Warnings: Some kissing, possible OOC-ness and un-beta'd shameless fluff.
Summary: Japan is insecure about how feminine he looks. Greece thinks he's just perfect.
Notes: Holy cow, I am just a fluff MACHINE with these two. Got this idea in my head at work today, wrote it out in my head, transcribed it to the computer. Poor Japan, he's so feminine-looking but I find him to be quite as masculine as the other guy characters. He's just... short and Asian. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the shamelessness of this fluff. Also, I listened to Pink's "Glitter in the Air" the entire time I wrote this. I guess I was inspired by it somehow?
Japan turned slightly, and saw that Greece’s eyes were laid upon the small ceramic vase sitting on the table, filled with deep red roses. Japan smiled lightly and nodded, opening the door to his summer home and returning to the floor beside Greece.
“Yes. A gift from America-kun. They are his national flower. He gives them to me every spring,” Japan explained, fingering one of the silk-soft petals of the gallant flowers. “I go to Washington to see the cherry blossoms bloom there, and he gives me roses. A cultural exchange, I suppose,” he said, and turned to Greece. Greece gave a half-smile (he never smiled more than that) and noticed a single rose laying by itself on the edge of the table.
“What’s this?” he asked, and Japan picked it up.
“It broke in transit,” he explained, and as he straightened it, Greece noticed its sad limp, having only a few fibers keeping the budding head of the flower attached to its stem. Gently, Greece pulled the flower cleanly off the stem, leaving only a little bit of stem attached to the bud. Japan sent his chocolate-brown eyes to Greece, raising his eyebrows in confusion. Greece reached over to Japan, his elbow grazing the latter’s shoulder gently, and tucked the beautiful bud into Japan’s inky black hair, settling the stem behind his ear.
Japan jerked back from Greece’s hand, his face flushed. A soft early summer breeze wafted in through the open door, causing the roses in the vase to shift and move as if repositioning them to sleep. Japan’s bangs brushed his forehead, and he could feel his face heating up.
“G-Greece-san...” Japan murmured, and Greece sighed. He had done something to upset Japan again, hadn’t he? He thought they were past the point of honorifics, but they only came out when Japan was flustered or annoyed with him. Greece pushed his own hair from his eyes and settled them on Japan’s, who was looking downcast.
“What is it, Japan?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“N-no, it’s just that... flowers... they always make me look...” and Japan trailed off, his hands firmly clasped together in his lap. Greece quirked an eyebrow.
“They make you look...?” Ravishing? Delightlful? Saintly?
“...feminine,” Japan ended, in a voice that couldn’t have been softer. He was still avoiding Greece’s piercing green eyes. Greece’s heart thudded madly in his chest, and if he could drum up the words he would have proclaimed to Japan how much he loved him and how it didn’t matter, he was perfect—
But that wasn’t what he said. Greece lightly rubbed Japan’s cheek with his fingers, and used his other hand to prop up Japan’s chin, trying to force him to look at Greece.
“You don’t look feminine,” Greece said. Japan looked down again, tugging his face away from Greece, the flower still perched in his hair.
“I do... compared to everyone else...” Greece shrugged.
“Compared... to who? America? He’s also a brute. And a child,” Greece offered. He cupped Japan’s chin in his palm and looked into those eyes he loved so much. Japan warily looked back in trepidation. Greece focused his eyes on his lover’s face; on the gentle slope of his strong cheek bones, the strength of his forehead, the way his eyes curved into his nose. His cheeks lead down to a round, yet strong chin and jaw, and Greece traced his jaw down his neck, around his jutting Adam ’s apple, down his collar bone, over his broad shoulders and tight muscle underneath the smooth exterior. As much as he may not have had the stereotypical masculinity that the world preferred, he was masculine in his own way, in a strangely beautiful, exotic way.
Greece didn’t realize he was lost in Japan’s features until Japan made a small noise, and Greece looked up, and noticed that Japan was giving him a confused look.
“You’re handsomely beautiful,” Greece said, pulling his hand away from Japan’s shoulder. He could feel Japan shuddering slightly to his touch.
Japan bit his lower lip.
“You do not look feminine... and you are not any less of a man,” Greece said thoughtfully, cutting Japan off. Japan closed his lips and clasped his hands together in his lap. “You are a reflection of your country. A place that is... too beautiful not to be reflected in you. You have a people that are beautiful, too. You have mountains, rivers, stone roads, fields, flowers, trees... and they are all unique.” Greece was hovering very closely to Japan, his fingers trailing back up to Japan’s face. Japan was blushing like mad, but he wasn't pulling away. It was late into the spring night, and the later it got, the more Japan’s defense fell, and he felt at ease with his... love.
“You’re everything that’s magical about this place,” Greece offered, and rubbed Japan’s rosy cheek gently. “You are as marvelous as Hokkaidō—“ he slid his hand down Japan’s cheek to his neck, “—as strong as Honshū—“ he crossed across his neck to his right shoulder, “—as cultured as Shikoku—“ he slid the arm of Japan’s yukata off so his pale, smooth shoulder shone in the soft evening light, “—and as adventurous as Kyūshū.” He drew his hands back up to Japan’s face, who was both speechless and overwhelmed. Greece placed his hand on Japan’s chest, right over his heart.
“And Tokyo’s passion beats in your heart,” Greece said, and Japan took a deep breath. Greece could feel his trembling body underneath his comforting hands. Greece slid his toned arms around Japan’s torso, pulling him into a hug. Japan stiffened at first, but then relented, allowing his body to curve into Greece’s.
“The cherry blossoms are your blushes,” Greece whispered into Japan’s ear, and he felt Japan’s fingers tighten their grip on the back of Greece’s thin shirt. “That’s why you blush so much. So many cherry blossoms.”
“Roses suit you, though. They are nice in your dark hair and go well with your complexion,” Greece noted, and he could practically feel the smile coming from Japan.
“I see you have thought a lot about this?”
“Not particularly. I am just voicing all the things I love about you.” At that, he knew that if Japan could burst into a flame of humiliation, he would have. Compliments seemed to catch him off-guard, and Greece, when in private, was so incredibly affectionate sometimes he was sure he was going to smother Japan in love.
“...y-you are handsomely beautiful as well, Greece,” Japan said from his shoulder, and Japan pulled back, but stopped moving so he was hovering just before Greece, resting his forehead tentatively against the taller man’s.
“Hmm?” Greece asked, and Japan placed both his hands over Greece’s heart.
“Athens,” he said, and he slowly moved his hands over Greece’s shoulders, to his neck, and around to the back of his head, lost in his curls. “Crete, and the Ionian and Aegean Islands, Peloponnese, Macedonia, Thrace...” he would have said more, but stopped when Greece’s lips enveloped his own, soft and tender. His arms rested on Greece’s shoulders, his hands hanging listlessly from the back of his head, and Greece turned his head, drawing Japan in more, leaving his lips and instead opting for the corner of his red mouth, his jaw, his neck. A small moan curled from Japan’s lips, and he seemed like he was trying to suppress it, for he coughed as it happened, and Greece pulled away from his neck to see that the rose had fallen from Japan’s hair.
“You lost your flower,” Greece noted, and picked it up, toying with the petals. Japan’s arms were still perched on Greece’s shoulders, and Greece reached out and tucked the rose back into Japan’s hair. Japan’s eyes perked upwards, half-lidded, his (unusually) long eyelashes framing his dark eyes, his thin lips pulled into a smile, and Greece simply leaned in and pressed another kiss to his lips. He could feel Japan’s smile widen against his lips, and Greece took this as an invitation to cup Japan’s face in his hands and deepen the kiss, never moving from their spots. A light wind picked up and blustered throughout the house. Japan pulled away with just enough space to mutter one word.
“Arigato,” he whispered, and he allowed himself to be swept back into the romantic night, the red rose standing as straight, tall, sturdy, handsome and beautiful as it’s brothers still attached to their life-giving stems in the ceramic vase on the forgotten table.
They were only flowers, anyway.
I'm sitting here hacking up a lung as we speak. Also, I think I have a little bit of a crush on Japan. <3
I hope everyone is well :)