Entry tags:
fic: Ordinary Morning
Title: Ordinary Morning
Series: Hetalia
Character/pairing: Greece/Japan
Rating: PG
Word count: 800
Author's note:![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
giripan love fest: fic only prompt 9 based on this fanart.
Japan has not quite accustomed himself to sharing bedrooms. His previous affairs had more to do with politics than love itself, or simple bodily need. Waking up together would only complicate things, so often after coitus, he and his partner of the moment would part ways. Greece, however, is different. He falls asleep after sex, with no pillow talk or even a "was it good for you?
Having known Greece for many years, this is hardly a surprise. Greece has been known to nod off during meetings, conversations, and even sex. He takes the bus for a reason.
Greece is as warm as his climate, and even if they fall asleep on separate sides, Japan will awake to find them spooned together with Greece's arms about him. Greece does not hold on tight, though. He always has given Japan just enough space and distance when he needs. It isn't hard to slip out and out of the warm world of covers and sleeping in, back to a world with lists and a present tense, not just memories and dreams and the feeling of time stopping around them as days are lost to sleep and lovemaking.
The problem is upsetting the dozen or so cats which have taken to sleeping between them, on top of them and around them. Still, Japan persists and climbs out from under the covers, and steps across the cold floor. His clothes are nowhere to be seen, and ah, now he remembers, those were removed somewhere about the front door. Thankfully there were no windows nearby, or he would've flashed anyone outside. Even the thought makes him blush a bit. Greece and Italy may be comfortable with such careless nudity, but outside of bathhouses, Japan isn't.
Greece's clothes are nearby, however. He lifts up Greece's wrinkled jeans and studies them. It doesn't take more than a few seconds to realize it's meant for a much taller man. He puts it down again, resisting the urge to fold it. It will have to be washed anyways. Greece's t-shirt seems all the way on the other side of the bed, but his coat is close enough. Japan picks this up and puts it around himself. It's very loose. And covers all the way past his backside, almost like a small robe on him. It will do.
Japan buries his face in the collar of the coat. He can feel the tickle against his face of cat hair, and smell the hint of sweat and strangely enough, olives. It's a scent that's always been associated with Greece, as if he still slathered it on his body after bathing as in old times.
It is not his intention to linger, but a glimpse of the view outside the window makes him pause. There's pink streaks and gold intertwined, and reflecting over the white buildings. The heat of the day is a few hours off yet, and the air smells faintly of salt. He feels one of the cats–a gray one–rub against his legs. He does not turn, at least not until he feels arms about his back.
"I didn't mean to wake you," Japan says apologetically.
"'s no problem," Greece mumbles, not fully awake.
Japan tries to think of the words—social construct, polite replies and answers—they all get lost deep inside him. None of them seem enough, somehow.
But Greece does not push him, or seem offended at the lack of response. He always has been patient with Japan's reticent ways, never pushing too hard or demanding more than Japan can give. For a passing moment, Japan stares out at the whiteness of the houses, hints of gleaming in the first rays of sun.
He shifts in Greece's arms until he's face to face. He leans up on tiptoes until he feels the warmth of Greece's lips on his. It is neither passionate, or the hesitant, exploratory kisses as before, but as comfortable and well worn as favorite sweater.
What was he doing again? Some chore. He can't remember, anymore. Being around Greece is like drinking from the river Lethe: the duties and responsibilities are forgotten in the softness of bedsheets and cat hair rubbing against hist back.
"Good morning, Greece," he says.
Greece blinks, surprised and a bit groggy from sleep, but Japan does not elaborate. They are more than words; Greece will understand.
The morning comes on into day, but Japan does not hurry. They have a whole day to waste, and he is sure that Greece will show him just the right way how to do so.
Series: Hetalia
Character/pairing: Greece/Japan
Rating: PG
Word count: 800
Author's note:
giripan love fest: fic only prompt 9 based on this fanart.
Japan has not quite accustomed himself to sharing bedrooms. His previous affairs had more to do with politics than love itself, or simple bodily need. Waking up together would only complicate things, so often after coitus, he and his partner of the moment would part ways. Greece, however, is different. He falls asleep after sex, with no pillow talk or even a "was it good for you?
Having known Greece for many years, this is hardly a surprise. Greece has been known to nod off during meetings, conversations, and even sex. He takes the bus for a reason.
Greece is as warm as his climate, and even if they fall asleep on separate sides, Japan will awake to find them spooned together with Greece's arms about him. Greece does not hold on tight, though. He always has given Japan just enough space and distance when he needs. It isn't hard to slip out and out of the warm world of covers and sleeping in, back to a world with lists and a present tense, not just memories and dreams and the feeling of time stopping around them as days are lost to sleep and lovemaking.
The problem is upsetting the dozen or so cats which have taken to sleeping between them, on top of them and around them. Still, Japan persists and climbs out from under the covers, and steps across the cold floor. His clothes are nowhere to be seen, and ah, now he remembers, those were removed somewhere about the front door. Thankfully there were no windows nearby, or he would've flashed anyone outside. Even the thought makes him blush a bit. Greece and Italy may be comfortable with such careless nudity, but outside of bathhouses, Japan isn't.
Greece's clothes are nearby, however. He lifts up Greece's wrinkled jeans and studies them. It doesn't take more than a few seconds to realize it's meant for a much taller man. He puts it down again, resisting the urge to fold it. It will have to be washed anyways. Greece's t-shirt seems all the way on the other side of the bed, but his coat is close enough. Japan picks this up and puts it around himself. It's very loose. And covers all the way past his backside, almost like a small robe on him. It will do.
Japan buries his face in the collar of the coat. He can feel the tickle against his face of cat hair, and smell the hint of sweat and strangely enough, olives. It's a scent that's always been associated with Greece, as if he still slathered it on his body after bathing as in old times.
It is not his intention to linger, but a glimpse of the view outside the window makes him pause. There's pink streaks and gold intertwined, and reflecting over the white buildings. The heat of the day is a few hours off yet, and the air smells faintly of salt. He feels one of the cats–a gray one–rub against his legs. He does not turn, at least not until he feels arms about his back.
"I didn't mean to wake you," Japan says apologetically.
"'s no problem," Greece mumbles, not fully awake.
Japan tries to think of the words—social construct, polite replies and answers—they all get lost deep inside him. None of them seem enough, somehow.
But Greece does not push him, or seem offended at the lack of response. He always has been patient with Japan's reticent ways, never pushing too hard or demanding more than Japan can give. For a passing moment, Japan stares out at the whiteness of the houses, hints of gleaming in the first rays of sun.
He shifts in Greece's arms until he's face to face. He leans up on tiptoes until he feels the warmth of Greece's lips on his. It is neither passionate, or the hesitant, exploratory kisses as before, but as comfortable and well worn as favorite sweater.
What was he doing again? Some chore. He can't remember, anymore. Being around Greece is like drinking from the river Lethe: the duties and responsibilities are forgotten in the softness of bedsheets and cat hair rubbing against hist back.
"Good morning, Greece," he says.
Greece blinks, surprised and a bit groggy from sleep, but Japan does not elaborate. They are more than words; Greece will understand.
The morning comes on into day, but Japan does not hurry. They have a whole day to waste, and he is sure that Greece will show him just the right way how to do so.