This is a commission from Evil-Weevil on DA. Visit my DA for more information on my commissions. I have wanted to do LietRuss for a long time now! I'm glad I finally got the encouragement that I needed to finally do this! xD
Power was such a strange thing. It wasn't something that you lost, but it was something that could be taken away. Someone out there would always be stronger than you were, no matter how much you scraped and fought your way to the top. Sweat and blood were a small testament to the trials you'd been through to get where you were now, scars from years past and a memory of hunger and the cold. The weight of a sword in your hands, or the thunk as it slammed into your armor. It would cut you sooner or later, slice into your skin to prove that you were just as red inside as the humans you fought beside. What was it that they said; those who lived by the sword would die by it. Well, nations couldn't die so easily.
Time and time again 'death' would come on the battlefield. Utter defeat, wounds that no human would live through. But live the nations did, and though healing could be a slow and painful process depending on how fast your people recovered from the loss. A healthy economy and strong political standing always made recovery faster. For those who didn't have those things, scars would appear. Even a healthy nation could receive a scar if the wound was severe enough, but the repetition of defeat was a surefire way to receive a number of them.
Toris had his fair share of scars. He couldn't even begin to count the number of battles that he'd been in personally. His Duchy had grown in land and in power so swiftly that money had become the key issue. The Horde was in the East, and the Teutonics in the West. His empire was twice, three times the size of the kingdom he had come to ally himself with. It had been a close call, that one. Jogaila… That is, Jagiello's mother had wished for him to marry the Russian princess, make an alliance with the small Duchy of Moscow. Toris could remember the little nation who had come to see him. Small, filthy, his face and hands burned from the freezing wind and snow. He'd smiled so wide and promised that they would be friends when he was big, because they couldn't be so now. Perhaps he had known that the union wasn't to be.
Sure enough, his boss had chosen the Polish princess. The union with Poland was completed, and Toris had gotten his first taste of defeat. Oh it wasn't in a direct way, but in an underhanded and silent way that crept up on him. He found Polish words slipping into his daily speech without even realizing it; and it happened more and more. He'd come to need Feliks' people, their aid, their money. And once they'd gotten themselves in deep enough there was no going back. He'd tried again to battle for Muscovy. The exiled previous master of the Horde had come to his boss Vytautas—his true boss, and begged for help. They'd taken on the Horde head to head and fallen right into a trap. The defeat was utter and complete. Toris still had a scar from that day, even healthy as he was.
Thankfully Vytautas had survived, as they would need him and his experience later. But because of that failure, he failed to become separated from Poland's aid. When the Teutonic Knights had attacked, Poland had been a steadfast ally. Vytautas had used the very same tactic used to defeat him at the fated battle of Vorskla in order to defeat the Knights. Baited retreat, and attack from behind. It was an age of heroes, and the Duchy's power had grown again—though it was now shared. The Commonwealth came later, his official union with Poland—with Feliks. And under the Golden Freedoms, they ruled over their empire. At its height it was unequalled, a population rumored at 11 million people of vast ethnic heritage. But every empire must eventually reach its end.
The partitions hadn't been ignored, they just couldn't be stopped. It didn't come silently, but slowly and inevitably. Toris had sat and watched it slowly decline, a creeping panic starting from the base of his spine and ending not with a bang… but with a high and desperate whimper.
Toris had never been a terribly prideful man, but it stung to be taken into the house of the very same Muscovy that he had once considered nothing but a future acquisition. It wasn't that he was bitter, but… well, he was bitter. And it wasn't as if he hadn't known defeat, but he had always climbed back to the top. He'd fought tooth and nail to end up back on his own two feet. But he was alone for the first time in so very many years, and in his dismay, he found that he needed someone. His house was left in such disarray that he didn't even know where to begin.
Ivan's boss knew where, and she did so as effortlessly as she had torn apart the Commonwealth. All the while Ivan had smiled, taking full advantage of every opportunity to remind Toris that 'Russia is the strongest!' Toris could only grin and bear it for so long. It was a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, a thorn in the side of his age old pride. They'd moved past the plated and shining armor of old. Men now wore flimsy cloth and carried guns, and killing was done mostly from afar. Toris had lost his place in this budding world. Once he was a leading power, with new and marvel ideas. The constitution he'd made with Feliks had been a first for their age, a degree of freedom not yet really thought about. And now? Toris had taken ten steps back, been reduced to that of a serf where once he had been a king.
Ivan made his intentions known early on. Close proximity when speaking, casual brushes with the back of his hand, breath on Toris' neck or ear as he came up behind the Lithuanian to start speaking to him. They'd cause the same kind of shiver up along Toris' spine as the slow decline of power had. It didn't help that Ivan had grown. He watched it from afar of course, but up close the differences were even more apparent. Little Muscovy, a chubby little wraith of a boy, he'd become a powerful young man. Those slightly round cheeks were still there, but those eyes had changed. He stood a full head taller than Toris now too, something he used to his advantage whenever he wanted to press something on Toris. Some little task or chore that Ivan could have done himself, but instead was writing it off on Toris to handle.
Toris couldn't stand it. The very thought of it made him ill. His pulse would start to race, his palms would sweat, and his whole body would become tense. One word stood between them now, and that word was power. Every time they crossed paths there was a battle of wills, all done behind polite words and smiles. Ivan had gotten frighteningly good at smiling. He would smile when he was happy, and when he was sad. It always reminded Toris of that day long ago when they'd met on the bridge. Ivan's smile when he said they would be friends, that little prophecy had come true. How could he have known? That smile was added to the growing list of things that Ivan did which grated on Toris' last nerve.
Oh but there would be the flush of those soft cheeks too. And he knew they were soft because Ivan loved to bend down from behind him and place his hands onto Toris' shoulders, to keep him from pulling away too fast. He would press his cheek into Toris' neck, or into his cheek, and speak softly to him. Little things, even if it was asking what would be for dinner. That was another thing that he had placed onto Toris' shoulders, cooking. Toris was fond of cooking so he didn't particularly mind, he just didn't like that it was an order and not a request. He never would have demanded that someone prepare his food for him when he'd been in power.
Whenever Ivan bent down, Toris felt two-feet tall. Whenever he gave an order, Toris felt like a servant. Whenever he was touched by those long, calloused fingers, Toris felt as if something was expected of him. Ivan's breath anywhere near his skin felt intimate and demanding, a silent order, one that he dreaded most of all. He'd never meant for it to be this way, never imagined that it could have been. Ivan was supposed to be in his house! He was supposed to stay small and cute, and desperate. Toris missed most of all, how powerful he had felt when fighting to obtain the stubborn Russian. It had never been a matter of how, it had only been a matter of when he would bring Ivan into his house.
All of those illusions were gone now, and it was each and every thing that Ivan did which reminded Toris of that fact. That was why Toris was irritated, it wasn't really Ivan. And even though he came to realize that little fact, it was ever so hard to separate the two of them.
This inner struggle had not taken place over a night, or even over a day, a week, or a year. Several years of silent conflict had gone by, neither nation willing to progress any further than they already had. Ivan continued to behave in his irritating, downright infuriating manner, and Toris continued to silently seethe at it. Their smiles were growing tense however, and it had finally become brittle between them. They were walking on thin ice now, and just like his initial decline of power, Toris' resolve was weakening. That chill was back, and it strengthened each time that Ivan came close.
Just what was happening? Was he really giving in? Was he accepting his new fate as a captive nation, and submitting to Ivan as his master? No, no it couldn't be that. Toris had no master. He was equal as a nation; he was only under Ivan in name. That was how it had been in his house, and so that was how it should be with Ivan. Toris had never thought himself above another nation, he only expected obedience. But how did Ivan feel about that?
The line was blurring, black and white shifting into gray. And Ivan was losing his patience as well it seemed.
The touches had become longer, stronger. Ivan no longer let go as soon as Toris pulled forward or back. He had stopped standing up when Toris turned his head away from those nuzzles or presses into his face or neck. The last straw came suddenly one night when they were alone. Toris had been kept up late to finish work that Ivan had given him—Toris was quite sure he was being punished for some unknown offense. Why else would Ivan give him so much extra work? Dinner, cleaning up after dinner, finishing paperwork, and then the last order for the night: to bring Ivan fresh tea in his room before he could retire. Toris had done all of this with a silent protest. If he gave in and snapped, it would mean defeat. It was the same old battle on a different day. It had been so for years, and he'd seen no end in sight. He would never give in so long as Ivan maintained this air of… of superiority towards Toris!
"Your tea." Toris' voice was smooth and without inflection as he set the tea on Ivan's dresser. He even poured a cup for him, added three spoonfuls of sugar, and turned around with a smile. Toris had taken off his shoes by now, dressed in only his pants and shirt. There were only three lit candles in the room. One for each bedside table, and the one that Toris had carried in on the tea tray. It was enough to light the area of the room they were standing in nearly completely. That meant that Toris could see Ivan's approach from several long strides away from him. It was the expression which struck him first. Narrow and determined violet eyes, slightly shadowed by those longish bangs. The Russian wore his long nightshirt and pants, already having prepared for bed it seemed. It wasn't until Ivan had come within that last stride of him that Toris had dropped the cup and saucer in time to raise his hands up in defense. The tea fell to splash against his right ankle, burning his skin as it soaked into the clothing. But even more pressing was that large body coming up against his own.
The dresser jerked noisily as Toris' hips backed into it, the teapot clattering and jar of sugar toppling over. Ivan had taken those narrow wrists into his hands, pulling them off to the side as his chest came flush against Toris', the Russian having bent down a little again. Green eyes widened as soft, smooth lips pressed against his own, his back arching in protest. One hand was free with a twist of his wrist—Ivan had not been holding it tightly at all. It was with his palm that he struck Ivan's cheek, and not his fist. There was a smack of skin against skin, and Ivan's face turned to the side. "Just what are you—!" Toris' voice was angry, offended. Ivan glanced back upon hearing it, his expression one that Toris hadn't seen in a very long time. Desperate. It stunned him long enough for Ivan to regain his confidence, and he moved in again. This time Ivan's lips met lower, pressing against Toris' neck as his strong hands moved to the Lithuanian's hips. Toris sucked in a swift breath through parted lips when Ivan's hips pressed into his own now.
Toris felt the heat spread across his cheeks, all the way to his ears, feeling them burn. So it had come to this, had it? Ivan must have gotten tired of waiting. Toris wasn't stupid, he'd known what Ivan had been aiming for ever since the touches had begun. But he'd refused then, and he would refuse now! "Stop this—stop it, I won't agree to this!" Toris let his voice raise, something he was very good at not doing. Even when he was angry, when he was offended, he could maintain a calm voice. His hands gripped at Ivan's shoulders, pushing hard. To his shock he found that he couldn't push the taller nation off of him. Breath hitching in panic, that chill came back with all the force of an avalanche. "I said get. OFF!" With every last bit of strength left inside of him, Toris tried again.
This time Ivan was pushed back, but Toris didn't release those shoulders. He gripped the clothing there, using it as leverage to move that larger body with him as he turned, shoving Ivan up against the wall next to the dresser. Ivan's back hit the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of him, and the picture frame above the dresser shook. "You disgust me!" Toris hissed, glaring up at the taller nation without hesitance. He didn't even stop to think about the fact that he'd just moved this previously immobile man. Ivan's eyes were shadowed by his bangs again, and he was panting lightly. His hands hung at his sides, and he wasn't resisting anymore. "You think that just because I'm in your house, that I'm your property? That my duty is anything other than doing the bidding you already dictate to me?" When no immediate response came, Toris made to let go of Ivan's shirt.
He found his wrists grasped again, tighter this time, keeping his hands right where they were. Suddenly reminded of Ivan's strength, Toris frowned as those eyes moved to look into his own. He could see it now; in the light of the candle on the tea tray which had escaped being knocked over because of the wide base that it resided on. Ivan's pale cheeks were flushed pink, just as much as Toris' own. His pale pink lips were moist, parted and swollen from his kisses. One cheek was a bit pinker than the other, the product of Toris' smack, but that overall expression was unmistakable. "No," Ivan's voice was not light at all, not high and sweet as he had come to make it. It was breathy and a touch lower, fitting for his larger stature. His smile was absent as well, and Toris was at a loss as his frowned deepened in confusion. "Finish what you started this time." Ivan demanded, hands releasing those wrists to move for Toris' hips again.
"What do you…" Toris didn't resist this time, all of his indigence lost in the face of this unfamiliar development in their battle. Those hands grasped his waist, pulling him in to waiting hips. He could feel the heat radiating underneath those clothes, warming his chill all at once. Lips pressed against his own again, and this time Toris didn't pull back. It was forceful and a little messy, inexperienced. So were the hands which gripped a little too tightly, and the hips which pressed blindly into his own. Toris' eyes slipped half-closed, and he pressed back into the kiss. He was being baited, he knew it! He couldn't relax just yet. Any moment now, Ivan could attack. But that kiss broke, and their lips lingered close as violet eyes opened just inches from his own.
"Don't run again, don't give up." Ivan swallowed thickly, "Give me everything you promised and never delivered. I promised… I promised you I would be your friend! Why… why won't you be my friend?" Ivan pleaded with him. Toris pulled in a swift breath, shaking his head.
"This isn't just friends…"
"Does it really matter whose house we're in together?" Ivan asked suddenly, and Toris felt his body tense. "I've done everything that I could think of! I tried to make it the same, but you kept running away! You never stood and faced me!" Ivan's voice was almost bitter, hurt. His expression matched, brows drawn in accusation.
"You…were challenging me?" Toris asked in irritation. Ivan had been trying to provoke him all this time? "What kind of passive aggressive—!"
"Passive aggressive?" Ivan repeated in irritation. "What about you? You smiled at me, you spoke kindly to me, you did everything that I asked! And more… You covered me when I fell asleep on the couch, helped me when I was working late, spoke to me without cowering like your brothers… Yet every time I got close, you pulled away! If you hate me, why won't you come out and say it! You knew I was going to get strong, I told you so!" With such a strong confession, how could Toris say he had never believed it? Never even imagined that such a small and battered nation could become the empire that Ivan was today? Toris' jaw was tensed, but he shook his head swiftly.
"I don't hate you Ivan." He said with all sincerity. Of course he didn't! Toris knew the way things worked, he knew that Ivan had simply come out on top of the power play. It was Ivan's apparent belittling of him that he had hated, never the man himself. Ivan smiled, but his expression was still at a bit of a loss.
"Then why don't you want me anymore? Am I so unattractive now? You liked me younger?" Toris' face flushed at the insinuation, becoming offended again.
"I thought that once I had you, you would behave as you had before. All those times you came to me, asked me to be with you. You wanted me to marry you once, you seduced me…" Ivan's eyes had fallen half-shut again, and Toris felt his ears burning again.
"I-I never…" Toris couldn't even finish his denial, his own expression guilty. He'd tried, for over a hundred years, to get Ivan into his house. Fought hard, used softer tactics, taunted and even teased the Russian. But underneath that, there had been real attraction. True affection, and honest desire. Toris was nothing if not an honest man. And he hated to admit it, but Ivan was right. Why should it matter what house they resided in? Toris' pride was damaged, but it wasn't faded completely. He had been great, he had been powerful. "Why didn't you give into me?" Toris demanded suddenly. Ivan smiled now.
"I told you… I would become strong. I didn't want to be a liar. I couldn't give myself to someone who only wanted me for his collection, I wanted something more…" Ivan licked his own lips, giving his hips a small grind into Toris'. Toris' lips parted again, the smallest of shuddered traveling up his spine—and it wasn't cold at all. "I only got half of what I wanted…" Though it smarted to know that Ivan had thought Toris' only goal was to obtain him for his household, he couldn't fully deny it either. Half of his attraction to Ivan had been the fact that he was a challenge; that he couldn't obtain him otherwise. To have Ivan physically, if not for his empire, would have been enough to soothe Toris' lack of power to have both. And Ivan; was he not saying the same? He'd managed to get Toris into his household, but he wanted him physically as well. In this way, Ivan's desire was pure.
Toris' knee slid between those larger thighs, causing Ivan's breath to catch in his throat. Hips pressed and both nations' lips parted for a shuddering breath. Toris had to nearly stand on his toes, resting all of his weight onto the Russian in front of him, to reach those lips. He hovered above them, breath slow and deep, almost a hesitation. "Is this…" Toris' hands found those wider hips, holding them firmly. Lips brushed, and he felt Ivan's body shudder against his own. "…What you want?" Ivan swallowed, and he started to nod, and stopped when he realized he was too close for such an action.
"Da. Yes, this is what I want!" Ivan's voice nearly shuddered along with his breath. Ivan was the one who seemed to swoon, and yet Toris was the one left feeling light headed. It was as if the humiliation that he had felt these past years was all wiped away for this moment. Ivan was in his hands, in his arms, and giving in. Toris had not won Muscovy, Russia, the nation. But it seemed he had won the battle for Ivan as a man. It was almost a bittersweet victory, but it was a victory none the less.
"Then let's go to bed." Toris murmured against those lips, feeling new blood coursing through his veins. Ivan pushed forward even as Toris pulled back, slipping his hand over Toris' to guide him as if he couldn't see the way. When they reached the end of the bed, he turned towards the Lithuanian expectantly. Toris felt a flush of something close to fluster when he realized he was to undress first it seemed. But at this point he refused to back down. Hands moving to the hem of his shirt, Toris lifted it up off over his head with one swift move. It fluttered to the floor, forgotten. Before he lost all of his resolve, His pants went next. They fell to his ankles, and it was only as he stepped out of them that Toris felt a tinge of worry. What if Ivan found him unattractive? The Russian seemed to crave the Grand Duchy. Would he be disappointed to find that Toris had ceased to grow, unlike Ivan had? With the force of willpower, Toris looked back up to meet Ivan's face.
Ivan's lips were still parted, though his breath was slow and even. His eyes swept over Toris' body slowly, his expression unreadable. Slowly, Ivan reached out with his right hand. He traced a scar on Toris' shoulder, nearly getting a wince in return. Vorskla. Fingers slid over to one on his collarbone. Grunwald. There were many more scars both large and small littering Toris' skin here and there, and Ivan couldn't possibly touch them all. Those calloused fingertips never left Toris' lightly colored skin as they found their way up to Toris' cheek, and Ivan was smiling. "You haven't changed at all." Ivan didn't sound let down at all. On the contrary, he was pleased. He took a step forward and bent to kiss the Lithuanian, but Toris' hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"You too." Toris reminded, and Ivan's expression fell slightly.
"Do I need to?"
"Of course… I want to see you, too."Toris confirmed. Ivan stepped back again, glancing to the side. Reaching down, he curled his fingers into his nightshirt. It took a moment to slide it off over his head because of its length, nearly down to the tall Russian's knees, but it was joining Toris' shirt on the floor soon enough. He set his hands on his pants, swallowing hard as he slid them down over his hips. Toris let his eyes roam Ivan's newly revealed and changed body. His skin was as pale as it always had been, broken only here and there with his own scars. Only that Ivan seemed to have more of them. They were so light that they almost faded into his skin completely in the candle light, but Toris could single them out. Ones from swords, small burns, his eyes only rose up again when Ivan's scarf unwound for the last item of clothing. He was surprised to see the scar there as well. Faint and uneven, the one around his neck still remained. Three hundred years later, and he still carried the weight of his 'yoke' from the Horde. Not literally, as it looked more like long periods of time struggling against a rope at his neck. "You haven't changed very much either…" Ivan's expression almost fell.
"I'm much bigger." He protested, and Toris smiled.
"Of course." Toris said, in every way, he thought. Except… Closing the short distance between them, Toris came to rest his lips against Ivan's chest over his heart. Except this has not changed… Ivan gave a soft sound, his hands moving to Toris' shoulders. This time when he bent to kiss the Lithuanian, Toris met him halfway. Lips pressed and parted, tongues joining between them. They both groaned into that kiss as bodies pressed close. No clothing lay between them now, and skin was warm, already a little dampened with sweat. Hands rushed to touch each other now, sliding across the very scars they'd been admiring on each other. Every touch was like a thrill of energy, leaving behind a pleasurable tingle on sensitive skin. It had been a while, that went for both of them. As with any new lover, they had much to learn about each other's bodies. But for now, this moment was too long overdue to dawdle. Breaking the kiss to gasp for breath, it was Ivan who spoke the words on the tip of Toris' tongue.
"I can't wait." Ivan murmured against the Lithuanian's lips. "T-there's oil in the drawer beside my bed…" He added with a slight smile. He wasn't going to admit that it had been there for quite some time. Toris only gave a nod, giving his own smile as he broke away with some reluctance. The air was suddenly chilly on his heated flesh, and he shuddered as he moved over to the named drawer, opening it to spot the bottle there. Snatching it up into his hand, he turned towards the bed again. Ivan was already laid out on his back, knees bent, heels pressing into the sheets and resting back on his elbows. Ah yes, Toris had forgotten he knew well enough what to do. But this time, Ivan had full choice in what he was doing. And this time, it would be something he had been looking forward to honestly. And Toris wanted it just as much.
Toris was trying his best not to overanalyze, as he climbed onto the bed. Even more when he moved up between those pale, powerful thighs. Ivan's body was much different, but that expression was the same. He could remember it so well, the shy expression that Ivan would have each time that Toris pressed him to be close. To join Toris in his house, to marry him, and how did Ivan put it? To become one. Power hadn't lost its place even here, but it had shifted. Ivan was giving, and Toris was taking. It didn't matter whose house they were living in, this would have been the same. Toris was holding the oil, but he couldn't just go right in! His own body was quite ready by now, and so was Ivan's. The Russian's quite—impressive erection was lying heavily on his stomach, and it seemed to be blushing just as much as Ivan's face right now. Toris rest his hands on either side of Ivan's hips, leaning down to kiss him again. At last he could lean down on the tall Russian!
Ivan met the kiss eagerly, quite encouraged that Toris had not jumped right to sex. His lips parted in a sharp gasp when he felt the Lithuanian's fingers on his arousal however. "Ohh…" He groaned against Toris' lips now, his breath shuddering as he was stroked slowly. Fingers curled into the sheets along with his toes, a smile on his slack lips. "Enough," He groaned after a few moments of this, "Please, continue." He spoke as if there was a set process to this. Toris would have liked to prove him wrong, but he supposed that could wait for another time. His own eager erection was already a bit wet at the tip, and he couldn't hold back much longer anyway. That hand left Ivan's member to reach for the oil he'd set aside on the bed, pulling off the cap with his other. He spread the oil onto his fingers swiftly, holding the bottle in his free hand as he lowered his own between Ivan's thighs.
"Haa…" Ivan gave a quiet sound of appreciation as the first slender digit slid inside of him. Still resting on his elbows, he didn't have to break his lock on Toris' gaze just yet. Toris moved his finger slowly back and forth, enthralled by the tiny shudder that traveled through Ivan's body, the Russian's lips still parted slightly for breath. The second finger joined the first slowly, and Ivan didn't complain in the least at the bit of resistance that his body gave. He showed little signs at all until Toris leaned down again, though he didn't go for Ivan's lips. He went for Ivan's neck, kissing it gently as he spread those fingers apart. "Aha…" The Russian's voice seemed to have gotten high and sweet again, but then maybe this time it wasn't just a mask. He tilted his head to the side even as he tensed a little—Toris could feel that all too clearly.
"Shh…" Toris murmured against that dampened skin. His tongue traced the faint lines of the scar he could feel there, and Ivan shuddered again, much more noticeably than before. "We all bear our own scars, Ivan… And we should be ashamed of none of them." Toris told Ivan with a confident tone. Ivan seemed to give a little hum as Toris' fingers moved inside of him, and the Lithuanian pulled back enough to see the smile he wore now. At the third finger, Ivan gave another sound, as if he'd been counting each one with them. But this time Toris curled his fingers, pressing them as deeply as they would go. He pressed and searched for a moment, and he found it soon enough. Pressing the small hard spot that he felt there, Ivan's entire body gave a small jolt.
"Bozhe moy, Toris…!" Ivan's right hand rose from the sheets to grasp at Toris' shoulder, turning his face to bury it into the Lithuanian's neck. Toris gave a small groan of his own. For the first time, that action and the heavy breath on his neck felt so good. He couldn't help but press again, evicting another small cry from Ivan's throat which he felt vibrate against his own thanks to those lips on it. "Please, enough!" Ivan was pleading, and the grip on Toris' shoulder was quite pressing. If this was going to become a habit, he'd need to teach Ivan a bit about controlling his strength. Toris pulled his fingers back obediently enough. Somehow following that order didn't bother him at all.
"Lay back," Toris reminded, and Ivan seemed to reluctantly break away from his hiding place in Toris' neck. He laid out on the sheets then, head pressed into a pillow and one arm above his head to press on the headboard. On his lips was a smile again, and Toris found his own following, though both of their faces were flushed. Hair clung to their cheeks and foreheads, and Toris' neck with sweat already. Adding the oil to his own aching arousal at last, Toris finally set the bottle back on the bedside table. With one hand to guide him, Toris leaned down to rest his weight on his left hand on the sheets beside Ivan's body.
"Hnn…" Ivan's breath hitched as Toris began to slide into him, and Toris nearly echoed that sound. Ivan's thighs tensed around his hips suddenly, heels pressing into the back of his thighs as if to hurry him.
"I-Ivan…!" Toris scolded a little, though his breath was much too husky to be taken as an honest protest. He only felt more of him enveloped into that tight, hot heat as he simultaneously pushed and was pulled inside. "Ohh…" Only when he was finally inside could Toris pause to catch his breath, his slick right hand moving to Ivan's hip. Yet still Ivan's heels pressed on, and Toris gave a small cry as he was pressed just as close and deep as was possible, shuddering as his back arched into the Russian at the same time that Ivan's back arched in pleasure. Ivan's free hand came up to Toris' shoulder again, and his violet eyes were dark beneath his damp bangs.
"Hurry, I've waited long enough!" Ivan demanded breathlessly. "Give me everything, moyo Velikoe knjazhestvo Litovskoe!" There was quite a physical surge of emotion that swept through Toris' body upon hearing that title. Grand Duchy Lithuania. Well, Ivan had added my, but that little detail was more than acceptable right now. Toris didn't hesitate to pull his hips back now, thrusting back into that willing body all too readily. Ivan arched, lips curled into a pleased smile, and by the second thrust he was pulling Toris into him with his heels pressed firmly just under Toris' backside, as if he made sure to take Toris just as deep as possible with each one.
The obvious slaps of skin soon filled the room, candle light playing on their sweat slick skin as Toris did as he was asked, and he gave Ivan everything. Everything he ever wanted to, every ounce of strength left in him. Enough to give that larger, taller body a heavy jolt each time that their hips met, so that Ivan was forced to use that hand that he had pressed into the headboard as not to actually slide up on the sheets. And the fact that Ivan had moved his hand there before he had begun was only another thrill of power for Toris. He'd known that Toris could give him this, expected nothing less. Ivan had never thought that Toris was weak. Ivan's voice joined the sound of their bodies meeting, sharp gasps and smaller, higher sounds of bliss. His nails dug into Toris' shoulder now and then, and Toris was reminded to give back as he took.
Toris moved his still oil-slick hand from Ivan's hip to Ivan's neglected erection, wrapping his fingers around it for a second time. He wasn't surprised to find the drops of precome dripping from the tip, landing shamelessly on Ivan's stomach. He stroked Ivan with each powerful thrust, and Ivan's voice only grew a bit louder. Ivan was in no way ashamed of this; he gave himself to pleasure without reserve. Toris was trapped, he knew that he was. This battle could have only one outcome, as there was no way that Toris could walk away from this unscathed. It wouldn't be a scar that he carried away from this battle, but a much more hidden, more powerful mark. Ivan's body gave out first, and the Russian's back arched as his head pressed back into the pillow, thighs tensing on Toris' waist as he came. There was no better sight in this world, of that Toris was sure of in this very moment.
Toris was sure to follow not long behind, though Ivan had shown no signs that he minded those continued thrusts at all. Rather he welcomed them, continuing to pull the Lithuanian in with each one. And at long last Toris felt his climax wash over him from head to toe, giving a cry of his own without holding back. His thrusts grew shorter, lost their rhythm, and Ivan only bit his lip as he felt the smaller nation shudder in release.
It wasn't an hour later that Toris had fallen into a deep, satisfied sleep. Ivan watched him breathe slowly and evenly, lying out on his stomach with his face buried into the pillow, arms up under it. The sheet rested low on Toris' waist, leaving his back and shoulders for the Russian to admire. Toris wouldn't be able to understand it, but he loved the Lithuanian's body. Toris didn't need to change—he'd been so very powerful just as he was right now. Unlike Ivan, he didn't need to grow into his strength. Like this, Toris could remain just as he was in his golden age. He'd looked up to Toris for so long, admired him, desired him… While a part of him had never wanted to submit, the more desperate side of him had wanted only to do just that. He'd wanted to be loved so completely that nothing could make him feel alone again.
In the end he had held out, stayed true to his pride and his promise. He'd told Toris that he would be his friend when they were both strong, and he had made true on that promise. Ivan had been so dismayed when Toris spurned all of his advances before this. If only he'd known what Toris thought, he could have dismissed that idea earlier. Toris was now his, and everything that Toris was. The Duchy had lost control of its shared power with Poland, become vulnerable, not weak. Toris was a great many things, but he was not weak. No, those strong thrusts were every bit as good as he had dreamed they would be. It was worth it, waiting until Toris had come into his house. It made Ivan's victory all the sweeter.
So let Toris have this 'power' in the bedroom, because outside of it, Ivan would remain the strongest. Toris' strength would be kept a secret between them, and it would be all Ivan's, and no one else's. All he had to do to keep Toris was play this game with him, give up himself in order to be loved, right? Now that he had Toris, he never wanted to let him go. All he had to do was stay strong. If he made a mistake somewhere along the way, his clever little Lithuanian would surely escape. That was why he'd needed to give up something so important in order to keep him. The final trap! It was he who had captured Toris, and Ivan refused to accept anything else.
That same small part of him which had told him never to give in to Toris' charm still existed within him somewhere though, spilling its doubt on deaf ears for now. He wouldn't listen to it, not with Toris beside him in his bed. As long as Toris was close to him, all could be well.