Husband and Wife

[Note: I'm using Sve (short for Sverige) instead of Su-san.]

This shouldn't have happened.

This, of all the things that have occurred in the long (and certainly glorious) history of Finland, definitely shouldn't have happened. Finland wishes he could wipe the memory from his brain, but that would be admitting that he didn't just imagine it.

The degree to which he is mortified is sort of remarkable.


A sleepy sigh comes from behind him, and Finland doesn't want to think about the implications of that either, nor the weight of the arm curved around his shoulders, nor any of the other places they're touching, which, Finland suspects, is everywhere.

There is no warm breath on his neck.

There is no warm body pressed up against his back.

There is definitely no warm and half-naked Sve right behind him.

Finland puts his hands over his eyes and whines.

The events that had led up to it were not abnormal: It was just Sweden coming home, just Finland patting the snow off his coat, just the usual failed attempts at conversation (though Finland has never been able to tell who's at fault for that). Dinner had been pleasant, their evening walk with Hana Tamago had been pleasant, and when Sealand asked for his papa to pick him up and Sweden swung him around and around, Finland had only barely contained his laughter. They had come back in by nightfall and warmed up next to the fireplace, and when it was Sealand's bedtime, he went yawning to his room without complaint.

When Finland peeks through his fingers again, he sees light streaming from the window and hears living things beginning to stir, squirrels and twittering birds and what not. This distracts him, somewhat, at least until he considers that the squirrels hadn't done anything horrendously uncoordinated the previous night, and the birds, if anything, do not still feel sticky between the legs.

Oh God.

It was only a little after Sealand had gone to bed when Finland had felt himself growing tired as well; he'd settled comfortably against Sweden's side in front of the fire and would have nodded off entirely if Sweden hadn't brushed his hand against his cheek and said, suddenly, "thank you. For makin' me s'happy."

He supposes that was what had caused something to rouse inside him. Hearing him say that may well have been what caused something like his reservations or his dignity to snap or break or otherwise just up and explode because he'd leaned up for the first time in his life and kissed Sweden without being asked.

And he had probably asked why, or how, because all that Sweden did next was just smile and cup Finland's face in his hands and ask, ask so sweetly and kindly Finland almost wanted to cry.

"D'you love me?"

Finland pauses in his inner-reimagining of the unspeakably embarrassing as Sweden shifts again. His arms are now under his shirt, and his hands are sliding lazily up to his chest, which is not helping Finland in pretending that this is not happening.

It finally occurs to Finland, regardless of the events of last night that definitely never occurred, that he is trapped. Sweden has him in the iron-hard grip of the dead-to-the-world and Sealand is going to wake up soon, if he hasn't already, and he's going to want breakfast and Hana Tamago is going to need to be let out. Even if by some miracle the two of them are planning to sleep until noon Finland is sure that his bladder is going to start protesting if nothing else.

Therefore he's going to have to find a way to escape somehow, and hopefully if he just takes a cold shower and has his morning coffee and beats his head against the kitchen counter a few times he won't ever have to admit to himself that last night—


Finland jumps out of his skin and possibly the rest of his body parts. He can't even bare to look behind him when he answers, unsteadyily, "y-yes?"


"W-what, Sve?"

"Yer shakin'."

Finland turns, and Sweden brings his hands from under Finland's shirt to put them around him and pull him closer. Finland knows that Sweden is frowning just from the shallow way he's breathing—a result of having lived together so long, he supposes.

"I'm just a little—" Finland pauses and pats Sweden awkwardly on the hand. "I'm fine, Sve."

But Sweden still holds him tightly, and Finland feels the heat in his cheeks rising the longer he does.

"Stopped now," Sweden says, after a few minutes. "Y'alrigh'?"

"Yes. Um."

"That's good."

Sweden gives him an extra squeeze before rolling onto his back and studying the ceiling.

"Um, I," Finland says thinly, as he pulls the blankets up to his chin. I don't know what to say, he wants to say. Can we pretend last night didn't happen? I must have suffered from an unfortunate bout of insanity last night, and I realize that I might or might not have made some pretty undignified noises, so I would really appreciate it if you didn't bring it up.


Finland finds himself frozen in place, suddenly aware of the fact that there's something building in his groin, like his body has inanely decided to rebel against his panicking brain. It might be insanity or it might be love, it's hard to tell, but last night—

"Finlan'?" Sweden asks again, slowly. "Ya sure yer alrigh'? M'worried about ya."

And suddenly, far from being embarrassed, Finland's heart starts breaking.

"I'm sorry," Finland says, and flips over to see Sweden looking a little surprised. "I'm really, really sorry."


"I agreed to it," Finland presses. He searches around in the blankets to find Sweden's hand and squeeze it. "And you didn't do anything wrong. It's just that this morning, I thought, I hadn't ever done something like that and I was—"

"Finlan'," Sweden attempts, "s'alrigh'—"

"I've always said," Finland babbles, "I'm not your wife, and then it was like—I realized—I know I'm shaking, but I'm so embarrassed—you're so nice to me and last night when I said yes I really—I really just—"

"Made m'happy," Sweden finishes for him, and his mouth twitches like he really wants to laugh. "Finlan', s'alright."

Sweden shifts and presses his lips to Finland's mouth, just enough to make Finland go dizzy and silent and think that's not fair,because he shouldn't be allowed to win every argument like that.

"Finlan'," says Sweden, and now he is laughing, shoulders shaking slightly in the effort to control himself. Finland blushes all over as Sweden shakes his head and adds, "m'glad."

"W-what? Why?"

"Wasn' sure of m'self either. Thought maybe we'd regret it."

Sweden pulls Finland closer to him again and Finland wraps his arms around his back, clinging tightly and pushing his blushing face against Sweden's chest.

"M'sorry I embarrassed you."

"Oh, no, Sve that's—don't apologize—"

"Y'didn' hate it though?"

Finland makes a vague grumble and shakes his head, feeling himself flush worse than ever. Sweden gives a very small laugh and weaves his fingers into Finland's hair.


"Papa, Mama, are you gonna sleep forever?"

Finland nearly has a heart attack as Sealand pokes his head into the room, pouting with Hana Tamago in his arms. Sweden moves away after a gentle push to the shoulder.

"No, no, we're awake," Finland says, and wills his heart to stop pounding. "Do you want to get in with us, Sealand?"

"Okay," says Sealand, and his pout evaporates on the spot as Hana Tamago leaps out of his arms and onto the bedspread. Sealand scrambles after her and sits between his parents, saying, "I was just getting hungry, Mama."

"I should have been up an hour ago, I know," Finland sighs, and casts a look at Sweden, who is watching them both with that hesitant smile of his.

"Wha'd'you want for breakfast?" Sweden asks.

"Can we have pancakes, Papa?"

"Mama makes 'em better than me," Sweden says, and looks shyly to Finland. "He makes 'em just right."

"You just stir too much and they end up a little tough," Finland explains, allowing himself a tiny smile. "But if you really want me to, let me get up and take a shower first—"


Finland notices that Sweden and Sealand are both staring at him like he's suddenly become very interesting to look at. Even Hana Tamago seems to have focused her attention on him.


"Blushin'," says Sweden.

"You are, Mama," Sealand observes, grinning. "Because of what Papa said?"

"I—of course not," Finland says, and almost manages to throw his legs over the edge of the bed and escape before Sweden captures his wrist with one hand. He puts the other on Finland's hip and drags him back.


"Here," Sweden offers, and kisses Finland on the lips.

"Mmph," says Finland.

"Papa!" Sealand moans, looking up between them with a horrified expression. "Ewwww!"

Sweden manages to go on for several more seconds before Finland makes a flustered noise and breaks the kiss.

"Uh," says Finland, once again bright red, and he tries to ignore the fake gagging noises Sealand is making. "Sealand, can you—would you let Hana Tamago out for me, then?"

"Yes Mama," Sealand says, suppressing a fresh giggle, and hops from the bed, beckoning Hana Tamago to follow him from the room. Finland watches him go and flops backwards onto the pillows.

"I won't ever get used to that," he sighs.

"Embarrass'd ya again?" Sweden asks, looking concerned.

"It's okay." Finland finds it in himself to laugh at the situation—we're both so bad at this, he thinks. "Um—Sve. It really is okay, you know. You're doing everything just right."

It's Sweden's turn to blush, and Finland finally decides that everything is fine after all. Nothing has changed—they're still Sweden and Finland, still housemates and partners, still husband and wife (whatever that's supposed to mean). They'll just need to start trusting themselves—and maybe remembering to lock the bedroom door some nights from now on.