After the withdrawal at the battle of Sigismund, a drunk Finland is still upset at Sweden for not fighting, so he takes his frustrations out on him.
After finishing his pint of beer, Mr. Sweden stood from his chair at the dining room table. He took off his glasses, placing them on the table, then unbuttoned his shirt, getting ready for bed. The lit fireplace crackled quietly in the corner of his small cabin which consisted of simply a dining table, a kitchenette, and a bed. For a simple man, this was enough. The winter wind outside the door howled loudly into the night, but it was no louder than Mr. Sweden's drunken companion, Finland. He still slouched at the table, knocking back glass after glass of liquor while sulking.
"Mr. Sve—now everyone thinks us weak," he slurred. His face was flushed from all the alcohol. "This isn't the first time you do this. Why are you so quick to give up?"
He was still angry at him for abandoning the battle against Poland and Lithuania, but Mr. Sweden knew when he was outmatched, and leaving was the only viable option.
"Is not give up," Sweden draped his shirt on the back of his chair. The heat of the fireplace felt good against his bare skin. "Tactical withdrawal."
In his younger days, he would have gladly dived headfirst into any battle, no matter the odds, sparing no one, and offering the heads of his enemies to the Gods. But times were different now. There were more important things to consider than pleasing old Gods and satiating his appetite for war. But his blood thirsty little friend was not so eager to run away from a good battle.
Finland burst from his chair, knocking it over and stumbling over his own feet. He was a sloppy drunk.
"Tactical withdrawal my—" he hiccupped, "arse! We could have fought and— won. I prepared so much for this fight. It's all your fault," he pounded his clenched fists against Mr. Sweden's bare chest, landing sloppy hits, but it did not hurt. It was as if a toddler were striking him, but if Fin really wanted to hurt him, he could. He was powerful considering his small stature and could be even more frighteningly powerful when drunk.
Sweden was used to Finland's dual personality whenever he got drunk. After a few glasses of akvavit and beer, he was meaner and foul-mouthed. He was unpredictable and ready to brawl with anyone over every little thing. Mr. Sweden did not mind though. It was just another side of Fin to admire.
"Sometimes I question why— I ran away with you from Mr. Denmark," Fin stopped pounding but instead used his finger to trace the many dark scars across his torso which Sweden acquired from his past countless battles. "It's so h- hard to understand what you're— thinking, but I never thought you such the c-coward."
Mr. Sweden tried not to let his friend's drunken words bother him. Though he found Fin's intoxicated side cute, it did concern him that drunk words could stem from sober thoughts when it came to Fin calling him a coward as well as other things he did. He hoped his friend did not really think him that way.
"Hey, are you listening to me, Sve?" Fin harshly pinched the man's nipple which snapped him out of his thoughts. He was staring up at Mr. Sweden, and he stared back into the shorter man's glossy violet eyes, searching them intently for the truth.
What do you really think of me?
Then the shorter man surprised him by lifting on his tiptoes and kissed his lips. The kiss surprised Mr. Sweden although this was not the first time Finland had done this when he got too drunk. He would kiss him or grab at his aroused groin. He even stripped down to his underkläder in front of him, making fun of his homosexuality and the fact that he was in love with him.
"I bet you want me, Sve! Since you're a homo, I bet you want to do dirty things to me," he would taunt him with his bare milky skin and lean warrior physique, knowing very well Mr. Sweden wanted him more than food and air. "You're very naughty man!" Fin's mocking laughter would make him feel shame like a little schoolboy who had been caught with his hand in his pants. He would say and do these tormenting things to him, but the very next day he would wake up and not remember a thing.
But he should have expected something like this to happen after being unable to fight. The adrenaline of an upcoming battle got a man's blood boiling, so all that built up energy had to be released somewhere, but Mr. Sve firmly pushed him away.
"Stop. You're drunk."
"I don't care."
"You should wait until you're sob—"
Finland grabbed Mr. Sve by the arm and tossed him on his back, landing on the bed with a hard thud. He readied himself for more hurtful taunting from Fin, but instead he clumsy stripped from his clothes as he so often did, but this time he wore no underkläder, revealing his plump penis, its blush colored head slowly starting to peek out from its foreskin, and Mr. Sve could not hide his own arousal.
Fin climbed Mr. Sweden like a tall mountain then straddled him in place.
This was new.
"You took my battle f—from me," he pressed his body against him, breathing hot akvavit in the man's face. "You won't take this," he kissed him again.
Mr. Sve's erection underneath his trousers pressed against Fin's naked groin. He did not want to take advantage of his friend in his inebriated state, but Mr. Sweden was a man after all, and some things could not be helped. Fin's small lips against his, the taste of alcohol on his tongue as it slithered deeper into Sweden's mouth, the clumsy way he fiddled with his belt buckle, trying to release his cock and testicles from his trousers. It drove him mad. He wanted to wrap his arms around Fin and take him, feel his lean body, squeeze his firm bottom, but he kept his hands beside him, digging his nails into the blankets to keep from grabbing him.
Fin's hand was hot as he pulled Sve's cock out, and the man was embarrassed at the fact that it was fully erect and leaking already.
Fin laughed. "I make your dick so hard. You're such the pervert, Sve."
Fin angrily grinded his pelvis against Sve's causing the head of Fin's cock to roughly slide against the ridge of the man's cock head. Mr. Sve groaned as Fin's teeth firmly latched onto the crook of his neck, almost making him lose his resolve. Fin's whole body was hot and covered in a thin layer of sweat. His balls were mashed against Sve's, and he could feel their heat radiating against his.
"Why won't you fuck me, Sve?" he hissed in his ear, continuing to hump furiously against him. "I thought I was your wife. You don't want to fuck your wife, you big coward?"
I won't. The man dug into the blankets harder. I won't.
Sweden thrusted his hips to match Fin's, which made Fin angrier and more desperate, his needy growls almost bringing Mr. Sweden over. Fin took hold of Mr. Sweden's cock as if it were the hilt of a sword and stroked it aggressively. Mr. Sweden grunted with every rough and thorough pump of his small hand.
"Grab them," Fin demanded, yet sounding more like a plea. "Make me cum. That's least you can do."
Giving into his plea, Mr. Sweden grabbed their cocks, frotting them with his large hand. Obscene squelching noises filled the small cabin as translucent strings of precum made the heads of their cocks slip easily in and out of Mr. Sweden's fist. Fin shut his eyes tight, swearing in slurred Finnish, concentrating on his impending orgasm.
"Voi luoja! Sve—why won't you fuck me?" he cried. "I wait so long. Why won't you fuck me, please?"
Sweden picked up his pace, no longer able to hold his ejaculation at bay. He worked their cocks until he felt Fin's cock swell then its tip abruptly released hot spurts of semen, shooting hard and far across Mr. Sweden's abdomen. Upon seeing Fin's sexy cock spurt, Mr. Sweden grunted unceremoniously then his cock erupted his own semen between them, bucking his hips along with Fin on top, erratically, with each pleasurable spurt until his hard orgasm subsided.
Sweden laid still on the bed, catching his breath. Fin still sitting on top of him, his hair dripping cold sweat onto his chest.
"Mr. Sweden," he sighed, his eyelids looking heavy. "I want you…" his sentence trailed off then he collapsed on top of Mr. Sweden, snoring loudly.
Mr. Sweden finally wrapped his arms around the sleeping Finland, thinking about his last words. Fin confused him. Perhaps he was struggling with some complicated feelings of his own. Sve wanted to someday ask but thought it inappropriate. His friend would tell him whenever he was ready, and until then Sweden would stay by his side, helping him vent his frustrations without complain. He collected and reclothed Fin then tucked him under the blanket before lying down beside him.
Mr. Sweden was already up and dressed, making tea the next morning, but Fin did not wake up until the afternoon, bolting from the bed to run outside and vomit.
"Ugh," he struggled back in and rested his head on the table. "My head. It throbs."
"Hm," Sweden prepared his friend a cup of tea, but Fin could not drink it. They both sat in silence, the flames of the fireplace crackling quietly in the corner.
"Hey Sve— I was very much hammered last night," he rolled his head to the side, revealing a hesitant eye. "I did not do or speak anything strange to you, yeah?"
Sweden sipped his drink. "No. Nothing strange."
Fin sighed with relief then tried to sip down his tea. "Oh. Thank God."
Despite being hungover, Fin was back to his normal cheery self again, his cute sleepy smile making Sve's chest tighten. He longed to have Fin but vowed not to take him whenever he was not in his right mind. Maybe the old him would have, but not anymore. After all, Fin was his best friend. Mr. Sweden would take him whenever Fin was sober and decided to properly ask for him. Then Mr. Sweden would finally take him in his arms, and he would show him no mercy.