Originally written for the Hetalia kink meme prompt "Any - poetry that's not from Shakespeare" and also inspired by another kink meme prompt, "Any pairing - poetry used as seduction," that I noticed had a couple of fills with Japan as the seductee but none with him as the seducer. The final scene of this fic is heavily edited from the original fill's to make it less abrupt and work another Japanese poem into the story.
"I was thinking of trying something a little different for today's language lesson," Japan explained to Greece when they had seated themselves on opposite sides of his kotatsu, the tools required for calligraphy already laid out on Greece's side. "You seem to be especially interested in Japanese poetry, so I could recite some of the poems written by my people for you to record as accurately as you can in calligraphy."
"I am interested in your land's poetry, so that sounds like fun," Greece replied. The concept of Japan reciting poetry to him in that quiet yet deep voice of his also appealed to him, but he kept silent about this additional factor.
"Then we will begin. These poems are relatively short and simple, so it shouldn't be too difficult for you to transcribe them." Japan cleared his throat, folded his hands in his lap, and began speaking slowly but steadily:
"This world of ours,
To what shall I compare it?
To the white wake of a boat
That rows away in the early dawn."
When Japan had finished his recital, Greece dipped his brush into the ink-containing suzuki and bent over the calligraphy paper spread out before him, making careful and even strokes for each symbol.
Japan looked over the finished product and nodded his approval with a small smile that spoke volumes. "You're doing a great job so far, Greece-san. Are you ready for the next poem?"
"I am," Greece said, keeping his brush in hand as Japan went on to recite:
"The hue of the cherry
fades too quickly from sight
all for nothing
this body of mine grows old -
spring rain ceaselessly falling."
Greece wrote this poem out with the same diligence and care he had devoted to the first one, but his brow creased a bit during the writing process as there was something curious about the way Japan had recited this particular poem. Japan's voice had definitely fallen a notch when he had reached the next-to-last line and while this inflection could have been done purely for storytelling purposes, Greece couldn't help but feel that the last two lines' resemblance to Japan's occasional complaints about "feeling like an old man" wasn't entirely coincidental and wonder if the other poems for this activity had been chosen for similar reasons.
"Are you finished, Greece-san? I will continue with the third poem if you are."
Greece looked up from the paper to see Japan watching him with an unreadable expression. "I am, but don't you want to check it first?" he said, beginning to turn the paper around so that Japan could read it more easily.
Japan stopped him with a shake of his head. "I have faith that you recorded this one as excellently as you did with the first one," he said in a voice that would have been a perfect monotone if not for its tense undercurrent. His facial expression was also unusually withdrawn with the usual subtle signs of emotion absent from his face as if he was steeling himself to do something potentially dangerous, and he said quietly:
"That spring night I spent
Pillowed on your arm
Never really happened
Except in a dream.
Unfortunately I am
Talked about anyway."
Japan glanced over at Greece as he finished reciting the last line, only to quickly look away when he saw Greece staring at him and say, "You still need to record it in calligraphy, Greece-san."
"...Right," Greece said, dipping the still-black tip of his brush into the ink again. The calligraphy went much slower this time because he had to mentally reread the poem Japan had just told him to go over not only the kanji associated with each word but also the implications behind them and the surprisingly soft tone of voice Japan had used for them.
"Are you finished, Greece-san?" Japan spoke up tentatively after Greece's brush had stilled for several seconds on the final stroke of the last line.
Greece nodded absently and began to place his brush back on the mat when he was halted by an unexpected question from his friend: "What did you think of this poem?"
Greece's brush paused in mid-air. "What did...I think about this poem?" he repeated.
Japan kept his eyes fixed on the stack of calligraphy papers as he explained a bit hastily, "I'm just curious, because some poems have many possible interpretations. I have my own interpretation of this poem, but..." He slowed down here to take a deep breath as he scrutinized Greece's brush strokes. "...I'd like to see if your personal interpretation of it is similar."
Greece set his brush carefully down next to the suzuki and thought for a few moments before replying with, "I think that the poet was talking about a dream he wasn't sure how to feel about. He seems to regret that this 'spring night' wasn't real, but at the same time he seems to be ashamed that others know about this dream and keep on talking about it, as if he regrets having this dream that exposed his feelings so clearly even more."
There was a moment of silence before Japan looked back up at Greece and said, "That's actually a bit different from my own interpretation."
"Really?" Greece said, feeling something tentative but warm begin to take root in him again.
Japan nodded but only said, "Here's the next one," and plunged into the next recital:
"So long ago,
Did those folk too,
As I,
Longing for their darlings
Find sleep was beyond them?"
Japan averted his eyes to the calligraphy paper once again, but Greece knew he couldn't be imagining the way his voice had turned wistful during his speech as if he wasn't just reciting the poet's words but mentally putting himself into the shoes of the poem's narrator.
Not only that, but the poem's message was an incredibly direct one that Japan would never have said in normal conversation. It was as if the pretense of merely repeating others' words was giving Japan the courage to infuse these words with his personal emotions and feelings that he wouldn't have dared to even hint at previously.
It took Greece even longer to keep his brush steady enough to put these words down on paper, but he managed to complete it and make a comment to Japan that could be interpreted as either casual or thoughtful; "I think this poem has a clearer meaning than the last one."
"So do I," Japan said. Before Greece could follow up on his comment, he closed his eyes and said softly, "This is the last poem I selected for this activity:
Though I go to you
ceaselessly along dream paths,
the sum of those trysts
is less than a single glimpse
granted in the waking world."
At the end, he opened his eyes and looked at Greece; not at his calligraphy or the hanging plant behind him or even at his collarbone, but directly at him, his expression anxious and achingly vulnerable but determined to look straight at him and hold firm that this sight wasn't a dream.
"Japan..." Greece had never wanted to kiss Japan as badly as he did at this moment, but he could feel the tension still wound up within Japan like a tightly coiled spring that needed to be unwound slowly lest there be an explosion and outpouring of shame and apologies. He thought for a second and then said slowly, "I have a poem that I remember reading from one of your books. I'd like to see if I remember it correctly."
Something flickered in Japan's eyes that was much like the emotion Greece had experienced at Japan's statement about different interpretations and he murmured, "Go ahead," to which Greece complied with:
"Like a wild cherry
glimpsed dimly
through a break in the mist—
that's the kind can
stir you to desire."
Japan's eyes widened during Greece's narration and his cheeks flushed slightly at the last line, but his facial expression was noticeably more relaxed as he commented, "This is a very pretty poem, Greece-san. I'm impressed that you were able to remember it so well."
"I remember a lot of things, especially when they remind me about things close to me," Greece replied, leaning his chin against his hand as he gazed at Japan.
"I actually have one other poem for you, Greece-san, if you don't mind," Japan said, quietly casting off the remaining facade of the poems being for language lessons only as he continued in a more confident voice with:
"In the autumn fields
mingled with the pampas grass
flowers are blooming
should my love too, spring forth
or shall we never meet?"
He kept his eyes on Greece all the way through, even when saying the word outright, and this was more than the confirmation Greece needed to reach across the kotatsu and pull Japan close enough to kiss him senseless.
It was also more than the confirmation Japan needed, judging from how his arms went around Greece after only a moment of hesitation and he let out a sigh of relief against Greece's lips.
They kept on kissing for several moments, their tongues meeting again and again, until it became clear just how uncomfortable it was to lean over a kotatsu with the sides digging into their chests and they reluctantly pulled away from each other.
"I..." Japan's face was flushed, but the tension was completely gone from his shoulders as he said with a bit of a laugh, "I wasn't actually sure if I could go through this without losing my nerve."
Greece remembered how tense Japan had looked at various parts of his recitals and it fully dawned on him just how much resolve it must have taken Japan to recite all these love poems to him without backing down or claiming that they had no special meaning behind them at the end. "And now?" he asked in a slightly teasing, but mostly gentle, voice as he extended his arm towards Japan.
Japan slipped his hand into Greece's, and Greece's thumb felt the lines crisscrossing his palm like tiny but deep strokes brushed into his skin over time. "Not speaking of the way," he began with what was clearly another poem, but his voice was lighter in tone than it had been for his previous grimly determined recitals.
"Not thinking of what comes after; not questioning name or fame," he continued as he stood up and walked around the kotatsu to Greece's side. "Here, loving love, you and I look at each other," he finished as he kneeled down next to Greece, his cheeks becoming dusted with a light pink at the second and third words of the final line, but his eyes continuing to gaze steadily at the man in front of him.
Greece cupped his hand around Japan's cheek, brushing some loose strands of hair away from his ear as he did so. "I'd like to reply with another poem, but I don't remember any other pretty ones I've read from your books," he said.
"You don't need to," Japan said as he let Greece lean closer to him. "As direct as some of my poets' words were, I don't think I could have truly made as direct a move as you did after the autumn fields poem."
Greece's lips crooked up into a smile. "I can help you practice how to be more direct in that area," he murmured, his other hand encircling Japan's wrist, "if you'll teach me some more of these poems."
Privately, Greece thought that Japan had already proven multiple times that he could be unambiguously blunt when he wanted to be, in spite of all his assertions about not being a very direct person, and his smile curved up even more when Japan forewent a simple "I accept" response in favor of leaning forward just a little bit further again.
A/N:
The poems' authors, in order of recited poems, are: Shami Mansei, Ono no Komachi, Lady Suwo, Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, Ono no Komachi again, Ki-no-Tsurayuki, an anonymous person from the Kokinoshu, and Yosano Akiko. I sadly can't give you the links to the online translated poems because of automatically deleting links, but you should be able to easily find them with a Google search for "Japanese love poems." Ono no Komachi's poems are my personal favorites.
There also happens to be another Japanese poem from an anonymous poet that would perfectly describe Greece's morning after all this:
Morning's sleep tousled hair
I shall not comb,
For my darling
Love's pillowed hand
Rested there.