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Entry tags:
In your silence [Sweden/Norway]
Title: In your silence
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Sweden/Norway
Rating: 15+
Length: ~900 words
Summary: The start of something new.
Other: Set some time during their first union in the early 1300s, during the reign of Magnus IV. Written for the APH anon meme impromptu smut-a-thon; prompt was "first kiss", though this is written more as "first kiss together" than "first kiss in general". [Original post]
In your silence
The embrace was too close, too tight to be strictly appropriate, but in the privacy of the bedchamber, did it really matter?
It lingered too long.
They didn't let go of each other.
Norway wondered if he should push Sweden away.
He decided, instead, to rest his head on his shoulder, and close his eyes.
"It's good to see you," Norway said quietly, for the first time that day. And it was; it was the truth. Though Norway had mixed feelings about their shared king, and the circumstances that had led to coexisting with Sweden under one crown, and their not-at-all-easy past together, well – over time, he had come to appreciate Sweden's company, on a strictly personal level. And it had been too long since they'd last seen one another.
And now, after the travel was finally over, and he was at Sweden's place again, to have a quiet moment like this together – it was nice.
Maybe it was more than nice.
Sweden mumbled some reply, nothing much. Just echoing the sentiment. But his hold on Norway tightened, as if he didn't want to let go of him, even though he knew that he should.
Norway considered this.
He also considered that it was evening now, and there was nothing that would call their attention until morning, and that what time they had before bed was entirely between them, and they could spend it however they wished.
Drawing away for a moment, he looked up at Sweden, regarding him carefully. There was a flush to Sweden's cheeks, a hint of embarrassment, sudden shyness. As if he knew that this closeness was not the closeness of friends or relatives, or the sort shared by those with a professional relationship.
But still, he didn't let go. If anything, his hold on Norway was more sure than it had been before.
So, Norway thought. That's how it is, is it?
He should have known. The way they'd last parted, months ago, had made him wonder. Sweden had been reluctant to let go of his hand. And the letter he'd sent in the meantime....
Well, Norway thought. How about that.
And after thinking on it a moment, he decided that he didn't object at all.
Instead of drawing away, as he rightfully should, he went up on his toes to kiss him: just light, gentle, soft, and lingering long enough that there was no way that Sweden would be uncertain as to what his intentions were. He ignored the tightness in his chest, the fluttering worry that maybe he had misinterpreted everything, and merely raised an eyebrow as he went back down, as if to ask him, 'What will you do now?'
Sweden gaped at him like a fish. Just for a moment. His hand went up, touching his lips, as if by doing that he might be sure that what happened had, in fact, taken place.
Norway waited.
The kiss that followed was full and firm, nothing like the careful softness that he'd just given him. It was as if Sweden had taken all the feelings that he'd let stew for months, gathered them together, and poured them over him all at once. Norway gasped against his mouth, his hands flying up to grab at Sweden's shoulders as Sweden pulled him close. It was, he thought, a little... sudden.
But he didn't complain about that, nor the way Sweden's tongue slipped past his lips, nor the way his hands slid down to his waist, gripping him and pulling him tightly against his hips. And he didn't object, either, when Sweden scooped him up as if he weighed nothing, and took him to bed.
They barely paused long enough to take each other's clothes off. "Let me," Norway whispered against Sweden's mouth, his breath quick and ragged as he tried to undress him. "Your hands – you keep fumbling with it." Not that he was having an easier time; his hands were shaking almost as much as Sweden's. But they were both wearing their good clothes, and it wouldn't do to rush. He found himself cursing his own impatience, that he hadn't told him to wait just long enough to take care of that little problem.
But eventually, they managed. Soon they were bare, and Sweden's mouth found his again, and they fell back against the mattress together, wrapped in each other's arms.
They spent the night kissing and touching each other, and when they finally rested, too exhausted from it all to do anything more, Norway decided that he had no regrets.
"How long?" Norway breathed, staring up at the ceiling, his hair plastered to his forehead. He felt exhausted and wrung-out and satisfied, but the question had been turning in his mind ever since the embrace.
"Hmm?"
"How long've you felt like this." How long have you wanted me, Norway thought, but didn't say.
Sweden pressed his face to Norway's neck. His cheeks were still warm, and whether it was from the sex or from embarrassment, he wasn't sure. "A while," he mumbled. "I... 's been a while."
Norway waited, but there was nothing else.
Instead of speaking, Sweden lifted a hand, gently brushing strands of hair out of Norway's face, then gently stroking his cheek, as if through that he might say everything that he could not.
As he tilted his head into the touch, Norway thought on it and decided that it was enough.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Sweden/Norway
Rating: 15+
Length: ~900 words
Summary: The start of something new.
Other: Set some time during their first union in the early 1300s, during the reign of Magnus IV. Written for the APH anon meme impromptu smut-a-thon; prompt was "first kiss", though this is written more as "first kiss together" than "first kiss in general". [Original post]
In your silence
The embrace was too close, too tight to be strictly appropriate, but in the privacy of the bedchamber, did it really matter?
It lingered too long.
They didn't let go of each other.
Norway wondered if he should push Sweden away.
He decided, instead, to rest his head on his shoulder, and close his eyes.
"It's good to see you," Norway said quietly, for the first time that day. And it was; it was the truth. Though Norway had mixed feelings about their shared king, and the circumstances that had led to coexisting with Sweden under one crown, and their not-at-all-easy past together, well – over time, he had come to appreciate Sweden's company, on a strictly personal level. And it had been too long since they'd last seen one another.
And now, after the travel was finally over, and he was at Sweden's place again, to have a quiet moment like this together – it was nice.
Maybe it was more than nice.
Sweden mumbled some reply, nothing much. Just echoing the sentiment. But his hold on Norway tightened, as if he didn't want to let go of him, even though he knew that he should.
Norway considered this.
He also considered that it was evening now, and there was nothing that would call their attention until morning, and that what time they had before bed was entirely between them, and they could spend it however they wished.
Drawing away for a moment, he looked up at Sweden, regarding him carefully. There was a flush to Sweden's cheeks, a hint of embarrassment, sudden shyness. As if he knew that this closeness was not the closeness of friends or relatives, or the sort shared by those with a professional relationship.
But still, he didn't let go. If anything, his hold on Norway was more sure than it had been before.
So, Norway thought. That's how it is, is it?
He should have known. The way they'd last parted, months ago, had made him wonder. Sweden had been reluctant to let go of his hand. And the letter he'd sent in the meantime....
Well, Norway thought. How about that.
And after thinking on it a moment, he decided that he didn't object at all.
Instead of drawing away, as he rightfully should, he went up on his toes to kiss him: just light, gentle, soft, and lingering long enough that there was no way that Sweden would be uncertain as to what his intentions were. He ignored the tightness in his chest, the fluttering worry that maybe he had misinterpreted everything, and merely raised an eyebrow as he went back down, as if to ask him, 'What will you do now?'
Sweden gaped at him like a fish. Just for a moment. His hand went up, touching his lips, as if by doing that he might be sure that what happened had, in fact, taken place.
Norway waited.
The kiss that followed was full and firm, nothing like the careful softness that he'd just given him. It was as if Sweden had taken all the feelings that he'd let stew for months, gathered them together, and poured them over him all at once. Norway gasped against his mouth, his hands flying up to grab at Sweden's shoulders as Sweden pulled him close. It was, he thought, a little... sudden.
But he didn't complain about that, nor the way Sweden's tongue slipped past his lips, nor the way his hands slid down to his waist, gripping him and pulling him tightly against his hips. And he didn't object, either, when Sweden scooped him up as if he weighed nothing, and took him to bed.
They barely paused long enough to take each other's clothes off. "Let me," Norway whispered against Sweden's mouth, his breath quick and ragged as he tried to undress him. "Your hands – you keep fumbling with it." Not that he was having an easier time; his hands were shaking almost as much as Sweden's. But they were both wearing their good clothes, and it wouldn't do to rush. He found himself cursing his own impatience, that he hadn't told him to wait just long enough to take care of that little problem.
But eventually, they managed. Soon they were bare, and Sweden's mouth found his again, and they fell back against the mattress together, wrapped in each other's arms.
They spent the night kissing and touching each other, and when they finally rested, too exhausted from it all to do anything more, Norway decided that he had no regrets.
"How long?" Norway breathed, staring up at the ceiling, his hair plastered to his forehead. He felt exhausted and wrung-out and satisfied, but the question had been turning in his mind ever since the embrace.
"Hmm?"
"How long've you felt like this." How long have you wanted me, Norway thought, but didn't say.
Sweden pressed his face to Norway's neck. His cheeks were still warm, and whether it was from the sex or from embarrassment, he wasn't sure. "A while," he mumbled. "I... 's been a while."
Norway waited, but there was nothing else.
Instead of speaking, Sweden lifted a hand, gently brushing strands of hair out of Norway's face, then gently stroking his cheek, as if through that he might say everything that he could not.
As he tilted his head into the touch, Norway thought on it and decided that it was enough.