Past-Part Fills Part 7

[hetalia_kink]

Past-Part Fills Part Seven

Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part MUST go in that part's post until it is full.

Include a link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).

The 'Anything Goes' request is here if you need it.

Then, don't forget to link your new fill at the fill index and under the original request.

Keep yourself up to date: check out the news.
Comments and Suggestions go here.

Past-Part Fills 1 | Past-Part Fills 2 | Past-Part Fills 3 | Past-Part Fills 4 | Past-Part Fills 5 | Past-Part Fills 6

Comments

"Red Shall Thy Petals Be" (6/?)

[(Anonymous)]

[Warning: Do not try this at home, kids! You can seriously injure someone's shoulders if you donn't know what you're doing.]

--

England lies panting on the floor. It must be late afternoon by now, but the alarm clock on the nightstand vanished at some point. He hopes they're keeping track of time. Thrilling, in the secret pit of his stoumach, as it is to let him brothers take him to bits, North is still a child and doesn't need to know. About any of it.

There's a discussion going on above him. He can't really follow it; he's only kept himself from floating away again with very careful breathing. One sentence does come clear, in Wales's voice. "I do want to hear him screaming," it says. There are more whispers, a thump.

"England," Scotland says somewhere above him. "Where's your rope?"

What rope, he wants to say, but they did think to tell him to answer questions honestly. "In the wardrobe, in the green shoebox." What do they want it for? It's not as if he can move if they tell him not to.

At their clipped orders he hauls himself upright. Kneeling on the rug, hands behind his back. He hopes, briefly, they just want to tie him up and take some more pictures while the light lasts. He should have splurged, he thinks bitterly. He should have got Scotland one of those giant cameras that use film you have to get in special shops, and Scotland could have fiddled to his heart's content, and he'd have been too cheap to take so many pictures.

Not that just two or three would necessarily have been an improvement.

He feels them rearrange his hands until he's touching his elbows, and then start wrapping rope around his forearms, over and over again. Why do it like that? The only answer the shreds of his mind can come up with is 'easier access', and surely they're tired of that by now. He tries to stay quiet, but the tension flickering through his body, the rough feeling of rope as thy tug it into place, conspire to drag little whimpers from him.

"Don't open your eyes," Wales tells him. England gasps, trying not to think of anything at all.

Then he screams.

Later, England will conclude that they must have hooked the rope over his ceiling light somehow. Now, there is nothing but the sudden pain, as he's jerked up, arms wrenched at an unnatural angle. He screams until he runs out of breath. His shoulders burn, and his chest aches, and those broken little noises can't be his -

"A wee bit lower, I think," Scotland says, back in the real world somewhere.

The rope slips down. England almost sobs in relief. It's still not comfortable. He scrapes his knees over the rug until they're a little closer together, arches his back just right. It leaves the muscles all the way up his body tense and trembling, mouth open, pitiful whimpers every time time a motion renews the ache. Helpless and in pain, just how they like him.

There's an undefined length of time. Then he finally feels a finger prodding between his cheeks. They can't mean to give him another rogering, can they? The angle is all wrong.

But when he does feel something slipping inside, it's cold and firm and familiar. Something from his own toybox. He moans. "Puir wee thing," says a voice in his ear, not sounding very sorry, and he can almost feel Scotland's looming presence at his side. Someone ruffles his hair.

Then there's a hand on his cock, and he almost sobs with relief, despite the pain.

It's a big hand. Scotland's, probably. It closes about him with firm strokes, and someone is thrusting into him with the toy, and he trembles. He chokes off whimpers when firm fingers pinch at his nipples, and then someone says, "Don't hold back," so he doesn't. It's a relief to scream again, even if it makes his throat hurt. Everything else hurts, so why not? What must he look like by now? What would his boss think? How the Frog would laugh, to see him now. A whimperng mess, kneeling and bound, and loving every second of it -

The big hand on his cock moves just so, and he climaxes again. His throat closes off, and he can't even scream. Four, he thinks madly, this makes four. There might be arms around his shoulders, but he can't really feel anything right now but the aching in his muscles and the toy still prodding him deep inside.

--

Re: "Red Shall Thy Petals Be" (6/?)

[(Anonymous)]

I would enjoy this fic just for the kinks and the characters, but the fact England is fully enjoying this whole situation, despite probably never admitting it, makes it into a rare treat with thoroughly christmas-y feel, were it only possible to get favourite smut fics as Christmas presents.

Re: "Red Shall Thy Petals Be" (6/?)

[(Anonymous)]

I have been loving every single update, anon, and this one was as sexy as ever! Keep up the fantastic work!