[Part 12][Threshold][fem!Sweden/fem!Finland][6/15]
anonymous
June 23 2010, 07:11:20 UTC
“That’s not true,” Finland says, a hint of frustration coloring her tone. Her nimble hands work the remaining clasps of Sweden’s shirt with far more swiftness than her own shift had been undone-but then, by now she must have been feeling quite a bit more urgent. “Not the scars, I mean-and you know I have my share of those too-even back when we all lived with Denmark…you did scare me. You were so much bigger and stronger than I was, and I really was only just a servant. But…I always thought you were so beautiful, at the same time.” Finishing the task at hand, Finland lets Sweden’s shirt slide down her shoulders and off her body, leaving only breast wrappings covering her chest. With the practiced motions of one who has often had to tie her own femininity back in such a manner, Finland unwraps the bindings, and continues, “Especially your eyes.”
“M’eyes?” Sweden repeats, unable to help the surprise in her voice. She’s never really thought of herself as special-indeed, compared to the dainty, almost fairy-like loveliness Finland possesses she just feels too tall and ungainly by far. During the more vicious fights between herself and Denmark the other nation used to rag that Sweden would have made a far better man than a woman. Not that Denmark really had much leeway to talk herself, considering they had both thought they were boys until they had hit the Nation equivalent of puberty, but sometimes she couldn’t help but feel there was a little truth to the insult.
“Mm,” Finland says, using the loosened wrappings as leverage to pull Sweden flush against her and into another kiss. “There are lots of things, but I think your eyes are my favorite.”
Sweden shrugs, kisses her back and lets her hands trail down soft skin. Her progress is halted by the thick hose Finland still has on, something she is quite resolved to deal with immediately. “If y’like it, th’t’s all I need.”
“Sve, you really-mmm…” Finland’s reproachful tone dissipates into something far needier as Sweden peels the stockings off, a mad blush rising up on her face as she realizes that’s all the other woman had on.
“Y’were on t’b’ttlefield like th’t?” Sweden asks, unable to stop the question from escaping. Finland’s blush nearly matches her own in intensity, but at the same time she’s smiling. “N’t wearin’ any…”
“I usually don’t,” The other Nation replies, and Sweden’s still so rattled she almost doesn’t notice her long hose being unfastened, nor her fine linen drawers. Dropping them to the floor, Finland pushes the thick quilt covering the bed aside before pulling it over them both again. “I’m pretty strong against the cold, and it made things easier now, didn’t it?”
Well, it’d be hard to argue with that even without Finland’s hands on her backside driving her to distraction. A groan escapes her as the Finn gives a light squeeze, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Then she bites down, ever so gently, and Sweden can’t help the strangled moan that escapes her. Finland’s soft giggle vibrates against her skin, and that alone triggers something within her. For all she adores the other Nation, she is still the Swedish Empire. She will not be conquered so easily.
Pinning her down effortlessly, Sweden nips Finland’s ear before sucking at the bite. That action has the Finn’s startled gasp melting into a hungry keening noise. She feels encouraged enough by this to trail downward, treating the sensitive line of her jaw to the same attention, then her pretty throat. Finland’s pulse hammers even harder when Sweden presses her lips to it, and her skin is getting a pink flush to it that has nothing to do with the nearby fire.
“S-sve,” Finland breathes out shakily, her body likewise trembling. Not from fear, or nerves, but sheer need. She looks up at Sweden, an intense plea written in her eyes. “Sve, I-”
“M’eyes?” Sweden repeats, unable to help the surprise in her voice. She’s never really thought of herself as special-indeed, compared to the dainty, almost fairy-like loveliness Finland possesses she just feels too tall and ungainly by far. During the more vicious fights between herself and Denmark the other nation used to rag that Sweden would have made a far better man than a woman. Not that Denmark really had much leeway to talk herself, considering they had both thought they were boys until they had hit the Nation equivalent of puberty, but sometimes she couldn’t help but feel there was a little truth to the insult.
“Mm,” Finland says, using the loosened wrappings as leverage to pull Sweden flush against her and into another kiss. “There are lots of things, but I think your eyes are my favorite.”
Sweden shrugs, kisses her back and lets her hands trail down soft skin. Her progress is halted by the thick hose Finland still has on, something she is quite resolved to deal with immediately. “If y’like it, th’t’s all I need.”
“Sve, you really-mmm…” Finland’s reproachful tone dissipates into something far needier as Sweden peels the stockings off, a mad blush rising up on her face as she realizes that’s all the other woman had on.
“Y’were on t’b’ttlefield like th’t?” Sweden asks, unable to stop the question from escaping. Finland’s blush nearly matches her own in intensity, but at the same time she’s smiling. “N’t wearin’ any…”
“I usually don’t,” The other Nation replies, and Sweden’s still so rattled she almost doesn’t notice her long hose being unfastened, nor her fine linen drawers. Dropping them to the floor, Finland pushes the thick quilt covering the bed aside before pulling it over them both again. “I’m pretty strong against the cold, and it made things easier now, didn’t it?”
Well, it’d be hard to argue with that even without Finland’s hands on her backside driving her to distraction. A groan escapes her as the Finn gives a light squeeze, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Then she bites down, ever so gently, and Sweden can’t help the strangled moan that escapes her. Finland’s soft giggle vibrates against her skin, and that alone triggers something within her. For all she adores the other Nation, she is still the Swedish Empire. She will not be conquered so easily.
Pinning her down effortlessly, Sweden nips Finland’s ear before sucking at the bite. That action has the Finn’s startled gasp melting into a hungry keening noise. She feels encouraged enough by this to trail downward, treating the sensitive line of her jaw to the same attention, then her pretty throat. Finland’s pulse hammers even harder when Sweden presses her lips to it, and her skin is getting a pink flush to it that has nothing to do with the nearby fire.
“S-sve,” Finland breathes out shakily, her body likewise trembling. Not from fear, or nerves, but sheer need. She looks up at Sweden, an intense plea written in her eyes. “Sve, I-”
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