This author seems to have a case of what I'd like to refer to as TMS - Too Much Sap (not Tyrannosaurus Menstrual Syndrome, as I'm sure many of you thought. But I digress). But really, its gotten to quite embarrassing levels, and as I look back on some of my "older" fics (cough cough from December) I can't help but giggle and blush and think "Damn, I'm such a girl".

Hmmm… and then I write this thing. And lo and behold, the levels of sap are stifling. Anyone got a problem with that?

Anyway, I yoinked this prompt off of the kink meme but A) its already been filled B) I forgot where the prompt was and C) I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO POST THERE so I'm just gonna put this up here? Prompt is basically, BDSM isn't always hot. Nations A and B are trying it but one or both of them is uncomfortable and freaks out. Cue comfort fluff.

This takes place right after WWII, where (at least in the head cannon) China and Russia can finally pursue at least some semblance of a relationship while the rest of the world retreats for a short time to recover and rebuild.

Warnings: Yaoi, BDSM!Fail

Even after years of separation, some habits are easy to fall back into.

China is not sure why he came back. He should not have. What little, tentative (at least, he told himself that it was tentative, frail) connection that they had shared in the past, Opium and the West and Open Doors and the Rising Sun had all conspired to burn it away. Yet now, after the Opium had gone home to repair its bombed cities, after the West had left to count its pearls, after Open Doors had been closed and the Rising Sun had been burned to the ground China was back in the cold arms of Russia, kissing him passionately.

"é guó…" China moaned in his native language, slender fingers hooked firmly in ice blonde hair.

"Jao," Russia whispered back, a smirk moving against the Asian's questing lips. "I have missed you. Missed you very much." When China did not reply, Russia continued in a softer voice. "I did not think that you would come back."

There was a moment of silence broken only by ragged breathing and China's greedy lips moving down Russia's cheek. Finally, in a voice just as soft as his lover's:

"Some things are… more addicting than even opium."

"I love you, too."

China should have retorted that he had said nothing about love but his mind was focused on the nation in front of him, making up for the lost time of war and hurt and re-memorizing every familiar inch of snowy skin. Besides, to him, that word had lost its meaning. "Love" was just another word for betrayal. Addiction and desperation and loneliness were his sign of affection. They were his words for love.

Russia understood this very well. He had even less than China had to keep him whole. Maybe it was only China that was keeping him whole. And maybe he was all that was there for China.

And so their other old habit began again.

Never breaking the kiss they had moved so easily into, Russia grabbed China's shoulders and forced him to sit in the high-backed chair in the corner of the bedroom. It was easier than he had expected to get his way. Sure, China did not struggle; but he had never struggled. But now the little porcelain doll was just so … thin. Head strong and heart strong and body strong but very very thin. This, he thought, made his job much easier.

He reached into the drawer next to the chair and pulled out a few long pieces of rope. Now was when China began to fight back, but not well, not in earnest. A struggle was just a part of the game after all, a game they knew how to play and play well, a game they both enjoyed. With the world spiraling so far out of control, it felt good to Russia to have one area in which he and he alone could dominate. It felt good to China to momentarily let down his barriers and his pride in order to trust and submit.

And so, dodging protesting fists and kicks, Russia tied China's wrists to either arm of the chair, then bent to do the same to his feet. These he tied tighter, knowing the Asian's strength and sadistically wishing to keep his legs permanently spread, just for him. Then he removed his scarf and stared China straight in the eye, taking a long look at his beautiful expression, one of need and desire and lonliness and all the hurt they had suffered and the last bit of pride that still lingered somewhere in his soul. Pride that would be gone by the end of the night.

Russia folded the scarf lengthwise, twice, then tied it firmly over China's eyes.

For China, the world went black.

He was expecting that. His sight gone, he automatically reached into his other senses. First was hearing. Not much was audible though, just rough breathing and creaking wood and that told him very little. China felt disoriented. He tried reaching out to feel something, get a bearing on where he was and what he was doing. But… but when he tried to reach out his arms, they were stopped. Hemp rope bit tightly into his wrists, keeping them still. He tried to stand up or kick out his legs but they too were immobile and wide open. He was vulnerable, trapped, spread out.

A hand, leather-covered and cold, stroked his cheek but China could not tell from which direction it came and his breath gasped out in surprise as he was touched by some phantom feeling. Something in the back of his head whispered to be calm, be calm but something else screamed terribly, familiarly it is Him.

China automatically jerked away from the contact, but his chin was grabbed and squeezed between gloved fingers and immobilized lips were shoved into a heady kiss. Again China struggled, trying to jerk away but his captor was very, very strong. The hand that was not immobilizing his face started to stroke down his sides and then up his shirt, ghosting across bare skin in a pale parody of affection. That feeling… it had once been a good one, arousal, but now fear was the only thing in China's head, fear as he remembered the last time someone had touched him like that. He whined and twitched, straining desperately at the bonds around his wrists. ""不要，不要，不要这样！放开我！我求求你!"

Russia watched his lover struggle, curiosity plain on his features as his hands continued their ministrations, the one on China's chest playing with a nipple, the other leaving his face and threatening to move lower. China had never been quite so vocal before. It was intoxicating; Russia rather liked it. But he was also clawing at the ropes rather harshly, and Russia could see blood dripping from the torn skin of his wrists and something seemed wrong wrong wrong. "Yao…?" he asked quietly.

＂不要，日本，停下来！我求求你，日本啊！停下来，停下来＂

China's voice rose feverishly, desperately until he was yelling and violently pulling at his bonds and suddenly Russia was very, very afraid for his lover. Russia scrambled for the knots in the rope but they were tied tightly and he was forced to lean over the chair, practically on top of China to get to them, which only seemed to make China panic more.

"日本, 日本, 日本..." his voice strangled out into a sob and Russia finally mentally translated what was being said in the broken Chinese.

It was a country. Japan.

Oh god.

Russia flipped a pocket knife out of his pants and quickly cut away the ropes and jerked the scarf off of China's eyes and pulled him into his arms. China was sobbing quietly, shaking violently and still struggling, struggling, but Russia held him as tightly as he possibly could against his big body and whispered childish endearments in Russian, clumsily petting China's hair.

"Прости меня, прости, дорогой, всё хорошо - я здесь. Слышиш, любимый?".

After a long moment of tension and Russian, China stopped struggling and collapsed against Russia's chest.

"é guó," he cried. "é guó…"

"I'm right here, любимый," Russia replied. "I'm sorry. I did not realize…" He let the statement trail off. He had never meant to bring up those viciously recent memories, of the cruel Japanese attacks on his beautiful China. Russia still blamed himself for being to incapacitated by his own internal troubles to rescue his doll from the bondage and torture. If he had only been able to get a hold of himself, he could have come and saved him.

He gathered China into his arms, lifting him up and laying him gently on his own bed. China lay on his back, covering his face as he tried to regain some semblance of control over his emotions. Russia felt physical pain, seeing his strong, proud lover like this; but he felt a fierce gratitude that he was the only one that would ever be able to see it. China would never break down like this in front of anyone else. He knew that China had not even given into Japan, during those days.

Russia sat down next to him and ran fingers through loose tendrils of silk black hair, waiting patiently for China to calm. He did , quickly, sniffing and sitting up and leaning forward so his hair made a curtain around his face and hid it from Russia's view, as if to pretend that he had not just collapsed, not just broken so badly

"I am sorry. I did not mean for that to happen," China said woodenly. "I should go home."

"Nyet, Jao, come here," Russia said firmly; not ordering, quite, but close to it. China looked up, and Russia pushed his hair away from his face. China cringed as his red eyes and grey face were bared to a searching violet gaze.

"I am sorry," he said again. Russia said nothing, just stared at his face. "I… It … when he took me… it was tied up, like that. He covered my eyes and wore gloves so… so he would not… get his hands dirty." China never met his lover's eyes

Russia's heart clenched - of course it clenched, in anger and frustration but now was not the time, not the time to let that show.

"Da. Well. You are safe now, Jao."

China smiled wanly at him, eyes still fixed around his collarbone, not his face. "Am I? You could not help me before."

Russia had nothing to say to that, nothing at all.

But his thoughts turned back to the slim red book that had been pressed into his hands by an old man with a long beard, a man by the name of … Marx. And the promise that he had imparted on Russia's ears, if only Russia would obey.

"But I can help you now…" Russia whispered, drawing China's limp body close.