Metanoia - A Greece X Turkey Fanfic

Part 13

[A/N: This got weird and horny. Enjoy.]

"What's this?" Heracles asked. He finished wiping his wet hands on his pants and he stepped out of the kitchen, only to find Sadik squatting on the floor. 

Sadik looked up from the DVD case in his hands. "Did you wash the cups?"

"I was putting things in the sink anyways..."

"I told you that you didn't have to!" He rose to his feet instantly.

"Careful old man, you don't want to throw out your back."

Sadik glared at him, but there was no honest anger behind his eyes. "No more of that. If you need anything, ask me."

"I'm not trying to shame you with your debt, old man." Sadik reached out to knock him across the head for that, but Heracles dodged just in time. He cackled his way to the couch, wondering if he was just as insufferable when guests came to visit. The answer was most likely true; he and Iakovos made quite the pair. Heracles would be the one to insist that their guests remain seated or bring out the drinks, while his younger brother would scold them if they tried to deflect generosity. Xenia was bilateral — the more you gave, the more you received. However,  there was something lovely and warm that developed in his chest when he pampered others. Service was...pleasurable. "Anyways, I was talking about that." He pointed to the large, rectangular box under the television set. "How old is that DVD player?"

"I got it in the early 2000s, so...yeah. It still works perfectly! Don't tell me that you've gotten rid of yours."

"Iakovos and I don't watch too much T.V. We've got, like, the bare minimum channels on cable and call it a day. I'm sure our player is somewhere in the attic."

"It's good to preserve such things. Consumerism will the be the death of modern society." Sadik clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"Our artifacts will one day be preserved in a museum." Heracles gestured for Sadik to toss him the DVD case. Sadik pointedly chose to exert himself reaching over the table, and placed it in Heracles' grasp. He rolled his eyes.

It seemed like an early 2000s reprint. The back of the case featured a cryptic summary in both English and Arabic. He glanced at the spine, and — ah — there it was. The long, white lines of worn plastic. "How many times have you seen it, again?"

"More than I can count. It's become a tradition for me to watch it annually."

"Out of love for this Omar Sharif person?"

"Oi. Say his name with respect. Omar bey, or — no, no, for you, it should be Omar amca. Muhterem Omar would also sound good from you."

"Kírie Sharif will be enough, dede."

"Oh, so now the language comes back to you!" Still preoccupied with the television, he reached behind and grabbed one of the throw pillows. Heracles would have complimented him on the dexterity had Sadik's next move not been to chuck it towards him. "Do you have no other joke?" he asked, barely audible over Heracle's cackling. "You're so immature."

It was funny, evidenced by how he could not contain his laughter. "It's what riles you up the most. And it's true, isn't it? What, don't tell me that..."

Oh.

The words were right there on his tongue. He hadn't even spoken them into reality, but merely conjuring them in his mind was a slap to the face.

Oh. 

His abdomen went cold with the instinctual wrongness of the thought, but it refused to leave. He'd thought that his familiarity to this gut-churning sensation would have trained him to mitigate it — or better yet, abandon such proclivities entirely — but it hadn't.