Disclaimer: I do not own, claim to own, or pretend to own the characters involved in this work of fiction. Especially the ones who are lurking in the shadows of the fic.
Enjoy, su!
Skin
Prussia's body was a wonderous thing.
It was white as snow (much like his hair) and covered in lean, lean muscle and soft to the touch. Every expanse of skin was devoid of scarring, something he attributed to the Albino's skill in battle, and gleamed in the moonlight streaming from the barred window of his bedroom. His eyes, once bright with arrogance and the kind of confidence that only comes when one has the power to back it up, were as red-maybe redder-as the blood Russia always seemed to be surrounded by. And the noises he made-oh, the noises!-when he touched him (brusied him, bit him, tore that beautiful skin open)-
They were unlike anything he had ever heard!
(He supposed Lithuania had made noises like that once...right before he had lost the will to fight...)
"Do it again," Russia purred against the purple and white skin of the German's neck, "Let me hear it again, da?"
When he shook his head, Russia giggled and bit down again (silly Prussia's skin must have been softer than he thought because he tasted blood now), lapping at his throat like an eager kitten. The strangled sound that vibrated through him was sweet and sad and Russia was so glad he'd convinced the once proud Nation to make it again. Maybe if Prussia behaved like this more often, he'd reward him again! Oh, he'd like that, he was certain.
"You belong to me," the Slav whispered gleefully against quivering, white (purple, pink, red) skin as he broke him into pieces.
Prussia's body was a terrible thing.
It was white as bone (whiter than his hair) and covered in skin stretched paper thin over hard, portruding bones. Every expanse, both exposed and hidden, was covered in a patchwork of raised pink scars of verying sizes and origins and they made Spain sick to see them as they seemed to glow in the moonlight streaming through the curtain's of his bedroom. His eyes, now dull and clouded over with grief and the kind of pain that came with forty-seven years of isolation and torture, were red as the dried blood they'd found on him when the Wall fell. And the noises he made...
They rent Spain's heart in two everytime he made them.
(Although what did he expect? All the Nations that had been under Russia's care save his sisters made them he'd heard, and he wondered at the horrors they'd suffered.)
"Please don't cry," Spain whimpered against the pink and white of the German's neck, "I'm nothing like him, si?"
The strangled sound that vibrated through him was sweet and sad and Spain wished he hadn't been the one to make the now broken Nation make it. He'd been hoping to elicit something more relieved, not the broken sob he'd recieved instead. So he covered the Albino's lips with his own, hoping to smother them and remind the other at the same time that he wasn't Russia and was different (but was he really?) from the monster that had held him captive for nearly five decades...That the scars that lined his lips from teeth and a needle ("His lips had been sewn shut," Germany had whispered in such a tiny voice they'd scarcely heard him) would never happen again.
"I belong to you," the Spaniard whispered brokenly against quivering, white (purple, pink, red) skin as he tried to glue him back together.
End
This was extremely fun to write and I'm glad I didn't let it slip away from me like so many other plotbunnies lately...
In all honestly, I don't quite know where this fic came from, but I'm glad that I finally got to write again (school is being hectic again what with me being in Cake Design and worrying about where I'll extern). Littly Boy Blue feels like such a long time ago now, and I've grown to love writing for the Hetalia fandom...I may never leave it! Worry not though, Dear Readers, I am working on finding time to write for Wish Shop and It Comes in Waves (I'll be damned if I leave them on hiatus!), so look out!
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