apologies on the delay, i think i may have created about 500 plotholes/contradictions in this chapter but I am too tired to care - on that note though, in the last two weeks I've upped my one rep max for squats, bench press, and deadlifts and I am happy inside but dead on the outside haha, (ignore the gym junkie)
Mikhail traipsed back into his room, each step bringing him further away from his corny ideas of morning coffee in bed with not a butt ugly subordinate in sight, cooking in his unused kitchen, showing Akihito around his renaissance style apartment that over looked the canals, and closer to a worse situation than last night.
Not that Mikhail actually had any fucking experience in the whole meeting parents deal, but he still knew that in actual loving relationships that people had; meeting parents was a big thing – and for fucks sake he'd already put enough on Akihito's plate without this damn road block to deal with.
There was still so much he wanted to talk about with him today too, about what was going to happen now that Mikhail didn't actually have to make the artist stay with him, about what Akihito actually wanted to do, oh, Mikhail couldn't forget about Akihito's aspirations to travel and see the world, and fuck if he wasn't the most deserving person on earth to have those aspirations fulfilled.
The Bratva leader knew he was an atrocious person, truly one of the worst, but he never thought of himself as this bad, the internal battle waging war inside him right now was bringing even more horrid things to the surface. He wanted Akihito to see the endless wonders he'd dreamed about, to run his hands through the green grass of different continents, to look at the dusk colored sky of both hemispheres, to see all the constellations and feel the forces of nature where the oceans met in clashes of white wash.
Except he didn't want that at all, at the same time all he wanted was for Akihito to actually stay, stay for however long this thing lasted, he was under no illusions that shit would last forever, it wasn't a fucking romance novel, if it ended then so be it, but in the meantime the monster inside that was greed and lust, this insatiable hunger to monopolize and an unquenchable desire to possess everything, all the fucking things that made him successful in being Mikhail goddamn Arbatov, were all focused – no, concentrated – on one single person.
None of those things had ever been associated with another human before, and oh, what a little crush could do for his sense of humanity, or the lack there of he was currently feeling. It was only the fact that it was that resilient artist who when push came to shove, wouldn't take any bullshit, that made it fine – anyone else wouldn't be able to handle it.
Yeah, getting that out of the way, actual communication today might have been nice, Akihito probably had things to ask him too, but no. That Alina Arbatov, his mother, had other ideas while his old man, Grigory, probably just got dragged along for the ride.
"Ah, what's done is fucking done, I suppose." The Russian sighed to himself as he pushed the oak door to his room open – and he thought he'd find Akihito still sprawled across the bed but he was nowhere to be seen.
Shit, he hadn't actually told Akihito yet and the Japanese had already bolted. "Fuck." The curse crawled up his throat and hid under his breath as he stepped further into his room to hear his ensuite tap splashing in the porcelain sink.
Jesus, now he was being irrational to top things off – the dude had just gone to the damn bathroom. Getting ahold of himself with a mental slap and a frustrated growl, Mikhail cleared his head of shit and breathed in fresh resolve and self-control. Enough of that dithery dribble – Mikhail Arbatov didn't fucking stress and he didn't lose when it came to emotions either.
So he waltzed into the bathroom back to his usual self to clean himself up and get a fresh pair of briefs, and the sight that jumped out at him from the bathroom mirror was nothing short of heart stuttering.
There was Akihito with those fricken cute camo briefs back on, all planes of supple skin and slender muscle, roaring dragon and serene koi fish, nothing else; washing his hands in a world of his own. God, it was lucky Mikhail had other things on his mind right now, he groaned to himself inwardly as his eyes went back to those vivid colored hands.
Those hands that minutes ago had been down Mikhail's pants and fuck the way those fingers touched him had brought goose bumps to his skin.
It wasn't that Akihito had experience with that sort of thing, Mikhail knew he didn't, it was just that he was fucking good with those hands, soft and well kept on the inside, fingers deft and dexterous, the way they rolled over his head and squeezed on the way back down, so fucking good.
Not just that though, Mikhail came to realize he had a bit of an obsession with those hands, with the scarred knuckles that told of past demons, crimson flowers, the harbingers of new beginnings that spoke of pride in himself as a person, those fucking hands had touched him with meaning, and the Russian liked it, a lot.
He enveloped Akihito from behind, relishing the fright and instant sigh of relief when the smaller person cradled against his chest realized it was only him.
"Ah – oh, um, so is everything all good?" and that blush at their closeness was too cute, the way Akihito's hands faltered as Mikhail took them in his to help wash them, rubbings his thumbs over those knuckles and taking in the precise lines of those tattoos.
Akihito was so much smaller than him, Mikhail's entire frame outlined Akihito's in the mirror's reflection as they washed their hands together, a head taller, his shoulders wider and his chest broader, arms longer and neck thicker, Mikhail felt as if he was looking at the very picture of that ugly thing that wanted to ensnare Akihito in the trap of the Russian's existence, to overwhelm him with the sheer nature of his person.
However the pinnacle that was Akihito stood firm in the reflection, his figure still substantial and dignified with strength on his bones and a surety in his stance and everything that screamed fight and never flight; there was also one thing about the both of them that was exactly the same, the scars and marks on their skin from the proverbial battles won. Akihito could handle a fucking visit from parents, he'd weathered way worse and the evidence was right in front of him.
"That was actually Alina, my mother, she's just touched down at the air port and is going to be here soon." The words came out surprisingly easy, considering.
By now Akihito had finished washing his hands, and had turned around in the cage of Mikhail's arms to stare flat at him, unimpressed. "Oi, I know you think you're funny, but that's not a fucking funny joke."
Fuck yeah, Akihito could do this, even if he thought it was a joke and handled it this well, it was better than a stuttered half assed reply, right now he was getting the full sass, and of course Mikhail couldn't resist, so he played right along.
"Oho, but babe, do you see me laughing?" they met smiling gaze on not impressed glare as Mikhail sing songed.
That's when Mikhail knew he'd misjudged, from this distance he even fucking felt Akihito's heart rate increase, saw the panic slick his brow and the trauma from his own upbringing cloud his thoughts and Mikhail fucking raged inside because not only did Akihito distress over his own parents, but any parental figure like all he knew was neglect and abandon, too much weight on his shoulders and unrealistic expectations.
He saw the barriers rear up and the self-preservation appear and now Mikhail had more questions – he'd known there was animosity there but this much? Maybe if it was this bad Mikhail could just fucking kill them and Akihito could be rid of them both.
"I.. need to go."
"Hey hey hey." Mikhail soothed as he reigned him in after following him to the bedroom, where the Japanese was getting dressed in haste, not the way Mikhail wanted this to go at all. In stress releasing grasps of his fingers he massaged Akihito's tense shoulders as he looked him in the eye again, "Fuck, I'm no good at this sort of thing. Seriously, I know it's not ideal, but you are my fucking boyfriend now whether you like it or not, I'm gonna make you a coffee that will blow your mind, cook you a huge breakfast and we're gonna do all that cute morning after shit, okay? I have no fucking clue how things work in your house, but if you're gonna trust me on at least one thing right now, trust me when I say that this sort of thing in my house will be fine."
Once again the heady feeling of having power over someone kicked in, Akihito calmed with each of his words, like convincing him sky diving was safe with a simple touch and a reassurance that Mikhail actually meant, it happened the same right now – it was cruel, Akihito was giving it all over to Mikhail, his control, the one thing that he valued the most – and Mikhail would gladly take it if it meant he would stay, because it was too soon for trust yet.
Before any more doubt could tarnish their morning, Mikhail went on, determined to make the most of the day, "Plus, there's not one thing they wont like about you anyway, so I don't want you to meet them anymore than you do. I don't like sharing."
Rose-colored cheeks answered him coupled with a nervous laugh, that was more like it. "Don't act so spoilt." Akihito chided half-heartedly, Mikhail could feel his heart rate slowing as he caressed his neck and brought them together for another slow morning kiss.
"I can sulk all I want, my fucking house." And maybe he was pouting a little. "Do you want me to have a spare change of stuff brought over from your hotel?"
"Huh? You can do that?" Akihito stopped dressing to look at him with a quizzical brow, so sweet, Mikhail thought as he restrained himself.
"Oho, Akihito, in Russia I can do pretty much anything." And Mikhail wasn't one to show off usually, except with Akihito he was finding out fast that what he was usually like was completely different when it came to being with this person. He was totally flaunting his power in front of this person.
"Haha, fuck, that's gonna take some getting used to." Introspection took Akihito away from him for a second, his mind somewhere else as he thought of something to do with it all, those normally care free features darkened in a way Mikhail thought not possible, that's when gears began to grind in his own head, puzzle pieces jumping out at him and putting themselves together in flashes of his acute logic.
Mikhail had an inkling of an idea, the combination of parents, his own occupation and that brooding state of Akihito's gave him a foreshadowing, but he couldn't jump to conclusions, if Akihito had a past that haunting then he'd wait until the artist was sure enough to talk about it, or until the shit hit the fan.
But that was enough of that for now, "Nah, I'm still the same hunk you drew on your coffee napkin just over a week ago, come on, I'll make you coffee. Extra strong, right?" before Akihito could sputter an answer or brood anymore; Mikhail was already dragging him by the wrist to his kitchen, showing him around the rooms down the hallway as they went.
Fuck, Akihito felt like such a loser. He'd nearly done a full flip out in front of Mikhail, like, full fucking flip out, he couldn't even fucking remember the last time that happened, probably the day he left home.
Parents were a terrifying notion to Akihito, and he'd reacted before logic could play any part in it. Panic mode.
All his previous gripes of not living up to expectations that he'd told himself he never cared about came back with a vengeance, more than ever before. It was all done and dusted with his own parents; the bridges burnt to ashes, and that was fine, but even the scent of disapproval from Misha's parents would have him reeling, because he really actually fucking cared, a lot. He cared a lot about what Mikhail thought about him, so naturally that was going to translate to the people that raised him.
Holy fucking shit, he was meeting the leader of the Russian Bratva's parents!
He was ashamed of his reaction, instantly he'd wanted to run, and Akihito fucking hated running, Mikhail knew he hated running, yet all it took was a few cooed words from Mikhail, a warm kiss and those controlling hands on his neck, and like some walking sedative the Russian had brought him back down into the realm of freaking out a little less.
Akihito was terrified and grateful about it all at the same time, that's what made Misha so terrifyingly exciting in the first place; he could feel himself being drawn further in, and if he was meeting Mikhail's parents on some random happenstance, then what was to stop it happening the other way around? For some reason, he knew it wouldn't be pretty.
And he made the resolve that that situation could never, ever fucking come to pass, he didn't want this new good thing to be tainted with this bad old thing, like mixing paint; once you combined the colors you'd never be able to get it back to what it used to be.
After that though, Misha acted like nothing had happened, he wasn't overly chirpy or mocking to make him feel better, he didn't make jokes to try make him laugh – more than usual anyway – he was just Mikhail.
It's like the Russian knew how to pacify him, it helped him chill, he taught Akihito how to use his fancy Italian coffee machine with its stainless steel pipes and brass fittings. They joked around in the kitchen like Mikhail promised they would, ate pastry and kissed some more because Misha was really clingy now that things were official for some reason and Akihito reveled in every second of it because he'd never been doted on before.
Akihito actually relaxed enough to take in the lavish carpets with tasseled edges and gold threadwork, the velvet lined furniture with wooden claws feet and high backing, the damask wallpaper and stark white edges of the ceilings, the chandeliers, the balconies with marble balustrades and bathrooms with copper bathtubs – an actual fucking mini palace apartment. It suited Mikhail, this place, it was beautiful like him, traditional and in a class of its own, just like him, and yet Akihito didn't find himself feeling out of place at all.
His clothes –all his clothes, suitcase and everything- were dropped off by some suited up dude that looked him up at down in distaste at one glance of the ink on his arms and the scars on his hands, and that was a reaction he was used to at least, however the growl from Misha and the resulting order in Russian had the man bowing apologies and scampering off like he could feel the target sighted on his back. That… Akihito was not used to, but it was kinda cool; to have some judgmental fuck actually apologize for jumping to conclusions instead of Akihito having to fight over it.
"If anyone gives you trouble, you can knock their fucking block off or I'll do it for you, okay?" Mikhail grumbled as he dragged Akihito's suitcase down the hallway.
The thought of being in a fistfight after all these years was laughable; he'd get pounded in seconds, probably. "Never mind that, oi, why is all my stuff here?!" he trailed after Mikhail in confusion.
"You stay here from now on." The Russian simply deadpanned as he settled the luggage in the master suite with a self-satisfied smile and a way too handsome twinkle in his eye.
Akihito bristled despite the heat in his cheeks, "H-hey, don't just go deciding things on your own." And dammit, coyness had his words coming out all mixed up, his things in Mikhail's room, sleeping in said room, it was like a fucking… "That's just like moving in!" he blurt out.
That arrogant, fucking perfect smile grew wider with those perfect teeth and skilled lips, all the way to Mikhail's sparkling grey eyes that gleaned with mischief. Doomed, he was so doomed.
A deep chuckle echoed through the room as Mikhail stalked forward and pinned him against the wall where they stood, groin to chest and a palm planted on the wall beside his head for caging good measure, "Didn't I tell you, Akihito, that in Russia I can do anything I want, in fact if it weren't for our impending visitors I'd fuck you right here against this wall, maybe I'll leave some marks on your neck for my parents to see." It was low, bold, it seeped into his bones and up his spine and drew the shiver out all the way to his fingertips. That handsome face hovered above his, blank and unreadable, before it cracked into another grin and the tension vanished with it. "But moving in sounds good, ha? Then we can get married with a huge white wedding, and get a dog and call it Lady, and a house on the prairie, and –
"Oh my god shut up, you giant cheeseball!" Akihito interrupted before the sap could go on, clamping a free hand over his mouth that was promptly licked by a hot tongue darting out from Mikhail's lips. "Ew!"
"Fufu, got ya. Ahh, I know, that was bad even for me, I'm not sorry."
"Yeah yeah, lemme get dressed, you clingy bastard."
"Oho, you love it, don't lie!"
The fun and games continued as Mikhail did his best to impede every effort of Akihito's to get changed, kissing his back as he took his shirt off and smacking his bare ass to leave a hand print when he changed his pants, pulling him onto the bed and tugging his pants back off, in the end Akihito had to slap his hands away and finish getting dressed as quickly as possible, and it was just on time for the door bell to ring.
Akihito should have felt more panicked, flustered even, but he was so caught up in Mikhail's mood that his heart simply skipped a beat before it fell back into it's usual rhythm, he really did trust Misha – to this extent at least.
"Come on, let's get the hard part over and done with, eh?" Mikhail smiled, and it was more fervent than the sunrise that had greeted him that morning, so he followed the broad back of Mikhail down the hall to the entrance.
His parents had already let themselves in as they got to the foyer, access key and all and now Akihito knew where Mikhail got his looks from, the long curled locks of gold framing the striking blue eyes of his mother, refined and beautiful with a wicked layer underneath, along with the imposing height, solid build, severity of presence that was his father, all the way down to those ever shifting grey eyes that could scour out everything down to your very soul.
The scrutiny of Mikhail's father made him want to shrink, crawl away into whatever alcove or cupboard there was in the house, because he'd never met anyone more terrifying than this, expressionless and cold – the image of his own father and then some, this man with his slicked back white hair and air of superiority was in a class even above his son's.
Maybe it was stupid to stay here today after all, he could feel the lump of mortification growing in this throat, that was until he was yanked from Mikhail's grasp and into the hands of his mother, who was now looking at him with the warm smile and playful demeanor that Akihito had been privy to for the last week with Mikhail.
"Oooh, so you're the one he's been telling me about!" she bubbled in accented English, infectious and light, "Please take care of my son, he's absolutely useless so you have your work cut out for you." And before Akihito could even stammer an answer or gauge what was happening, his cheeks were being kissed one after another, and he was squeezed with a frightening amount of force from such a small woman.
"Oi, don't go saying unnecessary things, you old bat, where's my hello?" came the protest from behind him, as Akihito pulled away he watched the two Arbatov men hug each other roughly with claps on the back, a picture of familiarity and all the bonds that went with it.
That's when Akihito knew this was different, like the shining beacon on Mikhail's hand with his ring that signified leadership; Akihito's eyes found the matching wedding rings on the married couple's fingers, maybe he noticed them more because his parents hadn't worn theirs for as long as he'd been alive, but it still it was enough for Akihito be sure that this environment was like nothing he'd grown up with, this was a family in truth.
Mikhail's dad sighed at his wife, before turning to him with those grey eyes that changed with the shift in attention, not cold in the least.
"Aline, don't suffocate the young man, I've not been told your name?" Mikhail's father reached out a hand, and even though he still wasn't smiling, Akihito felt the welcome, he didn't look at the scars on his knuckles or the tattoos on his arms, he looked Akihito in the eye like he was just another fucking person who deserved to be treated like one.
He knew it wasn't as simple as that, that this meeting was it and it would all be fine and dandy, but still it was better than being weighed and measured instantaneously.
With a newfound confidence, he reached out to Mikhail's father and grasped his hand in firm resolve and shook with the determination he now felt. "My name is Takaba Akihito, call me Akihito. Pleased to meet you." And he could feel Mikhail watching him carefully, radiating warmth on his back because it was going exactly how Misha said it would, and Akihito was sure the Russian could smell his relief.
He stood firm in the face of the indifferent assessment as Akihito felt the palpable strength and ambition in his grasp through the handshake, but still those eyes were acknowledging him in a way no adult back home ever had, "Grigory Arbatov, and you've already met my wife, Aline. I hope we can get along, Akihito."
Just like that it was done, the dreaded first meeting, because Mikhail's mother, no, Aline, barged right back in to push her husband aside and took all of Akihito's attention once more. "Just call him Grisha, he's a shy one so don't take any offence to his lack of words, right dear?"
"Ma, that's my boyfriend, don't cling to him, you'll creep him out!" a new side of Mikhail manifested itself then as he bickered with his mother, he'd never seen Misha on the back foot before, and Akihito couldn't help but laugh as he fell in beside Mikhail on their way back to the lounge.
"Coffee please, Misha." Aline asked as they sat around the open French doors that led to another view of the canals on the other side of Mikhail's apartment, Akihito would never get tired of these sights and he knew Mikhail had brought them here as a soothing distraction for him.
The pair that Akihito thought would be his undoing watched them both as Akihito turned to his boyfriend – and fuck that really was going to take some getting used too – that was looking at him in the silent question of will you be okay by yourself? Akihito shooed him away with a flick of his wrist because he could take care of himself, dammit.
This time yesterday Akihito was in a luxury bed in a hotel room, tossing and turning because he had a date that evening with a mysterious Russian who he knew next to nothing about and he'd been nervous as shit about it, now though, he was sitting in that Russian's living room at this high class apartment, said Russian just so happened to be not only a criminal, but one of the biggest ones in Europe, to top it off; he'd spent the night in his bed being fucked beyond comprehension and to finish it all off he was sitting alone with the parents while they waited on more coffee, because he fucking needed more than one.
"I hope Misha has shown you a good time during your stay?" Aline smiled to him as she sat back next to Grigory, hissing steam and the clinking of cups and dishes could be heard from the kitchen, the sound of Mikhail rushing to get back as fast as possible.
Thanking his lucky fucking usually unlucky stars for once at the easy question, Akihito answered with ease, because he hadn't had a chance to talk much to anyone else this week apart from Mikhail. He got talking about the cathedral they'd first visited, the view of the harbor Mikhail had taken him to see, the food and architecture and all the things that had Akihito's enthusiasm piqued enough for him to feel comfortable. He didn't even notice Mikhail come back in until another coffee was presented in front of his face.
"Ah! Thanks!" he accepted it gratefully as Mikhail kicked back next to him and stretched his long legs out with a yawn.
"Don't mind me, you know, just interrupting your art talk in my own house." Mikhail joked with a wink.
The morning turned into lunch without any serious questions, but every now and then he noticed a silent conversation between Mikhail and his father, and Akihito knew they would come.
Inadvertently, it ended up being Akihito who segued the conversation towards a place that made Akihito nervous; before he knew it he'd already dug himself into a hole.
He made the mistake of asking what Grigory and Aline did for a living, a seemingly innocent question, only to find out that Aline managed finances and money for Mikhail's organization and that Grigory dealt with military politics and was a former KGB commander, they held nothing back from Akihito – it was a test if you will, however the answers made it obvious how Mikhail ended up in the position he was now in.
"Ah... So it runs in the family then." Akihito commented offhandedly, he should be used to the idea of sinister occupations running in the family, after all his own was a good secret example – excluding him.
That's when it happened; it was Grigory's turn, those unreadable eyes were fixed on him as the man leant back in his chair with the poise of a person who had control at his fingertips and power at the push of a button.
"And what about you, Akihito? You majored in art yes, but what do your parents do?"