Tenderly Wicked

by Katerina Ross

  Sore with guilt and disappointment at himself, Max crawled to bed too, and snuggled in close to Vadim, spoon-like.

  “If you need something, tell me, don’t tough it out,” he whispered.

  “M-hmm,” Vadim agreed.

  “And no more surprises like this, okay? I need to know more about you. It’s important for me.”

  He waited for Vadim to say something, but his sub just sighed and tilted his head back to nestle it in the curve of Max’s shoulder.

  Chapter Six

  Moving out, Moving on

  In the morning, Vadim felt much better, or so he said, but Max insisted he take a day off and stay with him. He wanted to be sure their activities didn’t have any lasting consequences. Vadim tried his best to persuade Max that it wasn’t necessary, but he wasn’t the one to decide. Fortunately, after having settled a successful deal yesterday, he could afford some rest. Well, relatively speaking. He still had to discuss some work matters, but Max resolved this problem by bringing his laptop to bed, so that Vadim could do it via Skype and emails. It was strange to hear him saying things in a business-like tone, as if he were the dominant one here.

  It was the day when Max’s landlady, Kseniya, a middle-aged woman with a constant look of worry on her face, usually came to gather the rent. She asked that it be paid in cash and appeared on his threshold to collect the money for the next month on a certain date. She always politely called in advance to make sure Max would be at home. It typically took only a few minutes, so Max thought it wouldn’t be a great inconvenience for his guest, as well as for Kseniya herself if they met. Vadim was dressed in Max’s sweatpants and a t-shirt and looked quite decent. All the marks he had from the previous night were mostly on his backside. No evidence of indecent behavior, though maybe the fact that he was sitting in Max’s bed was a tad suggestive. Anyhow, Max decided checking if the riding crop and other dubious implements weren’t in plain sight was enough preparation for the visit.

  But this time, the hostess didn’t come alone. When Max opened the door, he found himself facing the grim countenance of a burly chap dressed in a stretched tracksuit, not really elegant.

  “This is my husband, Tolya,” Kseniya introduced him, peeping out from behind his back. The man shook hands with Max in the small hallway. Their acquaintance would have ended on this pleasant note, were Max more quick to hand out the money. But as he counted the cash once again to make sure everything was correct, Tolya peeked into the studio and saw Vadim sitting in bed. Vadim uttered a “hello” with a brief smile and returned to typing an email. Tolya continued to stare at him.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  Max shrugged. “My friend. He’s staying over.”

  Obviously, the sight of a man sitting in his bed was more suggestive than he’d thought because Kseniya’s husband frowned, making his face look even more sour.

  “You two,” he impolitely pointed a finger first at Max, then at Vadim, and back at Max. “Are you…?”

  “We’re together, yes, if that’s what you mean,” Max confirmed apprehensively. A conversation that started with pointing fingers didn’t bode well.

  “You mean—you—” Tolya turned to his wife, appalled. “That’s a nice tenant you’ve found! A faggot! You said he was a teacher!”

  Kseniya cringed and said nothing.

  “I am both,” Max said coldly, aware he was provoking further conflict but unable to keep his mouth shut.

  The man turned back to Max. “At your school, do they know who’s teaching their kids?”

  Saying he didn’t exactly teach children, and if he did, his sexual preferences would still be his private matter since he had no intention of imposing them on anyone—saying all this would obviously make no difference. With a sudden pang of uneasiness, Max wondered if this man, in his righteous anger, could show up at his workplace. Would the bosses listen to him? Would they try to avoid scandal by delicately asking the compromised teacher to resign of his own will? It was a ridiculous situation to consider, but not an impossible one. Max had heard rumors of several teachers in different cities across the country who’d been kicked out for being gay after the notorious and very vague law forbidding propaganda of nontraditional sexual relationships to minors had been issued in Russia, which meant simply admitting you were homosexual could lead to unpleasant consequences if you did it among young people. Some bureaucrats chose to be overzealous and show how much they cared for traditional values, hence a few expulsions. Could the same happen to him?

  Meanwhile, the kids’ defender continued raging. “I won’t tolerate any of your lot here. Start packing your things.”

  Vadim, who had been silent all this time, suddenly stood up and addressed Kseniya, ignoring her fuming husband completely. “Is it in the contract you’ve signed that you may evict your tenant on a whim?”

  “There isn’t any contract,” Max told him before she said anything.

  Max hadn’t insisted on signing any papers. Kseniya had helped him with bureaucratic stuff as he’d needed to notify the immigration authorities about the place of his stay, but that hadn’t required a rental agreement, as far as he’d understood. He hadn’t been sure it was of much use anyway if you had no time or desire to bring the matter to court in case something went wrong. While searching for an apartment, he’d heard stories of landlords upping the rent when they liked. You could sue them of course, but it was easier either to pay or to look for another place to live. Personally, he’d hoped something like that wouldn’t happen to him because his landlady looked like a reasonable and decent person. Her husband though… That was another matter entirely. Damn, it had been foolish to rely on his landlords’ good will.

  “Ah well,” Vadim sing-songed, “as concerned citizens as you are, you must be dutifully paying taxes from the money you earn renting your property out. So when you come with a local police officer and try to evict your lodger, I’m sure you’ll be able to tell him everything in detail about these taxes if he’ll be interested. And I bet he will be. Very, very interested.”

  “Two weeks,” Tolya said hastily as the conversation turned in a direction he clearly hadn’t anticipated. “I give you two weeks, d’you hear? That’s enough. Quite enough.”

  With these final words, he stormed out. His wife lingered in the hallway, clearly torn between the urge to follow him and the need to somehow sort everything out, and almost whined, unhappiness covering her face, “I’m sorry. That’s … that’s … Oh, I’m so sorry.” She divided the wad of bills Max had given her and handed half of it back to him. “I’ll keep the money for two weeks only.”

  Vadim looked at her almost with pity. “It’s your apartment, as far as I understand. It’s your money. Why do you let him decide?”

  “He’s my husband,” she said as if it were a sufficient explanation and left in a hurry.

  Max closed the door behind her and returned to the room. Standing in the middle of it, he looked around, confused and lost. He’d been living here for more than a year now, and this small studio had become his home. The creamy kitchen cabinets, the green carpet, the rustling of branches behind the window—everything was too familiar now to part with it so lightly.

  Finding another apartment in Moscow wasn’t a problem, even on short notice. There was always a wide range of offers. Finding a proper home, that was entirely another matter. Max had always wanted something green, quiet and peaceful, and preferably not too far from his work. Maybe not at a walking distance but at least not more than twenty to thirty minutes away by public transport because trying to squeeze into buses or metro carriages during rush hour was a rather stressful experience, to put it mildly. So it should be something within the Garden Ring that surrounded Moscow’s center or close to it.

  He hadn’t even considered the obviously overpriced areas on and around the prestigious streets of Tverskaya, bursting with action due to abundant clubs and bars, or Ostozhenka with its proud line of luxury construction. But more affordable locations, like
the neighborhood of the quiet Patriarch’s Ponds and the street of Arbat favored by many expats, weren’t cheap either. Max hadn’t been sure he’d have the funds to settle in there, unless he found a super-deal or the apartment was dingy and half-ruined, with peeling wallpaper and seeping taps.

  He’d been fortunate to stumble over what he’d wanted. Now he had to start the hunt anew. Would he be so lucky now?

  Max sighed. He should be doing practical planning right now, not contemplating the odds. No use being sorry for what he was about to lose. The good thing was, he didn’t have to relocate the furniture. It belonged to the owners. He only needed to pack his clothes, cookware, the bedside lamp he’d bought, and some other items that wouldn’t make the volume of his move too large either. He’d probably require various-sized cardboard boxes to store his belongings, wrapping paper for fragiles, and tape…

  Vadim interrupted his mixed up thoughts by hugging him from behind and leaning on his shoulder. “I was wondering if you—maybe—would like to, er, move in with me? I mean—it’s all right if you don’t—I just—it’s a spacious apartment, so—” He trailed off and sighed into Max’s shirt.

  Max twisted in his arms to look him in the eyes. “That’s very generous.” He instantly felt it was the wrong word, but Vadim’s offer had caught him off guard and left him stunned, not just surprised. “I could … I’d like to, yes … but that’s if you really want me to, of course. You shouldn’t feel obliged to suggest … I mean, it’s a big decision. Sure it’s not too rushed on your part?”

  As he spoke, the expression on Vadim’s face went from expectant to sullen and distant. “Well, I thought I’d ask. But it’s okay if it’s too much for you. I understand—”

  Max interrupted him in a flash of panic, “I didn’t mean it like that. Like I don’t want it. I said I’d move in with you, I’d be glad to. But are you one hundred percent sure? You weren’t that keen to move in with me.”

  Vadim’s lips twitched in an unsure smile. “You sound petulant. Did it bother you?” Before Max had a chance to lie or confess that yeah, it bothered him a lot, Vadim leaned in and kissed him, quickly, almost shyly. “I’m sorry if it did. Doms usually prefer to have boundaries. I didn’t want to be too clingy.”

  “Guess I’m not a typical Dom then,” Max said and almost bit his tongue. An unfortunate phrasing.

  Luckily, Vadim’s smile only broadened at that. “No boundaries then. Now you’ll have me beside you all the time. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

  Max shook his head. “It’s highly unlikely that I’ll ever be.”

  Vadim nodded seriously. “Good. I take your word on it.” And so the matter was settled. If only all problems could be solved that fast.

  It was only much later that Vadim contemplated, “It’s strange how calmly we take what’s happened.”

  Max shrugged, busy washing dishes. “Why waste our nerves if everything seems to have taken a turn for the better?”

  Vadim was silent for a while, the sound of running water and the occasional squeak of clean plates the only noises in the room. Then he added, “I keep thinking—this woman—maybe she’s submissive too, in a way, or masochistic. Not that she realizes it. But isn’t it why she’s found this guy who now controls her?”

  Max huffed, not looking back. “And robs her of the rent from her property just because he doesn’t like her tenants for some reason, and without even asking for her opinion. It’s not dominance. It’s abuse.”

  “Maybe you only see the difference from a distance,” Vadim mused.

  Max sighed and shook out droplets of water from a cleaned cup. Maybe he should have said something to her, but what exactly? Would his words suddenly make her horrified at the fact her spouse was a bully if she hadn’t minded it before? Very unlikely.

  “She didn’t look happy,” he admitted. “She never has. If that’s because of her husband, why is she still with a man like that, I wonder?”

  Vadim was quiet for a moment before saying, “Well, some people think that an imperfect relationship is better than none.”

  “Imperfect—maybe, but not the one that makes you unhappy. What’s the point of it?”

  “As I said, perhaps she’s a masochist.”

  “Then she needs a caring sadist, not an abusive asshole!” Max burst out.

  Vadim seemed to be amused with his fervor. “Oh, that’s what you are,” he crooned half-teasingly, half-tenderly. “A caring sadist.”

  I wish I were, Max thought, closing the tap and reaching for a towel. An unpleasant realization dawned on him. He was getting angry not because of the homophobic husband of his landlady, but because he was secretly comparing himself with this man. Wasn’t he a bully too sometimes, all dominant? Max hoped he wasn’t, but perhaps you really could only see the difference from a distance.

  Vadim aggravated his uneasiness as he kept reasoning. “This husband of hers clearly doesn’t think he’s some kind of bad guy, it’s more like he’s proud of his strong moral principles, maybe he’s even sure he is caring, and when someone is so much convinced that he does the right things, you start thinking that yeah, maybe it’s you who’s to blame.”

  Max snorted, forcibly pushing his fears away. “Strong moral principles? Good for him that he hasn’t seen my riding crop and nipple clamps. He might have had a stroke.”

  “Maybe if he had seen them, he would have been more apprehensive to confront you, a big scary pervert as you are.”

  A moment’s pause—and they both started giggling like schoolboys.

  ****

  Vadim suggested Max should probably see his place first before packing his things. That sounded reasonable. They set the inspection for the next day. Vadim promised to meet Max at one of the entrances to the Kievskaya metro station. He even drew a plan so Max wouldn’t get lost, which, as he explained, happened all the time with those who visited him because the entrances were far too many and the havoc around them was immense. Actually, there were three metro stations of different lines but the same name—Kievskaya, all of them satellites to a huge railway station, and there was also a big shopping center nearby, so crowds were inevitable.

  In the evening, after his classes, Max squeezed himself into the metro, changed from the red to the light-blue line, just like Vadim had instructed him, and managed to find a more or less free spot by the sliding doors. Before arriving to the Kievskaya station, the train crossed an open bridge—and the view from it was one of the most stunning Max had seen in Moscow. In the November darkness, the embankments were dotted with small fireflies of car lights. Blue, red, and white illumination adorned the nearby bridges, and its rippled reflection in the black waters of the Moskva River very much resembled an Impressionist painting. And above it all rose, in an eerie glow, a massive government building, the so-called Russian White House, all lit up.

  The railway station was probably worth a look too, but Vadim quickly shepherded Max away from the square beside it, through erratically moving hordes of busy people, so Max only caught a glimpse of its clock tower.

  They went past a huge edifice of a shopping mall opposite the station, crossed a road, and plunged into a dark yard behind one of the houses that lined the embankment. A striking contrast to the overcrowded square, it was unexpectedly empty. Vadim punched a code on a heavy black door and let them into the shadowy hallway of an apartment block.

  As they entered Vadim’s apartment on the ninth floor, “Wow”, was the only coherent response Max could muster. It was much more impressive than he’d expected, nothing like his tiny little studio, cozy as it might be. The house was one of those built during the Stalinist era, with all its imperialistic grandeur. High ceilings, large windows, lots of space. Not at all like most lodgings in Moscow. What was even more remarkable was how this particular property was not worn out with age. Many of its siblings had seen better days, but this one was perfectly renovated in what Max would call Scandinavian minimalist style, with white as the prime color and occasional dots of b
right small details, giving the illusion of even more space. There was a long corridor with doors on both sides. Two rooms and a kitchen. Separate doors to a small toilet and a larger bathroom, like in most Soviet-time apartments. In what seemed to be a bedroom, a tall window faced the river, and the view beat the one Max had seen earlier.

  “I bought it as a slab,” Vadim explained behind him, almost apologetically, as if he didn’t feel quite comfortable about owning all this beauty. “That’s why it was so cheap. Well, relatively, but I got myself a good rate mortgage, so I thought, why not? It was horrible in here, all peeling wallpaper, creaky floors, you know. Suitable for a horror movie, the toilet especially. But it’s rather handy that I’m in the construction business. Two months—and it’s pretty decent.”

  That was an understatement. Decent wasn’t the word Max would choose to describe what he saw. More like high-class. The only strange thing was that the place lacked furniture. There was a mattress on the floor in one of the two rooms, but no bed. An elegant red floor lamp stood beside it, but not a table or a drawer. A book lay on the lamp stand, accompanied by an empty mug—a homely urban still-life.

  “Have you moved in not so long ago?” Max wondered aloud.

  Vadim frowned. “Mmm, no actually, almost a year now. Oh, you mean it’s a bit empty-ish. Well, yes. I just couldn’t bring myself to bother with furniture. It’s livable like that. Was livable,” he corrected himself quickly.

  “Probably, yes. But I think we’ll need at least a bed, or where will I tie you up when I need you nicely spread-eagled?”

  “Sorry. I should have thought of it before inviting you, I just didn’t have time…” Vadim began, clearly upset, but Max interrupted him with a reassuring kiss.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured, lips brushing against lips. “I’ll have you on whatever surface is available for now.”