Being the both of us

OK. I knew some day it would end up like this, me, writing some silly, banal and confused things in a language, which I surely do not know enough for some literature activities.
But well... I hope that's at least useful for my English ^____^

Author: Vansaires
Title: Being the "both of us"
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: Russia/China... or rather Ivan/Yao as far as I can't make myself take them as countries (so, that means OOC and AU, right?)
Rating: PG (13?)
Warning: Yaoi. And lousy English (especially punctuation T_T )
Dedicated to loli武士, as far as her drawings give me inspiration. (However I wish this inspiration made me write stories, better than this... )
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...And there were dragons, gigantic yellow dragons with dreadful grins (however he knew they’re just made of paper), and plum blossoming (at first he thought that’s sakura and became ashamed of his ignorance, as he always associated sakura with Japan, not China; but then he understood it was plum), and lanterns – oh yes, at least lanterns, fragile, happily red lanterns, the sourse of light he’s so yearned for, were always something Chinese for him.


And then, there were emerald mountains, and quiet sounds of zithern, and vast spaces of rice fields, and people gathering rice carefully, unhurriedly and somewhat inspiredly, what he could never imagine possible for such a routine work. Looking at this, he finally felt calm after so many days of fever and inconstance.

But then, there came sadness.


He suddenly remembered – the reason of this harmony is that Yao’s 4000 years old, Yao’s immortal actually, and what interest can he take in him, so impetuous, and impatient, and clumsy if not say silly? He must hold tons of memories for all of these centuries, and everything he can offer Yao won’t certainly be new for him.


Ivan dropped his head. And when he rose it again, there was quite a different picture in front of his eyes: dirty streets, smudgy children, people in rags and stocks. That wasn’t something he was afraid of, he was used to beggary, however he couldn’t stand thinking of Yao enduring this. Yao was something that filth couldn’t touch with, the Divine Emperor, the Son of Heaven, right?


So, he turned aside and maybe because of thinking about the emperor, saw the palace. The huge magnificent palace and crowds of beautifully dressed people smiling so sweet and talking so adulatory to him, that he thought he’ll drown in treacle, yet couldn’t feel anything but some kind of fear. Someone said him one day, that Chinese can be as friendly as nobody else while hating you at the same time frantically.


“I don’t want to see them,” he thought desperately. “Don’t want to think about them, whether they’re pretending or not. Yao…”


And then he saw him. He didn’t know, was it because of whispering his name - or maybe Yao came at last to save him from all of these people and all of these chaotic illusions? Well, he wanted to think so, notwithstanding how strong it wounded his pride (that was he, who wanted to save, but not being pathetically saved himself).


However, that didn’t really matter. Not now, when he was standing there, a fascinating child and a sage old man at the same time, Yao, with his long dark hair and slanting brown eyes, Yao, who seemed to be meditating while looking so thoughtfully… not looking at him actually.


He felt a light pain. That was because of Yao being so shy, right? Oh, yes. Yao, his little embarrassed Yao, his baby Yao, малыш Яо, мой мальчик, наконец-то я тебя нашёл


He didn’t even notice himself whispering last words in Russian while falling to his knees before Yao and covering the hem of his dress with kisses. This time there was not even a kind of a thought about wounded pride, about humiliating with doing so – it happened as natural, as Russian people usually kneeled in front of the tsar and whispered “father”, even if the day before they hated and cursed him. Somewhere, in the depths of his memories, he saw this picture and knew it was the only way to express his reverence and admiration. Maybe it was not polite, but who cared about politeness, until he was going to tear the heart out of his chest and give it Yao, if he wouldn’t mind such a bloody present? Oh, no, this comparison is too rude, and Yao certainly prefers subtle figures of speech, so he must think of a more beautiful metaphor, yes, he will…


“Please don’t touch me,” Yao said  in a quiet, calm voice.


“What?..” he murmured and jerked up his head. A few minutes they didn’t move or say something; then Ivan slowly rose to his feet. Yao still didn’t look at him.


“So… so after I was seeking for you for such a long time, you don’t want to see me?!”


The bitter grudge, overwhelmed him, was somewhat childish – Yao wasn’t obliged to return his feelings, yet Ivan couldn’t suppress his offence and, furthermore, fury. That little Chinese boy, what did he think of himself?! Doesn’t Yao suppose he, Ivan, can crush him with just a one finger?! Crush, break, tear to pieces, drink all of his blood and lick lips with satisfaction!


Oh, no… No, no, no, no!..


He covered his face with his hands and shivered. They, everyone, were so right considering him as a barbarian, a monster…


“What is this place?” Yao asked suddenly.


Ivan looked at him, feeling himself devastated, but finally calm.


“I don’t know,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe… Maybe that’s everything I know yet about you - and a world, created of these ideas.”


“Why am I here?”


“Maybe because I wanted to see you so much, that it destroyed all the barriers made by time and space”.


A few minutes ago he was really sure it’s possible – to make everything real just with a power of his desperate, strongest wish coming directly from the depths of his heart. But now he was shaken in his confidence. So he added:


“Or maybe that’s just a dream. My dream. People usually see those in their dreams, who they’re longing to see, right?”


Yao stayed silent, and Ivan suddenly felt he couldn’t bear this silence.


“So then, let’s get acquainted while we’ve met, right?” he began speaking with an unnatural enlivening, feeling himself impossibly silly for such a pretence. But Yao prefers hypocrisy to sincerity, doesn’t he? All Chinese are like that! He tried not to listen to his inner voice, saying he yields to prejudices he always hated, and went on. “I am…”


“I know, who you are,” Yao said slowly. “You’re Ivan.”


“Oh.” For some reason he felt shame and tried to hide it with an ironical smile. “Oh, come on, maybe you’ll even call me Ivan Nikolaevich after the name of my last father*, whom I killed so cruelly and mercilessly?” He smiled again, yet his hands began to tremble instinctively. “Please don’t. I’m just Vanya for my… for my friends”.


“Vanya,” repeated Yao and then suddenly casted a covert glance at him. “And… Vanechka – that’s also your name?”


He winced strongly.


“How do you know?!” he asked and took a quick step forward.


“I don’t know!” Yao said quickly, looking frightened by his actions and his voice, and moved back. “Just heard it somewhere, or someone told me this name, “Vanechka”, and…”


And then it happened again.


Yao, saying this caressing, tender version of his name, Yao frightened and confused, his little Yao, being so close and so terribly distant, fragile and beautiful in his dress flying, and his eyes, and his trembling eyelashes - and the wish burning him from within, the dire need to get closer, to overcome the resistance of their shells and to become one with him… He wouldn’t be able to stop himself even if he knew that after this they’ll both die.


He grabbed him with his arms and kissed. Kissed desperately, greedily and maybe somewhat rudely – but it was impossible to think about it while breathing Yao’s fragrance, feeling Yao’s warm and finding Yao shivering after he parted his lips with the tongue and deepened their kiss.


“I need you so much…” Ivan breathed into his lips, “I need you so much to change my impatience with your wisdom, to make me forget about ugliness of this world with your sense of beauty, to cure my pain with your kindness…”


“No, you don’t understand, no…” Yao tried to say, but Ivan could hardly listen to him.


“I need you so much, I want you, want you entirely, and…”


==


…and then it was all over - the illusory world splashed without leaving even a petal of blossoming plum as a reminding.


Vanya slowly turned his eyes from a signboard above the restaurant’s entrance with a yellow dragon drawn on it.


“What’s up with you?” Natasha’s voice sounded displeasured. “I talked to you but you seemed to sleep with your eyes opened!”


“I just looked at this dragon. This is a Chinese restaurant, right?”


“Ah, this. Yeah, I suppose.” Natasha wrinkled her nose. “You know, Asian stuff came into fashion the latest years. That’s silly, I suppose – fascinating the other cultures without knowing your own…”


“But that’s beautiful. I mean, the drawing. It almost seemed to me I saw this dragon in reality. Or rather… in some illusory world.”


“Brother, you’re such a daydreamer! To make in illusory world from a simple drawing! But well, until these illusions make you happy…”


“Happy?” He shook his head. “Don’t think so. Sometimes even in dreams everything happens not the way you want it to happen”.


Natasha laughed.


“But your dreams belong to you only, how can it be, that something goes on not the way you want it?”


“You think so?” Vanya looked at her, having a strange feeling. “So, if in an illusion everything’s happen the way you want it, it is a dream, and if not, then… it’s not a dream only?”


“What else can it be?”


“I don’t know… Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said quickly and smiled. “Let’s go?”


…But then, he remembered himself saying “Or maybe that’s just a dream. My dream. People usually see those in their dreams, who they’re longing to see, right?” – and thought that this time he would have told him the different words.


“Or maybe that’s just a dream, that became mutual for both of us, Wang Yao?..”


11.02.2009



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*I mean Nikolai II, killed in 1918.

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Glad to hear that~ and I think there is mutual adoration.> < You know, in the old days. when China had no one to rely on, Russia was always by his side (though he wasn't called as that at that time). > < Wooow, rather sounds like a trustworthy mate( you know what I mean by this word)~ heehee

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Amazing piece!> < As if I can feel Ivan's despire and heartbreaking love. Frankly, I haven't read any Russia/China written by Russians before, so the almost perfect image you build for Yao really makes me pleasantly surprised, while ,at the same time, curious about what Russians think of China in reality.:D Is China really spoken so highy of as you described? Just hope so;P~
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Vansaires

Author:Vansaires
e-mail: moku@list.ru

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