With leadened limbs, Berwald climbed the wooden stairs to the top floor of their cosy little house. He walked right past the first door to the one at the far end of the hallway, into a small room that was cold and bare but clean. In it, there were two single beds, a bedside table and a lamp - the guest bedroom. He lit the lamp and shed his clothes before falling gracelessly into whichever bed was closest, feeling exhausted but wide awake. He predicted that once again sleep was not going to come easily and could already feel his thoughts starting to tick over as he frowned at the ceiling. It had been a pleasant enough day in it's own new awkward way. After breakfast Berwald had thrown himself headfirst into a pile of paperwork and by lunchtime had finished all of it - even the stuff that didn't require his attention at all. Lunch itself was just as delicious as as he had predicted, and the stilted small talk about the economy as he desperately avoided eye contact could have been worse. After hurriedly clearing the table Berwald had locked himself in his workshop, industiously making more minimalistic furniture to fill up their already too-full storage. When he reappeared hours later sore-backed and red-eyed, he found a note on the kitchen table, telling him his dinner was in the oven to keep it warm. A hot fluttering feeling had burst inside him then, and it was all he could do to stop himself crying out of sheer frustration.

Berwald rolled onto his side. His glasses pressed uncomfortably into his face but he didn't care. He stared at the soft glow of a light from downstairs intruding beneath his door letting him know that Tino was still awake and probably would be for some time. Voices and the sound of laughter followed the light to intrude on his peace and he pressed his face further into the pillow. He was probably watching TV, or maybe he was on the phone to Jökull again. Or Lars, god curse that pastry eating moron. He could always make him laugh. Restlessly Berwald rolled onto his otherside so he was facing way from the light and wondered if Tino would be in bed already if he knew he would be sleeping alone tonight. He just couldn't bring himself to spend another night in such a cold bed, as far away for the other nation as possible without being on the floor. Heaven forbid he should accidentally roll over and throw a sleepy arm around the fitfully slumbering young man. Tino was always such a light sleeper - would a kiss wake him up? Not on the lips. The cheek maybe, or throat laid bare by tossing and turning. Yes, it probably would wake him up. Berwald could imagine those violet eyes wide and wild in the dark - didn't have to imagine, he'd seen it a dozen times before in their early years of their tentative time together when neither trusted the other enough to sleep through every bump in the night. He had given him enough cause to be scared of the dark before they became man and wife, and even after too. Sometimes Berwald couldn't help himself, conditioned by centuries of pilaging freely and that's why he couldn't trust himself around Tino anymore. Oh, how easy it would be to invade now with bodies softened and weapons blunted by an age of peace and prosperity, how sweet to raise the old standard again.

Already Berwald was palming himself gently, half-hard and only getting harder as one hand gripped himself firmly and the other twisted in the sheets by his side. He had burned for Tino for as long as he could remember and was reduced to stroking himself with increasing urgency alone in the guest bedroom. He had only just begun, but already his breath was coming in light pants. He closed his eyes and imagined that it wasn't his hand, large and work-calloused but small and pale and almost delicate instead. Slowing down he loosened his grip, teasing himself with the slightest twist of his wrist and lightly brushing his thumb across the head with each stroke. A small groan escaped his lips. Yes, he wanted Tino's body - so lithe and so beautiful - more than he could ever say, almost as much as he wanted all the warm in that smile just for him. To melt away years of ice and uncertainty, there wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't give for just one hot kiss. Berwald's toes curled, and his knees jerked a little closer to his chest as he curled in on himself. His pace increased once more, and he tried to muffle his quiet sounds of pleasure with his free hand. It's all for you, he though, feeling the pleasure jolt though his body like electricity, Tino, oh god, it's all for you...fuck, I'm so close, Tino - Tino, I'm going t--

"...Papa?"

Berwald felt the matress dip behind him before he even registered the small voice, filled with uncertainty. Imidiately he stopped with every nerve in his body screaming at him to just keep going, and slowly half rolled over. His face was flushed and his shoulders were shaking slightly. He was even a little out of breath. Peter was kneeling on the edge of his bed in his pyjamas, looking worried.

"Are you okay, pa?"

For a moment Berwald was at a loss for words to say. His mind was struggling to recover, but he was singularily aware that his young son had just walk in on his furiously masturbating. He prayed to god that the boy was still too young to figure out what he was doing.

"'M fine. Bad dream," he grunted dismissively. He rolled over properly and Peter seemed to take this as a sign to climb onto the bed properly. Berwald was thankful the heavy blankets were thick enough to hide his stubborn errection, "What're y'doin' home? Thought y'were at Raivis's house?"

"I was," he said bluntly as he wriggled to mold himself comfortably to his father's side, "But I had to come home, Ed said so."

"What happen'd," Berwald pressed, concern creeping into his voice as he arched his hips subtly away from Peter. Usually it was a task just getting the boy to breathe in between his epic tales of every single minute detail of an evening with his friends. He wasn't usually so clingy either. For a moment the micronation didn't say anything, he smooth little brow creased in thought. He grabbed Berwald's arm and tugged it around him.

"Well me an' Raivis were upstairs, an' Ed an' Toris an' Feliks were in the kitchen an' then...an' then stupid Russia showed up, an' Feliks starts going crazy! He was shoutin', Russia was smashin' stuff about, Toris was tryin' to make the stupid git go away, an' then Ed bursts into our room, says me and Raivis have gotter go, so we did," he said all in one breath, a little more like his usual self. He paused, and looked away before adding sadly, "Raivis was cryin'. They didn't say where they were gonna go."

Berwald wasn't really sure what to say at that moment as he held his son close to him. A small hand reassuringly squeezed his arm that was tensed in anger, and he forced himself to relax - more successfully than his previous attempt which his body was thankfully beginning to obey. Berwald dipped his head until his lips brushed against Peter's sandy blond hair, curling himself protectively around his beloved son. He smelled of the ocean, of salt and iron and rust.

"Did y'tell Ma?" he mumbled as the yeilding body in his arms melted gladly in the comforting heat. Peter shook his head almost imperceptably, and Berwald made a slight noise of agreement, "It's prob'ly best y'didn't. Not worry him 'nd so on."

After that, Peter didn't say much more. He appeared to have fallen asleep, one hand grasping Berwald's bicep gently, the other crushed between them with the thumb pressed against pursed rosebud lips. Thumb sucking. It was one of many childish habits that the micronation still retained that neither doting parent could bring themselves to break, weakly trying to disuade him with disapproving tsks and vaguely smitten smiles. He stroked the soft blond hair, pale in the lack of light. Peter stirred, looking up with hazy sea-blue eyes, and smiled. There was hidden strength in those young eyes, so familiar, and a warmth that served only as a painful reminder. Once again, he and his son settled down to sleep, chest to chest and lazily entwined. The warm little puffs of breath against his bare skin made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"I'm gonna build us a house one day," came a slightly muffled sleepy voice, and Berwald opened his eyes again, "When I'm the biggest nation in the whole world. A house from me an' you an' Mama. Raivis can come, an' his brothers an' Feliks if he wants to, an' Gilbo an' Noemi if their brothers would let them, an' even stupid gitface if he's dead sorry 'bout being a stupid gitface."

"That so," Berwald hummed in responce, the slightest little smile playing at the corners of his thin, serious lips.

"Yeah," he said, nodding and even though he was on the verge of sleep he was unable to stop the childish enthusiasm radiating in his voice, "An' if Russia tries anythin', I'm gonna Rocket Punch him right in the nose!"

Both nations chuckled, the relaxed sound ushering away any remaining concerns of the day. It was nice to simply be with each other - happily, unconditionally. Berwald smoothed back a few wayward locks from Peter's young face, and smiled truely.

"Go t'sleep now, P'ter," he urged as he pressed another kiss the the crown of his son's head. Peter nodded again, pulling the heavy blankets closer about them and whispering something that sounded like 'I love you'. With the litle lamp still on, they both slept soundly.

AN: Jökull = Iceland, Lars = Denmark, Noemi = Liechtenstein