Scandinavian Metal
Title: Scandinavian Metal
Author: monimi101
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Norway/Denmark
POV: 3rd, Denmark centric
Summary: "metalsex" was the prompt word
Author's Note: written for the Hetalia Kink Meme, un-beta'd
There was something absolutely
invigorating about metal shows, Denmark thought, grinning widely. They
reminded him of his days as a Viking, of the violence and mayhem he’d been able
to cause. There was a fierce pleasure in a good moshpit that was becoming harder
and harder to find, as the world became progressively tamer and more
diplomatic. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but still. He missed
the adrenaline, the power, that sort of exuberant rage. So when he caught wind
of a good show happening, he always made a point of attending.
He didn’t bother to go inside
during the opening act. Most people didn’t. He had a beer outside, leaning
against the wall of the small venue, feeling the thrum of the bass in every
bone. Whoever was playing now wasn’t particularly good, but they were loud, and
wasn’t that what mattered, for an opener? He felt the adrenaline rising, and
his grin widened father.
As the last notes of their song
died, he started towards the door. It was a small venue; it smelled awful and
it had terrible acoustics. On top of that, the headliner was just getting
started; they were still a start-up cover band, barely graduated from high
school. But the hype surrounding them was pretty huge, and Denmark liked to be ahead of the game.
The stench of sweat and weed hit
his nose the minute he walked into the room. Under any other circumstances, it
would be awful, but here, it only added to the atmosphere. The room was nearly
full already, and he shouldered his way to the front. He could tell immediately
who was going to be in the moshpit. There was a certain fire in their eyes; a
fire that he knew was echoed in his own. He nodded to the man beside him and
rolled his shoulders. This would be good.
When the band got on stage, the
audience roared. Denmark cheered and shouted with them. It
didn’t matter if they were good, it was the idea. Without a word to the crowd,
they launch into their first track, loud and heavy. The moshpit erupted like an
explosion, going from relative stillness to a thrashing mass of limbs in no
time flat. He bounced on the balls of his feet a few times, and threw himself
into the nearest person, only a bit surprised to see that it was Norway. The shorter man had always liked
a good show as much as he did, despite being a quieter type.
Norway smirked at him, a challenge in his
eyes, and lunged towards the taller man, knocking him back a bit. He grinned.
Every nerve in his body was alive with the music, he felt more awake than he
had in weeks.
Throughout the show, he found himself
knocked into Norway perhaps more than he expected,
although he was far from minding. They were the only two nations in the crowd
today, and it felt somehow intimate, despite the other people in the pit.
When the show ended, Denmark’s blood was still racing. Although
he was dripping with sweat, and he could feel bruises forming, he was still up
for more. He hadn’t realized how hot it was in the building until he got
outside to the crisp, late fall air. He sketched and rolled his shoulders.
Looking around, he spotted Norway, a small joint in the shorter
nation’s hand.
“Hey, there,” he said as he
sauntered over, “Do you want to share some of that?” Norway looked up at him, and Denmark could tell that he, too, was still
ready for more.
“Are you sure you can afford to
lose more brain cells?” Norway asked, arching an eyebrow as he
passed the joint.
“I think I can handle it,” Denmark replied, and took a long drag. It
had been a while since he last indulged, but there was no real harm in it. “Did
you enjoy the show?” He asked, conversationally.
“The music was pretty good,” Norway replied, “But some of the audience
members were a bit too boisterous.” He looked pointedly at Denmark, who missed the implication all
together.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he responded.
“I think a few of them had too much to drink before hand.” Norway rolled his eyes and took the cig
back, strolling towards the park. Denmark tagged along eagerly. They plopped
themselves down by a tree, enjoying the weed and the cool air silently. There
was a tension between them, tonight, and Denmark was all too aware of it.
“Hey,” he whispered, after a long
drag, “You still got some energy to burn?”
Norway arched an eyebrow, and Denmark closed the distance between them,
kissing him roughly. The shorter nation grabbed his hair, pulling him closer,
and Denmark let a hand fall to his chest,
feeling the other man’s rapid pulse.
The joint fell unnoticed beside
them, quickly going out in the cold grass. Norway pulled him closer, leaning back
against the rough bark of the tree. Their mouths moved almost violently
together, tongues battling, teeth clicking. Denmark pulled at the other man’s shirt
impatiently. This was exactly what he wanted, right now.
Norway stripped off his shirt rapidly,
when he realized what the taller nation was doing, and Denmark followed suit. For a brief moment,
they just looked at each other.
Norway smirked. “So hard already, Denmark?” he asked, palming the other man
for effect.
Denmark groaned deeply and kissed the
other nation again. He didn’t often admit it, but he found moshpits exciting in
more than one way. When he moved he knee in closer to the shorter country’s
crotch, he found that he wasn’t alone in that.
“Like you’re one to talk,” he
muttered, moving his lips down Norway’s neck, tasting the sweat eagerly,
biting down at the shoulder. Norway moaned quietly, gripping Denmark’s back and letting his head fall
back. The spike-haired country ran his hands down the other’s chest roughly,
tweaking at the nipples when he got to them, and jabbing the half-formed
bruises.
Norway hissed and arched, clearly
enjoying it. He unclasped the taller nation’s belt quickly, making short work
of the button and zipper. Denmark gasped as the cold air hit his
vital regions, biting down again on the shorter nation’s shoulder. Norway grinned slyly and pulled the other
nation into his lap, rolling his hips upwards to demonstrate exactly what he
planned to do.
“Oi, wait,” Denmark exclaimed, “I thought-“ he was cut
off as Norway pressed two fingers into his
mouth.
“You thought what?” Norway whispered coldly into his ear.
“That I would lie here like a bitch and take it?” Denmark shivered at the words, and found
himself sucking at the fingers despite himself. The shorted nation grasped his
balls roughly, kneading them with lightly calloused fingers. “You’re the one
who started this, so I assume you’re willing to take whatever I’m willing to
give you.”
He pulled the fingers from Denmark’s mouth, and moved them towards
their real destination.
“Hey, wait!” Denmark exclaimed, as a first digit
entered him slowly. “At the very least, you could use real lube.”
“I haven’t got any,” Norway said blankly, continuing to push
the finger in. Denmark moaned in spite of himself.
“Well I do,” he snapped. “In my
left pocket.” Using his other hand, Norway found the small tube quickly. He
arched an eyebrow disapprovingly, not that Denmark could see, his chin on the shorter
nation’s shoulder.
“Slut,” Norway stated, flicking his fly down.
“Hey, I’m not the only one about to
have sex in public, here,” Denmark growled at him, his voice getting
unsteady.
“But I wasn’t planning on it,” Norway responded. “Do you have a condom,
as well?”
“Yeah,” Denmark shuddered as a second finger slid
into him, still with only saliva as lubrication. “For chrissake, could you use
some of that lube soon?” Norway said nothing, and crooked his
fingers just so. Denmark let out a ragged gasp, his cock
twitching. “…fuck,” he groaned, his hips shifting back.
“Put the condom on me,” Norway ordered, his voice still perfectly
calm, if a bit quieter than normal. “Since my hands are busy.” Denmark was pissed at him, for being so
composed, for having the gall to order him about, but he did as he was told,
shifting his head so he could see what he was doing. While he was at it, he
spread a generous amount of lube onto the dark-eyed man’s cock. He shivered at
the sight, at the thought that that cock would soon he inside him.
Norway scissored the other man for a
moment longer before withdrawing his fingers. He grabbed Denmark’s ass and positioned the other man
above him. “Ready?” he whispered, barely audible.
“Yeah,” Denmark said, he voice husky. He let
himself be lowered onto the other man’s prick, wincing just a bit as he
adjusted. “Fuck, it’s been a while,” he swore.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Norway replied, but Denmark didn’t hear him. The taller man
ran his hands up and down the other’s chest, trying to calm himself for the
moment. As his fingers hit a deep bruise, Norway bucked his hips, moaning just a
little. Denmark gasped as he was suddenly impaled
all the way.
“What, you like that?” He taunted,
half-grinning. “Kinky little bitch.”
“Who’s the bitch here?” Norway responded, gripping the other
man’s ass a bit tighter in his hands and thrusting roughly. Denmark moaned again and swore loudly.
“You could give a man some
warning!” he exclaimed. Norway merely adjusted his hips and did
it again. Denmark’s hands tightened subconsciously
over the bruise, and he moaned again. Even if he said that, this was really…
Norway set up a rough rhythm, thrusting
upwards into the other man, his hands eventually moving to hips. Denmark continued to press his fingers
into any bruises he could find, biting the other man’s neck. He wasn’t sure if
he did it to piss the shorter man off, or to arouse him further, or just to
continue that night’s joyful violence.
They fucked way like the moshpit
had been, less than half an hour ago. It was hard and fast and rough. There
were no love songs here, no ballads or poetry. It was all animal need, a mix of
companionship and competition, sweat and weed and bruises.
It wasn’t long before Denmark reached his climax, coming on the
other nation’s chest with a rough yell. Norway followed soon after, biting his
lip harshly, his hands gripping the other’s hips painfully tight.
Denmark rolled off him and lay sprawled on
the ground, looking up at the sky, a stupid grin on his face. Norway found that the smile was
contagious, leaning back against the tree, feeling the bruises ache on his skin.
“So you’re a masochist?” Denmark asked, out of nowhere. Norway punched him in the shoulder.
“Shut up,” he snapped, still
smiling. “At least I’m not a bitch like you.”
Author: monimi101
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Norway/Denmark
POV: 3rd, Denmark centric
Summary: "metalsex" was the prompt word
Author's Note: written for the Hetalia Kink Meme, un-beta'd
There was something absolutely
invigorating about metal shows, Denmark thought, grinning widely. They
reminded him of his days as a Viking, of the violence and mayhem he’d been able
to cause. There was a fierce pleasure in a good moshpit that was becoming harder
and harder to find, as the world became progressively tamer and more
diplomatic. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but still. He missed
the adrenaline, the power, that sort of exuberant rage. So when he caught wind
of a good show happening, he always made a point of attending.
He didn’t bother to go inside
during the opening act. Most people didn’t. He had a beer outside, leaning
against the wall of the small venue, feeling the thrum of the bass in every
bone. Whoever was playing now wasn’t particularly good, but they were loud, and
wasn’t that what mattered, for an opener? He felt the adrenaline rising, and
his grin widened father.
As the last notes of their song
died, he started towards the door. It was a small venue; it smelled awful and
it had terrible acoustics. On top of that, the headliner was just getting
started; they were still a start-up cover band, barely graduated from high
school. But the hype surrounding them was pretty huge, and Denmark liked to be ahead of the game.
The stench of sweat and weed hit
his nose the minute he walked into the room. Under any other circumstances, it
would be awful, but here, it only added to the atmosphere. The room was nearly
full already, and he shouldered his way to the front. He could tell immediately
who was going to be in the moshpit. There was a certain fire in their eyes; a
fire that he knew was echoed in his own. He nodded to the man beside him and
rolled his shoulders. This would be good.
When the band got on stage, the
audience roared. Denmark cheered and shouted with them. It
didn’t matter if they were good, it was the idea. Without a word to the crowd,
they launch into their first track, loud and heavy. The moshpit erupted like an
explosion, going from relative stillness to a thrashing mass of limbs in no
time flat. He bounced on the balls of his feet a few times, and threw himself
into the nearest person, only a bit surprised to see that it was Norway. The shorter man had always liked
a good show as much as he did, despite being a quieter type.
Norway smirked at him, a challenge in his
eyes, and lunged towards the taller man, knocking him back a bit. He grinned.
Every nerve in his body was alive with the music, he felt more awake than he
had in weeks.
Throughout the show, he found himself
knocked into Norway perhaps more than he expected,
although he was far from minding. They were the only two nations in the crowd
today, and it felt somehow intimate, despite the other people in the pit.
When the show ended, Denmark’s blood was still racing. Although
he was dripping with sweat, and he could feel bruises forming, he was still up
for more. He hadn’t realized how hot it was in the building until he got
outside to the crisp, late fall air. He sketched and rolled his shoulders.
Looking around, he spotted Norway, a small joint in the shorter
nation’s hand.
“Hey, there,” he said as he
sauntered over, “Do you want to share some of that?” Norway looked up at him, and Denmark could tell that he, too, was still
ready for more.
“Are you sure you can afford to
lose more brain cells?” Norway asked, arching an eyebrow as he
passed the joint.
“I think I can handle it,” Denmark replied, and took a long drag. It
had been a while since he last indulged, but there was no real harm in it. “Did
you enjoy the show?” He asked, conversationally.
“The music was pretty good,” Norway replied, “But some of the audience
members were a bit too boisterous.” He looked pointedly at Denmark, who missed the implication all
together.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he responded.
“I think a few of them had too much to drink before hand.” Norway rolled his eyes and took the cig
back, strolling towards the park. Denmark tagged along eagerly. They plopped
themselves down by a tree, enjoying the weed and the cool air silently. There
was a tension between them, tonight, and Denmark was all too aware of it.
“Hey,” he whispered, after a long
drag, “You still got some energy to burn?”
Norway arched an eyebrow, and Denmark closed the distance between them,
kissing him roughly. The shorter nation grabbed his hair, pulling him closer,
and Denmark let a hand fall to his chest,
feeling the other man’s rapid pulse.
The joint fell unnoticed beside
them, quickly going out in the cold grass. Norway pulled him closer, leaning back
against the rough bark of the tree. Their mouths moved almost violently
together, tongues battling, teeth clicking. Denmark pulled at the other man’s shirt
impatiently. This was exactly what he wanted, right now.
Norway stripped off his shirt rapidly,
when he realized what the taller nation was doing, and Denmark followed suit. For a brief moment,
they just looked at each other.
Norway smirked. “So hard already, Denmark?” he asked, palming the other man
for effect.
Denmark groaned deeply and kissed the
other nation again. He didn’t often admit it, but he found moshpits exciting in
more than one way. When he moved he knee in closer to the shorter country’s
crotch, he found that he wasn’t alone in that.
“Like you’re one to talk,” he
muttered, moving his lips down Norway’s neck, tasting the sweat eagerly,
biting down at the shoulder. Norway moaned quietly, gripping Denmark’s back and letting his head fall
back. The spike-haired country ran his hands down the other’s chest roughly,
tweaking at the nipples when he got to them, and jabbing the half-formed
bruises.
Norway hissed and arched, clearly
enjoying it. He unclasped the taller nation’s belt quickly, making short work
of the button and zipper. Denmark gasped as the cold air hit his
vital regions, biting down again on the shorter nation’s shoulder. Norway grinned slyly and pulled the other
nation into his lap, rolling his hips upwards to demonstrate exactly what he
planned to do.
“Oi, wait,” Denmark exclaimed, “I thought-“ he was cut
off as Norway pressed two fingers into his
mouth.
“You thought what?” Norway whispered coldly into his ear.
“That I would lie here like a bitch and take it?” Denmark shivered at the words, and found
himself sucking at the fingers despite himself. The shorted nation grasped his
balls roughly, kneading them with lightly calloused fingers. “You’re the one
who started this, so I assume you’re willing to take whatever I’m willing to
give you.”
He pulled the fingers from Denmark’s mouth, and moved them towards
their real destination.
“Hey, wait!” Denmark exclaimed, as a first digit
entered him slowly. “At the very least, you could use real lube.”
“I haven’t got any,” Norway said blankly, continuing to push
the finger in. Denmark moaned in spite of himself.
“Well I do,” he snapped. “In my
left pocket.” Using his other hand, Norway found the small tube quickly. He
arched an eyebrow disapprovingly, not that Denmark could see, his chin on the shorter
nation’s shoulder.
“Slut,” Norway stated, flicking his fly down.
“Hey, I’m not the only one about to
have sex in public, here,” Denmark growled at him, his voice getting
unsteady.
“But I wasn’t planning on it,” Norway responded. “Do you have a condom,
as well?”
“Yeah,” Denmark shuddered as a second finger slid
into him, still with only saliva as lubrication. “For chrissake, could you use
some of that lube soon?” Norway said nothing, and crooked his
fingers just so. Denmark let out a ragged gasp, his cock
twitching. “…fuck,” he groaned, his hips shifting back.
“Put the condom on me,” Norway ordered, his voice still perfectly
calm, if a bit quieter than normal. “Since my hands are busy.” Denmark was pissed at him, for being so
composed, for having the gall to order him about, but he did as he was told,
shifting his head so he could see what he was doing. While he was at it, he
spread a generous amount of lube onto the dark-eyed man’s cock. He shivered at
the sight, at the thought that that cock would soon he inside him.
Norway scissored the other man for a
moment longer before withdrawing his fingers. He grabbed Denmark’s ass and positioned the other man
above him. “Ready?” he whispered, barely audible.
“Yeah,” Denmark said, he voice husky. He let
himself be lowered onto the other man’s prick, wincing just a bit as he
adjusted. “Fuck, it’s been a while,” he swore.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Norway replied, but Denmark didn’t hear him. The taller man
ran his hands up and down the other’s chest, trying to calm himself for the
moment. As his fingers hit a deep bruise, Norway bucked his hips, moaning just a
little. Denmark gasped as he was suddenly impaled
all the way.
“What, you like that?” He taunted,
half-grinning. “Kinky little bitch.”
“Who’s the bitch here?” Norway responded, gripping the other
man’s ass a bit tighter in his hands and thrusting roughly. Denmark moaned again and swore loudly.
“You could give a man some
warning!” he exclaimed. Norway merely adjusted his hips and did
it again. Denmark’s hands tightened subconsciously
over the bruise, and he moaned again. Even if he said that, this was really…
Norway set up a rough rhythm, thrusting
upwards into the other man, his hands eventually moving to hips. Denmark continued to press his fingers
into any bruises he could find, biting the other man’s neck. He wasn’t sure if
he did it to piss the shorter man off, or to arouse him further, or just to
continue that night’s joyful violence.
They fucked way like the moshpit
had been, less than half an hour ago. It was hard and fast and rough. There
were no love songs here, no ballads or poetry. It was all animal need, a mix of
companionship and competition, sweat and weed and bruises.
It wasn’t long before Denmark reached his climax, coming on the
other nation’s chest with a rough yell. Norway followed soon after, biting his
lip harshly, his hands gripping the other’s hips painfully tight.
Denmark rolled off him and lay sprawled on
the ground, looking up at the sky, a stupid grin on his face. Norway found that the smile was
contagious, leaning back against the tree, feeling the bruises ache on his skin.
“So you’re a masochist?” Denmark asked, out of nowhere. Norway punched him in the shoulder.
“Shut up,” he snapped, still
smiling. “At least I’m not a bitch like you.”