Author's note: I gave those fangirls Norway/Sweden. Fangirls rarely get Norway/Sweden.
Hotell
After the meeting in Vienna they head back to their hotel room, promising to meet up with their friends in a few short hours for dinner and a performance tonight. Mind still rifling through all the things said today Lukas leads the way, Berwald always half a step behind him as they enter the main lobby. Once the doors of the elevator have closed the Swede takes his hand; when the doors open Berwald pulls Lukas down the hall, a small grin on his face.
The room itself is large though not elaborate compared to other hotels Lukas has stayed in over the years. What makes this one different, perhaps, was that it had taken very little effort to convince their governments to get one room instead of two. Others who had been in much longer relationships still had that struggle, though they were also contending with prejudices beyond inter-nation relationships; neither the Swedish nor Norwegian handlers had ever cared that their nations incarnate were in relationships with other men and would thus only have need of one room.
Which, Lukas thinks as he throws his briefcase on the desk, pulling off his tie and jacket as Berwald heads into the bathroom, is a really nice luxury to for once in his life be the normal one. Even if being the normal one still meant he had been in on-again, off-again relationships with his two best friends for over a millennium. Everyone had their quirks.
Shoes kicked off the Norwegian falls contently back on the bed, ready for a nap and maybe some sex and possibly a spot of television. And when Berwald collapses beside him, Lukas knows the man is thinking the same thing.
"Which first?" Lukas asks.
"Television, I'm afraid," and his boyfriend kisses his cheek before laboring up again to go get his briefcase. "I have about a half hour more work to do and would rather just get it out of the way."
Rolling over on the bed and fingering the remote towards him, Lukas asks, "And then sex?"
"If you're a good boy I'll even let you top." As soon as he says it the smaller man knows Berwald hadn't meant to voice that particularly thought– desire? –out loud. It makes him smirk while his companion blushes, ideas forming as he flips on the television to see what's showing.
In actuality it takes Berwald closer to forty-five minutes to finish his work, the man laying face-down on the bed as Lukas rubs his back absentmindedly. When whatever show that had caught his attention ends, he turns off the television before deciding to put his plan into action.
"Take off your shirt, belt, and socks," he whispers in the Swede's ear as he rises, pulling off his own as he goes into the bathroom to pull several bottles from his bag. Returning he finds Berwald laying face down again, having done as he was told; it makes Lukas feel devilishly good. He lines up the bottles on the bedside table and, once satisfied, takes one with him as he moves to straddle Berwald's hips.
"What are you doing?" the man beneath him asks, pulling a pillow down to lay under his sideways head, his face only visible in profile, glasses already removed.
Warming the lotion in his hands Lukas replies coyly, "Put your arms at your side and you'll see." Once Berwald's done as he was told he goes to work, kneading his way up the tense back muscles before him.
His response is a satisfying groan of pure pleasure.
"Calm down Berwald," Lukas teases in his flat voice. He continues working up and down, practiced after centuries with Christen who had perhaps the tensest back known to mankind. The Norwegian works his fingers and palms at every point he can until he feels how relaxed Berwald's become beneath him, putty in his hands. Leaning down so that his chest pressed into the Swedish back, Lukas whispers, "I want you."
"Hmm." Berwald smiles, eyes closed, as his face rests on the pillow.
"I want to be inside you," he adds, shifting down a little to rub himself against the man's ass. "I promise I'll make it good, but it's just been so long and you look so handsome and fuckable like this." Even just imagining the last time Lukas had gotten to top him, which had probably been during the Kalmar Union if not earlier, turns him on as he waits for a response, humping Berwald.
Finally the man nods, pushing back up into him.
With little foreplay they remove the rest of their clothing, Lukas trading the bottle of massage oil for their expensive lubricant; Berwald had bought it with a smirk and a wink and a whisper in his ear of, all the best for my love. The man in question gets on the bed on all fours, his ass glorious to Lukas as he kneels behind him. Hands rub the sides of the Swedish hips before one snakes down as the Norwegian leans forward, wrapping around Berwald's cock as Lukas's presses against his ass. Kisses litter the back of Berwald's neck as the smaller man whispers, "You sure you don't want to lie down?" With Christen Lukas liked it on all fours but with Berwald, who was always more caring, less sex and more love making, he's always preferred to see and feel the man above him.
"No," Berwald grunts, rolling his hips and groaning. Lukas imagines he's embarrassed, because the Swede was an idiot like that.
"Love you," he whispers against the man's skin, stroking him until he's stiff as the Norwegian continues to rub himself roughly against the man's ass. Lukas reaches forward with his free hand to grab the headboard, trying to brace himself over a body so much larger than his. "Gonna make you feel incredible."
"Better." There's a definite threat in there for if Lukas doesn't deliver, probably in that he'll get rough sex for a punishment which really was no punishment at all for him.
"Should have brought something to tie you up with."
"You wish," Berwald snorts. "Stop humping and get going."
"Aren't we bossy today?" Lukas observes dryly before doing as he was told, leaning back and popping open the bottle. It was a weird sensation suddenly, to be so reversed from their roles that had gone unchanged for centuries. Here was his lover before him, nearly panting, so pale and beautiful: Lukas liked the feeling.
"Warm it first," the Swede instructs. "You never like it cold."
"I know." He had been on the receiving end of this enough times to know what happened, even if when last they'd done it with this particular arrangement it had been a lot less elegant. Condoms and lubricants were still so new to them that Lukas was rarely surprised if they'd end up going without, unused to sexual aids and unused to fear of sexual disease.
"Go fast," Berwald gets in before moaning wantonly as Lukas runs a finger around his hole, smiling like he so rarely did with pure enjoyment. "Don't want it slow."
"Sure?"
"Ja."
The finger plunges in, Lukas reaching down with his free hand to stroke himself. Berwald is incredibly tight around him, groaning and keening as he pushes against his walls. He pumps his fingers in and out, recalling how it feels when Berwald does this to him; he wonders if his lover is thinking the same thing as the second finger goes in, third soon following. Lukas is torn between wanting to fuck him now, hard and rough, and wanting to roll Berwald over and make love to him the way they'd thought they would tonight.
"Lube yourself," the deep voice says and Lukas does before pulling his fingers out and positioning himself at the man's entrance. "Go slow?" That, the Norwegian doesn't miss, is a question, not an order.
With soft hushes and whispers in Swedish of loving things, Lukas pushes in as gently as he can, his head rolling back. Berwald is so incredibly tight, muscles moving against his cock, and it's so overwhelming as he waits for his boyfriend to tell him to move. Lukas could stay like this forever until he sees Berwald nod, a silent instruction, and so the Norwegian pulls out to push in again.
A hand reaches down to stroke the Swede as he starts to build a rhythm, Berwald at one point asking him to slow down because he's still so unused to the feeling. Lukas obliges willingly and soon enough they're both enjoying this, the Swede grunting and groaning, Lukas kissing his back and trying to commit every moment of this to memory.
The man beneath him pushes back as he pushes forward, skin slapping against skin. Lukas can feel his own eminent orgasm approaching, reaching down with both hands to tease Berwald because he knows the man is strong enough to lean on. And with that his lover comes, hot and fast and loud, screaming his name like he's never heard him do before. Walls clenching around him Lukas comes shortly after, filling his boyfriend's ass before pulling out.
They collapse awkwardly on the bed, both men breathing harder than normal. When finally Lukas looks to Berwald he finds the man with wide eyes trained on the ceiling.
"Holy mother of Jesus," the Swede whispers and his companion laughs so hard at that his stomach hurts, because it's ridiculous and inappropriate and accurate and because Lukas just feels like laughing for the first time in days, months even.
Rolling over to lay on Berwald, legs tangling together, Lukas puts the Swede's glasses back on before asking with a strong touch of pride, "Did you enjoy yourself?"
"The stained sheets seem to indicate I did."
"I'll have room service change the bed while we're out."
"So I can repay the favor to you tonight?"
The Norwegian simply shakes his head, kisses his lover, then lays down for a short nap. They still had over an hour to dinner.
"You ok dude?" Christen asks Berwald for the third time, watching the Swede shift on his chair. Lukas, on the Swede's other side, simply continues eating his salad. Emil beside him seems terribly suspicious of something and Timo across the table keeps trying to look anywhere but at them.
Finally Berwald sighs and admits, "Ass hurts." Christen chokes on his drink, Emil shakes his head in disgust, and Timo blushes more profusely than Lukas would have thought possible.
The Norwegian decides this is probably one of the most satisfying meals he's ever had in Vienna.