Chapter Text
Nathaniel Wesninski leaned against the terrace railing and fished a packet of cigarettes from his trousers. He didn't need to look at his hands as he pressed a cigarette to his lips to know that they were clean, but he could still feel fanthom blood, hot and sticky, persistently stuck to them.
Being bodyguard for Ichirou Moriyama and the son to the Butcher of Baltimore got him blood soaked more days than not. This evening had brought about such bloodshed in an apartment complex the other side of the city. It was simple business that had to be settled; when the CEO of a weapon manufacturing company withdraws his contract with the Moriyamas demanding an increase in price for his product, he must be made an example of.
It was destiny really, that Nathaniel ends in this position; just like his father had Kengo's back, Nathaniel had Ichirou's. Nathaniel knew his place in the empire. It had been carved into him time and time again for every misstep and line he crossed. But that is what it cost to be a Wesninski, and Nathaniel wouldn't have it any other way. His childhood, as painful and messed up as it was, was what allowed him to have all that he did today. Respect from his father's men, his rank, his place by Ichirou's side. He had been taught to appreciate the cards he had been dealt and he would not miss an opportunity to fight for his place, for what belonged to him.
Some days, it wasn't as easy to be greatful for his full in life. He had to physically stop himself from remembering all he had sacrificed to be here. He didn't want to go down the dark path that was regret. Could not conjure up his mother's face before his eyes. He would not do that to himself. Yet unwillingly, the acrid smell of smoke only brought memories of his mother. Despite the passage of time, he could picture the exact shade of his mother's eyes and the way her hair framed her face, often hard and filled with concern. He took another drag from his cigarette in an attempt to forget how often he'd make her brows crease together in worry or the heat left by the the back of her hand across his face when he got into trouble.
Nathaniel scrunched up his face in self disappointment at this moment of weakness and ran a hand through his hair. Tonight was not one for reminiscing. He was expected for a meeting with his father and his men in half an hour to address his evening's work.
He let the cigarette drop and crushed it under his shoe before turning back inside. He was already washed up from the blood that had splattered everywhere; his hands, his neck, his hair, mixed with sweat and dried to his skin.
It was automatic; the slashing of throats, the disposing of bodies, the scrubbing of blood. He hadn't cried over the people he'd killed in years, apathy and methodical movements replacing any horror and remorse he might have had.
He was the Butcher's son after all. There was no space for second guessing in his line of work.
The conference room hosting them tonight was already filling with people by the time Nathaniel arrived. The thick smell of cologne greeted him as he entered. The long table in the centre of the room was set with bottles of wine and delicately plated food that would remain untouched.
At the head of the table stood Lord Kengo. His back was hunched with age and wrinkles made a mess of his otherwise smooth skin. They were lines of anger and hatred that promised only destruction to those who defied him. His lingering stare penetrated through Nathaniel and he could feel the lord's presence which filled the room with it's authority.
To the lord's side, familiar blue eyes met Nathaniel's own as he strode towards them. They were a perfect mirror of his own, deep and steady, having seen too much blood spilled with no remorse for it. They were his father's. The Butcher of Baltimore stood tall beside his charge, but just as imposing. He was a large man and knew a knife's way around the human body, making him the most feared man in the room; third only to Kengo and his son Ichirou.
The latter was standing to the other side of his father, one hand holding a wine glass in a delicate grip. Nathaniel took a moment to appreciate how Ichirou's shoulder-length black hair was tied back with a gold pin. How his suit snuck tightly around his legs and his watch caught the light from the overhead chandelier, almost as brightly as his eyes did. It was an excellent party trick he had put on, concealing the way his eyes could go black with hatred as he ordered violent, masochistic deaths. His smile was small and polite now, but Nathaniel knew how it stretched in a horrible grin when Nathaniel executed his every will, time and time again to prove his loyalty. He almost couldn't stop himself from smashing his lips against Ichirou's, but suppressed the urge and cracked his knuckles instead.
It was only after a few moments of greetings that the meeting commenced. Nathaniel let most of it pass from one ear and out the other with minimum attention. He tried to keep still as he sat by his father's side. He was respected enough by the other members of Kengo's inner circle that he didn't need to worry too much, and had the common sense to know what not to say, but he kept his head bowed for the majority of the time and spoke only when conversation turned to his work that evening. Finding a new supplier for weapons was doable considering Moriyama connections with various pioneers of the black market. Trust was not easily gained, but Nathaniel's work that evening would certainly send a chill down the spine of whoever might try to oppose their will.
He looked up to find Ichirou already looking at him from across the table, a private but proud smile on his lips and a hunger in his eyes that made Nathaniel's insides coil in anticipation.
It wasn't until 45 minutes later, when the meeting was over, that they found themselves in the comfort of Ichirou's suite.
Nathaniel carded his hands through Ichirou's hair, unclipping the golden pin as he kissed his lips fiercely. Ichirou backed Nathaniel into the wall, hands pressing beneath his shirt's fabric, hungry for more. And Nathaniel obliged him.