As I Tell You ~Five~
anonymous
October 14 2010, 20:23:55 UTC
She is straddling his lap, and he has his head thrown back into the goose-feather pillows that smell like her hair. The end of the crop is trailing cruelly over his heat-moistened skin, and she is smiling as he squirms. He can't stand how everything about her that used to make him so happy now makes him want to cry. He hasn't quite cried yet, and maybe he won't; she's being surprisingly kind this time.
He is startled into yelping by a sharp pain on the side of his face, and he realizes after a moment that she struck him with the crop. He looks up, wide-eyed, to find her scowling.
"England?" he ventures, bracing inwardly for another attack.
"You looked away," she deadpans, looking suddenly furious. Fear grips him.
"I-I'm sorry...I didn't--"
He gasps and tastes copper as she slaps him, delivering a far more fierce wound than the crop managed. "You didn't what?" she hisses, rocking slightly. His breath hitches as blood gathers in the corner of his mouth, heat in the pit of his stomach. His eyes flick about anxiously.
"I-I-I didn't m-mean to...ah!"
"Pay attention!" she growls, raking her nails down his torso. He writhes and cries out, tears stinging his eyes and split lip.
He howls, quailing before her anger and begging wordlessly for her to stop, please, it's not my fault, this isn't how it's supposed to be. She ignores him in favour of shutting him up with a rough kiss. He responds pleadingly, baring his mouth for her as he has bared everything else. She takes it, as she might well have taken it permission or no.
She pulls away to lap at the blood trailing down his chin, and he whimpers against her smooth shoulder. Their hips--for he cannot stop his own jerky search for satisfaction--come together perfectly, and she takes a long, deep breath as he screams.
Re: As I Tell You ~Five~
anonymous
October 15 2010, 02:45:37 UTC
ohgod wow. this is POWERFUL anon. Poor America! The progression from desire to despair; the way he's trying not to want her to love him and how he's failing - I just - actual tears standing in my eyes, anon! Please say this continues?
As I Tell You ~Six~
anonymous
October 15 2010, 16:45:26 UTC
"A-aagh..." He starts to say her name, her most intimate and personal name, but his whimper is cut off by a fortunate hiccup. He isn't allowed to address her in such a fashion, after all, being a mere colony. He pants heavily for a moment before prying open his stinging eyes to find her smirking.
"My darling," she says, and it hurts because they both know that the words are meaningless. He turns away, breaking again as she slips from the bed. She stands, naked and shameless, and looks him over. All the shame, all the graspless love and desperate anguish belong to him, the loyal colony; empires do not have time or reason to feel such things.
He presses his face into the pillows and cries because he feels disgusting. She's kneeling nearby in the next moment, gripping his face and smearing the remaining blood across his cheek. The salt of his tears burns the miniature wound, but he doesn't care. Her touch is the worst of the pain. He refuses to meet her gaze, as he often does once they've finished, but she is speaking to him, and he can't help listening.
"My beloved America," she purrs, and something cracks within him. He doesn't hear what else she says; the roar in his ears is too loud.
"You're lying!" he shouts, voice cracking pitifully. He glares madly up at her through his tears, trembling limbs refusing to respond. Her previously mocking expression has grown cold.
As I Tell You ~Seven~
anonymous
October 15 2010, 17:28:22 UTC
(A/N: In case it isn't clear, when she slapped him, his lip bled because it was cut on his tooth/teeth. Oh, mild language warning! Also, Artha is apparently a feminine form of Arthur, so.)
"Nothing you say is true!" he gasps, struggling out of her grasp and into a sitting position. He knows it's wrong; she says plenty of truthful things, but at the moment, he's too sad and angry to be realistic.
She backs away from the bed, tensed and alert as though expecting him to attack. She's scowling; if he hadn't made such an aggressive display so unexpectedly, if he hadn't said things he'd never dared before, she would be smirking.
But she is scowling. She doesn't know what he's thinking, what he's trying to do by shouting and advancing on her as he is now. He thinks he sees a flicker of fear in her eyes, but he's probably only imagining things. She's angry and confused, that's all.
Because empires have no fear; no love; no unnecessary emotions that might get in the way of properly governing their colonies.
"I don't mean a thing to you," he growls, and her furrowed brow softens slightly. "Not a damn thing." The words, never before spoken, are somehow unfamiliar to him, and the ache begins anew as he rounds on her, losing steam. "All this time, you've just been using me, and you won't even call it what it is. It's always...always some stupid fucking deal with you, some..." He flinches when she lifts her hands, but she doesn't touch him, doesn't interrupt. Her expression is blank, vaguely thoughtful.
He concludes breathlessly, voice small. "What am I to you, Artha?"
Her eyes and words are empty when she answers. "My colony."
He is startled into yelping by a sharp pain on the side of his face, and he realizes after a moment that she struck him with the crop. He looks up, wide-eyed, to find her scowling.
"England?" he ventures, bracing inwardly for another attack.
"You looked away," she deadpans, looking suddenly furious. Fear grips him.
"I-I'm sorry...I didn't--"
He gasps and tastes copper as she slaps him, delivering a far more fierce wound than the crop managed. "You didn't what?" she hisses, rocking slightly. His breath hitches as blood gathers in the corner of his mouth, heat in the pit of his stomach. His eyes flick about anxiously.
"I-I-I didn't m-mean to...ah!"
"Pay attention!" she growls, raking her nails down his torso. He writhes and cries out, tears stinging his eyes and split lip.
He howls, quailing before her anger and begging wordlessly for her to stop, please, it's not my fault, this isn't how it's supposed to be. She ignores him in favour of shutting him up with a rough kiss. He responds pleadingly, baring his mouth for her as he has bared everything else. She takes it, as she might well have taken it permission or no.
She pulls away to lap at the blood trailing down his chin, and he whimpers against her smooth shoulder. Their hips--for he cannot stop his own jerky search for satisfaction--come together perfectly, and she takes a long, deep breath as he screams.
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I'm honoured.
-will be continuing soon-
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"My darling," she says, and it hurts because they both know that the words are meaningless. He turns away, breaking again as she slips from the bed. She stands, naked and shameless, and looks him over. All the shame, all the graspless love and desperate anguish belong to him, the loyal colony; empires do not have time or reason to feel such things.
He presses his face into the pillows and cries because he feels disgusting. She's kneeling nearby in the next moment, gripping his face and smearing the remaining blood across his cheek. The salt of his tears burns the miniature wound, but he doesn't care. Her touch is the worst of the pain. He refuses to meet her gaze, as he often does once they've finished, but she is speaking to him, and he can't help listening.
"My beloved America," she purrs, and something cracks within him. He doesn't hear what else she says; the roar in his ears is too loud.
"You're lying!" he shouts, voice cracking pitifully. He glares madly up at her through his tears, trembling limbs refusing to respond. Her previously mocking expression has grown cold.
"What?" she snaps, but it not really a question.
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Oh, mild language warning!
Also, Artha is apparently a feminine form of Arthur, so.)
"Nothing you say is true!" he gasps, struggling out of her grasp and into a sitting position. He knows it's wrong; she says plenty of truthful things, but at the moment, he's too sad and angry to be realistic.
She backs away from the bed, tensed and alert as though expecting him to attack. She's scowling; if he hadn't made such an aggressive display so unexpectedly, if he hadn't said things he'd never dared before, she would be smirking.
But she is scowling. She doesn't know what he's thinking, what he's trying to do by shouting and advancing on her as he is now. He thinks he sees a flicker of fear in her eyes, but he's probably only imagining things. She's angry and confused, that's all.
Because empires have no fear; no love; no unnecessary emotions that might get in the way of properly governing their colonies.
"I don't mean a thing to you," he growls, and her furrowed brow softens slightly. "Not a damn thing." The words, never before spoken, are somehow unfamiliar to him, and the ache begins anew as he rounds on her, losing steam. "All this time, you've just been using me, and you won't even call it what it is. It's always...always some stupid fucking deal with you, some..." He flinches when she lifts her hands, but she doesn't touch him, doesn't interrupt. Her expression is blank, vaguely thoughtful.
He concludes breathlessly, voice small. "What am I to you, Artha?"
Her eyes and words are empty when she answers. "My colony."
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