So many good responses for a story with only one chapter thus far! I posted it and went to bed worrying myself to death counting flaws and guessing how many "wow can you write any retarded-er" reviews would appear the next day. I considered taking it down and writing something else…apparently I shouldn't. I doubt this will exceed six or so chapters.
Remember my yaoi-noob-ness. I cringe with fear as I write and hope it sounds as hot and non-laughable as it looks in my head.
'What am I doing what am I doing what am I—should I just keep going till I fall over and faint—and—and—should I look back, aru?—No, I shouldn't, that'll be the exact moment I trip over a rock—oh, why did I do this, I could have just tried to talk and now I'm playing Godzilla-and-mouse with him-'
China couldn't stop thinking. His mind was steady enough to recognize that as a good thing. Mindless running was what got herbivores murdered and made feasts of by carnivores. The greatest battles, schemes and even retreats were carried out successfully by thorough, practical thinkers who didn't tuck their tail in and flee at approaching danger. He knew from experience.
Even if the danger was named Russia or Ivan Braginski or chasing an innocent man across American soil or probably planning to tear my tongue out with his and eat it, aru or—well, some of those weren't names. Anyhow, if he kept up his inner fear-rant long enough for it to affect his judgment, China would be on the ground and possibly in pieces very soon. He had to calm down. He had to assess this.
He was still running. Very fast. It had been five or ten minutes since he'd taken off, night was coming on, he'd probably covered seven or so li already and his pace and amount of energy had hardly diminished, making him curious how much of this was adrenaline after all. And if he concentrated he could faintly hear the sound of shoes beating the ground nearly as hard as his, just inside his range of hearing.
'I can't just keep running till I see the Pacific Ocean.' China's told himself quite calmly. 'I must face this. Russia must understand that whatever his feelings are, I am not returning them, unless he's playing an awful joke, in which case…it's not funny.'
It would be the smart thing to slow down. Talk. Remind Russia of his mistakes or misconceptions, agree to put it behind them, walk back goodness knows how many miles and fill the awkward silence with pointless conversation, and explain that Russia had been joking or simply…what was the English word? Wasting? Wasted? But it was difficult to ignore the sounds behind him growing louder, by fractions just large enough to be noticed.
This had to stop. He had to be the one to stop, too. If Russia caught up to him first, anything could happen. If something bad happened, there was always wu shu to fall back on. America would have a hell of a time making action movies about what moves Chinese could break out against Russians when attacked!
With one long leap to gain energy for a harsher, more abrupt stop, China scoured up dust and grass and stood waiting to be tackled or worse.
He was waiting a few seconds longer than he thought. There was just enough time for him to wonder if he had been particularly fast or Russia was particularly slow; the next thought came more slowly, since he was suddenly several inches off the ground and being strangled by either Russia's arms or iron beams. His first instinct was to fight back, kick out swiftly at the back of his captor's knee as he had taught countless students to do, but then realized his opponent's weapon was—a hug.
Russia was laughing behind him like one having won a prize. "So strange that you would stop when you could outrun me if you wished! I wondered if you would keep going until you had to cross the ocean." China could feel his captor's cheek pressing slightly against his hair, though it was nothing compared to the stranglehold on his torso.
'Please, please say he doesn't bite.'
"You're all done with your adrenaline rush, da? Because I would like to kiss you when you're awake this time. And for longer."
Immediately China's hands rushed to loosen himself from the iron grip. "That's the first thing you think to say—stop it!" Russia halted in his soft tugging of China's hair. "You don't just kiss people, aru! Explain yourself! Where is this all coming from?"
Very like a child would adjust a stuffed animal in their arms, Russia turned China slightly so that their eyes could meet. "I have cared about you for a long time, but you do not notice, or seem not to see me in the same light as I see you. And I am irritated with doing nothing about it. But you took my scarf. You did. We were in a heated building already, but you did." His eyes brightened, glistened, even, with joy. "It made me think…that I have a chance after all!"
China could remember his lack of feeling that evening, physical and somehow emotional. The wind and driving snow had numbed him through and through; what now seemed all but disastrous had then been…nothing. He now had to make it nothing once more.
"I'm sorry, aru. But I don't see you in the same light. You're my ally and I would assist you if your country needed it. But I can't give you this, aru."
Silence. The same positively delighted stare. Then, "That is all right. You said to 'make you', da? If I must, I must." He loosened his arms enough for China to drop the six or so inches needed to reach the ground, but no further. China allowed himself to be turned so that he faced his adversary, and begged whatever deities there were to allow his numbness to return.
"You needn't look so scared. I know what the other Allies say about me." Russia laid his hands on both sides of China's head. "But they have something to fear from me. You do not." He cocked his head, a new thought stirring. "Or perhaps you do. Or…hmmph." He was looking over China's head now, and the noise made it pointless for China to look as well. Only American vehicles made so much noise, but it was not America driving it.
Driving a Jeep quite in the middle of nowhere, Hungary swerved to a stop, tearing tracks into the grass and standing up before the car had righted itself again, all while shouting, "Waaaaaaiit!" China waited. Russia did not; he gathered China up in one arm and carried him over to the car.
Hungary leaned forward onto the windshield. Tapping a camera in her free hand, she sighed, "Russia-san, didn't you hear me? Ah, I was so close! If I hadn't wasted those few seconds calming Austria down—"
"Whatever you did worked quite well!" Russia interrupted and lifted his arm to allow China to seat himself behind their new driver. "Not even America came after us. Thank you so much for keeping everyone away. I asked her to do that so you would not be embarrassed, Yao. Though I can't fix what was done with your spectacle from before."
China was irritated equal parts for the use of his name as for implying anything from before had been his fault, but he let both go uncommented. There was a larger issue. He timed his voicing it carefully; just as Hungary turned the key and the roaring engine sounded, blocking more sound from her upfront than Russia, he asked it. "Why do you like me?"
The sudden flooring of the engine knocked them all back slightly. Russia allowed himself to be smacked back into the seat before answering. "You understate. I love you—I do not think I can show you how much—because winter burns me less if I think of you. You are a strong, good person, and happy with your life, so when you smile, it is real, da?" His hand slid over and covered China's. "And you're very cute. I like that about you very much."
Much too busy absorbing information, China sat with his hands tucked in his sleeves and an expression a few notches above neutral. "That's…very kind, aru. Th-thank you."
Russia smiled and laughed softly through his nose. "Ne za chto. Did you know you're quite adorable when flustered? I think now is the time to kiss you." He pulled on China's hand, and would have pulled the rest of him were it not for the seatbelt. "Ah? Then I shall have to move." He unbuckled himself and scooted closer to where China sat wide-eyed and silent, distracting himself from this by wondering what Hungary would think of it. Russia held the Asian's head in his hands as he had moments before, but no interruption came this time.
"Remember, longer this time, da?" He leaned in close enough for their lips to touch as he talked. "And you do not get to sleep through this one." Russia initiated their second kiss.
Instead of fighting, China allowed it to happen, whilst furiously stomping all sensory detail. This would not faze him. 'I'm merely being kissed by a man, aru. This is new. Not historical. Odd, not fantastic. And certainly not what he wants it to be.'
He was careful to keep his mouth closed, but could feel Russia's warm tongue—how did he not burn himself with that?—clashing with his lips. Asking to be let in. 'I'm sorry. I don't think so.' Then Russia wasn't asking. Then he undid China's seatbelt. 'Is this a threat, aru?'
A hand pressed onto China's abdomen, and he couldn't help but squirm. His mouth was free for a moment and his eyes open. The hand pushed again, harder, effectively trapping him in between a car door and a grinning Russia. "What…are you smilinggg about, aru?" China asked, but it came out as more of a gasp.
"You taste like something sweet. I want more."
"I didn't even open my mouth, how can I possibly taste like anyth—"
"I'll find out," Russia interrupted, and leaned in to attack again. China expected such a move, though, and closed his mouth mid-sentence. Russia, tired of the rejection, turned the hand he still kept cushioning China's head and angled it towards himself. He searched eagerly with his tongue for a weaker point, and hummed low against China's lips when he found it.
The weaker point was found only with effort, but reaped great rewards; now playing with China's tongue, Russia was all but in complete control and would stop for nothing. But control did not have to in turn mean utter domination, viciousness—not yet. Not now. To convey this, he made sure not to crush his mouth to China's too desperately. No desperation, especially not when being gentle was so critical.
It was too hard. He was risking what he had waited years for, and…and…well, they were almost back to America's house. Russia disentangled himself from his object of interest and watched as China moved to sit facing front again as a typical car passenger would, albeit staring with unfocused eyes and trying to keep from panting.
"Thank goodness we're here," Hungary said from the driver's seat. Both men looked up and saw her leaning over her seat, face nearly as red as China's. "You two could have gone on for a while. Russia-san, may I—"
"Not now. Yao, would you please exit the car? The door on my side is stuck." China grasped the door handle, turned it and hopped out all without looking and his suitor followed. Latvia and Sealand were sitting together on the porch of the enormous house; Sealand shouted something and waved. China began walking towards them at an average pace but was stopped. Russia had grasped his arm. "You are all right? I would rather you not walk away from me being…harmed."
"I'm fine, aru. I just think…" China could see Russia standing over him and hanging on his word out of the corner of his eye and chose his words as artfully as he could manage. "That was… impressive, aru."
The guardian angel that was Sealand saved him from having to continue what could have been an awkward conversation by screaming across the lawn, "Chinaaaaa, America's looking for youuuuu!"
"I'm coming," he called back, and made his way around the house at a purposefully normal, unbothered pace. As the night crickets chirped around him, he touched his tongue to the roof of his mouth, his gums and anywhere else there was a taste that hadn't been there five minutes before, and shouldn't be there now. He ran his tongue over those places again and again; it was like a new type of food, completely unfamiliar, in need of no spices or coverings. It tasted lovely on its own. And just as he was about to turn the corner to the backyard, China stopped.
'Lovely? Describing Russia? Describing a kiss from Russia?' They were two pieces from separate puzzles. But he should have noticed these puzzles before. He was an old nation, the oldest, in fact; it was shameful that this had slipped by his notice like leaves under a bridge.
A breeze picked up and he inhaled the cool, strong breath it offered him. He vowed not to be so foolish from now on. None of Russia's signs would drift by unnoticed. And for that matter, he wouldn't be so scatterbrained as to forget America had requested his presence. China smoothed his shirt, a wise decision as Russia's dictionary-sized hand had wrinkled it, and made his way around the house. The first thing he saw was the floodlights on the roof lighting up the yard, and France pulling Canada out into the mostl brightly-lit area of the yard to either dance or stagger around drunk with him. He had hardly gone five steps closer when Poland, apparently aware of him by telepathy, whisked around and dashed towards him. Lithuania followed, and Hong Kong stared over at them from the snack table.
"Heeey!" Poland greeted him. "My god, you have got to tell me what went on with you and that Commie. Did he, like, try to eat you? Does he love you from the bottom of his little demon heart?" Lithuania frowned and rolled his eyes.
Attracted by the Pole's singsongy voice (and perhaps the word "Commie") half a dozen other heads turned and saw the re-arrived guest. England covered the distance between them at what seemed to be the speed of light and asked where his scars were. France skipped merrily over in an intoxicated zigzag and inquired as to the whereabouts of China's little lover ("or big lover, actually. Hic! I mean, that guy's taaaaallll, right, Mister five-eightn'a half?") but all were drowned out by America's megaphone.
"China, you freaking tardy-ass! Get your butt over here so I can watch it break out some kung fu!"
Eager to see what that was all about, China ducked under and through the crowd like a fish dodging a bear's claws. He jogged to where America stood in between two flagpoles proudly brandishing his country's flag. "Kung fu, aru? Don't tell me you're actually interested in learning? And kung fu specifically or any type of wu shu?"
The blonde looked away sheepishly. "Heh, s'not really for me. I mean, why would I learn when I've got you and your BA moves, China! Show me some!" He backed up behind the southern-facing flagpole and produced a small camera from seemingly nowhere. "This is for a movie my guy Cameron is making. I promised him I'd give him a sample of the things my buddy China can do. Hey, in fact, get someone to fight with! Japan! You know samurai stuff, bitch it out with your brother here! Just for a minute!"
A conveniently-located Korea grabbed Japan by the collar and began heaving him towards the "ring" where China stood with his hands on his hips. He frowned in Korea's direction and then bowed to his adoptive brother. "I'd rather get this over with quickly. My plane boards in an hour." A maid zipped in between the two and handed a gaudy-looking sword to Japan before prancing away. America gave them both an exaggerated thumbs-up.
"You begin, aru." China offered with a smile. He raised both hands to eye-level and held them vertically, with one foot slightly outward. His younger brother would not deign him with a reply, and chose to run at him directly instead of giving a greeting. He raised the sword but would not unsheathe it. He held it in both hands and struck downwards, kendo-style. China clapped it between his palms several inches above his head, and struggled slightly to suppress a victorious grin.
By the grill on the patio, Finland and Estonia shouted encouragement and the support of acquaintances brought a soft grin to China's face. He pulled suddenly, all strength in his hands, and tore the sword from his brother's hands. Japan was quick as well and grasped the hilt as the sheath was torn away, leaving himself lacking a sheath but brandishing a weapon. A faint smile grew on his face.
"Skin can always conquer steel with proper maneuvering!" China reminded him. "Or a wok."
The old tease made Japan falter for a moment. China slid onto his side and kicked straight upward, knocking the sword out of his brother's hand. He rose up in time to kick again, but retracted his foot at the last moment. A whirling, grey object flew past and landed somewhere on the far, unlit section of the yard.
"That was, like…unexpected." Poland noted. "Hey, it's Russia! Russia, did you just seriously throw a pipe at your, like, object of affection? 'Cause maybe that's a sign of love in Winterland, but yaah!" Russia jabbed a finger in the speaker's eye as he walked past, and ignored America and Prussia's bantering of whether or not the pipe-throwing was awesomer than Prussia.
"I am sorry for interrupted your...your fight, or whatever this may be. And all I had was my pipe to get your attention. You see, I forgot something, Yao," Russia announced, pointedly ignoring Japan. "Hungary did me a favor by keeping America and several others from following us when you ran away before. I must pay her back."
He reached to gather China in his arms, but felt hands pushing against the insides of his elbows just before his hands could meet and fully trap his charge. "I don't care what Hungary requested as payment. You will not molest me thrice in one day, aru. No."
"Molest?" He forced his hands together and pulled China against himself and up, holding him at just below eye-level, and creating an unfortunately familiar situation and pose for China. "You think I am so evil?"
"I don't believe you are evil." He paused to acknowledge that for the second time, they had a slack-jawed audience. This time, though, there were spotlights. "In fact…you've convinced me your intentions are good. And, I think that, ah," He was screaming inwardly, wishing like mad for the snow-numbness, "I would like a chance to get to know you better, if you would allow me, aru."
Russia watched China's embarrassed-looking eyes swiveling along random patches of grass around his feet, replied merely, "Da," and licked his cheek. A startled China cried out, "Aiyaah!" in perfect sync with the flash of a camera.
Hungary skipped over to them from beyond the glare of the floodlights, the camera which had been unused in her Jeep now held tight in her hands. "Thank you very much, Russia-saaaan! Best of luck with your precious one!" she said, and skipped off towards the house, giggling.
A moment of silence followed in which the onlookers had little idea how to respond. Russia, seeing opportunity, lightly pressed his face to China's neck to add something he had forgotten to give while in Hungary's car. China felt this, as well as a sudden chill alongside his new discovery.
'Yes. Yes, he bites.'
Yay for kiss scene number two. I tried to make it…harder? Hardcore-er? …I TRIED. I was fueled by the constant idea that few fanfictions explore how Russia and China's relationship began, while many (though this is not a flaw) simply jump to them being in love by the beginning of the story. The point of this fanfiction is to give them a beginning (i.e., Russia declaring that IT WILL BE.) And so in many fanfictions China doesn't have to go through the fearful, awkward "newness" behavior that he does here.
In fact, that's one reason I added the scene of America wanting to film China doing martial arts: so he could act relaxed and cheerful for once, as he naturally is. The other reason was because, since China can KO the Axis by just flailing a wok, logically if he used some real, coordinated martial arts, which I'd bet money he knows, he could take on nearly anyone. It's what makes him such a great uke. Totally adorable, but not a weakling.
Wu shu (characters: 武术) translates to "martial arts", by the way, and "ne za chto", in its original Cyrillic, is Не за чтo, means "you're welcome."
(Feel free to LOL at Hungary, who requests to be paid in yaoi photos, and yet is only a slightly rabid yaoi fangirl.) See y'all next chapter.
