Summary: Seven short fics for the DenNor Christmas Week on Tumblr. How can Denmark get a kiss from Norway? Pleading isn't getting him anywhere.

Pairing(s): DenNor.

Warning(s): Nope.

Notes: Not beta-ed, beware of grammatical errors and poorly chosen words.

"Come on Nor, give me a kiss!"

"I already said no."

For the thirteenth time in the night -Denmark's been counting-, the tall blonde pouts and gives his boyfriend a puppy look. Also for the thirteenth time, the look is ignored as the Norwegian takes another glass of eggnog and walks away, clearly feigning he's not seeing the desperate attempts of the Dane.

"But why, Norge? It's almost two a.m. and you haven't given me one kiss since eight p.m.! Don't be like that!" Denmark pleads once again, trailing before the younger Scandinavian like a little duckling behind its mother.

"Well, you might think twice the next time you insist on coming to America's Christmas party and staying until the end," the shorter blonde gives the taller a hard look, royal purple eyes full with reproach and slight anger, but face otherwise clean of emotion, "I have to stay with you to drag your sorry ass back to the hotel when the party finishes and you're so drunk you can't even stand. So, if I'm forced to stay here even if I don't want to, then you won't be getting any kisses. Plus, it's full of people and I don't like them looking."

The Norwegian is being slightly irrational and he knows it, but he doesn't care. He downs his glass in one gulp, leaving it on a nearby table before continuing to walk between the guests. He can see Poland talking with the African girls at his right, France and England a little to his left, and there in one corner is his brother with some of his friends. He could go to him to escape his annoying boyfriend, but decides that it's better to let him socialize for once. He doesn't get to be with his friends much often.

"B-but Norge!" there it is again, that infamous pout. Norway can hear it in his voice, "Everyone here knows about us! We're not a new thing, nobody is looking. And- and you don't have to stay, Alfred can take me to the hotel if I get too drunk," the Dane's voice turns softer with each word, until it's only a pleading whisper, "Please?" he murmurs, and Norway makes the terrible mistake of looking at him.

Those big topaz eyes are and have always been his weakness, ever since their Viking days. Hell, probably since they first met when they were small nations. In general, the other countries seem to think that it's the other way around, that Denmark is the one that can't deny anything to Norway, but the truth is that the so called leader of the Nordics never even tries to, as he loves to spoil his boyfriend as much as he can. Norway, on the other hand, is way more severe with the taller blonde and his whims. He won't change his mind no matter how many times he pleads, and the only thing that makes his determination falter is looking at those clear eyes. A mistake that he has made a lot of times, and keeps making no matter how many centuries come and go.

Norway's mouth opens and closes a few times, slightly, not enough for Denmark to notice but enough for the Norwegian to slap himself mentally. He looks in another direction, wanting anything to distract himself from the sudden urge to fulfill his boyfriend's wish and give him a small kiss. It's just a kiss, he tells himself, no big deal. No one's paying attention, it could be quick and leave the Dane happy for a while, so he would go away with Prussia and/or America to drink until he can't see straight, and then they could go back to the hotel and sleep in each other's arms and everything would be alright.

But no.

"No," Norway mutters, barely half as convinced as he wants to sound.

"Aw, please! We've been officially dating for over two hundred years, and unofficially for almost all the previous years of our lives! We have kissed in front of other people before!" it's obvious that Denmark is running out of ways to convince Norway, and that's starting to show in his voice, laced with hints of desperation.

The shorter man rolls his eyes and huffs as he makes his way between the other nations, trying to figure out where in the world could he possibly find Romania. He just wants someone to hang around with and talk about magic so the Dane will get tired and go pester someone else.

"… we can go if you want to."

The disappointment mixed with the underlying desperate plea catches the Norwegian's attention, surprised that Denmark would go to such extent just for a kiss. He suddenly feels bad for making him beg so much for something so simple.

"You said you wanted to stay," he turns around to face the Danish man once again.

"I want you, Nor," he states, pout fixed on his lips to make the statement sink with more weight in Norway's chest, making his heart flutter like a mockingbird caught inside his ribcage. So many years with him and he still gets all emotional and flustered for things like this. "It's not a good Christmas if I don't have my favourite gift."

And then Norway sighs, lowering his gaze, because he knows he's lost this battle with that last sentence. This cheesy bastard is going to be the end of him.

With his arms crossed over his chest, he looks up once again to face his fate, when something catches his eye. Right there, above them, hanging off the tinsel strands that run from one side of the ceiling to the other.

"Well, I suppose that we can't go against a tradition, can we?" he asks, relaxing his shoulders and resisting the small smile that wants to show on his lips. When Denmark's face shows his utter bewilderment, dark eyebrows almost touching in a confused scowl, Norway shrugs and points upwards with a quick movement of his dark purple eyes.

Denmark takes a second to register and understand the gesture, but soon looks up to find what Norway was pointing at, and his words make much more sense now. With a hearty laugh, he looks back down to his boyfriend and asks for permission with his eyes. May I?. The response is instantaneous, Norway's chin tilting upwards so his lips are more accessible. Yes.

The kiss is sweet and warm and tastes like Christmas spices, and Denmark's strong hands holding his waist make Norway feel at ease. He sighs against his lips when they part, but they keep each other close to retain the intimacy of the moment.

The rest of the night goes by with Denmark dragging Norway under every mistletoe he can find in the house.

Second Prompt: Done! As I said, it's shorter than yesterday's prompt. I think this is the first one I wrote. I should start with tomorrow's fic, because I don't know what the hell I'll write for that one.

As always, I'd deeply appreciate reviews.