[Fanfic] Breathe and Abide
Title: Breathe and Abide
Author/Artist: yuuago/Rukkilill/Roesslyng
Prompt: Sweden/Denmark - Face to Face - 1900s
Other characters: None
Rating: 18+ for sex
Content notes: Has some consensual non-negotiated breathplay in there. Sort of. ~1400 words. PWP.
Summary: It wasn't like this before. It is now, and it's good.
Breathe and Abide
Denmark lets out a curse as he's shoved down and a pair of strong hands grip him at the wrists and hold him against the mattress.
He looks up. The lights are off, but streaks of white from the streetlamps outside stream in through his bedroom window and light up the familiar face above him. Sweden's a hard guy to read, no mistake about that, but even with the dim lighting there's no way to miss the look of want that Denmark sees in those narrow eyes.
Flashing a grin, Denmark tilts his head up. Doesn't even have to say anything. Sweden's lips come crashing down, the kiss hard and sharp, biting, making Denmark groan and roll up against him as he opens his mouth. He takes in Sweden's tongue, sucks at it, bucks up again and moans without even one bit of shame. Well, not like he'd usually have any, anyway, with anyone. With Sweden, there might have been, once. But he doesn't need to act like he doesn't want it any more.
Not any more.
How long? Denmark breathes, relaxing underneath Sweden's weight, blinking up for a second as he tries to figure it out. Can't. Sweden's mouth is on his neck and when as he bites down it's damn hard to concentrate. Just as he parts his lips to ask about it, to ask Hey buddy, when was the first time we fucked? I don't remember, he feels teeth against his collarbone, and that's enough to set anybody's mind off track. He curses and grinds up against Sweden's thigh and forgets about it.
For a while, anyway.
Their people made peace with each other a long while back, but as for the two of them, it took fucking ages before they could even get close. Stubborn as hell, that Sweden.
And maybe yourself, too, Denmark thinks. Can't forget that.
But he started it, the ass.
There's another huff against his neck, and another bite, harder than the first.
"Ow, what the hell-"
"You're thinkin'." Sweden sounds annoyed as he mutters against Denmark's throat, all put out and hard done by.
Denmark rolls his eyes. With the way Sweden put it, like it's some personal affront that Denmark might think at a time like this. "Yeah. I do that now 'n again, y'know."
"Shut up."
"Nah. How 'bout you?" He grins as Sweden lifts his head to stare at him. "Can think've lots've thinks ya' could do with-"
And suddenly there's a palm over his mouth, shoving his head back against the pillow. Denmark flails, grabs at Sweden's wrist, then realizes - wait, no. He can breathe.
He breathes through his nose and stares wide-eyed up at Sweden. Digs in his fingernails as Sweden looks right back. It's not all that bad when he takes a second to think about it. Manageable, at least. He breathes in, looks up, stares right up at those eyes looking down at him and waits to find out what Sweden will do.
What he should do is fight back. Pull that hand off his mouth and give the guy hell. Nobody pulls that crap on him, especially not Sweden. But he doesn't.
Instead, Denmark waits.
After a while, Sweden moves. Braces himself over Denmark with an arm bracketed on the mattress and presses down onto him. Doesn't take that hand off his mouth, but by now, Denmark doesn't mind that much - especially, he thinks, if Sweden keeps moving. And he does, grinding down onto his cock.
Jesus Christ. Denmark groans against Sweden's palm, unable to stop himself from that. Rolls up to meet him, shuddering as their cocks slide against one another. And Sweden doesn't stop moving.
Right about this time, Denmark would usually tilt his head back as he arches up against him. He tries it now, and Sweden's hand follows, pressing him down even harder than before. It's not too much, but it still sends Denmark's eyes fluttering shut as he breathes and breathes and tries not to struggle too much in the face of being held down.
There's something about the weight of Sweden's hand, the roughness of his fingertips and the way they dig in to Denmark's cheek. Big as his hand is, Sweden could smother him if he wanted. Cover his nose, keep him from breathing, and then they'd both be in a fix, because like hell Denmark would stand for that. But he doesn't, and that's why Denmark allows it. That's why he lets him press down, cover his mouth, grip his face.
Sweden could do some real damage there if he wanted to. Denmark's sure of it. Dig in with thumb and nail and put out an eye before Denmark could even blink. But that isn't Sweden's style, is it, not these days. Maybe not even back then.
Definitely not now. Not when they're like this. Face to face like this.
Sweden rolls his hips downward again and Denmark whines. Forces his lips apart to slide his tongue over Sweden's palm.
It's hard not to get lost in it, but Denmark damn well tries. Which kind of defeats the point of being in bed like this, when he thinks of it - not that he's capable of much thinking right now, not when Sweden is grinding him into the mattress.
His breaths are heavy and thick, a steady as they come in, out, in, out. It's not bad really, not now that they've got themselves a rhythm.
Denmark sighs and in that second he feels more heated, more heady. He gasps and breathes and tries to move his head away but Sweden holds him firm. Pushes down against him, even, and that isn't just to hold him in place, either.
Asshole.
You're thinking that, says the part of Denmark that can still think, the part that isn't concentrating on that big heavy hand on his mouth and the ache in his dick. You're thinking that, but you're not stopping him, are you? Bet you could if you wanted.
Denmark old boy, you have a point. Well, fuck.
He groans and jerks his hips up to meet Sweden's and decides to just leave it the hell alone.
Above him, Sweden is quiet except for the occasional gasp when Denmark presses up to him. He isn't always like that in bed, Denmark knows. If he could throw him onto his back and shove him against the mattress, grab him at the hips and get down between his legs to wrap his mouth around his cock, Denmark knows that he could make him moan low and loud and deep, no matter if he wanted to keep his mouth shut or not. He's done it before.
But now, as they rut against each other, Sweden's almost silent, and Denmark doesn't understand it. What the hell is it about that guy? Maybe there's something about those other times that gets to him more than this. Maybe it's seeing Denmark on his knees that does it.
Hell. Of course that's it. Denmark barks a laugh against the broadness of Sweden's hand and then gasps. Whether it's from the difficulty breathing or from Sweden's dick sliding against his own it doesn't really matter.
At that, Sweden slows his movements down to an agonizing pace. Denmark blinks, looking hazily up at Sweden's face, wanting to ask why.
"What're you laughin' for?" Sweden mutters, his voice low and strained and rough by Denmark's ear.
Denmark huffs against his palm. Knows better than to even try speaking, because if he did it'd be too damn muffled for Sweden to understand anything. He whines and gives him a lick, doesn't give a damn how pathetic it sounds, and bucks up again.
Much to his surprise, Sweden removes his hand from Denmark's mouth, slides it under to cup the back of his head instead. Grateful for the freedom to breathe, Denmark takes in a deep gulp of air and stares up at him. Stares right up into his face, into those eyes that are all too familiar.
The kiss comes next, and that isn't surprising at all.
As the night wears longer, as Denmark clings and lets Sweden suffocate him with his mouth while he fucks him into the mattress. They drown each other's moans with their lips and Denmark decides that it's fine. This. All of it.
When Sweden collapses against him, breathless, he mutters against Denmark's neck that it was fine after he stopped thinking. Denmark rolls his eyes and shoves him off with a grin, he decides that he likes that it's all come to this.
All the years they spent facing each other have led to this.
What they wanted -- well. Neither of them would've admitted it, back then. But maybe it was this.
It might just have been this.
Author/Artist: yuuago/Rukkilill/Roesslyng
Prompt: Sweden/Denmark - Face to Face - 1900s
Other characters: None
Rating: 18+ for sex
Content notes: Has some consensual non-negotiated breathplay in there. Sort of. ~1400 words. PWP.
Summary: It wasn't like this before. It is now, and it's good.
Breathe and Abide
Denmark lets out a curse as he's shoved down and a pair of strong hands grip him at the wrists and hold him against the mattress.
He looks up. The lights are off, but streaks of white from the streetlamps outside stream in through his bedroom window and light up the familiar face above him. Sweden's a hard guy to read, no mistake about that, but even with the dim lighting there's no way to miss the look of want that Denmark sees in those narrow eyes.
Flashing a grin, Denmark tilts his head up. Doesn't even have to say anything. Sweden's lips come crashing down, the kiss hard and sharp, biting, making Denmark groan and roll up against him as he opens his mouth. He takes in Sweden's tongue, sucks at it, bucks up again and moans without even one bit of shame. Well, not like he'd usually have any, anyway, with anyone. With Sweden, there might have been, once. But he doesn't need to act like he doesn't want it any more.
Not any more.
How long? Denmark breathes, relaxing underneath Sweden's weight, blinking up for a second as he tries to figure it out. Can't. Sweden's mouth is on his neck and when as he bites down it's damn hard to concentrate. Just as he parts his lips to ask about it, to ask Hey buddy, when was the first time we fucked? I don't remember, he feels teeth against his collarbone, and that's enough to set anybody's mind off track. He curses and grinds up against Sweden's thigh and forgets about it.
For a while, anyway.
Their people made peace with each other a long while back, but as for the two of them, it took fucking ages before they could even get close. Stubborn as hell, that Sweden.
And maybe yourself, too, Denmark thinks. Can't forget that.
But he started it, the ass.
There's another huff against his neck, and another bite, harder than the first.
"Ow, what the hell-"
"You're thinkin'." Sweden sounds annoyed as he mutters against Denmark's throat, all put out and hard done by.
Denmark rolls his eyes. With the way Sweden put it, like it's some personal affront that Denmark might think at a time like this. "Yeah. I do that now 'n again, y'know."
"Shut up."
"Nah. How 'bout you?" He grins as Sweden lifts his head to stare at him. "Can think've lots've thinks ya' could do with-"
And suddenly there's a palm over his mouth, shoving his head back against the pillow. Denmark flails, grabs at Sweden's wrist, then realizes - wait, no. He can breathe.
He breathes through his nose and stares wide-eyed up at Sweden. Digs in his fingernails as Sweden looks right back. It's not all that bad when he takes a second to think about it. Manageable, at least. He breathes in, looks up, stares right up at those eyes looking down at him and waits to find out what Sweden will do.
What he should do is fight back. Pull that hand off his mouth and give the guy hell. Nobody pulls that crap on him, especially not Sweden. But he doesn't.
Instead, Denmark waits.
After a while, Sweden moves. Braces himself over Denmark with an arm bracketed on the mattress and presses down onto him. Doesn't take that hand off his mouth, but by now, Denmark doesn't mind that much - especially, he thinks, if Sweden keeps moving. And he does, grinding down onto his cock.
Jesus Christ. Denmark groans against Sweden's palm, unable to stop himself from that. Rolls up to meet him, shuddering as their cocks slide against one another. And Sweden doesn't stop moving.
Right about this time, Denmark would usually tilt his head back as he arches up against him. He tries it now, and Sweden's hand follows, pressing him down even harder than before. It's not too much, but it still sends Denmark's eyes fluttering shut as he breathes and breathes and tries not to struggle too much in the face of being held down.
There's something about the weight of Sweden's hand, the roughness of his fingertips and the way they dig in to Denmark's cheek. Big as his hand is, Sweden could smother him if he wanted. Cover his nose, keep him from breathing, and then they'd both be in a fix, because like hell Denmark would stand for that. But he doesn't, and that's why Denmark allows it. That's why he lets him press down, cover his mouth, grip his face.
Sweden could do some real damage there if he wanted to. Denmark's sure of it. Dig in with thumb and nail and put out an eye before Denmark could even blink. But that isn't Sweden's style, is it, not these days. Maybe not even back then.
Definitely not now. Not when they're like this. Face to face like this.
Sweden rolls his hips downward again and Denmark whines. Forces his lips apart to slide his tongue over Sweden's palm.
It's hard not to get lost in it, but Denmark damn well tries. Which kind of defeats the point of being in bed like this, when he thinks of it - not that he's capable of much thinking right now, not when Sweden is grinding him into the mattress.
His breaths are heavy and thick, a steady as they come in, out, in, out. It's not bad really, not now that they've got themselves a rhythm.
Denmark sighs and in that second he feels more heated, more heady. He gasps and breathes and tries to move his head away but Sweden holds him firm. Pushes down against him, even, and that isn't just to hold him in place, either.
Asshole.
You're thinking that, says the part of Denmark that can still think, the part that isn't concentrating on that big heavy hand on his mouth and the ache in his dick. You're thinking that, but you're not stopping him, are you? Bet you could if you wanted.
Denmark old boy, you have a point. Well, fuck.
He groans and jerks his hips up to meet Sweden's and decides to just leave it the hell alone.
Above him, Sweden is quiet except for the occasional gasp when Denmark presses up to him. He isn't always like that in bed, Denmark knows. If he could throw him onto his back and shove him against the mattress, grab him at the hips and get down between his legs to wrap his mouth around his cock, Denmark knows that he could make him moan low and loud and deep, no matter if he wanted to keep his mouth shut or not. He's done it before.
But now, as they rut against each other, Sweden's almost silent, and Denmark doesn't understand it. What the hell is it about that guy? Maybe there's something about those other times that gets to him more than this. Maybe it's seeing Denmark on his knees that does it.
Hell. Of course that's it. Denmark barks a laugh against the broadness of Sweden's hand and then gasps. Whether it's from the difficulty breathing or from Sweden's dick sliding against his own it doesn't really matter.
At that, Sweden slows his movements down to an agonizing pace. Denmark blinks, looking hazily up at Sweden's face, wanting to ask why.
"What're you laughin' for?" Sweden mutters, his voice low and strained and rough by Denmark's ear.
Denmark huffs against his palm. Knows better than to even try speaking, because if he did it'd be too damn muffled for Sweden to understand anything. He whines and gives him a lick, doesn't give a damn how pathetic it sounds, and bucks up again.
Much to his surprise, Sweden removes his hand from Denmark's mouth, slides it under to cup the back of his head instead. Grateful for the freedom to breathe, Denmark takes in a deep gulp of air and stares up at him. Stares right up into his face, into those eyes that are all too familiar.
The kiss comes next, and that isn't surprising at all.
As the night wears longer, as Denmark clings and lets Sweden suffocate him with his mouth while he fucks him into the mattress. They drown each other's moans with their lips and Denmark decides that it's fine. This. All of it.
When Sweden collapses against him, breathless, he mutters against Denmark's neck that it was fine after he stopped thinking. Denmark rolls his eyes and shoves him off with a grin, he decides that he likes that it's all come to this.
All the years they spent facing each other have led to this.
What they wanted -- well. Neither of them would've admitted it, back then. But maybe it was this.
It might just have been this.