My Masterpiece Is Done, My Needs Fufilled.
Summary: Snapped!Canada. Even the sanest of us will somtime snap.
Warnings: Necrophilia, Blood, Sick-Sad Matthew, Heartbreak.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, if I did alot would be different.
Notes: This probably should be posted under something more than just M. Read at your own risk.
It rains red, the liquid falls to the ground in heavy splashes. The white walls are painting in the pretty colour, sloshes leaving mystic trails and unrepeated patterns.
His body hits the floor with a thud. My precious, my baby, my love.
His lifeless blue eyes, once so mesmerizing, stare at me from behind smashed lenses. If I close his lids, it would appear he was only sleeping, but I want him awake for what is to come.
I slip to my knees, straddling his perfect hips, the pudge on either side giving me firm handles, making me shiver. He always had a nice body, but the junk food he had lived on seemed to give him the extra weight. I liked it, always wanting to squish and poke at it but never getting the chance.
He'll be coated in red. His body will be my perfect canvas, his blood the perfect paint.
My body is painfully aware of how I am positioned, of where I am sitting. I rock forward, seeking friction of the best kind, drawing out a loud moan.
Why? Why did this have to happen for me to get what I want? Why? Why is this the only way to release my pent up frustration? My tension? My love? Why did something so pure, have to be tainted in the worst way, for me to achieve my happiness? Why?
I rock forward again. A feral sound escapes the back of my throat, as I slide along his bloodless cock.
Why didn't he ever see me? Why doesn't anyone ever see me? I'm real, aren't I? I'm not a figment of someone's twisted imagination. A ghost, a phantom, a spirit.
I lean down and press my lips against his pale ones. What I wouldn't give for them to respond. But this is enough to satisfy me.
I slip my tongue out and part his lips. Filling his cooling mouth with my hot saliva, flicking his unmoving tongue with my own.
Moving my hands to his hair, I grip the strands, pulling, teasing, and shifting through them.
I rut forward again and stifle my mewls with his cold cavern.
A flash brightens the room, blinding me for a second. My camera, forgotten in my ecstasy, clicks a still. The timer running out, capturing a perfect rendition of the perfect moment. One I will look back on every day for the rest of my short life, the one I will die with.
Not receiving enough of the friction I need, I part the two plump cheeks belonging to my love. I tenderly slip a finger past his slackening muscle, rubbing circles around his hole. I press two more fingers in and stretch my prize. I reach with my free hand to flatten his hair, soothing that one piece that sticks up, smearing it back with the natural red gel.
"Ssshhh!" The gesture falls on deaf ears, calming only myself.
Removing my digits, I aline myself, positioning my head at his hole. I grip his loose fingers and kiss the back of his hand and push in slowly, burying myself to the hilt.
I lay my head on his firm shoulder and imagine the heat I would feel. The act makes me shudder, a soft line of shivers trailing up my spine. What I would give to feel his warmth, his strong, muscled arms enveloping me.
I strike up a smooth rhythm, a gentle ease, in and out. My free hand trails down his abdomen, caressing the soft hair that leads down low, and wisp over his slack member. I pump my fist in time with my thrusts.
My hand keeps up the pace as I thrust harder, faster, longer, deeper. My movements have turned jaggered. I can feel my release building. I hear the phantom sighs of my bedmate, the drawn out moans I would elicit, the pleasured cries that would escape his mouth, the keening whimpers I would hear.
I bury my head into the crook of his neck and come with a cry of his name on my lips.
I pull out slowly and wait. Laying my head on his chest, pretending to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the Thrum Thrum, that would lull me to sleep. I lay until my exhaustion has passed.
My paint has almost dried and I still haven't completed my masterpiece.
I dip my fingers into the slash in his throat. I draw love hearts and flowers, I turn him over so his back is bared. In big red letters I write, forever ingrained into my memory and temporarily on his skin, Matthew loves Alfred Forever.
I run my hand across my brow, wiping away the sweat collected there but smearing my face with my chosen medium.
Turning him back over, so his beautiful face is gazing at me again, I dip my fingers and bring them to my lips, slathering them in his lifeblood. I press a kiss to his forehead, his temple and one last, to his lips.
He is gone and is never coming back. He will never feel my love again and I will never feel his.
The cool blood has dyed my hands, I bring them close to my face to get a better look. Slowly I flick my tongue to get a taste, the copperyness exploding in my mouth. I lick up my pinky, and move on to my ring finger, my middle and my pointer. Sticking my thumb in my mouth, I savour the flavour, and slide it out clean. I run my red tongue over the backs of my fingers and over my knuckles. Capturing every little drop. He is inside of me, just like I was him.
My clothes sit rumpled, but clean in the corner, next to them another set sits, bigger and dirtier. I redress and collect the other articles of clothing, stuffing them into my bag They smell of him.
Turning back to the body of my beloved, I cover him with his sheet, tucking him in and I walk away. Tears slide down my cheeks as I turn to close his door. My heart breaks, this will be the last time I see him. I blow him a kiss and step from his room.
"Goodbye my brother, I'll love you always. We'll be together soon. Goodnight Alfred."
I close the gap and walk to the stairs, heading home. My needs fulfilled and my heart in shambles.
Alright, so I was reading a few Snapped!Canada's and this popped into my head, wierd right?
I know I'm messed up.
I'll mark it as complete, but I may come back to expand on why Matt's feeling this way.