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Entry tags:
Transcendence [Romania/Bulgaria]
Title: Transcendence
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Romania/Bulgaria
Rating: NR; warning is CNTW
Length: ~800 words
Summary: It isn't an ordinary evening together, but they aren't ordinary people.
Other: Prompt was "Date night! I'm bleeding out in your bathtub*".
Transcendence
Candlelight flickers. The soft glow catches the bathroom tiles and walls, spills over bare skin. Though the room is small and cramped, it's big enough to get the job done.
The knife is sharp. Romania made sure of that. He's nothing if not careful with that kind of detail. At a time like this, for someone like this, he doesn't want to be sloppy. It would be inconsiderate.
Soft dark hair against white. Bulgaria, resting his head back in the tub. He looks pale and dazed, not that Romania can blame him.
Blade against flesh. Romania cuts him once again, watches as the edge glides through skin. Glances at Bulgaria's face and sees him bite at his lower lip, hears the sharp intake of breath as the knife presses deeper. Those pretty eyes widen, tears pricking at the corners.
Earlier in the evening, when they started, Romania had tied him up. Even when the mind is willing, it's no guarantee the body will feel the same. No guarantee there won't be resistance. But now, though – now, with Bulgaria weak from blood loss, it's less of an issue. It isn't needed.
All the better, Romania thinks. It's nicer this way.
Romania presses his lips to Bulgaria's wrist, the kiss tender against his broken flesh. Tastes him, hot and earthy. Sweeps his tongue over the slit, caressing it.
When he looks up again, he finds Bulgaria watching him, eyes glassy and dark beneath thick lashes.
"You good?" Romania asks, his voice a whisper. To speak any louder now, at this moment, wouldn't feel right.
"Mm." A soft sigh. "It hurts, but -" Bulgaria pauses, licking his lower lip. "In a good way."
Romania makes a soft sound of acknowledgement. Cuts him again. The sound Bulgaria makes is low, soft, the same kind of gasp he might make when aroused, that same hiss of breath Romania has heard a thousand times in bed.
When Romania leans over and kisses him, Bulgaria parts his lips readily. Opens himself for him. There's blood on Bulgaria's mouth when Romania draws away, a dark flush of colour against his chalk-pale face.
Blade against throat. Not pressing. Not yet. "Think you can stay quiet?" Romania whispers.
"I don't... know." Bulgaria swallows, and the blade pricks. "Maybe, I...."
Bulgaria trails off. Gives up on words, and instead gives a slow blink as permission to go ahead. Romania presses, slices, keeping it shallow, just for now, just for a start. The line is clean and pretty, dark blood dripping as the knife leaves. Bulgaria breathes sharply, sucking in a gasp.
The edge of the tub makes the movement awkward, but Romania leans in anyway. Kisses his neck. Tastes him again. Savours him, dark as black earth, forest floor, overripe cherries.
When the knife is to his neck again, Bulgaria speaks. "Not too deep," he breathes, but even as he says it, he lets his head fall back, baring his throat for Romania. "When you finish, I mean. Last time...."
"Last time...?" Romania tilts his head.
"You got blood on the ceiling." Bulgaria's eyes fall shut, and he sighs. "And I couldn't speak when I came back. I... You cut too deep."
"Ah, right." Romania strokes Bulgaria's cheek with his free hand. Leaves blood where his fingers touch, a red smear over his cheekbone. "I'll be careful."
As if he could be anything but careful. Though Romania will admit that maybe, last time, he was too enthusiastic. It took a lot longer to clean up than he would have liked. And he does remember how annoyed Bulgaria was that his throat took longer than normal to heal.
Veins, Romania tells himself. Veins, not arteries. And mind the windpipe.
The edge of the knife cuts, presses, and Bulgaria opens for him. Thin lines crisscross flesh, and Romania slices, tastes, repeats. Every now and then, he kisses him long and slow, sinking his fingers into Bulgaria's soft, dark hair as he cradles his head.
As Romania works, Bulgaria grows more quiet and more still. His responses are weaker and weaker, and even the movement of his lips against Romania's mouth are barely there. It's as Romania draws away from another kiss that he hears him try to speak.
Romania tilts his head. Leans in close. Listens. "What was that?"
"Stay?" Bulgaria's lips brush his ear, his voice little more than a breath. There is a hint of trepidation in his voice, the kind that comes from standing at the edge, ready to fall. "You'll stay with me, right?"
"Of course." Romania kisses him again, stroking hair now matted with blood. As if there could be any notion that he wouldn't stay, any chance that he wouldn't be there when Bulgaria wakes up again, any remote possibility that he wouldn't clean him and lay him out and wait for him to come back. "Don't worry," he murmurs as he brushes his lips over Bulgaria's cheek, tasting tears, salt-sharp. "I'll take care of you."
He means it. Every word.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Romania/Bulgaria
Rating: NR; warning is CNTW
Length: ~800 words
Summary: It isn't an ordinary evening together, but they aren't ordinary people.
Other: Prompt was "Date night! I'm bleeding out in your bathtub*".
Transcendence
Candlelight flickers. The soft glow catches the bathroom tiles and walls, spills over bare skin. Though the room is small and cramped, it's big enough to get the job done.
The knife is sharp. Romania made sure of that. He's nothing if not careful with that kind of detail. At a time like this, for someone like this, he doesn't want to be sloppy. It would be inconsiderate.
Soft dark hair against white. Bulgaria, resting his head back in the tub. He looks pale and dazed, not that Romania can blame him.
Blade against flesh. Romania cuts him once again, watches as the edge glides through skin. Glances at Bulgaria's face and sees him bite at his lower lip, hears the sharp intake of breath as the knife presses deeper. Those pretty eyes widen, tears pricking at the corners.
Earlier in the evening, when they started, Romania had tied him up. Even when the mind is willing, it's no guarantee the body will feel the same. No guarantee there won't be resistance. But now, though – now, with Bulgaria weak from blood loss, it's less of an issue. It isn't needed.
All the better, Romania thinks. It's nicer this way.
Romania presses his lips to Bulgaria's wrist, the kiss tender against his broken flesh. Tastes him, hot and earthy. Sweeps his tongue over the slit, caressing it.
When he looks up again, he finds Bulgaria watching him, eyes glassy and dark beneath thick lashes.
"You good?" Romania asks, his voice a whisper. To speak any louder now, at this moment, wouldn't feel right.
"Mm." A soft sigh. "It hurts, but -" Bulgaria pauses, licking his lower lip. "In a good way."
Romania makes a soft sound of acknowledgement. Cuts him again. The sound Bulgaria makes is low, soft, the same kind of gasp he might make when aroused, that same hiss of breath Romania has heard a thousand times in bed.
When Romania leans over and kisses him, Bulgaria parts his lips readily. Opens himself for him. There's blood on Bulgaria's mouth when Romania draws away, a dark flush of colour against his chalk-pale face.
Blade against throat. Not pressing. Not yet. "Think you can stay quiet?" Romania whispers.
"I don't... know." Bulgaria swallows, and the blade pricks. "Maybe, I...."
Bulgaria trails off. Gives up on words, and instead gives a slow blink as permission to go ahead. Romania presses, slices, keeping it shallow, just for now, just for a start. The line is clean and pretty, dark blood dripping as the knife leaves. Bulgaria breathes sharply, sucking in a gasp.
The edge of the tub makes the movement awkward, but Romania leans in anyway. Kisses his neck. Tastes him again. Savours him, dark as black earth, forest floor, overripe cherries.
When the knife is to his neck again, Bulgaria speaks. "Not too deep," he breathes, but even as he says it, he lets his head fall back, baring his throat for Romania. "When you finish, I mean. Last time...."
"Last time...?" Romania tilts his head.
"You got blood on the ceiling." Bulgaria's eyes fall shut, and he sighs. "And I couldn't speak when I came back. I... You cut too deep."
"Ah, right." Romania strokes Bulgaria's cheek with his free hand. Leaves blood where his fingers touch, a red smear over his cheekbone. "I'll be careful."
As if he could be anything but careful. Though Romania will admit that maybe, last time, he was too enthusiastic. It took a lot longer to clean up than he would have liked. And he does remember how annoyed Bulgaria was that his throat took longer than normal to heal.
Veins, Romania tells himself. Veins, not arteries. And mind the windpipe.
The edge of the knife cuts, presses, and Bulgaria opens for him. Thin lines crisscross flesh, and Romania slices, tastes, repeats. Every now and then, he kisses him long and slow, sinking his fingers into Bulgaria's soft, dark hair as he cradles his head.
As Romania works, Bulgaria grows more quiet and more still. His responses are weaker and weaker, and even the movement of his lips against Romania's mouth are barely there. It's as Romania draws away from another kiss that he hears him try to speak.
Romania tilts his head. Leans in close. Listens. "What was that?"
"Stay?" Bulgaria's lips brush his ear, his voice little more than a breath. There is a hint of trepidation in his voice, the kind that comes from standing at the edge, ready to fall. "You'll stay with me, right?"
"Of course." Romania kisses him again, stroking hair now matted with blood. As if there could be any notion that he wouldn't stay, any chance that he wouldn't be there when Bulgaria wakes up again, any remote possibility that he wouldn't clean him and lay him out and wait for him to come back. "Don't worry," he murmurs as he brushes his lips over Bulgaria's cheek, tasting tears, salt-sharp. "I'll take care of you."
He means it. Every word.