Totem

Their arguments had grown more frequent and more heated these days. Much time had passed since the Cold War, and they'd both changed, more than they had thought possible. But some things had stayed the same.
This open hostility mixed with crackling tension was something that wouldn't pass in their lifetimes.
"Explain to me again why you thought threatening me and my people with a biochemical weapon was a good idea."
America said coldly. He slipped his glasses off and placed them on the table, not a good sign since it meant he was planning for or at least anticipating a physical fight.
Russia tried to convince himself that he was neither intimidated nor thrilled by the dark, vicious tone of his old enemy's voice or the feral expression on his face. He just couldn't stomach so much unsettling change at once. And unsettling change was something America had seen a lot of in the past decade.
The number of his people who turned to the old ways constantly growing, America had disappeared one day, allegedly to settle a long-standing grudge with his elder sister, and returned nearly unrecognizable.
The cougar was his totem, he had claimed, and anyone who couldn't swallow the fact that the world's youngest superpower now sported a tail could either kindly get the fuck out of his office, or end up as his lunch.
Russia doubted that the young nation had actually eaten any humans, whereas he wasn't so sure concerning wild animals. He himself considered the changes to be intriguing as well as unsettling, and he certainly knew better than to taunt America about them.
"I merely stated that I was in possession of a biochemical weapon and would not hesitate to use it in the event that I was threatened." Russia defended himself, trying to project a confidence he most certainly didn't feel.
"That is complete bullshit!" America slammed his hand down on the table at the last word, leaving a visible dent in the wood, a low growl escaping his throat.
"You're going to apologize for this statement." he said, his voice coming out as a dangerous hiss and his newly acquired tail swishing back and forth tensely. Russia took a half-step back as the younger nation stalked towards him, and he was able to see the bright blue of America's eyes fading to yellow as he advanced.
"Back off!" Russia said, more than a little nervous, punctuating his words with a swing at America's shoulder, on edge because he did not like people getting so close to him in such a threatening manner " especially not this dangerous but beautiful beast his adversary had become.
His hand was intercepted by America's firm grip, who let his inch-long and wickedly sharp claws puncture Russia's skin the slightest bit.
The young nation shifted his balance forward unexpectedly, sending them both crashing to the ground. Russia felt a sick thrill course through him as his back hit the floor and he found himself facing a set of white and dangerously pointed teeth.
"I am going to take my apology from you." America growled.
Russia tried to get enough leverage so he could plant an elbow in America's chest, or anything that would get those fangs away from his neck, but America just brushed his hands aside, an annoyed sound coming from low in his throat. He set his hands down on either side of Russia's head and pressed his face in the juncture of neck and body. Russia felt him take a series of short, gasping breaths, and then a long, deep one that seemed to fill his lungs to the brim.
The rush of his warm exhale against the sensitive skin of his neck made Russia close his eyes for a moment, hoping against hope that he would be able to fight his body's insistent impulses down.
It didn't work.
"I hate you," America's lips and fangs brushing against his neck as he spoke were doing terrible things to him, to his well-crafted composure,"but you smell nice."
For a fleeting hysterical moment, Russia wondered if he was really about to be eaten, and then a hot and rough tongue ran up his neck and to his earlobe, and he wasn't in a fit condition to wonder about anything anymore.
America leaned back until he was effectively straddling him, pinning him down and grinding their hips together at the same time. His face looked less human now, all sharp angles, pointed fangs and glowing eyes.
"I'm not sure why I'm even asking, but do you want me to keep going?"
He didn't want to beg, it wasn't something he liked to do, but at this moment Russia felt that he might need to. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was at a loss of words, and the breath he'd taken came back out as a sigh. Feeling definitely lightheaded and detached from his body, Russia lifted one hand, took hold of America's shirtfront and pulled, begging for more with everything but his voice.
A hand clasped around each of his wrist possessively, and America leaned down, pinning Russia's arms above his head, his manic and feral grin inches from Russia's lips.
"Thought so." he said, a deep burr of something in his voice, and pressed their mouths together.
America's lips were soft and his teeth were painful, and his tongue was both at once, smooth at one moment and scraping at the next. With a shock that sent a not unpleasant jolt through him, Russia realized that he did indeed taste of blood.
Biting into his lip viciously and then lapping up the blood that flowed, America smoothed his fingers up Russia's chest and then scraped them down, tattering his shirt and leaving thin, deep lines on his skin. He moved lower, dipping his head to lick at the runnels of blood, before he stopped in mid-motion and looked up at Russia, catching his gaze and holding it.
His eyes were yellow like sulfur now, and sent a clearer message of "I have you" than the touches did. Russia closed his eyes and tilted his head back, and with that gesture cemented his " momentary, he hoped " submission as he exposed a part of himself normally covered.
With torturous, careful precision, America cleaned up every single drop and runnel of blood from Russia's pale skin. His tongue was rough enough to hurt, and when it slid over a nipple, Russia's eyes snapped open and he let out a hoarse scream. America continued to lick at the sensitive skin, driving the other nearly mad with sensory overload, only stopping when he felt a trembling hand on his shoulder.
"If you don't stop messing around and fuck me this instant, I am calling a hunter out here."
Russia stammered, not caring for his words anymore, just conscious enough to threaten instead of begging.
With a smile that managed to be both feral and smug, America slid off of him with catlike grace, curled a claw-tipped hand around his shoulder and hip, and used a burst of his enormous strength to flip Russia over neatly, his heated face now pressed against the floor.
Brushing sweat-damp hair away from his neck, America mumbled against the flushed skin,
"Gladly."
Long fingers slid over his stomach and down to the edge of his pants, claws just barely brushing his skin. America's wicked, skillful hands made short work of the buttons, and then slid between fabric and skin, slowly slipping his pants down, with an ever-so-slight scrape of nails on his thighs.
Russia balled his fists, biting into his forearm to keep from screaming and silently willing America to move faster.
Having done away with most of Russia's clothes, America removed his underwear with a few well-placed slashes, making red lines well up on his hips and thighs.
Russia's knees ached from the hard floor, and his body ached from scratches and need. He
couldn't even see anything, his face being buried in his arms.
His ears picked up a sound he was unable to place at first, and that it had been that of ripping foil registered just before two slicked fingers slid deeply into him.
For a moment it did nothing but hurt, and Russia shifted his hips, a small sound falling from his lips. Something in his head protested against this submission to his enemy, a feeling of apprehension and shame that burned in his stomach.
That disgusting, thrilling feeling evaporated in a ringing sense of shock as his mind connected the deep slashes on his chest and sides with the fingers inside of him that were now scissoring and curving, making him squirm and gasp.
America whispered something close to his ear, anything human gone from his voice.
"They're retractable, just so you know." he said, driving his fingers in even deeper.
His other hand ran over Russia's back lightly, the fingers now warm and soft and not murderous at all.
America slipped his fingers out and positioned himself, every line of his body taut with anticipation. He dipped his neck at an unnatural angle to place a kiss on the small of Russia's back, running his tongue slowly up his spine until he arrived at the nape of his neck.
Russia had given up any pretense of shame, he'd given up anything but the maddening need that was making his head spin and making him stammer begging nonsense.
America's lips at the base of his neck were hot on his cold skin.
A few seconds of breathless anticipation seemed to stretch out into a lifetime, and Russia had just opened his mouth to voice an encouragement or a plea when America pushed all the way in and bit down hard on his skin at the same time.
For a reeling moment, Russia's vision actually went black.
It hurt, two sharp pangs of pain spreading through him, but it was a pain he almost didn't want to stop.
And then the feeling shifted and transmuted into a mind-numbing extasy and he braced his arms against the floor, rearing back into the hard and fast thrusts.
America picked up his pace, moving against and into him faster and faster until Russia was filled to capacity with a sense of pain/pleasure so strong it made a hoarse, pleading sound escape his throat, something feral and alien he hadn't known he could produce.
Head swimming and hands trying in vain to find purchase on the floor, he realized that he had never felt so terribly overpowered, never so under someone's control and never so fantastic. His neck still hurt, but it grew inconsequential next to the mounting pleasure.
America's erratic, overwhelming movements were only getting faster, and the grip of his teeth tightened on Russia's skin, who braced himself with one forearm and slipped the other under his body, pumping himself with hard, desperate strokes.
He was too far gone to think or care about anything now, and the heat on him and in him was only intensified by the counterpoint of pain from the scratches.
Something in them exploded simultaneously, America letting go of Russia's neck and letting out a feral scream as he filled Russia with hot release.
They both collapsed in a hot, slick tangle of limbs. America pulled out not too gently and shifted onto his side, wrapping his long limbs around Russia possessively.
Russia was too exhausted and too far gone to even consider feeling ashamed or awkward.
"I do not apologize." he said firmly, although his voice was raw from screaming.
A sound rumbled from America's throat, something that at first sounded like a growl and then resolved into a deep, contented purr that made his chest vibrate.
His tail wrapped snugly around one of Russia's legs, who felt the mouth pressed to his skin shape into a sharp-toothed smile.