DEMANDS OF CHILDREN

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever on the ownership of these characters.

. . .

When Yao woke up the next morning, he lay for a while, staring blankly at the ceiling. Through the morning sunlight, he could peacefully watch dust mites float gracefully, serenely downward like tiny white feathers. He didn't want to get up; as much as he wished otherwise, the horrifying events of the previous evening mercilessly played over and over in his head. How clever that Ivan was, how keen, how sly, how cruel, humiliating him the way he had. Somehow, the man knew exactly how to triturate his barriers, to break him down.

"Please."

Ivan's smile widened and opened his arms, beckoning Yao to come forward, who immediately ran into them like a small, motherless child. The top of Yao's head was given a chaste kiss, and he felt like he was in a haze, like he wasn't himself...it must have been the cold.

He was detached for a moment as a coat was removed. He watched as each button, one by one, was slipped through its hole. Ivan took his time, seeming to enjoy teasing his captive. For every second he had to wait freezing his ass off, the stronger Yao's impatience got, the more his body began to disobey his head. He wanted to hate the man, to murder him, but his defiant body desired for his warmth. Without knowing, he had played into the Russian's scheme perfectly, his need for survival in the dangerously low temperature overpowering his personal bias.

Completely undressed, Ivan took his hand and guided him back to the bed. He obediently climbed in, shaking from nerves, the cold, and from sheer terror. It was only natural that he be frightened. Because of their political tensions teetering on the edge, he could not afford to disobey Russia.

Ivan slid in after him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man.

The intimate way their bodies pressed together sent vivid colour to his cheeks. His companion's skin was like fire, melting the ice that had formed around his being. The heat was intoxicating, and, like a drug, he could not get enough of it. It was pathetically addicting.

He buried his face in the crook of Ivan's neck, palms curled against his chest. His eyes closed, lids like velvet curtains lowering on the theatre stage, and he felt thick, protective arms close tighter around him, greedily luring him closer to the heat.

He did not protest when a leg lifted, curling over his own; he could feel all of the man now, but it was all the more fire to fight the ice. He blatantly ignored the feeling of Ivan's member pressed against his stomach, he would deal. His limbs became heavy and his violent shivering eased, and he vaguely felt gentle circles massaging into his back before he succumbed to much desired sleep.

He would never admit it, but he had somewhat enjoyed the embrace. He was ashamed at how good it had felt, engulfed in arms, protected from the world.

...but to admit it would be to admit defeat.

. . .

"Oh! You're still in bed?"

Yao's attention snapped back to the present, to the low voice from the other side of the room. Ivan stood in the doorway, hand resting on the knob.

He blushed furiously, brows furrowing together, glaring with as much fierceness as he could muster. The startled expression on Ivan's face quickly turned into one of mild happiness. The Russian strode over the the side of the bed where he lay, taking a seat on the edge. Yao looked away, and when he looked back, a face stared back at him. He winced as his forehead was kissed, but it was too much for him when his loose hair was lovingly brushed away from his face with the back of a hand. He recoiled, attempting to scramble away, only succeeding in getting tangled in the mass of sheets.

Laughter burst forth from Ivan, who, bending over holding his stomach, found it immensely funny. Yao couldn't imagine why. He sat there, curious as hell until the sniggering stopped. Seeing the bewildered look on his face, violet eyes widened and an arm reached for his. In an unseemly manner, he was yanked towards Ivan, out from under the security and protection of the blankets. He yelped, it felt like his arm was going to be ripped from its socket.

He was a mess, bent like a fortune cookie with his upper body sprawled across the Russian's lap and his knees sticking awkwardly out from the sheets. He looked up at Ivan, scared. He could see a demonic glint in the cossack's eyes, a raw hunger. Ivan peered down at the visage below him, eyes lidded with lust; he reached up, gaze never breaking contact with his prey, and slowly, languidly slipped off his woolen muffler. He let it drop to the mattress.

Yao's eyes flickered, glancing at the movement, distracted for only a mere second before snapping back up to the face that haunted him. That serene, dangerously calm expression terrified him, shaking his soul. It was threatening yet strangely mystifying...

After what seemed like eternity, he slowly felt his fear pour, flee from him; he became lost in those eyes, mesmerized, and his body relaxed, relinquishing its hold on his limbs. Oh how he despised those eyes, those glassy spheres of syrupy violet, that tamed him. They mercilessly kept him placid and unmoving, as if he were in a trance. In the far, distant corners of his mind, he felt himself being lifted onto a lap, his legs maneuvered, wrapped around a waist. His wrists were bound, knotted together behind his back, but they were expertly tied, he could feel no strain.

Those eyes crinkled, ever so slightly, as pale lips turned up at the corners into a thin smile, like morning mist creeping over the moors. The veil over him broke with that faint shadow of movement, and he looked away. It was then that he realized what was happening, it was then that his position registered in his head. He gasped a little, constrained noise, and twisted his wrists. When struggled against, the bindings chafed his skin. He could definitely feel them now.

Ivan's large hands clamped around his waist and held him down. Yao blushed furiously, red up to his ears. It wasn't until he was picked up and gingerly placed upon the feathery pillows, that it dawned on him just how compromising his situation was. He had been straddling Ivan, exposing his naked, vulnerable self to him. He shuddered at how shameful it was, lying submissively in front of another man. The man who, having deposited his securely wrapped package on the bed, continued undressing.

He couldn't help but stare, couldn't take his eyes off of Ivan. The previous night he had not the chance to admire the flawless body, so unlike his own, in front of him. Now, he openly stared, soaking in the frozen beauty of the personification of Russian grace. His eyes followed the contours, the muscles, the defined lines that made up the man. He shook his head, turning away from Ivan; he took a deep breath, anger and despise rising up from his stomach like inky black smoke rising from a chimney. How dare he hypnotize me? How dare he restrain me like this...like some disobedient pet! He hated himself for finding the beast a beauty, hated himself for falling for the trap. He knew he couldn't resist, fight against the monster who now looked down at him as prey.

The mulberry-eyed demon descended upon him, a sadistic grin carved into his face. He was pinned under Ivan's overbearing frame. He struggled, thrashing from side to side, but he could not do much to free himself from the confines of this hell. His arms, trapped and bound, were of no use to him, and his legs would cause more harm than good at this point.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, breath ragged as two rough hands pressed on his chest, icy palms sending a great powerful throughout his body. He felt those long, slender fingers seek out his tiny peach buds. Eyes shot open as they were pinched, nails digging into sensitive skin. He whimpered and tossed him head away, the need of release great. A mouth was lowered onto a nipple, thick tongue running up to his collarbone. It lazily trailed back down again, back to its origin.

Ivan bit down, rolling tender flesh between his teeth. He played with the other, last two fingers rubbing tight circles around and around. Yao cried out, eyes moist and pathetic, reeling in pain. All his life, he had experienced only a single injury, a scar along his back from his brother's sword. Nothing more to harden his spirit, to developed defenses against this subtle torture.

To him, this was worse than his younger brother's betrayal...

. . .

Ivan snatched his outburst with his mouth, crushing a kiss into him. He was taken aback by the sudden exchange and gasped. His thin eyebrows scrunched together in a sharp incline, and butted his forehead into the other's, a loud crack resounding as the two skulls collided. Ivan reared back, hand to his head. Yao seized his chance and rolled to his left, not anticipating the end of the silken sheets. He fell hard, wincing in pain as skin collided with wood, and he lay there, stunned.

It was only a moment of brief respite before he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Ivan climb down and kneel on the hard floor, once again smiling like a lunatic and unfazed by his rebellion. Flat on his stomach, flushed cheeks smushed against the cool surface, Yao could not very well see what what Ivan was doing; but, as a leg swung over him, pressing him into the ground, he groaned, managing to call out a strangled "stop!"

His hair was yanked to the side, away from his neck, in such a way that a number of ebony strands came loose, falling softly beside him, now dead and detached. He could only wince as his hair was pulled, because, only seconds later, a hot wet mouth clamped onto his neck. It sucked and devoured, sharp teeth biting and scratching. He felt his skin grow raw the more it was abused, and he could feel a presence of great enormity nudging him from behind as if to announce itself. His mouth parted, salvia stretched like strands of thin spider thread, between his teeth; and eyes, threatened with tears again squeezed shut, as if to block out the nightmare.

He was panting hard, chest heaving in great, pained sighs; his whole body feverish, hot, and wanton. The savage kissed bestowed upon his flesh, once only mortifying and gruesome, now morphed into more intense, more passionate ones. Each lurid touch was like a black crow in a field, ravaging the land, leaving it barren and vulnerable.

Suddenly, without any warning, his legs were thrust apart; and he cried out, resembling a kitten thrown defenseless into cold waters. A hand reached under, latching onto him, fingers ruthlessly wrapping around his length. He jerked, terrified, as the hand stroked, kneaded, abraded, desperate to get him up...with no suck luck. How could I possibly feel aroused in such a distressing situation? I am not some subordinate concubine, steamed and ready to please and pleasure my master at his every whim!

Utterly unsatisfied with his efforts, Ivan changed course. Abandoning Yao's adamant shaft, he grabbed hold of his hips, sharp fingernails burrowing into tender, sensitive skin. and lifted him up, just high enough for hi to easily penetrate his little Chinese cosset. Yao's fingers curled, clenched into fists and he whimpered, aware of the immensity of Ivan's cock oh so slightly touching his entrance. Ivan forced his way in.

The Russian's length, secure in his most personal and intimate place, made him howl. A single tear escaped from his eye, trailing down his nose before breaking on the floor's waxy surface. It had only entered him a centimetre or two, but he could not take it, his willpower could only stretch so far. He felt violated, dirty, and he could not bear to fully accept Ivan like this, it would hurt too much, ruin too much.

This was rape! This was torture! This was blasphemy!

His eyes blurred, a second tear falling, then another, until droplets streamed constantly...until his was sobbing.

Wailing, he was pierced completely. He could not win. It was too late. He was hammered violently again and again, his insides screaming for an end to the misery. The pain was burning and every part of him Ivan reached, heat bloomed like scarlet florets. Vermilion seeped into his skin, cheeks aflame. He was terrified of himself as he, the victim of cruel, desecrating harassment, was starting to get pleasure from the ache, the agony, the burn of being torn apart from the inside.

Suicide was an option, rash and final as it was, but somehow he could not bring himself to acknowledge the idea. Sure, he was mortified beyond belief, but perhaps it was a delusion. Maybe he wasn't sick, but his reaction was only due to the constant provocation.

He knew in his heart, it was not true.

With a final, throaty groan, Ivan came inside him, sending waves of undesired pleasure up Yao's spine. He shook, somewhat relieved that Ivan had not continued, as he would have surely become hard, betraying his condition. A gentle kiss grazed his lower back as Ivan slowly pulled out of him. He sighed, exhaling greatly. His breath hitched when the head slid out. They lay there for several minutes, both exhausted, the smaller's silent sorrowing gradually evaporating into breathy exhalations. The floor creaked, and he rotated his head to see Ivan getting to his feet.

Ivan scooped him up and placed him back on the bed, releasing his hands from their bonds. He turned to leave, but Yao caught his arm. He looked over his shoulder. Yao's expression conveyed more than words could have, "When you sleep with someone, you don't just leave afterwards." Ivan smiled and climbed in next to him, pulling the discarded covers over them, up to his neck. Yao shifted away, but felt Ivan put his arm around his waist and drag him back; Yao was too tired to protest and yawned, curling his head under Ivan's chin. He allowed a tiny, content moan escape his chapped lips.

If Ivan heard it, he didn't say anything.

. . .

NOTES

Thank you thesaurus . com for providing me with thousands of synonyms every ten seconds :]

Hey, Jocelyn! I put in "recoiled" just for you, since you asked!