This is just a little experimental piece I wrote when I was craving some Denmark/Sweden. -sigh- It's the first time I've attempted writing the two together. I don't know a lot of either country's history (other than what Wikipedia told me XD), but I think this would take place something after the Great Northern War or the Stockholm Bloodbath... So, enjoy~
Pairing: onesided Denmark/Sweden
Warnings: Kinda non-con, OOCness (is that a legit warning?)
"I don't understand why you're so adamant to keep fighting me, why you hate being with me." Denmark mused, voice thoughtful, as he looked down with slightly hurt eyes.
Pale blue eyes squeezed shut as glove-clad fingers tightened in once straw-colored tresses. The hair was now dark and matted with blood and mud, but it was not enough to stop the absent-minded way Denmark would run his fingers through Sweden's hair.
"I mean, I always told you that you'd be better off staying with me. And what do you do? You go run off with that kid. We had a good thing going, you know."
Sweden grunted, keeping his eyes shut, preferring the soothing darkness to the face of the bastard sitting on him so casually, adding more pressure to his already broken and bruised body.
Suddenly the man above him shifted and pain ricocheted throughout his body, forcing his eyes to fly open and connect with the vaguely concerned navy eyes of his once friend and 'brother'.
"I really did a number on you, didn't I?" Denmark laughed, untangling his hand from Sweden's hair. Idly, he traced the outline of the prone man's face. Sweden impassively bore the feel of cold leather gliding the expanse of a bruised cheek, the bleeding laceration that began somewhere above his hairline and ended somewhere above his brow where Denmark's axe had brushed by, the strong line of his jaw, before the victorious nation gripped his chin with one hand, pressing against his split lower lip. "This is what happens when you defy me." Denmark whispered, as though he had no choice, as though it pained him to hurt the other nation, as though Sweden brought the pain upon himself.
And maybe it did. Maybe that's exactly how the golden-haired man thought.
He never did understand Denmark.
One moment, the man was as cheerful and affectionate as a drunkard. The next he was a bloodthirsty berserker. The next he would be sullen and contemptuous. His moods were as tumultuous as the sea that he tried so hard to dominate. He never seemed to listen but was never caught unaware.
At least until Sweden left.
In the end, Denmark lost and had watched Sweden leave, accompanied by Finland. He had watched in disbelief and hurt as the tall man resolutely turned his back on him and left, not once glancing back at Denmark.
"I loved you." Denmark murmured, staring down at Sweden. "Still do." He pressed harder against the other man's lip, watching with sharp eyes as the tender wound split open more, droplets of blood sluggishly making their way down pale skin mottled scarlet. He leaned down, accidently on purpose forcing more of his weight down on the captured nation, and kissed the broken man almost lovingly (or almost mockingly or almost sadly) before slipping his tongue past weakened lips and Sweden stoically waited until the other was done plundering his mouth.
"Hate you." He whispered, voice sharp with malice. And Denmark's normally jubilant mouth is curving downwards and his eyes narrow.
"As long as you still feel something for me." The blond whispers, moving his lips next to Sweden's ear, wild locks brushing against the other man's cheek. Sweden can feel the hot, moist air against his skin. "I'll take your hate. And then I'll take everything else."
So, yeah, that was me experimenting with Denmark and Sweden. Please let me know what you think!