This is the companion piece I promised for "Isoviha". You don't have to read that one to understand this story but the two are connected in a way you'll see if you read both.
The Fallen Empire
The street was stained with blood. Red, everywhere. On the walls, windows, the slushy snow on the pavement, even the weather beaten faces of the Danish people staring silently at him. He knew it was an illusion, brought up by his blood stained glasses. It still didn't stop him from thinking the world was tainted in red, that the walls were bleeding and the stones were pleading to be put to death.
The chain on his wrists rattled as he slowed down momentarily and Denmark pulled hard, hauling him forward like a dog on a leash. Denmark looked over his shoulder, the shoulder where the other end of the chain lay taught. He gave a smirk. Ever since the shattering of the Kalmar Union and Sweden's departure from his house he had been waiting for this moment. Berwald's actions were a form of treason, plain and simple. Not looking back, not apologizing for the fight he had instigated, and on top of that taking Finland with him. He wanted to see him crushed, dreamt about it all these years. Especially since Sweden had done so well for himself after the split. He had grown into an empire no less, becoming so vast and powerful it had taken both his and Russia's combined forces (with the help of their cronies Norway and the commonwealth) to finally pull him down. But down he was pulled, and now he was nothing more than spoils of war, beaten and humiliated.
Berwald was quiet, although he knew he still must be hurting. There was blood on his face and on his dark blue uniform, making the fabric look like patchwork in spots. Denmark suspected internal injuries as well; a few cracked ribs at the very least. He hated the unwelcome sense of regard he felt for the other as he was pulled through the streets in what was supposed to be a shameful parade. Denmark was taking him to his house, the house the Swede had departed from two centuries ago, and he was making the most of every second of it, making sure his people saw what his proud opponent now looked like. But the result wasn't nearly as he had expected. There was no hooting and jeering, no throwing of rotten food or of Sweden showing any remorse. The streets were full of silence, and it irked Denmark to see a number of sad faces among the crowd.
Russia! It must be because of him. His people would prefer not to celebrate a victory if it meant the downfall of a Nordic nation with the aid of that hated fiend. And to make matters worst, he had had to concede Finland to him in order to get the beaten Swede to himself.
The house was looming near and Denmark's heart beat faster at the prospect of finally getting there. Once there, he would deal with the rebellious deserter the proper way. He would show him that he was still the boss, even after so many years. Sweden would regret messing with him and challenging his authority. He would regret forcing him to get Russia involved. It would be sweet revenge.
He pulled on the chain again and this time Sweden stumbled and fell. His bloody knees hit the cobblestones and, with another irritated pull by the Dane, he crashed face first into the muddy slush below him. Satisfied at this shameful display Denmark loosened the chain and walked back to where his captive lay.
He was breathing hard. Denmark could see his ribcage moving. The urge to kick him was strong but he held himself. He looked down at the fallen enemy as Sweden coughed and struggled to his knees. Denmark saw the blood spattered on the ground, like an insignia of the other's suffering. Sweden wasn't giving in, wasn't pleading or groveling like Denmark would have wanted him to. He was silent as always, the way he had been in his house even when the Dane pushed his buttons, all before that final straw that broke the camel's back and caused Sweden to brawl with him and leave the next night. Remembering that incident, and feeling the thick aura of respect emanating from his own citizens, Denmark got even more irritated and decided to definitely make good of his promise once they got to the house.
I will make you submit. I promise you. Before this day is done I will have you begging at my feet. For mercy, for release, and if I can't have that, then for your death.
Once they reached the house things became increasingly less complicated. Denmark pulled Sweden to the living room, ignoring the bloody footprints trailing on his floor and carpet. He walked to his favorite chair, the one that resembled a throne. It wasn't the same one he used to sit on centuries ago while being served by Norway and Finland. Motts had finished that one years ago. But it was pretty close, and he enjoyed imagining the memories it must bring to Sweden's mind as he occupied the seat in the same manner he had the night of their fight.
Sweden stood at the entrance to the living room long enough for his chain to pull tight. Then he took a step forward and continued staring at the sitting Dane. The two of them remained that way, frozen in their observation of each other and the comparison between now and then. Denmark smirked. He had spent ample time enjoying his opponent's humiliation. But now was time to bring things to its head, to show the fierce warrior how far he had fallen.
"Kneel before me," he said.
Berwald didn't move. Denmark pulled on his chain.
"I said kneel."
But the Swede continued his resistance, and suddenly Denmark became aware of something very absurd yet alarming in the current setting. True he had won the war, broken Sweden apart, taken his land and separated Finland from him. But right at this moment in this room, they were two guys facing each other. Even chained and injured, Sweden was a formidable opponent and someone with enough muscle that could do serious damage if goaded into violence.
He decided to take a more diplomatic route.
"Are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink?"
Again no answer, but a flicker in Sweden's eyes told him that there was something he wanted.
"Or is it some place to rest? I have you know I'm not going to take off the chain or ask you to make yourself comfortable if that's what you want glaring at me like that."
Sweden's fists tightened on chinks threading through his hands and he shifted from foot to foot. Just as Denmark thought he would continue with his game of mute observation Sweden grumbled a few words.
"Excuse me," Denmark asked, "What did you just say?"
"Tino. Where's Tino?"
A smile crept over Denmark's lips. So that's what it was. The fallen giant was worried about his bitch. Oh what a joy to tell him exactly where that bitch was.
"You already know." Denmark said deliberately. "Ivan has him. And knowing Ivan, I have a few guesses as to where the boy could be now."
He savored the tightening of Sweden's lips. Now this was how he wanted things to go. Nice move from the Swede to provide him with the weakness he was looking for.
"You know he had his eyes on him for a while, nearly from the time you separated. That is why I told you you need my protection. And look where your willful insubordinance got him."
"Need 'im back," Sweden replied.
"What? You're kidding." Denmark let out a loud laughter at the simple way Sweden always thought about things. The brute really had a nerve on him.
"I told you Ivan has him. You've been around long enough to know that what Ivan gets Ivan keeps."
The lips tightened even more. "I don't want t see 'm hurt."
Denmark shrugged. "Can't guarantee that. I can tell you now I don't see the Russian and the pigheaded boy mixing well. If you ask me he's tied to a whipping horse right about now."
He savored the wince that statement produced in the other. So much fun pressing on a wound that was already bleeding.
An idea popped in his head, like the sun peaking through half closed curtains. He smiled, thinking he might see this warrior on his knees after all.
"He did allow me one last request though. Sort of a payment for services rendered. I did help him quite a bit on the western front you know."
Sweden looked up curiously, a flicker of hope shining in his bloodshot eyes.
"Don't get me wrong," Denmark added, "I can't get him back, I told you that already. Russia wants him to completely sever his ties with you and become a nation of his own. It's quite strange I must say." He played with the end of the chain in his hand. "But that's beside the point. What I'm saying is that I can send him a message and ask him to go easy on the boy. Untie him from the whipping horse or whatever he's doing to him, give him some tender loving care. I can see myself being able to do that. Ivan is a dangerous man but he always keeps his word so his promise to me is solid."
The Swede's eyes remained unchanged. He looked so much like a statue that it was almost unexpected when he spoke.
"What is th' price?"
The grin on Denmark's lips widened. "You already know." And with his hand that wasn't holding the chain he loosened his belt and unzipped his fly. Sweden didn't say anything, his eyes didn't move away. They kept staring at each other like that for a few more minutes, Berwald like a man caught and frozen in a Nordic winter storm, Denmark smug and grinning. Then without any words Berwald stepped forward and fluidly went down to his knees between the Dane's thighs. Denmark leaned back in the chair, still grinning, and placed a hand over Sweden's blood clotted hair, rolling tufts of hair together with the chain.
He was as cold and stoic doing it as he was when he was standing. He took the Dane's cock head into his mouth and slowly licked the tip. Denmark suppressed a gasp and arched his back. It had been too long since he had this sort of pleasure. Sure he always had Norway, and the boy was as soft and delicious as the fairies he kept around him. But he always had a taste for the more rebellious ones. That's why Finland had been his favorite, and Sweden, his secret desire.
He gasped when Berwald wrapped his lips around his shaft and completely engulfed him in the hot cavern that was his mouth. He couldn't keep himself from thrusting forward, words spilling out of him in a mad, desperate rush.
"Yeah, that's it. Wanted it, for so long. You, my bitch. Such a good bitch when you are on your knees. Yeah, that's right. Suck it right there. My eternal bitch…, you, Berwald."
Sweden continued his careful ministration of the Dane's member, pumping him fast and hard with his mouth and massaging his balls. He knew how to do it, had done it a million times with Finland. Finland. His thoughts turned to the boy, not that they had ever strayed from him. Since the first seconds of his defeat, when the enemy had torn his wife away from him he had been thinking of nothing but him. Where Tino was, what was being done to him, if there was a way to help him…. He was unfazed by the degradation he was suffering now at Denmark's hands only because he knew it was a way to help Tino. And for Tino he would go to the end of the world, kneel in front of anyone if it meant an easier time for the boy.
A stiffening in the Dane's body told him the man was close. He intensified his actions to get him close to his release sooner. Just as the man's orgasm seemed imminent he felt the hand in his hair tighten, fingers curling in his locks as the Dane pulled his head back and away from his member. His mouth cleared the head of the cock and he saw the jet of white liquid fountaining from the organ, spraying his face and hair with the other man's essence. He took it stoically. It was all for Finland he reminded himself.
When he was done Denmark sat back, a contented dreamy look on his face. He had achieved what he had dreamed of for so long. He had marked his territory and shown the Swede his place. Never mind it had come through blackmail and a fair-haired youth held in the clutches of their mutual boogieman. All it mattered was after two centuries of humiliation, anger, hurt and wars, after watching his former housemate grow into an empire and wield his power in the area like a giant middle finger in his face, the empire had fallen. Denmark had him on his knees in front of him, with cum dripping from his face. The rest were just peripheries.
After they split and before he shipped Sweden to a specially made cell in his house he called for a messenger and gave him a note to be delivered to Russia. The note was a simple one, asking Ivan not to do anything to hurt Finland. He watched Sweden's eyes follow the messenger, no doubt sending some sort of silent vow with it. For some inexplicable reason it lessened the taste of victory in his mouth and after that he never felt the same kind of urge to humiliate Berwald ever again.
Links to The Great Northern War: h t t p : // e n . wikipedia . org / wiki / Great_Northern_War and the Kalmar Union: h t t p : // e n . wikipedia . org / wiki / Kalmar_Union (remove the spaces)
Thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated.