Archive of Our Own

Across the expanse, the United States, all sharp angles and restless energy, leaned forward, a half-smile playing on his lips, a challenge in his eyes.

It’s simple, really… the American drawled, his voice a smooth, irritating rumble. Transparency. Open markets. These aren’t suggestions, China, they’re the baseline for any credible global partner. Your recent trade policies, your… acquisitions. . . they don’t exactly scream 'fair play,' do they?

China, seated rigidly, his dark silk suit impeccable, felt a familiar heat rise in his chest. His fingers, usually so still, twitched beneath the table. He met the American’s gaze, a quiet storm brewing behind his dark, knowing eyes.

Fair play, China echoed, his voice low, a silken cord stretched taut. We define fairness differently, it seems. Your 'open markets' often translate to 'our markets, our rules.' Your 'transparency' demands we lay bare every innovation, every strategic advantage, while you hoard yours behind a wall of 'national security'. A dismissive flick of his wrist accompanied the words, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes.

We built our prosperity, brick by painful brick. You lecture us on how to spend our own hard-won capital, how to manage our own people, within our own borders. A border, I might add, you seem perpetually eager to redraw on a map you did not create.

The American’s smile tightened, a flash of annoyance replacing the feigned amusement. Oh, I think we have a pretty good idea of what’s happening within your borders, China. The Uyghurs, the South China Sea, Hong Kong… these aren’t internal affairs when they violate universal human rights and international law.

China’s jaw clenched. A vein throbbed faintly at his temple. Human rights? From a nation that locked children in cages, that built its empire on stolen land and genocide? You parade your moral superiority like a peacock, yet your own history is stained with the blood of millions. And as for international law, he scoffed, a brittle sound,

you selectively apply it, a convenient tool to dismantle any challenge to your hegemony. We seek stability. We seek growth. We seek to protect what is ours. What right do you have to dictate our path when your own is paved with hypocrisy?

His voice, though still controlled, began to rise, the undercurrent of frustration growing more pronounced. He gestured sharply, a sudden, uncharacteristic movement. We are not a pawn in your grand game, America. We are a civilization that existed for millennia before your nation was even a flicker in a colonialist’s dream. We will not be lectured. We will not be bullied. We will not be broken. Our people, our land, our resources-they are non-negotiable. And anyone who dares to challenge that-

A sharp, stinging blow snapped across China’s face, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the suddenly silent room. His head whipped to the side, a crimson imprint blooming on his pale cheek. The scent of ozone and something metallic, like fresh rain on concrete, stung his nostrils. Russia’s hand, large and calloused, hung in the air for a fraction of a second, then dropped back to his side with a quiet thud.

Russia’s eyes, usually a glacial blue, were now chips of flint, cold and utterly devoid of warmth. His towering frame, which had been a silent presence at the head of the table, now radiated an almost tangible menace.

Shut up. Russia rumbled, the single word a low growl that vibrated through the room, silencing not just China, but every other delegate present. His gaze swept over the American, a silent, deadly promise in its depths.

He speaks out of turn. We are done with this… discussion.

. . .You seek to divide, to conquer. We seek peace. Your provocations serve only to destabilize. Our patience wears thin, America. Tread carefully.

The American, caught entirely off guard, his mouth half-open, slowly closed it. He looked from Russia’s unyielding face to China’s stunned, reddened cheek, a flicker of something akin to alarm crossing his features. The argument, so vigorously pursued moments before, evaporated into the tense silence.

China, his cheek throbbing, slowly turned his head. His eyes, wide with shock, met Russia’s. A silent command passed between them, an understanding forged in shared history and unspoken agreements.

He swallowed hard, the taste of ash in his mouth. Without another word, he reached for the stack of documents before him, his movements precise, almost robotic. He picked up a pen and began to write, the scratching sound unnaturally loud in the oppressive quiet. The argument was over. Russia had spoken.

Russia, his focus now entirely on the American, leaned forward, his massive hands resting flat on the table, knuckles white. The next time you wish to discuss 'transparency', he articulated, each word a stone dropping into a still pond, perhaps you should start with the details of your own clandestine operations. Or the true cost of your 'aid' packages. Or the extent of your digital surveillance. Until then, your criticisms ring hollow. We are not interested in your manufactured outrage. We are interested in stability. And if you continue to threaten it, you will find our response… comprehensive.

The American, clearly unnerved by Russia’s sudden, brutal intervention and the unexpected display of dominance over China, mumbled something about 'reconvening' and 'further discussions.' The meeting broke up shortly after, the delegates dispersing with hurried steps and uneasy glances.

As the last of the lesser nations shuffled out, Russia rose, his shadow falling over China, who was still meticulously arranging his papers, his posture stiff, his eyes fixed on the task. Russia’s hand clamped around China’s wrist, his grip like iron, pulling him abruptly from his seat. China stumbled, a small, involuntary gasp escaping his lips, but he did not resist. He simply allowed himself to be hauled along, his other hand still clutching the neatly stacked documents.

They passed the American, who lingered by the doorway, a confused expression on his face. He watched, a knot of concern tightening in his gut, as Russia dragged China from the room, China’s smaller frame practically swallowed by Russia’s imposing presence. The American’s gaze lingered on the fading red mark on China’s cheek, then on China’s averted face, a silent question forming in his mind. But he said nothing.

Russia didn’t slow, his stride long and purposeful. He pulled China down a deserted corridor, the click of their shoes on the polished floor the only sound. China’s wrists, held captive in Russia’s grasp, began to ache, but he remained silent, his head bowed.

Russia stopped before a nondescript door, one of many unused offices in this sprawling complex. He released China’s wrist just long enough to fumble with the lock, the metallic click echoing in the quiet. Then, his hand was back, gripping China’s arm, shoving him inside. The door swung shut, the sound final, absolute. Another click, the heavy bolt sliding home. They were alone.

The office was small, sterile, filled with the faint scent of disuse and dust. A single desk dominated the space, its surface bare save for a thin layer of grime. Russia turned, his eyes, still hard, sweeping over China’s face. China’s breath hitched, a tremor running through him. He knew that look.

…Sir- China managed, his voice barely a whisper, his gaze fixed on Russia’s chest.

Russia didn’t answer with words. He pushed China forward, a brutal, unyielding force. China stumbled back, his legs hitting the edge of the desk. The documents he still clutched scattered across the floor, a flurry of white against the drab carpet. He braced his hands against the desk’s edge, his muscles tensing, but it was useless. Russia’s hands were on his shoulders, pressing down, forcing him over.

He landed on the desk with a soft thud, the hard surface digging into his ribs. His legs dangled awkwardly, his silk suit trousers snagging on the rough wood. Russia moved swiftly, efficiently. He grabbed China’s ankles, pulling them apart, forcing his legs wide. China’s hips settled heavily on the desk, his torso stretched out, vulnerable.

Russia’s fingers, thick and strong, found the hem of China’s jacket, yanking it up, then his shirt, tearing at the buttons until they flew across the room. Cool air hit China’s skin, raising goosebumps. He shivered, but not from cold. Russia’s hands were everywhere, stripping him down with a ruthless efficiency that left no room for thought, only sensation. His trousers were next, the expensive fabric pooling around his ankles. Then his briefs, peeled away with a sudden, rough tug.

China lay exposed, his red skin stark against the dark wood of the desk. His breath came in shallow gasps, his chest heaving. He squeezed his eyes shut, his mind a whirlwind of dread and expectation. He felt Russia’s presence looming over him, a crushing weight of anticipation.

Look at me. Russia commanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated through China’s very bones.

China opened his eyes, reluctantly. Russia stood over him, his own clothes still pristine moments ago, now being discarded. His belt buckle clinked, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Russia’s large hands moved quickly, unzipping his trousers, pushing them and his briefs down to his ankles in one swift motion.

Russia's eyes, burning with an intensity that stole China’s breath, were fixed on him. Russia’s hand reached down, his fingers circling China’s neck, applying just enough pressure to make China’s muscles seize, to make his vision swim at the edges. Not choking, not quite, but enough to remind him of the absolute power Russia held. China’s body went slack, a strange numbness spreading through his limbs.

You spoke too much, Russia stated, his voice a low rumble against China’s ear, his breath warm and smelling faintly of vodka.

You lost control. You forgot your place. Did you think I would permit such insubordination? Such weakness?

China couldn’t speak, the pressure on his throat, the sheer weight of Russia’s presence, stealing his voice. He could only whimper, a small, pathetic sound.

Good, Russia murmured, his thumb brushing over China’s Adam’s apple. Relax. You’ll need to relax.

The pressure eased, but Russia’s hand remained, a constant reminder. Russia moved, grabbing China’s wrists, pulling them above his head. He held them easily with one hand, his grip unyielding. China’s arms stretched taut, his shoulders protesting. He didn’t fight it. He knew it was pointless.

Russia’s other hand moved to China’s ass, cupping a cheek, squeezing. China flinched, his hips arching slightly, a silent invitation, a silent plea. Russia’s fingers traced the line of his crack, then found the tight knot of his asshole. No warning. No preparation. Just a blunt, insistent pressure.

China cried out, a sharp, choked sound. His body instinctively tensed, every muscle seizing in protest.

Relax.. Russia repeated, his voice colder now.

Or this will be worse.

He pushed, a thick, insistent pressure that stretched China’s unprepared flesh to its limit. China gasped, tears springing to his eyes, his body trembling violently. He bit his lip, tasting copper. The pain was immediate, searing, a raw tear. He felt the slick, wet heat of Russia’s cock, unforgiving and massive, pressing against his entrance. Russia was huge, easily twice the length and girth of China’s own, and he was taking him without mercy.

The first inch was agony, a slow, brutal invasion. China whimpered, his hips twitching, trying to escape the tearing sensation. Russia held his wrists tighter, anchoring him, making escape impossible. He leaned down, his lips brushing China’s ear.

You’re mine. he whispered, the words a dark promise. Always. Never forget that.

Then, with a grunt, Russia plunged forward, driving himself deep inside China. China screamed, a sound ripped from his throat, muffled by the sheer force of the impact. His back arched violently, his head hitting the desk with a soft thud. He felt himself tear, a fresh wave of agony washing over him, followed by a sudden, intense fullness that took his breath away. Russia’s cock filled him completely, stretching him to his absolute limit, pressing against his prostate, a deep, bruising ache that was almost unbearable.

China’s vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges. He tasted blood in his mouth from biting his lip, the metallic tang mixing with the coppery scent of his own tearing flesh. His body shook uncontrollably, his legs trembling, his ass clenching involuntarily around Russia’s thick shaft.

Tight. Russia grunted, a note of satisfaction in his voice. He began to move, a slow, deliberate grind, pushing deeper with each thrust, withdrawing only slightly before burying himself again. The friction was immense, a burning sensation that spread through China’s core.

China cried out, a broken sob.

S-sir…please… it hurts…

Russia ignored him. His rhythm quickened, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the small office. The scent of sex, raw and animalistic, began to permeate the air. Russia’s hips slammed against China’s ass, the impact jarring China’s teeth. China’s hips bucked, a desperate, involuntary response to the brutal penetration.

Russia leaned down, his mouth finding China’s neck, sucking a harsh mark there, his teeth scraping lightly. China gasped, a strange mix of pain and a burgeoning, unwanted pleasure coiling in his gut. The pain was still there, sharp and insistent, but now, beneath it, a new sensation began to stir, a dull throb that threatened to ignite.

You like this, don’t you? Russia whispered, his voice dark, predatory.

You like being taken. You like being reminded who owns you.

China shook his head feebly, a silent denial, but his body betrayed him. Russia groaned, his thrusts growing harder, faster, driving China deeper into the desk. The wood scraped against China’s skin, leaving angry red marks.

China’s hands, still held above his head, began to tingle, then ache, but Russia showed no sign of releasing them. Each thrust sent a shockwave through China’s body, his entire being focused on the brutal invasion. He felt the slickness of his own blood mixing with Russia’s pre-cum, the squelching sound a constant reminder of his tearing flesh.

A wave of heat washed over China, his skin flushing. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving, his mouth open in a silent scream. His climax was building, a frantic, desperate climb, fueled by the pain, by the overwhelming pressure, by the sheer force of Russia’s body. He could feel Russia’s cock stretching him, knotting inside him, pressing against his prostate with every deep stroke.

Sir—I-I… China tried to speak, but the words dissolved into a choked cry as Russia hit a particularly sensitive spot, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through him. His hips bucked wildly, his body arching, desperate for release.

He plunged deeper, his cock burying itself to the hilt, twisting, grinding. China’s vision went white. His hips convulsed, his legs spasming. A violent shudder ran through his body as he came, a desperate, messy gush that stained the desk beneath him. His body went limp, utterly spent, but Russia didn’t stop.

Good boy… Russia rumbled, his voice thick with desire. He continued his relentless rhythm, the sounds of their coupling echoing in the small room. China was numb, his mind hazy, his body a trembling shell. He felt Russia’s crushing weight, the immense pressure of his cock still buried deep inside him, stretching him, bruising him.

Russia’s hand moved from China’s wrists, finding his neck again, applying a gentle, calming pressure. China’s muscles, still tight from his climax, began to relax under the soothing touch. The deep, bruising ache inside him persisted, but now, a strange, heavy warmth settled over him.

Russia’s thrusts became more powerful, more primal. He was nearing his own climax. China could feel the pulsing heat of Russia’s cock, the way it swelled inside him, threatening to split him apart. The sounds grew more frantic, the wet squelching, the heavy thud of flesh on flesh, Russia’s ragged breaths.

Then, with a final, deep groan, Russia plunged one last time, driving himself impossibly deep. China cried out again, a mixture of pain and a strange, overstimulated pleasure. Russia’s body went rigid, his muscles coiling, then he shuddered violently, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he flooded China’s ass with his hot, thick cum. China felt the gush, a burning warmth spreading deep inside him, filling him completely. Russia collapsed onto China, his heavy weight pressing him into the desk, crushing him.

They lay there for a long moment, Russia’s breathing ragged, China’s body trembling beneath him, slick with sweat, cum, and blood. The scent of sex hung heavy in the air. Russia slowly withdrew, the thick shaft sliding out with a wet pop, leaving China feeling hollowed out, throbbing and raw.

China whimpered, a small, pained sound. He felt the warm, sticky liquid trickling down his thighs, a stark reminder of what had just transpired. He was sore, bruised, and utterly exhausted.

Russia moved, standing over him, his chest still heaving. He reached down, his large hands gently lifting China from the desk. China’s legs wobbled, threatening to give out, but Russia held him steady. He led China to a small, worn armchair in the corner of the office, carefully lowering him onto it.

Without a word, Russia picked up China’s discarded clothes, smoothing out the crumpled silk suit jacket, carefully re-buttoning the shirt. He helped China dress, his touch surprisingly gentle now, a stark contrast to the brutality of moments before. China remained silent, his eyes downcast, allowing Russia to tend to him. The trousers were pulled up, the jacket settled back on his shoulders. Russia then retrieved his own trousers and briefs, pulling them back on with a practiced ease.

Once China was dressed, Russia knelt before him, his large hands cupping China’s face, turning it gently upwards. China’s eyes, still clouded with pain and exhaustion, met Russia’s. The flinty coldness had softened, replaced by a deep, possessive affection.

Russia leaned in, his lips brushing China’s forehead, then his temples, his cheeks, lingering on the red mark his slap had left. He kissed China’s eyelids, soft, reassuring. He traced the line of China’s jaw, then moved to his neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, over the marks he had made, over the pulse point that still throbbed. He kissed the corner of China’s mouth, then his lips, a slow, tender press that deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of China’s lips, gently seeking entry.

China opened for him, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Russia’s tongue slid inside, slow and deliberate, exploring, tasting, intertwining with China’s. The kiss was deep, possessive, yet filled with a tenderness that made China’s heart ache. Russia sucked gently on China’s tongue, then pulled back, leaving China breathless.

You did well. Russia murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble. He brushed a stray strand of hair from China’s face, his thumb stroking his cheek, a familiar gesture of quiet approval.

You always do well, 小龙.

China leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. The pain was still there, a dull throb deep inside him, but it was overshadowed by the warmth of Russia’s affection, the quiet reassurance that he was exactly where he belonged. He knew this dance, this brutal, tender rhythm. He was Russia’s, utterly and completely, and in that, there was a strange, unsettling peace.

He opened his eyes, meeting Russia’s gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. He was not allowed to argue, not allowed to speak out of turn, not allowed to deny Russia anything. It was the price of their shared dominion, their intertwined destinies. And in the quiet intimacy of that moment, China knew, despite the pain, he wouldn't have it any other way.