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[Hetalia] And He Shall Have (Sweden/Finland, PG-13)
Title: And He Shall Have
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sweden/Finland
Warnings: historical fail, accidental allusions to Monty Python
Disclaimer: not mine, no money made.
Notes: originally posted here filling this prompt at the kink meme, and kindexed here.
Sweden made the other bed because Finland was too frightened to sleep beside him. Finland would curl up on the other side of the bed from him, and no matter how small Sweden tried to make himself he always felt Finland’s wakefulness.
Sweden built it because he wanted Finland to be happy, and not – not feel threatened. Just because they should have been married and ran their home as though they were did not mean that their bed was the same. Sweden wanted to share a bed as lovers instead of friends, but didn’t dare to try. Finland seemed content enough to share a house, and his wakefulness in bed was warning enough to Sweden not to attempt more.
To show that he intended to give Finland the space he seemed to need in bed, Sweden made the other bed, in another room, and moved in there.
Almost immediately things changed between them. Finland was awake earlier in the mornings, cheerfully preparing more elaborate breakfasts. He spoke to Sweden more, smiled at him more, touched his shoulder occasionally to get his attention. Finland’s obvious happiness left Sweden feeling cold at night, but with the temperature instead of shame at hurting him.
Sweden had only been in the new room a week when Finland asked over dinner, “Are you angry at me?”
Sweden’s stomach dropped, his fingers going cold. “No,” he said, “no, I though I’d give y’ some space, since y’ didn’ care t’sleep with me.”
Finland touched his own chest, like Sweden had scared him so much he was worried his heart had stopped. “Oh. That was kind of you, but…”
Sweden waited. Finland’s gaze darted from one item on the table to another before finally seizing on the meal itself.
“More pasty?” Finland asked. Sweden shook his head. He had lost his appetite.
The rest of the meal Finland didn’t even look at him once, always keeping his eyes on his plate. Sweden stopped watching him after the first five minutes. It hurt to look, to know that he was so terrifying that even when he tried to be kind it didn’t work. That he couldn’t do anything but frighten Finland, when what he wanted was to have Finland, warm and gentle, in his bed as he was in his heart.
Sweden spent an hour after dinner calculating what he would pay in tithe that year, and finally went to bed when he realized that he was falling asleep.
Walking down the hall to his bedroom, he saw that there was a light coming out from under his door. Finland must have already gone to bed, and lit a candle so that Sweden would feel welcomed to his own bedroom. That simple kindness, unexpected, left Sweden’s cheeks warm and his throat blocked, embarrassed and flattered. He opened his bedroom door and stepped inside, only to find Finland lying under his sheets, wide awake.
Sweden froze. Heart beating wildly, belly cold, tongue stuck in his mouth. Let him know what he says by this, let him desire it, let him want to know me as I wish to know him. He braced himself. Finland was only there out of confusion. He didn’t share the empty twisting that stopped Sweden’s breath when he woke from dreams where Finland welcomed him back into a shared bed and opened his heart, his soul for Sweden to love.
There was pink on Finland’s cheeks, more than just brought by the cold, and it fell down his throat to his collarbones, visible above the blanket, and possibly even lower. Bare skin, tracts of virgin land pressing into Sweden’s linen sheets and crying out for Sweden’s hands, for a plow to know them, and Sweden flushed, wanted to turn away but couldn’t move.
“If we’re married,” Finland said, voice shaking, “I want to know the quality of your land, just as you should know mine.”
Soil and rivers and growing things, to know whether Sweden could support his people after bad harvests, to know that he could do the same. To share their house and their land and their bodies and become one.
Sweden opened his mouth but couldn’t say anything, and the silence must have grown too long, for Finland sat up in the bed. The sheets fell to his waist, and Sweden’s eyes could do nothing but follow, tracing the lines of his belly, the flush that nearly reached Finland’s heart.
“Sweden,” Finland whispered, and somehow Sweden managed to find his voice.
“That th’ truth?” he asked, because he needed to be certain, because after this there would be no taking back the knowing that would come of it, because he was hard and sweating and if he could not have what Finland had offered he would weep.
“True as blood,” Finland answered, and cast aside the sheet to reveal his nakedness and his arousal.
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sweden/Finland
Warnings: historical fail, accidental allusions to Monty Python
Disclaimer: not mine, no money made.
Notes: originally posted here filling this prompt at the kink meme, and kindexed here.
Sweden made the other bed because Finland was too frightened to sleep beside him. Finland would curl up on the other side of the bed from him, and no matter how small Sweden tried to make himself he always felt Finland’s wakefulness.
Sweden built it because he wanted Finland to be happy, and not – not feel threatened. Just because they should have been married and ran their home as though they were did not mean that their bed was the same. Sweden wanted to share a bed as lovers instead of friends, but didn’t dare to try. Finland seemed content enough to share a house, and his wakefulness in bed was warning enough to Sweden not to attempt more.
To show that he intended to give Finland the space he seemed to need in bed, Sweden made the other bed, in another room, and moved in there.
Almost immediately things changed between them. Finland was awake earlier in the mornings, cheerfully preparing more elaborate breakfasts. He spoke to Sweden more, smiled at him more, touched his shoulder occasionally to get his attention. Finland’s obvious happiness left Sweden feeling cold at night, but with the temperature instead of shame at hurting him.
Sweden had only been in the new room a week when Finland asked over dinner, “Are you angry at me?”
Sweden’s stomach dropped, his fingers going cold. “No,” he said, “no, I though I’d give y’ some space, since y’ didn’ care t’sleep with me.”
Finland touched his own chest, like Sweden had scared him so much he was worried his heart had stopped. “Oh. That was kind of you, but…”
Sweden waited. Finland’s gaze darted from one item on the table to another before finally seizing on the meal itself.
“More pasty?” Finland asked. Sweden shook his head. He had lost his appetite.
The rest of the meal Finland didn’t even look at him once, always keeping his eyes on his plate. Sweden stopped watching him after the first five minutes. It hurt to look, to know that he was so terrifying that even when he tried to be kind it didn’t work. That he couldn’t do anything but frighten Finland, when what he wanted was to have Finland, warm and gentle, in his bed as he was in his heart.
Sweden spent an hour after dinner calculating what he would pay in tithe that year, and finally went to bed when he realized that he was falling asleep.
Walking down the hall to his bedroom, he saw that there was a light coming out from under his door. Finland must have already gone to bed, and lit a candle so that Sweden would feel welcomed to his own bedroom. That simple kindness, unexpected, left Sweden’s cheeks warm and his throat blocked, embarrassed and flattered. He opened his bedroom door and stepped inside, only to find Finland lying under his sheets, wide awake.
Sweden froze. Heart beating wildly, belly cold, tongue stuck in his mouth. Let him know what he says by this, let him desire it, let him want to know me as I wish to know him. He braced himself. Finland was only there out of confusion. He didn’t share the empty twisting that stopped Sweden’s breath when he woke from dreams where Finland welcomed him back into a shared bed and opened his heart, his soul for Sweden to love.
There was pink on Finland’s cheeks, more than just brought by the cold, and it fell down his throat to his collarbones, visible above the blanket, and possibly even lower. Bare skin, tracts of virgin land pressing into Sweden’s linen sheets and crying out for Sweden’s hands, for a plow to know them, and Sweden flushed, wanted to turn away but couldn’t move.
“If we’re married,” Finland said, voice shaking, “I want to know the quality of your land, just as you should know mine.”
Soil and rivers and growing things, to know whether Sweden could support his people after bad harvests, to know that he could do the same. To share their house and their land and their bodies and become one.
Sweden opened his mouth but couldn’t say anything, and the silence must have grown too long, for Finland sat up in the bed. The sheets fell to his waist, and Sweden’s eyes could do nothing but follow, tracing the lines of his belly, the flush that nearly reached Finland’s heart.
“Sweden,” Finland whispered, and somehow Sweden managed to find his voice.
“That th’ truth?” he asked, because he needed to be certain, because after this there would be no taking back the knowing that would come of it, because he was hard and sweating and if he could not have what Finland had offered he would weep.
“True as blood,” Finland answered, and cast aside the sheet to reveal his nakedness and his arousal.