AN: Hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday! Best wishes for the new year!

-Even though this is rated T, there will be profanity ahead (I hate using them, but they are essential to the atmosphere of the story) and highly suggestive sexual material. Yes, consider this a warning, this is a very sensual fic (at least I hope so :x)

-OOC! I really took my liberty with characterization on this one, however I do hope you will still enjoy reading about Yao and Ivan.

-I don't own Hetalia.

The thought of him was intoxicating. We drove fast…and died young.

The world breathed in utter silence. In that soundless void, darkness was the only occupant quietly roaming the unseen corners. Far off the distance, something perspired. A droplet suspended in air before sending ripples across the darkness. Then he opened his eyes.

The sun glared down from above and the world was buzzing with loud and intangible shouts. Shielding his eyes from the persistent sun, he watched the rows of cars raced one after another. Cheers and hollers erupted from all around him, and the smell of sweat hang beneath the excitement of the audience. The observing man with one hand above his head looked calmly at the spectacle; his amber eyes obscured by shade directed its gaze on the cars zooming with ostentatious speed. They were all adorned in bright and vibrant colors; little boxes dashing towards the finish line, each one more determined to out-speed the other. They reminded him of the race car set he got for Christmas when he was a little boy. The same designs, the same size from where he was standing and they both offered the same amount of amusement. The man rubbed the corners of his eyes.

Constant voices blared on the speakers as the hosts informed the audience on updates and offering information that ranged from relevant to things that nobody cared. The crowds cheered for their favorite racers, roars of "Jones" and "Beilschmidt" filled the air. People seemed to be more anxious about the results than the racers themselves, but of course no one could see the faces of intense concentration and agitation inside plastic helmets.

Zoom zoom. They were getting closer now. After over four hours of driving in circles, the champion was about to be revealed. People's voices increased with the ticking clock along with racers increasing their speed. Then as the cars approached their last round on the racetracks, the winner became evident. Proclaiming loudly about the champion, the hosts announced simultaneously as the cars soared over the painted white line marking the end of another race.

"GIVE IT UP FOR OUR FIFTH TIME CHAMP, ALFRED F. JONES WINS HIS FIFTH NASCAR SPRINTCAR CHAMPIONSHIP!"

People went wild screaming for their golden boy. As the auditorium became infested with standing ovation, the long-haired man reluctantly left the comfort of his seat and clapped indifferently. His attempt at enacting enthusiasm was overshadowed by the fists in the air and the deafening applauds.

Returning back to his seat once the crowd had declined in its overbearing passion, he strained his eyes to look at the racers coming out of their respective cars. The young champion was greeted by his team tackling him in hugs, and smiling brightly he waved to his fans.

In only a few years, the hot-blooded youth has dominated the NASCAR tracks with groundbreaking records and winning over the hearts of millions. But while the majority of the people cheered for the champion, the seated man diverted his attention to the second place.

Ivan Braginsky was it?

Throughout the race, he was always head to head with Jones and never dropped from top ten. Trained from a young age in Russia, his reputation was well-known among die-hard fans and race car elitists. Despite not lacking in skills or determination, he had never placed first. Some even joked that he had cheated on Lady Luck for him to always get the short end of the stick.

Even as words of congratulations came flooding in his direction, the Russian man smiled conservatively. Beads of sweat dripped down from his chiseled chin and fell to the smooth ground.

His eyes wondered aimlessly through the adoring fans. A perpetual smile stayed frozen on his face, never faltering-never displaying anything more than that. The racer swiped the perspiration of his face and walked away from the race tracks.

Behind him, fireworks bursted through the night sky, vivid colors ignited the otherwise black sky. Each sparks of fire drew a pattern into the sky, something unique and breathtaking, never to be repeated exactly no matter how many are ignited and sent to their sky-bound destiny.

The racer stopped and listened to the celebration in all of its grandeur, yet he never looked back at the brilliant vermillion.

Among the crowds, the amber-eyed man stared knowingly at the night sky. He gazed silently as the world around him was still raving in contagious happiness. Then as if he saw something written in the burning lights, he smiled mysteriously.

The after party was in full swing by the time the ebony-haired man found the location of the hotel. The whole building was already booked for the night, and music could be heard from three blocks over. What used to be the ballroom had transformed into a lavishly decorated nightclub containing drunken elites and frenzied fans who had paid their ways in. The music was as loud as thunder with neon lights flashing as if they were the accompanied lightning. Sweaty bodies dominated the dance floor writhing and grinding against each other in shameless manners. The smell of sex permeated the air in a choking aroma bringing strangers together for one loveless night of passion fulfilling nothing more than bodily needs.

Carefully avoiding coming into contact with the adrenaline-filled bodies, the man hesitantly made his way through the crowds. If it weren't for the drug and alcohol induced visions, any one could have seen that the man was a glaring eyesore among the horde. He appeared to be looking for something, or perhaps someone, as he scanned through the mass, eyes darting back and forth for a hint of beige locks. Then ever so slightly, the corners of his lips lifted upward.

The Russian racer sat on the stool slowly twirling his drink with his elbows on the glass table. He hadn't taken a single sip and the ice cubes had already melted halfway, yet there was this calmness on his face that seemed to suggest he was in no rush for anything that night. The bartender had attempted small talks with the racer earlier but the conversations always ended with a tight smile on the Russian's face and lack of response. While most racers were busy getting drunk and high or mingling with fans, the second-place seemed to be in deep contemplation about the melting ice cubes in his glass. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft cough behind and he turned his head around.

"Congratulations," the man cleared his throat. "That was really good today."

"Thank you," the racer said politely before turning his back on the man.

Faintly aware that the stranger was still fixed in his spot, Ivan made no effort of acknowledging his presence. Just when he thought he would get the hint and leave, the stranger took the stool next to him.

"May I sit here?" he asked.

"Please," Ivan nodded in his direction. Well he couldn't exactly say no when he was already sitting there.

Silence ensured for the next few minutes between the two in a room of pulsing music and voices. The bartender came over to the newcomer and asked for his choice of preferred beverage.

The man gave a small wave with his hand. "No thank you," he said.

"You sure you don't want any? We got the best martini in town."

The man smiled apologetically. "Really it's fine, I don't drink alcohol."

The bartender shrugged and went back to the other end, leaving the two strangers in silence again.

Ivan eyed the clear liquid and the now tiny glass-like cubes. He paid no attention to the man sitting beside him; in fact he hadn't even spared him a single glance.

"Is that vodka?"

Chuckling a little to himself, Ivan replied. "Are you usually this bad at hitting on people?"

The man was unfazed. "What if that was a serious question?"

"Then yes, it is vodka."

"Hmm heavy," the man mused. "And are you having fun looking at your drink?"

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" He turned his eyes away from the glass and looked at the unwelcomed intruder.

"Everyone starts out as strangers don't they?" The man tilted his head and leaned on the table. "My name's Yao Wang, and you're Ivan Braginsky. There you see, now we know each other."

"How do you know-" He paused. "Wait, that's a silly question."

"Everyone here knows who you are," the man who called himself Yao smiled. "It's not every day that you get to talk to the acclaimed NASCAR racer."

"I take it you're a fan?"

"Sure," he answered nonchalantly.

Ivan raised his eyebrows at the suspicious man. "You don't sound convinced."

"Convince me then," he said sweetly. His lips stretched into a thin smile, and although they were a little dried up and chapped Ivan couldn't help but want to touch them. Now that he was facing him, Ivan observed him from head to toe in greater details. The man was of a slim build, yet lean muscles could be seen on his arms where his white sleeves were rolled up. His slender legs were fitted into black trousers that made Ivan wonder if his legs were even paler than the color of his neck and face. The shoes he was wearing were by Salvatore Ferragamo, but the once expansive loafers were now worn out with scratches and dirt. Once he began examining his face, Ivan was surprised to find out that the man was more handsome than he initially thought. Sure, he wasn't breathtaking or anything, and Ivan had certainly seen better, but something about his face was pleasing to the eyes. Though his cheekbones were not prominent, his cheeks appeared smooth and unblemished. His eyes were that of Chinese descent; they were the color of deep brown and there was a hint of gold underneath the orange glow of the light. Long black hair that reached his chest was tied back into a low ponytail and strands of loose hair were tucked behind his ears. Ivan couldn't quite place an age on him; he seemed to be in his early twenties, but there was this maturity to his appearance that caused Ivan to wonder if he was in his thirties.

Ivan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. There were always fans who jumped at the chance to get in bed with him, not to mention one night stands where he couldn't even remember the person's face the next morning. And yes, he had been with both guys and girls alike who were willing to offer their bodies on a silver platter. But perhaps due to the lack of alcohol in his system, he contemplated dully on the offer in front of his eyes.

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

Yao's smile never left his face. "What do you think I'm suggesting?" he asked.

"But you're a man," Ivan stated plainly. "And I'm also a man."

Yao grinned amusingly at him. "Oh yes I'm well aware."

"I'm not interested in guys." He brought the glass to his lips and swallowed the cool liquid in one go. A burning sensation spread though his body, tickling his skin, like ants crawling over his body; he licked his dry lips.

"That's fine," Yao said sympathetically. Tapping his fingers against the glass countertop, he looked around distractingly before returning his gaze at Ivan. "Tell me one thing though," he paused calmly. "Will you think of me when you touch yourself tonight?"

Ivan froze. Blood drained from his face, and he stared at him in disbelief. What did he just say? As much as he wanted to be disgusted by that man's incredulous question, Ivan couldn't help but to entertain that idea. The thought of him nearing his climax as he call out his name…

Yao bursted into laughter and a hint of redness tainted his pale cheeks. "I'm just kidding! Oh my god, are you okay?" With one hand covering his mouth spewing with laughter, he bit down slightly on his hand and looked both nervous and sly. "I'm just playing alright? Really-I… I was kidding."

Ivan opened his mouth to say something, anything, yet no words came out. "Well-I-um…" he stuttered embarrassingly. He knew he looked like a fool, and this inability to form coherent sentences bothered him as much as the thoughts he had from a question that was apparently a joke.

Removing his hand from his mouth, and straightening his back a bit, Yao offered a kind smile. "It was nice talking to you." His words were left unreciprocated. "Um, have a good night…Ivan," Yao said and stood up from the stool.

Ivan watched as he walked further and further away. Ponytail swinging faintly, the back of his neck exposed under the illuminating light, and hints of shoulder blades showing underneath the white shirt, the stranger called Yao never glanced back. Ivan didn't know why he stood up and ran after him. He didn't know why he felt the strange desire to chase after him. After many years later, he still couldn't understand his reasons. Maybe there were no reasons.

Although heavy stomping resonated around him, Yao could hear the anxious footsteps approaching him even before his wrist was grabbed and he was roughly turned to face the confused looking man.

Yao raised his eyebrow, observing the white-knuckled hand around his wrist. Then he slowly lifted up his head and chuckled, "Yes?"

"Let's go," said Ivan as he tightened his grip on Yao's wrist.

"Where?" If he felt pain, he didn't show it.

"Upstairs."

"To do what?" His smile had become mischievous; he was fully aware of what Ivan was referring to.

"Fuck."

The music filled the air without an effort, like the waves filling holes in beach sands. It was the puppeteer moving people on strings as men and women danced instinctively to the rhythm of each other's heat beats. Deeply scented in pheromones, the room emitted the slow intoxication of fulfillment without commitment, lust without passion, and heat without the comfort of warmth.

It was only a one night stand between the two of them. Both knew the consequences of their action; both expected nothing to come out of a night with a stranger.

Yao didn't speak for what seemed like an eternity. He blinked and said, "Now you're finally being honest."

No more words were spoken as Ivan pulled Yao through the crowds, out of the electrifying ballroom, into the grand lobby of the hotel, and into the elevator ascending up. The whole time his hand never let go of the ebony-haired man.

Once the elevator doors calmly opened, he impatiently led him to the hotel room that was booked for him, and fumbled with his keys as he attempted unsuccessfully to unlock his door. When it was finally fitted, he pushed the entrance open with such ferocity that it smacked the wall with a loud clunk.

Standing only inches apart, Yao felt the other's breath on him and the steady contraction of his chest up and down. They were so close.

"You didn't lock the door," Yao whispered.

He didn't get any reply as the Russian man held his gaze intensely as if they were in a staring contest. Despite of their proximity, neither made a move on each other. They were seizing each other up, daring each other to lose the game of self control. Eventually the game became too predictable and Yao moved his face closer to the other but stopped just when their lips were about to touch. The shortened distance between them at once shattered the constrained lust and Ivan lunged at him, crushing their bodies in a frantic search for quenching an unbearable thirst.

Their lips connected aggressively, seeking for a missing piece of themselves in each other. Demanding and passionate, the kisses escalated quickly from seeking pleasure in soft flesh and exchanging saliva to a chaotic duel where the battlefield was the canal of Yao's mouth. Tongues finding themselves twisting into a complicated knot, it was difficult to breathe under the suffocating heat. After moments of carnal yearning, their mouths broke apart followed by heavy panting. Yao let out a burning ball of air that was searing the walls of his lungs. He threw his head up and closed his eyes as he ravished in the feelings of Ivan's lips on his neck and shoulders. Unbuttoning his shirt with the uttermost restlessness, Ivan practically ripped his shirt open while a few buttons scattered across the hardwood floor. Chuckling at Ivan's impatience, Yao pressed his lips back on the velvet flesh pulling the two of them into another round of animalistic affair.

Drunk on endorphins, his only desire was to touch the Chinese man, to move his hands all over his smooth body and leave inerasable marks ingrained on his skin. These unbecoming thoughts were unpleasant and made him question what they were doing, yet something stronger suppressed these white noises. Urging their bodies tightly together, Yao retreated step by step from the intense pressure and eventually bumped into the edge of the bed. With one hand on his back and another in his beige locks, Yao pulled Ivan down with him as they fell on the silken mattress.

Facing the ceiling above, Yao closed his eyes and let his voice move in correspondence to the waves of pleasure. It was so easy to let everything go; to lose himself in the euphoria of sexual gratification. He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to remember. In this moment, he was no longer Yao Wang, but instead a mere human finding satisfaction in another human being. Cool summer air assaulted his skin, yet most part of his body was pressed firmly onto another layer of muscles. Even though he was only under a single man, it felt like a thousand pairs of hands were caressing him, groping him, tearing his flesh apart. A scream echoed the room, or perhaps laughter, he couldn't tell. It was so easy to let everything go.

Ivan spread the smaller man's legs apart and traced his inner thighs with the edge of his fingernail. He was right. Yao's legs were even paler than the areas of his body exposed to public. Digging his thumbs deeply into his thighs, Ivan observed the naked man lying breathlessly on the duvet with black hair scattered across the white pillows in stark contrast. As much as he did not like to admit it, this stranger looked beautiful in this moment frozen in time. Just another one night stand huh? Well it didn't matter, with the approach of dawn everything would end. Jabbing his fingers even further into his upper legs, Ivan discarded his remaining conscious and pulled the man down to meet his urging need.

The hotel room was in maroon red, the color of love and impending danger. The lights were off, yet the room was illuminated by the comfort of darkness, of not seeing, of not knowing. Clothes were arranged in an abstract manner over the floor resembling the likes of a Picasso piece. And on that floor which had been scrubbed and cleaned numerous times, a few buttons sat still. Across the bed, the second hand of the clock moved abidingly between intervals of time. Tick tok tick tok. Almost everything in the room was still except for the restless bed that creaked and groaned. The inanimate object wailed vulgarly beneath the applied pressure of two inseparable bodies. Sweat and other liquid soaked the sheets yet the bed continued to protest loudly about its laborious responsibility. Despite the closed windows, cicadas could be heard outside singing its song about the end of summer and the imminent autumn winds. Humming the persistent melody of departure, the cicadas accompanied the city to sleep.

The lines of glares that shot for his eyelids woke him. He blinked a few times before deciding it wasn't worth it and closed his eyes once again hoping to return to his slumber. However the awareness of being awake made it inconvenient to delude oneself in a sleepless state, so after painful deliberation the Chinese man roused slowly from bed. Rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, he yawned instinctively as drowsiness began to fade. Sitting upright on the bed, he stared blankly at the painted wall. He did not recognize where he was. And intimate brushing of the thick duvet to his bare skin served as evident to the fact that he was naked. Not only naked, but he could feel unwanted substance in the back of his… Yao grumbled and cursed under his breath. Did he have too much to drink yesterday? No, that couldn't be right, he quit drinking years ago. Somehow the realization that he was not under the influence of alcohol made it even worse. But does it matter? He got what he wanted after all. Chuckling to himself, Yao looked to the right and accepted the prevailing presence beside him on the bed.

He looks familiar. Then as images from yesterday played like a winding tape in his mind, the stranger's face was being identified. He's the racer isn't him? Hmm…what was his name? Ivan? Yao decided to trust his memory. Glancing at the sleeping man resting next to him, he looked vacantly at his bedmate. He seemed to contemplate something before slumping back into bed and climbing on top of the sleeping form.

Regardless of their nakedness, he casually relaxed himself onto the other man, once more bringing their bodies tightly pressed together. Lightly brushing the tip of his finger against the racer's parted lips, Yao observed him with softened eyes. The hardened face beneath the harsh sunlight appeared so peaceful in his sleep. Long, thick, and pale. His eyelashes looked as soft as silk, and as light as feathers. He once knew someone who had eyelashes as beautiful as those… Although there were dark bags beneath his eyes, they did not take away the serenity of his face. There was an idealized symmetry to his face despite of his almost invisible blemishes. His nose was straight and narrow, protruding in a dominant way, yet not unattractive. Composed of prominent eastern European features, his facial structure was both comforting and nostalgic.

Perhaps due to the closeness of their bodies, the Russian man stirred from his sleep.

Wincing from the tickling feeling of hair on his face, he opened his eyes to the view of another pair of eyes.

"Who…" He began, but stopped as he remembered the events from last night. It seemed like his drowsiness dwindled faster than the other man. "Oh," he said.

"Morning," Yao smiled pleasantly facing the man below him.

Ivan was at a loss for words. Not that he was ever verbose in the mornings; on this particular day he wasn't quite sure how to react to the stranger who just happened to be straddling him. However it was as if a huge cloud had been cleared over his mind when the Chinese man leaned down and kissed him. A huge cloud was cleared, and in its place, a rumbling thunderstorm was replaced.

"Goodbye," Yao said as he slowly took his lips off and lifted himself up from Ivan's broad chest. He never even had the chance to turn around as he was sharply pulled back, lips crushing into where they had last departed from less than ten seconds ago. Ivan ran his fingers through the thick strands of his dark hair and drew circles on his bare back, reigniting sparks in the sensitive spots he had discovered last night. Their kisses triggered burned out passion from last night and unfulfilled longing.

Sitting up with Yao positioned on his lap, Ivan coaxed their bodies into direct skin-to-skin contact. Breaking apart from the kiss, Yao laughed. Ivan thought his laughter was like waterfall.

"You know," Yao muttered as he tilted Ivan's chin up with one finger. "You're the best fuck I had in a while."

Ivan narrowed his eyes at the remark. "In a while?" he repeated the offensive words.

"Well I always wanted to do it with a racer," Yao continued, seemingly oblivious to Ivan's change in expression. "And…" he paused intentionally prolonging the word. "I got my wish granted yesterday by you."

Even though his voice remained good-humored and his smile was plastered on his face, more words were left unsaid. He was only a one night-stand; Ivan didn't have to know who he was.

Feeling the pressure being applied from the bottom, Yao knew another session was approaching. "It's a Saturday today, want me to stay for a little while longer?" Yao asked.

He wasn't anything to him, Ivan knew that fact very well. He also knew that one night stand was supposed to end after a single night. But a little longer couldn't hurt. Besides the sex, he was getting used to his laughter: warm yet distant, an illusion with hints of genuineness. He did not remember his name; was it Mao? Jao? Well he would know by the end of the day.

"Yes," he whispered in his ear before plunging himself deeply into the man he did not even remember the name of.

The clock continued on its unspoken journey of perpetuation. Time began to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the rain. One more hour. One more night. Nights turned to days and days turned to years. As race cars tested their limits on aged tracks covered by new paint, the swirling brown blur of dust became dispersed across the cloudless sky.

TBC.

AN: Second chapter is coming soon. And as soon as I finish this short story, I'll continue my other fic.

Thank you for reading! It would make me so happy to know if you liked it even a little bit. Reviews are always appreciated~ Hugs and Kisses.