Author's note: Why yes this is my favorite pairing; there are no regrets, just SuNor.
I don't know, just writing them, these two work so wonderfully together. Their characters are just fantastically complex when compared to the others, in terms of what's going on in their head versus what they're showing. While I'm sad I didn't get to write Emil because of the way history went and thus that must have upset Lukas, at least you can compare all Berwald's other lovers to this chapter and I think see why I love SuNor the most.
Five Loves for Berwald Oxenstierna
4. Lukas Bondevik
He's the easiest to love, the easiest to talk to. The easiest to be mental with, to be physical with. Berwald finds Lukas to be the easiest of his lovers. But that doesn't make him the one he's loved the most.
"Stop it," Lukas berates, using his one shoulder to hit the Swede in the chest.
"Or what?" he whispers seductively into the Norwegian nation's ear, pulling him tighter against his chest. Their bodies are still sweaty from their night of sex, the fire roaring behind them. Every night has been like this, since the union. Discussions. Sex. Teasing. More sex. The freedom to be themselves without fear.
"Or I'll be the big spoon," the smaller man manages defiantly, wiggling against his chest. It's become a running joke, one that Berwald always laughs at and that Lukas always hides his amusement over: Lukas being the one holding Berwald. Sometimes the Norwegian tries to get the Swede drunk, climbing in behind him in bed. Sometimes he attacks him as if this was war; one night Berwald woke up tied to the bed. While Berwald always treats Lukas as his equal, he is never allowed to be the big spoon, simply because it annoys his newest lover and that amuses him.
"As if you could be." He kisses at the base of Lukas's neck, where the sensitive skin becomes pale collarbone, and the mood grows serious once more, sensual. The man beneath him moans, shifting to allow Berwald better access, and he nips more until his Norwegian lover rolls under him. The night is still young, and Berwald's work tomorrow will start late in the day.
"You need to stop," Lukas mutters between kisses, and Berwald knows the comment is meant to continue what had started the conversation. The Swede tries to deepen the kiss but a hand on his chest pushes him back to look at his lover. "You still think of him, when you lay with me. I don't like it."
He sighs. Sometimes he does, his mind slipping back to nights spent with Timo. He moved house after his Finnish ward left, because it hurt too much to remain there. There had only been a few nights of passion and sex, though Timo did stay with him in his bed. When Berwald holds Lukas to his chest he can almost imagine he's Timo, who smelled of sugar and grass and smiled in his sleep.
"Like right now," Lukas's voice interrupts, and Berwald blinks, groaning as he leans forward to press their foreheads together.
"Forgive me?" Lips brush once against the other's.
"Always, beloved." Their lips brush again.
"Do you ever-" Berwald looks into the fire for a moment, phrasing the sentence before delivering it. They talk openly of Berwald's past relationship with Timo, of how much Lukas misses his brother. They speak of all the things they have lived through with the sole exception being the one nation who has shaped them both so much. "Do you ever miss Christe-"
"No." The answer cuts him off before he can finish saying the name.
"Never?" Even Berwald misses Christen on long summer days where the air smells of the sea and he can remember laying in tall grass with his best friend.
"You," Lukas starts, slowly. There's a pause where he looks at the ceiling and Berwald lays beside him, stroking his side in the interlude. "You had an equal relationship with Christen, before me. And you had his respect, even for a short while. I never had those things; from the beginning I was conquered land."
"He loved you," Berwald offers half-heartily.
"Yes. But he also controlled me and abused me and I think I hate him."
"You think?" Rarely is Lukas's world anything beyond black and white. As deep indigo eyes meet his, Berwald's mind flashes through a thousand years since his first lover, since Christen and Timo. Lukas has always been there, since that great battle. There was always something to Lukas that spoke to Berwald on a different level, something that let him ask Lukas questions he asked no other, speak with him in an open and honest way. Berwald loves to discuss, to debate, and Lukas was always the best fireside companion. Lukas Bondevik, the Swede's realized, has been his only constant friend, despite all they have been through. Nothing can change their relationship; it is set in the Norwegian's mind.
"I know, that I hate him," Lukas corrects. "Perhaps I once loved Christen, for just an hour or two, but my hate for him is stronger."
Berwald pulls his lover to his chest tightly; they both know who will be here with the next day. "My offer for you to speak with Christen tomorrow still stands."
The response is flat in tone. "I do not want to see him. Only Emil."
"I will ask after your brother then," but they both know it's useless.
"Thank you," and lips press at the skin just under his chin. Berwald knows how much Lukas loves his brother, but in his defiance Christen has kept the boy to lash out at them. Christen's never even cared very much for the younger Nords, but if it hurts Lukas and Berwald, then he will do it.
"And when he asks after you?" the Swede whispers. "What shall I say?"
"Tell him," his lover replies, venom in his voice, "that I hate him. That if he ever loved me he would give me my brother. That there is a reason why he is alone, and it is his doing. Tell him I never loved him, that I only ever loved you."
The larger nation sighs. "So I shall lie to him then?" He closes his eyes, resting his head against the pillow. Lukas hesitates beside him; at that he tenses.
"No, Berwald," the Norwegian whispers. "None of that was a lie."
Lukas is the easiest of his lovers, because in moments like these he is completely and utterly honest, and Berwald can respect that in a man.
Today's meeting has gone relatively well. Since entering the room Christen and Berwald have sat in silence, staring at their feet. It's been roughly forty minutes. This is a new record for them not trying to kill each other.
"We," the Dane begins because they both knew Berwald wasn't going to start this conversation, "we used to be so in love Berwald. We had everything."
The Swede grunts in agreement, a small smile on his lips. Christen looks up.
"I would have done anything for you Berwald. I would have give you my lands in a heartbeat, I would have given you my people if you'd asked me for it."
"But I was never the one who wanted control," he comments, leaning his chin on his hand, elbow propped up on the window sill beside him. "You were, Ketill."
Those eyes are defiant as they meet his gaze, Christen's breathing growing more rapid as the silence continues. "I wanted you so much Berwald."
"It was too much Christen, we loved too much. It wasn't meant to last. None of this lasts." The Dane's already shaking his head as he speaks, so Berwald continues in some vain attempt to make him finally understand. "We grew up Christen, we were baptized with holy water and unholy blood, we killed and saved and took and gave. Our love was too much Christen, it consumed. Our love always consumes, always destroys, like my love for Timo or your love for Lukas."
At that the head snaps up but Berwald is not afraid of the truth.
"You should understand, the resistance to being subjected to another. You should understand what that's like and yet you controlled Lukas, keep his brother, who has never done you harm, keep him from his-"
"And you?" Christen interjects angrily. "All you ever did was take and take. You took everything from me Oxenstierna. You took Timo when you left, and Lukas when Timo left. You took my heart and my virginity, as if they were nothing. Or do you not remember the way I do?"
When Christen looks up his anger seems to falter for a minute, and Berwald is only vaguely aware that it is because he is for once betraying his emotions on his face. All this confusion that's built up over the years, over his feelings and his relationships and the unions and disunions- he doesn't know how any nation can stand it. He should have died so many times; why is he still alive to feel this pain?
"I have never forgotten, not for one moment. You were mine, my Christen."
Silence returns to envelop them.
As the Dane goes to leave Berwald whispers, knowing already that it is useless, "Lukas's only wish is to see his brother. Allow him to see Emil?"
That face is ugly in its sneer, so unlike the beautiful man that the Swede fell in love with eight hundred years prior. "You tell Lukas," he says, each word seemingly painful, and it truly does break his heart to know that Christen is about to break down, "to burn in fucking hell, like the whore he is."
The door slams. Silence comes once more.
"No thinking," Lukas whispers for the hundredth time against his skin. The fire cracks dangerously close beside them, Berwald's thrusting sporadic. They've been at it for hours now, over and over, because Berwald's guilt is all consuming and Lukas's anger cannot be extinguished. They're trying to forget what they've never been able to, their memories still sharp after centuries. So instead he reaches down between them, jerking the man beneath him off because at least Lukas's anger is normal. He screams in Swedish as he comes, pulling at Berwald's hair painfully. The Swede lays beside him as his breathing calms.
"I'm sorry," Berwald says, not quite sure what he's apologizing for but feeling it's something he has to say.
"Don't be," the Norwegian whispers, kissing him deeply. It steals his breath, his mind going momentarily blank. But the memories always return quickly after Christen's visits, when he remembers the past. "We have time," Lukas assures him and Berwald nods. They have all the time in the world after all.
Over the decades it's become easier to forget, to be, though the guilt is always there for Berwald, beneath the surface. He's pretty sure Lukas feels the same.
"I had promised myself it'd be forever with Timo," Berwald finds himself admitting one night, swirling his vodka about in a tumbler. Beside him his lover lays on his stomach, flipping through his book.
"I promised Christen forever," the Norwegian agrees lazily.
Berwald snorts at that. "Did you ever intend to keep that promise?" Lukas pauses, watching his tumbler, before going back to the book.
"That night I had. The next morning I took it back." No wonder Christen hates them so much. "Did you tell Timo you wanted it to be forever?"
He sighs, relaxing into his mountain of pillows to think back on the more than five centuries he passed with the Finn. "I'm not sure. I always told him I would love him forever, but I never demanded that he love me in return."
"Because you're a good man," Lukas comments. He leans over the Swede, placing the book on the bedside table, before taking the tumbler and finishing the alcohol within. With the tumbler placed beside the book he lays under Berwald's arm, his eyes closed as he rests his head on the strong chest. In the firelight Lukas looks absolutely stunning like this, pale skin, blond hair, no pretensions. He is neither humble nor modest, but the Norwegian is quiet and understated.
"I'm not so sure about that Lukas," Berwald finally admits.
This time his lover snorts. "I said you are a good man, and so you are."
"Lukas?" A hum against his chest signals the man heard him. "Have you ever wondered why?" Another hum signals for him to go on. "Why us? Why are we different? Or what would have happened if we had been mortal? What lays beyond, that thing we will never see because our deaths are different?"
"You truly do think too much Oxenstierna." It lightens the mood, the sarcastic response, makes Berwald smile and laugh just a little.
"I am being serious though Lukas. Why are we here? Different from men?"
The body beneath his arm shifts until Lukas's head lays on his stomach, short hair tickling his navel. He looks down into those indigo eyes he loves so much, finding warmth and knowledge in them. Lukas has always brought him wisdom: their Christian religion, honest answers to questions, someone to speak with before great fireplaces. "You would like to know what I really think?"
The Swede strokes his hair, smoothing it. "Very much, beloved."
"I think," Lukas whispers, and his one hand ghosts up Berwald's chest, up his neck, to rest those fingers over his lips, the other hand lacing fingers together with Berwald's, "that I am here for your sake."
Several moments pass before the larger man frowns in confusion. "That's it?"
Lukas rolls his eyes. "Am I not enough Berwald?"
"I was expecting something more profound Lukas."
"Well," he sighs, smiling. It betrays his inner amusement. "I remember being alone, as a child. The family that found me said they had thought I would die, yet I lasted longer than any of them. They used to pray for so long for answers; I remember their faces though I can no longer recall all the names and places. And one day a man came speaking of a new god, the real God, and I thought that perhaps that was the answer, that was what I had been looking for, all along.
"I remember the battle, the one my king lost that found me living with you and Christen. I remember sneaking off to practice my religion, and Christen finding me, scolding me, before one day he relented and joined me. You left and he threw himself into our new religion, threw himself into our relationship. And so I thought that that was my purpose, to be some comfort to Christen.
"Everything the world has shown me revolves around two things, Berwald: love and hate. The people I remember I remember because I loved them or hated them. The nations I have met I divide into those I care mildly for and those I despise. In the end, I think…." A log cracks as Lukas closes his eyes, sighing deeply against Berwald's skin. "I think we are here to love and to hate. No more, no less. We remind humans that countries are people too, remind them of the people who populate those countries but also, so that they cannot forget, we are nations incarnate who can voice those concerns. Countries must be respected, must be treated like human beings, because we are humans though immortal. If we are not respected the world will destroy itself, forsaking love in favor of hate.
"That is what I think," Lukas finishes. "And that I am here for your sake."
Berwald lets the words sink in. He remembers his first adoptive mother and father, remembers his first adoptive siblings who then became his parents. He remembers the first woman he loved, remembers wanting nothing more than to marry her and have children and die with her. Berwald can still see that battle, the first time he ever saw Lukas the man had been tending to his wounds like he would during the Kalmar Union. In his mind he still recalls Timo being brought to him like the child he never had, but Berwald had not been ready to be a parent and so the Finnish nation had grown too quickly. He had tried so hard not to spoil him but perhaps the Swede had ruined him too, the way he had ruined Christen, breaking what had always been so fragile, so delicate. Maybe the others could not see that frail way about themselves but Berwald always could.
Each of his lovers he has loved in turn, each for different reasons. And this one here, in his arms, this one is both the easiest and hardest to love because Berwald has no fears for what his relationship with Lukas will bring. But he also knows, they both do, that their relationship will be severed too soon by changing political tensions. All the unions are. They cannot love forever; they are not so foolish anymore to think it.
Yet Lukas is laying in his bed by choice. Not because Berwald demanded it of him, for he never has of anyone, but because the Norwegian let himself in by choice. And maybe there is something in Berwald worth loving he thinks as he leans down to steal a kiss, then two. He spends so long thinking on why he has loved those he has loved, when perhaps the question is why had they loved him? What makes him special?
"Thinking," Lukas whispers against his lips as they roll, Berwald settling between his legs. He rubs their hips together; the Norwegian is already half-hard beneath him as a moan escapes Berwald. "Too much. You always. Do."
"You love it," the Swede manages before their lips meet once, twice, three times, four, then he loses count as hands move and they touch each other. Sometimes they are frenzied, something slow, but when they make love Berwald remembers just how much he cares for the man beneath him who can see right through him, easier than anyone else ever has. The second half of his being.
"Hmm," and as his lips fall to Lukas's neck his lover manages, "I love all of you." The muscle beneath his hands is smooth; they still go for their walks or sailing or the other things they did as young Vikings that shaped their lands and their bodies. As his lips trail lower, lower, finding the first nipple, Lukas's fingers thread in his hair and he moans. "Always loved you." His lips suck on the nipple, fingers playing with the other one, until it is pert and lickable and Berwald groans because this man turns him on so much. "Since that first day." His mouth drags its way to the other nipple, repeating the ministrations, as one Norwegian leg rubs against his cock. "Moment I saw you," and his lips trail lower, playing with the lines of Lukas's abdomen. He lavishes each muscle before turning to the next, hands massaging his thighs. "Laying in his bed." At last he comes to that light line of hair, following it down as he shifts to better position himself. "You were so beautiful, Björn." He doesn't hesitate, his mouth and hands working around the hard manhood beneath him. "I hated you for that, you stupid Swede."
"Lukas," he gasps, his breath hot against the base of his cock. "Lukas." When his gaze comes up they find the indigo eyes immediately, which are needy and lusty but also something else, that hidden something that his lover rarely shares.
"When you opened your eyes," and a hand reaches down to stroke the side of Berwald's face not pressed against his penis, "I found all the answers Berwald."
In the night Lukas screams as the Swede sucks, twisting and licking until his lover comes hot into his mouth. And when he is ready his slicked fingers wind the man up once more until Berwald can push in and ah he's so hot, so tight, so perfect. Lukas's hands claw at his back, holding their chests together as the smaller man cries. Berwald thrusts and hits that spot until the Norwegian screams out once more, his own chest tight with need and love and remembrance. The large man joins him, coming hard and longingly, rolling them back onto the bed and holding the other under his arm. The fire beings to die out.
"You were all the answers Berwald," Lukas whispers in the night.