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.

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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

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"Red Shall Thy Petals Be" (15/16) (just pretend that says 14 up there)

[(Anonymous)]

His shoulders aren't as sore as he expected. England gets his hair washed and combed with only the occasional wince. Scotland ruffles it as soon as he's done, of course, but it doesn't seem worth protesting. He dresses in his pyjamas, and forlornly trails Scotland back to his room.

Wales is still fast asleep. England takes great vicarious satisfaction in watching Scotland wake him by dragging the blanket away. He yelps, and tries to grab it back to no avail. They glare at each other for a few seconds, then Wales sits up, clutching the sheet. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Aye. Do ye?"

"Too bloody early," Wales says, but he clambers out of bed anyway, wrapping the sheet around himself in an improvised toga like the better class of mad philosopher. He crosses his arms. "I suppose you expect me to go fetch fresh sheets."

Scotland's only answer is to jerk a thumb over his shoulder.

Wales departs, huffing with annoyance. England pulls out Scotland's desk chair, sits down, and stuffs his knuckles in his mouth to keep from laughing.

It gets a glare, but no actual complaint. Scotland begins to strip the sheets from the bed, leaving the blankets in a heap at its foot, the pillows stacked on his desk. With that done he drops his bathrobe in a heap on the floor - England looks away automatically, although it's not as if he's not plenty familiar with his brother's body - and starts rummaging through his wardrobe.

It must be getting close to seven, England thinks; the light isn't far from what it was when he woke up here yesterday. He leans back, wincing at little with the motion, and waits.

By the time Wales gets back with the sheets, Scotland has pulled on a vest and trousers and is hunting under the bed for his shoes. Wales is fully dressed, including, England notes bitterly, that tweed suitcoat England had lent him in 1953 and never actually gotten back, even though it's too big on him. He tosses the bundle over, and Scotland snorts and starts to spread one over
the matress.

"Er," England offers. "What are you planning now?" There's not really a lot on the same lines as yesterday they could be planning - given one hour, freshly changed sheets, and both of them dressed for the day - but it can't hurt to ask.

"This," Scotland says, and calmly lifts England from the chair. England sqwawks and starts to kick, but his brother dumps him on the bed, paying no heed, and grabs his wrists. England goes still, mute woth outrage. The silence gives Scotland an opening; he grabs England's wrists and tugs them over his head. It's no good trying to shake him loose, and a well-placed kick might startle him into letting go but England really doesn't have the energy. He settles for a poisinous glare, as Wales comes over to neatly tie his wrists to the headboard with the sash out of his dressing gown. Of course, he manages to put the knots where England can't reach.

England stares firmly at the celing as they stretch out his legs and strap them in place - he's not sure how they're managing it, probably the bedframe is involved, and those feel like belts. He hadn't even thought of this idea, but it's obvious in retrospect. He won't come untied by magic at eight-twenty. At least they didn't order him to redo the spell. The idea is cold and dreadful and he hastily shoves it aside. "Are you aware," he says conversationally, "that I could still make a good deal of noise?"

"Aye," Scotland says, and calmly yanks his pyjama bottoms down to his thighs. England makes a startled yip as they go, but he can't actually stop it. "But how'd ye explain it to North?"

England numbly tries to think of a counterargument, while Scotland spreads the sheet and blankets out atop him, and tucks a pillow under his head. He's being amazingly considerate, really. England finally settles for, "Why?"

"You need the rest, not that you'd ever admit it." Wales's head drifts into view, and then his hands, twisting a handkerchief neatly. "And we are going to spend the day with Northern Ireland, with whom we don't spend nearly enough time. You would only get in the way. Look, England, you'd just try to go about your day pretending you weren't aching all over, and probably pull a muscle or fall over or something. You're not as young as you were."

"Red Shall Thy Petals Be" (16/16)

[(Anonymous)]

Which is rich coming from someone who probably has a few centuries on him, and he opens his mouth to protest. Then closes it; what would the point be, after all?

"Listen tae your elders," Scotland adds. He sounds more amused than he has any right to.

England shifts, trying to get more comfortable against the pillow. He focuses firmly on the ceiling. The same one he woke up under yesterday, but then, he'd woken up in his clothes. No cause for concern. Probably nothing of interest happened on Friday night. "I have to ask," he says to the ceiling, and then pauses, trying to work it out.

"Ask what?"

"Why this?" He'd gesture, if he could, but it feels quite pointless. "I would have thought, well, you'd try for some sort of revenge."

"Says someone who spent most of yesterday morning getting a beating."

England snorts. "Says someone who accused me of public-school tastes."

There's a long interval of quiet, in which he can hear Scotland muttering to himself, still in pursuit, it seems, of his elusive shoes. A cabinet slams. Then England feels a hand slipping into his hair. He gasps, but stays quiet. After a moment the bed creaks, as someone sits down at its foot.

When someone finally speaks, it's Wales again, distant and a little tired-sounding. "You really don't know, do you."

"If I did," Enngland says with as much dignity as he can muster, "I wouldn't be asking."

"There are a great many . . . entertaining things that can be done in a day." The hand slips from his hair to his throat, and settles over the matching bruise. England swallows convulsively. "But not fullblown brainwashing. Think about it, England. If we had done you any serious harm - or your reputation - would you be a wee bit upset? Or full of festering resentment? You might have forgotten this was all your idea, and had some notion of returning the favour."

He gapes. "I would have taken my lumps. I do believe in fair play."

"Even if we were completely sure of that," Wales says with something in his voice that suggests he isn't, "you'd not have been too fond of us after."

"We're nae fond o' the idea," Scotland puts in from the foot of the bed, "o' making ye angry."

"Quite. You might stop buying us drinks." Wales ruffles his hair.

"I should do that anyway," England grumbles, although he knows he never would. It's been his round since 1707; it might as well have been written into the Act of Union. "Maybe it would help you lay off the sauce. You're a couple of incorrigible dipsomaniacs, you know that?"

"No," Wales corrects, "we're a trio of incorrigible dipsomaniacs." His graceful fingers lay the folded handkerchief over England's eyes, and lift his head just enough to knot it behind. It's weirdly soothing. An improvement on the hideous plaster ceiling, at least. "Besides, if we'd done something worse you might have been fighting it hard enough to notice that the spell wore off at a quarter past eleven last night."

England takes a deep breath. Then another. He speaks in a calm, reasonable fashion. "It what?"

"We really must tell you about what we did in Hyde Park sometime," Wales murmurs wistfully.

"You mean - I just lay there and let - all that time - I could have - "

"Aye." The bed creaks as Scotland stands up. "Ye should sleep some. Try."

"We'll be back this afternoon."

"You bastards, I should . . . " England trails off, as he fails to think of an appropriate reaction. He honestly hadn't noticed. By then he'd have done whatever they said, spell or no spell.

Maybe next time he feels guilty and sentimental he'll just offer. No magic required. Not if this is their idea of fun.

"Sleep well," Wales calls out, and then two sets of footsteps make their way to the door and vanish.

England tries to lie back comfortably, flexing his wrists and finding no give. They did a good job with the knots. He's going to have an extrememly boring day.

Well, it's better than the alternative.

--

[Safety note: it is very bad practice to leave a tied-up person alone, even in a comfortable position. All sorts of things could happen while you're gone. They're being reckless, but they figure the odds are small and he's not about to, say, have a heart attack.

Hope you enjoyed the fic! Thanks for reading!]

Re: "Red Shall Thy Petals Be" (16/16)

[(Anonymous)]

I was looking forward to the ending of this despite knowing how sad it will be to see this lovely fic completed (it is.), because I really wanted to see this last conversation that would sum up the whole fic, confirm my theories and finish the emotional part of the story.

I have to say, just as with the rest of the fic, you exceeded all my expectations, in the best possible sense. Wales and Scotland being gentle and loving older brothers but still keeping their snarky arrogance, the fact that the spell wore off earlier (I thought about the possibility for a moment but you still managed to surprise me here), England's calm and composed reaction to it and indeed there were important things going on in Hyde park.

I think this

Maybe next time he feels guilty and sentimental he'll just offer. No magic required. Not if this is their idea of fun.

sums up the whole fic and everything I loved about it.

Thank you so so much authoranon, you literally brought new life into my fanfic reading routine and I will think of these past few weeks that were spent waiting for the updates with a very special and excited fondness (while missing them terribly). This is definitely going into my Favourite fics ever, ever list and you did a fantastic job in bringing together a plot full of well-researched and incredibly hot kinkiness and a deeply emotional story hidden underneath.

♥

Re: "Red Shall Thy Petals Be" (16/16)

[(Anonymous)]

Oh my God.

Oh my God, oh my God.

I could punch myself in the face for not finding this fill until today- I mean, I really could just punch my self right in the face.

What do I even say about this! There's nothing that hasn't already been said: that it's absolutely, breathtakingly wonderfully written, gorgeous, erotic, a complete thrill to read.... Everything- quite literally everything- about this made me so, so happy. I cannot thank you enough.

One of my favorite things was the characterization of Wales and Scotland. You made them both so very likable and interesting, characters whose motives and actions I was actually invested in. I don't often feel this way about OCs, but I sure felt it with these two.

Of course, you wrote England brilliantly, with just the right amounts of pride, resentment, regret, shame, and vulnerability as the three of them went through their activities.

Amazing fill, just really amazing. Again, thank you, thank you, thank you for taking this prompt up. You have all my love. ♥