Story Title: Beneath
Rated: PG for manly kisses
Status: Complete || 400+
Summary: [Heracles/Kiku] Heracles falls asleep outside.
Steve's Notes: Written for mochalatt3, because I love her.
Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia © Himaruya Hidekazu

Heracles is used to the heat of the Mediterranean sun. It turns his skin olive and honeys the dark curls of his hair; it runs smoothly across his bare forearms and naked calves as he unfurls across the hot, white sand of the beach. It carries him to Morpheus' realm, where he dreams of an ancient blue sky and flawless marble beneath his fingertips. Or perhaps that isn't the dream, or perhaps more than the dream, because there is a palm against his cheek and a halo of blue around a dark head.

"Kiku," Heracles breathes into the other man's hand, sleepily loops his fingers around Kiku's deceptively slender wrist. He feels the play of bird-thin bones and tendons as Kiku swipes his thumb against the swell of his cheekbone, but only once, before he catches himself.

"Heracles-san," Kiku replies. "Please, it is time to come inside. You will get sick from staying out in the sun too long."

"I'm okay with it," Heracles murmurs, but he sits up. He does not let go of Kiku's wrist, and the change in position forces Kiku forward by the scant centimeters that change their distance from respectable to dangerous. Then, after a steady yawn that cracks his jaw, "It's a nice day."

And it is. The sunshine is thick but there's a cool breeze rolling in from the sea with the waves that smells like salt and forgotten adventure. The sky is clear save for the wisps of cirrus clouds, high and thin, in the atmosphere. He wants to remain on the beach and pull Kiku down with him, lift up his thin cotton t-shirt and watch his pale skin turn pink. Then, when night falls and the stars and the arms of the glazy blaze across the deepness of the universe, he will wrap his fingers around Kiku's elbow and walk with him back to the house.

"Heracles-san," Kiku says, the blunt edge of his hair whispering against his flesh like a secret. "Please, I have made us some lunch."

"Alright," Heracles concedes, and releases Kiku's wrist. His hand feels empty without it, even as he stands and brushes the sand from his hair and khaki shorts. Kiku rotates his wrist, as though he too feels incomplete. Perhaps this is why, before they turn from the sea, Kiku interrupts the silence.

"And after we have eaten," Kiku muses, his eyes anywhere but Heracles' attentive and patient gaze. "Perhaps we could—"

Heracles doesn't need to hear more as he slips his fingers underneath the hem of Kiku's t-shirt, touches the skin of his sides with his calluses, and presses a dry, lingering kiss to the hollow beneath his ear. Kiku's mouth parts in a silent admission, and when Heracles pulls away, he watches in fascination as Kiku's pale flesh turns pink.

end.