Pairing: Iceland x Finland
Author: Natalie Delacriox
Fucking Sweden. Well, not literally fucking Sweden that was an awkward mental image but you get theidea. Finland instantly regretted his choice to supply the wine for this Christmas party: as usual his gifts had not been used for the intended purpose. Once the bottle had been promptly emptied, someone (cough Sweden) had the brilliant idea of spin the bottle.
God. Bringing wine had been the worst idea he had in a while, never mind the argument it had started between Spain and France and Romano because FRENCH no SPANISH no ITALIAN was CLEARLY the best fucking wine.
Lord preserve his tired soul. Fortunately, though, he'd remained under the radar, squished between Germany and Austria (although with the fight they'd had two days earlier, that was a little awkward too) but fortunately forgotten.
Veneziano had gone and somehow got the fucking bottle to land on Germany. He had even graciously giggled and pulled Germany to the closet to do God knows what for seven minutes.
Seven minutes in fucking heaven. Yea fucking right. He was done. Really done.
"M'w'fe!"
(Dammit Sweden Dammit. What could it be now?)
"Y'ur n't 'ff the ho'k, y' kn'w! 'It's y'ur turn!"
"Nope," he said, and got up to leave. "Simply no way."
"C'm'n! It's Chr'stmas, 'nd y'u l've Chr'stmas!"
Finland considered for a moment, then sighed a long sigh and say down.
Veneziano moved as if to push the bottle for him, but Finland grabbed his arm back and instead flicked it around himself.
It spun. And spun. And spun. And Finland tried his hardest not to wish for the person he wanted to end up with in that closet because it wasn't okay. It couldn't be okay.
Once all the way around. Twice. Thrice. Four times. A fifth, before it started to slow down. It passed Germany, Austria, France, Veneziano, Romano, Spain, a concerned looking Norway, United Kingdom, United States, Russia, and oh.
Iceland. Bright, mysterious violet eyes met his evenly. Finland stood up quickly. The panic he had avoided for so long seemed like it was eating at him, God, why was he this afraid?
Iceland smiled at him more kindly than Finland would've imagined. Where was the faux cold exterior?
"I would've preferred 7 minutes in heaven with the fridge, if I'm honest," said Iceland with a quirky smile.
"But you'll do."
Norway stood up suddenly, and Iceland gave him a sharp glare. "I'm not a child!" He said, and looked pointedly away. With a brighter smile, he pulled finlands hand into his own and walked lightly down the hall and into the closet.
Veneziano was happy to lock the door, ignoring glares from both Sweden and Norway.
"'T w'sn't s'pp'sed t' w'rk l'ke th't," murmured Sweden.
If Finland heard him from down the hall, he made no indication.
In fact, Finland had not heard him. Not one bit. His heart was racing in his ears and he could feel his pulse in his fingertips. Violet eyes.
Iceland's violet eyes and fresh cologne that Finland never should have thought about. Never should've dreamed of.
And the cold but smooth hand that led him, that was his anchor.
Iceland plopped down gracelessly on the closet floor.
"So," he began. Finland sat more quietly facing him.
"I know you see me as your little brother. But "
"But what?" Asked Finland.
"Well whatever," said Iceland, "it's not like they'd believe you if you told them."
"Believe what?" Said a curious and very confused Finland.
Iceland answered his question by leaning forward so far their noses almost touched
And then they kissed. And Finland's brain exploded in a kaleidoscope of violet and fragmented thoughts.
But he found a rhythm in seconds. As if they knew each other effortlessly and their lips has been built to meet. And it was natural when Finland took control, and leaned further over Iceland.
It felt good. Really good. And normal.
But apparently good, really good, and normal, took longer than seven minutes.
An angry Norway threw open the door.
"Crap," said Iceland, pulling back a good thirty seconds too late.
"Umm? This is kinda what it looks like?" He said.