With tears streaming down his cheeks, the nation brought the razorblade diagonally over his wrist, taking in the pain that satisfied him for the moment.
"Why...Why did you have to..."

-Six months earlier-
"I'm sorry, Romania, that we have to do it like this." England spoke into the phone, gazing down at the other nation from atop the building she was standing on.
"Do-" Romania stuttered, bewildered upon seeing her so far up. "Do
what?"
"Tell everyone else I'm sorry. America included, and even that creepy sod Russia."
"Sorry...Sorry for what, Anglia?" Frozen in place on the street hundreds of feet below England, the Romanian stood, shock, fear, and confusion evident in his features.
"Goodbye, Romania." Was the last phrase uttered by the Englishwoman before she threw her phone to the side and let herself fall forward, tip over the ledge, and dive into what seemed to be certain death.
"Angl-" He looked on in horror, roaring, "ANGLIA!"

-Present day-
This continued for a while until soft, rushed footsteps could be heard somewhere within radius of the male in the chair. Before he could even so much as glance behind himself, a pair of hands gently took both of his wrists from behind and turned them upward.
"Who are you-" The Romanian snapped, albeit in the weakest of tones, "Who are you!"
There was no reply. A gasp was elicited from the nation's lips as the assailant's - or savior's - tongue began working the wounds on his wrist, lapping up each and every single drop of blood that leaked from them. Romania tried with all his might to get up or turn around, but firm, lithe hands held him securely in place. The nation soon found himself getting heated, for his member sprung up on a dime as the slippery muscle continued to massage his damaged wrist. After all, his wrists had always been sensitive, maybe that was why he'd chosen to cut there. It was his weakest point, he'd found as of late. He squirmed to try and hide it but it was too late, for the lips attatched to his wrist had curled into an all-knowing smirk. The razor in Romania's left hand was pried away and carelessly tossed across the room. Said hand was then tied to the chair with his own necktie - which had been removed while he was distracted with arousal. He tried to tug his right hand away, as that one was not tied down, however, it was held in place away from him.

"Let me go...Va rog..." He hissed with a slight growl, his tone even softer than before. His resolve was already crumbling. He didn't have the strength to fight back. Emotion had so far exhausted him that he just couldn't argue anymore.

"No." A quiet, feminine voice muttered into his ear. It was too quiet to distinguish who's voice it was exactly, but to Romania, it had sounded so familiar. All thoughts were interrupted, though, when the woman's free hand dipped lower and lower until it grazed his erection through the fabric of his woolen trousers. Instantly his whole body became a response, jerking slightly then giving way to a shudder. A sound fought its way past his lips.

"Ah..."

~End of chapter one.

Enjoy. This is my first publication on this site, so please feel free to review and post your opinion. :)

Anglia - England
Va rog - Please