A Magic Touch [Norway/Sweden]

[roesslyng]

Title: A Magic Touch
Characters/Pairing: Norway/Sweden
Rating: 18+ for sex
Length: 10K
Summary: Sweden unexpectedly encounters a spell that turns him into a her. There's only one person Sweden would trust to reverse this: Norway.
Other: I started writing this in 2010. It's only recently that I found the completed draft and decided to finish it. I wrote it four years ago, and it reads like something I wrote four years ago (in other words no matter how much I edit it, it still won't be as good as my new stuff). Please keep that in mind.

This was partly inspired by a roleplay plot at the APH anon meme in 2010. The main similarity is only in the base plot: Sweden gets turned into a woman via magic, then goes to Norway to get it fixed. Aside from that it's mostly just a straight-up kink fic. Please don't take it seriously.



A Magic Touch

With spring came the melt, and with that flowers and rain. The brush burst green with life and in that lively rush Sweden had retreated. After winter's dark he went out looking for sunlight and the scent of growing things.

Camping, and at a time when the spring rain was just barely done. Maybe not the most opportune time, but he was itching for it. In some dark parts of the forests snow and ice still lingered, hidden from the sun by thick branches. He had expected and planned for some cold and some damp, but not enough that it would bother him. Maybe running into an animal or two, but nothing to worry about.

He hadn't planned for the stream. Then again, it was hard to plan for that kind of thing.

It was several days into his trip that he came upon the stream - rather, it had come upon him, the ground disappearing under his feet and giving way to cold and wet. Unobstructed as it was, without any rocks or blockages to make it sing, it moved quickly. He hadn't even heard it coming.

After thrashing around for a bit, he found his feet and, after discovering to his embarrassment that it was shallow, stood and picked his way out. It wasn't until he set himself down on a sunny, grassy spot to remove his soaked clothing that he paused enough to notice the change.

After the initial panic passed, he made note of the stream's location, then resolved to continue on - after bottling some of the water, just in case he would have to take it to a friend who was knowledgeable about strange happenings.

Just in case.

He wouldn't need it, Sweden assured himself. Whatever happened, it would wear off soon. Taking some home was just a precaution.

That was what he told himself at the time.



The coffee maker hissed as the pot filled up. Norway glanced at the clock on the wall, then drained the water from the sink and dried his hands on a teatowel. Sweden would be arriving soon.

He had been surprised to receive the text message announcing his return. The note his friend and sometimes-lover had sent him was short: Came home. We need to talk. Important, accompanied by the time that he would come over. Nothing more. In spite of his best efforts, Norway found himself troubled. Not many things might make Sweden cut a camping trip short, nor send a message like that either.

Whatever explanations he considered, none seemed to fit, and Norway resolved to stop worrying about it until he heard Sweden's explanation. No matter what it was, it likely was nowhere near as troubling as any idea that an imaginative mind could come up with. Thus decided, he set about drying off the dishes, and waited.

It wasn't long before he heard the brief knock on the door, followed by it opening, Sweden announcing his arrival in his usual manner. "The coffee's on," Norway called to him, not bothering to look over.

No reply, just the usual found of feet padding on the hardwood floor, then stopping almost hesitantly at the kitchen doorway.

"'S fresh," Norway continued as he turned around. "So just let me get out the mugs and-"

There was a woman in his kitchen.

They stared one another down for a moment. Norway looked her up and down. She looked familiar, though he hadn't seen her before. The expression behind her glasses was troubled and upset. After a second or two, he realized why she looked so familiar; it was the exact kind of expression that Sweden got whenever something went horribly wrong.

"What's going on here?" he asked, bracing himself against the counter as he realized she had walked right into his home as if she had a right to it.

She didn't answer at first. Chewed her lower lip instead, as if considering in excruciating detail the way to phrase the explanation. Then, she simply sighed and said, "Norway, you have t'help me."

"What?"

"You gotta' fix this." Before he could protest she was in his space, her hands on his shoulders. "Did y'get the message?"

"What?" Message. "I don't...." Those eyes. "Sweden?"

A nod.

Norway drew in a deep breath and studied her carefully. Yes, he could see it after a second look. Her -- his? -- facial features were softer, but they were still Sweden's. Her voice was higher, but kept its rumbling, throaty quality. And the eyes, there was no question that he had seen them before.

"I think," Norway said quietly, "that what you need is to sit down. Have a cup of coffee. 'N then you tell me what happened, and we'll see what I can do for you, Sweden."

The relief that spread across his friend's face was obvious. "Thanks."

"None've that. Not until we talk. Just sit yourself down, 'n start from the start."



The sun filtered in through the curtains and warmed the nook where they sat. On the surface, it wasn't all that different from any other time that they might spend enjoying each other's company. Coffee in their mugs, biscuits on the table, one of them talking quietly while the other listened. This time it was Norway doing the listening, resting his chin against one hand, watching as Sweden struggled to tell him what had happened. Watching Sweden, who at the moment looked like a troubled, frustrated woman. A woman who, if it weren't for all that frustration, would have been rather attractive, Norway decided.

"So," Sweden said, after relaying to him the story of the stream. "Stayed a while after that." A long sip of coffee. "Thought it'd just wear off on its own."

"And then it didn't." Norway raised an eyebrow. "Y'said you saved some of it. D'you still have it?"

A nod, then a pause as she - he? - fumbled in the pockets of the old worn jacket draped over her shoulders, before retrieving it and sliding the soda bottle across the table to him. Norway picked it up and held it to the light, frowning. The water inside flickered bluish-greenish-purple with magic where the light hit it, and though he knew Sweden couldn't see it, the supernatural properties still seemed so glaringly obvious to Norway that he was surprised that Sweden hadn't said that the air around the stream had a metallic taste to it.

"Strong stuff," he said finally, setting it on the table with a sigh. "It'd have to be, to change you like that."

Sweden frowned at him. "But can y'fix it?" she asked, pressing the question, and not at all lightly.

Norway looked from his friend to the bottle, then back again. He couldn't say "no"; the worry on Sweden's face was enough to convince him that not trying to reverse the spell was out of the question. But it was complicated, he was sure of it, and he didn't know where he would even begin with reversing a spell like that. His mind sped for a response, and after a moment he said, "I'll do the best I can."

Sweden sighed with relief and slipped off her glasses, smiling for the first time since the surprising arrival. "Thank-"

"I guarantee nothing," Norway interrupted. Sweden's face fell. "No promises. Only that I'll try. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Both of them fell silent. For a second they stared at each other. Then Norway drained his mug, unable to look at her, and rose and made his way over to the coffeepot to fill it. When he turned to look at Sweden again, intending to ask if he would like more, he saw that she had rested her arms on the table and put her head in her hands.

Norway went to her. Him. Whichever. At his touch, Sweden shifted in the chair, moving to let Norway cup her face, brush fingertips over her cheeks before moving to massage her temples.

"Headache?"

Quiet. "Frustrated," was the mumbled reply that Sweden gave, followed by a small sigh.

"Ah."

"'S not... The lookin' like a woman thing doesn't bother me much." The remark came slowly and thoughtfully. "It's th' change otherwise."

"Change?"

"M' clothes don't fit. M'shoes don't fit. 'N my balance is off." A pause. "And 'm short."

That remark drew a chuckle out of Norway. "Not that short," he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Sweden's ear. "Still taller'n me, a bit."

Sweden considered this. "Shorter'n Denmark. I think."

"Maybe." Norway moved to cup Sweden's chin, tilting to study the face that was now both familiar and unfamiliar. "Still better-lookin' than he is by a long shot, though."

They both laughed, then, and some of the tension seemed to ease away, disappearing in the warm, sunny air of Norway's kitchen. Even if it was still an uncertain situation, the troubled expression was gone from Sweden's face. Perhaps, Norway thought, things would be fine - at least for a while.



Shortly after their heart-to-heart, Norway extended the invitation to stay the evening - and Sweden accepted it with little hesitation. They continued on, and it seemed almost as if things had not changed - aside from their topics of conversation, which were different from the ordinary ones by a wide margin.

They discussed how to proceed, and reached no conclusion, except that Norway would go ahead with working on how to reverse the transformation, just as he said he would. Sweden, meanwhile, planned to spend the majority of his time indoors.

"Not that 's bad," Sweden mumbled as they stood side by side, washing the supper dishes. "Jus' don't want t'have to explain that 'm a woman now."

"Well, you ain't really," Norway replied carefully. "You look it, but that don't make you anything either way. I could turn ya' into a newt, but that don't make you a newt, does it."

"Mm." A long pause. "People go 'round talkin' like we're women all the time anyway. Might as well look the part."

Norway halted his movements and turned to look at Sweden, meaning to ask him what the hell that was supposed to mean. He was greeted with a smile. It was slight, but it was there.

Well. So be it. "And you don't mind that, then?"

"No."

Norway waited for her to elaborate, but when he received nothing further, went back to scrubbing without questioning it. "Good," he said. "On account've if this gives me too much trouble, y'might be stuck lookin' like Moder Svea for a right long while."



The air inside Norway's house was cool. When the rain began falling that evening they stepped out into it together, turning their faces upward to take in the sensation of it on their faces. When they returned they opened the windows just enough to let in the sound of the spring shower, the endless pat-pat-patting of rain on Norway's roof. Chill air rushed in, leaving everything fresh.

Norway yawned and made his way to his library, his hair damp from the rain, the small bottle of river water carefully cupped in his hands. The events of the day and Sweden's predicament still weighed on his mind. Though he had not made any promises, there was no question that he would have to do whatever it took, even if she had only asked that he do his best.

She? He? Which would it have to be? Norway turned the problem over in his mind. Sweden hadn't seemed to care, insisting that either was fine, and that if Norway called him by what she looked like, she wouldn't mind. Very well, then.

He slipped into the library and made his way to the heavy wooden door on one side. Standing on his toes, Norway reached up and retrieved the key from its place on the decorative moulding atop the doorjamb, where he always kept it as he had no need to hide it better. As he slid it into the lock he murmured the words, the magic ones, the ones he had set down when he had moved into that house, the same ones he had used before. Only he could open that door. That was how he liked it. There were things inside that were too dangerous to trust to anyone else.

He stepped inside, ducking his head to get through the low doorway. He did not turn on the light, as there was no need for it: the air was thick with magic and the old books that liked the shelves in the small room he used as a study produced a glow, bluish-green, dim but enough for him to see by. He made his way to the old, wooden desk in the centre of the room and set the bottle down on it. It glowed brightly in the dark, brightly enough to nearly light up the room. As he looked at it Norway could practically feel the headache coming on. Making any sense of that spell would be troubling enough; never mind trying to break it.

Norway sighed, gave it another look, and then made his way out. He would be doing no magic that night.

Sweden was there in his bedroom when he returned to it. He had asked her to stay, suspecting that she would prefer not to be alone that night, not with the situation as it was and her a long way from home. She accepted the invitation without hesitating. Norway didn't know if his suspicion had been correct, and he didn't ask.

She had retrieved the spare pyjamas that she left there the last time she stayed over and had already changed into them. Norway looked at her and wondered if she had done it to avoid him seeing her. Or maybe, he thought, it was just a general skittishness, something related to the discomfort she had expressed before. Looking different. Not looking like herself.

When Norway made his way into the room she was standing in front of his mirror, staring at herself, an uneasy expression on her face. Troubled. Biting her lower lip as she brushed her hair back from her face. It was longer now, and throughout the evening he had noticed her fidgeting with it, tucking it behind her ears.

"Feel like I just wan' go cut all this off," she muttered to him as a greeting.

"Leave it," Norway replied as he pressed the door shut. "You won't be looking like that for very long, anyhow."

The only response he received was an uncomfortable frown. He undressed and pulled on some nightclothes in awkward silence. The awkwardness rose when he turned to look at her again. Staring at herself again.

For a moment, Norway thought about approaching her, unsure if he would even get an answer if he asked what was wrong. Eventually, regardless of any misgivings, he made his decision. He went to her, slid his arms around her waist, and murmured, "What's wrong?"

Sweden tensed under the gesture, and then breathed, calmed, and leaned into him. Strange, Norway thought, how different holding her felt now. When before Sweden had practically dwarfed him, now they were nearly the same height - though she was still taller than he was, he noted with pleasure.

"Don't like this."

At first he was unsure, and then he realized what she was talking about. "The change."

She nodded. "Want m' old body back," Sweden mumbled.

That was understandable enough. Not that there's anything wrong with this one, Norway thought, though he didn't say it, instead keeping the thought to himself. In such a melancholy mood, he suspected the last thing Sweden wanted to hear was that she made an attractive woman, no matter how true it was.

"I see."

A long pause. "Please work fast."

"I will."



Ordinarily, after time spent apart, their nights together would be much more interesting, and involve much less sleep. However, Norway had a feeling that Sweden wouldn't be interested in that sort of thing, not that night. So he didn't make any gestures, and didn't hint at anything, and for that Sweden seemed thankful, even though she didn't say anything about it. When they finally made their way to the bed together, they rested apart for a while, barely touching.

It wasn't until Norway shifted away from her that she curled close to him and slid her arm around his waist. He could feel her pressing to him, warm and soft. Soft in places that Sweden usually wouldn't be.

Norway slid his hand under hers, and their fingers linked. Small hands. Almost unfamiliar. But they were the same in small ways, ways that Norway couldn't quite put a name to. When he felt Sweden's thumb stroke along his palm in a familiar, affectionate gesture, Norway smiled, knowing that he was facing away from her and that she couldn't see it.

He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it. It was a promise: Everything would be fine.



The day afterward passed more quickly than Norway would have liked. The entire time went by like a breeze, and it was evening before he knew it. He found himself in his study once again, alone, flipping through old books and trying to concentrate on the task at hand with more difficulty than he really should have.

He thought back to earlier that day, and how that morning he woke up with the other side of the bed cold and the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. That in itself was not unusual. But as he rose and made his way to join Sweden, Norway remembered the events of the day before, and worried that the morning would be just as awkward.

To his relief he found Sweden in much better spirits than the previous night. If it weren't for the change in appearance, it would be as if nothing had happened at all - the quiet drone of the morning radio, the sound of Sweden's low humming accompanying it, and the sputtering of the old coffeemaker as the pot filled. She stood leaning against the counter, looking out the window, and waiting - either for the coffee to finish brewing or for Norway to wake up, presumably, whichever came first. She had tied her hair back with an elastic band and though a few wisps strayed loose it didn't seem to bother her the way that it had the previous night. In the morning's light she was calmer, more collected, and when she greeted him with the usual "G'mornin'" her voice was relaxed.

Maybe it was last night's promise that put her at ease.

The rest of the day continued in that way and it was not until it was time for Sweden to leave that there was any reminder that there was absolutely nothing normal about her visit.

Their goodbye, Norway thought, had been a little cold. A little stiff. He had stood in the foyer, waiting while she pulled on her shoes. Jacket thrown over her shoulders. When she rose they looked at one another, unsure what to say.

"You'll be workin' on it?" Sweden asked.

"What?"

She frowned, staring at him with a long, upset look. "You'll be fixin' this?"

"Right." Norway nodded. "Tonight. I'll start tonight" He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

So different from their ordinary partings, with gestures of affection. Now they found themselves struggling to find a way to part ways. She told him she would call on him again, "T'check how it's going."

"Right." Norway hesitated, then took her hand, squeezing it. For a moment she seemed unsure how to respond to react to that, but she didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she paused, pursing her lips as if she was thinking about it, then bent down to kiss him. It was light and brief, not much like the way that it usually would be, but it wasn't as if the circumstances were usual, anyway.

Then she had left, and Norway found himself alone with his coffee and his books and that damn magicked stream water glowing on the table.

He pushed yet another manuscript away from him and sighed. He hardly knew where to start. Looking at the bottle, he saw it glowing right back at him. If Norway didn't know better, he would have thought it winked. Taunting him.

"Well," Norway said to nobody in particular. "Won't let this get the best of me." He reached for the next book, resolving to push forward.



After Sweden entered his apartment, he nudged the door shut with his foot and flicked on the lights, just like he usually would. He had left Norway's home later than expected, and arrived home later than he had planned for, and he couldn't stand the lateness; it just drove home that the last few days had been very, very strange.

He shrugged off his jacket and sighed. It had been a long day. No, that wasn't quite right. The week had been long. Gathering up his overnight bag, he started to make his way in.

As he passed through the hallway he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He stopped short and stared at himself, biting at his lip.

Doesn't look like me, he thought as he turned his head first one way, then the next, taking in his appearance. Not one bit. The woman staring back from behind the glass looked a bit like the Sweden that Sweden was used to seeing - the same blue eyes, the same high cheekbones. But it wasn't enough.

Maybe if I had a sister, Sweden thought, tilting his head slightly as he looked at his reflection, maybe she'd look like that. Or if I'd been a woman this whole time, maybe I'd have always looked like this.

Eventually, he tore his eyes away from the mirror. The entire thing was too strange, and he didn't want to think about it, and he didn't want to look at himself.

The telephone rang. He let it ring. It rang once, twice, three times, and then stopped as the answering machine kicked in. Sweden waited. If it was important, ordinarily he would call back without a second thought, but a female voice answering Sweden's phone would raise so many questions that he didn't want to ask.

Unless the person phoning was Norway.

He tried not to let his hopes get up. Reminded himself that it couldn't be Norway already. He couldn't possibly be finished with it. But still, his guts twisted as he wished and hoped that it was him, that he had cracked the spell already.



Over the course of the next few days Norway became accustomed to hearing a woman's voice on the other end of the telephone line when he called Sweden. Checking the number did him no good; it was one thing to know and expect to hear a woman greeting him when he called Sweden, and it was another thing entirely to hear it.

But eventually he did get used to it over the times that they called one another back and forth, Sweden to ask if he had untangled the problem yet, or Norway to inform of any progress.

There was very little progress.

"So y'haven't done it yet." Though Sweden tried to conceal the disappointment, Norway could still hear it.

"No," he replied with a sigh. "I haven't." He cradled the phone against his shoulder and reached for a book, old and worn and too heavy to hold with one hand. "But I think..." He flipped to the folio he had marked with a piece of paper.

"...Mm?"

"Think 'm on my way to gettin' there. Mayhaps."

"Maybe?"

"Mayhaps." Norway pursed his lips. The sceptical tone in his friend's voice hadn't escaped him. "Don't go thinkin' I've been sittin' on it. This is complicated, and I can hardly read half the stuff any more, an' -"

"Can't read yer own handwritin'?"

"They're old," Norway snapped. "'S..." He sighed. "'S faded."

"Ah."

"Sorry."

There was a long pause. "'S fine."

"No." Norway set the book down and leaned back against his chair, closing his eyes. His head hurt. "'S just, it's complicated. Need to be sure. Don't want to screw up, turn you into a toadstool or summat."

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. "That so."

"Mm. Or a frog." Norway found himself smiling, but thinly. He hadn't been joking. With one finger he ran through the specifications of the possible reversal, tracking over the old parchment, the textures of the ink on hide. Complicated, that one. Difficult. "I'll come up with somethin', though."

Sweden thanked him, but the voice on the other end of the line was troubled. She closed the call with wishes that he would hurry, and he gave her assurance that he would do so.

Norway leaned back in his chair, set the book on the table, and stared at it for a moment, hoping something would click. When it didn't, he sighed and closed his eyes and tried to relax. Maybe something would come to him that way. It didn't matter how he figured out the solution, of course – the important part was finding it out at all. And he would have to find it soon, that answer.

He just wished he could see Sweden in the meantime. Not that it had been all that long, but that wasn't the point. It would be nice to just have him there. Have her there. Whichever.

He imagined Sweden there with him in the dark room, in the dim light. Sitting next to him, looking over his shoulder, watching as he went through the books, listening as he explained the situation. No words, just watching. Listening.

Norway ran his tongue over his lip and imagined Sweden cupping his face, turning it, kissing him and pressing close. Sweden would be softer than usual, that new form taking away all the angles in him. Norway wondered what it would be like to slip his hands beneath Sweden's clothing, brush fingers along bare skin. Would it feel familiar, touching her now, after that change? Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't. Still, he liked the way she looked now. Would she like it if he showed her that? If he made her understand, somehow, that he did. Maybe it'd make her feel better about things in the meantime.

And if he – if he stripped Sweden of her clothing, eased her onto her back on top of that old desk, would she like it if he set to with slick, sweeping tongue, there in that secret room amid the books and rolls of old parchment?

Norway blinked, shook his head, then slid out of his seat. Stood up and put his palms on the desk, staring down at the wood grain and trying to get his mind off what he had just been thinking about. His cheeks felt warm and the air in that room was too close, practically stuffy. You'll never get anything done if you keep thinking about that stuff, he thought. With that in mind, he gathered up his books and slipped out of his study. He would take them all out onto the patio and read there instead. The air was still a bit crisp, as the summer warmth hadn't come yet, but that was fine. A little air would do him good.



It was several days more before Norway finally made the phone call that he had been itching to make, and that he knew Sweden was waiting for.

"I have it," Norway said cautiously."Least, I think I do."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Norway waited, knowing how this went. It was the kind of silence that he was used to hearing; the kind that he got when Sweden was sorting out the right thing to say.

"Y' think you have it?"

Ah. There it was.

"Can't know for sure," he said carefully. "Still brewin'. Won't know until after you take it, mayhaps."

"Hmm."

"Goin' to need you to pick up and get over here."

That was how the conversation ended. That was all. When Norway thought back on it, there seemed to be suspicion in Sweden's voice. Some kind of disbelief. He didn't believe Norway had managed it. And really, Norway was not all that sure himself. It was one thing to follow the formula if you knew how the spell had been mixed to begin with, what had gone into it. What the structure underneath it was like. It was another thing altogether to take a strong, unfamiliar spell and try to work backward to an antidote. Norway might as well have been doing magic in the dark, and he knew it.

But he promised that he would try his best, and that was exactly what he'd done. There was only one thing left to do and that was wait. Wait for Sweden to make her way over, and wait for the antidote to finish brewing.

Norway set the phone down and looked at the potion he'd put together. Thin sunlight filtered into the kitchen, caught the bottle, and scattered blue-green-purple light across the wall. Just like the original that Sweden had brought to him from the stream, it glowed, or at least to his eyes it did. It'd go the other way, though - at least he hoped.

He gingerly moved the bottle to the pantry and left it there. It would need to sit - and he needed to think.



It was late when Sweden arrived at his house. Norway heard the car coming up the drive and stepped out onto the front patio to meet him. The headlights pooled on the ground and made him squint. He wrapped his arms around himself and waited.

The figure that slipped out from the car was tall, sturdy, but carried differently from what Norway was used to seeing. It was when Sweden stepped into the front porch's light that almost all familiarity was gone. He didn't look like himself - not that Norway had been expecting him to. It didn't matter that Norway had fully expected to see the attractive woman in front of him; it was another thing to actually see for himself. But the eyes were the same, and they were definitely Sweden's eyes, looking worried and hopeful all at once.

"Didn't expect to see you tonight," Norway said quietly, speaking before Sweden had a chance.

Sweden bit her lower lip and shrugged her now-narrower shoulders. "Wanted to come."

"Mm." Norway calculated the time in his head. There was quite a distance between them; Sweden must have been flying down the highway. "It'll be a while yet afore that there potion's ready, though."

Sweden stared at him, as if not registering what he was saying. Then her face fell. Though he might have tried to conceal the disappointment, it was still obvious. "How long?"

"Morning." They looked at each other. A cool breeze blew, stirring their hair, making both of them shiver. Norway debated for a moment, then turned, drawing the door open. "No sense stayin' out here. Come in. I'll put the coffee on."



It was strange to sit in that kitchen again, drinking coffee again, just like they had a short while ago. They had eaten supper together in silence and afterward sat there together. The window was open to let in the cool evening air. Norway leaned back in his chair a bit and looked at Sweden across the table, just as he had days before.

Sweden stared into her coffee cup. There was a look on that soft face that Norway just couldn't read. Maybe it was because of the change in appearance, but regardless of the cause, as far as Norway was concerned, that just wouldn't do.

"'S a matter've seein' how it goes," Norway said quietly. Sweden didn't look at him. He continued. "No way've knowin'; if it'll change you back without givin' it a go."

Sweden pursed her lips, took a drink of coffee, and seemed to think for a while. "Did yer best. Didn't ya."

"Aye, that's right. Did my best."

That only got him a nod, as if in Sweden's mind that was the end of the matter, and there was nothing else to be said.



They spent the rest of the evening in silence. Norway turned over the thought of explaining to Sweden what he had done. The manuscripts, the formulas. Recreating the spell. Isolating changing factors. Decided against it. He knew that even if Sweden would listen attentively, nodding in all the right places and trying to wrap her head around it, the entire thing would be completely beyond her understanding. So Norway said nothing, and Sweden said nothing either, and that suited both of them just fine.

At night they went out together, walking side by side through the winding woodland trails near Norway's home. Even now Sweden was still taller than him, her strides longer, and Norway had to walk briskly to keep in step. It was dark that evening, but the moon provided enough light for Norway to see her; hair tied back and showing that face with its softened features. Sweden glanced at him, then, and upon being caught staring Norway's eyes darted away, toward the path ahead.

The both of them were completely silent for a moment, to the point of even holding their breath. Then, without a word, Sweden slipped her hand into Norway's, and Norway knew that nothing really needed to be said, anyway. It was fine. And even if the spell didn't work, everything would turn out right.

Norway squeezed Sweden's hand and resolved to leave it at that.



He checked on the spell before heading to the bedroom. It was brewing properly, in good order, just as planned. Still, Norway frowned as he held it up to the light, looking it over. It seemed to wink at him, almost threatening in the way that the colours shifted. Norway stared it down, as if telling it who was in charge, and finally it settled. He put it back in the fridge and headed to the bedroom, satisfied.

In the bedroom, Sweden was waiting for him.

Draped over the bed, still dressed, the bedside lamp on, Sweden was waiting for him, reading - or pretending to read - the novel Norway had left on the bedside table. Not looking up, she murmured, "How's the spell?"

It was a moment before Norway would answer because for that moment his attention and his gaze were completely focused on Sweden. The way she rested back against the mattress. The way that long hair spread out over the pillow, the way those clothes fit on his new frame. Not for the first time, Norway decided he liked the way that Sweden looked as a woman, appreciating the softness, the shape that the change had left to his old friend.

Then Sweden shut the book and raised an eyebrow at him. "How's the spell," she repeated, a little more loudly that time, thinking that Norway hadn't heard her.

"What?" Norway felt his ears heating up and hoped that Sweden couldn't see it. Better to pretend not to have heard, he thought.

"The spell. How's it settlin."

Sweden was watching him, eyes following him as he made his way over. Norway pretended that he didn't notice it, and pretended he hadn't been staring before. "Goin' right good," he said as he sank onto the mattress beside Sweden. "It'll be ready tomorrow, no question." He slipped the clip out of his hair and set it on the nighttable. Though he expected Sweden to answer, she said nothing, and when Norway looked up at her again she was staring up at the ceiling, lips slightly drawn, expression set in that "thinking" look that he got sometimes. A worrying sort of look.

"It'll be all right," Norway said quietly. He hesitated, thought better of it, then reached out to touch Sweden's face. Sweden sighed and tilted her head into Norway's hand in acknowledgment. Though she said nothing else, that suited Norway fine. He bent and kissed Sweden gently, and somehow when Sweden kissed back, he knew that everything would be fine, and that Sweden understood it.

They parted. Norway looked down at Sweden, and Sweden looked up at Norway, each waiting for the other to do something. The question "What now?" was heavy in the air. Even if neither of them said it, they were thinking it. Norway was sure of it.

Sweden brought her hands up to rest them on Norway's shoulders. Norway shifted to rest his forearms on the bed, balancing more comfortably. He could feel Sweden beside him, the press of that body, softer than he was used to. Softer than Sweden usually was. Norway thought about it, considered. Sweden had that look, the kind he had when she wanted to say something or do something but didn't know how to go about it. After thinking, Norway decided to take a gamble.

He kissed Sweden again, and was more than a little relieved when Sweden kissed back, eager and open and welcoming.



It was only when he shifted to rest beside Sweden and slid his fingertips along Sweden's throat, over collar bones, to finally begin undoing the buttons to Sweden's shirt that the uncertainty returned again. Sweden's hand shot up and grabbed his, stopping him with a firm hold.

Norway froze and waited.

Sweden licked his lips. Looked as if she might speak. Didn't.

"We can just stop," Norway said quietly, as evenly as he could, masking his disappointment. "If you want."

Sweden shook her head and released Norway's hand in favour of taking off her glasses. She stared at them for a moment, furrowed her brows, and frowned in thought - a formidable sight even with the more delicate facial features.

"'S the light," she concluded.

"The light?"

A nod. "Don't... Don't think with the light on I'd..." She trailed off, but it was enough.

"How about with it turned off?"

Sweden set her glasses on the nighttable, stared up at the ceiling, and as far as Norway could tell, took a moment to think about it. "Think it'd be fine," she mumbled.

"Put it out, then."

Norway watched as she reached over and turned off the lamp.

They rested together in the dark without a word. Norway slid his arms around Sweden's waist and didn't say anything. He listened to the sound of Sweden breathing, that steady in-and-out, and wondered if he should say anything. The earlier ease was gone and he was at a loss as to how to get it back.

After a while, Sweden slid her hand over in order to take Norway's hand and squeezed it gently. It seemed to be a go-ahead, but Norway didn't dare to move, not until Sweden leaned over and kissed him. He kissed back, and moved to attend to the buttons again, and this time Sweden didn't stop him.



They were quiet as they stayed there in the dark together. Then again, they always were quiet, even in their intimate moments, and this really was no different. Norway pressed Sweden against the mattress and let his hands wander, sliding slowly over Sweden's chest, working at the buttons while he dipped his head to nuzzle along Sweden's neck and press kisses there. In response Sweden sighed and slid her hands up - smaller now, and with more slender fingers - slid them up to cup Norway's head and twine in his hair. And when Norway dipped his fingers underneath the fabric, sliding his hand past those now-undone buttons to cup a breast in his palm, Sweden arched against him with a sigh, pressing up into his hand.

The light, then, made all the difference.

Maybe it should have seemed strange, but it wasn't, Norway reflected as he slid his thigh between Sweden's legs. Instead of what he would usually find there, there was heat as Sweden pressed up against him, and somehow it wasn't strange at all. It just was what it was. He kissed along Sweden's collarbone and stroked his tongue over the sensitive skin there and let Sweden rub up against his thigh, liking the sound of the sighs he heard in the dark. Sweden's hands clung to his shoulders and tangled in his hair and shifted, searching for that one flyaway strand. When they grazed it Norway breathed in and sharply halted his movements, just for a second. Then he steadied himself and resumed, undoing buttons and peeling back clothing, and not once did he protest as Sweden curled that strand of hair around one finger, let it slip out, then twined it around again slowly, slowly.

He could feel his cheeks burning and as he pressed kisses to Sweden's collarbones, as he dipped his head and nuzzled at now-bare breasts, he knew that Sweden could feel it, and if not that, then the press of his cock against her thigh, harder now than it really had a right to be. Norway shuddered under Sweden's touch and decided that if Sweden was going to tease him like that, then he wouldn't hold back either.

He slid down Sweden's body, attending to every sliver of skin in turn. Brushing lips. Licking. Sucking. Caressing those breasts with his mouth, his hands, even as Sweden's long fingers working at his hair made him unsteady and his breaths uneven. He could feel Sweden pressing against him still, rocking against him. Norway sighed. He wanted -- well, he would be patient.

He dipped his head, moved further. Grazed his lips over Sweden's hipbone and got a sigh and shiver in response and Sweden's fingers tightening in his hair, pulling it, making Norway let out a little sound in protest. No pulling, thanks. And when Sweden's hands eased up in return, Norway let out a groan of relief and turned to the task at hand: dipping lower and lower still, his head between Sweden's thighs.

It certainly wasn't the first time Norway had been in a position like that, certainly not the first time with Sweden, but the change made all the difference. This, with Sweden, was new, and while Norway wanted to get to it, he forced himself to slow down, to try and take his time - not that Sweden was making it easy for him. Norway parted his lips and pressed a kiss against Sweden's thigh, grazing over the sensitive skin there and making her gasp under the touch, gripping Norway's hair unconsciously and tugging on it. After that, Norway didn't make a single sound of protest, even if Sweden's pull on his hair was sharp and painful and utterly arousing. He took the hint instead, moving his head as Sweden guided it, and licked between her legs.

The fingers in his hair mercifully let go in favour of stroking at the flyaway curl. Norway made a soft noise of complaint and lapped again, sweeping his tongue slowly, teasing. If Sweden kept that up, he wouldn't last. Then again, he thought as he pressed his tongue inside and made Sweden gasp, that was probably the point. It would be just like Sweden to tease him like that.

He coiled his arms around Sweden's legs, holding them apart as he slowly, steadily, swept his tongue there. If Sweden would tease him, then he could do the same. He listened to the soft sounds Sweden made, listened to the gasps and bitten-back moans. Felt the soft rise of Sweden's hips, the way she pressed up eagerly against Norway's lips and tongue as if begging him to slide it inside again. Norway pressed his tongue against sensitive spots, swept it there, and got a soft groan in response. It was all he could do to keep himself from grinding against the mattress.

He worked his mouth, sucking and pressing and stroking, but in the back of his mind he wondered if Sweden was truly fine with it. There was a way in which the breaths he heard shook that made him wonder. Something about the way the hands in his hair trembled. He pressed his tongue again, heard a gasp, and found that he couldn't tell whether or not it was from what he was doing or if it was from something else.

Reluctantly, Norway lifted his head. He felt Sweden tense around him.

"What's wrong?" Sweden's voice was hoarse.

Norway rested his cheek against Sweden's thigh and tried to think of a good way to explain himself. "You're sure you're all right with this, then," he murmured, lifting his eyes to look at him.

From where he rested he could see Sweden looking at him, but it was something he felt more than saw. Sweden was a mass of shadow in the dark, but he knew Sweden's eyes were on him. He felt her shift minutely around him, could hear her quick breathing, and waited.

"'Course 'm fine," Sweden mumbled. The hands holding Norway's hair tightened, then eased, stroking at him. "But...."

"But?"

"Ya' stopped." The words were hesitant, breathy.

Norway nodded. "'S fine, then." He kissed at Sweden's thigh.

"Mnh." Sweden drew in a deep breath and gripped Norway's hair again. Finally, the reply came. "I want..." Sweden seemed to grope for the words.

"The rest?" Norway suggested, after waiting a moment.

There was an acknowledging grunt from Sweden. Yes, the rest would do.

Norway lifted his head, then moved forward. He felt Sweden part around him, coil around him, long arms wrapping around his shoulders and drawing him close. He dipped his head and Sweden kissed him.

At first, it was difficult to decide whether or not he should move - but the way Sweden tangled his fingers in Norway's hair and sprawled out underneath him gave him an answer without him even needing to speak on it. That was familiar. He kissed Sweden, and eased into him, and decided to stop dithering.

The sound that Sweden made against his mouth was reward enough, anyway.



Even through all of it, even with the changes, the way that they moved in the dark together was comfortably familiar. Sweden's hands in his hair, the slow soft kisses, the way Sweden gasped against his mouth and pressed up into him. All of them were things Norway knew, and as he lost himself in Sweden's arms he knew that nothing had really changed, anyway. The cues were the same, and he followed through to fill all of Sweden's... requests.

Regardless of anything else, this was something they would have no trouble with.

If only he could see her. Still, Norway thought as Sweden pressed her face to his shoulder and groaned under him, it didn't matter. It was enough. He thrust into her and felt Sweden move against him, felt that soft, yielding body arch against him, and Norway couldn't help but moan as Sweden's hands wrapped in his hair and pulled at it. A satisfied huff against his neck told him that Sweden had done it on purpose.

He rolled his hips and thrust in firmly - and that got him a startled moan and a renewed tug on his hair.

Finally, Sweden lifted her head from Norway's shoulder, cupped the back of his head and kissed him, and Norway was unable to keep quiet under that.



They spent the night like that. When finally they were finished, they rested in the dark for a while. Neither of them said anything, and neither of them bothered to turn on the light.

Norway could hear Sweden breathing beside him, feel the rise and fall of her body. It had been -- pretty much what he had expected, all things considered. But the question weighed on his mind.

Sweden voiced it before he did. "What if it doesn't work?" she asked.

Norway licked his lips, considered it, then slid a reassuring hand to grip at her, squeeze her hand gently. "I'll try it again, then."

Sweden moved a little, turning over to stare at him. The little light that came in through the window was enough for Norway to make out most of her expression, the uncertainty there. "Ain't gonna' turn me into a mushroom or somethin'?" she murmured accusingly.

"I'll turn you back if I do."

"Or a frog."

"Not that either." He moved to kiss at Sweden's cheek. "No matter what summat y'might get turned into, I'll fix it."

He tried to sound confident but the fact of the matter was, he really had no idea if the reversal would do anything at all, if it would, and whether he would be able to fix anything if it did go wrong. But the answer satisfied Sweden enough if the easing of her shoulders was anything to judge by. Norway slid his arms around her and, when she shifted to get closer to him, stroked her hair softly, gently.

"We'll have to go back to that stream after," Norway murmured. "Fix things."

"Oh?"

"Mmhm. Can't have just anyone gettin' in a mess like this. It's lucky y'could find someone who could fix it."

Sweden nodded. "Do it," he said. Then added, with some hesitation, "If y'can."

That's the thing, isn't it, Norway thought. If I can. If. He kissed the top of Sweden's head and decided to leave it at that.



The next morning, as he held the antidote up to the light to get a good look at it, Norway felt more confident about the entire business than he had the previous evening. The soft hints of blue and green and purple that he had expected were clear as day to his eyes, and that meant that the spell had settled the way that he'd meant it to.

Whether it would work or not was another question.

From the direction of the kitchen he could smell breakfast. Sweden had set to it without a word while Norway had gone to retrieve the potion, just as she usually would, except on most days Norway would be going about his garden, checking on herbs rather than retreating to his study to tend to a spell that he could not even be confident would work.

Well. There was no way to avoid it. Either it would do as he meant, or it wouldn't. Carefully, Norway took it up, then went to the kitchen where Sweden had by that time finished making breakfast and was setting it out on the table for the both of them. She looked up at him when he stepped into the room, and she didn't need to say anything for him to know what she was asking.

"Looks like it'll do," Norway said softly as he set it on the table. "We'll see to it after the coffee."

"You're sure?" Sweden asked, looking at him with an expression that he couldn't quite read, though he could guess at what she was thinking.

"I did my best," he said firmly, and if Sweden doubted him after that, she didn't say anything about it. She handed him a cup of coffee without another word.

They ate breakfast together in silence. Norway found himself at a loss for what to say, so instead, he said nothing. The only thing that came to mind was reassurance – and he could only give so much of that before it would ring false.

Sweden didn't ask him anything else about the antidote. It was for the better. When finally they rose, finished, Norway handed Sweden the bottle. "Set to it, then," he said, giving her a reassuring look as he carefully handed it over. "Go drink it 'n have yourself a lay-down. For getting comfortable, understand. It'll take a while to take effect." Then he paused, as Sweden nodded to show she understood, then added, "And be sure to down all of it."

Sweden looked at the bottle as it unable to fathom what it might do, then drew it close and nodded. "Thanks," she said, and even if it was only one word, the nervousness showed in her voice, just a lilt of it. But before Norway could comment on it, try to assure her again, she took a half-step toward him and kissed his cheek, dipping her head low in order to reach him.

It would do.



He washed the dishes while Sweden went to the bedroom to do the transformation. As much as he wanted to join him, Norway had decided against it, and Sweden hadn't asked him to, instead simply saying that he should come join him when the washing was finished. He worked slowly, taking his time with it. If it did go right, it wouldn't do to go bursting into the room in the middle of a transformation. Bound to be unpleasant, he reasoned, and he couldn't have with it. And if it didn't happen – well, he wouldn't get to fixing that when he came to it.

He stared at the window as he worked, thinking of the previous night and the dark and the touch of Sweden's hands. It hadn't gone the way that it had when he had daydreamed about it in the library; it had been slower and more awkward than in his fantasy, not as passionate as what he had daydreamed about. But it wasn't as if he hadn't expected that.

As he set the dishes in the drying rack, he decided he would be very glad to have Sweden comfortable in his own skin again, no matter how attractive he looked under that spell.



When Norway finally made his way to the bedroom to check on his friend, he stopped at the door for a moment, his hand on the knob, thinking. Even if he was confident in his abilities, he couldn't help but wonder if the spell had worked, and if what would greet him when he entered would be what he expected – no, hoped – to find.

Finally, Norway drew in a breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The voice from inside was quiet, but low and deep and very familiar. Norway relaxed, held back a smile, and slipped into the room.

Sweden stood in front of the mirror, looking his reflection over, apparently checking – not for the first time – that everything was in order. And everything was in order; he was just as broad-shouldered as he had been, just as tall, just as masculine, the edges back in his face and the roundness gone from his hips.

"Back to normal, then," Norway said quietly as he pressed the door shut and went to him.

"Hmm," was Sweden's reply, nothing more than that as he gave himself one more appraising look in the mirror. Then he turned, looked at Norway, hesitated a second, then reached out for him.

Norway let Sweden draw him close without a word, shutting his eyes as he leaned against him and felt the strong, comfortable arms slide around him. There was something in the air, a feeling that Sweden had something to say, so he waited, and didn't say anything. Finally, he heard Sweden draw in a breath that meant he would speak.

"'S not that I minded," Sweden muttered, resting his cheek against Norway's hair. "Being like that, 'mean. 'S only that I missed bein' myself."

"Hmm," Norway said in response.

They left it at that.



They set out the next day as if everything was perfectly normal, as if it was a regular camping trip, as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was in their plans. And maybe it really was a normal trip, except for the cooler of carefully-packaged bottles and the book full of notes on spell-reversal that Norway packed with him.

"You remember where it was, now," Norway asked cautiously. They had stopped at the side of the road somewhere near their shared border. Sweden hauled out the roadmap, and they sat staring at it together, tracing the route, trying to figure out where they would need to go.

Sweden's brows furrowed as he traced the road with his finger, along, across, northward, calm and silent as he tried to determine just where he had put down. Norway waited, and finally Sweden grunted, giving a nod as he tapped the map. "There."

It was a sliver of water, a thin and barely-visible line, looking more like a crease in the map than anything else. It had a curve to it, a sharp turn that seemed unnatural. It was out of the way, a good hike from the nearest road, and a good way from any inhabited location. "How'd you find yourself out there?" Norway muttered as he marked down the location, not wanting to have to go looking for it again.

"Been there before," Sweden mumbled, folding the map back as it was handed back to him. "Wanted some peace 'n quiet."

They said little for the rest of the drive.



The hike through the woods was spent just as silently; there was no need for conversation, not when Sweden knew where he was going, sliding through barely-there passages with ease. Norway followed just as easily, hanging back a little to give Sweden room to properly lead the way.

Eventually they abandoned the paths completely, easing their way through trees. Still, there was a way if one looked at it, the slim remnants of some footpath long-forgotten.

The bottles were a weight in their packs.

When they came to the clearing Sweden had camped in, and the little stream with its sharp turn, Sweden nodded toward it.

"Watch your step," he mumbled.

Norway snorted and shook his head. There was no need to say that he didn't have any plans to step in it.

"Ought to be a spring somewhere, if the map's right," Norway said, and Sweden nodded. If we do the work there, it'll take care've the lot. Get right to the source."

"This way," Sweden muttered, and they began following the stream.

Not for the first time, Norway wondered how Sweden had been able to miss the magic. The air smelled metallic, the water rippling with greenish-purple shades that give it an oily look. He could practically taste it, that copper-edged it on his tongue as he breathed in.

Be fair, now, Norway thought as he glanced at his friend, who walked a bit ahead of him, leading the way. He wouldn't be able to recognize it. It's just water to him, nothing else.



With Sweden leading, they didn't take long to reach the spring. Sweden helped him unpack the bottles of reversal, helped him lay things out. Watched him curiously but silently as he drew out the spell, sketching it out in the soil with a sharp twig. Norway spoke softly, using old words, and when he was finished he glanced to Sweden and nodded.

That was the signal.

One by one they dumped the water into the spring, opening the bottles and scattering the antidote into it and the surrounding ground for good measure. Norway murmured all the while as Sweden assisted him, and he could see the magic in the air, glowing like a purple and green mist.

It seemed as if hours passed by the time they were finished. Finally, Norway straightened and turned to Sweden, panting, sweat beading on his brow.

"That's it," he said, handing his partner the last empty bottle. "That's all there is."

"Y'sure?" Sweden muttered, taking the bottle and staring at it sceptically. "Took ya' ten minutes."

Norway stared at him, then looked toward the spring. Without a word he walked over, bent, and slipped his hand into it. He waited.

"Anything?"

There was silence. Then Sweden replied, "Try all th' way."

"I ain't about to go doin' that," Norway said, glancing first at him then down at the water again.

The next thing he knew, he was absolutely soaked, sitting up to his shoulders in cold water.

"Th' hell -" he sputtered, wiping water from his eyes and pushing his hair out of his face, turning to glare daggers at Sweden, whose shoulders were shaking with barely-contained laughter.

"It worked," Sweden said, and he practically grinned. "Ya' did it."

Cold and damp though he was, Norway couldn't help but smile. "Looks like I did."

He held out a hand, raising an eyebrow at Sweden. As his friend bent down to help him out, Norway grabbed him - and pulled him in.

There was a splash, and the forest rang with the sound of their laughter.


End