fic: Winter Wind
Nov. 8th, 2011 07:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Winter Wind
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: France/Canada
Rating: PG
Word count: 307
Author's note:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fic_promptly: author's choice, winter trees. Melly was feeling bad, so I was writing her something to make her feel better.
Francis's coat is sleek and slim. It's fashionable, warm, but not warm enough for these kinds of winters. Still, he is Francis Bonnefoy, the land of beauty and love. He'd rather suffer in the cold than wear something bulky and unflattering. His scarf is made of lambs wool, the best of the Yves-Saint Laurence fall line. It's wispy and as light as the snow falling around him. They're far away from the city lights. He can even see the stars here, something often lost in the metropolitan areas. He remembers teaching every last constellation to little Matthieu. Sitting him up on his knee and testing him. Cassiopeia, Orion, to Ursa Major. He chuckles then, a long ago memory resurfaced. A memory of wonder, and laughter, of little boy innocence. Back when everything was so new....
He feels the warm bulk of Matthieu's coat as Matthieu wraps his arms about him. The coat is practically big enough for two people.
"You've gotten taller again," he murmurs.
"Uh-huh," Matthieu says. "I'm a growing boy, I guess."
He feels Matthieu lips graze his neck. They're warm and chapped, and Francis smiles into the wispy material of his scarf. Matthieu slowly pushes the white scarf. It takes some moving, but they arrange it, bending just so that their lips can meet. Matthieu's lips are the only part of his skin which isn't cool to the touch.
"Welcome back," Matthieu says.
"I missed you, mon amour," Francis says.
"Me too," Matthieu says. He nestles in a bit more.
The snow falls, slow and faint around them. He can smell the cold, in a tangible manner, and the fresh scent of pine. The trees are cloaked in dresses of frost. His cheeks are red, and he'll surely be windburned, but he doesn't suggest going in. Not quite yet.
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: France/Canada
Rating: PG
Word count: 307
Author's note:
fic_promptly: author's choice, winter trees. Melly was feeling bad, so I was writing her something to make her feel better.Francis's coat is sleek and slim. It's fashionable, warm, but not warm enough for these kinds of winters. Still, he is Francis Bonnefoy, the land of beauty and love. He'd rather suffer in the cold than wear something bulky and unflattering. His scarf is made of lambs wool, the best of the Yves-Saint Laurence fall line. It's wispy and as light as the snow falling around him. They're far away from the city lights. He can even see the stars here, something often lost in the metropolitan areas. He remembers teaching every last constellation to little Matthieu. Sitting him up on his knee and testing him. Cassiopeia, Orion, to Ursa Major. He chuckles then, a long ago memory resurfaced. A memory of wonder, and laughter, of little boy innocence. Back when everything was so new....
He feels the warm bulk of Matthieu's coat as Matthieu wraps his arms about him. The coat is practically big enough for two people.
"You've gotten taller again," he murmurs.
"Uh-huh," Matthieu says. "I'm a growing boy, I guess."
He feels Matthieu lips graze his neck. They're warm and chapped, and Francis smiles into the wispy material of his scarf. Matthieu slowly pushes the white scarf. It takes some moving, but they arrange it, bending just so that their lips can meet. Matthieu's lips are the only part of his skin which isn't cool to the touch.
"Welcome back," Matthieu says.
"I missed you, mon amour," Francis says.
"Me too," Matthieu says. He nestles in a bit more.
The snow falls, slow and faint around them. He can smell the cold, in a tangible manner, and the fresh scent of pine. The trees are cloaked in dresses of frost. His cheeks are red, and he'll surely be windburned, but he doesn't suggest going in. Not quite yet.
