AN : Second drabble out of quite a few (or so I hope), all kinda wicked just like this one.

I know, I said I was going to make France/Canada/Germany next but I kinda got carried away... OTP... *blushes* And the phrase was just so appealing... I already started to write it though, so it should be next.
I'm going to crawl under one of our seashells of shame now, good bye.

This time, the sentence generated was "Italie du Sud s'amuse à rouvrir les plaies de Espagne and continue", which, translated, gives us something along the lines of "South Italy has fun reopening Spain's wounds and continues".

Story itself :

Warnings : Blood, pretty much violence, Spain being physically abused, Romano being crazy, almost no historical background, non-con sadism (?).
Pay attention to when Country/Human names are used, too. Especially towards the end. You totally know what I mean *winkwink*
Title : Bite Down Harder
Characters : South Italy & Spain

Rating : M

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"AH !" Scream.

Smile.

"Please..." Plead.

Chuckle.

"Roma... Roma, it hurts !" Tears.

Laughter.

Arms bound together, one body sitting on another, no movement except for the mouth and the fingers that were running wild on the tanned skin – pinching, tracing, sometimes scratching, but mostly just lingering. The mouth was occupied with another task though. Hungrily seeking for wounds, scratches, crusts of dried blood, forcing all these to come back to life. Fingers on supposed-to-be perfect skin, setting it on fire, calm contrast with the devilish task the other body part was currently performing.

He bit down at one point – stomach – a long-forgotten injury coming back to life, making the body under him squirm and another sob escape its lips. Blood started to well up, the mouth licked and sucked, the teeth grazed over the so desirable skin. Such a perfect play, of blood and death and tears, and all those centuries of pain that were showing up again. Memories showing up. Memories they– he wanted to forget.

"Ro-Romano..." voice broken with tears, throat clenching violently at the sudden effort and lack of air. "Please... Stop... Yo..." hesitation, in search of the words to say. " No Puedo..."

"Stop ?" That smirk was back, the man whimpered. "When they asked you to stop, did you ? When they told you it hurt, did you care ? When they were under you, screaming, crying, pleading... Were you listening ?" He straddled his hips to make his own position more comfortable and immobilize the man under him. "Little Roma is no more, Spain, you should know." He leaned closer. "Sometimes you should just think." Bit the neck. "Spain is strong, but Antonio..." he ground his hips against the elder's "Antonio is... so terribly weak..." He then sucked at the wound, as if to wash the pain away and make everything better. His hands then moved lower, hesitantly – almost shyly, pulling at the belt but never pulling it off – his fingers played with twitching muscles, his mouth with hardened nipples. "The most disgusting..." he pressed his hand down completely at the front of Spain's pants at the words, feeling the bulge and just as slowly rubbing against it. "Is how you react to all this shit." He sat up, looked into Spain's bleeding eyes with an expression of utter disgust when silent Spanish prayers where spoken, and felt around the body with his hand. Seeking wounds. Finding them.

They were easy to tear. Just apply a little more strength at this certain point ; if the scar hasn't entirely healed yet, it will even bleed. Stretch the skin, sometimes Spain... no, Antonio, would let a whine escape. Oh –so pathetic !

It was the fate of nations : live – and die – forever. They were the only ones here able to do such a thing.

Another scream, another squirm. Another bite, another lick.

"Lovi..." was a strangled murmur, voice hoarse from crying, body numb from struggling. "Por favor, te amo, no quiero che-"

"Ti amo, sì. Ti amo, Antonio. O Spagna ?... Non so..." he scratched at another old scar, made it bleed. The Spanish man did not react this time. "It's sad... What you have become, I mean." Emerald eyes looked up at him. "You had no problem raping Chaska if I remember correctly... You know that name, right ?" he trailed his tongue along the Spaniard's ear, murmuring Italian words he couldn't quite understand in between. He tried to speak "Lovi... You know it, I changed, I regret, if I could I would... go back..."

South Italy smiled.

"Sì... ma non puoi..."

He kept on doing his macabre act of revenge for those he didn't know. Why was he doing this ? It felt right, he couldn't say more.

Wouldn't say more.

So many bruises... ! When he remembered the way he had gotten Spain... Antonio... to be here, lying down, under him, so weak and fucking begging him to stop... He just had needed to kiss him, the other had followed, blinded by confidence, not even the slightest bit of mistrust, even when he had tied his hands together, slowly pushed him onto the bed, all the while keeping eye contact, had forced him onto his back, had-

He really didn't know anything about him, in the end...

Italy ?

South ? North ?

Where's the difference ? Both are so desperately weak..

Oh, you mean little Lovino ? Little Feliciano ? You can do whatever you like to them ! Italy is a sad country indeed !

You are mine, now. Obey.

It's you.

It's me.

You're so useless....

He had honestly thought that Spain was different, that he didn't just see him like something you possess, but in the end – unsuspected facet showed – he was just like everyone else, driven by that unsatisfactory desire of conquest, passionate desires, disgusting hate, rotten morals.

He was just as disgusting. To think Lovino had fallen for such a coward... Romano was disgusted. Because in a way, they both were ; Lovino, well, you knew – and Antonio in a desperate attempt to forget...

Forget he was not allowed to.

Not as long as they both were nations.

South Italy bit down harder ; Antonio cried.

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Epic translations

Yo... No puedo... (esp) I... I can't...
Por favor, te amo, no quiero che- (esp) Please, I really like/love you, I don't want that- [Since I'm only a very very novice person in Spanish, I don't really "feel" how to translate this...]
Ti amo, sì. Ti amo, Antonio. O Spagna ? Non so... (It) I love you, yes. I love you, Antonio. Or Spain ? I don't know...
Sì... ma non puoi... (It) Yes... but you can't...

Little end note :

In my head-canon, Spain tries to forget about his conquistador past, though he knows he never will.
Chaska is my own name for the Mayan Empire, I dunno. It is a native American name and has the meaning of "Sioux name given to the first son born" [Yes, it's a boy. I don't think Spain would have cared, though. Hm --' ]. Since my history knowledge is pretty much limited to what French education system teaches (which is not a lot), I didn't feel too comfortable writing about Spanish invasions and all, this is why it stays very vague. I'm willing to learn, though. If you want to add some historic notes in a comment, do so ;)

Reviews ? :D