sleep soundly, love 4/?
anonymous
January 31 2011, 15:05:57 UTC
I swear, your comments make work bearable.
"Yours?" the word is torn from Canada's lips and it resembles a soft, anguished cry.
America traces his brother's lips, nodding. "Mine," he whispers as he unsheathes the dagger and Canada's eyes widen in alarm. "All mine," he presses the cool metal blade to Canada's cheek and he feels sick, like something hot and sour will rush up his gullet soon if he doesn't stop him. He frowns as he moves the blade lower, lower, lower, all the way down, across the smooth plane of his chest, to the patch of skin just above his hip, free from any sort of scars, perfect, flawless, made for him to ruin.
Canada finds himself screaming, screaming and screaming as America carves his name into his skin, crimson lines over alabaster. It hurts so badly that the tears start rolling down his cheeks, they don't stop, they just keep falling and his voice is growing hoarse with each letter so he just opens his mouth and nothing comes out, nothing, nothing, nothing.
"Canada," America whispers mournfully, bending forward, licking away his tears, kissing his eyelids. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry," his voice is shaky, there's something that sounds like fear in there but it disappears soon enough.
Canada doesn't respond, biting hard on his lower lip, tasting the coppery tang of blood on his tongue.
"I needed to do this," there's a troubled sort of urgency in America's voice as he trembles, sheathing the dagger again. "I can't lose you, you're far too important to me," he repeats, fingertips brushing across the open wounds on Canada's taut stomach, causing him to scream again, body jerking forward. He brings his fingers to his lips, licking the blood off, sucking on them, swirling his tongue across the soft pad of his index finger and Canada finds himself looking, staring, squinting so hard to see it despite not having his glasses.
"You've been so good to me, so good," America nods, eyes far away, not focusing on anything in particular. His voice is distant and Canada gasps when he places the cold, jewelled hilt of the dagger on his lips. "I'd be really cruel if I don't reward you, after all you've suffered for me," he presses hard and Canada finds himself opening his mouth involuntarily, taking it in. His cheeks flush in shame as he sucks on it, thinking of something else, of something in between somewhere on America instead and oh fuck Canada how fucked up can your mind get why the fuck are you still fantasising about the very same person who just hurt you and fuck he's your brother for fuck's sake who are you trying to fool, yourself into believing that you love him wholeheartedly, incestuously or the both of you into believing that it's alright when it's not and he licks, sucks, swirls his tongue over and America stares at him, eyes widening, cheeks flushing too, not in shame, but in arousal.
"Yours?" the word is torn from Canada's lips and it resembles a soft, anguished cry.
America traces his brother's lips, nodding. "Mine," he whispers as he unsheathes the dagger and Canada's eyes widen in alarm. "All mine," he presses the cool metal blade to Canada's cheek and he feels sick, like something hot and sour will rush up his gullet soon if he doesn't stop him. He frowns as he moves the blade lower, lower, lower, all the way down, across the smooth plane of his chest, to the patch of skin just above his hip, free from any sort of scars, perfect, flawless, made for him to ruin.
Canada finds himself screaming, screaming and screaming as America carves his name into his skin, crimson lines over alabaster. It hurts so badly that the tears start rolling down his cheeks, they don't stop, they just keep falling and his voice is growing hoarse with each letter so he just opens his mouth and nothing comes out, nothing, nothing, nothing.
"Canada," America whispers mournfully, bending forward, licking away his tears, kissing his eyelids. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry," his voice is shaky, there's something that sounds like fear in there but it disappears soon enough.
Canada doesn't respond, biting hard on his lower lip, tasting the coppery tang of blood on his tongue.
"I needed to do this," there's a troubled sort of urgency in America's voice as he trembles, sheathing the dagger again. "I can't lose you, you're far too important to me," he repeats, fingertips brushing across the open wounds on Canada's taut stomach, causing him to scream again, body jerking forward. He brings his fingers to his lips, licking the blood off, sucking on them, swirling his tongue across the soft pad of his index finger and Canada finds himself looking, staring, squinting so hard to see it despite not having his glasses.
"You've been so good to me, so good," America nods, eyes far away, not focusing on anything in particular. His voice is distant and Canada gasps when he places the cold, jewelled hilt of the dagger on his lips. "I'd be really cruel if I don't reward you, after all you've suffered for me," he presses hard and Canada finds himself opening his mouth involuntarily, taking it in. His cheeks flush in shame as he sucks on it, thinking of something else, of something in between somewhere on America instead and oh fuck Canada how fucked up can your mind get why the fuck are you still fantasising about the very same person who just hurt you and fuck he's your brother for fuck's sake who are you trying to fool, yourself into believing that you love him wholeheartedly, incestuously or the both of you into believing that it's alright when it's not and he licks, sucks, swirls his tongue over and America stares at him, eyes widening, cheeks flushing too, not in shame, but in arousal.
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