[Hetalia] Spring Cleaning (Finland/Sweden)
Feb. 2nd, 2010 09:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valmoraTitle: Spring Cleaning
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Finland/Sweden
Disclaimer: not mine
Notes: originally posted here on the kink meme based on this prompt, kindex post here.
Summary: Finland finds an old diary.
Finland throws open the bedroom window and the screen as well, leaning out and looking at the garden, where the most adorable green shoots have started to sneak their way out of the ground. He’ll have to put up some sort of little fence so that Hana-tamago doesn’t try to dig them up.
The fresh air smells good, along with the scent of wet earth and rain that lingers from the showers earlier in the morning. He breathes in deeply before going back to the bed and stripping the sheets, dragging them down to the laundry room. On his way back he passes Sweden, who is cleaning their kitchen, re-alphabetizing the spice drawers in Swedish – the rule is that the spice drawers in Sweden’s house are in Swedish, and Finland’s in Finnish – and making sure all the dishes are put away properly. There’s a pile of knives on the counter, set aside so Finland can sharpen them later.
Back in the bedroom, he kneels on the floor and peers under the bed, fishing out a stray sock and slivers of paper, and a condom packet that must have escaped that time Sweden spilled the box out over the floor in his urgency.
He slips open the drawer of Sweden’s nightstand and puts the condom away, and as he’s checking to make sure they don’t urgently need to buy more, his fingers brush over a thin booklet that sits in the drawer behind the case for Sweden’s extra glasses. Curious, Finland pulls out the drawer a bit further. The book is unlabelled, and when he opens the cover he realizes that it’s a sheaf of old, old papers, written in archaic Swedish, inkblots and bad penmanship on hand-made paper bound in a more modern cover.
He touches the sheets, then reads the date at the top and realizes he ought to be using gloves. Four hundred years old. But then why the newer binding, and why in Sweden’s nightstand –
He reads the first sentence, Today Finland and I cleaned my house, and his breath catches. So that’s why. A diary.
He should put it away. But it was so long ago, and so much has changed since then, wars and separation and then their reunion, their lives shared as equals instead of Finland being subjugated. Surely no one will be hurt if he just glances through it?
He oughtn’t. He does anyway, sitting down on the bare mattress, trying not to touch the pages any more than he needs to.
Today Finland and I cleaned my house. It smelled because we had been away for too long. Everything was covered in dust. Finland sneezed a lot, but he said he was all right. There was dust in his hair, and all over his clothes. We slept in our clothes on the bed, which was dusty too.
I should wash the sheets tomorrow. And our clothes are covered in salt from the boat ride, and mud from the walk. I feel gross. He probably does too.
We haven’t eaten in a couple of days. I’m hungry. Finland said he’ll go fishing tomorrow if I’ll stay and wash clothes.
I think I’ll come too, and we’ll cook outside. I’m afraid he’ll run away.
Finland bites his lip. He doesn’t remember this, doesn’t remember Sweden coming with him. He doesn’t know if he tried to run away or not – though he must not have, too terrified of Sweden’s gruff speech and physical presence.
The next entry is about a week later, a short list of the things they’ve done to get the house back in shape. Some of it is about politics, as Sweden becomes more and more involved in his own governance. And then, after that, Tomorrow I’ll start making a bed for Finland. I think he doesn’t want to sleep with me, because he keeps moving away even though I can see him shivering in the cold.
Finland does remember the bed, sturdy and rough like Sweden himself, clumsily made. It rocked when he rolled over, the feet being different lengths, but it had been comfort itself, a place just for him where Sweden wouldn’t loom beside him.
When Finland was first brought into Sweden’s house they were both too young to know what conquering would have meant for older nations. And they didn’t quite grow up physically until after the dissolution of the Kalmar Union. By that point their relationship as, well, roommates was static, until after the other countries left Sweden’s house and it was only Finland who remained, and Sweden confessed – I love you. You're m’right hand ‘n other half. If you'll have me. Finland has only ever known pleasure in bed with Sweden, though in so many other ways Sweden has been unpleasant, from his former insistence on Finland’s subordinate status to his dislike of Finland’s language. But Sweden is not Russia, who had Finland without his consent, and he has since repented for his old opinions.
Finland skips forward a few months in the diary, turning brittle-hard pages as gently as he can.
Today Finland sang to himself while we worked in the garden. I’m supposed to stop him if he tries to sing in Finnish, but it sounded so pretty that I didn’t want him to stop. He sings really well, and he looked so happy. I want him to be happy in my house.
Finland touches his lips, his fingertips cold and dry, heart twisted. Knowing what came of the two of them later, the Sweden in the diary is charmingly naïve, a little boy Nation gifted with the same unpolished sweetness as he has now, full-grown.
More pages, and years now between entries.
I don’t think I’m scary. I only want to help Protestantism, and I am not afraid to go to war for it. But Finland says that I am terrifying even in peace, not just in battle.
And then, as he flips forward a couple of pages, I talked to Denmark last night. He asked me how my marriage bed fared. I didn’t know what he meant and said so. He looked at me like I was mad and asked me what I thought I was doing with Finland, then. I said living with him. Denmark rolled his eyes… Said didn’t I know what it meant to have a wife. I said no.
He told me about what Nations do to each other…I didn’t know. I wish he hadn’t said. Sodomy is a sin, and I said that, and he laughed. ‘If you can’t die, then sinning doesn’t matter.’
I wish he hadn’t told me. Before last night I couldn’t say what I wanted. Last night I couldn’t fall asleep, wishing Finland still slept in my bed. When I finally fell asleep I dreamed that we lay together.
Today I couldn’t stop watching him. But I don’t want to say anything. I don’t think he feels the way I do.
Of course Finland didn’t then. He had no word for the conquering-hunger that pooled low in his belly. He’d never known it before, and he and Sweden struck physical puberty at the same time, so they had nothing to compare it to. And there was no sharing of the experience with the other – not Sweden, convinced of the painful one-sidedness of his affection, nor Finland, bewildered by how nervous he became in Sweden’s presence.
The door clicks open, Sweden ducking his head into the room. Finland, guilt-surprised, unsuccessfully tries to hide the book behind his back. Sweden tenses suddenly, takes the steps over to Finland, touches the diary’s cover.
“I shouldn’t have read it,” Finland says. “I’m sorry. I’ll put it back.” He starts to stand, but Sweden lays a hand on his shoulder.
“’t’s okay. I wanted you t’ love me then. Now y’do. Would only hurt if y’didn’t.”
Finland can’t stop himself smiling, setting the book aside on the bare mattress. “Do you know,” he murmurs, slipping his hand over the back of Sweden’s neck and pulling him down so that his lips brush Sweden’s ear, “I think that you are handsome, and only a little intimidating, and that you worried needlessly for almost a hundred years wondering if I could ever learn to love you back.”
“Sorry,” Sweden replies.
“You should try to make up for it,” Finland breathes, dipping backwards onto the bare mattress, pulling Sweden down with him. “Think of how many nights together it lost us.”
“I'd rather think of th’ night together that’s coming,” Sweden protests into Finland’s mouth. Somehow Finland isn’t inclined to disagree with him.
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Finland/Sweden
Disclaimer: not mine
Notes: originally posted here on the kink meme based on this prompt, kindex post here.
Summary: Finland finds an old diary.
Finland throws open the bedroom window and the screen as well, leaning out and looking at the garden, where the most adorable green shoots have started to sneak their way out of the ground. He’ll have to put up some sort of little fence so that Hana-tamago doesn’t try to dig them up.
The fresh air smells good, along with the scent of wet earth and rain that lingers from the showers earlier in the morning. He breathes in deeply before going back to the bed and stripping the sheets, dragging them down to the laundry room. On his way back he passes Sweden, who is cleaning their kitchen, re-alphabetizing the spice drawers in Swedish – the rule is that the spice drawers in Sweden’s house are in Swedish, and Finland’s in Finnish – and making sure all the dishes are put away properly. There’s a pile of knives on the counter, set aside so Finland can sharpen them later.
Back in the bedroom, he kneels on the floor and peers under the bed, fishing out a stray sock and slivers of paper, and a condom packet that must have escaped that time Sweden spilled the box out over the floor in his urgency.
He slips open the drawer of Sweden’s nightstand and puts the condom away, and as he’s checking to make sure they don’t urgently need to buy more, his fingers brush over a thin booklet that sits in the drawer behind the case for Sweden’s extra glasses. Curious, Finland pulls out the drawer a bit further. The book is unlabelled, and when he opens the cover he realizes that it’s a sheaf of old, old papers, written in archaic Swedish, inkblots and bad penmanship on hand-made paper bound in a more modern cover.
He touches the sheets, then reads the date at the top and realizes he ought to be using gloves. Four hundred years old. But then why the newer binding, and why in Sweden’s nightstand –
He reads the first sentence, Today Finland and I cleaned my house, and his breath catches. So that’s why. A diary.
He should put it away. But it was so long ago, and so much has changed since then, wars and separation and then their reunion, their lives shared as equals instead of Finland being subjugated. Surely no one will be hurt if he just glances through it?
He oughtn’t. He does anyway, sitting down on the bare mattress, trying not to touch the pages any more than he needs to.
Today Finland and I cleaned my house. It smelled because we had been away for too long. Everything was covered in dust. Finland sneezed a lot, but he said he was all right. There was dust in his hair, and all over his clothes. We slept in our clothes on the bed, which was dusty too.
I should wash the sheets tomorrow. And our clothes are covered in salt from the boat ride, and mud from the walk. I feel gross. He probably does too.
We haven’t eaten in a couple of days. I’m hungry. Finland said he’ll go fishing tomorrow if I’ll stay and wash clothes.
I think I’ll come too, and we’ll cook outside. I’m afraid he’ll run away.
Finland bites his lip. He doesn’t remember this, doesn’t remember Sweden coming with him. He doesn’t know if he tried to run away or not – though he must not have, too terrified of Sweden’s gruff speech and physical presence.
The next entry is about a week later, a short list of the things they’ve done to get the house back in shape. Some of it is about politics, as Sweden becomes more and more involved in his own governance. And then, after that, Tomorrow I’ll start making a bed for Finland. I think he doesn’t want to sleep with me, because he keeps moving away even though I can see him shivering in the cold.
Finland does remember the bed, sturdy and rough like Sweden himself, clumsily made. It rocked when he rolled over, the feet being different lengths, but it had been comfort itself, a place just for him where Sweden wouldn’t loom beside him.
When Finland was first brought into Sweden’s house they were both too young to know what conquering would have meant for older nations. And they didn’t quite grow up physically until after the dissolution of the Kalmar Union. By that point their relationship as, well, roommates was static, until after the other countries left Sweden’s house and it was only Finland who remained, and Sweden confessed – I love you. You're m’right hand ‘n other half. If you'll have me. Finland has only ever known pleasure in bed with Sweden, though in so many other ways Sweden has been unpleasant, from his former insistence on Finland’s subordinate status to his dislike of Finland’s language. But Sweden is not Russia, who had Finland without his consent, and he has since repented for his old opinions.
Finland skips forward a few months in the diary, turning brittle-hard pages as gently as he can.
Today Finland sang to himself while we worked in the garden. I’m supposed to stop him if he tries to sing in Finnish, but it sounded so pretty that I didn’t want him to stop. He sings really well, and he looked so happy. I want him to be happy in my house.
Finland touches his lips, his fingertips cold and dry, heart twisted. Knowing what came of the two of them later, the Sweden in the diary is charmingly naïve, a little boy Nation gifted with the same unpolished sweetness as he has now, full-grown.
More pages, and years now between entries.
I don’t think I’m scary. I only want to help Protestantism, and I am not afraid to go to war for it. But Finland says that I am terrifying even in peace, not just in battle.
And then, as he flips forward a couple of pages, I talked to Denmark last night. He asked me how my marriage bed fared. I didn’t know what he meant and said so. He looked at me like I was mad and asked me what I thought I was doing with Finland, then. I said living with him. Denmark rolled his eyes… Said didn’t I know what it meant to have a wife. I said no.
He told me about what Nations do to each other…I didn’t know. I wish he hadn’t said. Sodomy is a sin, and I said that, and he laughed. ‘If you can’t die, then sinning doesn’t matter.’
I wish he hadn’t told me. Before last night I couldn’t say what I wanted. Last night I couldn’t fall asleep, wishing Finland still slept in my bed. When I finally fell asleep I dreamed that we lay together.
Today I couldn’t stop watching him. But I don’t want to say anything. I don’t think he feels the way I do.
Of course Finland didn’t then. He had no word for the conquering-hunger that pooled low in his belly. He’d never known it before, and he and Sweden struck physical puberty at the same time, so they had nothing to compare it to. And there was no sharing of the experience with the other – not Sweden, convinced of the painful one-sidedness of his affection, nor Finland, bewildered by how nervous he became in Sweden’s presence.
The door clicks open, Sweden ducking his head into the room. Finland, guilt-surprised, unsuccessfully tries to hide the book behind his back. Sweden tenses suddenly, takes the steps over to Finland, touches the diary’s cover.
“I shouldn’t have read it,” Finland says. “I’m sorry. I’ll put it back.” He starts to stand, but Sweden lays a hand on his shoulder.
“’t’s okay. I wanted you t’ love me then. Now y’do. Would only hurt if y’didn’t.”
Finland can’t stop himself smiling, setting the book aside on the bare mattress. “Do you know,” he murmurs, slipping his hand over the back of Sweden’s neck and pulling him down so that his lips brush Sweden’s ear, “I think that you are handsome, and only a little intimidating, and that you worried needlessly for almost a hundred years wondering if I could ever learn to love you back.”
“Sorry,” Sweden replies.
“You should try to make up for it,” Finland breathes, dipping backwards onto the bare mattress, pulling Sweden down with him. “Think of how many nights together it lost us.”
“I'd rather think of th’ night together that’s coming,” Sweden protests into Finland’s mouth. Somehow Finland isn’t inclined to disagree with him.
