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If there’s anything that infuriates Chuuya to no end, it’s incompetency.
Incompetency that leads to carelessness and spur of the moment decisions that jeopardize months of planning and endanger the lives of his men.
All because some overly ambitious newcomer wants to show-off.
A phone call had interrupted his lunch, and Fyodor must have seen something in his expression because he just mouthed a wordless Go at Chuuya. He hadn’t been able to do anything more than brush a quick goodbye kiss at lips that still tasted faintly of vinaigrette before walking briskly out of the restaurant to the vehicle waiting outside.
That was three hours ago. Chuuya is hungry, and furious, because his men might die and he’s a twelve-hour flight away from Yokohama and can’t come to their aid. All he can do is delegate, and monitor, and bark orders to ensure aid comes to them in time.
His phone rings again. He tersely asks for an update, and continues to ignore the plate of sandwiches on the table.
—
It’s around midnight, past seven in the morning in Japan, when Chuuya finally closes the laptop. He pretty much inhales the glass of water beside him, and declines a refill from one of his men.
“Find someone else to clean this mess. Ten hours of sleep, each and every one of you.” Weak laughter fills the cramped hotel suite that had been converted into a makeshift war room.
“That goes for you too, boss.”
“I’ll have the car waiting downstairs,” Kaneda, his other assistant says, already texting rapidly. If Chuuya were less exhausted, he would’ve noticed the glint in her eyes.
The long exhale of cigarette smoke helps a bit in calming him down, but he already knows he’s going to be antsy the rest of the night.
Fucking hell, he’s exhausted. He only paced and sat for almost twelve hours but he’s so fucking exhausted.
Yamato holds the door to the suite open and keeps standing there.
“The hell, are you guys kicking me out?” Chuuya grins as he stubs out what’s left of his cigarette.
“Yes, Chuuya-san,” Yamato says frankly. He’s half a meter taller and twice as heavy as Chuuya, and he looks just about ready to physically carry him out of the room. It makes Chuuya laugh harder as he slides his coat on and makes his way to the door.
“Fine, fine. I meant what I said, get some fucking sleep, all of you.”
He checks his messages in the elevator, and absentmindedly exits when it opens again.
It’s the burst of purple that he sees first.
There’s a massive bouquet of tulips sitting on the table that’s directly across from the elevators, and despite the wide expanse of the lobby, his eyes are immediately drawn towards it, and the man seated there while having tea.
Fyodor, like the ass that he is, doesn’t even get up, and instead waits for Chuuya to come to him.
“You gotta stop bribing my staff.”
“And leave me to chase after you through the streets of Paris? How cruel of you, Chuuya-kun.”
“So you’re chasing me now, huh. How fucking persistent of you,” Chuuya answers, hands in his pockets as he shamelessly stares at Fyodor. His shirt is different from earlier and he just—he looks so effortlessly good, that’s the thing. With his soft hair and dark clothing, how comfortable and warm he appears, lounging there in that seat who knows for how long while waiting for Chuuya.
He’s honestly so tired he’s tempted to just curl up on that lap and sleep.
Fyodor sets down his teacup and looks up at Chuuya with genuine confusion in his eyes.
“Why? Has no one else taken the time before?”
Chuuya’s cheeks flare a bright red. Taken the time to do even what? Chase Chuuya like a besotted fool? Stalk him outside of non-combative situations? Do something silly like—god forbid, court him? What the hell is Fyodor even asking.
“I—”
“But no matter. Come, there is something we must take care of first before we can leave.” Fyodor stands and places both of his hands on Chuuya’s shoulders, urging him along towards the other side of the lobby.
“You’re not even going to hand me my flowers?!”
“They are my flowers, which will subsequently be handed over to you later.”
“Wow, someone sounds prissy.”
“I was having a lovely lunch when my date had to abandon me. Of course I sound ‘prissy’.” Fucking hell, Chuuya’s too old to be blushing over the word date, but here he is, turning even redder because his skin betrayed him.
“Wait, the restrooms? You want a quickie before we leave is that it?” He’s laughing yes, but oh does his throat get suddenly dry when Fyodor shuts the door behind them with a decisive sounding click. And leaves it unlocked.
“Don’t be crude, ryzhik. You deserve more than a toilet stall.” Fyodor’s offended face? So fucking hilarious, every time.
Fyodor grabs him by the waist and the chaste kiss he starts quickly turns messy as Chuuya tastes that mouth that has, by far, lessened the tension headache he’s had all afternoon the quickest. He’s slowly guided into the handicapped stall, and the kiss only ends once his back hits its far wall.
“I thought you said I deserve more than a stall,” Chuuya asks, breathless. The sound of the lock turning echoes loudly in the empty room.
“Yes, I did. I have a different proposal, if you are amenable.” Fyodor’s hand on his waist is warm even through the layers he’s wearing, and the soothing strokes those fingers make on the small of his back further lessen all the stress he’s feeling.
Another kiss that distracts Chuuya until he hears the ruffling of plastic. He opens his eyes to see a resealable bag of all things being held out in front of him.
“That’s uhm. A sandwich bag. With uhh. A vibrator inside.” Fyodor just smiles beatifically in answer and kisses him on the forehead.
“It’s a ten minute ride to our hotel. Do you think you’ll last?” Chuuya swallows, his eyes fixed on the black silicone vibrator he’s intimately familiar with at this point.
“What do I get if I do?”
“Hmm. You can come in my mouth then I’ll fuck you until you come two more times.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow evening to get fucked.”
“That’s not fair, Fedya.”
Fyodor smiles, and playfully bites down on Chuuya’s pouting lower lip.
“Only if you are amenable.”
He really can’t stop looking at that fucking ridiculous bag.
“Do it before I change my mind.” The fucker’s smile just gets wider and Chuuya almost takes it back but—he’s been on edge the entire afternoon, and that vibrator has given him nothing but explosive orgasms ever since Fyodor bought it, so.
Another kiss, wetter and filthier this time that has Chuuya gasping by the end. Fyodor places the bag on Chuuya’s hand, who then grasps the vibrator through the plastic to hold it firmly. He moans quietly as his pants are unbuttoned and unzipped.
“Turn around.”
Chuuya braces his right arm on the wall, curving his back enough to give Fyodor easy access. He shivers as the sensitive skin of his ass gets exposed, and looks behind him just in time to see Fyodor drop a quick kiss just below where the waistband of his underwear normally sits.
It’s been cold the entire afternoon and he hasn’t sweat at all, but seeing Fyodor kiss him there with no hesitation after a long day almost makes him curse out loud.
Fyodor has another small bag hidden inside his coat, containing a small tube of lubricant and a disposable latex glove. He wears the latter on his right hand, and squeezes out a good third of the tube’s contents on his fingers. He presses teasingly on the edge of that waiting rim, and Chuuya almost growls at him.
“Hurry up, already.” Fyodor ignores him, and takes his sweet time in pushing in his forefinger. Chuuya tries not to whimper as Fyodor slowly stretches him in preparation for taking the toy. He’s moving so slow, like they have all the time in the world to waste inside this stall.
Finally, a second finger. Fyodor moves faster now, scissoring his fingers mercilessly as Chuuya takes deep breaths to relax himself.
“The toy, ryzhik.” Chuuya holds out the bag behind him, and Fyodor takes the plug out by the base, letting the plastic fall on the floor. He uses up almost all of what’s left inside the tube to slick the toy fully. One quick look to make sure the tip is right against the rim before Fyodor gathers Chuuya’s hair to the opposite side with his other hand, so he can freely kiss the back of his neck while pressing just the very tip of the toy inside Chuuya.
“Stop tea—”
The door to the washroom opens. Chuuya’s breath hitches and immediately, a palm covers his mouth and traps the noise he was about to make.
Chuuya, his eyes wide and glaring, watches as Fyodor leans closer to brush his lips silently over a flushed cheekbone. Their eyes lock, with Chuuya’s screaming silently in protest as Fyodor slides the toy inside him in one smooth stroke.
I will kill you, he threatens quietly. Fyodor just adjusts the toy inside him, and he has to grab that arm hushing him as the toy glides over his prostate almost painfully.
The two men who entered seem to only need to wash their hands, but they linger by the sink, laughing and talking in German. Chuuya silently prays to whoever will listen for them to leave. Fyodor has finally left the toy alone, snug as it could be inside Chuuya, and has instead moved his fingers down to fondle playfully his scrotum.
Merciless fucker.
A minute more of pure torture before the men finally leave. Fyodor removes his hand covering Chuuya’s mouth just as he’s about to bite down on it.
“Fuck,” he says wholeheartedly, as Fyodor finally ceases and moves away from him. He grabs the tube and the two bags from the floor with his gloved hand and peels the latex off, turning it inside out over the trash he’s holding before throwing it to the bin.
Chuuya takes the chance to catch his breath, taking slow and deep inhales to calm his heart down and get used to the intrusion inside him. A hand rests at his back again, as Fyodor gently tugs Chuuya to face him. He takes extra care tucking in Chuuya’s half-hard erection inside his underwear, and fixes his clothing.
“Take your time,” Fyodor tells him with another kiss on his forehead. He steps out of the stall and soon enough, there’s the sound of the faucet running as he washes his hands clean.
Several more deep breaths, before Chuuya straightens.
And then the vibrator turns on.
It’s the lowest setting, an unhurried, steady pulse that beats slower than the sudden pumping of his heart. But the best (and most torturous) feature of this toy is the dual vibration it offers, and that gentle hum from inside and right against his perineum, mild it may be, still leaves his blood rushing down.
“I fucking hate you,” Chuuya bites out as he steadies himself with one hand on the cubicle door. He glares uselessly at Fyodor too, who throws away the paper towels he used to dry his hands. There, on the marbled sink, sits a harmless-looking, black sphere with a gold finish.
Fyodor tilts his head and looks at him fondly. And without hesitation, he clicks his finger over one of the buttons of the remote as Chuuya glares at him.
The pulse switches to a smooth hum that’s still low in intensity, but it does make Chuuya exhale out loud. He stalks forward to where Fyodor is standing with unsteady feet and grabs his arm.
“Let’s just fucking go,” he grumbles with too red cheeks. Fyodor smiles innocently as he pockets the remote and leads the way out, steering them back to the lush seats in the lobby instead of the hotel entrance where Chuuya thought they were heading.
“Two minutes. I forgot to sign something.”
“Psh, you’re doing this on purpose.”
“Maybe.” The bouquet is where they left it, and it’s what Fyodor reaches for first. He sweeps away Chuuya’s unruly bangs and kisses his forehead while placing the flowers in his waiting arms.
“For your hard work today,” Fyodor adds, with a smile that—why is he being so sweet? Why is he being so generous with those smiles that Chuuya usually has to pull out of him? He’s being so—it’s so hard to think, dammit. He can’t very well analyze Fyodor’s intentions when there’s a toy pulsing inside him.
“Hurry up,” he grunts, avoiding Fyodor’s gaze and instead inspecting the truly lovely bundle he’s holding. Twenty tulips in the deepest shade of purple he’s ever seen, wrapped in lavender and white tissue sheets with a ribbon almost exactly the same colour as the flowers tying it all together.
It’s stunning and bold and so eye-catchingly beautiful.
And he nearly drops it on the floor.
A two-second long intense vibration rattles through him. Two excruciatingly long seconds that take him by surprise and nearly make him vocalize a whimper because the toy's vibration ratcheted up almost to its highest setting.
And then nothing.
Chuuya takes a deep breath. He grips the back of the fancy chair with both his hands, the huge bouquet sitting awkwardly on the crook of his elbow. He knows what's coming, he knows he has about five seconds to brace himself before—
Two more seconds of agony.
Fuck.
Fyodor's still by the couches, hunched over three folders that require his signature. He's exchanging quiet words with his assistant, but he doesn't seem to be dawdling at least. He's signing and turning pages quickly with those elegant fingers of his and—
Sweet fucking hell.
Chuuya swears he’s going to sit on those maddening fingers sometime this evening he’ll make sure of it.
But he can’t think of that now. Right now he has to focus on deep breathing exercises during the lull in vibrations. He has to clear his head and try his best not to draw any more attention to himself because they’re still in a fucking hotel lobby, and while he can’t do anything about how flushed he already is, there some things he can control.
It’s overwhelming yes, but there’s a set pattern, which means he can prepare and the anticipation won’t kill him.
For now, at least.
He’s so hyper-aware of all these people in the lobby with him; the staff, the few stragglers, Fyodor’s men—at least the hour is late so there’s no significant crowd, and hopefully they just assume he’s only running a fever.
Hopefully.
Fucking fuckshit. Just because he knows it’s coming doesn’t mean it gets any less overwhelming.
He hates this vibrator so much.
Fyodor straightens and quite casually he slides his hand inside his pocket.
The buzzing cuts off midway.
It unsettles Chuuya, because he had just gotten used to the rhythm when the pattern breaks. But still, it’s a reprieve, and now he has some time to recover and get his heart rate—and erection—down before Fyodor touches that remote again.
Good thing Fyodor had tied his coat closed before they left the washroom or else his erection would be in full view of everyone in the lobby the moment he steps away from this chair.
Alexei, one of Fyodor’s guards-sometimes-drivers, approaches them just as Fyodor returns to his side.
“The Uber is here, boss.”
“Wait, what—Lyosha’s not taking us?” Chuuya has nothing against the service, he takes them all the time on his own, but it’s Fyodor who’s the paranoid shit that makes sure they get driven everywhere only by people he trusts.
“Nyet, Chuuya-san.” Alexei, all 6’5” and 250 pounds of him, awkwardly fixes his tie while not meeting Chuuya’s gaze.
A firm grip lands on his waist as Fyodor pretty much starts herding him towards the doors, cutting off his answer to Alexei.
"I wish you would not be so familiar with my men," Fyodor says with pursed lips. Sure enough, his brows are scrunched together in irritation. He's so ridiculous, getting jealous all the time over the silliest of things.
So what if he calls those scary looking thugs that Fyodor orders around by their nicknames?
"I think Lyosha's nice," Chuuya adds, because he's a little shit who likes pushing Fyodor's buttons. "Always has good coffee whenever he picks me up."
"Does he."
"Yep. And I'd be very displeased if the usual arrangement changes."
Fyodor makes a little pouty huff as Chuuya predicted. The grip on his waist also tightens, and Chuuya would laugh at him, but he also knows Fyodor’s going to retaliate for that little jab soon enough.
Soon being right now.
The vibrator comes to life as Chuuya takes his first step down the stairs leading out the front door. Pulsing beats just like earlier but faster and higher in intensity, like the ticking of a clock echoing in his head. He feels goosebumps form on his arms despite being covered head to toe as the cool air outside hits his cheeks. It’s only due to Fyodor’s hold on him that he doesn’t stumble.
It’s so hard to think.
Walking is just—torture. Pure torture. The vibrations remain constant but it’s almost as though they’re increasing, every tremor slowly traveling through all his nerve endings until it feels like even his toes are vibrating.
The car could very well be a kilometer away and it wouldn’t matter, not when every step he takes feels excruciating. He never would’ve made it if not for Fyodor’s fingers digging painfully into his waist—the one other sensation he tries to focus on.
Chuuya doesn’t even manage to identify which of Fyodor’s men is holding the car door open. He just immediately gets in, the flowers landing haphazardly on the space beside him.
The vibrations stop again.
A few seconds more before Fyodor enters from the other side of the vehicle, and Chuuya spends the entire time panting as quietly as he can.
Right. Manners.
He manages to utter a quick but polite greeting in French to the driver, who looks a bit on the older side, the kind that makes Chuuya want to hand over an absurd amount of tips so they can stop working and just go home for the evening.
Fuck, he can’t very well embarrass himself in front of this old man… who asks if he can play some music as they leave the driveway. Chuuya immediately agrees before Fyodor even speaks, because anything that will potentially drown out the sound of that toy when it turns on again is a yes for him.
Yes, the vibrator's made to be discreet, but what if.
He can’t chance it.
The sounds of a violin rings out from the speakers, resuming from where it had been paused before they got in. It’s oddly familiar like all classical pieces tend to be, but Chuuya’s not that well-informed to be able to immediately identify the composer.
Fyodor though, appears excited—or maybe pleased fits better. Suspiciously satisfied, maybe.
Very untrustworthy, in Chuuya’s opinion.
“Paganini is a good choice,” Fyodor says in halting French. He starts a conversation with the driver, his vocabulary limited and his phrases simple, but they seem to understand each other anyway. It’s cute, it’s sweet, and on any other day Chuuya might even join in but—
Fyodor keeps fondling the remote in his hand.
It’s in full view of Chuuya now, just there between Fyodor’s fingers. His thumb keeps circling the metallic plate and his forefinger keeps playing with the button controls.
The vibration levels keep cycling sporadically—from one long unending buzz to staccato pulses to three-second gaps to a low hum that makes his throat dry. There’s no set pattern, there’s no rhyme nor reason, and Chuuya feels sweat beading on his forehead despite it being cold. He clenches the edge of the leather seat and bites down on his bottom lip to hold in the whine that wants to escape. He fastens his seatbelt, thinking it would help keep him still.
There’s a sudden silence in the car as the music ends; Chuuya holds his breath. He can’t make a sound, not one sound.
The vibrator stops too. The opening notes of the next piece start and—even Chuuya knows this one.
“Caprice No. 24 is my favourite, could you turn up the volume please?” The driver obliges, and their small talk ends in lieu of listening to the score instead.
Chuuya has a bad feeling about this.
This Caprice is—intense, and chaotic and powerful and frantic at some parts and daunting at others. It gets loud and angry and the quiet moments are few and far in between. It demands all attention, both from the listener and its musician.
And Fyodor knows this piece intimately.
Another thing he knows intimately? The different levels of the remote he’s holding.
Chuuya only gets a few seconds to brace himself before Fyodor starts cycling through the various speeds and settings of the vibrator, fitting the tremors best as he can to what’s currently blasting from the speakers.
Almost midway to the piece now, where the notes are so heavy and so loud, when Fyodor turns up the toy to its highest setting and Chuuya just stiffens. He clenches both fists and tries to seek out the pain from his nails digging into his palms because he needs something, anything to get his mind away from how his entire body is trembling and pulsating.
Fuck it, fuck it, it’s going on for too long, he can’t take this, it feels like an eternity and he’s not going to last, he won’t last, this is fifteen seconds of cruel torture and it just might never end, fuck, he’s going to—
No.
NO.
Fucking hold it together!
The vibration stops.
Chuuya exhales and starts panting in time to what he can only describe as the violin making guitar-like plucking sounds. He twists the seatbelt around one palm and wipes the sweat off his forehead with the other. Fyodor shows some mercy on him and lets him breathe at that entire section, but god, he is so hard by now it hurts.
He wants to whimper along with the tinny, high notes the violin switches to as the section changes and the toy turns on again, back to the lowest setting with one continuous vibration. Normally he barely feels this level, but not now, not when he’s on edge and sensitive. Now it feels like a shiver running through all his nerve endings and prodding him to give in.
But he can’t. If he comes to fucking Paganini, he’s never going to hear the end of it.
The music’s pace changes and becomes rapid again, and this time Fyodor chooses a quick pulsing beat with only one level higher in intensity. Fists on his knees, Chuuya leans back, the back of his head hitting the headrest. He glances to the side and sees Fyodor gazing intently at him, his eyes burning even in the shadows.
Chuuya’s—
Chuuya’s not going to last.
“Please, Fedya,” he begs in whispered Japanese. He knows he looks desperate and teary and fuck he’s so close, he doesn’t want to, but he can’t—
The toy stills, but his own body’s tremors continue. Chuuya shuts his eyes, his whimpering masked by the loud violin playing. A hand covers his fist and coaxes it open, and for the last few seconds of the piece, Chuuya tangles their fingers and clings to that warm hand, Fyodor keeping his grip tight as well to match Chuuya’s.
A lull as the track ends, then another starts again. But Fyodor keeps the toy turned off. It remains off, as Chuuya takes about a minute to clear his head and calm his nerves. He opens his eyes to Fyodor’s attention still fixed on him.
They pull up to the hotel’s driveway as Fyodor reaches with his free hand to wipe the stray tear that escaped Chuuya’s eyes, then lifts their tangled hands together so he can plant a kiss on Chuuya’s wrist. He lets go after a final squeeze and gets out of the car first. Chuuya’s still catching his breath and his knees still feel a bit shaky, but he successfully exits the car without assistance.
Fyodor pulls him into a half-hug and leans down to kiss his cheek before whispering in his ear.
“Break’s over past the doors. Your win, only if you make it to our room.” Chuuya tilts his head up, nudging Fyodor with a hand under his chin so their lips can brush together in a brief kiss.
“I’ll make it,” Chuuya says. “I’ll definitely win.”
Fyodor kindly doesn’t point out Chuuya almost didn’t make it a couple of minutes ago. He moves his hand down instead to Chuuya’s waist, and together they walk up to the hotel doors. They step through, and the doors haven’t even closed yet when the vibrator comes alive again.
At least it’s not the highest intensity.
It’s the same rapid pulsing beat as the one that nearly pushed him over the edge, but the vibrations are a level higher, and already he can feel and hear the pounding in his head moving in time. He keeps his eyes on the floor so he can concentrate on his breathing as he puts one foot in front of the other.
One of Fyodor’s men waits by the elevators, and he hands a room key to Fyodor as they near him.
“Have dinner sent up in half an hour,” Fyodor instructs him as they wait for the elevator.
“Have this—have this brought up too,” Chuuya bites out the words carefully, the bouquet almost falling from his hand as he gives it over. He’ll only damage the lovely bundle if he keeps holding on to it.
The doors finally open and Fyodor helps him walk unsteadily inside.
The elevators closing means they’re finally alone.
Fuck, they’re finally alone.
Chuuya sags against Fyodor’s chest, burying his head there and finally letting out the full-blown whimper he’s been trying to keep in all this time. He shivers and clutches at the front of Fyodor’s coat, panting loudly. Now that he’s thrown away his reservations, he feels himself approaching the edge faster and faster, the urge to come more desperate than before.
A button comes off and hits the wall; Chuuya whines as his hand loses its grip on the thick coat. Fyodor quickly leans down inhales the sounds leaving Chuuya with a hungry kiss. But it only increases the volume of the noises he keeps making, the kiss doing nothing but making Chuuya needier than ever.
“A bit more, my sweet. Hold on.”
They reach their floor. The doors open and in a sudden burst of energy Chuuya pushes Fyodor away and stumbles out of the elevator, propping himself on the wall with a shoulder. His mind is only one thing: get inside, get inside, get inside.
Fyodor strides past him towards the second door in the hallway, thank fuck.
He tugs on the knot holding his coat closed and staggers into a half-run towards Fyodor who’s unlocking the door.
Fuck, his cock is so hard, his prostate beyond overstimulated, his heart beating so fast he thinks he might die if he doesn’t come soon, no, not soon, right the fuck now.
Chuuya yanks on the button of his suit pants, sending it flying across the hall. He almost wails at the extra friction over his crotch.
He takes one step beyond the waiting door.
Fyodor grabs him and shoves him against the bathroom door, then immediately goes down on his knees while tugging down Chuuya’s slacks as fast as he can.
The orgasm hits him just as Fyodor slides down his underwear.
Chuuya screams as he comes from the barest of touches, his fist slamming against the door behind him. A hot mouth closes over his cock and instinctively Chuuya grabs the silky black hair right there within his reach and fucks his spend down Fyodor’s waiting throat.
Every nerve ending in his body is on fire as he continues to ride the seemingly unending waves of orgasm. It’s pleasure unlike anything he’s ever felt before and he never wants it to stop.
He must’ve passed out.
He must have, because when Chuuya next opens his eyes, he’s sitting on the carpeted floor, pants and coat gone, Fyodor between his legs and caressing his cheeks with nuzzles and barely-there kisses. He feels like his entire body has turned to mush, and he feels ready to sleep.
“Welcome back,” Fyodor says, his eyes and tone full of amusement.
“Hiii,” Chuuya answers, smiling back like he’s drunk. Well he is, in a way. Drunk from intense pleasure and a mind-blowing orgasm.
“Come, Chuuya.”
“Didn’t I just do that?” Chuuya yawns.
“I said you need to come shower quick. Food will be here soon, and I know you haven’t eaten the entire day.”
“Such a stalker.” His words slur—he’s so tired and sleepy, and hungry, yes, he feels it now, like he can eat an entire cow but it’s sleep that’s a more pressing need.
“I’ll dump you in a bath full of freezing cold water if needed.”
“So mean.”
“Always, for you. Now come.” Fyodor helps him stand up, laughing as Chuuya’s legs refuse to cooperate under him.
“I don’t think I have anything left in me to come two more times.” Chuuya yawns again while leaning his full weight on Fyodor.
“The morning will always be there, do not fret.”
They enter the bathroom successfully, not even noticing—or caring really even if they had—that the front door’s lock hadn’t kicked in and has been left partly open, or that the still slick black toy on the floor will be the first thing anyone sees upon entering.