APH: My last Secret Santa!
Title: Bitter
Author: grosse_averse
Rating: PG-13? I think
Characters: France/Canada
Warnings: Fail!wine tasting knowledge, pre-established relationship.
Summary: For the Secret Santa exchange over at maplesandroses. The prompt was: A private wine tasting. France teaches Canada the proper way to taste wine. I'm sorry that I pushed this to the deadline, asario - Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and I hope you like it!
“Francis, what are you - ”
“Hold still, mon cher, humor me.”
Matthew frowns as best he can against the strip of silk that has been tied around his eyes. “I’ve been humoring you all night,” he points out jokingly as he hears Francis walk away from him. “And I still don’t know what for.”
Francis gives a sigh that seems to express his endless depths of patience. “One moment, if you would, Mathieu.”
When the thin glass slips between Matthew’s parted lips, the younger nation almost jumps. Then he remembers the two wine glasses he’d spotted when he’d entered Francis’s apartment, right before he’d been blindfolded. Cautiously, he presses his tongue against the curve of the glass. He hears Francis inhale, sharply.
“Don’t drink.” is Francis’s instruction. “Smell.”
It is Matthew’s turn to inhale, and he makes sure it is slow. The faint tang of wine hits his nostrils, and he takes a moment to savor it.
“What do you smell?” Francis’s voice is soft and husky in his ear - while Matthew is thinking, he feels a broad, smooth hand slide softly up his side.
“Uhm,” he says, as intelligently as he can when Francis has one hand on him. “I - I don’t know, Francis, it just smells like wine - ”
“Non.” the hand pauses. “Try again, cher.”
Obediently, Matthew inhales again. This time there is something under everything, and Matthew pauses.
“Uhm, a spice? Cinnamon, maybe?” he ventures, and is rewarded by that hand squeezing his hip.
“Very good.” Francis nudges his nose against the shell of Matthew’s ear. “It is a dark red, with a bit of sediment - ” his other hand closes over Matthew’s, on the stem of the glass. “ - and more translucent than opaque. An older wine. Anything else, Mathieu?”
Matthew shivers. “I think I smell blueberries.” he says, “I-is that right?”
“...It is a fruit, oui.” Francis praises. That hand moves circles across Matthew’s belly. “That is all right, Mathieu, the important part is, you smelled it. You are doing very well.”
“Wh-what’s all this about?” Matthew asks, wriggling back a little so he is sitting flush against Francis, his back against the Frenchman’s chest. Francis rests his head on Matthew’s shoulder, takes his time nuzzling his neck.
“You mentioned to me, once, that you would like to learn how to taste wine. I figured, why not start now?”
“But why the blindfold?” Matthew inquires, amusement in his voice, tilting his head so their noses brush briefly. “I promise, if you haven’t shaved again, I won’t laugh.”
“Very funny.” Francis moves so their cheeks rub against each other. “You know I am never embarrassed by my magnificent facial hair...”
“Ah, no-o, it itches!” Matthew squeals, trying to push away from Francis. “Can I take off the blindfold now?”
“I suppose.” Francis says reluctantly. “But you still must concentrate, we haven’t even got to the tasting yet.”
The silk slips off his eyes and Matthew blinks up into the face of Francis, who looks very lovely in a silk shirt and tied back hair. The younger nation smiles.
“You look very nice, Francis.” he teases, and Francis presses a palm to his face.
“Oh, good.” he sighs melodramatically. “And here I was becoming shy.”
Matthew cannot think of Francis ever being shy, so he giggles and cups the wine glass in his hands. Francis looks him over appreciatively, guides him to the table.
“Take a small sip,” he instructs. “But do not swallow it immediately. Please take a moment, and tell me what you taste.”
Matthew obeys, and closes his eyes as he takes a small mouthful of wine. He is briefly overwhelmed by the acidity, then tries to concentrate, moving it in his mouth, letting his tongue brush the back of his teeth as he takes his time.
The dryness is what hits him first - the slight bitter taste. Then he tastes some sweet under everything, a musky hint of something else. He feels his brow relax. He swallows, slowly, and the sweetness disappears. The bitterness lingers, along with the same musky, almost oaky flavor. He realizes, with a warm feeling in his stomach, that this wine is a little bit like Francis. Bitter to begin with, bitter with war hardened skin, bitter with feuding, bitter with years of fighting and being fought and conquering and being conquered. But it is only when one stops and and takes the time to notice, that his sweetness comes through. Like how Francis touches him when lie in bed together, softly and delicately and comforting. Or how he takes such great pains to ensure Matthew is happy and relaxed, even in situations where he is nervous (like World Conferences, when he must speak and no one remembers him anyways and why bother if all they are going to do is look through him...?)
If Matthew had rushed and simply drank the wine, if he had simply rushed and stereotyped the Frenchman the same as everyone else did, he would never had seen this sweetness.
Matthew opens his eyes to see Francis staring at him with adoration, a soft smile on his face.
“You see?” Francis prompts. “It is not so hard, cheri.”
Matthew blushes with pleasure and with a fondness towards the man in front of him, and stares absently into the wine glass.
“How do you like it?” Francis asks.
“It’s...quite bitter.” Matthew says, to be nice.
“Ah, you think so?” Francis examines the bottle with interest. “I admit, this vintage is not known for its...sweetness.” he gives Matthew a rather lecherous look. “So you are more partial to sweetness, then, Mathieu?”
Matthew gives a coy shrug. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.” he admits, setting down the glass and taking Francis’s hands. “But I’m always game for learning to like...new things. Do you want to keep teaching me to taste wine or would you rather reward me for doing such a good job?”
Francis’s face is akin to one who has just won the lottery. “Well, it is so rare that people learn so quickly.” he agrees with a smile, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Matthew’s hands. “I suppose I should reward you...”
“Great.” Matthew smiles as Francis practically pulls him to his feet, so he can relieve the younger nation of his tie. The younger nation reaches over to snag the opened bottle of wine. “I’ve always wanted to try some wine in bed.”
They have to take a shower afterwards - Francis's skin is sticky with wine, and Matthew has learned to like the bitterness that lingers on his tongue.
Author: grosse_averse
Rating: PG-13? I think
Characters: France/Canada
Warnings: Fail!wine tasting knowledge, pre-established relationship.
Summary: For the Secret Santa exchange over at maplesandroses. The prompt was: A private wine tasting. France teaches Canada the proper way to taste wine. I'm sorry that I pushed this to the deadline, asario - Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and I hope you like it!
“Francis, what are you - ”
“Hold still, mon cher, humor me.”
Matthew frowns as best he can against the strip of silk that has been tied around his eyes. “I’ve been humoring you all night,” he points out jokingly as he hears Francis walk away from him. “And I still don’t know what for.”
Francis gives a sigh that seems to express his endless depths of patience. “One moment, if you would, Mathieu.”
When the thin glass slips between Matthew’s parted lips, the younger nation almost jumps. Then he remembers the two wine glasses he’d spotted when he’d entered Francis’s apartment, right before he’d been blindfolded. Cautiously, he presses his tongue against the curve of the glass. He hears Francis inhale, sharply.
“Don’t drink.” is Francis’s instruction. “Smell.”
It is Matthew’s turn to inhale, and he makes sure it is slow. The faint tang of wine hits his nostrils, and he takes a moment to savor it.
“What do you smell?” Francis’s voice is soft and husky in his ear - while Matthew is thinking, he feels a broad, smooth hand slide softly up his side.
“Uhm,” he says, as intelligently as he can when Francis has one hand on him. “I - I don’t know, Francis, it just smells like wine - ”
“Non.” the hand pauses. “Try again, cher.”
Obediently, Matthew inhales again. This time there is something under everything, and Matthew pauses.
“Uhm, a spice? Cinnamon, maybe?” he ventures, and is rewarded by that hand squeezing his hip.
“Very good.” Francis nudges his nose against the shell of Matthew’s ear. “It is a dark red, with a bit of sediment - ” his other hand closes over Matthew’s, on the stem of the glass. “ - and more translucent than opaque. An older wine. Anything else, Mathieu?”
Matthew shivers. “I think I smell blueberries.” he says, “I-is that right?”
“...It is a fruit, oui.” Francis praises. That hand moves circles across Matthew’s belly. “That is all right, Mathieu, the important part is, you smelled it. You are doing very well.”
“Wh-what’s all this about?” Matthew asks, wriggling back a little so he is sitting flush against Francis, his back against the Frenchman’s chest. Francis rests his head on Matthew’s shoulder, takes his time nuzzling his neck.
“You mentioned to me, once, that you would like to learn how to taste wine. I figured, why not start now?”
“But why the blindfold?” Matthew inquires, amusement in his voice, tilting his head so their noses brush briefly. “I promise, if you haven’t shaved again, I won’t laugh.”
“Very funny.” Francis moves so their cheeks rub against each other. “You know I am never embarrassed by my magnificent facial hair...”
“Ah, no-o, it itches!” Matthew squeals, trying to push away from Francis. “Can I take off the blindfold now?”
“I suppose.” Francis says reluctantly. “But you still must concentrate, we haven’t even got to the tasting yet.”
The silk slips off his eyes and Matthew blinks up into the face of Francis, who looks very lovely in a silk shirt and tied back hair. The younger nation smiles.
“You look very nice, Francis.” he teases, and Francis presses a palm to his face.
“Oh, good.” he sighs melodramatically. “And here I was becoming shy.”
Matthew cannot think of Francis ever being shy, so he giggles and cups the wine glass in his hands. Francis looks him over appreciatively, guides him to the table.
“Take a small sip,” he instructs. “But do not swallow it immediately. Please take a moment, and tell me what you taste.”
Matthew obeys, and closes his eyes as he takes a small mouthful of wine. He is briefly overwhelmed by the acidity, then tries to concentrate, moving it in his mouth, letting his tongue brush the back of his teeth as he takes his time.
The dryness is what hits him first - the slight bitter taste. Then he tastes some sweet under everything, a musky hint of something else. He feels his brow relax. He swallows, slowly, and the sweetness disappears. The bitterness lingers, along with the same musky, almost oaky flavor. He realizes, with a warm feeling in his stomach, that this wine is a little bit like Francis. Bitter to begin with, bitter with war hardened skin, bitter with feuding, bitter with years of fighting and being fought and conquering and being conquered. But it is only when one stops and and takes the time to notice, that his sweetness comes through. Like how Francis touches him when lie in bed together, softly and delicately and comforting. Or how he takes such great pains to ensure Matthew is happy and relaxed, even in situations where he is nervous (like World Conferences, when he must speak and no one remembers him anyways and why bother if all they are going to do is look through him...?)
If Matthew had rushed and simply drank the wine, if he had simply rushed and stereotyped the Frenchman the same as everyone else did, he would never had seen this sweetness.
Matthew opens his eyes to see Francis staring at him with adoration, a soft smile on his face.
“You see?” Francis prompts. “It is not so hard, cheri.”
Matthew blushes with pleasure and with a fondness towards the man in front of him, and stares absently into the wine glass.
“How do you like it?” Francis asks.
“It’s...quite bitter.” Matthew says, to be nice.
“Ah, you think so?” Francis examines the bottle with interest. “I admit, this vintage is not known for its...sweetness.” he gives Matthew a rather lecherous look. “So you are more partial to sweetness, then, Mathieu?”
Matthew gives a coy shrug. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.” he admits, setting down the glass and taking Francis’s hands. “But I’m always game for learning to like...new things. Do you want to keep teaching me to taste wine or would you rather reward me for doing such a good job?”
Francis’s face is akin to one who has just won the lottery. “Well, it is so rare that people learn so quickly.” he agrees with a smile, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Matthew’s hands. “I suppose I should reward you...”
“Great.” Matthew smiles as Francis practically pulls him to his feet, so he can relieve the younger nation of his tie. The younger nation reaches over to snag the opened bottle of wine. “I’ve always wanted to try some wine in bed.”
They have to take a shower afterwards - Francis's skin is sticky with wine, and Matthew has learned to like the bitterness that lingers on his tongue.