Scotland x France
Hell Au
The dirt fills his mouth as his broken body collides with the floor once again and yet he still pushes himself to his feet, feeling the pinpricks of hundreds of stares burn against his pale exposed skin as it knitted back together as if it had never been broken or torn by the man currently seated on the throne.
"Again!" Francis demands, teeth flashing in the coiling flames and glinting off of the crown, an old mortal relic which rested atop of his head, as he leant forward, blue eyes burning, staring, watching as Alasdair pushed himself to his feet again, fire streaming down from his hair as the hellhound roared to the dark, unholy sky.
Alasdair breathed heavily, feeling the fire hiss out of his lungs and envelope him in a living cloak of fire as the man had once been his, had known the intimate pleasures of his body, screamed at him in terror, and with one final look at his king, who would never look upon Alasdair in terror, would never turn him away and who held his heart and soul after being given them willinging, and moved, drawing back one clawed hand to destory his last link to his human life.