Tick tick tick tick...

In the quiet little room, the grandfather clock stood, counting down time with an insistent, annoying perseverance. With each tick of its second hand, it reminded China how late Russia was to their weekly meetings. With nothing better to do, he stared at the clock and watched as minutes passed before his very eyes.

Tick tick tick tick...

In the game of waiting, time stretched into eternity. After five boring minutes, China's gaze shifted back to the laptop and was greeted by a blank screen.

Russia still hadn't signed onto Skype.

Taking a deep, calming breath that came out as a weary sigh, China placed a hand over his eyes. In recent times, their hectic schedules and busy lives made it harder to see each other face to face. It wasn't unusual for them to go weeks or even months without meeting. So scarce was their physical contact that a mere brushing of fingertips ignited their need to immediately rut. In the privacy of their hotel rooms or in an empty office where someone could walk in, they went anywhere and used anything to slake their burning lust. Being apart was driving them insane. Luckily, the internet made keeping in touch easy. While it couldn't replace physical touch and real body warmth, they made do with its convenience.

They started off with emails before slowly graduating to instant messages. Then, half a month ago as the World Conference in Paris came to an end, Russia silently cornered him like he usually did. Similar to how a starving predator viewed its prey, sapphire eyes devoured the sight of him hungrily. Trapped with Russia's figure looming closer with each step, China's heart raced against his ribcage. But it was not fear that coursed through his veins.

It was excitement.

Methodically, Russia backed him up against the wall until not an inch separated their bodies. He could feel Russia's heated skin through his clothes and images of clashing tongues and sweaty limbs flashed through his mind. His gasp of surprise was closer to a moan of pleasure when Russia suddenly pressed a knee between his legs with just the right amount of pressure.

"Yao." China shivered from the way the other nation whispered his name, husky and full of promise.

Lowering his head, Russia placed kisses on China's cheek, his jaw line, the corner of his eyes- everywhere except where the older man wanted it. "It's been two months since I've last touched you, Yao." He undid China's tie, trailing his lips along the silken neck. "I've missed you."

"I-Ivan," China stuttered, his tongue becoming nothing more than a useless lump of meat in his mouth. Russia was getting better at seducing him...or more precisely, he was becoming weak to temptation. Already, he could feel his mind and body drowning in the pleasure he knew Russia could give him. He bit his lips, stopping a moan from escaping as Russia's thumb brushed tantalizingly close to his nipple.

Two months really was too long for the both of them. He missed the desperation he felt during the heady nights of tangled sheets and half torn clothes. He craved the sense of suffocation, the feel of Russia's heavy body mercilessly pounding him into the bed. But what he longed for most of all, was waking up in the middle of the night to find Russia's peaceful, sleeping face next to his. To be able to reach out and touch your loved one whenever you wished, it wasn't until they were torn apart and separated for forty years that China learned what a precious gift it was.

"I can't stand this anymore," Russia abruptly declared, crushing China's body in his arms.

The older nation didn't have to ask what Russia meant. A pretty pink colored his cheeks as he glanced down to stare at the hard, throbbing shaft pressing against his stomach. He gulped. Only the dead or chronically stupid wouldn't know what Russia had in store for them. Nervously, his eyes darted around the empty hallway and upon seeing no one wandering about, he gently tugged on the Russian's sleeves. "Ivan, i-it's difficult, I know, but if you can just hold on until we can just sneak into-"

"No, that's not it." Russia cut in. He held China by his shoulders and gazed desperately into his eyes- willing, imploring him to understand. "I hate how far apart we are. I hate how we only see each other once every blue moon. Then, when we do meet, the only thing we do is have sex. That's what our relationship has been reduced to, Yao. Fuck buddies. We don't talk anymore. I'm sick of it."

Wrapping his arms loosely around China's waist, Russia laid his head on the smaller nation's shoulders as if seeking respite. "We're neighbors, but we might as well be separated by an ocean. I miss you, Yao. I want to hold you, kiss you every single day."

Confused and a little worried by the other man's outburst, China ran a soothing hand down his back. "Ivan, I want the same thing, but what can we do? Our capitals are thousands of miles apart. Our country, our people always comes first...It's impossible."

Russia arms tightened around China's waist. "I know that. You don't need to remind me." He was quiet for a moment-China could practically hear the cogs turning in his head-before he hesitantly spoke again. "We can... do the next best thing."

"And what's that?"

"We can Skype."

Immediately, China stiffened. Russia sounded too innocent and nonchalant for his liking. That was never a good sign. "Why? What are you planning?"

"Nothing. I'm not planning anything~" Before China could begin struggling, Russia planted hard, wet kisses on the older man's skin. Lips trailed up from the slender collarbone to the curve of China's ears. "I just want to see you, hear your voice," Russia whispered, "It doesn't have to be every day, but just more than every two months."

This was a bad idea. Whatever Russia was planning was leading to some diabolical plot...China just couldn't remember why it was bad. He was having trouble gathering his thoughts. "Ivan, I don't know if-"

He moaned when Russia licked a sensitive spot on his neck.

"Please?" Russia panted, the plea warm and moist against his skin. "For me? For the sake of my sanity?"

China installed Skype.

Technology was not his friend. He missed the simple days, but for the sake of keeping up with the younger nations and to avoid the Century of Humiliation ever again, he adapted. He had no idea what Skype was, but it wasn't too hard to figure out (Thank the Heavens, Hong Kong returned).

In the beginning, it was a little awkward as if they were seeing each other for the first time. They talked about the weather, the economy-small, inconsequential things. Soon, however, China began to anticipate their meetings. Russia was right. He missed talking to him. Even though he wasn't the one that initiated it and in fact was reluctant to start Skyping, it seemed he became more excited than Russia for their so called weekly "dates". He wouldn't admit it, but he loved Russia's teasing and childish jokes.

Sometimes, the heavy burdens of the world wore him down. The false accusations, the unending social problems wound him up so tight, he'd forget how to laugh. However, no matter how bad things got, Russia always found a way to make him smile.

Thinking about him now, fondness tugged at the corner of China's mouth. Slowly, he pulled open a drawer. Inside, laid out with apparent care, was an old pair of leather gloves.

The gloves had seen better days. It was worn thin in places and some of the seams were coming apart. It long since lost its usefulness. Despite the rag-tag appearance, China gazed at it as if it was more precious than money and gold combined. He placed the gloves on the table delicately, his fingertips grazing the leather with affection. Old and ragged it may be, but it's sentimental values were priceless. To China, these gloves were filled irreplaceable memories of Russia during his Soviet days.

True, back then, Russia was not as kind or calm as he is now. They hated, they loathed. There was nothing but calculated manipulations between them. However, Fate was a funny thing. Time and time again, circumstances threw them together. Mockery grew into sincerity, bitter words changed into honeyed promises.

This heaviness in his heart, a sentiment Russia silently shared, was an indescribable feeling. It wasn't sadness, but neither was it discontent. If words had to be used, it would be oppressed nostalgia. Their time together wasn't all beautiful nor was it filled with undying love. In the centuries that they knew each other, only a decade- perhaps less- they felt what happiness was like in each other's arms. It was a sweetness that was like a blooming flower; its beauty only emphasized because it was short lived.

When he saw Russia throw out the gloves, he couldn't help but ask if he could have them. He wanted them as a reminder. Memories he had of Soviet Russia wasn't always sweet, but it didn't mean it was any less precious. That tiny moment of clarity, of contentment buried among the bitter years made what they shared that much more important and dear to him.

The other nations called him cold or unfeeling. He'd never let them know he carried the gloves with him wherever he went. If anyone knew his secret, they would call him a sentimental fool for wanting a little piece of Russia by his side because he missed the dreams and aspirations they once shared.
Ding

China's head snapped up.

Ivan is inviting you to start a video conversation. Do you want to Accept (Alt + C) or Decline (Alt + D) the invitation?

"Aiyah, finally!" China exclaimed and promptly clicked the accept button.

You have accepted the invitation to start a video conversation.

An image of a smiling Russia dressed in his suit filled the screen. "Hi, Y-"

"You're late." China crossed his arms over his chest, glaring daggers into the monitor.

"Sorry. There were some minor changes to the documents so I-"

"Do you know how long I waited for you?" The Chinese interrupted again, "40 minutes! Almost an hour! It's midnight over here!"

Russia smiled, taking no offense at China's constant interruptions. He actually found it quite endearing when the older nation took off his mask of indifference. It made it that much easier to tease him. "I've missed you too, Yao."

China flushed a rose pink. "What do you mean by 'too'? I never said anything about missing you."

"Ah, then let me correct myself," Russia said unperturbed, "I mean I've missed you. I couldn't stop thinking about you the entire day."

Russia watched with satisfaction China squirm in his seat, embarrassed by his honest statement. He figured out long ago that the more open he was about his feelings, the more flustered China became. His love of seeing faces contort with discomfort hadn't stopped. Instead, it had intensified thanks to China and his cute reactions. The whole week while he was working on new documents and legislations, he was plotting his next scheme.

Due to his size and demeanor, the whole world thought he was rash and had no ability to plan ahead. Of course, he let them think that. It was to his advantage. After all, it wasn't difficult to subjugate and conqueror those that thought he only had muscles for brains. Only those who have the power and ability to manipulate those around them can become Superpowers. (Though America may prove to be an exception...)

Contrary to beliefs, he was a patient man. How fun could it be if the game ended quickly? There was an art to laying down traps, carefully plotting out each step until the noose tightened and there was no room for escape. Seeing his playthings struggle futilely- the look in their eyes when hope died and despair settled in...He shivered just thinking about it.

And China...Oh, sweet, sweet China...To him, he treated the Chinese just like the rest.

He had waited close to two hundred years before he meticulously wormed his way into his southern neighbor's good graces. When China was at his weakest, he made sure he was there to comfort him. With a few words and military resources, he made China believe only he could save him, that he was the only one China could depend on.

It worked like a charm...until he realized China was more than just a territory to him.

His obsession, his need for the Chinese nation did not subside even after they both walked under the same flag. If anything, it hurt him more to see China every day and not touch him, kiss him until they both died from suffocation.

This fixation, this yearning was a sickness born from his childhood fascination with the Chinese man. Without his knowledge, over the years he allowed it to fester inside his body: incubating, nursing it until it became an incurable disease. It made him beg, act like a child, and even a fool, but he found himself not caring. As long as China looked his way and smiled, the illness in his heart eased like the calm waves of the ocean.

Very rarely in his life did he receive kinds words or a gentle touch. Yet, all it took was a glimmer of a smile from China to make him forget why he was lonely and crying out for companions. He was being weak, he knew, but China...China didn't look at him in disgust or pity. He understood the pain of being alone; maybe even more so. They began to seek each other out, not for political gains, but to lick one another's wounds. The lines blurred and it became almost impossible to determine who was depending on who more.

Holding China's frail body in his arms, he found out what true strength and endurance was. And when China returned his embrace, for the first time in his life, he finally found the warmth he had always been searching for.

War and lives lost changed people. Their leaders argued and too soon, they said their goodbyes, but absence just made the heart grow fonder. Even when their borders clashed, his feelings for China never wavered. They merely deepened; their affections the only constant thing they shared in their years spent apart.

For forty years, they thought about each other. People would think their reunion would be a joyous event, but it was filled with bitter sweetness. Communism brought them together and it was communism that tore them apart. Seeing China again was like celebrating the anniversary of a child's death. They mourned what could've been and what was lost.

But like everything else in life, they learned to move on, building bridges and forming new bonds. While their relationship was not the same since it spawned from a different source, their affection was spiced with playfulness that they never had before. It was exhilarating. Fun.

Still, Russia did love his scheming ways, especially if China was his target. After months of waiting, tonight it was finally going to bear fruit.

Russia leaned back against his chair, looking at China with hooded eyes. "Yao, do you know what I was imagining when I was thinking about you?"

Instantly suspicious, China glared at him. "I know that look. What are you planning, Ivan?"

"Nothing~ I just wanted to ask for a favor." Honey practically dripped from Russia's sugary sweet lips.

"You always have an ulterior motive. Don't think you can trick me."

"Fine. I'll lay it out for you." Dropping the act, Russia grinned. Then without a hint of embarrassment, he announced with gusto, "I want to see you masturbate for me." When China's stunned silence met his proclamation, he smiled like a well fed cat. "Don't tell me you didn't expect this? Why else do you think I suggested Skyping in the first place?"

China gave him a look that was a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "You told me you wanted to talk more. You said you were tired of sex aru!"

Amused, Russia lips twitched. It's been a long time since he heard China's verbal tic. It simply goes to show just how distressed his little porcelain doll was. "Really? I don't remember saying that. Maybe you heard me wrong?" At China's dark scowl, Russia chuckled softly. "C'mon Yao, it'll be fun. Everyone does it. No point in being a prude now~"

"I'm not a prude aru!" China rankled at the insult. "You just have no shame!"

"Don't say that Yao-Yao~" Russia cajoled, "If you feel uncomfortable, I can always go first."

Lips pursed into displeasure, China crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't care if you go first or not, I'm not doing it a...a...aru..." He stuttered to a stop, his eyes widening as Russia's hands inched their way beneath the desk.

He's going to do it. The sound of a belt unbuckling sent China's mind reeling. He's really going to jerk himself off in front of me!

Despite his protests, China's breath hitched in his throat as he watched with greedy eyes Russia slowly undress. He was unable to tear his gaze away from the sight, drinking in voraciously every patch of creamy skin revealed to him. It wasn't until he felt a shot of lust lick down his spine did he realize how painfully hard he was.

In a panic, China slammed his fists down, scattering pens and papers everywhere on the desk. "STOP!"

"Why?" Russia's asked teasingly, "You looked like you enjoyed watching me."

"No," China said firmly, "I'm...I'm not depraved like you."

"So you say." Violet eyes danced with silent laughter. Russia moved closer to the camera, a smile that was both sensual and mocking playing around his lips. "But I saw your eyes, Yao. You know if you weren't just as 'depraved' as me, we wouldn't have played together for so long. Admit it, this excites you."

Red burned the top of China's ears. "I said no."

"Fine. Have it your way." Russia dismissed the Chinese with a smirk.

Surprised the other nation gave up so easily-it wasn't like him-China looked up. Russia was leaning back against his chair, his shirt completely unbuttoned and his tie hung loosely around his neck. Curious, China's eyes fluttered down, but everything below Russia's torso was covered up by the desk. He couldn't tell if Russia really exposed himself down there.

"Yes, I unzipped my pants," Russia laughed at China's obvious interest. The older man tried to sputter some excuse, but he cut through the chatter with a wave of his hand. "You don't have to say or do anything, Yao. Just quietly sit there and watch me." With unconcealed lust, Russia gazed at China with hooded, sultry eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper, sliding across China's skin like soft caressing velvet. "Watch me come while calling out your name, my shining king ."

China's eyes darkened to the blackest of midnight; his pupils dilated until it bled into his iris. Years spent in each others' company made him intimately familiar with Russia's ways. His playful attempt to seduce him, was nothing more than another one of his mind games; a test to see how he'd react. China recognized the look of mockery in the lilac eyes, the taunt. The Russian was daring him to refuse the challenge tossed at his feet. He was being baited- treated like a favorite toy- but despite the insult, China couldn't resist. The impish words carelessly spoken, incited inside him a mixture of male pride and frustrated arousal.

He lived for 5000 years; experienced and seen things people could only imagine. He only tolerated Russia's childishness because it was refreshing and bought spontaneity to his ordered life. However, his patience was wearing thin and he was getting tired of Russia's endless games. It was time Russia learned he was a nation to be reckoned with...if he could only figure out how to do it.

Annoyed with himself, China's eyes flickered to the side and from the corner of his eye, he saw something glisten. He looked, and lying on the table top quite forgotten were Russia's old tattered gloves.

Soft and smooth, the black leather gloves dully reflected the lamplight it bathed in. As if transfixed, China stared at it for a long while, his lips parted in wonder. Tentatively, he brushed his hand against the material and just like he remembered, it was cool against his skin. He picked up the gloves- the supple, durable gloves- and held it between his fingers as the memories of his past with Russia assaulted him. The cogs in his mind started to turn and slowly, an idea began to form in his head...China smiled. Russia was right.

He was depraved.

"Before you start to ah...touch yourself, Vanya," China spoke his name breathlessly, "can I ask you a question?"

Hearing his pet name ooze from the Chinese's lips like slow drizzling dark chocolate, Russia chuckled. Even in the privacy of their own rooms, China rarely ever called him "Vanya". It was too intimate and embarrassing for him to say, he said. The only exception to the rule was when China was in a competitive mood. Then, and only then, did the Chinese nation tenderly address him by his pet name However, it was never used as an endearment. Oh, no. Instead, it was China's way of saying the game was on. In subtle context, he was telling his sweet Vanya, "Dominate me, if you think you can."

Russia hummed his approval. He always did love it when his southern lover fought back. It made the game even more delicious. "What do you have in mind, Yao? You know I'll never deny you anything...for a price, of course."

"Of course," China repeated gently. "There's always a price attached to your demands." Mockingly, like a demure, biddable wife, China fluttered his eyes and looked up at Russia from beneath his lashes. He pulled out the pair of gloves, holding them up clearly for the other nation to see. "Do you remember the time you were going to throw these out and I asked if I could have them?"

Immediately, Russia recognized the worn and torn gloves he wore during his Soviet days. "Yes," he answered cautiously, "I remember. Why are you showing them to me?"

China gave him a sphinx's smile. "Have you never wondered why I wanted them?"

"I thought it's because you don't like throwing away things that can still be useful."

"That's true and your gloves have proven to be very useful, indeed." China laughed, his eyes beckoning Russia to join in on his joke "Why don't I show you?"

Confused, Russia shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words quickly died on his lips. In surprised silence, Russia watched the gloves that were once snug and warm on his hands slip slowly, inch by excruciating inch, onto China's dainty, small fingers. Time, it seemed, had been unkind, and with age the gloves had shrunk. The leather stretched tight, straining itself to wrap around China's hand like a second skin. It clung to him, outlining every fold and bones of his knuckles, every shadow of his nails. It was ludicrous, silly, but Russia's pulse quickened; he was unable to tear his eyes away. The sight of China's delicate hand sliding effortlessly into tight leather...He found a strange appeal and eroticism to it.

Pleased to find the Russian attentively watching him, devouring his every move, China allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. He lazily raised a gloved hand and- taking care to accentuate the movement- slid it across his cheek and down his throat. Little by little, one by one, he unfastened the buttons of his shirt. Cool air brushed against his heated flesh, but more than anything else, he trembled from the feel of smooth leather against his skin. "Ivan," he sighed, his voice sweet and dripping like golden honey, "do you remember the first time you touched me with these gloves?"

Words failing him, his mouth suddenly dry, Russia swallowed and said nothing. At his stunned silence, China laughed low and husky. "It'll be such a shame if you don't," the Chinese cooed, dragging a hand across his bare chest. "I remember it still. Every touch, every caress..." Smiling indulgently, he raised his glazed eyes and flushed face to meet Russia's on the screen. "And I hated all of it."

TBC...

A/n: This is a rewrite of "Lover's Touch" that was written 3 years ago. For a PWP smut fic, it sure has a lot of background noises. Originally supposed to be read as a long oneshot, but I realized this fic would be well beyond 6000+ so I split it up for easy consumption. Next chapter is completely smut...promise...

For just pure on smut and a tad more humor please read the original. The original is found under "Drabbles and Oneshots" chapter 25.