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metamorphosis2010-05-30 09:40 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2010-05-30 09:40 pm
Entry tags:
118;
Title: Of Vineyards and Wine
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: G
When Spain invites England to help harvest grapes, he readily accepts, because it's not every day the country of the sun invites him to spend a little holiday. Holidays are days you wake up late on, to relax, but England finds neither when he arrives.
When he arrives, Spain's out in the vineyard, tending to the grapes, and England marvels at how wide the spaces are, and when he asks, Spain looks a little sad but informs him that the weather's always been a little too warm for grapes, so there's disease, and if they isolate the vines it's easier to kill the sickness before it spreads. He just purses his lips and nods, inspects the grapes and replies that he's always thought Iberian wine was better than the rest.
Spain's smile is to die for.
When it's nightfall, they go to bed and have the sweet wine England prefers so much, and a little of the mixed wine, too, from Spain's personal cabinet, and it's much more alcoholic than the rest, and so he's thankful when the country of rain falls asleep from it rather than staying up and talking. Spain stays up, though, listens to the soft sounds of sleep and swirls the pinkish mixture, worries about the grapes and finally gives in to sleep when he realises he'll be late for the harvest if he stays up too long.
England wakes up to an empty bed, a glass of sherry, and a note that reads that his host has already graciously left to help with the grapes. He glances at the clock, wonders what time Spain got up at, and gets out of bed with a grimace and a growing twinge of a hangover, dresses himself and leaves the room and sherry behind, untouched. When he gets outside there's Spain, shirtless and laughing and grinning with the harvesters, carefully pulling off bunches of grapes and putting them in the large basket beside him. He gives a kind of surprised sound when he sees England, but motions him over and kisses his cheek.
“Buenos días, bella durmiente.”
“What time did you get up?”
England's straight to the point, as usual, and Spain hides his smile behind a turned head and a bunch of ripe grapes.
“Sometime before the sun rose. You look surprised, Inglaterra.”
“I never thought you could get up that early, with how late you stay up.”
“Sí, and I was always under the impression you could never sleep in, with how early you go to bed.”
The gentle tease isn't welcome, and England makes his dislike – and embarrassment – known. Spain nudges him with his hip and sets down the basket, calls over someone else to take it and takes an empty one. He waggles his eyebrows to his guest and goes along the line, holding the basket as England meticulously picks the grapes and tosses them in, chatting to fill the silence busy with the sounds of worker's murmurings and bees, handing off the filled baskets every so often and when it's all said and done, and the grapes are at their wineries and the two of them are left alone in the vineyard, they rest and drink the fine white wine.
“So why do you get up so early?”
“Well... The wineries think that if they grapes aren't harvested and shipped to them before midday, then they're not good enough.”
“High standards.”
“A little.”
England sips his wine, watches the sun rise in the sky about the vineyard, and thinks it might've not been such a bad little holiday.
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: G
When Spain invites England to help harvest grapes, he readily accepts, because it's not every day the country of the sun invites him to spend a little holiday. Holidays are days you wake up late on, to relax, but England finds neither when he arrives.
When he arrives, Spain's out in the vineyard, tending to the grapes, and England marvels at how wide the spaces are, and when he asks, Spain looks a little sad but informs him that the weather's always been a little too warm for grapes, so there's disease, and if they isolate the vines it's easier to kill the sickness before it spreads. He just purses his lips and nods, inspects the grapes and replies that he's always thought Iberian wine was better than the rest.
Spain's smile is to die for.
When it's nightfall, they go to bed and have the sweet wine England prefers so much, and a little of the mixed wine, too, from Spain's personal cabinet, and it's much more alcoholic than the rest, and so he's thankful when the country of rain falls asleep from it rather than staying up and talking. Spain stays up, though, listens to the soft sounds of sleep and swirls the pinkish mixture, worries about the grapes and finally gives in to sleep when he realises he'll be late for the harvest if he stays up too long.
England wakes up to an empty bed, a glass of sherry, and a note that reads that his host has already graciously left to help with the grapes. He glances at the clock, wonders what time Spain got up at, and gets out of bed with a grimace and a growing twinge of a hangover, dresses himself and leaves the room and sherry behind, untouched. When he gets outside there's Spain, shirtless and laughing and grinning with the harvesters, carefully pulling off bunches of grapes and putting them in the large basket beside him. He gives a kind of surprised sound when he sees England, but motions him over and kisses his cheek.
“Buenos días, bella durmiente.”
“What time did you get up?”
England's straight to the point, as usual, and Spain hides his smile behind a turned head and a bunch of ripe grapes.
“Sometime before the sun rose. You look surprised, Inglaterra.”
“I never thought you could get up that early, with how late you stay up.”
“Sí, and I was always under the impression you could never sleep in, with how early you go to bed.”
The gentle tease isn't welcome, and England makes his dislike – and embarrassment – known. Spain nudges him with his hip and sets down the basket, calls over someone else to take it and takes an empty one. He waggles his eyebrows to his guest and goes along the line, holding the basket as England meticulously picks the grapes and tosses them in, chatting to fill the silence busy with the sounds of worker's murmurings and bees, handing off the filled baskets every so often and when it's all said and done, and the grapes are at their wineries and the two of them are left alone in the vineyard, they rest and drink the fine white wine.
“So why do you get up so early?”
“Well... The wineries think that if they grapes aren't harvested and shipped to them before midday, then they're not good enough.”
“High standards.”
“A little.”
England sips his wine, watches the sun rise in the sky about the vineyard, and thinks it might've not been such a bad little holiday.