A/N: What. This is dirty. Finland is dirty. I apologize. But I do love to write SuFin-smut.

Enjoy! :D

Stepping out of the bathroom, dressed in only a pair of old, worn jeans, Sweden can almost feel the tension in the air. He doesn't even have to look up to know Finland's eyes rests on him, hungrily raking him up and down. Awkwardly, the Swede smiles, feeling that he might need another shower later, as he watches Finland get up from the couch.

Heat shoots to Sweden's stomach, and Finland struts across the room, hips swaying, eyes keeping close contact. Small and lethal, Finland closes in on him, like a predator eyeing its prey.

"Hello Ruotsi," he mumbles, voice lower than usual.

They are close, close enough for Sweden to feel Finland's hot breath on his neck. The Finn smells like vodka and Sweden feels another surge of energy going through him, awaking his lust.

"So, I saw you with Norway the other day," Finland begins. "And I thought, weren't the two of you married for a while?"

Sweden cringes. Marriage is not what they call it. Ever.

"That's not very nice, hanging out with your ex-spouse," the smaller man continues. "I could get jealous you know."

Finland jealous? Of Norway? Not likely. But Sweden plays along, because Finland smells like alcohol and he's way too close and way too warm, and talking now would probably ruin things for Sweden. Instead he just tilts his head, slightly to the side and back, glancing down at Finland questioning.

"We wouldn't want you forgetting," Finland takes a step forward. Sweden counters by taking one back. "Who you really belong to."

Finland flashes a smile. Way too sexy. Way too wicked.

He places his hands on Sweden's chest, backing him into the next room, the bedroom, where their bed is in a mess, the walls are deep blue and dreams become reality.

He pushes Sweden down on their bed. Sweden's blue eyes are wide, and he stares at Finland as the small man straddles and leans close to him, lips brushing his ear as he whispers, voice low and dripping with promises of dirty things; "You love me, don't you?"

As he takes Sweden's earlobe between his teeth, Sweden gasps – his ears have always been sensitive and when Finland applies that precise pressure of his teeth, tongue just barely flicking out to play, it's heavenly, sensations are shooting through his spine. "Ahh, yes..." he gasps out. Finland smirks.

"Good," he says as he pushes Sweden back, pressing him further into the mattress, trailing hands along Sweden's arms, over the hard muscles of his impressive biceps, over the veins on his underarms and at last clasping his hands with Sweden's and presses them down on either side of the tall man's blonde head.

"Because you're mine," Finland continues, still right into Sweden's ear. The taller man inhales sharply, hips bucking against his will, his hardening cock pressing momentarily against Finland's hips. "Mm," Finland's half hums, half moans, and presses back down on Sweden. Voice lower yet, almost sounding foreign, "Only mine."

A harsh lick up Sweden's neck draws a low moan from the tall man and large hands squeeze the Finn's smaller, more delicate ones. Finland smiles against Sweden's cheek – a wicked, clever smile gracing his usually so gentle and kind face. As his lips press a wet kiss to Sweden's cheek, the taller man groans in frustration, hips thrusting up, lifting both of them off the bed.

Their hips press together and Finland's sweet moan joins Sweden's frustrated, muted one. "So strong and powerful, my Sweden," the small man muses as he leans over the Swede with stretched arms, resting on his and Sweden's clasped hands, effectively holding the man down on the mattress. "Do you want me?"

Desperately wanting – but unable to utter a single word, because Finland is there with him, on top of him, binding his tongue like magic with his lips and hands and hips – Sweden bucks against his spouse and squeezes his hands firmly – while his mouth only utter a groan. The wicked little man only grins though, and leans his head down to Sweden's neck. He presses a feather light kiss to ivory skin while murmuring; "Pardon?"

"Yes," Sweden gasps out. Finland gives the Swede's neck a hard suck, latching on for a few seconds before letting go. A red mark adorns the milk white skin, and Finland smiles – he dives down again, sucks harder, and another mark is created next to the first one, glaring bright red – a stark contrast against Sweden's pale complexion.

Sweden's breath hitches and when Finland is finished and content with the dark marks he has littered over Sweden's neck and down to his collarbones and shoulders, the tall man's breath is fast and ragged. And though his hips buck desperately and his fingers press against Finland's hands harshly, Sweden is still on his back, and he lets the smaller man take all the control – with his lips sailing over Sweden's skin and his hips moving slowly, only almost pressing down, not quite relieving the pressure in his groin, caused by hard kisses and sexy Finns.

With a voice so sweet and innocent, how can Finland such a sexual creature – is the constant question running through Sweden's mind as his partner giggles sweetly while he lets Sweden's hands go in favour for poking at his neck, at the marks he's created there. Questions such as those are pushed back in Sweden's sub-conscious as the Finn runs his tongue over his neck, giving a long and erotic lick over the hickies, ending up at the larger man's ear, tugging at the lobe, carefully.

Hands fly down to Finland's waist and he pulls and pushes at the man's frame, because he wants more friction and more heat – more of Finland against him, if you will.

Finland smiles and kisses Sweden, hard, long and deep, distracting the Swede as his hands are pushed down on the mattress again. "Keep them there," Finland says shortly against soft lips before he presses feather light kisses over Sweden's jaw, stubble brushing his lips, down his neck and further – nuzzling the fine, fair hair on his chest, giving a lick to a nipple, pressing a sucking kiss here and there, leaving faint marks that will definitely disappear faster than the ones on the large man's neck.

Sweden has a hard time keeping his hand where Finland put them. He likes to touch Finland, likes to stroke milky white skin, likes to run fingers through fair locks, likes knowing that he makes the other man feel good.

Now Finland's sighs and moans are all for Sweden's sake, because he knows how the little sounds run down his spine, through his veins, making his blood go hot. So he makes small noises of appreciation as he kisses Sweden's chest and stomach. Sweden's fingers twitch and he struggles to keep in place. The last thing he wants is for Finland to stop because he was being disobedient.

Finland's quick, clever tongue dips into Sweden's bellybutton and his hands stroke Sweden's sides and Sweden gasps, his breath hitching in his throat, because Finland is getting close, close, close, and Sweden isn't sure he can take this sweet torture, this infuriating tease, no matter how grand the reward is later.

His hands are in Finland's hair before he can stop them.

Finland freezes.

"Oh," he sighs, "You were to keep your hands here, right?" He crawls up to straddle Sweden and pulls Sweden's hands in position by the headboard, for demonstration. "That's too bad."

Sweden looks up nervously.

"But alas." He smiles again. "I have the perfect solution."

Why Finland keeps rope stored beneath his bed, Sweden never finds out. Where he learnt how to make knots like that is an equally big mystery.

But when Finland is done, there is no way in hell Sweden can squirm out of the rope's tight hold.

"There we go. Now, brace yourself."

That seductive, sensual, smile Sweden receives has his breathing picking up quickly. Promises of more, the view in front of him, of Finland, smug and horny, hair tangled and eyes flaming – it has him gasping, aching for more than just pants straining against his cock.

Finland slides down Sweden's body again, this time without sucking and biting at his skin, but rather aiming for one particular place.

The buttons of his pants come undone, the Finn's fingers working deftly, pushing and brushing against Sweden's cock in the process.

"All mine," Finland muses as Sweden's dick is finally free from his pants, standing proudly for Finland and only Finland. He gives it a teasing lick, eyes looking up at Sweden, violet meeting blue, both burning with want, with desire, with a force that always lingers beneath to be released at moments like this one.

Taking Sweden's cock in his mouth, Finland hums in the back of his throat, smiling around the thick length.

Sweden strains against the ropes. He wants so bad to tangle his hands in Finland's silky hair, to let them run down over pale neck and shoulders, to clasp them with Finland's where they lay on Sweden's hips.

Unable to do anything, he groans, loudly, as Finland swallows him, bobs his head and then swallows him deep again. His hands trace circles on Sweden's hips, carefully and affectionate, in time with his long and hard sucking. Sweden's head falls back and his eyes clench shut. Heat and pleasure begins to take over his entire body, and shoot down to his groin...

And then – nothing.

The sensations leave him and he looks at Finland, surprised. Finland stares back.

"You want me?"

Sweden nods, fast and desperate.

"You really want me?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Tell me," Finland smiles, wrapping his hand around Sweden's cock again, lingering there, without moving. "Tell me you love me. Tell me you'll be mine forever more."

"Love ya," Sweden gasps as Finland gives a rough stroke. "Always."


"Yours, an' I love ya." Finland strokes again, harder, and Sweden moans. The smaller man smirks, and gets off the bed to swiftly remove his pants before he straddles his lover, grinding his ass against his cock.

"I'm yours, always, please," Sweden rambles now, and he would be surprised at how easily the words fall from his lips, if he wasn't so wrapped up in pleasure and heat and Finland.

The Finn smiles as he sits down on Sweden's cock, taking the entire length in at once. His eyes go wide and his mouth is open, panting, giving a small whine. Sweden wants to make him move, wants to control his pace, his impact, the movement of his hips, wants to feel the warmth of his skin, the softness of his hair and the beating of his heart, beneath his fingers.

But Finland is in charge. And Finland doesn't move. He sits still, hands on Sweden's chest, gasping and trying to get used to the girth, the length, the entire sensation of Sweden's penis filling him up so fully.

"Finland, Finland," Sweden moans, desperate for him to move. Bounce, grind, squeeze – hell, just do something, anything.

When Finland then finally does, Sweden grits his teeth, keeping his loud moan inside. His hips lift above the bed, meeting Finland with as much vigor as he possibly can. And Finland bounces and grinds down on him, clenching, feeling, taking Sweden in deep – and Sweden, who was brought so close to the edge before, feels the tension pooling in his stomach.

Finland leans down, as Sweden gets increasingly vocal; "Whose?

"Yours. All yours."

"Say my name."


Finland presses down, "Wrong."


"Good boy."

Harder, deeper, stronger, and Sweden sighs Finland's name as he comes. In Swedish or Finnish, he doesn't even know, but as he opens his eyes, he gets to watch his lover reach that point where the ecstasy takes over, when everything breaks, and Finland comes as well, making a mess all over Sweden's stomach and chest.

Sweden likes to think he hears the slightest murmur of his name, in whatever language, as Finland moans out his orgasm

When Finland is back to his senses, he giggles, "You look good like this," he says, smearing his finger in the semen on Sweden's stomach while he's eyeing the tall man's neck and shoulders.

Finland smiles. Sweden needs another shower.


"Sve?" Finland says as he wanders down the hall, reaching the bathroom door. He peeks in and finds Sweden by the mirror, with a spoon and an ice cube in hand, rubbing them against his neck. Finland leans against the doorway, arms crossed, and a pleased smile on his lips. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Hickies," Sweden answers, as if it was obvious.

"That doesn't work, you know," Finland chuckles.

"No harm in tryin'," Sweden sighs and turns to grab his shirt from the shelf. It's a turtleneck. A black turtleneck that looks really quite exquisite on the tall man, but today, Finland does not want him to wear it, today, he wants him to wear a tank top that shows the dark bruises on his neck and the rope burns around his wrists.

"You can't wear a turtleneck in July," Finland states.

"It's not that hot."

"It's twenty-seven degrees Celsius," Finland argues and stares sceptically at Sweden as he tenses.

"I have a meeting with Denmark and Norway today."

Finland's grin grows wicked and he pushes away from the doorway, closing in on Sweden while keeping his eyes fixed on his partner's. Eyes glowing and smile wide, he leans in, and whispers in Sweden's ear; "I know."

Sweden pulls away and looks at him in confusion for a few moments before realization dawns to him. "You're mine," Finland simply states, looking deep into Sweden's eyes with that same smile on his lips. Sweden understands and a smile spreads over his face as he gives Finland a peck on the cheek and places a hand on his waist, keeping him close for a couple of moments.

"I'm yours," he murmurs into the Finn's hair, and he knows Denmark is going to stare and Norway is going to drop a crude comment, but what the hell – let them.

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