thanks as always to google translate because i forgot most of my 8th grade spanish class yeehaw
you guys should really check this out on tumblr because it has all kinds of fun extras like music and pictures and quotes and stuff
When Spain closes his eyes, he can still see them.
Beautiful women with dark eyes and dark hair and full lips, dancing and twirling and trailing their fingers across his chest, his arms, their skin so deliciously soft. He likes the sounds they make when he fucks them, the low, husky moans or the high, drawn out whines, or even just the sharp, quiet inhalations of breath.
They're all gone the next morning, and there is more blood on his hands.
Holland is always the one that grounds him.
He does not treat Spain gently, does not ignore his checkered past, does not act in accordance to the facade that Antonio wears.
Instead, he spits insults and vitrol and leaves bruises where his fingers dug into Spain's hips the night before, and has the audacity to ignore his texts. When they are in public, Willem will ignore him, puff on his pipe and spare Spain not even a single glance.
Antonio thinks he's in love.
Once upon a time, the sun never set on the Spanish Empire.
Lands claimed by the throne sprawled over five continents, from the Americas to Asia, to Africa and Europe. It was the Golden Age, what every country had once aspired to be. Wealth flowed into empire from all over the world.
Once upon a time, Spain had been the most powerful man on Earth.
And he had loved it.
He was infected with the gold sickness, with the high that power always brought, and it was glorious. He could do whatever he wanted- fight and fuck and wander the entire world. The Age of Exploration were the best years of his life.
And then, things started crumbling.
Once upon a time, Holland had been a child.
He had been a child, and Belgium had been a child, and Luxembourg, too, and they had all been children together. They were happy.
Then he got older and suddenly it wasn't just the three of them anymore, but the three of them plus a brat and the names of so many others that they wouldn't meet for centuries.
And Spain loomed over them all, green eyes cold and glittering in the dark, smile grossly insincere. An animosity boiled beneath Willem's skin, bubbling up when he opened his mouth and overflowing through his teeth.
The first time Spain hit him, it had been a shock. The last time Spain hit him, he hit back.
Antonio thinks that some of that old hatred still remains, buried deep but not deep enough.
When they fuck, Willem scratches and bites and squeezes, and Antonio matches him for every injury, every bruise and bead of blood that wells from torn skin.
Afterwards, they lie on the bed, spent and silent and not touching, except for the occasion brush of fingers and knees. Holland's hot breath fans across Spain's face and he closes his eyes.
