Love of the Half Eaten Peach

Canada can feel the butterflies as he falls to his knees, quickly babbling his apologies in his usual soft voice being sure to speak in Standard. He’s heard China’s English accent before and it’s utterly atrocious. China rises slowly, grumbling about the lack of respect for elders, not even hearing Canada speak. Once he realizes the other is there, he looks down with a small smile. It’s been awhile since he’s seen a proper kowtow.
“Hmm, I don’t know you,” he answers bluntly and Canada smiles inwardly. Perfect.
“I’m one of Englands,” he murmurs softly forcing the other to lean closer to hear him. And it’s technically true if China wants to argue the point later. “People don’t usually see me around at these things.” Again, totally accurate. China helps him to his feet. His hands are warm and soft, Canada observes.

Canada looks up and turns on the shy smile that France swears seduces him anew every time they come together. The somewhat shuttered countenance in front of him relaxes slightly. Score. He spares a brief glance and sees America run a teasing finger down France’s chest. Perhaps they won’t get England tonight, but if they succeed here, it’ll be a cakewalk later on.
“Are you alright, wansui?” Canada asks, letting their hands remain locked together just a little longer than appropriate. China laughs at the title, distracted from the contact. He pats Canada’s shoulder fondly.
“Ah, heavens I’m not that old yet!” Nor is he an emperor, but he can’t help but be flattered nonetheless.

“But you do have such a long and amazing history. You know they say that you’re the most ancient and powerful of all the nations” Canada says doing his best to appear completely guileless even as he lays it on thick enough to lay bricks. His hand moves to China’s forearm, his fingers lightly brushing the pale skin. He watches those slender brows knit as if trying to assess his intent. Canada has never been more thankful to have such a large number of the other’s children to draw knowledge from. “Just to be in your presence alone is such a great honor. And... and if you would tell me of your history... of where you com from I’m sure I’d never hear such a fantastic story.” He sees the scrutinizing gaze as he pours on the flattery. He knows it isn’t often for nations to engage in negotiations with China unless they involve business after all. America once joked that his dick had probably shriveled up and fallen off. And God, Canada tries not to dwell too long on that mental picture as he watches the shift in those golden eyes. He can’t help but find the thinly veiled shrewd countenance exciting as China considers.

And oh when China looks into his eyes and sees the peatlands of manitoba and the forests of British Columbia he knows him instantly. One of England’s own indeed. And yet you don’t seem to realize how easily I know you... so then what is it that you really want? We’re barely on speaking terms and you didn’t even have the decency to come to the summer olympics. And you know my history, my children have landed on your shores for over a century now... It’s easy to remember in the face of such untried and naïve youth what it was like to be so young. He doesn’t allow his thoughts to drift too long however for tonight it seems he has a game to play that he hasn’t gotten to enjoy in quite some time. Finding out what Canada is truly after will be just the distraction he’s been looking for. Ahh and you’re so cute like that too! Not all gangly and big like you usually are. Very well, let’s see just where this game goes.

Canada seems to have taken his silence as possible rejection and decides he needs to be more forward. How forward can a doormat be? he can hear America saying in his mind. Holy mother of maple now he’s got a talking America in his damn head! Quiet you, just watch.
“I... I know it’s getting late but... If you should fall asleep- like Emperor Ai I would sooner cut your sleeve than wake you.” China doesn’t allow himself to show reaction at the reference to the old story but oh does he ever recognize that one. Well, Canada certainly spelled it out clearly enough. But again it begs the question of why and even as he places his hand over the smaller one on his arm absently he’s considering Canada’s motivations. He sees the slightly triumphant look -and really, how premature is that?- when he lets their hands touch and China decides that no, he definitely isn’t going to make it easy for the brat. He feigns ignorance of the reference. Ignorance after all is a trait he’s accustomed to affecting amongst the western nations. Sometimes he even lapses into pidgin english to make England mad and America underestimate his intelligence.

“Aiyah, I should hope not! This is one of my favorites.” He shakes his sleeve expressively forcing Canada to let go. His confusion is obvious and China, satisfied with that, remains determined to keep him off balance: at least for now. He won’t commit until the other lays a lot more on the line. Ah, the lot of you love to accuse Kiku of being indirect but oh hoho you haven’t seen anything yet, Canada. Perhaps it’s cruel, but after a few thousand years of this he has to get his jollies somewhere right? America once accused him of being a closet sadist, but really, he’ll be doing Canada a service to teach him not to cross his elders.

“Ah, where to begin,” he muses to himself as he starts to walk. “Come, come, I’ll begin at the beginning then.” Canada follows and he begins his tale. He’ll let Canada sort out fact from fiction- he should know all of this by heart anyway. Well, perhaps not the way China’s about to tell it. “I was born the second son to Emperor Ku. Depending on who you ask-” rude little snots named America for one, “that was right about when the last of the dinosaurs died out... of course we call them dragon you know.” Good, good, he’s nodding his head even with the what the fuck expression. Well China certainly can be more creative than that!

“My name at birth was Taotang Shi which as you know means brave warrior who’s endowed with immense sexual prowess.” Huh, not bad, Canada hasn’t batted an eye yet. “When I ascended the throne I was reborn Tang Yao- that’s Tang like the drink. I don’t really remember when they begun calling me Wang Yao... perhaps during the warring states period?” he mumbles to himself thoughtfully shooting Canada another sidelong glance as they walk. Nope, not even a noticeable register on the old bull shit meter. Ah, but he does notice as Canada swallows involuntarily after his small reminiscent road trip though the Zhou Dynasty. It seems to strike Canada in this moment how old China really is despite his youthful appearance. Hn, old but not dead... and certainly not dead from the waist down like that loudmouth Alfred loves to joke!

And oh, Canada has never felt so young and immature as he walks beside the elegant older man. His own five hundred years or so suddenly seems like nothing; and really, he had become a nation so young it was all he could remember. He doesn’t remember anything about still being human or if he ever even was human because it seems as if he were there before the Europeans came. And even then he had remained a child for so long after being reborn. He’s pretty sure it was around the 19th century that his balls finally dropped and America has still never let him live that one down. No wonder they see us as so young; we really are. But that doesn’t mean that we’re the children they think we are.

China looks over and catches “the look” as he’d coined it (although South Korea claims that he was the first one to start calling it that). That look a young nation gets when truly realizing for the first time exactly how old China is; India and Ethiopia claim to get it too from time to time. It used to bother him but now he merely smiles and continues on with the “history lesson” as they approach his room.
“I think I was around 119 by the time Yu Shun decided that I’d really ruled long enough and had me imprisoned in a massive ivory tower guarded by snipe. They tried to execute me as well, but I returned the next day as if nothing happened.” He sees that the Canada is hanging on his every word and he turns with a hidden smirk as he unlocks the door. China is finding it hard not to laugh and just completely ruin it. “That was when I met Ramirez, and realized what I truly was. We are all destined to fight and kill each other, until there is only one. We call this the quickening.”

The door opens and China’s face is so grave and serious when he finally catches sight of it that Canada can’t help but look at him horrified. Okay so he’d really only been half listening to the rest of it because he already know most of what China is gonna say but whoa he was not prepared for that. China can only hold the expression for so long however before he begins laughing hysterically and Canada realizes that of course the old bastard was talking about fucking Highlander! He wonders as he joins in the laughter exactly how much of that story was even true, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. China is nearly doubled over incoherently gasping about the look on his face and how young nations will believe anything their elders tell them. The sour put upon expression on Canada’s face only makes it worse and he has a steadying hand on the doorway so he doesn’t fall over.

It occurs to him as China finally catches his breath and closes the door behind them - good, none of the other occupants are here- that it’s the perfect way to go about doing this. He’s always found it far easier to slip in when those around him are looking down on him. No one ever suspects the butterfly after all, right? Yeah, keep underestimating me, eh? You can’t possibly know I’m Canada. And you have no idea of the trick or two that I’ve come up with in the last five hundred years. Because in spite of his vaunted reupation for debauchery France wasn't always "in the mood" so to speak and oh when he didn't want it sometimes it seemed as if hell or high water or America on speed couldn't budge the man but oh did Canada ever know how to get papa back in the mood. A further glance around the room while China collects himself indicates that they’re alone. He wonders if it will stay that way already takings a quick stock of everything there, mind a constant whirl of just how he’s going to pull this off. It’s not like h can just throw himself on the bed and scream “take me you big hunk of man.” Cause while that might’ve worked on France- it was a bet, okay?- he was pretty sure this was going to take a lot more subtlety and finesse.

China regards him with a completely unreadable expression as he catches him studying the space. Canada fidgets under the scrutiny but remains calm. If he can succeed in obtaining China’s seal on the contract then he can create an agreement absolving America of his debt. He’ll owe me so big I might even be able to get a few concessions from him of my own. Maybe we can work on getting back to where we were and not needing passports to cross each other’s borders. And oh how mad he’d been about that one. He wouldn’t let America fuck him for months unless he remembered his passport. Of course he has every confidence in America’s ability to manipulate France and get those waters around Saint Pierre and Miquelon back.

“I won’t be disturbing your roommates, will I?” he asks at last. He doesn’t need North or South Korea sticking theirs noses in where they don’t belong and he’s pretty sure if he ends up having to bang North Korea that America will probably sanction him or something stupid and make him pay for his own plane ticket home. If he recalls correctly Myanmar should be here as well but he was pretty sure that The Netherlands was once again trying to get that poor girl smashed at the bar. He finally takes notice as China shakes his head and fixes him with another one of those odd looks.
“No, they won’t be in tonight.”

Good. Good, that makes it easy. if it’s just him I can do this. Alone in the room with him, Canada definitely feels the butterflies but dammit, he’s not going to be the one that drops the ball. He gives China a shy smile.
“I... I’m glad. I guess it’s selfish of me but I was hoping it would just be the two of us.” He closes the distance between them and is about to reach out and attempt more physical contact- because even he knows that the more touching the closer he can get- and almost falls flat on his face when China suddenly manages some otherworldly maneuver and sidesteps him maintaing that perfectly oblivious facade.
“Aiyah! Then we need food for company!” he exclaims going to fill the electric kettle next to what has to be an illegal hot plate in the large sitting room.

Canada shifts awkwardly trying to formulate a plan. Okay, Yao 1 Matthew 0. Dammit, Al has it easy! Anyone can take their stupid clothes off and seduce Francis but what am I supposed to do with Yan Can Cook?! Canada doesn’t notice the amusement on China’s face as he glances discreetly in his direction. China definitely intends to keep him off balance and as he starts pulling snacks out of a seemingly endless fridge, he considers again what Canada’s game could be. Clearly he wants something but it’s not like he can really expect China to give him anything.  Ah, but he’s not “Canada” now, is he? Of course the guise leaves even less room for explanation except the silly line he’s been feeding him. And China doesn’t buy that for a second.

He’s thoughtful as he rummages through the fridge. The only british territories that he could possibly be mistaken for would either be Montserrat or the Falkland Islands and Canada hasn’t coughed once since this entire thing started. So that leaves the Falklands. But surely, as close as he is to England he’d have to know that he and the Falkland Islands are... close. Too close for the territory to ever be found alone in another’s room like this. This wasn’t planned then, China realizes and he fixes the plates with an upbeat humming. Canada doesn’t jump into things recklessly... so there’s something else I’m missing. He compartmentalizes that and turns his attention back to his guest. He can think more about that after he kicks “Operation Canada Cockblock” into action.
“Ah, where are my manners? Sit sit,” he gestures to the large kotatsu table and the zaisu around it. He silently rebukes himself for the double word usage again, feeling one of those small flashes of anger at England and the rest of the damn European imperialists for that simpering hiccup in his speech pattern when he speaks in Standard or English; he’s been trying to train it out since the 1800s.

Canada obeys, keeps one eye on the older nation at all times, bottom lip between his teeth in a contrived uncertain gesture. He’s learned how to make his nervousness work for him when it comes to getting what he wants but hell at least he doesn’t turn on the waterworks like England and he swears again that the next time he doesn’t care how much that old jerk cries, he’s not putting on that stupid dress. Canada’s never done anything quite like this before exactly, but he’s no stranger to quiet subtle seduction and immediately he has a few ideas to give China a much more blatant hint. As he sits back, he shifts his body just so, feeling the torn fabric of the white shirt fall off his left shoulder right as China raises his eyes from where he’s placed the tray. I’m cute, right? I know you have to think so at least a little bit and I have to be more attractive than some old pervert wearing a cat suit... He doesn’t allow his face to betray anything but then again, neither does China. And so it begins, they think unknowingly at the same time

Canada looks at the fruits and nuts on the tray and seeks out the lone peach thinking it must be some sort of divine intervention. At least he can hope it is because he really doesn’t want to end up having to throw himself at China like a cheap whore because he can’t help but believe America just a tad when he says that China only gets off on salty food and US dollars. China watches him take it already one step ahead of him. He takes a plum, enjoying the slight tang of its skin and listens for the water for the tea to finish heating.
“Mmm,” Canada sighs happily, exaggerating the look of bliss at the sweetness of the fruit. They’re not in season and really he’s had better, but he fixes his violet eyes on China and holds the fruit out, small tongue deliberately slow to lick the juice from his mouth. “It’s so sweet,” he explains looking shy. “You should have the rest,” Canada finishes, his expression so unknowingly expectant China almost pities him.

And this is where I, like the ruler of Wei reply “How sincere is your affection for me! Forgetting your own appetite and thinking only of giving me good things to eat!” Ah, how naive! Clever, but I’m not biting just yet. China’s eyes are big and he waves it away just as the timer on the kettle beeps.
“Oh no I couldn’t, those things give me hives!” Of course they don’t but Canada doesn’t need to know that and watching the twitch, and clear signs of aborted seduction he laughs as he stands. China offers no explanation as he goes to fix the tea and Canada practically glowers at the half eaten fruit when his back is turned. Does he know? Is this just another one of his stupid mind games or does he really suspect? Well dammit maybe I should’ve just shown up with a wad of hundreds taped to my dick instead... Canada fidgets where he sits, planning and improvising. Okay so mimicking ancient stories isn’t doing it. Maybe he should take a page from America’s book after all.

“Here, let me,” Canada insists on serving the tea when China sets it down, making sure to shoot him a meaningful across the table as he does so. He’s trying to remember that stupid hair flip thing America taught him back in the sixties but China breaks the gaze almost immediately claiming that he feels like he has something on his face. Canada resists the urge to slam his head on the table only barely when he rises to get a mirror and check. Oh god this isn’t working! Okay maybe I should just start stripping or throw myself into his lap or claim his breasts for Canada or oh god I can’t do this! He blinks, eyes wild, forcing himself to relax because he’s not going to screw this up even if America does have it ten times easier.

His eyes make another sweep of the room getting more desperate to find something. He sees a comb resting on an end table and when he hears China mumble to himself about the state of his hair it’s all he can do not to jump up and just grab the damn thing. Remaining calm, Canada feigns a nervous start as China continues to fiddle with the damn mirror.
“I... I would be honored to comb it for you.” As China sets the mirror down curiously, he follows Canada’s attention to the jade comb in question. He feels almost bad deciding to exclaim.
“No! Oh no no no, that’s Yong Soo’s comb! There’s no telling what he’d do if he smells me on it!” He looks almost panicked and bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t laugh again when Canada almost falls over. Ah, poor thing, you’re still a thousand years too early to defeat me.

Notes:

Emperor Ai of Han had a male love named Dong Xian. Historians refer to their love as the "passion of the cut sleeve" because of the following story: The two lover had fallen asleep on the emperor's bed after a long nap and when the Emperor awoke rather than wake his sleeping lover who was laying on his sleeve, he cut the sleeve off instead.

Another story goes that in ancient times Mizi Xia won the favor of the ruler of Wei. In one story the two men were walking in an orchard and Mizi Xia took a bite of a peach and gave it to his ruler half eaten because it was so sweet he wanted to share. This also ties into the title; Love of the Half Eaten Peach” is a coy reference to homosexuality.

wansui was a means of address used traditionally with Emperors and means “ten thousand years”