How To Teach An American About Importance Of Tea


"You know, love… the only reason you Americans don't understand our passion for tea is that you've never had a good cup."

"That's so not true!"

"Oh, believe me." England smirked. "It is. You know… tea is much more than you think. It's not just a beverage. It's a philosophy. It's a heart and a soul and a strong reliable foundation of gentleman's daily routine."

"Eh, England… you really don't know how boring you are, hey?"

"Am I?"

The Englishman encircled the sofa his lover was sitting on and stood right in front of the American. He was wearing his usual sweater vest but something in his posture and in the look of his eyes seemed a little bit off. His back were too straight and too stiff. Green depths under his rather remarkable eyebrows were burning passionately and there were mysteries hidden in them… mysteries older than trees and rocks and the time itself… or so the American thought. Err… What? America shook his head. What was he suddenly thinking about? I must be the tea he had for breakfast. That stupid shit was always making him ridiculously poetic and England-like…

"Whatever." America quickly shrugged the weird feeling away. "I'm pretty sure you don't even know what you're talking about. The tea I had in the morning… which was by the way absolutely bland and horrible… was made from the leaves you got me!" He laughed. "Admit it, England. It's not my fault! It's yours, babe!"

England's eyes slightly narrowed but he smiled anyway.

"I'm afraid you still don't understand," he replied quietly. "Let me explain it."

America abruptly interrupted. "Why should I? That's gonna be boring, right?"

"Well, if you do, you won't be sleeping alone on this sofa tonight!"

"Oh. Oh! I'm listening then!"

"Very good and… mature decision," said England with a lot less sarcasm than he could use. After all he was gentleman and he was sure that if this conversation goes smoothly, there will be rewards for both of them. Preferably in form of good tea and good sex.

"High quality tea leaves are not the only thing making tea special," he started. "It is the whole ritual that is important…"

America was looking at him with a blank expression.

England knew he had to approach carefully. America, like lots of young adults these days, was easily distracted and it won't do any good if he didn't remember a thing afterwards, so first of all England had to catch and keep his attention. He had some ideas. He took a step closer… then another one and another, so he was touching America's knees with his own. Then, as casually as he could, he straddled his lover's thighs and sat at his lap.

Alright. American's eyes suddenly shone brighter. Attention was certainly caught.

England smirked again, even though a bit hesitantly. But if he had to go through this lesson as through seduction then be it that way! It was for the sake of the tea!

"You Americans always pour hot water in the cup and then just haphazardly throw in some teabag. That's what makes your tea bland and distasteful." Smaller blond put his arms around taller man's neck and stared deeply in his eyes. "The water has to be boiling." And there was unspoken: boiling like blood in my veins, boiling like my passion for you! in that look.

"A-ah…" breathed America. "Okay. Boiling."

"You have to keep the leaves in the water for a certain amount of time which depends on type of the tea. It is about two or three minutes for the usual sorts of green or black tea. We can speak about specialties like Roibos or Oolong later, yes?"

America licked his lips. "Sure." So far this tea conversation didn't seem so bad… maybe they could another one later…

He caught England's face in his palms, leaning closer to the man and letting his breath tickle the sensitive skin around England's cute pink ear. The island nation let out a small startled laugh but he didn't shove him away.

"The green tea is best with no additions," England continued. "Don't even try to put milk or cream into it. The same goes for black Earl Grey. The scent of bergamot is too strong. If you like tender and smooth taste of tea with milk…" At the words tender and smooth England gave America two long and incredibly sweet kisses, "you have to use some Indian brands like Ceylon or Darjeeling or… heh… English Breakfast. They go well with it."

America will forever muse about how the hell his freakish lover managed to make each kiss taste like different kind of tea?

"Those three also can be served with sugar and lemon, honey, maple syrup if you're in Canada or…" he smiled mischievously, "even with rum if you prefer it that way."

"With rum? That sounds like some weird pirate kink of yours…"

"Actually, it's pretty good in the winter." England looked downright pleased. He didn't think he could keep America interested this long… "And it hasn't much in common with pirates. Tea isn't much good on the ship. You know, dear, there is an old knowledge telling us that the best tea should only meet water once."

"Huh." America looked bemused.

On the other side, the island nation almost sparkled with excitement.

"What exactly that saying means?" asked America. He was almost feeling the rocking of the ship and smelling the salty breeze and it was definitely fault of that damned morning tea! Or maybe it was because of that man on his lap. In those green eyes were forests and stone circles and large empty widths of the sea… oh fuck. Not again, the American mentally slapped himself. He put his hand rather low on the Englishman's back to distract himself from unwelcomed poetic images.

"It means that the best tea is from leaves which never got wet before," explained England. "That is why the best tea, for example from China, wasn't shipped over the sea but over the land even if it was slower and much more dangerous and expansive. Do you understand the philosophy in that? It doesn't matter how hard it gets, we will always fight and try our hardest for that one perfect cup of tea. Imagine that… and you won't ever again be able to mess the cup just because of haste or indifference."

And he kissed America with as much passion and precision he held for making his tea.

That night when they got into bed together England continued with his lesson and taught the young American about patience and pleasure of proper tea serving. It was a good and thorough lesson and it was enjoyed immensely by both of them.

And the tea next morning was so perfect it left America singing about England's Mountains Green the whole week.

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On England's pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England's green and pleasant Land


Notes:

This is my first story published in English.

I have a strong passion for tea but I'm not British (I actually have some French ancestors, whoa!) and some habits mentioned in the story may be more common in my parts than in UK. (The tea with rum. Maybe it should be whiskey? Like in Irish coffee? I really don't know.) Also the difference between American and British English is quite unclear for me. And then there will probably be some… Mistakes (yeah, with great M).

I'm in desperate need for Beta! So if somebody is just a bit interested, please let me know… I have lots of ideas and bad confidence in my English. Also I am planning second part of this doodle (probably smuttier, M rated) but I don't know if it's worth it.

Please, feel free to review and criticize.