"So." Mikhail started, looking out over the edge of the rooftop. "Why art huh? How'd you get into it?" Mikhail hated himself, he was a top notch manipulator, he knew what questions to ask, and he knew what reactions to look for to know when he'd found the base of that wall inside someones head.
He wouldn't be tearing this one down though, it wasn't a torture session, or an interrogation. He was just simply finding out where he could get in by the proper means. A new experience for him, that was for sure.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Akihito think. His brows pursed in cute little lines, his eyes gleamed in the permanent twilight, and then he threw his head back to stare at the sky as he answered, spaced out as the dusky sky reflected in those hazel orbs.
"Has art ever taken you away? You know, when you see it, does it like, transport you?" he chose his words carefully. Mikhail let him think. He could see more was coming.
"Its not something I've ever really spoken about, so describing it's hard. But for me, ever since I was young, I guess art has been a place that helps me escape. It can help anyone escape. From school, from the office, from family or everyday life. I needed it once, I still do, but now I can create my own paradise, and I want to create places for other people too. I want to take people away with me…. Oh woah. It sounds really fucking lame when I say it like that, it just came out. You don't have to listen." one tattooed hand covered Akihito's eyes in his own exasperation.
"Akihito." Mikhail turned to say, he was surprised at the gentleness of his own voice as he pulled the hand away from hazel eyes and kept hold. Gentleness and Mikhail wasn't something that usually mixed. "I want to listen."
"Oh." was the hushed reply he got.
"So, what brings you here then, apart from the obvious sights and sounds. You're not escaping for real, are you? Criminal on the run?" he decided to lighten the mood with a quip. He knew where to prod now.
It worked, sort of. Akihito barked a harsh laugh, full of irony and sarcasm.
"My old man would have a fucking fit. Can't have the honorable district attorney's son with a record. Haha. Nooooo. No. Once I graduated from university, the old man said he'd send me around the world, which is what I always dreamed of, travelling and all that shit, seeing the world. Russia's the first stop." Akihito said, almost snide, and Mikhail knew where the real issue was. His mind was fucking throwing loops though, and couldn't quite prioritise things just yet. Loops!
His dad was a district fucking attorney! Meanwhile, Mikhail was a goddamn mafia boss. Well. That was going to go down well. Two opposite ends of the spectrum. Fuck. Your dad enforces the law, and I do everything I can to tear that law to shreds on a day to day basis, wanna fuck? Yeah, that was gonna go down real fucking swell.
Secondly. Akihito was only here on a short stop? Why hadn't he thought of that yet? Shit! And why did that make him panic a little?
Lastly, he didn't seem to hold much love for his old man, even though he'd sent him around the world. Oh, he didn't even know where to start. The scars didn't make sense at all now, either. But he sensed they had a lot to do with it.
This guy was a fucking puzzle and Mikhail was good at puzzles. He was starting to figure it out already because Akihito was making it easy. He might not be hugely open, but his words, the honest way he said things, were enough. Mikhail was certain the smaller blonde would be a terrible liar. Then again, he figured Akihito probably wouldn't lie anyway.
Well, since he didn't know how much time he had, he would cut right to the chase. His mom must have been right, the fact that Akihito was here meant something, so he'd just have to risk it and press onward, something he did best. Hell yeah.
His thumb ran across those scarred knuckles, feeling how smooth the skin was; they were old scars. The wounds had to be bad for scarring to still be this evident though, that or repetitively made over time, knuckles of a brawler.
"How'd a DA's son end up with knuckles like this huh? Rebel were ya?" he teased, light hearted, because even as he dying to know, he still found the thought amusing. There was a rebellious streak for sure, he just wanted to know how deep it ran.
The smaller fist clenched in his hand, Akihito winced and fidgeted, he might have wanted to move away, but now that he was this close; Mikhail wasn't going to let any distance between them. He'd worked hard all evening trying to make Akihito feel comfortable with being close. Oh, restraint! He was doing a fucking top job, because all he wanted to do was get closer.
The silence stretched out as far as the horizon, and Mikhail thought maybe perhaps he'd been a little too pressing. He could see Akihito's termoil, those brows transformed into a scowl at whatever unsavory thoughts were going through his head. No one wanted to talk about old scars. Fuck. Good one, Misha!
"Ugh, I don't wanna tell you." Akihito finally huffed with a confused pout.
Restraint, Mikhail!
"Oh? Why is that, mm?" he asked, interested. "You were a real bad boy, weren'tcha?" he threw in a wink for good measure. He knew the girls fucking swooned over that one. Akihito though, wasn't like anyone he'd ever met and he ripped his battle scarred hand from his and turned to face him abruptly. Oh shit, he'd really done it now.
"Why? Because you're like this rich handsome dude who probably has this respectable job or whatever you do, and if I tell you my shitty story, you might… not l-like me after, fuck, I mean, that's if you like me at all and I don't even know what this is!" Akihito stammered out the last words in a rush, dead serious, shy and honest all at the same time. And it was just so damn endearing, it made Mikhail's heart skip a few beats, and he felt his own fucking breath catch in his throat as words so sincere left him speechless. If there was one thing Mikhail valued above all, it was honesty, something Akihito had by the bucket load.
Goodbye, restraint. So fucking long. It was never Mikhail's forte, anyway.
Mikhail surged forward, one arm shot around Akihito's waist to pull them chest to chest, despite the smaller frame; it was still solid and strong in his arms as it tensed in his embrace. Hazel eyes widened in surprise before he averted his face into Mikhail's neck with one and scrunched into the mafia leader's shirt, which made the scars stand out even more.
"Akihito." he rumbled, soft, and oh, he fucking cherished how the person in his arms shuddered and relaxed at that. Even his body was honest. "Look at me."
The head slowly came away from the crook of his neck, and Akihito half glared back at him with insecurity pinching his brow. Despite that, Akihito didn't look away, he was steadfast. Mikhail was really, really smitten. Yep.
Fuck, was he going to do this? Erase the image of that napkin, the person who Akihito thought he was, and replace it with something much worse? The monster under the bed, and that bump in the night?
"I'm not a respectable person, Akihito. I am actually a horrible person who you should run far and fast from, the truth is you shouldn't trust me at all, because I am the most untrustworthy person you'll ever have the displeasure of meeting." jesus, his heart was fucking thrumming, and he still hadn't got to the truth. It felt like he was tearing that napkin up bit by bit and letting it fly away in the St Petersburg breeze. He hated it. He hated letting this person that he'd known for only three fucking days, down.
"I… don't believe you." Akihito mumbled back, still meeting his eye with uncertainty because his statements were still unanswered, giving Mikhail a good excuse to play chicken and not follow through with the rest of his own story. Another day. Sorry, mother!
"The point is, Akihito, I like you. A lot." the body relaxed more at that, funny, he had no problem telling Akihito his feelings, but telling him his career had him nervous as fuck. "So I want to hear it all, I want to know about you, everything about you. This is a date, and because I am greedy, I want more dates, even though you're meant to be travelling. I'll take anything I can get, and if you'll give it to me, I'll take even more."
I'll take everything, and never give it back.
Akihito's fight or flight instincts were going crazy.
He'd finally figured out why. Control. The one thing in his life he'd always had. The thing his parents had tried to take from him time and time again, trying to shut him down with their ideals on life and education, taking away his choices even as an adult. Akihito cherished his control, control over his fists, control over the art he so carefully crafted with his scarred hands and delicate strokes of his wrists, control over his own education and his own future, control over his own image.
He knew that Mikhail was capable of taking it all from him in a second, the look in his eye was ravenous, and he knew there was truth to what the man said. Despite the fact that Mikhail tried to say he was untrustworthy, Akihito could tell that what he was getting was the real thing. The real Mikhail.
Those grey eyes were dark, almost black as they looked at him, and no pencil or paint would ever be able to capture that shade of possessiveness, or that hue of controlled domination.
He shivered, not because it was cold, and noticed how much smaller he really was compared to Mikhail, they seemed to fit together, the way that thick forearm encircled his waist, how calloused fingers splayed across the small of his back perfectly, and the way that expansive chest seemed to shield him from the oncoming breeze.
There would probably be no going back from this, he knew.
Going against his inner thoughts and the alarm bells in his head, he threw control to the wind, well to Mikhail more like, but then again it wasn't like Mikhail was just taking it from him, he'd still given Akihito a choice still, and that was the deciding factor.
With a pensive breath, he let go of the pristine white shirt his hand was scrunched in, and snaked it up and around until his fingertips were threading through that soft blonde hair at the nape of Mikhail's neck, the black pupils inside those irises contracted, and he was surprised to see goose bumps travel up the strong neckline as Mikhail waited, motionless.
If Akihito was honest with himself, he would admit that he was fucking terrified, he could still be denied, left hanging and alone on a fucking rooftop with no actual idea of where he was, it was the most scared he'd ever been in fact, he wanted to run, far, like Mikhail said he should.
The Russian was too overwhelming, too infectious, a force so great that it would be easy to get swept away, and you'd find yourself lost in that Siberian Blizzard that Akihito knew was inside this man. It was something barely controlled, and ready to be let loose at any time.
But it wasn't like him to run, he wasn't a coward, and so he'd never show such an unsightly characteristic to this person, this person he knew next to nothing about.
Pulling an ounce of much needed bravery from the depths of his inner street kid, he held on to that solid neck for dear life, closed his eyes, and made the first move for once.
He leaned in for the kiss, and was instantly lost. Just like he knew he would be.
Mikhail seemed to snap, Akihito was pushed back onto the couch as he was devoured, they'd kissed before, but this was their first real kiss, it was dizzying, Mikhail's tongue was insistent as it swept along his lip and forced entrance, the kisses were open mouthed, messy, urgent and loud between gasps for air and coherency.
The fingers on his back raked at his skin, desperate and starving, it was like Akihito weighed nothing at all to Mikhail as the immense strength in the arm holding him pulled him up flush against Mikhail's toned frame.
Even now, he could feel Mikhail's wilderness lurking underneath his restraint. The Russian had more strength than this, he could kiss harder, take all his breath, crush them together in his embrace, claw those hard working hands up his body and leave marks in their wake, he could tell that's exactly what Mikhail wanted to do, but trembles of power kept in check shuddered through those straining muscles, and it told Akihito exactly how much Mikhail was struggling not to just drag them both under and forget everything else.
He held firm on Mikhail's neck, the muscles underneath his fingers rippled up and down with the movement of jawlines and head tilts, the skin was smooth, soft, and he could smell him, musky cologne, with undertones of masculinity and power, the scent of Mikhail himself.
A groan bubbled up in his throat before he had the chance to stop it, and he was met with panic as the body on top of his went rigid, and Mikhail pulled away to stop.
Pits of grey oblivion regarded him through narrowed eyes, as if drinking in the image, Akihito didn't know, couldn't figure out why Mikhail had snapped out of it so quickly. Was this going to lead to rejection, after all?
A thunderous beat began in his chest, climbing up into his throat until it stole the moisture from his lips and words from his brain. He waited.
Then his world shifted again as Mikhail sighed, his body relaxed and that hand still cradling his back began massaging tender circles with its thumb.
"Fuck." the Russian breathed. "You're so…"
And this time it was Mikhail burying his face into the crook of Akihito's neck, breathing heavy hot breaths onto his skin and kissing his jugular slowly with deliberate care, as if he was the one trying to reel himself back in and calm down.
"Sorry." Mikhail mumbled into his neck eventually, his voice husky for reasons other than his Russian accent. "Nearly got carried away there."
Akihito's tongue stuck, heavy in his dry mouth. He tried to say something, but he was failing to come back down to earth as he kept staring at the St Petersburg twilight. He might as well have been mute anyway, because he didn't know what he would say if he could actually summon the functionality of speaking.
A rush of air on his neck tickled his skin as Mikhail sighed and pulled back, the hand on his back retreated reluctantly, and caged him in when Mikhail rested both his forearms either side of ribs.
Those grey pupils had lightened, they were less ominous now, gentle, endearing almost.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to reciprocate." came the blunt confession.
"I… um, why?" even asking a question as simple as that had him feeling awkward, especially because he had no where to look other than those grey eyes with the sky of St Petersburg overhead. It was like his whole world was encompassed in this vision, and his mind flashed back to the sketch of the clouds he'd done, with that silver lining in the middle.
"Because, it means you return my feelings." blunt once more, there really was no hiding from this person.
"It's only been three days…" Akihito tried side tracking it instead.
Mikhail's weight suddenly bore down on him, chests to groins touching, their faces a finger's breadth apart, grey eyes swallowed him, it was all he could see, and all he could do not to look away.
"Akihito… for someone like me, when I want something, three days is a long time. I'm not a man to be kept waiting. Do you understand?" the voice coming from Mikhail now was low, intimidating, and it vibrated down to his bones. It was fucking thrilling on a primal scale, to think someone like Mikhail liked him back.
Once again, any words died on his tongue, and all he got out between dry swallows was a quiet "Yeah. I... like you too." he might as well return the feelings good and proper, even if he couldn't quite pin what those feelings were exactly.
Then his world was fucking spinning again, the tension was literally whisked away with that breeze, and Mikhail beamed down at him, with his perfect straight teeth and lines of glee at the corners of his eyes.
"See! That wasn't so hard, was it?!" the Russian taunted with a chuckle in his face, but then he sat up, and the weight was gone, in more ways than one. He could breathe, he could think, he could function now that Mikhail wasn't stealing his every attention. Fuck. This would totally be the death of him.
Following Mikhail, he sat up too, scratched his head, and hoped like hell the difficulty would be worth it.
Mikhail had never been both this relieved, and wound up, ever.
On one hand, Akihito had taken the initiative to kiss him, to let down his weary guard despite all the things Mikhail told him, and let him in. That was fucking amazing in itself, a completely different feeling to breaking someone and forcing them to spill all their secrets, this was… actually fulfilling on an entirely new level. Like he was an actual human capable of feelings things other than antagonistic desires for chaos or control. He liked to mix it up, sometimes.
On the other hand though. That kiss. That fucking kiss. Were people actually made for other people? Did movie makers, and writers know something about that, that other people didn't?
Never had someone responded to him so genuinely, oh, other boys and girls could act at the start, Mikhail would still have them begging before they knew what'd come over them. But, the way his own hips nestled in between those long legs, how their bodies just slot together, Akihito's fingers in his hair, and his quiet gasps as they parted for moments of breath.
Holy fucking shit, he felt like a teenager full of hormones all over again.
And then the noise from Akihito's throat, which only served to strain him more, and snap him out of it at the same time.
His mother would literally shoot him, probably in the foot or something because she played nasty like that, if he'd taken that path.
He'd be a total asshole if he'd just convinced Akihito to open up to him, and then ignored it to fuck him on the lounger instead.
So, they liked each other. It meant they could still cuddle and shit, right? That's what people who liked each other did on actual dates, wasn't it? Oh well, it was an excuse enough to Mikhail.
He just laughed at the look of surprise on Akihito's face as he sat back, and then pulled the Japanese with him onto his lap, they could talk like this still, after all.
"So, will you tell me more about you now, hm? For everything you say, I can give you a kiss?" and he threw in his most charming smile, and relished the way Akihito pretty much fell to sputtering pieces in his lap.
"T-that won't be necessary." came the pout down at him. "I'd tell you anyway. Probably."
"Yeah. But a reason for kisses is nice, no?" he smirked, to make his point, he took one of the arms draped around his neck, trailed his fingers down to that colorful crimson hand, and kissed the source of his curiosity, those scarred knuckles. "Akihito." he mumbled against the battle marred skin, "Tell me about these. Please."
It seemed to calm the artist, a balme on whatever memories he relived as he thought, so Mikhail was only happy to oblige and keep going, because instead of blushing or fidgeting, it meant Akihito was getting used to this.
"So." Akihito began, almost distantly, and Akihito seemed to take himself to another place as he finally began to get personal with Mikhail, and tell him about his life.
He kissed his knuckles as he listened, going over each one, pressing his lips against each bony protrusion before moving on, never taking his eyes off Akihito all the while.
"My old man is this respectable DA right, and the old lady is this renowned doctor, our family is pretty, um, whatever you call it, respected in upper class circles, all that fucking societal ranking bullshit. It doesn't mean shit to me. Because it's all a lie, but, never mind about that…." there was a long pause as Akihito had another inner battle with himself.
"Akihito. I'm not gonna think worse of you." It's me I'm afraid you're going to think worse of. It seemed to do the trick though, he got a smile full of nostalgia and melancholy, then Akihito surged ahead.
The Russian made a note in the back of his head though, to find out what Akihito meant about it all being a lie. Seemed like a slip of the tongue, but there was more behind it than that if the scowl on that suddenly aged face was anything to go by.
"Anyway. So my parents had all these expectations of me when I was growing up, I was never that smart, ain't no way I could have gotten into law or medical school like they wanted. All I wanted to do, ever, was to draw, or paint, or take pictures and create something to sink into. As I got older, they noticed, and suddenly I couldn't have any more paint sets, sketchbooks got taken away, anything in the house that detracted from 'real studies' as they called it, got taken away. I think I was like, fucking 12, they just took it all one day, and went back to work like usual. Neither of them were ever home, I think there was one week I had cup noodles for dinner every night in middle school." Mikhail felt the beginnings of rage curl in his gut as he listened. The difference in their families was like black and white. No one should treat their kid like that. Mikhail valued his parents and above all, respected them. That was not the relationship Akihito had with his parents at all.
"Sorry! Back to the point." Akihito's nervous laughter brought him around, "So, when it got to middle school, I guess looking back on it now, you could say I turned into a right little shit. But at the time I didn't give a fuck. I'd go out, steal spray cans and find the most gang riddled neighbourhood, and spray my art all over their hideous tagging. Haha oh, those were the days." Akihito shifted in his lap then, relaxing more as he stretched his legs out over the couch, and leant sideways a little more against his chest.
"It's obvious where it's going now, right?"
"Mm, but I still want you to tell me." Mikhail teased, because there was no way Akihito was getting out of it now.
"Argh. Fine." came the huff. "Well, people never took too well with getting their shit sprayed over, even though people stopped to take photos of the murals and collages I used to spray everywhere. It always led back to me. That's where the fighting came in… Ugh, I've never talked about this... At one point there, it became less about art, and more about picking a fight with anything that would swing a fist my way. I was a really angry little bastard, thugs, gangs, the cops, my dad. You name it. I punched it. Mom would patch me up after the old man got any charges cleared using his dodgy ass connections and picked me up, then I'd be off the next weekend doing it all over again. Fuck. I was so angry at everything." a silent snarl curled Akihito's lip then, surprising Mikhail at the sheer feralness of it.
The Koi fish tattoo on one arm, and the dragon on the other suddenly made sense, Akihito had found balance within himself, he'd changed from that person he was talking about, he knew when to be calm like serene fish in a pond, and when to fight and be angry like a rage fueled dragon. This person had so many more facets than what Mikhail first thought.
He wasn't often awestruck, but Akihito had managed to render him just that three days running now.
"It's ok, Akihito. Go on."
The Japanese shifted again, and looked down at one of his hands as he did so, turning his fist, inspecting the silvery blemishes, almost detached now.
"In senior high, that's when it s-started to get real fucking bad. I was pretty out of control, if I think about it now. Sometimes there were knife fights and broken bones, not the regular fist fights I'd always known, I'd grown, and so did the people I picked a bone with, and the cycle just kept repeating, either fight with the local lowlifes until I couldn't stand, or fight the cops if they came first. I guess that's when the scarring really became permanent."
Mikhail braced himself for more, "Then what happened?"
"Saji, my old man, used to try and discipline me the old fashioned way, and being the feral that I was, used to just end up fighting him too, and then the neighbours started getting suspicious about the DA and his son coming to blows in the fancy house at the top of the street. Guess it made him look bad. That's when he put the deal to me. Finish high school with passing marks, go to uni and do whatever I wanted, stay out of trouble, graduate, and then he'd get me out of his hair with this trip. So that's what I did. There were some fucking close calls along the way, with yakuza and people that still had a grudge, but I graduated with honors, Major in Art and minor in english studies, and long story short, here I am."
Mikhail's heart fucking clenched, not at the story, Akihito didn't want a pity party, but at the memory of Akihito staring up at the sky in front of the cathedral with the same tranquil smile on his face that he wore now.
That moment had been an important one after all. And Mikhail had been there to see it. Suddenly he felt honored, that Akihito would share the first days of his achievement with him of all people.
"Um, say something, please." Akihito's ass fidgeted nervously on his thighs.
Mikhail couldn't resist, he threw his arms around that slender waist and squeezed, "You're something else, you know."
"Is that good, or bad?" came the deadpan.
"It's fucking awesome. Not many people would be able to do what you did, and have the outlook on life you have now, you know." because it was true, it wasn't that easy, to break old ties and move forward.
There was a cute head tilt as Akihito thought about it, "I guess, I'd never thought about it that way. If I think about it, it doesn't even feel like it was me at the time. Like, it's just something that happened and in my memories I'm on the outside looking in, it doesn't affect me now. Much anyway."
"Mm. I know exactly how that feels." he admitted quietly, every person he killed, every violent act, at the time he'd be fueled enough by ambition to just get shit done, but looking back on all those scenes now, the dead bodies and begging captives, it was just like what Akihito described. A detached memory through someone elses eyes.
For someone far younger than him, younger than most really, Akihito could say some terribly insightful things. There was so much more of him to explore, with clues and words dropped as they talked tonight that had Mikhail's fingers itching to just order a background check and he'd know most of it, especially on the pathetic excuses of people Akihito called his parents. Oh, he wouldn't mind getting their files at all, but, he kept telling himself that's not how he was going to play this time. He'd wait until Akihito told him instead.
Then there was this enormous source of mental fortitude, another reason he was probably insanely attracted to this person right from the very start. He could see it in people's expression, that internal animal that fueled people, he'd seen it in Akihito right off the bat.
"Hey!" Mikhail asked suddenly, startling Akihito, who jumped on his lap.
"Y-yeah?"
"When you drew me on that napkin, was that the first thing you drew on this trip?" that napkin was still on his nightstand, he'd probably never throw it out.
The awkward groan, and shameful slump of Akihito's shoulders answered that question. "Maybe."
Signs, fate, whatever people called that shit, Mikhail didn't believe in it one bit, but he couldn't help but think it couldn't be a coincidence, that at that time of morning, he'd gone into the cafe that Akihito was at, caught his eye, and just so happened to be walking back out as a timely breeze carried that napkin to his feet.
"Heh. I feel special then!" Mikhail chuckled, coincidence my ass, it was a goddamn sign is what it was.
"Don't let it get to your head." Akihito snarked over his embarrassment.
"Too late." he grinned back. "You said you like me. Can't take it back now, nyah." oh, it was so fun to tease this person.
"... Don't mock me, oi! Um, so then-"
Whatever Akihito was about to say was interrupted as the noise of the rooftop door opening cut him off, and Yuri appeared.
Mikhail fought the urge to issue the order for Yuri to get the fuck back down onto a lower floor. His explicit orders were that he not be disturbed. But he couldn't show his mafia boss face to Akihito yet, so he simmered inside, and held a tense Akihito tighter as Yuri approached.
"What is it?" he barked in Russian. Akihito wanted off, he could tell, he looked away awkwardly at being caught in such a compromising position, but Mikhal didn't care who found out.
He gave that waist another reassuring squeeze, feeling possessive and selfish, like a child that didn't want to let go of their new teddy.
"It's urgent, Misha." Yuri dared a glance at Akihito, as if to say he wouldn't say more in front of an outsider even if he was speaking their native tongue.
That stubborn old bastard. If he wasn't so fucking good at his job, Mikhail would have gotten rid of him years ago. Fuck it. If Yuri said it was urgent then it was urgent.
"I'll be down in a moment, leave us." he managed to grit out in a semblance of normal, and not murderous crime boss like. He was not sulking that his Akihito time had been interrupted. Not one bit. Fucking dumb job, getting in the way and shit.
"Is everything - mmph"
Probably more upset than a man his age should be, Mikhail pulled Akihito down for another kiss, things were just getting good, they were both talking, and then this had to happen.
He didn't want to leave just yet, even if it was only for a moment to see what was going on, so he put all his intentions in that kiss, controlling it from start to finish, loving the way Akihito could only respond by grabbing on and opening his mouth to let him in.
Oh, this was really fucking addicting.
With much, so so much reluctance, he parted and groaned inwardly as he caught sight of Akihito's just been kissed breathless face. That was not fair at all.
"Something's just come up with work." he said, their faces still close enough to kiss again, "I'll be back in a flash." finishing off the reassurance, he leant in for another quick peck.
"Alright then." Akihito said, confused as he left Mikhail's lap and slid onto the couch.
Mikhail didn't like that skeptical expression, not on Akihito, "When I get back, I'll tell you a little something about me, kay?"
The expression vanished, "Okay." Akihito breathed, and he looked at Mikhail like he would have looked at the Mikhail on the napkin, with admiration and appreciation, and the Bratva leader couldn't help but feel like a guilty fucking liar as he shut the rooftop door behind him with a resounding click, because what he was going to sort out with his 'work' was not one bit admirable, and not nearly respectable enough to warrant any appreciation.
Fuck. This might be harder than he thought.
Yuri had indeed made the right call, still didn't make him any less pissed. In fact, it only made him more pissed, the Swiss were playing up with their end of the trade agreement big time, and it'd taken half an hour of threats and phone calls for it to be sorted to Mikhail's short term satisfaction.
There was going to be a few people he'd have to shoot in the next few days to really sort it out, but it wasn't something he could do now. The men could see he wasn't pleased, they stayed far out of the way as he stepped passed them to the stairwell to get back to the roof.
He was actually really fucking pissed. Because this cock up would take him out of St Petersburg for the next couple of days. And well, it was bloody obvious why that would make him angry.
But, he needed to put on his big boy pants as his Ma would say, suck it up and just deal with it. He couldn't afford to be led by emotions, and well, for Mikhail, it was pretty easy for that to happen. Spur of the moment, Carpe Diem, no regrets, he was that sort of guy, to an extent. It drove everyone mad, and that only made it more fun for him!
That didn't mean shit right now though, he took the stairs two at a time until he made it to the rooftop platform, let out his last angry breath, and opened the door.
It was nearly 11pm, but the sky was still trapped in its perpetual dusk, St Petersburg really never failed to soothe him. It's why he chose to live here, after all.
But this setting was even better than looking out from the balcony of his apartment. He could see his city in all it's historic glory from this rooftop, the canals, the cathedrals with their multicolored domes and bright paint work, it's why he'd picked this place to bring Akihito. To say he was happy with the Japaneses' reaction was an understatement.
However, a sight better than all that greeted him under the canvas canopy where he'd spent his evening.
Akihito was fast asleep, sprawled carelessly on his back along the lounger, his ashen blonde bangs had swept over his face while the rest of his hair stood in every direction.
His mouth parted in a little 'o' as he breathed softly, and shifted in his sleep. One arm fell to dangle off the edge of the furniture, stretched out for Mikhail to see the pair of fish tattooed on his arm, reflecting the current state of their bearer, he thought.
The Hermitage all day, and then the evening eating and talking, not to mention the emotional strain of talking about his past to Mikhail, so now with a full stomach and some beer in his system, Akihito was out for the count. He was so fucking cute it hurt.
Whipping out his phone, he flipped it open and snapped a few shots of that blissed out sleeping face.
"It can't be helped then." Mikhail smiled. "I'll have to tell you about myself another day."