SOY: first time ever writing China/America, but I hope this will be appreciated anyway!
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Rating: MA
Warnings: unusual use of a paintbrush, yaoi, smut.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
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Fluttering Chaos
One–shot
"Once upon a time, there were no rivers and lakes on Earth, but only the Eastern Sea, in which lived four dragons… the Long Dragon, the Yellow Dragon, the Black Dragon and the Pearl Dragon".
America shifted on the bed, trying to peer from his position at the Nation sitting close to him; China looked completely comfortable on the bed, cross–legged and holding a couple of bowls filled with dense, sticky ink, one blue and one black.
As for the American Nation, he was laying on the bed (pretty soft, if he had to admit that) on his stomach, chest naked, waiting for China to complete his artwork on him.
"Say, how did I end up here again?" America let out a hesitant chuckle, but didn't stop China from dipping his brush into the black paint and gently pressing it against his shoulder blade.
With a gentle, sweeping movement, China shifted up to America's neck and back down.
The overall feeling was strange –the coolness of the paint, the vaguely tickling sensation of the brush's bristles on his skin– but not… not too uncomfortable.
"You should shut up, aru, and try not to move around too much…" China chuckled, and the brush gently moved in a circling motion. "Or the drawings won't come out well, and we wouldn't want that, right?"
"No, really. I know I'm the hero and all that, but…" he shivered lightly as the brush trickled the ink down his vertebras. It still felt weird.
Instead of answering, China traced a last 'something' on his back and dipped the brush again, this time in the blue ink.
There was a moment of silence, and America squirmed again, "ok, ok, I give up" he huffed, puffing his cheeks in indignation. "Go on –what was that thing about dragons? Were they huge, kick–ass dragons?"
The brush gently traced his shoulders with small, quick touches.
"One day the four dragons flew from the sea into the sky" voice falling back to a gentle, low tone, China smiled. "They soared and dived, playing at hide-and-seek in the clouds".
America sighed and let his head flop back on the mattress, his arms as a pillow; he could quite remember how the Chinese nation had managed to get him to come at his house –the promise of body paint had been enough to excite America, who loved that kind of thing… of course this wasn't exactly what he'd been hoping.
Dragons were quite neat, but so very not–American.
Not like his flag, or a Strike Fighter F111, or a burger.
Still, China's voice when telling stories had a nice quality to it, it was deeper and maybe… older, which reminded America of how many years the Chinese nation had been alive. The thought was almost mind–bugging…
Closing his eyes for a moment, America tried to picture the four dragons happily floating through a blue, endless sky.
"Suddenly, 'Come over here quickly!' the Pearl Dragon cried out," China observed the black ideograms painted on America's shoulder, and biting down on his lower lip he gently added another one to the side, much smaller.
Then he frowned, a small crease on his forehead, and added a few more ideograms, tracing the words for 'bound', 'veil' and 'heart' within a small circle.
The concentration momentarily prevented him from continuing his tale, which in turn made America shift again, almost making him ruin his tracing.
China huffed out "I told you to stay put, aru!" he yelled, back to his usual voice.
"If you continue the story, I will" America grunted out, pouting. Yet, he was amused.
A smile lifting his lips up, china hummed softly under his breath. "So, 'What's up?' asked the other three, looking down in the direction where the Pearl Dragon pointed. On the Earth they saw many people putting out fruits and cakes, and burning incense sticks. They were praying!"
The brush was dipped into the black paint once more, and America let out a soft snort when it was pressed against his ticklish side; he froze and shifted again, almost turning around to stop China, but decided not to.
The strange, almost hypnotic feeling of a brush being pressed on his back, the soft scent coming from the mattress (almost like incense, but not as pungent… something nice, lighter), China's soft voice… everything was making him feel a bit drowsy, but in the good way.
"Hmmm" he murmured, closing his eyes again. "You'd better draw that dragons manly and American…"
China's reply was a soft hum.
"A white–haired woman, kneeling on the ground with a thin boy on her back, murmured 'Please send rain quickly, God of Heaven, to give our children rice to eat'… For there had been no rain for a long time".
With every word, the brush swiftly traced more on America's naked skin. The touch had somehow changed now, though –it felt lighter, teasing.
America shifted again, blinking away the traces of lethargy and looking up again. China was staring right at him, black eyes fixed on his face, and it sent a different kind of shiver down America's back.
This was definitely not something he'd been thinking when he had accepted to be painted on.
Yet… it wasn't unpleasant.
The look was intense, and America found himself shying away from it, staring back at the mattress with a light flush on his cheeks.
The brush was moving again on his skin, and it felt as if it was burning its way through him, strokes that were both warm and pleasantly cool.
Against his will, America arched up to meet the brush's tip, with a soft moan.
"You'd better… not ask me to pay you for this" he hissed out, hiding his flushed face in his arms. "I'm the awesome hero so you should be glad you're doing this for me, ha ha~"
China glared down at him, but continued his tale, as the brush returned once more on the blue paint. "The crops withered, the grass turned yellow and fields cracked under the scorching sun.
'How poor the people are!' said the Yellow Dragon. 'And they will die if it doesn't rain soon'. The Long Dragon nodded. Then he suggested, 'Let's go and beg the Jade Emperor for rain'. That said, he leapt into the clouds".
The touch of the brush turned rougher, and America gasped at the feeling of it pressing right onto his lower back, where his spine connected with his ass. Once again he arched his back, fingers holding onto the sheets of the bed.
China licked his dry lips, gathered more ink on his brush, and traced a long, intricate series of symbols and ideograms on the skin around America's hips, avoiding coming into contact with the jeans the other was wearing.
"W–want me to take them off? Or something?" America offered, but he kept his gaze onto the mattress as he asked that.
Every touch and shift of the brush sent tingles down his spine, and he was afraid that if he took away his pants, China would come to realise that his painting was having quite the unwanted reaction.
"I'll shift them down a bit, aru –I need to reach a bit lower," the Chinese nation placed the bowls on his lap, free hand coming to pull at the hem of America's jeans.
The fingers were pleasantly cool, making the skin they touched fizzle on contact.
America flushed harder when China's hand squirmed on his front, between his body and the bed, searching for the button of his pants, grazing at–
"H–hey, hey, wait a moment! I–I can do that myself!"
He turned around a bit, weight on his right side, and fell silent as he once again met China's penetrating eyes.
Suddenly, the air around his body turned unbearably hot, and America almost didn't notice when China's nimble fingers reached down for his button and zipper, lowering it down. He swallowed hard.
China kept eye contact, but simply pushed down his pants a bit, pressing one hand on America's side to make him fall back on his stomach.
Much to the American nation's shock, he found himself further turned on by the soft, steady touches, and when China started painting again, he couldn't but concentrate on each slow, elegant stroke.
The smallest shift, the way the brush would incline to the right before being lifted up, the contact with new paint –every detail was heightened in America's senses, and he fought valiantly against arching up again.
Through the light haze that had taken control of his brain, he heard China continue his story in the same deep, alluring voice.
"The other Dragons followed closely and flew towards the Heavenly Palace. Being in charge of all the affairs in Heaven, on Earth and in the sea, the Jade Emperor was very powerful. He was not pleased to see the dragons rushing in" China smiled and leaned forwards, hand pressing gently on America's back, feeling the soft shiver. " he stared at them 'Why do you come here instead of staying in the sea and behaving yourselves?' he asked".
With soft, feathery touches, he started tracing more ideograms and symbols on America's back, not missing a single line, lowering himself down to blow on the rapidly drying ink.
America gasped out at the feeling, unable to keep his composure any more, fingers curling around the mattress as he felt China's mouth hover so close to his skin, almost teasing him, almost…
"Hnnn…"
The brush was once again on him, this time with a crimson ink America didn't remember seeing before, tracing some places where China had already worked onto, softly, and the new paint sent wave after wave of heat pooling down in America's vital regions.
"Y–Yao… w…"
Apparently unperturbed by the American man's reactions to his work, China hummed pleasantly and moved faster, the brush and the ink a blur on the skin, covering and coating and tracing.
"The Long Dragon stepped forward and said, 'The crops on earth are withering and dying, Your Majesty. I beg you to send rain down quickly!'," he continued.
Then, slowly, China uncrossed his legs and leaned to the side, carefully pressing the bowls with the ink to the bedside table; holding the brush with his teeth, he opened the drawer and took out a small case of ointment of a pearly colour.
America had once again half–turned around to stare, erection painfully pressed against the loose front of his pants, and allowed China to shift him until he was pushed down on his back, uncomfortably feeling some of the still wet paint spread between his skin and the candid mattress.
"We're dirtying your bed–"
China shifted between his legs, fingers once again on his hips, pushing his jeans down, and America swallowed again, deciding for once to just shut up and help the other by kicking the pants away.
It was almost unnerving how the Chinese Nation kept talking whilst he removed his own clothes, but a few lines of his tale were lost to America, who was watching, transfixed, at the expanse of naked skin in front of him.
China was… pale. And thin, but he didn't look fragile like America had expected him to. He looked ancient, yet young at the same time, black eyes burning with the same desire that America felt flooding his own veins.
This was the sort of Oriental beauty America had heard others talk about, but this was the first time he could actually understand its meaning.
Dipping his brush into the ointment, China applied it to America's front, teasingly shifting lower and lower with each stroke, making America's fingers tingle pleasantly, legs parting on their own accord.
"Hmmm… f–feels good" he murmured, swallowing again when China's brush moved lower.
The brush gently brushed alongside his uncovered length, slowly tracing patterns from the base to its tip, mixing the ointment with the precum already leaking out.
China's eyes were focused on every single twitch of the body underneath him, aroused yet controlling himself, watching as America writhed, sighed and moaned.
The brush moved down, circling America's balls, slicking them with salve, looking at the way the other's erection twitched and grew harder.
"Hnnn… Yao, please…"
America shifted closer, demanding more than just the brush on him, uncomfortable at the deep concentration he could see in the other's gaze, yet completely turned on by it at the same time.
This pleasure –not just that of the brush on his skin, but the one of being watched like this, so intently, with rapture and desire– was mounting inside him, strong and bubbly.
He vaguely wondered if he should ask 'why', but somehow he didn't care –what he wanted was China's touch on him again, not just that of the stupid brush, so he moved closer, lifting himself up to press his lips against those of the dark haired Chinese man.
They were soft and sweet, tasting like rice and dumplings, and America tugged China down by his ponytail. It was a strange taste, but one he wanted more of.
His tongue danced out, daring and probing, and China met it with his own, tracing the contours of America's lips and plunging into his mouth to taste him, fingers still moving to trace every detail of the other's naked chest.
America let out a pleased moan, strangely not put off by the other nation's actions, and only wanting him to continue.
The brush fell from China's fingers as he moved up to rub one of America's nipples, slow and delicate, appreciating the hesitant touch of America's own hands over his chest, wrapping around his shoulders, grazing at the scar he still bore on his back.
"Ahn…"
The heat around America was increasing with every gasp he took, lips still anchored to those of China, hands massaging the other's shoulders to keep himself busy, so that he didn't tense up when a hand trailed lower, shifting past his achingly erect member and prodding at his entrance.
Flush against the other Nation's frame, America pushed his hips upwards, gasping and groaning at the contact.
It felt… it felt good. More than just good, it felt… china's body was not big, and if anything America had a broader built, yet he somehow felt protected in the embrace, lulled into a sense of comfort and pleasure.
As one of the bigger, stronger Nations, America never had time to let others coddle him, protect him, and this feeling was so overwhelming that he simply let himself go, closing his eyes and demanding another kiss.
China complied as his fingers finally moved through the barrier of America's tightly clenched muscles.
"Y–Yao!"
Gasping out China's name, America fought against the urge to move away, and instead focused on exploring the Chinese Nation's naked chest, groaning when ointment–coated fingers pushed inside.
He was burning –the sensation was alien yet pleasant, the stretching fingers carefully tracing his inner passage, scissoring and pushing, rubbing constantly at the skin and muscles…
"Ahnn… ah!" America suddenly arched up, shocked at the rush of pleasure hitting him like a bolt.
Clinging onto China's body, he moaned out, riding the fingers that were now constantly brushing against a single spot that sent tremors and shivers down his back.
"T–there!"
China shifted again, pushing America back on the bed, his free hand tracing patters everywhere on his body, plunging into the ointment and also into the red paint, his other hand slipping out from inside America, gathering his frame close as he prepared to push in himself.
"Ready, aru?"
"O–of course –I'm not some sissy, after all–"
It was strange to cling at China's body with all of his strength and feel it tight and alive against him, strong despite its litheness, and America let out a soft groan, licking down on the offered neck as China finally pushed inside.
Being filled –warmth washed all over him, taking away his breath and making him gasp out in a mix of pleasure and heat, choking and clinging at China's frame as he was gently moved to lie back on the mattress, his legs parted even more.
It was burning. America had a few other sexual encounters, of course (not that he wanted to think about them right now), but nothing felt quite like this –it was powerful, every inch of his body was sizzling with pleasure, humming with waves that left him dizzy yet wanting more, pushing down to meet China's gentle thrusts.
"A… Alfred…"
Hearing his name uttered with the same deep, throaty voice China used for the tale had America almost lose himself –he clenched his inner muscles, making the Chinese nation gasp out loudly, and demanded another kiss.
Languidly, even too slowly for America's liking, China pushed into him again and again, fingers dancing on his skin, face and back.
Groans coming louder and louder, the burning, searing sensation raising inside him like a wave, his name murmured with the deep sound that reminded him of rivers and waterfalls…
"More…" he pleaded.
China sealed together their lips again, tongues dancing and intertwining, bodies raising and falling rhythmically…
"Ahh…"
It was coming –white at the edges of his vision, lost in a swimming sea of ecstasy, America kept his eyes open as orgasm washed through him, heightened feeling by China's gaze still on him, deep black eyes drinking at the sight, also clouded with pleasure.
It was overwhelming –so much that for a second, as he cried out again and again, China's name somewhere in his screams, he felt the world topple around him, white engulfing his vision, blinding him and deafening him.
China was still moving inside him, and America had enough time to gather his bearings, clenching his inner muscles again, then China let out a soft whimper, fingers tightening their hold on his body–
"Alfred…"
America groaned when he felt China climax inside him, wet and slick, moaning out his name as he shallowly pushed in again and again, riding his orgasm, dropping kisses down America's chin and neck.
Boneless and spent, America let his head fall back on the pillow, shivering and allowing China to hold him into a tight embrace, slipping out from him.
It was… he didn't want to move –the warmth was still there, and America was shocked to find himself slowly but surely falling asleep. The arms of the Chinese nation around him were steady and unmoving, soft breathy words in Chinese being murmured close to his ears, lulling him into a sense of calm and relaxation.
"Sleep, Alfred…"
"Remember you have to…" he paused, fighting against the fuzziness, and yawned. ".. tell me the end of your story afterwards… those dragons better be kick–ass…"
America let out a soft sigh and curled closer to China's body, eyes closing as he fell into a peaceful sleep.
Gently, china removed the glasses from America's nose, placing them next to the bowls of ink, and traced a last ideogram on America's stomach using the sticky liquid present there.
America's body shifted closer to him in his sleep, and China hummed contentedly, a satisfied smile finally making his serious air disappear.
America wouldn't need to know, of course, that what he had been drawing on his body had nothing to do with the tale he'd been telling him.
No dragons were sketched on his skin, no sea from where the dragons had spiralled to the sky.
Nothing but ideograms and symbols of ancient protection, traced with care on his living canvas, a spell that was meant to give America a needed rest, bounding him to the ancient magic that China still knew and practiced.
Of course there was nothing in his magic that would end up hurting the American Nation –they were all spells to heal, spells to protect and preserve and calm him.
Maybe America looked so strong and independent, but China knew better –everybody needed to feel safe, protected, in their lives, and America had been in need of that.
Possessively holding the bigger frame against him, China closed his eyes, still smiling, and let himself join America into sleep.
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SOY: I didn't fail with this, did I? please comment if you liked it!