himself letting the chain drop, slipping away, a wave of hurt and rejection sweeping through him; all the while, Spain determinedly frowns, sitting up as soon as England's off of him, gripping the small knife's handle hard enough to crack it and wondering why he felt disappointed.
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG-13
Against him, above him, fingers curling on the chain like smoke curls around the air - lovingly, tenderly, a misplaced hatred of nothing delicate - with the smell of dirt and gunpowder and alcohol as his cologne, Spain presses a sharp knife to that beautifully tender throat and, though his attacker only pauses a moment to consider the danger before moving closer, noses brushing, with eyes calculating but playful (Spain doesn't like the look of that, not one bit, so he narrows his identical green eyes in frustration and feels a tiny smile tug at his lips) and he kisses the so-called 'boss', slow and passionate, like a lover (like Spain used to do, teasing, taunting, laughing as a flustered England tilted his head away and laid his head on his chest); Spain responds a beat late, returning the affectionate gesture by turning his head - but England won't have that, jerking his chin back and kissing him again, long and hard, wanting him, needing him, though he couldn't fathom a reason why he'd have either of those feelings for this nation, this country of mutts, and he supposes it's some inert compassion (but that doesn't explain the want) or a rush of old feelings (but that doesn't explain the need) but he just requires that Spain kiss back, just to feel those tender lips respond as his own, parting slightly and the tongue inviting him in, eyes closing and the knife dropping, replaced by both arms wrapping around England's neck and pulling him closer, closer, pressed against him and searching and touching and losing themselves in an old passion forgotten -
But it doesn't happen, and England finds himself letting the chain drop, slipping away, a wave of hurt and rejection sweeping through him; all the while, Spain determinedly frowns, sitting up as soon as England's off of him, gripping the small knife's handle hard enough to crack it and wondering why he felt disappointed.