Addicted to the Knife

England is the one with the knife in his hand, the one pinning his partner to the silk-hung bed, but as he looks at China's enigmatic smirk he's unsure which one of them is really in control. Both of them are a little drunk, but England's hand doesn't tremble. China's hair is loose and his robe is open, black silk exposing his white flesh, and the knife opens up little nicks here and there, red smeared on silver. China murmurs appreciatively, and England strokes the flat of the blade against his throat.

"I could kill you, you know," he says; not threateningly, just musing.

"I know. But you won't." China runs his fingers through the blood rising on his ribcage, and dips them into his mouth. "Mm. Try some?" He reaches up, and England takes China's index finger between his lips. Just a faint tang of blood lingers, leaving him hungry for more. Nations are born from blood, destined to spill blood. A taste for it is normal for them.

England draws the knife lightly across China's chest, just above his left nipple, eliciting a gasp, and bends down to lick up the rising fluid. China's fingers entwine in his hair, and he groans and grinds up against England's hip.

"Oh! K-keep doing that ..."

England smirks against China's nipple. "You know, if you react this strongly, it's probably a good thing you never had to nurse any of your kids." China pulls his hair sharply in retaliation, and England gasps in pain.

"I don't recall giving you permission to talk," China purrs, every inch Imperial despite his position near-naked under his knife-wielding rival. England gets the point and resumes licking, running the tip of his tongue around the nipple, then driving it into the cut, causing China to cry out. "Ah! Shit ... You're still dressed. Why?"

England puts the knife on the bedside table, sits up and tugs off his white shirt, ruined now with little dabs and smears of blood. China looks on appreciatively, the long nails of his left hand playing with his own nipple while the other hand rests on England's hip. His sleeve slides down to his elbow, exposing the untouched flesh of his arm, begging for marks. England's right hand joins China's left, while he clumsily unfastens his trousers and shoves them off.

"You like this, then?" England says, pinching sharply.

"Ah! Y-yes ... Korea likes t-to grab me there 'cause he knows I react. Little bastard."

"Yes, well, don't waste time thinking about him now." England lies back down on top of China and resumes his attentions, pressing the flat of his tongue over the nipple, licking gently around it again, then sucking hard. Blood fills his mouth as he sucks on the fresh cut.

"Mm ... bite it," China instructs. "Hard as you like." England is only too happy to oblige.

By now China's erection is jabbing insistently into his stomach, and his own is resting between China's spread thighs. He grinds down experimentally. China rolls his hips upwards and moans approvingly. England's left hand slides under China's head and strokes the nape of his neck. Another cry from China, and England grins; another sensitive spot found.

Without warning, he snatches up the knife again, and leaves a long slice along China's bare forearm. Not into the vein - he won't cut their game short. China yells in surprise, and England takes advantage and shoves his tongue into his partner's mouth. When he pulls away, China's lips are smeared with sticky red as well. China's face settles into a wicked smile.

"Good, very good," China coos, entwining his fingers in England's hair again. "Now finish what you started." He keeps up a steady tug on England's hair. England groans. He might not have a curl like the Italy boys, but hair-pulling is still a weakness of his.

England gets bolder, cutting deeper, licking up the resulting gore as he goes. China's cries become higher and louder as he does, China shoving his head down harder. England's teeth meet his flesh, and China screams. England looks up, worried, and China gasps "Stop now and I'll fucking gut you with that knife!"

England complies, jabbing the short blade into his partner's body in random patterns now. As he grinds his hips down, China grips his shoulders and pushes up, clawing lines of red into England's flesh in turn. Pleas and profanity spill from his lips. Unable to restrain himself, England drops the knife on the floor and tears in with his teeth instead, leaving puncture marks in China's shoulder. China's legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. Their erections slide together, pressed tightly between their bodies.

"Ah! Yes, like that! Harder, hurt me, tear me up, hard as you like, I don't give a fuck - oh, oh yes - aiyahhh!"

China's skin gives way fully, and England finds himself with shreds of flesh in his mouth and China crying out in pain and bliss beneath him, driving his hips upwards and sending England over the edge in turn. Their fluids land in China's wounds, adding to the sting. England swallows the sticky redness in his mouth and watches China shudder and relax. Smirking, England ducks down and starts to lick the semen from China's stomach, tongue dipping into the cuts.

"Mm, hey, easy there," China hisses, still hypersensitive. England mumbles an apology and avoids the wounds while he cleans up the rest of the mess with tongue and fingers. He rolls off China with a sigh, and stares at the carvings on the ceiling.

Something is pushed into his hand. He looks back to see it's an opium pipe. China is already lighting up. England holds his over the lamp on the table at his own side of the bed, and inhales.

"Good?"

"Mm," China mumbles, nodding and breathing out smoke. England's not sure whether China thinks he meant the sex or the drug. China reaches out and traces the smoke swirls with a finger, already slightly dizzy. His tolerance is sadly low.

England puffs again on his own pipe and looks at the wounds on China's body. The cuts are already slowly closing up, even the bitten-out piece. "Do you want me to patch those up?"

"It's okay," China says, lying back and waving his hand lazily amid the drifts of smoke. "It doesn't hurt. Nothing does now." He looks at the ceiling and giggles. "I feel nothing at all."