This technically fits the prompt, although England/nationalist!England would be a bit more accurate... yeah.
Tongue against his ear, breath across his neck, hands ghost up and down his body. He's shaking with the effort of keeping still. Of not reacting. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, but they don't need to be open.
A chuckle, a pinch, and a kiss pressed absurdly to the nape of his neck. The water streams down. He has soap in his eyes and he concentrates on the sting.
Can't run away.
He gasps, his body jolts. His eyes are torn open and he stares desperately at the water running down the plughole.
I won't leave you.
Teeth graze his shoulder, he can feel the easy grin around them. Fingers skitter over his skin, playing him like a well-practiced instrument. His throat clogs with all the noises trying to make their way out.
I'm always with you.
He shakes his head, but he can't shut his ears and the chuckle worms its way in and settles in his mind, replaying over and over. The fingers dig in, nails sharp and bruising. He is spun suddenly and pushed up against the cold tile. He refuses to meet those piercing green eyes but he can feel them mapping him out, all his failings and inadequacies.
He is pressed up against the wall, warm body and water at his front, the chill of stone at his back. He looks pointedly beyond the shower they're crammed into. Teeth are working at his shoulder once more and hands have taken his body beyond his control. He tries to ignore the breathless noises that are drawn out of him and his hands clutch and clench at thin air.
“I. Don't. Need. You,” he bites out around the gasps.
The laughter is full and loud and rings in his ears. A hand turns his head. A mouth covers his own.
Where would you be without me?
He breathes heavily through his nose. A tongue slides between his lips when they unwittingly part. It twines around his own, caresses and coaxes it out. His own tentative explorations are cut short when teeth snap down. He's caught, though they both know he was caught long before this.
Stuck on your island. The play-thing of Europe.
He lets out a yell that dissolves into pitiful whimpers. He can't pull away and his mouth is invaded again. The taste of blood floods in.
I gave you prestige.
A hand jerks,
Respect.
twists,
Power.
He wants to respond but his mouth is too full of flesh and blood and his brain is being overrun by the carnal desires of his body.
You'd be nothing without me.
His mind is starting to go blank, drift off where he can't be reached.
A tiny, pitiful nation, owned and ruled by others.
You. Need.
“Oi!” There's banging on the bathroom door and he snaps back to himself. “The fuck are you doing in there? I need the fucking loo!” He spits blood down the drain and watches it swirl with the water.
“Then go in the fucking garden, I'm not done.” The silence that follows is tense and he hopes the waver in his voice wasn't heard.
“You're an obnoxious little shit, you know that?” He lets out a relieved sigh. “I should knock you six ways from Sunday.”
He waits until there's no more sound from outside the door and rinses his mouth out. He turns the water as cold as it'll go and stands there, shivering, until he's too numb to think anymore.
Tongue against his ear, breath across his neck, hands ghost up and down his body. He's shaking with the effort of keeping still. Of not reacting. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, but they don't need to be open.
A chuckle, a pinch, and a kiss pressed absurdly to the nape of his neck. The water streams down. He has soap in his eyes and he concentrates on the sting.
Can't run away.
He gasps, his body jolts. His eyes are torn open and he stares desperately at the water running down the plughole.
I won't leave you.
Teeth graze his shoulder, he can feel the easy grin around them. Fingers skitter over his skin, playing him like a well-practiced instrument. His throat clogs with all the noises trying to make their way out.
I'm always with you.
He shakes his head, but he can't shut his ears and the chuckle worms its way in and settles in his mind, replaying over and over. The fingers dig in, nails sharp and bruising. He is spun suddenly and pushed up against the cold tile. He refuses to meet those piercing green eyes but he can feel them mapping him out, all his failings and inadequacies.
He is pressed up against the wall, warm body and water at his front, the chill of stone at his back. He looks pointedly beyond the shower they're crammed into. Teeth are working at his shoulder once more and hands have taken his body beyond his control. He tries to ignore the breathless noises that are drawn out of him and his hands clutch and clench at thin air.
“I. Don't. Need. You,” he bites out around the gasps.
The laughter is full and loud and rings in his ears. A hand turns his head. A mouth covers his own.
Where would you be without me?
He breathes heavily through his nose. A tongue slides between his lips when they unwittingly part. It twines around his own, caresses and coaxes it out. His own tentative explorations are cut short when teeth snap down. He's caught, though they both know he was caught long before this.
Stuck on your island. The play-thing of Europe.
He lets out a yell that dissolves into pitiful whimpers. He can't pull away and his mouth is invaded again. The taste of blood floods in.
I gave you prestige.
A hand jerks,
Respect.
twists,
Power.
He wants to respond but his mouth is too full of flesh and blood and his brain is being overrun by the carnal desires of his body.
You'd be nothing without me.
His mind is starting to go blank, drift off where he can't be reached.
A tiny, pitiful nation, owned and ruled by others.
You. Need.
“Oi!” There's banging on the bathroom door and he snaps back to himself. “The fuck are you doing in there? I need the fucking loo!” He spits blood down the drain and watches it swirl with the water.
“Then go in the fucking garden, I'm not done.” The silence that follows is tense and he hopes the waver in his voice wasn't heard.
“You're an obnoxious little shit, you know that?” He lets out a relieved sigh. “I should knock you six ways from Sunday.”
He waits until there's no more sound from outside the door and rinses his mouth out. He turns the water as cold as it'll go and stands there, shivering, until he's too numb to think anymore.
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