Entry tags:
And you are the sea as it glides [Norway/Netherlands]
Title: And you are the sea as it glides
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Norway/Netherlands
Rating: 18+
Length: 1k
Summary: He gives himself up to the hands that pull him under.
Other: Contains breathplay, bondage, blindfolds, and drowning metaphors. Original idea came from a discussion with![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
handelaar.
Title from "Sea as it glides" by Julie Byrne. Thanks to Elleth for the suggestion. :)
And you are the sea as it glides
The air is much thinner at Norway's place than what Netherlands is accustomed to, but that isn't the reason he finds himself short of breath.
It's because of Norway's hands. Gripping, pressing at his throat, surprisingly strong.
And the masking tape over his mouth – there's that, too.
Netherlands closes his eyes beneath the blindfold and gives himself up to it.
There are few nations he'd trust with something like this. Norway, thorough and meticulous and ruthless, is one of them.
He can't see Norway's hands, but he can imagine the way they look. He knows them well enough. They are long-fingered, the nails neatly-trimmed. Scrubbed clean and fresh after a morning in the garden. A little bit rough at the tips. Yeah, he knows those hands; he's had them on him more than once. In him. Pressing into his mouth.
Now, as Norway slowly crushes his windpipe, he knows them in a way he hasn't before.
Those hands affect him way more than he expected, the pain and the lack of oxygen fucking with his head like nothing else. The sensation goes straight to his cock, flushed and full and aching to be touched. Hell, if his mouth were free, he might even beg him for it.
It isn't the first time he's glad that they are what they are, the both of them. They wouldn't be able to do this any other way.
Heady. Trapped. His body is struggling. Norway's grip tightens, presses him down steady and firm.
Like he's done this before. Like he knows what he's doing.
The sensation reminds him of drowning. Of being weighed down by his clothing, all those layers pulling him under. But there's no sting of salt water in his eyes here, and the pressure on his chest is only from the weight of Norway's body as he balances himself there.
There's no chance that he'll be caught in the current, pulled with it for days, unable to claw his way back to the surface.
Fuck, if only he could open his mouth. If it weren't for the tape. If it weren't for that, he could lick his lips. Make a show of it. Tempt him like that. Norway, who tries so damn hard to seem put together, wouldn't be able to resist the sight of his damp lips parted just so.
Netherlands knows what he'd do. Grip him by the hair with one hand, grab his jaw with the other. Force him to open wide for his cock. Shove in, knowing he can be rough with him. Fingernails digging into Netherlands' scalp as he fucks his mouth.
He can imagine it. Tears pricking at the corner of his eyes beneath the blindfold. Breathing heavy and hot, laboured from Norway thrusting into his mouth. He can almost taste the salt at his head.
But this isn't like that.
The tape is there. The rope at his wrists is there, like rigging holding him in place. He can't grab at Norway's hips, force him forward so he can mouth desperately at his dick. Too bad. Netherlands can imagine the startled sound Norway would make from that, the way he'd gasp, maybe pause for a second or two to decide if he wants to pull away just to be contrary. Then he'd moan and give in. God, that's always amazing.
Netherlands isn't above looking desperate if it means he gets what he wants. In the bedroom, at least.
He aches. His lungs burn from the lack of air. Like drowning. Like saltwater. The desperate need in his cock is like nothing else; he bucks and feels nothing, no strong hand gripping him, no warm body to grind against. And Norway's hands stay as they are, secure around his throat. Like the ocean pulling him down, down, just far enough.
He feels movement. Hot breath tickling close to his ear.
"Be patient, won't you."
Netherlands whimpers in spite of himself, too far gone to be embarrassed about it. Nods, just a fractional movement. Those words, and the sound of Norway's voice, thick and heavy, give him a reason to pause.
Patient? Sure, he can be patient.
Suddenly, the hands at his neck aren't so steady. One lifts. Moves away. He doesn't know where.
All he feels is Norway's other hand, still there, nails digging into the soft skin at his neck. All he hears is Norway's breathing, suddenly harsh in the stillness of everything, until Norway gasps and Netherlands feels a splash of moisture against his cheek.
Fuck.
Hips jerking up, as if to give some relief to his aching, untouched cock. Breathing sharp, desperate. Eyes damp under the blindfold. Netherlands sobs against the tape as he comes.
Fuck. That was....
Long, long seconds. And silence.
For a moment absolutely nothing happens, except that Norway's hand eases off of him. Lets go of his neck. Fingertips resting lightly at Netherlands' collarbone. Stroking gently along the curve of it, almost cautiously.
Netherlands breathes as oxygen slips back into his lungs. Deep. Slow. Dazed as hell.
Norway's come cools on his face.
Those hands move. Slowly. Up to his face, cupping it gently before getting to work on the tape. Norway takes his time removing it, but finally, Netherlands can breathe again.
He takes a big gulp of air, feeling half-drowned and wrung out. Says nothing as Norway moves off from his chest and reaches to loosen the ropes at his wrists.
He just lets them fall.
The kisses are like sunlight on his face. Gentle brushes against his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth. Netherlands keeps his eyes shut, drinking in that warmth as Norway pours it on him.
Norway's caresses are nothing like the pressure from moments ago. But he doesn't take any less care with it. And it isn't any less overwhelming.
And Netherlands knows, though he damn well would never admit it, that giving himself up to this doesn't require any less trust.
Just as much. Hell, maybe more.
He breathes deeply, then pulls Norway close, and drowns himself against his lips.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Norway/Netherlands
Rating: 18+
Length: 1k
Summary: He gives himself up to the hands that pull him under.
Other: Contains breathplay, bondage, blindfolds, and drowning metaphors. Original idea came from a discussion with
handelaar.Title from "Sea as it glides" by Julie Byrne. Thanks to Elleth for the suggestion. :)
And you are the sea as it glides
The air is much thinner at Norway's place than what Netherlands is accustomed to, but that isn't the reason he finds himself short of breath.
It's because of Norway's hands. Gripping, pressing at his throat, surprisingly strong.
And the masking tape over his mouth – there's that, too.
Netherlands closes his eyes beneath the blindfold and gives himself up to it.
There are few nations he'd trust with something like this. Norway, thorough and meticulous and ruthless, is one of them.
He can't see Norway's hands, but he can imagine the way they look. He knows them well enough. They are long-fingered, the nails neatly-trimmed. Scrubbed clean and fresh after a morning in the garden. A little bit rough at the tips. Yeah, he knows those hands; he's had them on him more than once. In him. Pressing into his mouth.
Now, as Norway slowly crushes his windpipe, he knows them in a way he hasn't before.
Those hands affect him way more than he expected, the pain and the lack of oxygen fucking with his head like nothing else. The sensation goes straight to his cock, flushed and full and aching to be touched. Hell, if his mouth were free, he might even beg him for it.
It isn't the first time he's glad that they are what they are, the both of them. They wouldn't be able to do this any other way.
Heady. Trapped. His body is struggling. Norway's grip tightens, presses him down steady and firm.
Like he's done this before. Like he knows what he's doing.
The sensation reminds him of drowning. Of being weighed down by his clothing, all those layers pulling him under. But there's no sting of salt water in his eyes here, and the pressure on his chest is only from the weight of Norway's body as he balances himself there.
There's no chance that he'll be caught in the current, pulled with it for days, unable to claw his way back to the surface.
Fuck, if only he could open his mouth. If it weren't for the tape. If it weren't for that, he could lick his lips. Make a show of it. Tempt him like that. Norway, who tries so damn hard to seem put together, wouldn't be able to resist the sight of his damp lips parted just so.
Netherlands knows what he'd do. Grip him by the hair with one hand, grab his jaw with the other. Force him to open wide for his cock. Shove in, knowing he can be rough with him. Fingernails digging into Netherlands' scalp as he fucks his mouth.
He can imagine it. Tears pricking at the corner of his eyes beneath the blindfold. Breathing heavy and hot, laboured from Norway thrusting into his mouth. He can almost taste the salt at his head.
But this isn't like that.
The tape is there. The rope at his wrists is there, like rigging holding him in place. He can't grab at Norway's hips, force him forward so he can mouth desperately at his dick. Too bad. Netherlands can imagine the startled sound Norway would make from that, the way he'd gasp, maybe pause for a second or two to decide if he wants to pull away just to be contrary. Then he'd moan and give in. God, that's always amazing.
Netherlands isn't above looking desperate if it means he gets what he wants. In the bedroom, at least.
He aches. His lungs burn from the lack of air. Like drowning. Like saltwater. The desperate need in his cock is like nothing else; he bucks and feels nothing, no strong hand gripping him, no warm body to grind against. And Norway's hands stay as they are, secure around his throat. Like the ocean pulling him down, down, just far enough.
He feels movement. Hot breath tickling close to his ear.
"Be patient, won't you."
Netherlands whimpers in spite of himself, too far gone to be embarrassed about it. Nods, just a fractional movement. Those words, and the sound of Norway's voice, thick and heavy, give him a reason to pause.
Patient? Sure, he can be patient.
Suddenly, the hands at his neck aren't so steady. One lifts. Moves away. He doesn't know where.
All he feels is Norway's other hand, still there, nails digging into the soft skin at his neck. All he hears is Norway's breathing, suddenly harsh in the stillness of everything, until Norway gasps and Netherlands feels a splash of moisture against his cheek.
Fuck.
Hips jerking up, as if to give some relief to his aching, untouched cock. Breathing sharp, desperate. Eyes damp under the blindfold. Netherlands sobs against the tape as he comes.
Fuck. That was....
Long, long seconds. And silence.
For a moment absolutely nothing happens, except that Norway's hand eases off of him. Lets go of his neck. Fingertips resting lightly at Netherlands' collarbone. Stroking gently along the curve of it, almost cautiously.
Netherlands breathes as oxygen slips back into his lungs. Deep. Slow. Dazed as hell.
Norway's come cools on his face.
Those hands move. Slowly. Up to his face, cupping it gently before getting to work on the tape. Norway takes his time removing it, but finally, Netherlands can breathe again.
He takes a big gulp of air, feeling half-drowned and wrung out. Says nothing as Norway moves off from his chest and reaches to loosen the ropes at his wrists.
He just lets them fall.
The kisses are like sunlight on his face. Gentle brushes against his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth. Netherlands keeps his eyes shut, drinking in that warmth as Norway pours it on him.
Norway's caresses are nothing like the pressure from moments ago. But he doesn't take any less care with it. And it isn't any less overwhelming.
And Netherlands knows, though he damn well would never admit it, that giving himself up to this doesn't require any less trust.
Just as much. Hell, maybe more.
He breathes deeply, then pulls Norway close, and drowns himself against his lips.