just a little ficlet i came up with during a snowstorm. named for the song "little shadow" by the yeah yeah yeahs, although not directly connected. but it's a good song, so give it a listen!
Denmark is reading a design magazine on the sofa, feet up over the arm, back propped up against the other. He looks at pictures of modern bathroom fixtures, but really he's waiting. The curtains are open. Snow is slowly piling up against the bottom of the window, which goes from floor to almost ceiling. Overlooks the garden, the tidy backyard of Denmark's summer house, a remodeled farmhouse shaped like three sides of a square. It's unusual for him to be here in the middle of January. But Norway's more likely to visit the farther north he is.
No sooner does he think that, no longer turning pages in his magazine, that Norway appears. He has one of the heavy wool blankets over his shoulders, holding it in place with both hands, and it's only the sound of it dragging over the wood floor that alerts Denmark to his arrival. "Hey, Nor!"
Norway doesn't pause or reply, merely continues his slow shuffle through the living room. When he arrives at the sofa he flops down with no grace or gentleness, landing on top of Denmark with a thump, face down. "Oof!" Denmark says as Norway's hip jabs into his stomach. Norway says nothing.
Denmark wiggles around until he's in a slightly more comfortable position, pushing Norway around to assist in this, then wraps his arms around him under the blanket. "Hi," he says.
"It'll snow all day," Norway says dully against his chest. Warm and heavy and real. He smells like cheap soap and slightly musty clothes.
He always gets like this when it's snowing. When it's settled, Denmark knows, Norway will want to go walking, skiing, even shovel out the carport. But when it's falling…
"Don't usually get this much snow," Denmark yawns. Norway continues being a lump, and Denmark runs his hand up his spine, up his neck and into his hair. He can hear the sound of the snow hitting the glass, so soft he almost can't. Can picture it in the rest of the town, a few people shoveling already, exchanging wry looks of here we go. He arches his back suddenly as Norway's hands, cold and strong, slide up under his shirt and then under him, resting just above the hips. It's uncomfortable. "Cold!"
"Child," Norway says, his mocking tone dampened by their position. "It's just winter."
"I'm not the one - lyin'."
"You're the one wrapped up." Norway seems to be ignoring his own arms.
"Your arms. And legs. Two against one."
"You started it," Denmark sulks, still playing with Norway's hair. His fingers brush up against the hair clip, the familiar metal.
"You did." Norway doesn't elaborate on how. But all at once he draws back, sitting on him, bracing his hands against Denmark's chest. "Say it."
Norway leans over him more, which would be nice if that didn't involve leaning more heavily onto his arms, which frankly kind of hurts. "No."
He has to strain his neck to lean up to meet him. "I love you."
Norway's eyes half close and he leans down to meet him in a kiss, soft and lazy. Denmark leans back again, caressing the side of his face and brushing against the clip again. Norway follows him down, deepening the kiss slowly.
For a moment things slip away, light and sweet under the wool of the blanket, but it doesn't go farther and that's fine too. There's time for that later. Then Nor is over him, foreheads almost touching, eyes dark and deep. "Say it again."
He laughs and goes to kiss him again, but Nor turns his head slightly and the kiss lands on his chin, his jaw. That's alright. Nor's looking out the window now. The room is slowly becoming soft and gray. "More comin' in. From the north."
"From your place to mine!" Denmark likes that idea. He lies back again, tightens his arms around Nor, and grins up at the ceiling. Nor makes a noncommittal sound and lies back down on top of him, tucking the blanket as he does.
Denmark thinks about snow. Of the grass getting buried, of shrubs turning into soft white lumps. Of the tracks cars will make. Of the soft sound it makes against glass. Of the soft sound of Nor breathing. He's falling asleep. Maybe both of them are. "Nor?"
Say it, he wants to say. But only kind of. It's too good to ruin. "I love ya."
"I know." It's the smugness that makes it worth it. He'd trade all the affection in the world for it: the pleased, satisfied note in Nor's voice.
They fall silent, lying like that, breathing slow under the blanket. Norway is heavy and finally warm. The room turns grayer and Denmark starts to fall asleep, warm and comfortable, wrapped around Nor, the snow falling outside.
After a long while, Norway says again, "It'll snow all day," but by then Denmark is already asleep.