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valmoraa piece in two parts, both drabble-like.
Title: Mistletoe
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Finland/Sweden, Finland/other
Disclaimer: decidedly not mine
Notes: originally from this thread at the kink meme, based on this prompt, indexed here at the kindex.
Summary: Seventy-year itch.
When he realized the meaning of Finland’s frequent absences, nights away, references to people Sweden rarely met, Sweden went cold, terrified-threatened-lost. He left the answering machine to run through the rest of the messages, drifting through the house – their house, built with his own hands and designed to their tastes, both of them, new since their postwar reconciliation.
Seventy-year itch. He’d heard other Nations mention it before. No matter how much two Nations love each other, eventually they will tire of one another, and one of them will want a new trading partner, someone to liven up their foreign policy, introduce them to new cuisine…
He and Finland had agreed when they joined the European Union that the treaties weren’t an open invitation for any member country to join their bed – that it would remain theirs alone. And Sweden had respected that, had wanted it – sometimes he remembered the old flicker of desire when he saw Denmark’s tooth-bared savage grin, or the strange free wildness that had struck him mad for America more than a century before. But those were unimportant. He’d been Finland’s in every way but conquered since long before Finland was Christian. The idea of having anyone else confused him, upset him –
Hadn’t Finland felt the same way? He was a sovereign nation, answerable to none but the European Union, and they wouldn’t interfere in a marital spat. God, they’d probably even cheer Finland on, saying that preferential treatment wasn’t allowed, go, Finland, show Sweden that he can’t own you anymore.
When Sweden found himself in his workshop, he didn’t leave, closing and locking the door and starting in on the bookshelves he’d promised to make for Canada. Tools and wood couldn’t break his heart.
He ignored the knocking on the door that came several hours later. He ignored Finland shouting his name. He ignored Finland asking, yelling, swearing. It was the other side of a door. Finland would be happy to have him over here, the field left open so that Finland could have what he wanted and so that Sweden wouldn’t be blindsided again.
But he stopped when Finland said, “Sweden, what are you doing, come out of there, are you hurt, come out –” He set down his tools, spat the nails into his hand, opened the door.
“Got a funny way of showing affection,” he said. “’m in here t’let you bring your lover home, if y’like.”
Finland choked, audibly.
“Sweden, that’s disgusting,” he said. “Why would you-”
“Th' answering machine.”
Finland stopped, turned his head consideringly, then took two steps to press the button, listening – dentist appointment next week, a month-old happy birthday message to Finland from Sealand that neither of them had wanted to delete, and then.
Hi, Finland, it’s me. I remembered you saying you weren’t going to that energy conference in Stockholm, and I figure Sweden will, so I thought it would be all right to call. Can’t wait to see you again! Click.
Finland’s hand, on the buttons of the answering machine, shook, his eyes too-wide, face ashen.
“I swear,” he started, and then stopped, hand coming to his mouth. “I didn’t mean to,” he said finally, towards the floor. “It just happened. I was buying gas and we got to talking, you know, about oil dependency, and it just…” He put his face in his hands and Sweden looked away because watching Finland cry would break him. Infidelity didn’t change that.
“’n after that?”
“Because he’d talk to me and you never do; he’s not even that much, his economy isn’t that great, and he just exudes CO2, but he has opinions he’s willing to share, it’s not like pulling teeth to talk to him. It’s not like having a conversation with myself – ” Finland was crying now, raw sobs between words and his voice broken, half an octave again higher than usual. And he kept tripping up his usually-flawless speech, falling into Finnish cases on the ends of Swedish words. “I love you but I can’t be perfect for you all the time.” Finland slumped to his knees onto the floor where he stood.
Sweden thought of trying to comfort him, but the idea turned his stomach. Let Finland stew in his own emotions for a while – being lovely, and loved, and weeping did not mean that Sweden was not still angry with him.
He went back into his workshop.
Title: Mistletoe
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Finland/Sweden, Finland/other
Disclaimer: decidedly not mine
Notes: originally from this thread at the kink meme, based on this prompt, indexed here at the kindex.
Summary: Seventy-year itch.
When he realized the meaning of Finland’s frequent absences, nights away, references to people Sweden rarely met, Sweden went cold, terrified-threatened-lost. He left the answering machine to run through the rest of the messages, drifting through the house – their house, built with his own hands and designed to their tastes, both of them, new since their postwar reconciliation.
Seventy-year itch. He’d heard other Nations mention it before. No matter how much two Nations love each other, eventually they will tire of one another, and one of them will want a new trading partner, someone to liven up their foreign policy, introduce them to new cuisine…
He and Finland had agreed when they joined the European Union that the treaties weren’t an open invitation for any member country to join their bed – that it would remain theirs alone. And Sweden had respected that, had wanted it – sometimes he remembered the old flicker of desire when he saw Denmark’s tooth-bared savage grin, or the strange free wildness that had struck him mad for America more than a century before. But those were unimportant. He’d been Finland’s in every way but conquered since long before Finland was Christian. The idea of having anyone else confused him, upset him –
Hadn’t Finland felt the same way? He was a sovereign nation, answerable to none but the European Union, and they wouldn’t interfere in a marital spat. God, they’d probably even cheer Finland on, saying that preferential treatment wasn’t allowed, go, Finland, show Sweden that he can’t own you anymore.
When Sweden found himself in his workshop, he didn’t leave, closing and locking the door and starting in on the bookshelves he’d promised to make for Canada. Tools and wood couldn’t break his heart.
He ignored the knocking on the door that came several hours later. He ignored Finland shouting his name. He ignored Finland asking, yelling, swearing. It was the other side of a door. Finland would be happy to have him over here, the field left open so that Finland could have what he wanted and so that Sweden wouldn’t be blindsided again.
But he stopped when Finland said, “Sweden, what are you doing, come out of there, are you hurt, come out –” He set down his tools, spat the nails into his hand, opened the door.
“Got a funny way of showing affection,” he said. “’m in here t’let you bring your lover home, if y’like.”
Finland choked, audibly.
“Sweden, that’s disgusting,” he said. “Why would you-”
“Th' answering machine.”
Finland stopped, turned his head consideringly, then took two steps to press the button, listening – dentist appointment next week, a month-old happy birthday message to Finland from Sealand that neither of them had wanted to delete, and then.
Hi, Finland, it’s me. I remembered you saying you weren’t going to that energy conference in Stockholm, and I figure Sweden will, so I thought it would be all right to call. Can’t wait to see you again! Click.
Finland’s hand, on the buttons of the answering machine, shook, his eyes too-wide, face ashen.
“I swear,” he started, and then stopped, hand coming to his mouth. “I didn’t mean to,” he said finally, towards the floor. “It just happened. I was buying gas and we got to talking, you know, about oil dependency, and it just…” He put his face in his hands and Sweden looked away because watching Finland cry would break him. Infidelity didn’t change that.
“’n after that?”
“Because he’d talk to me and you never do; he’s not even that much, his economy isn’t that great, and he just exudes CO2, but he has opinions he’s willing to share, it’s not like pulling teeth to talk to him. It’s not like having a conversation with myself – ” Finland was crying now, raw sobs between words and his voice broken, half an octave again higher than usual. And he kept tripping up his usually-flawless speech, falling into Finnish cases on the ends of Swedish words. “I love you but I can’t be perfect for you all the time.” Finland slumped to his knees onto the floor where he stood.
Sweden thought of trying to comfort him, but the idea turned his stomach. Let Finland stew in his own emotions for a while – being lovely, and loved, and weeping did not mean that Sweden was not still angry with him.
He went back into his workshop.
