Work Text:
Because You're Mine – Beyond Polite Conversation
“Hello, Russia.”
“Denmark! Hi!”
“I trust you're well? Under the circumstances, of course.”
Russia shifted and the cuffs keeping him chained to the chair clinked faintly. “I'm fine thank you how are you?” He delivered the sentence with hardly a pause, like a child reciting in class, and looked up at the nation standing above him with guileless eyes. Denmark rolled his own before removing his coat and carefully laying it over the back of another chair in the room.
“Not too chilly, I hope?” the Dane asked, eyeing the Slavic country. He had had to divest him of his clothes and now the captive sat naked in the uncomfortable steel chair, hands cuffed behind his back and feet solidly chained each to one chair leg. “'Fraid I can't let you be comfortable for much longer. I have a few questions I want answered. Also, I don't like that you invaded my Sweden.”
“But we've always been friends, Denmark. Why are you suddenly protecting your enemy?” Russia asked, still guileless, putting hardly any inflection on the plea or question. They could have been talking about the weather.
Denmark smirked. “Well. I could claim that I disagreed with the way you treated Bornholm after World War Two, but that would be a lie. ...Well, okay, I did disagree with it. However Sweden... I admit he's my enemy. And that's just it; he's my enemy. Don't touch him.”
“But if I get Sweden, I'll have control of the Baltic Sea. I would really like to have control of the Baltic Sea, you see,” Russia admitted, smiling that eternal, infuriating smile.
Denmark nodded. He had had control of the sea in question once and it was a sweet deal. Probably not as sweet as it once was but still advantageous. And in the hands of a world power such as Russia, it could almost guarantee Finland, the Baltics and Poland, at the very least, would fall back under his control. Denmark, too, even if he hadn't decided to partake in the war. And if Russia accepted Belarus back into his house as well, then Ukraine would too. Possibly.
All around, Russia would suddenly gain a lot of power.
But Denmark had already guessed that, it wasn't what he wanted to hear. And in either case, he didn't particularly care.
“You do realize the world is going to realize, right?”
“Yes, yes, but by then, I'll already have Sweden and you in my house and I don't think they will try and free you. They like peace too much.”
Denmark strode to the other end of the room, where he had propped his axe against the wall. “Norway's already on his way,” he told the still-smiling Russian before he turned, now with axe in hand, and walked back to his prisoner.
“You Scandinavians always were very tight.”
“Oh, I assure you we're... tight,” Denmark purred, laying as much innuendo into the sentence as he could muster. “England and Germany are gonna be right on his heels. Then America, when he stops sulking and realises something's going on without him. China, too maybe, when he remembers that he's supposed to be a world power and that he doesn't like you taking the initiative. I doubt any of them will even wait for a UN mandate. Oh, and for the record, I don't think you're a member any longer.” He tested the edge of his preferred weapon. “We don't take war so lightly.”
“Are you thinking of hurting me?”
“I am.”
“Oh, you shouldn't do that, Den! I don't think hurting me will make me tell you my plans and besides, I like hurting other people much better than being hurt myself.”
“I know, so don't worry your little head with it at all!” Denmark grinned. “This is only a personal bit of revenge, just some petty stuff so sit back and, well, try and relax.” Air pressure made his axe sing as he swung it through the air towards Russia's shoulder.
A fraction of a second later, a patch of skin landed on the floor with a soft, wet sound.
“Wow, that really hurts,” Russia exclaimed mildly, his head turned towards the shoulder that now was showing a decent amount of raw, bloodied meat, where smooth, pale skin had been before.
Denmark hummed, picking up the bit of tissue he had separated from Russia's shoulder to examine it. “Aw, bugger, a little too deep.”
“Yeah, I'm fairly sure I shouldn't be bleeding this much, not even on the first cut.”
“Sorry 'bout that. Guess I got a little carried away. But don't worry. I'll be more careful from now on.” He lifted the axe again and swung it in another whistling arc.
…
Sweden sighed loudly. It was so typical of that bastard. There was just no way he could get any work done like this.
He shifted in a vain attempt to get comfortable before glaring at the only open door in his office.
Denmark had, of course, requisitioned the room to interrogate Russia and had for some reason insisted that the door remain open, something Sweden had given up on contending when he realized that the Dane had decided. Once the stubborn moron decided on something, you couldn't change his mind unless you killed him.
It was just impossible to concentrate when he had a fairly good idea of what was going on in the room right next to him. The internet had probably only helped feed the insane Dane's... abnormal interests. He could just picture it; the room covered in blood spatter, the Dane, equally bloodstained, grinning and whirling that stupid axe around as though it was made of papier-mâché. As though it wasn't nearly thirty kilograms of solid steel.
Even Russia couldn't possibly still be smiling. Could he? Russia was just as sick as Denmark was if not more so, in some ways, though he was, admittedly, more open about it.
Sweden shifted again and opened the top button of his shirt to get some air on his sweaty skin.
Denmark's loud, enthusiastic commentary did not help. At all. What with the gruesome image they painted in the stocky Swede's mind.
Swish.
“Wow, your kneecap is visible, that looks freaking sick!”
Swish, swish. Swish.
“Ooooh, that was a long one.”
Swish.
“This is so fucking cool, I'm a total natural at this.”
Swish.
“Huh, you stopped bleeding. Guess your body's going into shock.”
Sweden raised his head, which he had previously held bend over the reports of provisions in another vain attempt to actually get some work done, even under the circumstances. If Russia stopped bleeding, Denmark would probably change tactics, just inflicting pain had never been quite enough for him.
Especially on someone like Russia, who so far had made no sound of discomfort. In fact, the soft-spoken replies to Denmark's happy exclamations had seemed all but content, even if they had been spoken too low for Sweden to make out.
The Swede suddenly found himself wondering what would happen if Denmark got his hands on someone like Germany; someone stoic, determined to hide fear and pain, but without Russia's casual relationship to it and without Sweden's own experience in hiding it. It probably would end with someone permanently disfigured. Shuddering mildly, Sweden decided not to think about it. He had work to do.
“Theeeeeere we go,” Denmark's voice sounded, interrupting Sweden's thought process. He was not curious as to what new devilish ideas the Dane had thought up. If he had understood the initial conversation right, whatever Denmark had started with had not even been what he intended to break the Russian with in the first place.
“I'm turning it on now!” Denmark exclaimed happily. “Brace yourself.”
No, he really didn't want to know what it was, especially not when he heard Russia whimper. Actually whimper! And loud enough that he could clearly hear it in the next room.
Sweden eyed the gaping door opening, more than a little disturbed by the mere possibility that Denmark got Russia to- a new sound interrupted his thoughts and made him suddenly straighten. Weeping. Denmark appeared, leaning casually against the door-opening, looking like the cat that got canary, cream and lobster all at once.
He was very obviously hard.
Sweden's stomach clenched. There was blood in his blond hair and his red shirt had brown spots in some places. He had lost the tie, too, and loosened a few buttons of his shirt as well as rolling up his sleeves.
Some blood had smeared on his left arm.
The smirk on Denmark's face widened. “Feels great, doesn't it?” he asked, tilting his head. “Makes you feel all powerful and mighty.”
“What'd y' do t' him?”
“Ah, well... you know. With Russia, you kind of have to think outside the box.”
“Denmark! Turn it off! I'll talk!”
“Yup. Definitely mighty. Almighty, even.”
“Y're insane.”
Russia's so far intelligible words suddenly rose an octave as he switched back to his native language.
Denmark smiled. “You don't see me denying it, do you?” Sweden had to agree with that. Rather than denying it, the nation seemed to be wallowing in it. “And besides,” Denmark purred and sauntered over to lean against Sweden's desk instead. “You're as sick as I am. You haven't gotten any work done at all, have you?”
“'M I suppos'd to concentrate with that 'n th' next room?”
“Hm? Oh, no, of course not. But if you had not been a sadistic fuck, you would have trouble concentrating because I'm scary and evil, not because you're so hard you could nail the fucking table.”
Sweden glared balefully at his neighbour and very nearly shifted again but refused to show that he was not perfectly comfortable to his impertinent rival or ally or whatever they were these day. He had done a lot of work to distance himself from that particular... reputation. He had insisted on neutrality for more than two hundred years, had only sent soldiers to NATO operations and other such peace keeping missions lately. Had never provoked another country so badly they felt they needed to attack him. Or so he thought.
It had been a record-long time since he and Denmark had battled it out. Maybe it was about time the smaller country got included in his house for good. He ought to ask his prime minister of that possibility.
“Attention! Calling, calling, Denmark to Sweden, do you copy?”
Sweden didn't bother replying, simply glared again and very resolutely stayed in his chair.
In the next room Russia suddenly screamed.
Sweden raised and eyebrow, causing Denmark to shrug. “I guess he just realized it's on a loop.”
“Daniya!”
“Humm,” Denmark hummed happily, eyes half-lidded and looking down at his stoic companion. “He's really starting to sound hysteri-..” He never finished his sentence. Sweden suddenly reached up and grabbed him by the throat. Denmark hardly even managed to conjure a surprised look before he had been forced back over the desk, now with Sweden looming over him.
“Sh't up.”
“Worried you'll lose control? Don't worry. You already have.”
Sweden growled and cut Denmark's air supply off to prevent the idiot from making any more witty remarks as he forced himself in between Denmark's legs, pressing his erection tightly against the other's not inconsiderable bulge. “Bitch,” he snarled, as close to clear as he ever got. He waited another few moments, staring hard into the Dane's eyes, before letting his rival breathe.
He laid there, just gasping for a few seconds before his eyes refocused. “And here I thought the choking wasn't supposed to happen until you got me off.”
“I don't mind chok'ng y' again,” Sweden snarled, grabbing his victim's hands and, holding them with one hand above the other's head, he used the other to rip through the buttons of Denmark's shirt, giving him access to long expanses of creamy flesh. As all Nordics, Denmark was pale, but without the almost ghostly quality of Norway's, Iceland's and Finland's skin. It looked like he had taken advantage of that one week of intense sunshine not terribly long ago. Before the war. The damned idiot had probably been out on the beach all day instead of working like he should have.
Denmark rolled his eyes though a fond smile was plastered all over his face. “You know... Su. San.” Sweden growled a bit at the butchering (not to mention feminization) of his name and planted his teeth in the closest bit of flesh, which happened to be the idiot's insufferably perfect collar bone. Denmark arched and hooked his legs behind the other, drawing them impossibly closer. “You. Like this. All imposing and dangerous and ready for war... it's my second favourite you ever.” He paused and Sweden stopped chewing on his collar bone to throw the Dane a surprised look at the almost straight compliment. “Right after you on your knees, hog-tied and with my dick down your throat, of course.”
“W'll see who's g'nna be on their knees,” Sweden sneered, thrusting pointedly against his captive.
“Oh,” Denmark moaned. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
The taller country grit his teeth audibly; how come the Dane could never say anything without mocking him? Lips curling, he raked his nails down the nation's chest, catching a nipple and causing the breath to hitch in the other's chest, before dragging the red trails down over his ribs and stomach, his hand finally coming to rest over a bony hip and a stuffed pocket. Curious, he dipped his fingers in and pulled out Denmark's tie. A small tube fell out with it, landing on the table with a small thud.
He shot the Dane a look, prompting a half-hearted shrug in response. “Pays to be prepared, right?”
The manipulative bastard had planned it. With a few precise movements, Sweden removed his own tie and began tying it expertly around Denmark's still-restrained wrists. With one hand, he managed to awkwardly shove the idiot further up on the desk before crawling up after him. Papers and staplers, pencils and other stationeries scattered, as the Dane squirmed, half-heartedly fighting the hold Sweden had on his bound wrists. Sweden spared a thought to be grateful that he hadn't been working on his laptop, since it most certainly would not have survived, before picking up the Dane's own tie and, with a few missed tries, managing to tie him to a table leg as he used his own weight to keep the now genuinely struggling Dane in place.
Denmark looked for the first time slightly apprehensive, testing the bonds keeping his hands stable and leaving Sweden with both of his free. This could either turn out really good or really bad. But he and Sweden were, if not friends, then at least allies these days, right? It probably wouldn't be too bad. Besides, he did like a thrill and he was certainly feeling the adrenalin now; all but helpless and with a sadistic and turned on Sweden looming above him. His erection twitched helplessly as his eyes got contact with Sweden's.
Somehow, he had managed to genuinely piss the other off.
Sweden looked down at his captive, lips barely hinting at a smirk as he let the full seriousness of the situation settle over the idiot. He should have given more thought to who he was provoking. But then, he had always jumped before he looked. That was just who he was. Leaning down once again, Sweden smashed their lips together, bruising his own as much as Denmark's as he moved against him, his hips crashing down so they were flush together as Denmark opened his mouth, eagerly taking Sweden's tongue into his warm cavern and pretending like they were battling for dominance with those slick muscles.
Even now, the Dane was hard. Even now after he should have realized the predicament he was in, he was hard and thrusting wantonly up against the body that was firmly keeping him pinned to the desk and they both sucked and bit and did their best to abuse each other's mouth.
He had always been a kinky little fucker.
With a growl, the taller nation abandoned Denmark's mouth in favour of trailing deceptively gently kisses along his jaw and down his neck until he reached the bump of a scar. Not that scars were weird, the Dane had been a serious military power for a long time and his body was riddled with scars, but this scar... this scar was one Prussia had caused, a bullet coming much too close to being a fatal wound, and the one that had effectively pulled Denmark out of war for the last hundred and fifty years. Another growl escaped Sweden before he began laving the raised line with bites in a quest to claim that last scar for himself. His hands, both of them previously idle, shifted, one taking Sweden's weight, the other harshly tracing old scars on the Dane's torso; scars that he had inflicted, both from battles and torture, times when Denmark had been too stubborn and proud to make all those delicious gasps and moans he was making now as he squirmed and arched and panted, his entire body begging to be fucked into the tabletop.
And Sweden was only too happy to oblige.
He climbed down to the floor, surveying his handiwork for a few seconds while Denmark caught his breath. He might have left a few bruises from his heavy-handedness and the Dane's torso was littered with angry red scratches. Sweden surveyed a particularly deep scratch that was lazily oozing blood, the red liquid gathering in ruby pearls and forming an almost perfect twin to an old, deep scar right below it. From when Sweden had very nearly cut the other in half.
His stomach fluttered and his dick twitched excitedly at the memory; him standing over a fallen Denmark, the ground soaked in blood and Denmark barely conscious and trying to keep his guts from spilling out onto the dirt.
Feeling the need to be inside the Dane now, he began working on the blond's belt and trousers, pulling them along with the boxers about halfway down his thighs before he pushed Denmark's knees to his chest, exposing his butt, while his cock was still mostly hidden by the fabric. He was just holding the legs away with one hand, not that Denmark was struggling, and reached out to grab a piece of skin just below his ally's balls, pinching hard.
“Swe, Sweden, stop. That's not, stop, Sweden, seriou-..” Denmark's voice trailed off into a pained gasp before he clamped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth to suppress any sounds while Sweden twisted the sensitive skin cruelly, fascinated by the way Denmark's asshole twitched and clenched in response. A response the Dane clearly could not control. The short-haired blond finally let go, his eyes focusing on yet another scar, thin and hardly visible going from the inside of Denmark's leg, right under his buttock and cutting diagonally across to the outside of his thigh. He bend down, lovingly laving the thin mark with his saliva, licking and kissing from the outside and in, soon having his captive moaning again as his mouth neared that patch of skin he had just abused. That particular scar came along with a lot of very fond memories. For him. Denmark probably didn't share the sentiment.
Foregoing the abused patch, as Sweden had decided he liked the thought of Denmark being sore there for a while, he began mouthing the Dane's balls, scraping his teeth over the soft flesh before sucking it into his mouth. As much as he liked causing pain, he also liked Denmark's uncontrolled sounds and pleasure always made the idiot vocal. He sucked harder, determined to leave a bruise there as well, then moved further up, relishing in his victim's strangled moans, gasps, and the way his legs quivered and spasmed as he held them in position.
After deciding that he had provided more than enough pleasure for the other and it was now his turn, he straightened and adjusted the placement of Denmark's hips until he was better aligned with the edge of the table. With one hand on Denmark's legs, he used a few jerky moves to unbuckle his belt and open his fly. He reached into his underwear and pulled out his erection, using his thumb to spread the precum over the tip and then digging a little bit into the slit. He shuddered at the delicious pleasure before he looked around for the lost lube. Denmark would feel like sandpaper, he knew, without it. At least until the bleeding started, but fucking your allies until they bled were bad form and usually ended up blowing up in your face. Luckily, the lube had miraculously avoided falling on the floor during Denmark's fit earlier and was laying innocently a little off, still within reach.
“Are you gonna fuck me or not, you goddamn cock tease?” Denmark questioned, impatient, which earned him a glare and hard pinch on his thigh.
“Lube,” Sweden answered, not bothering to explain further as he reached for it. Besides, it seemed like the Dane understood it regardless. “Keep y'r legs th're,” he warned before finally removing his hand so he could uncap the tube and smear a generous amount over his dick.
Taking hold of one of Denmark's legs again, he used one hand to line his cock up with the other's hole before he pushed in, gritting his teeth when it didn't go in as easy as he had expected.
Denmark gasped, arching, body automatically clamping down in a vain attempt to push the intruder out. “S-slow,” he stammered, breathless. “It's be-en a while, since... since I played bottom.”
That did explain why he was so tight. Gritting his teeth, Sweden thrust in hard, forcing himself deeper only giving the slightest consideration to Denmark's comfort when his balls touched the other's backside.
“God! You fucking bastard!”
The bastard just smiled, smug and infuriating, waiting for the Dane to adjust well enough for him to start moving.
Denmark grit his teeth, suppressing a victorious smile. Fuck, it was good. Hurt like a bitch but hell yeah, this was why he had provoked the stoic bastard, this was why he pushed his buttons. Sweden coming undone was beautiful. And now... now there was no reason to hold on to dignity.
Then Sweden started moving. “Nnh,” he groaned, squirming, feeling Sweden's dick shift inside of him coming so very close to brushing that spot inside that would make everything feel good. “S-Sweden...”
Sweden snapped his hips forward. There was something in the cadence of Denmark's voice that made his body tingle in a way that... he couldn't gather his wits enough to discern it. It didn't matter. As long as he could keep thrusting into the tight, hot sheath of Denmark's body, then it didn't matter at all that the Dane had suddenly, somehow changed. As long as his older kind-of-brother offered those tiny yelps when his cock invaded his tight body too fast and too deep, as long as he screamed just like that whenever his prostrate was hit and his body was racked with such pleasure as to be bordering on pain, as long as he so clearly had given up all his layers of masks, because Sweden thought he may never have seen anything quite as sexy as that, then it didn't matter what it was doing to the Swede's mind.
Denmark, in turn, was fully enjoying Sweden's rash tempo, because while the Swede was too out of control to accurately aim for his prostrate, due to the position he still hit it fairly often and each time he did, pleasure he thought he must have forgotten coursed through his veins, molten and sharp. Sweden's hand on his hip was doubtlessly leaving bruises, adding yet another flavour to the canvas of feeling coursing through him as well as the other hand, on his shoulder, digging into his collar bone. Sweden's face was hovering above him, mouth open, nostrils flaring. His eyes were intently staring at the blond under him, digesting and filing each immediate reaction as his hips pumped.
“Ah!” Denmark moaned loudly. “S-Sweden... Nnh, god, yes, faster!” Sweden grabbed both of Denmark's knees and forced them up tight against Denmark's chest. It obscured the blonds chest and thus most of his beautiful scars, but it would also allow him to go just a little deeper. “Nooo,” Denmark whined while the other Scandinavian stopped to adjust him. “Swe, Berw.. please, don't stop, god, don't stop, move, fuck me, goddamnit, fuck me you bastard!”
The Swede just snorted, not really provoked, and started working up a rhythm again, going faster and faster, while Denmark gasped and moaned and begged for more in a way that was just too delicious for words. Leaning forward, until his still clothed chest was pressed to the back of Denmark's thighs, the blond's feet waving in the air behind his neck, Sweden pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Denmark's lips, engaging in some sloppy, wet tongue-wrestling until he could feel his orgasm close in on him. Panting just as much as the Dane, he threw his head back, his rhythm faltered, grew erratic until he simply pressed himself as deep as he could, emptying into Denmark's body.
“Sweden, m-me too, me too, I need, I need to come, need, c'mon...” He became conscious of Denmark's voice, of his desperate squirming a few seconds later. He had collapsed on top of the other, his dick still inside the other's hole while sticky-white semen slowly seeped out from the sides. It took him another few seconds to realize what it was Denmark wanted.
“Y' want t' come?” he asked, standing up, making sure he softening penis stayed inside that pleasant warmth.
Denmark nodded vigorously, still squirming, eyes going from squeezed shut to wide and imploring.
“Beg.”
“Please, please, please, let me come!” Denmark answered immediately, surprising Sweden a little with the ready response.
He raised an eyebrow. “Beg. Use m' name.”
That made Denmark hesitate, but only a little. “P-please, Berwald, please, let me come.”
He really must have been desperate, Sweden figured, so readily moaning his name in that voice and so readily pleading when there was no way for him to disguise it as anything but begging. He was going to jerk off to this for centuries. Denmark probably deserved a reward for that and he pushed the Dane's trousers up further, fully exposing the hard, weeping cock while keeping his own now flaccid dick still buried in that comfortably warm sheathe. Every time he shifted, some of his cum slid out and dripped slowly a ways down the blond's crack. It was delicious. A bit had dripped on the floor.
Sweden smirked. Deserving or not, Denmark wasn't going to come just yet, not when such an amazing opportunity had just presented itself. All his past memories had gotten old, lost their clarity or level of excitement or both. Overuse, he figured, his smirk widened as he looked down at Denmark, who was squirming, slowly turning him hard again. Ah, the wonders of a permanently young body.
He started thrusting shallowly again, causing a whine to emanate from Denmark's throat as he continued to ignore the other's need. Taking his time; his movements lazy and almost idle, he built his own pleasure slowly, taking the time to feel and enjoy his old enemy's predicament, while said enemy was helpless and vulnerable. He loved the rush it gave him to feel this powerful and it was such a long time since he had felt like this. He couldn't wait until they beat Russia for good. The spoils of war... he remembered, more and more clearly now, Prussia under him, as stoic as he could manage during the thirty years war, France, Poland, Lithuania, Estonia, Norway, Austria... And Denmark. Denmark more often than anyone else, though the irrepressible Scandinavian had turned the tables on him. Often.
Not tonight, though.
He looked down once more at the blond, drunk on pleasure rather than beer for once, and decided that the black slacks and boots obstructed his view more than he liked. He wanted to see the scars and the scratches, the pink nipples and flexing muscles. And he wanted free rein to pinch and scratch and abuse. He jerked to a stop, snorting at another pathetic whine, as he began unlacing Denmark's boots, roughly pulling them off before he, equally carelessly, began pulling at the blond's trousers and pants. With a slight flourish he threw the clothes to the side, not bothering to see where they ended up. In his haste, he had managed to also rip off Denmark's socks, and now Denmark was laid out under him naked, while his shirt still clung to his arms, squirming and panting and still with Sweden's cock buried halfway in his ass. The scratches had stopped bleeding, but they were still angry and red and beautiful, barely contrasting with Denmark's flushed skin.
Denmark panted, regaining his breath while Sweden had paused, some semblance of awareness beyond merely feeling trickling back into his mind. His eyes refocused on Sweden's as the obstruction was removed and the heat in them was enough to send his stomach quivering. With a moan, he tightened around the hard flesh inside him, trying to press down and force more of it inside, force friction or even just some kind of response, anything, to go back into that delirious world where thought was impossible and nothing mattered except pleasure. Suddenly, his legs were quite brutally wrenched apart, forced to be spread far more than he really was flexible enough to do comfortably. Denmark felt himself tensing, clamping down tightly on Sweden's prick, as Sweden forced his knees apart even more. He would have complained, but just then, the bastard decided to start moving again and he hit just there, and any semblance of coherency once again went right out of his mind.
“Y're more flex'ble than y' used t' be,” Sweden commented, pleased, his thrusts once again gained speed and force, the table Denmark was lying on starting to scrape along the floor as he put everything into fucking his long-time rival as hard and as fast as possible, one hand on said rival's hips and the other leaning on the table for balance. However in the haze of pleasure and the plethora of sounds Denmark produced, he failed to notice the ominous creaking until it was too late and all four legs of the table simply gave out, breaking where they joined the top plate. Tumbling to the floor, their breath was momentarily stolen as they hit the ground and for a moment darkness seeped into the sight of the bound one of the two.
“Ow..” Denmark groaned, trying to figure out what had just happened, still gripped in pleasure, but slowly coming down from his high and coming to grips with the fact that the dull throb in his head could not be explained simply by a rough fucking, no matter how good it was, and that Sweden's dick had somehow left his ass. And that he had yet to come. “Goddammit!” he cursed vehemently, banging his head back into the tabletop he was still lying on. “Oww, I think I hit my head,” he complained, with just a little bit more pathetic whine than the faint annoyance truly warranted.
Sweden scoffed, uncaring, and pushed his cock back into the warm body it had vacated in their tumble. With hardly any further pause he continued pumping his hips, briefly sparing a thought that his knees would likely bruise from the force he was applying, but not caring nearly enough to change it.
“Haah,” Denmark gasped, tugging on the bindings and, now the legs of the table had broken off, managing to retract his hands without actually damaging the ties keeping them together. At just that moment, Sweden managed to accurately hit his prostrate, making the bound blond nearly scream from the pleasure. He reflexively hooked his bound hands behind Sweden, forcing the other Scandinavian to lean down even as he kept thrusting. The Dane used the grip he had around Sweden's neck to pull him further down, burying his fingers in short, soft blond locks, and mashed their mouths together again. This time, the kiss was deeper, softer somehow, though a bystander likely wouldn't have seen that.
Sweden removed his hands from Denmark's hips, placing them instead on the table near his head, keeping the buttons of his shirt from scraping the other's naked torso. Not from any sort of tender feelings of course, no, Denmark and he were many things but tender was rarely it, however he wanted to keep that perfect canvas of scratches he had created earlier intact and unspoiled.
Without warning he found himself suddenly looking up at a smirking Denmark instead, belatedly realizing that Denmark had just flipped them over. Well, it was no matter. He was still buried inside the other, maybe even deeper than before, and the Dane was just now beginning to rock deliciously over him, undulating like a whore as he brought his hands down to fist his cock. The rhythm, which had been slow while Denmark found his angle, quickly sped up. Sweden reached down to hold onto his ally's hips, fingers and nails digging into hitherto smooth skin as Denmark clenched particularly hard around him, strangled moans and whimpers and gods those moans were getting loud enough to count as screams and they sounded so delicious, especially coupled with the way Denmark was slamming himself down like he couldn't get enough of Sweden's cock as he threw his head back and suddenly started jerking, inner walls squeezing. The sounds stopped as Denmark mouth and throat worked with no air as warm liquid spattered over Sweden's tensed stomach and chest and dripped from between Denmark's bound hands.
Denmark stilled. “Fuck, that was good,” he exclaimed breathlessly.
Sweden snarled, digging his nails further into the muscles in Denmark's thigh. “Keep. Moving,” he ordered, beyond annoyed. He had been so very close when Denmark had stopping moving. Huffing, he tried to lift his neighbour, thrusting upwards to encourage him to start riding him again
Instead of complying, though, the stubborn idiot clamped his knees tight against his sides, effectively keeping him where he was while Sweden had no leverage. “You would like that, wouldn't you?” he asked, voice low and purring, eyes half-lidded, the image of satiation. He clenched a bit around the penis still inside him, gasping as it brushed over his super-sensitized prostrate. “You would love for me to just keep riding you, right?” He moved his hips pointedly, forcing Sweden's breath to hitch. “Love for me to keep moving, despite how you refused to get me off before, proving to you how much I love your cock, what a slut I am, you would like that, right?” He lifted himself up slightly, allowing gravity to pull him down. “Just like this?” He began a languid if powerful rhythm, grinding himself against Sweden's hips in long slow movements. “Oh maybe... you're imagining I'm being obedient?” Denmark held up his hands, still tied together. “I'm just obeying your order, just a slave doing as he's told, like-..?” He never got any further as one of Sweden's hands shot up, grabbed his head and a good handful of hair and dragged him down.
“Do it,” he hissed, cruelly twisting Denmark's hair.
“As you wish,” Denmark purred, right into Sweden's ear, twisting his hips and wrenching a barely heard groan from the prone man. “I'll do anything you want, fulfil your every command. I'll ride you like a whore, just the way you like it, ah~,” he moaned loudly, pointedly. Sweden began thrusting upwards earnestly, matching and meeting Denmark's movements perfectly. “Oh, your cock feels so good inside of me, it's moving so deep, it's filling me up so perfectly, haah, oh gods, it feels so good to be fucked by you,” Denmark continued, panting despite being too spent to really get off again. He shot a short calculating look down at his partner and didn't bother hiding a self-satisfied smirk. Sweden's eyes were closed, his body eagerly working to get off again. He knew the stupid Dane was only pretending, could hear the concealed sarcasm if he cared to listen, but he didn't. He wanted to get off and the illusion Denmark painted as he panted and gasped in-between his dirty words was more than enough.
“Mmh, I can feel your cum from before, it's.. it’s coming out, it's coming out of my ass, oh, please, please, fill me up again, I need your cum so bad.” He paused to whimper pathetically and build up to the end, knowing Sweden was close. “Please, I need you so much... master.” As expected, upon hearing that final word, Sweden stiffened, whole body jerking as he came again, pumping his hips up in uncoordinated movements while Denmark thrust down, milking him for everything he was worth.
“Mmmh,” he moaned, unable to keep a self-satisfied grin from his face. “That felt so good, Swe~,” he sang, clumsily getting his hands untangled from the ties while Sweden caught his breath.
“Y're 's shamel'ss as ever,” he mumbled.
Denmark rolled his eyes and discarded the fabric. “Say, I don't hear Russia any more. Wanna go check on him?”
“Sure.”
Denmark got up, stretching and wincing a little. “Damn, man, you're as rough as ever. I gotta go to the toilet, be right back.” He left, ignoring Sweden's triumphant smile at his stiff march.
The smile turned only more exultant as he surveyed what was left of the room. Which wasn't much, now that the table was broken. Denmark certainly knew which buttons to push and however much he hated to be manipulated, he tended to love the result. He got up himself, hitching his trousers and boxers up, ignoring the mess on his shirt. He'd need a shower, eventually, but first he wanted to see what had happened to Russia.
Upon entering the room where Russia's naked body was still tied down, his first thought was to curse Denmark for letting him come twice. It would have been so delicious to take the helpless Russia while he looked like that; open if superficial wounds artfully littering his ghostly skin, tears generously running tracks from closed eyes down his sweet, round face and instead of quietly whimpering, he'd be screaming and begging. Well, he wouldn't, he was Russia, but imagining it was still nice.
He heard Denmark come up behind him before he felt his arms encircle his neck and then Denmark's weight as he leaned against him.
“What's h' say'ng?” Sweden asked, understanding enough Russian to know there were words in the whimpers, but not enough to distinguish them.
“'No, please, I don't want to, I won't, don't want to.' Something like that,” was the answer as Denmark abandoned him, squeezing into the room as well and making his way to the Slav. He hadn't dressed, still wearing nothing but his shirt. “He's probably deaf by now, it'll take him a little while to heal enough to be able to hear your questions.” He walked over and grasped the earphones, removing them carefully. Blood ran immediately down Russia's jaw from his ears. A cacophony sounded from the device in Denmark's hand, English lyrics, though the words were indistinguishable.
Sweden raised an eyebrow.
Denmark grinned. “Do you remember Eurovision some years back?” Sweden raised the other eyebrow. “2011 to be exact. I always wanted to try this on him.” Just then the song got to the chorus and the indistinct lyrics became suddenly clear. With a grin Denmark sang along. “I love Belarus, got it deep inside. I love Belarus, feel it in my mind. And I wanna see the sun shining from above. You will always be the one, I can’t get enough.”
Pretending he wasn't amused, Sweden walked over to inspect Russia's bonds. “H'll get out 'f these.”
“I know,” Denmark grinned. “But don't you know? Hope is the cruellest emotion of them all.”
The End.