Chasing your starlight (stardropdream) wrote,
Chasing your starlight
stardropdream

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Another Place to Fall (part 1)

Title: Another Place to Fall
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: Greece, Japan, brief mentions of others
Pairing: Japan/Greece
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Japan goes to Greece's house to ask a question regarding a new turn of events. What results is Japan taking Greece's advice on 'finishing what he set out to do.'
Notes: asdfghjkl; words can't describe how nervous I am about posting this. I basically wanted to write a fic where Japan topped and it wasn't ooc, but... idk if I actually succeeded in that. It's also painfully obvious it's been far too long since I've written porn, d'oh. So I apologize if it's ooc and cliche in places. I tried my best, and I'm really nervous about actually posting this. ;;; *slinks back to corner of fail*
Notes II: As of January 8, 2010, this fic has been edited. I've tried to rework some things, as well as corrected grammatical and spelling errors. Mostly, the fic ended up staying mostly the same. Despite some incredibly helpful reviews I received when I first posted this fic, I feel like I've let readers down in being unable to edit this more. Another time, perhaps.







It was a cold and darkening day when he came to that place. He’d been to the country a few times in the past, for diplomacy’s sake. During those times, the air was always warm, the sea ushering in a warm breeze, the waters such a bright blue it was almost blinding to look at it. Now, the sky was a dark grey and the ocean an even darker grey. When he arrived at Greece’s house, the garden was overgrown with dead weeds and plants. The pathway was covered in weeds and in stains that Japan suspected might have been dried blood.

He moved briskly up to the door, feet stomping over the grimy, stained stones. The clouds lolled overhead, an endless sheet of grey as he paused before the threshold, standing on what once had been a white landing.

When he knocked on the door, it nearly splintered beneath his fist. He stood, calm.

The door slowly swept open, one inch at a time. In the silence, the loud creek thundered across the yard and landing, shattering the silence as briskly as a gunshot. Japan didn’t move an inch as the door opened a fraction and green eyes stared back at him through the crack in the door. The eyes were narrowed, inquisitive, before they seemed to flicker in recognition. There was a moment of continued silence. The eyes narrowed further, suspicious, before relaxing. The door crept open one more inch.

Greece was skinnier than he remembered. He looked half-starved. Bony fingers gripped his cross. His hair was limp and ragged and overgrown. His clothing was messy and dirty and torn in places. His face was pale, cuts and bruises crossing over all exposed skin. He had one black eye, and it was still puffy, as if the swelling had only recently started going down.

“Japan,” he greeted, his voice soft and resigned. “I hadn’t expected you to be here.”

“I was nearby,” Japan said. The meetings with Germany and Italy were long and tiresome at best, but it was necessary. He mostly left the two European powers to deal with their own battles while he focused on the lands surrounding his home—China in particular—but sometimes business called him elsewhere.

Greece was fixing him with a deep look.

“I thought you would be in the Pacific,” Greece said. He closed his eyes for a moment, weighing his words before adding, “It is good to see you.”

“Is it?” Japan just managed to bite back the thinly veiled rage in his voice.

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his voice, and he looked at Japan evenly.

“Then perhaps you can explain why I’ve received word that your country has cut off diplomatic ties with my country,” Japan said, just as calm as before, but brown eyes watching him like a hawk. Clam, like a storm.

Greece did not seem surprised by the question. Instead, his face contorted in an almost painful manner, a shadow of a smile curling the corners of his chapped, dry lips upwards, gripping Mt. Athos and his doorframe with equaled amounts of intensity that amounted to little strength—he was starved, stretched-thin, and bent beneath the will of axis nations.

“Ah,” was all Greece said.

Japan pushed his hand hard against Greece’s door, and the man stumbled backwards, unused to such force from his friend. Since forming their friendship Japan had been stronger, he was an empire, after all, and Greece was merely the remnant of a lost civilization. But never before had Japan used that strength against Greece. The shorter nation marched in, strengthened by his power, by his empirical will, and slammed the door behind him with the kick of his foot. One hand rested casually on his sword, the other slack at his side.

There were fewer cats in Greece’s house now.

Japan pretended to not notice how empty it all felt.

“They want my house… they are fighting to take what is mine. Italy’s managed to take some things, but who knows how long that will last,” Greece said when he noticed Japan looking around the room, able to pick up on the moods and thoughts Japan so cleverly tried to disguise. Greece always was good at that.

Japan frowned, surveying the house with a critical eye and only slightly taken aback by how easily Greece could see these kinds of things. He swallowed, standing a bit straighter, his fingers curling absently around the hilt of the sword at his side. Greece’s olive eyes flickered down to the sword before looking away, turning away as he leaned heavily on his cross. Mt. Athos groaned beneath his weight but held him up. He started walking towards the remains of a kitchen.

“I can get you a drink,” he said, not bothering to ask.

Japan trailed after him, still frowning. Greece gestured to the dirty table, balanced on uneven legs.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said a few minutes later when Greece handed him a dirty glass of unclean water. He set it down on the table and didn’t touch it again. He folded his hands primly in his lap, staring at Greece from across the table. The other man slowly lowered himself down, sitting with some difficulty and leaning his cross against the wall. He passed his hand through his limp hair, brushing it away from his forehead. One thin cut ran from one corner of his forehead and down across his nose, and it didn’t look as if it were clotting properly. Japan looked down and found the woodwork of the table absolutely fascinating.

“No,” Greece agreed. “I suppose I haven’t.”

Japan slanted a look at him, through the even fringe of his black hair.

“Do you plan to answer?”

Japan and Greece locked eyes. Despite all the cuts and bruises stitching across his body, those eyes were just as keen as ever, just as bright and burning with fire. They surveyed Japan and betrayed nothing but that hidden strength that still prevailed, even when his body and his country were stripped away plank by plank.

“I think you know the answer already,” Greece said quietly, still looking at him and yet looking past him. Japan’s jaw clenched and he straightened his shoulders, feeling the annoyance from earlier return and settle deep in the pit of his stomach, where it festered and grew.

The empire barely managed to suppress his curse, because it would have been improper. Greece stared at the twin cups of dirty water, picked up his own, and downed it all in two gulps. He sighed, blinking his eyes a few times as if trying to process some thought.

Japan almost feared what he was thinking. Greece closed his eyes and stayed still for roughly five seconds before the lids fluttered and opened. Eyes locked against Japan’s and stayed, staring straight at him and not daring to look away. Japan hated eye contact more than anything, especially with someone who always managed to see what was lying beneath the surface, no matter the person. Or nation.

“My country, my people… they are fighting against something stronger than us. My people and I, we fought hard but now all I can do is wait as I starve. I resist, but I am no match for the axis powers.”

The last two words stabbed through Japan’s heart. Greece’s eyes glinted with barely suppressed rage, barely suppressed bitterness. Barely suppressed regret.

It would have been dishonorable to look away from that fire, so he carefully kept Greece’s gaze locked on his own, returning the look with a look that was almost a glare, and capable of more fire than the Grecian could ever hope to comprehend.

“I can’t anymore,” Greece said calmly, after a pregnant pause.

“You can’t…?” Japan began, and trailed off, at a loss for words. Why did it matter to him, to lose an insignificant nation in the middle of a struggle with one of his own allies? It was only a matter of time before Greece fell and became nothing more than a puppet nation.

“We have been good friends for many years,” Greece said evenly, and pressed his hand against a wound on his forehead to make sure it had clotted properly. His movements were stilted, but fluid, as if he were feigning boredom over his injuries.

“Yes,” agreed Japan, his face set and betraying nothing.

Greece inhaled, closing his eyes a moment. “But even so…”

He stood on shaky legs, and grabbing his cross from where it was propped up against the wall. He leaned on it, heavier than he’d like to admit was necessary, and regarded Japan with cold eyes.

“I cannot support what you’re doing,” Greece said finally, stifling a watery cough that tried to bubble out of his chest. “And I never will, so long as you continue down this path you’ve chosen.”

Japan stared at him for a long moment, face neutral. Gradually, the man sat up a bit straighter, his eyebrows knitting together. He stared up at Greece, hands lying flat against his thighs. Outside, there was a single bird call, in the distance, echoing. Japan listened to the sound, trying to hear it over the roar of his heartbeat, thundering in his ears and beating against the inside of his chest. His hands clenched and he could tell that he was shaking quickly enough to suppress it and sit rigidly before Greece, still staring at him with what he hoped was still a neutral expression.

“You’re angry.” There was no accusation in Greece’s voice, merely observation.

“I’m…” Japan trailed off, calculating his next words, his thoughts stumbling to a sloppy halt at Greece’s words. He stood. “I believe our business is finished here.”

Japan turned away, moving towards the door, face grim. He paused, just before reaching for the exit, to leave this place and not look back. He ignored his beating heart; its gentle, consistent thud did nothing but distract him. He stood, unsure what was holding him back.

He looked out the window, out at the day beyond this door. He had things he still needed to do, politics didn’t wait for anyone, especially not an idling country.

“You’ll regret this,” Japan warned and wasn’t sure why he said it at all. He kept his back to Greece.

“I would apologize,” Greece said calmly, pausing between his words as he said them softly. He sighed, “but I am not sorry for my decision, only sorry for what has transpired in this world that has led to this. Such things keep turning, and we will have to keep moving forward because of it.”

“You are content to make your situation even worse, to play to the whims of the axis powers?” Japan insisted, still maintaining the unnatural calm, despite the storms that stirred beneath both their eyes. He looked over his shoulder, staring at the other nation. Staring somewhere beyond him, unable to lock eyes.

“I play to no man’s whims,” Greece said, and his words were heavy and almost threatening. From Greece, it sounded like a promise. “I am weakened now, that much is clear.” He gestured to his body vaguely, a slim nod downwards to his paled, bruising skin. “But I am not conquered. I do not so easily allow myself to be invaded.”

“You really are a fool,” Japan murmured to himself. “I shouldn’t stay here any longer. I am wasting my time.”

Greece tilted his head to one side, giving Japan what was almost a wan smile. Greece moved forward, quite smoothly despite his strained condition, and stood in front of Japan, looking down at him without looking down upon him. Despite the severing of their ties, Japan could see the glimmers of friendship still dwelling there, perhaps small strings of respect purposefully cut.

So it was war. This was how these things worked.

“Why do you do this?” Japan found himself saying before he could stop himself. He pulled himself in, straightening and perhaps recoiling a fraction of an inch away from Greece.

“Do what?” Greece asked, quiet.

Japan opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He frowned, and had to look away, out the grimy window to the grimy world beyond, grey and shattered and broken.

“You will undoubtedly face many challenges in the future,” Greece said, and it was not a threat so much as an observation again. All he ever did was observe. No matter what, Greece could see the things that no one else saw, or chose to not see. He hated locking eyes with this man, afraid that when he did, Greece would read him like a book.

Japan turned back to look at him, face smoothed and yet strangely furious, despite betraying nothing but calm. “I intend to meet my enemies and defeat them,” he said. “There is nothing that will stand in my way.”

“Every action has a consequence,” Greece reminded.

“I’m aware of this.”

“Acting so rashly will only create new enemies,” Greece continued.

“And what about my actions suggest I am being… rash?” Japan wasn’t really asking, and the smooth mask of his calm was cracking and chipping away piece by piece. He restrained a blatant glare to his—former, he ammended—friend.

This time, Japan could see that Greece was smiling, but it was distant. He tilted his head, dipped lower—or more like leaned heavily on his cross—so that he was meeting eye to eye with Japan. The wan smile, fading away as quickly as it had appeared, captured Japan’s attention and his eyes settled on Greece’s lips and stayed there far longer than was necessary.

Greece lifted one hand and touched Japan’s cheek and the move was so startling, Japan’s hand was on his sword before he could stop himself, though he did not draw the blade. And Greece did not so much as flinch, his eyes never leaving Japan’s and his hand never leaving his cheek.

There was a long, long silence.

Greece’s thumb brushed across Japan’s cheekbone accidentally as he shifted, resting against his cross and fingers brushing aside bone straight, black hair. “Why are you angry?”

“What?” Japan jerked his head back, righting himself. Greece’s hand stayed in the air, hovered there a moment, before dropping down to Japan’s shoulder. Japan stiffened once again at the invasion of space, but said nothing more.

“You’re angry,” Greece said.

Japan looked down, realized that was too submissive, and looked up defiantly at Greece, not daring to look into his eyes and instead focused somewhere on his forehead, hidden beneath ratty, limp hair.

“Your point?” Japan asked, curt.

Greece sighed, and his breath was warm—and it was then that Japan realized he was close enough to feel him breathing. And somehow he couldn’t summon the urge to pull away from him.

“I know I am not the only nation that has cut off ties from you, and I will most certainly not be the last,” Greece clarified, hand curling around Japan’s bicep, almost tugging him closer. “So why is it that you are angry with me?”

“I’m…” Japan began, almost denied his anger, almost denied that he wasn’t only angry at Greece. He remained silent, clamping his mouth shut.

“Why is it that you come to my home to demand this answer from me?” Greece pressed. “Am I the only house you’ve visited?”

Japan’s silence was answer enough.

Greece sighed. “What is it that you want, Japan? Why is it that you’re here?”

“Do you expect me to answer this?”

The taller nation smiled.

Japan turned his face away, looking down at the hand on his shoulder, as if he were unsure that it was really there. They stood in a long silence, saying no words and making no moves to pull away from one another. Japan couldn’t summon the proper reasons why he was still there, why he wasn’t recoiling. They were enemies now. He shouldn’t be in this house. He should be focusing on his war. Being here, standing there with someone who didn’t want to be near him was not only humiliating, but degrading for his sensibilities and honorability. Japan squeezed his eyes shut, letting out an angry sigh. Slowly, very slowly, he lifted his head again and searched Greece’s face, looking for the words left unspoken and knowing that Greece was reading him perfectly—he always could. Greece was still smiling at him, and for whatever reason, Japan couldn’t stand that smile.

And then Japan shoved him and Greece went down far easily than he’d expected. His cross left his hand and he hit the dirty wooden floor with a large crack, on his back and his head slamming against the ground without any protection. Greece laid there, and didn’t move, save for his heavy breathing. Japan kneeled beside him, pinning down his hands by the wrists, holding them tight and glaring down at Greece’s face, who stared up at him in surprise. But not shock.

“Is…”

“Don’t speak anymore,” Japan ordered, leaning forward more, drawing closer.

Greece obeyed.

Japan didn’t move, hovered over him, searching his face, tracing the lines of his cuts. He followed the curve of his jaw, the slant of his chin, the structure of his neck, strained and corded as he laid, tensed, against the ground. Japan swallowed, once, and Greece’s eyes flickered to Japan’s neck, watching his throat tense and relax with the movement. Eyes the color of olives moved back upwards, slowly, deciphering the hidden messages in the thin clamp of Japan’s lips, the tensed line of his jaw, and the furrow of his brow. And then his eyes fluttered, the lids moving to half-mast, as he gazed up at Japan.

Japan felt his cheeks turn red and hated himself for such a betrayal.

Greece let out a sigh that was almost a groan. He cursed. “… That hurt my head.”

Japan bit back the apology before it could manifest. He swallowed again, trying to banish such a betrayal, and tightened his grip on Greece’s hands, pinning them to the ground and leaning forward where there was barely a breath’s distance between the two of them. Aware of the sudden proximity to one another, Japan felt words lodge in his throat and Greece closed his eyes for a long moment.

They stayed like this in relative silence, Greece looking as if he were sleeping and Japan staring down at him with a slightly flabbergasted expression. He dipped forward, his mouth moments away from Greece’s, before he seemed to remember himself and pulled back with a small exhale of air that fluttered over Greece’s face. His hold on Greece’s wrists slackened but the man below him made no move to pull away. When he opened his eyes, it was after a bated pause, and there was something swirling in his eyes that Japan wasn’t quite sure he wanted to place. Instead, he focused on Greece’s forehead. His heart was pounding, there was ringing in his ears and he knew without a doubt that his face was red. And it was with some grim satisfaction that he could see there was just the slightest hint of pink in Greece’s cheeks, stark against what was otherwise a paled, half-starved face.

“Why are you doing this?” Greece whispered, and tried to capture Japan’s eyes.

“I…” the words clawed at his throat but he restrained himself, pulling back more to stare at Greece’s chest instead of his face. He watched the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His shirt was dirty, the buttons loose on their threads, the first three buttons allowing his shirt into a v shape, exposing the smallest patches of bandaged skin.

“Why?” Greece asked again.

Japan couldn’t look away anymore. His eyes wandered but Greece’s remained anchored, and they found one another. Their eyes locked and Japan could never pull away.

“Why?” Greece murmured. The look in his eyes suggested that he already knew. Japan hated that the most, hated how much Greece seemed to just know, without ever trying. He looked up at him, analyzing him, dissecting him, seeing the hidden knowledge and philosophy in every little movement that Japan made.

Japan covered Greece’s eyes with one hand.

“Stop it.”

Greece was silent for a moment, his breathing evening out. “Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like that,” Japan said.

“Why does it matter how I look at you? All that should matter is how you look at yourself,” Greece said softly, with all the ferocity and strength of a slap to the face. Japan sat back, staring down at the man who made no move to push him away, to defend himself. On his back, he was utterly exposed, merely breathing.

“You get too far ahead of yourself,” Japan murmured. “To just assume that I care. At all.”

Greece was smiling again, and Japan hated it. He blinked a few times, and his eyelashes brushed across Japan’s palm, but he did not pull his hand back and Greece made no move to free himself. The blinking stopped after a moment, and Japan realized that his eyes must be shut.

“But don’t you?”

Japan wished he would just drop it.

But Greece continued, “Why do you react in these ways, if you don’t care? If you’re indifferent, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. And if it meant nothing, you would already be gone.”

“Stop it,” Japan ordered and hated how his voice didn’t sound commanding enough.

“They’re only words,” Greece reminded. “They can mean nothing or anything.”

Japan said nothing, leaned closer.

“You shouldn’t say it at all,” Japan muttered.

Greece shifted, smiled distantly. “Maybe.”

Japan shifted closer still, until the space between them was merely arbitrary. Greece didn’t protest the invasion of space, and despite everything that told Japan that he should stop, he didn’t seem to mind it, either. He sighed, once. Night was falling, and with it, the house was slowly sinking into shadows. There were no lights on in Greece’s house.

In the growing darkness, Japan shook. His hold on Greece’s wrist slackened further still, and Greece lifted his one free hand, resting it on the back of Japan’s neck. It stayed there, comfortably so, a friendly weight on his back, anchoring him to the moment and keeping him there, keeping him from pulling away. Even with the hand over Greece’s eyes, Japan still felt as if he were the one pinned to the spot, trapped and unable to pull away. Instead he rested his forehead against Greece’s, hand still over his eyes.

“I hate it,” he hissed, and he felt his lips brush over Greece’s and hated that he didn’t hate that, as well. Greece said nothing. In fact, Japan couldn’t hear his breathing and realized he was holding it in. Waiting.

So Japan pressed forward and closed the distance between them, kissing him.

Greece opened his mouth to him and groaned very slightly. Japan swallowed that sound, tilting his head against Greece’s hand as the man’s fingers curled into his hair and held tight. The movement was inelegant, clumsy in the growing darkness. Japan kissed him soundly on the mouth, slipped his tongue into Greece’s mouth before he even realized what he was doing. But at Greece’s small moan of approval, he didn’t stop, invading and settling what he’d conquered. He kissed him for a long moment, and he felt Greece kissing back.

When he pulled back, he blinked his eyes a few times and then hesitantly pulled his hand away from Greece’s eyes. The other nation’s eyes stayed closed for a long moment before fluttering open. The hand in Japan’s hair pulled back, slid across his neck and over one tensed shoulder before dropping back to the ground. He pulled it through his own hair, brushing it back so it framed the stubborn lines of his face. Kiss-swollen lips parted for a moment, as if he were about to speak, but no words escaped.

Greece lifted his hand again, touched Japan’s cheek, and held it there. Japan stared down at him as his expression softened and he almost laughed. He didn’t though, and it was just as well. Laughter in this setting would have sounded too bare, too pathetic. The waning light from the sun peeking through the clouds broke through the dirty windows, illuminating the dust floating in the air.

Japan found himself leaning into the touch and quickly corrected himself, straightening abruptly and pulling away from Greece’s hand. He felt the fingers pressed against his cheek, drag slowly over his skin as Japan moved away. He felt his cheeks turn red at the contact and felt something shift inside him and flop uselessly to the bottom of his stomach.

“You hate it?” Greece asked and Japan had to pause for a moment, to wrap his head around the words and realize he was referring to their conversation.

He licked his lips, chapped and dry and missing the contact. “Yes.”

“What exactly?” Greece asked, fishing the air with his hand to grasp Japan’s hand, tugging it to him. Japan watched in muted wonder as Greece grasped his fingers, drawing the hand closer to brush his lips over the knuckles. Japan forgot to snap his hand back and act outraged.

“Hate when you talk like this,” Japan managed, closing his eyes as Greece’s other hand returned to its position on the back of Japan’s neck, threading with his hair. “When you act like…”

“Like what?” Greece pressed on.

“As if you expect something from me,” Japan mused quietly, eyes hooded.

“I expect nothing,” Greece breathed. “I’d wondered what your reaction to me cutting off ties would be but… I really hadn’t thought it’d be this.”

“That’s…” Japan began.

“You have made your decision,” Greece said. “I know I, or anyone else but yourself, cannot convince you of changing course.” He tilted his chin back again, his face hinting at an almost smile, though it was hidden beneath the remnants of dried blood and dirt staining his pale face. “It would be unlike you, Japan, otherwise.”

“Don’t act as if you know me,” Japan ordered, bending one hand to swipe his fingers over Greece’s face, almost tenderly, pushing away the dirt and grime and depictions of war. Greece stayed silent. Japan bent down to bite at Greece’s lips, kissing him until Greece’s breath was stolen from him.

He kissed him long, hard, almost desperately. Greece didn’t protest, merely surrendered himself to Japan’s ministrations. Japan demanded, and Greece conceded, allowing himself to be kissed and kissing back with an equally stubborn intensity.

When he pulled back, Greece stayed like that, limp and vulnerable. But his eyes were just as keen as ever. Greece contemplated his words for a moment, before continuing where he’d left off: “You’ve chosen to surge forward. That is your path. And I have chosen my path. To fight against what you and your allies leave in their wake. I will resist you with all the strength I have left.”

“Then why are we here?” He doesn’t add on the ‘like this’ even though he wanted to.

“How do you mean?” Greece asked, simply.

“Shouldn’t you hate me?” Japan insisted. “Because I am an enemy now. Why do you allow me to do this—” He tightened his hold on his him, kept him flat on the ground and staring up at him. “—and not issue any protest?”

Greece sucked in a deep breath, ran one hand over Japan’s shoulder, and laughed mirthlessly. “I suppose I should. But I don’t. We were good friends before, weren’t we?”

“We—”

“So long as you fight in this war, fight with those who fight against me, I cannot support you. But that doesn’t mean that I hate you. Perhaps I only hate what you are standing for.” He closed his eyes in thought.

“Isn’t that just the same?”

“Is it?”

Japan’s frown deepened. “I think it is.”

“Then I suppose I hate you,” Greece said nonchalantly. Japan resisted the cringe that tried to twitch up his spine. He remained blank faced, perhaps staring down at Greece with a small amount of surprise at the bluntness.

“You…” Japan paused. He leaned forward. Greece smiled at him in a way that didn’t actually suggest he hated him. In fact, the expression was almost gentle, thoughtful.

Greece’s hands moved, wrapping his arms around Japan’s back, pulling him closer so he was directly over Greece, staring down at him. He felt the fingers curl into the fabric of his uniform, holding him tight. Greece commanded his attention, tilting upwards to take his lips again and kiss him rather soundly. Japan swallowed a grunt, shifted with a small sigh, and deepened the kiss. Once again, Greece didn’t protest the intrusion and welcomed it.

When he opened his eyes and pulled back, Greece stayed like that, eyes closed, panting slightly, hands still gripping his back almost possessively. Japan’s own hands strayed, brushing back his hair and squeezing between his head and the floorboards, pulling his head up to kiss him once again. His hands drifted, brushing over his shoulders, down his sides, settling on his hips, fiddling with the edge of his shirt. Perhaps vaguely he realized what road this had veered down, but he didn’t care.

He pulled back, his nose bumping against Greece’s as he recoiled, sitting back on his knees, towering over Greece’s supine position. He looked away, around the room, around the growing darkness. He felt the hands on his back slide down and settle on his waist comfortably, as if they’d always meant to be there. With the sinking of the sun, it seemed his resolve solidified. The dying rays of sunlight pushed against his face, scraped through his hair and lingered upon his outline, detailing his silhouette. A long shadow fell over Greece’s face.

Japan brushed a hand over the taut skin over Greece’s hipbones, his thumb tracing the jutting bone downwards.

Greece shivered, once. But it was enough to betray any thought that filtered through his mind. A calm, collected face stared up at Japan, saying nothing, betraying nothing in his all too inquisitive eyes. Japan’s hands lingered on his hips and there was only the slightest shift, the slightest movement to press against his hand that alerted Japan to what Greece should, in all honesty, be resisting.

“So this is hatred?”

Japan’s fingers found the buttons to Greece’s shirt, and meticulously went about undoing each one, slowly. His fingers brushed over his skin, past gauze and bandages wrapped around his chest. He brushed the fabric aside, exposing the other nation’s chest. Greece shifted, pushed himself up, meeting Japan’s eyes before slipping past, pressing his lips to the spot just in front of Japan’s ear, his breath ragged and promising in Japan’s ear. His shirt slid off his shoulders, stuck in the hook of his elbows. His entire body quivered, shivering in the early evening’s chill and from the swoop of Japan’s hands over his sides, resting on the small of his back, drawing him close.

“Something like that,” the other nation murmured against the shell of his ear, breath warm and promising.




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This fic was too large to fit into one post, so for the rest, and for any comments, please go on to Part 2
Tags: *mature, pairing: greece/japan, series: axis powers hetalia
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