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roesslyngTitle: As long as the summer night lasts
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Russia/Norway
Rating: 18+
Length: ~800 words
Summary: It wasn't easy for Norway to get up to Tromsø. But now that he's here, they'll have to savour their time together.
Other: Set during the Svensk-Norska union; not going to put a date on it, but at least 10 years after 1814.
Was playing around with an idea in which Russia is Norway's only personal relationship during the 18th and 19th centuries (so, no Denmark/Norway or Sweden/Norway). It doesn't come through here much, even though I intended it to be in the background. Will revisit the idea at a different time.
As long as the summer night lasts
The evening sun spilling in through the window is too bright. They didn't take enough care with pulling the curtains shut before they went to bed and now the light is sharp in Norway's eyes.
He closes them. No need to see, anyway. He knows where he is, and he knows who he's with.
Tromsø is lively at this time of year. The ships from the White Sea have come.
Russia's hands at his wrists are sturdy and strong. Just a moment ago they were down below, stroking and easing him, and Norway isn't sure if it's the work of those familiar fingers or the heat of the summer air that's causing sweat to bead on his brow tonight.
Now those hands have him held fast. He's sprawled out and open, pinned down to the bed, trapped.
He wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
Getting up here called for choosing his words carefully. Being on his best behaviour. And isn't that a piss-off – having to lick the ass of someone he'd rather punch in the face.
Sweden tries Norway's patience. The many talks Norway had with him before travelling north were exhausting.
Norway knows what Sweden's reasons are for all this. And he knows, in his place, the decisions he'd make might not be so different. He knows exactly why Sweden keeps a close eye on him. Why he has said many times that Norway doesn't have leave to go wherever he wants.
But Sweden isn't here now. Norway wore him down eventually. Got permission eventually.
Thank heavens for that.
Russia's voice by his ear is both breathy and affectionate, murmuring some halfway-coherent nothings that Norway can't quite make out. It's a miracle he can say much at all with the way they're rocking together in the summer heat, pressed as close as skin.
A soft "Yes," is all Norway can manage. Yes.
It's good.
It's been too long.
Far too long. Not much in the span of their whole lives, it's true, but it's also true that it has been years. All the while, Norway has ached for him. He ached for his hands and his lips, for the softness of Russia's hair against his cheek, for the broad shape of his body between his legs. For the warmth of his voice and the feeling of Russia's cock buried inside of him to the hilt.
He still aches now, but it's different. It has been an age, and Norway knows he will be sore in the morning. But he isn't about to complain about it.
Russia finishes first. Releases one of Norway's hands to cup at his face and kiss him deep. That allows Norway to dip a hand low. He brings himself over in seconds, muffling his groans against the mouth he's longed for and missed and dreamed about in the slice of time that they have been apart.
They slow, and breathe, and rest together.
Norway wraps his arms around Russia. Sinks his fingers into his hair, soft, dampened with sweat.
"Oh, it's so good to have you again." Russia's voice against his neck is a sigh. More sweet nothings.
Norway keeps his eyes shut. The sun in the window is warm, kissing his eyelids.
I've missed you wouldn't be appropriate. Not that he thinks Russia would mind. But it's the principle of the thing. There are some things he just can't say, things that aren't in his nature to say, and both of them know this. So he just whispers, "I know," and hopes he'll understand.
He gets a soft murmur for that. Maybe it sunk in, Norway thinks. Or maybe he's too content to ask about it.
It doesn't matter.
Later, they'll talk, he knows. Or Russia will talk, telling him of all the things that he has missed in the time that they haven't seen each other, through all the summers that they haven't been able to meet.
But for the moment, he says nothing.
Silence is better. For a moment like this, at least.
And that is why Norway stays quiet. Why he listens to Russia's breath fluttering heavy and thick against his collarbone. Why he doesn't ask him to move even though Russia is big and heavy and still inside of him.
It's better, at a moment like this, to say nothing, and savour it, because he knows that it won't last. They only have as long as the trading season, and no longer. When the ships sail north and east, heavy with their cargo, Russia will go with them. And Norway will go south – not to home, where he belongs, but to dreary Stockholm. To noise and confinement and piercing blue eyes that follow him everywhere.
But if all goes well, they will have the next season. And the next. And so on, just as it was for years before.
This time is theirs, and theirs alone.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Russia/Norway
Rating: 18+
Length: ~800 words
Summary: It wasn't easy for Norway to get up to Tromsø. But now that he's here, they'll have to savour their time together.
Other: Set during the Svensk-Norska union; not going to put a date on it, but at least 10 years after 1814.
Was playing around with an idea in which Russia is Norway's only personal relationship during the 18th and 19th centuries (so, no Denmark/Norway or Sweden/Norway). It doesn't come through here much, even though I intended it to be in the background. Will revisit the idea at a different time.
As long as the summer night lasts
The evening sun spilling in through the window is too bright. They didn't take enough care with pulling the curtains shut before they went to bed and now the light is sharp in Norway's eyes.
He closes them. No need to see, anyway. He knows where he is, and he knows who he's with.
Tromsø is lively at this time of year. The ships from the White Sea have come.
Russia's hands at his wrists are sturdy and strong. Just a moment ago they were down below, stroking and easing him, and Norway isn't sure if it's the work of those familiar fingers or the heat of the summer air that's causing sweat to bead on his brow tonight.
Now those hands have him held fast. He's sprawled out and open, pinned down to the bed, trapped.
He wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
Getting up here called for choosing his words carefully. Being on his best behaviour. And isn't that a piss-off – having to lick the ass of someone he'd rather punch in the face.
Sweden tries Norway's patience. The many talks Norway had with him before travelling north were exhausting.
Norway knows what Sweden's reasons are for all this. And he knows, in his place, the decisions he'd make might not be so different. He knows exactly why Sweden keeps a close eye on him. Why he has said many times that Norway doesn't have leave to go wherever he wants.
But Sweden isn't here now. Norway wore him down eventually. Got permission eventually.
Thank heavens for that.
Russia's voice by his ear is both breathy and affectionate, murmuring some halfway-coherent nothings that Norway can't quite make out. It's a miracle he can say much at all with the way they're rocking together in the summer heat, pressed as close as skin.
A soft "Yes," is all Norway can manage. Yes.
It's good.
It's been too long.
Far too long. Not much in the span of their whole lives, it's true, but it's also true that it has been years. All the while, Norway has ached for him. He ached for his hands and his lips, for the softness of Russia's hair against his cheek, for the broad shape of his body between his legs. For the warmth of his voice and the feeling of Russia's cock buried inside of him to the hilt.
He still aches now, but it's different. It has been an age, and Norway knows he will be sore in the morning. But he isn't about to complain about it.
Russia finishes first. Releases one of Norway's hands to cup at his face and kiss him deep. That allows Norway to dip a hand low. He brings himself over in seconds, muffling his groans against the mouth he's longed for and missed and dreamed about in the slice of time that they have been apart.
They slow, and breathe, and rest together.
Norway wraps his arms around Russia. Sinks his fingers into his hair, soft, dampened with sweat.
"Oh, it's so good to have you again." Russia's voice against his neck is a sigh. More sweet nothings.
Norway keeps his eyes shut. The sun in the window is warm, kissing his eyelids.
I've missed you wouldn't be appropriate. Not that he thinks Russia would mind. But it's the principle of the thing. There are some things he just can't say, things that aren't in his nature to say, and both of them know this. So he just whispers, "I know," and hopes he'll understand.
He gets a soft murmur for that. Maybe it sunk in, Norway thinks. Or maybe he's too content to ask about it.
It doesn't matter.
Later, they'll talk, he knows. Or Russia will talk, telling him of all the things that he has missed in the time that they haven't seen each other, through all the summers that they haven't been able to meet.
But for the moment, he says nothing.
Silence is better. For a moment like this, at least.
And that is why Norway stays quiet. Why he listens to Russia's breath fluttering heavy and thick against his collarbone. Why he doesn't ask him to move even though Russia is big and heavy and still inside of him.
It's better, at a moment like this, to say nothing, and savour it, because he knows that it won't last. They only have as long as the trading season, and no longer. When the ships sail north and east, heavy with their cargo, Russia will go with them. And Norway will go south – not to home, where he belongs, but to dreary Stockholm. To noise and confinement and piercing blue eyes that follow him everywhere.
But if all goes well, they will have the next season. And the next. And so on, just as it was for years before.
This time is theirs, and theirs alone.
Tags:
!
Date: 2018-09-27 07:18 pm (UTC)Re: !
Date: 2018-09-28 12:22 am (UTC)Rare indeed, yeah. Their historical relationship is so interesting though, especially in the context of their trade relationship. I love exploring it. *_*