The Sex is Just a Metaphor (Hetalia fic)
Aug. 18th, 2021 11:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ferith Title: The Sex is Just a Metaphor
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG13
Characters: Prussia, France
Word Count: 475
Summary: A conversation about Feelings
“You know I like you Prussia,” France said, seemingly out of nowhere. It was middlingly early on a night out, and they were beginning to be tipsy, but nowhere near drunk enough for this sort of nonsense.
“I’m not going to have sex with you, France.”
“No, no,” France said, “I mean that I like you in a platonic way. I value you and our relationship, devoid as it is of sexual anything.”
“That’s cool. I like you too, it’s kind of why we’re friends,” Prussia said. He said it half jokingly, edging along the outskirts of the conversation, the way a young deer might edge around an obstacle that was to it incomprehensible and potentially dangerous.
“Yes, well my point is that I am aware. That there exist in this world things, emotional nuances, internalities, that have nothing to do with sex,” France said, as though this admission physically hurt him to say.
“Congratulations on growing as a person, I guess?” Prussia wondered if this conversation would seem less stupid if he was more drunk.
France ignored him.
“And so that being said, I want to ask, are you, in a sense that has nothing to do with how much sex you are or are not currently engaging in… sad?”
Prussia set his beer down with a thunk.
“Wow,” he said after a moment, “You’re bad at this. Is this, is this what you meant all those times you told me that if I was lonely you knew lots of people who were into really pale and bony guys? Or all those really long metaphors involving your libido? Or that story you told about how one time you were sad and you met a girl who was sad and so you had sad sex together and it was very Romantic in a literary sense?”
“I’m certain that I did not describe you as “pale and bony”, you have a certain devilish allure, but. Yes. More or less.”
“Huh,” Prussia said blankly.
“I notice,” France said very gently, “that you are avoiding the question, mon cher.”
“I’m. I’m okay,” Prussia said, which wasn’t really an answer and sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.
“Alright,” France said, “but just know that I’m here for you, regardless, and if you ever need anything, you don’t need to be afraid to tell me if you need anything.”
Prussia felt. He felt like crying. He wouldn’t, obviously, he wasn’t that far gone, but. He didn’t know when he last felt like crying. He didn’t know when he felt that he could.
“Fuck,” Prussia said, “You’re a really good friend, France, you know that?”
“I try to be,” France said, and smiled that small, kind smile of his, somehow simpler than the one he reserved for his lovers.
Shit, Prussia thought, shit. Maybe he was going to be alright.
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG13
Characters: Prussia, France
Word Count: 475
Summary: A conversation about Feelings
“You know I like you Prussia,” France said, seemingly out of nowhere. It was middlingly early on a night out, and they were beginning to be tipsy, but nowhere near drunk enough for this sort of nonsense.
“I’m not going to have sex with you, France.”
“No, no,” France said, “I mean that I like you in a platonic way. I value you and our relationship, devoid as it is of sexual anything.”
“That’s cool. I like you too, it’s kind of why we’re friends,” Prussia said. He said it half jokingly, edging along the outskirts of the conversation, the way a young deer might edge around an obstacle that was to it incomprehensible and potentially dangerous.
“Yes, well my point is that I am aware. That there exist in this world things, emotional nuances, internalities, that have nothing to do with sex,” France said, as though this admission physically hurt him to say.
“Congratulations on growing as a person, I guess?” Prussia wondered if this conversation would seem less stupid if he was more drunk.
France ignored him.
“And so that being said, I want to ask, are you, in a sense that has nothing to do with how much sex you are or are not currently engaging in… sad?”
Prussia set his beer down with a thunk.
“Wow,” he said after a moment, “You’re bad at this. Is this, is this what you meant all those times you told me that if I was lonely you knew lots of people who were into really pale and bony guys? Or all those really long metaphors involving your libido? Or that story you told about how one time you were sad and you met a girl who was sad and so you had sad sex together and it was very Romantic in a literary sense?”
“I’m certain that I did not describe you as “pale and bony”, you have a certain devilish allure, but. Yes. More or less.”
“Huh,” Prussia said blankly.
“I notice,” France said very gently, “that you are avoiding the question, mon cher.”
“I’m. I’m okay,” Prussia said, which wasn’t really an answer and sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.
“Alright,” France said, “but just know that I’m here for you, regardless, and if you ever need anything, you don’t need to be afraid to tell me if you need anything.”
Prussia felt. He felt like crying. He wouldn’t, obviously, he wasn’t that far gone, but. He didn’t know when he last felt like crying. He didn’t know when he felt that he could.
“Fuck,” Prussia said, “You’re a really good friend, France, you know that?”
“I try to be,” France said, and smiled that small, kind smile of his, somehow simpler than the one he reserved for his lovers.
Shit, Prussia thought, shit. Maybe he was going to be alright.
