Grain and Fish [Russia/Norway]
Feb. 18th, 2016 07:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: Grain and Fish
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Russia/Norway
Rating: 18+/NSFW for sex and other things - please see warning.
Length: 1k
Summary: In the summer, the boats come from the north and east, and they bring the bear who is a man who is a nation with them.
Other: Set in the 19th century, during the time of the Pomor Trade. Written as a fairytale/magical realism/etc.
Warning is choose not to warn/read at your own risk because of varied weirdness that I can't think of a good label for.
Grain and Fish
It was in warm weather that the boats would come in from the north and the east. That was when Norway would greet them.
They brought trade goods. They brought people. And inevitably, they would bring the bear, too, who swept Norway into his arms like a lover.
He did that because a lover is precisely what he was. He was a man, and he was a bear, and he was a nation, and if he could be all those things, and indeed he was, then he could be a lover too.
Now, it seems strange to think of that, doesn't it? Who would take a bear as a lover? Bears are rough-mannered and not good at conversation. Loving one has risks. It has inconveniences. You would end up with fur in your bedsheets, and would always have the worry that they might bite your head off, that their claws would rip you apart.
That is what people thought when they saw Norway and the bear together. They tilted their heads, and they whispered to each other in the shared tongue of traders, though they always went quiet when Norway and the bear looked toward their whispering.
To Norway, it didn't matter one bit that the bear was not the best at conversation. Norway himself wasn't good at it either, and what did he care for that anyway, when his lover was good enough at giving him attention and affection? And he was rough-mannered, but he carried himself well, and dressed in well-made clothes. He brought trade, of course – the flour and grain, oatmeal and peas, all in exchange for fish and more fish. And he brought gifts – honey, and soap, and sweets, and other things too, all manner of tiny precious things that he would press into Norway's hands, accompanied by a too-broad smile and too many teeth.
It is true that Norway would wake up with the sheets covered in fur. But he did not object to this. Who would, when they were blessed with a lover who was so soft and so warm, who cuddled up to him the way this bear did? He did not mind at all. It was with a smile that he would let the bear lead him to bed, and he would help him remove his clothes, and when the bear pressed him to the mattress he did not cry out at all, only gasped and wrapped his arms and legs around him.
That is not to say that Norway did not care about teeth and claws. Anyone who makes love to a bear is going to be aware of the risks, and if they aren't, it's their own fault. Norway was aware that he was taking a chance, that he never could be positive that the kisses at his neck would not be replaced by teeth tearing open his throat, that his lover's grip would not pierce his skin, that the huge form on top of him would not crush him, that in his passion his lover would not tear him to pieces.
Norway knew of the risks because he had experienced them. He had - more than once - felt his lover's powerful jaws close around his throat. He had felt those claws tear him open, while guts spilled and blood soaked into the bedsheets. He had died while his lover devoured him. The first time, it was very unexpected.
He was fine the next morning, of course. One such as himself could recover easily even from that. But as he carefully washed off the remains of their lovemaking, Norway looked at the bear and said very firmly that he would have to pay for the replacements for the sheets, and for the mattress, and for the bed, and for the cleaning of the walls and floorboards, which had all been ruined in their passion.
Of course, the bear agreed. Later, Norway informed his lover that he did not object to his passions, but if that were the case, they would have to make love outside.
And sometimes they did.
But even when they did not do it outside, but inside, when Norway went to bed with his lover, he always understood that it was terribly dangerous. How strange, that someone soft and cuddly, with such a sweet face, who gave honey-kisses, could become so destructive in the heat of passion.
But he liked it, just as he liked the tickle of fur against his skin, and the weight of his lover on top of him, and the fullness he felt as he was fucked into the mattress.
They loved one another deeply in those days.
The summery meetings between them were always an open secret. Everyone turned a blind eye to it. There were times when it was forbidden, moments over the decades, over the hundreds of years between them when the north couldn't do as it wished, when the south pinned it down. Trade was a tricky thing. But in those days, the boats still came, only in secret, and the bear's kisses were all the sweeter for the way they defied the decrees from down south. Norway gave himself up every night, and relished breaking those rules, those orders.
And as he kissed the bear's long nose, he would ask, "Do you come here for fish, or for me?"
The bear would reply, and his voice was a growl in Norway's ear. "Both," he would say, because it was true. And then the bear asked him, with a honey-toned voice, "Do you do this for the flour, or for me?"
"For both," Norway replied in his simple way, because it was true.
And Norway gave himself over every summer, when the boats came from the north and east, sitting like fat ducks on the water, their cargoes heavy with flour. He would fall into bed with the man who was a bear who was a nation again and again, and sank his fingers into his hair, and loved him.
When they parted, he whispered that they would see each other again, and both he and the bear who was a nation knew that knew they would. Because this was theirs, and it was theirs alone, and they would keep it as long as the boats made their journeys through that cold water.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Russia/Norway
Rating: 18+/NSFW for sex and other things - please see warning.
Length: 1k
Summary: In the summer, the boats come from the north and east, and they bring the bear who is a man who is a nation with them.
Other: Set in the 19th century, during the time of the Pomor Trade. Written as a fairytale/magical realism/etc.
Warning is choose not to warn/read at your own risk because of varied weirdness that I can't think of a good label for.
Grain and Fish
It was in warm weather that the boats would come in from the north and the east. That was when Norway would greet them.
They brought trade goods. They brought people. And inevitably, they would bring the bear, too, who swept Norway into his arms like a lover.
He did that because a lover is precisely what he was. He was a man, and he was a bear, and he was a nation, and if he could be all those things, and indeed he was, then he could be a lover too.
Now, it seems strange to think of that, doesn't it? Who would take a bear as a lover? Bears are rough-mannered and not good at conversation. Loving one has risks. It has inconveniences. You would end up with fur in your bedsheets, and would always have the worry that they might bite your head off, that their claws would rip you apart.
That is what people thought when they saw Norway and the bear together. They tilted their heads, and they whispered to each other in the shared tongue of traders, though they always went quiet when Norway and the bear looked toward their whispering.
To Norway, it didn't matter one bit that the bear was not the best at conversation. Norway himself wasn't good at it either, and what did he care for that anyway, when his lover was good enough at giving him attention and affection? And he was rough-mannered, but he carried himself well, and dressed in well-made clothes. He brought trade, of course – the flour and grain, oatmeal and peas, all in exchange for fish and more fish. And he brought gifts – honey, and soap, and sweets, and other things too, all manner of tiny precious things that he would press into Norway's hands, accompanied by a too-broad smile and too many teeth.
It is true that Norway would wake up with the sheets covered in fur. But he did not object to this. Who would, when they were blessed with a lover who was so soft and so warm, who cuddled up to him the way this bear did? He did not mind at all. It was with a smile that he would let the bear lead him to bed, and he would help him remove his clothes, and when the bear pressed him to the mattress he did not cry out at all, only gasped and wrapped his arms and legs around him.
That is not to say that Norway did not care about teeth and claws. Anyone who makes love to a bear is going to be aware of the risks, and if they aren't, it's their own fault. Norway was aware that he was taking a chance, that he never could be positive that the kisses at his neck would not be replaced by teeth tearing open his throat, that his lover's grip would not pierce his skin, that the huge form on top of him would not crush him, that in his passion his lover would not tear him to pieces.
Norway knew of the risks because he had experienced them. He had - more than once - felt his lover's powerful jaws close around his throat. He had felt those claws tear him open, while guts spilled and blood soaked into the bedsheets. He had died while his lover devoured him. The first time, it was very unexpected.
He was fine the next morning, of course. One such as himself could recover easily even from that. But as he carefully washed off the remains of their lovemaking, Norway looked at the bear and said very firmly that he would have to pay for the replacements for the sheets, and for the mattress, and for the bed, and for the cleaning of the walls and floorboards, which had all been ruined in their passion.
Of course, the bear agreed. Later, Norway informed his lover that he did not object to his passions, but if that were the case, they would have to make love outside.
And sometimes they did.
But even when they did not do it outside, but inside, when Norway went to bed with his lover, he always understood that it was terribly dangerous. How strange, that someone soft and cuddly, with such a sweet face, who gave honey-kisses, could become so destructive in the heat of passion.
But he liked it, just as he liked the tickle of fur against his skin, and the weight of his lover on top of him, and the fullness he felt as he was fucked into the mattress.
They loved one another deeply in those days.
The summery meetings between them were always an open secret. Everyone turned a blind eye to it. There were times when it was forbidden, moments over the decades, over the hundreds of years between them when the north couldn't do as it wished, when the south pinned it down. Trade was a tricky thing. But in those days, the boats still came, only in secret, and the bear's kisses were all the sweeter for the way they defied the decrees from down south. Norway gave himself up every night, and relished breaking those rules, those orders.
And as he kissed the bear's long nose, he would ask, "Do you come here for fish, or for me?"
The bear would reply, and his voice was a growl in Norway's ear. "Both," he would say, because it was true. And then the bear asked him, with a honey-toned voice, "Do you do this for the flour, or for me?"
"For both," Norway replied in his simple way, because it was true.
And Norway gave himself over every summer, when the boats came from the north and east, sitting like fat ducks on the water, their cargoes heavy with flour. He would fall into bed with the man who was a bear who was a nation again and again, and sank his fingers into his hair, and loved him.
When they parted, he whispered that they would see each other again, and both he and the bear who was a nation knew that knew they would. Because this was theirs, and it was theirs alone, and they would keep it as long as the boats made their journeys through that cold water.
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