The distance from Ankara to Athens is tiring and long, but is always worth it for Turkey to see the Greek man. Turkey had called Greece to notify him hours ago before he left for the capital of Greece, his heart, and now he has arrived this evening. Turkey would stay with Greece for a while before he would return to his home, and Greece would eventually do the same. This trend started after their respective earthquakes of 1999—their earthquake diplomacy—when the two began to get along. Their relationship greatly improved afterwards, and, somehow, someway, despite their usual spite and bickering, they have attempted to form a relationship. It may not be wise, but so far, their attempts have been fruitful.
Turkey walks through the streets of Athens without any scorn thrown at him. This is good. The streets are filled with laughing people, white, pretty buildings, and the scent of the sea. He occasionally sees cats walking freely around the corners of those buildings, and he finds that he himself feels more tolerable toward these felines. You would have to be accustomed to cats around Greece. However, Turkey doubts that Greece, as a person, would ever enjoy the company of a dog, which is a shame.
The good weather, blue skies, and sunshine put Turkey in a good mood. The masked man begins to whistle a tune, and no one is bothered by the Turkish man. He strides along in content, smiling as playing children passed him, who giggle as they kick around a football. The merriment around him is greatly enjoyable. He pauses in his moment as he notices a small flower shop, and the Turk shrugs and heads into the store.
He is blasted with the lovely aroma of all kinds of flowers and bright, vivid colors. Turkey already knows for which flower he is searching: beautiful violets, Greece's favorite flower. As soon as Turkey finds a large amount of vibrant violets, he goes to the counter and purchases them with seven Turkish lire. Hopefully the Greek will be pleased by the sight of these flowers. He finds himself enjoying them just as much. He leaves the store with violets in hand after he says a word of gratitude to the cashier.
The time from the flower shop to Greece's house is only a few minutes long, and Turkey manages his ways easily despite how busy Athens is. Greece's house is as simple as the man himself; white walls and windows and honey brown roof shingles. He has a small garden around his house with flowers of all sorts, including violets and tulips. How cute, Turkey thinks, smiling at the coinciding flowers.
Turkey knocks on his lover's door and he waits. He waits and waits and there is no answer to which the Turk exclaims with angry confusion, "What the hell?"
Turkey knocks once more and still there is no answer. The man groans, but next he tries to open the door to feel self-satisfied of knowing that the door is locked and Greece is out doing whatever.
To his surprise, the door is actually unlocked. Which means Greece is here.
Turkey frowns with disdain and worry as he enters his lover's home. Inside the house is a colorful living room relatively furnished with Greek furniture and historical vases and paintings. However, the ottoman which sits to the side before the chair amuses Turkey slightly. Turkey calls for his lover and is met with an eerie silence. He closes the door and locks it behind him then he searches throughout the rooms of this home for Greece. He is trying to mask his anxiety as he treads up the stairs to Greece's bedroom. His pace is rushed and nearly he slams the door open, but he is able to control himself.
Turkey withholds a sigh of relief as he sees the country sleeping in his bed with the TV left on to drone in the background. Greece's bed is queen-sized with a mahogany headboard. His sheets have intricate patterns and his large comforter lies over him. The color of his sheets is also the color of grapes. The younger man seems to be comfy as he is in a deep, peaceful sleep, and his body is sunk into the mattress.
Greece's fair face is the epitome of all things peaceful. He lays on his right side, and tightly he clutches onto his blankets. His brunette hair is splayed over him like a halo as it frames his face elegantly. Each eyelid is delicately closed and Turkey is tempted to kiss them. His lips are slightly parted to breathe soft sighs, and his body rocks like the Aegean Sea with each breath. His cheeks appear smooth and soft to the touch.
"Oh, Heracles," murmurs Turkey under his breath, his lover's real name flowing quietly from him. He slowly walks to the bed and admires his sleeping form. Faintly, he feels disappointment bubbling inside him at the thought of waking Greece. He lightly shakes the younger nation's shoulder, calling his name once more.
The Greek man's eyes tighten, and he releases a soft groan. His eyelids flutter open to reveal dazed hazel orbs. Greece shifts to properly sit up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a fist. " . . . Turkey? Why are you here?"
Immediately Turkey shows his indignation, "I had called ya hours ago to tell ya I was comin' for a visit, brat."
Greece frowns after realization dawns onto his face, "I'm so sorry . . . I forgot and fell asleep."
"Yeah, well . . . I got these in one of yer flower shops here in Athens, so . . ." Turkey holds the violets before Greece with a shy expression that does not befit his face.
Greece's eyes slightly widen at the sight of those pretty flowers, and a smile of guilt plays on his lips. He takes the flowers from Turkey's hand and smells their beautiful and familiar scent. These flowers are precious to the young Greek, and Sadiq makes them sweeter. Without much or another thought, he thanks Turkey for this lovely gesture of affection.
"Are you tired from your trip?" Greece asks of Turkey's fatigue.
"Yeah. The way was pretty damn long 'n people have been buggin' me during the flight here. There was a baby on board, ya see, and their parents, wouldn't shut 'em up."
"You poor soul," teases Greece.
"Let's . . . take a nap, then."
"Ah . . . doesn't sound bad. Move over."
Greece scoots to the other side of the bed in order to give Turkey room. He reaches over to his nightstand to lay the violets down. He would place these violets in a vase of water later. Greece lies down and buries himself into his plush pillows, a soft sigh escaping him. He looks up to Turkey, who is sliding into the bed and under the covers.
The young nation always feels most entranced by Turkey's appearance whenever he removes his porcelain mask. His bright eyes faintly remind him of a desert, and his face features are distinctively masculine. He is a strong, aged fighter, and the stubble about his chin makes him seem more old and intelligent. Turkey is attractive. Greece has always admired and embraced the beauty of men, especially throughout his history.
"Put this over there, wouldja?" The Turk hands him his mask. Greece nods and places the mask next to the lonely violets.
When Greece returns to Turkey, the man is stripping himself free of his heavy green jacket and white shirt, showing his chest, tanned, scarred, and muscular from centuries of conquest as the Ottoman Empire. He catches his own cheeks feeling warm with a soft flush—this is not because he is timid, but because he was caught off guard.
Turkey lies down, pulling the blanket over himself. Greece reclines, too, but he scoots closer to the Turk. He nuzzles only his face into his shoulder, but he remains close and warm. He does not see the affectionate broad grin on his lover's lips for his eyes are closed. Greece could feel the warmth of Turkey radiate against his body and kiss cheek, and he sighs in content. The only thing that could make this moment more enjoyable would be a cat with which to cuddle.
They lay there together for several minutes, and, as always, Turkey is left to wonder and envy Greece's ability to fall so quickly into sleep. With his left hand, he reaches over to stroke thick brunette hair. He breathes deeply as he feels Greece's breath on his shoulder. The rhythmic movement of Greece's body is relaxing to Turkey; watching him breathe is very peaceful. He returns his hand to himself, and he nods off into sleep.
Well, he would have nodded to sleep if Greece had not squirmed away with the blanket. Turkey's eyebrow quirks with mild irritation as most of the comforter is shifted off of him. Now, Greece lays on his other side, clutching onto the blanket. Turkey yanks and pulls the covers over himself. He shifts in the bed with the grape blankets tightly around his body, grumbling about how the beautiful Greek is no longer on his arm.
Then it happens again; Greece squirms away with the blanket, but now the blanket is entirely removed from Turkey's body. Turkey sits up with an angry incredulous expression on his face while he glares daggers at Greece. He tugs the entirety of the blanket from Greece and settles it upon himself. Turkey greedily snickers as he lies down, not an ounce of guilt hissing at him.
Few minutes later, Greece is shivering due to the natural cool temperature in his bedroom. His eyes tighten and brows furrow as he reaches about for his blanket. But there is no blanket. Greece wakes from his light slumber, uncomfortable, to glare at the culprit who stole his comforter and is slowing falling into sleep.
Greece growls and steals the blanket back from Turkey, shocking him wide awake. Curtly, Greece lies down onto the bed, the blanket covering him. This war continues between them for some time before Turkey twitches, hitching the blanket higher so he could slide closer to Greece. The younger man gasps as he feels two strong arms wrap around his body. Turkey pulls Greece closer to himself, nuzzling his face into his hair and breathing the scent of olives.
"I'll be yer damn battaniye*, ya moron," grumbles the Turk. Greece smiles sheepishly and he squirms to be more comfortable. This nap will be one of the best Greece has ever had.
* battaniye, n. : the Turkish word for blanket.