The Other Side 1b
anonymous
October 17 2010, 02:16:27 UTC
England massaged his temples. “Let's find out where Canada ran off to and stay with him.”
“I'm about ready to go sleep in the gutter,” France said. They both winced at the bang of an object hitting the wall.
“Ha!” said America. “Missed! Just like if we ever did go to war! You'd end up blowing up half of South America!”
“You don't even know where that is.”
“Of course I do! It's... to the south...”
“Ignorant yeblan.”
“What did you call me?”
Another sound of something smashing into the wall. France looked mournfully at some of the lovely trinkets that decorated their room. “I hope that wasn't anything nice...”
“Goddammit, you bastard!” Sound of scuffle, body hitting the floor.
“We are immortal, right?” England picked his embroidery back up.
France nodded. “Pretty sure.” He grimaced at the sound of choking from the other side of the wall. “Oh dear.” They both yelped and ducked at the violent thud of a body slamming into the wall with a cry of pain. More furniture was thrown, with more violent insults in various languages. Every so often, one of the thuds had the more organic sound of something hitting flesh rather than a wall, with colorful cursing and pained grunts.
“I think we may find out for sure...” England said. They heard the sound of a body hitting the table, chairs flung to the side. A yell, a slap, a groan, a grunt, a moan.
Wait, what?
Another moan, longer than the first.
“What are they doing now?” England whispered.
“Hush,” France said.
“Svinya,” Russia said. “Filthy pig.” His tone seemed to have changed, though. Just slightly. It was still filled with loathing and contempt, but... huskier.
America gave a cry of... pain? They weren't really sure anymore. “Sick fuck.”
“I hate you.”
“Fuck off and die.”
England's eyes widened, and he gaped at France. The grunts and moans were definitely picking up a familiar rhythm. “It... can't be...”
Then a louder grunt, and sound of a body hitting the floor.
“Oh.” France looked a little disappointed. “Maybe not.”
Scuffling, objects thrown, then a body hitting the wall so hard they heard cracking. Looking around in surprise, England realized a hole had been punched in the wall that separated them. He and France exchanged a knowing look. They waited until the sounds of struggle moved away from that wall, then scurried over to the new peephole, able to both peep in with one eye. They gasped.
Russia already had America pinned face-first against the far wall, both of them missing their pants. Russia had one hand on America's shoulder, the other was pinning both of the smaller nation's wrists behind him. Russia was using his own feet to keep the other's legs spread, and was viciously thrusting into him at a brutal pace.
England swallowed, hand unconsciously trailing down to the straining bulge that had abruptly appeared in his pants. His wrist was caught and pushed aside, and England didn't even break his gaze from the peephole as he felt France unzip his pants and push them down. Still not wanting to look away from the violent scene in the next room, England reached over, groping blindly along France until he located the zipper, and returned the favor, shoving his pants down (unsurprisingly, France had opted to go commando. Did he even own underwear?) England let out a long sigh when France's hand curled around his erection.
Meanwhile, America managed to shove Russia off of himself. The pair vanished from the limited view the hole provided, and the disappointed voyeurs were left to their imagination at the sound of thuds and crashes and swearing and flesh hitting flesh.
Until America was flung back into the picture, landing face-first on the floor with a grunt. He was completely naked by then, divested of even his glasses, and he was already sporting a black eye and split lip. England wilted a little in France's grip when he wondered if he was getting off to his little brother's rape... But no. America could pick a bus up and fling it across the road. If he didn't want this, it wouldn't be happening. And though they insulted each other, neither had actually said any variation of 'no' or 'stop'...
“I'm about ready to go sleep in the gutter,” France said. They both winced at the bang of an object hitting the wall.
“Ha!” said America. “Missed! Just like if we ever did go to war! You'd end up blowing up half of South America!”
“You don't even know where that is.”
“Of course I do! It's... to the south...”
“Ignorant yeblan.”
“What did you call me?”
Another sound of something smashing into the wall. France looked mournfully at some of the lovely trinkets that decorated their room. “I hope that wasn't anything nice...”
“Goddammit, you bastard!” Sound of scuffle, body hitting the floor.
“We are immortal, right?” England picked his embroidery back up.
France nodded. “Pretty sure.” He grimaced at the sound of choking from the other side of the wall. “Oh dear.” They both yelped and ducked at the violent thud of a body slamming into the wall with a cry of pain. More furniture was thrown, with more violent insults in various languages. Every so often, one of the thuds had the more organic sound of something hitting flesh rather than a wall, with colorful cursing and pained grunts.
“I think we may find out for sure...” England said. They heard the sound of a body hitting the table, chairs flung to the side. A yell, a slap, a groan, a grunt, a moan.
Wait, what?
Another moan, longer than the first.
“What are they doing now?” England whispered.
“Hush,” France said.
“Svinya,” Russia said. “Filthy pig.” His tone seemed to have changed, though. Just slightly. It was still filled with loathing and contempt, but... huskier.
America gave a cry of... pain? They weren't really sure anymore. “Sick fuck.”
“I hate you.”
“Fuck off and die.”
England's eyes widened, and he gaped at France. The grunts and moans were definitely picking up a familiar rhythm. “It... can't be...”
Then a louder grunt, and sound of a body hitting the floor.
“Oh.” France looked a little disappointed. “Maybe not.”
Scuffling, objects thrown, then a body hitting the wall so hard they heard cracking. Looking around in surprise, England realized a hole had been punched in the wall that separated them. He and France exchanged a knowing look. They waited until the sounds of struggle moved away from that wall, then scurried over to the new peephole, able to both peep in with one eye. They gasped.
Russia already had America pinned face-first against the far wall, both of them missing their pants. Russia had one hand on America's shoulder, the other was pinning both of the smaller nation's wrists behind him. Russia was using his own feet to keep the other's legs spread, and was viciously thrusting into him at a brutal pace.
England swallowed, hand unconsciously trailing down to the straining bulge that had abruptly appeared in his pants. His wrist was caught and pushed aside, and England didn't even break his gaze from the peephole as he felt France unzip his pants and push them down. Still not wanting to look away from the violent scene in the next room, England reached over, groping blindly along France until he located the zipper, and returned the favor, shoving his pants down (unsurprisingly, France had opted to go commando. Did he even own underwear?) England let out a long sigh when France's hand curled around his erection.
Meanwhile, America managed to shove Russia off of himself. The pair vanished from the limited view the hole provided, and the disappointed voyeurs were left to their imagination at the sound of thuds and crashes and swearing and flesh hitting flesh.
Until America was flung back into the picture, landing face-first on the floor with a grunt. He was completely naked by then, divested of even his glasses, and he was already sporting a black eye and split lip. England wilted a little in France's grip when he wondered if he was getting off to his little brother's rape... But no. America could pick a bus up and fling it across the road. If he didn't want this, it wouldn't be happening. And though they insulted each other, neither had actually said any variation of 'no' or 'stop'...
Reply
Leave a comment