Sunday, September 22, 2013

A China Lemon -- Tangled With Silk

Character: China

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: The Lover, that cross-cultural romance movie between a French girl and a Chinese man?  It is the most beautiful movie I've seen in a long time.  It's got crazy sex scenes, but if you've watched Game of Thrones you're all set :3

China's house in the mornings are loud, harried, spent rushing around trying to find appropriate clothing and paperwork.  China's house in the afternoon is peaceful, quiet.  But only in the evening is it completely serene, filled with a sort of loving, familial atmosphere that has Yao near to purring in your arms.
You spoil him.  There's no other way to explain it.  But he loves you for it and you love doing it, and besides, you've got nothing better to do.  You live in his house and you wait for him to come home.  You have no job.  You spend your days cleaning and cooking and coming up with new ways to make Yao happy.
He comes home early that night, at 4:30.  Oftentimes, the meetings run late because a lot of time is spent arguing in circles.  He's sometimes not home until 7:00 or even later, and you are pleased to see his tired looking face peer into the kitchen, no doubt drawn by the smell of your cooking.
You hadn't heard the front door slide open or his footsteps, so when you see him standing at the threshold you smile in surprise.  Your eyes flicker over his somehow ragged form.  He looks immaculate, pristine, his robes are perfectly in order and he has not a hair out of place.  But there is something about the way he is leaning, something in his eyes, that make him seem older.  Even older than normal.  It worries you, so you abandon the vegetables you are cutting on a bamboo board and go to him.
"Welcome home," you whisper softly as you pull him into your arms.  He goes willingly, feeling relief splutter all over his body.  He drags you close and buries his face into your neck, which is bare because your hair is in a braid for cooking.  He sighs out, feeling for the first time that day a taste of the serenity that is often in his home nowadays.  Ever since he asked you to come live with him.
You don't say anything about how haggard he seems, how exhausted he probably is, even how much work he undoubtedly has to get done.  Instead you begin to describe to him what you are making for dinner, somehow knowing that the menial talk of food will ease his worries just a little.  They do, just a little.  His shoulders slump down as he tries to relax and then he presses his forehead against yours to watch your eyes light up as you talk.  Your smooth, low voice crashes over him and he suddenly has this strong desire to have it whispered into his ear, dirtily, huskily.  But he knows that the time for those conquests will come, later.  He knows that because suddenly you are pulling back a little and saying, "How about an early dinner tonight?"  And your eyes are somehow darkened, in a way that screams out how very much you are aware of his own wishes and wholeheartedly reciprocate them.
He smiles then, not because you have just promised him sex but because you know him so well, know how these meetings always drain him, know exactly what to do to ease that burden and make him feel refreshed, new.  And he is so happy that he has you to look forward to every single day, you to come home to, you to greet him with a gentle kiss and a 'welcome back'.  It is the sort of simple pleasure that he has yearned for all the long, endless centuries he has existed but not truly lived.
You smile up at him, ease yourself from his arms, and turn back to the kitchen.  Then you say, "Maybe a bath, too.  What do you think?"  Oh, you spoil him.  But you love to see the way his eyes never cease to light up at the mention of a luxury spent with you, and he chuckles fondly beneath his breath because he knows what you are up to and loves it too.  He follows you into the kitchen, presses a kiss to your bare neck, and tells you, "I'll run the water."  Then he swishes from the room, silk robes gently curling at his limbs, and you watch him go with a sudden, stark desire burning right through your heart.
This is how it always feels, this desire.  It has long ceased being the sort of desperate passion that two new lovers experience.  You have been with him for a long time, you know just how to make him want you, just what to say to make his eyes flash and his body react.  And when you want him very badly, you don't feel that despair, but rather a searing, living need that rises up within you like an animal.  And that need is coupled with thousands of shards of emotions that you cannot fully interpret but don't need to, because you understand the main one.  The one that makes you think of Yao even when he is gone, the one that makes you remain here in his house even if you sometimes feel like a ghost with no purpose.
He returns minutes later, smelling very faintly of the bubble bath you know he has probably used.  The thought of the delicious evening ahead has you all but melting.  You swear you would melt, too, if not for Yao's arms holding you up against his chest, chin on shoulder as he peers down at the work you are doing.  You have put the water on to boil and have gotten out two of the delicate porcelain mugs you found in one of the street vendors in Beijing.  Beside it is a matching teapot, one of the low, squatting kinds that looks more like an oval than a symmetrical circle.  It's bamboo handle flies up into the air and is well worn, because you use this set a lot.  Yao chuckles and squeezes your waist when he notices the tea you have put inside the pot: a special chai blend you know he favors in the evenings.  His heart soars a little because he knows you are trying your hardest to make him relaxed, and because being with you in any setting is always what really does the trick.  Not tea or bubble baths or early dinners, but you, plain and simple.
"I made chocolate cake, too," you say idly, trying to ignore the fierce longing that has taken a hold of you as you lean back against your lover.  He hums, smiling a little because he always loves it when you return to your Western roots, always likes to hear about your life before you met him, the strange things in your world that he will never fully understand because he is not Western. 
He watches with half lidded eyes as you gently pour hot water into the pot, watches the way your wrist delicately tips, the way your eyes harden with concentration because you are well aware that this particular art is something you may never grasp, the simple technique of tea making.  There are some things in his life that you will never fully understand because you are not Asian, but you both find that it doesn't matter because there is one thing that connects you, something just as strong as the old Chinese traditions.
You put the kettle down and he snatches up your wrist, surprising you until you feel his mouth against your palm.  Then you remember that Yao is strangely turned on by little things, by parts of your body that any other man wouldn't think twice about.  This time, he is aroused by two things.  One is the way you always try very hard to understand his culture, the soul of it, the essence of pouring tea.  The other is more a matter of the flesh, of sexual desire, of the strange little fact that Yao loves your hands, your wrists, because they are so delicate and yet know innately how to please him.
You shiver when you feel his tongue curl over your inner wrist, followed by his lips, which drag over your skin in a way that reminds you of how he makes love to you.  And that reminder has you holding yourself up against the counter and him, all too aware that it is still early to be giving into these sorts of impulses.  And yet there is really no such thing as 'early' or 'late' when it comes to loving.  In the world of two lovers, rules don't apply.
His free hand is pulling up your dress before you even know what's going on.  All you are aware of is the feel of his skin dipping, molding, careening against yours.  He pushes that skin up, up, up your thigh and over the thin cotton panties that cover the core of you.  And then he is touching your core, twisting a finger against the white cotton with such dominating control that it has you sighing out and falling back against his broad chest.
His other hand releases your wrist to join the pursuit, dancing easily past the rough fabric of your dress, brushing over your breasts and down the plane of your stomach, until his fingers delve and crash against your inner thigh.  You tuck your head back and hold onto his forearms, staring up at his face, the sharpness of his cheekbone, the fullness of his mouth.  His breath comes out fast, like yours, even though he is not the one being touched.  He is still consumed by the passion which curls around your bodies and instills that delicious vigor into the atmosphere.  He is drinking it in and it is making him want you very badly.  Badly enough that you can feel the beginnings of his arousal poking through silk fabric.
He doesn't take your panties off.  Doesn’t ease a finger around the fabric to feel you better.  And the fact that he is clearly enjoying the control he holds makes you feel both aroused and annoyed at the same time.  Your nails dig gently into his skin and you sigh out again, the edge of a moan in your voice.  But you will not give him the satisfaction of hearing a real moan, a full one spill from your mouth.  And he knows this, knows it because as he looks down at you he sees it in your eyes, which are wild and stubborn even amid this stifling desire.  His lips tilt into a smile and he brushes them against yours, just barely.  Then his hands are leaving you cold and instead pulling your dress farther up up up until it is nothing but a pool of fabric on the kitchen floor.
The sight of your body, the fact that it isn't bare yet, the way white cotton creates a broken line over your pale skin, that is what makes Yao say, "The water is probably ready."  He is suddenly consumed by another wish, the desire to see you naked amid steaming water, your skin pressed against his skin, your lips careening over his body.  His fingers reach forward to lightly brush over the edge of your back, your spine, the curve of your sides.  Then he watches you look back at him with dark, emboldened eyes and a feminine smile, and you reach out to take the tray of tea and leave the room.  Yao watches you go, watches the way your hips rock gently as you walk, watches the way your shoulder blades cut out as you hold up the heavy tray. 
When you have disappeared, he sighs out all the intense, desperate passion that sometimes still has the potential to make him erode.  That form of loving will not fulfill him tonight.  It will not give him peace or satisfaction.  Tonight he needs something more, something greater, something slow and bare and raw.  And so he takes his time with undressing himself, standing in the middle of the kitchen and yet not feeling a shred of concern.  There are no rules, none at all.  You can't define love with words and Yao doesn't try to.  He merely pulls apart silk robes and lets them wash over his skin as they drop to the floor.  He glances down at what has become of his lower body and chuckles at himself for feeling so adolescent.  Then he begins the journey to the bathing room, slowly, feeling rather like his life is passing him by with every step he takes.
Inside the room, you are waiting for him in the water.  You have dealt with your remaining clothes and have sunk into the steaming abyss of the tub.  He walks in and you immediately appraise each other, letting time stand still for a moment as your eyes jerk and clash, rediscover in lazy, idle passion.  Then Yao walks forward, noting that you have poured two cups of tea, you have added more bubble bath, you have dimmed the lights.  When he slips into the water and curls himself beneath and around you, he feels as though he's slipped into heaven itself.  He whispers this against your shoulder and you smile, kiss his neck, tilt your body toward his and ease yourself in between his legs, against his hard member which will be deliciously ignored for the time being.
The air around you is so sensual, so erotic.  The bubbles lick at your skin, create a halo around you as you lay around him.  You press you mouth to his bare shoulder and feel the way he reacts to it, the shivers, the gooseflesh.  You drag your teeth over that dark skin and splay your fingers over his chest and nuzzle your nose into his neck and you breath him in.  And he drags you closer, sighs out, tucking his hands low around your butt and jerking one of your legs over his hip.  And the resulting clash of powerful passion that collides into you makes you breath out in the hint of a moan, the barest, rawest inhalation of desire.
You lay against him, both hands splayed out over his chest, your face pressed into his neck, your legs a tangled mess as your sexes press deliciously against each other.  And then he forces those hands of his to bear down on your hips, pushing them down, rubbing his cock against you and tossing his head back with a soft groan.  You drag your lips up his exposed neck, nibbling on his Adam's apple and feeling it bob beneath your touch as he swallows.  There is a thin sheen of sweat that ghosts over his forehead and you thumb it away, pull back, rock your hips against him and watch his eyes flutter closed.
But this intimate touch isn't something either of you want to give into any time soon.  It is something that must be built up to gradually, slowly, and that is why Yao brings his hands back up to your back, spreading his fingers out over your shoulders and then back down.  Then his touch leaves you altogether, only to be brought back moments later, a bar of soap in his grasp.  You watch him as he watches you, knees propped up with you between, face bent in concentration, and you wonder what, exactly he is thinking so hard about.  Is he struggling to keep his arousal at bay, or is he simply dedicated to his task, to drawing the soapy lather all over you?
You wiggle a little and he grits his teeth, making you chuckle.  The accusing, pained look he sends you makes you chuckle more, until the both of you are lightly laughing, at what you've no clue.  You push yourself up onto your knees, straddling him and trying to avoid pressing down on his cock, because if you do you don't know how you'll be able to stop touching him.  "Let me," you say, taking the soap from his hands and looking down at him.  His eyes are smoldering coals that have the startling potential to utterly consume you, and you cannot wait to be burned.  You drag the soap down his chest, lather it up, and run you fingers along every dip and crevice that is Yao.  And all the while you watch him shiver, eyes dark, body tense.
He lets you have your way for a while, content to watch you and feel you, content with the haphazard desire that blossoms with every stroke of your hands.  But soon it is not enough, not nearly enough and he needs more, more, more.  So he pulls himself up, face looming very close to yours as you are pushed closer against him.  He gently eases the soap away from your hands and then cups your face, touches your cheekbones, your eyelids, your lips.  Runs his thumb along the edge of your jaw.  Then he waits until your eyes are fluttering closed, a result of the sinful passion that you are feeling everywhere, before Yao leans in to take your mouth with his.
You are suddenly aware that it is the first time today that he has kissed you.  That even though you are both so consumed by desire, even though your bodies have long ago felt the burning sensation of arousal, his lips have not yet taken yours.  At least not the same way, not with this deliberateness or this control.  He molds his mouth against yours, moving his lips slowly, dragging your lips with his teeth, making you sigh out blissfully and lean into him.  And you cannot think of a better moment, a more amazing feeling than this.  Yao's mouth on yours as he erases, redesigns everything that you are.
And then passion.  Hard and fast, making your kiss hotter, quicker, threaded with jolts of blatant desire that mold you against him.  You wrap your arms around his neck and his tongue brushes against yours and his cock twitches as you drag one hand down, down, to wrap around the thick girth of it.  And that is the moment when both of you know that everything has changed.  Altered from relaxed innocence to this, whatever this is.  Something primal and arousing, something different and familiar.
He groans against your mouth, pressing the kiss ever faster as heat curls through your limbs.  His hips arch just a little, tiny little thrusts and shivers overcome him, until finally Yao just gives up, breaks the kiss, and throws his head back.  He is breathing hard, leaning back on one arm as water gently crashes along your skin.  You follow him, pressing open mouthed kisses up his neck and jaw, teeth nibbling at his luxuriously dark skin, feeling so very empowered as he pants below you.
"S-Stop," he whispers, eyes crashing into yours.  You wonder for a moment how long he has been watching you, and what he sees in your expression.  But then you are taken away by his next words, which shake you down.  "I need you."  Simple.  A simple declaration, and yet so amazingly profound that you immediately stop to stare at him.  Somewhere amid the jumbled thoughts that jolt around your head, there is the calm disbelief that he really does need you, or even want you as badly as he does.  And when you realize that yes, this is the truth, this is real, you cannot help but smile.
He needs you.  You need him.  But you don't want him to take you right here, in this bathtub.  You want silk sheets and soft pillows and dry skin.  You want him bare and rubbing against you tantalizingly.  You want him on top of you, bearing down on you with hips that know instinctually just how much pressure you need in order to feel complete.  And so you pull back, reach behind you without looking away from those dark, lustful eyes, and pull the plug.  The water begins to drain away but you don't wait a moment longer.  Instead you are standing up, bubbles and water cascading down your skin, and stepping out of the tub.  Yao sits up and watches you begin to towel yourself off.  He joins you on the mat and helps, happy for the excuse to touch you intimately even though he doesn't really need one. 
And then you stand there together on the tile floor, bodies gravitating to each other, lips seeking one another, and Yao is suddenly taking your breath away as he hauls you into the air.  You gasp because you are not expecting him to carry you.  You jerk your legs around his waist and hold yourself up, looking down at him for a split second before pushing your mouth heatedly against his.  He starts to blindly leave the bathroom, one hand searching for walls and furniture.  All of his attention is directed solely on you and it is delicious, but not delicious enough, and he seems to know this.  That is why, when he finally stumbles into the bedroom moments later, he all but throws you onto the bed and wastes absolutely no time in crawling up between your legs to kiss you again.
You throw your weight into that kiss.  You urge your hips against his, whimpering at the friction of his cock as it rubs against your wet core.  Your lips fly together, delving and clashing and jolting.  Your teeth knock against his in the force of the kiss and he grunts, hand dancing up your side to lay flat against a breast.  Two of his fingers tug gently at the nipple and then he is suddenly abandoning your mouth to kiss that breast.  You arch your back and bit back a moan as you feel his tongue drift over your skin.  His teeth very soft nibble at you, his hand squeezing the soft flesh.  A breathy moan slips past your heavily built defenses and he smirks a little, pleased that you are pleased.  You try to ignore that wicked smirk, but you can't for long because then Yao is searching for other parts of you to control, and you're gasping and moaning before you can stop yourself. 
His fingers curl against you, and this time there is no white cotton to act as a barrier.  It is just his skin on yours, thrusting delicately into you, twirling you into submission as you arch and pant beneath him.  He stares down at you through two very erotic eyes.  Your every movement is memorized, your every expression burned into his mind.  He will never ever forget the way you move into his thrusts, the way you push your breasts into the air, the way you whisper his name very softly.  And yet this, too, is not enough.  He doesn't want to hear you whisper his name.  He wants to hear you scream it.  That desire alone is what prompts him to pull his hand away and to replace it with his cock, which has been fiercely ignored up until now. 
He drags you closer, colliding your lower body against his as his hands curl around your thighs and hook your legs over his shoulders.  Your arms are thrown up above your head and you're looking at him with an almond gaze that makes him crazy with want.  You wriggle your hips a little to remind him how badly you'd like to fuck him, and he chuckles as he guides his erection into your core.  Then he watches as you take it, stoically at first and then with profound shattering.  You breath out heavily, both hands now clutching the sheets at your side.  Your head has been tossed back, your body curled up into an arch that is fueled only by blistering desire.  And when Yao begins to move, when he starts to rock his hips into yours, you only shatter harder.
"Oh~" you whimper, locking your gaze with his.  He doesn't smile, doesn't show any emotion except unbearable lust as he rams into you faster and faster.  The pace is a deliriously quick jerk that has you moaning, louder as the moments turn to minutes and the sun begins to set.
"Yao!" you cry, reaching out for him.  He comes into your arms, bracing his thrusts with his legs as he kneels between yours.  He places open mouthed kisses all over your body, anywhere he can reach, and they leave you lingering between two delicious desires: to find your end and to never stop this amazing madness, to always let him take you like this.
He grunts and then pulls back, jerking your leg over so that you are in something of a fetal position on your side.  And then he pushes his cock back into you, hands roughly heaving your butt up as one of his legs push between yours.  The new position makes you cry out and grit your teeth, feeling your orgasm begin to tear through you.  "Yao…Yao-ah!"  Your eyes dance with a flurry of mystical colors that make no sense, dazzling your vision as you race to a hard end.  But Yao doesn't stop even as you jerk and thrust to your finish, coming furiously on his cock as he shoves it relentlessly into you.
It isn't enough, not for him, not even for you.  So he pulls out and pats your side, and tells you to, "Get up."  The order makes you shiver and comply, ready for more of him, always ready.  You stumble up and then thrust you butt into the air, feeling Yao's large hands encompass it and spread you apart.  Then, before you can even prepare, he is shoving himself into you again and setting an even more maddening pace that has you on the very brink of another orgasm.
You close your eyes and spread your legs, face pressed firmly into the mattress.  Your hands clutch the sheets that halo around you in a vice grip, never letting go even for a moment as you hurtle toward another orgasm.  This one is even better, more desperate, more sensitive, and you push yourself onto your hands and knees and rock back to meet his thrusts.  It is phenomenal, this coupling.  Yao's name leaves your mouth in the edge of a scream, and it makes him snap, break, crumble as he curses and moans, spilling his hot seed into the very deepest part of you.
His voice cascades into broken Mandarin.  You can only understand parts of his words, and the rest is incoherent because you are still reeling from the hypersensitive feeling of Yao's continued thrusts.  His cock softens, his hips gentle, and then everything stops completely and he collapses beside you in a heap of tangled limbs and gasping, heaving chests.
Silence.  It weaves around the twisted atmosphere like a delicate web of unsaid truths.  You stare into Yao's eyes and he stares into yours, and you see things between you that make you reach for him, fitting your body against his and letting him tug you close.  You feel him press a kiss into your hair.  Then you close your eyes. 
You like to spoil him.  You do it every chance you get, always seeing how much you can get away with.  And he lets you, because when you spoil him, you usually spoil yourself at the same time, and he wouldn't have it any other way. 

Extended Ending

You are wrapped up in silk robes, your legs tangled with Yao's as you sit together on the porch, cold dinner between you.  Beneath the red silk you are bare, completely naked.  You know Yao's likes the sight of you like this because he hasn't taken his eyes from you since you joined him, two plates of steaming noodles and dumplings in your hands.  That was half an hour ago.
The sun has sunken and night has crept up.  There is a splattering of lights in the distance, far down in the valley below Yao's mansion.  The late summer air cascades around you, neither warm nor cold.  And still you shiver, but for another reason entirely.
You look at Yao.  He murmurs out a low, "Come here, [Name]."  And when you shift towards him, falling against his chest, he buries his hands beneath the robe that doesn't quite fit you, touching skin.  He presses a kiss to your neck, then your jaw, then your lips.  And you lean into that kiss with an indulgent sigh, knowing exactly how you will be spending the rest of your evening and all too happy about the course of events.
"Should we go inside?" you ask against his mouth, which is quickly turning the kiss into curling passion.  He wickedly grins, full eyes peering down at you.  And then he gently eases you to the side, presses your back against the wood of the porch, and rolls on top of you.  When he leans down to kiss you again, he whispers, "Let's stay here." 
And you do.  Beneath the stars that twinkle down at you, always watchful, always straying.  Amid air that is cool against your hot skin.  Among arms that will never ever ever let you go.



  1. Ugh, this is so pretty. I love it so much! (: Really well written!

  2. The song I was listening to while reading this made it so-
    ugh whats the word >^< but still this is amazing! absolutely beautiful

  3. I loved the story! Amazing! This might be totally random but could you do a Gin Ichimaru fan fic from bleach? I love that character but I can barely find any fan fic's for it. :( Either way I hope you consider it and good job on the writing! ;L

  4. Beautiful. Orgasmic. Amazing. Sexy. Romantic. Sensual. Shall I go on?! Oh, I love this one so much! How many times have I re-read this? Over five, I tell you. >\\\\< I love it.


  6. THIS IS AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you did some or not but if you can please write a norway one? BTW you are an awesome author !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    1. YESSS! Lukas deserves some lovin' too *ohonhonhon*

  7. norway, please? you have so much talent! i love your writing.