The Dream Thief
Title: The Dream Thief
Author: Shana Abe.
Disclaimer: I do not own ANYTHING in this story. Neither the characters or the story/plot.
Characters/Pairings: Russia x China
Warnings: Smut while someone is half asleep?
Rating: NC-17
Summary: China and Russia spend the night in a rocky cave after being stranded by themselves. Russia and China both know the relationship between them are on the brink of destruction and try their hardest to suppress their feelings for each other but forced close proximity and dreams ruin their plan....
Russia would wake him. He would say something clever, like: “I have a theory about love, as It relates to itches and distraction.”
And his, China’s, brows would raise in that skeptical, enticing way he had, waiting.
“Scratch the itch, the distraction is gone.”
“Is that what I am, an itch?”
“More like a rash. But I’m willing to scratch. If you are.”
Dream-China would say to him, “That is surely one of the least seductive things a person, man or woman, has ever dared utter to me.”
“Well,” Russia would reply, still clever, “but you’ve been cloistered away for so long, haven’t you? How many other Western lovers have you known? Perhaps we’re all like this”
“Heaven forbid.”
“Da. One of me, one of you,” The Russian would run a finger over his shell-pink lips. “It’s really all that’s required.”
And then Russia would kiss him. Softly, deeply, using his lips and tongue and all the artful guiles he knew. And even though he wasn’t a woman, China would kiss him back. He would make that sweet little moan in his throat, the one that was just the right pitch to send the Russian spilling over the edge of reason…
Russia dropped his arm. He turned his head to stare up at the ceiling until his eyes teared and the rock crests and smoke all hazed into gray.
“No,” the real China breathed, still in his sleep. “No, Russia.”
Russia sighed. Very carefully, very slowly, he leaned up on an elbow to examine the smaller nation’s face.
Firelight flattered the Chinese. He didn’t need flattering. He was too beautiful as it was- but with the gold-amber light he became something searingly, magically fragile, the fleeting brilliance of a sunbeam slicing through a cloudburst.
Mine, he thought, and this time the word washed over him with a sensation surprisingly akin to desolation.
He wasn’t his. He could never be his.
“Will you?” China whispered, still asleep. “…Ivan?”
“Yes,” Russia said, and almost from outside of himself saw his fingers stroke back the few dark strands that clung to China’s brows. “Yes, Yao. I’m here.”
It’s only to comfort him.
But it wasn’t. Even as he moved, he knew that it wasn’t, another lie, another tally against his soul. His mouth brushed China’s temple, his cheekbone, his jaw. The loosened strand of his southern neighbor’s hair caught against his lips.
Someday, one way or another, they would part ways; they would have no choice. And bastard that he was, he still knew what he meant to have happen next.
It wasn’t an itch. It was a sickness. It was poison blazing through him, thinking of China all the time, watching him, touching him, wanting and wanting and wanting until his mind went black.
China turned his face to meet Russia’s, his hand lifting from the larger man’s arm.
Russia took the smaller nation’s lips that easily. He exhaled all of his doubts, let them sift from his body as he placed his lips over China’s. And it was just as he’d imagined it, a million fevered times over. It was honey and desperate relief, only better, because delicate arms came up and hooked around his shoulders, and China’s chest expanded with his name.
Russia rolled China onto his back. Russia smelled the cool musk of rocks and earth and China, and the smoke from the fire twirling above them. He thought China might still be dreaming- except that when Russia kissed him, he arched taut against the Russian, his legs opening, as if he’d been awake all along and only waiting for Russia to give in.
He knew all the secrets of China’s changpao. He knew the creamy flesh of his shoulders, the rise of his throat, the poem of his jugular. He knew the dip of China’s waist, the hard, delicious pink of his nipples. He knew these things as if he knew China, every inch of him, because in the feverish dark depths of his dream he truly did.
It was easy to unbutton China’s shirt. Easy to slid them off silky shoulders, to drag his mouth over the satin of China's chest, to close his teeth around the other's nipple and tug and suckle until the bud was wet and taut.
China was panting. He turned his head and smoothed his palms across Russia’s hair and back, urging him closer. He was adrift in his clothes, a warm body cocooned amid the covers, his knees rising.
Russia felt beyond himself. He felt for the first time in his adult life a shadow of fear in his heart- fear for China, for what he actually wanted from him- and for himself, for what he might do.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think.
China cradled him with knees and arms. His eyes drifted open. His lips parted. The poison for him ate through Russia’s blood.
“Do not speak,” Russia ordered, watching China’s face. He didn’t want him to wake, he didn’t want him to shape the words that would stop him. “Just feel.” Russia found China’s center, the tight, hot entrance, and pushed a finger slowly inside him. “Feel me, Jao.”
And Russia made certain that China would.
He touched him and stroked him until his fingers were slick, until China’s lashes fluttered closed and made the soft, restless moans he’d been waiting for, that he recognized from his best fantasies. He freed himself from his pants and sank into China. China gasped and stilled, his chest rising and falling in short, staccato bursts, and Russia thought he might right then from the tight bliss of China’s sheath.
But he waited. Because China had to accommodate him, he was tender, and some ragged part of him remembered that, for all the hunger raging through him. China was precious. Ardent and throbbing inside of China, he would make himself wait.
He dropped kisses along his throat, up to his ears. Russia caught his breath and dragged his lips over China’s marble cheek, to his mouth, where the Chinese turned his face to face his and shaped words Russia did not hear.
China lifted his hips. It wasn’t much-a subtle motion- but like the tumblers turning in a lock, it freed him. Russia couldn’t stop himself now; he pushed deep. He bit China’s neck and reveled in it, the flowery taste of the other nation in his mouth, the shivers of China’s body around his. The smaller man made a low, keening moan that matched the agony burning through him. He thought he might die in the pleasure of China, lustrous and wet and hot against his skin. Even the shadows along the walls seemed to cower. And it was worth it, every moment, every instant of suffering, because now-
They moved together. They stretched and held and tasted each other as the fire glimmered and they found new magic. China twined his fingers through Russia’s hair with both hands and pulled the other nation’s mouth to his, lip to lip, imprisoning Russia even as he impaled the China with his body.
“Jao,” Russia gasped, plunging, unable to stop.
China said something he didn’t understand, the flowing language of the mountains, soft and urgent. It sounded like a plea.
“不去. 不去.”
His ankles wrapped around Russia’s hips, taking him deep. He was satin and fire. He closed his eyes and tipped back his head, licking his tongue along Russia’s lips. Russia lost himself once, just under the spell of China’s pleasure, his rapture and his flexed beauty, the heat of China burning him to his core. Russia climaxed inside of him, pressing down so hard it had to hurt his comrade, but China only held him closer with a glad, fervent sound. Russia echoed it, cold white light against his closed lids, bliss and pain and unbearable pleasure wringing through him.
When Russia could open his eyes again, the world seemed amazingly the same. Shadows still lapped at the ceiling and walls; China still quiescent beneath him, lush and cushioning, deliciously hot.
Russia pulled from him, their clothing half-demolished, and smoothed China’s shirt back as he rolled them both to their sides and drew the Chinese back against him.
“My heart,” Russia whispered, hovering with him at the bring of the endless night. His lips met China’s hair, ebony flax against his skin. He felt profoundly changed, a grateful ghost drifting away from purgatory. Everything was new, everything was right.
“I want to marry you,” Russia breathed, and in that moment, he meant it.
China rubbed his face against Russia’s shoulder; his voice was a sleepy mumble over the fire.
“Don’t be an idiot,” he said.
Russia felt China slide back into the darkness. With the poison lifted from his veins, Russia followed China nearly at once.
A/N: I randomly chose the Chinese. In the original text, it was a made up language the author used. If you know Chinese good for you, you know what Yao said. It's better if you didn't but...*shrugs*
“Dream Thief” By Shana Abe
“Buried deep within the Carpathian Mountains lies the legendary dreaming diamond known as Draumr, the only gem with the power to enslave the dragons. Since childhood, Lady Amalia Langford, daughter of the clan’s Alpha, has heard its haunting ballad but kept it secret, along with another rare Gift: Lia can hear the future. In it, she realizes that the diamond- along with the fate of the dragons- rests in the hand of Zane, a human…and her future lover. A master thief, Zane is the only man trusted by the dragons to bring them the stone. But Lia knows that he straddles two worlds and will become either her ally- or her overlord. Now, driven by the urgent song- and by her visions of Zane- Lia breaks every rule to join him. For to protect her tribe her destiny to that of the one man capable of stealing her future…and destroying her heart.