Life's Passion
Title: Life's Passion
Author: Karen Robards. Again I just changed names.
Characters/Pairings: Russia x China
Warning: Smut and Smex
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Russia and China got captured by Japan. Russia holds a secret that Japan wants. To get the Russian to spill, Japan broke China’s pinky. Russia lied about where they could get what they want to buy him and China some time. This is what is happening as China and Russia are imprisoned in a back of a truck, waiting for Japan to return.
“I’m sorry I got you into this. Sorry you got hurt. Sorry I didn’t stop the bastard sooner.” China’s head was tucked into the hollow of Russia’s neck now; the words were muttered into his hair. China nestled closer, forgetting everything but the security the larger nation offered. A stab of pure agony shot from his broken finger. He moaned, stepping back from the other man, cradling his injured finger.
His finger was aching terribly, so badly that it made his stomach heave. He felt dizzy again, and leaned his head forward to rest it against Russia’s chest. His large hands came up to grasp slim shoulders in a quick concern.
“You need to lie down, don’t you? Let’s get these things off first.” Russia was unlocking China’s handcuff as he spoke, gently easing them off the Chinese man’s wrists so as not to hurt him any more than he had to. Hurriedly he piled a few of the pads into a makeshift bed next to the wall, then swept China up in his arms and carried him over to it, staggering a little with the motion of the truck.
China mewled a tiny protest as Russia laid him down, and the Russian apologized with a quick kiss on his lips. Folding a pad under his head like a pillow and covering him with another, careful not to touch the injured hand which rested on top of the quilt, Russia made China as comfortable as he could. Then Russia smoothed the hair out of China’s face, straightened, and moved away.
China watched him as he prowled around the trailer, checking the door to be sure it was locked, testing the strength of the walls and corners, looking at the miscellaneous items lying around the floor. Besides the rusty looking generator, which must have once graced somebody’s farmhouse, and the pads, there were other typical movers’ items: a pair of dollies, ropes, a couple of empty boxes, and a small fire extinguisher.
There was also a case of warm beer. Russia lugged it over to where China lay on the pallet of quilted pads, fished a beer out of the case, popped its top and held it out to him.
“Drink up.”
China shook his head, unmoving, “I don’t like beer.”
“Now why did I guess that, I wonder?” Russia shook his head, “Will you please, as a favor to me, drink this beer? You’ll feel better, I promise you.”
Before China could answer, Russia was settling himself behind China and propping him against his shoulders, then holding the can of before to China’s lips. China could either drink or drown. He drank. Gasping and choking as the liquid came too fast. But when Russia let her come up for air, he had to admit he did feel a little better. Warmer, more aware, if a little woozy.
“I told you,” Russia said when China admitted as much. China didn’t even feel like glaring at him. Having Russia take care of him was too comforting. As long as he cosseted to him, China could pretend everything was nearly normal. That they weren’t going to die when Japan returned.
“Let me fix your finger for you, Yao. I know it must hurt like hell. I can make it better if you’ll trust me.”
Those two little words set off warning bells in China’s brain, but he ignored them. When Russia settled him back down in his bed of pads and told him not to look, China obediently put his good arm across his face. When he felt Russia gently take his fingers probing his injured pinky while Russia’s other hand encircled his wrist China made no protest. Then Russia repaid his trust by grabbing the end of his poor broken finger and jerking with all his might. The pain was so excruciating that China screamed. And then at last she fainted.
“I’m so sorry, so sorry I had to hurt you,” Russia was whispering to him, cradling him in his arms when he started the slow swim back to consciousness. “Poor sweetheart, poor little baby….”
“I’m not,” China said, revolted, “a poor little baby.”
Russia lifted his head a little to look down at him. The smallest of glimmer of a smile quivered at the corners of his mouth.
“No, you’re not, are you? I beg your pardon,” he said gravely, then bent to press a quick kiss on China’s soft lips. He disentangled himself, got to his feet and reached for another beer. Hunkering down beside China, he popped the top, then took a long swallow himself before offering it to the Chinese man. China didn’t even argue this time.
“My finger doesn’t hurt quite so much,” he said, discovering that he could move his hand without a shaft of agony jolting him clear down to his toes.
“I had paramedic training in the past. It’s almost as good as new. See?”
China’s eyes followed Russia’s to his hand. Russia had fastened a makeshift splint out of the stuff cardboard of the beer case and a soft maroon strip wound with an inch-wide section of white elastic, both of which reminded him forcibly of Russia’s underwear. He touched the funny looking bandage with a tentative finger.
“Yours?” China asked, looking up at the other nation. Russia grinned a little.
“Sacrificed to a good cause.”
China wanted to smile back but dread filled him.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” He started shivering violently.
“No, we damned well are not. We’re going to get out of this with our skins intact and live to laugh about the whole damn thing.” But Russia’s vehemence told China that he was just as uncertain. China’s shivers intensified. The thought of what Japan would do to him- to them- when he returned was too terrifying to contemplate.
“Hold me, Ivan.” China whispered, scrambling onto his knees as he reached for Russia. Russia’s arms when around him and cradled him, his hands stroking China’s back, his cheek pressed against the softness of her own.
“Listen to me,” Russia said, “We’re going to get out of this.”
But China was beyond listening. He was beyond anything but an urgent need to affirm that he was alive. That he could smell and taste and touch and see and hear and feel…His shivers intensified until he was quaking in Russia’s arms, his body pressed to Russia’s from knees to chest. His hand burrowed beneath the larger nation’s sweatshirt to find the heat of his skin, pushing the shirt up and over his head in greediness to absorb the Russian’s warmth so that his movements were hampered by the cloth that stretched from elbow to elbow. He was mindless now, acting solely on instinct; primitive instinct intent on affirming his body’s life force.
China’s open mouth ran along Russia’s neck, down his chest, over his hard stomach to the waistband of his jeans. China nuzzled his face lower, pressing his mouth against Russia’s crotch, biting at the swelling bulge he could feel straining against the stiff blue denim. Russia jerked, sucking in his breath. China didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. His hands were urgent, tugging at the Russian’s snap, working down his zipper so that his manhood fell free, unconfined by the underwear he had sacrificed to bind the smaller man’s finger, huge and hot and pulsing and alive. China took it in his mouth, cupping the soft sacs beneath with hands that shook, rubbing and stroking and caressing the twin roundness while his lips and teeth and tongue staked their claim to his shaft.
“For God’s sake, Jao…” Russia was kneeling; China’s head was in his lap as the other crouched in front of him. Unable to fend China off with the shirt tethering his arms, he tried to rise. China’s teeth sank into him viciously, making him yelp and sink back. Then he pushed him hard, turned into a feral creature with his need to affirm life, to keep the darkness of fear away. Russia sprawled backward, unable to save himself without the use of his hands. Immediately China was over him, tugging at Russia’s open jeans, pulling them down around Russia’s hips as his mouth once again found and claimed them. This time Russia didn’t try to stop him. Through the haze that China was lost in he heard the harsh gasps of Russia’s breathing, but still he didn’t stop. He bit and sucked and kissed and caressed until Russia was groaning and jerking and needing him as he need Russia.
“Ride me, Jao. Please. Ride me.” The hoarse plea was accompanied by urgent movements of Russia’s pelvis. China ran his tongue up the length of him one last time, then sat back on his heels to survey his victim. With his shirt binding his arms and his jeans down on his thighs, Russia was naked and vulnerable to China. Russia’s manhood jutted enormously upright from its nest of blond hair, thick and pulsing and wet from his ministrations. China bent his head to kiss it again.
Russia jerked sideways.
“Ride me, Jao.” Russia’s voice was hoarse.
He stared at the pulsing shaft, felt an urgency start in his own loins and straddled Russia. China held him tightly while he settled himself on Russia. Delicately, so delicately, the hot thick quivering shaft probed, slid inside. Russia gasped. China gasped. Then China closed his eyes, his muscles clenching, closing around Russia. He was so big, so hot.
China moaned, his fingers clenching on Russia’s chest, his head thrown back, his muscles contracting. Russia surged upward, violently, unable or unwilling to let China set the pace any longer. He cried out, riding Russia, his movements and urgency matching the larger man. He needed him, needed him, needed him….
When the release came it was an explosion. China’s nails dug into Russia’s chest, his neck arched, and he cried out as exquisite convulsions claimed him. Russia cried out too, pushed over the edge by China’s ecstasy, his hips coming up off the floor as he ground himself inside the smaller, slender man. When it was over, China collapsed limply on Russia’s chest. Beneath his ear, he could hear the pounding of Russia’s heart.
“God in heaven,” Russia said after a moment, his eyes still closed, “If that didn’t kill me nothing will.”
A/N: Original Title, “Night Magic” by Karen Robards
“Lovley, blonde and sensual herself, Winston wrote sizzling romance novels, always including a hero who was the kind of man she hoped to meet-powerful, yet sensitive; accomplished, yet modest; overwhelmingly sexy, yet ready to give his heart to the right woman. Going to bed every night with only her cat Puff for company, Clara wondered if she would ever find a real-life male who would measure up to her dreams and take her breath away with his kiss. Then in one dangerous, desperate evening she found herself face-to-face with a man as handsome and exciting as her fictional characters. He was CIA agent Jack McCain, a man running for his life and accidentally taking Clara with him. His emerald eyes seemed to shoot green sparks and he acted as if he knew it all. In his arms Clara felt light-headed…and when his lips touched hers, she knew this man’s passion was what she had longed for. Now, as a web of intrigue closed around them both, Clara was ready to break every rule in the book to win his heart.”
Author: Karen Robards. Again I just changed names.
Characters/Pairings: Russia x China
Warning: Smut and Smex
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Russia and China got captured by Japan. Russia holds a secret that Japan wants. To get the Russian to spill, Japan broke China’s pinky. Russia lied about where they could get what they want to buy him and China some time. This is what is happening as China and Russia are imprisoned in a back of a truck, waiting for Japan to return.
“I’m sorry I got you into this. Sorry you got hurt. Sorry I didn’t stop the bastard sooner.” China’s head was tucked into the hollow of Russia’s neck now; the words were muttered into his hair. China nestled closer, forgetting everything but the security the larger nation offered. A stab of pure agony shot from his broken finger. He moaned, stepping back from the other man, cradling his injured finger.
His finger was aching terribly, so badly that it made his stomach heave. He felt dizzy again, and leaned his head forward to rest it against Russia’s chest. His large hands came up to grasp slim shoulders in a quick concern.
“You need to lie down, don’t you? Let’s get these things off first.” Russia was unlocking China’s handcuff as he spoke, gently easing them off the Chinese man’s wrists so as not to hurt him any more than he had to. Hurriedly he piled a few of the pads into a makeshift bed next to the wall, then swept China up in his arms and carried him over to it, staggering a little with the motion of the truck.
China mewled a tiny protest as Russia laid him down, and the Russian apologized with a quick kiss on his lips. Folding a pad under his head like a pillow and covering him with another, careful not to touch the injured hand which rested on top of the quilt, Russia made China as comfortable as he could. Then Russia smoothed the hair out of China’s face, straightened, and moved away.
China watched him as he prowled around the trailer, checking the door to be sure it was locked, testing the strength of the walls and corners, looking at the miscellaneous items lying around the floor. Besides the rusty looking generator, which must have once graced somebody’s farmhouse, and the pads, there were other typical movers’ items: a pair of dollies, ropes, a couple of empty boxes, and a small fire extinguisher.
There was also a case of warm beer. Russia lugged it over to where China lay on the pallet of quilted pads, fished a beer out of the case, popped its top and held it out to him.
“Drink up.”
China shook his head, unmoving, “I don’t like beer.”
“Now why did I guess that, I wonder?” Russia shook his head, “Will you please, as a favor to me, drink this beer? You’ll feel better, I promise you.”
Before China could answer, Russia was settling himself behind China and propping him against his shoulders, then holding the can of before to China’s lips. China could either drink or drown. He drank. Gasping and choking as the liquid came too fast. But when Russia let her come up for air, he had to admit he did feel a little better. Warmer, more aware, if a little woozy.
“I told you,” Russia said when China admitted as much. China didn’t even feel like glaring at him. Having Russia take care of him was too comforting. As long as he cosseted to him, China could pretend everything was nearly normal. That they weren’t going to die when Japan returned.
“Let me fix your finger for you, Yao. I know it must hurt like hell. I can make it better if you’ll trust me.”
Those two little words set off warning bells in China’s brain, but he ignored them. When Russia settled him back down in his bed of pads and told him not to look, China obediently put his good arm across his face. When he felt Russia gently take his fingers probing his injured pinky while Russia’s other hand encircled his wrist China made no protest. Then Russia repaid his trust by grabbing the end of his poor broken finger and jerking with all his might. The pain was so excruciating that China screamed. And then at last she fainted.
“I’m so sorry, so sorry I had to hurt you,” Russia was whispering to him, cradling him in his arms when he started the slow swim back to consciousness. “Poor sweetheart, poor little baby….”
“I’m not,” China said, revolted, “a poor little baby.”
Russia lifted his head a little to look down at him. The smallest of glimmer of a smile quivered at the corners of his mouth.
“No, you’re not, are you? I beg your pardon,” he said gravely, then bent to press a quick kiss on China’s soft lips. He disentangled himself, got to his feet and reached for another beer. Hunkering down beside China, he popped the top, then took a long swallow himself before offering it to the Chinese man. China didn’t even argue this time.
“My finger doesn’t hurt quite so much,” he said, discovering that he could move his hand without a shaft of agony jolting him clear down to his toes.
“I had paramedic training in the past. It’s almost as good as new. See?”
China’s eyes followed Russia’s to his hand. Russia had fastened a makeshift splint out of the stuff cardboard of the beer case and a soft maroon strip wound with an inch-wide section of white elastic, both of which reminded him forcibly of Russia’s underwear. He touched the funny looking bandage with a tentative finger.
“Yours?” China asked, looking up at the other nation. Russia grinned a little.
“Sacrificed to a good cause.”
China wanted to smile back but dread filled him.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” He started shivering violently.
“No, we damned well are not. We’re going to get out of this with our skins intact and live to laugh about the whole damn thing.” But Russia’s vehemence told China that he was just as uncertain. China’s shivers intensified. The thought of what Japan would do to him- to them- when he returned was too terrifying to contemplate.
“Hold me, Ivan.” China whispered, scrambling onto his knees as he reached for Russia. Russia’s arms when around him and cradled him, his hands stroking China’s back, his cheek pressed against the softness of her own.
“Listen to me,” Russia said, “We’re going to get out of this.”
But China was beyond listening. He was beyond anything but an urgent need to affirm that he was alive. That he could smell and taste and touch and see and hear and feel…His shivers intensified until he was quaking in Russia’s arms, his body pressed to Russia’s from knees to chest. His hand burrowed beneath the larger nation’s sweatshirt to find the heat of his skin, pushing the shirt up and over his head in greediness to absorb the Russian’s warmth so that his movements were hampered by the cloth that stretched from elbow to elbow. He was mindless now, acting solely on instinct; primitive instinct intent on affirming his body’s life force.
China’s open mouth ran along Russia’s neck, down his chest, over his hard stomach to the waistband of his jeans. China nuzzled his face lower, pressing his mouth against Russia’s crotch, biting at the swelling bulge he could feel straining against the stiff blue denim. Russia jerked, sucking in his breath. China didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. His hands were urgent, tugging at the Russian’s snap, working down his zipper so that his manhood fell free, unconfined by the underwear he had sacrificed to bind the smaller man’s finger, huge and hot and pulsing and alive. China took it in his mouth, cupping the soft sacs beneath with hands that shook, rubbing and stroking and caressing the twin roundness while his lips and teeth and tongue staked their claim to his shaft.
“For God’s sake, Jao…” Russia was kneeling; China’s head was in his lap as the other crouched in front of him. Unable to fend China off with the shirt tethering his arms, he tried to rise. China’s teeth sank into him viciously, making him yelp and sink back. Then he pushed him hard, turned into a feral creature with his need to affirm life, to keep the darkness of fear away. Russia sprawled backward, unable to save himself without the use of his hands. Immediately China was over him, tugging at Russia’s open jeans, pulling them down around Russia’s hips as his mouth once again found and claimed them. This time Russia didn’t try to stop him. Through the haze that China was lost in he heard the harsh gasps of Russia’s breathing, but still he didn’t stop. He bit and sucked and kissed and caressed until Russia was groaning and jerking and needing him as he need Russia.
“Ride me, Jao. Please. Ride me.” The hoarse plea was accompanied by urgent movements of Russia’s pelvis. China ran his tongue up the length of him one last time, then sat back on his heels to survey his victim. With his shirt binding his arms and his jeans down on his thighs, Russia was naked and vulnerable to China. Russia’s manhood jutted enormously upright from its nest of blond hair, thick and pulsing and wet from his ministrations. China bent his head to kiss it again.
Russia jerked sideways.
“Ride me, Jao.” Russia’s voice was hoarse.
He stared at the pulsing shaft, felt an urgency start in his own loins and straddled Russia. China held him tightly while he settled himself on Russia. Delicately, so delicately, the hot thick quivering shaft probed, slid inside. Russia gasped. China gasped. Then China closed his eyes, his muscles clenching, closing around Russia. He was so big, so hot.
China moaned, his fingers clenching on Russia’s chest, his head thrown back, his muscles contracting. Russia surged upward, violently, unable or unwilling to let China set the pace any longer. He cried out, riding Russia, his movements and urgency matching the larger man. He needed him, needed him, needed him….
When the release came it was an explosion. China’s nails dug into Russia’s chest, his neck arched, and he cried out as exquisite convulsions claimed him. Russia cried out too, pushed over the edge by China’s ecstasy, his hips coming up off the floor as he ground himself inside the smaller, slender man. When it was over, China collapsed limply on Russia’s chest. Beneath his ear, he could hear the pounding of Russia’s heart.
“God in heaven,” Russia said after a moment, his eyes still closed, “If that didn’t kill me nothing will.”
A/N: Original Title, “Night Magic” by Karen Robards
“Lovley, blonde and sensual herself, Winston wrote sizzling romance novels, always including a hero who was the kind of man she hoped to meet-powerful, yet sensitive; accomplished, yet modest; overwhelmingly sexy, yet ready to give his heart to the right woman. Going to bed every night with only her cat Puff for company, Clara wondered if she would ever find a real-life male who would measure up to her dreams and take her breath away with his kiss. Then in one dangerous, desperate evening she found herself face-to-face with a man as handsome and exciting as her fictional characters. He was CIA agent Jack McCain, a man running for his life and accidentally taking Clara with him. His emerald eyes seemed to shoot green sparks and he acted as if he knew it all. In his arms Clara felt light-headed…and when his lips touched hers, she knew this man’s passion was what she had longed for. Now, as a web of intrigue closed around them both, Clara was ready to break every rule in the book to win his heart.”