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silverfoxflowerTitle: The Late Song of Longing
Fandom: Hetalia
Genre: Gen, Slash, Fluff, Angst
Word Count: ~1800
Pairing: child!Hong Kong+China, Korea --> China, Russia --> China, Japan --> (imaginary!)England/China, America+China, France/China
Rating: R
Warnings: Nothing really.
Notes: Fills the double line extra (Bodies and Body Parts and Vanilla Kink) on my![[info]](../../img/community.gif?v=3)
kink_bingo. Written for this prompt on the ![[info]](../../img/userinfo.gif?v=3)
hetalia_kink meme, with the fill posted here.
Summary: Also known as: 'Five Times China's Silky, Gorgeous Hair Was Appreciated, and the One Time It Was REALLY Appreciated' Except with less crack.
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this porn
hong kong.
When wet, it reaches to the middle of his back, slides around his shoulders, leaves droplets of water wherever he dips his head. Young Hong Kong solemnly watches the dark loops of China's hair, hypnotized by their sleek movements as China soaps up his small body.
"Such thick eyebrows for such a tiny child," China frowns, rubbing at them with his thumbs as if he can wipe their existence from Hong Kong's face like so much mud.
The rubbing makes soap sting his eyes. Hong Kong blinks and begins to cry fat, silent tears which slide down his chubby cheeks and drip down into the bath.
“Ayah!” China, flustered, grabs the wet cloth and begins gently wiping at Hong Kong’s eyes. “Big eyebrows are bad luck!”
Hong Kong shakes his head and closes his eyes tightly, grabbing at China’s shoulders for comfort until the pain goes away. His guardian’s skin is warm and slippery with water, and Hong Kong feels a small stab of fear that he will not be able to hold on tightly enough, that his big brother and all he has yet in this world will dissolve away like soap in the bathwater.
Groping blindly, Hong Kong’s small fist closes over a loose coil of hair and squeezes, water trickling through his fingers. Although it must have been painful for China, he merely hugs Hong Kong closer, cooing to him and allowing him hold onto his handful until the tears have subsided and the soap is washed away.
korea.
During a snore-inducing world meeting, Korea turns his eyes speculatively to his aniki, who is sitting two chairs in front and turned away. The debate between Spain and England is growing heated, the volleying of insults and rebuttals between them dissolving into a garbled language consisting mostly of 17th century swears that Korea does not understand. On the other hand, China’s head whips back and forth like he’s at a tennis match.
Korea smothers a laugh as China’s ponytail hops, skitters, sweeps over his shoulders like a live thing. Then Spain calls England something that has the Spanish-speaking side of the room whispering in amusement, and England’s face turns three shades of maroon. Korea tries to pay attention, he really does, but the ponytail flicks at the edge of his vision, a tease in the worst sense possible.
Soon, Korea is paying more attention to China’s hair than the Spanish Armada grudge-match. He scoots his chair forward as stealthily as possible, until the ponytail is waving right in front of his nose.
Should he pull it? His fingers twitch in anticipation. But then he imagines his poor aniki falling off the back of his chair, squawking in surprise and looking up with accusatory eyes once he sees that Korea was the cause of his humiliation.
Egnh. Korea still wants to do it.
Across the room, he catches Taiwan’s eye. She glances between him and the back of China’s head with a weird expression.
Korea grins widely, curling his fingers inwards like a cat. He bats playfully at China’s hair, making a kitty face and watching Taiwan giggle silently
“Hánguó!” China hisses, turning sharply and giving Korea a glare that melts him in his seat. Then China scoots his chair forwards, out of reach.
Korea gazes mournfully afterward.
russia.
He has always been fascinated by China’s fragility. As in, how can this small, small man with such breakable limbs and feminine features live for so long unmolested? Perhaps he has bones of steel under his thin skin and brocade jacket.
And this, this decadence of hair spilling over his shoulders. Russia is torn between desire and disgust as he watches China finger-comb his dark locks into a ponytail across the table.
China catches his eye. “You’re principles are flawed.” He says flatly, and Russia imagines the slice of a knife, silver through inky black. “I don’t believe that we can come to any sort of agreement at this time.”
Russia shrugs, because he had expected that negotiations would break down. China was too heady with his newfound power after years of crumbling governments to risk sharing control in an alliance. Also, as he said, their principles of communism were different.
“Wait.” Russia says, as China rises to leave. “I would like just a small favor, comrade.”
“What?” China narrows his eyes. Despite his stubborn bluster, he knows enough that refusing Russia outright would be a bad idea.
“A cutting of your hair.” Russia leans forward, trying his best to look innocent while he lies through his bared teeth. “It is European tradition, as symbol of friendship, da?”
Although China’s lip curls at the mention of Europe, he grabs the knife in the middle of the table, its blade just a hint too sharp for merely cutting oranges, and slices off a small curl from under his ear. Russia takes it with a smile, the strands clinging like silk as he rubs them between his fingers. He allows China to leave this time, secure in the knowledge that they will be together again, soon.
japan.
“And you should eat more! The right food, not these unhealthy things, so full of salt.”
Japan nods, not looking up from his sketchbook.
“Ayah! What is this? So many video games? They are bad for your eyes!”
Japan takes in a deep, calming breath, and forces himself to ignore all distractions. He is the one who invited China over, under the pretense of needing help to clean out his house. His dear older brother, always ready to revel in his siblings’ helplessness, had complained loudly and come right away.
Perfect, because Japan’s doujinshi has a deadline.
“Very unhealthy, this fixation on childish cartoons.” China closes the closet door and throws Japan a pitying glance. “You need a nice girl. Or a man.”
And you? Japan bites back the reply and draws furiously. On the page, China is arching, his body lithe and dripping with sweat. Japan has gotten that far himself. What he needs the real China for is the sweaty strand of hair on his cheek, the way they curl at his nape as he bends over Japan’s spare futon, the dark spray around his face as he finally shakes out his ponytail. Annoying older brother moe.
China coughs pointedly as he beats the dust out of the futon, smoothing his hair out of the way. Any minute now he would begin nagging about how weak his lungs were, and of course Japan would lift a finger to help in his own house. Classic passive-aggression. And the world wondered where Japan got it from.
In all actuality, China’s home is far worse, with its hundreds of grimy knickknacks in every corner, leering at visitors.
Japan ignores all distractions as he sketches England’s arm, curling around China’s shoulders possessively as he ravishes China’s mouth. Perfect. The fan of hair on the pillow, haloing China’s face. Protesting through his vulnerable blush, a tsundere to the end even as his body curls in pleasure-
“And if you can’t finish the buns, take some to your ungrateful sister, because they’re the kind she likes. Remember to steam them for twenty minutes before eating, or else they spoil fast. And I’m serious about finding someone. How about that Greece boy you are always spending so much time with? He seems like he doesn’t mind your strange habits …”
america.
“I’m not gonna lie, it’s kinda weird.” America shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. They are outside the Olympic stadium, killing time between Women’s Volleyball and Men’s Discus. “Friend to friend, y’know, long hair’s really out.”
China smiles like his face has been pinched. He’s been smiling a lot this week, a necessary evil of being in the world spotlight. America can sympathize, since he’s in the same position constantly, and it’s tiring.
“I keep my hair long as a symbol of tradition.” China says, and even America can hear the edge in his tone.
Probably just stress. “Yeah, but it’s like, time to look more modern.” In America’s mind, China’s stubborn hold on his history was the problem in the first place. “It’s like the whole censorship thing. Embrace Google. It comes in peace.”
China sighs very patiently. “Thank you for your … advice, America. I will keep it in mind.”
“Great!” America joins the throng of spectators entering the stadium. He doesn’t see China’s hand raise to his ponytail, stoking it once, protectively.
france.
“It has been a while since I’ve bedded someone with prettier hair than I,” France murmurs lazily, catching China’s lips and slowly playing them open. China tilts his chin upwards with a wet sound, chasing France’s mouth as his hands travel upwards to tangle in long, blonde hair.
Feeling the playful tug, France smiles downwards. China is bracketed by his forearms, gazing up at him with an inscrutable expression, as mysterious as ever, even though they haven’t been exotic to each other since the nineteenth century.
“You like my hair?” China asks seriously, petting his fingers through France’s nape and making him purr.
“Of course, Cher,” France says, in blatant adoration of the spread of dark strands across his pillowcase. “You are so delicate with your hair down.”
China stiffens. “Not like a woman-“
“Non,” France feels his cock beginning to stir at the warm press of their bodies, wondering idly if it would be worth it to reach for the lube, even though China is already so slick and stretched for him. “There is nothing wrong with being vulnerable, Cher.”
China grumbles something not unlike, “What sort of history have you lived through?” but opens his legs to France’s fingers, allowing them to gently stretch his swollen entrance.
France presses a kiss to the curve of China’s shoulder, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweat-soaked curl resting against his collarbone. “If you haven’t noticed, I have rather long hair myself.”
“But you are also big.” China says pointedly, “And rough.” He drops a hand to France’s chest in demonstration, scratching lightly through the blonde pelt there and flicking his nipples.
“Rough, Cher? But I moisturize!” France blinks in mock-offense as he crooks his fingers, massaging gently along China’s passage until he feels the firm bundle of nerves which make China shudder and wail and come apart under his hands. “Well, even so.” France smiles, burying his face in his lover’s thrashing neck and feeling hair like silk under his nose and mouth. It smells of tea and sex. Foggy boat rides down the Yahnzhe River. Humid nights in Shanghai. “I think all of you is beautiful.”
China just closes his eyes, tightening his hold on France’s shoulders.
Fandom: Hetalia
Genre: Gen, Slash, Fluff, Angst
Word Count: ~1800
Pairing: child!Hong Kong+China, Korea --> China, Russia --> China, Japan --> (imaginary!)England/China, America+China, France/China
Rating: R
Warnings: Nothing really.
Notes: Fills the double line extra (Bodies and Body Parts and Vanilla Kink) on my
kink_bingo. Written for this prompt on the hetalia_kink meme, with the fill posted here.Summary: Also known as: 'Five Times China's Silky, Gorgeous Hair Was Appreciated, and the One Time It Was REALLY Appreciated' Except with less crack.
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this porn
hong kong.
When wet, it reaches to the middle of his back, slides around his shoulders, leaves droplets of water wherever he dips his head. Young Hong Kong solemnly watches the dark loops of China's hair, hypnotized by their sleek movements as China soaps up his small body.
"Such thick eyebrows for such a tiny child," China frowns, rubbing at them with his thumbs as if he can wipe their existence from Hong Kong's face like so much mud.
The rubbing makes soap sting his eyes. Hong Kong blinks and begins to cry fat, silent tears which slide down his chubby cheeks and drip down into the bath.
“Ayah!” China, flustered, grabs the wet cloth and begins gently wiping at Hong Kong’s eyes. “Big eyebrows are bad luck!”
Hong Kong shakes his head and closes his eyes tightly, grabbing at China’s shoulders for comfort until the pain goes away. His guardian’s skin is warm and slippery with water, and Hong Kong feels a small stab of fear that he will not be able to hold on tightly enough, that his big brother and all he has yet in this world will dissolve away like soap in the bathwater.
Groping blindly, Hong Kong’s small fist closes over a loose coil of hair and squeezes, water trickling through his fingers. Although it must have been painful for China, he merely hugs Hong Kong closer, cooing to him and allowing him hold onto his handful until the tears have subsided and the soap is washed away.
korea.
During a snore-inducing world meeting, Korea turns his eyes speculatively to his aniki, who is sitting two chairs in front and turned away. The debate between Spain and England is growing heated, the volleying of insults and rebuttals between them dissolving into a garbled language consisting mostly of 17th century swears that Korea does not understand. On the other hand, China’s head whips back and forth like he’s at a tennis match.
Korea smothers a laugh as China’s ponytail hops, skitters, sweeps over his shoulders like a live thing. Then Spain calls England something that has the Spanish-speaking side of the room whispering in amusement, and England’s face turns three shades of maroon. Korea tries to pay attention, he really does, but the ponytail flicks at the edge of his vision, a tease in the worst sense possible.
Soon, Korea is paying more attention to China’s hair than the Spanish Armada grudge-match. He scoots his chair forward as stealthily as possible, until the ponytail is waving right in front of his nose.
Should he pull it? His fingers twitch in anticipation. But then he imagines his poor aniki falling off the back of his chair, squawking in surprise and looking up with accusatory eyes once he sees that Korea was the cause of his humiliation.
Egnh. Korea still wants to do it.
Across the room, he catches Taiwan’s eye. She glances between him and the back of China’s head with a weird expression.
Korea grins widely, curling his fingers inwards like a cat. He bats playfully at China’s hair, making a kitty face and watching Taiwan giggle silently
“Hánguó!” China hisses, turning sharply and giving Korea a glare that melts him in his seat. Then China scoots his chair forwards, out of reach.
Korea gazes mournfully afterward.
russia.
He has always been fascinated by China’s fragility. As in, how can this small, small man with such breakable limbs and feminine features live for so long unmolested? Perhaps he has bones of steel under his thin skin and brocade jacket.
And this, this decadence of hair spilling over his shoulders. Russia is torn between desire and disgust as he watches China finger-comb his dark locks into a ponytail across the table.
China catches his eye. “You’re principles are flawed.” He says flatly, and Russia imagines the slice of a knife, silver through inky black. “I don’t believe that we can come to any sort of agreement at this time.”
Russia shrugs, because he had expected that negotiations would break down. China was too heady with his newfound power after years of crumbling governments to risk sharing control in an alliance. Also, as he said, their principles of communism were different.
“Wait.” Russia says, as China rises to leave. “I would like just a small favor, comrade.”
“What?” China narrows his eyes. Despite his stubborn bluster, he knows enough that refusing Russia outright would be a bad idea.
“A cutting of your hair.” Russia leans forward, trying his best to look innocent while he lies through his bared teeth. “It is European tradition, as symbol of friendship, da?”
Although China’s lip curls at the mention of Europe, he grabs the knife in the middle of the table, its blade just a hint too sharp for merely cutting oranges, and slices off a small curl from under his ear. Russia takes it with a smile, the strands clinging like silk as he rubs them between his fingers. He allows China to leave this time, secure in the knowledge that they will be together again, soon.
japan.
“And you should eat more! The right food, not these unhealthy things, so full of salt.”
Japan nods, not looking up from his sketchbook.
“Ayah! What is this? So many video games? They are bad for your eyes!”
Japan takes in a deep, calming breath, and forces himself to ignore all distractions. He is the one who invited China over, under the pretense of needing help to clean out his house. His dear older brother, always ready to revel in his siblings’ helplessness, had complained loudly and come right away.
Perfect, because Japan’s doujinshi has a deadline.
“Very unhealthy, this fixation on childish cartoons.” China closes the closet door and throws Japan a pitying glance. “You need a nice girl. Or a man.”
And you? Japan bites back the reply and draws furiously. On the page, China is arching, his body lithe and dripping with sweat. Japan has gotten that far himself. What he needs the real China for is the sweaty strand of hair on his cheek, the way they curl at his nape as he bends over Japan’s spare futon, the dark spray around his face as he finally shakes out his ponytail. Annoying older brother moe.
China coughs pointedly as he beats the dust out of the futon, smoothing his hair out of the way. Any minute now he would begin nagging about how weak his lungs were, and of course Japan would lift a finger to help in his own house. Classic passive-aggression. And the world wondered where Japan got it from.
In all actuality, China’s home is far worse, with its hundreds of grimy knickknacks in every corner, leering at visitors.
Japan ignores all distractions as he sketches England’s arm, curling around China’s shoulders possessively as he ravishes China’s mouth. Perfect. The fan of hair on the pillow, haloing China’s face. Protesting through his vulnerable blush, a tsundere to the end even as his body curls in pleasure-
“And if you can’t finish the buns, take some to your ungrateful sister, because they’re the kind she likes. Remember to steam them for twenty minutes before eating, or else they spoil fast. And I’m serious about finding someone. How about that Greece boy you are always spending so much time with? He seems like he doesn’t mind your strange habits …”
america.
“I’m not gonna lie, it’s kinda weird.” America shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. They are outside the Olympic stadium, killing time between Women’s Volleyball and Men’s Discus. “Friend to friend, y’know, long hair’s really out.”
China smiles like his face has been pinched. He’s been smiling a lot this week, a necessary evil of being in the world spotlight. America can sympathize, since he’s in the same position constantly, and it’s tiring.
“I keep my hair long as a symbol of tradition.” China says, and even America can hear the edge in his tone.
Probably just stress. “Yeah, but it’s like, time to look more modern.” In America’s mind, China’s stubborn hold on his history was the problem in the first place. “It’s like the whole censorship thing. Embrace Google. It comes in peace.”
China sighs very patiently. “Thank you for your … advice, America. I will keep it in mind.”
“Great!” America joins the throng of spectators entering the stadium. He doesn’t see China’s hand raise to his ponytail, stoking it once, protectively.
france.
“It has been a while since I’ve bedded someone with prettier hair than I,” France murmurs lazily, catching China’s lips and slowly playing them open. China tilts his chin upwards with a wet sound, chasing France’s mouth as his hands travel upwards to tangle in long, blonde hair.
Feeling the playful tug, France smiles downwards. China is bracketed by his forearms, gazing up at him with an inscrutable expression, as mysterious as ever, even though they haven’t been exotic to each other since the nineteenth century.
“You like my hair?” China asks seriously, petting his fingers through France’s nape and making him purr.
“Of course, Cher,” France says, in blatant adoration of the spread of dark strands across his pillowcase. “You are so delicate with your hair down.”
China stiffens. “Not like a woman-“
“Non,” France feels his cock beginning to stir at the warm press of their bodies, wondering idly if it would be worth it to reach for the lube, even though China is already so slick and stretched for him. “There is nothing wrong with being vulnerable, Cher.”
China grumbles something not unlike, “What sort of history have you lived through?” but opens his legs to France’s fingers, allowing them to gently stretch his swollen entrance.
France presses a kiss to the curve of China’s shoulder, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweat-soaked curl resting against his collarbone. “If you haven’t noticed, I have rather long hair myself.”
“But you are also big.” China says pointedly, “And rough.” He drops a hand to France’s chest in demonstration, scratching lightly through the blonde pelt there and flicking his nipples.
“Rough, Cher? But I moisturize!” France blinks in mock-offense as he crooks his fingers, massaging gently along China’s passage until he feels the firm bundle of nerves which make China shudder and wail and come apart under his hands. “Well, even so.” France smiles, burying his face in his lover’s thrashing neck and feeling hair like silk under his nose and mouth. It smells of tea and sex. Foggy boat rides down the Yahnzhe River. Humid nights in Shanghai. “I think all of you is beautiful.”
China just closes his eyes, tightening his hold on France’s shoulders.
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-25 12:30 am (UTC)Even with out my favorite rare pair, this story is very sweet and I love all the different takes and feelings on China's hair (Oh America, you fail. Long hair is beautiful~)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-25 02:20 pm (UTC)I <3 China's hair, I think it really does suit him!
no subject
Date: 2011-08-25 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-25 09:31 pm (UTC)You should totally post those someday. Just saying. :D
no subject
Date: 2011-08-27 01:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-27 03:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-27 04:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-29 02:25 am (UTC)