Wrote this a while ago for Denmark's 'birthday,' only just got around to putting it up here.

Enjoy le fluff.

Characters not mine.

"Come on, you let everyone else kiss you."

"...And?"

"Why can't I?" Denmark kept his grip on Norway's arm.

The Dane's question was met with an eye roll and a shrug. And, if you were observant, a faint flush across Norway's face.

"Seriously Norge, why not?" Denmark continued his bitching. "Come on, I'm feeling neglected here."

"Because, oh mighty King of the North, I do not want you to. That good enough?"

Denmark quirked an eyebrow. "So I'm supposed to believe you would let France – FRANCE – give you a birthday kiss, but not me? FRANCE!"

"Yes. Now piss off and torment Sweden like you would any other day of the week."

Denmark snorted. "He's too busy keeping Fin off the booze. He wouldn't notice if I danced naked while singing the Swedish national anthem backwards and burning the IKEA catalogue."

"Well, that would be a sight." Said Norway flatly.

"That's love."

"What, dancing naked and – "

"No! Sweden and Finland."

Norway tried once more to wriggle out of his prison between sixteen stone of Danish man and the kitchen cupboard. "I don't remember you being so happy about it when they ditched you."

Denmark simply held Norway tighter. He was no match for him, really. "Naughty Norge, don't try to change the subject."

"What subject?"

"Love." Denmark whispered. "Do you love me Norway?"

Norway looked up, for the first time during their exchange, at Denmark's face. He wasn't smiling, or smirking, or grinning, or sneering; or any of the other easy to read expressions he often wore. His face was still and soft, almost expressionless. His eyes looked so different. So different to the narrowed glint they took when he was harassing his fellow nations. They were bigger, less harsh. Like ripples on a pond. A pond Norway wanted to fall into. Without any further thought he brought his hand to Denmark's face, ran his fingers slowly over his cheek, along his forehead, down his chin. Lastly to his lips. His hand lingered there. He could feel Denmark's breath brushing over his fingers.

He smoothed his hand to the back of Denmark's neck and slowly pulled him closer. He felt the other's lips under his, warmed from his earlier touch. Denmark's grip softened, his hand moving to the small of Norway's back. Somewhere, in the very back of his conscious, Norway could hear the kitchen clock ticking, muffled laughter and music from their party guests in the living room. He could feel Denmark smiling against his mouth.

Norway pulled back, only a little, enough so his words could escape. "And what, may I ask, is so funny?"

Denmark laughed quietly and rested his forehead on Norway's. "Because, my beautiful Norwegian," Norway's face grew hotter, "I have asked you for a kiss on your birthday every year for at least the last two centuries."

"And? You enjoy rejection?"

"This year is the first time I've got one."

Norway looked away from Denmark's now smiling eyes, and back at the floor. "Yeah, well, don't go expecting one every year."

Denmark whined "Why not? I've – " He paused, and shrugged heavily. "Fine. Only if you tell me why I got a kiss this year."

Norway finally succeeded in slipping out of Denmark's grasp. "Because," he began as he reached the door into the living room, "This year I've realised that, perhaps, I do sometimes love you."