Author's note: So I have been having MAJOR problems trying to upload documents or even copy and paste my work onto the site to update new chapters, is this happening to anyone else, anyone know how do I fix it? I've been trying to upload this chapter for about 45 minutes now, I was about to throw in the towel and not update at all. If anyone can offer a solution I will love you for it, maybe even write you something, haha. Anyway, onto the chapter in which everything I had planned didn't actually happen. Oh well.

Mikhail had never not wanted to go to work this much in his life, 5am starts were no fun for anyone, but neglecting work was something that Mikhail couldn't comprehend despite what people thought of him and the airs he put on.

The only way to stay the best, to stay the strongest, was to prove it to people every single day all over again, and have some fun while you were at it too, nothing was better than people's reactions as he defied expectations over and over, throwing people for a loop was one of the most fun things in life.

Everyday Mikhail woke up, reset from the previous day and began anew, it was the best way to keep his head clear of wasted emotions like worry and regret, the only way to look was forward, and if anyone got in his line of sight he'd fucking decimate them.

Everyday was a new day, this one especially, because he had to go to work and leave Akihito alone in his bed, and there was something fundamentally wrong with that notion in Mikhail's head. Oblivious to Mikhail's morning routine; Akihito slept through Mikhail waking up and showering, getting dressed and re loading his weapons with fresh ammunition.

He was the weirdest sleeper, sprawled out diagonal across the bed with his feet off the side and his head on Mikhail's pillow instead of his own, the white sheets covered nothing but his legs and left him bare from the waist up – fuck, he was tempted to take photos.

It was a view Mikhail wanted to get used to in the mornings, that lightly tanned skin perfect with scarred imperfections on the backdrop of white cotton, his tattoos the masterpieces that told of Akihito's whirlwind nature that was dormant only because he was resting and would be back full force the moment those striated hazel eyes opened.

Mikhail didn't know what the future held when it came to this person, but it was something he wanted to find out, and the sheer fucking amount he obsessed over it was alarming because that's what he was doing at exactly this moment already. It was amazing, when you had something that you couldn't control; how much you wanted to see what would happen next.

Yeah, it'd only been a fucking week and a bit, but it felt like a split second, and that wasn't long enough.

With will power only he left his bedroom and shut the door behind him, of course he found his parents already up and ready for the day in the kitchen even at this time, because old habits die hard and his parents were the most disciplined people he knew.

That old bat just looked at him, smug with herself and a steaming cup of tea as he took breakfast in silence, firing all the cylinders in his brain and readying for the day to come whilst his father did the same.

At 5:30 Yuri showed up, not a minute earlier or a minute later, and he made to leave with his right hand man to dominate today as he did everyday, but naturally his fucking mother had to get a word in as he left.

"I'll look after him, don't you worry, Misha dear." And only a mother's satisfied cackle could have him gritting his teeth before he shut the door behind him.

It took a few steps down the hall and into the elevator for him to quell the urge to go back to bed with Akihito right then and there, but with all the days' meetings, paper work, goals and agendas shoved in his face with a hand from Yuri; he was back in work mode in an instant, because Yuri's timing was always perfect even if he was a bastard.

"Nothing amiss while I was off?" it didn't look like it as he sieved through the paperwork, but it was something he always asked, Yuri knew the drill.

"One thing about our upcoming meeting in France, our informant in Paris said authorities have a new task force aimed at cracking down on the trade of small arms and concealable weapons, of course we can buy them out or establish an agreement, but –

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on the same page, Yuri, I'll drive the price up on both sides and lock them both into agreements so I control the market, oho, this trip might be a little more fun that usual. I wonder if Akihito will be interested in any of it." He hummed the last part to himself in thought, because maybe he'd been thinking ahead too much, of how to assimilate Akihito into his life even more and bring him in even deeper. Akihito was still undecided on the whole underworld issue, that much he knew, he was still undecided on the trust that went with it too, so if Mikhail could show him bit by bit and slowly usher him to acceptance then it would be his win. Control you could take from someone, trust was something that had to be given, and he wanted both of those things from Akihito willingly.

Shit, he'd been thinking about this way too fucking much.

Yuri though, had stopped in his tracks on the way to the car at Mikhail's musings, sardonic and patronizing as he spoke in monotone. "You're going to bring him into this world?"

They both knew the magnitude of that question, the selfishness and cruelty of it, because in reality the nicest thing he could do was keep Akihito away, "He can handle it." Was all Mikhail shrugged.

Sighing in his own acceptance that his boss had made up his mind, Yuri followed him to the Hummer. "You'd better hope so."

The day was moving slow, it was just passed 2pm and Mikhail had developed a fucking serious fear of missing out, so much so that he was a bit more ruthless than usual, less tolerant with negotiations and a little quicker in pulling the trigger. He didn't feel rushed as such; it was just that the commodity of time had a little bit more value now.

Akihito had send only a hand full of texts, an adorable good morning that was full of typos and half sentences because he'd obviously sent it while half asleep, a more awake text after his mother took him to one of the coffee shops in the city, a quick reply at lunch with a cute smiley emoji that said he was having fun, and a question asking Mikhail what time he'd be home.

He was checking his phone like some desperate lover, which was only because his mom was quick and fast with the text messages, bragging in every single one of them, that old bag.

She sent him a photo of Akihito drinking that morning coffee, still with his permanent bed head and contradicting bright eyes, he was wearing a simple white tee this morning, tastefully loose enough to show some collarbone and the frame of his shoulders, three quarter skinny jeans and high top converses, he was cute and punk as fuck and the photo only made him jealous.

He got selfies of them both in front of all the famous cathedrals in town, of his fucking mother kissing Akihito's cheek as Akihito himself smiled at the camera with his eyes wide in surprise because if he knew his mom; she would have done that without saying anything.

She sent a photo of Akihito zoned out on a stretch of green grass, sitting cross legged with his sketch book flipped open and his red hand working across the page, the profile of the photo was mesmerizing, it captured his concentration and unblinking eyes, his complete and utter dedication to the piece of paper in front of him. He wanted to be the only one to see that side of him, but it wasn't so bad if his mom could witness that person at work.

More selfies and food photos, more photos of Akihito doing Akihito things that his mom had clearly picked up on too, and he couldn't wait to go to France so he could have Akihito all to himself, for fucks sake.

The icing on the cake however, was the text just before he was going into another rendezvous as 4pm,

From: Mumsy

I'm adopting him.

And Mikhail couldn't reply to that fast enough, because fuck no.

To: Mumsy

Piss off Ma, that would make him my brother, I'm not fucking my brother. He's mine.

And, like every mother's would be, her reply was fucking ridiculous.

From: Mumsy

Too much information... But at least if you marry him then he can still be my son, then we both win! How lucky is that :P I'm so clever.

He wasn't even going to justify that with an answer, all he did was groan and bury his phone in his jacket pocket before going into his meeting.

Still, he was glad they were getting along, but the sooner he got on that jet with Akihito the better.

With the meeting over a few hours later, he was surprised to only find one more text message from her though, rather then the photo spam he was expecting.

From: Mumsy

In all seriousness, Misha, he is more than a match for you, don't sulk when things don't go your way.

She was sharp too, his mother, sharp enough to have gauged in a day what took Mikhail a week, and sharp enough to say that even though her idea had been to help him out, it wasn't for him exactly either.

He knew all this, she'd just brought them more time together to establish whatever it was they were going to end up as, and it fucking grated on him because if anyone fucked it up, it would be him and she'd have no problem heckling him for it.

Nothing like a precisely un-doting parent and a ball of energy to keep him on his best behavior. Sheesh.

Still, they were going to Paris and nothing could take away from that.

Only a few days to go.

Only a few long days, it turned out to be for Mikhail. With his old man still working here in the city it meant his mother had free reign with Akihito, Mikhail had come home late each night because he needed to tidy things up and establish order before flying out, and that fucking woman had worn Akihito out so much every day that he was out like a light every single night he got home.

It was cute and frustrating and entertaining all in one, cute because Akihito's exhausted sleeping face was pretty fucking adorable and it in no way suited the person he was when he woke up, frustrating because it meant it'd been three damn days since a proper conversation with him and he hoped Akihito was organized enough to at least plan what he wanted to do because he'd left everything except for accommodation in Akihito's hands, and entertaining because every time he tried to actually wake Akihito up to communicate or even steal a kiss; he got this seriously pissed off angry face of a just-graduated-uni student who valued sleep more than their own life. It didn't matter if it was Mikhail waking him up or not, the half conscious 'fuck off' and subsequent roll over amused him to no end.

It was nearly enough for him to get the fix that he found himself craving as days went by, but he was getting his fix now anyway, because now they were on his jet, seated and ready for take off in a cabin separate to the small handful of men he was bringing with him, and finally Akihito was awake, coherent and looking at him with this concentrating face that Mikhail couldn't place.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." He teased as the quite whine of the jet made itself known, and to his surprise that's what he fucking did, no blushes about it, Akihito fished his phone from his pocket and snapped a shot in one quick go, and now he was smiling back this cheeky smile like he thought he was the funniest thing on the planet.

"Don't mind if I do, then maybe the solid evidence will convince me this isn't a fucking dream after all, holy shit, I am going to Paris on a jet with the napkin dude." Even though it was true indeed, Akihito still resonated disbelief like he couldn't believe his luck, and now that Mikhail thought about it too, this whole thing was just fucking insane.

"Pfft, you'd better believe it, cos we'll be there soon and we have a few days before my men will have gathered enough intel for me to make deals with both sides." The gentle ting of impending take off lit the cabin warning lights, and Akihito was staring at him intently, "So we can do whatever you want until then."

And, because Akihito was probably under fewer illusions than Mikhail thought, he got this deadpan look and flat question. "Then what happens?"

Of course Akihito would want to know that, he must have a million reservations about it all, Mikhail wanted to know them all, and more than that he wanted to know what Akihito was going to do about them, because he had no fucking idea. He could read Akihito's face like an open book in the moment, but when the person himself didn't have plans for anything in the future, then Mikhail couldn't even begin to speculate, and the relinquishing of control in that regard was oddly freeing, and maddening all in one.

It was time to see what sort of initiative Akihito was going to take. "You can come with me if you want." He threw only one option out and left the other unvoiced. His mom would kick his ass.

An eyebrow curved high and quizzical on Akihito's puzzled face, "Hah? No way, meetings are boring, I'm good thanks." Akihito kicked back with a huff to emphasize how ridiculous it was.

This right here was what his old lady was talking about, it was a bit crazy after all, and way too soon, so rather than get hung up on it; he let it go with a sigh because it was worth a shot anyway.

As the plane reached altitude and leveled out, he heard Akihito mutter under his breath. "I'll think about it though."

And right now that was more than what he should ask for, and way more than he fucking deserved.

More than that right now though, it was time to find out what the Little Fox had in mind for sight seeing and plans, and for the four-hour plane ride he was captive to Akihito's enthusiasm and excitement, really though, Mikhail didn't give a shit where they went, because he wouldn't be looking at the views; he'd be looking at Akihito instead.

He was in deep, it was probably time to start reigning it in, because any deeper than this and it would be him losing control all together.

The offer from Misha had rattled Akihito for a few seconds, but his reaction had been instant even though he hadn't really even made up his mind, he was no good at sitting still, or paying attention to anything but a canvas for a long period of time, so he'd said no right off the bat on that thought alone.

Then, there was the fact there was no fucking point him being there, cos what could he do? Why did Mikhail even ask? Nah, he knew the answer to that last one, it'd taken Mikhail long enough to tell Akihito the truth about what he did for a living, and he was probably just trying to bring it up again because they both knew Akihito was still avoiding it.

He shouldn't though, it's not like he hadn't been thinking about it, it was just that it didn't fucking seem real yet, because this wasn't the sort of criminal life or family he was used to.

Mikhail wasn't a poser pretending to be something he wasn't, neither were his parents, and it felt so damn impossible that maybe he could have the best of both worlds with it all, so the instinct to turn a blind eye to it was there only because the fear of finding lies was painting an ugly picture in his head.

Maybe it was better to rip the band-aid off sooner rather than later though, because later on it would hurt so much fucking more. Or he could just peel a corner back and test the waters, because Aline had said it was okay to take it one step at a time despite what her son wanted.

Fuck it, he'd make a decision on the day, because right now they were touching down in Paris and like hell he was gonna think about all that when the sun would be setting soon and the city would be at its peak of beauty. Maybe he could see the Louvre at least today before going to their hotel for the night.

They had a car waiting for them at the airport, nothing like the big black Hummer that Akihito had to step up into that Mikhail had back in St Petersburg, this car was a little Alfa Romeo sports hatch, high class black with a tan leather interior and a peppy throttle that made it fun to sit in the passenger seat as Mikhail took them to their hotel.

It was like sensory overload, he was in Paris, a place he'd longed to see since he'd learnt it existed, the windows in the car were down, the sunroof was open and twilight streamed through as they sped down the freeway, laughing as Mikhail weaved in and out of traffic and pretended to race with oblivious drivers who thought they were probably just a pair of hooligans. Well, they were a pair of fucking hooligans now that he thought about it.

Freedom whipped at his hair, the wind from the open window washed his face and sent cool air over his scalp like he was bathing in a vision he thought would never see in real life. Next to him the wind in Mikhail's hair sent those curling locks of gold in all directions, he was looking at the road with a smile in his eye and Akihito would always admire that jawline from this angle sitting in the passenger seat. He had one confident arm a top the steering wheel, while his other hand gripped the gearstick with a poise that he was fucking jealous of. That gold ring was on that hand too, he'd never seen Mikhail without it. Akihito knew it was something he had to come to terms with, because Mikhail wouldn't be Mikhail without that ring, he knew that much.

Dusk was taking over the sky as they arrived at their hotel, as Mikhail ushered him in quickly and wouldn't let him look around, and after checking in with their minimal luggage he noticed Mikhail push the top floor button on the elevator, and wondered what he'd be able to see from there.

Yet before he could even step foot in their room, Mikhail's body was looming behind him, warm breath down his neck and goose bumps on his skin, the intimate heat from the chest cradling his back made him utterly fucking weak.

"Close your eyes." The accented voice crooned in his ear with a commanding note.

"Why?" and he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, because Mikhail had this way of getting into his space that made time stop all other train of thought.

He could feel the nose buried in his hair, taking in his scent and sending shivers throughout as Mikhail mumbled the nail in Akihito's coffin, "You'll see, please?"

The butterflies were fucking real, fluttering bastards in his stomach that made him jittery and nervous like he was a goddam maiden being led to bed, instead he got a lingering kiss on the neck, a chuckle as Mikhail noted his reaction, and then a firm pair of hands grabbing his hips to guide him into their suite.

"Don't open them until I say." Mikhail was still as close as ever, guiding him with his body too as Akihito took blind steps on a soft-carpeted floor. It smelt like vanilla and coffee, of cleanliness and elegance and underneath it all he could still pick Mikhail's scent, that masculine sandalwood with subtle notes of power and overwhelming confidence.

There were noises from outside, of cars on roads below, footsteps and voices that were too far away to make out, someone shouting in French and a car horn beeping, and they all got louder with each step he took.

"Watch your step, no, don't open them yet!" came the chide from behind as uncertainty played with his instincts, but he lifted his feet blindly anyway, stepped onto a different surface and felt a cool air on his face and a gentle breeze tug at his patience because they were outside again and fucking hell he wanted to look!

"Okay, open them now." Was the last instruction before Mikhail's heat was gone and he was left alone to comprehend the world before him, déjà vu rocked him as he realized Mikhail had done something like this before already, and he never thought anything could compare to that view of St Petersburg from on top of the world, but this was pretty fucking close.

His immediate surroundings put him on a grey stone roof terrace with creeping green vines growing over the wall, cobblestone footing and potted topiaries with roses that were flowering white and red luminescent in the setting sun, a small two piece dining set with distressed white paint and a bottle of champagne in a condensation speckled ice bucket.

And that was only the foreground, because what he should be looking at was the River Seine below, the stone bridges with archways underneath and lamps reflected at the waters edge, of city lights glowing in the rising darkness, and the Eifel fucking tower standing sentinel in the distance. That mammoth structure of an artist's cliché inspiration stole his attention, lit from top to bottom in yellow light with the moody grey clouds of evening as a backdrop, and he knew he was going to spend every night out here looking at this landmark in his life.

The view couldn't get better, and it was all he could do to savor it with steadying breaths and struggling comprehension.

And then he saw it, saw it as he explored the view from all angles of the quaint terrace that he was standing on, with the Eifel tower to his left, and on the right, down the waterway on the other side of the river was The fucking Louvre. That iconic glass pyramid glittered like the artistic beacon it was, and the medieval palace framing it was unmistakable.

"Well…?" Mikhail hummed as he leant on the stone balustrade like this was any old rooftop, like this wasn't Paris and this wasn't the best view money could buy, and why was he looking at Akihito when he should be looking at the view instead.

"I… just. Fucking hell. I can't even right now." That was it; all he managed to get out. He wasn't often speechless, but Mikhail had this way of taking his words and replacing it with incoherent thought.

"I booked the right place then?" he turned, his eyes this unworldly warm render of grey skies and fondness all pointed in his direction, and the excitement hit Akihito full force, because he was in fucking Paris with the man in front of him and that made it so much better than anything he could have expected, this roof top included.

He only caught a flash of surprise widening Mikhail's eyes as he stepped forward with this terrifying rush of feelings ceasing his body to grab Mikhail by the collar and pull him in for a kiss. But it was only a split second before arms wound around his waist, before Mikhail hummed against his mouth and kissed him back, gentle and on the edge of everything he'll probably ever need but just didn't know it yet.

Then Mikhail was smiling in his face as those calloused hands that Akihito knew were capable of delivering heaven and hell cupped his face, "You hate it that much?" came the tease.

"Yeah, it's absolutely shit, you fail at life." Akihito mocked back, and he hadn't even finished laughing at Mikhail's pout before he was pulled into a headlock and given a fucking noogie of all things.

"You little shit."

And once the tussles and more balcony kissing was over in their secret garden on top of Paris, they drank the champagne directly from the bottle and got way too happy with it as they passed it back and forth. They got down to their underwear and spent the rest of the night rolling around on the bed that wasn't as comfortable as the one at Mikhail's, laughing, making out, playing 21 questions that revolved around all the stupid shit they'd done growing up, and making more memories that Akihito hoped he'd never fucking forget.

Three days and Mikhail was exhausted, exhausted in a way he'd never been before, because Akihito was non-fucking-stop.

He'd had taken charge each day, not out of bossiness but out of overwhelming determination to see and do everything he could in the amount of time that the days gave them.

The days started off the best way Mikhail could hope for, of morning hard ons being taken care of thoroughly and utterly fucking mind-blowingly. This newly discovered Akihito-hand-fetish of his had him kissing down Akihito's stomach in the mornings, sucking at that soft spot of skin inside his hip to make him quiver and moan in the back of his throat, it had him teasing with gentle licks and half hollowed cheeks until Mikhail got what he wanted, until Akihito would thread both battle scared hands through Mikhail's hair, gently at first, and then he'd hold on as he drove Akihito to the point of insanity, that grip would get viciously tight, conflictingly so as Akihito's embarrassment of coming down Mikhail's throat fought against the urge to hold on tighter and ride out the best head he'd ever been given.

It was always the latter, Akihito's back arching up into this depraved angle, Akihito's jaw going slack with silent whimpers and his head thrown into the pillows, and most importantly Akihito's fingers curling in his hair with painful finality as Mikhail pulled him over the edge with one final drag of his lips down Akihito's cock.

Mikhail would be so hard in the end, and Akihito so eager to return the favor that he'd be yanked up by his hair and kissed rough, hard and toothy, Akihito's hand would snake between them to finish him off with a few deft tugs because those hands were just that good. He'd come all over Akihito's stomach in waves of vision blurring heat, and there was something about Akihito letting himself be marked like that which made it satiating on a primal scale, it'd pull this heavy groan from somewhere deep within and against Akihito's lips. Waking up had never been so fucking good.

Then the days would be spent following Akihito's every impulse. They ditched the Alfa Romeo because Akihito wanted to walk, or take the train or hire bicycles so he could infuse every aspect of the city into his memory bank. So he, Mikhail fucking Arbatov, would do just that, walk the city, wait in line for entrance to The Louvre and eat at regular places for lunch, none of the high profile shit he was used to, and it was a fucking ball. There were people that knew his face, and it was fun to see the look on theirs when they realized he was playing tourist. That was good, it would keep people on their toes, and he got to spend time with Akihito while doing it.

He remembered where they'd been, The Eifel Tower, The Louvre, The Pantheon, The Catacombs, Canal Saint Martin, the little coffee shop on the river bank of the Seine with custard pastries that Akihito ate a shit ton of because they were just that good apparently, and so much more.

Where they went wasn't that important to him, no matter the beauty of the building or how awe inspiring the piece it was always Akihito's reaction to those things that were the best.

His pursed brows as he studied something intently, the pen he chewed the end off of when he took notes, the accomplished sighs as he stood in front of one of his many dreams, or they way he'd tell someone to 'stop fucking staring' at him because sometimes he made just as much of a spectacle with his vibrancy and charisma, and he just didn't get that he was so fucking good to look at, so he'd get offended instead. Mikhail would admit he was vain down to his core, he liked things to look good, and he couldn't help but think as he caught their reflection in a passing shop window that they did look fucking dapper together.

Their attraction was only growing, and he savored the way Akihito leant into his touches as the days passed, and as Akihito gave touches of his own. They started off small, coy and cute as fuck, a brush of fingertips or standing shoulder touching shoulder, and he'd never ever forget his utter delight when Akihito pulled him by the shirt for a cheeky kiss in a quiet hallway with a smile that was simply devilish, because his confidence was growing, and Akihito with confidence was a sure fire recipe for Mikhail's full blown obsession.

The only thing that kept him from full blown possessive, hypnotized love sick mode was the constant calls he got from his men through out the city and their reports on the situation as it progressed.

The days went in a blur, the nights were a different story, they'd walk on cobblestone streets and eat at places Akihito had looked up on his phone, they'd get drunk together like best fucking friends could, give each other shit and then kiss in the next moment, drinking games and make out sessions and real fucking friendship. Akihito got amusingly macho when he was drunk, and he wasn't afraid to say he was 'jealous of your handsome dumb face' or 'you wanna fight, come at me, bro'.

And whether they fucked for real in bed that night or not, Akihito would fall asleep, and Mikhail would be left awake, drinking water and sobering up so he could be ready to head out with a moment's notice if need be.

There was no such thing as luck, so it wasn't 'luckily' there'd been no reason for him to go out, it was down to the work of Yuri and his men in the city that had scoped it out and set up meetings, gotten rid of people that didn't want to cooperate and let him have this time uninterrupted. They all knew he'd step in if the shit hit the fan, and they all knew he'd step in to rolls heads if they couldn't do the job good enough. Loyalty with a touch of fear was his favorite combination.

The real work began today however, because those meetings were all set for today, he'd be apart from Akihito for most of it, because Akihito had just shrugged it off and said he wanted to do his own thing, but then surprisingly enough had thrown in the idea to meet up with Mikhail at a club in the heart of the city where the last meeting would be, and Mikhail wasn't going to complain about that. The more interest Akihito took in his life the better.

They shouldn't, he'd made fucking damn well sure they wouldn't, but hopefully things went to plan, and nothing happened that would give Akihito second thoughts, because if anything went wrong, Mikhail thought that maybe, for the first time in a long time, he just might snap.