Warning: Violence, Gore, Sadism, possible masochism
He was still smiling; despite the current situation that insanity-filled grin was still plastered upon his pale face for all the world to see. Alfred growled. Arthur was his and his only; he didn't plan on sharing that manic grin with anybody. Hell yes, it irritated him to no end to see him grinning pleasantly despite the injuries both of them nursed; It made rage as red as the crimson of his irises bubble within him. He wanted so badly to knock that grin off his face and keep it all for himself, and so he did just that.
He gripped a fistful of the blonde's pinkish golden locks and slammed his head over and over again on the cracking wall. Short screams and gasps promptly cut off by impact against the abused wall were the only sounds the blonde man made until Alfred lifted his face from the wall to face his own.
A quiet, yet haunting series of giggles danced playfully from Arthur's busted lips as he opened his bright blue eyes to reveal glowing pink swirls dancing just as cheerily within his irises. Alfred knew the source of the laughter was the battered man whose head he held by the hair in his fist, yet the laughter echoed around him dizzyingly, swirling and swirling like the pink glow in Arthur's eyes.
"Oh, Alfie~ You never learn, do you~?" the sweet voice taunted as Alfred felt a shrill, sharp pain down his side that would have overwhelmed him had he not experienced worse. Without breaking eye contact, Arthur jerked the knife from Alfred's now blood-soaked white shirt, ignoring being released and the cry of pure agony that followed, and hefted it up to his lips, pinky raised as always. His eyes fluttered closed as his tongue darted forward to intercept the dripping liquid from the stained blade.
"Mmm," he hummed, satisfied, as his eyes flickered open, "The blood of a nation. Much tastier than that of a mortal, won't you agree~?" Once again, the smile that ticked Alfred so much broke through his already healing features, tugging the corners of his mouth upwards. Alfred growled once more, clutching at his side with his hand.
Then the grin got wider, if it was even possible. Lips curled upward to reveal a row of pearly white albeit bloodstained teeth. The knife raised again, its tip flashing silver against the dim lighting, as if flaunting its metallic sheen before it sunk into its target and into a sea of red. It never reached its destination, though. The wrist of the pale hand that held the knife almost daintily was now clutched in a firm grip by a much tanner, gloved hand. An identical gloved fist was sent crashing into Arthur's stomach, making him double over coughing blood and let the knife clatter to the floor.
"Now we're even, you sick bastard," Alfred snarled as he added yet another stab wound to his mental inventory of injuries. Had he not been a nation and retained the ability to heal much quicker than humans, his battered corpse would be slumped in the ground in defeat, thrown to the streets as the main course for the scavengers in the area. He kicked Arthur's small form aside, and he crashed into the nearby wall only to slump down in a bright pink heap.
Alfred turned and made to leave but felt white hot pain searing through his ankle and subsequently a foot crashing against the back of his knee, causing him to tumble forward and emit a gut-wrenching scream of agony. His eyes were closed together tight from the pain that assaulted his ankle and his nose was filled with the faint, metallic smell of his own blood once again.
Fuck. If he could smell it, so could Arthur.