ext_51674 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
artillie.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hetalia2011-08-13 12:12 am
artillie.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2011-08-13 12:12 am
Entry tags:
[Fic] A Little More Conversation
Title: A Little More Conversation
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
artillie
Words: 500
Pairing: Netherlands/Canada
Rating: PG for--
Summary: A bit of after-sex talk.
"You know, I'm not usually that kinda girl, doin' it on the first date," Netherlands says, lighting up his cigarette. Without asking. Canada would find that rude if he wasn't expecting to see a dent in the wall behind his headboard. "Wait for the third one, 'til we've done a little bit of hand-holding, and then get down to the main course."
Canada looks down between his legs, then back up to the column of smoke where Netherlands used to be; Netherlands waves away some of the cloud. "That was -- " No, he decides. If he goes down that road he's going to start praising the guy, and he really isn't up for coming again tonight. "I don't date at all." He makes himself sit up against the headboard. Netherlands has slumped down enough that they're of a height -- not that the difference is all that significant in the first place.
"Ever just pick someone up?" The ash at the end of Netherlands's cigarette is looking precarious, so Canada twists to grab the ashtray he keeps on his bedside table for France's visits. Netherlands takes the chance to squeeze his ass, and Canada doesn't complain.
"Not... no, not really." He pulls the covers up over his junk. Not because he's modest. Montreal is chilly in February, is all.
"Ever try?"
"Sometimes I'm France's wingman?"
"The world is France's wingman," Netherlands says. "The entire fuckin' world." He sounds bitter like England complaining about the Falklands, but there's something about his accent when he's speaking English, as opposed to that in-between not-language that Canada tries not to think too hard about -- something that flattens out the vowels and twists the consonants, and he wouldn't call it sexy but it's nicer than listening to, say, Prussia. He's overthinking this. He drags himself out of his head and gives Netherlands a peck on the cheek. Netherlands blows out a plume of smoke and looks down at him, face neutral, but not in an irritated way. "What was that for, huh."
Canada shrugs, fiddling with the blanket, and Netherlands slings an arm around his shoulder. It's comfortable. "What took us so long?"
A snort. "The Atlantic Ocean. A war. England threatening to cut off my balls if I looked at you funny -- "
"Seriously?"
"You're like five years old," Netherlands says. "In country years, or some shit. No offense."
He doesn't know how he should feel about that -- England, or what Netherlands just said. "What about France?"
"France was taking bets, France wanted to watch."
"Oh." And just like that, the world makes sense again. "Okay."
"Yep." Netherlands stoops just a little to press a firm kiss to his mouth, then pulls away before Canada can get into it and adds, "Wanna let him watch?" and laughs when Canada takes a swat at him, loud enough that it fills the whole room.
Author:
artillieWords: 500
Pairing: Netherlands/Canada
Rating: PG for--
Summary: A bit of after-sex talk.
"You know, I'm not usually that kinda girl, doin' it on the first date," Netherlands says, lighting up his cigarette. Without asking. Canada would find that rude if he wasn't expecting to see a dent in the wall behind his headboard. "Wait for the third one, 'til we've done a little bit of hand-holding, and then get down to the main course."
Canada looks down between his legs, then back up to the column of smoke where Netherlands used to be; Netherlands waves away some of the cloud. "That was -- " No, he decides. If he goes down that road he's going to start praising the guy, and he really isn't up for coming again tonight. "I don't date at all." He makes himself sit up against the headboard. Netherlands has slumped down enough that they're of a height -- not that the difference is all that significant in the first place.
"Ever just pick someone up?" The ash at the end of Netherlands's cigarette is looking precarious, so Canada twists to grab the ashtray he keeps on his bedside table for France's visits. Netherlands takes the chance to squeeze his ass, and Canada doesn't complain.
"Not... no, not really." He pulls the covers up over his junk. Not because he's modest. Montreal is chilly in February, is all.
"Ever try?"
"Sometimes I'm France's wingman?"
"The world is France's wingman," Netherlands says. "The entire fuckin' world." He sounds bitter like England complaining about the Falklands, but there's something about his accent when he's speaking English, as opposed to that in-between not-language that Canada tries not to think too hard about -- something that flattens out the vowels and twists the consonants, and he wouldn't call it sexy but it's nicer than listening to, say, Prussia. He's overthinking this. He drags himself out of his head and gives Netherlands a peck on the cheek. Netherlands blows out a plume of smoke and looks down at him, face neutral, but not in an irritated way. "What was that for, huh."
Canada shrugs, fiddling with the blanket, and Netherlands slings an arm around his shoulder. It's comfortable. "What took us so long?"
A snort. "The Atlantic Ocean. A war. England threatening to cut off my balls if I looked at you funny -- "
"Seriously?"
"You're like five years old," Netherlands says. "In country years, or some shit. No offense."
He doesn't know how he should feel about that -- England, or what Netherlands just said. "What about France?"
"France was taking bets, France wanted to watch."
"Oh." And just like that, the world makes sense again. "Okay."
"Yep." Netherlands stoops just a little to press a firm kiss to his mouth, then pulls away before Canada can get into it and adds, "Wanna let him watch?" and laughs when Canada takes a swat at him, loud enough that it fills the whole room.