EDIT, MARCH 2012: JUST ADDING IN SOME MINOR EDITS AND CLEAN-UPS, DON'T MIND ME C:

Hello there, I've been writing fanfiction for nearly five years now, on a different account, but this is my first real try at yaoi. I've always been too shy to do more than just daydream and publishing this makes me feel all exposed and awkward. :'c

So...this is my first donation to the Hetalia fandom and I hope I don't regret it! I'd like to note that I don't know too much of Russian or Chinese history, so if there are any inaccuracies in that department, I apologize in advance. In fact, I have one small one to apologize for already: I have no idea where the World Meetings are held. In my imagination, the setting switches every couple meetings out of fairness.

I'm also operating under the assumption/theory/blah that the nations are like "demigods" who live in and walk around their homeland like regular people but are by some unknowable means aware of and affected by basically every major political and culture movement within it (and pretty much never age). This is how I picture them in canon. And also, FYI, nations to go other nations' "houses" (their physical countries) by plane, like any other person traveling internationally.

Also I imagine that they miraculously were "born" able to speak at least some English to other countries like themselves. Otherwise how the hell would they all communicate?

And lastly, to "assimilate" something is to merge it with something else. I.e., "to become one with." YEAH.

Winter could burn.

It burned intangible things like human souls and kindness—so many kinds of literature liked to preach, so many men had proved—and, with a little help from thirty mile-per-hour winds, it could burn skin. Ultimately, the former mattered most, but blinding snow and wind driving into one's face was painful to the point of numbing. China knew he would eventually stop feeling the cold, which despite seeming to be a good thing, was one step closer to freezing to death. And this was no joke in Canadian winter.

Tonight's World Meeting was hosted in one of Canada's largest cities, and one of the most northern. America had warned him the week before about winters in Canada (except for last year's, laughably mild) and how the wind blew into some of his states and made his northern residents shiver. China assured him that he'd been around long enough to know what a cold winter feels like, thank you. But this hurt.

The residents here were smart enough to have already gone inside and were probably sitting around fireplaces and heating vents. The streets were empty of everything except concrete and snow and China himself. The perfectly warm military outfit he'd chosen to wear, which had served him well endless times, wasn't doing its job. It felt like Russia's General Winter had flown across the globe just to fuck up the weather especially for him.

'Almost there…almost there….' He turned the corner and the next fierce breeze nearly blew him into a lamppost. 'Is that it over there? Thank goodness. Just a few buildings down.'

His boots crunched lightly through snow and landed on ice buried nearly a foot underneath. Breeze. Hard breeze. Snow in his face. Breeze moving the other way, sweeping China's dark hair over his own face and tearing bits of it out of the ponytail. Ugh.

He swept some little strands out of his mouth, and was suddenly aware of something in front of him blocking a good amount of the wind. China deduced it was probably a mailbox, and then deduced what it actually was. He chose to grab onto it anyway. That is, he reached up and grabbed Russia's shoulder, partially to use him for support and partially to get his attention. "What are you doing? We have to be at the meeting, aru! Your prime minister won't be happy if you skip!"

Russia seemed to pause before turning around. His face was bleak and haunted; to keep his own from cracking with fear, China lifted his head to let the cold numb his face, and was thankful he did when the taller nation's eyes widened and began brightening. Such a thing couldn't be good. This encounter would end fastest with more walking and less talking. "Come with me! We're probably late!" He took a few steps around Russia and saw the light of the Meeting building's lobby turning his arms and torso yellow-gold. In those few steps he also saw that Russia was not following.

'Be brave. If I can tell America I walked with Russia for an entire block his mouth'll be shut for days.'

He turned around put out his hand, could feel it wanting to return to his side. The rest of him wanted to climb a lamppost to get away. "Please, come. They can't discuss next year's Olympics without you, aru."

Russia's eyes looked strange under this glow, too bright and not aware enough. But then, he'd faked expressions many times before. He nudged something out of the snow by raising his foot. It was that water pipe that he dragged around with him half the time. He leaned over slightly, hoisted it over his shoulder and came over. He may have sighed. China heard pieces of a sentence, "Thank you—couldn't see my—almost lost it—hurry now!" Now it was Russia grasping China's hand, pulling him along. For every one of Russia's steps, China had to take one and half or occasionally two, which made for a really awkward and uncoordinated stroll down the block.

Their hands dropped once inside the building. China shook snow out of his hair and redid his ponytail. "S-S-Second door on the left i-i-i-s what France told me. I, I have to hurry, I n-n-need to talk to Hong Kong."

One stride from the hallway where America and England's furious banter could be heard, Russia stopped him. "You are cold, da? Would you like my scarf?"

He stopped mid-step, mind flushed of all thoughts, even fear. Russia did not offer his scarf. Not to his sisters, probably not even to the devil and certainly not to him. In his curious, blank state, China rolled out the words, "That's very kind of you, aru," since it was really neither yes nor no. He remembered one of his oldest teachers, Fenwei, who taught him to make diplomatic decisions.

It must have sounded more like "yes," as not a moment later Russia was undoing his precious scarf and holding it out for him, miraculously unharmed by the snow, for the most part. China removed his gloves and placed them neatly in his pockets before taking it and arranging it around his neck. And good grief, it was long. He could feel both the comfortable heat of the building and proper emotions returning to him, so turned to head for the Meeting Room before he could realize what in the world he'd just done. The soft thudding of Russia's boots sounded behind him. Unpleasant. It hadn't been twenty years ago, he murmured in his mind.

The door was already cracked and noise flooded out. Apparently they weren't late after all, pre-meeting chatter was still going on. With a soft nudge of his palm that his cold hands hardly felt, the door opened. China swiftly examined the enormous table taking up most of the room and speed-walked around it to find Hong Kong. His little brother was standing at the far corner of the table with his sleeves together, thankfully about as far from China could get from Russia without making a desperate and obvious circle. Hong Kong saw him coming, and an uncharacteristic amount of—what was that? Interest?—showed on his face.

"'Evening, aru. Before we started, I wanted to ask what you thought of chun jie last month, since there were so many—"

"Is that Russia's scarf that's smothering you?"

With a sigh, and another portion of feeling (the "what have I done?" sort) coming back to him, China feebly replied, "I saw him when we were both almost here and we walked most of the block together, aru. We got inside and he said I looked cold and let me borrow it. Now, can you please tell me your thoughts on chun jie?"

"Russia does not merely offer his scarf…to anyone."

"So I thought, but here it is on me, and I definitely didn't just steal ir. It was a nice gesture and I felt like I'd just spent the night in a meat locker, aru! It's making me warm. Honestly, I didn't think you'd be one to avoid the subject—"

"You're the one avoiding the subject." Hong Kong interrupted, and eyed the new accessory as one would a new species of spider. "And I didn't think you'd be one to put your head in the sand about something so…outright? Blatant? Blatant. Yes. Seeing as it's such a well-intentioned gesture on his part and everyone can see it in here."

The door slammed behind them, and Seychelles and Poland laughed uproariously about a joke with the word "witch" in it. France started a passionate rant beside them in his mother tongue. China struggled to find a reply. He chose to make it humorous to deflect the groundless horror that was suddenly growing in him. "Is this a game, aru?" He cocked his head. "So much for 'wisdom comes with age', I have no idea what you mean. I'll chime in when I know what in the world you're talking about."

"Russia has offered you his scarf, brother. He offers you that, a most treasured thing of his, stares at you for every meeting the past god-knows-how-many months. And I remember your stories about how he would follow you around when you were Communist buddies or whatever the term is. It all equals a dangerous romantic interest."

"...I'll chime in when I know what you're talking about."

Hong Kong's plump brows came together with disappointment. "Are you serious? For God's sake, if you could be blind about one thing in, like, the whole world, this is a really horrible one to choose." A blank stare was all he got in return. Poland, dragging a shirtless Lithuania, sped between them, chased by Romano. Not even a blink. Hong Kong slowly let his hands fall into place at his sides. "Yao. You are not so painfully stupid as to miss that beast staring at you the way he's been doing for so long. Yong Soo tried to say something to you last year. I told him not to because you probably had it under control. That sucks that I was wrong and you had no idea at all."

One of China's hands reached out blindly and groped at the air until it found a chair, then pulled it back and sat slowly and shakily down. Spain went by them and gave a curious glance at China's just-about-traumatized face. Thankfully, he was out of range when China began quietly murmuring, "Oh…my god…oh…" to himself. Hong Kong looked around awkwardly, scanning for possible viewers, and found everyone distracted by various conversations, arm-wrestling tournaments and threats to the White House.

He pulled out his own chair and put one leg elegantly over the other, a piece of etiquette China had taught him when he was small. "You look quite unhappy."

"I'm scared." Hong Kong blinked once and looked contemplative. He waited till China continued, with one palm over part of his face, "He's…he's Russia. He could want anything in the world from me, aru. And I have no idea why it's me he chose!"

"You don't believe it's because he would like to develop a relationship with you?"

China flatly scoffed back, "What, do you?"

"Yes. I think it's the general consensus, in fact." China again decided to sit and stare, and so Hong Kong elaborated: "Most everyone has long since seen it and kept quiet about it. Even the idiots among us have had more than a few years to observe. I think only...like, Romano and Spain don't really know. Maybe the Sealand child." He paused once, and both frowned and waited. Hong Kong picked up again. "If you don't believe it, you can test it out. China now muttered something into his hand that was probably an inquiry on how to do such a thing, so Hong Kong put forth a setting in which to do so. "America's having some sort of party next week, out on some rural property of his." He stopped there, to keep the now-too-close-for-comfort England from listening in. America and Romano joined his circle and started up a chat involving penguins and the nuclear physics program America's military was pretending not to work on. Drowning out their chatter, China stared straight ahead and drew together the faint and feeble and probably life-threatening scraps of a plan.

Whatever Russia wanted from him, he would most certainly not get it.

He reached for the scarf to remove it, but decided not to at that last moment. The room was quite cold.

America did indeed have a party of some sort about a week later. The "some sort" came into being because he was meaning to show off some firecrackers he'd acquired from locals (American citizens were usually ecstatic to see their own Alfred F. Jones in person) and couldn't wait till his country's independence holiday to use them. He also just liked to have company around, and so this called for a "Nation Party". China took a plane from his homeland to America's, running over his plan the entire eleven-hour flight. And eating some packed fried rice and playing his Hello Kitty DS game, as well, seeing as even the most dangerous of plots couldn't take up all of one's thoughts for eleven hours.

Finding his way through the airport was a fun experience, considering all the types of people and languages to be found there, (and of course the dozens of little food places of all nationalities and styles) and he was almost sad to have to take a taxi to America's home. Once he stepped out of the vehicle and saw the representations of about half the world already there, his stomach sank and his fried rice nearly came back up.

China muttered quotes and a few chants under his breath as he drifted through crowds of friends and strangers on the perfectly-manicured lawn. His eyes scanned up and down the grass for a relatively isolated place, preferably in the sun. Preferably where, if it came to blows, he wouldn't be alone and unseen.

He found a suitable place by the south corner of the lawn. There was a small hill there, with a tree growing on the side facing the house. Feigning tiredness, he lie down on the slope, the shade of the tree crossing his legs and chest. 'I'm right here, Russia.' China thought solemnly. 'If you want to attack me, I'm here and completely defenseless.'

Ten or so minutes later, despite it being still daylight, the sound of America's fireworks rang across the property. Korea and Poland cheered and made excited exclamations in their respective languages. The smell of grilled food drifted on the air. Someone once walked up to him, called back, "He's sleeping!" to the crowd by the porch, and went back. A half hour went by, the sun began setting, and China's muscles remained tense as violin strings. Nothing was happening.

When the first crickets began chirping, their noise rang in China's ears like church bells. His eyes were closed but his mind had never been more open and alert. Every sound was ten times louder, he fought goose bumps from every breeze and now—now someone was staring at him.

There was no doubt. It was someone several stone's-throws away, probably on the porch, and judging from the ever-stronger meat aroma, waiting to be served. There was one chance in perhaps thirty, considering the number of guests, that it was Russia, yet goosebumps rose on China's arms. 'Come on, who are you, aru? Get over here and say something!'

He waited several minutes more before the presence padded across the lawn. Once they came close enough, China judged the heaviness of the footsteps, and deduced that if by some chance it was not Russia, the only other person it could be was Sweden. And Sweden had been quite occupied by Finland and his dog for the entire party.

This was it.

Russia was standing, no, sitting now, close enough to touch him. China felt his heartbeat pick up suddenly when the wind teased the northern nation's scarf and the end of it flopped onto his leg. He was far too close.

'Do something! Stab me! Drug me! Step on me! I can't stand this waiting!'

He was still mid-thought when he felt a hand, yes, it was most definitely a ungloved hand, running through his hair. It swept through the strands he kept free from the ponytail, curled them round its fingers, and finally released them. China expected that same lack of feeling as when he'd spoken to Hong Kong days before, but he was flooded with a terrible mixture of fright and something…unfitting. Acceptance? Enjoyment?

'Why would I think that, aru? Does this feel good? Is it supposed to?' Russia's hand curved around the opposite side of his head now, caressing from temple to jaw line in one smooth stroke and repeating again and again. China's emotion-flood told him that yes, this did feel good. Russia had the power to be comforting when it suited him. He could be preparing to stab someone, for all China knew, yet this was undeniable fact.

Russia exhaled a short, jagged sigh and his hand's perfect route quaked. His fingers moved away from his face now. The arm made a near-inaudible sound as it set itself down and moved slightly in the grass near China's head. There was a sudden warmth in the air which had not been present the moment before. Russia loomed close enough to slit his throat, but no knife came down on him.

Instead, warm lips pressed onto his and he almost seized in shock and forgot remain in his false sleep. Balanced over China with his arm, Russia inclined his head and in doing so, inclined China's; it angled their kiss enough for their lips to truly fit each other. At the sudden, perfect meeting, China stopped a mewl in his throat. This was too much; he had to pull away to breathe. He pushed his hands against Russia's shoulders to fight for his air.

Russia would not have such a thing. He touched his free hand to the back of China's head, ran two fingers through the free strands again, and stopped his victim from moving around so.

China gasped at the feel of a foreign tongue in his mouth, unknowingly giving it greater access. It freely immersed itself in the taste of his mouth and when it touched his, there was no blocking the broken whimper of feeling that his conscious, modest self would otherwise halt completely. Russia's lips curved up in a smile. He knew very well what he was doing—and was foolish enough in his pride to let his guard down then just enough for China to push him away.

He fell backwards with only a moderate lack of grace while China scurried back like a crab and crouched as though ready to spring up and flee. "What-What-What was that?" he barked. "What were you doing, aru? That was the most…the most—!"

"Please don't be mad."

All observing nations on the porch turned slack-jawed and some grew crocodile grins. China's visage portrayed nothing but redness. At a loss, he merely said, "…Don't be mad?"

"I suppose it would have been better if I had woken you first. But I couldn't help myself. You look simply adorable in sleep."

Setting the strange adjective aside, China attempted to stand, and did so shakily at best. "I look adorable in sleep, so you're tempted to kiss me?" he said. "What…what is that supposed to mean?"

"I love you, Yao." The porch crowd and China himself stayed silent as stones.

China feebly replied, "No one calls me Yao. Not even my brother."

Russia met China's hazy eyes with much darker violet. "I would very much like to call you Yao. If you would allow me. If you won't, I think I will make you." The thread was left hanging and unknown.

"You are an old friend of mine at best, aru." China stated with as much matter-of-factness as his fuddled mind could muster. "I'm sorry, but to you, I am China, aru."

Now it was Russia's turn to stand. While still moving he murmured to himself, "Not for long." And, at his full height again, with his eyes and voice darkening, "Not for long. Soon you'll be mine." China's brows came slightly together and his breathing hitched. "You can come to me or I can chase you. I think chasing is fun, but if you try that, remember to be fast, da?"

All eyes turned to China, standing at the apex of the little hill and not saying a word. He parted and closed his lips, unsure, churning within himself. He forced himself to meet Russia's eyes. There was no innocence or even patience there. "You want me to accept that you 'love' me? Give you permission to do whatever you wish, aru?" Not even a nod was needed, so none was given.

"Make me!"

China whipped around and started running. Russia removed his scarf and called out for Lithuania to watch it for him. "I'm counting to five, Yao! You better go faster than that!"

Ack! The last ten or so paragraphs were awful to write! Any kind of romance is so difficult for me, and what sounds corny and what sounds heartfelt seems like it can be one or the other at the drop of a hat. I only hope the ending (and Russia going from "please accept me" to "I will hunt you down, my lovely~" in, like, two paragraphs) entices you…

No, China won't be this suspicious and scared the entire story. It's a natural reaction to having someone come onto you who's more than just amusingly psychopathic. I'm sure I'll find something else to say and edit it in later, but for now…I hope I've done well…