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 10:20 am
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-01-09 10:20 am
Entry tags:
22;
Title: Bath Amusement
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG-13
The water's warm, sort of soothing; it calms him and he shifts, letting a content sigh slip out.
"You're cute when you're not trying to kill me."
He flinches - of course, England thinks wryly, he wasn't alone (and he could never be, pulling this man around) - and glances over, the scowl back in place. Spain just gives him a grin, without a hint of omniscience or deception, just pure and sincere amusement. England turns red, infuriated, and sinks lower into the bath.
"Your ears are red."
"Shut it."
Spain does shut it; he hums and watches England, tilting his head to and fro. England glares - are you an owl? - and starts to wash himself. It's like a performance; every movement is carefully done, the cloth moving softly over his skin and around his ears, maneuvering around the still-delicate scars of battles (both won and lost) that weren't quite healed yet and never would be, if his stubborn streak of not letting things die could tell. Spain reaches over and grabs the cloth; England freezes, and doesn't move.
"Let me wash your back."
The pause continues, before England slips the cloth in Spain's hand and turns away. Spain smiles at his victory, and runs it delicately across England's back and shoulders. He doesn't skip over the scars – England swears at every hot sting – but rubs him, humming an unfamiliar tune. He drops closer to reach around and hold this now-flustered nation, kissing the top expanse of his back and muttering half-hearted apologies to the scars, kissing those, too, feeling the sweet water slosh clumsily as England turns around in his grasp.
"I knew I shouldn't trust you."
"I didn't kill you, did I?"
England stares and tries to discern whether Spain's attempting to be funny; Spain smiles crookedly and kissing him, pressing him back against the opposite side of the tub and nearly falling in himself. This is quickly rectified when England pulls him in, water splashing all around and on the ground - but there's not a mind for that, not while there's kissing and England, flustered, naked, before him. Spain kisses him again, wiggling his legs apart, and England inhales sharply and brings his head forward, making Spain howl and leaning back holding his nose, instead of the now-rosy England.
They both pause and catch their breath, England feeling the slightest bit humiliated and Spain feeling amused. The amusement lights up his eyes, and England snarls and kicks him out - quite literally, Spain thinks, rubbing his sore ass with one hand and holding his broken nose with the other.
England sinks into the not-quite-filled bath again, closing his eyes and wishing that it didn't smell like Spain.
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: PG-13
The water's warm, sort of soothing; it calms him and he shifts, letting a content sigh slip out.
"You're cute when you're not trying to kill me."
He flinches - of course, England thinks wryly, he wasn't alone (and he could never be, pulling this man around) - and glances over, the scowl back in place. Spain just gives him a grin, without a hint of omniscience or deception, just pure and sincere amusement. England turns red, infuriated, and sinks lower into the bath.
"Your ears are red."
"Shut it."
Spain does shut it; he hums and watches England, tilting his head to and fro. England glares - are you an owl? - and starts to wash himself. It's like a performance; every movement is carefully done, the cloth moving softly over his skin and around his ears, maneuvering around the still-delicate scars of battles (both won and lost) that weren't quite healed yet and never would be, if his stubborn streak of not letting things die could tell. Spain reaches over and grabs the cloth; England freezes, and doesn't move.
"Let me wash your back."
The pause continues, before England slips the cloth in Spain's hand and turns away. Spain smiles at his victory, and runs it delicately across England's back and shoulders. He doesn't skip over the scars – England swears at every hot sting – but rubs him, humming an unfamiliar tune. He drops closer to reach around and hold this now-flustered nation, kissing the top expanse of his back and muttering half-hearted apologies to the scars, kissing those, too, feeling the sweet water slosh clumsily as England turns around in his grasp.
"I knew I shouldn't trust you."
"I didn't kill you, did I?"
England stares and tries to discern whether Spain's attempting to be funny; Spain smiles crookedly and kissing him, pressing him back against the opposite side of the tub and nearly falling in himself. This is quickly rectified when England pulls him in, water splashing all around and on the ground - but there's not a mind for that, not while there's kissing and England, flustered, naked, before him. Spain kisses him again, wiggling his legs apart, and England inhales sharply and brings his head forward, making Spain howl and leaning back holding his nose, instead of the now-rosy England.
They both pause and catch their breath, England feeling the slightest bit humiliated and Spain feeling amused. The amusement lights up his eyes, and England snarls and kicks him out - quite literally, Spain thinks, rubbing his sore ass with one hand and holding his broken nose with the other.
England sinks into the not-quite-filled bath again, closing his eyes and wishing that it didn't smell like Spain.