“They said you would be here,” said the Netherlands. In his pale hand he held a bouquet of brightly coloured tulips, the buds on the cusp of blooming.

Indonesia closed the distance between them in two, three quick strides. He threw his arms over Netherlands’ (tall, lean, firm) shoulders and dragged him down for a kiss. Lips locked together, hands wrapped around one another, the two staggered in an ungainly tangle of limbs across the width of the garage until they bumped into the workbench set against the wall.

With lithe ease, Indonesia slid up onto the counter on his bum. Netherlands’ hands fumbled at the waistband of Indonesia’s tracksuit bottoms, his white long fingers hooking in and pulling down, cool against Indonesia’s heated flesh. Indonesia lifted his hips and shimmied eagerly out of his pants. His own hands, clad in work gloves, clawed at the collar of Netherlands’ shirt, wanting to tear it off.

“You’re getting motor oil all over me,” Netherlands murmured, his tone genial. Deftly, he caught Indonesia by his wrists and pulled them to one side. Indonesia writhed bodily as his hands snatched futilely at thin air.

“Want you… need you… to touch you…” he keened.

Netherlands’ lips twitched into a near imperceptible smile. Pinning Indonesia’s hands above his head, he leaned over and pressed their lips together in a deep kiss. He could feel Indonesia acquiescing underneath him, appeased, but his body still quivered like a tightly strung cord.

Reaching down with his free hand, Netherlands palmed at the growing erection in between Indonesia’s legs. A sharp gasp escaped Indonesia’s kiss-swollen lips.

“F-fuck!” he hissed. His eyes fluttered shut as he thrust desperately into Netherlands’ hand.

Matching his urgency, Netherlands wrapped his hand around Indonesia’s cock and squeezed, which incited a delicious whimper from the latter. He thumbed at the frenulum and swiped over the head of Indonesia’s glans, thinly spreading the pre-cum that was beading at the tip. Indonesia jerked at the touch and attempted to wrest his hands out of Netherlands’ grasp.

“Unhand me!” he snarled, his eyes black and wild.

Bucking bodily, he kicked out at the Netherlands – a move that was impeded by his pants scrunched around his feet. Netherlands simply held him down by his thigh. The sound Indonesia emitted at being thwarted was downright animalistic.

“Don't fight me,” Netherlands murmured, his tone still light, but imperious. There was an echo of the old colonial master slipping in, unbidden and commanding. And, in answer to a resurfacing habit, Indonesia fell limp, pliant. Obedient.

“Good boy.”

Indonesia swallowed his shame as a stab of lust went straight to his groin.

Netherlands’ hand worked slowly, achingly slowly, to stoke his arousal. From the base to the tip, Netherlands massaged Indonesia’s length until it was practically weeping. A trickle of cum, thick and white and sticky, slid into Netherlands’ palm. He slicked it along Indonesia’s cock and began pumping in earnest.

Indonesia was trembling so hard that his breath came out in short, jerky, hitching gasps. He hung his head and let out a little whimper of want. A tight, coiling sensation was growing in the pit of his stomach… he was close… and it would have been easy, so perfectly wonderfully simple, to give in to Netherlands’ ministrations…

With a burst of determination, Indonesia wrenched his hands free of Netherlands’ grasp and, capitalising on Netherlands’ surprise, hooked his arms around his neck and pulled him down so their faces were mere inches apart.

“I want you too,” he said breathlessly. “Please, you too… you too, sayang…”

Netherlands’ jaw clenched. Suddenly, he pushed Indonesia down onto the counter. His hand paused mid-stroke on Indonesia’s dick, causing the latter to let out an unhappy whimpering protest. With his free hand, he undid the fly of his trousers and brought out his own achingly hard cock.

Indonesia watched with bated breath as Netherlands aligned their cocks together and resumed stroking.

The heat, the hardness, the sheer glorious velvety sensation… It was almost too much. Throwing back his head, Indonesia let out a low moan of uninhibited pleasure. As Netherlands dipped down and nipped at his bared throat, Indonesia’s clawing hands found purchase on the back of his shirt, his fingernails scratching uselessly within the confines of his gloves.

It wasn’t long before Indonesia came with a shuddering groan. His release spurted in small wet ropes that adorned the chest and torso of his grease-stained singlet – as well as the side of his chin. The sight of the stray cum on Indonesia’s face – pearly white on sun-kissed skin – pushed Netherlands to finish, and he came too with a muted grunt.

The two paused to catch their breaths as they climbed down from the giddying heights of their climax. Netherlands rested his forehead on Indonesia’s as they shared the sparse air between them. Then, Indonesia pulled away and flopped uncomfortably back onto the work counter. His chest heaved. He was hot and sticky all over with sweat and spend, and he yearned deeply for a cold bath.

Netherlands’ hand traced along the curve of Indonesia’s cheek and gently cupped the side of his face. Slowly, their lips met in a soft, languid kiss. A different kind of ache was blooming now inside of Indonesia. It almost hurt.

Indonesia held Netherlands’ hand on his cheek with his own and slowly interlocked their fingers together.

“Welcome back,” he whispered.

Japan blinked. Lightly, with the tip of his forefinger, he traced the angry red welts that littered Netherlands’ back. These were new, barely healed, and deep. Netherlands flinched under his touch.

“Does it hurt?” Japan asked softly.

Netherlands looked over his shoulder and met his eyes. “Mmn,” was all he emitted around the tobacco pipe clamped between his teeth.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Japan leaned down and gently kissed one of the raised welts. With his lips hovering over Netherlands’ skin, he asked, “What kind of a person is this, ah, koibito of yours?”

He had to repeat the word again – koibito. And he traced the kanji for koi on the palm of Netherlands’ hand. Ten little strokes representing love, yearning, romance.

Netherlands’ face was still as a calm lake, but his green eyes were fixed with an intensity to the invisible character in his palm.

“Someone invaluable,” he finally said.

He turned away and removed the pipe from his mouth. Japan felt he was being dismissed. That he couldn’t stand. He kissed Netherlands’ back again, softly at first, then with pressure. His lips latched to Netherlands’ skin, and he sucked hard enough to leave his own mark.

In a thrice, Netherlands spun around and grabbed hold of Japan by the collar of his yukata, slamming him down onto the floor. Japan’s breath expelled violently from his lungs as he landed on his back. He stared up at Netherlands’ face which rippled now with irritation. A lake disturbed from a small thrown pebble.

“Don’t do that,” Netherlands ground out tightly.

Japan raised his hand and gently cupped the side of Netherlands’ face. I’m sorry, was his unspoken plea, his eyes dropping in a display of contrition.

Netherlands’ frown slowly melted as his anger abated. He leaned into Japan’s palm, planting a small kiss to the inside of Japan’s wrist, over his pulse, in forgiveness.

They bridged the space between them easily as their lips met with a long-practised familiarity. Netherlands’ hands slid underneath Japan’s yukata, and tenderly, carefully, he unwrapped Japan from its confines, pulling it over his small shoulders and down to bunch around his obi. Japan’s foot slid up the tatami floor as he raised his knee and pressed it in between Netherlands’ legs.

“I want you,” Japan said softly, practically sighing in the sultry manner he knew to excite Netherlands. When Netherlands reached down, however, Japan caught his hand and held it still. “No, he whispered, and slowly he thumbed across Netherlands’ lips. “Sono kuchi dake desu.”

Netherlands’ mouth twitched in the corners with the faintest trace of a smile. Without hesitation, he descended on Japan and spread his legs apart, kissing the tip of Japan’s member which jumped to life at the touch of his lips. As he engulfed Japan’s length into the warmth of his mouth, Japan arched his back and sighed in pleasure. His hand fell to rest on Netherlands’ head, twirling his fingers into the straw of Netherlands’ hair, as the latter pleasured him thoroughly.

Tomorrow Netherlands would leave Dejima and sail back to the one he calls his kostbaarst sieraad. But in this moment, at least, in the balm of a late spring evening, they belonged only to one another.

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Translations:

恋人 (koibito) = “lover”; “significant other”

その口だけです (sono kuchi dake desu) = “[use] only your mouth”

kostbaarst sieraad = “most precious jewel”

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Historical contexts:

Japan-Netherlands relations Under the Tokugawa shogunate’s isolationist foreign policy of sakoku or “locked country”, the Dutch emerged as Japan’s sole link to the West. Despite being confined to Dejima, a man-made island off the coast of Nagasaki, Dutch traders facilitated the exchange of ideas between Japanese and Dutch scholars. This led to the establishment of rangaku or “Dutch studies” which enabled Japan to stay abreast of Western advancements.