I need a title for this thing. [1/?]
anonymous
September 12 2010, 16:17:48 UTC
This is just a bit different than the request, in that it’s not Denmark + Russia who instigate it, but the basic premise is the same: Sweden/Denmark/Russia, Denmark gets owned XD I’m not even gonna try to get into history here, because, goddamn, those three are so complicated. Hooray for straight-up PWP!
---
Denmark stills above him, eyes screwed shut and breathing heavily; Sweden feels his own hot come sliding down his side and shifts a little, trying not to grimace at the sensation.
A few more pants and Denmark pulls out, gives Sweden a lazy kiss, and flops over on his backside, elbows bracing his upper half.
“Shew,” Denmark huffs, looking up at the ceiling for a second. “Sverige, that was great and all, but we should really pull someone else in here,” he smirks, looking over at Sweden.
Sweden shifts on his back and sends Denmark a dulled scowl.
“You know, like a threesome. How hot would that be? I’d get to watch you in action and get to be in on the action myself,” he winks and elbows Sweden, losing his balance and hitting Sweden a bit harder in the side than he intends. “Yeah? Whadda ya say?”
“No.”
“What? C’mon, it’s a great idea!”
Sweden shakes his head.
“We could probably get-”
“No. Don’ want to,” Sweden grinds out, then turns over and doesn’t respond to Denmark the rest of the evening.
---
About six months - and fourteen more requests - later, Sweden is at a meeting, washing his hands in the bathroom, when Russia walks up, characteristic smile in place. He stops, folds his arms and leans a hip against the counter, simply staring at Sweden. Sweden knows he is just trying to mess with him - it is Russia, after all, he thinks that screwing with people is simply fun and games.
“Hm,” Russia softly breaks the silence, running his eyes up and down Sweden’s form. “One with Russia?” he dryly smirks, obviously saying it only to get a rise out of Sweden.
Sweden is about to put his hands under the dryer and ignore Russia’s comment completely when he pauses, hands dripping water on the floor. Actually...if he invites Russia, just once, Denmark would probably never ask again. And...he and Russia really need to work on “thawing their relations,” as the papers called it, anyway.
He turns around to face Russia. “’kay.”
Russia looks like he’d just been backhanded by Italy. “...you are serious?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, wary.
I need a title for this thing. [2/?]
anonymous
September 12 2010, 16:18:40 UTC
“I dunno what’s gotten into you, Sverige, but I like it,” Denmark grins down at him, even while Sweden straps him in tighter to the wooden chair.
Sweden doesn’t say anything, just binds Denmark’s legs to the chair legs.
“Hey, how’re you planning on gettin’ my pants off, anyway?”
Sweden shrugs, and, binding done, stands up. He steps back and looks over Denmark - arms bound together behind the chair, and then to the chair, naked torso bound to the back, thighs and legs nearly covered in soft ropes - and Denmark just smiles even wider, excitement and a little lust dancing in his eyes.
Everything is in place, Sweden notes, and nods with approval. He sits down on the bed, about a foot away from Denmark’s chair, and looks Denmark in the eye. He meets that wide grin with a small twist of his mouth - part good humor, part knowing smirk.
He brings his hands up to his collar and slowly begins unbuttoning - feels the kiss of the chilled air in the room at his throat, slowly moving down his sternum, teasingly - watching Denmark watching him, as bit by bit his flesh becomes exposed. He makes sure to run his long, thin fingers down his neck, down his sternum, as he goes, following the line of skin the buttons create, making sure Denmark’s eyes follow the line of skin as well. Subtle directing.
His shirt is fully unbuttoned and Denmark’s grin has turned into an unapologetic leer when the doorbell rings. Denmark looks to the bedroom door with a frown, confused, and Sweden looks at the clock - right on time.
He gets up and goes out, ignoring Denmark’s shouts of “Hey, what the hell, Sverige, that was just gettin’ good!”
Sweden opens the front door and there is Russia, waiting patiently with a small smile and his hands behind his back. Upon seeing Sweden, shirt unbuttoned and rumpled, his eyebrows shoot up for a millisecond, before the smile becomes decidedly less childish.
“You did not start without me, yes? That would be...disappointing.”
Sweden shakes his head and steps aside to let Russia in. “Jus’ settin’ up.”
Russia pauses in the hallway and looks over at him, again. “Ah, preparation?” A nod. Russia steps closer and Sweden backs up into the wall at the unexpected move. Russia reaches out, delicately, and traces his thumb and forefingers along Sweden’s exposed hipbone. He looks up into Sweden’s confused gaze. “That is not a bad idea,” he smirks, before leaning in and running his tongue up Sweden’s throat.
Sweden gasps and almost shoves Russia off in surprise, before he takes a moment to consider and decides that, well, it wasn’t a bad idea to get used to Russia before they re-entered the bedroom. He brings a hand up to Russia’s hair and leans his head back, baring more of his throat, and gives a small grunt of pleasure when Russia begins nipping at it. Russia moves lower and bites down hard on his collarbone, and Sweden immediately grabs Russia by the ass and grinds their bodies together.
Russia lets out a small laugh at this and Sweden uses the hand in Russia’s hair to bring him up and smash their lips together. Sweden notes that Russia’s kiss is completely different from Denmark’s - still heated, but subtle, skilled, just short of demanding.
“Hey Sverige, what’s the hold up!?” Denmark calls, and they break apart with a start. “Ya okay?”
Russia crooks his mouth in a half-smile, knowingly, and brings an arm out toward the bedroom in a “lead the way” gesture.
---
I hate to leave you guys with such a teaser, but I’ve got this other fill that’s eating my soul (in a good way of course), so I’ll probably just update this when I get stuck on that one.
---
Denmark stills above him, eyes screwed shut and breathing heavily; Sweden feels his own hot come sliding down his side and shifts a little, trying not to grimace at the sensation.
A few more pants and Denmark pulls out, gives Sweden a lazy kiss, and flops over on his backside, elbows bracing his upper half.
“Shew,” Denmark huffs, looking up at the ceiling for a second. “Sverige, that was great and all, but we should really pull someone else in here,” he smirks, looking over at Sweden.
Sweden shifts on his back and sends Denmark a dulled scowl.
“You know, like a threesome. How hot would that be? I’d get to watch you in action and get to be in on the action myself,” he winks and elbows Sweden, losing his balance and hitting Sweden a bit harder in the side than he intends. “Yeah? Whadda ya say?”
“No.”
“What? C’mon, it’s a great idea!”
Sweden shakes his head.
“We could probably get-”
“No. Don’ want to,” Sweden grinds out, then turns over and doesn’t respond to Denmark the rest of the evening.
---
About six months - and fourteen more requests - later, Sweden is at a meeting, washing his hands in the bathroom, when Russia walks up, characteristic smile in place. He stops, folds his arms and leans a hip against the counter, simply staring at Sweden. Sweden knows he is just trying to mess with him - it is Russia, after all, he thinks that screwing with people is simply fun and games.
“Hm,” Russia softly breaks the silence, running his eyes up and down Sweden’s form. “One with Russia?” he dryly smirks, obviously saying it only to get a rise out of Sweden.
Sweden is about to put his hands under the dryer and ignore Russia’s comment completely when he pauses, hands dripping water on the floor. Actually...if he invites Russia, just once, Denmark would probably never ask again. And...he and Russia really need to work on “thawing their relations,” as the papers called it, anyway.
He turns around to face Russia. “’kay.”
Russia looks like he’d just been backhanded by Italy. “...you are serious?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, wary.
“Well, with a couple’a stipulations.”
---
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Sweden doesn’t say anything, just binds Denmark’s legs to the chair legs.
“Hey, how’re you planning on gettin’ my pants off, anyway?”
Sweden shrugs, and, binding done, stands up. He steps back and looks over Denmark - arms bound together behind the chair, and then to the chair, naked torso bound to the back, thighs and legs nearly covered in soft ropes - and Denmark just smiles even wider, excitement and a little lust dancing in his eyes.
Everything is in place, Sweden notes, and nods with approval. He sits down on the bed, about a foot away from Denmark’s chair, and looks Denmark in the eye. He meets that wide grin with a small twist of his mouth - part good humor, part knowing smirk.
He brings his hands up to his collar and slowly begins unbuttoning - feels the kiss of the chilled air in the room at his throat, slowly moving down his sternum, teasingly - watching Denmark watching him, as bit by bit his flesh becomes exposed. He makes sure to run his long, thin fingers down his neck, down his sternum, as he goes, following the line of skin the buttons create, making sure Denmark’s eyes follow the line of skin as well. Subtle directing.
His shirt is fully unbuttoned and Denmark’s grin has turned into an unapologetic leer when the doorbell rings. Denmark looks to the bedroom door with a frown, confused, and Sweden looks at the clock - right on time.
He gets up and goes out, ignoring Denmark’s shouts of “Hey, what the hell, Sverige, that was just gettin’ good!”
Sweden opens the front door and there is Russia, waiting patiently with a small smile and his hands behind his back. Upon seeing Sweden, shirt unbuttoned and rumpled, his eyebrows shoot up for a millisecond, before the smile becomes decidedly less childish.
“You did not start without me, yes? That would be...disappointing.”
Sweden shakes his head and steps aside to let Russia in. “Jus’ settin’ up.”
Russia pauses in the hallway and looks over at him, again. “Ah, preparation?” A nod. Russia steps closer and Sweden backs up into the wall at the unexpected move. Russia reaches out, delicately, and traces his thumb and forefingers along Sweden’s exposed hipbone. He looks up into Sweden’s confused gaze. “That is not a bad idea,” he smirks, before leaning in and running his tongue up Sweden’s throat.
Sweden gasps and almost shoves Russia off in surprise, before he takes a moment to consider and decides that, well, it wasn’t a bad idea to get used to Russia before they re-entered the bedroom. He brings a hand up to Russia’s hair and leans his head back, baring more of his throat, and gives a small grunt of pleasure when Russia begins nipping at it. Russia moves lower and bites down hard on his collarbone, and Sweden immediately grabs Russia by the ass and grinds their bodies together.
Russia lets out a small laugh at this and Sweden uses the hand in Russia’s hair to bring him up and smash their lips together. Sweden notes that Russia’s kiss is completely different from Denmark’s - still heated, but subtle, skilled, just short of demanding.
“Hey Sverige, what’s the hold up!?” Denmark calls, and they break apart with a start. “Ya okay?”
Russia crooks his mouth in a half-smile, knowingly, and brings an arm out toward the bedroom in a “lead the way” gesture.
---
I hate to leave you guys with such a teaser, but I’ve got this other fill that’s eating my soul (in a good way of course), so I’ll probably just update this when I get stuck on that one.
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You rock so hard.
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"'kay."
"...?!"
BRB LOLING FOREVER
(I am in love so far, anon <3)
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Please.
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