Mikhail drove back to his apartment to meet with Yuri after sitting in front of Akihito's hotel building for a few minutes longer; thinking. The sun was starting to make its way down to the horizon, throwing St Petersburg into hues of purple and gold as it reached dusk, white nights in this city never failed to amaze him, the sky's reflection on the canals outside his apartment were always a welcome sight.
It was with no surprise that he found his right hand man waiting for him in the foyer of his abode, leaning against the wall with a tick of impatience on his brow.
"Good day?" the older Russian asked with chagrin as Mikhail simply ignored him and went further into his luxury home.
"It was a fucking rad day, thanks for asking, I am taking the day off tomorrow too, by the way." Mikhail chirped with a cheeky wink of his eye.
"What's his name?" there it was, Yuri was never one to beat around the bush, and he was always one to do thorough checks on everything. Not this time though.
"You aren't running his name, Yuri." Something told him that finding out things the normal way would be much more gratifying with Akihito, not giving his name to someone to run it on a database and have it all returned on a piece of paper.
Running a name through the system wouldn't tell him about scars, it wouldn't tell him about childhood memories or favorite foods, it wouldn't tell him likes or dislikes, it would only give him black and white words on a straight lined page. Akihito was much more colorful and bizarre than what any report could tell him, he was sure.
No, actually getting to know someone didn't work that way, having Akihito tell him would be rewarding in itself. Plus, he had an image to keep up, the one of the nice Mikhail on the napkin.
He was sure Akihito would think the man on that napkin wouldn't do such a thing, and so the real Mikhail wouldn't either.
Akihito might have slept in on purpose even though he was in fucking Russia, out of Japan, he might be burying himself under his blankets half in regret and half in embarrassment right about now too. Regret that he hadn't picked up his balls and just gone to that quirky little café to see if Mikhail was actually there this morning and this wasn't all just some fucked up dream or big joke.
Embarrassment of the fact that once he got up to his room to take a shower and go to bed last night; he'd jacked off to the memory of being pushed against the wall in the gallery.
His lips still tingled from the kiss, and his skin was still hot from wherever Mikhail had been touching him throughout the day; he'd turned into a randy fucking teenager who maybe cried out Mikhail's name as he came all over the shower floor and then felt horribly ashamed after he'd come down from his orgasm.
He had no doubt the real thing would be better, someone like Mikhail was bound to know what they were doing in that department if that fleeting kiss was anything to go by.
Even if he was at the café, there was no way in hell he could face Mikhail now, that fucking napkin incident was bad enough, so he would stay in his too soft hotel bed until morning was done and chew himself out for it later when he would most probably wish he'd just gone to see if Mikhail wasn't actually fucking with him.
It's not like he'd be disappointed if he wasn't there anyway, he couldn't understand why a high class someone like Mikhail would make time for him, but at the same time something about Mikhail felt real and genuine and Akihito was fucking confused because of feelings.
Confused because Akihito knew that type, the type his parents associated with that only cared about work and status, people that were significant and note worthy, but Mikhail was even more than that.
Mikhail just had this thing about him; when he entered a room people looked, when he spoke people listened, he had this chilling intensity and Akihito burnt with it when he felt those grey eyes settle on him time and time again. It was daunting to be watched by a person like that, fist fights he could do, but this was on an entirely new level.
So for his own sanity, Akihito turned over and drifted off back to sleep, hoping he hadn't just made one colossal fuck up because of his own cowardice.
Jet lag was so much better than this.
He didn't know how much later it was - the hotel had those black out curtains that threw your room into permanent midnight - when he fought the sheets tangled around his legs to get out of bed to answer the knocking on his door. Forgetful of his state of undress (in his camo briefs only), because he was a zombie walking at that point in time, he padded barefoot across the suite ready to give whoever it was an earful.
He had the do not fucking disturb sign on his door, and he was going to tear the hotel staff up for waking him when he obviously wanted to be left alone.
He wrenched the cold brass door handle down with haste, and pulled the door back with a swish of air.
"Can you not see the fucking sign?" he snapped at the staff.
Except it wasn't a fucking member of hotel staff.
He'd just opened the door in nearly no goddam clothes with his hair most definitely pointing in all directions, sleep in his eyes, throw in some morning breath too, and who was standing there in all their charming, godlike glory but the person he'd chosen to avoid that morning. Mikhail. Fuck.
The blush hit him full force, because oh, holy fucking shit he could see the grey tint in his eyes darken as those spheres roamed over his body, a different Mikhail from yesterday was drinking him in, this one was possessive and hungry and it was all fixed on him. He'd never been body conscious before, but he sure as hell was now.
He did the only thing he could think of to get out of the situation, and that was shut the door. Instead of it closing all the way and hearing the satisfying click of the door mechanism though; a polished toe wedged in between door frame and door, and then time stood still as Akihito stood on one side and Mikhail on the other. The hum of the buildings air conditioning system was loud in his ears, and the ting of the elevator telling the arrival of someone on his floor was startling.
"Hey, that's no way to greet someone who's bringing you breakfast in bed is it?" that voice teased him from the other side, light hearted and playful, not reflecting the gaze he'd witnessed only moments ago.
His stomach taunted him too, because it chose that moment to rumble loudly enough for both of them to hear, as if his stomach was answering Mikhail's comment instead.
Laughter erupted on the other side of the door, deep and uncontrolled, and dammit it was a nice sound, contagious too; because even as he felt like going back to sleep and never waking up again from sheer embarrassment, he still found himself laughing as well.
"Seriously though." That voice called after a time, coaxing and gentle, "I did bring breakfast even though you stood me up."
Oh. Oh! Well now he felt like a fucking jerk, a big, fat embarrassed jerk, because obviously if Mikhail was here, he'd expected to see Akihito at that café with it's crooked art and odd furniture, and he hadn't been. That only meant one thing; Mikhail wasn't actually playing. Even if he knew that now, he still didn't fucking know what to do about it. Because Mikhail.
"Just let me in, I won't bite. Promise."
And now despite his state of undress, despite his messed up hair, sleepy eyes and horrid breath, despite the fucking fact he'd masturbated last night thinking about the person on the other side of the door; he stepped away and let it swing open to reveal Mikhail once more.
The taller blonde stepped in, that cheerful twinkle back in his eye and a smirk on his lip, Akihito caught the scent of coffee and whatever delicious food he'd brought in a rush of air as he walked passed, and underneath it all he could smell him, his earthy cologne, clean and fresh. It smelt better than breakfast.
"Your undies are cute as fuck, by the way." Mikhail chuckled as he put the things down on the small dining table in front of the window, and turned to watch Akihito flail around trying to find a pair of goddam pants.
Mikhail couldn't quite believe it. That tattooed punk wasn't at the coffee shop. He, Mikhail Arbatov, had fucking been denied.
He knew the attraction was mutual, so why wasn't Akihito here?
No matter, he said he wasn't going to be overbearing, but Mikhail was too impulsive for his own good sometimes. So he had Viktor make a take away coffee the same way he'd made it for Akihito the previous morning, picked up some breakfast pastries and drove to the hotel and taken the elevator to Akihito's floor with coffee and food in hand.
Probably the fact that Akihito had blown him off made Mikhail more interested, more curious, more eager and knocking on the door more insistently than he should, not giving a fuck about the 'do not disturb sign' on the door handle.
He heard a shuffle on the other side moments before the door handle clicked and was whipped inward, and what he saw froze him in his tracks.
"Can you not see the fucking sign?" the smaller blonde snapped obviously before he realized who was standing in front of him, because along with a drowsy crankiness in his tone and a stubborn lilt to his English, he was fucking edible.
His hair was spiked in every direction from sleep, his face utterly adorable as he watched the color rise in his cheeks, because he was standing there in nothing but cute camo colored briefs that hung low on his hips.
Mikhail took it all in, and fucking hell. He got to see where the dragon's head was, roaring at him from a muscular shoulder reflecting the intense will he'd seen in Akihito's hazel eyes. With the other arm bare, he could make out a pair of koi fish, serene and at peace on their plane of muscle, just like Akihito had been when he stared up at the sky in front of the cathedral. The tattoos that stood out the most to him still though, were the large chrysanthemums on his hands, and the image of one of them slapping down on that page full of clouds yesterday. He didn't think he'd ever forget that moment.
More than all that though; was the expanse of taut pale skin in full view, a trim waist, light abs and a well-muscled chest with collarbones that demanded attention, beckoned him. Fuck. This guy was ethereal and he didn't even know it.
Then, he noticed; more silvery scars that looked to be from old nicks here and there, one on his ribs with old thread marks where stitches had been taken out, a few on his fucking gorgeous long legs that were near invisible, another on his hip that was rough and raised, and more still, he wanted to find them all.
He wanted-
Oh, never mind that, the door was closing and he sure as hell wasn't going to let Akihito go now, figuratively though, so he managed to catch it shutting in his face with a quick foot in the door.
It was probably a good thing it was like this, because he'd snapped out of staring with what he knew would have been open want, he'd probably creeped the dude out. Because Mikhail wasn't used to restraining himself, when he wanted something he took it, but doing that to Akihito was actually the last thing he wanted, and so he was frozen in a fight with himself as he stood in that doorway more than anything.
Staring at the wooden door with a dark gap that lead into Akihito's room, he managed to collect himself so he could start off where he actually wanted to this morning.
With a few earnest words, and a laugh shared between them; Akihito finally let the door swing open to Mikhail's relief, it was a tense few moments for him really, because he could do what he usually did and barge in uncaring with guns sometimes literally blazing, because he was Mikhail fucking Arbatov and he generally did whatever the hell he wanted.
Except this time he waited, because he wanted to be let in, and there was a huge difference.
Then, typical Mikhail couldn't help himself; he had to comment on those tight camo briefs hugging Akihito's behind, because as Akihito walked away back into his room Mikhail was graced with a fine view of his fit ass, and the resulting dance as the smaller man jumped across the room to find clothing was both comical and adorable. He quite enjoyed watching the spectacle before Akihito gathered his wits enough to face him again.
Akihito was feeling self awkward, they'd finished eating whatever glorious fruit filled pastry that Mikhail brought that he couldn't pronounce the name of; the coffees had gone down nicely, and there was an elephant in the room in the form of Akihito hadn't shown up at the café that morning and then also the whole jerking off thing, which was consuming him alive.
Only Akihito seemed to be the only uneasy one, because Mikhail lounged back in his chair with his long powerful legs out, his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, and his leather jacket from yesterday falling open to reveal a tight white T underneath, the picture of cool and casual as he waited for Akihito to sort himself out.
He just sat there, and with the curtains now open; the light shone in, lifting the tone of his grey eyes that were soft and warm, something the color grey shouldn't be capable of being. But Akihito could see it alright. He could see gold strands of his hair highlighted by the morning sun, his skin smooth and flawless.
"Why?" he blurted abruptly, because that was the only word that would come to his head right now.
Why was this man, who looked fit to wear a crown, this man who; even as he sat on a dingy chair in a single hotel room with a tiny bathroom and shitty minibar, still managing to make it look like a throne, why was he fucking here?
Mikhail cocked his head, because of course blurting random words wasn't going to make sense. "Why what?"
"Why are you here?" he insisted, using his utter confusion as momentum to get the words out, because even though in reality Akihito was a loud mouth, sassy piece of shit, Mikhail had him being all shy and fucking coy! For fuck's sake.
He thought Mikhail might need time to think about it, he thought maybe he'd get a cheeky answer that would throw him off with a sarcastic remark or two, but it was instant, straight forward and frighteningly honest.
"Isn't it obvious? Because you weren't there."
Oh. He really was doomed.
By lunchtime, Akihito's unease had waned somewhat, because he had a full belly and a sea breeze on his face as he stared from the look out over the Gulf of Finland with his camera in hand.
The ocean was the deepest green, shifting colors as the clouds reflection roamed over its surface, the incoming ships from this high up were tiny, insignificant specks in the grandeur of it all. The air smelt like salt, and gulls squawked overhead as the camera shutter went off again and again.
There were no other people at the lookout; it felt like he was staring at the end of the world as the mouth shaped gulf swallowed the in coming vessels into its maw.
Behind him, Mikhail was on the phone, talking to someone in Russian in an authoritative tone, so different from the way he spoke to Akihito, with jokes and jibes, playfulness and wit. The Japanese got the feeling that there were countless layers to the Russian, a complex piece that you could look at from different angles and see something new with each perspective, not with standing that the guy was a living masterpiece anyway.
Suddenly, and he didn't get a fright this time because he was used to the touches by now, a warm hand was on the small of his back, and Mikhail's deep voice sounded in his ear; back to the boisterous tone now.
"Sorry about that. Ready to get going, or you want to stay here a little longer?"
"Ah, no, we can go. Where are we going?" Akihito turned and leant against the rail, staring at Mikhail now as the ocean breeze swept the hair away from the man's face.
Mikhail had taken them everywhere, he really should be more wary of stranger danger, and serial killers that liked to lure people in and all that jazz, but Akihito was a creature of instinct also, and his instincts told him that imposing the man might be, he was no threat, to him at least.
Grey eyes twinkled mischievously for a split second and had him rethinking his earlier statement; before Mikhail caught him off guard to duck in quickly and peck him on the cheek in a way so endearing it gave his heart vertigo.
"Haha, you'll see." He purred, with a charming wink for good measure.
Kisses were something he was definitely not used to, and he fucking stuttered for words as the broad back strode off back to the car park without a care in the world.
"Hurry up, or I'll leave you behind!" came the shout from down the path.
"Fuck, shit!" and before he knew it, he'd slung his satchel over his shoulder and was trailing down the path after Mikhail like a love sick little puppy that he probably was.
"So." Akihito started as they strolled around a different gallery from yesterday, "how old are you then?" and Mikhail exulted because it was the first personal question Akihito had asked, and he was more than happy to share.
"I'm 32." He said honestly, and then waited for a reaction. He knew he was older, it didn't bother him, but it might bother Akihito.
"Oh, god you're half way dead already, old man." Akihito sassed at him, because he'd been growing bold throughout the day and Mikhail enjoyed every bit of it.
"Old?" the Russian feigned hurt for a split second, before putting on his most devilish smile to stop Akihito in his tracks on the way to the next exhibit, "I'm pretty sure I could still give a 23 year old punk like you a run for your money, brat."
"Haha, bring it gramps."
"Oh, I will don't you worry about that."
"Brussel sprouts?" Mikhail asked him.
"I'll eat 'em. Ok, your turn, um, peas?" He asked back. Peas were a safe one.
"Ew yuck. Alright then, tripe?"
"Fuck no," the smaller man shot back, walking through the streets of St Petersburg in the late afternoon. "Who likes fucking tripe? What about haggis, you tried that?"
The Russian scrunched his nose, "Nope, and I don't plan on it, you tried escargot?"
"Snails? No, I'm not eating fucking snails." He knew he must have been making a funny face, because Mikhail barked a laugh at him before carrying on.
"You should, they're real good, just like chicken."
"Coming from the man who prefers slugs over peas." Akihito deadpanned.
"Hey! Peas are disgusting, they're like little balls of green vomit wrapped in plastic capsules!" came the indignant remark.
And then Akihito lost it with laughter of his own for a change, because this big burly Russian didn't like fucking peas of all things, he was funny and charming and real, and once Akihito got over himself; a really awesome guy to hang out with.
When he wasn't stealing kisses that was.
The sun was making its retreat once more towards the end of their second day, and Mikhail was averse to take Akihito back, but he had work to do tonight at least. Yuri would spit the dummy otherwise.
They walked back to the Hummer down the cobblestone streets of one of the older districts, stopping every now and then as Akihito admired architecture, or odd things through shop windows like antiques and books.
In those moments Mikhail would find himself automatically reaching out to touch any part of the younger man, it was instinctual now to rest his hands on his shoulders, or to brush the hair from his eyes. Then there were moments where he just couldn't help himself; like on the lookout over the Port, Akihito had turned around with the sun at his back and wind whipping at his hair, and Mikhail just felt the need to kiss him. So he did.
Kisses still turned Akihito into a blushing mess, but he seemed to welcome his touch now, lean into it almost unconsciously, and Mikhail liked that fact a lot. He liked the blushes too though.
Two days he'd spent with this person, two days he'd known this person was alive and he'd grown incredibly attached already, attached to him, and attached with validating the person drawn on that napkin. Maybe he was that person when he was with Akihito, maybe he was because he didn't have to put up any Mafioso fronts, or keep his guard up. He didn't know, yet. Maybe he just wanted to be that person.
But he would take Akihito back, because he was a businessman first and foremost, Mikhail Arbatov; he had work to catch up on and people to discipline.
Akihito was back to feeling awkward again; they were parked in the Hummer in front of his hotel, and Mikhail seemed grim almost.
It was unnerving, he wasn't quite sure what was going to happen next, the sun was low now, and it shone in the front window of the vehicle onto their chests, but the angle meant the roof cast a shadow on Mikhail's face still.
"Um?" he started awkwardly, because he thought it'd been a good day, maybe it hadn't to Mikhail?
"Dinner tomorrow." Mikhail finally spoke out loud, turning to him with a cunning smile.
Like so many other times during the day, when Mikhail did something, said something, or just existed in a certain way, Akihito found himself stupefied.
"Hah?"
The Russian sighed, long and tired, melancholic almost as the sun crept lower, lighting up Mikhail's face in by inch.
"I have to work during the day, but meet me in the city for dinner."
Oh, it surprised him how disappointed he was, it also surprised him how much he wanted to hide that fact.
"That's alright, I'm sure I'll find something to keep me busy in this wonderful city, get some drawing done maybe." He gave the satchel in his lap a pat, he hadn't done much artwork today after all, and he could see images in his head that he wanted to get on paper.
A crease appeared in Mikhail's brow, his eyes soft and fixed on him and now Akihito knew why Mikhail seemed grim, well he hoped he did.
He smothered a laugh with his hand, looking at a sulking Mikhail in the drivers seat.
"What's so funny?"
"You… you're packing a sad because you don't want to go back to work tomorrow." He managed between breaths, tears at the corner of his eyes.
"No, I am sulking because it means I will have to wait all day to see you again, actually."
Well, that made Akihito stop laughing right at that instant, because Mikhail was staring at him like he meant it, meant it right down to his soul. How could someone be so fucking honest, how could someone say cheesy fucking lines from a movie, and make them real.
Mikhail gave him the slyest grin then, "So, you'll meet me for dinner then?" and yet he was still looking at Akihito, seeking an answer as if he didn't already know what it would be.
"Yup, guess I will."
"You guess you will." Mikhail deadpanned his imitation, "Don't sound so enthusiastic."
"Sorry! I will, you just…." Caught me off guard like fucking usual. He wanted to say.
"If you don't want to, tell me, I'm a big boy, Akihito. I won't force you."
Akihito believed him down to the last word. "I will be there." He declared finally, and the genuine smile he got was more blinding than the sun that was sinking lower still.
"Good, now give me your number. I'll text you tomorrow about it."
Akihito gave him his European phone to put his number in too, and couldn't help but drop it as Mikhail gave it back and fingers closed atop each other. Hands weren't something that'd touched yet, and the callouses were just as rough as he'd imagined, masculine fingers closed atop his wrist; the phone forgotten.
The image of that scarlet chrysanthemum he adorned on his hands with pride being caressed by Mikhail's strong ones was an image stained in his mind. He knew what he'd be drawing next.
"Look at me, Akihito." That deep voice called, and even though his accent was rough and thick, the tone was still soft enough to have him lifting his head.
"I'll see you tomorrow." And Mikhail twined their fingers together and squeezed before Akihito got out of the car and went back to his room in a daze.
Two days he'd known this person, he thought to himself as he lay face down in his pillows, screaming internally.
Two fucking days.
What would it be like after 3 days, 5 days? A week? How long would he be here, to find out what it would be like then?