And here we have yet another story that my mind conjured up while I was bored waiting for the bus to come. I'm so glad I started to carry paper and pens with me. Just a short story of the somewhat dysfunctional relationship that I imagine Denmark and Sweden has. God I feel so dirty for pimping out my own country like this.
A leathered glove swept across the fallen mans cheek. Mimicking the act of a lover, how laughable, the irony in it makes him smile. Denmark was the farthest thing from a lover in his mind. Noticing the curved lips on the man beneath him, he gripped his hair and forced his head up. Locking his eyes with the other.
- You are smiling Sve.
It was not a question, merely a remark. There was no answer either. Not that he had been expecting one anyway. Sweden wasn't exactly renowned for his great vocal ability. Smirking to himself, if the rest of the world only knew. The other could be quite... loud if you just pushed the right buttons. And Denmark was an expert at that. But alas the rest of the world would never know. He would make sure of that.
The small smile on the other man had disappeared. Now the only expression that could be seen was in his eyes. Hate. It thrilled him. Most would consider him weird for desiring it. Especially from such a formidable opponent. But then again he was no pushover either. Hate the only strong emotion he could ever bring from the other. He and only he could do that. And he loved it. His smile widened to a grin. He probably looked like a mad man now. Not that he cared. He was one anyway. There was no way you could live for this long and be completely sane.
Pushing against the others throat making him choke. But still those eyes shone up against him. Pressing down some more the other was fighting desperately now. It's not like he would die from it, but it couldn't be a pleasant feeling Denmark mused. Bending down, pressing his mouth over the others. Biting down hard, he could taste the coppery blood. Licking the cut, applying to much pressure with his tongue, making the other hiss. Not letting up on his grip around his throat he could feel him starting to go limp. Bending down whispering in his ear.
- You are mine Sweden
A soft gasp and a few strained words from the other made him see red. When he came to his senses the whole room was trashed. Not caring only yanking up the now passed out nation carrying him to his bed. Shit he loved that he was the only one being able to draw out emotions like these from the other. But he hated the words that always came along to remind him of the unavoidable future.
- I will not be forever.
Placing the other nation gently on the bed.
- That might be so, but for now I won't let you go.
Yeah I fail at writing angst, but it's kind of hard for me to imagine this couple all cute and fluffy. I mean there's a lot, I repeat a lot of history between these two and a very small amount of it is peaceful. Denmark and Sweden is like the north's version of France and England, or (Agon and Trash) Turkey and Greece. (read Eyeshield 21)