[Hetalia] Deception
Title: Deception
Author: masanami
Character(s): Denmark/Sweden
Word Count: 920
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Kalmar Union
Warnings: None.
Summary: Sweden and Denmark in the heat of battle.
Author's Note: Written for nordic5_xmas 's holiday exchange. Special thanks to blulious for her wonderful work as a beta reader.
He felt the weapon in his grasp, the long line of the single sharp blade washed in crimson blood. It felt heavy in his hands, like the weight of its spilled blood was more than just droplets of red upon steel. Over head the heat of the afternoon sun was waning, ushering in the darkness that would soon follow. Yet even as night loomed in the distance the gaze locked between Sweden and the individual faced before him still bloomed in heated passion.
Denmark stood in muted silence.
Even through squinting eyes, his glasses having been ripped from his face in blurred moments before, Sweden could still just barely make out the lines of the other’s features. A blurred mesh of straw-like blonde hair, azure blue eyes, pale skin…
But this image was blemished by the fierce grin that tugged at the corner of those lips, the maniacal grip of the axe in his hand, the blood that was running along the side of his face, disappearing in drops of scarlet to the dirt covered floor below.
Movements were hard to read, but Sweden could still make out the gross flutters that came strangled through his squinted eyes. But Denmark was fast, and he knew Sweden too well. And before he really had a chance to react he felt a weight being pressed against his side-and it wasn’t the sharp blade of the axe, but definitely the sharp curve of Denmark’s shoulder-that lodged itself into his side and threw him off balance.
He gripped onto the other’s coat and they both tumbled to the ground.
“Why are you fighting me?”
Denmark’s question permeated their fighting and they both lay on the ground, breathing heavy and tense bursts of air, but neither made a move. Comfortable in battle with one another, they understood the unspoken rules between them.
“Don’t want you anymore.”
“Yes, you do.” He heard movement, but he couldn’t see Denmark make any serious undertaking through his dazed vision. His head was swimming from the intense focusing and he longed for the clarity that his glasses could bring.
Denmark kept talking. “You need me. You always have.” He kicked himself up to a sitting position and Sweden watched his movements with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow. He was easier to see this closely, and he could just make out the shape of arms and flyaway strands of hair--but the gaze in his eyes and the marked expression on his face was lost.
“No.” Sweden mumbled.
“Huh?” He could hear the laughter in Denmark’s voice.
“Don’t need you.”
“Sverige you-“ Denmark’s voice was cut off as Sweden reached out a hand and grabbed a fist full of his shirt, dragging him down to his level. Finally Denmark’s features came into clear focus-the brilliant blue eyes, the clear skin caressed with a light sheen of sweat, and the cocky grin upon those taunt lips.
He was beautiful.
But that was part of what made him so deadly. Denmark’s beauty was deceiving.
“Forget it.” Sweden began, keeping their faces just inches apart. He could feel the reflection of his warm breath against Denmark’s skin, and he could smell the oceanic scent that the man always seemed to carry with him-he smelled sweet, strong, and tempting. And for a brief moment Sweden imagined his fingers running through that mess of blonde hair, and his lips pressed against those grinning lips-and he can almost taste the salty feel of Denmark against his taste buds.
For a moment those thoughts make him forget what he was going to say, and he reminds himself that close proximity to Denmark is dangerous. He has this kind of effect and he should know better.
His grip loosens and the distance between them is widened, but not broken. The warmth of their bodies pressed against each other is still palpable. The adrenaline from their fight, the angry words that lay unspoken between them, Denmark’s insistence and his resistance-it is all explicitly lost in silence.
Denmark is watching him, and Sweden feels only slightly uncomfortable. He’s used to that look, and the distance has marred those beautiful features enough to cast away their spell.
But Sweden also knows Denmark is plotting something. He can see it in the slight raise of his eyebrows and the way his lips are not fully grinning, but still smiling. He is always confident and something has made him more certain than ever that he is going to get his way on this day as well.
“Forget what… Sverige?” He asks, his words long and drawn out. He is cool, calm, and understated in his demands. He knows how to work his words into a tangled web.
“’bout everything. It’s over. Not doing it anymore.”
Denmark leans in and Sweden pushes him away. He disentangles their limbs and brushes himself to his feet. The cold rush of air against the skin that had been ripped away from Denmark’s warmth sends a shiver down his spine, but Sweden remains on his feet looking down at Denmark.
He’s not sure, but he thinks Denmark is frowning.
Sweden knows there is still so much left to be said, but now is not the time nor the place. He doesn’t bother wasting time on useless words between them, and so instead he takes careful steps away.
He can hear Denmark grumbling in agitation, but Sweden ignores it.
He can’t see where he is going and he’s unsure of the path ahead, but blindness has hidden the deception.
Author: masanami
Character(s): Denmark/Sweden
Word Count: 920
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Kalmar Union
Warnings: None.
Summary: Sweden and Denmark in the heat of battle.
Author's Note: Written for nordic5_xmas 's holiday exchange. Special thanks to blulious for her wonderful work as a beta reader.
He felt the weapon in his grasp, the long line of the single sharp blade washed in crimson blood. It felt heavy in his hands, like the weight of its spilled blood was more than just droplets of red upon steel. Over head the heat of the afternoon sun was waning, ushering in the darkness that would soon follow. Yet even as night loomed in the distance the gaze locked between Sweden and the individual faced before him still bloomed in heated passion.
Denmark stood in muted silence.
Even through squinting eyes, his glasses having been ripped from his face in blurred moments before, Sweden could still just barely make out the lines of the other’s features. A blurred mesh of straw-like blonde hair, azure blue eyes, pale skin…
But this image was blemished by the fierce grin that tugged at the corner of those lips, the maniacal grip of the axe in his hand, the blood that was running along the side of his face, disappearing in drops of scarlet to the dirt covered floor below.
Movements were hard to read, but Sweden could still make out the gross flutters that came strangled through his squinted eyes. But Denmark was fast, and he knew Sweden too well. And before he really had a chance to react he felt a weight being pressed against his side-and it wasn’t the sharp blade of the axe, but definitely the sharp curve of Denmark’s shoulder-that lodged itself into his side and threw him off balance.
He gripped onto the other’s coat and they both tumbled to the ground.
“Why are you fighting me?”
Denmark’s question permeated their fighting and they both lay on the ground, breathing heavy and tense bursts of air, but neither made a move. Comfortable in battle with one another, they understood the unspoken rules between them.
“Don’t want you anymore.”
“Yes, you do.” He heard movement, but he couldn’t see Denmark make any serious undertaking through his dazed vision. His head was swimming from the intense focusing and he longed for the clarity that his glasses could bring.
Denmark kept talking. “You need me. You always have.” He kicked himself up to a sitting position and Sweden watched his movements with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow. He was easier to see this closely, and he could just make out the shape of arms and flyaway strands of hair--but the gaze in his eyes and the marked expression on his face was lost.
“No.” Sweden mumbled.
“Huh?” He could hear the laughter in Denmark’s voice.
“Don’t need you.”
“Sverige you-“ Denmark’s voice was cut off as Sweden reached out a hand and grabbed a fist full of his shirt, dragging him down to his level. Finally Denmark’s features came into clear focus-the brilliant blue eyes, the clear skin caressed with a light sheen of sweat, and the cocky grin upon those taunt lips.
He was beautiful.
But that was part of what made him so deadly. Denmark’s beauty was deceiving.
“Forget it.” Sweden began, keeping their faces just inches apart. He could feel the reflection of his warm breath against Denmark’s skin, and he could smell the oceanic scent that the man always seemed to carry with him-he smelled sweet, strong, and tempting. And for a brief moment Sweden imagined his fingers running through that mess of blonde hair, and his lips pressed against those grinning lips-and he can almost taste the salty feel of Denmark against his taste buds.
For a moment those thoughts make him forget what he was going to say, and he reminds himself that close proximity to Denmark is dangerous. He has this kind of effect and he should know better.
His grip loosens and the distance between them is widened, but not broken. The warmth of their bodies pressed against each other is still palpable. The adrenaline from their fight, the angry words that lay unspoken between them, Denmark’s insistence and his resistance-it is all explicitly lost in silence.
Denmark is watching him, and Sweden feels only slightly uncomfortable. He’s used to that look, and the distance has marred those beautiful features enough to cast away their spell.
But Sweden also knows Denmark is plotting something. He can see it in the slight raise of his eyebrows and the way his lips are not fully grinning, but still smiling. He is always confident and something has made him more certain than ever that he is going to get his way on this day as well.
“Forget what… Sverige?” He asks, his words long and drawn out. He is cool, calm, and understated in his demands. He knows how to work his words into a tangled web.
“’bout everything. It’s over. Not doing it anymore.”
Denmark leans in and Sweden pushes him away. He disentangles their limbs and brushes himself to his feet. The cold rush of air against the skin that had been ripped away from Denmark’s warmth sends a shiver down his spine, but Sweden remains on his feet looking down at Denmark.
He’s not sure, but he thinks Denmark is frowning.
Sweden knows there is still so much left to be said, but now is not the time nor the place. He doesn’t bother wasting time on useless words between them, and so instead he takes careful steps away.
He can hear Denmark grumbling in agitation, but Sweden ignores it.
He can’t see where he is going and he’s unsure of the path ahead, but blindness has hidden the deception.