Chapter Text
April, 2017. Barcelona, Spain
Minami Kenjirou is running late.
And that is very, very bad.
It’s bad - he’s late for a job appointment, and a quite dangerous one at that; out of all the job interviews he could be late of, this just had to be the time.
He’s walking so fast; he doesn’t see that he’s going to bump to a person who’s minding their own business.
“Crap, sorry!” Kenjirou exclaims when the collision happens, panic burning in his eyes.
The person he bumped to was holding hot coffee – Starbucks coffee – and makes a surprised noise at him, before looking down to his crisp dress shirt and suit then sighing. The coffee spilled. The soft baby blue of the dress shirt the man is wearing is now adorned with by a brown spot.
“I’m so, so sorry!” Kenjirou frantically apologises while bowing, “I wasn’t looking and-“
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” The stranger laughs noncommittedly, waving his free hand at him.
“Um...”
“It’s fine, the shirt was a little too small for me to be honest, this stain just makes an even better excuse not to wear it without my husband whining at me,” the man seems to notice that Kenjirou still hasn’t bought what he said, he switches his coffee to his left hand to do a peace sign while subtly flashing his golden wedding band.
“... Okay?” Like, sure, okay, if the man says so then so be it. Kenjirou’s not going to dwell on it further.
“Watch where you’re going next time, alright?” With another wave, the stranger smiles at him at the short goodbye.
“Yes! I’m sorry again!” With a bow, Kenjirou turns to walk to the direction he was heading to when he realises that – oh? The stranger is about next to him.
“We seem to be going to the same path.” The man laughs, then takes a sip of his coffee, “where are you off to, lad?”
“Oh, a job appointment,” Kenjirou answers truthfully, even though it’s a bit awkward due to the mishap from earlier.
“Makes sense why you’re dressed so formally.” He looks at the man, who’s adjusting his glasses. “What job?”
“... Nothing important, sorry.” God, it’s so awkward. “How about you, sir?”
“Me? Just going home,” and what a short answer that is.
Whatever; it’s none of Kenjirou’s business anyway.
‘Let’s see,’ he starts to recall in his brain, and fishes out the crumpled paper in his pocket, ‘Casa Camper Hotel Barcelona? Do I even know exactly where that is?’
Biting his cheek, he strikes another question to the unknown man beside him, “Uh, sir? Do you know where Casa Camper Hotel Barcelona is?”
The stranger smiles at him. “That’s where I’m headed, what a coincidence! Just follow me.”
Now that he’s in lead, and Kenjirou’s staggering behind, he doesn’t know how this day would turn up for him after all this.
They reach hotel, with Kenjirou about twenty minutes late to his appointment, so he rushes to the elevator but the stranger was still with him.
“Is it that important of a job?” He asks with a sip of his coffee.
“I suppose,” Kenjirou shrugs, “I guess the pay is well so it’s an opportunity I wouldn’t want to miss.”
He hears the other man hum silently.
Unfortunately, they don’t speak again, at least until they reach the third floor. He’s starting to feel worse as this man might’ve led him to somewhere else and maybe he’s planning to-
“Airline room 314?” The stranger pipes up suddenly, and Kenjirou stutters a ‘yes!’. Glancing at the card, make sure that indeed, the meeting will be held at Airline room 314.
“Here we are then,” they stop in front of a wooden double door, with the other man typing fast on his phone.
Then the doors open, revealing with a man with silver hair and blue eyes.
This new person sees Kenjirou first, eyeing him from the bottom of his shoes and the crown of his hair. Kenjirou could already feel on his skin the judgment seeping from him.
Could he be perhaps the man who would be interviewing him soon?
No wonder he seems so put off by his presence.
But then he faces the man next to Kenjirou, and his whole face shifts to something... happy?
“Welcome back,” he greets, while bringing the right hand of the stranger and kisses the golden ring that sits snugly between his fingers, “zorotse moya.”
The stranger from earlier smiles at him warmly, and leans forward to kiss him full on the lips.
They share a moment, and Kenjirou had to look away.
“Well, aren’t you coming inside...” The stranger from earlier now turns to him, with his hair now slicked back and glasses gone. “Minami-san?”
With Kenjirou’s mouth slightly agape, he follows him inside the room, and watches him sit down to an office chair.
“Solnyshko,” he gets startled by a sudden voice to his left, who’s holding the suit the...stranger (?) was wearing earlier, “why is there a brown stain in your suit and your dress shirt? You didn’t spill coffee on it, did you?”
The other man doesn’t reply and simply brings out a stack of paper and at the very top was a job application file with the name “Minami Kenjirou”.
“Why don’t you sit down, Minami-san?” Kenjirou watches him gesture to the chairs in front of his desk, before he sighs an ‘I did’ to the man who kept bugging him for an answer.
“You’re the one I was supposed to meet...?”
“Of course. Unless I misread your name, have I?” With a small mocking smirk towards him, Kenjirou feels somehow terrified. He may have fucked up a little.
“No, sir.” The orange haired boy meekly sits down on the chair, with hundreds of thoughts passing in his mind.
There’s a short silence before the man from earlier speaks up, a distinct Russian accent evident in his voice.
“Yuuri, should I leave you two?”
Then the person in front of him makes a grunting noise, dismissing him away with a wave of his hand.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to it then,” the man walks up to Yuuri (?) plants a kiss to his cheek. “See you soon.”
“Well then,” they’re left alone in the room, with the air-conditioner whirring quietly in the background. “If you could just excuse the actions of my husband, let’s get started.”
“Y-yes sir.”
“We’ve interacted a lot earlier but I haven’t quite introduced myself,” he shows Kenjirou a subtle grin, “Katsuki Yuuri; I'm the son of the leader of an infamous yakuza family back in Japan.”
“Well, I used to be, however, as you have witnessed,” Yuuri places his right hand on his face, once again flashing the ring, and rests his arm on his desk, “I’m married to the successor of the Russian mafia; but he doesn’t really want it-”
It’s almost menacing, the malice he’s emitting and joining the oxygen in the room.
“-Which makes me, the leader instead.”
And he drops another smile, before leaning back to his chair and finally proceeding with the interview.
(It turns out that Katsuki-dono wasn’t as intimidating as he looks and he’s actually a doting husband but Kenjrou muses that if it weren’t for his husband the air between them wouldn’t be as light as they have right now.
He also learns that his name is actually Nikiforov Yuuri, since he took his husband’s last name, but for business purposes he introduces himself with his old last name. Wild.)
“How was the meeting?” Yuuri looks at the man who just entered his office, blue eyes shining a little.
“Fine,” he answers and sips his coffee – ew, it’s gone cold. “Viktor, love, won’t you get someone to fetch me a cup of coffee, please? This cup has gone to undrinkable bounds.”
“Of course,” Viktor pulls out his phone, sending a text to one of their subordinates near their room about his husband’s request. When he was done, he puts back his phone to his suit pocket. “You busy?”
“Not really.”
Smiling, Viktor already has an idea what they can do this morning.
“I missed you!” He exclaims, arms thrown up as he dives to his Yuuri’s lap, practically straddling him.
“I missed you too,” Yuuri answers in a less excited voice. Viktor can fix that.
He pushes their lips together for a second, before pulling away.
“How’s the new office doing for you?” The Russian asks, resting his forehead against his.
“Okay,” and Yuuri brings their lips together again. Well, even if his husband doesn’t seem to be in the mood for talking right now, he seems to be still up for kisses that’s for sure.
“I just still can’t believe you actually bought this hotel just because I complained one early morning how much I hated the location of our old base,” Yuuri whines against his lips, “totally not that worth it.”
“It was a cheap four-star hotel, lubov moya, It’s nothing,” Viktor argues back, kissing him full again before pulling away, “buying this was almost like buying candy at a corner store.”
“You and your money,” his husband sighs, resting his head on his shoulder.
“Mmm, it’s all yours. I’m all yours, Yuuri,” and Yuuri knows how true that is.
“I’m very aware,” he tells him with their lips a breath away, “thank you for reminding me every day.”
“Of course,” grinning, Viktor finally kisses him deeply, knowing that the both of them might just as well melt from being other each other’s tender presence.
He feels Yuuri’s hands snake up to his hair, holding him firm and steady as the kiss went deeper. The Russian grinds his hips subtly, smiling into the kiss as Yuuri makes a noise.
“Viktor...” Yuuri trails off, eyes hot and pupils so ever slightly dilated, “not now.”
“Your face says otherwise, laposchka,” Viktor grinds down again, this time less subtle which earned him a louder whine from his husband.
“Vitya,” and Viktor knows he’s won, “please-“
The moment gets interrupted, of course, by a rather loud knock.
Frustratingly sighing, Viktor stands up from Yuuri’s lap to open the door. “Who the fuck-“
“Stop sucking faces and take the fucking coffee.” Oh.
There stood a boy with shades and blond hair tied in a ponytail, holding a coffee cup.
“Yurio?” Yuuri calls from inside the room once he’s recognised the voice. “What is he doing here?”
“Apparently I became your damn coffee boy,” the blond sniggers and shoves the cup to Viktor’s hand, making a disgusted face at how tousled his hair is.
“Thank you, Yurio.” Viktor smiles forcefully towards him as he internally smirks at the boy’s reaction to the nickname. “You can leave us now-”
“Hold up, I got a message.” Yurio interrupts in a lower voice, in case someone might hear.
“What message?” Furrowing his brows, Viktor presses on for him to continue.
“’The King Has Come’,” and with that Yurio turns to walk away, “he’s in the first floor restaurant.”
Needless to say, Yuuri was vexed.
He and Viktor exit the elevator, walking to the restaurant calmly, as if they haven’t got anybody waiting for them. They hear whispers from the hotel staff, probably talking about them and how the hotel was suddenly bought out of the blue.
“These men clad in black,” they overhear from their backs, perhaps just walking a little bit farther behind them, “I heard they’re mafia or something. They say that the man in silver hair is next to succeeding the Russian mafia.”
“Damn, really? How about that smaller guy next to him? Looks Asian to me,” the other person replies, sounding quite flustered, “don’t tell me he’s a Japanese yakuza or something.”
“Hmm, he doesn’t look any of importance to me,” Yuuri almost laughs out loud at what he’s heard, “plus my sources didn’t say anything about him. Probably his assistant or driver.”
“Huh...”
Their voices pause for a moment, before speaking a little louder again when they enter the cafe.
“Hey, isn’t that Jean Leroy?!” One of them exclaims again, “isn’t he like, a Canadian senator?”
At that, Viktor sighs. Yes, he is very informed about that.
“Hello, gentlemen,” the Canadian man greets them, as he shakes their hands, “nice to see you immediately after I arrived.”
“It’s no problem, sir, we’re very pleased to have you,” Viktor replies smoothly, and drags a chair for Yuuri to sit on to before sitting down himself.
“Let me introduce myself,” the man flashes a blinding smile, “My name is Jean-Jacques Leroy, a Canadian senate. I’ve been advised to talk to you by my friend Christophe Giacometti regarding some issues.”
“Of course, we’ll try to see what we could help you about.” Yuuri still won’t speak, so Viktor’s doing all the talk for him.
“You must be Viktor Nikiforov, am I right?” Jean raises one of his eyebrows, eyeing Viktor carefully.
“Indeed I am,” with that, Jean chuckles from his seat before turning to the man next to Viktor.
"And you must be his assistant? I’m afraid I’m not aware of your name, sir.”
"Oh no, sir you've got it-" Viktor almost lost his shit from the mistake Jean made, if not for one of their men, Nekola, for suddenly interrupting.
“Boss! We’re sorry to interrupt but we’ve got news that Babushka has been sent files by Madonna regarding about Quad Axel, but she’s still-“
“What?!” Yuuri suddenly bursts out, voice loud and steely, “Madonna has found Quad Axel?!”
“No, not yet sir,” Nekola shakes his head, trying to remain composure from his boss’ sudden outburst, “she just sent files to Babushka but Babushka is still in mission and we are unable to contact her.”
“For fuck’s sake! If it’s just that- did you really need to interrupt-” Yuuri brings his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, his breaths barely steady.
“Zorotse,” he hears Viktor’s voice and a warm hand against his own, “calm down.”
The Japanese man seems to think twice about what he said, before turning to Nekola.
“Forgive me for my reaction, Nekola,” he tells him with a grimace, “did you ask Madonna if she could send the files to me instead?”
“She said that she can’t recover the files anymore as she had to immediately delete every copy she has as she felt like someone was watching her.”
Another exasperated sigh. “Fine. Tell Fairy to follow Babushka to Sweden so he can get the files at once.”
“Roger!” With that, Nekola excuses himself and leaves the scene.
“Viktor,” this time, Yuuri faces his husband, his right hand man, “message Fairy about it this instance. I doubt those boys will get in contact with him immediately.”
“Of course.” As Viktor sends a text to Fairy, Yuuri shoots Jean an apologetic look. Or at least the most he can muster at the moment.
“I’m very sorry about the interruption, but yes, I am Katsuki Yuuri; I lead the Russian mafia.”
Jean could feel his own eyes widens at his mistake.
Looks like what he's heard weren’t true.
Viktor Nikiforov was no leader of a Russian mafia.
Oh no - He’s no more than a loyal dog.
Who really sits at the top - was someone else, something else.
Katsuki Yuuri.
The world is in his hands, with his eyes looking like hot molten copper and lips in a tight smirk - Jean realises he almost fucked himself over.