Author's Note: Hello hello! Like many I have been absolutely obsessing over the Vampire Academy TV series. I was not expecting to love it as much as I do, even with all the changes from the books. It has rekindled my Romitri obsession from when I was a teenager, so here we are. I have read all the books but it's been years, so this is in the show-verse. I haven't decided if this is a one-shot or not so let me know if I should continue!
Dimitri Belikov was never one to speak without thinking, selecting his words carefully when he did choose to speak. He preferred to stay silent and alert, not wasting time with idle chatter like many Guardians did during long shifts. His mind was occupied with cataloguing entrances and exits, potential threats and weak spots.
The longer he was away from Russia, the less he found himself slipping back into his mother tongue. His accent had smoothed out over the years, only becoming more prominent during moments of high emotion, which he also tried to limit.
He spent most of his off-duty time meditating or practicing his fighting forms. When he did pray, either at the church at St. Vladimir's or the homemade alter in his quarters, it was usually wordless.
No amount of meditation or silent prayer could prepare the man for the hurricane that was Rose Hathaway.
She was a talker, and he found that she drew more speech out of him than anyone else had. Dimitri had always been able to find his balance through quiet and solitude, but Rose managed to obliterate that almost from the moment they met.
He enjoyed training with her, sparring with her, watching her grow stronger. But he also found himself seeking opportunities to just be around her, listen to her voice, even if she was arguing with him.
He still found himself at least attempting to keep his usual control over his words around her. So the first time her name in Russian rolled off his tongue, it took them both by surprise.
"Roza?" she asked quizzically, squinting up at him. He sometimes forgot how much smaller she was than him, since she made up for her lack of height with surprising strength.
He gave her a small smile, another rarity for him, and leaned closer to her ear.
"Sorry, every now and then my Russian childhood comes out," he said with a shrug, as if saying things he hadn't meant to was normal for him.
Afterwards, Dimitri scolded himself for allowing himself to call her that. Yes, it was her name, but saying it in his native language made it feel more personal. He hadn't missed her slight shiver as he had said it, and knew he was inching dangerously closer each day to giving in to the pull he felt towards her.
Because when he thought of her, it wasn't just as Roza. No, his traitorous mind referred to her as his Roza. Like he had any right to claim her as his or to even think that she would want to claim, and be claimed by, someone like him. Too rigid, too stern, too rule-bound.
That was one of the first bricks of his carefully built wall to come down. Once he had said it, he found himself using her Russian name when he was proud of her, or concerned for her, or, if he was honest, particularly turned on by her.
She had come up with her own nickname for him, Comrade, which he didn't appreciate at first but grew to crave the teasing affection in her voice that came with it.
He wanted to hear it fall breathlessly from her lips when he touched her, felt every inch of skin under lips like he ached to.
For a Guardian that prided himself for his self-control, he found himself allowing more lingering touches than the sparring moves called for, more arguments, more murmurs of Roza.
She was clever, his Roza, and soon figured out exactly how to get him to drop his Guardian mask, to let her see the real Dimitri.
She already knew more about his past, his fears and his shame than even his own family. None of it scared her away. If anything, seeing that he was more than the great Guardian Belikov seemed to make her feelings for him only deepen.
Not that they had spoken any of that out loud. Their longing for the other was obvious, but Dimitri still tried to reason that maybe it was just a physical attraction. As if she didn't already posses his heart and probably his soul in her small hands.
When the draw to her became too strong, Dimitri let what remained of his control fall away, his fingers on her neck below where he had just marked her first molnija.
His Roza looked at him with such open need that he was helpful against it, breathing her in before finally allowing what he had denied himself for so long. To feel alive, to feel her against him and fully experience the depth of his feelings for her.
If he had thought that simply holding her in his arms was life affirming, it was nothing compared to kissing her. There was desperation as their lips moved feverishly against each other, driven by months of denial and the knowledge that they were currently on borrowed time and would need to join the others soon.
But even with their frantic movements there was a sense of peace that surrounded him. She invaded all of his senses and he knew right away that he would never be able to get enough of her.
More Russian fell from his lips, murmured against her neck as his fingers scorched patterns under her shirt. He allowed himself to whisper just how much he wanted her, needed her, even loved her, knowing that she couldn't understand the words.
Rose pulled him impossibly closer, using her athleticism to her advantage and wrapping her legs around his waist with a little hop.
His answering chuckle against her lips turned into a low moan as their hips aligned through their clothes. Keeping a steady grip on her thighs, he turned and pressed her against the wall, giving her leverage to move more freely against him.
Saints, she hadn't even touched him yet and he knew he would come undone when she did. Meeting his eyes, she smirked and rolled her hips, showing that she knew exactly what she was doing to him. He swore, a rarity for him in any language, and returned the movement of his hips, letting her feel exactly how affected he was.
He cursed their lack of time, wanting nothing more than to spend hours worship her body with his, to have her understand just how much he was hers. To show her through his touch what he was still too much of a coward to voice out loud, at least in her own language.
There was an unspoken promise in every press of their bodies, that this was only a hint at what could be between them.
While his lips and tongue trailing hotly over any inch of skin he could access, Dimitri wanted Rose to feel the echo of his touch against the parts of her that were still covered. He whispered as much to her, her eyes going wide at his boldness.
More time, if he only had more time. He would take any length of time with her if it meant that he could hold her like this, driving him nearly mad with need as he chanted her name with every roll of his hips like the holy prayer it was.
Roza, Roza, Roza.
No, Dimitri wasn't a man of many words, but he was a praying man. He would gladly let Rose take him apart if it meant that he could continue reverently whispering her name against her sweet skin for as long as she let him.
