Title: Rock the Hell Out
Author: Erandir
Pairing: Sweden/Finland
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Metalsex in a public bathroom, alcohol.
Summary: "Sweden mostly followed his wife to concerts to make sure he did not drink himself into a stupor and end up unconscious in an alley. Or worse. Or that's what he would say if asked."

Unbetad and my first Hetalia fanfiction.
Soundtrack: Mötley Crüe –This Ain't A Love Song, Dirty Penny - Hot & Heavy.

Peaceful times were nice and all, with no worrying about who was going to invade you and when and whether you were properly prepared for it, but they could get rather boring, especially when you had been born and raised on the field of battle. Centuries spent raiding and pillaging had certainly left their mark on ancient countries. Maybe that was why Denmark and Sweden were always fighting each other. They had been done it the longest, the fighting and the invading. Well, better they fought each other than took out that Viking rage on anyone else.

But there were times when friendly scuffles and arguments weren't enough. Peace was boring, monotonous. That was why they went to the concerts. There was a certain similarity between mosh pits and medieval battlefields. Though, admittedly, the former came with better accompaniment.

Finland did not have any Viking blood; his people had never been Vikings, nor had they done any raiding and pillaging. But that didn't stop him from joining in the festivities. And of all the Nordic countries he seemed to get the most into it. He never missed an opportunity to tag along, usually dragging Sweden with him even if the taller nation wasn't particularly in the mood.

The others had learned back in the 40's that behind that happily smiling housewifely exterior Finland was not someone to be messed with. And after a few drinks he stopped worrying about any nice reputation he should have had. Finland started drinking as soon as the bar opened, pushing past taller concertgoers to get to the tap, ordering himself a beer and chugging it down on the spot before ordering two more to take away with him.

Sweden mostly followed his wife to concerts to make sure he did not drink himself into a stupor and end up unconscious in an alley. Or worse. Or that's what he would say if asked.

The early drinks were for courage Finland told everyone when they asked. It wasn't too hard to believe, given how much smaller the Finn was compared to the average Scandinavian metalhead. But it was a lie. The truth was Finland liked his booze almost as much as Denmark did, but knowing full well how he behaved while intoxicated he did not usually allow himself to drink.

Finland went through various stages of inebriation when he drank. A few drinks in he was still more-or-less the same person he always was except that his smile was maybe a little too wide, his eyes a little clouded and his steps a little unsteady. This passed quickly as the alcohol muted his conscious and his dark side came out, unafraid to tell people exactly what he thought of them and quite a bit stronger than he looked. Slowly, the angry and violent phase passed as the small Finn grew tired and he became extremely horny. Incapable of walking in a straight line and with some difficulty even standing upright Tino latched onto his husband to keep himself steady, face flushed, panting and sweaty from hours of dancing.

Sweden secretly liked this last stage. It was really a shame he had to go through everything that came first to get it.

Finland ambushed his husband in the public bathroom while the taller nation was washing his hands. Tino's smaller arms latched around the other man's waist securely, palms flat against his stomach and body pressing up against his back. "Berwald," the Finn purred, his voice muffled against Sweden's back as his hands began to slide down his husband's stomach.

"Tino?" Berwald looked over his shoulder but all he could see was the top of the smaller nation's head as he pressed his face between the Swede's shoulder blades.

Tino's hands wandered down until they found the ragged hem of Berwald's shirt and slipped under it, finding cool, sweat damped skin over taught muscles. "Hnn… Berwald," he purred again.

Calm as ever, Berwald finished rinsing the soap from his hands and dried them off on his pants for lack of towels. Tino's hands ran up his stomach and over his chest, then back down again until they found his husband's belt. Fingers slipped under the waistband but could not make it much further and so came out again. An unwitting concertgoer opened the bathroom door, but one look at the pair standing in front of the sink, and Sweden's face in the mirror, sent him back out again. Tino's fingers were beginning to fumble with the buckle on Berwald's belt, finding it difficult to undo without being able to see.

Berwald stilled his wife's eager hands with one of his own and untwined the small arms from around his waist so that he could turn around. Tino looked up at him with dark eyes, cheeks flushed and lips parted, and clearly only one thing on his mind. Berwald nodded toward one of the stalls and watched the smile that appeared on Tino's face. The Finn did not protest as he was lead backward into the nearest stall and his fingers were already setting to work again while Berwald locked the door. The belt was undone by the time Berwald looked back at his lover, button and fly following soon after and before he knew what was happening Tino's hand was down his pants and the smaller man was standing on his toes to seal his lips against Berwald's.

Berwald bent to meet the kiss, sloppy and desperate and tasting of beer and vodka. He pressed Tino up against the wall, sliding a knee between his legs which his lover eagerly pressed his hips against. The Swede's hands fumbled with the fastening on his lover's pants, very much distracted by the smaller hand in his own pants rubbing through his underwear. Finally he managed to get the button and zipper undone, but getting the pants off of him was another matter entirely. Tight leather pants were hard enough to get off when you weren't sweaty and hard. Meanwhile, Tino had gotten his free hand around to Sweden's backside in a systematic search through his pockets that so far had only turned up the Swede's ID and nearly empty money clip. "Berwald," he whined as his hand slid into the last pocket and still turned up empty.

"Shoe," Berwald grunted and lifted his foot up to rest on the toilet seat so Tino could reach it while he peeled the leather off his wife's hips and lower, smirking a bit when he found nothing underneath but skin. Tucked into the top of Berwald's boot the smaller nation found a single-use tube of lube. This discovery pleased Tino greatly.

Tino ripped the top of the tube off with his teeth and took Berwald's hand in his own, pouring the substance liberally onto his fingers. Having succeeded in getting Tino's pants halfway down his thighs, which was clearly as far as they were going to go right now, Berwald pulled his smaller lover against him and slid his slicked hand down the crease in his backside in search of that puckered opening. When he found it a wet finger slipped in easily, drawing a moan from Tino's lips.

Their lips met again hungrily, a bruising clash of teeth and tongue. Tino's hands clutched at his lover's body, pressing up against him even closer in the cramped space. Berwald pressed another finger into his lover and felt Tino's hips press back against his hand. "Berwald, enough," Tino panted, thrusting his hands down the taller nation's pants and shoving down his underwear to free his erection. Berwald did not protest.

The remainder of the lube was poured onto Berwald's arousal and the little plastic tube tossed aside uncaringly. "Turn 'round," the Swede rumbled, removing his fingers from his lover's body. Tino did so eagerly, bracing his arms against the partition.

Berwald slid in easily despite the hasty preparation, large hands on his lover's slim hips guiding them together. He paused a moment once fully seated, but Tino did not let him wait longer than that. "Berwald," he bit out in heated annoyance, pressing his hips back against the larger man. Berwald did not need to be told twice.

Keeping his grip on the Finn's hips, Berwald began rocking against his lover, drawing out almost all the way before sliding back in. Each motion drew a moan from the smaller man's lips or a breathy, lust laden "yes."

"Berwald, more," Tino begged after a short while, impatient. "More… Faster." Berwald obliged by quickening his thrusts, pressing harder and faster into his lover and was rewarded by even louder moans. "Oh, yes," the Finn groaned and let his head fall back against his lover's shoulder. Berwald's lips pressed against the pale skin of his neck, kissing, biting and leaving red marks in their wake.

"Harder!" Tino demanded, panting, "Har—Aaah!" his words were cut off as Berwald did just as told, thrusting with enough force to send the smaller nation lurching forward. Tino's fingers grasped at the top of the bathroom stall to keep himself upright and provide some leverage as he pushed back to meet every one of his lover's thrusts. Moans flowed from the Finn's lips unchecked. His head dropped down between his arms and he felt lips press to the back of his neck, panted breaths into his hair, deep moans into his ears. "Sve!" he gave up on his lover's human name in favor of a much shorter version which was much easier to gasp out. His legs and arms trembled, he felt teeth bite into his shoulder and fingernails dig into his hips, but none of that mattered. "Sve… Aah! – Oh fuck!" Tino gasped as a large hand slid from his hip to his stomach and wrapped around the Finn's erection. "Fuck fuck fuck," Tino chanted, "Aah! Fuck, Sve-!" And with what could only be described as a scream his body tensed, back arching as the pressure building up in the base of his stomach finally released. His body trembled as it rode out the high, smaller gasps and moans pulled from his throat as Berwald continued to thrust into him until he found his own release and spilled warmth into Tino's body with a deep groan muffled against the smaller man's shoulder.

The pair stood there for a long moment, panting and unmoving. Tino's fingers still clutched at the top of the stall as though it was the only thing holding him up. Berwald braced one arm against the wall as he caught his breath. Eventually the Swede pulled out of his lover and grabbed a handful of toilet paper to clean off with. He wiped off his softening shaft and between his lover's legs, but did not bother with the strings of white left on the wall; it would not be the worst that surface had ever seen.

Tino was struggling to get his pants back on, so Berwald helped him before fixing his own garments and followed his lover out of the stall while adjusting his skewed glasses. Tino latched onto his arm as they left the bathroom and passed a few ogling concertgoers. Berwald almost looked smug until a guitar riff sent Tino pulling him running toward the stage again. And Berwald didn't mind because, damn, he liked to watch Tino in those pants.