Fic: Greece, Turkey: With Four Hundred Years
Hi, guys, back again with another fic!
Title: With Four Hundred Years
Author: me
Pairing: past TurGre
Warning: sexual implications
Rating: PG-13 for sexual implications
Summary: It was easy for many nations to fall back into old habits when it came to one another. Even today, it is impossible to unlearn the things they know about one another. Turkey considers himself no different.
There were few things about the older nations that they didn't know about each other. These were chiefly between nations who had been in each other's company for any long period of time; like two people, two (or more) nations could grow to know each other so well, seeing the other person was like seeing an extension of one's own body. It was closer than siblings, even; having hated, loved, fought, and made love to each other for so long, it was virtually impossible to distinguish one such act from another.
And even when two such nations were obliged to part ways after a time, and no matter what they would convince themselves separately, it was impossible to stop knowing the things you knew about the other. They crept up on you, in the middle of the night, when you would wake breathless, and wondering, with your heart in your throat, if they still enjoyed dates with honey, or they still had that peculiar way of laughing and closing their eyes at the same time.
As with people, so it was with their nations, and there were few more apt to fit such a description as Greece and Turkey. Or so Turkey would presume, when, at nights and in early mornings, he would suddenly wake in memory, or stop what he was doing in the middle of the day, the thoughts so poignant they might have been a spear through his chest.
Herakles' preference for rose lokum, as the powdered treat passed between darker lips; his scent after taking long naps in the sun; the way his teeth clenched and his eyes closed as he came, shuddering and often near-tears, in Sadik's arms, and how he would cling to the man afterwards; the softness of his breath when he slept, and the peculiar little rasp that was not quite a snore he would sometimes make.
They would stop him suddenly in the middle of pouring chai, as he walked through gardens, or near the Topkapi (a particularly dangerous place for him), and often the rest of the afternoon would be wasted if he were not careful. Lately, he'd been able to rediscover some of these things.
Herakles still preferred rose lokum (and didn't Sadik remember? Herakles had laughed with a small sneer as he blew cigarette smoke- it was his favorite because it had been Turkey's favorite), he still smelled the same after naps, that rare scent of earth and sky. It had been nearly a decade since they'd last willingly fucked, but Herakles still closed his eyes and clenched his teeth and clung to Sadik when he'd come. And, afterwards, the small rasp in his breathing had still been there.
But it only would make sense that there were some things one would forget about another, and only after seeing them would the memories resurface after any length of time. Such as that day, the Friday that began the weekend the world was going to attempt to live together in one hotel without killing each other. The world conference summit had reached the end of another day, the overhead projector had gone dark, and Germany had removed his flash stick from the computer in the lecture hall, rubbing his eyes. The members dragged themselves from the meeting hall to the hotel, and from the lobby, to their respective hotel rooms.
For budget purposes, Germany had explained calmly in lobby, voice carrying easily over the rabble, licking his forefinger and thumb to separate the pages as he handed them out, rooms had been divided according to geographical relation to one another. He had, perhaps aptly assumed, that neighbors were most likely to be on friendly terms with one another, and would probably be able to tolerate bunking in the same room for at least one weekend without killing one another.
Which, he'd concluded briskly, was what he hoped from each member of the global community. Mature, respectable behavior befitting of the 21st century. He began calling names and passing out sheets with itinerary for the rest of the weekend.
At times, Turkey wondered what planet people like Germany occupied (he’d been one of the nations chattering loudly with his immediate neighbor, Spain) and groaned without reserve when he accepted the handout, and saw his roster sheet. It wasn't even Cyprus, who he could get along fine with, or even Egypt, Hungary, or that damned fruit-cake Austria.
He sighed as he clapped an arm around Greece's shoulders, who automatically stiffened at the gesture (and why could he never rid himself of these handsy gestures when it came to Herakles? He supposed four-hundred years of caressing, patting, and holding a person rather ruined the next two-hundred you were supposed to avoid them), and spat slightly disgustedly.
"Why... are you always following me, old man..." He said, but without heat. German winters were exhausting for Greece, who was used to a more tropical climate.
"Blame Germany this time, brat." Sadik shot back carelessly, unconsciously and gently tugging Greece's ear in another of their personal gestures. Herakles seemed so used to this that he didn't even seem to realize Sadik's proximity- his body, though, was tense. "C'mon, let's call it a night." He said, dropping the handout to his side and heading to the elevators where the rest of the nations had crowded in a stampede, and were regarding their own printouts and either voicing their disgust or making plans.
"Frater, I think we can watch that movie I wanted to tonight! They have pay-per-view, you know." Italy chattered on excitedly to his brother, speaking expansively with his hands.
China was rubbing his temples exhaustedly as he was tailed by a solemn-faced Japan and Hong Kong, who were rooming in threes. Sadik supposed he was luckier that at least he wouldn't have to endure the next ten hours in icy silence with his roommate.
Or, in America's situation, enduring ten hours of gross abuse, which he considered as America continued pulling faces at Canada, who was protesting and shrinking and begging Alfred not to, because he'd always hated it.
The moment broke with his thoughts like iced glass. IN the midst of fighting their way to the elevator, when a familiar sensation gripped him as Greece unconsciously hooked two fingers into the older man's belt, in a gesture that made Sadik's heart leap into his throat. He tried to look still slightly in control of his faculties as he wheeled the pair of them about.
It was something Greece hadn't done that in over two-hundred years, when he'd wandered behind Turkey, who'd ordered him in thick crowds to hold onto Sadik's belt so he wouldn't get lost. Greece, in an effort not to get lost, fell back slightly desperately on old habits, Turkey supposed.
Sadik managed to save the moment when about ten of them managed to crowd into the elevator all at once, and were forced to stand front to back. He just didn't say anything, mustering up all the diplomacy he could muster and not make some sort of smart-ass comment about Greece still being the same brat, even after four hundred years.
The elevator was stifling. It probably didn't help that, in addition to ten men all stuffed into the same elevator, the heating was running full blast, and all ten men were wearing varieties of business suits.
"We're all going to behave ourselves tonight, I trust?" Of course, from the midst of the tightly packed bodies, such a remark could have only come from England. A variety of reactions met this snide remark, from France tutting and rolling his eyes, to America commenting it would be just like England to say that. Turkey leered, and let England take from that what he may. His jocularity weighed slightly against him, however, when Greece also caught his grin, and his look became immediately suspicious. Turkey was perhaps saved from an impending diatribe when the elevator hit their floor, and Germany and Italy stepped out first. Italy having completely missed the lower aspects of the prospective night.
"It's going to be a fun night, Germany! You did a really good job dividing us all up!" He bubbled, clinging to Germany's arm in habit. Turkey managed to suppress his grin, but it remained all the same as he also disembarked, now gripping Greece’s arm, and steered them down the hall to the smallest corner room. Fun, indeed.
Despite it’s size, the room was respectably furnished when Greece finally mastered the lock and keyed them in, looking bewildered at the number pad. Turkey could tell from his expression that he wondered what was wrong with an ordinary lock, but didn't say anything to the effect. Greece was still catching up on some of the more modern conveniences, and pointing it out to him was hardly going to make him a more receptive companion.
Warm beige walls stretched into soft, stuccoed ceiling. Table lamps threw the room into a warm, glowing light. Set off in the corner of the room, a bathroom with a full stall shower stood glistening and white. A large, flat-screen TV sat sedately on an entertainment system opposite the bed.
The only bed.
The two paused, considering the muted scarlet and rust bedcovers silently, before Greece immediately spoke up. "Hell no." Turkey, however, sighed as he examined this predicament, smoothing a hand over the bottom of his face, scrubbing his stubble.
"I think I remember Germany talking about this.” He said conversationally, as if such a thing had nothing to do with his present situation. “Some of us are going to go halvsies cause of budget crunches." He said thoughtfully while Greece searched the rest of the small room for anything else that remotely resembled a bed.
"I can sleep on the floor." Greece said, speaking much more quickly and coherently than was his wont. Turkey gave a note of scorn at this.
"You're sleeping in the bed, brat. It's not like we haven't shared a bed before." And before the youth could inevitably rise to the unintentionally baited words, Turkey raised his hands in a show of submission. "I'll be on th' best of my behavior. Alright? Now quit being such a damn pussy."
Greece's expression was still a mask, his eyes a swirling turquoise mess- it was the look that told plainly he knew exactly how Turkey worked, and despite Turkey's assurances, wasn't going to let what four hundred years of training telling him otherwise fall by the wayside.
He circled to the other side of the bed, removing his tie in quick, jerky movements, and Turkey found himself spacing out as he watched. The kid could really clean up nicely when he wanted too- he'd never felt ashamed in blatantly admiring Herakles' form. Herakles paused as his fingers found the edges of his shirt before ripping it from his pants.
"You're watching me strangely, old man. What are you thinking? As if I need to ask..." Turkey didn't even bother pretending to be offended, and made a noise of ascension.
"You're looking good these days, kid. The EU's been treating you well." Despite, of course, his incredible downswing in economy these days. Herakles, perhaps sensing the ploy, snorted.
"No thanks to you." He said, and stripped his pants in one smooth move, and stepped out of them, walking smoothly to the bed in his underwear. Once again, Turkey wasn't going to argue, though he felt all of his hair raise on end at the effort. He began meticulously removing his own clothing, twitching his cuff links out of place, carefully undoing the knot of his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.
He found Greece, somewhat unsatisfyingly, looking with a glazed expression at the TV screen, which he was now flipping through with a certain mindlessness. He turned his head only slightly in Turkey's direction as he spoke.
"You're not looking too bad yourself, old man." He looked over more directly as Turkey struggled free of his belt (a handsome thing with a large, silver clasp and a hunk of turquoise at the center), and his eyes softened as they fell upon the string of nazar upon his wrist. "Didn't know you still had them." He said, his voice slightly tight as he turned immediately back to view the TV screen.
"These? O' course I kept 'em. Something as important as these, I can't throw them away. Wouldn't want you giving me the evil eye, naturally." He said, and crawled slightly more stiffly into the bed as well, feeling his body hitching and unwinding from the exceedingly long day. At times, he thought his younger days had nothing to compare in complete exhaustion to today- it had always been much simpler, he thought. And there had always been someone to come back to in the end.
He didn't have time for the thought to set in and depress him, however, as Greece reached over and, carefully hooking the eyesockets of Turkey’s mask with his fingers, gently removed the thing. "You don't need to wear this atrocious thing in bed."
"Thanks fer deciding fer me." Turkey said dryly as Greece deposited the thing on the bedside table.
"Rather... you're not going to in the same bed as me." Greece rejoined quietly, and changed the channel to an exceedingly speedy American crime drama. The two had become so rather absorbed in the thing, it was only until commercial break that Turkey noted it.
Since the two were sitting nearly side to side, their ankles brushing, it was easy to notice the other person. Turkey laughed out loud upon finding the small, heart-shaped birthmark resting placidly on the swell of Greece's hipbone.
Turkey laughed upon seeing the mark, fingers finding it unconsciously. "You've still got it, eh?" Greece made a face but didn't squirm away.
"Of course I've still got it. I've had it since birth." He said slightly acidly, trying his best to ignore Turkey's fingers following the familiar pattern.
Unconsciously, unbidden, his eyes immediately followed the line of Greece's arm along to the wrist to try to discern another, much more clear mark of possession on Greece's skin. There, faintly, past all of the years of scars and tanning was the faint, bluish hint of a tattoo. Turkey thoughtfully picked up the wrist, examining the sharp relief of tendon against the skin, and the faint breath of a mark that suggested a flower and a bird, and the proof that Greece had once been cherished.
Immediately, Greece was tugging back his arm, his face dark. "Yes, it's still there." He said shortly, turning up the volume on the TV to seemingly prevent Turkey from saying anything in response.
"Thought you woulda gotten that thing removed. Why didn'tcha?" Greece shot him a filthy look, and Turkey felt the gaze sucessfully make his hair raise on end- he and his mother had always been particularly good at it.
"There's no point." Greece said, almost spitting. "Even if I got the tattoo removed, it still would have been there. It's always going to have been there." He thrust out the arm again. "It's always going to be there- aren't you proud? You, great and mighty Turkiye, once owned all the lands you see before you."
Ouch. That one hurt. It wasn't the worst he'd done, but in the situation they were in right now, it was particularly pointed. They were going to be in here for an entire weekend, though. No need to make their lives more miserable than they needed to be, though it was more natural for them to fight.
"Yeah, I did, didn't I? Let's not talk about it anymore." Turkey took the hand, thrust out in a fist, and turned it open, gently twining his fingers into Greece's. Even though he knew intimately how to make Greece's life miserable, he knew quite well how to make it tolerable as well. They had had nearly their entire lifetimes to work on it, after all.
Sometimes, Turkey thought it was all a little unfair. But he didn't commonly dwell on such thoughts, because with his past, the only way to go was up. Even though they knew far too much about each other, now, to stop themselves from doing or knowing what to do in each little situation.
The strains of the crime drama TV filtered softly through the room, and Turkey sat in silence, still holding the hand of the man he had treasured, mind thick with the Bosphorus.
Notes: Before they were disbanded, the Janissary Corps, the Ottoman Empire army that was made exclusively from non-Islam boys from vassal states, were tattooed with their unit insignia. I figure Greece would have been the same.