The Viking inside him is hungry and rising; he wants to throw the Belarusian onto the bed, mark her with his tongue and teeth, hold down her arms as he fucks her long and rough into the sheets; he wants to watch her pant, hear her moan, feel her hot and tight around him as he drives her down, meets her bucking hips and arching spine with a fervor to rival her own. Denmark growls low in his throat at the thought of the Respublika Biełaruś beneath him: hair fanned out over the pillows, skin flushed hot and slick with swear, his tongue trailing between her breasts and teeth ghosting over her neck.
Denmark's fingers leaving the republic's mouth distract him from his thoughts as she turns to face him again, hands meandering beneath the loose tie of his robe. The kingdom grabs her wrists, raising a brow as she struggles to reach for the knot; her eyes meet his, clear-cut sapphire against ocean-clear cerulean, and even though she fights Denmark can see the glimmer of playfulness in her irises. He holds her wrist before them both as she pulls back, a corner of her mouth upturned as the become locked in their defying dance; Belarus growls and attempts to catch her teeth on his arm as the kingdom pushes her down, wanting to throw her over his shoulder and toss her on the bed like he were a hunter and she his prized, perfect prey.
Releasing her wrists, the Scandinavian Nation grabs the blonde's waist, lifting her and crushing her to his chest. Her ankles cross behind his back, holding herself up as her hands tilt his chin so she can kiss him for the thousandth time that night. Her hands drag through his hair, gripping and tugging in all the right places as he moves toward the bed.
Gently laying the Belarusian on the sheets, the Kongeriget Danmark crawls over her, pressing delicate kisses to her neck and collarbones, sliding a hand up her thigh. The blonde trails her fingers down his chest, undoing the knot holding his robe together as she holds his tongue and teeth to her skin.
more soon! only three finals left! I should probably be studying for the one I have tonight on all kids of crazy russian literature but naaaaaaaaah SMUT. next update, there will really be more than just foreplay, which I tend to get on a roll with sometimes and then it's like 'goddammit' when are they actually going to DO IT'.
also, the entirety of this update was written to this song on pretty much constant loop because asdfksajdhfkjsdf
The Scandinavian Nation licks and nips, relishing the cool taste of Belarus's shower-clean skin. Her nails trail sparks through his hair and down his neck, holding his mouth to the crook of her shoulder as he feels one of her legs hook around his back. The lace and ribbon that brushes his cheek is tantalizing and beautiful, but he would rather it thrown across the floor than on her body any longer.
The blond lifts her onto her knees in his lap, sliding his hands up underneath the thin chiffon, feeling her ribs and memorizing the secrets tucked in the spaces between them. The Belarusian complies, lifting her arms as Denmark pulls the fabric over her head to land forgotten on the carpet. He pulls her close, tongue dragging over the space between her breasts and he can feel her hips rocking into his, knows she wants more more more. The blonde is getting impatient; he can tell by the way her hands try to force his wrists from her waist and down to her hips, the bite of her teeth in her kisses, the huff of her breath come quick and hot on his skin.
His tongue swirls over one of her nipples as he thumbs the other, drawing growls from her throat, low and heady in his ear. Belarus arches into his touch, holding him to her chest like a child in the arms of its mother, like one of their people, born of woman and nourished by her and made one with her all the same. The blond slides a hand along the curve of her ass, pulling her hips closer to his own as the silky feel of the ribbon on her underwear falls liquid through his fingers. He tugs at the fabric and the republic wastes no time in pulling them off, tossing them to a dark corner of the room before pulling his mouth to her breasts once more, running her fingers through his mane of sweat-slicked, untamed hair.
Denmark kneads the soft flesh with his hands, nipping and sucking and Belarus is liquid in his lap, guiding his mouth with her fingers beneath his jaw. Her nails trail down his sides beneath the blood-dark fabric of his robe, making him shiver with want and whimper with need. The republic grabs one of his wrists, dragging it down to her stomach and between her legs, nails digging into his skin, telling him without words what she will do if he doesn't comply. The kingdom gives, letting her have this victory, splaying his hands wide over her hips and sliding his fingers ever closer to the spot that he knows will make her beg, make her scream. Denmark's mouth is on her skin like his hand is between her legs, rubbing and circling and teasing and yes, there are the sounds he has waited all day and night to hear. Belarus whimpers and moans low in her throat, biting her lip to lessen the sounds she rarely lets anyone but herself hear.
When Denmark looks up, meets her sapphire eyes tinted dark and deep with need, her hair fluffed long and waving around her face and cheeks brushed pink, she is beautiful; absolutely beautiful and gorgeous and wonderful and he could come right then and there but he won't, he can't, not yet. When he comes it will be for her and her alone, and after all, ladies first. The kingdom slips a finger inside of her, then two, then three and dear God she is so tight, hot and wet for him and only him right now as she bucks and groans and holds his mouth to her breast. The Scandinavian Nation's free arm wraps around her back, holding her steady and strong and even though she is Belarus who needs no one to save her, he will hold her fast; hold her until the line between his body and hers is blurred and dead and washed away on the shores of his seas and ocean-bright eyes, melted in the aftermath of her silent snows.
The Respublika Biełaruś grinds down on his fingers, twisting and bucking and arching into his touch. Denmark can tell by her whimpers and gasps that she is close, so fucking close and he meets her half-lidded gaze, fists a hand in her hair and makes her look at him.
“I want to see you,” he whispers, as breathless as the Nation writhing in his lap. One of Belarus's hands holds his jaw, trails down his chest, reaches between his legs. The blond moans at her touch, gasping and panting into her neck as her hand moves too fast and never enough; Denmark remembers the nightclub, dark and deep and Belarus's hands all over his body, touching and tempting and teasing and torturing.
“I want to see it in your e-eyes,” and the republic's free hand splays across his neck, grabbing beneath his jaw as the kingdom falters,” I want, jeg vil føle dig, jeg vil-”
Belarus only nods her head, cheeks red and eyes half-lidded as she she moves, her hand around his neck holding tighter with every breath each Nation takes. Denmark's words are Danish, rough and low, nothing she can understand anymore as they clatter around them both, ripped from his throat like they are his last.
The republic's body is sparks and fire, the world behind her eyes is white as she grinds down on the kingdom's hand one last time, her hand on him still and she feels the Kongeriget Danmark follow her over the edge, into their glory as their eyes meet wide, wanting no longer, but only for the moment.
Belarus lets her fingers slide from Denmark's neck and wipes the stickiness from her hand onto his chest, tracing her touch over his jaw as the Scandinavian Nation licks the taste of himself from her skin. Cradling him to her chest, the pair fall down into the pillows and sheets, panting and sweat-slicked and hungry for more.
jeg vil føle dig – danish for 'I want to feel you'; danish is obviously not my specialty as a russian major with a side of german, so if this is wrong or there's something off, I always accept suggestions.
also, danish is really tricky with its pronunciation, as a hell of a lot of the words aren't said quite like they're spelled at first glance, especially without knowing danish pronunciation rules. I guess you could say this particular phrase sounds something like 'yai vil fouh-luh dai"; seriously, danish doesn't pronounce half its vowels and it can just get really confusing for the most part. but it's one of the sexiest languages I've ever heard. youtube a few disney movies in danish and asjdhfksdjhfksdf; I prefer aladdin and also simba (who is my headcanon denmark voice) myself.
I'm pretty sure these two are never going to stop fucking, I have at least two more updates' worth of smut already planned and then some plot-ish things and then (hey no surprise here) even more sex; updates soon!
Bring on the smut anon just keep bringing it on until you feel like you've had enough. I love heterosexual sex scenes written by women, because it's nice good sex, and the guy is never a bag o dicks. I really chuckled at the "ladies first" line oh how I wish. Anyways I love this oh so very much :)
Yep Danish has the same problem as French and English, words aren't said how they look. I'm currently self teaching myself Danish and if I didn't have the audio I'd be lost.
Denmark lies breathless above Belarus, cheek to her chest, fingers tangled in her hair. Her arms cradle his head, running her fingers through his untamed mane, gentle and comforting. The kingdom's body is lightning-vivid and burning with the aftermath of the republic's torturous, tantalizing touch, and he leans up to catch her mouth with his own. Her kisses are soft, slow like her fingers in his hair and the hand that ghosts over his shoulders, dipping beneath the collar of his robe to trace her nails over his skin. The blond could kiss her forever like this, serene and satisfied but ever eager for just a little bit more. The prickle of her nails circles between his shoulder blades, sending sparks up his spine as her fingers dig into just the right places, massaging and rubbing and Denmark is honey in her hands, ever-willing, ever-giving.
Belarus can feel the blond gripping her shoulders, muscles tightening and hips jerking into hers as she works her fingers into his shoulder blades, over his spine and down his sides beneath the blood-dark fabric. She smiles wickedly into his kisses, crossing her ankles around his back and trailing a hand down to one of his hipbones; the kingdom whimpers into her mouth, sliding shamelessly up to his knees above her and allowing her nails to prickle against his thigh, dangerous and demanding.
The republic uses the opportunity to shove the blond onto his back, a yelp of surprise escaping his throat as Belarus crawls slowly over him, animal-like and graceful. Her teeth nip over his neck, biting bruises like watercolor as he pulls her down, grinding and bucking against her hips. Their mouths meet tongue and teeth as Denmark runs his hands over her body; across her tiny shoulders, down her arms that hide wildfire and gold beneath skin, over her stomach. The Nation is small, curved and rounded in all the places he isn't, diamond-eyed but never delicate in her beauty. The kingdom slides a hand over her breasts, warm and soft on his palm, down her ribs, feeling the indents of each; she is thin but not too much so, and he can feel the shadow of muscle taut beneath the health of curved skin. There is a certain gracefulness in the fullness of her hips as his hands trail down her thighs, body heady and hot as she grinds down on him, against him.
The Belarusian scores her nails down the kingdom's chest, pressing her lips to his collarbones, nipping her way down; Denmark growls low in his throat, attempting to flip her over but she resists, meeting his gaze with madness in her eyes and her fingers curved like claws. He knows she is tempting him, taunting him to throw her down and have her wild and untamed, take her by ferocious force.
“You're playing a dangerous game, Hviderusland,” the blond says between kisses, feeling the pull of Belarus's fingers in his hair and the wonderful writhing of her body into his own.
“I know,” and her tongue licks a trail over his jaw to the crook of his neck, breath hot and heady as she whispers in his ear.
“That is the only way I know how.”
Denmark is gone. He grabs her by the waist, flipping her around with a growl and crawling over her, letting slip words in tongues he hasn't spoken in centuries; words of intimidation and power that made he and his brothers feared like demons, prayers offered to gods long forgotten in hope for salvation.
The blonde makes an attempt to throw him off before he holds her wrists to the sheets, grinding and rutting against her ass, dragging tongue and teeth up her back slowly, precisely. The republic bucks against him, wanting, needing, nearly begging but not yet, not until he tells her. Denmark pulls her to his chest, kissing her shoulder with one hand on her breast and the other between her legs. Belarus tilts her head back as his fingers trail up her neck, holding tight and pushing her closer to the stars that glitter at the horizon of her vision, closer to the edge. Denmark knows just when to let her breathe as his fingers twist and rub between her legs, drawing moans and whimpers and gasps out of her throat to shatter around them, ring heavenly in his ears. He can hear the blonde attempting to speak, unable to form words in a language he understands, praising him with her moans and damning him with her growls as she pulls at the fabric of his robe, wanting more, wanting the Dane as close as she can have him; but she won't beg, not until he says she can, not until he needs her to.
“Bið mik, Hviderusland,” and the Kongeriget Danmark fists a hand in the Belarusian's hair, teeth grazing her jugular, fingers ghosting between her legs, just out of reach. The blonde jerks against his hold on her, body taut and tight with one last snarl, an animal in the shade of adoring contempt. The Viking inside Denmark is untamed, alive; the Dane bites and licks her collarbones, shoves her to the sheets, growls wild in her ear. He grabs one of her legs and she curves it around his waist, arching up to meet his chest as he lowers himself over her, letting her feel the heat from his body and the softness of his robe, but nothing more.
“Beg,” he rasps low in his throat, holding his hand beneath her jaw as she tries to meld her body against his, meet the kingdom's heat with her own. Belarus whimpers, moans for his touch until she gives, finally gives, pleading his name, Данія, Данія, прашу, Данія; his name on her tongue is honey-dark and liquid, sparking white behind his eyes and lightning through his veins. The Nation beneath him is on her knees, begging for him and crying for his touch, sweat-slicked and hot and he can't wait any longer; Denmark needs her body, her heat, all that she can give him as he moves over her, into her, all around her.
The former Viking is statue-still, nose buried in her hair and fingers entwined with her own in the sheets, feeling the Belarusian stiffen and hearing her draw her breath sharp; how he wants to move, how he wants to feel her beneath and around him, soft and warm and beautiful in the glow of her capital. But he will let her have all the time in the world, all the time she needs until she is ready, ever-willing, ever-giving.
The evening out of her breath is her signal, and Belarus slams her hips into his own as he presses his lips to the back of her neck, licking and nipping as she bucks hot against him, and they are like animals in heat, rutting rough and untamed. Denmark slides a hand over her stomach, reaching down between her legs, rubbing, circling, slick with her warmth and the slide of his body over hers. The blonde reaches back to tangle her fingers in his hair, shoving his mouth into the crook of her neck as he paints her skin red with his teeth.
They rut, they writhe, they buck into each other like they know nothing else, ready and searching for the end they know is waiting, molding and melting between their bodies; Denmark drowns his moans and gasps in Belarus's neck, jerking his hips haphazardly against her skin, rhythm tilted and unsteady with every move he makes, every breath she takes. They are wild and primal and in their movement there is no thought, only instinct and the slick-slide of their bodies against one another, closer and closer, harder, faster, like they are predators on the hunt and hunting they are, for completion and the energy between them that is already one and the Nations are anxious for their bodies to do the same.
Denmark can tell by the grip of her fingers and the change in her breath that Belarus is close, so damn close and his hand between her legs quickens; he is determined that she come first, be the first one over the edge so that he can let her guide him wherever her white-hot yearning will lead them both. The republic's voice is heady with need and dark with want as they move, faster and harder and the Dane moans hitched against her neck, voice cracking as Belarus pants and arches into the blond's body. They move longer still, back and forth and back and forth, meeting but never quite merging into the holy union they are biting screaming dying for, Denmark's hand between her legs and Belarus's hand in his hair and mouths meeting tongue-teeth for the last time-
The glow of Minsk outside the window is starshine compared to the white behind their eyes, Denmark jerking his hips against the blonde's body, wide-eyed and weary and drowning his broken cries in her neck. Belarus yanks his head down, entwining her fingers with his, wanting her skin touching as much of his as she can, sweat-slicked and heated; the former Viking's pleasure-dark eyes and red-dusted cheeks, tousled hair and taut muscle surrounding her, holding her, loving her are the most beautiful things the republic has ever seen.
Both Nations collapse into the sheets, panting and holding tight to each other as they wait for the world to stop spinning, for the earth to right itself beneath them so they can pick the scattered, white-hot pieces of themselves back up and build themselves stronger, closer once more.
bið mik - a hopefully correct translation of 'beg me' into old norse, the precursor to most modern scandinavian-classified languages; denmark and all of his siblings (sans finland, whose language belongs to an entirely different classification) would have spoken old norse during the viking age, until its dialects began to branch off and develop into the modern scandinavian languages around the 1300's. again, if I fubar'd on this one too, do offer suggestions so I can de-anon nicely!
прашу - belarusian for 'please', transliterated as prašú.
if you happen to have read any of the other fills I've done on the meme, you might recognize a few phrases and terms of wording that hearken back to earlier fills of mine. you might even get my identity, since I have de-anoned before! and I managed to cut the smut down to end with this update, so there's lots of talking and heart-to-heart and somewhat plot-exposition to come and then eventually (and inevitably) more porn! more soon, and I hope everyone had a wonderful whatever you celebrated this month!
A-Anon, this just continues to be wonderful. I'm sorry I haven't been able to drop you a comment (this is Dane-anon btw) before now, but Christmas/Jul is always such a busy time!
Your Danish was fine, so I suppose Google did a reasonable job this time?
Anyways, this has been a pleasure to read from ther start, and I will be delighted to read more - porn and plot alike! :D
thank you so much! and don't worry about being able to comment right away, I'm 450 miles from home visiting family and surrounded by snow, so there's lots of downtime to write out some more porn for the holidays. :D
actually, I go to wiktionary for when I need to make phrases and then consult the wiki articles on a specific language's grammar if I'm not sure about it. or if I'm talking about a specific country, place, event, or thing I can find on wikipedia, I go to the article I'm referencing in the specific language I need (how I got denmark and belarus's names in each other's languages for example), which I know I can rely on at least a bit better than google translate!
I always am so late when it comes to joining the party! I swear next time I will be prompt!!
I love the way you write smut. I think I've said that before but honestly I need to repeat it. It's so much more focused on what women typically like in their porny-goodness without wandering into the laughable stuff you get in paper back novel romances. Keep doing what you are doing because it is all kinds of fabulous.
AND NO YOU SAY THERE WILL BE PLOT? FUCK-to-da-YEAH. You may choose between a baby or cookies as an expression of my undying gratitude. Really, anon you spoil this always-late-to-the-party-OP
My Danish and Russian both suck (ha Russian... I should probably practice that more, and self teaching myself Danish is going... not nearly as good as it did with Italian) so I can't help you would with any of that.
I hope you had a happy holiday/holidays... I feel asleep on New Years Eve again despite being at a party... :/
Belarus holds tight to Denmark, precious wonderful beautiful Denmark, panting into his chest as both of them remember how to breathe. Her fingers dart through his hair, fluffed and wild and crowning his head like the mane of a lion, pressing kisses to his forehead with whispers to calm him. His hands on her grip the blonde close, and the world is calm as the hum of her capital and the sounds of their breathing hang like fireflies around them. Denmark's breath slows as he rolls onto his back, pulling the Belarusian onto his chest and kissing her lazily, languidly. She fingers the blood-dark fabric pooled at his elbows, sliding up to his collar and cradling his jaw. When they part, she looks at the kingdom beneath her, really looks; sees his pleasure-dim eyes, red-flushed skin, half-hidden canines that glimmer razor-pointed in the moonlight.
The Dane flicks his tongue over his lips, biting, jaw tilting as if he is about to speak, wants to speak but cannot find the words to do so. The blonde stops him with her finger over his mouth, and his cerulean eyes meet hers, wide and glittering in the dim light beside them; she could lose herself in them if she's not careful, and she reaches back to switch off the tiny lamp on the nightstand. Both Nations are left in the glow of the moon and her capital, snowfall speckling the room like the shimmering fractals of a pool. Belarus reaches for her towel on the floor, standing up and tossing Denmark's to him as she cleans herself. Flinging hers towards the bathroom when she is done, she begins to tiptoe about the room to collect her scattered clothes.
The kingdom fiddles with his towel as he watches the blonde, marveling at the lines of her body in the moonlight, at how she moves naked before him without the slightest hint of shame. He likes that in her, how she is brazen, bold, courageous in the face of calamity when even the most fearless of Nations might falter. The Scandinavian Nation remembers how only the morning prior his officials were quick-cut and sharp with her, and how she sat straight and unbreaking as he reigned them in beneath him.
Belarus is a conundrum in fits and starts, one he has already begun to solve, piece by piece, bit by bit with every layer he removes and every passing understanding that goes between them.
It's not until she tosses a blanket over his head that Denmark's train of thought crashes, lap suddenly occupied by the beautiful Belarusian as she swathes them both in blankets and sheets and nestles into his arms. He didn't take her as one for cuddling, but she's surprised him so many times over the course of a day that nothing she does baffles him anymore; she is Belarus, quiet and courageous and powerful in ways he doesn't want to describe, doesn't want to dirty with words that will never be adequate enough.
“What is that look for, Данія,” and Belarus's eyes are narrowed as she looks up from his chest, fingers curled in the fabric of his robe. It's only then that he realizes he's been smiling dreamily at her for the past thirty seconds like a lovestruck schoolchild.
“Nothing,” he lies, sing-song and dripping through his teeth. The blonde raises a brow, unamused.
“I just never thought the fearless, fearsome Respublika Biełaruś would be one for cuddling,” Denmark says playfully, and the woman in question sits up in his lap, blankets around her shoulders and body bared unabashedly to his eyes.
“There is much you have to learn about me, Kongeriget Danmark,” she says, and he suppresses a shiver at the way his name in his mothertongue slides honey-dark from her mouth. The kingdom's heart could burst at her words, because learning means more of her sapphire eyes and diamond-cut courage and that wonderful, beautiful body that brings him to his knees.
“But I'm not sure I can teach such an old dog new tricks,” Belarus teases with shadowed irises, nails trailing down the dusting of hair on his chest and tongue licking over her lips.
“And I'm sure it was this old dog who gave you quite the performance earlier,” the Scandinavian Nation purrs, sliding a hand over the blonde's hip and tilting her head towards his own, pressing his mouth to hers. Her tongue licks over his teeth that bite her lip before she pulls away, eyes glittering endless and deep.
“But really,” Denmark begins, resting amongst the pillows piled against the headboard, “in a single day, you've shattered nearly every image your behavior has made of you.” The Belarusian's lips turn down into a frown and Denmark wonders if she's going to pull a knife on him at this very moment (from where he doesn't know but he wouldn't be surprised), because it's fucking Belarus and that's what she does. The blonde is cunning, quick, cutthroat and fierce; show a weakness and it's hers forever, leave an opening and she's through it before even she's realized it's there. He knows she grew up in lands more ravaged than the ones he left his blood-drenched footprints on, knows she didn't survive by simply laying down her arms and letting go.
But the Belarusian only lowers her head, turning her gaze everywhere but his own, eyes flickering with something he can see is more than the snow and starshine outside the window.
“Of course, you can't judge a book by its cover, but you, this,” and his hands run up her ribs, over her shoulders, hold her face to meet her eyes. “This isn't the Respublika Biełaruś I was prepared for.”
“Then what were you prepared for?” Her eyes are hard, crystalline.
“I don't know,” and the kingdom's hands slip from her jaw, into the blankets. “Maybe I wasn't prepared for anything, and that's why I expected everything.” The blonde looks at him curiously, head tilted ever so like an animal in waiting, silent.
“Your arm in mine throughout the city, your games in the restaurant, the admittedly wonderful attention in the nightclub,” and Belarus doesn't meet the Dane's eyes at his words, “you carving out a place in my hotel room like you belong nowhere else.” The faintest shade of red splashes across the blonde's cheeks, even in the dim light of the world outside.
“This has something to do with din broder; your brother.”
The republic whirls her gaze to meet Denmark's, wide-eyed and weary when her shoulders sink ever so beneath the blankets around her. It is like he has seen right through to her heart, and she knows there is nowhere else to hide.
“Yes.” Her fingers trail over his chest.
“Everything.” The kingdom watches her, waiting.
“Yes.” The blonde's nails trace lightning beneath his jaw, down his neck, pressing into his skin.
“And nothing.” He covers her hand with his own and holds it between them, entwining their fingers.
да – belarusian (additionally also russian) for 'yes'.
semi-plottish shenanigans now begin! I'm going to take a more unorthodox approach with belarus's characterization where it involves russia, one that I've never actually seen done before, so this will be really interesting to write. more very soon, gotta get lots written before college resumes in a week or so.
(did I mention the entirety of this update was written to gary jules' mad world? I'm pretty sure it shows quite a bit unless it's just me)
There may not have been any smut in this chapter, but you know what it was still really sexy.
I am happy to see us moving into some plot now too though, and really excited to see what your take on Belarus will be exactly. If you think it's going to be interesting to write I am going to assume that it is going to be interesting to read. So I really can't wait for your next update!
Belarus stares at their joined hands for a long moment, shifting her fingers against Denmark's; the Scandinavian Nation can see fire in her eyes, rage and love and all things in-between.
“And why are you so confident Brother has anything to do with this?” she asks finally, not taking her eyes off their hands.
“For starters, you haven't pulled a knife on me at any point,” he begins. “Nor have you threatened me, or given me the cold shoulder like you do to anyone <but your brother and sister at world conferences.” Belarus still doesn't look at him, only their hands.
“You've paid attention to me out of more than just necessity, something you don't do to others when your brother is around,” he continues. The republic stares at their fingers, unmoving.
“Were you genuinely, naturally cold and distant to others, to me, you wouldn't need to drop the act.”
Belarus closes her eyes, statue-still but for the rise and fall of her chest. The kingdom is silent as he watches the blonde, waiting for her to lash out, attack him, say something, anything.
"Go on." Her voice is sharp, cutthroat. Denmark listens.
"And this has nothing to do with your brother because you obviously have something to prove, to everyone but him," the Scandinavian Nation finishes. Belarus's gaze meets his, icy, glittering.
"And how do you know such a thing?" she asks, words hissed and pleading and Denmark doesn't miss the way her fingers tighten ever so around his own.
"You would not have been in my bed otherwise," he replies, voice low. "Nor would you have been so with the United States, the United Kingdom, or Lithuania, to name only the ones I know."
Belarus is stock-still and silent, eyes flickering with something Denmark thinks might be pride and relief and regret, all gathered into one. The blonde looks down at their joined hands, hers so much smaller than his own, and brings them to her cheek. Her skin is soft and star-pale in the moonlight, the night still young over her never-sleeping capital. The Dane twirls her long hair between his fingers, strands as white as the flakes that continue to blanket the world around them.
"I was a fool in my youth," Belarus begins tersely, and Denmark interrupts her before she can say more.
"Hey, hey, don't say things like that," he chides, pulling the Belarusian into his arms. "If anyone's the idiot out of all of us, it's me," he laughs, thinking of his brothers' mocking but playful words.
"You don't understand," she counters, "this whole affair about being love with brother and wanting to marry him, it is all a lie." Her hands fist in the fabric of his robe, pulling and twisting as she speaks. Her voice is scratchy and low from her throat, raw with the weight of long-kept secrets.
"It always has been."
Denmark says nothing for a moment, processing the words he had known all along were true and yet doesn't want to believe, because secrets mean lies and lies mean somebody always gets hurt in the end. And he doesn't want that to happen to wonderful beautiful Belarus, who has been through so much and should not have to bear such a burden anymore.
baaah apologies for such a tiny update that ends on a cliffhanger-ish note; college is fun but with eight classes I'm going to be a busy bee this semester! more very soon, the weekend is almost here!
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'libera me' [21/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-15 04:20 pm (UTC)(link)Denmark's fingers leaving the republic's mouth distract him from his thoughts as she turns to face him again, hands meandering beneath the loose tie of his robe. The kingdom grabs her wrists, raising a brow as she struggles to reach for the knot; her eyes meet his, clear-cut sapphire against ocean-clear cerulean, and even though she fights Denmark can see the glimmer of playfulness in her irises. He holds her wrist before them both as she pulls back, a corner of her mouth upturned as the become locked in their defying dance; Belarus growls and attempts to catch her teeth on his arm as the kingdom pushes her down, wanting to throw her over his shoulder and toss her on the bed like he were a hunter and she his prized, perfect prey.
Releasing her wrists, the Scandinavian Nation grabs the blonde's waist, lifting her and crushing her to his chest. Her ankles cross behind his back, holding herself up as her hands tilt his chin so she can kiss him for the thousandth time that night. Her hands drag through his hair, gripping and tugging in all the right places as he moves toward the bed.
Gently laying the Belarusian on the sheets, the Kongeriget Danmark crawls over her, pressing delicate kisses to her neck and collarbones, sliding a hand up her thigh. The blonde trails her fingers down his chest, undoing the knot holding his robe together as she holds his tongue and teeth to her skin.
author's notes [parts 18 - 21]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-15 04:38 pm (UTC)(link)also, the entirety of this update was written to this song on pretty much constant loop because asdfksajdhfkjsdf
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muigK9vTS2c
and also maybe some of this one too?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x4_7w06Logc
Re: author's notes [parts 18 - 21]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-16 11:57 pm (UTC)(link)Anon also has a feeling that she'll be saving this to read over and over again when it's finished ~
Also, it's always nice to broarden ones music taste! *loved that Italian one* and I already knew Va Fangool <3
'libera me' [22/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-23 07:43 am (UTC)(link)The blond lifts her onto her knees in his lap, sliding his hands up underneath the thin chiffon, feeling her ribs and memorizing the secrets tucked in the spaces between them. The Belarusian complies, lifting her arms as Denmark pulls the fabric over her head to land forgotten on the carpet. He pulls her close, tongue dragging over the space between her breasts and he can feel her hips rocking into his, knows she wants more more more. The blonde is getting impatient; he can tell by the way her hands try to force his wrists from her waist and down to her hips, the bite of her teeth in her kisses, the huff of her breath come quick and hot on his skin.
His tongue swirls over one of her nipples as he thumbs the other, drawing growls from her throat, low and heady in his ear. Belarus arches into his touch, holding him to her chest like a child in the arms of its mother, like one of their people, born of woman and nourished by her and made one with her all the same. The blond slides a hand along the curve of her ass, pulling her hips closer to his own as the silky feel of the ribbon on her underwear falls liquid through his fingers. He tugs at the fabric and the republic wastes no time in pulling them off, tossing them to a dark corner of the room before pulling his mouth to her breasts once more, running her fingers through his mane of sweat-slicked, untamed hair.
'libera me' [23/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-23 07:46 am (UTC)(link)When Denmark looks up, meets her sapphire eyes tinted dark and deep with need, her hair fluffed long and waving around her face and cheeks brushed pink, she is beautiful; absolutely beautiful and gorgeous and wonderful and he could come right then and there but he won't, he can't, not yet. When he comes it will be for her and her alone, and after all, ladies first. The kingdom slips a finger inside of her, then two, then three and dear God she is so tight, hot and wet for him and only him right now as she bucks and groans and holds his mouth to her breast. The Scandinavian Nation's free arm wraps around her back, holding her steady and strong and even though she is Belarus who needs no one to save her, he will hold her fast; hold her until the line between his body and hers is blurred and dead and washed away on the shores of his seas and ocean-bright eyes, melted in the aftermath of her silent snows.
The Respublika Biełaruś grinds down on his fingers, twisting and bucking and arching into his touch. Denmark can tell by her whimpers and gasps that she is close, so fucking close and he meets her half-lidded gaze, fists a hand in her hair and makes her look at him.
'libera me' [24/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-23 07:52 am (UTC)(link)“I want to see it in your e-eyes,” and the republic's free hand splays across his neck, grabbing beneath his jaw as the kingdom falters,” I want, jeg vil føle dig, jeg vil-”
Belarus only nods her head, cheeks red and eyes half-lidded as she she moves, her hand around his neck holding tighter with every breath each Nation takes. Denmark's words are Danish, rough and low, nothing she can understand anymore as they clatter around them both, ripped from his throat like they are his last.
The republic's body is sparks and fire, the world behind her eyes is white as she grinds down on the kingdom's hand one last time, her hand on him still and she feels the Kongeriget Danmark follow her over the edge, into their glory as their eyes meet wide, wanting no longer, but only for the moment.
Belarus lets her fingers slide from Denmark's neck and wipes the stickiness from her hand onto his chest, tracing her touch over his jaw as the Scandinavian Nation licks the taste of himself from her skin. Cradling him to her chest, the pair fall down into the pillows and sheets, panting and sweat-slicked and hungry for more.
author's notes [parts 22 - 24]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-23 08:02 am (UTC)(link)also, danish is really tricky with its pronunciation, as a hell of a lot of the words aren't said quite like they're spelled at first glance, especially without knowing danish pronunciation rules. I guess you could say this particular phrase sounds something like 'yai vil fouh-luh dai"; seriously, danish doesn't pronounce half its vowels and it can just get really confusing for the most part. but it's one of the sexiest languages I've ever heard. youtube a few disney movies in danish and asjdhfksdjhfksdf; I prefer aladdin and also simba (who is my headcanon denmark voice) myself.
I'm pretty sure these two are never going to stop fucking, I have at least two more updates' worth of smut already planned and then some plot-ish things and then (hey no surprise here) even more sex; updates soon!
Re: author's notes [parts 22 - 24]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-24 02:18 am (UTC)(link)Yep Danish has the same problem as French and English, words aren't said how they look. I'm currently self teaching myself Danish and if I didn't have the audio I'd be lost.
Re: author's notes [parts 22 - 24]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-24 04:42 pm (UTC)(link)'libera me' [25/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-27 05:35 am (UTC)(link)Belarus can feel the blond gripping her shoulders, muscles tightening and hips jerking into hers as she works her fingers into his shoulder blades, over his spine and down his sides beneath the blood-dark fabric. She smiles wickedly into his kisses, crossing her ankles around his back and trailing a hand down to one of his hipbones; the kingdom whimpers into her mouth, sliding shamelessly up to his knees above her and allowing her nails to prickle against his thigh, dangerous and demanding.
The republic uses the opportunity to shove the blond onto his back, a yelp of surprise escaping his throat as Belarus crawls slowly over him, animal-like and graceful. Her teeth nip over his neck, biting bruises like watercolor as he pulls her down, grinding and bucking against her hips. Their mouths meet tongue and teeth as Denmark runs his hands over her body; across her tiny shoulders, down her arms that hide wildfire and gold beneath skin, over her stomach. The Nation is small, curved and rounded in all the places he isn't, diamond-eyed but never delicate in her beauty. The kingdom slides a hand over her breasts, warm and soft on his palm, down her ribs, feeling the indents of each; she is thin but not too much so, and he can feel the shadow of muscle taut beneath the health of curved skin. There is a certain gracefulness in the fullness of her hips as his hands trail down her thighs, body heady and hot as she grinds down on him, against him.
'libera me' [26/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-27 05:40 am (UTC)(link)“You're playing a dangerous game, Hviderusland,” the blond says between kisses, feeling the pull of Belarus's fingers in his hair and the wonderful writhing of her body into his own.
“I know,” and her tongue licks a trail over his jaw to the crook of his neck, breath hot and heady as she whispers in his ear.
“That is the only way I know how.”
Denmark is gone. He grabs her by the waist, flipping her around with a growl and crawling over her, letting slip words in tongues he hasn't spoken in centuries; words of intimidation and power that made he and his brothers feared like demons, prayers offered to gods long forgotten in hope for salvation.
The blonde makes an attempt to throw him off before he holds her wrists to the sheets, grinding and rutting against her ass, dragging tongue and teeth up her back slowly, precisely. The republic bucks against him, wanting, needing, nearly begging but not yet, not until he tells her. Denmark pulls her to his chest, kissing her shoulder with one hand on her breast and the other between her legs. Belarus tilts her head back as his fingers trail up her neck, holding tight and pushing her closer to the stars that glitter at the horizon of her vision, closer to the edge. Denmark knows just when to let her breathe as his fingers twist and rub between her legs, drawing moans and whimpers and gasps out of her throat to shatter around them, ring heavenly in his ears. He can hear the blonde attempting to speak, unable to form words in a language he understands, praising him with her moans and damning him with her growls as she pulls at the fabric of his robe, wanting more, wanting the Dane as close as she can have him; but she won't beg, not until he says she can, not until he needs her to.
'libera me' [27/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-27 05:45 am (UTC)(link)“Beg,” he rasps low in his throat, holding his hand beneath her jaw as she tries to meld her body against his, meet the kingdom's heat with her own. Belarus whimpers, moans for his touch until she gives, finally gives, pleading his name, Данія, Данія, прашу, Данія; his name on her tongue is honey-dark and liquid, sparking white behind his eyes and lightning through his veins. The Nation beneath him is on her knees, begging for him and crying for his touch, sweat-slicked and hot and he can't wait any longer; Denmark needs her body, her heat, all that she can give him as he moves over her, into her, all around her.
The former Viking is statue-still, nose buried in her hair and fingers entwined with her own in the sheets, feeling the Belarusian stiffen and hearing her draw her breath sharp; how he wants to move, how he wants to feel her beneath and around him, soft and warm and beautiful in the glow of her capital. But he will let her have all the time in the world, all the time she needs until she is ready, ever-willing, ever-giving.
The evening out of her breath is her signal, and Belarus slams her hips into his own as he presses his lips to the back of her neck, licking and nipping as she bucks hot against him, and they are like animals in heat, rutting rough and untamed. Denmark slides a hand over her stomach, reaching down between her legs, rubbing, circling, slick with her warmth and the slide of his body over hers. The blonde reaches back to tangle her fingers in his hair, shoving his mouth into the crook of her neck as he paints her skin red with his teeth.
'libera me' [28/?]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-27 05:50 am (UTC)(link)Denmark can tell by the grip of her fingers and the change in her breath that Belarus is close, so damn close and his hand between her legs quickens; he is determined that she come first, be the first one over the edge so that he can let her guide him wherever her white-hot yearning will lead them both. The republic's voice is heady with need and dark with want as they move, faster and harder and the Dane moans hitched against her neck, voice cracking as Belarus pants and arches into the blond's body. They move longer still, back and forth and back and forth, meeting but never quite merging into the holy union they are biting screaming dying for, Denmark's hand between her legs and Belarus's hand in his hair and mouths meeting tongue-teeth for the last time-
The glow of Minsk outside the window is starshine compared to the white behind their eyes, Denmark jerking his hips against the blonde's body, wide-eyed and weary and drowning his broken cries in her neck. Belarus yanks his head down, entwining her fingers with his, wanting her skin touching as much of his as she can, sweat-slicked and heated; the former Viking's pleasure-dark eyes and red-dusted cheeks, tousled hair and taut muscle surrounding her, holding her, loving her are the most beautiful things the republic has ever seen.
Both Nations collapse into the sheets, panting and holding tight to each other as they wait for the world to stop spinning, for the earth to right itself beneath them so they can pick the scattered, white-hot pieces of themselves back up and build themselves stronger, closer once more.
author's notes [parts 25 - 28]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-27 06:02 am (UTC)(link)прашу - belarusian for 'please', transliterated as prašú.
if you happen to have read any of the other fills I've done on the meme, you might recognize a few phrases and terms of wording that hearken back to earlier fills of mine. you might even get my identity, since I have de-anoned before! and I managed to cut the smut down to end with this update, so there's lots of talking and heart-to-heart and somewhat plot-exposition to come and then eventually (and inevitably) more porn! more soon, and I hope everyone had a wonderful whatever you celebrated this month!
Re: author's notes [parts 25 - 28]
(Anonymous) 2011-12-28 10:41 pm (UTC)(link)Your Danish was fine, so I suppose Google did a reasonable job this time?
Anyways, this has been a pleasure to read from ther start, and I will be delighted to read more - porn and plot alike! :D
author-non
(Anonymous) 2011-12-29 12:07 am (UTC)(link)actually, I go to wiktionary for when I need to make phrases and then consult the wiki articles on a specific language's grammar if I'm not sure about it. or if I'm talking about a specific country, place, event, or thing I can find on wikipedia, I go to the article I'm referencing in the specific language I need (how I got denmark and belarus's names in each other's languages for example), which I know I can rely on at least a bit better than google translate!
OP
(Anonymous) 2012-01-06 02:44 pm (UTC)(link)I love the way you write smut. I think I've said that before but honestly I need to repeat it. It's so much more focused on what women typically like in their porny-goodness without wandering into the laughable stuff you get in paper back novel romances. Keep doing what you are doing because it is all kinds of fabulous.
AND NO YOU SAY THERE WILL BE PLOT? FUCK-to-da-YEAH. You may choose between a baby or cookies as an expression of my undying gratitude. Really, anon you spoil this always-late-to-the-party-OP
My Danish and Russian both suck (ha Russian... I should probably practice that more, and self teaching myself Danish is going... not nearly as good as it did with Italian) so I can't help you would with any of that.
I hope you had a happy holiday/holidays... I feel asleep on New Years Eve again despite being at a party... :/
'libera me' [29/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-15 07:57 am (UTC)(link)The Dane flicks his tongue over his lips, biting, jaw tilting as if he is about to speak, wants to speak but cannot find the words to do so. The blonde stops him with her finger over his mouth, and his cerulean eyes meet hers, wide and glittering in the dim light beside them; she could lose herself in them if she's not careful, and she reaches back to switch off the tiny lamp on the nightstand. Both Nations are left in the glow of the moon and her capital, snowfall speckling the room like the shimmering fractals of a pool. Belarus reaches for her towel on the floor, standing up and tossing Denmark's to him as she cleans herself. Flinging hers towards the bathroom when she is done, she begins to tiptoe about the room to collect her scattered clothes.
The kingdom fiddles with his towel as he watches the blonde, marveling at the lines of her body in the moonlight, at how she moves naked before him without the slightest hint of shame. He likes that in her, how she is brazen, bold, courageous in the face of calamity when even the most fearless of Nations might falter. The Scandinavian Nation remembers how only the morning prior his officials were quick-cut and sharp with her, and how she sat straight and unbreaking as he reigned them in beneath him.
Belarus is a conundrum in fits and starts, one he has already begun to solve, piece by piece, bit by bit with every layer he removes and every passing understanding that goes between them.
'libera me' [30/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-15 07:59 am (UTC)(link)“What is that look for, Данія,” and Belarus's eyes are narrowed as she looks up from his chest, fingers curled in the fabric of his robe. It's only then that he realizes he's been smiling dreamily at her for the past thirty seconds like a lovestruck schoolchild.
“Nothing,” he lies, sing-song and dripping through his teeth. The blonde raises a brow, unamused.
“I just never thought the fearless, fearsome Respublika Biełaruś would be one for cuddling,” Denmark says playfully, and the woman in question sits up in his lap, blankets around her shoulders and body bared unabashedly to his eyes.
“There is much you have to learn about me, Kongeriget Danmark,” she says, and he suppresses a shiver at the way his name in his mothertongue slides honey-dark from her mouth. The kingdom's heart could burst at her words, because learning means more of her sapphire eyes and diamond-cut courage and that wonderful, beautiful body that brings him to his knees.
“But I'm not sure I can teach such an old dog new tricks,” Belarus teases with shadowed irises, nails trailing down the dusting of hair on his chest and tongue licking over her lips.
“And I'm sure it was this old dog who gave you quite the performance earlier,” the Scandinavian Nation purrs, sliding a hand over the blonde's hip and tilting her head towards his own, pressing his mouth to hers. Her tongue licks over his teeth that bite her lip before she pulls away, eyes glittering endless and deep.
'libera me' [31/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-15 08:04 am (UTC)(link)But the Belarusian only lowers her head, turning her gaze everywhere but his own, eyes flickering with something he can see is more than the snow and starshine outside the window.
“Of course, you can't judge a book by its cover, but you, this,” and his hands run up her ribs, over her shoulders, hold her face to meet her eyes. “This isn't the Respublika Biełaruś I was prepared for.”
“Then what were you prepared for?” Her eyes are hard, crystalline.
“I don't know,” and the kingdom's hands slip from her jaw, into the blankets. “Maybe I wasn't prepared for anything, and that's why I expected everything.” The blonde looks at him curiously, head tilted ever so like an animal in waiting, silent.
'libera me' [32/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-15 08:09 am (UTC)(link)“This has something to do with din broder; your brother.”
The republic whirls her gaze to meet Denmark's, wide-eyed and weary when her shoulders sink ever so beneath the blankets around her. It is like he has seen right through to her heart, and she knows there is nowhere else to hide.
“Yes.” Her fingers trail over his chest.
“Everything.” The kingdom watches her, waiting.
“Yes.” The blonde's nails trace lightning beneath his jaw, down his neck, pressing into his skin.
“And nothing.” He covers her hand with his own and holds it between them, entwining their fingers.
“Да.”
author's notes [parts 29 - 32]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-15 08:14 am (UTC)(link)да – belarusian (additionally also russian) for 'yes'.
semi-plottish shenanigans now begin! I'm going to take a more unorthodox approach with belarus's characterization where it involves russia, one that I've never actually seen done before, so this will be really interesting to write. more very soon, gotta get lots written before college resumes in a week or so.
(did I mention the entirety of this update was written to gary jules' mad world? I'm pretty sure it shows quite a bit unless it's just me)
OP
(Anonymous) 2012-01-15 05:22 pm (UTC)(link)I am happy to see us moving into some plot now too though, and really excited to see what your take on Belarus will be exactly. If you think it's going to be interesting to write I am going to assume that it is going to be interesting to read. So I really can't wait for your next update!
'libera me' [33/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-25 08:31 am (UTC)(link)“And why are you so confident Brother has anything to do with this?” she asks finally, not taking her eyes off their hands.
“For starters, you haven't pulled a knife on me at any point,” he begins. “Nor have you threatened me, or given me the cold shoulder like you do to anyone <but your brother and sister at world conferences.” Belarus still doesn't look at him, only their hands.
“You've paid attention to me out of more than just necessity, something you don't do to others when your brother is around,” he continues. The republic stares at their fingers, unmoving.
“Were you genuinely, naturally cold and distant to others, to me, you wouldn't need to drop the act.”
Belarus closes her eyes, statue-still but for the rise and fall of her chest. The kingdom is silent as he watches the blonde, waiting for her to lash out, attack him, say something, anything.
"Go on." Her voice is sharp, cutthroat. Denmark listens.
"And this has nothing to do with your brother because you obviously have something to prove, to everyone but him," the Scandinavian Nation finishes. Belarus's gaze meets his, icy, glittering.
'libera me' [34/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-25 08:35 am (UTC)(link)"You would not have been in my bed otherwise," he replies, voice low. "Nor would you have been so with the United States, the United Kingdom, or Lithuania, to name only the ones I know."
Belarus is stock-still and silent, eyes flickering with something Denmark thinks might be pride and relief and regret, all gathered into one. The blonde looks down at their joined hands, hers so much smaller than his own, and brings them to her cheek. Her skin is soft and star-pale in the moonlight, the night still young over her never-sleeping capital. The Dane twirls her long hair between his fingers, strands as white as the flakes that continue to blanket the world around them.
"I was a fool in my youth," Belarus begins tersely, and Denmark interrupts her before she can say more.
"Hey, hey, don't say things like that," he chides, pulling the Belarusian into his arms. "If anyone's the idiot out of all of us, it's me," he laughs, thinking of his brothers' mocking but playful words.
"You don't understand," she counters, "this whole affair about being love with brother and wanting to marry him, it is all a lie." Her hands fist in the fabric of his robe, pulling and twisting as she speaks. Her voice is scratchy and low from her throat, raw with the weight of long-kept secrets.
"It always has been."
Denmark says nothing for a moment, processing the words he had known all along were true and yet doesn't want to believe, because secrets mean lies and lies mean somebody always gets hurt in the end. And he doesn't want that to happen to wonderful beautiful Belarus, who has been through so much and should not have to bear such a burden anymore.
baaah apologies for such a tiny update that ends on a cliffhanger-ish note; college is fun but with eight classes I'm going to be a busy bee this semester! more very soon, the weekend is almost here!
Re: 'libera me' [34/?]
(Anonymous) - 2012-01-25 17:36 (UTC) - ExpandRe: 'libera me' [34/?]
(Anonymous) - 2012-01-26 08:55 (UTC) - Expandauthor-non
(Anonymous) - 2012-01-26 14:55 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2012-01-26 11:04 (UTC) - Expandauthor-non
(Anonymous) - 2012-01-26 15:00 (UTC) - Expand