Ikea Does Not Sell Babies. Right?

Giftfic for Maivalkov. Prompt: Something with Denmark and Sweden's happily married life. And Ikea babies.
Warnings; some language, vague reference to people having sex on occasion? A little bit of harmless groping. Lots and lots and lots of crack.

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”I’m home,” Denmark called happily, quickly kicking his boots off - since he had vacuumed just yesterday and he hated wasting his work like that - even as he pushed the door closed with his backside. Knowing that Sweden had come home first and started dinner Denmark quickly made his way to the kitchen, hoping for a quick grope and possibly a quick argument (which would make dinner tense but the make-up sex awesome). He found, as expected, Sweden by the stove, stirring in a pot of spicy smelling stew. “Hey, Pus, how was your day?” Start out by pretend normalcy. Not that the other Scandinavian would fall for it but it was the point of playing at innocence that counted. They were both supposed to pretend that they were normal for a little while yet.

“W’lc’me h’me, Sötnos. Fine, th’nks. L’ke usual. How ‘bout yo’rs?”

Denmark paused, hand half an inch from Sweden deliciously firm backside. There had not been a trace of sarcasm in Sweden’s voice, not even on the pet name, and his shoulders hadn’t twitched like they usually did when the other realized that his spouse (usually denounced as roommate to others) was playing games. And he always knew. “Uh… fine,” Denmark answered automatically, then closed the final, small gap between his hand and the other’s butt prepared for a good, long grope (or as long as Sweden would let him before he decided that Denmark was trying to exert some kind of dominance)(which Denmark was, of course, but mostly for fun).

Sweden jumped, a surprised sound escaping him.

What. The. Fuck? “Uh, Sweden? Pusling? You okay?”

“Sure, D’nmark. Y’ jus’ s’pris’d me a littl’.” And still no sarcasm. Keeping one hand steadily planted on that firm, little roundness (and oh yes, it was very firm indeed; no one was as much a hard-ass as Sweden; no one) Denmark placed the other on his partner’s forehead, checking for a fever. Hm. None. Not that that was surprising exactly since if Sweden was sick, Denmark would sure as hell be feeling it too, Sweden being one of his main export destinations, but there were few other explanations for the other’s unusual behaviour. “Uh… Sötnos?” the taller Scandinavian asked tentatively.

“Just checking,” Denmark grinned. “Seriously, Sweden, are you trying to act out some kinda fetish?” No commenting on what this fetish seemed to say about the other. Well, yet. “Because if you are, I like having some warning first, you know?” This whole cutesy thing wasn’t really his thing; if it was, he’d have tried his luck on Finland (before the 20th century) or North Italy (any time) or Latvia (scratch that, that was going beyond cute and straight into creepy).

Sweden turned, dislodging Denmark’s hand from his rear with the movement and causing it to be slid onto his hip. Denmark happily changed his grip, managing to get his fingers under Sweden’s shirt and directly onto the smooth skin covering his hipbones. Smiling, he placed the other hand on the Swede’s other hip before raising his gaze and freezing awkwardly. Sweden’s eyes looked entirely wrong.

Smiling sweetly (sweat began beading on Denmark’s forehead) the taller man bend over, planting a small peck on the Dane’s nose. “Y’re s’ cute,” another peck on the nose, “Sötnos.”

Denmark removed his hands as though they had been burned. “U-uh, Sweden, Pusser? You’re freaking me out here, can you return to yourself for a few seconds and bring me up to speed? I’ll play along, promise, if you really want to but, uh, seriously, your expression is… uh…” he trailed off, taking a step back and then another because his lover’s face had not morphed into an evil smirk, like it should have when he realized that Denmark was confused; instead it just looked curious. And a little bit hurt. And innocently wide-eyed. Denmark abruptly realised that he had backed into the dinner table. “Pus?”

Sweden was now looking anywhere but at him, fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt. “Are you… Do you… do you really think I’m acting strange? I thought, I mean, uh, I’m just… acting natural. I… if you want to, I’ll try to act, uh, like back, uh… before?” The Dane nodded emphatically, relief coursing through him that some sort of normalcy might be returning even if Sweden’s little speech had nearly made him crap his pants for being so terribly wrong. Sweden did not do stammering, he did not do insecurity (especially not when he actually was) and he most definitely did not do rambling.

Slowly, Sweden’s face scrunched up, morphing gradually into his usual scowl. Except it wasn’t really at all like his usual scowl; instead it looked like he was taking serious effort to keep it up when Sweden usually looked more like he couldn’t help the way his face contorted.

Denmark swallowed.

And ran.

Desperately ignoring the confused calls for him to come back he turned into the living room, skitting a bit around the corner before his hands closed around the haft of his axe. Feeling instantly more secure and centred, he turned to where the other was entering the room, still asking what was wrong in that so, so, so wrong voice that made him sound inexplicably small and cute. Denmark shook his head, trying to dislodge that particular image from his head. Maybe he could tease Sweden with it later? But first he had to teach this imposter that you don’t fuck around with old empires. Even when said old empires had not actually been and empire for… a period of time better left unsaid. Unthought. Unanything.

“D-Denmark?”

“Who’re you and what’ve you done to Sweden?” he asked, raising the axe.

“W-w-what?” The thing that had clearly taken over Sweden’s body (Denmark could just see a bite mark he had placed yesterday peeking out of his shirt) looked so confused the normally happy country nearly allowed his axe to drop a few centimetres. But it wouldn’t do to let his guard down, no that would be bad he was clearly standing before an alien, not that he had really believed in America’s idiotic ramblings, but he at least had listened enough to know about how they could take over a person’s mind or even inhabit a person’s body.

They were, however, grossly mistaken if they thought they could have Sweden’s perfect, firm butt; that was his territory and he did not give up territory without a fight, least of all to some extra-terrestrial being too wimpy to battle him face to face.

“Tch, see, right there, that’s why you aren’t fooling anyone. Sweden doesn’t stammer! If he’s insecure he shuts up and glares until you go away. Well, unless you’re me, of course, but I’m not so easy to intimidate and trust me, he’s tried; it was actually kind of cute back when he looked like a four-year-old but anyway! Getting me side-tracked won’t work for you; I am totally on to you, you’re not fooling me.” He underlined the statement with an aggressive sweep of his axe causing the possessed male in front of him to take a frightened step back and, in a slightly less fortunate turn of events, smashing into the bookcase standing innocently against the wall. Said bookcase, not exactly made to stand against heavy double-bladed axes swung by nations with more strength than is really safe, broke. And not only did the blade go through the chipboard shelves; the force knocked the by now rather unstable piece of furniture to the side until it toppled over and landed on top of a small, decorative table.

Once the dust had settled, both the pieces of furniture was lying in too many pieces, most of them obviously broken beyond repair amidst the ceramic shards and dirt from the potted plant that had been standing on the table as well as a generous pile of hard-back books.

“Oops,” Denmark admitted meekly; Sweden was going to kill him. Well, he was when he returned to himself. The axe-happy nation glanced over his shoulder, trying to gauge how the alien (in Sweden’s body) was taking this; was it going to keep insisting it really was Sweden? Would it know how Sweden would react in this situation?

The incredibly Swedish-looking man looked for his part entirely shocked when his lover looked over. Or at least he did for a few seconds before his face crumbled. “NOOO!” Denmark cringed, so shocked that such a shrill sound of despair was coming from the lips of his lover that he quite forgot to be on guard while the Swede scampered past him and knelt in front of the small pile of debris. “Noo,” he repeated, more quiet but no less heartfelt. Denmark cringed again. “My babies…!”

“Uh, what?” This was crossing the limit of strange, surely.

“My Ikea babies! They, they… they’re dead!”

“I.. uh… dead is… pretty sure dead isn’t the right word here…?” Fucking hell, he was supposed to be on his guard! An alien had possessed Sweden and he had to get Sweden back. Gah, it was so difficult to be mad when the object of his ire was being cute and sounding so sad. Couldn’t he get mad in return so he had something to fight?! Ugh, this was why he never went for the cute; they were so fucking disarming. Also, they didn’t really turn him on.

“Then… then what’s the right word?” the Swede, no the alien asked and turned his, its, Sweden’s head to look mournfully up at the other nation. Oh God, oh God, oh God, gods above and below, shitshitshitshit. Sweden was crying; tears filling his eyes and making them glassy and shiny and, no, get it together Denmark, it wasn’t Sweden, it was an alien even if it was inhabiting Sweden’s body, crap, just answer the damn question, dumbass! (Had that sounded like Norway? Were his inner voices adopting personality traits from his surroundings? That might not be a terribly good thing for his sanity)

“Uh… I think… destroyed, maybe? I mean it’s just-..” Denmark’s fumbling explanation ceased abruptly when the tears that had been hanging precariously on Sweden’s lower lashes spilled over, trailing shining and much too fucking emotional traces down Sweden’s face. “Uh…”

The alien sniffled, mouth quivering and, good god, was that a hiccough? Was he sobbing?!

With a tremendous force of will, the Dane resisted the urge to run for the hills and crouched down in front of the, yes, genuinely sobbing alien-in-Sweden’s-body. “Th-there, there, Pu-uh, it… it’s gonna be okay, right? It’ll be fine; it’s not the end of the world, okay?” He patted him awkwardly on the top of his head.

“B-b-but, they’re de-de-de-destroyed!” Sweden looked beseechingly up at his companion, eyes big and wet behind his glasses. His lips quivered.

Oh, that was just not fair, using Sweden’s eyes against him. Hell, Sweden got away with enough crap (in Denmark’s opinion) just for being him even without acting, well, vulnerable and broken-hearted and, ah, fuck it. “We can, uh, go to Ikea tom-..” Denmark clamped his teeth together when the expression on his lover’s face morphed into something hopeful. Suddenly, he was on his guard again; Sweden’s eyes were sparkling.

“You… you’ll really go with me to Ikea?” Hesitantly, sure he was walking into a trap, Denmark nodded and received a brilliant smile in return. “We can have more babies?” They were talking about furniture, right? Right? Had he missed some part of the conversation? You went to Ikea to buy furniture, right? Was he going mad? Maybe it was too late and the alien’s absurd personality had already infected his mind until it became brittle and now he was chopping little pieces off with his even more absurd comments? No, no, get it together, Denmark, old man, think rationally.

“Sure,” he hedged, trying to buy time while he put his thoughts back into order.

“Yay!” And with that exclamation, Denmark found himself with an armful of happy Swede, clinging to his chest and making pleased little noises as though he was some type of pet.

New plan; call someone rational.

Shooting the weirdo in his arms a rather dim smile compared to his usual full wattage package, the spiky-haired nation gently extracted himself, got up and fished his phone out of his pocket. “Uh, sorry, Pu-uh, Honey, I need to make a call so, uh, would you mind starting on this? Or, uh,” he corrected, realising the amount of trouble he’d be in if there was any shred of Sweden left in his body. “Maybe I should really help you clean this up so, uh, why don’t you go figure out what kind of furniture we should go buy tomorrow?” There. That was suitably diplomatic and nice, right? Mentally patting himself on the back as Sweden’s form quickly got up as well before disappearing in the direction of their study, Denmark hit speed dial 1 and lifted the phone to his ear to wait for an answer.

“Yeah?”

“Norgeeee! You gotta help me!”

“Denmark? What now?”

“Sweden has been possessed!” Nope, his voice did not crack on that last syllable. Nope. Not at all.

“Possessed. Really.”

“Gods, Norge, would it kill you to show some sort of concern?!”

“Do you seriously expect me to just believe you when you, of all people, claim that Sweden’s been possessed?” Some day he was going to have to learn how to make that raised, sardonic, doubtful eyebrow so audible even over the phone.

“This is serious, Norway. He’s acting cute! Can you believe it?! Cute!”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

“I’m serious. He was stammering and he was smiling like Italy! Uh, the Northern one, not the Sourthern one, anyway, the point is that he was acting very un-Swedenish. I mean he was actually crying over a few pieces of Ikea furniture and I mean, sure, I know he kinda is attached to it but still, crying? And he was calling them his Ikea babies, Norway, Ikea babies,” Denmark shuddered in revulsion, taking a moment to breathe before he delivered the final piece of evidence. “And just now he hugged me and he didn’t even try to get into my pants or kill me! What the fuck is up with that?!”

“At least ‘it’ doesn’t appear to mean you harm.” Why was it that Norway just refused to be concerned over thus? Couldn’t he at least sound like he believed something was out of the ordinary?

“Well, of course it doesn’t.”

“Hm?”

“It’s obviously in love with me. I mean, you should’ve seen his eyes.”

“In love. With you.”

“Yeah! Clearly is saw me from outer space and fell wildly in love with me, and I mean, who wouldn’t? Can’t really blame the poor thing. And then it figured that the easiest way to get close to me and have that perfect life it was always dreaming of was to possess my husband.” It made perfect sense.

Why wasn’t Norway replying? If nothing else to shoot him down, tell him he’s an idiot – like he always did when Denmark presented his perfectly logical explanations for the weird things that sometimes happened around him – or even just laugh (it did happen on occasion). “Norway?”

“S-sorry, I’m just trying to, uh, digest this.” He was laughing, wasn’t he? Denmark sighed, a little exasperated. He was in kind of a serious situation, really, and Norway was laughing. Prick. He wanted his own Sweden back; the one that didn’t pretend that he wasn’t laughing and who fought back and wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and was willing to fight for who topped during sex. “So… I suppose the reason you called me is because you want an anti-possession spell for Sweden?”

“Yes! If it kills the alien in process, I don’t mind!” Better it died than get another chance as taking Sweden from him. Besides, who knew how long aliens lived? If it survived but couldn't repossess Sweden, it might have to live for a very long time longing for him and he wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone.

Denmark received a snort for his comment. Then another pause the older nation patiently waited out while Norway collected his thoughts. It was kind of hilarious that he couldn’t think while laughing (probably why he rarely did laugh) but not anything Denmark could help with. He had tried, really, and nearly gotten his brain bashed in for his trouble. “I might be able to help you. It could take some time, though.”

“How much time?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Ah, Gud ske tak og lov. I was afraid you might be speaking of days. I didn’t want to deal with Sweden’s government and explaining to them what’s happened.” Not to mention try and convince them that it wasn’t his fault.

Silence answered him. “Norway?” More silence. “Norway, please don’t start thinking about getting me in trouble with the Swedish government.” They already thought he was a bad influence on their oh-so-proudly stoic fatherland. Baseborn assholes, the lot of them. Norway grunted and Denmark exhaled quietly in relief.

“Go entertain your… guest, while I work on this. Goodbye.”

“Norway! Norway!”

“What?”

“Uh… should I bring, you know, ‘him’ over?”

A snort. “No. I can do it from here.”

“Oh. Okay. Uh, ‘bye.” With one last hum Norway hung up.

Well. That was that. Right. With a deep breath Denmark turned to face the way the form of his lover had disappeared. Okay. He just had to entertain a cavity-inducing Sweden who called Ikea furniture ‘babies’ for a few hours. No biggie. Taking one last deep breath Denmark marched stiffly to the study where a certain extra-terrestrial being had had free range on Ikea’s site through that oh-so-wonderful thing called the internet for the last ten minutes or so. He was probably going to have to empty the house of alcohol tonight just to not be traumatised.

oOoOo

Norway put down his mobile phone, a sadistic smirk lighting up his features. That had been funnier than he had expected; Denmark had been freaking out. A lot. Casting a look at the mirror now showing Denmark nervously (ha) approaching his spouse from behind, Norway made a few extra notes on a piece of paper already filled with scribbles. He would have to make a few more adjustments to the spell before he tried it on Iceland since the spell had been a lot more effective than he would have believed. Maybe next time he’d cast it on Denmark and watch Sweden pretend not to freak? That idea had merit. That idea had a lot of merit. It probably would be a good idea to try the spell on different types of nations so he could know exactly which side-effects it had on the personality. He would need to experiment thoroughly before trying it on Iceland but one thing was certain; his little brother would call him ‘big brother’ whether he wanted to or not. It was just a question of time (and magic).

He cast another amused look at his mirror, contemplating. Maybe someone would enjoy watching his idiot neighbours flail around as much as he did? He could probably demand money for this kind of entertainment…