another fabulous piece from my beloved procrastinacion over on vgen 💓 one of my favorite people to work with ever she understands the essence of danken so well….blessed….

dividers are from @diviniyae <3 thank you ianna for all that you do as always what would any of us do without you our posts would be less dazzling that’s for sure

ajax worked as a gun for hire, of sorts. he was employed by some mysterious woman dubbed ‘the tsaritsa’, who owned a parlour bar. now, the place was real nice, nobody could deny that. it was modelled after the cold city that the owner was from. some cold and far off place, where shards of ice hung from the corners of rooftops like angels of death and people froze in their beds. at first, the job had been relatively straightforward. keep an eye out for trouble out the front, and an ear for rowdy customers in the back. it was easy, not many customers were of the troublemaking kind, and the money was good.

maybe… a little too good for what it was.

ajax would roll his sleeves up, lean against the entrance, and subtly try to listen to bits and pieces of people’s conversations inside to pass the time — and that’s when he started to notice things. strange folk from far off would come in, sit right up at the bar and beg and plead under their breath for just one sip of it. that they’d made such a long journey just for that, and life had been just so cruel this year. sometimes they would play a card like the loss of a loved one, or gambling away all their money, or a spouse running off into the sunset with someone else. at this point, ajax had heard nearly every reason under the sun. and sandrone, the bar lady, would occasionally lose her temper.

“we haven’t got any of that left. try coming back next year.”

“but please! please, please. i’ll do anything.”

anything?

ajax frowned, shaking his head as he slipped a toothpick between his teeth.

he knew it couldn’t be just any old drink they served behind that bar, nor was it something they whipped out for just any customer who asked. what was even stranger was the customers who were lucky enough to get a glass of whatever it was. ajax would notice the way they came out of the bar, and he’d swear — swear on every bit of life he had in his bones — that they didn’t seem like they were part of this world anymore. they were more like ghosts than human. ajax would never forget the way his skin crawled the first time he saw it, and what unnerved him even more about it was how blissful the customers looked. as if nothing could ever possibly make them so unhappy again. he would watch as they gazed up at the sky with cloudy eyes and a windswept smile, before wandering off into the town.

and they were never seen again.

something definitely wasn’t right.

but he never did anything about it, nor did he try to sneak around and find out exactly what was going on. ajax minded his own business and worked outside that bar for precisely another two years before the tsaritsa approached him.

“you,” she noted, a thin cigarette between two pretty peach lips. “have you got a horse?”

ajax cleared his throat. “yes, ma’am.”

“good. i need you to do something for me.”

and that was the day he found out what was being served behind the bar.

wine.

it was kept in a barrel in the back, in a cool and dark room filled specifically with sacks of potatoes and dried garlic, rosemary and thyme hanging from the ceiling. apparently, that was how the vintner demanded it be stored, or else it would spoil.

the vintner — you.

you, who lived a five days ride away. in a small cottage that was surrounded by berry bushes, various fruit trees, and a vineyard that stretched on for about an acre behind it. which wouldn’t be so odd, if not for the fact that you were in the middle of the deep desert where nothing good could possibly grow. the locals called you a witch, said you howled and screeched at the moon so loudly every night that they could hear you from the next town over. now, ajax wasn’t one to believe in the supernatural, and he still wasn’t.

mostly.

but… he couldn’t ignore what happened to the customers who drank your wine.

the tsaritsa had told him all this. and still, he only rolled back his shoulders and flashed her a brave grin. “i’ll do it.”

the first time he made the journey, ajax kept his wits about him. kept his gun real close by him at all times, didn’t even drink a drop of whiskey at night when he was resting by the little campfire at the end of each day. and when he finally caught sight of your cottage, he made sure that his trusty knife was tucked away into his back pocket for good measure before stepping inside.

and you?

you were nothing like how he’d thought you’d be.

you were beautiful — the most gorgeous creature he’d ever had the pleasure of looking at in his whole life. you were whimsical, words left your lips with all the soft airiness of fresh cotton, and you had a smile brighter than the sun and all the stars in the world. you welcomed him inside, offered him bread you’d just baked that morning, as well as a beautiful cup of deep, dark black coffee that ajax nearly moaned at the taste of.

and yet, and yet.

something wasn’t right.

just like those who drank your wine, you didn’t seem of this world either. but unlike the ghost-like patrons of your wine, you still seemed whole. he was still somewhat unnerved by you, but there was also something about you that strangely made him trust your intentions.

you never caused ajax any trouble at all.

not once.

so, he made the journey year after year without complaint, never stayed longer than an hour at your home before he strapped the barrel to the back of his horse and was on his way again. he wondered if anybody else ever came to visit you, although from the way the townsfolk shunned the mere mention of your name, he didn’t really think so. he wondered if you ever made anything else besides that one barrel of wine in the summer. he wondered what your favourite food was, if you ever did anything for your birthday. he wondered what sort of arrangement you have with the tsaritsa, and how it came to be.

one year, he wonders if you ever felt lonely.

ajax thinks about that one particular thing again, as he catches the familiar sight of your cottage on the horizon. this will be the fifth time he’s come to collect that barrel of summer wine from you. his horse snorts impatiently below him, stomping its front hooves. it’s still hot in the desert, ajax can see the sweat shining on his horse’s neck, and he knows it was due a break quite soon. he clicks his tongue twice, urging it forward. when he gets there, he ties the reins around a post, pulls up a spare bucket lying sideways in the dust and fills it with water for the horse.

then, he finds himself standing in front of your door.

and knocks once, then twice.

there is no answer for a moment.

and then, there’s a little click and a creak, and your sweet face is peeping out at him from a thin crack in the door.

ajax pretends that his heart doesn’t skip a beat.

“oh!” you softly exclaim. “it’s you.”

who else would it be?

but he doesn’t say this, but instead slips back into that charming, somewhat aloof nature of his. “it’s me!”

“it’s very nice to see you again,” you say politely, fully opening the door and beckoning him inside. “how have you been?”

“same old same old, can’t complain.”

not that he ever told you what same old was in the first place.

you nod. “i see. not much has changed here either. although, it’s been a bit of a tough harvest.”

“oh?”

“don’t worry, the tsaritsa will have her barrel as promised. i had just enough to make do.”

you motion for him to sit on your kitchen chair, before moving over to the kitchen to gather cups and other cutlery from a cupboard. ajax takes a seat, taking off his hat and putting onto the table to rest. the wonderful aroma of coffee plays about his nose like a sweet dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

this routine was normal.

you would pour each of you a cup of coffee, sit with him at the table, and make small talk over buttered sour dough bread. maybe, there might be some tinned peaches on the side. you’d talk about the weather and your plants, and ajax would talk about his job working at the bar, maybe work in a a funny story or two about an odd patron. there were never any sort of personal or deeper questions. after he’d finish3; up his bread and coffee, ajax would politely offer to wash up the dishes, to which you’d always refuse. then, he’d put his hat back on and say his goodbyes, and you’d see him on his way with a small smile on your face as he shouts over his shoulder, “see ya next year!”

and that was it.

ajax truly didn’t understand the fear associated with you.

but what he didn’t understand, was why the next few words popped out of his mouth.

“is it just you living out here?”

you still.

and his heart flutters beneath the confines of his ribcage.

“well… yes. why do you ask?”

ajax notices the little bit of sadness dripping into your words like the last few pathetic drops of water coming out of a tap.

he immediately regrets being the cause of it.

“because, well… should you really be out here all on your own?”

a little crease wrinkles your forehead, and you put down the piece of bread you had in your hand. “nobody bothers me. i think you know that already.”

you sigh, immediately following up with, “i know what they say about me. they think i’m some sort of witch.”

your dejection is obvious. still, it surprises ajax that you seem to care what people thought about you. he had assumed, perhaps naively, that you were at least somewhat happy doing your own thing and being in your own company. but what did he really know about you, truly? he saw you for one hour of one day out of the entire year.

who was he to think that he knew you?

ajax clears his throat. “sorry, i didn’t mean to cause offence.”

“it’s alright. it doesn’t bother me all that much anymore.”

your head drops, and you stare at the plate in resting front of you. it’s got sweet pink roses swirling around the rim of the plate, and you seem to be paying particular attention to the little crumbs dotted along the leaves. ajax leans forward in his chair, tilts his head sympathetically at you.

“c’mon now! besides, i don’t think witches can make such great coffee.”

but you only hum absentmindedly.

so, ajax tries something different.

he reaches over the table and covers your palm with his. you immediately look up, your eyes wide and lips parted with something that looks like shock. as if you’d never expect him to do such a thing, and really, ajax can’t believe he is either. the words struggle in his throat, because oh my god he’s touching you, and you’re real and all he can really focus on is the feeling of your skin on his palm.

and the fact that you’re rather cold.

a soft, white cloud flashes through his mind.

“i don’t think you’re a witch.”

he tries to say this with as much sincerity as he can muster. your eyes roam his face, like you’re waiting for a slight shift in his expression as he bursts out with a punchline of sorts. but it doesn’t come, and ajax doesn’t even crack a smile. he peers back at you with those storm kissed eyes of his and gives you an encouraging nod.

and keeps his hand firmly over yours.

“you don’t?” you ask so very quietly, and it breaks his heart a little.

ajax shakes his head. “never have.”

your lips part again.

“but—”

“people are frightened from all sorts of silly things,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand. “doesn’t mean they’re right about it.”

the corner of your mouth twitches. ajax thinks you might just smile, but you don’t. however, your face looks far lighter, softer, than it did just a moment ago. you both stay just as you are for a moment longer, his hand over yours and thumb brushing against your skin as if it was already intimately familiar with you.

“… thank you.”

you whisper the words so delicately, he is reminded of little rabbits brushing against fresh dandelions in the spring.

ajax clears his throat. “don’t mention it.”

at this, he lets go of your hand.

reluctantly.

silence settles between you, but it isn’t awkward in the slightest. in fact, ajax feels this is the least unnerved he has ever felt around you. he almost feels… glum at the prospect of leaving you alone like this. but he knows he must, because that is the way of the world. you, here in this place and making your summer wine. and ajax, doomed to never stay and leave you behind year after year.

you eventually stand.

“i should show you were the barrel is.”

he nods, swallowing thickly.

ajax follows you outside towards a shed tucked away behind your cottage. the pleasant scent of cedar and rosemary tickles his nose, along with the smell of some sort of salted, smoked meat stored away. inside, the barrel is waiting for you two, neatly wrapped with fresh rope and three sprigs of thyme stuck to the lid. without another word, ajax heaves it over his shoulder with a quiet grunt, and you both walk back to his horse.

ajax stills.

“oh!” you exclaim, a hand over your mouth.

the animal was laying on the sand, breathing heavily as sweat dripped down its neck and haunches. ajax immediately puts the barrel down, rushing over to inspect the horse, running its hands across it. he glances up at the sun, noting it suddenly seemed far hotter than it did before he arrived, and that there was a lack of cool shade where it had been standing.

he curses under his breath. “think it’s been under the sun too long, maybe a case of heat stroke.”

you coo sympathetically. “will it be alright?”

“yeah, yeah. just… uh, i’ll not be out of your hair for a while longer. he needs rest. some water and shade before i try head back out there again.”

“you can maybe bring him round the back? there’s a nice shaded spot there.”

“much appreciated. it’s just… it might be morning before he’s well enough to ride.”

“that’s alright.”

he runs a hand down his face. “ah, the tsaritsa won’t be pleased with a delay.”

“ajax,” you say his name firmly. “i’m sure the tsaritsa would much prefer it if the both of you came back home safe and sound, with her wine intact.”

ajax rolls back and forth on the balls of his feet.

logically, he knows he cannot possibly venture back into the desert with the horse as weak as it is. he’d not make it back to town in one piece, and he didn’t have enough supplies with him for the amount of time it would take for him to walk the distance. but he felt so overwhelmingly guilty at the prospect of taking up your space and time.

at spending the night in your home.

“i’ll make supper.”

you offer this like it’s the only hope left you have left that he’ll stay. he tries not to convince himself that he even heard a trace of desperation in your voice.

and so, ajax flashes you a handsome grin.

“well, how can i say no to that?”

-•-

ajax can’t sleep.

he’s tossed and turned every which way he possibly can, flipped and fluffed up his pillows about a dozen times. he could not sleep, and he genuinely couldn’t understand why. you had made the most delicious meal — salt and pepper cabbage, carrots with a sweet mint sauce, and the juiciest roast chicken he’d ever had. you had even made some cherry pie for desert. ajax had felt so wonderfully sleepy and content after finishing his food, he thought he’d have the best sleep of his life.

but no.

not that the spare room you’d let him sleep in was uncomfortable or anything, quite the opposite. the furniture was all made of wood, making the room smell rather cozy. the quilts were made from the softest cotton, patterned with wild roses and honey bees on it. there were lots of little charming paintings up on the wall of trees and flowers and birds. you’d even given him a pitcher of sweet peach water to have by his bedside, a candle and a book to read, before you’d shyly bid him good night.

perhaps… this was all far too intimate for ajax.

he groans lightly, sitting up and leaning his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

fuck this.

ajax swings his legs over the bed and gets up before he can think about it too much. he tiptoes towards the door to his room, being careful to not to step over the floorboards he knew were creaky. he peeps his head out into the corridor, eyes falling straight onto the carpet, before falling to the sliver of space underneath your door.

oh.

your door was slightly ajar.

and your candle was still on.

is she awake?

ajax shoves down the part of him that is rational, the part that tells him to just lay in bed quietly until the morning. but he ignores it, electing to chase after the thrill of… whatever this was. he creeps over as slowly and quietly as possible, leaning back against the wall and straining his ears to listen and figure out if you were asleep or not.

he listens and listens.

and listens.

this is pointless. go back to—

“oh!”

ajax’s eyes almost pop out of his skull.

“oh, oh… ajax.”

…fuck!

and you were moaning his name.

he dares to take a peek.

fuck… and there you are. you’re lying on your stomach, your ass bare and sticking up into the air. he’s getting a perfect eyeful of every part of you — particularly the way your pretty folds are glistening, and the way your slender fingers are furiously pumping in and out of your hole.

he feels the blood rush into to his cock.

ajax eyes your white panties lying on the floor, the way evidence of your desire still stains the little piece of fabric.

“hngh! a-ajax… i can’t. i can’t.”

oh, you poor thing.

he briefly wonders if you knew he was there. and then he’s wondering how many times you’ve been like this, in this position and moaning his name, unable to satisfy yourself. how many times, over these long years? how many times have you imagined him touching you, satisfying you?

ajax can’t help himself.

he quietly spits on his palm, slips it down his breeches and slowly rubs it along his shaft. with each pump of your fingers into your poor pussy, ajax flexes his wrist and touches himself in time with you. your hips buck involuntarily, your legs spasming, and still — you obviously cannot cross that sweet finish line you’re chasing.

but ajax can.

how could he not? you look so pretty like this — all breathless and needy, your beautiful skin glistening with sweat in the candlelight. the way you’re moaning his name over and over with so much desire it’s making his head spin. he doesn’t think anybody in the whole world had ever sounded quite as lovely as you do saying his name.

ajax rolls his thumb over his tip, gently squeezing his cock.

he blinks.

and swears he sees a vision of you with quivering white wings on your back.

he blinks again, and it is gone.

with every lewd squelch of your puffy pussy, ajax finds himself closer and closer to the edge. he alternates between short and long strokes, being careful not to be too loud — he absolutely did not want this show to be over so quickly. he wants to imagine himself sinking deep into you from behind, the way his hands would perfectly grip your hips and pull you back onto his cock if you shied away from him — but he can’t. he had to keep his eyes open and locked onto you, and the way your wetness was dribbling down your legs and onto the sheets, otherwise he’d cum far too soon.

but one sharp cry from your lips has him stumbling over into his own ecstasy.

ajax traps his bottom lip between his teeth so hard he draws a little blood, as his orgasm ripples through him, thick cum splurting out all over his hands and soiling his briefs.

he let’s out a shaky breath, his cock still pulsing in his hand.

“oh… oh, please. i need to—”

you have a hand clapped over your mouth, as if you were trying to muffle your pathetic cries and moans.

poor baby.

his cock twitches.

with a breathy sigh, ajax steps through the boundary of your door. you haven’t noticed him, and you don’t, until he slides his cum drenched hand over your ass, all the way up your back, draping himself over you and nosing at your cheek.

you gasp, “you— what are you d-doing?”

“shh now, pretty girl,” he purrs into your ear. “let me take care of you now, yeah?”

he slides his sticky fingers up and down your folds, grinning against your skin as you slide further up the bed, your legs giving out a little from just his touch. the tip of his index finger slips just a little inside, teasing your entrance with the tiniest pump of his fingers.

“ajax,” you beg breathlessly. “please.”

he hushes you again. “i already know what you need. i’ve been watching you this whole time.”

still, he obliges you just a bit, pushing one long finger deep inside you. you moan loudly, grinding yourself shamelessly onto his digit. ajax curls it ever so slightly, feeling that spongy wall inside you, rubbing incessantly against it. you cry out and become even wetter around his finger, your legs shaking as he adds another digit into your hole.

“well,” he hums thoughtfully, splaying his two fingers apart inside you. “i think you’re more than ready for me now, aren’t you?”

you look over at him from your shoulder, all teary eyed, your perfect lips parted as you pant.

“i’ve been ready for a long time, cowboy.”

the way you say it, with a smooth tone that didn’t even have a hint of desperation in it, makes ajax stop his movements. he almost swears again, that there is a halo of light swirling around your form. that it looks like pristine feathers are falling from the ceiling, that your eyes are glowing at him.

but he blinks again, and the moment is gone.

“please,” you beg, sweetly wriggling your hips as that whininess curls around your tongue. “please, ajax.”

he clicks his tongue.

fuck it.

in a flash, he’s taken off his clothes, and his warm hand are sliding over your hips, squeezing your soft flesh. you groan as he teases and slaps his cock against you, sliding his fat tip against your entrance. and then, with a firm smack against your ass, ajax stuffs himself inside you.

“oh, shit,” he curses, a hand splaying over your tummy, his full weight falling onto you. “shit, shit, shit, baby doll. you feel like heaven.”

you laugh into your pillow, before it fizzles into breathy moans and cries of ecstasy. the sound of his balls going plap! plap! plap! against your pussy fills the little room as ajax sets a rough and fast pace, bucking his hips into you with untamed fervour. why you were laughing, he doesn’t know. all ajax cares about in this moment is giving you the pleasure you’ve been so desperately chasing. he watches the way your ass recoils with every thrust, the way you finally, finally seem to be getting somewhere. ajax rolls his hips, grinding his cock deeper into you, notes the way you’re squeezing tighter and tighter around him.

“i can feel you’re close,” he huffs into your ear, his own orgasm threatening to hit him at any moment. “i want you to promise to be real messy for me now, okay sweetheart?”

you nod, your eyes squeezed shut with pleasure. ajax smirks at the way you’re too cock drunk to even respond properly. still, he cruelly slows his pace right the way down, reaches down to pinch and squeeze at your nipples.

“use your words. promise me you’ll make such a big mess on my cock.”

you let out a sweet little whine, trying to grind yourself on him beneath him. “i promise! promise, promise… please! don't stop now.”

he lightly slaps your cheek. “good girl.”

your mouth falls open in a silent scream as ajax all but drills into you with his cock, dragging his thick length in and out of you with a renewed vigour. within a minute, your orgasm rips through you like a bolt of lightning. you cry out his name again and again, your walls squeezing so deliciously around him that ajax spills his load right the way inside you. he feels you squirt messily, your legs spasming beneath his thick thighs as you moan into your patterned sheets.

for a moment, it is still.

you both lay just like that, with ajax still pressing his full weight onto you. he's panting just as hard as you now, sweat trickling down his temple as his face falls into your neck.

and then, he notes — he’s still very much hard.

ajax’s hand softly grips your throat, bringing your head close into the crook of his neck, his pace turning into something sweeter. his cock drags slowly in and out of you. you hum tiredly, still trapped in a fucked out, dreamy haze of his own making. what the hell… what the hell are you doing to him? how could he have cum twice already, and still — still — ajax wasn’t done with you.

don’t ask. don’t ask.

“what’s in your wine?”

idiot!

you cry out as the tip of his cock rubs against a sweet, still sensitive spot inside you. for a moment, you don’t answer. all ajax can hear is your pretty moans in his ear, feel his milky cum spilling out of you and squelching around his cock.

“strawberries.”

he grunts as you squeeze and flutter around him.

“cherries.”

you tip your head back, wet lips grazing his cheek.

“and an angel’s kiss in spring.”

ajax feels his blood run cold.

the last thing he remembers is seeing you smile, and a bright heavenly light flashes right through to the back of his eyeball, enveloping everything that he is.