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roesslyngTitle: An they may leike who assotede be
Characters/Pairing: Denmark/Norway
Rating: 15+ for choking and implied sex
Length: 589
Summary: Norway makes his point in an unconventional way.
Other: Written for Bice and Pheme. Posted at my sketch journal. (Original entry)
An they may leike who assotede be
"Heh! Y'know, you're even prettier than usual when you're mad."
That was how it started.
Denmark said it with a smile after receiving a blow for saying something even more mind-numbingly stupid than usual. He didn't seem to care, as if it didn't hit him at all - neither the blow itself nor the point of it. They were barely in the door, having just stepped in from an uneventful evening walk, their shoes not even off, and already something ridiculous had slipped out of his mouth. He got the usual for it, but then that followed. That remark. That smile. For Norway's part, he couldn't be sure what was more infuriating: that smile, or what Denmark had said.
Fine.
That was when Norway pushed him against the door. Denmark's eyes widened - he hadn't been expecting it - and he grinned even more widely at that.
"Whoa, Nor, I didn't know y'were in the mood fer - "
"Shut up."
Denmark started to protest, and then Norway's hand found his throat, and then he did shut up, except for a startled sound or two, which didn't bother Norway at all.
"Now. I'll be havin' a word with you, 'n you're goin' to listen. 'S that clear?"
"Crystal."
Norway frowned. Glared. Squeezed. "I said, shut up," he said over the sound of Denmark choking. "'N stop that squirmin', ain't goin' to do you no good."
This time, Denmark did as he was told. Still, Norway tightened his grip for good measure, pressed him more firmly against the door. He wasn't oblivious to the way Denmark's throat fluttered in his grip, the way he struggled to breathe. He did notice it. Maybe that was what made him hold him even tighter, press down even harder.
"Don't call me that. What y'said." A sound. Protest. Denmark brought his hand up, gripped Norway's wrist, and Norway frowned more deeply, pressed his thumb down. That was the end of the protesting, and Denmark made no move to try to pull him away, merely watched him, flushed and wide-eyed.
"Don't like it," Norway continued, his voice low, calm, quiet, even as he held Denmark there. As they held each other. "Leaves me right bothered, you callin' me that. Understand?"
There was a pause as he let Denmark process that. Norway schooled his expression, watched him, and waited. Denmark was smiling. In spite of everything, Denmark was still smiling. Maybe all of that had just gone in one ear and out the other.
Or maybe it was something else. Norway knew - he wished otherwise, but he knew - that Denmark could pull his wrist away if he wanted to. Push him away. Disarm him. He could do it were he so inclined, and easily. But he didn't. The question was why. Denmark's words flitted through Norway's head. You're prettier than usual when you're mad. He gritted his teeth and dug in his fingernails and finally Denmark nodded and gasped because he couldn't do anything else.
When Norway eventually let him go Denmark remained backed against the door, rubbing his crushed throat and breathing deeply and still smiling, as if it was all one big joke. Maybe it was to him. Maybe.
"Meant what I said," Denmark rasped, then winked.
Norway sighed. "Don't want t'hear it." Then he slipped out of his shoes and made his way inside, and as usual - as if nothing had happened at all, as if it had all been in good fun - Denmark followed him to the bedroom.
Characters/Pairing: Denmark/Norway
Rating: 15+ for choking and implied sex
Length: 589
Summary: Norway makes his point in an unconventional way.
Other: Written for Bice and Pheme. Posted at my sketch journal. (Original entry)
An they may leike who assotede be
"Heh! Y'know, you're even prettier than usual when you're mad."
That was how it started.
Denmark said it with a smile after receiving a blow for saying something even more mind-numbingly stupid than usual. He didn't seem to care, as if it didn't hit him at all - neither the blow itself nor the point of it. They were barely in the door, having just stepped in from an uneventful evening walk, their shoes not even off, and already something ridiculous had slipped out of his mouth. He got the usual for it, but then that followed. That remark. That smile. For Norway's part, he couldn't be sure what was more infuriating: that smile, or what Denmark had said.
Fine.
That was when Norway pushed him against the door. Denmark's eyes widened - he hadn't been expecting it - and he grinned even more widely at that.
"Whoa, Nor, I didn't know y'were in the mood fer - "
"Shut up."
Denmark started to protest, and then Norway's hand found his throat, and then he did shut up, except for a startled sound or two, which didn't bother Norway at all.
"Now. I'll be havin' a word with you, 'n you're goin' to listen. 'S that clear?"
"Crystal."
Norway frowned. Glared. Squeezed. "I said, shut up," he said over the sound of Denmark choking. "'N stop that squirmin', ain't goin' to do you no good."
This time, Denmark did as he was told. Still, Norway tightened his grip for good measure, pressed him more firmly against the door. He wasn't oblivious to the way Denmark's throat fluttered in his grip, the way he struggled to breathe. He did notice it. Maybe that was what made him hold him even tighter, press down even harder.
"Don't call me that. What y'said." A sound. Protest. Denmark brought his hand up, gripped Norway's wrist, and Norway frowned more deeply, pressed his thumb down. That was the end of the protesting, and Denmark made no move to try to pull him away, merely watched him, flushed and wide-eyed.
"Don't like it," Norway continued, his voice low, calm, quiet, even as he held Denmark there. As they held each other. "Leaves me right bothered, you callin' me that. Understand?"
There was a pause as he let Denmark process that. Norway schooled his expression, watched him, and waited. Denmark was smiling. In spite of everything, Denmark was still smiling. Maybe all of that had just gone in one ear and out the other.
Or maybe it was something else. Norway knew - he wished otherwise, but he knew - that Denmark could pull his wrist away if he wanted to. Push him away. Disarm him. He could do it were he so inclined, and easily. But he didn't. The question was why. Denmark's words flitted through Norway's head. You're prettier than usual when you're mad. He gritted his teeth and dug in his fingernails and finally Denmark nodded and gasped because he couldn't do anything else.
When Norway eventually let him go Denmark remained backed against the door, rubbing his crushed throat and breathing deeply and still smiling, as if it was all one big joke. Maybe it was to him. Maybe.
"Meant what I said," Denmark rasped, then winked.
Norway sighed. "Don't want t'hear it." Then he slipped out of his shoes and made his way inside, and as usual - as if nothing had happened at all, as if it had all been in good fun - Denmark followed him to the bedroom.
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