The Enemy Of My Enemy [Russia] [Mature]

He twiddled his fingers over his phone waiting for a text that seemed to never come. He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. His head falling back, and his eyes traveling to the ceiling of the bunker, as his phone hung between his legs by his fingers. He looked exhausted. He felt exhausted. None of the men in the room commented. Some knew his nation status, others did not, but all knew not to interrupt his silence, his mourning over his nostalgic relationship with China. His eyes ran over the sandstone ceiling, taking in each crack and shift within it. The crack appeared to be deepening, widening, spreading across the surface. Further away. His hand reached and stretched for him, trying to grasp his flimsy long sleeve, trying to pull him back to him, but he kept moving away.

“Mr. China, I want to grow up to be just like you one day. I’m going to be strong, and then you will marry me, da?” he had asked with a bright smile when he had barely reached the man’s knee. He remembered the ruffle of his hair and seeing the humor in his eyes. He had felt a deep sense of trust for the wise old nation who had taken Ivan’s shattered self after the Mongolian Empire and pieced it back together. He wanted to hold onto that moment, and not over analyze their meeting and his suspicions. Yao was his best friend. He would never betray him.

On the other hand, it was certainly in the realm of possibility that Yao would attempt to take control of the direction of the war. He wished Yao would trust his decisions instead of questioning his every move. He sighed again and glanced down at his phone. Maybe, they could go to a counseling session. Da, marriage counseling. They could try to delve into the root of their trust issue before that crack spread any further.

“General Braginsky, we’ve lost our tail on Mr. Wang in the nearby city, sir,” one of his men spoke pulling him from his thoughts.

He pouted out his bottom lip. He did not understand why Yao did such actions. Ivan had happily offered to take him to the airport, and instead the man decided to go on a pleasant stroll in the Middle East. Yao disliked the Middle East as much as he did, and he doubted he would spend extra time in the area unless it was for importance business.

He smiled softly, “And the crack grows further.”

“I apologize, sir?”

“It is nothing, comrade,” he stood from his seat, “Thank you for informing me. I will handle it.” He nodded to his men with the still friendly smile. It hurt to know Yao was going behind his back, he had suspected it for some time now, but at least he could finally determine what is was. He walked out of the bunker and moved through the hot sun to one of his military jeeps. He hopped in with ease and started pressing buttons on his phone. Ivan might be an older nation and occasionally a very childish nation, but he kept up with the latest technology as actively as the younger generations. Before the war, China, America, and himself certainly entertained themselves through their own cyberwar. They constantly hacked in and stole information from one another. But Ivan had found an even better use for such a skill.

Some might consider it stalking to the point of acquiring a restraining order, Ivan saw it as keeping a watchful eye on those he loved. So like any caring best friend, he had been tracking Yao’s cellphone GPS for decades. Of course, Yao constantly stopped him, requiring Ivan to implement new methods to break pass the firewalls, which led to Yao putting up more firewalls, which led to the ever revolving circle of Ivan trying to hold onto the man, and the man pushing him away. Thankfully though, Yao had yet to catch his latest tracking and must have believed himself guarded behind his cyber security because Ivan easily pinpointed his location. He gave it to the driver.

It did not take as long as he suspected to arrive at the building. He had the car drop him off a couple blocks away, and causally walked towards it. A large weight pressed down on his stomach with each passing step. He wanted to pretend in the façade that the older man was not plotting behind his back. He knew it to be true, but without proof he could hold onto the sliver of hope. With reluctance he moved inside the building. He heard Yao speaking to someone, and the hope he had held quickly burned away. He frowned, as he attempted to take silent steps towards the meeting to catch who he decided to work with behind his back. He held too much focus on trying to see through the curtain of beads that he misjudged an item on the ground.

The sound rang far louder in his ears, knowing that his opportunity to find answers was about to slip away. He attempted to take larger steps to catch up as he heard movement from the other room. Before he could chase down the likely traitor, a hand pressed against his chest.

His dark violet eyes shot down to find the obstacle to be Yao.

“For someone persistent on returning home, you seemed to have found a reason to stay with someone else, da?” he stated, his voice lacking any humor or kindness. “Who was here?”

The air felt thick with heat and dust. The abandoned home matched many that currently situated near the front. Years of bombings and gunfire had led the families to flee and the businesses to crumple. He never had the taste for Middle Eastern architecture or the open air homes that allowed no escape from the blistering temperatures outside. His scarf hung around his neck like a heavy weight, but his hands made no action to remove it.

He kept his eyes on the shorter man before him. His features tense and unpleasant as the man spoke lies that could tell tales to even the greatest of skeptics. He knew someone else had been present. He had heard the steps running off and the sound of a scuffle to escape. Someone was here, and Yao did not wish him to know. He would have made action to pursue him, but Yao’s hand was being persistent. Yao might hold a shorter stature, but the man was a great power himself, and each push caused him to step back. He could press against it, pushed the man out of the way and chased after the other, but his words were becoming distracting, the flush, the way he could see him swallow. He barely noticed the step as he caught it and fell back.

He grunted as he hit the rugs. He went to pick himself up, but as his eyes turned upwards, they widened at the sight. His fingers undoing his shirt, it being tossed and followed by his undershirt, revealing his smooth beautiful chest. He froze in his place uncertain with what exactly was occurring. He felt hotter and not due to the temperature surrounding them. Yao rarely initiated such actions between them. It usually required Ivan’s playfulness to even convince the man to bed, and yet there was no misunderstanding Yao’s suggestions.

His heart pounded in his chest as the man straddled him, pressing against his hips in a distracting motion. Words seemed far too difficult at the moment as the man pried through his own military jacket and unhooked his belt. His lips so close, teasing and taunting him.

Forgive him?

Forgive him for his stubborn arrogance and his inability to work as a team. Forgive him for his secrets and manipulation. Forgive him? He could not trust him, but the only answer that left his lips was, “Da, I forgive you.” He leaned forward and took his lips against his own, his hand going into his hair and pulling him into a deeper kiss. Yao was his first love, and for that, he would always hold this power over him. For all of their fights, he still knew he could rely on China. His hands moved down his chest, trailing along each ab until dragging over the edge of his pants. He knew the truth. Yao was working with someone behind his back. He would determine who. He would, but at the moment, it did not seem as important.

He broke the kiss, nipping his bottom lip as he pulled away to look at the older man. “I forgive, but I don’t forget,” he stated his warning. He could distract him now, but he would find out.

Even if he spent centuries pondering over it, he would never understand his relationship with the Chinese man. He sometimes considered him to be his best friend. Yao had been so kind after he escaped the Mongolian Empire, soothing his fears and bestowing on him lessons of survival. He never lifted a hand to hurt him, rather his hand would lift and gently touch his face in the most supportive and empathic of ways. He had never met a strong nation as kind as he, so naturally he had become smitten. He remembered in his younger years, gushing over the Chinese man to his sisters, proclaiming him a great nation. He had made him happy and light hearted, almost as if he traversed on air. Except as the years progress, the further the distance grew between them. Like all of his friends, they always ran away.

It did not have to be difficult. They could be together. They could be wedded. They could become one nation, together and happy.

Yao did not love him, at least not the same way Ivan did. It hurt to know, to feel the rebuffs, the snide remarks, and condescending scolding. It hurt, and yet Ivan had grown to realize that Yao loved no one but himself. Possibly a long time ago, Yao had been in love. He had heard the rumors of the closeness he had with the Roman Empire, but age made one a cynic. Love? How could one believe in love when pain only came with it? Ivan sometimes wished to deny its existence for it caused him too much turmoil, but even when he attempted to wall off his heart the way the Chinese man had….it always slipped through. He was cursed with the feeling of love, and he hated it. He hated loving those who did not love him in return, who betrayed him. His sisters who plotted behind him, his friends who spoke cruel words, Toris who ran, Alfred who lied, and Yao…the man with the guarded heart with walls to match the Great Wall between them.

He knew he should stop his actions. He should run after the person Yao currently worked with, determine the truth, but…

I still love you.

The beautiful blush, the nervous expression, and his intellect eyes captivated him. He would have smirked at his remark if his hand did not tease lower and lower…

He moaned, gripping the rugs. His hips rose and rocked against the feeling. He did not have his love, but he would take all the attention he would offer. His hands quickly moved to his hips at the demand, not even arguing. Why argue when he wanted to do such actions? His eyes traveled up his form as he watched his hair fall upon his shoulders like a god. The shift of each muscle danced in the small light slipping through the window. His hands shifted from his hips and ran along his abs up his chest and around his back, feeling each shift of his skin.

“Do you always use your body as a distraction, Yao?” he spoke softly, not expecting a response because he suspected he already knew the answer. He did not like to imagine Yao with others, not his precious China.  

Like a rose, Ivan would always be lost in captivation to him to the point that he often forgot about the thorns that caused him pain and wounds. It hardly mattered with the man above him. He knew no matter how hard he tried to win the older man’s heart, it would forever be guarded from him, but maybe…maybe if he tried harder, laid more of his soul out for him to take, became an even stronger, just possibly Yao would feel the same emotions for him. Ivan could only try even if his family thought such actions were foolish.

He moaned as he grinded against him and followed his lips in any direction they might lead. He knew his own actions to be quite silly. He knew it was a ploy that the great China was once again using to manipulate him, and yet, how could Ivan reject Yao? Yao had stood up for him against the Mongolian Empire. Yao had reminded him that he was not a mere piece of property, but a nation only in the beginning of his growth. Yao had captured his heart as a child and would hold it forever no matter the occurrence and the political debates between their bosses. Bosses came and went, but Yao would be by his side in one form or another whether they held trust in one another or not. “Da, too long,” he whispered and graced his lips across his own.

He felt him lift, and his hands moved under his shirt to fill his fit muscles across his chest before venturing lower once again to trail along his his hip bone. As he rolled his hips, he could barely form a logical thought. It did not matter who might have been here. Yao was his ally, and they would destroy the west together. They held the same goals, so Yao’s actions must benefit himself. Nyet, he doubted such logic, but for now, he would pretend it were true.

At the statement, he took a tight grip of his hips and guided himself into him. He moaned deeply into the kiss and pressed back with the same force. Yao always matched his body perfectly, not as perfectly as another, but he hardly mattered at the moment. He increased the paced as he tilted upwards. “Don’t betray me,” he breathed out between their lips as he took in the blistering heat in the middle of the dessert.