Strangers

I don't own Hetalia.

The lights thrummed. The ground shook. Norway couldn't help but grimace at the absolute chaos and the blatant noise of it all. He had wanted to get away for the evening, but a club? Really?

He had no idea why he'd chosen such a location. It was not ideal at all. In fact, this was just about the furthest thing from ideal he could imagine. It burned—the constant noise was a continuous reminder of his obnoxious sometimes-lover, and while Norway had been happy to finally call it quits there was sometimes a pang in his chest he couldn't explain in words.

He was silently nursing his drink, his second tumbler of a simple Akevitt that was actually quite good, as he people-watched from his seat on the bar. Norway let his eyes trail across the dance floor, sometimes stopping to appreciate the finer aspects of the male body as he sipped his alcohol.

He froze when someone pulled a chair up to his lonely little corner. There was a reason it was his lonely little corner of the bar. Norway sent his frostiest glare, but the intruder only grinned.

"Hey there, hot stuff." He chortled, gulping down half of a beer in one gulp. Was that supposed to be impressive? Norway wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned away.

"Aw, don't you give me that." The intruder cackled, slamming his beer bottle onto the bar and signaling the bartender.

"I'll buy another of whatever this cutie is drinking!" He exclaimed, eyeing Norway fondly. "Because cuties are cute!"

"How astute." Norway mumbled, not really going to turn down a free drink at the moment. When trying to get drunk, every drink that wasn't bought with your money was delightfully welcome.

The intruder made a show of presenting Norway his tumbler, to which Norway simply rolled his eyes. He'd seen enough of that behavior before. Why could he never attract anyone normal? Why did it always have to be the talkative losers? That didn't stop him from gladly pushing his mostly empty glass away and accepting the full one.

Norway wasn't really sure what the intruder was blathering about, and he didn't care. He wasn't unattractive, per se, but he wasn't the epitome of manliness either. Not that he wasn't. It was all just very confusing because his ideal man was still the shape of his ex-lover, and Norway had yet to move on.

Hence the reason he was trying to drown himself in Akevitt. After so much alcohol, everyone was the epitome of manliness. Norway hummed, neither encouraging nor discouraging the intruder from talking. His eyes roamed back to the dance floor. There were some attractive specimens this evening. Perhaps the lights were helping illuminate their best features, or maybe the Akevitt was starting to kick in. Norway weighed both of these options in his mind and decided it was probably a combination of the two.

Intruder showed no signs of being bored. Norway sighed internally, as he was tiring of the constant babble. The ridiculous babble. Nothing but pick up lines and flirting and Norway had just about had enough.

The intruder smirked devilishly, reaching out to paw at Norway's curl of hair.

"What's wrong, cutie?" The intruder breathed in his ear. "Having a bit of trouble?"

Norway didn't know what to say.

"Poor thing." The intruder murmured softly, running a hand through Norway's hair. "So tense."

"I had a boyfriend." Norway interrupted, surprising himself. "I broke up with him, but I don't know if he believes me."

"Aw, sweetie. Rough day? I could make it better."

Norway was sure he could, which was why he allowed the stranger to pay his tab and escort him from the club into a taxi. It was also the reason why Norway and his stranger made out in the taxi on the way to Norway's apartment. Because really, what better way of proving he was over Denmark by fucking another man in their old bed?

Norway pulled back when the taxi approached the apartment building. His stranger was an excellent kisser, maybe even better than Denmark.

"What's your name?" Norway breathed, hands sliding underneath cloth to palm at a stronger chest than he'd imagined.

"You can call me 'sir.'" The man grinned cheekily.

"Sir." Norway breathed. "You need to pay the cabbie, sir."

"Yes, slave."

"Slave?" Norway objected.

Sir grinned over his shoulder. "What's wrong with slave?"

"A lot of things."

"Then you chose your name, princess."

Norway paused, allowing time for his tipsy mind to generate a list of names.

"Too late! Time's up!" Sir hauled Norway out from the back of the cab. "Taxi driver is paid, and that means that by default you are now 'slave'."

"Stupid rule." Norway protested.

"Never!" Sir objected. "What floor are you on?"

"27th."

"Oh, a penthouse?" The man cackled. "Rich boyfriend?"

Norway frowned. "We bought it together."

"One rich slave, then." The elevator dinged, and the two tipsy men stumbled down the hallway, maybe pausing to devour each other's lips a time or two on their quest for the right door.

"Here?" Sir breathed.

"Yes, yes." Norway whined, rubbing his groin against Sir's denim trousers.

"Horny little bastard. I meant the door, slave. Is this the right door, here?" Sir rapped on the door in question, and Norway blinked blearily.

"Use the fucking key and see." He demanded, fumbling through his pockets to retrieve the fucking key.

The two men almost fell into Norway's apartment, and Norway dragged Sir by the forearm through the space to the bedroom.

"Nice place." Sir quipped.

"Shut up and fuck me." Norway was already stripping.

"You are such a horny little bastard." Sir shook his head fondly. "Get on the bed, hands and knees."

"Yes, sir." Norway obeyed.

"Well, that's a great view." Sir planted a kiss to Norway's right ass cheek.

"Knock it off and fuck me."

"But I want foreplay?"

"No."

"Norge?"

"No."

"Can I at least blow you?"

"No. Lube your dick, take the plug out, and fuck me."

"God damn. We're supposed to be strangers—"

"Fuck that. Need your cock."

"Fucking hell, Norge."

"Den, now."

"Okay, okay. Fucking hell."

A/N: First DenNor-ness! Hope you liked!