Rating: PG? How does one rate things anyway?
Pairing: England/China
Word Count: 672
Notes: I forgot I had a account. |D
xxx
Tenderness. That was the one and only word in existence that could be used to describe England's kisses. They were always tender, no matter the century or circumstance.
Their first kiss was by chance, unplanned. The tea in the cups was still hot. The flavour stained both their lips. Shy laughter and awkward glances ensured that both England's and China's cheeks remained painted with an intimation of pink. A gentle touch. A curious stare. England reached forward to brush China's hair out of his face. The touch was delicate, almost innocent. China's eyes widened for a second. A smile, sweet and inviting, graced his lips.
England couldn't resist. He leaned closer, almost falling off his chair in the process, but nothing would stop him from tasting those lips.
The kiss was slow, tentative, a gentle brush of the lips. Neither breathed. Delicate fingers danced up England's chest. England's fingertips barely caressed China's cheek. Magical. That's what the kiss was. It was soft and warm and—
It sealed their cursed fate.
The drugs changed them both, yet England's kisses remained the same. They were always tender, but the tenderness made reality hurt that much more.
England sought China. It annoyed China. It made him angry and flustered and confused. They argued, shouted obscenities. China swore he hated England, and England laughed bitterly in response. Then England grabbed China, overpowering him merely because of the weakness caused by the opium. He smashed their lips together, and anger boiled in China's veins.
Sorrow. An apology in the form of a kiss. England's lips were soft and gentle. His hands delicately cupped China's cheeks, yet firmly kept him in place. He refused to let go of China. Refused to let China breathe and think properly. Refused to free him from the addiction.
It hurt. Every time England kissed him, China hurt. The kiss pained him like nothing before ever had. He wanted to deny England. He wanted to scream and kick and hurt the man, but the kisses revealed the agony England, too, was suffering. Gentleness was not something England, a backstabbing tyrant, should be capable of, but it was evident in the way he kissed China.
England never took it farther. He would consume China's lips, leave him flushed and enraged; then he would leave. Leave China with the remains of a half-spoken apology against his lips, a crushed heart, and emptiness.
Tyrants were not supposed to be so tender.
Over the years, England's kisses became hesitant, almost shy. Hong Kong was returned, and China forgave England, though he never forgot what he did. Perhaps that was the seed that sprouted England's doubt.
England smiled. Green eyes sparkled, and China felt his heart flutter. China was strong now. He was stronger than he had been in years, but his stomach still flipped at the sight of those green eyes and polite smile. He laughed. England's jokes were lame, old-fashioned, but they amused China and reminded him of the years before the opium. Then, he leaned forward and grabbed England's tie. He pulled the man closer and pressed their lips together. There it was again—tenderness mixed with uncertainty, caution, regret.
England gently traced his tongue across China's bottom lip. Fingers threaded through long strands of hair, lovingly brushing dark, soft locks. And just as dotingly, England slowly pulled back, a small smile now on his lips. He rested his forehead against China's, eyes revealing the same secrets his kiss exposed—fear and love. England feared losing, hurting, betraying China again. He feared doing something wrong, something that would drive China away or make him hate England once more.
But what England didn't know was that China never hated him. He couldn't. The tenderness in every kiss divulged England's adoration, an adoration that never waned. He loved China, and China knew all along. From their first clumsy kiss, China knew the tenderness meant that England loved him too. And as long as England kept kissing him in that manner, China would always cherish the stupid opium bastard.