❝you'll never touch him again, so get what you can; bleeding him empty just because he's a man❞
Title: You Stab My Back, I'll Stab Yours
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: --2000
Characters: China/Taiwan ; mentions of Hong Kong
Rating: R
Warnings: non-graphic sex ; drug use
Summary: Not wine...men intoxicate themselves; not vice...men entice themselves. In 1971, the People's Republic of China returns to his seat on the United Nations Security Council, leaving the Republic of China, or Taiwan, in political limbo. That night, in New York, the two meet again for the first time in decades. China had told her that opium made you forget your feelings, but Taiwan knew otherwise.
“You Stab My Back, I’ll Stab Yours”
I. Not wine . . . men intoxicate themselves;
Of all the betrayals that she had had to deal with in the past century, this one was the hardest to bear.
The hotel room in New York was cold and impersonal; the carpets were a bland blue-gray and the bed was made with lifeless, cream-colored sheets. Compared to the vibrancy of the jades and crimsons found on her side of the Pacific, she had to admit that she found the concrete jungles of America bland and lonely.
She had promised herself, decades ago, that she would not cry. She alone had made the decision that split the world’s opinion of her into two opposing sides, and so she had held to the conviction that it would be unfair-weak, even-to shed any tears when one side made her feel unwelcome. Even if that side was her family, or her allies.
But now, it seemed as though everyone was against her.
Sitting on the straight-backed wooden chair and gazing at the spark-less painting of the Hudson River, Taiwan clenched her hands in her lap and bit her lower lip. Her back was hunched, pulled tighter than a bowstring, all in the effort to keep from shedding a single tear.
“Hey, are you alright, in there?” There was a low knock and a whisper, coming from the other side of the heavy oaken door.
“Go away, Hong!” Taiwan called, fearing that even opening her mouth would cause her breath to hitch into a sob, “I said I wanted to be alone!”
She knew she was being unfair to him. He alone had stayed with her when all of the other nations-the real nations, she thought bitterly-had gone to the meeting, the meeting that by all rights she should have attended. He had no reason to still try and comfort her; he had made it clear which side he stood on. She knew that, even though he was currently living with England, he was counting down the years, slowly but surely, to the day when he was able to return home. The same home she had run away from.
She was grateful to him. But she couldn’t stand to be around him right now, not when she thought he disdained her with every look from his coal-dark eyes. Taiwan squeezed her eyes shut and willed the entire world away, as though she was the girl in that ludicrous movie America had shown her once. She was wearing crimson slippers; maybe all she had to do was click her heels together and she’d be home. Stupid though it was, Taiwan tapped her feet together and dreamt of home.
Two knocks at the door; short, sharp, and in quick succession. “Taiwan? Are you in there?”
“I just told you,” she snapped in irritation, her eyes opening even as her face curved into a glare, “that I wanted to be alone, Hong!”
“...this isn’t Hong Kong, aru.”
It was only at those words that she finally recognized his voice, and, before she could stop him, he had opened the door and entered, shutting it softly behind him. She rose to her feet at the same moment, so that they stood, facing one another, both unwilling to move forward but equally reluctant to break eye contact.
It was Taiwan who finally broke the silence.
“The meeting was over so soon?” she asked, scathingly.
He shook his head slowly. “No, aru. I came to check on you.”
“Why?” she demanded, her voice rising.
“I thought you might be upset, aru.”
She looked at him for one long moment, and then shook her head. “That’s a laugh, Gege. Why would you ever care if I was upset? You stole my seat from me!”
China raised one eyebrow in question of his younger sister’s tirade. “Really, Taiwan? You stole it from me twenty years ago, aru. You’re the usurper, not me.”
“I’m the Republic of China!” she spat, and looked at though she might strike him. She turned away at the last moment, however, pacing the length of the room before finally stopping before the enormous window.
This time, both of China’s eyebrows rose in sardonic disbelief. “No, Mei-mei, you’re not.” He heaved a sigh worthy of his four thousand years and took a few steps towards her, placing one hand lightly on her shoulder. “Don’t you think you’ve been at this long enough? Just come home, aru.”
“Never,” she declared, slapping his hand away, “and don’t touch me.”
China shrugged, as though it did not matter to him one way or the other. It was that, above all else, that set the spark to Taiwan’s temper. He never had cared, she realized. When she had left, he had lost a little face in the international community, but he had never really lost any sleep over it. He had always held the power. Even now, when he had stolen her seat from her, he had the gall to calmly barge into her hotel room, and sit down on her bed, and pull out a pipe.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
He shrugged again, an uncaring gesture that cut Taiwan far deeper than a thousand angry curses would have. “Smoking, aru,” he said nonchalantly, and, sure enough, as soon as he lit the pipe, the heavy, constricting scent of opium filled the air.
“I thought you’d given up on that a long time ago,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I did. But sometimes I need it to calm me down.”
“And you just happened to have it ready when you came here?”
“I had a feeling that talking to you was going to upset me, aru.”
She let out a harsh laugh. “You’re upset? Just what do you have to be upset about, Gege? You’re the one with the veto, now!”
China breathed in heavily, then exhaled as he watched the pale gray smoke spiral around him. He did not answer her question, but instead gestured to the second pipe he had brought with him. “Would you like some, aru?”
This time, she was too shocked to be angry. She remembered, with a pang, the first time she had asked him the reverse question. He’d been sitting in the gardens, smoking, and she had climbed onto his lap and reached for the pipe, not really knowing what was in it. He had sternly pulled her hand away, offering only this response: “You don’t want this, Mei-mei. It makes you forget how to feel.”
She believed that now finally understood what he had meant. She offered him no vocal response, but reached for the pipe and took a deep breath.
II. Not vice . . . men entice themselves.
It was like plunging face-first into freezing water, and then, as one grew used to it, letting the most peculiar warmth travel up through the body and eventually reach the heart and mind.
The world grew cloudy very quickly, so she was only half-aware when she offered him a lazy, bold smile and tilted her head to one side. Only, the tilting didn’t cease, and she fell with a thud against the cream-colored bedspread, her hair fanning out around her. She let out a gurgly giggle, lifting her face only enough to inhale the delicious toxin again.
He, who had a much stronger immunity to it, and was therefore much more aware, gave her a strange look before leaning down to brush her hair gently away from her brow. His touch was like a flame, burning through the fog of her delirium and forcing her nervous system to react. She jolted, and he withdrew his hand immediately, gazing at her apologetically.
She sat up on the bed, wondering vaguely why he had moved. Gingerly, she reached out and touched his cheek, which held no wrinkles and no worry lines-even though he had enough years to make him dust and enough worries to cause a million heart attacks. But then, no one would feel stressed like this. This was like floating through molasses, allowing rational thought to drift upwards until only the senses remained-pure, unadultered, and irrational.
And what she did next was even more irrational, because as the smoke of two pipes swirled around them, she reached up and braced herself against his shoulders, bringing their lips together forcefully.
He pushed her away, gently, looking down at her in puzzlement. Her milky eyes scrunched in confusion as they separated, but she was not to be deterred. She reached up again, pushing him down onto the bed and crawling on top of him, pinning him down. Their silks entangled their limbs, so that she wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing. His shirt was a vibrant red, and it seemed to burn into her senses. She lay down on top of him, scrunching against his body and cradling her head between his neck and shoulder.
She heard him sigh-whether it was one of surrender or desire, she would never know. But the next moment his hands where in her hair, and his lips were on her throat, and she was gripping him so tightly it was as though she feared he would leave her at any moment.
It was hard to tell at which point silk slipped off of pale shoulders and bare skin met bare skin, but eventually she was lying against him, burrowed into his chest, her hair draped over them both like a curtain. The pipes had long ago fallen to the ground, where they continued to release the sickly spiral that kept the two so entranced.
His arms, strong and lean, encircled her in a death-grip of an embrace, pushing the air out of her lungs. Still, she felt safe, secure. As though for the first time in years, she wasn’t holding onto just thin air. She squirmed in his embrace, turning around to kiss him again, enjoying the feel of her tongue on his lips much more than what came afterwards, the hard intrusion into her senses that left her dizzy.
Just as she might have felt lucid again, he suddenly became predatory, shifting his weight and flipping her over, so that when he braced his arms on either side of her, he shadowed her, his thin frame still dwarfing hers. His hair had fallen loose of its normal low tail and hung about his face, tickling her chin as he pressed his lips against the base of her throat.
Then, he fell against the sheets on one side of her, and she turned in, against him, so that as the drug filled their senses to the brink and they both teetered on the edge of consciousness, they were intertwined. Lying in his arms, she drifted into sleep; the last thing her open eyes rested on was the curve of his lips.
When she awoke several hours later, the smoke had faded and her head, though pounding horribly, had cleared, as well. She jolted, looking around her wildly, though she knew he had gone. The pipes were missing from the floor where they had fallen, and someone had tucked the covers tightly around her as she slept.
She rose achingly to her feet and draped her robe over her shoulders, going to gaze out the window. The sun had just begun its ascent; the sky itself was dyed a vivid red that reminded her of nothing but him.
“You liar, Gege,” she whispered harshly. “You said that it would make me forget my feelings, but it didn’t. It made me remember.”
Staring blankly out of the window at the city which no longer welcomed her, Taiwan finally allowed two decades’ worth of soft, warm tears to fall against the cheeks that could still feel his fleeting kisses.
---
Footnotes:
* China's Seat in the United Nations
* Not wine...men intoxicate themselves; not vice...men entice themselves. -- Chinese Proverb.
* Opium use in both China and Taiwan was very widespread at one point. Just so you know.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: --2000
Characters: China/Taiwan ; mentions of Hong Kong
Rating: R
Warnings: non-graphic sex ; drug use
Summary: Not wine...men intoxicate themselves; not vice...men entice themselves. In 1971, the People's Republic of China returns to his seat on the United Nations Security Council, leaving the Republic of China, or Taiwan, in political limbo. That night, in New York, the two meet again for the first time in decades. China had told her that opium made you forget your feelings, but Taiwan knew otherwise.
“You Stab My Back, I’ll Stab Yours”
I. Not wine . . . men intoxicate themselves;
Of all the betrayals that she had had to deal with in the past century, this one was the hardest to bear.
The hotel room in New York was cold and impersonal; the carpets were a bland blue-gray and the bed was made with lifeless, cream-colored sheets. Compared to the vibrancy of the jades and crimsons found on her side of the Pacific, she had to admit that she found the concrete jungles of America bland and lonely.
She had promised herself, decades ago, that she would not cry. She alone had made the decision that split the world’s opinion of her into two opposing sides, and so she had held to the conviction that it would be unfair-weak, even-to shed any tears when one side made her feel unwelcome. Even if that side was her family, or her allies.
But now, it seemed as though everyone was against her.
Sitting on the straight-backed wooden chair and gazing at the spark-less painting of the Hudson River, Taiwan clenched her hands in her lap and bit her lower lip. Her back was hunched, pulled tighter than a bowstring, all in the effort to keep from shedding a single tear.
“Hey, are you alright, in there?” There was a low knock and a whisper, coming from the other side of the heavy oaken door.
“Go away, Hong!” Taiwan called, fearing that even opening her mouth would cause her breath to hitch into a sob, “I said I wanted to be alone!”
She knew she was being unfair to him. He alone had stayed with her when all of the other nations-the real nations, she thought bitterly-had gone to the meeting, the meeting that by all rights she should have attended. He had no reason to still try and comfort her; he had made it clear which side he stood on. She knew that, even though he was currently living with England, he was counting down the years, slowly but surely, to the day when he was able to return home. The same home she had run away from.
She was grateful to him. But she couldn’t stand to be around him right now, not when she thought he disdained her with every look from his coal-dark eyes. Taiwan squeezed her eyes shut and willed the entire world away, as though she was the girl in that ludicrous movie America had shown her once. She was wearing crimson slippers; maybe all she had to do was click her heels together and she’d be home. Stupid though it was, Taiwan tapped her feet together and dreamt of home.
Two knocks at the door; short, sharp, and in quick succession. “Taiwan? Are you in there?”
“I just told you,” she snapped in irritation, her eyes opening even as her face curved into a glare, “that I wanted to be alone, Hong!”
“...this isn’t Hong Kong, aru.”
It was only at those words that she finally recognized his voice, and, before she could stop him, he had opened the door and entered, shutting it softly behind him. She rose to her feet at the same moment, so that they stood, facing one another, both unwilling to move forward but equally reluctant to break eye contact.
It was Taiwan who finally broke the silence.
“The meeting was over so soon?” she asked, scathingly.
He shook his head slowly. “No, aru. I came to check on you.”
“Why?” she demanded, her voice rising.
“I thought you might be upset, aru.”
She looked at him for one long moment, and then shook her head. “That’s a laugh, Gege. Why would you ever care if I was upset? You stole my seat from me!”
China raised one eyebrow in question of his younger sister’s tirade. “Really, Taiwan? You stole it from me twenty years ago, aru. You’re the usurper, not me.”
“I’m the Republic of China!” she spat, and looked at though she might strike him. She turned away at the last moment, however, pacing the length of the room before finally stopping before the enormous window.
This time, both of China’s eyebrows rose in sardonic disbelief. “No, Mei-mei, you’re not.” He heaved a sigh worthy of his four thousand years and took a few steps towards her, placing one hand lightly on her shoulder. “Don’t you think you’ve been at this long enough? Just come home, aru.”
“Never,” she declared, slapping his hand away, “and don’t touch me.”
China shrugged, as though it did not matter to him one way or the other. It was that, above all else, that set the spark to Taiwan’s temper. He never had cared, she realized. When she had left, he had lost a little face in the international community, but he had never really lost any sleep over it. He had always held the power. Even now, when he had stolen her seat from her, he had the gall to calmly barge into her hotel room, and sit down on her bed, and pull out a pipe.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
He shrugged again, an uncaring gesture that cut Taiwan far deeper than a thousand angry curses would have. “Smoking, aru,” he said nonchalantly, and, sure enough, as soon as he lit the pipe, the heavy, constricting scent of opium filled the air.
“I thought you’d given up on that a long time ago,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I did. But sometimes I need it to calm me down.”
“And you just happened to have it ready when you came here?”
“I had a feeling that talking to you was going to upset me, aru.”
She let out a harsh laugh. “You’re upset? Just what do you have to be upset about, Gege? You’re the one with the veto, now!”
China breathed in heavily, then exhaled as he watched the pale gray smoke spiral around him. He did not answer her question, but instead gestured to the second pipe he had brought with him. “Would you like some, aru?”
This time, she was too shocked to be angry. She remembered, with a pang, the first time she had asked him the reverse question. He’d been sitting in the gardens, smoking, and she had climbed onto his lap and reached for the pipe, not really knowing what was in it. He had sternly pulled her hand away, offering only this response: “You don’t want this, Mei-mei. It makes you forget how to feel.”
She believed that now finally understood what he had meant. She offered him no vocal response, but reached for the pipe and took a deep breath.
II. Not vice . . . men entice themselves.
It was like plunging face-first into freezing water, and then, as one grew used to it, letting the most peculiar warmth travel up through the body and eventually reach the heart and mind.
The world grew cloudy very quickly, so she was only half-aware when she offered him a lazy, bold smile and tilted her head to one side. Only, the tilting didn’t cease, and she fell with a thud against the cream-colored bedspread, her hair fanning out around her. She let out a gurgly giggle, lifting her face only enough to inhale the delicious toxin again.
He, who had a much stronger immunity to it, and was therefore much more aware, gave her a strange look before leaning down to brush her hair gently away from her brow. His touch was like a flame, burning through the fog of her delirium and forcing her nervous system to react. She jolted, and he withdrew his hand immediately, gazing at her apologetically.
She sat up on the bed, wondering vaguely why he had moved. Gingerly, she reached out and touched his cheek, which held no wrinkles and no worry lines-even though he had enough years to make him dust and enough worries to cause a million heart attacks. But then, no one would feel stressed like this. This was like floating through molasses, allowing rational thought to drift upwards until only the senses remained-pure, unadultered, and irrational.
And what she did next was even more irrational, because as the smoke of two pipes swirled around them, she reached up and braced herself against his shoulders, bringing their lips together forcefully.
He pushed her away, gently, looking down at her in puzzlement. Her milky eyes scrunched in confusion as they separated, but she was not to be deterred. She reached up again, pushing him down onto the bed and crawling on top of him, pinning him down. Their silks entangled their limbs, so that she wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing. His shirt was a vibrant red, and it seemed to burn into her senses. She lay down on top of him, scrunching against his body and cradling her head between his neck and shoulder.
She heard him sigh-whether it was one of surrender or desire, she would never know. But the next moment his hands where in her hair, and his lips were on her throat, and she was gripping him so tightly it was as though she feared he would leave her at any moment.
It was hard to tell at which point silk slipped off of pale shoulders and bare skin met bare skin, but eventually she was lying against him, burrowed into his chest, her hair draped over them both like a curtain. The pipes had long ago fallen to the ground, where they continued to release the sickly spiral that kept the two so entranced.
His arms, strong and lean, encircled her in a death-grip of an embrace, pushing the air out of her lungs. Still, she felt safe, secure. As though for the first time in years, she wasn’t holding onto just thin air. She squirmed in his embrace, turning around to kiss him again, enjoying the feel of her tongue on his lips much more than what came afterwards, the hard intrusion into her senses that left her dizzy.
Just as she might have felt lucid again, he suddenly became predatory, shifting his weight and flipping her over, so that when he braced his arms on either side of her, he shadowed her, his thin frame still dwarfing hers. His hair had fallen loose of its normal low tail and hung about his face, tickling her chin as he pressed his lips against the base of her throat.
Then, he fell against the sheets on one side of her, and she turned in, against him, so that as the drug filled their senses to the brink and they both teetered on the edge of consciousness, they were intertwined. Lying in his arms, she drifted into sleep; the last thing her open eyes rested on was the curve of his lips.
When she awoke several hours later, the smoke had faded and her head, though pounding horribly, had cleared, as well. She jolted, looking around her wildly, though she knew he had gone. The pipes were missing from the floor where they had fallen, and someone had tucked the covers tightly around her as she slept.
She rose achingly to her feet and draped her robe over her shoulders, going to gaze out the window. The sun had just begun its ascent; the sky itself was dyed a vivid red that reminded her of nothing but him.
“You liar, Gege,” she whispered harshly. “You said that it would make me forget my feelings, but it didn’t. It made me remember.”
Staring blankly out of the window at the city which no longer welcomed her, Taiwan finally allowed two decades’ worth of soft, warm tears to fall against the cheeks that could still feel his fleeting kisses.
---
Footnotes:
* China's Seat in the United Nations
* Not wine...men intoxicate themselves; not vice...men entice themselves. -- Chinese Proverb.
* Opium use in both China and Taiwan was very widespread at one point. Just so you know.