Fic: "Milk and Lemon" (Hetalia, England/France, G)
If this meme has done anything, it's gotten me to somewhat break out of my write-one-thing-and-then-do-nothing-for-a-month trend...
Title: Milk and Lemon
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: England/France
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or ideas contained herein. I am not making any money from this.
Summary: Francis takes his tea with milk. Arthur takes his with lemon.
Notes: Prompted by lizzie8d "France/England, prompt is tea". Also, AGAIN WITH THE 1 AM FIC. THIS IS LIKE MY IDEAL WRITING HOUR, JEEZ.
---
It has taken them entirely too long, Arthur thinks, to get to this point. They've been on speaking terms for a while, but afternoon tea is a much more recent development. It was his idea, a spur of the moment sort of thing in order to carry on a conversation after a meeting was over and they'd been talking for so long everyone else was long gone and they were in danger of being ejected from the building. Then it had turned into a regular thing after the meetings ended, and then somehow they got into a pattern, and now it was almost weekly, and by what sort of device that had happened Arthur could only guess.
So here they sit, in Arthur's parlor, preparing their tea. Arthur takes his tea with one lump of sugar, Francis with two. Arthur takes his tea with lemon, Francis with milk.
This, Arthur comes to realize, is the last wall between them, one he didn't even know was there until he considered breaking it.
He enjoys their teatime for the atmosphere and conversation, for the chance to relax and enjoy a nice hot cup of tea without having to worry about causing an incident. They can trust each other now, a luxury they haven't had in a long, long time. Now, though, he finds himself distracted from the topic of discussion, his eyes drawn to the way Francis's hands are so gentle with his Wedgewood teacups, the subtle turns and pauses of his wrists making the simple act of drinking tea seem elegant. Then he sees soft pink lips wrap themselves around the rim of the cup, and suddenly he wants things he hasn't wanted in a long, long time.
He catches sight of the opaque light brown color of the liquid, tastes lemon on his tongue, and the realization hits him like a punch to the chest. His mind is drawn back to when he first let Alfred make himself some tea, watched the boy pour milk into the tea and then squeeze a lemon slice on top, watching with wide eyes as the liquid turned white and sour. And then he remembers the first time he had tea with Francis, the way he had let Arthur prepare his cup before choosing what to put in his. He could be overthinking it, but something is telling him he has it right.
He could always just forego the tea and let Francis know what he wants straightaway, but he doesn't want to take anymore. Taking is something he did when your neighbor could be your enemy within a week, when alliances were a matter of convenience and all that mattered was how much land you could get without spreading yourself too thin. No, he wants to give now, and he wants Francis to want what he's giving.
Which is why, this warm summer afternoon, he lets Francis take the sugar first, watching as he drops the cubes and lets them dissolve into warm brown nothingness. He takes his own sugar, stirring a bit to let it blend in, and summoning all his strength, he waits.
Francis does not reach for the milk. He does not reach for the lemon. Francis looks up at him, a question in his eyes.
Arthur simply lifts his teacup and takes a sip, his hand shaking slightly as he sees Francis do the same.
The moment their cups are set back on their saucers Arthur stands up and kisses him, soft and full. Francis tastes like tea, and sugar, and Francis.
Neither of them put anything but sugar in their tea after that.
Title: Milk and Lemon
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: England/France
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or ideas contained herein. I am not making any money from this.
Summary: Francis takes his tea with milk. Arthur takes his with lemon.
Notes: Prompted by lizzie8d "France/England, prompt is tea". Also, AGAIN WITH THE 1 AM FIC. THIS IS LIKE MY IDEAL WRITING HOUR, JEEZ.
---
It has taken them entirely too long, Arthur thinks, to get to this point. They've been on speaking terms for a while, but afternoon tea is a much more recent development. It was his idea, a spur of the moment sort of thing in order to carry on a conversation after a meeting was over and they'd been talking for so long everyone else was long gone and they were in danger of being ejected from the building. Then it had turned into a regular thing after the meetings ended, and then somehow they got into a pattern, and now it was almost weekly, and by what sort of device that had happened Arthur could only guess.
So here they sit, in Arthur's parlor, preparing their tea. Arthur takes his tea with one lump of sugar, Francis with two. Arthur takes his tea with lemon, Francis with milk.
This, Arthur comes to realize, is the last wall between them, one he didn't even know was there until he considered breaking it.
He enjoys their teatime for the atmosphere and conversation, for the chance to relax and enjoy a nice hot cup of tea without having to worry about causing an incident. They can trust each other now, a luxury they haven't had in a long, long time. Now, though, he finds himself distracted from the topic of discussion, his eyes drawn to the way Francis's hands are so gentle with his Wedgewood teacups, the subtle turns and pauses of his wrists making the simple act of drinking tea seem elegant. Then he sees soft pink lips wrap themselves around the rim of the cup, and suddenly he wants things he hasn't wanted in a long, long time.
He catches sight of the opaque light brown color of the liquid, tastes lemon on his tongue, and the realization hits him like a punch to the chest. His mind is drawn back to when he first let Alfred make himself some tea, watched the boy pour milk into the tea and then squeeze a lemon slice on top, watching with wide eyes as the liquid turned white and sour. And then he remembers the first time he had tea with Francis, the way he had let Arthur prepare his cup before choosing what to put in his. He could be overthinking it, but something is telling him he has it right.
He could always just forego the tea and let Francis know what he wants straightaway, but he doesn't want to take anymore. Taking is something he did when your neighbor could be your enemy within a week, when alliances were a matter of convenience and all that mattered was how much land you could get without spreading yourself too thin. No, he wants to give now, and he wants Francis to want what he's giving.
Which is why, this warm summer afternoon, he lets Francis take the sugar first, watching as he drops the cubes and lets them dissolve into warm brown nothingness. He takes his own sugar, stirring a bit to let it blend in, and summoning all his strength, he waits.
Francis does not reach for the milk. He does not reach for the lemon. Francis looks up at him, a question in his eyes.
Arthur simply lifts his teacup and takes a sip, his hand shaking slightly as he sees Francis do the same.
The moment their cups are set back on their saucers Arthur stands up and kisses him, soft and full. Francis tastes like tea, and sugar, and Francis.
Neither of them put anything but sugar in their tea after that.