Chapter Text
He waited until he could no longer hear the thump-thump of Sweden's heavy footsteps on his lovely hardwood floors before unabashadly nuzzling his face into Norway's stomach and murmuring, “Is he gone yet?”
He winced when the hand that had been resting lightly on top of his hair tugged at the messy strands, adding insult to the on-going injury of his hangover.
“Yes, he and the brat have left the building. So you can stop pretending to be asleep now.”
Denmark smiled into his soft fleshy pillow that smelled like detergent and Norge's soap, rubbing his nose into Norway's side to make him squirm as he defended himself, “Hey, I didn't want to interrupt your little lecture. God knows that poor bastard needs all the help we can give him.”
Norway said nothing, only shifting away from the ticklish touch with an irritable huff. Amused by the unexpected docility, Denmark decided to go for broke, sliding his fingers up under the hem of Norway's shirt to tease at the skin of his lower back, totally willing to try and delay his massive hangover as long as possible if a little morning tumble on the couch or the floor or anywhere that suited his prickly darling was on offer.
His hopes were sadly dashed when Norway yawned and lurched away from his wandering hands, depriving him of his resting place as he stood up from the couch and gave him an unimpressed glare.
“I'm going back to bed. If you want to join me, you'll brush your teeth first. You smell worse than England after a football match,” Norway commanded him imperiously as he stalked away.
Denmark chuckled and struggled up from his sofa prison, biting back the urge to remind Norway that it wasn't really good form to dictate how he could and could not come to his own bed, figuring that if the impressive quantity of empties currently littering his living room was anything to go by his breath probably did reek.
Besides, if he couldn't get laid, having a warm body next to him in his indulgently massive bed while he slept off the after-affects of performing his big brotherly duties was pretty awesome consolation.
So he did as Norway asked, managing to stay upright long enough to piss and brush the moonshine fumes off of his tongue, before stumbling into his bedroom, where Norway was drawing the curtains. He leaned against the door to watch as his little lover shed the clothes he'd probably only put on hours ago in the darkness of his Oslo home, peeling away the layers until he was standing in only his underwear and staring at Denmark with that all too familiar impatient and exasperated expression that seemed to question Denmark's sanity.
“Well? Are you just going to stand there and ogle me?” Norway asked flatly before shivering a little and shuffling under the covers, apparently no longer interested in giving Denmark a free show.
"Yup, that's exactly what I'm gonna do," Denmark answered cheerfully even as he started stalking towards the bed and Norway's frowning face.
Now that Norge's lovely skin had gone hiding under the sheets, Denmark rediscovered his motivation to shed his own clothes, using the last vestiges of his energy to launch himself into the bed, ignoring his bedmate's annoyed growl as the mattress bounced from the force of his enthusiastic landing. He settled back on the pillow, wondering why the fuck he had ever thought it was a good idea to sleep on his good looking but deeply uncomfortable couch, folding his arms behind his head and sighing in happy satisfaction.
He soon wished he had saved that sigh of pleasure when his morning was made infinitely better by the unexpected, but very very welcome, feel of Norway settling his head in the crook of his shoulder and twining their legs together, inflicting the icy coldness of his toes on Denmark's calves. Gently, wary of startling the wild Norway into retreat to his own side of the bed, Denmark wrapped an arm around his slightly shaking shoulders, pulling him closer. His eyebrows rose in tandem expressions of surprise when he felt a pleased hum against his throat.
As Norway's eyelashes brushed over his skin with every flutter of his sleepy eyes and his breath fanned out warm and dry across his chest, Denmark felt as though he was floating on a sea of happy disbelief, wondering exactly what had gotten into Norge this morning.
Incapable of keeping 99% of his thoughts to himself, Denmark broke the stillness of the moment, murmuring, “Not that I'm complaining, and not that I think you'll tell me, but whatever it is that's gotten into you this morning, I like it!”
He felt the amused exhale of Norway's quiet laughter rush over him and he couldn't resist pressing a kiss the to strands of blond hair that were currently trying to fly up his nose. Norway wriggled against him, a delicious slide of skin on skin as he continued to sap away Denmark's radiating warmth.
“Cold, tired.” Norway informed him abruptly, digging his toes into Denmark's calves as if to remind him of the frigidity of his lower extremities.
He yelped a little in response before laughing quietly and folding those cold toes between his ankles and asking, “Tired, huh? You didn't have to give nationship advice 101 to the great brooding lion of the north all night!”
Norway snorted, answering with half the acidity of his normal retorts, yawning widely as he said, “No, idiot, I only had to endure hours of Sealand's unwavering enthusiasm for my boats. Worse than you, which I didn't think was possible.”
“Someone loves your boats more than I do? I think I'm jealous,” Denmark teased cheerfully, taking pleasure in watching the tiny rise in Norway's eyebrows that gave away his amusement.
He did not take as much pleasure in the subsequent pinch that was delivered to his stomach as Norway drily informed him, “There was also the problem of this Danish moron waking me up at 2:30 in the morning whining about last Thursday and reenactments of fucking so good it ought to be included in all the annals of the world.”
Denmark laughed heartily (impressed his apparently very good vocabulary when wasted) until Norway smacked him across the chest, uninterested in a pillow that moved quite so much. Denmark stilled and stroked his hand down his bedmate's side, wanting to soothe and placate him into staying exactly where he belonged, warm and naked and soft against his body.
“Sorry about that,” he murmured, trying to hide his smile in the nest of Norway's hair, “don't really remember that part of the evening.”
“No, I imagine not,” Norway returned drolly before sighing deeply and once again going lax and pliant, only to be startled into tense awareness seconds later when Denmark was struck by a flash of memory from his slideshow night*, his pulse quickening in unconscious response to the heated memories that started flickering in his mind.
“Oh! I remember now...I was telling Sweden about that time in 1906, you know which one I'm talking about and even though the bastard said he didn't want to hear about it, I started to miss you.”
“Don't you have any sense of propriety?” Norway asked with lazy, yawning disdain as he mouthed along the side of Denmark's jaw, tiredly nipping at his skin in what Denmark liked to think of as love bites from his vicious little beast.
He let his hand slide down to rest in the dip of Norway's waist, fingers tracing random patterns over his hip bones, as he faux-whispered, “Says the man who had crazy hot sex with me in Sweden's yard.”
He waited quietly for the inevitable retaliation, the always delicious rising of Norway to the dangling of his bait, only to have his heart melt and his arousal simmer when he noticed that he was no longer being treated to a blue eyed glare and that the lips that had so recently been inflicting revenge on his neck were now parted in the softness of sleep.
Though it still wasn't sweaty, panting, naked time, Denmark exhaled happily, sliding down to press his nose against the warmth of Norway's cheek, settling them both comfortably on his pillow, taking great care not to rouse the resting beast.
“Hey, even though its technically morning, how about I tell you a bedtime story, Norge,” he breathed out as the body tangled with his shifted impossibly closer, apparently more honest with its affections in sleep than in waking.
Letting his own eyes fall closed, Denmark murmured, “I promise you its good. One of my favorites...”
And as the winter sun tried to break through the heavy drape of the curtains, an uninvited intruder on this fragile moment, Denmark started to remember, his voice rumbling low and laced with contented arousal as he spun out his tale over the sound of Norway's quiet, steady breathing.
“I remember it like I remember how it felt the first time my feet touched down on English soil or day that I was forced to sign you away...June, 1906. Sitting stiff as a fucking board in the pews of Nidaros, hoping that I didn't wrinkle the fancy uniform Greenland had worked so hard to press for me so I wouldn't look like shit on your big day.
I hadn't seen you in so fucking long, I thought I might have been hallucinating when I finally laid eyes on you again, all dressed up in your proudest military get-up, buttons so shiny I could see the reflection of Sweden's stupid sour face, as you stood next to your new king...looking so fucking gorgeous I thought I would go crazy if you didn't acknowledge that I was there, ready to burn the church to the ground to get you to look at me...”