AN: Guess who saw an idea on tumblr and acted on it again? I did~! So I present to you the 30 day guro/Otp combo challenege! Be warned, this is completely unedited. Just as a general warning, this is gonna be packed full of blood and shit like that, so watch out. I'll put individual warnings in each chapter though, so yay! Anyway, I'll be doing multiple pairings, mostly rusame and norame, yadda yadda yadda. Please rate and review, I can always use a little critiquing! Also, sorry if this sucks, its my first attempt at gore. And author notes will be shorter in the future, I promise!
Day 1: Amputation + hand holding
Pairing: Norway/America
Warnings: Kinda, sorta anti-gay in terms of plot (Not that I am! I'm just using it for the sake of a plot!), and that's pretty much it. Guro is a given.
There wasn't a lot in life that Eirik loved. Coffee was one, sweets another, but never in his life would he ever imagine himself to fall in love with something other than an inanimate object. However, here he was, holding hands with the one human who had somehow crawled his way through the metaphorical barrier the Norwegian had set up. With a smile that could light up a room and the humor of a five year old, Alfred F. Jones had captured Eirik's interest right from the start, and he'd been so enraptured that even through three long years they remained, united with interlocked fingers...
Even now, as tears streamed down his lovers face, wide, terrified eyes betraying his attempted mask at calmness. His grip was tight - how could it not be? - the coarse rope on their wrists binding them together whether they liked it or not. Rubbing their skin raw, Eirik could feel Alfred's fingers flexing, a habit he had learned about long ago that the other did out of fear.
Presented before them was a large crowd of people, all of which he had no clue about, nor did he care. Men, women, and children alike all huddled together, jostling each other in an effort to gain a front row seat to the 'show'. Many were yelling, the sound deafening in his opinion, slurs and insults the only distinguishable noise coming from their mouths. Alfred's sobs was only a faint background to the crowd's riot. To be quite honest, Eirik would much rather see them all burn alive then ever have the pleasure of walking on earth. They were the cause of Alfred's crying, of their pain, and they didn't deserve the lives they wasted.
For he and the love of his life were tied at the wrist, the rest of their bodies bound to chairs. Apparently, the place they had decide to vacation at that year wasn't friendly to gays, and they were now being forced to sit and watch as they were punished for their so-called sin.
Out of the corner of his eye, Eirik saw a man clad in a dark robe pull a blade from the folds of his fabric, the metal glinting in the light emitted from the torches around them. If the situation were any different and they weren't fearful of their lives, Alfred would have gladly pointed out how this all reflected a movie he watched, or even name the kind of weapon their punisher was currently sharpening.
Alfred kept on flexing, kept on crying hysterically as the robed man stood in front of them, raising the blade high above his head as he angled his body slightly.
The roars of the crowd grew in volume, drowning out his own pounding heart and rapid breathing. Beside him Alfred was practically shrieking, calling out to the heavens for an answer, an explanation, anything that could ease his panic, yet he found none. Sweat trailed down the nape of Eirik's neck as he shut his eyes and squeezed Alfred's hand painfully tight just as he caught as glance at the man swinging the arm holding the blade down towards them.
For a second, there was nothing; the screaming was gone, both the crowd's and Alfred's, along with the feel of his lover's hand. All in that moment was the darkness that came with sleep and the fear.
Then, like an explosion of senses, came the next second.
Eyes shooting open, Eirik let free a screech that burned his throat, only vaguely aware of the morbid cheering that was born from their pain. There was without a doubt that Alfred was screaming just as loud, if not more, even if he couldn't hear him over his own voice. Without thinking, he took a quick look at where the immense pain was coming from.
Eirik felt sick to his stomach, actually tasting the acidic traces of bile in the back of his mouth as he witnessed the damage. Blood was already pooling around his and his lover's wrist, more following suit with each beat of their hearts. The only object their hands were connected to were each other's fingers. The place where his wrist met his hand was a mess of red, a single swipe of the blade enough to cut through the tissue and bone. It burned and stung more than anything else he had ever experienced, the tears he had desperately been holding back making themselves known by running tracks down his cheeks. And the worst part of it all wasn't the pain, the laughing and jeers coming from the crowd, nor was it the promise of more pain that was sure to come.
No, it was none of that. For through the mindless noise came a wailing cry to his right, one he had become all too used to. The worst of it was listening to Alfred - the only person he had ever loved in such an intimate fashion - scream for mercy, for a quick and painless death that was never to come, cursing the very god he had worshipped in the past, that he had thanked for such a bountiful life what seemed like an eternity ago. The same one that he insisted led them to meet.
And suddenly, the tears in Eirik's eyes weren't from pain, but the emotion that swelled up within him for the man he had loved so long, so much, so devotedly.
The last words that crossed his mind before he passed out and never woke were that of utmost importance.
Til death do we part, Alfred F. Jones...
