Bide Thee, Night [1/2]
anonymous
September 30 2009, 05:53:11 UTC
[Was unable to resist this prompt. Might not align perfectly, but even so, I hope those who read it enjoy it.] ----
Outside in the dark the rain poured to the ground. The water rushed through the streets, the electric lamps making it look shiny and slick as oil. It pooled in gutters and flowed loudly from the eaves and beaded like pearls on the window where Norway stood watching it fall. Every now and then thunder boomed and lightning broke the darkness like ice shattering on a river at the winter’s thaw.
Norway sighed and rested his forehead against the window, appreciating the cool touch of the glass on his skin. He listened to the steady staccato dripping outside. Earlier that day the moment that he had anticipated for weeks, years, had been finalized. Dissolution without conflict. That was the new state of things. His union with Sweden would come to an end, a matter of pen-strokes on paper, an untying of the invisible cord that had bound them at the wrists for just over ninety years.
Good, Norway thought, breathing deeply. Good. He traced the woodgrain on the sill as he repeated the word in an endless internal chant. Too much time had been spent in this house. It had been too long since the formation of that union, which he had been less than enthusiastic about in the first place. During the time he could leave temporarily, and he had done so, spending time in his own time, brief moments stolen for solitude in the place where he belonged above all others. However he had been bound to return, and he did every time - or had done so, until now. The deal was finished. He wouldn’t return, not any more.
With the blackness outside and the light inside Norway could see very little beyond the glass. For the most part he was only given his own reflection, ghostly in the imperfect mirror made by the glare of lamps. He traced the outline of his face and frowned, finding that he looked pale, uncertain. It must have been a trick of the light. He tried not to think of the real reason that he was at the window and the fact that he was not watching the rain at all, though it made for a good excuse. He tried not to linger on the knowledge that the light behind him lit the room up and made him, or at least his silhouette, visible from the street. Revealed and exposed by the lamp’s glowing as he waited, though if asked he would deny that he was waiting.
You are waiting, he told himself, pursing his lips as the thought insinuated itself into the foreground of his mind. Though he could turn his thoughts in another direction there was no way to excuse that he was indeed waiting, watching, looking down the street rather than at the rain, hoping to catch sight of Sweden returning, tall and silent and at this point likely to be very, very wet.
Bide Thee, Night [2/2]
anonymous
September 30 2009, 05:54:18 UTC
Norway pressed his forehead to the glass once more, feeling its coldness before exhaling. He made traces in the dust and condensation with his fingertip and reflected that no matter what thought he had on the deal itself, he was another matter. Good company, that one. Good conversation on the infrequent occasions when he did chance to speak. A welcome presence in the quiet moments they spent together, sharing news with coffee over breakfast or the times they had gone on long evening walks, side by side, the sun setting and the air cool around them. He was a good friend, or perhaps something else, though Norway had resolved years ago to never linger on that, never allow the word to directly enter his thoughts. Other things might slip, but that word was not allowed, in spite of the fondness with which he recalled what time they spent together in the long nights over the years. He would not think on it regardless of what memories he had of the darkness and Sweden’s worn but gentle hands, his lips kissed to bruising, the both of them bare and shivering from the chilled air. On those nights they eased each other’s loneliness with fingertips and tongues and soft, whispered words, old ones, ones that neither of them used much any more.
He bit his lip and breathed in deeply. No more of that, he told himself. It would end, all of it, in the morning. There was no question that with the severing of their ties they would go their separate ways. They had made that agreement in the beginning, and they would not change it.
The next time that Norway chanced to look at the street outside he saw Sweden coming around the corner. In a manner of minutes - three and a half, which he knew because he counted - Sweden was at the door, then inside, stomping his boots, taking off his coat. Norway sighed and closed the curtains. He did not go to him.
Soon he felt long arms slide around his waist to draw him close. Lips pressed to his neck and damp hair brushed his skin, tickling. Norway shivered and turned, catching Sweden’s mouth, savouring the pressure and the quiet startled sound that the sudden movement drew from him. As he wound his arms around his shoulders and pressed flush against him, Norway tried to put his earlier thoughts from his mind. Let it be no different tonight, Norway told himself. He didn’t want to have to answer honestly if Sweden asked him why his hands were shaking.
That night in the dark while the rain pounded outside he would drink Sweden’s kisses, savouring them like a man unsure of when he would next feel water on his tongue. Afterward, lying sleepless beside that friend who was more than a friend, he would pray that the night would linger, as the day would speed their parting.
Re: Bide Thee, Night [2/2]
anonymous
September 30 2009, 07:36:06 UTC
I wish there was more with them too; they're one of my favourite pairings, and they just seem to work so well together. I'm very happy you enjoyed it. <3
Re: Bide Thee, Night [2/2]
anonymous
September 30 2009, 22:03:27 UTC
I will probably give it a more thorough revision and post it elsewhere, eventually. So you might find out the author in a few months. ;p But anyway, I'm so happy you liked it! <3
----
Outside in the dark the rain poured to the ground. The water rushed through the streets, the electric lamps making it look shiny and slick as oil. It pooled in gutters and flowed loudly from the eaves and beaded like pearls on the window where Norway stood watching it fall. Every now and then thunder boomed and lightning broke the darkness like ice shattering on a river at the winter’s thaw.
Norway sighed and rested his forehead against the window, appreciating the cool touch of the glass on his skin. He listened to the steady staccato dripping outside. Earlier that day the moment that he had anticipated for weeks, years, had been finalized. Dissolution without conflict. That was the new state of things. His union with Sweden would come to an end, a matter of pen-strokes on paper, an untying of the invisible cord that had bound them at the wrists for just over ninety years.
Good, Norway thought, breathing deeply. Good. He traced the woodgrain on the sill as he repeated the word in an endless internal chant. Too much time had been spent in this house. It had been too long since the formation of that union, which he had been less than enthusiastic about in the first place. During the time he could leave temporarily, and he had done so, spending time in his own time, brief moments stolen for solitude in the place where he belonged above all others. However he had been bound to return, and he did every time - or had done so, until now. The deal was finished. He wouldn’t return, not any more.
With the blackness outside and the light inside Norway could see very little beyond the glass. For the most part he was only given his own reflection, ghostly in the imperfect mirror made by the glare of lamps. He traced the outline of his face and frowned, finding that he looked pale, uncertain. It must have been a trick of the light. He tried not to think of the real reason that he was at the window and the fact that he was not watching the rain at all, though it made for a good excuse. He tried not to linger on the knowledge that the light behind him lit the room up and made him, or at least his silhouette, visible from the street. Revealed and exposed by the lamp’s glowing as he waited, though if asked he would deny that he was waiting.
You are waiting, he told himself, pursing his lips as the thought insinuated itself into the foreground of his mind. Though he could turn his thoughts in another direction there was no way to excuse that he was indeed waiting, watching, looking down the street rather than at the rain, hoping to catch sight of Sweden returning, tall and silent and at this point likely to be very, very wet.
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He bit his lip and breathed in deeply. No more of that, he told himself. It would end, all of it, in the morning. There was no question that with the severing of their ties they would go their separate ways. They had made that agreement in the beginning, and they would not change it.
The next time that Norway chanced to look at the street outside he saw Sweden coming around the corner. In a manner of minutes - three and a half, which he knew because he counted - Sweden was at the door, then inside, stomping his boots, taking off his coat. Norway sighed and closed the curtains. He did not go to him.
Soon he felt long arms slide around his waist to draw him close. Lips pressed to his neck and damp hair brushed his skin, tickling. Norway shivered and turned, catching Sweden’s mouth, savouring the pressure and the quiet startled sound that the sudden movement drew from him. As he wound his arms around his shoulders and pressed flush against him, Norway tried to put his earlier thoughts from his mind. Let it be no different tonight, Norway told himself. He didn’t want to have to answer honestly if Sweden asked him why his hands were shaking.
That night in the dark while the rain pounded outside he would drink Sweden’s kisses, savouring them like a man unsure of when he would next feel water on his tongue. Afterward, lying sleepless beside that friend who was more than a friend, he would pray that the night would linger, as the day would speed their parting.
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I wish there're more fills about those two, after all they're BFF irl
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I'm very happy you enjoyed it. <3
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Thank you for sharing some beautiful writing.
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But anyway, I'm so happy you liked it! <3
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