Underneath [12/?]
anonymous
May 3 2010, 02:04:21 UTC
"Don't you dare try to blame me for this!" England hissed, eyes inches away from America's.
"Oh, of course it's not your fault," and America's smile went hard-edged then, too. "Nothing's ever your fault. You do whatever you want to the people who're weaker than you, you make them love you, and then you just leave-"
"You rebelled!" England said, incredulous.
"I saw what you were," America said, squeezing down hard on his throat until England gagged for air. "I was something for you to use, and you didn't give a damn that I loved you! You didn't give a damn about anything but yourself."
"You're insane," England gasped out, shaking his head. What in God's name was America talking about? The little bastard had rebelled, he'd cast England off and left a hole in his heart that had never quite filled, and he had the nerve to accuse England of leaving? The outrage spurred England on, and he reared back and slammed his head against America's nose as hard as he could.
He heard the crack of glass and a howl of pain, then suddenly the hands around his neck and his wrists were gone. England's body wanted to slump to the floor, but he knew that he needed to get out of America's house if he wanted to survive. The only problem was that America was blocking the door.
England took several steps back towards the stairs, mind whirling as he tried to figure out what to do. America looked up then, nose bloody and one side of his glasses cracked.
"Ouch." He grinned. "I actually felt that one, Iggy." Then America lunged for England again.
Panicked, England threw himself up the stairs. He could get out through the second story if he had to, he just needed to escape America long enough to get a window open. That would probably be easier said than done, though.
Sure enough, he felt America's hand lock onto his ankle like a vise, tripping him and sending him sprawling forward. England just barely caught himself, throwing his hands in front of him to keep his head from slamming against the stairs. America grabbed his shoulder and flipped him over, dropping his weight down onto England so hard that it knocked the breath out of smaller nation. America managed to pin one hand (thankfully not the broken one, though England was full of adrenaline that he might not have felt it) underneath his knee, and had a hand locked hard around the other one. The were both silent for a moment, panting.
"I'm the one who's a monster, huh?" England said after a moment, lips drawn back into a snarl. "I'm the one who doesn't care about anyone else?"
"Oh yeah," America said, smirking a little. "It's still you."
"You're out of your mind," England said, because it bore repeating and if America was going to strangle him to death here on the stairs, he might as well get an insult in before he died.
"Oh, of course it's not your fault," and America's smile went hard-edged then, too. "Nothing's ever your fault. You do whatever you want to the people who're weaker than you, you make them love you, and then you just leave-"
"You rebelled!" England said, incredulous.
"I saw what you were," America said, squeezing down hard on his throat until England gagged for air. "I was something for you to use, and you didn't give a damn that I loved you! You didn't give a damn about anything but yourself."
"You're insane," England gasped out, shaking his head. What in God's name was America talking about? The little bastard had rebelled, he'd cast England off and left a hole in his heart that had never quite filled, and he had the nerve to accuse England of leaving? The outrage spurred England on, and he reared back and slammed his head against America's nose as hard as he could.
He heard the crack of glass and a howl of pain, then suddenly the hands around his neck and his wrists were gone. England's body wanted to slump to the floor, but he knew that he needed to get out of America's house if he wanted to survive. The only problem was that America was blocking the door.
England took several steps back towards the stairs, mind whirling as he tried to figure out what to do. America looked up then, nose bloody and one side of his glasses cracked.
"Ouch." He grinned. "I actually felt that one, Iggy." Then America lunged for England again.
Panicked, England threw himself up the stairs. He could get out through the second story if he had to, he just needed to escape America long enough to get a window open. That would probably be easier said than done, though.
Sure enough, he felt America's hand lock onto his ankle like a vise, tripping him and sending him sprawling forward. England just barely caught himself, throwing his hands in front of him to keep his head from slamming against the stairs. America grabbed his shoulder and flipped him over, dropping his weight down onto England so hard that it knocked the breath out of smaller nation. America managed to pin one hand (thankfully not the broken one, though England was full of adrenaline that he might not have felt it) underneath his knee, and had a hand locked hard around the other one. The were both silent for a moment, panting.
"I'm the one who's a monster, huh?" England said after a moment, lips drawn back into a snarl. "I'm the one who doesn't care about anyone else?"
"Oh yeah," America said, smirking a little. "It's still you."
"You're out of your mind," England said, because it bore repeating and if America was going to strangle him to death here on the stairs, he might as well get an insult in before he died.
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