You're the Sky That I Fell Through
Summary: And I remember the view whenever I'm holding you. NorIce.
A/N: I need to stop listening to this song. Oh, and Kathleen? I will convert you. /FISTCLENCH/ Okay, I'm gonna... Go tunnel to Niceland (Norway and Iceland) now...
All my clothes smell like you
'Cause your favorite shade
Is navy blue.
Iceland didn't particularly like being jealous.
His eye twitched when Denmark slung an arm around Norway's shoulders, leaning in close with the largest grin on his face. The jerk should learn about personal space; then Iceland wouldn't really have to worry about what, exactly, they do when he wasn't there.
His fists clenched. He knew―hoped―Denmark didn't mean anything by it, but Denmark had been the first of the Nordics to legalize gay marriage... He grimaced. He was just being paranoid, he was sure.
It wasn't like Denmark was a bad guy, or anything; frankly, the Dane's company was rather enjoyable when he knew when to shut up. He was nice enough and proved to be a good friend. Sure, he was a little oblivious and loud, but there were other countries that were worse.
But God, that man knew how to annoy someone.
Denmark laughed at whatever Norway said and Iceland really, really wanted to be anywhere but there.
They continued to chat inanely, Denmark gravitating toward leaning a bit away and being too close, until Iceland was fed up with it.
(So what if it was only five minutes later? He dealt with jealousy just fine, thank you. He wasn't possessive or anything, no sir. He could simply ignore it, but he didn't want to, okay? HE WAS NOT JEALOUS.)
"Denmark," he declared icily, "do you mind leaving the room for a moment? I need to discuss something with Noregur."
The Dane shrugged and released the quiet blond, stretching as he stood up. "Sure thing, Ice." He complied so easily, Iceland felt a little bad for being curt (and for trying to burn holes in his head with his glares). He left the room, the door shutting with a click.
Norway began, "Iceland, what―" He stopped when Iceland slunk over and sat down on his lap, facing him while he pulled off his gloves. His legs were placed on either side of Norway's thighs; it was a vaguely uncomfortable position, but he didn't have time to think about it, because Iceland kissed him fiercely, threading his fingers through flaxen hair.
The normally stoic country gasped in surprise, and his brother's tongue invaded. Norway kissed back, hands slipping under Iceland's white shirt to rub circles on the pale skin. They only pulled back when they needed to breathe, panting slightly, a strand of saliva connecting their red mouths; it was quickly broken when they wiped their mouths, faintly embarrassed.
Iceland kissed down his jaw to press his lips against his throat, causing Norway to inhale sharply. He trailed down and when Norway reacted more to a specific area, he nipped it, earning a small moan, and proceeded to mark it.
"Iceland," Norway groaned, hands moving to pull off said nation's brown jacket, "don't make it too noticeable... Aah..."
The island country swiped his tongue over the bruise, smirking. "I know, Norge." He moved his arms to help with the removal of his coat, shrugging it off. "Everyone asked you about it last time." He paused, remembering his original motive for the affection. "Oh, and do you like Denmark?"
Norway stared at him in disbelief. "No." He tugged on Iceland's tie, swiftly undoing it, and dropped it somewhere. "He figured you'd be jealous." He bit his lip when his sibling pressed their bodies closer together, flushing from the proximity. "He's right outside the door―"
Iceland silenced him with an ardent kiss.
And that is when Denmark opened the door, asking, "Are you done ye―OH MY GOD."
The brothers pulled away to glare at him.
"OH MY GOD," Denmark said again. "I DID NOT EXPECT THIS." He wondered, for a moment, why he was talking in caps, but figured it was because it was 'cruise control for cool'. "I really did not think that you two would ever... Yeah." He continued staring at them, taking in their disheveled states.
He pursed his lips. "So... Who tops?"
Norway glowered at him. "Get out."
"God," Iceland exclaimed, "just shut up already!" He pecked Norway and got off him, murmuring, "We'll continue later, okay?" He found his tie and pulled his jacket on. "Really, Denmark," he added in exasperation, "learn to knock."
Denmark shrugged, smiling lopsidedly. "Just barging in gives me opportunities to learn about people I wouldn't otherwise know."
"Like finding out who's a couple and whatnot?" Norway inquired coldly, fixing his messy hair.
"Exactly. Last world meeting, I saw Spain and Romano, and then afterward I saw Prussia and Canada, America and England, and France and―actually, I think he was with Canada, too..."
Iceland fussed over his cravat, finally able to tie it sloppily; with a sigh, Norway reached up to do it correctly. With a heavy blush, Iceland cleared his throat and asked, "So... Canada's two-timing...?"
"More than likely, France was just being himself," Norway replied dismissively. "He knows not to intrude on his friends' relationships." It was a little-known fact that, despite being a pervert, France would actually not get in the way of his cohort's budding romances. After all, he was the country of love, and what kind of guy would intercept the very thing he stands for?
"Oh, I don't know," Denmark drawled, watching them in amusement. "Canada seemed quite into it..."
Norway rolled his eyes. "Right."
Somewhere else in the world, Canada sneezed.
Iceland smiled tentatively, running a hand through his hair. "Anyway... Who else did you see together?" He was a sucker for gossip.
Denmark sat down on the closest couch arm, striking a thinking pose. "Germany and Italy, of course, and I might have seen something between Austria and Switzerland. Hungary looked pretty damn happy every time they so much as touched something that was near the other, anyway―like she was going to have an explosive nosebleed at any second. Russia could have been making a move on China, but China was too busy looking at Japan, who was looking at Greece..."
"Ah, young love," Iceland quipped almost sarcastically. "Is anyone officially... You know?"
"Spain and Romano and America and England," Norway answered, crossing his legs. "Prussia may or may not be thinking about asking Canada out."
Denmark raised an eyebrow at them. "You know, I've been wondering... Are you two even dating?"
"That's a good question." Iceland looked at his brother, furrowing his brows. "We've never... Um..."
"He's my wife," Norway replied simply with a hint of a smile.
There was a beat of silence, and Denmark was laughing uproariously while Iceland covered his very crimson face with his hands. "Been on your honeymoon yet?" the Dane questioned, snickering. "Oh, don't answer that. I better tell Sweden and Finland they've got competition. Try not to fuck like bunnies while I'm gone." With that, he flounced out of the room, still chuckling.
Iceland groaned. "Why did you have to say that?"
"It's true," the blond defended. "You kind of are my spouse."
"I―whatever! Oh, god, we'll never live this down..."
"We can always say Denmark made it up."
"... Sometimes, I think I love you."
"And sometimes, I think I love you, too."