Ignorance, My Bliss [22-25/?]
Sorry this is late. OTL But I hope I made up for it! :3 A teaser, and the rest is behind the cut!
He lay on the bed, arm slung over his eyes, hair ruffled and askew from its normal perfection. His suit jacket was neatly hung over the nearby chair, shoes cuddled together on the floor below; he had loosened the tie around his neck, but it was still hanging on, crooked and near falling off. His socked feet shifted, rubbing against the softness of the comforter, and he felt himself sink further into the mattress, molding around his frame. He felt the sleepiness at the back of his mind, giggling as it tugged at him insistently, come play, no, only for a little while-
Truthfully, he wanted to go home; but, officially, the conference was still going on, so stay here he would. However, given the spectacle this morning, he highly doubted that it would continue, especially given what happened after the Canadian had left.
It had been a long time since he had seen those looks.
The ones where the gaze glazed, lost in the rememberings of long since past. He could see the glitter of gold in the reflection of the light, licking crimson that dripped into glimmering irises, warm and vile, and power, that which demanded subservience, forcing you down to hands and knees, begging for forgiveness. He saw the upward quirk to the lip, the strange gleaming in the crazed expressions, and he heard what wasn’t spoken.
Empire.
It was a dark desire of every country, one never mentioned, for fear of unleashing the monster; to have that much control over another, to spread your ideals because you knew you were right, and to have the world in blissful harmony, saluting in perfect synchronization under a single, beautiful flag-
Red and white and black and red and white and black redwhiteblackredwhiteblackredredredredredredredRED-
“Because the world looks beautiful in red, regardless of who paints it.”
And it was a stunning color, so rich and pure, it was life, and it tasted as good as it looked, bittersweet, heady and strong; if you listened hard enough, you could hear the screams in the background, the no no please stop, but it didn’t matter because there was heat trickling down your throat, and it was everything and nothing all at once, and the scarlet would stain your hands, and you’d laugh and laugh and laugh-
“Ludwig?”
No; that’s wrong. The heat wasn’t in his throat, but streaking down his cheeks, and he wasn’t there, but here, his collared shirt now soaked with sweat as he trembled. His hands were clenched in his hair, knees curled into his chest as he felt the drops shamefully dot the blankets.
“I-I can’t do it; not again, not again; I can’t. I won’t.”
He felt the familiar pair of arms encircle his waist, the warmth pressed against his back; almost immediately, he turned, burying his head in the other’s chest, struggling to stifle the sobs as the other ran fingers through his disheveled hair. The blonde took a few gulping breaths, broken words and phrases drooling from his lips.
“I remember every moment-how their bones would break and the blood would flow-a-and it felt good, and I so fucking self-assured-fire. Everything burned, and the people turned to ash and my skin would splinter and bleed, and it was okay, because I was only getting rid of the bad-”
The other whispered little nothings into his ear, pressing a few kisses along his cheek and brow as he trailed his hands along Ludwig’s back, rubbing wide circles in various patterns.
“I won’t let that happen to you again,” a voice made of liquid sunshine murmured into his skin, “We have each other; you don’t need to be like that any more.” He pressed his eyes closed, causing new tears to leak from his eyes.
“Italy…”
He felt the other smile into his hair, the calmness settling into his veins; somehow, he lifted his heavy limbs, draping them around Feliciano’s frame, pulling him closer. He smelled like fresh grass and wildflowers, and Ludwig lost himself in it.
“Are you hungry?” Ludwig shook his head.
“No; I got something downstairs.”
“Ve, no; are you hungry?” The blonde looked up, blue irises vibrant against their red-rimmed edges; the other was merely smiling softly, molten amber eyes half-lidded in the muted light. He stopped breathing, resisting the urge to moisten his lips.
“Yes.”
The softness was still there, defining every feature in the Italian’s face, as he reached back to the bedside table, deftly removing an object from the drawer. He shifted out of Ludwig’s hold, sitting back against the headboard as he tugged the German forward with his tie. Feliciano pulled the tie from the collar, gently placing it beside him as he flicked the razor open, pressing the blunt edge along his cheek.
“Where?”
Swallowing hard, Ludwig shakily unfastened several buttons on the other’s shirt, pulling it down one shoulder as he admired the flawless skin; he traced a line just above the collar bone, relishing the feel.
“Here.”
Feliciano’s eyes closed, head lolling slightly as he barely brushed the blade against the spot, marking it with an invisible line; he winced as it punctured his skin, a stuttering sigh leaking from his lips as blood bubbled around the cut, warm and quickly welling. Ludwig kissed the mark, lapping up the liquid with a forced cautiousness as his mind blurred from the taste, blissfully numbing the pain of the past.
“Ve, I-it’s okay, L-Ludwig-”
He was crying again.
“I-I love you just the same.”
~=~=~=~=~
This-was bad.
Alfred felt the air evaporate; he was lost in those eyes, the deep emerald that shimmered like shattered jewels, pointed like the edge of a knife.
Arthur smiled at him.
Fuck.
Alfred’s eyes darted about indiscriminately, searching for a solution; Matthew hadn’t noticed yet. How could he not feel it? Alfred felt the eyes upon him, and he nearly started trembling-no, no, no! He wasn’t going to submit to this! There had to be a way out!
And then he saw it.
Wrenching away from his brother’s grasp, he ignored the other’s startled cry as he sprinted towards the wall, seeing Arthur and Francis moving lithely through the crowd towards them. Nearly colliding with the wall, Alfred rapidly found what he needed and pulled.
The fire alarm.
The effect was instantaneous.
People screamed, looking in terror around them for the source of the fire, as they tried to shove themselves out the exits. Alfred felt himself lurch forward, and he momentarily panicked before realizing it was Matthew.
“That won’t stop them for long! Let’s go!”
With a tight grip on his wrist, his brother pulled him forward, causing Alfred to stumble into a clumsy run.
“We still have two terminals to go!” Matthew shouted back at him, narrowly avoiding a woman running the opposite direction, “But I think we can make it!” Alfred nodded, quickly looking back over his shoulder. He didn’t see anyone; maybe they had gotten far enough ahead?
However, the lights above them began to flicker, fighting to stay lit as they ran down the corridor; dimming rapidly, Alfred heard the tinkling of glass, realizing after a loud, sizzling bang that the bulbs were bursting, raining fragments merely steps behind. The Canadian glanced back, face twisting into a snarl as he looked into the growing mass of darkness behind them.
“Shit,” he cursed viciously, nearly drowned out by a light exploding over their heads, “Goddamn him; damn him to hell!” Skidding around the corner, Alfred caught a look behind; the darkness oozed across the floor and ceiling, draping every available surface in murky shadows.
He nearly retched at the sight of the disembodied smile, white and crooked amongst the black as it advanced, two pairs of eyes glinting in malice. His voice was lodged in his throat, barely able to breathe at their current pace.
“Matt-Matthew,” he rasped, wheezing painfully, “they’re back there; I see them. I see them, oh god, Mattie-”
His brother didn’t answer as they raced past the sign for Terminal Four, instead fumbling in his pocket for his phone, punching a few buttons in rapid succession.
“Hello?” Matthew nearly yelled into the phone, words half-slurred and melting, “Be ready; we need to leave as soon as we board!” Far in the distance, Alfred could just barely make out the sign for their destination. “I don’t care if you have clearance from control or not!” the other continued, incensed, “We leave NOW!” Ending the call, he immediately tossed the phone over his shoulder, taking a moment to look at Alfred.
“Alfred, you need-”
It was so stupid.
He had only needed to go half a second faster, push himself a little harder, but the fever was searing his consciousness again, ripping his mind to tattered shreds; he hit the floor hard, breathless, a chord of black ooze wrapped securely around his ankle.
“No, no! Let go! Let go!” Alfred panicked, clawing at the tile floor in desperation, fingertips burning from friction as he was pulled backwards. Matthew grabbed his brother’s wrists, digging his heels into the ground as he tried to pull the other back, eyes clenched shut in exertion.
“Stop this, Arthur!” he spat, vicious, “He doesn’t belong to you!”
“Someone is being a very naughty boy, non?”
Matthew gasped in surprise as a firm grip jerked him backwards, slamming him flush against the wall, hand clenched around his neck; he managed a few strangled, garbled phrases, air rapidly evaporating.
“Fr-Francis,” he managed, trying to pry the hand away with trembling fingers, barely registering Alfred’s fevered yelling in the background; the Frenchmen trailed a digit along the long white scar, causing Matthew to tense instantly, frame uncomfortably rigid.
“Oh mon petit chou,” Francis purred, inhaling the scent of the younger’s hair, a mixture of sticky sweet maple and winter’s cold, “You must stop all this fighting; don’t you want to taste Alfred as well? He’s still pure, marred not even by a single drop of blood; if you’re a good little boy, Arthur and I will be sure to give you a share.”
Matthew growled in protest, but didn’t move, claiming all the air he could by staying still; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred, limp and unmoving, before Arthur, kneeling on awkwardly extended legs; the elder was whispering something, but he couldn’t hear-
“How long has it been since you’ve fed, dear Matthieu?”
The Canadian nearly stopped breathing.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
Matthew said nothing, eyes shadowed by his hair as he looked downward; Francis wrapped his free arm around the other’s waist, pressing close as he brushed lips down the back of the neck, gently relieving some of the pressure there for better access.
“Come now, you can tell Papa-”
And suddenly, the Canadian wrenched out of the hold, quickly back stepping and pivoting as he brought his hand down, using his improved position to slam Francis’s face into the wall, satisfied at the sound of splintering bone. Ignoring the violent yelling of distorted French, he kicked the other hard in the stomach, producing a slur of violent coughs as the other choked on his own blood and vomit.
“Starter,” Matthew seethed, snarling, “Papa.”
Francis couldn’t answer.
Turning away, Matthew barely caught a flicker of darkness, narrowly avoiding the tendrils by jumping back; Arthur looked incensed, eyes incandescent with anger. He had Alfred by the hair, the latter looking almost terrified, pale countenance pleading, thin.
But Matthew hadn’t been noticed.
“Arthur-Arthur, please-” Alfred mumbled, frame quaking with tremors.
“Did I say you could speak?” Arthur said, quietly at first, “Did I?!” He gave the American a hard shake, the shadows shifting in apparent agitation; the younger said nothing, directing his gaze to the floor instead, trying to stop trembling. “Answer me when I speak to you!”
“Arthur-”Alfred whispered, voice cracking, “Arthur, why-” The Briton gave a bark of laughter, pulling a revolver from his inner pocket, eyes gleaming with sickness.
“Useless.”
Coolness against his temple, cold, cold, metal, its dead dead dead dead I’m dead-
A breath, mouthing of a treasured name.
“Artie-”
He wasn’t sure quite how it happened.
Matthew remembered tackling Arthur, the gun shot sounding muted in his ears; the other had been hit, but he’d been too busy pulling Alfred to his feet, pulling him into a stumbling run as they escaped, making their way down the remaining corridor, breathless, the world swirling into nothingness around them; nothing but the run, the hope of their destination.
Neither spoke until they were in the air, finally safe.
Safe-
“I thought he loved me.”
Matthew watched his brother’s face twist, shattering into raw emotion, tears leaking from his azure eyes as he buried his head in his hands.
“I-I thought he-”
What was he supposed to say?
“Why-” Alfred somehow managed through his sobs, “Why-”
Nothing.
He could say nothing.
OTL
Late. I'm late again. [/shot] Forgiveness, plz? D: I'm really sorry about that; however, now I'm on Christmas break, and I'm going to attempt to update more frequently, because you all are just that awesome~ <3
Anyway, I'm not as pleased with this as I want to be, but I had to set quite a few things up here; is it coming together yet? Can you see it? ;3
Thanks for all your lovely comments, and please continue to do so~ :D
~Till next time. :)
P.S. Starter means 'choke' in French.
He lay on the bed, arm slung over his eyes, hair ruffled and askew from its normal perfection. His suit jacket was neatly hung over the nearby chair, shoes cuddled together on the floor below; he had loosened the tie around his neck, but it was still hanging on, crooked and near falling off. His socked feet shifted, rubbing against the softness of the comforter, and he felt himself sink further into the mattress, molding around his frame. He felt the sleepiness at the back of his mind, giggling as it tugged at him insistently, come play, no, only for a little while-
Truthfully, he wanted to go home; but, officially, the conference was still going on, so stay here he would. However, given the spectacle this morning, he highly doubted that it would continue, especially given what happened after the Canadian had left.
It had been a long time since he had seen those looks.
The ones where the gaze glazed, lost in the rememberings of long since past. He could see the glitter of gold in the reflection of the light, licking crimson that dripped into glimmering irises, warm and vile, and power, that which demanded subservience, forcing you down to hands and knees, begging for forgiveness. He saw the upward quirk to the lip, the strange gleaming in the crazed expressions, and he heard what wasn’t spoken.
Empire.
It was a dark desire of every country, one never mentioned, for fear of unleashing the monster; to have that much control over another, to spread your ideals because you knew you were right, and to have the world in blissful harmony, saluting in perfect synchronization under a single, beautiful flag-
Red and white and black and red and white and black redwhiteblackredwhiteblackredredredredredredredRED-
“Because the world looks beautiful in red, regardless of who paints it.”
And it was a stunning color, so rich and pure, it was life, and it tasted as good as it looked, bittersweet, heady and strong; if you listened hard enough, you could hear the screams in the background, the no no please stop, but it didn’t matter because there was heat trickling down your throat, and it was everything and nothing all at once, and the scarlet would stain your hands, and you’d laugh and laugh and laugh-
“Ludwig?”
No; that’s wrong. The heat wasn’t in his throat, but streaking down his cheeks, and he wasn’t there, but here, his collared shirt now soaked with sweat as he trembled. His hands were clenched in his hair, knees curled into his chest as he felt the drops shamefully dot the blankets.
“I-I can’t do it; not again, not again; I can’t. I won’t.”
He felt the familiar pair of arms encircle his waist, the warmth pressed against his back; almost immediately, he turned, burying his head in the other’s chest, struggling to stifle the sobs as the other ran fingers through his disheveled hair. The blonde took a few gulping breaths, broken words and phrases drooling from his lips.
“I remember every moment-how their bones would break and the blood would flow-a-and it felt good, and I so fucking self-assured-fire. Everything burned, and the people turned to ash and my skin would splinter and bleed, and it was okay, because I was only getting rid of the bad-”
The other whispered little nothings into his ear, pressing a few kisses along his cheek and brow as he trailed his hands along Ludwig’s back, rubbing wide circles in various patterns.
“I won’t let that happen to you again,” a voice made of liquid sunshine murmured into his skin, “We have each other; you don’t need to be like that any more.” He pressed his eyes closed, causing new tears to leak from his eyes.
“Italy…”
He felt the other smile into his hair, the calmness settling into his veins; somehow, he lifted his heavy limbs, draping them around Feliciano’s frame, pulling him closer. He smelled like fresh grass and wildflowers, and Ludwig lost himself in it.
“Are you hungry?” Ludwig shook his head.
“No; I got something downstairs.”
“Ve, no; are you hungry?” The blonde looked up, blue irises vibrant against their red-rimmed edges; the other was merely smiling softly, molten amber eyes half-lidded in the muted light. He stopped breathing, resisting the urge to moisten his lips.
“Yes.”
The softness was still there, defining every feature in the Italian’s face, as he reached back to the bedside table, deftly removing an object from the drawer. He shifted out of Ludwig’s hold, sitting back against the headboard as he tugged the German forward with his tie. Feliciano pulled the tie from the collar, gently placing it beside him as he flicked the razor open, pressing the blunt edge along his cheek.
“Where?”
Swallowing hard, Ludwig shakily unfastened several buttons on the other’s shirt, pulling it down one shoulder as he admired the flawless skin; he traced a line just above the collar bone, relishing the feel.
“Here.”
Feliciano’s eyes closed, head lolling slightly as he barely brushed the blade against the spot, marking it with an invisible line; he winced as it punctured his skin, a stuttering sigh leaking from his lips as blood bubbled around the cut, warm and quickly welling. Ludwig kissed the mark, lapping up the liquid with a forced cautiousness as his mind blurred from the taste, blissfully numbing the pain of the past.
“Ve, I-it’s okay, L-Ludwig-”
He was crying again.
“I-I love you just the same.”
~=~=~=~=~
This-was bad.
Alfred felt the air evaporate; he was lost in those eyes, the deep emerald that shimmered like shattered jewels, pointed like the edge of a knife.
Arthur smiled at him.
Fuck.
Alfred’s eyes darted about indiscriminately, searching for a solution; Matthew hadn’t noticed yet. How could he not feel it? Alfred felt the eyes upon him, and he nearly started trembling-no, no, no! He wasn’t going to submit to this! There had to be a way out!
And then he saw it.
Wrenching away from his brother’s grasp, he ignored the other’s startled cry as he sprinted towards the wall, seeing Arthur and Francis moving lithely through the crowd towards them. Nearly colliding with the wall, Alfred rapidly found what he needed and pulled.
The fire alarm.
The effect was instantaneous.
People screamed, looking in terror around them for the source of the fire, as they tried to shove themselves out the exits. Alfred felt himself lurch forward, and he momentarily panicked before realizing it was Matthew.
“That won’t stop them for long! Let’s go!”
With a tight grip on his wrist, his brother pulled him forward, causing Alfred to stumble into a clumsy run.
“We still have two terminals to go!” Matthew shouted back at him, narrowly avoiding a woman running the opposite direction, “But I think we can make it!” Alfred nodded, quickly looking back over his shoulder. He didn’t see anyone; maybe they had gotten far enough ahead?
However, the lights above them began to flicker, fighting to stay lit as they ran down the corridor; dimming rapidly, Alfred heard the tinkling of glass, realizing after a loud, sizzling bang that the bulbs were bursting, raining fragments merely steps behind. The Canadian glanced back, face twisting into a snarl as he looked into the growing mass of darkness behind them.
“Shit,” he cursed viciously, nearly drowned out by a light exploding over their heads, “Goddamn him; damn him to hell!” Skidding around the corner, Alfred caught a look behind; the darkness oozed across the floor and ceiling, draping every available surface in murky shadows.
He nearly retched at the sight of the disembodied smile, white and crooked amongst the black as it advanced, two pairs of eyes glinting in malice. His voice was lodged in his throat, barely able to breathe at their current pace.
“Matt-Matthew,” he rasped, wheezing painfully, “they’re back there; I see them. I see them, oh god, Mattie-”
His brother didn’t answer as they raced past the sign for Terminal Four, instead fumbling in his pocket for his phone, punching a few buttons in rapid succession.
“Hello?” Matthew nearly yelled into the phone, words half-slurred and melting, “Be ready; we need to leave as soon as we board!” Far in the distance, Alfred could just barely make out the sign for their destination. “I don’t care if you have clearance from control or not!” the other continued, incensed, “We leave NOW!” Ending the call, he immediately tossed the phone over his shoulder, taking a moment to look at Alfred.
“Alfred, you need-”
It was so stupid.
He had only needed to go half a second faster, push himself a little harder, but the fever was searing his consciousness again, ripping his mind to tattered shreds; he hit the floor hard, breathless, a chord of black ooze wrapped securely around his ankle.
“No, no! Let go! Let go!” Alfred panicked, clawing at the tile floor in desperation, fingertips burning from friction as he was pulled backwards. Matthew grabbed his brother’s wrists, digging his heels into the ground as he tried to pull the other back, eyes clenched shut in exertion.
“Stop this, Arthur!” he spat, vicious, “He doesn’t belong to you!”
“Someone is being a very naughty boy, non?”
Matthew gasped in surprise as a firm grip jerked him backwards, slamming him flush against the wall, hand clenched around his neck; he managed a few strangled, garbled phrases, air rapidly evaporating.
“Fr-Francis,” he managed, trying to pry the hand away with trembling fingers, barely registering Alfred’s fevered yelling in the background; the Frenchmen trailed a digit along the long white scar, causing Matthew to tense instantly, frame uncomfortably rigid.
“Oh mon petit chou,” Francis purred, inhaling the scent of the younger’s hair, a mixture of sticky sweet maple and winter’s cold, “You must stop all this fighting; don’t you want to taste Alfred as well? He’s still pure, marred not even by a single drop of blood; if you’re a good little boy, Arthur and I will be sure to give you a share.”
Matthew growled in protest, but didn’t move, claiming all the air he could by staying still; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred, limp and unmoving, before Arthur, kneeling on awkwardly extended legs; the elder was whispering something, but he couldn’t hear-
“How long has it been since you’ve fed, dear Matthieu?”
The Canadian nearly stopped breathing.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
Matthew said nothing, eyes shadowed by his hair as he looked downward; Francis wrapped his free arm around the other’s waist, pressing close as he brushed lips down the back of the neck, gently relieving some of the pressure there for better access.
“Come now, you can tell Papa-”
And suddenly, the Canadian wrenched out of the hold, quickly back stepping and pivoting as he brought his hand down, using his improved position to slam Francis’s face into the wall, satisfied at the sound of splintering bone. Ignoring the violent yelling of distorted French, he kicked the other hard in the stomach, producing a slur of violent coughs as the other choked on his own blood and vomit.
“Starter,” Matthew seethed, snarling, “Papa.”
Francis couldn’t answer.
Turning away, Matthew barely caught a flicker of darkness, narrowly avoiding the tendrils by jumping back; Arthur looked incensed, eyes incandescent with anger. He had Alfred by the hair, the latter looking almost terrified, pale countenance pleading, thin.
But Matthew hadn’t been noticed.
“Arthur-Arthur, please-” Alfred mumbled, frame quaking with tremors.
“Did I say you could speak?” Arthur said, quietly at first, “Did I?!” He gave the American a hard shake, the shadows shifting in apparent agitation; the younger said nothing, directing his gaze to the floor instead, trying to stop trembling. “Answer me when I speak to you!”
“Arthur-”Alfred whispered, voice cracking, “Arthur, why-” The Briton gave a bark of laughter, pulling a revolver from his inner pocket, eyes gleaming with sickness.
“Useless.”
Coolness against his temple, cold, cold, metal, its dead dead dead dead I’m dead-
A breath, mouthing of a treasured name.
“Artie-”
He wasn’t sure quite how it happened.
Matthew remembered tackling Arthur, the gun shot sounding muted in his ears; the other had been hit, but he’d been too busy pulling Alfred to his feet, pulling him into a stumbling run as they escaped, making their way down the remaining corridor, breathless, the world swirling into nothingness around them; nothing but the run, the hope of their destination.
Neither spoke until they were in the air, finally safe.
Safe-
“I thought he loved me.”
Matthew watched his brother’s face twist, shattering into raw emotion, tears leaking from his azure eyes as he buried his head in his hands.
“I-I thought he-”
What was he supposed to say?
“Why-” Alfred somehow managed through his sobs, “Why-”
Nothing.
He could say nothing.
OTL
Late. I'm late again. [/shot] Forgiveness, plz? D: I'm really sorry about that; however, now I'm on Christmas break, and I'm going to attempt to update more frequently, because you all are just that awesome~ <3
Anyway, I'm not as pleased with this as I want to be, but I had to set quite a few things up here; is it coming together yet? Can you see it? ;3
Thanks for all your lovely comments, and please continue to do so~ :D
~Till next time. :)
P.S. Starter means 'choke' in French.