hey i don't know your life. maybe you're really into leopard print.
[You'd have to be, to text this disaster. Granted, they'd only talked for maybe five minutes outside the club (that Yuri wasn't allowed into, lmao) before the tiny Russian had grabbed Matoba's phone, entered his number and jumped into a taxi, so really the only thing they had going was animal magnetism.
Still, there's something undeniably...thrilling about texting a stranger. An older stranger.] what was it you said your name was again?
[ Yuri is not the first Russian that has been a guest of the Matoba clan's nightclub, in fact, a good number of his dancers and patrons are Russian - expats, imports, mobsters - they see and hear a lot of Russian in this particular neck of the woods.
Of course, he had arrived as the boy had been kicked out by the bouncer, exchanged a few words with him and told him to come back ( who was Matoba to tell such a pretty-faced boy to leave his establishment? Please, he wasn't going to ask for the boy's ID, how dull ). ]
Matoba
You ought to come to my club again, trust me, the bouncer will be very apologetic.
[If Yakov knew about this -- the flirty texts, the fact that Yuri had even been in that part of downtown, much less tried to get into a NIGHTCLUB -- he'd definitely freak out. And probably keep Yuri locked in a hotel room until he was 35.
Maybe that's part of what makes it so much FUN.]
I don't know, he was pretty damn rude. If I came back you'd reaaaaally have to make it worth my while.
[ He'd only met the pretty Russian for all of five minutes outside the club, but that was enough time to select him from the crowd that usually loitered around in the entertainment district - he'd stood out, of course he had. Big eyes, pale hair; never let it be said that Matoba does not have a type.
He'll fuck the boy before the Friday patrons show up for the opening dance. ]
[It makes sense; Yurio's attempts at "blending in" always involve leopard print. But maybe that's what he's wanted all along, some sort of attention. It didn't matter from whom.
The fact that Matoba is tall, dark and dangerous is just a bonus.]
[And that's it until Friday -- aside from an inexplicable blurry picture of a Siamese cat, with no accompanying text -- when Yurio shows up with his usual black hoodie and sunglasses, preemptively scowling at whoever's guarding the door tonight.]
[ The cat picture ( ??? ) gets no reply from the mobster, just a bit of a raised eyebrow at it, and instead he goes about his regularly seedy business that week. There is a debacle with a former employee, but Tokyo bay earns yet another bloated corpse to buoy its water level, and, as usual, Matoba does his dirty work himself.
Friday rolls around, finding Matoba in a booth near the stage, arm propped on the backrest, smoking with a pair of Russian hit men.
Never let it be said that he doesn't keep interesting company.
If the stench of the Belomorkanal cigarettes do not give his compatriots away, the tattoos certainly will.
Matoba himself is polished, in a well pressed suit, wearing his vulpine smile.
The bouncer ( the same one ) escorts Yurio to their table, and Matoba ( who does not smoke those Russian things - American for him, thanks ), taps out a smoke, tip of his tongue wetting his lip as he lights it. ]
[Yuri ducks past the bouncer, hands in his pockets, hair in his face as usual. His whole appearance -- the way he holds himself, tense and hunched over, the sunglasses, the hood up -- is a painfully obvious cue to how intent he is on being taken seriously. It doesn't make up for the fact that he is little, though, that he moves gracefully in spite of himself, that even his grumbled "Подвинься" at the hit men comes out faux-gruff.
Still, there's a definite lack of fear as he steps over the nearest hit man like he's an inconvenient piece of furniture, falling heavily into the seat nearest Matoba and wrinkles his nose at the cigarette smoke.]
Yuri. [It's a correction, and he leans back in his seat, puts his feet on the table.] Who're these?
[ There's a quiet smile from Matoba as the boy brashly makes his way through to the table, and then proceeds to puts his feet up on it in front of Moscow's most wanted. The men give the figure skater some dubious looks, but with a tilt of Matoba's chin, they make themselves scarce, stabbing out their cigarettes in the silver ashtray at the centre of the table.
The mobster turns, finally, towards Yurio, as if only now deciding to pay attention to him. ]
Perhaps you ought to be more careful of how you speak, when you don't know the nature of the company you're keeping.
[ There's something nasty in the way he watches the boy, reaching to curl his fingers around a skinny ankle, thumb stroking the dip behind that swell of bone. ]
Yeah, yeah, okay. [Yurio blinks a couple times after the two men, looking mildly interested. His imagination goes wild for a moment, imagining them as some sort of hitmen that Matoba has in his pocket -- amusingly close to the truth, likely. But then he's slouched back in his chair, pulling out his phone like any sullen teenager at a boring event. Still, he's not actually doing anything on it, too busy watching Matoba under that overlong fringe of platinum blond hair.
The hand on his ankle makes him twitch a bit, sensitive, wiggling his toes inside his shoes.] Or what? You'll spank me? [It's rude, blatantly so, accompanied by a sideways smirk and Yurio most certainly not putting his feet on the floor.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[You'd have to be, to text this disaster. Granted, they'd only talked for maybe five minutes outside the club (that Yuri wasn't allowed into, lmao) before the tiny Russian had grabbed Matoba's phone, entered his number and jumped into a taxi, so really the only thing they had going was animal magnetism.
Still, there's something undeniably...thrilling about texting a stranger. An older stranger.] what was it you said your name was again?
derails this into our mafia!verse
Of course, he had arrived as the boy had been kicked out by the bouncer, exchanged a few words with him and told him to come back ( who was Matoba to tell such a pretty-faced boy to leave his establishment? Please, he wasn't going to ask for the boy's ID, how dull ). ]
Matoba
You ought to come to my club again, trust me, the bouncer will be very apologetic.
HELLZ YEAH
Maybe that's part of what makes it so much FUN.]
I don't know, he was pretty damn rude. If I came back you'd reaaaaally have to make it worth my while.
no subject
He'll fuck the boy before the Friday patrons show up for the opening dance. ]
Careful what you wish for.
no subject
The fact that Matoba is tall, dark and dangerous is just a bonus.]
I'm not wishing. I'm demanding. Big difference.
no subject
7pm, Friday.
Don't bother with ID.
no subject
better fire that bouncer.
[And that's it until Friday -- aside from an inexplicable blurry picture of a Siamese cat, with no accompanying text -- when Yurio shows up with his usual black hoodie and sunglasses, preemptively scowling at whoever's guarding the door tonight.]
no subject
Friday rolls around, finding Matoba in a booth near the stage, arm propped on the backrest, smoking with a pair of Russian hit men.
Never let it be said that he doesn't keep interesting company.
If the stench of the Belomorkanal cigarettes do not give his compatriots away, the tattoos certainly will.
Matoba himself is polished, in a well pressed suit, wearing his vulpine smile.
The bouncer ( the same one ) escorts Yurio to their table, and Matoba ( who does not smoke those Russian things - American for him, thanks ), taps out a smoke, tip of his tongue wetting his lip as he lights it. ]
So lovely of you to join us, little one.
no subject
Still, there's a definite lack of fear as he steps over the nearest hit man like he's an inconvenient piece of furniture, falling heavily into the seat nearest Matoba and wrinkles his nose at the cigarette smoke.]
Yuri. [It's a correction, and he leans back in his seat, puts his feet on the table.] Who're these?
no subject
The mobster turns, finally, towards Yurio, as if only now deciding to pay attention to him. ]
Perhaps you ought to be more careful of how you speak, when you don't know the nature of the company you're keeping.
[ There's something nasty in the way he watches the boy, reaching to curl his fingers around a skinny ankle, thumb stroking the dip behind that swell of bone. ]
Feet on the floor.
no subject
The hand on his ankle makes him twitch a bit, sensitive, wiggling his toes inside his shoes.] Or what? You'll spank me? [It's rude, blatantly so, accompanied by a sideways smirk and Yurio most certainly not putting his feet on the floor.]