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Entry tags:
Snowlight [Sweden/Germany]
Title: Snowlight
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Sweden/Germany
Rating: 18+
Length: 5k
Summary: When Sweden invites Germany over to his place, Germany isn't sure if he only wants company. Should he hope for more?
Other: Written for Ama for FTH. <3 Thank you! Beta reading by bubblemoon66 (also via FTH).
Snowlight
The air was sharp and cold, and Stockholm's old town was lit up brightly against the winter's dark.
Snow drifted lazily down, catching in the warm glow of shops and street lamps, scattering the light. It settled in a fine powder on Sweden and Germany's dark coats and packed tightly under their feet as they walked through the narrow cobblestone streets.
"Here," Sweden said, nodding toward a slim alley, where the door leading up to an apartment was barely visible. He led the way, and Germany followed close behind, chin tucked into his coat against the chill.
They would both be warm soon.
Germany had expected something different from Sweden's apartment. The sleek, modern designs his people were known for, perhaps. Bright white and simplicity everywhere. Open space.
The small flat was the exact opposite of what he had anticipated. Inside, it was cozy and intimate, having an old-fashioned look to it. It was as if the current occupant had moved in decades ago and had kept things as they had always been. Despite the settled appearance, it was impeccably tidy. The furniture was dark and comfortable-looking, and bookshelves lined the living room walls. Lamps spilled warm light into the room, offsetting the chill that had been left behind outside.
It suited Sweden, Germany thought.
The invitation to join him for the evening had been unexpected, but not at all unwelcome. Though some nations were put off by Sweden's laconic nature, Germany found him easy to get along with. To say nothing of the fact that time with Sweden would be much more pleasant than the alternative of an evening spent alone, catching up on work in a hotel room. Germany hadn't needed to consider the offer at all before accepting, and as he sank into one of those comfortable chairs, he didn't anticipate he'd regret the choice.
Still, there was one matter he knew he had to address.
"I would like to be clear on this," he said, taking the bottle of beer Sweden offered him. "You didn't ask me here to discuss business, correct?"
Sweden let out a grunt of acknowledgement as he settled down into the armchair across from him. "Had enough of business today," he said. "This's pleasure."
Though Sweden was difficult to read at the best of times, Germany detected the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
The answer was not unexpected. They had spent most of the day on official matters, and Sweden's suggestion that Germany join him that evening for a beer and some company had been casually given. The confirmation that this would be a time to relax a little was reassuring. Nevertheless, the warmth in Sweden's words left Germany feeling awkward. "I'm glad. But, I, ah... I'm not one of the nations with a reputation for being good at conversation," Germany admitted. It was unnecessary – by now, Sweden had enough experience with him to be fully aware of that.
Sweden let out a soft chuckle. "I know. But neither'm I."
"I see."
"Just happy to have you here."
It wasn't the sort of thing Germany heard often. Warmth spread over his cheeks, and he worried that even in the low light, it might be visible. He had no way to hide the blush, and no excuse for it either. He met Sweden's eyes, wondering if he noticed, but there was nothing in that firm, unreadable expression that gave anything away at all.
A part of Germany hoped that Sweden did notice and that the flattery was on purpose. Did he dare hope that there was more to this visit than pleasantries?
It would not be the first time for such a thing to happen between them. He and Sweden had, over the years, spent the occasional evening together – the kind of evening that started with talk and drinks and ended in the bedroom. But there was never any pattern to Sweden's advances. Far more frequently an invitation for drinks and conversation and company proved to be nothing more than that. Germany had learned over time not to anticipate anything more, to take the offers for what they were, and to accept anything further as a rare pleasure – even if he would much rather have everything laid out without ambiguity.
"I'm glad that you asked me to join you." Germany swallowed, and decided to take a gamble. "It's better than spending the night by myself."
Sweden tilted his head. "Y'get lonely?"
"Of course not!" It came out more sharply, more blustery than intended. Instantly Germany wished he hadn't said anything. Admitting to his loneliness was always embarrassing, and having Sweden suspect it was almost as bad, even if there was no judgment in his eyes.
He cleared his throat, waving a hand as if to clear the air. "I only meant that it's more enjoyable to spend this time with someone else." But a thought suddenly occurred to him, and he couldn't stop himself from asking. "Do you? Find yourself lonely sometimes, I mean."
Sweden made a soft sound of acknowledgement. "Sometimes," he said. Then paused, and gave Germany a knowing look. "But not now."
After a while, Sweden rummaged in the drawer of a side table and pulled out a pack of cards. They ended up playing a game of bezique, and Germany found himself recalling similar evenings, with alcohol, low light, and spending time with someone whose impressions of him he was not entirely sure of.
Sweden's voice was a low rumble. "First time we played this. Remember that?"
Germany searched back in his mind and found himself unable to place it. Their time together so often went in a similar direction, no matter how it ultimately ended, it was difficult to recall them as separate incidents. "I'm afraid not."
"Was a night like this. Cold." Sweden lifted his gaze from his cards to Germany's face. "You had beginner's luck."
As simple as that, he remembered. The blush spread over Germany's cheeks again, creeping up over his ears. "Ah. Right." He cleared his throat. "That was a very long time ago."
"Not all that long."
"To you, I suppose not."
It had been at the very end of the nineteenth century, when Germany was learning to feel comfortable in his own skin and Sweden was still sharing his home with Norway. Germany had admired them both and found his attraction deepening the more time he spent in their company, but hadn't dared to hope for any personal interest from either of them.
He had been wrong.
Germany licked his lips. It was difficult to think of the right thing to say, as difficult as it had been over a hundred years ago. Words rarely came easily to him, to say nothing of intimate overtures, but to think that now his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth in the same way that it had then – it was embarrassing. He wasn't an inexperienced young man any more.
For the moment, he settled for silence.
Sweden said nothing more on the subject, continuing to make his plays. Though Germany observed him closely, it was difficult to ascertain if the quiet was due to awkwardness or feeling comfortable with one another. As much as he hoped it was the latter, Germany could not discount the possibility of the former.
Running over their conversation in his mind, he picked it apart. There was nothing in what he had said that was too forward, too flustered, or too clumsy. And yet, perhaps admitting that he remembered that night hadn't been the right thing to say – if not in general, then to achieve the results he wanted. Sweden's hints had sounded like an invitation for more, but it was impossible to be sure. As he searched Sweden's face for some clue, all he found was the usual impenetrable expression.
Suddenly, Sweden's gaze flicked up from his cards to meet Germany's eyes.
Germany's heart leapt to his mouth, the blood pounding in his ears as they stared at each other, wordless.
Finally, Sweden let out a soft huff. "Y'have a good face for cards," he said, voice low but light as he broke eye contact to reach for his beer. "Can't read you at all."
"Oh?" Germany asked, relieved that his emotions weren't showing on his face. It was difficult not to watch Sweden, not to stare as he brought the bottle to his lips. It was equally difficult not to think of the way his hand gripped it or the way the glass lingered against his mouth. Germany cleared his throat, trying to will away the thoughts that insinuated themselves into his mind – the possibility that the gesture was on purpose. That Sweden intended him to look, and think, and let his thoughts wander. "Are you usually good at reading others?"
A shrug. "Depends," Sweden said. He licked his lips as he put the bottle down.
"On...?"
"Depends on who my partner is."
Partner. Not opponent. The word was uttered simply, without seriousness or weight, and yet it could mean so many things. It could mean nothing more than partner in the sense of fellow player. Or Sweden could mean something else. Germany's head swam as he considered it, trying to calculate the likelihood that he was correct. There was of course no chance of Sweden meaning anything significant, anything long-term. But there remained the remote possibility that the gesture he had seen had not been accidental and that the implication was not a matter of wishful thinking.
Germany tried to think of some way to pose the question. It would have to be direct, with neither flirtation nor hinting; he didn't want to leave any chance that he would be misunderstood. A million phrases offered themselves, and all of them sounded wrong. Finally, he decided, there was no other way to put it. "Do you want me to sleep with you tonight?"
It was awkward, too forward, too everything, and he would have regretted every word if not for the smile that spread slowly over Sweden's lips.
"You're offering?" The corners of his eyes crinkled.
It was the reaction that Germany had been hoping for. Flustered though he was, at least now he had direction. "I am," he said, setting his cards down, growing bolder. "In fact, I think it's what you intended from the start."
"Maybe." Another shrug. Another small half-smile. "Wouldn't've minded if we kept playing, but... 'Mean, I did think about it."
As Sweden reached for the beer bottle again, Germany could see by the golden lamplight that there was a hint of blush on his cheeks. He suspected that it was not from the alcohol. The sight brought a wash of relief over him. At least he was not the only one embarrassed, not the only one stumbling over his words.
At least he had not misunderstood the situation.
That night came back to him once again. It had been a cold night, like the present one. Germany had visited on some business or other, and at the time he felt that becoming more familiar with his northern neighbours was as vital as the official cause of his visit.
At the time, Sweden's residence had been much larger and grander than the tiny flat in Stockholm's old town. But in spite of the size and the cold outside, the drawing room, with the fire in its grate and the closer quarters, held a certain comfort.
He and Sweden had settled in to play cards. Though Norway had accompanied them, he had kept himself apart from them, curling up in an armchair with a book. There was warmth in the atmosphere, but there was also something else, sitting just under the surface. More than once, Germany felt the prickling sensation of being observed and lifted his gaze to catch sight of Norway watching him. Each time, Norway said nothing; he merely looked from Germany to Sweden, then back to the page of his novel. It left Germany wondering what he might be implying, but he could not think of any possible way to bring it up politely.
Sweden spoke little during that card game. When he did speak, his words were low, murmuring, quiet. Formal in word choice, as fit their relationship, but spoken with surprising affection. Every time Germany lifted his eyes from his cards, he found Sweden watching him, sharp and intense in his silence as if he meant to communicate something through the sheer force of his gaze.
They spent some time in this way. Finally, when Sweden complimented Germany on his luck with the game, Norway cleared his throat and stood, closing his book and tucking it under one arm.
"Getting late," he said, even though it wasn't.
"Ah, really?" Germany said, looking toward him in surprise. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to join us? We could start a new game –"
"It's fine. Reckon I'd best get to bed." Norway paused. "Sweden'll see to you. Ain't that right, Sverige?" His gaze swept to Sweden.
Sweden looked back at him, and they stared at each other for a long moment, until Sweden nodded. That, apparently, was answer enough, as Norway bade them both good night.
Germany bade him the same, feeling awkward and confused as he watched Norway slip soundlessly from the room. Something had happened in that moment, but whatever Norway and Sweden had been communicating to each other, it was clear that this was not something he was meant to be privy to. When he'd looked to Sweden once more, he saw that his cheeks had a deep flush to them, with no discernible cause.
It was only later, after the proposition, and the quiet walk up the stairs to Sweden's bedroom and the fumbling with clothing and the rushed, urgent act – only after that did Germany think over the moment again, and understand.
Now, there was no need for either of them to wait, or to pretend.
Germany rose, and Sweden rose with him, moving to take his hand. There was an encouraging tenderness in the gesture, and it caused Germany to grow bolder, stepping closer so he could pull Sweden to him.
The kiss was sudden and awkward; in truth, not very good. It was full of teeth. Sweden's glasses pressed uncomfortably against Germany's face. Germany let out a frustrated huff and pulled back.
"Wait – "
"Sorry, I –" Germany's words halted as Sweden's hands came up, cupping his face.
"Try again," Sweden muttered. It wasn't a question. He nosed along Germany's cheek, then pressed a kiss to his mouth, moving slowly as if to ensure that there would be no mistakes.
That time, it was better.
Sweden was warm against him, and the kiss was firm and lingering. Germany took hold of him, sliding his arms around him to draw him closer, relishing the sensation of his firm form beneath his hands. The kiss was everything he had hoped for, but he knew that this was only the beginning.
When the kiss finally broke, Sweden hesitated, lingering close. His breath was a warm flutter against Germany's ear.
"Bed now," Sweden whispered. The words sent a shiver down Germany's spine.
"Yes," Germany breathed. "That... That sounds like a good idea."
It was not like their first time together, when Sweden had gripped his hand and led him upstairs, then down a long hallway. Back then, each second and each step had only increased Germany's anticipation and excitement and nervousness. He had followed Sweden in complete silence, not only due to the desire for discretion but because he found himself incapable of saying a single word.
This time, it was only a moment before they were through the bedroom door.
Sweden's bedroom was as tidy as the rest of his flat. It was small, and the bed itself took up most of the space. Outside, the snow was still falling, scattering light into the room.
"I confess," Germany said quietly, "I wasn't sure if this is what you'd meant all along."
Sweden bent to turn on the bedside lamp. Warm light spilled. The reflection caught on his glasses as he glanced over at Germany. "But y'hoped."
"I did."
He watched as Sweden slid his glasses off, setting them neatly on the bedside table. Without them, his face looked sharper, the ridges of his cheekbones drawing more attention.
Germany swallowed. Should he say more? Uncertainty flared up in him. He had never been adept at the sort of flirtatious banter best suited to the bedroom. That was Italy's domain or France's. Putting into words how fondly he had thought of the previous nights they'd spent together – even that was beyond him.
Sweden was watching him, head tilted as if he knew that Germany was struggling with what to do next. He gestured for Germany to come closer, that half-smile on his lips again. "C'mere. Can't see you that well."
Whether it was the truth or a pretense, Germany didn't know, but he needed no further prompting. In a few steps, he was pressed close to him again. Sweden's mouth found his, and Germany returned the kiss breathlessly.
This time, no glasses got in their way.
His arms wrapped around Sweden's shoulders, one hand sinking into the short brush of his hair. This was something he was unaccustomed to, the steadiness of Sweden's body, the broad hands sliding down to his hips and resting there. He was used to being the one to take control both in the bedroom and out of it – knowing that it was generally expected of him – and the steady and self-assured nature of Sweden's hold on him was a breath of fresh air.
It was unclear what Sweden had in mind. He seemed in no rush, sliding his hand along Germany's back, then down, slowly, as if more than anything else he wanted to feel his body beneath his hands. There was nothing teasing about it, no hint that he was deliberately delaying. Nonetheless, the pace tried Germany's patience.
He swept his tongue over Sweden's lips, then as they parted slid it past them into his mouth. Emboldened by the invitation, he pressed more tightly to him, letting out a soft groan as Sweden's hands moved lower.
He found himself filled with an overwhelming need. It had been... a while since the last time he had been with anyone at all, not just Sweden. It had been far too long since he had felt another body against his, the warmth of skin against skin. The thought stirred up an ache inside of him.
Germany knew at that moment that what he needed more than anything else was right in front of him.
Perhaps such a thought was too intimate, too inappropriate. But he buried his worries and resolved to enjoy the moment.
They parted, gasped, met again. Germany kissed him open-mouthed, sucking at his tongue. He could feel himself flushing deeply as Sweden's hands swept low to cup at his rear and pull him against his hips. Immediately, his body responded, cock hardening from the friction. The swiftness of the reaction was embarrassing. But he could feel Sweden too, and the mutual desire quelled any hesitance he felt about his own eagerness.
There was no reason not to indulge himself.
He allowed his hands to wander over the broad expanse of Sweden's shoulders, then down his chest. Carefully, he worked to undo the buttons on his shirt. It took considerable effort not to rush or fumble. A part of him wanted to tear it open and send the buttons flying, but Germany restrained himself – at least in that regard.
He couldn't stop himself from rocking against him, however.
"I want you." Germany's words were a rough mutter against Sweden's mouth, but they did not communicate the full extent of what he desired.
Sweden's reply wasn't in the form of words. It was little more than a sharp intake of breath as his hands grabbed at Germany's ass, fingers digging sharply. It was impossible to resist, and it was all the encouragement Germany needed. He pushed him backward, one palm to his chest, urging him back until he was against the wall.
From there, it was a simple matter for Germany to slip Sweden's belt from its buckle, slide his thumbs into the band of both his trousers and his underwear, and draw the entire thing down. Germany sank in one swift movement to his knees.
The efficiency of the action satisfied him, but even better was the reward. Here, face-to-face with Sweden's cock, Germany found his need grow. His hands went to Sweden's hips, holding him there, pinning him back against the wall as he swept his tongue along the shaft.
There came the sound of another sharp breath, followed by the sensation of strong fingers raking through Germany's hair, upsetting the order of things.
"You're eager." Sweden's words were low, rumbled, rough.
"Is that a problem?" Germany asked, glancing upward as he wrapped one hand around Sweden's cock.
It was difficult to determine his expression from the current angle, but the soft huff of Sweden's laugh and the brush of fingertips along Germany's cheek communicated his meaning clearly enough.
"No," Sweden said. Then – "Please."
Please, go on. Please, indulge yourself. Please, don't let me interrupt you. Please don't stop. The one-word request was a laconic way of putting it, but Germany did not need more encouragement than that. He parted his lips and took him in slowly, one hand stroking the shaft and the other firm at Sweden's hip, holding him there. Distantly, there was a part of Germany that blushed at his own enthusiasm, at the slickness of his mouth and the tightness in his trousers, his arousal already present and growing more so due to the pleasure of having a cock in his mouth.
He ignored his own discomfort, preferring instead to use his hands to brush a thumb along the sharp line of Sweden's hip, to caress his balls, and touch whatever his mouth could not reach.
Eventually, he withdrew to wrap his lips around the head, letting his tongue sweep over the slit, he couldn't help but moan as he tasted a hint of precome. Perhaps he was not the only one who was eager.
There was a soft grunt from above, a sharp jerk of the hips. "Wait." Low, commanding, breathless.
"Yes?" Germany whispered, dazed.
"Won't be able to do anything else." Sweden cleared his throat. "Not if y'keep going."
Germany flushed deeply, holding back a groan. Though he didn't want to stop, he was sure that Sweden was enough of a judge of his own endurance that he wasn't merely being a tease. And he certainly did want more than this tonight.
He rose to his feet, leaning in to kiss him while fumbling with the buttons on his shirt at the same time. The kiss was sloppy and wet, Sweden's teeth sharp against Germany's lower lip before he drew away just enough to speak. "In that case," Germany breathed, "I want you on the bed. On your back."
"Oh?" Sweden's eyebrow lifted, curious, interested.
"I want to ride you."
Sweden replied with a kiss, then peeled away from him to undress.
It was awkward to put it so directly, but the method fulfilled its task. How different from their first time, with its half-finished mutterings and guiding hands. It was the exact opposite of that night a century ago when Germany had been full of so much desire but utterly incapable of putting what he wanted into even the simplest terms.
He remembered that it had turned out to his liking regardless. He had ended up on his hands and knees, with Sweden's breath hot on his neck, the bed groaning beneath them both.
Germany undressed quickly, but still took the time to fold his clothes as he removed them. Eager though he was, he did not regret the delay, because it gave him an opportunity to watch as Sweden settled himself on the bed. He had retrieved the lubricant from the bedside table drawer and was slicking up his cock, large hand wrapped around the length of it. The warm glow of the bedside lamp spilled light over his bare body, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the defined muscles in his arms, his strong legs.
The sight was enough to make Germany's hands still for a moment as he swept his eyes over him, drinking him in. Then his gaze drifted up his body again – until he locked eyes with Sweden, who had caught him staring.
Sweden gave no comment; only an amused twitch of the mouth, crinkling at the corners of his eyes. A slight nod – an invitation. Come on. Come closer. Why don't you come over here?
Germany hardly needed more encouragement than that.
The mattress dipped as he joined him on it.
He was over him, straddling him with palms at his shoulders as he bent to press his mouth to Sweden's in a long, yielding kiss, groaning against his lips as he felt Sweden's slick fingers slide into his mouth. It wasn't long before he was on him, lowering himself onto his cock, eyes closing for a moment as he took it in with a satisfied groan.
Germany's hands found the headboard, gripping it to steady himself as he began to move, rolling his hips slowly. Cracking his eyes open, he looked down at Sweden, who looked back, flushed and dishevelled and pleased.
"Good?" Sweden asked.
"I –" What words he had intended to say were interrupted by a gasp as Sweden's hand coiled around Germany's cock. Flustered, Germany rocked into the grip, biting his lower lip in an unsuccessful attempt to stop himself from moaning. "Yes," he groaned, unable to silence himself.
It was an understatement, but in this moment there was no need to elaborate. Not with the creaking of the bed beneath them, the warmth of Sweden's hands on him, the heat of his body beneath him. Not with the rush of thrusting into Sweden's tight grip, or the incredible sensation of being full of his cock.
They said nothing more. The only sounds came from their heavy breaths, their low moans, the sharp slap of flesh against flesh.
After a while, Sweden moved to sit up, murmuring soft encouragement in response to Germany's frustrated groan at the pause in their motion, until Sweden had him positioned in his lap the way he wanted him. Then he gripped Germany by the hair and pulled him in for a kiss, and after that their moans were silenced too.
It was not long after that. Germany was unsurprised. How could he have lasted, with Sweden's arms around him, his cock thick in his ass, his mouth hot and wet against Germany's throat? It was a miracle that he held out as long as he did.
He came hard and fast from the sting of Sweden's teeth, sharp against his collarbone. Dazed, he kept moving, riding him out until Sweden was finished and they were left exhausted and spent in each other's arms.
As his breathing slowed, Germany closed his eyes, savouring the moment.
They rested cheek-to-cheek, and neither spoke. Sweden trailed his long fingers down his spine. The gesture was light, warm, and seemed affectionate. Germany wondered if he was reading too much into it. Should he ask?
As soon as he thought it, he knew the answer. No. It would be impossible for him to phrase the question in a way that wouldn't be awkward. If he was wrong, it would ruin the moment, and possibly the entire evening. All that mattered was that they were both satisfied.
Instead, when he moved to mutter by Sweden's ear, it was about something else. "We should clean up," he said.
Sweden gave a grunt of acknowledgement, kissing his cheek. "Join me in the shower," he mumbled.
That was how, moments later, Germany found himself beneath the stream of hot water, pressed against the tiles. He had thought himself spent, but he was wrong. His body responded to the proximity, and Sweden did the rest – his mouth against Germany's mouth, his hand on his cock. Dazed, Germany clung to him. He'd recovered so quickly that he hadn't even had time to be embarrassed by it. Perhaps he would have under other circumstances, or if Sweden hadn't initiated it.
As things were, he had no objection and no excuse.
After Sweden brought him over, and they finished their shower properly, Germany found himself unsure of how to proceed.
Outside, the snow was falling in earnest, the flakes picked out by the lights outside, sharp against the evening's natural darkness. With a towel wrapped around his waist, Germany lingered by the window, lost in thought as he tried to decide what to say.
Sweden had stripped the bed and was putting on a new set of sheets, humming softly to himself. There was a soft, satisfied smile on his face.
"It's snowing more heavily now," Germany said, partly as an observation, partly thinking out loud. The hour, too, was much later than he had expected. If he were to leave, the walk in the dark would not be as easy as it had been at the beginning of their evening.
Sweden glanced toward the window, uttered a soft sound of acknowledgement, then went back to putting on the sheets. "Would y'like to stay the night?"
The question was not unexpected. Still, it was surprising how easily Sweden made the offer. Germany swallowed, trying to find the right words. He hadn't wanted to leave at all, but he didn't want to appear over-eager, or too familiar, in spite of what they'd just done together. "Do you want me to?"
"Wouldn't ask otherwise." The smile broadened a fraction as Sweden straightened and looked toward him. "It'd be nice t'have company."
That look and those words filled Germany with relief. He found himself smiling back. Though he couldn't find the words to reply, there was no need.
Sweden strode over to him and took Germany's face in his hands with a gentleness that would surprise anyone that didn't know him. The kiss they shared was long and slow, soft in comparison to their rushed activities in bed.
Not long after, as he rested in bed next to Sweden, Germany considered their circumstances.
It was not clear to him whether this was, in fact, the beginning of something more. Beside him, Sweden had already dozed off, his breathing slow and deep. He slept with one arm draped over Germany, and the feeling of it was not unwelcome.
A repeat of the evening would not be unwelcome either.
This was only the first of Germany's nights in Stockholm for their present series of meetings. If their evening together had been nothing more than one chance encounter, that would be one thing. A week, however, left enough time for something else. Germany ran over their schedules in his head, calculating the hours and the moments they might share together outside of their official business.
It was enough.
He would talk with Sweden, he decided, shifting in bed to press more closely to that large, warm presence. The conversation would be difficult. He knew he would stumble over his words, and he would sound awkward, and it might be a struggle to make his intentions clear. But, Germany reminded himself, Sweden would likely have the same challenge.
That wouldn't make it easier, but at least he would understand.
They would talk about this, and he would say all the things that he had meant to say over a century ago, and that he had wanted to say since.
With luck, it would be as this night had been: easier than expected.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Sweden/Germany
Rating: 18+
Length: 5k
Summary: When Sweden invites Germany over to his place, Germany isn't sure if he only wants company. Should he hope for more?
Other: Written for Ama for FTH. <3 Thank you! Beta reading by bubblemoon66 (also via FTH).
Snowlight
The air was sharp and cold, and Stockholm's old town was lit up brightly against the winter's dark.
Snow drifted lazily down, catching in the warm glow of shops and street lamps, scattering the light. It settled in a fine powder on Sweden and Germany's dark coats and packed tightly under their feet as they walked through the narrow cobblestone streets.
"Here," Sweden said, nodding toward a slim alley, where the door leading up to an apartment was barely visible. He led the way, and Germany followed close behind, chin tucked into his coat against the chill.
They would both be warm soon.
Germany had expected something different from Sweden's apartment. The sleek, modern designs his people were known for, perhaps. Bright white and simplicity everywhere. Open space.
The small flat was the exact opposite of what he had anticipated. Inside, it was cozy and intimate, having an old-fashioned look to it. It was as if the current occupant had moved in decades ago and had kept things as they had always been. Despite the settled appearance, it was impeccably tidy. The furniture was dark and comfortable-looking, and bookshelves lined the living room walls. Lamps spilled warm light into the room, offsetting the chill that had been left behind outside.
It suited Sweden, Germany thought.
The invitation to join him for the evening had been unexpected, but not at all unwelcome. Though some nations were put off by Sweden's laconic nature, Germany found him easy to get along with. To say nothing of the fact that time with Sweden would be much more pleasant than the alternative of an evening spent alone, catching up on work in a hotel room. Germany hadn't needed to consider the offer at all before accepting, and as he sank into one of those comfortable chairs, he didn't anticipate he'd regret the choice.
Still, there was one matter he knew he had to address.
"I would like to be clear on this," he said, taking the bottle of beer Sweden offered him. "You didn't ask me here to discuss business, correct?"
Sweden let out a grunt of acknowledgement as he settled down into the armchair across from him. "Had enough of business today," he said. "This's pleasure."
Though Sweden was difficult to read at the best of times, Germany detected the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
The answer was not unexpected. They had spent most of the day on official matters, and Sweden's suggestion that Germany join him that evening for a beer and some company had been casually given. The confirmation that this would be a time to relax a little was reassuring. Nevertheless, the warmth in Sweden's words left Germany feeling awkward. "I'm glad. But, I, ah... I'm not one of the nations with a reputation for being good at conversation," Germany admitted. It was unnecessary – by now, Sweden had enough experience with him to be fully aware of that.
Sweden let out a soft chuckle. "I know. But neither'm I."
"I see."
"Just happy to have you here."
It wasn't the sort of thing Germany heard often. Warmth spread over his cheeks, and he worried that even in the low light, it might be visible. He had no way to hide the blush, and no excuse for it either. He met Sweden's eyes, wondering if he noticed, but there was nothing in that firm, unreadable expression that gave anything away at all.
A part of Germany hoped that Sweden did notice and that the flattery was on purpose. Did he dare hope that there was more to this visit than pleasantries?
It would not be the first time for such a thing to happen between them. He and Sweden had, over the years, spent the occasional evening together – the kind of evening that started with talk and drinks and ended in the bedroom. But there was never any pattern to Sweden's advances. Far more frequently an invitation for drinks and conversation and company proved to be nothing more than that. Germany had learned over time not to anticipate anything more, to take the offers for what they were, and to accept anything further as a rare pleasure – even if he would much rather have everything laid out without ambiguity.
"I'm glad that you asked me to join you." Germany swallowed, and decided to take a gamble. "It's better than spending the night by myself."
Sweden tilted his head. "Y'get lonely?"
"Of course not!" It came out more sharply, more blustery than intended. Instantly Germany wished he hadn't said anything. Admitting to his loneliness was always embarrassing, and having Sweden suspect it was almost as bad, even if there was no judgment in his eyes.
He cleared his throat, waving a hand as if to clear the air. "I only meant that it's more enjoyable to spend this time with someone else." But a thought suddenly occurred to him, and he couldn't stop himself from asking. "Do you? Find yourself lonely sometimes, I mean."
Sweden made a soft sound of acknowledgement. "Sometimes," he said. Then paused, and gave Germany a knowing look. "But not now."
After a while, Sweden rummaged in the drawer of a side table and pulled out a pack of cards. They ended up playing a game of bezique, and Germany found himself recalling similar evenings, with alcohol, low light, and spending time with someone whose impressions of him he was not entirely sure of.
Sweden's voice was a low rumble. "First time we played this. Remember that?"
Germany searched back in his mind and found himself unable to place it. Their time together so often went in a similar direction, no matter how it ultimately ended, it was difficult to recall them as separate incidents. "I'm afraid not."
"Was a night like this. Cold." Sweden lifted his gaze from his cards to Germany's face. "You had beginner's luck."
As simple as that, he remembered. The blush spread over Germany's cheeks again, creeping up over his ears. "Ah. Right." He cleared his throat. "That was a very long time ago."
"Not all that long."
"To you, I suppose not."
It had been at the very end of the nineteenth century, when Germany was learning to feel comfortable in his own skin and Sweden was still sharing his home with Norway. Germany had admired them both and found his attraction deepening the more time he spent in their company, but hadn't dared to hope for any personal interest from either of them.
He had been wrong.
Germany licked his lips. It was difficult to think of the right thing to say, as difficult as it had been over a hundred years ago. Words rarely came easily to him, to say nothing of intimate overtures, but to think that now his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth in the same way that it had then – it was embarrassing. He wasn't an inexperienced young man any more.
For the moment, he settled for silence.
Sweden said nothing more on the subject, continuing to make his plays. Though Germany observed him closely, it was difficult to ascertain if the quiet was due to awkwardness or feeling comfortable with one another. As much as he hoped it was the latter, Germany could not discount the possibility of the former.
Running over their conversation in his mind, he picked it apart. There was nothing in what he had said that was too forward, too flustered, or too clumsy. And yet, perhaps admitting that he remembered that night hadn't been the right thing to say – if not in general, then to achieve the results he wanted. Sweden's hints had sounded like an invitation for more, but it was impossible to be sure. As he searched Sweden's face for some clue, all he found was the usual impenetrable expression.
Suddenly, Sweden's gaze flicked up from his cards to meet Germany's eyes.
Germany's heart leapt to his mouth, the blood pounding in his ears as they stared at each other, wordless.
Finally, Sweden let out a soft huff. "Y'have a good face for cards," he said, voice low but light as he broke eye contact to reach for his beer. "Can't read you at all."
"Oh?" Germany asked, relieved that his emotions weren't showing on his face. It was difficult not to watch Sweden, not to stare as he brought the bottle to his lips. It was equally difficult not to think of the way his hand gripped it or the way the glass lingered against his mouth. Germany cleared his throat, trying to will away the thoughts that insinuated themselves into his mind – the possibility that the gesture was on purpose. That Sweden intended him to look, and think, and let his thoughts wander. "Are you usually good at reading others?"
A shrug. "Depends," Sweden said. He licked his lips as he put the bottle down.
"On...?"
"Depends on who my partner is."
Partner. Not opponent. The word was uttered simply, without seriousness or weight, and yet it could mean so many things. It could mean nothing more than partner in the sense of fellow player. Or Sweden could mean something else. Germany's head swam as he considered it, trying to calculate the likelihood that he was correct. There was of course no chance of Sweden meaning anything significant, anything long-term. But there remained the remote possibility that the gesture he had seen had not been accidental and that the implication was not a matter of wishful thinking.
Germany tried to think of some way to pose the question. It would have to be direct, with neither flirtation nor hinting; he didn't want to leave any chance that he would be misunderstood. A million phrases offered themselves, and all of them sounded wrong. Finally, he decided, there was no other way to put it. "Do you want me to sleep with you tonight?"
It was awkward, too forward, too everything, and he would have regretted every word if not for the smile that spread slowly over Sweden's lips.
"You're offering?" The corners of his eyes crinkled.
It was the reaction that Germany had been hoping for. Flustered though he was, at least now he had direction. "I am," he said, setting his cards down, growing bolder. "In fact, I think it's what you intended from the start."
"Maybe." Another shrug. Another small half-smile. "Wouldn't've minded if we kept playing, but... 'Mean, I did think about it."
As Sweden reached for the beer bottle again, Germany could see by the golden lamplight that there was a hint of blush on his cheeks. He suspected that it was not from the alcohol. The sight brought a wash of relief over him. At least he was not the only one embarrassed, not the only one stumbling over his words.
At least he had not misunderstood the situation.
That night came back to him once again. It had been a cold night, like the present one. Germany had visited on some business or other, and at the time he felt that becoming more familiar with his northern neighbours was as vital as the official cause of his visit.
At the time, Sweden's residence had been much larger and grander than the tiny flat in Stockholm's old town. But in spite of the size and the cold outside, the drawing room, with the fire in its grate and the closer quarters, held a certain comfort.
He and Sweden had settled in to play cards. Though Norway had accompanied them, he had kept himself apart from them, curling up in an armchair with a book. There was warmth in the atmosphere, but there was also something else, sitting just under the surface. More than once, Germany felt the prickling sensation of being observed and lifted his gaze to catch sight of Norway watching him. Each time, Norway said nothing; he merely looked from Germany to Sweden, then back to the page of his novel. It left Germany wondering what he might be implying, but he could not think of any possible way to bring it up politely.
Sweden spoke little during that card game. When he did speak, his words were low, murmuring, quiet. Formal in word choice, as fit their relationship, but spoken with surprising affection. Every time Germany lifted his eyes from his cards, he found Sweden watching him, sharp and intense in his silence as if he meant to communicate something through the sheer force of his gaze.
They spent some time in this way. Finally, when Sweden complimented Germany on his luck with the game, Norway cleared his throat and stood, closing his book and tucking it under one arm.
"Getting late," he said, even though it wasn't.
"Ah, really?" Germany said, looking toward him in surprise. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to join us? We could start a new game –"
"It's fine. Reckon I'd best get to bed." Norway paused. "Sweden'll see to you. Ain't that right, Sverige?" His gaze swept to Sweden.
Sweden looked back at him, and they stared at each other for a long moment, until Sweden nodded. That, apparently, was answer enough, as Norway bade them both good night.
Germany bade him the same, feeling awkward and confused as he watched Norway slip soundlessly from the room. Something had happened in that moment, but whatever Norway and Sweden had been communicating to each other, it was clear that this was not something he was meant to be privy to. When he'd looked to Sweden once more, he saw that his cheeks had a deep flush to them, with no discernible cause.
It was only later, after the proposition, and the quiet walk up the stairs to Sweden's bedroom and the fumbling with clothing and the rushed, urgent act – only after that did Germany think over the moment again, and understand.
Now, there was no need for either of them to wait, or to pretend.
Germany rose, and Sweden rose with him, moving to take his hand. There was an encouraging tenderness in the gesture, and it caused Germany to grow bolder, stepping closer so he could pull Sweden to him.
The kiss was sudden and awkward; in truth, not very good. It was full of teeth. Sweden's glasses pressed uncomfortably against Germany's face. Germany let out a frustrated huff and pulled back.
"Wait – "
"Sorry, I –" Germany's words halted as Sweden's hands came up, cupping his face.
"Try again," Sweden muttered. It wasn't a question. He nosed along Germany's cheek, then pressed a kiss to his mouth, moving slowly as if to ensure that there would be no mistakes.
That time, it was better.
Sweden was warm against him, and the kiss was firm and lingering. Germany took hold of him, sliding his arms around him to draw him closer, relishing the sensation of his firm form beneath his hands. The kiss was everything he had hoped for, but he knew that this was only the beginning.
When the kiss finally broke, Sweden hesitated, lingering close. His breath was a warm flutter against Germany's ear.
"Bed now," Sweden whispered. The words sent a shiver down Germany's spine.
"Yes," Germany breathed. "That... That sounds like a good idea."
It was not like their first time together, when Sweden had gripped his hand and led him upstairs, then down a long hallway. Back then, each second and each step had only increased Germany's anticipation and excitement and nervousness. He had followed Sweden in complete silence, not only due to the desire for discretion but because he found himself incapable of saying a single word.
This time, it was only a moment before they were through the bedroom door.
Sweden's bedroom was as tidy as the rest of his flat. It was small, and the bed itself took up most of the space. Outside, the snow was still falling, scattering light into the room.
"I confess," Germany said quietly, "I wasn't sure if this is what you'd meant all along."
Sweden bent to turn on the bedside lamp. Warm light spilled. The reflection caught on his glasses as he glanced over at Germany. "But y'hoped."
"I did."
He watched as Sweden slid his glasses off, setting them neatly on the bedside table. Without them, his face looked sharper, the ridges of his cheekbones drawing more attention.
Germany swallowed. Should he say more? Uncertainty flared up in him. He had never been adept at the sort of flirtatious banter best suited to the bedroom. That was Italy's domain or France's. Putting into words how fondly he had thought of the previous nights they'd spent together – even that was beyond him.
Sweden was watching him, head tilted as if he knew that Germany was struggling with what to do next. He gestured for Germany to come closer, that half-smile on his lips again. "C'mere. Can't see you that well."
Whether it was the truth or a pretense, Germany didn't know, but he needed no further prompting. In a few steps, he was pressed close to him again. Sweden's mouth found his, and Germany returned the kiss breathlessly.
This time, no glasses got in their way.
His arms wrapped around Sweden's shoulders, one hand sinking into the short brush of his hair. This was something he was unaccustomed to, the steadiness of Sweden's body, the broad hands sliding down to his hips and resting there. He was used to being the one to take control both in the bedroom and out of it – knowing that it was generally expected of him – and the steady and self-assured nature of Sweden's hold on him was a breath of fresh air.
It was unclear what Sweden had in mind. He seemed in no rush, sliding his hand along Germany's back, then down, slowly, as if more than anything else he wanted to feel his body beneath his hands. There was nothing teasing about it, no hint that he was deliberately delaying. Nonetheless, the pace tried Germany's patience.
He swept his tongue over Sweden's lips, then as they parted slid it past them into his mouth. Emboldened by the invitation, he pressed more tightly to him, letting out a soft groan as Sweden's hands moved lower.
He found himself filled with an overwhelming need. It had been... a while since the last time he had been with anyone at all, not just Sweden. It had been far too long since he had felt another body against his, the warmth of skin against skin. The thought stirred up an ache inside of him.
Germany knew at that moment that what he needed more than anything else was right in front of him.
Perhaps such a thought was too intimate, too inappropriate. But he buried his worries and resolved to enjoy the moment.
They parted, gasped, met again. Germany kissed him open-mouthed, sucking at his tongue. He could feel himself flushing deeply as Sweden's hands swept low to cup at his rear and pull him against his hips. Immediately, his body responded, cock hardening from the friction. The swiftness of the reaction was embarrassing. But he could feel Sweden too, and the mutual desire quelled any hesitance he felt about his own eagerness.
There was no reason not to indulge himself.
He allowed his hands to wander over the broad expanse of Sweden's shoulders, then down his chest. Carefully, he worked to undo the buttons on his shirt. It took considerable effort not to rush or fumble. A part of him wanted to tear it open and send the buttons flying, but Germany restrained himself – at least in that regard.
He couldn't stop himself from rocking against him, however.
"I want you." Germany's words were a rough mutter against Sweden's mouth, but they did not communicate the full extent of what he desired.
Sweden's reply wasn't in the form of words. It was little more than a sharp intake of breath as his hands grabbed at Germany's ass, fingers digging sharply. It was impossible to resist, and it was all the encouragement Germany needed. He pushed him backward, one palm to his chest, urging him back until he was against the wall.
From there, it was a simple matter for Germany to slip Sweden's belt from its buckle, slide his thumbs into the band of both his trousers and his underwear, and draw the entire thing down. Germany sank in one swift movement to his knees.
The efficiency of the action satisfied him, but even better was the reward. Here, face-to-face with Sweden's cock, Germany found his need grow. His hands went to Sweden's hips, holding him there, pinning him back against the wall as he swept his tongue along the shaft.
There came the sound of another sharp breath, followed by the sensation of strong fingers raking through Germany's hair, upsetting the order of things.
"You're eager." Sweden's words were low, rumbled, rough.
"Is that a problem?" Germany asked, glancing upward as he wrapped one hand around Sweden's cock.
It was difficult to determine his expression from the current angle, but the soft huff of Sweden's laugh and the brush of fingertips along Germany's cheek communicated his meaning clearly enough.
"No," Sweden said. Then – "Please."
Please, go on. Please, indulge yourself. Please, don't let me interrupt you. Please don't stop. The one-word request was a laconic way of putting it, but Germany did not need more encouragement than that. He parted his lips and took him in slowly, one hand stroking the shaft and the other firm at Sweden's hip, holding him there. Distantly, there was a part of Germany that blushed at his own enthusiasm, at the slickness of his mouth and the tightness in his trousers, his arousal already present and growing more so due to the pleasure of having a cock in his mouth.
He ignored his own discomfort, preferring instead to use his hands to brush a thumb along the sharp line of Sweden's hip, to caress his balls, and touch whatever his mouth could not reach.
Eventually, he withdrew to wrap his lips around the head, letting his tongue sweep over the slit, he couldn't help but moan as he tasted a hint of precome. Perhaps he was not the only one who was eager.
There was a soft grunt from above, a sharp jerk of the hips. "Wait." Low, commanding, breathless.
"Yes?" Germany whispered, dazed.
"Won't be able to do anything else." Sweden cleared his throat. "Not if y'keep going."
Germany flushed deeply, holding back a groan. Though he didn't want to stop, he was sure that Sweden was enough of a judge of his own endurance that he wasn't merely being a tease. And he certainly did want more than this tonight.
He rose to his feet, leaning in to kiss him while fumbling with the buttons on his shirt at the same time. The kiss was sloppy and wet, Sweden's teeth sharp against Germany's lower lip before he drew away just enough to speak. "In that case," Germany breathed, "I want you on the bed. On your back."
"Oh?" Sweden's eyebrow lifted, curious, interested.
"I want to ride you."
Sweden replied with a kiss, then peeled away from him to undress.
It was awkward to put it so directly, but the method fulfilled its task. How different from their first time, with its half-finished mutterings and guiding hands. It was the exact opposite of that night a century ago when Germany had been full of so much desire but utterly incapable of putting what he wanted into even the simplest terms.
He remembered that it had turned out to his liking regardless. He had ended up on his hands and knees, with Sweden's breath hot on his neck, the bed groaning beneath them both.
Germany undressed quickly, but still took the time to fold his clothes as he removed them. Eager though he was, he did not regret the delay, because it gave him an opportunity to watch as Sweden settled himself on the bed. He had retrieved the lubricant from the bedside table drawer and was slicking up his cock, large hand wrapped around the length of it. The warm glow of the bedside lamp spilled light over his bare body, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the defined muscles in his arms, his strong legs.
The sight was enough to make Germany's hands still for a moment as he swept his eyes over him, drinking him in. Then his gaze drifted up his body again – until he locked eyes with Sweden, who had caught him staring.
Sweden gave no comment; only an amused twitch of the mouth, crinkling at the corners of his eyes. A slight nod – an invitation. Come on. Come closer. Why don't you come over here?
Germany hardly needed more encouragement than that.
The mattress dipped as he joined him on it.
He was over him, straddling him with palms at his shoulders as he bent to press his mouth to Sweden's in a long, yielding kiss, groaning against his lips as he felt Sweden's slick fingers slide into his mouth. It wasn't long before he was on him, lowering himself onto his cock, eyes closing for a moment as he took it in with a satisfied groan.
Germany's hands found the headboard, gripping it to steady himself as he began to move, rolling his hips slowly. Cracking his eyes open, he looked down at Sweden, who looked back, flushed and dishevelled and pleased.
"Good?" Sweden asked.
"I –" What words he had intended to say were interrupted by a gasp as Sweden's hand coiled around Germany's cock. Flustered, Germany rocked into the grip, biting his lower lip in an unsuccessful attempt to stop himself from moaning. "Yes," he groaned, unable to silence himself.
It was an understatement, but in this moment there was no need to elaborate. Not with the creaking of the bed beneath them, the warmth of Sweden's hands on him, the heat of his body beneath him. Not with the rush of thrusting into Sweden's tight grip, or the incredible sensation of being full of his cock.
They said nothing more. The only sounds came from their heavy breaths, their low moans, the sharp slap of flesh against flesh.
After a while, Sweden moved to sit up, murmuring soft encouragement in response to Germany's frustrated groan at the pause in their motion, until Sweden had him positioned in his lap the way he wanted him. Then he gripped Germany by the hair and pulled him in for a kiss, and after that their moans were silenced too.
It was not long after that. Germany was unsurprised. How could he have lasted, with Sweden's arms around him, his cock thick in his ass, his mouth hot and wet against Germany's throat? It was a miracle that he held out as long as he did.
He came hard and fast from the sting of Sweden's teeth, sharp against his collarbone. Dazed, he kept moving, riding him out until Sweden was finished and they were left exhausted and spent in each other's arms.
As his breathing slowed, Germany closed his eyes, savouring the moment.
They rested cheek-to-cheek, and neither spoke. Sweden trailed his long fingers down his spine. The gesture was light, warm, and seemed affectionate. Germany wondered if he was reading too much into it. Should he ask?
As soon as he thought it, he knew the answer. No. It would be impossible for him to phrase the question in a way that wouldn't be awkward. If he was wrong, it would ruin the moment, and possibly the entire evening. All that mattered was that they were both satisfied.
Instead, when he moved to mutter by Sweden's ear, it was about something else. "We should clean up," he said.
Sweden gave a grunt of acknowledgement, kissing his cheek. "Join me in the shower," he mumbled.
That was how, moments later, Germany found himself beneath the stream of hot water, pressed against the tiles. He had thought himself spent, but he was wrong. His body responded to the proximity, and Sweden did the rest – his mouth against Germany's mouth, his hand on his cock. Dazed, Germany clung to him. He'd recovered so quickly that he hadn't even had time to be embarrassed by it. Perhaps he would have under other circumstances, or if Sweden hadn't initiated it.
As things were, he had no objection and no excuse.
After Sweden brought him over, and they finished their shower properly, Germany found himself unsure of how to proceed.
Outside, the snow was falling in earnest, the flakes picked out by the lights outside, sharp against the evening's natural darkness. With a towel wrapped around his waist, Germany lingered by the window, lost in thought as he tried to decide what to say.
Sweden had stripped the bed and was putting on a new set of sheets, humming softly to himself. There was a soft, satisfied smile on his face.
"It's snowing more heavily now," Germany said, partly as an observation, partly thinking out loud. The hour, too, was much later than he had expected. If he were to leave, the walk in the dark would not be as easy as it had been at the beginning of their evening.
Sweden glanced toward the window, uttered a soft sound of acknowledgement, then went back to putting on the sheets. "Would y'like to stay the night?"
The question was not unexpected. Still, it was surprising how easily Sweden made the offer. Germany swallowed, trying to find the right words. He hadn't wanted to leave at all, but he didn't want to appear over-eager, or too familiar, in spite of what they'd just done together. "Do you want me to?"
"Wouldn't ask otherwise." The smile broadened a fraction as Sweden straightened and looked toward him. "It'd be nice t'have company."
That look and those words filled Germany with relief. He found himself smiling back. Though he couldn't find the words to reply, there was no need.
Sweden strode over to him and took Germany's face in his hands with a gentleness that would surprise anyone that didn't know him. The kiss they shared was long and slow, soft in comparison to their rushed activities in bed.
Not long after, as he rested in bed next to Sweden, Germany considered their circumstances.
It was not clear to him whether this was, in fact, the beginning of something more. Beside him, Sweden had already dozed off, his breathing slow and deep. He slept with one arm draped over Germany, and the feeling of it was not unwelcome.
A repeat of the evening would not be unwelcome either.
This was only the first of Germany's nights in Stockholm for their present series of meetings. If their evening together had been nothing more than one chance encounter, that would be one thing. A week, however, left enough time for something else. Germany ran over their schedules in his head, calculating the hours and the moments they might share together outside of their official business.
It was enough.
He would talk with Sweden, he decided, shifting in bed to press more closely to that large, warm presence. The conversation would be difficult. He knew he would stumble over his words, and he would sound awkward, and it might be a struggle to make his intentions clear. But, Germany reminded himself, Sweden would likely have the same challenge.
That wouldn't make it easier, but at least he would understand.
They would talk about this, and he would say all the things that he had meant to say over a century ago, and that he had wanted to say since.
With luck, it would be as this night had been: easier than expected.