Author's note: Written for LJ's Nordic Jul Fest 2012, which I ran :D and I had gelaecter; prompt I picked was for Sweden/Norway/Denmark: "Scandinavian 3-way. Something fairly plotty, maybe how they got together or how they get along once their together. Prefer modern times with their pasts causing problems, but really I'm not fussed re: overall plot". I'm very much of the belief that there needs to be more SuNorDen in the world and so I give this as my first offering to the Nordic subset of the Hetalia fandom. Special thanks to ducere for agreeing with that sentiment and betaing this for me. It's hard to make all three pairs in this equal but I did my best.
And I think I've shared before my headcanon that sometimes nations incarnate loose themselves to their nation side, getting swept up in what was going on and loosing touch with their human side. When they loose themselves, they've little memory of what they've done as if there are missing days.
Title comes from the poem « Love Me Like You Never Loved Before »; link in the original posting to the LJ community for the poem.
My life is a bore.
I long for your touch.
I can tell you for sure
that I want you so much.
Love me like you
never loved before.
1.
Christen finds Lukas laying in bed, loose pants and no shirt, flipping lazily through an old book of older history. "One of those days?" the Dane asks.
"Always," his Norwegian counterpart replies in a monotone voice, deep blue eyes barely rising to take in the intruder. "Come and remember with me?"
Carefully so as not to upset Lukas who was rarely one for physical contact (and Christen didn't blame him for it, not after all that had been done to him), he manages to situate himself behind his lover. The slightly smaller man leans into him, scarred back to scarred chest; Christen kisses the side of his head, soft blond hair tickling his lips and chin and nose.
No, the Danish kingdom has never blamed Lukas for shunning the touch of others, especially men like him. Berwald was an exception in some way and Christen isn't sure he's exactly understood why, but he also thinks that on a deeper level maybe he has: Berwald, while not necessarily all that was good in Norwegian history, has never lost himself to the nation side of his existence. Twice has Christen seen Lukas loose himself, once during their days as Vikings after someone had stolen Emil from them and once during WWII.
It was the physical with Christen that the Norwegian has still not forgiven him for, for all the times Christen had lost himself in his power and anger and rage, lashing out at Lukas because the man was there and took it to protect Emil, or else taking and taking from the man until he was exhausted, his touches not nearly as loving for what he's for so long felt in his heart. Christen kisses the side of his lover's head again as he squeezes his eyes closed, once more regretting all that he's done wrong and hoping that he's started to make up for it all just a little bit.
"Calm down," Lukas sighs, lacing their fingers on one hand together. He leans his head back on the Dane's shoulder, inhaling deeply, and Christen knows this is about the soap. Which, granted, sounded odd to anyone outside their little triangle but made perfect sense to Christen and Berwald who both knew Lukas's obsession with the smell of soap that would linger on them. Christen used to come-to after he'd loose himself, no memory of what he'd done, to find himself in a bath with the Norwegian washing blood from his hands, scenting him with the soap. It's always smelled kind of like a forest, kind of like a fjord, and kind of like something else that they've never been able to name but is so… them.
"I love you," Christen murmurs as Lukas turns another page, illustrations of Norse women preparing meals and raising children filling the book. The Dane's hold on his lover tightens. "I've always loved you."
"I know," Lukas sighs. "I have never forgotten."
The Dane tuts.
"That doesn't count," and they both know what « that » is without saying it aloud, the near-century Lukas spent with Berwald where he didn't send a single letter to the Danish kingdom. Christen had exchanged plenty of letters with the Swede with whom he's always had a, well, more complex sort of relationship but not one ever came in the smaller man's hand.
"Like hell it doesn't."
Exacerbated the Norwegian slams the book closed, shifting to lay it on the trunk at the foot of the bed, before coming back more calmly to lay his body out on Christen's chest. Lukas's chin digs in, blue eyes that are wide and deep like the ocean at night staring back up, before the man murmurs, "Does it really matter now? After all this time?"
"I'll never forget any of it," Christen spits out– he's never forgotten anything, the shade of blonde of the first woman who raised him, the green glint in the eyes of the first girl he ever kissed, where he made his first kill, how he got each scar on his body, the name of every king and queen and where they were born and where they died and where they were coordinated. And when it comes to Berwald or even more so Lukas, he remembers it all that much more clearly.
And that bastard of a man has the balls to smirk, leaning forward to steal Christen's lips for his own. "Good," the Norwegian sighs before demanding the Danish mouth again, Christen's mind going blank as he surrenders once more to a force outside himself.
His companions never forgot either.
2.
Berwald comes home to relative silence, putting away what he had bought before heading upstairs to where he knew his two companions must be. And in the master bedroom he finds them, Lukas on Christen's lap, the two very heated in their making out. The Dane is producing that slight gasping noise he's prone towards (the Swedish kingdom secretly loves those gasps), the Norwegian moving in fluid motions above him like waves on the shore: Berwald enjoys the sight from the doorway for several minutes before Lukas turns to look over his shoulder directly at him.
In a level voice, not at all giving away the blush on his cheeks or obvious physical reaction of his body, the man asks, "Care to join?"
"With pleasure," Berwald whispers, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. Christen flashes him a thumbs-up as the Swede moves by, heading for the bathroom.
This… arrangement, was by no means new to the three. During their Viking youths they would share a longhouse that often saw many nights of passion and sex. And during the Kalmar Union, while not nearly as lasting as now, Christen and Lukas had invited Berwald back to their bed. For those few years of peace and calm they had seemed to once more have it all.
Pulling off his sweater and shirt, stepping out of his shoes and toeing off his socks, Berwald makes his way to the bed. When his belt hits the floor he hops on the mattress, climbing behind Lukas to pull the Norwegian flush to his now-bare chest. Christen, without missing a beat, comes forward to continue kissing the man between them while taking his own first touch of the Swedish man.
Hands roam and feel and soon enough Berwald isn't sure whose is whose, someone removing his glasses and someone pushing him down onto the bed. They switch off, Christen mounting him to lean down and kiss him hard, arms struggling to pull each other closer and closer; there's always been a struggle in their love, a desperation, that neither of them has ever spoken of it as if it was a secret or perhaps a magic spell that would end should they ever voice it aloud. When the Dane shifts to kiss down Berwald's chest Lukas's mouth replaces it, Swedish hands helping to remove the man of his remaining clothing as Christen uses all his tricks to wind him up.
Nights like these weren't the most common way things ended up, hadn't been for more than a thousand years. More often than not Lukas would only call one of them to bed with him, Berwald commonly winning for reasons never stated but fully understood. Christen was called in for his fair share of sex as well, or else while Lukas was out Berwald and Christen would take their fill of each other instead. When the two once-great rivals had sex it was rough and dirty and fast and the Swede doesn't know that he's felt that sort of adrenaline rush since the Napoleonic Wars, the sweet taste of victory when it's over that lingers in the air as Christen laughs beautifully. Because with Lukas Berwald would be slower, savoring the man as one savors a delicious and exquisite meal, rather than taking quickly with Christen as if this was a battle to be won. Christen more or less went at the same pace with the Norwegian that he went at with Berwald, always feeling a somehow-failure and trying to compensate for it. It was another secret they never voiced aloud, Berwald and Lukas, though they both knew the Dane felt it: the man could never be consoled, the man could never be satisfied.
But then again, were any of them ever satisfied? They shift again, this time Lukas finding himself pinned down. Berwald and Christen quickly strip off the last of their clothes, taking turns in silent agreement that only years of practice have given them in driving the Norwegian mad as their limbs brush against each other, setting Berwald on fire. No, perhaps none of them have ever been satisfied, not unless they were all together. Lukas had put it best one day over dinner: he didn't want to choose because Berwald and Christen, and Berwald and Christen both, completed him. Why couldn't they go back to the old days where choosing never cross their minds? Are they not still three pieces of something ancient and sacred? Three pieces meant to be one?
As the Dane takes Berwald's mouth back, tongues twisting together, Lukas wrapping his arms around both their necks, the Swede thinks that maybe this is how it was meant to be. Let the rest of the world think they were weird or stuck in the past or should go on to find something else– the rest of the world was wrong.
It wasn't just history that had destined the three men to be together forever, the final shift and roll as they fall into something easier to maneuver. No, fate had done that, fate and their old goddess who used to look over them as young men.
Berwald is sure she still does, even now.
3.
It's not their most creative sex position by any means, and Christen did love the creative ones while Berwald was much less concerned with such things, but it works: Christen laying beneath him on the bed, Lukas on top of him rubbing their erections together. He strokes in time with Berwald's thrusts into his own body, his chest between his two lovers' as he kisses Christen, the Dane running his hands through Swedish hair as Berwald moans with that incredibly deep voice of his that still gives the Norwegian shivers.
Just to be here, between them, was all that Lukas had ever really wanted. He loves Christen who is simple and straight-forward and complex and deep all at once, and he loves Berwald who is less words and more physical, able to hear what is never said. He loves them both and they both love him (and each other), and as Berwald bites at the back of his shoulder, Christen nipping at his jaw, Lukas has never been surer that this was all he wanted.
A hand knocks his out of the way, Berwald taking over stroking his two companions. The Norwegian takes the opportunity to better brace himself on the bed, allowing his body to move fully with the Swede's thrusts and to rock against the Dane. All of which makes Christen smirk, clearly enjoying his position in all this, watching his two lovers with lazy pleasure.
Lukas comes first, the most stimulated of the three, before Christen and Berwald follow. And in a heavy, sticky, absolutely disgusting heap they fall together on the bed, limbs all tangled together.
"Like coming home to this," Berwald murmurs, nose in Lukas's hair.
"I like getting to lay there and not work," Christen laughs, kissing the Norwegian.
"I hate both of you," he spits out which everyone in the room knows means just its opposite when said with that particular tone.
"Of course you do," his two companions say in unison.
"Hey!" Christen laughs. "Do you remember when Timo walked in on us, back in Denmark?" He means during the Kalmar Union.
"Oh please don't," Berwald sighs and Lukas is sure he can feel the man's blush through his body.
"Penis," is all the Dane says in reply and Lukas just rolls his eyes, remembering clearly with what innocence Timo had walked into the dining room to find the three men– well, that day had been one of their more creative arrangements to say the least.
"That's why I'm glad Emil only ever walked in on you with a prostitute," Lukas whispers, remembering the Icelander's sheer embarrassment as he walked into the room, murmured something to inform his brother of what had happened, then walked away. The older brother is pretty sure his younger sibling had gone off and had a wank at that.
"Young boys must learn some way," Christen announces proudly, "and what better way than watching the expert shagger that is me bang a lady of the night?"
"Do you really want an answer to that?" Berwald quips dryly, shifting, and Lukas turns his head to watch the man rise and hold out a hand for him. "Shower time I think."
"What about me?" Christen whines.
"The expert shagger, I would have presumed, would want time alone."
Secretly enjoying this Lukas kisses the Dane, stealing his breath for his own, before rising, grabbing Berwald's glasses from where he had placed them, and following the man. Once behind the closed bathroom door the Swede pins him to the wall, kissing him hard and gently rolling his hips.
"What's that about?" Lukas whispers.
"He got a head start with you," is all Berwald says.
"Will this always be a competition between the three of us?" the Norwegian laments as the shower is turned on. He rarely liked to leave the house as it was with Berwald and Christen staying behind because he knew when gone his two lovers had sex and Lukas did hate to miss out on the sight. He also hated missing the sweet battle the two waged over Lukas, how he could soothe both of them with his words and body. It was like they were all addicts whose drugs were one another: the competition could never finish, they could never be satisfied.
"It's what keeps us together."