(Anon thinks this may be a bit too… gruesome? wrong? historically inept? all of the above? Hopefully, OP will like it anyway because 1) anon made a mental checklist of what OP wanted to see; and 2) anon is also trying to gather more love for france/spain.)
Two Drops of Blood on a Ray of Sunshine
The weapon he carried was sticky and dirtied with blood and chaos. His garments, battle regalia in all its glory, were torn in several places, wounds apparent from the blood that soaked the tattered cloths. There was a cut above his brow rendered by a sharp sword. It swelled with the red liquid that flowed seamlessly down the side of his face, passing his jaw and dripping down his chin. Each droplet found its way to his olive-toned chest which was exposed due to the slice of a blade too late to render any damage to anything other than the yellow silk ribbons that once decorated his shirt. The ever-present cross on his chest gleamed even in the absence of the cheery sky above, but it too was not spared from being stained red.
His breaths were quick, shallow and ragged, his face determined and rebellious as his stance remained defensive if not weakened after his efforts to fight the endless war before him. He was losing this battle within his own kingdom and the dominion of kingdoms wanting a piece of him, but he was still a sight to behold.
“Just like old times,” Francis murmured as he observed the vision his younger brother made, a vision he himself did not cause upon the other. His own blond locks fluttered in the wind, sticking to the sweat on his face to obscure his view for the moment.
“You plotted with England to disseminate my empire.”
Antonio was angry, the rage on his face showing as his grip on his weapon tightened. It was obvious that he was not too keen on relinquishing his territories and that included the one both Francis and Roderick had their eyes on - Italy, or more particularly, the South of Italy.
“You’re misconstruing a treaty for a plot,” Francis responded, gloved hand tucking his wayward strands behind his ear. “Your childless king is dead,” he said next as if to remind him of the reason why this had all happened.
The sudden proclamation did not cause Antonio’s stance to falter. Instead, he stood his ground despite the ensuing battle behind him. His king had just passed away without a proper heir and although his will left little doubt of who was to succeed him, his people were still divided amongst themselves. It was either a Bourbon or a Habsburg, the French or the Austrians both of whom wanted more than he was willing to give.
“Your dead king chose the French,” Francis reminded him. The victory in those words felt superficial at best. Antonio had yet to succumb to the reality. It was evident by the smell of blood against blood, the sight of dead carcasses quickly piling up in the battlefield, and the screams of fury surrounding them.
“Choosing the French entails going to war with the Austrians,” Antonio said as he made his first move with a downward swing of his heavy axe.
Francis, about a hair away from being chopped in half, moved swiftly enough so that he would not get hit. He grinned when he tasted the blood that dripped from his forehead down his nose. It mirrored Antonio’s own wound.
Two Drops of Blood on a Ray of Sunshine Part 2
anonymous
March 27 2009, 02:22:49 UTC
They had done this many times before. It was the way their relationship worked. One day they were allies. The next day they were enemies. It was a matter of convenience for either side. All that mattered was profitability. Associations were nothing more than mere facades.
“Why not go to war with the Austrians then?” Francis questioned. His sword moved quickly to block the next attack. He could feel the power behind the fearsome axe but what Antonio had in strength, he instead had in grace. Spinning quickly after his block, Francis managed a slash down his dear brother’s back. Antonio did not emit a sound of pain, only faltered in his steps before picking his axe off the ground and effortlessly spinning the heavy object over his head and getting into his next defensive position. It was such a brazen move that it made Francis smile in appreciation. Such beautiful movements were surely meant only for his eyes.
“I don’t see the difference,” Francis continued. “Roderick has owned you long enough. Now it’s my turn.”
Noticeably insulted by the way the statement was delivered, Antonio bellowed his battle cry before attempting to slash sideways. Francis thanked his lucky stars for being speedy enough to jump backwards but he was not prepared when Antonio picked dirt off the ground and threw it at his face. Temporarily blinded, he swung his sword in the direction he thought the attack would come from and was unprepared when he felt the sickening slash of a heavy metal object against his left arm.
“This is a battle you won’t win,” Francis said after letting out a hiss of pain. “You’re going to have to side with me because it was your late king’s wish.”
Antonio did not answer, his cheeks flushed from exertion becoming prominent on his face. The fact of the matter, which Francis was very well aware of, was that Antonio could not verbally counter him because everything he’d said thus far was true.
“If you side with the Austrians, you’re going to war with me instead. You’re going to war either way. Everyone else is going to take the side that will benefit them and in your expense, of course.”
“I’m not going to become part of your kingdom and I’m not giving you any piece of mine,” Antonio said with an angled swing of his weapon. Francis, who seemed mostly to be on the defensive, pirouetted away from the swing, placing his sword against the axe at just the right moment.
“You don’t have a choice. You’re going to have to side with me.”
“Make me!” Antonio screamed. That was Francis’s cue to take the offensive. He slid the tip of his blade against the surface of the other’s metal weapon and managed to slip his sword through an opening. Antonio bent backwards to avoid a direct hit but lost his footing and fell backwards. At that same instant, one of Francis’s subjects came to aid him, holding the hilt of his sword with both hands and plunging his weapon downward toward the fallen Spaniard.
“I need him alive,” Francis said before the sword managed to embed itself within his opponent’s chest. “Leave us,” he commanded.
Francis was distracted enough that he did not notice Antonio take the opportune moment to strike. He only realized that he was now at a disadvantage when his feet was no longer touching the ground and his back was against the rocky dirt beneath him. A few moments later, Antonio’s axe was under his throat. Francis could only laugh.
“You’re not winning this,” he said as he once again regarded his adversary. Francis was nowhere near tired. To him, the fight had just begun, but he could see the fatigue radiating off the temporary victor above him. As if to prove his point, he scratched his chin nonchalantly and then promptly pushed aside the blade that was dangerously close to his throat. He was back on his feet before long, sword an extension of his already long arms, swiping at the Spaniard several times before finding an aperture between the long handle of Antonio’s weapon and kicking him down on the ground. Antonio’s weapon flew some distance away from him. How easy it was to have the tables turned.
Two Drops of Blood on a Ray of Sunshine Part 3
anonymous
March 27 2009, 02:24:15 UTC
Francis smirked as his blade was now under Antonio’s throat. Unlike his opponent, however, he was sure to secure his position. Antonio screamed when the blade was stabbed through his open palm on the ground.
“You make such a beautiful image defeated, mon frère.”
Francis pulled the blood-spotted yellow silk ribbons out of Antonio’s shirt just as Antonio used his free hand to pull the blade out of his impaled appendage. Antonio, understandably, screamed again. It was obvious that he was not going to make a move to fight back or retrieve his weapon when he grabbed his injured hand and curled up on his side.
Francis cut a piece of the yellow silk to tie his hair with. The rest he used to bind Antonio’s wrists together before taking the sheath of his sword, wrapping the bindings around it and stabbing it on the ground in a secure position above his captive’s head.
“What was it you said? ‘Make me,’ was it?”
Francis was prepared when the kicking and the cursing in Spanish commenced. Ah, but then Antonio knew him too well not to expect it. The knot around Antonio’s wrists was surely not secure enough, but it was the least of the Frenchman’s concerns. Retaliation was less likely with the bleeding hand above his head.
Francis studied his prize struggling on the ground, ignoring the throbbing on his arm caused by the axe that was now some distance away from either of them to cause any more trouble. Antonio’s cheeks were flushed when angry, his green eyes shining with the same intensity as his words. Francis could not help but appreciate the passion in his resistance, already broken before they’d begun but still fighting. His eyes burned the image into his memory like all things as exquisite as he was now witnessing. His hands burned with unadulterated desire.
“Don’t even think about it,” Antonio warned just as the sheath holding his wrists in place came free.
“Too late,” Francis said with a lecherous smile, stepping on the sheath of his sword to put Antonio back in place. “You know I can’t resist.”
Lowering himself on the ground took Francis more effort than it should have because the booted feet kicking him were not friendly in the least. Nevertheless, he quite loved this because no one else gave him the same, fiery effort Antonio did. Most would remain on the ground a motionless heap of defeat. England may have come close to this, but unlike the Spaniard, he was not blessed with the bounty of the sun. England was pale, always haunted by the rain whereas Antonio was sun-kissed. They made two entirely different images.
“I’ll need you to keep still for a bit,” Francis said and then slammed hit foot down Antonio’s gut and stabbed his sword on the ground right next to his ear. Antonio attempted to curl on his side once again but Francis prevented it by keeping his foot on his stomach. Part of his cheek was cut by the sword causing blood to flow down his face to pool at the ground.
Francis took the opportunity to kneel next to Antonio and whisper lovingly in his ear.
“Let’s see what I can manage to take from you.”
With no more violent protests preventing his intentions, Francis kissed Antonio on the cheek and placed other soft kisses down his jaw and around his neck as his hand worked to lift up the other’s shirt. Antonio was breathing hard. He could feel the loud throbbing of his heart through the hands that explored the damp skin of his chest. Francis was just about to work on the pants when Antonio hit his head with his own and bit at the open wound on his arm. Francis let out a few choice curses of his own.
Two Drops of Blood on a Ray of Sunshine Part 4
anonymous
March 27 2009, 02:25:17 UTC
If that was how it was going to be then damn it all. Francis yanked his prisoner’s pants down in one swift move managing to also rip the boots off in the process. Antonio’s body shifted downward making the bindings on his wrists even tighter.
“Shameless,” Antonio said to the Frenchman with very little shame himself considering his state of undress.
“No worries. The kids are not watching.”
Whoever said that being conquered by another was painless was deplorably unaware. Antonio had been beaten enough times to know what it was like so when Francis entered him with no preamble, he should have been prepared. However, nothing could have prepared him for this. Antonio howled loud in agony to prove this point. His legs trembled against the Frenchman’s waist, hoping desperately to get some sort of relief from the intrusion. Such a gruesome sight was magnified tenfold by Francis’s blood on his lips and cheeks left over from his earlier bite. Francis himself was not in much better position having to deal with friction and the effects of non-existent lubrication.
“Still not agreeing to succumb to my command?” Francis questioned to which the answer was, predictably, a vehement ‘no’.
Francis took no time to consider the answer further and pulled out partially only to plunge back in. Holding himself back from losing control was hard considering the vision Antonio made from beneath him. The Spaniard had no qualms about being vocal. Moans and protests coupled with passionate death threats would have turned on the most docile of creatures. Zealous fury and the image of flushed, tanned skin precluded the even more intense experience that was to follow. Antonio managed to break his wrists free from their hold, ripping his bindings apart. Francis could have been stabbed right then and there, but he didn’t care.
Instead of the expected retaliation, Francis was delightfully surprised when Antonio gripped at his torso after having pulled his shirt up to touch his skin. Long fingernails dug at his back, drawing blood. Francis thought his eyes would fall out of their sockets at the pain he experienced from the action, but he managed to continue nonetheless. Dropping his lips on the partially uncovered chest, Francis sucked hard on Antonio’s skin in retaliation. Out of the corner of his eye, the reddened cross on Antonio’s chest glimmered as if wanting to break free from the hold of blood surrounding it. It also reminded Francis that Antonio always fought with God on his side and that was tricky business. He would rather have him as an ally than an enemy.
The bruise he’d caused on his captive’s chest looked pinkish, the same color on his cheeks. Somehow, the cursing had also stopped only to be replaced by growls of satisfaction. Francis was not surprised when Antonio came with an earsplitting shout followed by a tear or two breaking free from the ends of eyelids that housed dark, green eyes. Francis swore no one could deny it was so titillating. He bucked forward when he came, spilling himself and feeling that raw soreness that could have only come from their coitus.
After coming down from his high, Francis picked himself off the ground and redressed himself, not forgetting to retrieve his sword and its scabbard.
Two Drops of Blood on a Ray of Sunshine Part 5
anonymous
March 27 2009, 02:26:49 UTC
“My king’s grandson will make for a splendid king of yours, you’ll see,” he said as he dusted himself off. Antonio did not wait for him to leave as he too gathered his clothing and made himself more presentable.
“It’s best to prepare for war against the Austrians and the rest who won’t approve,” he also advised.
Checking his wounds, Francis eyed Antonio who was still seated on the ground. He knew this was going to be a long war and he was prepared for it. Looking at Antonio now, he knew that the other would also go all out because that was the way he did things - with unbounded zeal and helpful heaps of optimism. Part of the Frenchman knew that Antonio was still reluctant. Even so, he had secured the victory for the time being and he was satisfied.
Taking one last, long look at the Spaniard who refused to look back at him, Francis turned around and walked back toward his side of the battlefield. It only took about ten steps before he had Antonio back on his heels. He heard, rather than saw, the slash of metal against the air and when that metal landed, it was fortunately against his drawn sword.
Francis turned to regard Antonio, fury still in those intense eyes as he held on with both hands, one bloody, to the large axe he used as his weapon. At that moment, the clouds decided to part the tiniest bit so that the sun’s rays could seep through. Sunshine bathed their bloody but radiant weapons as well as Antonio’s luminous skin. The heat from the rays reached the ground below them, alighting it just as two drops of the Spaniard’s blood flanked the ray on either side. Francis did not dare start another fight.
“Here’s to the start of a beautiful alliance,” Francis stated, raising his sword and then making his leave, smiling all the way.
Although unaware, Antonio was, with God on his side, forever blessed by the sun.
End.
(And then anon imagines Spain going back home only to be beaten up by Romano. T_T)
Re: Two Drops of Blood on a Ray of Sunshine Part 5
anonymous
March 27 2009, 02:48:12 UTC
FUCKING. AMAZING.
Awwww, Spain.
I...seriously have no words to express my awe. I just..love how you expressed the darker side of their relationship so damn well. My want for this pairing has increased tenfold upon reading this.
YOU. ARE. FABULOUS, authornon. ILU for this, really.
Re: Two Drops of Blood on a Ray of Sunshine Part 5
anonymous
March 27 2009, 14:42:07 UTC
asdfijhsdfakshdfkasdj
askdls...
OMG, omg, writer!Anon, I loved this.
I love how you portrayed both characters: France full of grace and Spain full of passion, unf, so hot and beautiful. And yes, we have to spread the love for this pairing!
Re: Two Drops of Blood on a Ray of Sunshine Part 5
anonymous
February 1 2013, 11:44:51 UTC
Anon, you have been asked repeatedly to stop "correcting" other peoples fills. This is a kink meme, not a history class, and you are being incredibly disrespectful.
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=555896#t555896
(Anon thinks this may be a bit too… gruesome? wrong? historically inept? all of the above? Hopefully, OP will like it anyway because 1) anon made a mental checklist of what OP wanted to see; and 2) anon is also trying to gather more love for france/spain.)
Two Drops of Blood on a Ray of Sunshine
The weapon he carried was sticky and dirtied with blood and chaos. His garments, battle regalia in all its glory, were torn in several places, wounds apparent from the blood that soaked the tattered cloths. There was a cut above his brow rendered by a sharp sword. It swelled with the red liquid that flowed seamlessly down the side of his face, passing his jaw and dripping down his chin. Each droplet found its way to his olive-toned chest which was exposed due to the slice of a blade too late to render any damage to anything other than the yellow silk ribbons that once decorated his shirt. The ever-present cross on his chest gleamed even in the absence of the cheery sky above, but it too was not spared from being stained red.
His breaths were quick, shallow and ragged, his face determined and rebellious as his stance remained defensive if not weakened after his efforts to fight the endless war before him. He was losing this battle within his own kingdom and the dominion of kingdoms wanting a piece of him, but he was still a sight to behold.
“Just like old times,” Francis murmured as he observed the vision his younger brother made, a vision he himself did not cause upon the other. His own blond locks fluttered in the wind, sticking to the sweat on his face to obscure his view for the moment.
“You plotted with England to disseminate my empire.”
Antonio was angry, the rage on his face showing as his grip on his weapon tightened. It was obvious that he was not too keen on relinquishing his territories and that included the one both Francis and Roderick had their eyes on - Italy, or more particularly, the South of Italy.
“You’re misconstruing a treaty for a plot,” Francis responded, gloved hand tucking his wayward strands behind his ear. “Your childless king is dead,” he said next as if to remind him of the reason why this had all happened.
The sudden proclamation did not cause Antonio’s stance to falter. Instead, he stood his ground despite the ensuing battle behind him. His king had just passed away without a proper heir and although his will left little doubt of who was to succeed him, his people were still divided amongst themselves. It was either a Bourbon or a Habsburg, the French or the Austrians both of whom wanted more than he was willing to give.
“Your dead king chose the French,” Francis reminded him. The victory in those words felt superficial at best. Antonio had yet to succumb to the reality. It was evident by the smell of blood against blood, the sight of dead carcasses quickly piling up in the battlefield, and the screams of fury surrounding them.
“Choosing the French entails going to war with the Austrians,” Antonio said as he made his first move with a downward swing of his heavy axe.
Francis, about a hair away from being chopped in half, moved swiftly enough so that he would not get hit. He grinned when he tasted the blood that dripped from his forehead down his nose. It mirrored Antonio’s own wound.
Reply
“Why not go to war with the Austrians then?” Francis questioned. His sword moved quickly to block the next attack. He could feel the power behind the fearsome axe but what Antonio had in strength, he instead had in grace. Spinning quickly after his block, Francis managed a slash down his dear brother’s back. Antonio did not emit a sound of pain, only faltered in his steps before picking his axe off the ground and effortlessly spinning the heavy object over his head and getting into his next defensive position. It was such a brazen move that it made Francis smile in appreciation. Such beautiful movements were surely meant only for his eyes.
“I don’t see the difference,” Francis continued. “Roderick has owned you long enough. Now it’s my turn.”
Noticeably insulted by the way the statement was delivered, Antonio bellowed his battle cry before attempting to slash sideways. Francis thanked his lucky stars for being speedy enough to jump backwards but he was not prepared when Antonio picked dirt off the ground and threw it at his face. Temporarily blinded, he swung his sword in the direction he thought the attack would come from and was unprepared when he felt the sickening slash of a heavy metal object against his left arm.
“This is a battle you won’t win,” Francis said after letting out a hiss of pain. “You’re going to have to side with me because it was your late king’s wish.”
Antonio did not answer, his cheeks flushed from exertion becoming prominent on his face. The fact of the matter, which Francis was very well aware of, was that Antonio could not verbally counter him because everything he’d said thus far was true.
“If you side with the Austrians, you’re going to war with me instead. You’re going to war either way. Everyone else is going to take the side that will benefit them and in your expense, of course.”
“I’m not going to become part of your kingdom and I’m not giving you any piece of mine,” Antonio said with an angled swing of his weapon. Francis, who seemed mostly to be on the defensive, pirouetted away from the swing, placing his sword against the axe at just the right moment.
“You don’t have a choice. You’re going to have to side with me.”
“Make me!” Antonio screamed. That was Francis’s cue to take the offensive. He slid the tip of his blade against the surface of the other’s metal weapon and managed to slip his sword through an opening. Antonio bent backwards to avoid a direct hit but lost his footing and fell backwards. At that same instant, one of Francis’s subjects came to aid him, holding the hilt of his sword with both hands and plunging his weapon downward toward the fallen Spaniard.
“I need him alive,” Francis said before the sword managed to embed itself within his opponent’s chest. “Leave us,” he commanded.
Francis was distracted enough that he did not notice Antonio take the opportune moment to strike. He only realized that he was now at a disadvantage when his feet was no longer touching the ground and his back was against the rocky dirt beneath him. A few moments later, Antonio’s axe was under his throat. Francis could only laugh.
“You’re not winning this,” he said as he once again regarded his adversary. Francis was nowhere near tired. To him, the fight had just begun, but he could see the fatigue radiating off the temporary victor above him. As if to prove his point, he scratched his chin nonchalantly and then promptly pushed aside the blade that was dangerously close to his throat. He was back on his feet before long, sword an extension of his already long arms, swiping at the Spaniard several times before finding an aperture between the long handle of Antonio’s weapon and kicking him down on the ground. Antonio’s weapon flew some distance away from him. How easy it was to have the tables turned.
Reply
“You make such a beautiful image defeated, mon frère.”
Francis pulled the blood-spotted yellow silk ribbons out of Antonio’s shirt just as Antonio used his free hand to pull the blade out of his impaled appendage. Antonio, understandably, screamed again. It was obvious that he was not going to make a move to fight back or retrieve his weapon when he grabbed his injured hand and curled up on his side.
Francis cut a piece of the yellow silk to tie his hair with. The rest he used to bind Antonio’s wrists together before taking the sheath of his sword, wrapping the bindings around it and stabbing it on the ground in a secure position above his captive’s head.
“What was it you said? ‘Make me,’ was it?”
Francis was prepared when the kicking and the cursing in Spanish commenced. Ah, but then Antonio knew him too well not to expect it. The knot around Antonio’s wrists was surely not secure enough, but it was the least of the Frenchman’s concerns. Retaliation was less likely with the bleeding hand above his head.
Francis studied his prize struggling on the ground, ignoring the throbbing on his arm caused by the axe that was now some distance away from either of them to cause any more trouble. Antonio’s cheeks were flushed when angry, his green eyes shining with the same intensity as his words. Francis could not help but appreciate the passion in his resistance, already broken before they’d begun but still fighting. His eyes burned the image into his memory like all things as exquisite as he was now witnessing. His hands burned with unadulterated desire.
“Don’t even think about it,” Antonio warned just as the sheath holding his wrists in place came free.
“Too late,” Francis said with a lecherous smile, stepping on the sheath of his sword to put Antonio back in place. “You know I can’t resist.”
Lowering himself on the ground took Francis more effort than it should have because the booted feet kicking him were not friendly in the least. Nevertheless, he quite loved this because no one else gave him the same, fiery effort Antonio did. Most would remain on the ground a motionless heap of defeat. England may have come close to this, but unlike the Spaniard, he was not blessed with the bounty of the sun. England was pale, always haunted by the rain whereas Antonio was sun-kissed. They made two entirely different images.
“I’ll need you to keep still for a bit,” Francis said and then slammed hit foot down Antonio’s gut and stabbed his sword on the ground right next to his ear. Antonio attempted to curl on his side once again but Francis prevented it by keeping his foot on his stomach. Part of his cheek was cut by the sword causing blood to flow down his face to pool at the ground.
Francis took the opportunity to kneel next to Antonio and whisper lovingly in his ear.
“Let’s see what I can manage to take from you.”
With no more violent protests preventing his intentions, Francis kissed Antonio on the cheek and placed other soft kisses down his jaw and around his neck as his hand worked to lift up the other’s shirt. Antonio was breathing hard. He could feel the loud throbbing of his heart through the hands that explored the damp skin of his chest. Francis was just about to work on the pants when Antonio hit his head with his own and bit at the open wound on his arm. Francis let out a few choice curses of his own.
Reply
“Shameless,” Antonio said to the Frenchman with very little shame himself considering his state of undress.
“No worries. The kids are not watching.”
Whoever said that being conquered by another was painless was deplorably unaware. Antonio had been beaten enough times to know what it was like so when Francis entered him with no preamble, he should have been prepared. However, nothing could have prepared him for this. Antonio howled loud in agony to prove this point. His legs trembled against the Frenchman’s waist, hoping desperately to get some sort of relief from the intrusion. Such a gruesome sight was magnified tenfold by Francis’s blood on his lips and cheeks left over from his earlier bite. Francis himself was not in much better position having to deal with friction and the effects of non-existent lubrication.
“Still not agreeing to succumb to my command?” Francis questioned to which the answer was, predictably, a vehement ‘no’.
Francis took no time to consider the answer further and pulled out partially only to plunge back in. Holding himself back from losing control was hard considering the vision Antonio made from beneath him. The Spaniard had no qualms about being vocal. Moans and protests coupled with passionate death threats would have turned on the most docile of creatures. Zealous fury and the image of flushed, tanned skin precluded the even more intense experience that was to follow. Antonio managed to break his wrists free from their hold, ripping his bindings apart. Francis could have been stabbed right then and there, but he didn’t care.
Instead of the expected retaliation, Francis was delightfully surprised when Antonio gripped at his torso after having pulled his shirt up to touch his skin. Long fingernails dug at his back, drawing blood. Francis thought his eyes would fall out of their sockets at the pain he experienced from the action, but he managed to continue nonetheless. Dropping his lips on the partially uncovered chest, Francis sucked hard on Antonio’s skin in retaliation. Out of the corner of his eye, the reddened cross on Antonio’s chest glimmered as if wanting to break free from the hold of blood surrounding it. It also reminded Francis that Antonio always fought with God on his side and that was tricky business. He would rather have him as an ally than an enemy.
The bruise he’d caused on his captive’s chest looked pinkish, the same color on his cheeks. Somehow, the cursing had also stopped only to be replaced by growls of satisfaction. Francis was not surprised when Antonio came with an earsplitting shout followed by a tear or two breaking free from the ends of eyelids that housed dark, green eyes. Francis swore no one could deny it was so titillating. He bucked forward when he came, spilling himself and feeling that raw soreness that could have only come from their coitus.
After coming down from his high, Francis picked himself off the ground and redressed himself, not forgetting to retrieve his sword and its scabbard.
Reply
“It’s best to prepare for war against the Austrians and the rest who won’t approve,” he also advised.
Checking his wounds, Francis eyed Antonio who was still seated on the ground. He knew this was going to be a long war and he was prepared for it. Looking at Antonio now, he knew that the other would also go all out because that was the way he did things - with unbounded zeal and helpful heaps of optimism. Part of the Frenchman knew that Antonio was still reluctant. Even so, he had secured the victory for the time being and he was satisfied.
Taking one last, long look at the Spaniard who refused to look back at him, Francis turned around and walked back toward his side of the battlefield. It only took about ten steps before he had Antonio back on his heels. He heard, rather than saw, the slash of metal against the air and when that metal landed, it was fortunately against his drawn sword.
Francis turned to regard Antonio, fury still in those intense eyes as he held on with both hands, one bloody, to the large axe he used as his weapon. At that moment, the clouds decided to part the tiniest bit so that the sun’s rays could seep through. Sunshine bathed their bloody but radiant weapons as well as Antonio’s luminous skin. The heat from the rays reached the ground below them, alighting it just as two drops of the Spaniard’s blood flanked the ray on either side. Francis did not dare start another fight.
“Here’s to the start of a beautiful alliance,” Francis stated, raising his sword and then making his leave, smiling all the way.
Although unaware, Antonio was, with God on his side, forever blessed by the sun.
End.
(And then anon imagines Spain going back home only to be beaten up by Romano. T_T)
Reply
Awwww, Spain.
I...seriously have no words to express my awe. I just..love how you expressed the darker side of their relationship so damn well. My want for this pairing has increased tenfold upon reading this.
YOU. ARE. FABULOUS, authornon. ILU for this, really.
Just...asjhfjaibihdflsjdfhasufajdskfnadsj;fbndsfjdnfskjdnajsfnaubrahbdkn!!!11
Personally, I'd like to see this little 'sequel' with Romano, heh ;) You should totally do it
Reply
Nice one, ANON!
España is portrayed beautifully.
Reply
askdls...
OMG, omg, writer!Anon, I loved this.
I love how you portrayed both characters: France full of grace and Spain full of passion, unf, so hot and beautiful.
And yes, we have to spread the love for this pairing!
Reply
even more (:
france/spain there is obviously not enough of it.
but UNFFF.
give me a second to take in the most amazing pieces i've read in a while !
thank you so damn much (:
you portrayed them so well, like exactly how I imagined them.
i swear, I think the darker side of this is just amazing !
love you, have my babies please?
Reply
This is how I will always imagine Spain now, with God on his side and blessed by the sun.
Reply
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