[Fanfic] - Taste the Day
Title: Taste the Day
Pairing: Sweden/Denmark
Rating: PG
Summary: This one time glassamilk wanted DenSu fluff. I tried? Mornings and attempted breakfast in bed.
Warnings: Attempts at fluff.
The alarm blared; Sweden rolled over and blearily cracked his eyes open as Denmark smacked the the damned machine into silence. Soon enough he felt Denmark’s arms around him, and Denmark’s breath as he nuzzled into his neck.
He tried to fall asleep again - the sun was barely up, the room had that ghostly, gray-ish tint as predawn lit it up through the windows - but Denmark kept shifting against his backside.
A few more moments of warm covers, warm bodies, and Sweden felt Denmark back away and get out of bed with a groan.
“Why’re y’gettin’ up?” Sweden slurred, closing his eyes again and wishing for the return of that solid warmth against his backside.
“I...uh...” Denmark shook his head and stood up with an exaggerated stretch and a yawn, though Sweden was facing away and couldn’t see. “Gotta finish some work. Yup!”
Sweden grunted and tried to fall back asleep, hoping Denmark had turned the alarm off and had not simply hit the snooze button.
He heard Denmark yawn, again - Denmark bent over the bed to kiss Sweden’s temple, sinking the two of them down into the mattress and nearly falling atop Sweden in the process.
“I’ll be back in a little bit, jeez.”
Another grunt, and Sweden shrugged himself further into the covers, seeking warmth. Denmark grinned and suppressed another yawn. Perfect.
Denmark waited, shifting from foot to foot in the cold, until Sweden’s breathing evened out again. Took a moment to watch - Sweden’s face naked without his glasses, lax and peaceful in sleep, and the barest hint of sunrise painting his temples, cheekbones - then he shuffled out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Down the stairs - tripped, grumbled to himself, but not too loudly, he had to be quiet - stumbled his way to the kitchen. Damn mornings. He hated being up early.
He groped through his cabinets and got out the coffee grinder, yawned, cursed when the cord was too tangled for his liking, plugged it in - oh yeah, where’d he put those cinnamon rolls?
The first true rays of dawn streamed in and hit him in the face, earning another groan. Why was he up again?
Sweden. Food. Coffee. He laughed, lightly, to himself, imagining Sweden’s face when he brought up breakfast. Sweden always made the two of them breakfast, and he had to admit to himself, as he punched some random things into the microwave controls - Sweden was probably better at this.
Still. He couldn’t help but imagining Sweden’s surprise as he brought up breakfast in bed. He laughed again, loud and hoarse.
The rolls made their way, round and round, in the microwave - Denmark picked out some premium coffee beans - full beans, Sweden was damn picky about his coffee - dumped them into the grinder. He wasn’t sure if that was the right amount or anything, as he was used to simply dumping three scoops of instant in - but he’d watched Sweden do this enough times.
Good enough, right?
He pressed the button to grind them up, and it was very, very loud over the microwave’s noise. He glared at the grinder for its noise - opened it up - was that fine enough? Yawned again, and stared down at the chips of coffee, squinted - the bright light of dawn made it hard to see fine details like that.
“He’d better like this,” he grumbled, dumping the whole lot into the bottom of the French press.
“Like what?”
Denmark barked a laugh in surprise and turned around to see Sweden peering at him from the kitchen doorway.
“Sver! Go back to bed, you don’t hafta be up now!”
Sweden lurched into the kitchen and made his way over to Denmark, stumbling into a few things without the aid his glasses. Denmark chuckled under his breath, and then started when the microwave beeped.
Sweden paused in front of him, very close, nearly touching, and looked toward the noise. “What’re y’doin?”
Denmark heaved a sigh and rubbed his hair, finally accepting that his surprise was ruined. “Makin’ us breakfast in bed...sorta.”
Sweden looked from him, to the microwave, then squinted at the French press on the counter. “Y’are.”
“Well, I was gonna,” Denmark chuckled, and grabbed Sweden around the waist and buried his head against Sweden’s collarbone. “Then ya had t’go and get nosy, asshole.”
He felt Sweden’s slight huff of amusement against his ear and his grunt of agreement against his chest.
Then Sweden pulled away and squinted again, bright streaks of dawn painting his face in reds and golds - his narrowed eyes made him look more grumpy than he normally did.
Denmark couldn’t help but think it was cute, in an odd way. “Aw, c’mon, it was a good idea!”
Sweden kept staring at him; Denmark shifted and laughed, somehow unsure in this odd time when the world seemed frozen in place, even though he shouldn’t be - this was Sverige, they knew each other far more than they should, though, sometimes he thought it was in all of the wrong ways -
“T’was.”
Sweden pressed him against the counter and kissed him - just once, a slow, hesitant press of lips - bodies flush against each other and yet it was - chaste, almost.
They stayed frozen, thigh-to-thigh, torso-to-torso, dry lips to dry lips, over the continued beeping of the microwave and the increasing brightness of the dawn seeping through glass.
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UM YEAH FLUFF OR SOMETHING?! IDK.
Standard crit disclaimer: GIMME, GIMME, I LOVE CRIT C’MON DO IT. DOOOO IIIIIT.
Pairing: Sweden/Denmark
Rating: PG
Summary: This one time glassamilk wanted DenSu fluff. I tried? Mornings and attempted breakfast in bed.
Warnings: Attempts at fluff.
The alarm blared; Sweden rolled over and blearily cracked his eyes open as Denmark smacked the the damned machine into silence. Soon enough he felt Denmark’s arms around him, and Denmark’s breath as he nuzzled into his neck.
He tried to fall asleep again - the sun was barely up, the room had that ghostly, gray-ish tint as predawn lit it up through the windows - but Denmark kept shifting against his backside.
A few more moments of warm covers, warm bodies, and Sweden felt Denmark back away and get out of bed with a groan.
“Why’re y’gettin’ up?” Sweden slurred, closing his eyes again and wishing for the return of that solid warmth against his backside.
“I...uh...” Denmark shook his head and stood up with an exaggerated stretch and a yawn, though Sweden was facing away and couldn’t see. “Gotta finish some work. Yup!”
Sweden grunted and tried to fall back asleep, hoping Denmark had turned the alarm off and had not simply hit the snooze button.
He heard Denmark yawn, again - Denmark bent over the bed to kiss Sweden’s temple, sinking the two of them down into the mattress and nearly falling atop Sweden in the process.
“I’ll be back in a little bit, jeez.”
Another grunt, and Sweden shrugged himself further into the covers, seeking warmth. Denmark grinned and suppressed another yawn. Perfect.
Denmark waited, shifting from foot to foot in the cold, until Sweden’s breathing evened out again. Took a moment to watch - Sweden’s face naked without his glasses, lax and peaceful in sleep, and the barest hint of sunrise painting his temples, cheekbones - then he shuffled out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Down the stairs - tripped, grumbled to himself, but not too loudly, he had to be quiet - stumbled his way to the kitchen. Damn mornings. He hated being up early.
He groped through his cabinets and got out the coffee grinder, yawned, cursed when the cord was too tangled for his liking, plugged it in - oh yeah, where’d he put those cinnamon rolls?
The first true rays of dawn streamed in and hit him in the face, earning another groan. Why was he up again?
Sweden. Food. Coffee. He laughed, lightly, to himself, imagining Sweden’s face when he brought up breakfast. Sweden always made the two of them breakfast, and he had to admit to himself, as he punched some random things into the microwave controls - Sweden was probably better at this.
Still. He couldn’t help but imagining Sweden’s surprise as he brought up breakfast in bed. He laughed again, loud and hoarse.
The rolls made their way, round and round, in the microwave - Denmark picked out some premium coffee beans - full beans, Sweden was damn picky about his coffee - dumped them into the grinder. He wasn’t sure if that was the right amount or anything, as he was used to simply dumping three scoops of instant in - but he’d watched Sweden do this enough times.
Good enough, right?
He pressed the button to grind them up, and it was very, very loud over the microwave’s noise. He glared at the grinder for its noise - opened it up - was that fine enough? Yawned again, and stared down at the chips of coffee, squinted - the bright light of dawn made it hard to see fine details like that.
“He’d better like this,” he grumbled, dumping the whole lot into the bottom of the French press.
“Like what?”
Denmark barked a laugh in surprise and turned around to see Sweden peering at him from the kitchen doorway.
“Sver! Go back to bed, you don’t hafta be up now!”
Sweden lurched into the kitchen and made his way over to Denmark, stumbling into a few things without the aid his glasses. Denmark chuckled under his breath, and then started when the microwave beeped.
Sweden paused in front of him, very close, nearly touching, and looked toward the noise. “What’re y’doin?”
Denmark heaved a sigh and rubbed his hair, finally accepting that his surprise was ruined. “Makin’ us breakfast in bed...sorta.”
Sweden looked from him, to the microwave, then squinted at the French press on the counter. “Y’are.”
“Well, I was gonna,” Denmark chuckled, and grabbed Sweden around the waist and buried his head against Sweden’s collarbone. “Then ya had t’go and get nosy, asshole.”
He felt Sweden’s slight huff of amusement against his ear and his grunt of agreement against his chest.
Then Sweden pulled away and squinted again, bright streaks of dawn painting his face in reds and golds - his narrowed eyes made him look more grumpy than he normally did.
Denmark couldn’t help but think it was cute, in an odd way. “Aw, c’mon, it was a good idea!”
Sweden kept staring at him; Denmark shifted and laughed, somehow unsure in this odd time when the world seemed frozen in place, even though he shouldn’t be - this was Sverige, they knew each other far more than they should, though, sometimes he thought it was in all of the wrong ways -
“T’was.”
Sweden pressed him against the counter and kissed him - just once, a slow, hesitant press of lips - bodies flush against each other and yet it was - chaste, almost.
They stayed frozen, thigh-to-thigh, torso-to-torso, dry lips to dry lips, over the continued beeping of the microwave and the increasing brightness of the dawn seeping through glass.
---
-
---
UM YEAH FLUFF OR SOMETHING?! IDK.
Standard crit disclaimer: GIMME, GIMME, I LOVE CRIT C’MON DO IT. DOOOO IIIIIT.