#taru

You and Ajax have been roommates for the past half an year, in a small and cramped one room apartment since the rent in Snezhnaya has been skyrocketing since the change of government. You found him through an announcement in a newspaper one morning for a roommate. He was, apparently, just as desperate to share rent and save some money.

Ajax Tartaglia was, by no means, a conventional young man. He fled his home village of Morepsok at the age of 14 to pursue… god knew what exactly. He got to the city of Zapolyarny and so began his life as a broke student trying to make due with what he had. And it wasn’t going well for him, even now, after a decade or so of migrating from place to place. Well, until he found you. He would have never kept a roommate longer than 2 or 3 months give his eccentric and loud personality; he was bold, too bod even and people often found his personality to e too strong to handle.

Many times he would leave in the morning and come home hammered in he middle of the nigh, blabbering about something something “that club is full of idiots who don’t appreciate younger writers”. A writer he was indeed, but you never even heard of I, or read something of his. Ajax was very secretive bout his manuscripts and hid them so well in that one room, you’d never find them even if he left you in search of them for 5 weeks.

One evening, it was snowing harshly and the wind was so strong that you were convinced the old, rusty windowsills will give our entirely and be bent and taken away with the harsh weather. You tried your best to close them tight, but the upper angle of he windows was too old, too rusty, too high. With a jump and desperate attempt to clutch onto the little thing you broke it and the window slammed open with a terrible groan of the hinges, already too frozen they almost collapsed as well. Things were going to get dry interesting that night: Ajax was still out in the city at one of his club’s gatherings as he often told you. But in reality, you knew there was something fishy going on there. Who were you to complain Rent with him was small and you were close to your work place at the library down the main river of Zpolyarny.

You finally hear the front door opening and a very, clearly pissed, Ajax entered your shared apartment and shamed the door behind him like he was ready to kill someone right there and then. “To the Abyss with those idiots-!” He kicked off is boots and threw his mailman-style bag on the foot of your shared bed and scoffed at the cold air in the room. “And on top of that it’s freezing in here… Did you broke the window?”

“It’s so not my fault the window in this apartment are made out of fucking styrofoam-” You tried to argue and explain that it really wasn’t your fault that a building made in the 40s before the great wars of Nod Krai and everything was old as hell. You weren’t forgiven and he still playfully backhanded your mouth as he approached the window o try and repair it. You knew he din’t mean it when he did that; it was more like when an owner stomps his foot in front of his dog to make it quit chomping down on wooden furniture. Most times he didn’t even touch you, but the gesture was still there.

“Malayalam, bring me my screwdriver from the kit outside”

“Outside?”

“The fire escape. I put it there to stop crowding the hall.”

You did as told and fetched him he screwdriver only to see him nip the pale skin on one of his fingers on a rusty sharp nail, the crimson loo. Creating such a stark contrast. You gasped lightly, he didn’t care – carelessly licking the wound and continuing his work with a couple curses under his breath. You waned to tell him to stop, that it’s dangerous to, but he never listened to you anyways. It was useless, he was a very hotheaded man that didn’t listen to what he is told.

After some more minutes of invoking every known saint to Christianity, he finally managed to put the handle back in place and close the window. Mission accomplished, with great difficulty though; and a god couple of centimetres of snow blown in your room through the window that wanted to melt, but the cold air prolonged the existence of said snow.

“Go to sleep, you look like today was hell.”

Because it had been hell: today at work the snowstorm was so bad that frozen water, icy and cold together with piles of snow broke the upper stained glass mosaic windows covering the ceiling of the library, the colourful bits falling on the moquette like a rainstorm, snow tainting everything in its path. Thankfully all this happened during the night and so no one was hurt. Just imagining what could have happened with people here, all the screams of agony as sharpened, broken glass shards fall onto them, piercing their skins, cutting deep wounds into them and maybe… even hitting vital points.

As budgeting was cut short from the crisis going on this time of the year, you and another colleague of yours had to deal with the aftermath: carefully using some broken plastic broom to get rid to the shards, throwing them out in the street, mopping the water and molten snow to our best abilities, collecting still-falling snow in buckets scattered around and telling off students who wanted to take refuge or that one old man that sits inside for warmth because the library is a hazard. Not to mention all the damaged books…

“No, it was absolutely lovely today, Ajax… just lovely.”

Your tone was indication enough for him that he wasn’t the only one that had a shitty day today. “Khotite kurt? Ili vodka? Poydom vyp’yem,” not even answering to him, you were already in the small kitchen taking out two large, low glasses and some cheap ass vodka from the cupboard that tasted more like mistakes than not drinking it. It costed you 3 mora after all so you couldn’t really complain about the taste. Meanwhile, he red-hair was already rolling himself a cig from a ripped permanent paper and some bulky, second use tobacco e got from some dealer next block.

The pungent smell of alcohol hit your nose like a train when you poured it into the glasses with shaky hands. “How was your lecture today?” Wrong question, a horrible question really. As you placed a glass down on the groaning desk, bringing the other to your lips, he finished rolling his cigarette and lit it with a groan. “Not well. They think I lack passion, vision… what do they know about passion when all you eat a day is a dried out pretzel from the next-door pastry court, bought at 9pm to take it half discounted before closing…” he was right. Neither you nor him were able to have a decent meal in ages, the only food you two got was some small jars of eggplant or mushroom hotchpotch your parents sent by the train, dried pretzels and half cut loaves from the pastry shop. Maybe a couple tangerines a month from the handouts from church, but nothing more.

“Don’t remind me… why don’t you write about that, Ajax? Maybe they’ll think it’s passionate enough if you live through it and write it as it is. No filter.”

“That’s the problem: not having a filter. Especially since the head lecturer is this insufferable old man with romanticism in his brain.”

With a collective groan you both downed the Voldka in one go like a man in a desert that hasn’t seen water in 7 weeks. It burned your throat, your guts, sending a rush of fake warmth through your system for a slight moment before the coldness of he room hit you again. “Why-” “Because he’s an ass, milaya” He li the crooked cig, the. Foul smell already reaching your nose, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up uncomfortably.

Ajax took a drag from it then threw his head back slightly blowing the smoke through his nose like some heated dragon. Secretly, you hated those cigarettes specifically. They stunk. Even more than regular ones – somehow. Not even god knows wha the fuck is in that so-called tobacco his friend stocks him with. “You’re going to die if you keep smoking that crap.” He let out a mocking laugh, blabbering something about already beating dead, or dying being better. Yo couldn’t tell, he was talking too quietly.

Only after two more glasses of Vodka on your side and 9 more cigs on his, were either of you able to feel sleepy – not even fully be asleep, just feeling slightly sleepy. You went to bed, to get more comfortable, earning a slightly angry clear of a throat. “Sleeping in outside clothes? I know you are drunk, but at least change.” You groaned in annoyance and grew off your old-fashioned knitted sweater, took off your thick trousers and remained in the old, stained t shirt you wore underneath the sweater and some thermal tights. Winters were hard here so layering your clothing like this wasn’t so uncommon.

“Behave… I have to work on my next manuscript.” He turned his attention from you to his desk and the crumpled papers on it. Some might say he was old-schooled, some might say he was very chique from using paper and pens found randomly in the bus station (most probably dropped by some student or overworked office worker). You, however, knew it was out of both your poverties. Faith was cruel and people still though that if you were poor it ment you are just too stupid to make cheese.

You woke up somewhere in the middle of the night to a very thick air from the smoking and the sharp smell of a second o third black coffee cup downed in one go out of frustration. Ajax was out of idea, again. You saw him this frustrated before, but never this frustrated. He was hunched over the desk, his red hair a mess from running his hands through it, left leg bouncing from the overstimulation and extra caffeine in his body.

Now this, my dears, was how a writer looked like in reality. Not some romantic shit some young ladies have in their mind, not some strong intellectual man like some fanboys were at book launches – you knew,, because you were a librarian. The shit you saw there was borderline clinical. “Oh, Ibravmo, my dear take me-”Or one shit like that, to a married writer mind you. The poor man refused to see another fan ever again; and you didn’t blame him.

“You’re aware, milaya. Go to sleep before I make you regret waking up.”

“Yeah, right you would, pizdy.”

He shot you one of those glares he did when some asshole was cutting the line at the grocery shop or when some walking corpse was loudly scolding him in the tram for not offering his seat to his elders. “You so do not want to go there,Y/N. Believe me, girly.“ Maybe you really didn’t, but you were a terrible mix of hungover and tipsy – no, no terrible, down right dangerous for the both of you.

“Come on! You always hide your work from me.”

“No, I don’t. You read one of my books before.”

That made something in you freeze slightly. Read. His. Books? His? As in the man who is your roommate and is so secretive about it? Of course, you scoffed, not believing him for a single second. “Yeah right. I only read two books from Pierre that I borrowed from the library I work at-” He cut you off abruptly “And from Childe,” He smirked, prowling closer to you in two strides. “You can’t deny that, because I saw you hiding nochnyye zvonki under your pillow. Did you like it?”

He knew?! He- “You’re Childe?!” The surprise in your voice did nothing o help your current situation. Not only you were caught red handed reading an erotica by your roommate; but you were caught reading an erotica written by your roommate, by said roommate. Your checks flush desperately as you try to deny it, but it would be clear to anyone watching your flimsy attempts that you were, in fact, guilty. “It doesn’t make sense- you,” Getting up next to him, almost accusingly “you said you write horribly!”

He let out a low chuckle. “So you liked it, milaya. Good… very good.” He almost seemed proud for a second, but your first-hand embarrassment didn’t allow you to hear the rest of his sentence. “I just feel bad for the woman you wrote it about. I bet she’d kick your ass knowing what you wrote about her.” Another hit in the head of he nail, sending it the the other side f the wooden plank as you eared dry clearly “Then kick m’ass.”

That arrogant, smug grin on his face right now, you wanted to slap it off so damn badly. And you did, slapping him across the face – that devilishly handsome face – the sound when your hand made contact with his cheek still echoing in our ears. Ajax wasn’t angry at you, surprisingly and laughed it of with another mocking laugh “Deserved it… want a smoke and talk about it?” You nodded, still pissed at him for writing an entire book about having sex with you – which by the way ever happened.

The two of you were on the old fire escape turned balcony by your landlord, as the snowstorm from earlier calmed down into a soft snowy night. He was smoking again, you looked at him curiously. “I don’t understand why you like hose crappy things so much.” The red-haired man blew a cloud of smoke and warm air in your direction. “Wanna try, love? It’s a nasty habit, so if you get addicted t’s not my fault.” He took held out the cigarette between his index and middle finger for you to take it. What in god’s name made you take it and put it between our lips, you didn’t know.

“Drag, lightly-” He cooed, leaning into you more, trapping your body between him and the exterior wall of the building. You had no choice anymore and tried to suck in a breath of smoke. As soon as the thick, dusty smoke ran down your throat, you felt like choking and quickly coughed it out. Ajax chuckled at your inexperience and stole the cig back, dragging from it himself, the cherry forming such a bright red it made apples cry; then loomed over you kissing you suddenly, blowing the smoke into your mouth. A moment, then he pulled away, urning to look at the blocks next-door rather than at you. “You didn’t cough this time, milaya.”

He was so infuriatingly right. The smoke, lighter in colour now, blowing softly through your nose as you breathed was confirmation enough. Your hands trembled slightly from the cold, the rosy tint of your skin more accentuated before speaking, begging – “more”. Now more of what you didn’t say. More of his kisses or more of the smoke, perhaps both of them. Ajax, like clockwork, resumed his daring self, kissing you – sometimes even without the accompanying cigarette, you didn’t mind thought.

He was daring indeed… very daring – of much for both your sakes.

Snuffing out the bit left he cupped your face with his cold hands the roughened fingertips grazing you slightly as he kissed you properly, pulling you closer to himself. You couldn’t hold back than to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him eve closer, as if that was much possible. Ajax stumbled forward into you, a hand quickly moving to cup the back of your head o not hit yourself on the wall and get hurt. He pulled away slightly with a groan, “Easy there, moly. You behave like you aer starved for touches from a man.”

He scoffed and pat your hand a moment longer before pulling away much to your disappointment, and went back inside to get in bed. In bed just like that, like nothing happened, tonight. “Ajax-,” you angrily stormed inside and jumped in bed on top of him, trapping him there under you “you do not leave your roommate alone on the balcony like some second-hand rag!” He laughed, he genuinely laughed; and not at you but rather at the situation itself.

A couple months ago he might’ve been in your situation, frustrated. Horny. But now he was oddly collected like some monk managed to make him understand the meaning of life or some shit. “Osedlay menya tak yeshche raz, I ya ne obeshchayu, cho ne budu tebya trakhat.” His lice was raw, deeper than before, a ver clear intent still left in them, in the air. And there was also a very large problem at hand that was growing harder under you.

Ajax grabbed your hips and eased you down slightly to straddle him “Feel that, you title minx? That’s how you make me feel. All. The. Time…” He was getting impatient at you, letting out an almost silent moan when you bucked your hips against him accidentally, you argued. All know it wasn’t fucking accidental. “I’m sorry, I-” “Fuck, loose the pants, honey. I’ll show you ‘accidental’… accidental my ass.” His fingers wrap around the hem of your pants and tugs them down roughly, but couldn’t get them off completely.

You sat up slight and allowed him to take them off leaving you in your soaked panties and that oversized t shirt of yours. “Ajax, I want you so bad-” You could’ve not tell him and still he’d know you craved his touch. As if the ginger read your mind, his thumb grew lazy circles on your panties, right where your bundle of nerves was, earning a few torturously delicious whimpers from you. “That’s a cute little girl, milaya. Beg the right way and I might give you what you want.~”

He teased you even more, he pressure he gives increasing slightly to make you shiver in that absolutely beautiful way only his muse could do. The way you arched your back slightly, the way your hands grab onto the sheets and mewl when he touched you; Ajax wanted nothing more than to write you down to the last detail as he finally broke you for any other man. “P-Please stop teasing me, you idiot!”

“Mmm. Mne nravitsya ne toropit’sya s moimi devochkami.”

He finally held our hip with one had an dragged down his pants and boxers enough for you to take a glimpse of the size of him. He was big, he was thick and most likely wouldn’t fit. At least not without you walking funny in the next morning. You felt your breath hitch, it was getting harder to breath as her pulled you panties to the side and aligned himself to your hole.

“Whenever you want to, mil- oh fuck me!” He moaned out as you lowered yourself, allowing the thick head of his dick to go past the tight ring of muscles around your core. You cursed yourself for it because even if you were terribly wet at the moment, it was still raw to raw; letting out a sharp moan as he snapped his hips upward roughly making you take him to he hilt. You almost collapsed onto him, only his hands on your hips grounding you in place as he rolled his hips to your slowly. “Ride me, ride me, milaya- fuck!”

And you did, setting a slow and careful pace that did little to satisfy the man’s hunger of you. “Sil’neye kukolka-” his fingers dug harder into your precious hips leaving bruises as he brought you down harder, fucking up into you at an unforgiving pace. It made you dizzy, almost nauseous; the only thing you could to being moaning and pleading him to be gentler. “My little muse mine. I’d kill all men who look at you-”.

I thrust love thrust you thrust

He groaned pulling you closer to him and kissing you harshly on your lips his tongue swelling in to taste you more as you came undone over him. “That’s it, sweet muse. That’s it-!” Ajax fucked you through your orgasm before burying himself as deep as possible as his own peak burst into you, painting your vagina white.

Back onto that rexgi shit again.