Beneath the Borealis

Author's note:

I hope you enjoy this story. I will have more releases over the next few months, as well as teasing the release of the novelisation of a sci-fi Adult Visual Novel game.

More on that soon.

I aim for these stories to have the best of both worlds; beautiful prose, honest recounting and delivery of hot, earth-moving sex, and a healthy dose of romance that, hopefully, doesn't just feel tacked on or seen as an afterthought. I find that there's either far too much of the romance or far too much of the sex, so, why not both?

Let me know what you think, if you'd like more before the inevitable fuckfest, or if you'd like, well, more of the inevitable fuckfest.

As always, enjoy the story, you horny fuckers.

-

The sun twinkled behind the clouds as I looked outside of the large set of windows to my left, casting a myriad of different, vibrant colours across the cloudy, unfamiliar sky. The magic really began to set in when it started to snow, falling silently to the ground in the afternoon, Norwegian sun, as I'm sure it had done religiously for the past several months of Norwegian winter.

I had only been here a couple of days, in this central Norwegian city, getting a taste of the first few weeks of their winter as it slowly transitioned into spring. It was still fairly light out the longer the day went on, however, it had snowed every day. I had expected that, of course, and welcomed it. Being from England meant that it was rare that we ever had snow, our winters were wet, windy, and cold; not exactly the most romantic setting.

Nothing like here.

It wasn't surprising then that, as I stood here, waiting in line within this rustic coffee shop, I couldn't help but feel the beginnings of sparks in the air. The atmosphere was poised for some winter romance, and, hopefully, winter fucking, and how couldn't it? I was here on a mini break for myself, to get my head down with some work whilst enjoying the sights; the gorgeous winter wonderland, the rolling forests covered in blanketed snow, the northern lights dancing in the sky at night, and, if I was lucky, a gorgeous Norwegian kvinne in my arms, and could you blame me? Have you seen Norwegian women? I have, many times over on my travels here, and they're truly something else.

Which brings me here, to the front of this queue. I had almost forgotten about it as I stared outside, watching a wrapped up couple trudging through the snow together, gloved hand in gloved hand, causing me to smile slightly. Dimples no doubt appeared on my face, barely hidden by the short beard I was sporting at the time. I had medium length hair - think Hayden Christensen as a certain Jedi (minus the scar - if only) - and had specifically picked my outfit to fall into that English gentleman niche. What can I say? Play to your strengths and your weaknesses will become that much smaller. Understand your target audience, and play to it like an orchestra to a crowd.

"Hei hei!", a chirpy voice suddenly said, breaking me from my trance-like state.

"Oh, - hei!", I replied, doing my best impression of a Norwegian accent. "Ah, jeg vil ha en svart kaffe, tusen takk!"

My Norwegian wasn't the best by any means, but I found matching the sing-song-like nature of the accent the easiest to do. Being a native English speaker and learning other European languages, such as fellow Germanic ones, means it's actually easier for us than others. There are many similar words and we already have many of their unique sounds within our language and accent...depending, of course, on where you're from in the United Kingdom. I had a standard southern England accent, and it helped more than you know.

And yet, I could tell by the look in the server's eyes that she knew I wasn't from around her, perhaps not English, but definitely not a local. All of that quickly escaped my mind as I continued to look into her eyes, staring into a blue abyss that swallowed me whole with the promises that sat behind them.

Fuck... me, was all I could think as I looked into eyes that completely disarmed me.

"You would like a coffee, black, yes?” She said, double checking, and, possibly, calling my bluff as to where I was actually from with the switch to English.

"Ah, y-yes, please." I said, stuttering like I always did when switching to English after my highly debatable attempts at speaking their language.

I didn't think it was possible, but her eyes lit up even more upon hearing my accent. They narrowed slightly, darting from one eye to another, her mouth slightly agape as she processed what was before her.

This town was neither tiny, nor small; it held a unique position where, yes, they had a decent amount of people, the lower end of tens of thousands, but it was rare that they ever had anyone who wasn't Norwegian there. I had been here many times before, and only ever once heard an English accent. To them, I was a walking, talking, exotic piece of fruit just waiting to be plucked from the tree. That's just how it was, sometimes anyway. It helped that I was attractive, although I wasn't a bombshell, but I got by well enough back home without my exoticness to fall back on, although it did make it a lot more difficult.

The way I see it is, the accent is merely a differentiation. It's like if you are naturally very attractive, or have built a lot of muscle. It will get your foot in the door, but if you're a piece of shit, or are completely devoid of personality, it will only get you so far.

"Sure, right away, sir." She said, putting a slight emphasis on 'sir', more so than to be expected from a Scandinavian.

If you haven't heard the accent before, they really do have a sing-song nature to the way they speak. There is a hauntingly beautiful melody to some of the regional dialects, especially from the women. It will ensnare you, wrapping you up into a rich web of tone and timbre that will melt even the coldest of hearts.

All of this distracted me so much that I hadn't even considered her actual beauty yet, even though I clocked it in my peripheral, there was so much else to focus on before that.

The straightest, most golden hair framed a gorgeous face with high cheekbones, a soft, slightly pointed chin, and a cute, button nose. Her neck was slender, leading down to a collarbone and shoulders that showed some signs of being trained in the gym, her tight black polo showing off the gains nicely. I didn't look, but in the extraneous of my vision I could see breasts pressing out against her polo, two of the four buttons open and revealing a hint of cleavage. If I had to guess, they were probably D's, a great size that fit what seemed to be her slightly muscled, athletic body. Her arm's were equally toned, not huge, but not small either, wrapped tightly by the short sleeves, leading down to hands with stunning, albeit fake, long nails in a subtle red shade.

The rest of her body was hidden by the counter, but I had enough to go off that to know that there was a walking, talking, diamond in this coffee shop, and she was only a few feet away.

Her eyes left mine as she started hitting different areas of the screen, inputting my order, her smile only slowly fading as she seemed to concentrate hard on putting in the order correctly. After a few moments, she looked up from the till, her eyes dilating slightly as she met mine again.

I'm sure mine did the same.

"That'll be thirty kroner, please." She said, looking past me briefly, seemingly catching eye contact with something or someone else, before trying to stifle a giggle. Her cheeks began to flush red ever so slightly as she did her best to not check me out.

I was well built and well dressed, wearing an overcoat with a sweater on, tight trousers that showed off my muscled legs, and suede shoes to boot. To English girls, I was an attractive man of average height, some would check me out, some wouldn't. However, here, with my accent and different look - yes, whilst Norwegians are our close cousins, you can still tell if someone here is ethnically Norwegian, or if they aren't - I was as rare a catch as the girl before me would be back home.

I looked back as I took my card out of my wallet, noticing an employee - another girl - smiling back at me, her eyes, for a fleeting moment, looking past me, no doubt at her colleague, before she quickly got back to cleaning a table near her.

So that's what the counter girl was looking at, she was sharing a look with her friend. Makes sense.

I smiled slightly myself before turning back around

"Thank you, sweetheart." I said, almost cringing as I said it, but realising it was worth a shot here. I put my card on the contactless part of the screen, made sure it went through, and then returned it back to its place in my wallet, all the while a hundred different thoughts rushing through my head.

Back in blighty, my comment probably wouldn't work in the way I wanted it to work right now. Here, however, the conditions were just right that it lit up her face ever so slightly, her eyes opening wider, her lips pursing slightly as she nodded awkwardly, clearly rocking her boat, at the very least ever so slightly.

She directed me to stand to the side and await my order whilst she served someone behind me, seemingly stuttering herself as she addressed the person behind me - an older Norwegian man who shared his own glance with me, accented by a toothy smile that said he knew exactly what was going on, almost egging me on it seemed.

So much happens in interactions like this, yet it was all over in a few minutes. A hundred different looks, emotions, flushes of colour, stumbling of words, sharing of knowing glances, subtle checking out, the works.

The counter girl passed me the coffee a few minutes later, before quickly turning around to continue with her job, as if her nerves were getting the better of her and the best thing she could do to surmount them was to keep her hands busy.

It was only a second or two - I didn't want to be caught gawking at her like a deer in the headlights, that's not attractive to anyone - but, before I turned to leave, I was able to see just what the rest of her looked like.

Her waist was impossibly tiny, her tight polo short coming in to show off its minuteness, before slowly sloping down to her wide hips and strong glutes. Legs of a girl who clearly worked out hard met her ass, before tapering down into strong calves, an under-appreciated part of a woman that looked great on their own, but devilishly hot in heels.

She was a walking, talking Nordic goddess, I a mere English gentleman; a unique pairing I realised, at that moment, that I would do everything in my power to make it a reality.

The snow outside held little attention from me for the rest of the day.

*

I worked for as long as I could, sat on a long table that ran parallel to the coffee counter. The outside world sat to my left, whilst the right held the majority of the tables and chairs, several occupied, but most not. It was a weekday, and people were at work, simple as, until it became busier during the lunch hour that would soon arrive of course.

The girl at the counter would steal glances over at me every now and then, sometimes I would catch her smiling slightly, other times she would try and hide it, but, for the majority of the few hours I was there, slogging away on my laptop, she wasn't looking. Honestly, I was thankful for that. I had work to get done, work that I thoroughly enjoyed, and I didn't need more of a distraction than I was already enduring.

It was getting into the early afternoon when she finally came over, having cleared some tables in between myself and the counter, offering views of her that I knew were probably not purposeful, yet still worked to draw my attention regardless.

I smiled as she approached, noticing her out of the corner of my eyes and removing my earphones, the distant ambient soundscapes fading quickly as I pulled them away from my ears, the jazzy coffee-house music and soft hum from several conversations filling my ears immediately.

"Hei hei, again" She said, the usual, chirpy way that Norwegians like to greet you, "Would you like a refill, Sir?”

Behind her eyes twinkled the same starlight from the sun behind the clouds earlier, likely dilating my own pupils in the process, pouring our lust out onto our sleeves as I thought about her calling me 'Sir'.

"Sure thing...?” I said slowly, offering an open hand, the universal conversation and body language pairing to ask for someone's name.

"Oh, Asta!". She smiled.

"Thank you, Asta," I said, returning the smile, "My name's James, and that would be great."

Asta nodded and quickly returned to the counter, seemingly in a rush like no other to have the coffee ready for me.

It was adorable, and she was adorable. II didn't know yet, but, if she was single, that was a great travesty for any of the local men - but their loss might be my gain.

"Thank you again," I said, gently taking the coffee from her hands, "It smells amazing too - should taste just as good as the first one then."

"I agree," She said, passing one leg behind the other, crossing them as she planted it, setting up shop for a longer than usual conversation I doubt she afforded to other patrons often, "I love our coffee here, it's just what you need at this time of year. How are you finding it?"

"The coffee?" I said following a sip, the tips of my short moustache whiskers likely a bit foamy, given the napkin Asta quickly offered me as I looked around for one on my table.

"No," She giggled, "The weather!"

"Oh, yeah, it's gorgeous, but absolutely fucking freezing. I'm used to rain and cold back home, but it's nothing like this. I usually come here in the summer, so it's rare I see this sort of thing, even back home."

Asta frowned. "Really?" She said, incredulously.

"We rarely get snow, and if we do, it's kind of pathetic. It just sits there like a dusting of icing sugar, doesn't do anything, and buggers off after a day or two."

Alta laughed this time, her face lighting up as she did.

"Not like here," I said, "here you have strong snow; fierce, ready to tear you a new one if you so much as look at it funny."

"That we do," She said, stifling further laughter as well as she could, "winter tyres, a hundred different layers, warm homes, it all helps!".

"It's cosy. I love it, I can't lie."

"It's, what's the word? Roma...rom...".

"Romantic?" I offered, our eyes locking for a second longer than necessary before she nodded quickly.

"Yes, romantic! Very...".

"What do romantics do here then, during this weather?” I asked.

"Oh, lots of things!". She replied, "Go for a drink, maybe out onto the frozen lakes, skiing together...".

"Go out onto the frozen lakes? Skiing together? Oh, I don't think I'd be good at either of those. I'd probably break my nose before I even see the snow."

"It's so much fun!" She said, placing a hand on my shoulder and ever so gently squeezing it, "you'd have to give it a try whilst you're here."

"That's not a bad idea, I wouldn't even know where to start though, it's utterly alien to us." I admitted. "I've seen people skiing on roller blades in the summer here, on paths and roads, that's about the extent to what I know."

Asta giggled, "You can always learn!".

"I'd probably need a teacher." I replied, giving her a knowing look and offering the floor to her.

"I-I could teach you." She said, her voice noticeably quieter now, clearly wanting the direction of the conversation to be kept hidden from others. I didn't blame her. British people can be quite quiet and formal, employers and colleagues are nosy and/or don't want their staff having conversations like these, plus, it can be an embarrassing situation, especially if I was to reject her. In Norway, however, from my observations, this was even more the case.

"I would love that." I said truthly, studying every detail of her face like a painting: her slightly expanding eyes, her emerging dimples, her widening smile; serene beauty on the most important canvas before me.

"Perhaps we can start with a drink, though." I added quickly.

"That would be nice." She said, her voice giddy with excitement. "Tonight?"

"When do you finish?” I replied, surprised at her sudden availability, but excited too. I felt my heart jump, my stomach sink slightly, and my face slightly flush red with warmth.

"At three." She said.

"Ah, a couple of hours then - well, I will still be here, we could always -".

"Oh no, I will go and get dressed, shower, you know...I won't wear this, I look terrible!".

"You really don't," I laughed, "But alright, that's fair enough. My hotel has a nice bar, how about there, and you let me know a time? Unless you know somewhere else?”

"Nope, that works!" She said, standing there and looking at me, a slight 'dear in the headlights' feeling to her gaze, before she quickly broke out of it. "Number! Take my number."

"Sure, sure." I said. I got my phone out of my pocket, clicked on the WhatsApp icon, and you know the rest.

"Does five work for you, James?” She said once I had put it back in my pocket.

"Absolutely."

"You won't be waiting around for me?" She asked, looking slightly worried.

"No, no, I'll probably head to the hotel gym or spend another hour or so here, absolutely no bother, sweetheart." I said, watching as she seemed to melt upon hearing that word again, as if it were fulfilling a dream of hers.

She gave me one last look before heading back to actually do her job instead of talking to me, much to her annoyance I suspect.

I had only just noticed my racing heart as it began to slow down, the nerves that had been pushed away now coming rushing back as 'show time' had ended.

I, of course, watched her as she went back to the counter, a million different thoughts smashing into one another as I did so, as if my head itself seated the large hadron collider. I did my best to shake them out of my head as I put my earphones back in, hoping against hope to espouse the dirty notions and be able to focus once again.

That didn't happen, and, after a good ten or so minutes of struggling, I realised it was best to just move on and call it quits. Sometimes you can push through any boundaries, be they due to difficulty with the work or your lack of drive or attention, but this sort of circumstance? Not so much.

The gym, a bite to eat, and a hot shower were calling to me - especially the one in my room, which had plenty of room and looked incredibly cosy - so I decided it was time to finally leave the coffee cave and make my way back.

I started packing up my stuff, mentally crossing off each thing - laptop, laptop cable, phone charger, earphones, etc - as I packed them into my bag, knowing full well that Asta would either be looking on from the counter, or coming over as we speak. Both were happening, until the latter was, and I found out quickly.

"I'm off to the gym, then getting some food - I'm all burnt out," I said before she could say something. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, showing off a pretty emerald earring as she did so.

"Oh, okay." She said, looking glum at the news.

"Don't you worry, I'll message you. We're still meeting, and I still want to learn all about the gorgeous Asta."

Blushing, Asta nodded. She went to turn away, but, after quickly glancing around to see if any of her colleagues were watching (thankfully, for once, they weren't) I took her hand and kissed it.

A rose came to mind, and even that level of red could not compare to how much she blushed on that winter's afternoon.

*

Working out in the gym was fun, it's always fun working out in another country after all. It's a mundane, ordinary thing, you're just working your body through space and time with added weights, you're technically not doing anything your body couldn't do without you, you're just using metal, plastic, and a variety of different leverages and pulley systems to get the outcome you want; strong or muscular as fuck. The difference is, you're doing it in another country, you look out into the deep forests of the north or across the blue ocean that calls to you in the mediterranean. Wherever it is, you're doing the ordinary within the extraordinary. It makes you workout that bit harder - or quit sooner so you can get the hell out of there and actually enjoy your holiday.