The Way We Give Thanks [1/2]
anonymous
August 24 2009, 23:36:12 UTC
So. Uhm. I hope this doesn't fail your expectations. xD; Takes place after the reunification of Italy. There's at least sex. And a cat. And she's kind of haughty.
The kitten had fur that stuck out wildly in great reddish-brown chunks contrasted against creamy white, giving it a perpetually windblown, surprised appearance as it padded about the floor on soft paws. It ducked underneath the sofa couch and Spain tensed, lips parting in anxiety.
The only thing that kept him from getting up and going down on his knees to pull her out was Greece laying a warm hand on his wrist and shaking his head calmly.
She popped out thirty seconds later, clawed her way up to the armrest and sat there with pride. Then promptly began to bathe herself with a pink, raspy tongue, wetting her paw and then rubbing that against her face in a meticulous play for cleanliness.
Spain felt his heart congest, and looked at Greece with no idea of what to say. "I, ah." The skin at the corner of vibrant olive-green eyes wrinkled in a smile. "Thank you."
The other nation simply nodded. "I heard from Belgium that you've been lonely since South Italy reunited with his brother. She should keep you company."
Spain tried not to think of Romano. That wound was still too fresh. The house too empty. The kitten paused in her grooming and meowled at them petulantly. "She needs a name." Greece stated, and Spain wondered whether after a couple thousand years of being followed around by felines, he hadn't actually learned to understand them.
"Oh. Right. A name." The Spaniard eagerly agreed, trying to think, aware of the other man's hand still placed on his wrist. "She seems like an Isadora, doesn't she?"
Greece finally smiled. It was the vague tilt of his lips upward, different from his usual expression of drowsy disinterest. "Isadora it is then." He removed his hand and seemed ready to leave as suddenly as he had shown up at the door with a feline tucked into the crook of his elbow.
Saying ‘thank you’ simply didn’t seem enough. And if Greece walked out, Spain suspected that some of that emptiness that had been haunting him would return to mock him, even if Isadora was there. Impulsively he reached out and snagged Greece’s shirt, pulling him forward -- into a kiss.
Greece’s lips were velvety and parted without battle when Spain sought a deeper connection, fingers gripping the material of the white t-shirt tightly. He had his eyes closed so he couldn’t see the other nation’s reaction, but true to his reputation (Dios mio, ranking first in the world for having the most sex) Greece adapted fluidly to the situation and placed his hands on Spain’s back, fingers digging and kneading into muscle like a contended cat.
Like Isadora was currently doing, sliding sharp claws into the upholstery and ripping thread out, the sound ignored by both as Greece allowed Spain to explore his mouth before he sucked on the other’s tongue, hands sliding down his back to grip his rear and pull him closer. Spain made a sound of not-quite protest as they ground against one another, both half-erect and swiftly growing harder through their clothes.
It was a hell of a way to say ‘thank you’. It was a good way to say ‘keep me company’. Spain moaned into the kiss, trading clutching the shirt for carding his fingers through Greece’s hair and then cautiously touching the little hair curl that seemed untamable by a comb. The reaction was immediate; Greece released his tongue and gripped him closer, grinding them harder against each other until Spain nearly embarrassed himself by coming too early.
And in his living room, no less.
“Sofa,” He gasped, sucking in a breath and Greece moved them over immediately, so that somehow Spain ended up without a shirt -- and sitting down while Greece lowered himself gracefully to his knees before him. “Er, wait--” That was sort of what Spain had planned on doing, but he ended up swallowing his words as long, dusky fingers adroitly undid the buttons of his slacks and drew out his cock.
The kitten had fur that stuck out wildly in great reddish-brown chunks contrasted against creamy white, giving it a perpetually windblown, surprised appearance as it padded about the floor on soft paws. It ducked underneath the sofa couch and Spain tensed, lips parting in anxiety.
The only thing that kept him from getting up and going down on his knees to pull her out was Greece laying a warm hand on his wrist and shaking his head calmly.
She popped out thirty seconds later, clawed her way up to the armrest and sat there with pride. Then promptly began to bathe herself with a pink, raspy tongue, wetting her paw and then rubbing that against her face in a meticulous play for cleanliness.
Spain felt his heart congest, and looked at Greece with no idea of what to say.
"I, ah." The skin at the corner of vibrant olive-green eyes wrinkled in a smile. "Thank you."
The other nation simply nodded. "I heard from Belgium that you've been lonely since South Italy reunited with his brother. She should keep you company."
Spain tried not to think of Romano. That wound was still too fresh. The house too empty. The kitten paused in her grooming and meowled at them petulantly.
"She needs a name." Greece stated, and Spain wondered whether after a couple thousand years of being followed around by felines, he hadn't actually learned to understand them.
"Oh. Right. A name." The Spaniard eagerly agreed, trying to think, aware of the other man's hand still placed on his wrist. "She seems like an Isadora, doesn't she?"
Greece finally smiled. It was the vague tilt of his lips upward, different from his usual expression of drowsy disinterest. "Isadora it is then." He removed his hand and seemed ready to leave as suddenly as he had shown up at the door with a feline tucked into the crook of his elbow.
Saying ‘thank you’ simply didn’t seem enough. And if Greece walked out, Spain suspected that some of that emptiness that had been haunting him would return to mock him, even if Isadora was there. Impulsively he reached out and snagged Greece’s shirt, pulling him forward -- into a kiss.
Greece’s lips were velvety and parted without battle when Spain sought a deeper connection, fingers gripping the material of the white t-shirt tightly. He had his eyes closed so he couldn’t see the other nation’s reaction, but true to his reputation (Dios mio, ranking first in the world for having the most sex) Greece adapted fluidly to the situation and placed his hands on Spain’s back, fingers digging and kneading into muscle like a contended cat.
Like Isadora was currently doing, sliding sharp claws into the upholstery and ripping thread out, the sound ignored by both as Greece allowed Spain to explore his mouth before he sucked on the other’s tongue, hands sliding down his back to grip his rear and pull him closer. Spain made a sound of not-quite protest as they ground against one another, both half-erect and swiftly growing harder through their clothes.
It was a hell of a way to say ‘thank you’. It was a good way to say ‘keep me company’. Spain moaned into the kiss, trading clutching the shirt for carding his fingers through Greece’s hair and then cautiously touching the little hair curl that seemed untamable by a comb. The reaction was immediate; Greece released his tongue and gripped him closer, grinding them harder against each other until Spain nearly embarrassed himself by coming too early.
And in his living room, no less.
“Sofa,” He gasped, sucking in a breath and Greece moved them over immediately, so that somehow Spain ended up without a shirt -- and sitting down while Greece lowered himself gracefully to his knees before him.
“Er, wait--” That was sort of what Spain had planned on doing, but he ended up swallowing his words as long, dusky fingers adroitly undid the buttons of his slacks and drew out his cock.
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