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valmoraTitle: As Yet Unshared
Rating: R or NC-17, depending on your mileage.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Sweden, Finland/Sweden
Disclaimer: not mine, no money made.
Warnings: Masturbation. Reference to past religious issues.
Notes: originally written for this prompt and posted here, before being indexed here.
The bed is empty. Sweden’s body is warm, and yet all the sheets are cold, no other-half beside him to warm his heart. Finland’s name is on the edge of his lips, waiting to fall into the air, but if he lets it go he will be colder than ever, the heat of his affection spinning lost and echoless.
He holds the pillow tight to his chest and wonders if Finland sleeps as unhappily as he does.
He should not be so attached. They are still learning each other, even though they were married, before: but Finland has been independent nearly a century, and that will change a Nation.
It was Finland who started this new relationship. He came to Sweden and said, I hear that you are thinking of joining the European Union. Sweden, wanting to watch him and not daring for the beat of his heart in his throat, answered Yes, are you? And Finland smiled, so bright, Why don’t we talk about it over dinner?
He could only have dreamed the weeks that passed, as they grew closer and closer, sometimes having dinner at the other’s house, until one night Finland drew him near and kissed his cheek in warning and then his mouth in truth, and all Sweden could think was that Finland tasted like the ice cream he’d eaten and that his mouth was cold.
They made love for the first time the night of their accession to the EU.
And now he is made hunger-soft for Finland. He misses Finland’s morning temper, which lasts until the dregs of a second cup of coffee; he misses cooking dinner outside and staying up too late, not knowing the time while the sun fails to set. He misses watching Finland, knife in hand, prepare fish or game – the slick silver-flash, quick and deliberate, and all of Finland’s mind intent upon it. No few times have they left half-prepared meals sitting out while they made love, because of that.
What passes between them in bed is different, now, and yet the same – he no longer feels pinched by shame at what they do, and this has liberated him. He had never once taken the courage to set his lips and tongue to Finland’s arousal, nor accepted Finland’s to his; now it is his pleasure to see and taste Finland so undone. Only once before had he permitted himself the vice of the city God struck into salt, and Finland had wept and kissed him, held him tight. Sweden had enjoyed it, and been ashamed, fearing that in his iniquity he would curse his people and his country. Now he has no such fear, and Finland takes pleasure from it, folding around Sweden and urging him on.
Sweden has never once been used in that way. Has touched himself close to that muscle, felt it tremble a little under his finger, but shied away. And yet it is unequal that Finland should bear him so, with no hint of return – one thing to avoid for lack of enjoyment; another to avoid out of embarrassment.
Perhaps – tonight, alone and with no shame – he could see? Learn why Finland was, well, not eager but willing. And keep at bay the loneliness by imagining Finland in the bed beside, above, inside him.
He sets aside the pillow in his arms, rising from the bed to leave his clothes aside. Gathers from the nightstand slick, and the soft silicone toy that Finland had received as a tactless gift from Denmark years ago – For when he’s in the doghouse and you need a substitute, to which Norway had hissed As though you've never slept on a couch – washed and dried. Draws himself into the bed and waits, waiting, unaroused. Thinks of Finland curled up against him in sleep, Sunday early-morning lovemaking before church. The shape of Finland’s shoulders in his hands, power in Finland’s chest, the waiting shape of his spine meant to be traced by Sweden’s fingers.
There – a spark – Finland warm and boneless from exertion, the smoothness of his muscles from skiing. Sweat and musk drawn on his skin, and once falling together in the snow, kissing and trying to sneak inside each others’ clothes without the cold striking dumb their blood and Finland laughing, joyful.
He would have that happiness, now, to keep him as he touches himself, hand drifting back. Unfamiliar and warm, and the chill wetness against his fingers warming to his skin.
He sighs, draws up his knees, fingertip circling, gentle pressure, spiraling around and closer and –
It is tight, too tight for comfort, and he breathes and thinks of Finland, undaunted, experienced in himself.
Soon, strange, his finger is inside, and the pressure discomfits him; no real pleasure, yet, no secret spots found. He searches for them – he knows Finland’s, but he and Finland are not built alike, and the angle is changed into difficulty.
Stretched, he thinks of adding more, but his arousal has faded in favor of clinical search: here is where it shall give me pleasure.
He imagines how Finland will react when he offers this. He’ll accept, Sweden’s sure of it. But will he smile and touch lightly, bright and sugar-sweet? Or sink himself in heady savor and voice drop wicked, low, smile become knife and rifle-bore in winter?
Sweden finds his body reacted, belly emptied and – easy entrance now, opened to his self-invasion, and he strokes the flesh there, stretches – yes, there it is. Easy finding, with his body’s interest.
He strokes the muscles, draws in and out, other hand upon himself to hold his pleasure. Opens his mouth to gasp and feels Finland’s tongue with his, desperate kiss. Keeps himself steady, higher, blood pounding until he imagines Finland, watching, guiding him, holding the false partner inside him as he strives. He courses, peaked, and cannot swallow against his own breath. To have Finland aid him in his own efforts, promise for later – learning Finland’s preferences and his pleasures in taking rather than being taken – this, Sweden desires, and desires badly.
Rating: R or NC-17, depending on your mileage.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Sweden, Finland/Sweden
Disclaimer: not mine, no money made.
Warnings: Masturbation. Reference to past religious issues.
Notes: originally written for this prompt and posted here, before being indexed here.
The bed is empty. Sweden’s body is warm, and yet all the sheets are cold, no other-half beside him to warm his heart. Finland’s name is on the edge of his lips, waiting to fall into the air, but if he lets it go he will be colder than ever, the heat of his affection spinning lost and echoless.
He holds the pillow tight to his chest and wonders if Finland sleeps as unhappily as he does.
He should not be so attached. They are still learning each other, even though they were married, before: but Finland has been independent nearly a century, and that will change a Nation.
It was Finland who started this new relationship. He came to Sweden and said, I hear that you are thinking of joining the European Union. Sweden, wanting to watch him and not daring for the beat of his heart in his throat, answered Yes, are you? And Finland smiled, so bright, Why don’t we talk about it over dinner?
He could only have dreamed the weeks that passed, as they grew closer and closer, sometimes having dinner at the other’s house, until one night Finland drew him near and kissed his cheek in warning and then his mouth in truth, and all Sweden could think was that Finland tasted like the ice cream he’d eaten and that his mouth was cold.
They made love for the first time the night of their accession to the EU.
And now he is made hunger-soft for Finland. He misses Finland’s morning temper, which lasts until the dregs of a second cup of coffee; he misses cooking dinner outside and staying up too late, not knowing the time while the sun fails to set. He misses watching Finland, knife in hand, prepare fish or game – the slick silver-flash, quick and deliberate, and all of Finland’s mind intent upon it. No few times have they left half-prepared meals sitting out while they made love, because of that.
What passes between them in bed is different, now, and yet the same – he no longer feels pinched by shame at what they do, and this has liberated him. He had never once taken the courage to set his lips and tongue to Finland’s arousal, nor accepted Finland’s to his; now it is his pleasure to see and taste Finland so undone. Only once before had he permitted himself the vice of the city God struck into salt, and Finland had wept and kissed him, held him tight. Sweden had enjoyed it, and been ashamed, fearing that in his iniquity he would curse his people and his country. Now he has no such fear, and Finland takes pleasure from it, folding around Sweden and urging him on.
Sweden has never once been used in that way. Has touched himself close to that muscle, felt it tremble a little under his finger, but shied away. And yet it is unequal that Finland should bear him so, with no hint of return – one thing to avoid for lack of enjoyment; another to avoid out of embarrassment.
Perhaps – tonight, alone and with no shame – he could see? Learn why Finland was, well, not eager but willing. And keep at bay the loneliness by imagining Finland in the bed beside, above, inside him.
He sets aside the pillow in his arms, rising from the bed to leave his clothes aside. Gathers from the nightstand slick, and the soft silicone toy that Finland had received as a tactless gift from Denmark years ago – For when he’s in the doghouse and you need a substitute, to which Norway had hissed As though you've never slept on a couch – washed and dried. Draws himself into the bed and waits, waiting, unaroused. Thinks of Finland curled up against him in sleep, Sunday early-morning lovemaking before church. The shape of Finland’s shoulders in his hands, power in Finland’s chest, the waiting shape of his spine meant to be traced by Sweden’s fingers.
There – a spark – Finland warm and boneless from exertion, the smoothness of his muscles from skiing. Sweat and musk drawn on his skin, and once falling together in the snow, kissing and trying to sneak inside each others’ clothes without the cold striking dumb their blood and Finland laughing, joyful.
He would have that happiness, now, to keep him as he touches himself, hand drifting back. Unfamiliar and warm, and the chill wetness against his fingers warming to his skin.
He sighs, draws up his knees, fingertip circling, gentle pressure, spiraling around and closer and –
It is tight, too tight for comfort, and he breathes and thinks of Finland, undaunted, experienced in himself.
Soon, strange, his finger is inside, and the pressure discomfits him; no real pleasure, yet, no secret spots found. He searches for them – he knows Finland’s, but he and Finland are not built alike, and the angle is changed into difficulty.
Stretched, he thinks of adding more, but his arousal has faded in favor of clinical search: here is where it shall give me pleasure.
He imagines how Finland will react when he offers this. He’ll accept, Sweden’s sure of it. But will he smile and touch lightly, bright and sugar-sweet? Or sink himself in heady savor and voice drop wicked, low, smile become knife and rifle-bore in winter?
Sweden finds his body reacted, belly emptied and – easy entrance now, opened to his self-invasion, and he strokes the flesh there, stretches – yes, there it is. Easy finding, with his body’s interest.
He strokes the muscles, draws in and out, other hand upon himself to hold his pleasure. Opens his mouth to gasp and feels Finland’s tongue with his, desperate kiss. Keeps himself steady, higher, blood pounding until he imagines Finland, watching, guiding him, holding the false partner inside him as he strives. He courses, peaked, and cannot swallow against his own breath. To have Finland aid him in his own efforts, promise for later – learning Finland’s preferences and his pleasures in taking rather than being taken – this, Sweden desires, and desires badly.
