Warnings: setting is modern. Rated T for safety, but is mainly fluff. Human names not used.

Author's Note: Written for Norway's birthday~ inspired, oddly enough, by a friend of mine. Feedback and criticism is always loved!

Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya-sensei owns Hetalia and all it's characters; I do not.

When Norway woke up that Sunday morning, he had half-expected for that idiot of his neighbor to be banging his door until he awoke, and half-hoped that it would all just be a bad dream he would wake up from.

Much to his utter dismay, the latter remained just a half-hope; the former ideal becoming reality when he heard the sharp crack of his bedroom door slamming open. He held no doubt that the clatter following the attack must have been the hinges - proving why his door now lay flat against the ground from the assault - and frowned darkly when he saw a leather boot-clad foot upon it like some win. Which, he supposed, was what the Dane must have felt it was, his sleep-tired eyes glaring as they met ebullient lapis.

He was answered with a bright grin, like always.

"Yo, Norge!" he happily chirped - far too loud for six in the morning, Norway thought. "Good morning!"

Rubbing one hand against his eyes softly as the other helped him push himself into a sitting position, the smaller blond briefly yawned.

He immediately snapped at the Dane before he could say anything about "how cute" it had sounded; "It was until you got here."

His words seemed to be said in vain, as Denmark proceeded to stalk on over and kneel beside his lying self, causing Norway to flush when he remembered - he was still shirtless.

"Ja, well, I'm here to make it better." he beamed matter-of-factly, swiftly clutching one of the Norwegian's hands in his. "Get ready for the greatest present of your life, Norge!"

Unable to hold back a snort, Norway sent the Dane an irritated glare as he was dragged out of his - warm, comfy - bed into his - cold, stuffy, rose-decoréd - living room.

Norway could not even process a mere fragment of thought into coherency, as the shock of all the flowers decorating his abode sunk in.

"So, what do you think, Norge?" Denmark inquired expectantly, a mix of a proud and slightly flustered look on him.

Face deadpanning, further so than usual, the smaller Nordic nation eyed the copious amount of clearly withered flora one last time. He did not doubt that they had probably been quite breathtaking in their prime - when the Dane must have first placed them there - but they looked much the contrary now. What he could only assume had been beautifully scarlet-red hued petals and rather frightening thorns appeared to be nothing more than rotting remains.

Turning to the expectant blond with his face still blank, he made sure to answer nothing short of the truth.

"They're horrible." he supplied blandly.

Features crestfallen, and lucidly disheartened at the unexpected reply, the Dane flailed his arms a bit while he tried to understand the two words. After he had gone out of his way, too!

"W-what do you mean, Norge? France told me roses are supposed to be romantic! Romantic! Why would you—" interrupting the blond with an upset stare, Norway gave a terse sigh.

"France? France told you this?" he inquired aloud, although it seemed more fit as rhetoric.

Denmark did not seem to notice.

"Yeah, Francis." he answered rather exasperatedly, as if it were the easiest thing to understand in the world.

Which, the more Norway thought it over, he realized was quite the opposite.

"And just why would you listen to him, or even go to him in the first place?" he questioned again, this time more inclined to hearing a response.

He did not miss the soft blush coating the Dane's cheeks now.

"I mean, I was just going to come by and spend the day with you, and hopefully even have sex - not that that's all I wanted! - and maybe even get Iceland to come with me and... yeah." the Dane explained, initially to set himself in the clear.

However, if anything, he had only managed to dig his grave deeper.

What he failed to notice was the brief twitch of Norway's lips - he had smiled, albeit fleetingly, but truly had smiled. Not only that, but even the smaller blond could not stop the pink flush now claiming his cheeks. Denmark soon caught the signs, though, much to his personal favor, and began grinning brightly as he always did when he was pleased with how things turned out. Specifically, his way.

However, Norway was still disturbed by the flowers to let him off that easily.

Hiding, or at least trying to, hide his flush behind his hand, Norway once again averted his eyes and instead stared at one of the bouquets beside him. He noticed how a few of the actual roses had wilted right off the moss-green stems.

"I'm not even going to say anything about that. Look, just, if you really want to do something pleasing..." he gave one brief glance at the taller blond, before supplying, "Get rid of these."

In a sense, Denmark understood where his Norge was coming from. He really did - dead flowers littering your house? Who wouldn't be livid? He certainly would be. Notwithstanding, what actually bothered him was the fact that he was not the victim - er, receiver - of what had been a heartfelt gesture. The Dane was the instigator - sender - of the flora, and by every means felt hurt that his lover would ask such a thing from him.

Clenching his own glove-clad hands into fists, he refrained from outright demonstrating his ire and merely stared at his feet. He did not notice how his body was trembling with the force, but Norway could not have missed it.

"Oh, Den…" he muttered to himself softly, finding that his feet had deftly walked him right over to the humiliated blond.

For a moment, Norway wondered what he was supposed to do next. He knew it had to be comforting, because that was what he would do when Iceland was tumultuous as well. He thought about pulling him into a hug, as he once had with his younger sibling, but figured the Dane too big to really understand his motif over it. Briefly, he thought about kissing those quivering lips, but halted that train of thought where it stood.

Kissing him? Denmark? It was like asking for immediate death. Although it was obvious the two had kissed an ubiquitous amount prior - far too much, in Norway's opinion - he was not going to do so now. He knew he would start it off gently, with only placating intentions in mind, but the Dane would, without a doubt, try to make it something more.

Frowning slightly, Norway almost sighed at his current position. Really, there was nothing left for him to even try to ameliorate—

Nearly all of his breath was stolen when he found himself pressed flush against Denmark, familiarly strong hands hugging him close like no tomorrow. He wanted to reprimand the Dane over the abruptness, ever so badly, but realized he could not when he finally took notice of the soft flesh pressing against his lips.

Unable to accommodate the suddenly attached weight, Norway was forced to step back until he found some type of support. He wanted to frown when he realized it was his dining table holding at least four of those horrendous bouquets. However, he was prevented from doing so as the Dane's lips pressed more insistently, before a tongue was allowed into his mouth.

Fervent in ignoring a rather peculiar whine he gave as Denmark's tongue expertly moved its way around, even enticing his own for a moment, Norway tore the passionate lip-lock apart when he was suddenly bent back against the table. Breathing heavily, the smaller blond flushed when he looked up - unforgettable lapis eyes watching his disheveled with alongside a bright grin.

It only faltered when the Dane asked, "Do you really hate them, Norge?"

Desperate in avoiding those all too sincere lazuli orbs, Norway unwillingly gasped when warm hands tilted his face Denmark's way.

"N-no, idiot…" he gave another glance at a nearby bouquet, and almost smiled at the thought of the Dane setting them up. "They just look like flowers of Death now."

Denmark blanked for a second, not having thought of the exact reason why his Norge would dislike the flowers. However, now that he knew, he felt his heart ease and no longer conflicted.

"Haha, really? I think it's just you." he teased, earning a trademark scowl from the smaller blond.

"Stop being an idiot."

Still grinning, the Dane almost gave a reply before the words lost themselves on the tip of his tongue.

Norway fret a bit - like Hell he would let Denmark know - when the blond didn't bother giving a self-appraising retort. He usually did, or teased him, when he called him an idiot (or something of the sort). He almost acted upon the minute concern, had it not been for the Dane above him.

Denmark was smiling tenderly, bereft entirely of its usual edge or minor arrogance. It was enough to quell the Norwegian's fleeting worry, and was not all that bad to look at, Norway concluded.

Leaning forwards as he fully shoved their bodies onto the dining-table, the Dane pressed his face along the smooth crook of the smaller blond's nape. He proceeded to nuzzle it lovingly, curled lips occasionally grazing the flawless skin. As much as it embarrassed him to even think about it, Norway realized that the soft moans now audible were coming from himself.

However, before he went any further, Denmark lift himself back up, fervently lapis eyes staring down at bewitching sapphire.

"I can't; you wanted me this way." he teased, blushing softly alongside the Norwegian as a pleasant silence followed.

"As if…" Norway countered, the bite of his comment overshadowed heavily by the warm look on him.

Hoisting them both up of the table, once Norway wound his legs around his waist, Denmark chuckled lightly as he carefully made his way towards their shared bedroom.

At least listening to France had not been a total loss; he had learned a total of two things that day —

"You better put that mouth to good use."

"Haha, just remember; you asked for it, Norge!"

— One: never buy flowers ahead of time unless you are picking them up that same day —

"Mmm, hah, D-Den…!"

"T-told you…~"

— and two: never underestimate love.