In which Denmark is interested in only one thing.

For Love, and Maybe Some Other Things

Months. He has been at it for months now.

He was giving Norway the worst elongated headache that he has had since the idiot had discovered the vuvuzela.

He'd come over, stay over, twiddle his thumbs and try to be spontaneous about it when really Norway was expecting it the entire time. The idiot's pretty words and compliments fell on deaf ears as soon as Norway figured out his intentions, but he was persistent. Every few weeks when he would visit, he'd spend more and more time just leisurely throwing an arm over Norway's shoulder, casually asking how he was doing, offering to make him tea and cook dinner and clean up, and even going as far as to sit Norway down and give him a foot massage (which the Norwegian would have declined, but he must have rubbed off on the idiot because those fingers were magical).

Then after all this, they'd lay down on the worn plaid blanket, that Norway always kept for when the idiot decided to pay a visit, and they'd watch the stars like they always do before bed, with the idiot playing with the tufts of hair on the back of Norway's neck as a way to divert Norway's attention away from the fact that the idiot was scooting closer ever-so-slowly. And Norway would ignore it as he usually did, pointing out constellations that he knew the idiot already had memorized while the idiot just hummed in acknowledgment, not really paying attention to the words as much as just the sound of the other's voice.

Then his arm would be around Norway and they'd go quiet. The hand on the back of Norway's neck now resting on his shoulder, the thumb trailing circles on the Norwegian's flushed cheeks that he swore were from the cold air. And they'd stay like that.

When the mood was set and Norway was drifting off into a relaxed slumber, he would strike.

Norway's eyes and mind were always weary and heavy with sleep when he decided to ask, which Norway figured was no coincidence. Every time they did this, the Norwegian would try to outlast the idiot, but somehow he was always the first to drift off.

There were lips at his ear in his state of semi-consciousness, and Norway would make something between a groan and an exasperated sigh, because he knew what was coming. He'd try to groggily shove the idiot's arm off his shoulders and his efforts just earned him a low chuckle right next to his ear, the breath tickling the rim of his ear and he would shiver (from the cold) every time.

His voice would be husky, deep, and impossibly sexy as he asked that one, stupid, enfuriating question.

"Can we play dress-up?"

And then Norway would suddenly find the strength to pull away, stand up, and stomp so hard on the idiot's crotch that he was guaranteed not to have any micro-nations for the next few centuries. Norway would stalk away from the writhing Danish idiot and ask himself why the Hell he let this happen every single time.

Of course, after all doors and windows had been locked and Denmark was crying pathetically on his doorstep and begging to be let in because he was freezing and... sore, Norway would remember that yes, he was in fact stupidly in love with the idiot. And maybe a part of him couldn't stand the thought of the Dane in tears, but it was mostly because his sobbing was annoying and loud and the neighbors would complain (ignoring the fact that the nearest neighbor was two miles away).

So he'd unlock the doors, allow himself to be tackled in a bear hug by the Dane whose face was remarkably dry, allow himself to be put in yet another dress, allow himself to blush and be rescued by his knight in shining armor, allow himself to be swept up in the Dane's overactive imagination, allow himself to smile and laugh, just as dorky as Denmark himself, as Denmark stood in front of him swinging axe and sword to ward off invisible enemies.

When Norway woke up the next morning it was to costumes scattered all over the house, toy swords and tiaras and wands included, and he'd silently clean up, telling himself that he had the stupidest most immature boyfriend in all existence. He'd stare at the figure of his knight splayed out on the couch, legs and arms dangling off the sides with his mouth open wide and a bit of drool trailing down his cheek. And he'd stare for a little longer at the tousled hair, the prince-like getup, the fake sword and axe laying faithfully by his side.

And then he'd kiss him, softly, imperceptibly, and wait patiently for morning so he could kick him out just to wait another week for it to happen again.

Of course, it wasn't until later that Norway realized (when Iceland pointed it out with a raised brow) that this was, in fact, role play. Or maybe it was just child's play, considering Denmark was involved.

...Either way he planned to bring the concept of role play up with Denmark the next time they were laying on their backs, staring at Taurus and Orion on that beat-up picnic blanket.

Thankfully, however, Norway was saved the trouble when Denmark showed up on his doorstep smiling sheepishly and holding up a nurse's costume.

Norway dragged him inside before the idiot could make a complete ass of himself and Norway will always and forever deny everything that happened following.

Because Norway wasn't kinky, and he certainly didn't enjoy crossdressing, he just happened to like being the one to put a stupid smile on his boyfriend's face.

So don't get the wrong idea, because it was for love and only for love.

Of course, dresses were a little freeing...

Alright, for love and maybe some other things.


For some reason, this thought that Denmark liked to role play came into my mind, but then I thought that it wouldn't be kinky role play because it didn't fit his character. So I kept it to princesses and princes 'til the very end with the nurse.

And I had a brief fight with myself (and discussed it with Joey), because the characters I wrote seemed to fit Romano and Spain's personalities more, but I knew that Romano would never give in to Spain that easily, so I had to adjust some PoV issues and out came this. YAY.

DenNor writing spree. Where is it coming from? WHERE?