Japan had beautiful hair, Greece mused as he stared down at the man resting his head in his lap. It was soft to the touch and parted like satin as Greece stroked his fingers along it. Even as the fingers were carded gently through it, it slid gently back into place. The ends were neatly trimmed, but recently it had begun to grow out. Greece enjoyed the quick gesture Kiku would make a he swept his bangs to the side with his fingertips while they spoke. It was a sign of their close relationship, him being willing to express even such mild discomfort. With others, Japan never let loose enough to show such things, always behaving with excruciating courtesy as fit his culture.
He was like a willow tree, slender and beautiful, always bending gracefully through conversations to accommodate the needs and opinions of others. Yawning, tapping fingers and feet restlessly, shifting eyes and adjusting hair were all actions that Japan did not generally partake out of respect for his conversation partner. So the slight selfishness of the tiny motion pleased Greece and never failed to catch his gaze.
The cut of his hair was unique, with the way it was sliced short over his ear and long in the back. But what Heracles liked best was when people described it as jet-black or ebony. Even Japan's close friends, Hungary and America and the Allies, and his family thought of it as such.
Whenever he heard them, the Greek man smiled and nodded slowly, never bothering to correct them. But Greece knew better; at the right angle, it was revealed to be a dark, dark brown that glowed in the light. He would twist it around his fingers when he got the chance, rare due to his partner's uptight nature, and smile because he was the only one who knew.
The smaller man slept peacefully. It had taken years, decades, even, for the trust between them to develop and flourish, for their friendship to grow and transform into something deeper. Moments of calm were not uncommon between the pair. Even considering the long stretches of time during which they were separated, by work and commitment to caring for their respective countries, they often spent snatched time together sitting in silence and merely absorbing each other's presence. Home-cooked meals of mixed cultural origin, washing and drying dishes, sunbathing on the porch with the cats… All were done together, sitting close, if not touching and holding hands. Greece's love of quiet and sleep never bothered Japan, who only recently had begun to let down his guard enough to sleep in the other's presence.
Japan's sleeping face entranced Heracles. His skin, always soft and pale, with that tone characteristic to the Asian nations and their people, looked almost ethereal in slumber. It was as if he was one of those spirits in folklore and myth, bound to just slip off and disappear one day. Butterfly touches to hair, skin, too delicate to awaken the sleeper, but strong enough, hopefully, to chain him to this world. And butterfly kisses, too, Greece leaning down to tickle Japan's resting cheek with his eyelashes. At those times his own wavy brunet hair would fall down to hide his face, the tips barely ghosting Kiku's skin.
Greece loved to sleep. But even more he loved to watch Japan sleep, occasionally going as far as to sacrifice hours of his own to watch the other at night. He was unsure of the motivation behind his observing, or even if it was not a little creepy. But he continued, allowing it to be his secret. Although he was sure Japan knew, or at least had some idea. Hr had his own suspicions about his lover doing the same thing, every once in a while. It was their semi-guilty pleasure, watching each other vulnerable and unshielded.
When they were both awake and in the mood to talk, they never ran out of things to talk about. Greece was fascinated by Japanese culture and history; the reverse also seemed true for the island nation. He had learned quite a bit, including interesting facts about those Japanese graphic novels, or manga. Kiku tended to behave uncharacteristically excitably with regard to his "manga," in particular when he described that genre he called "yaoi."
Yaoi perplexed Greece at first, seeing both Japan and that mild-mannered (supposedly) Hungary's blushing faces and starry-eyed gazes at its mention. Soon he knew all the ins and outs of yaoi. In fact, he understood it, literally, top to bottom.
Sexuality in his own culture in the past had shown interesting similarities. Ancient Greece before him had, in art and society, depicted relationships very like the seme/uke relationships in Japan's yaoi. Back in the day, boys in their teens who were approaching manhood would sometimes be initiated into society by a mentor-like relationship with an older man (who might himself have only been in his twenties). Their relationship consisted of the erastes (being the older and equivalent to seme) and the eromenos (being the younger and uke).
Heracles had found artistic representations of such relationships during excavations and been intrigued by them. Erastes/eromenos relations were only acceptable if the younger was the passive eromenos and later moved on to marry and participate normally in society. Even years after the pair would often remain close (though whether they would participate in sexual activity was unclear). Adult homosexuality was not acceptable, but the likeness between representations in art and literature of Ancient Greece and modern Japan was curious. In a yaoi manga (although not in all cases) the seme tended to be the stronger, more "manly" of the two, while the uke was the more effeminate.
Changes in culture and ethics were fun to observe, Greece thought. Japan had also appreciated the comparisons (and vases, taken some home to decorate his house with), along with having a new person to discuss yaoi with.
Now he stirred, turning his head to nuzzle into Greece's stomach and murmuring unintelligible words. He caught a slurred "suki" and felt happy, whispering a quiet "s'agapo" of his own, though he knew the other wouldn't hear. Then he leaned back; perhaps he, too, would rest for a bit. As long as they were together, mixing scents and breath and thoughts.
Kiku opened his eyes sleepily. He had fallen asleep, he remembered, after spending the day with Heracles. It did not take him long to locate the other, whose arm was draped over his back. He blushed at first, at the casual affection of their position, but smiled because there was no one else to see. Then he stood, careful to not awaken his lover. He left the room quietly, padding along the wooden floors to the bedroom they shared when they were together. He pulled a soft blanket off the bed and folded it over his arm, grabbing a book of classical myth from the nightstand. Then he returned to Greece's side, curling up next to him with the blanket draped over both and opening the book to be transported into the world of gods, goddesses and mortal mystery. It was a warm afternoon.
So…I ought to have worked on Interwoven, but this came out instead. I just love Giripan, and hopefully someone out there liked this little fluff/drabble thingy of mine at least a bit. I'm a bit of a fangirl of classical-ness as well (always have been; Hetalia just made it worse), and have been meaning to write about erastes/eromenos versus seme/uke for a while. Shows the convolutedness of my (lack of a) mind, the way I think of such inapplicable randomness in my spare time. I suppose this really didn't have a whole lot of a plot, but it was fun to write.. Tell me if it was too fail XD
YAY. Typing in a car is fun.
Anyhow, peace out, doods. Hope you enjoyed my awesome oneshot thing of glory and win and… Fine, I know it wasn't. At all.