Ok, so I'm obviously not an amazing author(ess) but I enjoy what I do and so, ya.
I don't have many comments;
DeNor NEEDED a multi-chapter fic, and I've yet to see one so.. this /might/ be the first one. That's.. scary. Also, please be nice! I came from the AkuRoku fandom; a place where your fic gets buried easily..which is reassuring when you aren't confident. However, DeNor has barely a page of things on here and so.. all eyes watching me type thing.
Well, I've made Svein (Get used to that name because I've dubbed Norway that) not..emo..but he's had a hard life and struggled. So, this fic is basically Søren (Denmark) realizing his mistakes and trying to pick up the pieces; still very much in love with Norway.
So, I guess that's it. Please be nice 'cus I suck at writing and I know it OTL.. reviews are loved!
Oh and forgive the shortness...
*cowers in corner*
The Dane was sitting in his office with his leg crossed over the knee of his other leg; he was lounging about in his office chair. He had previously been rolling about with the wheels on the furniture. His sighs were growing louder and longer by the minute. There was so much paperwork on his desk but he couldn't bring himself to concentrate on such trivial matters. His mind was stuck upon his ex lover; the most handsome boy he had ever laid eyes upon. His name was Svein Engebretsen and he was the man's childhood friend.
He had met the boy when he was 10. The boy was new to the school; he had moved to Denmark from Norway. At the time the Dane didn't know why but he eventually learned that it was because his mother needed treatment from a special doctor that resided in Denmark; Svein's mother was mentally ill. His mother thinks her son is a female for one; that didn't really help Svein when it came to getting bullied. His ex was so kind about it though; he let his mom treat him like a daughter, not wanting to see her beautiful smile fade. Even so, his mother loved him very much; he was her baby, her pride, and her joy and nobody could take that from her.
It was very much a storybook relationship.
Søren, the Dane, had been bully at the time he met the boy; particularly using his age and size to intimidate. He had poked fun at the boy's thick Norwegian accent when they met; yelling insults such as," You talk funny." One of the worst things he'd ever said to the Norwegian was that he told him to go back home; his dad had raised him on Danish superiority. Svein could barely understand Søren, as his Norwegian wasn't even perfect and he hadn't spoken an ounce of Danish in his life; something the Dane was grateful for years later.
The boy had no friends and the Dane was quick to pick up on that; half wanting to reach out to the boy and half wanting to laugh at him for being anti-social. So he would pull on the small boy's golden curl; enjoying the sharp gasp it brought him. He mentally hit himself, looking back on it he realized he really was the typical grade-schooler; picking on the person he liked.
He would even tug on the two pieces of material that hung from the boy's hat; this always caused the boy to turn around and glare. In fact, Søren knew he'd have a smaller list of what he /didn't/ do to the boy in their younger years versus what he did. He half wondered if the boy would've still given him attention had he not picked on him.
The boy held very strong and firm for a 7 year old. Though, everybody has their breaking points and Søren found Svein's final thread and ripped it.
The day was an ordinary day, a few months into school, and Søren was picking on his little friend as always. A lady had walked into the room, though he couldn't remember her clearly as he was much too young, and called our teacher's attention towards her. They chattered for a few minutes, his teacher's warm smile slowly creeping its way down.
He was, being so young and well, being who he was, curious and it ate at him as he watched the pair; delighted when they parted. It was then, to the joy of Søren, that the teacher began making her way towards Svein, who was sitting in front of him. She bent over; one of her slender and feminine hands resting upon her knee while the other reached out to rub circles on Svein's back.
She sighed heavily, looking into the little boy's eyes before speaking in the boy's native tongue," I'm afraid you're doing poorly in your classes due to your limited Danish," She smiled at him, but it was a sad smile, a smile a mother would give to her child as she watches him leave the house for college. "We have to move you to remedial classes. Now, people will tease you but don't you listen to them, ok? You're a very smart and charming young man." She patted his head gently and helped him gather his things into his bag.
The Dane wasn't sure if the Norwegian had really understood what was going on but, his movements were painfully slow. Looking back, the Dane would've done different had he known what he knows now.
Søren had caught wind of their conversation, picking up the general idea of it. He heard, "limited Danish…move to remedial classes.." though, he probably understood much more, he really only cared at those parts. A cruel and wicked smile spread across his face; he had another reason to pick on the boy.
It was at lunch where he broke the boy; he noticed Svein was sitting with, what'd he'd called them back then, the other retards and was smiling and giggling. In a mixture of rage and jealousy, kids don't know self-control as, they don't know how to handle such intense emotions, and he stormed over to the table.
Svein hadn't looked up from his tray, even as the Dane stood behind him taunting him,"Hey there buddy." The Dane kept up his verbal torture, only to get even more enraged when the boy wouldn't look at him. Flipping his lid, he ripped the carton of chocolate milk from Svein's hands and turned it upside down on his head. "Retard…retard! HA! Svein is a retard! Dumb! Dumb! Dumb-dumby-head! You have to be friends with them 'cos nobody likes you! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
The boy turned around, tears welling in his royal blue eyes, and he sobbed loudly. "Ha ha! You're a baby! A little crying baby!" the insults flew from Søren's mouth as quickly as you could blink an eye.
Svein, unable to take it anymore, pushed the Dane aside and ran from the cafeteria. He wandered blindly, his tears blocking his vision, and he searched for a good hiding spot. The best place was where the wall dipped in to hold the dumpster, but he didn't care; he shoved his petite body into the crack and held his arms over his face.
The Dane would never forget the way the boy looked when he'd finally found him; his hair standing up in the back from being pressed up against the wall, the whites of his eyes a light pink-ish-red, his cheeks still were stained with tears, and he reeked of garbage.
Though he'd never admit it, the Dane crawled in beside the boy, wrapped his arms around his trembling form, buried his face into the boy's hat, and wailed loudly along with him.
It was at that that Søren felt bad; he begun to cease teasing he boy, or at least in a mean way. Søren had even begun to develop a child's crush upon the boy; expressing his childish affection the only way he knew how. But he had a feeling that the other boy secretly knew the nature for which he teased the boy.
That was how he'd become close to the boy.
He took another deep breath and released it with a forced sigh. He realized only now how awful he had been to his beloved. The Dane had not treated the boy with care like he should have; he was ruthless during sex. He often ignored the boy other than to play dirty with him. He had not even told the boy he loved him. It was just a relationship built out of fear and duty.
Oh what he wouldn't give to have the boy back. He would give up all his happiness if he could just gaze upon that shiny blonde hair of his; that shimmered even more so when the sun's rays played upon it. He longed to breathe the boy's intoxicating scent and let it fill his entire being. He wanted to wrap that small, lithe body into his arms and cradle it tightly; run his fingers against that baby soft skin, and enjoy the shivers and quiet moans he obtained through it. He wished to look into those cold cobalt eyes and search for that warmth that he had buried deep inside himself.
A day had not gone by that Søren didn't think about him. The boy had once been the very air he breathed; though he felt himself too manly and prideful to show it. It was such a shame that he let the boy leave. But what was even worse was that Sweden had wrapped the boy in his clutches the second Svein left. He couldn't help the hatred that burned deep inside his heart.
It was then that the Dane could no longer contain his passionate hatred for the Swede; he begun to start things with him, challenge his manliness and pride. Whenever he was able, he would force the brute into submission; take him roughly, mercilessly like a beast that knew no such thing as emotion. Any way to tear the man down, he would look for it. He needed to feel that control, that power. He needed for the man to die of shame for taking his lover. It was a simple thing to do; the Dane placed a looming threat that he would harm his precious Finn, and that was all it took to make the man fall to his knees.
Berwald's love and dedication to his wife further pissed him off; the Swede didn't deserve love, at least not love that pure. And yet it was mostly just jealousy; the Dane hadn't done anything to care for his lover. Søren hadn't even bothered to satisfy his mate; there was no foreplay, and the second he came he would abandon Svein for the shower, leaving his lover with only his hand. Though the Dane had assumed that the boy would feel too pained to want to pleasure himself; laying on the bed rejected by, possibly, the person he loved the most. It sickened him to think of how he had treated the boy; cruelty was his right hand, and monstrosity was his left.
His eyes glanced down at his pen; he could see from the now clear barrel that it was out of ink. He bit his bottom lip with little strength as he attempted to gain relief from all the stress. He wanted to remain seated and thinking of his old flame but work had to be done and he would need to make a trip to the store. The man ran his fingers through his golden blonde hair; the spikes were limp as he had not showered in a few days. The man felt so dirty inside that there was no need to be physically washed. He didn't even have the strength to smell himself to see if he smelled as bad as he looked.
He lazily uncrossed his legs and stood up; wobbling around a little because his legs had fallen asleep due to inactivity. He searched for the keys once he had walked the sleep away from his aching legs and feet. The keys were on the kitchen counter; they hadn't been moved for a week or so; or was it longer?
The Dane decided on a convenience store; it was far away from his house, which was good, because though he felt shitty, he was a man that still stood tall with pride and he didn't want to ruin that image.
The car ride there was an uneventful blur for the Dane; he was a skilled enough driver that he just let his mind wander back to his most precious memories of his Norwegian as his hands robotically turned the wheel. He recalled a time that, it was most unusual because he was being loving that day, Søren had brought the boy to his favourite spot in the city.
It was a quiet and secluded hill; hidden by the surplus of trees that surrounded the area. The wind was blowing a chilly breath that day; tossing the boy's fine hair and playing with his sweater. Svein had huddled close to his lover when they both sat down upon the grass. The Dane could still feel the boy's trembling body as it leaned against him, begging for him to share his warmth.
Søren and Svein remained on that hill through the night; closing their eyes and falling asleep to the humming of the crickets as they made their calls for a mate. The Dane had remained awake; watching the boy sleep rest on his shoulder.
There came a point in the night where even the crickets hushed their song. The man listened to the quiet breathing of the other; feeling his chest fall and rise slowly against his own form. He quietly whispered to the night and any other creature still paying attention "you breathe so pretty baby."
It was so much so that he swore the whole entire night had silenced itself to listen to the Norwegian's breathing; it was so relaxing in its rhythm. The Dane couldn't bring himself to fall asleep; not wanting to miss a single breath the boy made. It was not until late in the night that the hushed noises, and the up and down motions against his side, lulled the man to sleep.
That was one of his favourite memories; it was the only time that both he and Svein had left themselves vulnerable and he liked that feeling. Had he been willing to date others he knew he would never treat them as he had Svein; he was so tormented and guilt ridden over it. He hated himself for pushing away the one good thing he had had. It made him want another chance.
He pulled into the parking lot, taking the spot furthest from the store; he needed to clear his head and walking usually always did the trick. The man loved exercise as it gave him room to think and breath; he hated to just sit still as he accomplished less that way usually. It was one of the things that he had shared with Svein; they both loved to get up and move. Though he would deny it, Svein was always so hyper. Søren knew that for him to stay still for long periods of time was painful.
They were both free souls, and in that freedom they found a nice stable solace; a cage, except warmer. More loving and it was a cage that they had, or so the older man thought, both enjoyed sharing with one another.
The walk from his car to the store went by much too fast; the man's legs strode long with power and pride as he let his thoughts flow out of him. He even had to remind himself what he was here for; some pens and perhaps something for a midnight snack. His stomach jumped happily at the thought of food; he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. The days and nights drug on so long for him that he felt like each new dawn marked the turn of the seasons.
The store was a somewhat humble building; settled near a few other stores with some housing to the north of the street. It was small compared to the big city buildings that the Dane was used to. There were only few cars parked outside; he assumed that most of them belonged to the employees. Søren wasn't sure, as he didn't come here often.
He had taken over a friend's business for him when his dad died, so he rarely had to leave his home on anything but leisure. He could have called up one of his many errand boys but the Dane wanted to taste some fresh air. He was a slave to his house now, which he wouldn't have minded if he had somebody to share his gigantic home with.
He walked through the automatic door at the entrance; realizing with little worry that he was dressed in a suit. It was made of some of the finest silks in the country; possibly all of Europe. On a normal day he would have boasted his outfit, but he didn't feel any sense of pride for himself. Sure, Denmark was the happiest place on earth but they meant that in terms of materials; you could never measure a countries emotional state as, like the winds, people are always changing. He could barely bring himself to move because of the past; or perhaps, it was the present that had his feet held to the floor.
Though he didn't show it, he truly had and still does love Norway. He bit his bottom lip, attempting to recall the taste of those sweet plump lips. He knew the names of what he tasted like but he could not recall the actual sensation; kissing him was amazing, it seemed like his lips were melting against the Danes. It was a mixture of honey, the rain, and something else.
Søren would lock lips with the boy many times just trying to figure out a name for that taste. No matter how hard or gentle or often he'd rub his lips against the other's, he couldn't decide. Finally he'd given up, knowing he'd never, and never would, taste something else like it. The flavour was just... It was the essence of his lover and nothing else could compare. To give that taste a name would've been blasphemy.
He swung his keys in his edgy hands, his eyes blanking out as he took in a breath. He let the air fill his lungs fully before he let the breath out. He walked towards the counter, approaching the worker there. The guy behind the counter had his hands full of boxes and didn't notice the Dane, or he was just being extremely rude.
The man, boxes in arm, exited the small space in which he seemed confined. He started heading around the corner of an aisle, towards the back of the store he guessed. He felt too lazy and important to have to seek the pens out himself and so he followed the employee.
"Excuse me," the voice was soft; one that was trapped between boy and manhood. It was a soothing voice but the man tried ignoring it," Sir, this is employees only." the man's face contorted in anger for being treated like an ordinary customer. Though the boy couldn'tve known, he was not in the mood for patience.
"Don't speak to me that way!" CRASH! The boxes that were in the boy's hand fell; a deafening sound of broken glass rung throughout the room. The contents of the boxes, the broken shards, spilled forth and spread out. The worker bent down frantically; cursing in Norwegian when his arms got the shards imbedded in the skin.
I looked down and immediately recognized the hair. "S..Svein..." he was barely able to croak the name from his throat. The word was full of pain and longing as it came out. He bent on one knee and slowly brought his hands to the man's cheeks. He forced the worker's gaze upwards, reassuring him that it was, in fact, his childhood friend.
The two stayed locked in gaze; neither, though they wanted to, could pull away. Blue danced upon blue and the only thing that came between it was the crashing down of blonde eyelashes as each blinked.
The words, all those carefully planned words, shut themselves inside Søren's mouth. It was one thing to dream of him and speak to him, but face to face? He was awestruck, dumbfounded, and he could barely even remember to breath.
There he was, the boy who had run his life long after he left, right in front of him.