[four of four]
DENMARK: hvidt_kryds
SWEDEN: du_fria
NOWAY: fuckdanes
Sweden takes out a picture of Finland.
Denmark ....
Sweden PINES AT IT
Denmark SNATCHES IT
Sweden: !!!!!
Sweden punches Denmark
Denmark examines it disdainfully
Denmark: !!!!!!
Denmark: sdfgfnslkgjnhgf;
Sweden SNATCHES it back.
Denmark: ---so dramatic.
Denmark: Wasting away after him.
Sweden: What d'you want with 't.
Sweden: ........................
Denmark: I wanted.
Denmark: To see!
Sweden: ....
Denmark: What it is about him you so long for.
Sweden: .....
Denmark: I mean, he's useless.
Norge: ...
Denmark: Cute, but useless.
Sweden: ......................................................
Sweden shoves Denmark against the wall
Denmark: --!!!!
Norge would like to point out that Denmark is just as useless, if not more.
Sweden: Take 't back.
Denmark smirks
Sweden: Take it back now.
Denmark: Take WHAT back.
Sweden: Ev'rything.
Denmark: What am I saying that isn't true?
Sweden: ...
Sweden: YOU know.
Sweden is seething.
Denmark is smiling darkly
Denmark: I--take it back.
Sweden: ...
Denmark: I'm sure you found SOME use for him.
Sweden: ......................................
Denmark waves his hand dismissively.
Sweden backhands Denmark hard.
Sweden: Mean it.
Denmark cracks his head against the wall.
Sweden adores that sound.
Norge sips coffee...
Denmark loves how worked up you're getting!
Sweden feels dangerously close to some edge he wouldn't dare breach.
Sweden: Say 't. 'Nd mean it.
Denmark has this need to push him more. Closer.
Sweden doesn't but does want to taste more blood.
Denmark: I did mean it! After all, if you hadn't used him you wouldn't have turned to Norge for more of the same....
Denmark SMIRKS LIKE AN ANIMAL i don't know.
Sweden growls and gives Denmark a rather sloppy, close-range punch
Denmark spits blood.
Denmark SPITS IT ON SWEDEN'S COAT.
Sweden is elated at the s --
Sweden KNEES DENMARK IN THE GUT
Denmark WELL THAT'S JUST GOING TO MAKE HIM COUGH MORE BLOOD ON YOU--
Denmark pretends like he's not wheezing. Grins up at Sweden and licks the blood from his own lips.
Denmark: ...do you want more?
Sweden is near shaking in fury; drags Denmark to the floor and bears down on him.
Sweden: No.
Denmark skjhghdf
Denmark is panting a little. Perhaps more than.
Sweden and yet, hits him again, horribly sloppily
Denmark loves how erratic Sweden's becoming.
Denmark wants to undo him more.
Sweden is losing control over his anger --
Sweden is wont to be when Denmark's around, though. not his fault!
Sweden shoves Denmark against the floor again, breathing hitched, face flushed.
Denmark lifts his head from the floor, closer to Sweden
Denmark keeps that smile on his face
Sweden's teeth are bared, panting in sharp hisses, hands trembling as they curl into fists again --
Denmark bares his own teeth in a bloody grin
Denmark: Do it, Sverige--
Sweden jerks forward, shoving his mouth against Denmark's and kissing him brutally, violently.
Denmark growls, victorious, and kisses back with every intent of buising.
Sweden fists a hand in Denmark's hair, biting down on his tongue, eyes open, watching.
Denmark grabs the back of Sweden's neck, pulls him closer, looking him straight in the eyes
Denmark is also going to pay you back for that tongue-biting
Sweden makes a sound in the back of his thoat, gasping for air against Denmark's mouth, the fist in Denmark's hair tightening.
Denmark digs his nails into Sweden's neck, grabs his hip with his other hand
Sweden pulls back, tasting blood -- stronger this time, more pronounced on his tongue.
Sweden looks at Denmark, in some sort of post-furious haze.
Denmark licks his lips, flicks his gaze at his own blood smeared on Sweden's.
Denmark says huskily--
Denmark: Do you like it.
Sweden pushes, pulls, half receptive, half... something ineffable.
Denmark tightens his grip on Sweden's neck.
Denmark: Did you like it.
Sweden: ...
Sweden kisses Denmark again.
Denmark is clearly not accepting anything negative. Since he knows the truth.
Denmark kisses back hard, biting Sweden's lip to pay him back for his own earlier.
Sweden flinches, presses Denmark down and meets him in brutality.
Denmark growls again, yes, and digs his fingers into Sweden's hip where he's holding it.
Sweden straddles Denmark's waist so as not to give him any doubt as to whom is leading here -- and almost absently, blindly, grasps for Denmark's wrist, seeking to pin him entirely.
Denmark releases Sweden's neck to fist the collar of his coat, allowing him to lead for now, and pulls back from the kiss to bite Sweden's neck, to mark him again.
Sweden freezes for a moment, glasses askew, hands clutching blindly -- he makes a sound, a faint 'hnngg' before he can help himself, and grips at Denmark's wrist achingly tight.
Denmark inhales sharply a little, then laughs low, just as sharp---
Denmark: --Sverige.
Denmark: Say it.
Denmark: Say what you want.
Sweden: ...
Denmark curls his fingers more against Sweden's hip.
Sweden almost recoils in typical fashion, unaccustomed to obeying -- he presses his hands against Denmark's shoulders now, a silent display of refusal even while he watches Denmark's face, arguing with himself --
Sweden: ... Can't.
Denmark curls his lips in a scowl, shifts his own hips--
Denmark: You can.
Sweden's breath catches and he clenches his jaw, mustering his best hateful stare. even as his fingers shake with a new sort of ferocity and his hips meet Denmark's
Sweden: Shut y'r mouth.
Denmark will take that look if it means getting what he wants--what he knows Sweden wants--any look at all.
Denmark: Make me.
Sweden crushes his lips to Denmark's again, tasting blood and still relishing it, shifting his hips against Denmark's, glasses pressing in sharp angles against his face though that's a secondary pain, something he forgets in lieu of this... this.
Denmark inhales again, growls 'yes' against Sweden's lips and rocks back against him, as pinned as he is.
Sweden arches his back, grinding against Denmark, mouth leaving Denmark's almost faintly, dragging across Denmark's jaw as he, for a moment, loses himself in that almost-release of tension; centuries' worth.
Denmark rolls his hips hard, throws his head back and lets out a groaned sort of laugh. He still--he still has to hear--
Denmark: Say it.
Sweden's breathing has turned into a harsh, steady panting, his teeth tugging on Denmark's ear with an understated desperation, his hands clutching at Denmark's collar, at the base of his neck, as though he wants to strangle him for that persistent confidence, that laughter; his eyebrows knit and he presses harder against him --
Sweden: -- Stop.
Denmark keeps grinning, breathing hard, arching his neck against Sweden. The other man is unravelling, coming undone, with just a few pushes. Just a few. He releases Sweden's hip to drag his hand up his coat, pulling at buttons haphazardly.
Sweden hates that smile, hates it; he shoves against Denmark with a revived viciousness, all but -pulling- at Denmark's collar, fingers looped haphazardly while his head bows under the sheer weight of inexplicable need.
Denmark grunts under the force Sweden puts on him, catching his head on the floor before he lifts it to bite down on Sweden's neck again, attacking it with his tongue. It's been a while since he's had to recall the places on Sweden's body that can bring him to his knees.
Sweden shudders, making a hushed, clipped sound before he bites his own lip with needless ruthlessness. a hand feels its way down to the hem of Denmark's pants, thumbing at them even as the hand at Denmark's throat begins pressing in some silent demand.
Denmark shifts his hips against Sweden's hand, wordless orders to finish what he's started. His own hand, the one yet unpinned, is pulling apart the buttons on Sweden's stupid coat, big and troublesome just like the man who wears it.
Denmark: Fucking--buttons.
Sweden grinds back against him, a sort of hitching sigh escaping him, his gaze hazy even with those skewed glasses still (halfway) in place; nails digging now into Denmark's shoulder as he seeks to control himself -- even while he unfastens Denmark's belt and seeks out a rhythm.
Sweden: Leave -- leave 't.
Denmark: ...hnn.
Denmark meets Sweden's eyes with his heavy-lidded, and finds the edge of Sweden's own pants, tracing along the delicate skin there. He watches Sweden's face carefully, smiles again (maybe a little to piss him off.)
Sweden exhales sharply, almost in frustration, his tentative rhythm against Denmark thrown off, erratic again and near-painful in its demand. his lips part and his gaze locks on Denmark's and it's then that he feels truly vulnerable, and utterly gone with the sensation of it. clumsily, his nails rake at Denmark's neck, down to his collarbone; needing more contact, harder, anything.
Denmark relishes in what little sound Sweden allows to escape--he wants to hear more, wants him to give up and give in completely, to come undone under Denmark's fingertips and teeth. He thrusts hard against Sweden, keeping his eyes fixed.
Sweden's eyes fall shut and he arches his back again, biting clenching his teeth and unable to help meeting Denmark's gaze yet again when his eyes open. his head drops forward, lips brushing Denmark's with an unintended gentleness; hand hooks into the hem of Denmark's pants and pulls, grips, the back of his fingers pressed against bare skin, his hips moving forward -- forward --
SWEDEN: du_fria
NOWAY: fuckdanes
Sweden takes out a picture of Finland.
Denmark ....
Sweden PINES AT IT
Denmark SNATCHES IT
Sweden: !!!!!
Sweden punches Denmark
Denmark examines it disdainfully
Denmark: !!!!!!
Denmark: sdfgfnslkgjnhgf;
Sweden SNATCHES it back.
Denmark: ---so dramatic.
Denmark: Wasting away after him.
Sweden: What d'you want with 't.
Sweden: ........................
Denmark: I wanted.
Denmark: To see!
Sweden: ....
Denmark: What it is about him you so long for.
Sweden: .....
Denmark: I mean, he's useless.
Norge: ...
Denmark: Cute, but useless.
Sweden: ......................................................
Sweden shoves Denmark against the wall
Denmark: --!!!!
Norge would like to point out that Denmark is just as useless, if not more.
Sweden: Take 't back.
Denmark smirks
Sweden: Take it back now.
Denmark: Take WHAT back.
Sweden: Ev'rything.
Denmark: What am I saying that isn't true?
Sweden: ...
Sweden: YOU know.
Sweden is seething.
Denmark is smiling darkly
Denmark: I--take it back.
Sweden: ...
Denmark: I'm sure you found SOME use for him.
Sweden: ......................................
Denmark waves his hand dismissively.
Sweden backhands Denmark hard.
Sweden: Mean it.
Denmark cracks his head against the wall.
Sweden adores that sound.
Norge sips coffee...
Denmark loves how worked up you're getting!
Sweden feels dangerously close to some edge he wouldn't dare breach.
Sweden: Say 't. 'Nd mean it.
Denmark has this need to push him more. Closer.
Sweden doesn't but does want to taste more blood.
Denmark: I did mean it! After all, if you hadn't used him you wouldn't have turned to Norge for more of the same....
Denmark SMIRKS LIKE AN ANIMAL i don't know.
Sweden growls and gives Denmark a rather sloppy, close-range punch
Denmark spits blood.
Denmark SPITS IT ON SWEDEN'S COAT.
Sweden is elated at the s --
Sweden KNEES DENMARK IN THE GUT
Denmark WELL THAT'S JUST GOING TO MAKE HIM COUGH MORE BLOOD ON YOU--
Denmark pretends like he's not wheezing. Grins up at Sweden and licks the blood from his own lips.
Denmark: ...do you want more?
Sweden is near shaking in fury; drags Denmark to the floor and bears down on him.
Sweden: No.
Denmark skjhghdf
Denmark is panting a little. Perhaps more than.
Sweden and yet, hits him again, horribly sloppily
Denmark loves how erratic Sweden's becoming.
Denmark wants to undo him more.
Sweden is losing control over his anger --
Sweden is wont to be when Denmark's around, though. not his fault!
Sweden shoves Denmark against the floor again, breathing hitched, face flushed.
Denmark lifts his head from the floor, closer to Sweden
Denmark keeps that smile on his face
Sweden's teeth are bared, panting in sharp hisses, hands trembling as they curl into fists again --
Denmark bares his own teeth in a bloody grin
Denmark: Do it, Sverige--
Sweden jerks forward, shoving his mouth against Denmark's and kissing him brutally, violently.
Denmark growls, victorious, and kisses back with every intent of buising.
Sweden fists a hand in Denmark's hair, biting down on his tongue, eyes open, watching.
Denmark grabs the back of Sweden's neck, pulls him closer, looking him straight in the eyes
Denmark is also going to pay you back for that tongue-biting
Sweden makes a sound in the back of his thoat, gasping for air against Denmark's mouth, the fist in Denmark's hair tightening.
Denmark digs his nails into Sweden's neck, grabs his hip with his other hand
Sweden pulls back, tasting blood -- stronger this time, more pronounced on his tongue.
Sweden looks at Denmark, in some sort of post-furious haze.
Denmark licks his lips, flicks his gaze at his own blood smeared on Sweden's.
Denmark says huskily--
Denmark: Do you like it.
Sweden pushes, pulls, half receptive, half... something ineffable.
Denmark tightens his grip on Sweden's neck.
Denmark: Did you like it.
Sweden: ...
Sweden kisses Denmark again.
Denmark is clearly not accepting anything negative. Since he knows the truth.
Denmark kisses back hard, biting Sweden's lip to pay him back for his own earlier.
Sweden flinches, presses Denmark down and meets him in brutality.
Denmark growls again, yes, and digs his fingers into Sweden's hip where he's holding it.
Sweden straddles Denmark's waist so as not to give him any doubt as to whom is leading here -- and almost absently, blindly, grasps for Denmark's wrist, seeking to pin him entirely.
Denmark releases Sweden's neck to fist the collar of his coat, allowing him to lead for now, and pulls back from the kiss to bite Sweden's neck, to mark him again.
Sweden freezes for a moment, glasses askew, hands clutching blindly -- he makes a sound, a faint 'hnngg' before he can help himself, and grips at Denmark's wrist achingly tight.
Denmark inhales sharply a little, then laughs low, just as sharp---
Denmark: --Sverige.
Denmark: Say it.
Denmark: Say what you want.
Sweden: ...
Denmark curls his fingers more against Sweden's hip.
Sweden almost recoils in typical fashion, unaccustomed to obeying -- he presses his hands against Denmark's shoulders now, a silent display of refusal even while he watches Denmark's face, arguing with himself --
Sweden: ... Can't.
Denmark curls his lips in a scowl, shifts his own hips--
Denmark: You can.
Sweden's breath catches and he clenches his jaw, mustering his best hateful stare. even as his fingers shake with a new sort of ferocity and his hips meet Denmark's
Sweden: Shut y'r mouth.
Denmark will take that look if it means getting what he wants--what he knows Sweden wants--any look at all.
Denmark: Make me.
Sweden crushes his lips to Denmark's again, tasting blood and still relishing it, shifting his hips against Denmark's, glasses pressing in sharp angles against his face though that's a secondary pain, something he forgets in lieu of this... this.
Denmark inhales again, growls 'yes' against Sweden's lips and rocks back against him, as pinned as he is.
Sweden arches his back, grinding against Denmark, mouth leaving Denmark's almost faintly, dragging across Denmark's jaw as he, for a moment, loses himself in that almost-release of tension; centuries' worth.
Denmark rolls his hips hard, throws his head back and lets out a groaned sort of laugh. He still--he still has to hear--
Denmark: Say it.
Sweden's breathing has turned into a harsh, steady panting, his teeth tugging on Denmark's ear with an understated desperation, his hands clutching at Denmark's collar, at the base of his neck, as though he wants to strangle him for that persistent confidence, that laughter; his eyebrows knit and he presses harder against him --
Sweden: -- Stop.
Denmark keeps grinning, breathing hard, arching his neck against Sweden. The other man is unravelling, coming undone, with just a few pushes. Just a few. He releases Sweden's hip to drag his hand up his coat, pulling at buttons haphazardly.
Sweden hates that smile, hates it; he shoves against Denmark with a revived viciousness, all but -pulling- at Denmark's collar, fingers looped haphazardly while his head bows under the sheer weight of inexplicable need.
Denmark grunts under the force Sweden puts on him, catching his head on the floor before he lifts it to bite down on Sweden's neck again, attacking it with his tongue. It's been a while since he's had to recall the places on Sweden's body that can bring him to his knees.
Sweden shudders, making a hushed, clipped sound before he bites his own lip with needless ruthlessness. a hand feels its way down to the hem of Denmark's pants, thumbing at them even as the hand at Denmark's throat begins pressing in some silent demand.
Denmark shifts his hips against Sweden's hand, wordless orders to finish what he's started. His own hand, the one yet unpinned, is pulling apart the buttons on Sweden's stupid coat, big and troublesome just like the man who wears it.
Denmark: Fucking--buttons.
Sweden grinds back against him, a sort of hitching sigh escaping him, his gaze hazy even with those skewed glasses still (halfway) in place; nails digging now into Denmark's shoulder as he seeks to control himself -- even while he unfastens Denmark's belt and seeks out a rhythm.
Sweden: Leave -- leave 't.
Denmark: ...hnn.
Denmark meets Sweden's eyes with his heavy-lidded, and finds the edge of Sweden's own pants, tracing along the delicate skin there. He watches Sweden's face carefully, smiles again (maybe a little to piss him off.)
Sweden exhales sharply, almost in frustration, his tentative rhythm against Denmark thrown off, erratic again and near-painful in its demand. his lips part and his gaze locks on Denmark's and it's then that he feels truly vulnerable, and utterly gone with the sensation of it. clumsily, his nails rake at Denmark's neck, down to his collarbone; needing more contact, harder, anything.
Denmark relishes in what little sound Sweden allows to escape--he wants to hear more, wants him to give up and give in completely, to come undone under Denmark's fingertips and teeth. He thrusts hard against Sweden, keeping his eyes fixed.
Sweden's eyes fall shut and he arches his back again, biting clenching his teeth and unable to help meeting Denmark's gaze yet again when his eyes open. his head drops forward, lips brushing Denmark's with an unintended gentleness; hand hooks into the hem of Denmark's pants and pulls, grips, the back of his fingers pressed against bare skin, his hips moving forward -- forward --