[There is no actual smut in this one because I was trying to stick to the time limit and ran out of time. '3']
"This ain't what I had in mind," Norway said, as he drew the curtains shut over the windows. There was an apologetic note in his voice, even if he didn't say it directly.
"It's fine," Germany replied, feeding another log into the woodstove. "How long do you think the storm will last?"
It had come on without warning, dumping snow on them just as they arrived at Norway's cabin. They had intended to get settled in, and then spend the afternoon skiing; but the mountain, it seemed, had other ideas.
"Can't say. Weather in these parts can be unpredictable." Norway came over, sinking down beside him to brush a kiss against his cheek. "Looks like we won't get around to skiing until tomorrow at least."
"Ah..." It's fine, Germany thought again, then held his tongue, deciding not to repeat himself. He took Norway's hands, squeezing them gently as if to reassure him. His eyes widened as he did so. "You're freezing," he said, unable to hold back the concern from his voice. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"'Course I am." There seemed to be a flicker of amusement on Norway's face, or perhaps it was just the flickering glow from the woodstove. He lifted his hands, cupping Germany's face gently. His fingers were chilled, ice-cold. "But if you're all that worried, I figure you can think've a few ways to warm me up. Can't you."
At first, Germany couldn't be certain what, exactly, Norway was implying. He had indeed started the fire, but aside from that, what could he do?
The kiss that followed dispelled any confusion.
It occurred to Germany then, as Norway eased his way into his lap, that this situation was like one pulled directly from a romance novel: the firelight, the storm, the absolutely transparent excuse for contact. It was as if Norway had planned it.
Surely, that was impossible.
Any further thoughts that Germany had on the matter were shoved aside by the sensation of cold hands dipping beneath his shirt. He gasped against Norway's mouth, and pulled him closer. The soft laugh that Norway muffled against his mouth made him flush even more deeply than the contact.
As those icy fingers trailed over his skin, Germany decided that, unpredictable weather or not, in spite of changing their plans, he had no objections to the situation.
Perhaps, later on, he would be thankful for the storm.
Re: prompt 4: snowed in an isolated cabin in the countryside with the power out and a fire going
"This ain't what I had in mind," Norway said, as he drew the curtains shut over the windows. There was an apologetic note in his voice, even if he didn't say it directly.
"It's fine," Germany replied, feeding another log into the woodstove. "How long do you think the storm will last?"
It had come on without warning, dumping snow on them just as they arrived at Norway's cabin. They had intended to get settled in, and then spend the afternoon skiing; but the mountain, it seemed, had other ideas.
"Can't say. Weather in these parts can be unpredictable." Norway came over, sinking down beside him to brush a kiss against his cheek. "Looks like we won't get around to skiing until tomorrow at least."
"Ah..." It's fine, Germany thought again, then held his tongue, deciding not to repeat himself. He took Norway's hands, squeezing them gently as if to reassure him. His eyes widened as he did so. "You're freezing," he said, unable to hold back the concern from his voice. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"'Course I am." There seemed to be a flicker of amusement on Norway's face, or perhaps it was just the flickering glow from the woodstove. He lifted his hands, cupping Germany's face gently. His fingers were chilled, ice-cold. "But if you're all that worried, I figure you can think've a few ways to warm me up. Can't you."
At first, Germany couldn't be certain what, exactly, Norway was implying. He had indeed started the fire, but aside from that, what could he do?
The kiss that followed dispelled any confusion.
It occurred to Germany then, as Norway eased his way into his lap, that this situation was like one pulled directly from a romance novel: the firelight, the storm, the absolutely transparent excuse for contact. It was as if Norway had planned it.
Surely, that was impossible.
Any further thoughts that Germany had on the matter were shoved aside by the sensation of cold hands dipping beneath his shirt. He gasped against Norway's mouth, and pulled him closer. The soft laugh that Norway muffled against his mouth made him flush even more deeply than the contact.
As those icy fingers trailed over his skin, Germany decided that, unpredictable weather or not, in spite of changing their plans, he had no objections to the situation.
Perhaps, later on, he would be thankful for the storm.