Re: Close Every Door [2a/6]
anonymous
May 23 2010, 18:51:14 UTC
'Do what you want with me, hate me and laugh at me, darken my daytime and torture my nights.'
England awakens from a nightmare he cannot remember.
His sense of time has fallen away. There is nothing he can use to tell whether he has been here for hours, days, or even weeks. He marks his days by the number of times America comes into this room, and his weakened, scarring body becomes an unholy calendar. If it is accurate, he thinks, he has been here for six days.
Six days, and already America has done so much damage to him that England shudders at the thought, shudders and closes his eyes and prays that nothing is true. He is naked and limp. His broken wrist hangs from the shackle, unable to heal as it is jerked around mercilessly by America, as if it were a child's favourite toy; his body is burned and bruised and starved, with too many broken ribs to count; his unshackled arm has nearly been cut through completely, the sickly pink of the humerus exposed to the air. The wound is horribly infected, and the burning pain brands itself into England's mind, making him scream even without America there to urge him on. The room smells permanently of blood and leather.
The only thing left untouched is England's face.
The door opens, and England whimpers, trying to curl into himself as much as possible. He does not want to show America his weakness, no, but he cannot help but flinch as a gloved hand touches his thigh, travelling until it is tracing circles on his hip. What bones will America break today?
He does not realise he is trembling until America tells him so.
"Darling, stop shaking," he breathes over England's face, smirking at the flinch he receives for his efforts. "It's only me."
"Don't tell me what to do," he rasps out. He is not broken yet.
"Oh, but don't you want this, baby?" America holds up a small, round wrapped package, and the smell of hamburger wafts up to England's nose and makes him want to vomit. America is the same as ever, the same person he had called idiot and mocked time and time again, why are you doing this to me, I thought we were friends, please, please stop-
America leans even closer, holding the hamburger up to England's face. "I thought you were hungry, but I guess not." He takes a small bite, and juice drips down his chin, and before he can control himself England surges forward and licks it up.
"Give it to me," England tries to demand, but it comes out as a breathy whisper that sounds more like begging to America's ears, and England hates himself for it.
"Honey, I'd love to, but you've got to do something for me first," America murmurs in his ear before drawing back and sitting on his heels.
"Don't call me that," England shoots back weakly, but he is afraid- afraid of what America will have him do. "What do you want?"
America grins darkly, and England shudders. "Hurt yourself," he breathes, tracing a hand down England's calf and pinching at a scabbing wound. "Make yourself scream. Make yourself cry."
England chokes on the protests that try to bubble out of his throat. His body hurts, he is too weak, he doesn't want to cause himself more pain, he cannot possibly give America the satisfaction- but God his stomach is burning and empty, and he can feel the acid eating away at him from the inside, and the gnawing agony of starvation is enough to convince him.
He trails his fingers down his body, unable to suppress a whimper of pain as his cut arm is stretched almost unbearably. His fingers pass over the rough surfaces of scabs and dried blood and tender burns until he comes to a gaping wound just above his hip. Biting his lip, he digs his nails into it.
Re: Close Every Door [2b/6]
anonymous
May 23 2010, 18:52:46 UTC
The sound that leaves his mouth is not a scream, but it is more than a cry, so it seems to be enough for America as his eyes darken in excitement and his grin widens until England thinks hazily that he will split his face in two. The food is still held away, so England digs his fingers further, scissoring and stretching the flesh until he is sobbing with agony, toes curled and lip bitten all the way through.
He heard the sound of a zipper being undone, and suddenly America was breathing harshly. "Yeah, baby," he panted. "Just like that."
England feels his teeth clack together through his torn lip and pulls his fingers out with a whimper, staring in horror at America. The other nation continues stroking himself languidly, gazing with half-lidded eyes at England, motioning for him to continue.
"You... You sick bastard," England chokes out, averting his burning face. "You're insane."
"Keep going, darling," America says lowly, threateningly, and England reluctantly obeys.
He brings his fingers up to his chest, leaving a thick trail of bright red, fresh blood in their wake, and touches the edge of one broken rib. It is jutting out so far, England can feel the jagged edge resting just against his skin, held in place only by a thin layer of tissue. He pushes down and screams.
"Oh God, England," America breathes, a slight hitch in his words, and England sobs in fear and pain and revulsion. A warm hand encircles his own, a thumb rubbing soothing circles on his palm, and England sighs in relief. His suffering was over, he would get to eat- but the hand only pushes down harder.
"Oh f-fuck, oh God no, America, please please no, America!" England shrieks, tears streaming down his face as he is torn from the inside. America, still holding England's hand, pushes the bone up and down faster and faster, in time with the stroking of his cock. And soon England can't even scream anymore, can only cry and gasp hoarsely, because his chest is compressing too much, his body ripped too much, and he can't breathe, can't see-
And suddenly it stops with a rush of stale air into his lungs and the disgusting splatter of warm liquid on his ankle, seeping into his wounds and burns. England collapses into a shuddering pile on the mattress.
"Leave me alone," he croaks, his breath hitching with sobs. "Please, no more, I can't take any more."
America runs a disgustingly wet hand down England's cheeks, tenderly, softly. "Oh, but baby, you were so good," he croons, caressing England's face. "And don't you want your reward?"
There is a rustle of wax paper and the damned hamburger is back in front of England's face again. Through the tears and agony he realises he is still hungry, because he hasn't eaten in what feels like days and if he doesn't regain strength he doesn't have a chance of escaping. So he opens his mouth and tries to take a bite, but the food is held just too far away from him. So, cringing, he strains forward, lips opening and closing in search of the tantalising food, because he is too blinded by sweat and tears to really see it. He looks like a desperate, ravenous man- and he is, he realises with a pang of panic, he is- and he doesn't want to look so pitiful in front of his former best friend, but God, he can't help himself.
"Look at you, England," America sighs, and England is repulsed by the adoration he hears in the tone, because he has lost all respect for himself. "So needy, so desperate. Only I can give you what you want, yes?" The hand is back to stroking his cheek, but England ignores it to take more bites out of the hamburger. "You don't need the others. You don't need Europe, you don't need the world. Just me. The two of us against everyone, right?"
And God, England remembers America promising that what seems like a lifetime ago, when it had just been the two of them sitting out in England's rose garden and counting shooting stars. He cries silently as he finishes the food, and licks America's fingers for the last taste.
Re: Close Every Door [2c/6]
anonymous
May 23 2010, 18:53:51 UTC
The meeting was more subdued than any they had ever had before, and Japan was worried. It had been a week and two days since anyone had last seen England, and in desperation they had called an emergency meeting after reporting him as missing to Interpol.
The United Kingdom was a mess. Scotland had taken over for time being, and even if he acted like he didn't care, Japan could see the worry in his eyes. Not to mention, the newly-elected government was floundering. With a hung parliament, the looming Olympics event, and a missing nation, the people were close to rebellion.
America was a wreck, Japan noticed from the corner of his eye. Of course- the States had just said that it had "no closer friend and ally than the United Kingdom", so Japan imagined that America was taking it much harder than the rest of the world. The superpower seemed haggard these days, always tired but always offering up a smile when spoken to. Japan had to admire his brave face- his own impassive mask was cracking and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold it together for long.
He had to speak. He had to break the quiet that had settled over all the world somehow. He couldn't take this for much longer.
"I think we should look for England-san ourselves," he said, not softly, but firmly, with conviction. He looked around at the other nations, seeing them perk up and sit at attention, and he smiled a little. "Interpol will be more concerned about other things, seeing as nations are near immortal and will be reborn unless the country is dissolved. England-san will not be their first priority. I propose to form an investigation party of a few of us, so that the rest will be able to keep an eye out for other important events."
"A very good suggestion. I second the motion," Germany said, nodding, and he too looked around the table. "Who would like to be part of the investigation?"
America's hand shot up. A few people raised theirs more slowly, but not lacking the conviction of the first. Russia, China, Portugal, India, Canada, France, Spain, and Prussia- how had he gotten into the meeting again? Japan raised his own hand.
"Good. Who would like to be the head of the investigation?"
"I will," America spoke through a clenched jaw, setting his untouched cup of coffee on the table loudly.
"I think America-san deserves the position, Germany-san," Japan said, casting a glance at the superpower and seeing a small but delighted smile. He smiled in turn.
Re: Close Every Door [2c/6]
anonymous
May 23 2010, 20:37:59 UTC
I can feel the pain myself, OMG I am glad that England hasn't been broken yet, but I suppose he will be soon. And America is the head of the investigation team...how worse can things be?
OP herself can't do anything except continuing to read what you are writing... It's just... so... awesome, and this OP just didn't know how to explain how awesome it is, how great it is. How America torture England is... really great. This OP didn't even can give proper comments. Dx
But still, this is awesome and continue your great work, Author!non~ C:
To OP from Authornon
anonymous
May 24 2010, 01:48:28 UTC
OP! Wah sorry I didn't reply to your other comment. XD I was busy on this chapter hehehe. So so so anyway if you remember I was the second potential filler who was going to make it angst- the first part of the first chapter was sitting on my laptop for SO LONG and it was tugging at my conscience like you wouldn't believe and then I reread your request and I was like "damn I promised I would do this, so I will!" so yeah. :) I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long.
And bawwww thanks so much. :D I'm worried about this fic because I'm normally a very fluffy, sappy person (I guess now everyone thinks I'm some sort of yandere DX OMG maybe I am ;A; ) and writing this is quite OOC for me, but I adored your request and I'm happy that you think I'm doing it justice. :D
xD That's okay, Authornon, you are so awesome with the story that even this OP is speechless when reading this. -Hugs- And the waiting is nothing since you filled. That's what matters. C:
o: -Hugs and pats Authornon- Even though this is quite OOC of you, but still, this is so awesome... And you truly done it justice. xD Maybe you have secret talents to write things like this, Authornon. =w=
England awakens from a nightmare he cannot remember.
His sense of time has fallen away. There is nothing he can use to tell whether he has been here for hours, days, or even weeks. He marks his days by the number of times America comes into this room, and his weakened, scarring body becomes an unholy calendar. If it is accurate, he thinks, he has been here for six days.
Six days, and already America has done so much damage to him that England shudders at the thought, shudders and closes his eyes and prays that nothing is true. He is naked and limp. His broken wrist hangs from the shackle, unable to heal as it is jerked around mercilessly by America, as if it were a child's favourite toy; his body is burned and bruised and starved, with too many broken ribs to count; his unshackled arm has nearly been cut through completely, the sickly pink of the humerus exposed to the air. The wound is horribly infected, and the burning pain brands itself into England's mind, making him scream even without America there to urge him on. The room smells permanently of blood and leather.
The only thing left untouched is England's face.
The door opens, and England whimpers, trying to curl into himself as much as possible. He does not want to show America his weakness, no, but he cannot help but flinch as a gloved hand touches his thigh, travelling until it is tracing circles on his hip. What bones will America break today?
He does not realise he is trembling until America tells him so.
"Darling, stop shaking," he breathes over England's face, smirking at the flinch he receives for his efforts. "It's only me."
"Don't tell me what to do," he rasps out. He is not broken yet.
"Oh, but don't you want this, baby?" America holds up a small, round wrapped package, and the smell of hamburger wafts up to England's nose and makes him want to vomit. America is the same as ever, the same person he had called idiot and mocked time and time again, why are you doing this to me, I thought we were friends, please, please stop-
America leans even closer, holding the hamburger up to England's face. "I thought you were hungry, but I guess not." He takes a small bite, and juice drips down his chin, and before he can control himself England surges forward and licks it up.
"Give it to me," England tries to demand, but it comes out as a breathy whisper that sounds more like begging to America's ears, and England hates himself for it.
"Honey, I'd love to, but you've got to do something for me first," America murmurs in his ear before drawing back and sitting on his heels.
"Don't call me that," England shoots back weakly, but he is afraid- afraid of what America will have him do. "What do you want?"
America grins darkly, and England shudders. "Hurt yourself," he breathes, tracing a hand down England's calf and pinching at a scabbing wound. "Make yourself scream. Make yourself cry."
England chokes on the protests that try to bubble out of his throat. His body hurts, he is too weak, he doesn't want to cause himself more pain, he cannot possibly give America the satisfaction- but God his stomach is burning and empty, and he can feel the acid eating away at him from the inside, and the gnawing agony of starvation is enough to convince him.
He trails his fingers down his body, unable to suppress a whimper of pain as his cut arm is stretched almost unbearably. His fingers pass over the rough surfaces of scabs and dried blood and tender burns until he comes to a gaping wound just above his hip. Biting his lip, he digs his nails into it.
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He heard the sound of a zipper being undone, and suddenly America was breathing harshly. "Yeah, baby," he panted. "Just like that."
England feels his teeth clack together through his torn lip and pulls his fingers out with a whimper, staring in horror at America. The other nation continues stroking himself languidly, gazing with half-lidded eyes at England, motioning for him to continue.
"You... You sick bastard," England chokes out, averting his burning face. "You're insane."
"Keep going, darling," America says lowly, threateningly, and England reluctantly obeys.
He brings his fingers up to his chest, leaving a thick trail of bright red, fresh blood in their wake, and touches the edge of one broken rib. It is jutting out so far, England can feel the jagged edge resting just against his skin, held in place only by a thin layer of tissue. He pushes down and screams.
"Oh God, England," America breathes, a slight hitch in his words, and England sobs in fear and pain and revulsion. A warm hand encircles his own, a thumb rubbing soothing circles on his palm, and England sighs in relief. His suffering was over, he would get to eat- but the hand only pushes down harder.
"Oh f-fuck, oh God no, America, please please no, America!" England shrieks, tears streaming down his face as he is torn from the inside. America, still holding England's hand, pushes the bone up and down faster and faster, in time with the stroking of his cock. And soon England can't even scream anymore, can only cry and gasp hoarsely, because his chest is compressing too much, his body ripped too much, and he can't breathe, can't see-
And suddenly it stops with a rush of stale air into his lungs and the disgusting splatter of warm liquid on his ankle, seeping into his wounds and burns. England collapses into a shuddering pile on the mattress.
"Leave me alone," he croaks, his breath hitching with sobs. "Please, no more, I can't take any more."
America runs a disgustingly wet hand down England's cheeks, tenderly, softly. "Oh, but baby, you were so good," he croons, caressing England's face. "And don't you want your reward?"
There is a rustle of wax paper and the damned hamburger is back in front of England's face again. Through the tears and agony he realises he is still hungry, because he hasn't eaten in what feels like days and if he doesn't regain strength he doesn't have a chance of escaping. So he opens his mouth and tries to take a bite, but the food is held just too far away from him. So, cringing, he strains forward, lips opening and closing in search of the tantalising food, because he is too blinded by sweat and tears to really see it. He looks like a desperate, ravenous man- and he is, he realises with a pang of panic, he is- and he doesn't want to look so pitiful in front of his former best friend, but God, he can't help himself.
"Look at you, England," America sighs, and England is repulsed by the adoration he hears in the tone, because he has lost all respect for himself. "So needy, so desperate. Only I can give you what you want, yes?" The hand is back to stroking his cheek, but England ignores it to take more bites out of the hamburger. "You don't need the others. You don't need Europe, you don't need the world. Just me. The two of us against everyone, right?"
And God, England remembers America promising that what seems like a lifetime ago, when it had just been the two of them sitting out in England's rose garden and counting shooting stars. He cries silently as he finishes the food, and licks America's fingers for the last taste.
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The United Kingdom was a mess. Scotland had taken over for time being, and even if he acted like he didn't care, Japan could see the worry in his eyes. Not to mention, the newly-elected government was floundering. With a hung parliament, the looming Olympics event, and a missing nation, the people were close to rebellion.
America was a wreck, Japan noticed from the corner of his eye. Of course- the States had just said that it had "no closer friend and ally than the United Kingdom", so Japan imagined that America was taking it much harder than the rest of the world. The superpower seemed haggard these days, always tired but always offering up a smile when spoken to. Japan had to admire his brave face- his own impassive mask was cracking and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold it together for long.
He had to speak. He had to break the quiet that had settled over all the world somehow. He couldn't take this for much longer.
"I think we should look for England-san ourselves," he said, not softly, but firmly, with conviction. He looked around at the other nations, seeing them perk up and sit at attention, and he smiled a little. "Interpol will be more concerned about other things, seeing as nations are near immortal and will be reborn unless the country is dissolved. England-san will not be their first priority. I propose to form an investigation party of a few of us, so that the rest will be able to keep an eye out for other important events."
"A very good suggestion. I second the motion," Germany said, nodding, and he too looked around the table. "Who would like to be part of the investigation?"
America's hand shot up. A few people raised theirs more slowly, but not lacking the conviction of the first. Russia, China, Portugal, India, Canada, France, Spain, and Prussia- how had he gotten into the meeting again? Japan raised his own hand.
"Good. Who would like to be the head of the investigation?"
"I will," America spoke through a clenched jaw, setting his untouched cup of coffee on the table loudly.
"I think America-san deserves the position, Germany-san," Japan said, casting a glance at the superpower and seeing a small but delighted smile. He smiled in turn.
No one disagreed.
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I am glad that England hasn't been broken yet, but I suppose he will be soon.
And America is the head of the investigation team...how worse can things be?
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But still, this is awesome and continue your great work, Author!non~ C:
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And bawwww thanks so much. :D I'm worried about this fic because I'm normally a very fluffy, sappy person (I guess now everyone thinks I'm some sort of yandere DX OMG maybe I am ;A; ) and writing this is quite OOC for me, but I adored your request and I'm happy that you think I'm doing it justice. :D
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o: -Hugs and pats Authornon- Even though this is quite OOC of you, but still, this is so awesome... And you truly done it justice. xD Maybe you have secret talents to write things like this, Authornon. =w=
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