Book of War (3/?)
anonymous
December 19 2009, 12:44:10 UTC
Though Antonio gives him one anyway, a bit absentminded and with words that drift, but still. “I've been lapsing into indecency.” Antonio stares at the saint that smiles back at him, gentle and not judging, but the guilt is heavy and Ivan observes as Antonio bows his head, presses the rosary to his forehead and whispers, “he was so young,” unintentionally aloud. “Oh God,” and he's more hunched on the ground now, a hand reaching the floor to help support the weight of his sin, “so young.”
The rosary shakes, but Ivan shivers in delight, because as much as Antonio struggles, there's a tiny, obscene quirk at the corner of his mouth when he tries to ask to be forgiven. Antonio may try his best, but he doesn't regret a thing, tries to fill his heart with norms and the word of the Lord, but fails miserably when his people grow less religious and enticement tastes so delicious.
“What's there to regret?” Ivan chuckles, not meaning well at all when he fills his expression with cruel. “I'm sure he enjoyed it as well.”
He can't understand Antonio's wish to bend into the stream of normality when even some of his men of God take a bite of this apple the serpent dares them to have. Antonio turns slow, eyes darkened and somewhat grim as he looks at Ivan with something that is not usual for modern Spain.
“Why are you here?” He asks Ivan, adding an edge to his tone for the first time. “To mock me?”
Ivan finds it amusing, that this is Antonio trying to repent, and the best act that Ivan can pull is childlike innocence. So he smiles like he means well, happiness in his eyes like he doesn't understand the reality of the subject. “I'm just saying to take what we want is what we live for.”
That's what used to be, lingers in the air, but neither of them say it out loud. And they have taken a lot. God, have they taken.
“You still yearn to take him, don't you?” Ivan leers, devouring the emotions that are starting to boil in the depths of Antonio's being where he has buried them. “Dream of him with his legs spread, moaning like a whore.” This is a room of God, and although the ideals differ from his, the Carpenter is the same and hears him speak these obscenities in Its place of worship. Briefly he thinks if he's going to be punished, but the way Antonio trembles, he's sure it's not not the flames of Hell that are first to burn his skin.
“If so,” and as Ivan says this, Antonio is straightening his back, strengthened by fury that the words force into him, burning like purgatory. “Why not just conquer him?”
The pain it earns him is sweet, when Ivan's back is smashed against the marbled floor of the chapel, the laugh he tries to choke out dying in his throat which Antonio has in his grip so tightly that air can't even begin to wish to make it's way to his lungs.
“You,” it comes out as a low, deep grumble, from the bottom of Antonio's being as he stares down at Ivan, green eyes unable to hide the satisfaction this act of violence stirs within him. Unconsciously, the hands around Ivan's neck tighten their hold still, and if he could, Ivan would moan in bliss. “You come here to mock me -my God,” Antonio's hands tremble, his muscles straining from the strength they are suddenly forced to bring.
“You shouldn't even be here, not with your false religion,” and a smile crawls on those lips, sweet and so out of place for someone who usually represents nothing but joy. Ivan can feel the rosary press against his throat, the beads still in Antonio's hands.
“I'll teach you-” but Antonio suddenly stops talking, smile and hands withdrawing as he snaps. Ivan is not disappointed though, because as much as he's grown bored with fright, regret and carefully calculated actions, the expression on Antonio's face is precious -adorable, even.
“I-” the other stammers, pulling away from Ivan, making him miss the heat of his strength already. “I'm sorry.” Antonio struggles to get onto his feet, the rosary dropping to the floor, beads escaping the bounds of the rope that had snapped at some point by the strength Antonio had been straining it with. “I'm so sorry.”
Book of War (3b/?)
anonymous
December 19 2009, 12:47:40 UTC
Ivan lies on the floor, even after the last echoes of Antonio's running steps fade away. He reaches a hand to brush at his neck, pleased when he thinks how bruised it was going to be. If he didn't wear a scarf tomorrow, then along with the bite marks General Winter has left on his neck, they would see the force of a past empire, and Antonio could not make himself think that this never happened. A constant reminder throughout an entire meeting.
Like the rosary on the ground, Ivan smiles to himself as he slowly gets up from the floor, Antonio would fall apart. -- ;u;?
Re: Book of War (3b/?)
anonymous
December 20 2009, 07:45:23 UTC
OP has been quietly hoping and praying someone would write this- I've come very close to just starting writing some silly Prussia/Spain thing and pretending I wasn't OP just because I liked the prompt so much (I feel like an idiot saying that XD). This, though? This is better then I imagined. So well written! And I've been fascinated by Russia and Spain since I read about their interaction in WWII and Stalin's wish for an Allied invasion of Spain (which UK shot down)... ugly, fascinating history, but I don't think I've ever seen a fic with them together.
I am so happy you're writing this. Spain's current caution and Russia's crazy are playing off of each other wonderfully... I can't wait to see what happens when Russia finally gets the crazy from Spain that he seeks. :D
Re: Book of War (3b/?)
anonymous
January 2 2010, 14:57:26 UTC
Author!Anon thinks that OP should write that Prussia/Spain! There can never be enough love for Conquistador!Spain, yes?
I have to confess, though, that I know little about Spain and Russia's history together. I just love both characters and wanted them to interact somehow. xD; But now that you mentioned that, maybe I should study them a bit more...
Re: Book of War (3b/?)
anonymous
December 21 2009, 02:57:08 UTC
OHMIGAD I can't wait for more!!! This was written so well and and and the langauge you use is so describing and beautiful! Also the way you wrote the characters were just perfect!
I wonder if I can sleep after reading this.
Anyway, I'm so going to be reading the next parts when you post them!
Re: Book of War (3b/?)
anonymous
December 31 2009, 03:23:40 UTC
This was awesome. Masochist!Russia is just so disturbing, so twisted and somehow way more scary. And Spain. Oh my god, Spain. Your description of him is just beyond words.
"(...)and a smile crawls on those lips, sweet and so out of place for someone who usually represents nothing but joy."
Book of War (4/?)
anonymous
January 2 2010, 14:40:04 UTC
Honesty is an ailing virtue. This is the only conclusion Ivan can make when he makes no haste on his way to the meeting room.
The air is thick with whispers, words that spread like fire once they are let out. He takes no offense in them, of course, because this was all indented when he put his scarf on making sure the bruises peek tauntingly where the garment fails to cover his skin. And oh, do they whisper.
Someone has hurt Russia. Someone has hurt Russia.
These words will flood this building and there is not a place where Antonio can hide from them and what he did. It makes Ivan smile.
But honesty, he mourns, is something he's rather fond of, pursuing it by liking what he likes and not drowning in the deep pit of denial like the old nations who used to have the power to do with the world as they pleased. When asked, they say they'd never be able to do what someone has done to him now to anyone (not anymore). And whoever had asked, swallows this up like a delicious plate of propaganda.
It's curious, though, when he settles down on his seat, how they fail to ask Antonio about this turn of events. Ivan thinks it's the smile, constantly on his face, now creating too big a contrast for them to even remember how he has once served his country by bringing it more riches and spreading the Word.
“Hey, bastard, have you heard?” There is no need to question what little Romano has heard, because both Ivan and Antonio are quite aware of what he's about to say. Ivan leans his head on his hand and watches the two southern nations, mildly curious if Antonio's expression is going to falter.
“Lovino!” To his surprise, Antonio's face only lights up more. “I don't need to be told how cute you are.”
It's the love for red, Ivan idly thinks, what must make Romano so appealing to Antonio. The boy's cheeks are painfully red when he takes a step back from the older nation, stuttering out profanities as he does so. The words have little effect, either because centuries have dulled them down or because Antonio simply can't take his eyes off the color.
He wonders how it is even possible for the boy to turn himself so red, thinks if it's a condition or if it's consciously done to attract the attention of those who he knows it arouses. But of course, Ivan realizes it's blood that rushes through Romano's veins so wildly to create the fanciful sight, and he feels so stupid for not giving this a thought before.
“Tsk, just forget it, you idiot.”
Antonio keeps smiling even as his former charge goes, but he is a fool if he thinks Ivan hasn't noticed how he's not even once spared a single glance towards his direction. But he is no fool. Neither of them are.
The rosary shakes, but Ivan shivers in delight, because as much as Antonio struggles, there's a tiny, obscene quirk at the corner of his mouth when he tries to ask to be forgiven. Antonio may try his best, but he doesn't regret a thing, tries to fill his heart with norms and the word of the Lord, but fails miserably when his people grow less religious and enticement tastes so delicious.
“What's there to regret?” Ivan chuckles, not meaning well at all when he fills his expression with cruel. “I'm sure he enjoyed it as well.”
He can't understand Antonio's wish to bend into the stream of normality when even some of his men of God take a bite of this apple the serpent dares them to have. Antonio turns slow, eyes darkened and somewhat grim as he looks at Ivan with something that is not usual for modern Spain.
“Why are you here?” He asks Ivan, adding an edge to his tone for the first time. “To mock me?”
Ivan finds it amusing, that this is Antonio trying to repent, and the best act that Ivan can pull is childlike innocence. So he smiles like he means well, happiness in his eyes like he doesn't understand the reality of the subject. “I'm just saying to take what we want is what we live for.”
That's what used to be, lingers in the air, but neither of them say it out loud. And they have taken a lot. God, have they taken.
“You still yearn to take him, don't you?” Ivan leers, devouring the emotions that are starting to boil in the depths of Antonio's being where he has buried them. “Dream of him with his legs spread, moaning like a whore.” This is a room of God, and although the ideals differ from his, the Carpenter is the same and hears him speak these obscenities in Its place of worship. Briefly he thinks if he's going to be punished, but the way Antonio trembles, he's sure it's not not the flames of Hell that are first to burn his skin.
“If so,” and as Ivan says this, Antonio is straightening his back, strengthened by fury that the words force into him, burning like purgatory. “Why not just conquer him?”
The pain it earns him is sweet, when Ivan's back is smashed against the marbled floor of the chapel, the laugh he tries to choke out dying in his throat which Antonio has in his grip so tightly that air can't even begin to wish to make it's way to his lungs.
“You,” it comes out as a low, deep grumble, from the bottom of Antonio's being as he stares down at Ivan, green eyes unable to hide the satisfaction this act of violence stirs within him. Unconsciously, the hands around Ivan's neck tighten their hold still, and if he could, Ivan would moan in bliss. “You come here to mock me -my God,” Antonio's hands tremble, his muscles straining from the strength they are suddenly forced to bring.
“You shouldn't even be here, not with your false religion,” and a smile crawls on those lips, sweet and so out of place for someone who usually represents nothing but joy. Ivan can feel the rosary press against his throat, the beads still in Antonio's hands.
“I'll teach you-” but Antonio suddenly stops talking, smile and hands withdrawing as he snaps. Ivan is not disappointed though, because as much as he's grown bored with fright, regret and carefully calculated actions, the expression on Antonio's face is precious -adorable, even.
“I-” the other stammers, pulling away from Ivan, making him miss the heat of his strength already. “I'm sorry.” Antonio struggles to get onto his feet, the rosary dropping to the floor, beads escaping the bounds of the rope that had snapped at some point by the strength Antonio had been straining it with. “I'm so sorry.”
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Like the rosary on the ground, Ivan smiles to himself as he slowly gets up from the floor, Antonio would fall apart.
--
;u;?
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ReCaptcha: Rock Colombus O_O
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BRB, GOING TO BASK IN THE SHEER AWESOME OF THIS FILL.
PLEASE CONTINUE TO ROCK MY WORLD.
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I didn't even realize how much I love yandere Spain until I read this. .__.
Please, por favor, continue. <333
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I am so happy you're writing this. Spain's current caution and Russia's crazy are playing off of each other wonderfully... I can't wait to see what happens when Russia finally gets the crazy from Spain that he seeks. :D
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I have to confess, though, that I know little about Spain and Russia's history together. I just love both characters and wanted them to interact somehow. xD; But now that you mentioned that, maybe I should study them a bit more...
Reply
This was written so well and and and the langauge you use is so describing and beautiful! Also the way you wrote the characters were just perfect!
I wonder if I can sleep after reading this.
Anyway, I'm so going to be reading the next parts when you post them!
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"(...)and a smile crawls on those lips, sweet and so out of place for someone who usually represents nothing but joy."
It was great. Please continue.
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The air is thick with whispers, words that spread like fire once they are let out. He takes no offense in them, of course, because this was all indented when he put his scarf on making sure the bruises peek tauntingly where the garment fails to cover his skin. And oh, do they whisper.
Someone has hurt Russia. Someone has hurt Russia.
These words will flood this building and there is not a place where Antonio can hide from them and what he did. It makes Ivan smile.
But honesty, he mourns, is something he's rather fond of, pursuing it by liking what he likes and not drowning in the deep pit of denial like the old nations who used to have the power to do with the world as they pleased. When asked, they say they'd never be able to do what someone has done to him now to anyone (not anymore). And whoever had asked, swallows this up like a delicious plate of propaganda.
It's curious, though, when he settles down on his seat, how they fail to ask Antonio about this turn of events. Ivan thinks it's the smile, constantly on his face, now creating too big a contrast for them to even remember how he has once served his country by bringing it more riches and spreading the Word.
“Hey, bastard, have you heard?” There is no need to question what little Romano has heard, because both Ivan and Antonio are quite aware of what he's about to say. Ivan leans his head on his hand and watches the two southern nations, mildly curious if Antonio's expression is going to falter.
“Lovino!” To his surprise, Antonio's face only lights up more. “I don't need to be told how cute you are.”
It's the love for red, Ivan idly thinks, what must make Romano so appealing to Antonio. The boy's cheeks are painfully red when he takes a step back from the older nation, stuttering out profanities as he does so. The words have little effect, either because centuries have dulled them down or because Antonio simply can't take his eyes off the color.
He wonders how it is even possible for the boy to turn himself so red, thinks if it's a condition or if it's consciously done to attract the attention of those who he knows it arouses. But of course, Ivan realizes it's blood that rushes through Romano's veins so wildly to create the fanciful sight, and he feels so stupid for not giving this a thought before.
“Tsk, just forget it, you idiot.”
Antonio keeps smiling even as his former charge goes, but he is a fool if he thinks Ivan hasn't noticed how he's not even once spared a single glance towards his direction. But he is no fool. Neither of them are.
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