All Clear [Netherlands/Denmark]
Feb. 13th, 2016 09:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: All Clear
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Netherlands/Denmark
Rating: 13+ for language + references to sex
Length: 1k
Summary: After the smoke settles, Netherlands is there. Denmark knows what he's really after, and that's fine - as long as he has someone to lean against.
Other: Set directly after the Battle of the Sound. Written for Sara Generis/Kanadka for Chocolate Box Exchange. :) [Original post]
All Clear
When the smoke settled over the Sound, and the cannons ceased their firing, there was nothing left but the two of them. The Swedes retreated, and there they were: Netherlands and Denmark, face to face, heavy with relief.
It was over.
Denmark wrapped his arms around his neighbour, and it was only with reluctance that he let go. Eventually. After a while. It took a bit. Netherlands practically had to pry him off, muttering that he was clinging like a barnacle, and that he should quit it.
To that, Denmark could only laugh.
They spent the night together. Of course they did. They were friends, weren't they, they were pals, they were – whatever it could be called when Nations went beyond allies into something else. It didn't matter what they called it. What mattered was the draw, which Denmark counted as good as a victory. What mattered was that they hadn't seen each other in too long.
"This's because I saved your ass, isn't it," Netherlands muttered as he worked at removing Denmark's clothing. Denmark had already stripped him to his underclothes, exhausted but making quick work of it, not giving a damn if he came off as over-eager.
"Really? Come on, Neds. You know better than that." Denmark flashed him a tired smile, pretending to look affronted. And maybe Netherlands did know him better than that, because the only response he gave to that was to roll his eyes and go back to work at taking everything off.
"So. You're happy to see me."
"Of course! Of course."
But when there was nothing but thin fabric between them, and when Denmark wrapped his arms around him again, they both knew exactly why he was being so clingy. Why he was pressing close. Why he rested his head on Netherlands' shoulder in the way that he did.
Denmark could feel Netherlands hesitate against him. Then the hands came up, settled on him, nice and big and grounding. He closed his eyes and breathed in, took in the scent.
Tobacco and the lingering tang of gunpowder. Even if he had arrived not on a warship but on a galiot full of cargo, the scent of the battle had still settled all over him in the haze left by the cannons.
Don't think about that, Denmark thought. You probably smell like it too. And it's not like a little smoke ever bothered you, anyway.
Those familiar hands slid along him. Trailed down his back and down his sides, then up again, repeating slowly. But there was something about that touch that didn't really hint at sex, and not at comfort either. It seemed to be searching. Curious.
After a moment, Denmark realized what was going on. The siege had left him worn-out and ragged, that much was obvious, and his people had done no better. He'd lost bulk, that was sure. The look Netherlands had given him the moment they saw one another flashed back to him. That "You look like hell" expression. The way his eyebrows lifted in surprise, not because Denmark had taken a hit over the last few months, but because it was so obvious.
Well, Denmark thought. Well. Shit happens. He wouldn't usually let any nation other than his brother see him in a condition like this, but there wasn't anything he could do about it now.
He straightened himself up. Drew himself up enough to kiss him. Felt that hold close around him again, and then a large hand came up to cup his head. The kiss he got in return was firm, hard, in control, and after only a second he gave up and let him lead, feeling fragile against him and hating it.
But hey, Denmark told himself, at least we're pals. Allies. Right?
Maybe he shouldn't have given up so easily. Put up more of a fight. That was fun; playing a little rough was always sure to be a good time. It added a little something. But he was tired, and he'd had enough of fighting.
So he broke the kiss, and muttered, "Bed?" against Netherlands' lips. And the reply was a shove, but a gentle one, and that was all the answer he needed.
Bed.
Bed, but not sleep.
They rested together afterward. Netherlands said little, as usual, and for once Denmark didn't feel like talking.
Denmark snuffed out the candle and curled up against Netherlands in the dark. For a while, he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of him breathing. In. Out. Steady.
After a moment, Denmark realized why the sound was so even. He'd fallen asleep already. What a guy.
Denmark held back the urge to prod him. To jab him in the ribs and whisper "Neds! Wake up, don't pass out on me yet." He'd take it badly, and anyway, there was nothing more to say. Netherlands had what he wanted, and as for Denmark, he was in no state for round two.
Too bad, really.
But the warmth beside him was more than fine. Denmark sighed against him and settled in.
It wouldn't do any good to get attached. He knew it. Oh, Norway had approached him about it a while back. When he was just starting to cozy up to Netherlands, getting friendly with him, that was when Norway had turned up his nose and said in that way of his: "Don't get too friendly. He'll use you, brother. When he smiles, you pay. Remember that."
As if he thought Denmark didn't know. As if he figured he couldn't see it for himself. The whole damn world knew that what Netherlands wanted was an open Øresund. An open Sound, and no fees.
But Denmark remembered that look he'd seen on him. That flicker in his eyes when they met in the harbour, the badly-hidden stunned look when Denmark greeted him. And he remembered earlier that night, those cautious hands slowly seeking.
Sure. It was about the money. But maybe there was more to it, too. Maybe he could pretend.
He sighed in the dark and breathed in the scent of tobacco.
Pretending was just fine by him.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Netherlands/Denmark
Rating: 13+ for language + references to sex
Length: 1k
Summary: After the smoke settles, Netherlands is there. Denmark knows what he's really after, and that's fine - as long as he has someone to lean against.
Other: Set directly after the Battle of the Sound. Written for Sara Generis/Kanadka for Chocolate Box Exchange. :) [Original post]
All Clear
When the smoke settled over the Sound, and the cannons ceased their firing, there was nothing left but the two of them. The Swedes retreated, and there they were: Netherlands and Denmark, face to face, heavy with relief.
It was over.
Denmark wrapped his arms around his neighbour, and it was only with reluctance that he let go. Eventually. After a while. It took a bit. Netherlands practically had to pry him off, muttering that he was clinging like a barnacle, and that he should quit it.
To that, Denmark could only laugh.
They spent the night together. Of course they did. They were friends, weren't they, they were pals, they were – whatever it could be called when Nations went beyond allies into something else. It didn't matter what they called it. What mattered was the draw, which Denmark counted as good as a victory. What mattered was that they hadn't seen each other in too long.
"This's because I saved your ass, isn't it," Netherlands muttered as he worked at removing Denmark's clothing. Denmark had already stripped him to his underclothes, exhausted but making quick work of it, not giving a damn if he came off as over-eager.
"Really? Come on, Neds. You know better than that." Denmark flashed him a tired smile, pretending to look affronted. And maybe Netherlands did know him better than that, because the only response he gave to that was to roll his eyes and go back to work at taking everything off.
"So. You're happy to see me."
"Of course! Of course."
But when there was nothing but thin fabric between them, and when Denmark wrapped his arms around him again, they both knew exactly why he was being so clingy. Why he was pressing close. Why he rested his head on Netherlands' shoulder in the way that he did.
Denmark could feel Netherlands hesitate against him. Then the hands came up, settled on him, nice and big and grounding. He closed his eyes and breathed in, took in the scent.
Tobacco and the lingering tang of gunpowder. Even if he had arrived not on a warship but on a galiot full of cargo, the scent of the battle had still settled all over him in the haze left by the cannons.
Don't think about that, Denmark thought. You probably smell like it too. And it's not like a little smoke ever bothered you, anyway.
Those familiar hands slid along him. Trailed down his back and down his sides, then up again, repeating slowly. But there was something about that touch that didn't really hint at sex, and not at comfort either. It seemed to be searching. Curious.
After a moment, Denmark realized what was going on. The siege had left him worn-out and ragged, that much was obvious, and his people had done no better. He'd lost bulk, that was sure. The look Netherlands had given him the moment they saw one another flashed back to him. That "You look like hell" expression. The way his eyebrows lifted in surprise, not because Denmark had taken a hit over the last few months, but because it was so obvious.
Well, Denmark thought. Well. Shit happens. He wouldn't usually let any nation other than his brother see him in a condition like this, but there wasn't anything he could do about it now.
He straightened himself up. Drew himself up enough to kiss him. Felt that hold close around him again, and then a large hand came up to cup his head. The kiss he got in return was firm, hard, in control, and after only a second he gave up and let him lead, feeling fragile against him and hating it.
But hey, Denmark told himself, at least we're pals. Allies. Right?
Maybe he shouldn't have given up so easily. Put up more of a fight. That was fun; playing a little rough was always sure to be a good time. It added a little something. But he was tired, and he'd had enough of fighting.
So he broke the kiss, and muttered, "Bed?" against Netherlands' lips. And the reply was a shove, but a gentle one, and that was all the answer he needed.
Bed.
Bed, but not sleep.
They rested together afterward. Netherlands said little, as usual, and for once Denmark didn't feel like talking.
Denmark snuffed out the candle and curled up against Netherlands in the dark. For a while, he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of him breathing. In. Out. Steady.
After a moment, Denmark realized why the sound was so even. He'd fallen asleep already. What a guy.
Denmark held back the urge to prod him. To jab him in the ribs and whisper "Neds! Wake up, don't pass out on me yet." He'd take it badly, and anyway, there was nothing more to say. Netherlands had what he wanted, and as for Denmark, he was in no state for round two.
Too bad, really.
But the warmth beside him was more than fine. Denmark sighed against him and settled in.
It wouldn't do any good to get attached. He knew it. Oh, Norway had approached him about it a while back. When he was just starting to cozy up to Netherlands, getting friendly with him, that was when Norway had turned up his nose and said in that way of his: "Don't get too friendly. He'll use you, brother. When he smiles, you pay. Remember that."
As if he thought Denmark didn't know. As if he figured he couldn't see it for himself. The whole damn world knew that what Netherlands wanted was an open Øresund. An open Sound, and no fees.
But Denmark remembered that look he'd seen on him. That flicker in his eyes when they met in the harbour, the badly-hidden stunned look when Denmark greeted him. And he remembered earlier that night, those cautious hands slowly seeking.
Sure. It was about the money. But maybe there was more to it, too. Maybe he could pretend.
He sighed in the dark and breathed in the scent of tobacco.
Pretending was just fine by him.
