[fic] Nothing To It [Denmark/France]
Title: Nothing To It
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Denmark/France
Warnings: sex in various positions; oral, rimming; fail everywhere
Wordcount: 5,837
Author's Notes: Reposted from the kink meme. For the prompt - Denmark/France where Denmark attempts to seduce and woo France, and in his fail attempt, succeed because France finds it adorable. Sex is of course gladly welcome ~
“What the heck is Denmark doing?” Canada mumbled under his breath, as the usual chaos of a world meeting commenced with him safely uninvolved.
“Well, obviously he is giving France a noogie,” his brother replied in the tone of a self-proclaimed expert on noogies, flat tires, wet willies, and purple nurples.
“Why?” Denmark, having caught France in an impromptu headlock, was not about to let up his attack, and France was flailing and shrieking for help, while Germany ignored them both trying to get the rest of Europe in their seats and ready for the meeting. The only one who seemed to be deriving any amusement out of this was England, who was laughing so hard he looked ready to have a stroke.
“Maybe it’s some kind of weird European flirting, you know, like pulling on the pigtails of a girl you like on the playground.” Denmark seemed like the type of guy to still find pulling immature schoolyard pranks on someone a form of seduction, although France seemed to have evolved beyond that several hundred years ago. He was biting on Denmark’s forearm at the moment, and as soon as he was released, he rushed over to Germany’s side, hair tousled and tears running down his face in a rather pathetic tableau.
“That doesn’t make sense, France absolutely loathes anyone touching his hair. It’s forbidden to lesser beings, you remember.” As a toddler, Canada once tried to pet France’s hair, finding it so shiny and pretty, and for his grievous crime, he received a slap on the wrist and worse, was forced to eat with England for the next month.
Now Germany was yelling at Denmark to behave, who shrugged it off with typical casualness.
“You got me, bro,” America mused, tapping his pen against his lower lip. “But hey, France sometimes lets you touch his hair in the middle of sex, like when he’s giving you a BJ.”
Canada stared at him, disgust and pity warring each other for control of his expression.
“So I’ve heard. I mean, I’ve never experienced it firsthand or anything.”
“That’s sick, America, real sick.” Canada was now scooting his chair away from his brother.
“Hey, I’m just saying that it’s a possibility! Maybe they just have really awesome, bed-breaking sex, you never know, am I right?” America suggested good-naturedly. The two siblings looked at Denmark and then France and they laughed.
“No way…”
Sometime after they were finally dismissed from a runner-up to the most boring world meeting in the world competition, Denmark caught up to France in the hallway. France gave him a withering glare powerful enough to pierce the other’s obliviousness.
“I don’t want to talk to you today,” he declared, stalking off.
“Hey look, I’m sorry for earlier,” Denmark said, following after him and grabbing his hand. “I just couldn’t help myself when you came along. I haven’t seen you in months, you can’t blame a guy for missing you, can you?”
“That was not the affectionate gesture I would have hoped for after a long absence. I have a headache, if you recall, and you made it worse.” France grimaced, reminded of the pain, which was now compounded by what felt like a glove-burn on the top of his head.
“Shit, I totally forgot about that.” Leaning over, Denmark kissed him right where it hurt, and France sighed but resisted the urge to head-butt the idiot.
“I am still angry with you.”
“How about we go to your room, I’ll make you feel better in no time.”
“What part of ‘I have a headache’ do you not understand?” France muttered, trying to pry himself out of Denmark’s embrace but feeling too flattered to try very hard. “Well, if you really insist…”
“And I do!” he interrupted.
“Perhaps you can visit me in Paris after the meeting?” France suggested silkily. “Germany has been too busy to keep me company lately, and I have some wine that really needs to be consumed.”
“Wild horses can’t keep me away,” Denmark replied, grinning.
It turned out wild horses were the least of his worries, once he found himself trapped in a nation-wide strike that immobilized the French infrastructure and made it impossible to get anywhere. In fact, Denmark thought he could use a wild horse, it would make faster time than the metro, and then he would be able to sweep in and carry his princess away from all of this, and they would have amazing sex all night long and maybe again in the morning.
Nothing to it.
It had taken Denmark a good thirty minutes to decide what to get France for their date, which was about twenty-nine more minutes longer than what he usually spent thinking about gifts for people he liked. The problem was that France had everything he could ever want within his own borders, and lacked for nothing from anywhere else. Once he realized this, Denmark decided that the only option left was to offer himself. Which was not a bad deal, despite what Norway or others may claim. A tall, good-looking young Scandinavian man, wealthy, easy-going yet tough when needed, an absolute beast between the sheets - really, what more could France want?
France meanwhile had dealt with the transportation strikes and fuel blockades with as much class and aplomb as can be expected from one so sophisticated. Inspired by the activities of the care-free youth nowadays, he had taken up parkour, the méthode naturelle, during these all too frequent strikes. Dodging traffic and smog and angry protestors, running along rooftops, jumping over fences and sliding down buildings to find the most efficient path - one’s body versus the world. It was dangerous, but exhilarating, freeing from the bonds of gravity and normality. He considered himself rather good at it despite his general dislike of physical exertion; after all, he knew the cities better than anyone else, although being able to survive beyond the bounds of human endurance certainly helped. In his view, parkour was worth the pains, to be able to fly like a bird if just for a few moments.
France was jogging across the roof now, ready to make the fairly easy leap across the gap between this building and his apartment’s balcony, but the jump was ruined by the unexpected presence of Denmark right where he intended to land. Going too fast to stop completely, he went ahead and braced himself for the impact of the crash. Denmark, believing France to be excited by his timely arrival and not furious that he had stolen a key to the front door from an oblivious Spain instead, held his arms out and caught the still screaming France up in a bear-hug.
“France! Where were you, I was waiting for almost fifteen minutes! Had to let myself in!”
“What the hell are you doing here?!” France demanded, for he had changed his locks since the last visit and the shock of seeing Denmark in his private sanctuary had given him a few more gray hairs.
“You invited me yesterday, remember? So I decided to not waste any time and come today. You were expecting me, right? Of course you were.”
Actually France had thought Denmark would have forgotten by now, as was usually the case, but at the moment, he was expressing displeasure at being enthusiastically lifted off the floor by the much taller nation.
“Put me down, you brute!” France wheezed, fists pounding at Denmark’s shoulder.
Laughing, Denmark let him go, resisting the urge to give him another noogie. With an indignant huff, France set his backpack down, horribly aware that he was wearing a t-shirt and rolled-up sweatpants and running shoes, with his hair hastily tied up, and quite upset that he should be seen in such an uncivilized state by another of their kind.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, heading towards his huge closet full of expensive designer clothing that was unfortunately not also appropriate for running over rooftops.
“Why not?” Denmark replied easily, not taking his eyes off of him. “You look really good, France, I mean it. Really… hot.” Long hair curling with sweat, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, as if he just had a particularly invigorating round of sex. Denmark definitely couldn’t see anything wrong with that sight and continued leering.
“But I think you’d look better with your clothes-“
The door to the bathroom slammed before he could finish. “-on the floor.”
Undeterred, Denmark opened the door and poked his head into the bathroom. “Hey, you didn’t let me finish!”
“I know what you were going to say, Denmark,” France muttered, shimmying out of the last of his clothes and turning on the water. “I do appreciate it.”
“So… does that mean I can join you?” Denmark asked hopefully, already inside.
France gave him a skeptical look, while the shower ran in the background. “I don’t think I will get any cleaner that way.”
That was true, he had to admit. Shower sex, while satisfying, was also very awkward and painful, and it seemed France would not appreciate that at the moment. “Can I just watch you then? I’ll be quiet.”
“Fine, whatever you wish.” The headache, which had been abated by a peaceful stroll at the market place, was returning, and he just wanted to wash off the sweat and dirt and have a nice relaxing evening, or whatever was left of it by now.
Watching France shower would normally be on the list of “top ten things I wish I had never seen” for any other nation, but not for Denmark. He was so engrossed, imagining France pressed up against the shower wall, panting and moaning under the spray of warm water as they fucked, that he did not realize he had stripped until he had nearly tripped over his own slacks and shirt and tie lying on the tiled floor around his feet.
Tapping at the shower door, Denmark then opened it and stepped in, immediately pulling France to him.
“I thought you said you were not going to interfere!”
“What? You’re almost done, aren’t you?” It was a miracle he wasn’t salivating, seeing that slick golden skin highlighted by drops of water, and he pushed France against the wall and kissed him, hands grabbing his hips and hoisting him up with ease. France made a little noise of surprise and automatically wrapped his legs around Denmark’s waist, who groaned. He was so hard, he could take him right now, fuck him just like that.
“Looking at you isn’t enough, France,” he whispered tightly. “I have to touch you, and even then, I want more. More and more.”
The faintest hint of a blush colored France’s ears and he turned his head to the side coyly. “But of course you can have more…”
The water turned off.
“Tomorrow morning.”
With his first attempt at seduction ending in failure, Denmark groaned quietly, wondering what had possessed France, of all people, to act so standoffish. It must be one killer headache, he thought mournfully as he watched France step out of the shower to dry himself.
It seemed that there was a bit of hope when his charming host handed him a towel, remarking on how cute he looked with his hair down rather than meticulously gelled up into spikes. He took this as a positive sign that they would have sex in the near future, but France did not pursue this comment and returned to the process of dressing, choosing the best possible angles to show off his body’s superb condition almost on purpose.
Denmark, watching him like a hawk, wondered if he should just go ahead and jerk himself off in the shower. But he decided that he should wait for France to come to his senses, as he eventually would have to when faced with the raw animal sexuality of a Danish man. Until then, he must continue to use all of his charm and wit to convince France to move “tomorrow morning” up several hours, preferably to “in a few minutes” or even better, “right now,” before an important organ fell off.
While Denmark was still struggling to zip his trousers up without damaging anything he would need later, France had clad himself in a silk burgundy shirt and dark grey striped slacks, perfect for lounging about seductively when one has a guest in the house. Even if Denmark’s actions had bordered on creepy, including but not limited to breaking and entering and molesting someone while they were in the shower, France still relished the fact that someone was lavishing attention on him, and could not help but revel in it like a queen or… well, like a queen. He would give Denmark what he wanted, eventually.
The two hours that France spent drifting about his kitchen and cooking dinner were the longest two hours Denmark could ever recall. First, he had trailed after France like a particularly large and horny shadow, until France finally whacked him in the head with a wooden spoon.
“Get out, or I shall take out the spray bottle.”
“What?!” Denmark exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head and obviously not aware he had been doing anything wrong. “Come on, France, can’t we do it now, there’s some free space on the counter right here!”
France stared at him as if he had proposed defacing the Mona Lisa, which was a close enough comparison. “Certainly not.”
But he relented enough to allow himself to be kissed, which Denmark promptly took advantage of until they were both breathless and something smelled like it was about to burn and France had to rush to take care of the oven and stoves.
After being offered that incentive, Denmark spent his time between the kitchen and the living room, sometimes offering his input on whatever exotic fare France had been concocting, and France gradually giving in to his suggestions until he realized he had ended up preparing a distinctively Danish supper. It was all comfort food fit for a Viking: butter and pork and dark dense breads, heavy on carbohydrates and fat, and utterly lacking in creativity. France honestly didn’t even know he kept rye bread in his pantry, and suspected an intruder of Scandinavian background leaving behind the jars of pickled vegetables and containers of smoked herring he had found among the shelves.
“Really, this is all going straight to my hips,” he mumbled sourly as he brought out the wine bottle to accompany their meal.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that,” Denmark insisted, somewhat overly enthusiastic. “You’re perfect, no matter what your thighs look like.”
“Well… thank you.”
Denmark’s stare starting to unnerve him, France escaped to the living room and then paused in the doorway, smiling. Dozens of small candles had been set around the room, lighting the scene with a warm amber glow. In the middle of the table were several more tea lights, arranged in the outline of a…
“H-how… um… charming,” France said at last.
“It’s your Eiffel Tower,” Denmark explained, blue eyes alight with anticipation. “Your city of lights.”
In essence, his vital regions. Laughing in delight, France set the wine bottle down and said, “I am flattered that you think so highly of me and my ah, vital regions. It means a lot to me.”
There was an awkward moment in which they both began to feel their cheeks growing red and hoped that the other wouldn’t notice in the cover of the flickering light, and finally Denmark pulled out a chair for France, who sat down graciously. They toasted to the future with an excellent vintage that warmed their bodies even further, and then shared a meal made delicious by cooperation.
It was all extremely romantic, although France thought he could have done without the group of candles arranged in a phallic shape constantly reminding them exactly what Denmark had in mind.
Concepts such as seduction had arrived into his mental vocabulary rather late, but things seemed to be going well by Denmark’s measure. In the candle light, France positively shone, his hair like a golden halo about his face, the worry lines smoothed out around his eyes. He even laughed at Denmark’s jokes, which was a first from anyone, and he accepted the tidbits offered from his plate with a naughty smile, licking his lips and making little hums of enjoyment after each bite.
And Norway had claimed he couldn’t seduce the nation of love, such little faith. Denmark was obviously succeeding, why else was France letting him put his hand on his knee.
“Denmark, dearest.”
“Yes?”
“Why is your hand on my knee?”
“Oh, I thought that was my knee. My bad.” He paused, did not remove his hand, and then added, “Although your knees are very nice, France.”
“But isn’t all of me very nice?” France asked with a mock pout.
“Of course! Especially Nice!” Denmark replied, winking.
“Ohhh…” There was a moment of awed silence as both considered the magnificence of a three-way play on words in a language that was native to neither of them.
The admiring look France gave him was priceless, although that might have been partly due to the alcohol, he did have a bit of a pinkish glow to his cheeks. Unable to resist, Denmark leaned over to kiss him, but France quickly covered his own mouth with one hand.
“Wait! I have fish breath,” he protested.
“That’s no problem, I have fish breath, too.” And before France could come up with a further objection, Denmark was already smothering him with kisses everywhere he could reach; his cheeks, his ears, his hair, and most of all his lips. Caught off guard, France stiffened in surprise, and then simply sighed in contentment.
“Ah, Denmark,” France finally asked, trying to get in a word between kisses, “shouldn’t we continue this… elsewhere?”
“Well, I didn’t have a problem with doing it right here on the table…” Denmark mused somewhat breathlessly. He had been considering table sex. “Were you thinking the couch? Or the floor?” He had also been considering couch sex and rug sex, too.
“The bedroom…”
“Bedroom, also good.” Denmark stood up, ready to throw France over his shoulder and carry him off for a long night of wild and uninhibited bed sex. But France, concerned for the state of his apartment, convinced him to at least blow out the candles while he put up the dishes.
“Mm, you can have me any way you like, mon amant, any way,” France murmured into his ear as they approached their destination, and Denmark had to bite his lower lip to rein himself in. He was already strung out to the end of his limits with France teasing and rubbing against his most sensitive places during that short walk, and he had to call upon hidden reserves of endurance to keep from jumping the other nation before they reached the bedroom.
“How about you… riding me all night long…” he paused, neurons in his brain trying to fire important electrical signals while France was doing his best to short them out by sliding his tongue lazily against his lips, back and forth, back and forth. “Like a bicycle, yeah,” Denmark managed to get out.
He was actually rather proud of that; it was a hobby they did have in common, cycling, he was pretty sure.
“Oh, but riding a bicycle at night is dangerous…” France breathed, running long fingers down his chest and leaving a trail of white-hot heat under Denmark’s skin. “You would need to wear… protection…”
“And what if I didn’t want to?” Denmark countered as sexily as he could, which wasn’t very sexy because he was practically whining in desperation at this point. “Y-you gonna punish me like the bad boy I am?”
“I might, but you would like that, and I don’t think you would learn your lesson.”
“I could if you personally tutored me.” A few seconds of silence as they resumed making out, France pressed up against his bedroom door while Denmark had his way, and then Denmark stopped long enough to ask, “We were talking about sex, right?”
France gave him a fond but slightly exasperated look. “I wasn’t aware we ever talked about anything else.” At Denmark’s sheepish grin, he smiled and leaned up to kiss his nose. “You were doing so well, my dear, let us continue, shall we?”
They tumbled into the luxuriously appointed bed shortly afterwards, mouths hardly leaving the other’s as hands tried to deal with buttons and zippers. Denmark found himself lying flat on his back as France began kissing down his throat and over his chest. Laughing to himself at this stroke of success, he wound his fingers into the long blond locks, tugging slightly, and France glanced up irritably before ducking his head and returning to work. Denmark winced and let go once France gave him a few nips that were a bit more painful than absolutely necessary, but couldn’t resist stroking that beautiful hair every now and then, mumbling a stream of barely coherent words of praise, fuck, France, you’re amazing, you’re gorgeous, want you, want you so fucking bad.
France gave the straining cock one last swipe with his tongue, and pulled away, leaving Denmark to groan in frustration. He heaved himself up with an effort, grabbing France by the wrist and pinning him to the mattress. His erection, almost cooled with drying saliva but soon burning as urgently as ever, had demanded all of his attention and apparently bloodflow, too, and Denmark could barely gather his wits about him, so distracted did he feel. At least France sensed that he was near, and almost preening from all this attention, he spread his legs for the other nation, helped slick his fingers with lube and guide his trembling hands in between, encouraging him softly through breathless sounds of pleasure.
“You better be ready, because I am,” Denmark growled, and France chuckled richly, his midnight blue eyes half-closed, his lips shiny and swollen.
“Take me, take me,” he sang out under his breath, and then Denmark was hauling him up by one leg and pressing him into the sheets and nearly bending him double before he pushed in, hard and gloriously fast. The angle of the thrust was enough to force France to cry out loudly, and that only stirred Denmark’s lust even more. His fingers dug into the silky flesh, his vision narrowed until he saw only France below him, lovely and golden and writhing and gasping as he pounded into him.
The only lucid thought that crossed his mind was that he should have started doing this a lot sooner.
They collapsed back onto the bed in a tangle of sweaty limbs, their bodies still tense, almost vibrating from the aftermath, their chests heaving for air as both nations gradually drifted back to reality. Even drawing it out as long as he could, it was over too soon for Denmark.
“Was that… good for you? S’good for me,” he managed to pant out, not really expecting an answer because it had always been incredible, as far as he was concerned, the quick fucks in an empty office at the meeting breaks, the hardly secret trysts in each other’s hotel rooms.
“Ah, mmm…” France hummed noncommittally.
Actually, due to his energetic technique, if one could call it technique, Denmark had caused France to smash his head up against the headboard of the bed a few times, and now France had a bruise on top of the gloveburn on his scalp. But at least he didn’t have a migraine anymore.
Taking that as a yes, Denmark’s head lolled to the side, nestled against France’s shoulder, his eyes half closed, a great big silly grin on his face. His expression was that of sheer, sated, bliss, and he would be drifting off to post-coital sleep in the next minute, all snoring and drooling and too heavy to move. But he looked so cute, and France rubbed his cheek against his forehead affectionately before trying to heave him off.
Mumbling in mild protest, Denmark finally pulled out, though as soon France settled onto his side, he was spooning up against him, muscular arms wrapped around his middle, not wanting to lose contact for longer than necessary.
So much for taking that shower, France thought to himself as a snore emanated from somewhere behind his ear.
He was woken up some time later by Denmark kissing the nape of his neck, the spot usually covered by his hair, the secret spot only a few other nations ever bothered to find out, the one that made his toes curl and his spine arch helplessly like a cat in heat. He found it almost embarrassing, that low rumbling purr that emanated from his throat as Denmark continued licking and sucking until he was thrashing about in the sheets from the pleasure. Any admonishment he tried to voice was promptly cut off as Denmark renewed his efforts, sliding his hands over his abdomen, rubbing against his nipples. Well, that was not worth fighting, not in his experience, so France surrendered with a happy sigh and gave himself up to the other’s caresses.
With a soft exhalation of triumph, Denmark pressed his already hard length in between France’s slick thighs, sliding through very purposefully before pulling out and then repeating, getting faster and more urgent. France turned his head to catch Denmark’s lips with his mouth, and these kisses were sloppy and lazy, often missing and hitting their chins or noses or jaws instead. And yet neither one minded, wanting to indulge in this easy rhythm, this gentle rocking together, this freedom to express their pleasure with each other’s bodies.
Denmark came first, his body shuddering mightily with his orgasm, his semen wetting France’s skin, soon to be mixed when France reached his own orgasm. While they were still recovering, Denmark nudged France to lie flat on his back, his hand curved over his hipbone possessively.
“You look good like this, too,” he muttered, eyes and teeth glittering in the dim light. “Naked and wet, covered with my cum and yours. I just want to eat you up.”
“That’s my line,” France murmured, smiling to himself, but he said nothing further when Denmark ran his tongue over his torso, licking him clean of semen. He even went so far as to lap away at his thighs, his cock, his testicles, everywhere he could reach with his tongue, and France continued to purr in contentment, occasionally groaning or cursing.
Denmark stopped his ministrations eventually, swiping his tongue over his lips but missing a spot on his cheekbone, and he surveyed the other nation’s ravished body with the arrogance of a born conqueror.
“Now that I am clean, what shall we do next?” France teased breathlessly, crooking one long leg upward, letting his toes skim down Denmark’s powerful chest.
Denmark’s answering smirk made him shudder in a sort of twisted delight, brought out in him a compelling empathy that stoked his lust and made his blood burn for more.
“I guess I’m gonna have to make you dirty again.”
Then Denmark pounced, pulling France until he was on his knees, pressing his face against his sheets in a show of power. It was a show, nothing more, and yet France trembled under him like the virgin he was obviously not, so soft and lush and open and needy, asking, no, begging him to continue.
He reared back just enough to spread France’s cheeks further, exposing him to the air, pleased to see that barely loosened ring of muscle still shining wet from saliva and lube and semen. Then he placed his dripping cock against France’s backside, rubbing up against that inviting hole a few times but not quite going in yet.
“Do you want me now? Just say it,” he hissed, unable to keep the distracted growl out of his tone.
France whined a soft assent - ah, oui, yes - which was cut off a by a sharp slap to his buttocks.
“Louder,” Denmark commanded, his nerves thrumming with the heady rush of authority. “I know how loud you can get, be loud for me.”
“Yes, oh, yes, now!” and that was all he needed to hear before shoving himself in, using one quick thrust.
Denmark took a moment to admire France’s back bowed before him, his shapely sculpted waist and full thighs ideal for grabbing, his own prick buried deep into that flawless ass, knowing he couldn’t have left without seeing them like this, fitting so perfectly together. It wasn’t possible to go slowly, but he managed to hold himself back for a few thrusts before groaning and giving in to the urge to go as fast and hard as he could. France welcomed this relentless pace gladly, encouraging him onward with the sweetest and filthiest moans.
There were at least a few more hours before dawn by the time they finished, and Denmark meant it when he said he wanted to fuck all night, but even he had to admit that they weren’t really teenagers anymore. This latest session had left them both drained, almost stupefied from the screaming frenzy of climax.
Smiling that dazed smile of someone who just had their brains fucked out, France suggested, giggling a little, that Denmark lie back and relax for the next round. Exhausted, Denmark agreed with no objection whatsoever, helping France to the new position as he swung one leg over to straddle him. Frankly, he loved it when France was on top and riding him, then he could watch to his heart’s content as the other pleasured himself, indulging each and every stroke, every caress slipping over flushed skin, golden hair wonderfully snarled and tangled, eyelids fluttering closed as full pink lips parted to gasp and sigh. The impromptu show was enough to cause his cock to harden in almost painful arousal once more, and some distant part of his mind wondered why England could ever find the cabarets disgusting, when this one was behind them all.
But he did not get a chance to think any more about a bonerkill the likes of England, because France was starting to move in earnest now, lowering himself onto Denmark until his cock was fully sheathed, and he could focus only on the wet, pulsing heat, the scent of sex and sweat in his nostrils, the salty tang of their mixed semen on his tongue. One arm tucked behind his head, the other gently supporting France by the waist, Denmark let himself succumb to the sensation of those hips slowly, fiendishly gyrating and swiveling over his own body. He could feel a trickle of hot liquid sliding down the length of his erection and pooling onto his groin, and secretly gloated in the knowledge that it was all him this time, and no one else.
“C’mon, dance for me,” he whispered, and France, laughing, did.
This was the part he always hated. France was nearly asleep now, curling into his arms, looking like an angel that had fallen to earth and then promptly slept with everyone it saw. Having this quiet time with him should have made Denmark happy, he was normally an easy to please fellow, but this opportunity rarely had a chance to occur, even when he got a chance to sneak away to Paris.
“You should visit Copenhagen sometime,” he finally said.
“Mm, I should,” France replied drowsily, one hand brushing over the aforementioned capital. It wasn’t a yes, but it was as direct as France would ever get, and Denmark would accept that.
“I will get you a sweater, in red and white.”
France opened bleary eyes and winced. “Surely not a Nordic sweater?”
“And a hat, with earflaps, and a bobble on top.”
“I would rather die than wear such atrocities,” France declared, but he was smiling, and Denmark snorted in amusement.
“We can eat butter pastries…” Denmark continued, his voice low and all soft around the edges as if in a daydream, “And then film a series of explicit pornographic movies together.”
“Will we be wearing hats with bobbles on top in these films of yours?”
“I mean it, you should visit me,” he said quietly, brushing tendrils of hair away from France’s face. “I can make you happy like no one else could.”
“I am already happy, mon coeur, just like this. Aren’t you?”
He did not answer for several minutes, and just when France figured he must have fallen asleep, Denmark leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth, a kiss sweet and tender enough to render him speechless.
“Yeah. Couldn’t be happier.”
Actually, Denmark realized he could be happier, as France agreed to shower sex later on in the morning, and it was pretty much the best parting gift he could have asked for. He savored that pulled muscle in his right calf all throughout the ride on a suddenly smoothly running metro system.
[epilogue]
Some months later at the next meeting, America pulled his brother to the side, hissing rather loudly into his ear.
“My God, did you see that?”
He had seen many things during the conference already, very few of which he cared to remember, so Canada asked, “Did I see what?”
“At lunch break, Denmark gave France a hat… with a bobble on top. And France said thank you.” America pronounced this as if it were the end of the world. “I think he even wants to wear it when it gets cold!”
“So what? France sometimes tries new things,” Canada mumbled half-heartedly, although he distinctly remembered France going skiing with the both of them once and he had refused to wear a bobble hat until they finally pointed out that if he fell into a snowdrift that bobble was the only way the rescuers would be able to find him, which was a total lie, but even then he thought it looked stupid.
“But don’t you want to know what it means?”
“Maybe it’s just protection against further noogies.” Sounded like something he could use himself.
“But it’s in the design of Denmark’s flag. If I didn’t know any better, it’s like… he’s staking claim to France. Or something like that.”
America paused to consider that, and it was suddenly made clear to Canada, that movie file from Netherlands he shouldn’t have opened but he did and then watched with his mouth hanging open and maybe his pants getting tight, and he made a pitiful gagging noise.
His brother laughed and slapped him on the back. “Yanno what, you’re right, I’m probably just making a big deal out of nothing. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
Little did they know that when they entered the restroom to wash their hands before lunch they would run into France “visiting Copenhagen,” and it was the striking cross pattern of the red and white bobble hat that would save their minds from getting traumatized even further.
[Author's Notes]
1. I am very aware the knees-nice-Nice play on words does not even work in spoken English, but it seemed like something Denmark would try to do.
2. Parkour is influenced by the "natural method," a method of training with obstacles developed by Georges Herbert.
3. This entire fic was developed on the sole interaction in canon between Denmark and France, a sketch in which Denmark seems to be giving France a noogie. What historical significance this gesture implies, I know not. /shrug of shoulder
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Denmark/France
Warnings: sex in various positions; oral, rimming; fail everywhere
Wordcount: 5,837
Author's Notes: Reposted from the kink meme. For the prompt - Denmark/France where Denmark attempts to seduce and woo France, and in his fail attempt, succeed because France finds it adorable. Sex is of course gladly welcome ~
“What the heck is Denmark doing?” Canada mumbled under his breath, as the usual chaos of a world meeting commenced with him safely uninvolved.
“Well, obviously he is giving France a noogie,” his brother replied in the tone of a self-proclaimed expert on noogies, flat tires, wet willies, and purple nurples.
“Why?” Denmark, having caught France in an impromptu headlock, was not about to let up his attack, and France was flailing and shrieking for help, while Germany ignored them both trying to get the rest of Europe in their seats and ready for the meeting. The only one who seemed to be deriving any amusement out of this was England, who was laughing so hard he looked ready to have a stroke.
“Maybe it’s some kind of weird European flirting, you know, like pulling on the pigtails of a girl you like on the playground.” Denmark seemed like the type of guy to still find pulling immature schoolyard pranks on someone a form of seduction, although France seemed to have evolved beyond that several hundred years ago. He was biting on Denmark’s forearm at the moment, and as soon as he was released, he rushed over to Germany’s side, hair tousled and tears running down his face in a rather pathetic tableau.
“That doesn’t make sense, France absolutely loathes anyone touching his hair. It’s forbidden to lesser beings, you remember.” As a toddler, Canada once tried to pet France’s hair, finding it so shiny and pretty, and for his grievous crime, he received a slap on the wrist and worse, was forced to eat with England for the next month.
Now Germany was yelling at Denmark to behave, who shrugged it off with typical casualness.
“You got me, bro,” America mused, tapping his pen against his lower lip. “But hey, France sometimes lets you touch his hair in the middle of sex, like when he’s giving you a BJ.”
Canada stared at him, disgust and pity warring each other for control of his expression.
“So I’ve heard. I mean, I’ve never experienced it firsthand or anything.”
“That’s sick, America, real sick.” Canada was now scooting his chair away from his brother.
“Hey, I’m just saying that it’s a possibility! Maybe they just have really awesome, bed-breaking sex, you never know, am I right?” America suggested good-naturedly. The two siblings looked at Denmark and then France and they laughed.
“No way…”
Sometime after they were finally dismissed from a runner-up to the most boring world meeting in the world competition, Denmark caught up to France in the hallway. France gave him a withering glare powerful enough to pierce the other’s obliviousness.
“I don’t want to talk to you today,” he declared, stalking off.
“Hey look, I’m sorry for earlier,” Denmark said, following after him and grabbing his hand. “I just couldn’t help myself when you came along. I haven’t seen you in months, you can’t blame a guy for missing you, can you?”
“That was not the affectionate gesture I would have hoped for after a long absence. I have a headache, if you recall, and you made it worse.” France grimaced, reminded of the pain, which was now compounded by what felt like a glove-burn on the top of his head.
“Shit, I totally forgot about that.” Leaning over, Denmark kissed him right where it hurt, and France sighed but resisted the urge to head-butt the idiot.
“I am still angry with you.”
“How about we go to your room, I’ll make you feel better in no time.”
“What part of ‘I have a headache’ do you not understand?” France muttered, trying to pry himself out of Denmark’s embrace but feeling too flattered to try very hard. “Well, if you really insist…”
“And I do!” he interrupted.
“Perhaps you can visit me in Paris after the meeting?” France suggested silkily. “Germany has been too busy to keep me company lately, and I have some wine that really needs to be consumed.”
“Wild horses can’t keep me away,” Denmark replied, grinning.
It turned out wild horses were the least of his worries, once he found himself trapped in a nation-wide strike that immobilized the French infrastructure and made it impossible to get anywhere. In fact, Denmark thought he could use a wild horse, it would make faster time than the metro, and then he would be able to sweep in and carry his princess away from all of this, and they would have amazing sex all night long and maybe again in the morning.
Nothing to it.
It had taken Denmark a good thirty minutes to decide what to get France for their date, which was about twenty-nine more minutes longer than what he usually spent thinking about gifts for people he liked. The problem was that France had everything he could ever want within his own borders, and lacked for nothing from anywhere else. Once he realized this, Denmark decided that the only option left was to offer himself. Which was not a bad deal, despite what Norway or others may claim. A tall, good-looking young Scandinavian man, wealthy, easy-going yet tough when needed, an absolute beast between the sheets - really, what more could France want?
France meanwhile had dealt with the transportation strikes and fuel blockades with as much class and aplomb as can be expected from one so sophisticated. Inspired by the activities of the care-free youth nowadays, he had taken up parkour, the méthode naturelle, during these all too frequent strikes. Dodging traffic and smog and angry protestors, running along rooftops, jumping over fences and sliding down buildings to find the most efficient path - one’s body versus the world. It was dangerous, but exhilarating, freeing from the bonds of gravity and normality. He considered himself rather good at it despite his general dislike of physical exertion; after all, he knew the cities better than anyone else, although being able to survive beyond the bounds of human endurance certainly helped. In his view, parkour was worth the pains, to be able to fly like a bird if just for a few moments.
France was jogging across the roof now, ready to make the fairly easy leap across the gap between this building and his apartment’s balcony, but the jump was ruined by the unexpected presence of Denmark right where he intended to land. Going too fast to stop completely, he went ahead and braced himself for the impact of the crash. Denmark, believing France to be excited by his timely arrival and not furious that he had stolen a key to the front door from an oblivious Spain instead, held his arms out and caught the still screaming France up in a bear-hug.
“France! Where were you, I was waiting for almost fifteen minutes! Had to let myself in!”
“What the hell are you doing here?!” France demanded, for he had changed his locks since the last visit and the shock of seeing Denmark in his private sanctuary had given him a few more gray hairs.
“You invited me yesterday, remember? So I decided to not waste any time and come today. You were expecting me, right? Of course you were.”
Actually France had thought Denmark would have forgotten by now, as was usually the case, but at the moment, he was expressing displeasure at being enthusiastically lifted off the floor by the much taller nation.
“Put me down, you brute!” France wheezed, fists pounding at Denmark’s shoulder.
Laughing, Denmark let him go, resisting the urge to give him another noogie. With an indignant huff, France set his backpack down, horribly aware that he was wearing a t-shirt and rolled-up sweatpants and running shoes, with his hair hastily tied up, and quite upset that he should be seen in such an uncivilized state by another of their kind.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, heading towards his huge closet full of expensive designer clothing that was unfortunately not also appropriate for running over rooftops.
“Why not?” Denmark replied easily, not taking his eyes off of him. “You look really good, France, I mean it. Really… hot.” Long hair curling with sweat, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, as if he just had a particularly invigorating round of sex. Denmark definitely couldn’t see anything wrong with that sight and continued leering.
“But I think you’d look better with your clothes-“
The door to the bathroom slammed before he could finish. “-on the floor.”
Undeterred, Denmark opened the door and poked his head into the bathroom. “Hey, you didn’t let me finish!”
“I know what you were going to say, Denmark,” France muttered, shimmying out of the last of his clothes and turning on the water. “I do appreciate it.”
“So… does that mean I can join you?” Denmark asked hopefully, already inside.
France gave him a skeptical look, while the shower ran in the background. “I don’t think I will get any cleaner that way.”
That was true, he had to admit. Shower sex, while satisfying, was also very awkward and painful, and it seemed France would not appreciate that at the moment. “Can I just watch you then? I’ll be quiet.”
“Fine, whatever you wish.” The headache, which had been abated by a peaceful stroll at the market place, was returning, and he just wanted to wash off the sweat and dirt and have a nice relaxing evening, or whatever was left of it by now.
Watching France shower would normally be on the list of “top ten things I wish I had never seen” for any other nation, but not for Denmark. He was so engrossed, imagining France pressed up against the shower wall, panting and moaning under the spray of warm water as they fucked, that he did not realize he had stripped until he had nearly tripped over his own slacks and shirt and tie lying on the tiled floor around his feet.
Tapping at the shower door, Denmark then opened it and stepped in, immediately pulling France to him.
“I thought you said you were not going to interfere!”
“What? You’re almost done, aren’t you?” It was a miracle he wasn’t salivating, seeing that slick golden skin highlighted by drops of water, and he pushed France against the wall and kissed him, hands grabbing his hips and hoisting him up with ease. France made a little noise of surprise and automatically wrapped his legs around Denmark’s waist, who groaned. He was so hard, he could take him right now, fuck him just like that.
“Looking at you isn’t enough, France,” he whispered tightly. “I have to touch you, and even then, I want more. More and more.”
The faintest hint of a blush colored France’s ears and he turned his head to the side coyly. “But of course you can have more…”
The water turned off.
“Tomorrow morning.”
With his first attempt at seduction ending in failure, Denmark groaned quietly, wondering what had possessed France, of all people, to act so standoffish. It must be one killer headache, he thought mournfully as he watched France step out of the shower to dry himself.
It seemed that there was a bit of hope when his charming host handed him a towel, remarking on how cute he looked with his hair down rather than meticulously gelled up into spikes. He took this as a positive sign that they would have sex in the near future, but France did not pursue this comment and returned to the process of dressing, choosing the best possible angles to show off his body’s superb condition almost on purpose.
Denmark, watching him like a hawk, wondered if he should just go ahead and jerk himself off in the shower. But he decided that he should wait for France to come to his senses, as he eventually would have to when faced with the raw animal sexuality of a Danish man. Until then, he must continue to use all of his charm and wit to convince France to move “tomorrow morning” up several hours, preferably to “in a few minutes” or even better, “right now,” before an important organ fell off.
While Denmark was still struggling to zip his trousers up without damaging anything he would need later, France had clad himself in a silk burgundy shirt and dark grey striped slacks, perfect for lounging about seductively when one has a guest in the house. Even if Denmark’s actions had bordered on creepy, including but not limited to breaking and entering and molesting someone while they were in the shower, France still relished the fact that someone was lavishing attention on him, and could not help but revel in it like a queen or… well, like a queen. He would give Denmark what he wanted, eventually.
The two hours that France spent drifting about his kitchen and cooking dinner were the longest two hours Denmark could ever recall. First, he had trailed after France like a particularly large and horny shadow, until France finally whacked him in the head with a wooden spoon.
“Get out, or I shall take out the spray bottle.”
“What?!” Denmark exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head and obviously not aware he had been doing anything wrong. “Come on, France, can’t we do it now, there’s some free space on the counter right here!”
France stared at him as if he had proposed defacing the Mona Lisa, which was a close enough comparison. “Certainly not.”
But he relented enough to allow himself to be kissed, which Denmark promptly took advantage of until they were both breathless and something smelled like it was about to burn and France had to rush to take care of the oven and stoves.
After being offered that incentive, Denmark spent his time between the kitchen and the living room, sometimes offering his input on whatever exotic fare France had been concocting, and France gradually giving in to his suggestions until he realized he had ended up preparing a distinctively Danish supper. It was all comfort food fit for a Viking: butter and pork and dark dense breads, heavy on carbohydrates and fat, and utterly lacking in creativity. France honestly didn’t even know he kept rye bread in his pantry, and suspected an intruder of Scandinavian background leaving behind the jars of pickled vegetables and containers of smoked herring he had found among the shelves.
“Really, this is all going straight to my hips,” he mumbled sourly as he brought out the wine bottle to accompany their meal.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that,” Denmark insisted, somewhat overly enthusiastic. “You’re perfect, no matter what your thighs look like.”
“Well… thank you.”
Denmark’s stare starting to unnerve him, France escaped to the living room and then paused in the doorway, smiling. Dozens of small candles had been set around the room, lighting the scene with a warm amber glow. In the middle of the table were several more tea lights, arranged in the outline of a…
“H-how… um… charming,” France said at last.
“It’s your Eiffel Tower,” Denmark explained, blue eyes alight with anticipation. “Your city of lights.”
In essence, his vital regions. Laughing in delight, France set the wine bottle down and said, “I am flattered that you think so highly of me and my ah, vital regions. It means a lot to me.”
There was an awkward moment in which they both began to feel their cheeks growing red and hoped that the other wouldn’t notice in the cover of the flickering light, and finally Denmark pulled out a chair for France, who sat down graciously. They toasted to the future with an excellent vintage that warmed their bodies even further, and then shared a meal made delicious by cooperation.
It was all extremely romantic, although France thought he could have done without the group of candles arranged in a phallic shape constantly reminding them exactly what Denmark had in mind.
Concepts such as seduction had arrived into his mental vocabulary rather late, but things seemed to be going well by Denmark’s measure. In the candle light, France positively shone, his hair like a golden halo about his face, the worry lines smoothed out around his eyes. He even laughed at Denmark’s jokes, which was a first from anyone, and he accepted the tidbits offered from his plate with a naughty smile, licking his lips and making little hums of enjoyment after each bite.
And Norway had claimed he couldn’t seduce the nation of love, such little faith. Denmark was obviously succeeding, why else was France letting him put his hand on his knee.
“Denmark, dearest.”
“Yes?”
“Why is your hand on my knee?”
“Oh, I thought that was my knee. My bad.” He paused, did not remove his hand, and then added, “Although your knees are very nice, France.”
“But isn’t all of me very nice?” France asked with a mock pout.
“Of course! Especially Nice!” Denmark replied, winking.
“Ohhh…” There was a moment of awed silence as both considered the magnificence of a three-way play on words in a language that was native to neither of them.
The admiring look France gave him was priceless, although that might have been partly due to the alcohol, he did have a bit of a pinkish glow to his cheeks. Unable to resist, Denmark leaned over to kiss him, but France quickly covered his own mouth with one hand.
“Wait! I have fish breath,” he protested.
“That’s no problem, I have fish breath, too.” And before France could come up with a further objection, Denmark was already smothering him with kisses everywhere he could reach; his cheeks, his ears, his hair, and most of all his lips. Caught off guard, France stiffened in surprise, and then simply sighed in contentment.
“Ah, Denmark,” France finally asked, trying to get in a word between kisses, “shouldn’t we continue this… elsewhere?”
“Well, I didn’t have a problem with doing it right here on the table…” Denmark mused somewhat breathlessly. He had been considering table sex. “Were you thinking the couch? Or the floor?” He had also been considering couch sex and rug sex, too.
“The bedroom…”
“Bedroom, also good.” Denmark stood up, ready to throw France over his shoulder and carry him off for a long night of wild and uninhibited bed sex. But France, concerned for the state of his apartment, convinced him to at least blow out the candles while he put up the dishes.
“Mm, you can have me any way you like, mon amant, any way,” France murmured into his ear as they approached their destination, and Denmark had to bite his lower lip to rein himself in. He was already strung out to the end of his limits with France teasing and rubbing against his most sensitive places during that short walk, and he had to call upon hidden reserves of endurance to keep from jumping the other nation before they reached the bedroom.
“How about you… riding me all night long…” he paused, neurons in his brain trying to fire important electrical signals while France was doing his best to short them out by sliding his tongue lazily against his lips, back and forth, back and forth. “Like a bicycle, yeah,” Denmark managed to get out.
He was actually rather proud of that; it was a hobby they did have in common, cycling, he was pretty sure.
“Oh, but riding a bicycle at night is dangerous…” France breathed, running long fingers down his chest and leaving a trail of white-hot heat under Denmark’s skin. “You would need to wear… protection…”
“And what if I didn’t want to?” Denmark countered as sexily as he could, which wasn’t very sexy because he was practically whining in desperation at this point. “Y-you gonna punish me like the bad boy I am?”
“I might, but you would like that, and I don’t think you would learn your lesson.”
“I could if you personally tutored me.” A few seconds of silence as they resumed making out, France pressed up against his bedroom door while Denmark had his way, and then Denmark stopped long enough to ask, “We were talking about sex, right?”
France gave him a fond but slightly exasperated look. “I wasn’t aware we ever talked about anything else.” At Denmark’s sheepish grin, he smiled and leaned up to kiss his nose. “You were doing so well, my dear, let us continue, shall we?”
They tumbled into the luxuriously appointed bed shortly afterwards, mouths hardly leaving the other’s as hands tried to deal with buttons and zippers. Denmark found himself lying flat on his back as France began kissing down his throat and over his chest. Laughing to himself at this stroke of success, he wound his fingers into the long blond locks, tugging slightly, and France glanced up irritably before ducking his head and returning to work. Denmark winced and let go once France gave him a few nips that were a bit more painful than absolutely necessary, but couldn’t resist stroking that beautiful hair every now and then, mumbling a stream of barely coherent words of praise, fuck, France, you’re amazing, you’re gorgeous, want you, want you so fucking bad.
France gave the straining cock one last swipe with his tongue, and pulled away, leaving Denmark to groan in frustration. He heaved himself up with an effort, grabbing France by the wrist and pinning him to the mattress. His erection, almost cooled with drying saliva but soon burning as urgently as ever, had demanded all of his attention and apparently bloodflow, too, and Denmark could barely gather his wits about him, so distracted did he feel. At least France sensed that he was near, and almost preening from all this attention, he spread his legs for the other nation, helped slick his fingers with lube and guide his trembling hands in between, encouraging him softly through breathless sounds of pleasure.
“You better be ready, because I am,” Denmark growled, and France chuckled richly, his midnight blue eyes half-closed, his lips shiny and swollen.
“Take me, take me,” he sang out under his breath, and then Denmark was hauling him up by one leg and pressing him into the sheets and nearly bending him double before he pushed in, hard and gloriously fast. The angle of the thrust was enough to force France to cry out loudly, and that only stirred Denmark’s lust even more. His fingers dug into the silky flesh, his vision narrowed until he saw only France below him, lovely and golden and writhing and gasping as he pounded into him.
The only lucid thought that crossed his mind was that he should have started doing this a lot sooner.
They collapsed back onto the bed in a tangle of sweaty limbs, their bodies still tense, almost vibrating from the aftermath, their chests heaving for air as both nations gradually drifted back to reality. Even drawing it out as long as he could, it was over too soon for Denmark.
“Was that… good for you? S’good for me,” he managed to pant out, not really expecting an answer because it had always been incredible, as far as he was concerned, the quick fucks in an empty office at the meeting breaks, the hardly secret trysts in each other’s hotel rooms.
“Ah, mmm…” France hummed noncommittally.
Actually, due to his energetic technique, if one could call it technique, Denmark had caused France to smash his head up against the headboard of the bed a few times, and now France had a bruise on top of the gloveburn on his scalp. But at least he didn’t have a migraine anymore.
Taking that as a yes, Denmark’s head lolled to the side, nestled against France’s shoulder, his eyes half closed, a great big silly grin on his face. His expression was that of sheer, sated, bliss, and he would be drifting off to post-coital sleep in the next minute, all snoring and drooling and too heavy to move. But he looked so cute, and France rubbed his cheek against his forehead affectionately before trying to heave him off.
Mumbling in mild protest, Denmark finally pulled out, though as soon France settled onto his side, he was spooning up against him, muscular arms wrapped around his middle, not wanting to lose contact for longer than necessary.
So much for taking that shower, France thought to himself as a snore emanated from somewhere behind his ear.
He was woken up some time later by Denmark kissing the nape of his neck, the spot usually covered by his hair, the secret spot only a few other nations ever bothered to find out, the one that made his toes curl and his spine arch helplessly like a cat in heat. He found it almost embarrassing, that low rumbling purr that emanated from his throat as Denmark continued licking and sucking until he was thrashing about in the sheets from the pleasure. Any admonishment he tried to voice was promptly cut off as Denmark renewed his efforts, sliding his hands over his abdomen, rubbing against his nipples. Well, that was not worth fighting, not in his experience, so France surrendered with a happy sigh and gave himself up to the other’s caresses.
With a soft exhalation of triumph, Denmark pressed his already hard length in between France’s slick thighs, sliding through very purposefully before pulling out and then repeating, getting faster and more urgent. France turned his head to catch Denmark’s lips with his mouth, and these kisses were sloppy and lazy, often missing and hitting their chins or noses or jaws instead. And yet neither one minded, wanting to indulge in this easy rhythm, this gentle rocking together, this freedom to express their pleasure with each other’s bodies.
Denmark came first, his body shuddering mightily with his orgasm, his semen wetting France’s skin, soon to be mixed when France reached his own orgasm. While they were still recovering, Denmark nudged France to lie flat on his back, his hand curved over his hipbone possessively.
“You look good like this, too,” he muttered, eyes and teeth glittering in the dim light. “Naked and wet, covered with my cum and yours. I just want to eat you up.”
“That’s my line,” France murmured, smiling to himself, but he said nothing further when Denmark ran his tongue over his torso, licking him clean of semen. He even went so far as to lap away at his thighs, his cock, his testicles, everywhere he could reach with his tongue, and France continued to purr in contentment, occasionally groaning or cursing.
Denmark stopped his ministrations eventually, swiping his tongue over his lips but missing a spot on his cheekbone, and he surveyed the other nation’s ravished body with the arrogance of a born conqueror.
“Now that I am clean, what shall we do next?” France teased breathlessly, crooking one long leg upward, letting his toes skim down Denmark’s powerful chest.
Denmark’s answering smirk made him shudder in a sort of twisted delight, brought out in him a compelling empathy that stoked his lust and made his blood burn for more.
“I guess I’m gonna have to make you dirty again.”
Then Denmark pounced, pulling France until he was on his knees, pressing his face against his sheets in a show of power. It was a show, nothing more, and yet France trembled under him like the virgin he was obviously not, so soft and lush and open and needy, asking, no, begging him to continue.
He reared back just enough to spread France’s cheeks further, exposing him to the air, pleased to see that barely loosened ring of muscle still shining wet from saliva and lube and semen. Then he placed his dripping cock against France’s backside, rubbing up against that inviting hole a few times but not quite going in yet.
“Do you want me now? Just say it,” he hissed, unable to keep the distracted growl out of his tone.
France whined a soft assent - ah, oui, yes - which was cut off a by a sharp slap to his buttocks.
“Louder,” Denmark commanded, his nerves thrumming with the heady rush of authority. “I know how loud you can get, be loud for me.”
“Yes, oh, yes, now!” and that was all he needed to hear before shoving himself in, using one quick thrust.
Denmark took a moment to admire France’s back bowed before him, his shapely sculpted waist and full thighs ideal for grabbing, his own prick buried deep into that flawless ass, knowing he couldn’t have left without seeing them like this, fitting so perfectly together. It wasn’t possible to go slowly, but he managed to hold himself back for a few thrusts before groaning and giving in to the urge to go as fast and hard as he could. France welcomed this relentless pace gladly, encouraging him onward with the sweetest and filthiest moans.
There were at least a few more hours before dawn by the time they finished, and Denmark meant it when he said he wanted to fuck all night, but even he had to admit that they weren’t really teenagers anymore. This latest session had left them both drained, almost stupefied from the screaming frenzy of climax.
Smiling that dazed smile of someone who just had their brains fucked out, France suggested, giggling a little, that Denmark lie back and relax for the next round. Exhausted, Denmark agreed with no objection whatsoever, helping France to the new position as he swung one leg over to straddle him. Frankly, he loved it when France was on top and riding him, then he could watch to his heart’s content as the other pleasured himself, indulging each and every stroke, every caress slipping over flushed skin, golden hair wonderfully snarled and tangled, eyelids fluttering closed as full pink lips parted to gasp and sigh. The impromptu show was enough to cause his cock to harden in almost painful arousal once more, and some distant part of his mind wondered why England could ever find the cabarets disgusting, when this one was behind them all.
But he did not get a chance to think any more about a bonerkill the likes of England, because France was starting to move in earnest now, lowering himself onto Denmark until his cock was fully sheathed, and he could focus only on the wet, pulsing heat, the scent of sex and sweat in his nostrils, the salty tang of their mixed semen on his tongue. One arm tucked behind his head, the other gently supporting France by the waist, Denmark let himself succumb to the sensation of those hips slowly, fiendishly gyrating and swiveling over his own body. He could feel a trickle of hot liquid sliding down the length of his erection and pooling onto his groin, and secretly gloated in the knowledge that it was all him this time, and no one else.
“C’mon, dance for me,” he whispered, and France, laughing, did.
This was the part he always hated. France was nearly asleep now, curling into his arms, looking like an angel that had fallen to earth and then promptly slept with everyone it saw. Having this quiet time with him should have made Denmark happy, he was normally an easy to please fellow, but this opportunity rarely had a chance to occur, even when he got a chance to sneak away to Paris.
“You should visit Copenhagen sometime,” he finally said.
“Mm, I should,” France replied drowsily, one hand brushing over the aforementioned capital. It wasn’t a yes, but it was as direct as France would ever get, and Denmark would accept that.
“I will get you a sweater, in red and white.”
France opened bleary eyes and winced. “Surely not a Nordic sweater?”
“And a hat, with earflaps, and a bobble on top.”
“I would rather die than wear such atrocities,” France declared, but he was smiling, and Denmark snorted in amusement.
“We can eat butter pastries…” Denmark continued, his voice low and all soft around the edges as if in a daydream, “And then film a series of explicit pornographic movies together.”
“Will we be wearing hats with bobbles on top in these films of yours?”
“I mean it, you should visit me,” he said quietly, brushing tendrils of hair away from France’s face. “I can make you happy like no one else could.”
“I am already happy, mon coeur, just like this. Aren’t you?”
He did not answer for several minutes, and just when France figured he must have fallen asleep, Denmark leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth, a kiss sweet and tender enough to render him speechless.
“Yeah. Couldn’t be happier.”
Actually, Denmark realized he could be happier, as France agreed to shower sex later on in the morning, and it was pretty much the best parting gift he could have asked for. He savored that pulled muscle in his right calf all throughout the ride on a suddenly smoothly running metro system.
[epilogue]
Some months later at the next meeting, America pulled his brother to the side, hissing rather loudly into his ear.
“My God, did you see that?”
He had seen many things during the conference already, very few of which he cared to remember, so Canada asked, “Did I see what?”
“At lunch break, Denmark gave France a hat… with a bobble on top. And France said thank you.” America pronounced this as if it were the end of the world. “I think he even wants to wear it when it gets cold!”
“So what? France sometimes tries new things,” Canada mumbled half-heartedly, although he distinctly remembered France going skiing with the both of them once and he had refused to wear a bobble hat until they finally pointed out that if he fell into a snowdrift that bobble was the only way the rescuers would be able to find him, which was a total lie, but even then he thought it looked stupid.
“But don’t you want to know what it means?”
“Maybe it’s just protection against further noogies.” Sounded like something he could use himself.
“But it’s in the design of Denmark’s flag. If I didn’t know any better, it’s like… he’s staking claim to France. Or something like that.”
America paused to consider that, and it was suddenly made clear to Canada, that movie file from Netherlands he shouldn’t have opened but he did and then watched with his mouth hanging open and maybe his pants getting tight, and he made a pitiful gagging noise.
His brother laughed and slapped him on the back. “Yanno what, you’re right, I’m probably just making a big deal out of nothing. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
Little did they know that when they entered the restroom to wash their hands before lunch they would run into France “visiting Copenhagen,” and it was the striking cross pattern of the red and white bobble hat that would save their minds from getting traumatized even further.
[Author's Notes]
1. I am very aware the knees-nice-Nice play on words does not even work in spoken English, but it seemed like something Denmark would try to do.
2. Parkour is influenced by the "natural method," a method of training with obstacles developed by Georges Herbert.
3. This entire fic was developed on the sole interaction in canon between Denmark and France, a sketch in which Denmark seems to be giving France a noogie. What historical significance this gesture implies, I know not. /shrug of shoulder