❝when he's feeling brave you take his wine away❞
unspoken | axis powers hetalia | 1200 words | denmark ; prussia ; england ; norway | pg-13 |
in which prussia, denmark, and england get drunk after a world meeting.
de-anoning from the kink meme.
Unspoken.
Though they spend so much time together, there is always much left unsaid between them. For instance, the word “pathetic” is strictly taboo, as are “love”, “miserable”, and “wretched.” And the most banned word of all? “Lonely.”
The three of them have been drinking since the sun went down-well, actually, since a bit earlier than that. The world meeting ended at three, and Prussia wasted no time in grabbing England and Denmark by the elbows and dragging them to the nearest bar. He must have been, Denmark supposes, just as miserable as he was.
Not that Denmark would know anything about it, given how closed-lipped his companions are. But he saw Hungary and Austria leave the meeting together, fingers intertwined, just after Germany and Italy rushed off, leaving Prussia all alone. Just like he saw England’s face fall when France slung his arms over Canada and America’s shoulders and invited them over for some “quality time.” So, yes, Denmark assumes that his friends are as lonely as he is.
“In that we are perfectly matched,” he says lackadaisically, leaning back dangerously on his bar stool. His eyes are already red-rimmed, and his head is beginning to pound, but that doesn’t stop him from taking another swig.
“What was that?” Prussia asks, his face scrunching in concentration. “You two match…you’re both blonde.”
“Not really,” England mutters. “My hair’s more ashen; Den’s is white-blonde.”
“And you’re kinda blonde yourself,” Denmark puts in, “like, platinum, or something?”
“It’s silver,” Prussia grumbles.
“…wait. Why the fuck are we talking about hair color?”
“Because we refuse to talk about anything important,” Denmark murmurs, but not loud enough for the others to hear him. “I dunno. Cause Prussia never makes sense?”
“That’s probably it,” England says, satisfied. He gulps down his beer heartily, then slams the mug onto the bar’s countertop, signifying his need for more. “What time is it?”
“Past one,” Prussia says. “Shit. We’ve been here for ten hours.”
“We didn’t even notice,” Denmark remarks. The three nations turn to look one another in the eye-blue meeting red meeting green. Suddenly, they dissolve into a fit of spontaneous, gurgled laughter.
“Why do we drink so much?” England asks when they’ve recovered their senses.
“Because we’re awesome,” Prussia responds promptly.
“Because we’re lonely,” Denmark says at the same time.
His two companions freeze. Because Denmark has crossed a line they silently vowed never to approach; he has violated their friendship by touching on their need for one another.
“Well, it’s true,” he mutters defensively, when they don’t respond.
“What’s true?” A new voice queries. The three nations turn to see Norway standing before them, dressed in a sleek black coat and holding his muffin cap in his hands.
“N-nothing,” Denmark says roughly, pushing aside his tankard. “What’re you doing here, Nor?”
“You never came back to the hotel,” the other Nordic says with a shrug. “Sweden and Iceland were getting worried.”
“Yah, right,” Denmark says, throwing back his head and laughing deliriously.
Prussia and England exchange a knowing glance. Prussia nods at England, who reaches over to jab Denmark in the chest with his elbow.
“Don’t be rude, mate,” he says in a hushed whisper. “He came looking for you.”
“So what?” Denmark demands, pushing back from the bar abruptly and rising to his feet. “I don’t need anyone to look for me.”
Norway, still standing there, rolls his eyes.
“You don’t think so?” Denmark asks him roughly.
“I think,” Norway responds carefully, “that if no one came looking for you, you’d probably never bother to come home.”
“He’d be fine,” Prussia says, bored. He claps Denmark on the back, “Right, Den?”
“Like you really need to spend all your time with them,” England says dismissively, rising to his feet as well.
“Stop commiserating,” Norway mutters.
“What was that?” Prussia demands.
Norway releases his breath in a huff. He takes a few steps towards Denmark. “C’mon. It’s getting late.”
“So. What.” Denmark speaks blandly, spacing out each syllable.
A blush rises to Norway’s cheeks as his fists clench at his sides. Denmark crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows, daring Norway to say more. Instead, the other Nordic braces his hands against Denmark’s shoulders and pulls himself up onto his tiptoes so that his lips can reach Denmark’s. And when they do, he kisses Denmark so passionately that all the ice in Copenhagen melts. His tongue slides between Denmark’s lips and licks his teeth, his mouth moves compulsively against Denmark’s, sucking him in. After a minute, it’s over; Norway pushes away from Denmark and takes a step back.
“What…was…that?” Denmark says, swaying slightly, as Prussia lets out a low whistle. Norway shrugs.
“You’re so stupid,” he mutters. He grabs Denmark’s hand and pulls him towards the door. “If you wanted to spend time with me, you should’ve just said so.”
“Who said I wanted to spend time with you?” Denmark says defensively, but he’s blushing profusely, and there’s a self-satisfied grin hanging lopsided off of his features.
“Holland, whom you spent the entire day complaining to, before you got drunk. Remember?”
“Vaguely?”
Norway sighs. “Stupid,” he mutters again.
“You like it,” Denmark challenges, the situation finally sinking in. He leans down to nuzzle his chin into Norway’s shoulder.
“Get off,” Norway protests, pushing him away with his free hand. But the other does not let go of Denmark’s fingers. They are half-way out the door, now, and finally Denmark remembers his friends.
“Thanks for today, guys! See you tomorrow, I guess?” And then he whips out of sight, Norway towing him along.
“What. The. Hell.” England’s face is a mask of confusion as he and Prussia stand alone in the bar, awestruck.
“So…if the person you like knows you like them, they’ll make out with you?” Prussia says, stroking his chin as he tries to work it all out.
“I…guess?”
“Fuck. If I’d have know that, I would have…”
“Would’ve what?” England asks, one eyebrow raised in question.
“I dunno. Drunk myself into a stupor?” Prussia laughs it off.
“I guess we should head back, too,” England grumbles, reaching for his wallet.
“…that fucker.” Prussia says suddenly as he motions to do the same.
“What?”
“He left us to spot his bill!”
- - -
Norway’s skin is soft and cold against Denmark’s as the larger nation pulls him close. Underneath the clean, spring-scented hotel sheets, they intertwine, Norway silent as Denmark sighs in content.
- - -
It is two am when Prussia finally arrives at the room he’s sharing with Germany. Realizing that he’s lost his room key, he knocks fiercely on the door.
“West! Oy, West, open up!”
When the door swings open, it is not Germany standing there, but Austria.
“We were wondering when you’d turn up,” he says with pursed lips.
“Shut up, stupid aristocrat,” Prussia spits, but the redness of his cheeks isn’t entirely caused by the alcohol.
- - -
Close to dawn, England is still standing outside France’s room. He knows that America and Canada didn’t return to their own-he checked-and so now he stands, frozen, outside, waiting for an invitation in that he knows will never come.
Finally, he works up his courage, sucks in his breath, and knocks on the door.
original fill → &hearts
in which prussia, denmark, and england get drunk after a world meeting.
de-anoning from the kink meme.
Unspoken.
Though they spend so much time together, there is always much left unsaid between them. For instance, the word “pathetic” is strictly taboo, as are “love”, “miserable”, and “wretched.” And the most banned word of all? “Lonely.”
The three of them have been drinking since the sun went down-well, actually, since a bit earlier than that. The world meeting ended at three, and Prussia wasted no time in grabbing England and Denmark by the elbows and dragging them to the nearest bar. He must have been, Denmark supposes, just as miserable as he was.
Not that Denmark would know anything about it, given how closed-lipped his companions are. But he saw Hungary and Austria leave the meeting together, fingers intertwined, just after Germany and Italy rushed off, leaving Prussia all alone. Just like he saw England’s face fall when France slung his arms over Canada and America’s shoulders and invited them over for some “quality time.” So, yes, Denmark assumes that his friends are as lonely as he is.
“In that we are perfectly matched,” he says lackadaisically, leaning back dangerously on his bar stool. His eyes are already red-rimmed, and his head is beginning to pound, but that doesn’t stop him from taking another swig.
“What was that?” Prussia asks, his face scrunching in concentration. “You two match…you’re both blonde.”
“Not really,” England mutters. “My hair’s more ashen; Den’s is white-blonde.”
“And you’re kinda blonde yourself,” Denmark puts in, “like, platinum, or something?”
“It’s silver,” Prussia grumbles.
“…wait. Why the fuck are we talking about hair color?”
“Because we refuse to talk about anything important,” Denmark murmurs, but not loud enough for the others to hear him. “I dunno. Cause Prussia never makes sense?”
“That’s probably it,” England says, satisfied. He gulps down his beer heartily, then slams the mug onto the bar’s countertop, signifying his need for more. “What time is it?”
“Past one,” Prussia says. “Shit. We’ve been here for ten hours.”
“We didn’t even notice,” Denmark remarks. The three nations turn to look one another in the eye-blue meeting red meeting green. Suddenly, they dissolve into a fit of spontaneous, gurgled laughter.
“Why do we drink so much?” England asks when they’ve recovered their senses.
“Because we’re awesome,” Prussia responds promptly.
“Because we’re lonely,” Denmark says at the same time.
His two companions freeze. Because Denmark has crossed a line they silently vowed never to approach; he has violated their friendship by touching on their need for one another.
“Well, it’s true,” he mutters defensively, when they don’t respond.
“What’s true?” A new voice queries. The three nations turn to see Norway standing before them, dressed in a sleek black coat and holding his muffin cap in his hands.
“N-nothing,” Denmark says roughly, pushing aside his tankard. “What’re you doing here, Nor?”
“You never came back to the hotel,” the other Nordic says with a shrug. “Sweden and Iceland were getting worried.”
“Yah, right,” Denmark says, throwing back his head and laughing deliriously.
Prussia and England exchange a knowing glance. Prussia nods at England, who reaches over to jab Denmark in the chest with his elbow.
“Don’t be rude, mate,” he says in a hushed whisper. “He came looking for you.”
“So what?” Denmark demands, pushing back from the bar abruptly and rising to his feet. “I don’t need anyone to look for me.”
Norway, still standing there, rolls his eyes.
“You don’t think so?” Denmark asks him roughly.
“I think,” Norway responds carefully, “that if no one came looking for you, you’d probably never bother to come home.”
“He’d be fine,” Prussia says, bored. He claps Denmark on the back, “Right, Den?”
“Like you really need to spend all your time with them,” England says dismissively, rising to his feet as well.
“Stop commiserating,” Norway mutters.
“What was that?” Prussia demands.
Norway releases his breath in a huff. He takes a few steps towards Denmark. “C’mon. It’s getting late.”
“So. What.” Denmark speaks blandly, spacing out each syllable.
A blush rises to Norway’s cheeks as his fists clench at his sides. Denmark crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows, daring Norway to say more. Instead, the other Nordic braces his hands against Denmark’s shoulders and pulls himself up onto his tiptoes so that his lips can reach Denmark’s. And when they do, he kisses Denmark so passionately that all the ice in Copenhagen melts. His tongue slides between Denmark’s lips and licks his teeth, his mouth moves compulsively against Denmark’s, sucking him in. After a minute, it’s over; Norway pushes away from Denmark and takes a step back.
“What…was…that?” Denmark says, swaying slightly, as Prussia lets out a low whistle. Norway shrugs.
“You’re so stupid,” he mutters. He grabs Denmark’s hand and pulls him towards the door. “If you wanted to spend time with me, you should’ve just said so.”
“Who said I wanted to spend time with you?” Denmark says defensively, but he’s blushing profusely, and there’s a self-satisfied grin hanging lopsided off of his features.
“Holland, whom you spent the entire day complaining to, before you got drunk. Remember?”
“Vaguely?”
Norway sighs. “Stupid,” he mutters again.
“You like it,” Denmark challenges, the situation finally sinking in. He leans down to nuzzle his chin into Norway’s shoulder.
“Get off,” Norway protests, pushing him away with his free hand. But the other does not let go of Denmark’s fingers. They are half-way out the door, now, and finally Denmark remembers his friends.
“Thanks for today, guys! See you tomorrow, I guess?” And then he whips out of sight, Norway towing him along.
“What. The. Hell.” England’s face is a mask of confusion as he and Prussia stand alone in the bar, awestruck.
“So…if the person you like knows you like them, they’ll make out with you?” Prussia says, stroking his chin as he tries to work it all out.
“I…guess?”
“Fuck. If I’d have know that, I would have…”
“Would’ve what?” England asks, one eyebrow raised in question.
“I dunno. Drunk myself into a stupor?” Prussia laughs it off.
“I guess we should head back, too,” England grumbles, reaching for his wallet.
“…that fucker.” Prussia says suddenly as he motions to do the same.
“What?”
“He left us to spot his bill!”
- - -
Norway’s skin is soft and cold against Denmark’s as the larger nation pulls him close. Underneath the clean, spring-scented hotel sheets, they intertwine, Norway silent as Denmark sighs in content.
- - -
It is two am when Prussia finally arrives at the room he’s sharing with Germany. Realizing that he’s lost his room key, he knocks fiercely on the door.
“West! Oy, West, open up!”
When the door swings open, it is not Germany standing there, but Austria.
“We were wondering when you’d turn up,” he says with pursed lips.
“Shut up, stupid aristocrat,” Prussia spits, but the redness of his cheeks isn’t entirely caused by the alcohol.
- - -
Close to dawn, England is still standing outside France’s room. He knows that America and Canada didn’t return to their own-he checked-and so now he stands, frozen, outside, waiting for an invitation in that he knows will never come.
Finally, he works up his courage, sucks in his breath, and knocks on the door.
original fill → &hearts