[Austria couldn't help the snort at France's assurance that he never thought him a harlot. Partly because he wasn't so kind to himself when considering the matter, partly because he was sure in the past that France would accuse him of such, and partly because now, hearing those words, he believed him. Hearing the sound of France's breathlessness, it's a familiar sound and he feels heat pooling low, quelled only by the sheer tenderness of the man's hands on his cheeks; they're warm in contrast with the cool air and he feels his face becoming hot from it and from being simply overwhelmed.
The silence after his own confession would be deafening if he weren't being smothered with kisses and pulled close. The warmth envelops him and it's almost too much. But it isn't; perhaps in some ways it does feel as if he's drowning, but what he's feeling is closer to addiction. He understands perfectly. Wordless exchanges were what he normally felt most comfortable with. And normally, it had been someone else offering those first words of affection, not Austria. This was the second time in his life that he'd confessed first, both times happening since he arrived at this place. But it's the first time he hasn't felt cornered into giving an answer, and the first time he's certain it isn't unrequited. Not with the clinging that it evoked in France, and not from the words that came from him once he pulled back.
Austria shakes his head, brushing France's hair away from his face. Though they aren't the three words, he feels them deeply regardless.] Not at all. It's just about all I've ever known how to do. And... without it, I'd be afraid my own feelings were some sort of repeated, chronic impulse, if there were such a thing, brought on by this place. [There is no such thing as a chronic impulse, and he knows it. But it still is sinking in.
His breath leaves him when France's lips touch his fingers. It isn't the first time by any means but it is so chaste, it is a moment he supposes feels as if it were made of crystal and mustn't be disturbed or taken down from its pedestal in any way. It's at odds with what the moon is bringing out in him, and the urge to straddle France's lap for an even closer kiss is certainly there, but brushed aside.
And he's glad he did. His ears perk up at the thought of giving him a tour, regardless of whether or not France had been to this park before when he was here last. He takes the hand that had stolen his own for a kiss, and stands. Wordlessly, for now. Packing away what hadn't been finished yet, he picks up the cooler. It is enough to breathe in the evening.
From the park they can see various places they've visited in the past, and he's able to point gently or even just tilt his head towards them for the two of them to share a memory. The antique shop from their first date. The concert hall, whose memory has Austria staving off more fire within himself. When he finally does speak again, he remains somewhat reserved.]
Everything is very vivid, right now. I feel very... present, in the moment. [Alive?] That's an advantage to this week and the next one, this moon being out. ... I can see wonderfully at night. [The pause is as he realizes it may have sounded like a suggestion before he clarified. It hadn't been, at least not consciously. He remains cautious.] You understand what I mean, I hope. Any other interpretation would risk ruining the atmosphere, don't you think?
[It's France. Somehow he's worried about being too sexual for France and he's not sure when that happened. Seeing the man genuinely unsure of himself, after sex had been an escape from reality for the both of them... it feels as if anything adjacent to it would escape a reality that Austria, for once, doesn't want to let go of.
...Never mind that it's what finally caused them to be honest with each other here. Never mind that it did anything but ruin the atmosphere those years ago in the palace gardens.
He looks at his own feet, and as they continue to walk, his palms noticeably begin to sweat. Without thinking, he clasps France's hand more tightly, and his pace slows. Wine had a way of doing that.]
nor am i.
The silence after his own confession would be deafening if he weren't being smothered with kisses and pulled close. The warmth envelops him and it's almost too much. But it isn't; perhaps in some ways it does feel as if he's drowning, but what he's feeling is closer to addiction. He understands perfectly. Wordless exchanges were what he normally felt most comfortable with. And normally, it had been someone else offering those first words of affection, not Austria. This was the second time in his life that he'd confessed first, both times happening since he arrived at this place. But it's the first time he hasn't felt cornered into giving an answer, and the first time he's certain it isn't unrequited. Not with the clinging that it evoked in France, and not from the words that came from him once he pulled back.
Austria shakes his head, brushing France's hair away from his face. Though they aren't the three words, he feels them deeply regardless.] Not at all. It's just about all I've ever known how to do. And... without it, I'd be afraid my own feelings were some sort of repeated, chronic impulse, if there were such a thing, brought on by this place. [There is no such thing as a chronic impulse, and he knows it. But it still is sinking in.
His breath leaves him when France's lips touch his fingers. It isn't the first time by any means but it is so chaste, it is a moment he supposes feels as if it were made of crystal and mustn't be disturbed or taken down from its pedestal in any way. It's at odds with what the moon is bringing out in him, and the urge to straddle France's lap for an even closer kiss is certainly there, but brushed aside.
And he's glad he did. His ears perk up at the thought of giving him a tour, regardless of whether or not France had been to this park before when he was here last. He takes the hand that had stolen his own for a kiss, and stands. Wordlessly, for now. Packing away what hadn't been finished yet, he picks up the cooler. It is enough to breathe in the evening.
From the park they can see various places they've visited in the past, and he's able to point gently or even just tilt his head towards them for the two of them to share a memory. The antique shop from their first date. The concert hall, whose memory has Austria staving off more fire within himself. When he finally does speak again, he remains somewhat reserved.]
Everything is very vivid, right now. I feel very... present, in the moment. [Alive?] That's an advantage to this week and the next one, this moon being out. ... I can see wonderfully at night. [The pause is as he realizes it may have sounded like a suggestion before he clarified. It hadn't been, at least not consciously. He remains cautious.] You understand what I mean, I hope. Any other interpretation would risk ruining the atmosphere, don't you think?
[It's France. Somehow he's worried about being too sexual for France and he's not sure when that happened. Seeing the man genuinely unsure of himself, after sex had been an escape from reality for the both of them... it feels as if anything adjacent to it would escape a reality that Austria, for once, doesn't want to let go of.
...Never mind that it's what finally caused them to be honest with each other here. Never mind that it did anything but ruin the atmosphere those years ago in the palace gardens.
He looks at his own feet, and as they continue to walk, his palms noticeably begin to sweat. Without thinking, he clasps France's hand more tightly, and his pace slows. Wine had a way of doing that.]