Tigris Domesticus

by by_a_whisker, RueRambunctious

Summary:

Sebastian gets attacked by a tiger whilst out on a job and all Jim has to say on it is a disparagement about falling out of a tree.

Until it becomes clear that Sebastian hasn’t been the same since. And honestly? Neither has Jim. There's things clawing under both their skins that seem intent on transforming them.

Notes:

Sebastian Moran: By_A_Whisker
Jim Moriarty: RueRambunctious

°°° = break in time
~ = narrator shift
[text message]

Chapter 1: Irritations

Fucking India, of all places.

That had been the gist of his reaction when Jim had come up with that last assignment.

Sebastian didn't really know how exactly a dead Raja fit into Jim's schemes, nor did he care much. (Probably something about controlling mining and trade routes of some half-precious stone or other...)

Planning and executing the hit had been a challenge, forcing him to spend weeks on his recce, observing, stalking the target ... Surprisingly, he had liked the place. India. Not so much the teeming, claustrophobia-inducing cities, but apart from that... ? He'd liked the smells – well, most of them - the vibrant colours, the spicy food. The women were something else too (something he might, totally by accident, not have mentioned to Jim). The heat had been different from what was used to from the Middle East, heavier, more humid, but the nights less cold.

Which was just as well, because after evaluating all his options to get to the target (as well as his own exit) he had spent nights on end in a stand of trees, up in a rather comfortable fork of a trunk, high enough to have a line of sight over the walls into the luxurious compound where the man lived.

He had gotten a clean shot at last.

Just before something had gotten him - a shadow of black and orange and three hundred pounds of live weight. Even now... he could still hear it... still smell it, feel claws and teeth tearing into him when crashing down to the ground together…

With only his knife left to fight the beast, Sebastian couldn't remember how exactly he had gotten out alive, if not unscathed. Maybe the tiger just had decided it couldn't be bothered with this particular prey that put up too much of a fight to make an easy meal.

°°°

Staring at the laptop Sebastian absentmindedly rubbed his palms over the rough denim of his jeans, but he barely consciously noticed the slight rash he had developed on his hands. Not in comparison to his other injuries anyway which were giving him hell, even after three weeks. Although they actually were nothing you wouldn't expect to heal after being cared for properly. But every time the bandages were changed, there wasn’t much progress underneath. The painkillers seemed to do little and the antibiotics... nothing at all. He felt sick and hot and restless, and yet, strangely enough, not dazed and weary as you would normally expect with fever and wound infection. He hadn't lost his appetite, quite the opposite, but he had started complaining about smells that nobody except him even noticed, and sometimes he was wincing at bright light and loud noises. Most annoyingly, his sleep cycle appeared to be totally fucked up, to an extent that frequently had him prowling around the house at night.

Maybe that's why he was much more irritable than his usual self. Like now.

“Oh sod it,” he growled, closing the laptop with a snap, still muttering something very blasphemous about the internet. It seemed he either ended up on rather scientific websites which listed the pathology and symptoms of rabies (sensory aberrations amongst them) and endemic areas (India amongst them), or on esoteric haunts with shitloads of preposterous garbage on it.

He looked up and found Jim watching him, eyes unreadable.

“What?” Sebastian snapped. At Jim, who had been reasonably patient all along, even considerate – by his standards. Like now for instance, having turned down the music to a level that didn't irritate Sebastian.
Who now plonked the laptop down onto the floor beside his armchair, got up and went into the kitchen to find something to eat, even though they’d had dinner just an hour ago...

~

Eating. Again. In the three weeks since Sebastian had returned from India (after falling out of a tree, like he wasn’t a grown man with a job that required discretion) the man seemed to do nothing but eat. Jim eyed the laptop Sebastian had discarded -wondering, not for the first time, what had put the other man in yet another strange, strained mood - and made a mental note to snoop some browsing history later.

Jim drew himself elegantly to his feet and glided through to the kitchen after Sebastian.

“Moran, I am beginning to suspect you have worms.”

~

Standing in front of the fridge and eating strips of bacon straight from a packet, Sebastian caught himself wondering why the hell one would go through the trouble of frying the stuff? It was delicious as it was… He didn't bother to turn around when he heard the footsteps - funny how someone could so obviously try to move quietly and still be so noisy - not even at the scathing remark.

“Yeah, how about you nip down to the vet’s tomorrow and get me some pills,” he muttered, peeling open the second compartment of the packet. The joke was half-hearted, and for a moment he fervently wished that ‘worms’ was the only thing that was wrong with him. But he didn't know what the fuck it was, and deep down, and in a way he barely admitted to himself, it scared him. He closed the door of the fridge with more emphasis than necessary, and finally turned around.

“Those ‘extra value‘ labels are a fucking scam, there’s hardly anything in it,” he growled. Pushing past Jim, he briefly waved the empty packet in his face, before he threw it into the bin.

~

Jim pursed his lips at Sebastian’s backchat. If familiarity bred contempt then surely Moran was getting far too familiar. The worst thing was, Jim was starting to find the oaf amusing.

It was best for them both if Jim pretended not to hear.

Sebastian’s shoulders were tense, but the way he slammed the fridge door suggested he was not re-thinking his cheek. Honestly, he’d been pacing and all but snarling around the place like a caged tiger for nearly a month now, with no discernible justification. Admittedly Moran had a few bandaged wounds to be surly about, but he’d always taken injuries in his stride before.

Jim blinked at the packet waved unceremoniously and decidedly disrespectfully under his nose. The shock was such that he stared right through the plastic to Sebastian’s palms.

Still red. They rather resembled the palms of a toddler who’d taken a nasty tumble on rough ground, except they were still looking inflamed weeks after Seb’s indignity with the tree and the wild beast already occupying it. Jim was about to ask what exactly Moran had been washing his hands with of late, when his brain caught up with him.

“You animal,” said Jim. “Moran, please tell me that you didn’t just inhale a double packet of raw bacon?”

~

“So what?!” Sebastian rounded on Jim and with feral satisfaction saw the man flinch… just a tiny bit. “Since when do you concern yourself with my eating habits?” (Usually it was the other way round!) Only very occasionally, when being in a playful mood, Jim would scoff at Sebastian’s voracious appetite, which, maybe, he found secretly endearing?

But that was the thing, and no one knew it better than Sebastian: nothing about this was endearing or normal, and Sebastian's effort to hide it or at least make light of it, was failing spectacularly. Instead he was feeling weirder by the day, sick, edgy and aggressive, and not himself.

Jim staring at him, strangely vexed and calculating at the same time, had Sebastian’s stomach clench around a cold lump.

“Fucking hell…” he muttered under his breath and looked away, dragging his palms across his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what…” he trailed off, his voice gravelly. Then he let his hands fall away and drew back a little, to carefully step around Jim. “’m sorry,” he repeated lamely.

He didn’t know how Jim put up with him during these past weeks. He seemed untypically lenient, considering Sebastian's behaviour…

There was a fine line he normally heeded carefully. With skill and instinct (and a good deal of infatuation, although he could hardly admit that) Sebastian navigated that exhilarating and dangerous razor’s edge between his own rebellious nature and what Jim Moriarty would tolerate, even from his second in command, his live-in one and whatever else you could call it.

Grimacing at the pain in his shoulder, Sebastian reached up and took the bottle of Glenfarclas from the shelf. Of course he wasn’t allowed, what with all his medication, but in terms of health hazards it currently seemed a very small one.

“Want one?”

~

Flinching at the aggression of his own employee was not a habit Jim was used to and he did not intend to make it such. He really ought to threaten to skin Moran for a rug, but Jim pressed his lips together instead. There were only so many times you could make a threat and not follow through before your word lost its weight.

Saying nothing at all had a shelf life and consequences too, but Jim tolerated Seb’s growling and did his best not to think about why he was indulging Moran’s insubordination.

The realisation and regret of crossing a line eventually appeared in Sebastian’s eyes. His apology was unprompted and genuine, but that did little to ease Jim’s discomfort.

If Seb had simply been irritable because his injuries were bothering him, Jim might have been able to assess the situation and comfortably decide how to respond to Sebastian’s mercurial nature of late. Sebastian’s wounds did seem to be bothering him, but beyond that? He seemed distressed and confused and Jim was struggling to get a read on what was wrong with the man. That was new.

Jim narrowed his eyes at Sebastian when he reached for the whiskey. More insubordination. Moran needed to follow the doctors’ orders if he was ever going to heal and be field-ready again. Having him out of commission was bad for business.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. “I want a great deal of things, but I suppose a dram will do for starters,” he found himself saying.

~

A smile flitted across Sebastian face, as he got down two glasses and poured two fingers of whisky for both of them.

Before meeting Jim Moriarty, he’d never come across a man who wanted so much, and possessed the power and intellect to inevitably get it. Profane factors – like laws of nature and time, or the stupidity of people – he grudgingly took into account, which didn’t mean they didn’t test his patience. Which in turn could prompt any reaction from flying off the handle to sounding mildly put out. And although the first was a breathtaking thing to witness, most of the time Sebastian was glad when it was the latter - like now.

He handed Jim his glass, then raised his own in a half deferential, half sloppy salute. God, he would enjoy this, after three weeks of abstinence. Starting by breathing in the delicious -

He recoiled as if slapped in the face, nose wrinkled, teeth bared in a disgusted a snarl, as not only his nostrils felt singed but the entire frontal lobe of his brain.

“Jesus fuck…” he thickly uttered an obscene curse, almost dropping his glass. “Didn’t know that stuff could go off…” Through watering eyes he saw Jim had taken his first sip as well, appreciatively.

“It hasn’t, though, has it?” Sebastian asked tonelessly, and a new wave of helpless fury and confusion rushed through him. With clenched teeth, the grip on his glass whitening his knuckles, he put it down in the sink, so hard that it cracked.

~

Moran’s smile was welcome, given that Jim had seen remarkably little of it recently. Jim did not as a rule care for the feelings of others, but Sebastian’s near constant state of agitation was jarring in contrast to the man’s usual efficient, laid-back, and even playful personality. This was what came of having a ‘live-in one’ long enough to become... not attached, but used to said person. Jim would surely have gotten rid of Moran for being altogether too much of a distraction - Seb’s recent tantrums were in no way conducive to getting work done - were it not for... Well. Jim could hardly put it into words.

The Irishman pursed his lips in amusement as Moran saluted with his whiskey. Jim hid his widening smile in his own glass and glanced back at Seb to ensure that it was not clear he was savouring something more than the flavour.

Sebastian’s bizarre reaction made Jim flinch yet again, which was becoming a nasty habit.

Jim regarded his own drink, its taste still heavy on his tongue. It was perfectly untainted. Moran was in no mood for a sly joke about getting what he deserved for breaking the no alcohol whilst on medication rule. Jim was about to to say something placating - and really, when had that become part of his repertoire?- when Sebastian audibly cracked his glass.

Jim sniffed. “Not that we can’t afford it, but I’ll have you know that’s good crystal.” He put down his own drink and approached close enough to see better but not be within Moran’s reach. “Have you just given yourself another injury to add to the terribly long list?”

~

Yeah, they could afford quite a few broken glasses, Waterford Crystal or not (and even if the ’we‘, as in ‘us’, was a slip of tongue, it sent a little forbidden thrill through Sebastian) - but that wasn’t the point. Jim simply disliked his property being damaged, purely on principle.

Sebastian stared into the sink. After a few seconds he opened the tap to wash away the offending, reeking liquid. Then he examined his hand, briefly holding it up for Jim to see from his cautiously kept distance. “No, nothing wrong,” apart from that friggin’ rash. And a multitude of other things.

“Look, I know it’s a nuisance I can’t work, but…” he breathed deeply, for a fleeting instance looking pained and tired, before putting on a confident smile, “tomorrow I’m having another appointment with that doc. He was talking about a few more tests and maybe changing the medication. I’m sure this will sort me out in no time…” He nodded, trying to convince Jim as much as himself.

~

Jim was expecting Moran to mouth off again, so when the man’s posture changed from surprised to something almost relaxed, Jim did not know what to make of it. That was becoming a frustrating pattern of late.

Aaand then Sebastian’s shoulders got tense yet again. He seemed bizarrely disgusted by his likely now cut hand and Jim did not want to entertain the possibility that his best sniper had suddenly lost his taste for blood.

Although, that might explain why Moran was in such a dreadful mood of late? Sebastian had been in so many deadly scrapes that Jim expected the man to just get on with things as he always had but... something was certainly different since the incident with the tiger.

Jim had a brief, unwelcome image appear in his mind of packing Moran off to therapy to be fixed - what utter ridiculousness, a killer who gets upset by blood.

Jim realised Seb was holding up his hand to look at. A broken toy was the last thing Jim needed right now. He felt like throwing a tantrum himself, but he sought calm by imagining Moran strangling various foes (a tiger amongst them). Moran was highly adaptable. They’d cope. And it wasn’t like Jim didn’t have plenty of men on the payroll happy to butcher and maim on command anyway.

Then Jim noticed something about Seb’s hand as the man spoke: it wasn’t cut at all.

Jim felt a wave of relief, but it was short-lived. An explanation, however unwelcome to their lifestyle, felt better than no explanation at all. Jim did love a puzzle usually, but he hated not knowing things.

The lie in Seb’s voice was obvious, and that annoyed Jim further, but then more distress flickered on the man’s face before being inexpertly covered up.

What. A. Mess.

“Firstly, darling,” Jim said, and he let some of his displeasure flash in his eyes for good measure, “Thank God for your sake, because another day of you acting like this and I would be calling the vet - for a loan of his tranquilliser gun.”

Jim looked away crossly. “Make sure that doctor looks at everything. See as many as you need to... You’re a fat lot of use to me like this.”

~

“I will”, Sebastian replied gruffly. Swallowing he turned away and busied himself with tidying up the mess of broken glass in the sink.

If he could think of an even more daunting prospect than being seriously ill, it was to be of no use to Jim. And, not for the first time during the past weeks, his mind point blank refused to think about that. About what that meant… Would… inevitably mean.

He realised his hand was hovering above the bin, squeezing around the crystal fragments so firmly blood welled up, while he watched it trickle between his fingers… and drip down. Not moving, not batting an eyelash, he tightened his grip some more, before he finally opened it a dropped the sodden pieces into the rubbish. He almost basked in the good, clean pain, because it was so very unlike the one underneath his bandages.

“Just a test,” he said to Jim, who stared at him as if seriously considering to shoot him – not with a tranquilliser gun – and be done with all this already.

Plucking a kitchen towel from its holder and winding it around his hand, Sebastian pushed past him before the scales tipped and not in his favour.

“I’m going out.”

~

Jim was momentarily relieved when Moran agreed without a fuss. Jim had previously been amused that Sebastian wasn’t a blindly obedient sycophant, finding the man to be funny and even insightful in ways Moran’s predecessors hadn’t been.

Jim was missing that obedience now. It was like having a moody teenager sprout up overnight, except one that was trained to kill and that Jim swore to himself he was only keeping around because Seb was so good at his job. Even though Sebastian had been terrible of late: he couldn’t work in the field and he was a menace around the house these past weeks.

Jim’s relief was short-lived as he watched Sebastian carry the crystal shards to the bin. Moran would ordinarily grumble if Jim did that (not that Jim bothered to clean up after himself often) because sharps would slice through the bin liner and cause a mess or injury when Seb took the bin out.

Jim held his tongue. Moran was volatile enough recently and Jim was tired of it; he couldn’t be bothered with potentially setting the man off again. Sebastian would probably throw another wobbly when he did take the bin out, but that was another day’s problem. Or hopefully not. With any luck tomorrow the doctor would change Seb’s pain meds and the walking disaster would be docile as he healed.

Jim pushed away from the kitchen island as he realised Sebastian’s knuckles were white and he was bleeding over the bin. Jim was going to kill him. He was going to kill Moran, or himself, or possibly both, for bringing that overgrown brat into his home and tolerating so much insubordination that the infuriating bastard seemingly thought he could do as he pleased.

And then Moran goaded him. There was a whole drawer of sharp knives right at Jim’s fingertips (Seb refused to have them in the open because he said Jim had a temper!) and Jim dug his manicured nails into his own palm from the fury at himself for not using one or several of them. He’d never before had an employee he wasn’t fine with slitting the throat of, and he did not want to examine what that meant.

Moran reached for something to stem the blood with and Jim took a deep breath as the man dared push past him.

‘I’m going out,’ Jim heard Moran say, as if he could just come and go as he pleased and there were no consequences at all for his actions.

Jim lifted his glass and threw it hard at Moran’s feet, meeting the bigger man’s eyes darkly to make it clear just how close Jim had been to smashing the thing in Moran’s face.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, talking to me like that,” Jim snarled, drawing himself to his full height and doing his best not to reach for Moran’s deserving throat, “but if you want to keep the tongue in your head, this is where you start grovelling and promising to be a good boy. You seem to be under the moronic misapprehension that my generosity in permitting you heal for a few weeks gives you some sort of license to ‘test’ my patience. It doesn’t.”

Jim gestured to the shattered crystal scattered across the kitchen floor. “You can start making yourself useful around here by cleaning that up. And you can consider yourself fucking grounded. You don’t make decisions around here, and if you think I’m letting you out of my sight when you’re a total liability then you’ve clearly lost even more of your mind than I already suspect.”

~

Exploding crystal around his feet stopped Sebastian in his tracks.

Jim’s wrath was something to behold, and normally Sebastian was sensible enough not to provoke it – it was largely due to that, that they managed to not only to coexist in one living space without killing each other, but did so quite … agreeably. Of course there were the days when Sebastian felt the itch to push back and had to scratch it, but mainly he honoured the natural order of things – Jim was the boss.

When coming back to London, Sebastian had not seen himself being part of any sort of hierarchy that involved people bossing him around ever again. After being kicked out of the army - despite its shortcomings the only place he’d ever belonged (and then suddenly had not) - he’d been filled with rage and disgust for the concept of idiots wielding power – which basically meant... the whole fucking world. He was aware he might have to sell his skills to the highest bidder, but would never acknowledge anyone as his superior again.

Well, little had he known. Because he had yet to meet Jim Moriarty.

And then he had...

Now, even though the itch was flaring up into a burn (and despite what Jim might think), Sebastian still didn’t have a death wish nor was he particularly keen on a permanent bodily mutilation, despite being aware he was very much in danger of both. Feeling tested with the utmost insolence and disrespect, Jim’s eyes had turned from seething to black, the vein in his temple throbbing, as he launched into a dressing down of epic proportions.

Sebastian wasn’t cowed. Grovelling was not in his nature, and yet, the rare occasions when Jim called him a ‘good boy’ – a praise always laced with a whiff of mortifying, beautiful condescension – made a wave of heat wash through Sebastian that he desperately tried to hide.

Today though, any such allusions only irritated him further.

“I wasn’t testing you,” he snapped back. Letting Jim know that not everything was about him probably did not contribute much towards defusing the situation, but – there it was. “I thought it might help to see whether…” He looked at his hand, too upset to continue and explain. That all the doctors seemed to be poking around in the dark and not making much headway. Which, considering the sterling medical care his fringe benefits afforded him, wasn’t much of a cheer-up.

“Don’t you get it, I don’t know what’s happening to me!” He was getting louder, almost shouting. “Maybe I am loosing my mind!” Rounding on Jim like that, he definitely must be…

He wasn’t trying to be abrasive, and it wasn’t a matter of employing a bit of self-control (which he possessed in spades, as Jim well knew), he just felt it slipping.

Something was slipping and it made him feel scared, even more for Jim than himself.

While Jim had been stepping closer, drawing himself up and raising his chin, instead of backing away, Sebastian had found himself suddenly utterly transfixed by the sight of his throat, the tender skin there, the throbbing pulse beneath it. Almost panting, he tore his eyes away and stepped aside.

“I need to get out, just …” His voice was tight, low, and final, “on a walk.” He stepped around the splinters of glass on the ground without even looking down, and out into the hall.

~

When the tumbler smashing at his feet gave Moran pause, Jim had to remind himself to breathe. His temper was telling him that Sebastian fully deserved to have both of his hands - and perhaps his face - trodden into the sharp fragments of crystal, and Jim had to remember that logically any such action would be counterproductive to getting Moran back to his functioning self.

Normally Sebastian’s ears would get adorably pink from embarrassment and resentment at being reprimanded thus, but they didn’t this time. Seb’s posture was utterly wrong.

‘I wasn’t testing you,’ Moran said, and it should have been an apology but his tone made Jim want to crack his fist off of Seb’s jaw.

Then Moran gazed helplessly at his hand, and looked so lost that it made Jim’s heart hammer with something other than fury.

Nothing made any sense. Jim listened as Moran (in a tone just begging for punishment, in Jim’s opinion) insisted that he was not only losing his discipline but seemingly also his marbles.

What had Sebastian said before? That he had woken up on the ground after being attacked in a tree?
Brain injuries were fickle, but Jim was willing to latch onto any explanation that could bring forward a logical conclusion: if Seb had rattled his brains on every branch on the way to the ground then yes he’d be a little out of sorts, but Jim could throw money and doctors and threats at the problem and Moran would recover and Jim could ignore whatever insidious thing within him caused such a concerning reluctance to just put a bullet in the back of Moran’s head and be done with it.

Sebastian was staring intensely at his throat. It didn’t seem to be with rage or lust, more like…

Hunger? It made Jim morbidly curious more than uneasy, but perhaps he was too full of adrenaline to react reasonably.

Sebastian insisted on leaving, turning his back on Jim in a way that was just begging for a caved in skull or a slit throat.

“Have you managed to forget along with your house-training, Moran, that I am by far the smartest person you know?” Jim asked.

Jim thought with disgust about the second best sniper in his employ. He wasn’t unskilled, but he wasn’t as talented as Moran by any stretch of the imagination. His abilities were also single purpose - he’d be useless as personal security and even without his wretched personality would not make the cut as a ‘live-in one’. Replacing Moran would be bothersome indeed, and Jim had far more interesting things to do.

Jim swallowed. “It’s patently obvious that you are not yourself, but I can determine the cause much faster if you actually communicate.”

Jim considered what he had said before about Moran now being a ‘liability’. Ignoring the fact that Moran had no right to disobey a direct order and would be punished soundly later if he lived that long… Was Sebastian well enough to be outside unaccompanied? The man was panting and pale, eyes wide and clearly not behaving normally. If Jim was worried (and he was not) he could of course follow Moran’s route via hacked CCTV (a perk of being one of the most surveilled countries in the world) but…

But but but. Jim should just empty a clip into Moran’s spine and leave him to bleed out in pain and misery.

~

Sebastian looked at Jim with a tormented expression. He was aware of being in danger behaving like he did, but he had the weird feeling Jim was too. "You are...", he conceded - the smartest man he knew - "but.... not even the doctors have any clue."

He refrained from pointing out that Jim wasn't one... And what else could be wrong with him but something medical?

"Christ, what am I'm supposed to communicate, you're having a front row seat! I can't sleep at night, but I'm getting tired during the day, everything smells weird, everything's too loud, too bright... everything is too fucking much but somehow not enough!" He was hissing by now, listing the facts, because at the same time it felt entirely insufficient, like no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't begin describe the heart of the problem, because he couldn't grasp it. He was consumed by a voracious hunger all the time, but no energy seemed to go into mending. "While some of the wounds have healed, others do not..." And it was an ugly, itching, sweltering pain, like his flesh and skin wanted to peel off, and no matter how carefully he tried to list all the symptoms the less it conveyed what was really happening - that stomach-clenching feeling of something being utterly, profoundly wrong - with his head, his mind, his sensorium and emotions, some part of his very being becoming unhinged ... "And it's like nothing I've ever experienced, do you hear... Ever!!"

And Jim knew he'd lived through a lot - and without complaint - that would have had other men kick the bucket.

~

Jim raised an eyebrow when Moran insinuated that not being a doctor made him in some way deficient to the task of ascertaining the man’s malady, as though Jim couldn’t crack open a pile of medical journals like anyone else. Still, at least Seb bothered to hold his tongue a little.

As Moran listed his symptoms with distress, Jim found himself feeling his anger at Sebastian’s churlishness abate slightly. It must be the prospect of a new puzzle to solve that was buoying Jim’s mood, making him benevolent, although… Jim didn’t actually feel excited or pleased. He felt concer-

Nope. Absolutely not.

Jim snapped, “For a start you could have communicated the quite frankly insane idea of cutting yourself to ‘test’ whether you’d heal - at which point I’d have told you to stop being a fucking idiot, leave your hand alone, and go take a fucking nap before you do anything else mental!”

Sebastian was raising his voice again too. Jim levelled the man with a Look. “Whether you’re taking leave of your senses or not, you know better than to take that tone with me. I think you’d best consider whether you’d like to be a very fetching throw rug, or whether you’d like to survive long enough to put whatever is wrong with you behind you.”

Jim took a deep breath. He fixed things for people all of the time, so there was no need to overthink this.

“Go for the walk to clear your mind if you need to, but be back within the hour unless you want me to have you collected.”

Jim looked away. “I expect you’ll want to eat again when you get back. I’ll order some black out curtains for you to make it less bright. If they’re not ready by the time you’ve eaten half a cow, you can sleep in my room - it’ll be darker and it’s not like you’ve never been in my bed before.” Which was barely true, they rarely made it there, from impatience as much as that feeling much too personal.

“Convalesce as much as you need to - you’re in no fit state for anything else - and it’s not like I don’t already work through half the night anyway.”

~

Seriously? Sebastian looked aghast, and somewhat suspicious too. It had been close to a miracle that Jim put up with his behaviour for weeks without skinning him, but him backing off, however slightly, to avoid a physical altercation between them - that was unheard of. Also, Sebastian knew better than anyone how employees were dealt with when they not only ceased to be useful but became a liability. Christ, more often than not it was him who dealt with them.

Jim finally acknowledging the problem as something more than his right-hand man simply being injured, irritated and insubordinate, made Sebastian feel so grateful it was almost pathetic. Jim taking measures on account of the weird and strange needs he had developed left him stunned. Still tense and on edge, he relaxed a bit. There was even the flicker of a smile.

"Hopefully those curtains will take some time then", he mumbled, then promised: "I'll be back in an hour." He picked up his jacket and, without bothering to change the haphazard bandage on his hand into something orderly, he left.

~

Jim wryly noted the stunned look on Moran’s face, which did help his turbulent pride a little and took the edge off of the urge to stab Seb numerous times. Sebastian actually looked concerned by Jim’s acquiescence, like he expected some horrid trick, and that soothed Jim’s pride even more.

And then it didn’t.

Why was he trying to fix Seb? Replacing him would be a pain but having someone appropriately obedient and respectful around the place could only be better for Jim’s productivity.

Jim ignored the various reasons that immediately came to mind as to why he didn’t want to dispose of Moran, even though the man clearly deserved it and worse.

Moran was still going through a face journey. It was easier to examine that than examine unwelcome thoughts. It was a horrible burden, not being stupid.

Sebastian looked uneasy and even a little white-cheeked, which was a welcome sight. His posture had shifted into something less confrontational too, although it was still tense.

And then Moran gave a small smile.

Jim had to look away again, affecting nonchalance. Sebastian had barely smiled recently and Jim resentfully noted the physical reaction his body had to that. Jim poked his fingers into the crescent wounds left by his nails and tried to teach his body to associate Seb’s smile negatively - with annoyance, with pain.

Jim’s gaze snapped back up to Moran as the man spoke. A joke, flirty. Jim was either making an excellent or terrible mistake and could not decide which.

Sebastian seemed brighter, though still out of sorts, as he left with an easy agreement to Jim’s time constraint. Jim knew he missed Moran’s obedience, but it didn’t explain why he felt a little pleased as he watched Seb leave.

Jim looked down at the mess then. No fucking way was he cleaning that up - it was all Moran’s fault.

Jim stretched out, trying to pull some of the frustration out of his body. Seb was seeing a doctor tomorrow. Everything would be fine. Jim would punish the man soundly for his many transgressions once he was fine.

Jim swiped up his laptop and flipped the lid open. He could remember the measurements to most of the building without needing to check and Moran’s bedroom window was no exception. In all honesty Jim could delegate the task of ordering black out curtains to a subordinate, but he felt more in control doing this himself. It felt like there wasn’t enough of that lately.

Jim considered the communal rooms. Every security person he had ever had had inwardly winced at the security nightmare posed by all of the windows. Jim had automated blinds for them (glare on the screens of his device was a real nuisance) but he had noticed the noise of the things bothering Seb of late. Jim chose not to think about his motivation for browsing newer, quieter models. He was probably wasting his time. Seb was bound to be fine soon, wasn’t he?

Jim sent off the rush orders - he was certainly not letting Moran get used to an invite to his bed - and pulled up earlier CCTV footage from outside of the building, discovering Moran’s route. It would be quicker to track the man’s phone, but that was too easy.

Jim frowned a little at Seb’s use of so many unpopulated streets. Normally he wouldn’t consider them a security risk, but Moran has been peculiar of late, and there’s a vulnerability there along with the temper that unsettled Jim. If Sebastian made a mess in a populated area Jim could easily deal with that, but if he had to send people to haul Seb out of a minor scrape? That would set people talking.

Not that they were safe to do so.

Jim massaged his temples and glowered at his screen. Moran was in a park now, which seemed better, but Jim didn’t like feeling relief about that either.

Exactly what was Jim going to do if Moran was irreparably damaged?

He supposed he could keep the man around to warm his bed, but what about the ticking time bomb of Moran’s new temper? Did Seb need putting down?

That put something cold in Jim’s insides that he entirely refused to examine and willed away with limited results.

Jim watched Seb cover ground with ease. Whatever was wrong, it wasn’t effecting Sebastian’s motor skills terribly. Perhaps that was something to be glad of. He did move beautifully, like a big cat, all power and grace.

Moran also seemed to be doubling back, keeping his word on being back home soon.

Jim considered the contents of the fridge sceptically. They were dwindling rapidly these days.

Jim sighed and called in a delivery. It arrived a little before Seb did (who was a tiny bit early, and that was soothing) but there was no sign of any other couriers so far.

~

The thick of the traffic was irritating due to the infernal light and noise level, so Sebastian had gotten into the habit of keeping to side streets and quieter residential areas. The parks drew him in especially, where the stink of exhaust fumes abated behind the more pleasant scent soil and greenery, humans and animals. He had gotten used to picking them out clearly, while he couldn't remember even noticing them before. He would know there was a woman walking her dog even before rounding the next bend and seeing them, he noticed how much wildlife there was, even in the city... He kept away from any fast food stalls and take-away joints knowing he'd feel the irresistible urge to raid them... An hour outside had become so much more riveting and fascinating than watching TV or reading a book, and processing all the sensations seemed to burn energy much more satisfyingly than an hour in the gym.…

Every now and then he glanced up into a CCTV lens, like a silent feedback, in case Jim was checking on him. Knowing that Jim did, at least occasionally, was strangely reassuring and also proof that Sebastian didn't entirely trust himself these days…

And he arrived back home with a few minutes to spare.

He found Jim had been true to his word as well - the lights were pleasantly dimmed and on the kitchen counter sat a package of a Steak House delivery service…

He felt strangely touched and a bit guilty too – he hadn’t really expected Jim being serious about all this.

Making a beeline for the food delivery on the kitchen counter. He looked down at the crunching sound under his shoes and his eyes narrowed. Ah yes - that. He was about to discount it as not his mess. On the other hand, he hadn't entirely forgotten the laws around here and he didn't aim at deliberately flouting them either... It just sort of happened lately. A lot.

So he did clean up the whisky soaked shards, with the occasional glance at the enticing food - a selection of prime quality steaks. That was quite an attentive and considerate choice Jim had made there. Unless of course he had dosed it with a sedative to knock him out and have himself a peaceful night's sleep. Which Sebastian wouldn't put past him, but to be honest, he wouldn’t mind a night of quiet and unbroken sleep himself...

He was about to start eating straight from tinfoil and styrofoam box, but remembered manners when he heard Jim come in, and got a plate.

"That is...” - he pointed at the food, indicating with a twirl of his finger that it was quite a substantial amount (and one of his favourite foods to boot) - "very nice." Sebastian was quite sure Jim had never done something like this (for him) before, but he also realised it might not be the best idea to point that out. So he hurriedly launched a distraction. "Do you want some as well?”

~

Jim felt better when Sebastian was back home. That didn’t entirely make sense, given how volatile Moran was lately.

Jim put his laptop aside and drew himself to his feet. It would be far more logical to avoid Sebastian until after the doctor had examined Seb (and possibly dosed the man with a considerable amount of sedatives).
Still, Jim felt drawn. When he reached the kitchen the remnants of his shattered glass were tidied away and Jim could not help but smirk: that was more like how things ought to be.

Sebastian was also using a plate, instead of ripping into the takeaway food like an untrained pet. Given Seb’s deplorable lack of manners recently, Jim suspected that was an attempt at appeasement. He wondered whether being outside had done Moran good, or whether the man had simply remembered what Jim usually did to those who displeased him.

Sebastian didn’t quite say thank you explicitly, but it felt very much implied in what he did say. It was good to see Moran in a better mood, although Jim wondered how long it would last.

Jim chuckled at Seb’s offer to share. “Would you cope if I did? No, Moran, that’s all for you. Some of us don’t have a black hole where our stomach purports to be.”

~

"Oh I'm sure I'd cope just fine," Sebastian replied, "considering the homeopathic amounts of food you usually eat." Usually he would weigh every word carefully, but that seemed to be another thing that slipped out of control. And not even the most... noteworthy one either.

His gaze flickered up to Jim, before returning to his plate, where his steak knife was sawing through the juicy meat. "You know, I've been thinking..." he held off any derogatory comment Jim might want to make about that with a little wave of his fork, "and as considerate, and enticing your offer for me to sleep in your bed is ... I'm not sure it would be a good idea." He cleared his throat and this time his eyes stayed glued to the steak which he was in the process of demolishing with barely a modicum of self control. But the tips of his ears had taken on a slight pink hue as he was trying to explain that those bouts of hunger were not the only ones that had grown out of proportion lately... "I'm getting these cravings that are not exactly calling for raiding the fridge." Urges that were much easier and more discrete to take care of when he was in his own bed in his own room. And if Jim now pretended to be dense and force him to spell it out, he might scream.

By way of a pre-emptive measure he stuffed a big bite of food in his mouth, still not looking up.

~

Jim rolled his eyes as Moran made a light dig about his own eating habits. “Oh, we are in a good mood at last, hmm?”

Seb barely looked up in response, his gaze on the steak as though he had been starved all day and not already eaten his body weight in whatever he could raid from the fridge. Jim watched with idle fascination.
Moran glanced up, looking oddly reluctant, and began voicing a concern about taking Jim’s bed for a while. Jim half-wondered whether the man was feeling his senses to be so hypersensitive the thought of Jim’s cologne on the pillows seemed too overpowering, but then Seb’s ears grew captivatingly, adorably pink.

“Dear me, Moran. The crankiness, eating me out of house and home, and now your hormones? Are you certain you’re not going through puberty?”

Jim shrugged in amusement as the bigger man hid himself in his latest meal, still flushed beautifully.
“I have no problem with an after dinner show. You might as well earn your keep around here.”

Jim’s attention dropped to Moran’s hand, still poorly bandaged. The playfulness of Jim’s tone reduced slightly. “I’d suggest dealing with that first however.”

~

Sebastian agreed with a wordless grunt - to the need of dealing with his new injury that was, not commenting on Jim's fantasies regarding spicy after dinner shows. He was not keen on going into details there - any musings about messy sheets, not to mention even bigger hazards to delectable little psychopaths if they happened to be within reach.

After polishing off three steaks, Sebastian put the remains of the food away for later consumption while Jim retrieved their first aid kit. Even though Sebastian had been thoughtful enough to cut his left hand and not his right, there was no way he would be able to properly look after it without help.

Sometimes Jim chose to help treat Sebastian's injuries - quite frequent occurrences in his job - although never without bitching and grousing. Sebastian never let on that he liked that, even though he wasn't sure whether it was a sign of Jim caring, or of his darker and more sadistic urges.

~

Jim grinned at Seb’s stoic response. Sebastian was a great deal of fun sometimes, but there hadn’t been much sight of that fact recently. Good to know that when sufficiently fed the bloke would still tolerate teasing.

And Sebastian had finally found a limit to what he could consume in one sitting! Would wonders never cease?

Jim magnanimously fetched a first aid kit before Moran’s malleability dissolved again. Sebastian gave it an awkward look.

Oh. Bugger.

Jim gave the delinquent a dry look. “Do you need a grown-up’s help, darling?”

~

Sebastian shrugged, a bit better at keeping the flares of his temper under control, now that he'd eaten. "Grown-ups are rare specimen around here, so I'm usually not holding my breath," he muttered.

He grabbed the case with his good hand, emptying the contents onto the table and pawing through it. Jim in turn snatched up all the necessary items before Sebastian could, suddenly stubbornly insisting that it would be him doing the job. And so he did, not without the occasional pointed stab of the needle, but quite efficiently. Finally he put on an orderly dressing plus bandage, and a tall glass of water in front of Sebastian, who was on such a truckload of medication already there wasn't really anything to add.
Of course he strictly refused to go to bed while Jim was still waiting for a delivery of blinds or curtains or - - -

°°°

Morning light was already seeping through said blinds when Sebastian woke up. Only slowly things started to come back, and in slightly fuzzy fragments, together with the realisation that he was in Jim's bed. With Jim sitting beside him, blithely clacking away at his laptop.

Sebastian watched him, still a bit woozy, trying to form thoughts and those into a string of eligible words. He hadn't been able to sleep for a full or even half a night in weeks, so how... ? His eyes narrowed.

"What - "

"Don't fret," Jim gave a flippant little wave without looking up from the screen. "Just a pinch of Halcion. It's gone after five hours. Won't interfere with any of your tests today."

"You fucking drugged me... ?!"

Sebastian felt the urge to throttle the smug little bastard…

~

Jim turned to Seb with a raised eyebrow and a warning set to his mouth. “Of course I drugged you; you haven’t slept properly in weeks.”

Sebastian glared back, the ungrateful brute.

Jim sniffed haughtily. “And neither have I. Terrible for business, and my patience, and my good looks.”

Jim returned his attention to his laptop screen without waiting for a response.

“I want you fully lucid for your appointment today, and rested enough that your ghastly new temper doesn’t get your doctor killed. It would be dreadfully tiresome to drag out getting you fixed any longer than necessary,” Jim said.

Sebastian was still staring.

Jim lowered the lid of his laptop partway and gave a put upon sigh. “Don’t sulk, pet, Daddy did it for your own good. Now kindly either go back to sleep until you need to get ready, or make yourself useful and start on breakfast. Some of us still have work to do.”

~

Usually Sebastian simply went deaf whenever Jim was in his Daddy mood, swallowing down his irritation, before it turned into something worse. Now he growled low in his throat, because 'usually' had somehow ceased to exist. For a few long seconds they were locked in a staring match, and only at the very last moment before it was bound to kick off some truly cataclysmic event, did Sebastian avert his eyes. Just a tiny shift in gaze and posture, barely enough to count as backing off.

“For my own good my arse,” he muttered. “And as far as your precious doctors are concerned, the fuckers have dug their own grave,” he pointed out ominously. “Told me not to eat anything for twelve hours prior to the friggin’ tests.”

So, with breakfast out of the question, Sebastian turned, burrowing into the pillows and blankets again. “Wake me up at eight.” The egregiousness of giving his employer an order was somewhat softened by a muffled “Please” that was added after a substantial pause.

~

Jim stared at Seb’s broad back. There didn’t seem much point in punishing the attitude when Jim was facing so many bandages.

Jim kicked the bigger man lightly in the leg, where there was uninjured flesh. “Next time I’d better hear a ‘thank you’.”

Normally Jim would have aimed for one of Seb’s vulnerable sore bits and they both knew it. Jim narrowed his eyes at himself. If Seb ever did get back to normal he’d be horribly spoiled. Jim would have to think of a suitably harsh deterrent for any future transgressions.

Jim reached for his phone and set an alarm for the requested time. It was unlikely that he would fall asleep himself, but very likely that he would get distracted by work. It kept piling up.

Ordinarily Jim liked to be busy. Recently he’d been sorely regretting sending Seb to deal with that pesky Raja. Having his best sniper out of action was bad enough but the impact of having the demented Moran in close quarters for weeks was playing havoc on Jim’s attention span.

Having Seb sleep through the night did seem to help that. Jim had crashed for a few blissful hours himself, but mostly he had sat up and caught up with everything in the outside world that needed his attention.
Jim glanced back at Seb. He should have drugged the man since the incident. Far more efficient.

Jim considered time zones and sent off a few terse emails to various employees. The small amount of daylight filtering into the room moved slowly from one side to another.

Jim’s phone was on silent, but set to flash for alerts. He picked it up, coming to terms with the fact that it really was eight o’clock now, and cancelled the alarm quickly.

If Seb had been irritated by the light it hadn’t been enough to make the man move.

“Rise and shine, blondie,” Jim said, giving Seb a nudge with his leg. He considered.

“Text me your ETA when the doctors let you leave and I’ll make sure there’s hot food waiting for you,” Jim said. “I certainly don’t want to deal with a hungry Moran underfoot.”

~

‘Rise and shine’ was something the army had much more successfully drilled into Sebastian than other… virtues. It was his nature anyway.

Lately - not so much. Being consumed by the burning restlessness at night turned him cranky and tired in the morning, and, unless he took frequent naps, downright insufferable as the day wore on.

The drugged sleep today had left him a bit woozy, but also more rested. The consideration Jim showed by keeping the light and noise down did not go unnoticed, nor did the almost gentle nudge where a light kick would have been much more customary. Sebastian knew better than comment on it, or the kick would surely follow.

He grunted assent to letting Jim know when he would be returning, the reason for which even made him smile a bit. And because you had to make hay while the sun shone and all that, he offered a helpful suggestion as to the type of food: “Indian would be nice.”

Despite having to go hungry he was in an almost agreeable mood while he showered and dressed, but that dissolved when he didn’t find his car keys. Instead, Jim’s limo and driver were waiting at the doorstep.

“Oh stop this nonsense, Mike. Get out…”

He'd probably had gotten a bit loud, even pulling rank on the poor man – who didn’t budge, simply telling him: “You are not to drive. Direct order.”

Which of course suspended the rule that in Moriarty’s absence all staff reported to Sebastian. And a brief movement of the blinds in the big upstairs window and a phone call Sebastian had the gall not to take showed that The Boss was very much present.

Fuming, Sebastian got into the back of the car.

The fuming was still ongoing and messed up his blood pressure when half an hour later the white coats started a new round of investigations. The cleaning and re-dressing of his injuries, X-rays, CT and MRT, ECG and EEG took up most of the morning, not to mention pages and pages of Q&A, blood tests and peeing into a fucking jar. “Want me to wank as well?” Sebastian had asked and although the doc had smiled patiently, Sebastian was convinced the bloke very much enjoyed sticking a needle into his back under the pretence they still needed a ‘spinal fluid sample’.

He distracted himself with a mental recap of very refined methods of torture and by the time he got into the car again it wasn’t a moment too early and very much in the interest of all involved…

He fired off a text.

[ Done. Heading back.]

He was half mad with ravenous hunger when he arrived at home.

“I hope that was worth it,” he growled, heading straight for the kitchen. “Those fuckers are like leeches. Draining you of bodily fluids you don’t even know you have.”

~

Jim held up a bit of naan over his shoulder and waved it for Moran to take whilst he idly finished something on his laptop. The hungry man took it gladly, all but inhaling it.

“Darling, ought I be jealous?” Jim asked playfully. He flipped down his laptop lid and turned to face Sebastian. “I was going to ask if you deserved a lollipop for being a good boy with the doctors, but it sounds like you were having quite the adventure.”

Jim knew fine well how things had went at the doctors. They’d called him as soon as Sebastian had left.

“Full report after you’ve eaten,” Jim said, gesturing to the laden table. “I want to know when your results are due.”

In actuality Jim wanted to know whether Moran’s description would match what Jim had already been told. He was beginning to question Sebastian’s lucidity (or sanity) but perhaps Seb’s sleep deprived state recently was to blame.

Jim had not forgotten the oddly secretive way Moran had been with his own laptop earlier. Before Seb wouldn’t have bothered - he knew that if Jim wanted to find something out then he would.

And Jim had, to an extent. He had networked Seb’s laptop himself, so it was a simple task to examine it through his own. Like Jim, Sebastian had also been browsing the various symptoms of Seb’s current malady. Unlike Jim, Sebastian had spent a peculiar (and perhaps worrying) amount of time on websites which did indeed mirror Seb’s symptoms, but were also complete nonsense: crackpot fairytales and false mysticism.

Jim did not know what to make of it. His own web investigations hadn’t brought up much of note either. In the distant days when Jim didn’t have paid doctors at his beck and call and couldn’t necessarily attend a hospital, he’d had to rely on big, old books on how to deal with injuries and maladies when help wasn’t coming. Jim had pulled those out when Seb was getting poked and prodded at the doctors, and pored over them with no concrete conclusions to show for the effort.

It was all very frustrating.

Even more so because Jim had also had to reallocate various hits he had previously scheduled as Moran’s doing. The work never did end.

Jim watched Sebastian tear into his very late breakfast. He ought gut the man for being so vexing and inconvenient.

Jim pushed his laptop aside and pulled close a plate of his own.

~

No matter what treatment the doctors came up with, over the past weeks Sebastian’s condition had only appeared to get gradually … worse, filling him with more anguish and growing despair than he let on. If that particular dark cloud had a silver lining, it was the fact that he got special treatment from Jim as well. Sebastian was aware that even in normal times, he got away with more than Jim would tolerate from anyone, even the most valued employees. Taking into account that empathy was quite a non-existent trait of character in the Lord of the London underworld (and beyond) made the lengths he went to now almost uncanny – the food, the blinds, and an unheard of, almost supernatural patience.

Of course Sebastian was sure that empathy still didn’t come into it. More the inconvenience that a tool that helped keep the cogs of Jim’s empire turning smoothly, needed fixing. Or replacing. Sebastian was aware of that alternative too. But his instincts were quite reliable, maybe even sharpened in his current state, and so far Jim still seemed intent on ‘fixing’. Maybe other reasons, ironically hinted at with a few innuendos, came into it as well?

Sebastian sat down, trying not salivate too obviously while he surveyed the steaming feast laid out on the table, subsequently filling his plate with lamb stew and chicken vindaloo, Chana Masala, crisply fried potatoes and savoury meat balls…

He almost groaned in sheer pleasure at the first bite, grateful that his ability to thoroughly enjoy spicy food was apparently not diminished by his strange affliction. He tore through three helpings of everything in the same time Jim needed to daintily consume one, watching him with somewhat dubious amusement. Sebastian barely noticed that, but when he did he tried to eat with at least a modicum of table manners.

Finally, the fierce gnawing in his stomach silenced and the hypoglycaemic fuzziness lifted from his brain, he leaned back and tried to remember his next task. Ah yes, a less pleasant one: report.

“They said some of the results won’t be due until tomorrow, but basically they are still as clueless as they’ve been last week.” And even wrapping that fact in medical mumbo-jumbo hadn’t done much to hide it.

“The other week they did tests for Malaria and TBC and any fucking conceivable disease under the sun, and all the results came back negative. But the wounds are still inflamed and show no inclination of healing. They’ve swabbed them repeatedly, but anything they’d found in the beginning has been cleared up by the antibiotics. Blood parameters are fine, a few minor changes, consistent with inflammation, but nothing alarming.” He looked at Jim, who in turn didn’t look as if any of this was surprising news?

“The only thing they had no explanation for is a weirdly high count of red blood cells. Which is basically… nothing bad, right? But they haven’t seen something like that before they said.” Which maybe was something bad? He had no idea.

“They did a bone marrow aspiration as well, and then they grilled me endlessly about my history of mental conditions, angling for PTSD or some such crap I suppose…”

Sebastian pressed his lips together. Of course with his history and some of his symptoms he’d be an obvious candidate for that, but any which way you put it, some of the physical symptoms did not fit. At all. “Well, no matter how much those quacks would probably like to spin it like that – the problem is not in my bloody head!” Not primarily anyway. Maybe some secondary glitches due to barely sleeping.

The origin of his injuries was no secret to the doctors either, it was fairly obvious, so - “I told them I had an encounter with a wild animal” – not the particular detail of whilst sitting in a tree and shooting people of course, but that would hardly matter from a medical point of view, wouldn’t it? “So they checked for any possible infections from that too, and my last rabies shot.” Which had been only a few years back, before his last deployment down south, and antibody levels were still high. Although at various points he had felt the urge to tear out a throat or two…

Elbows on the table, Sebastian dropped his head and raked his hands through his hair. “Fucking hell,” he muttered. All this was bloody exhausting. And with zero progress.

Chapter 2: Idiopathic

Jim was somewhat reassured that Moran seemed perfectly lucid in his understanding of the doctors’ feedback, but also wasn’t. The more possibilities were ruled out, the less the remaining ones made sense.

Jim regarded Sebastian, hunched over his cleared plate and looking something close to defeated.

“A high red blood cell count could be a lot of things. Like smoking,” Jim said dryly. “But if it was an internal injury or kidney disease or such they’d have picked that up already.”

The thought of Moran having internal injuries bothered Jim more than he wanted to think about. The idiot’s tree-climbing days were over.

“Of course they’re checking for PTSD, you were attacked by a tiger and despite your usual arrogance you’re not actually invincible, which is clearly a sore lesson for you,” Jim said with a roll of his eyes. It was a sore lesson for him too, but Seb wasn’t going to hear that. “Not to mention your heightened sensitivity and Oscar the Grouch impressions.”

Sebastian gave Jim a baleful look.

“There’s also the possibility that your obvious wounds aren’t all that’s wrong and the other things are a symptom of something hidden that’s slowing down your ability to heal. Or any number of other things. I was under the impression only mad men enjoyed working with me, after all.” Jim bared his teeth.
Sebastian did not seem amused.

Jim met his gaze intently. “Tomorrow, if the remaining results aren’t useful, I’ll have one of your doctors killed. That should light a fire under the rest, and I’ll bring in some more for good measure. Yes?”

~

Sebastian brightened up a bit at the notion that Jim would have someone killed on his behalf, as easily as flicking a piece of lint off his suit collar. Well – on behalf of his property more like, but still…

“If I get the pick: the one who rammed a needle into my spine,” he said with a small grin, which dissolved again quickly. With a sigh he knuckled the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t think they’re not trying, boss.” No, trying was not good enough when Jim Moriarty wanted something done, but Jim only ever hired the very best to work for him, in whichever field. So, swapping one doc for another, and adding the motivational perk that his predecessor had been killed might not be very effective. Apart from Jim venting his spleen a bit of course.

“And my other injuries did heal nicely,” he then pointed out. There had been some nasty scrapes on his hand and his chin that now were barely visible any more. “Just not the ones from the beast.”

He chose to ignore the hint that he might not be invincible. He knew that. And something else too: “And I didn’t acquire PTSD as of three weeks ago,” he insisted. “If anything went wrong in my head it happened much further back.” Because that was, as Jim said himself, likely a prerequisite for working for Jim Moriarty and enjoying it.

~

Sebastian had a variety of interesting smiles, and they were almost unerringly handsome things. Jim felt momentarily pleased when Sebastian smiled at the thought of a murder. There was his favourite employee.
Jim smirked at Seb’s victim selection. “I was under the impression you liked being penetrated forcefully.” Jim shook his head with faux sadness. “You really have changed recently.”

Sebastian pointed out that the doctors likely were not at fault and honestly, who was this changeling with Moran’s face? He was trying to talk Jim out of killing somebody?

Sebastian was spiralling again, rubbing his face and looking terribly tired.

“They’d better be trying, but you know how patient I am and how much I hate settling for second best,” Jim said darkly.

He raked his gaze over Moran as the man hurried to point out the parts of him which had healed.

“Maybe we both just need to be a bit more patient,” Jim said sourly. He admitted to himself that being gouged by a tiger was serious, and if anything it was lucky that Seb hadn’t been disembowelled or killed.
Jim was not willing to think on that, and Sebastian was not willing to latch onto the PTSD excuse.

“Lucky for you,” Jim said. “I wouldn’t have hired you for anything other than wetwork if I didn’t find your mind interesting.”

~

Patience was something they usually both possessed, just different brands of it. Sebastian lying in wait for a target for hours on end, Jim sometimes playing long game schemes that went undetected for years, until some day, everything inevitably fell into place. His patience with people was another matter. Time and again Sebastian had witnessed what happened to those who tested it. Jim's mind seemed tortured by the tedium of the company of almost anyone after a very short time, and being not only still alive but still around after more than a year did make Sebastian an exception. One he was very aware of and certainly not complacent about.

“I haven’t changed that much,” he objected, doubling back to rise to Jim’s little bait. “That’s why I picked the fucker with the needle, not the one who did the - erm…” with a deadpan expression he wriggled one finger in a tell-tale motion, “… exam. He was quite skilful.” Oops, had he just sealed the man’s fate?

~

Jim laughed despite himself, and it felt good after weeks of stress. No one else would dare joke with him like this.

He wouldn’t let anyone else joke with him like this.

“Get your pleasures where you can, Moran,” Jim drawled, “there won’t be many nights on the town for you any time soon with the speed your wounds are healing.”

Sebastian’s chin jutted out, presumably sulking about that and the unwelcome reminder.

Jim sharply tapped his dinner knife, launching it into the air at an angle, and caught it loosely in the air, alternating its course in a flashy spiral without letting it drop.

“Of course, if you’re trying to make me jealous, petal, both doctors can die. You know how I feel about people who outgrow their usefulness.”

Jim pulled his hand back swiftly, and his knife fell heavily on his plate, cracking it.

Sebastian winced, sensitive to the unexpected, unpleasant noise.

“The whole team can go. I’m not precious,” Jim said.

~

“Well, there weren’t many of those as it was,” Sebastian commented somewhat peevishly on the ‘nights on the town’. He couldn’t even remember the last time one had gone successfully. They seemed to inexplicably coincide with empire emergencies, last minute assignments and sudden silly errands that needed running.

“So you are?” Sebastian’s eyes followed the deft little knife stunt. It was as intriguing as the implication that Jim found killing several people a totally adequate reaction to being made – “Jealous?”

The knife smashed the plate and Sebastian recoiled with a pained grimace and a placating gesture.

“Let them live. Such a nuisance having to replace people who’re actually quite good at what they’re doing, right?”

~

Jim was momentarily dryly amused by Sebastian’s grumble about nights out. Seb wasn’t stupid - he had strong suspicions that Jim had orchestrated obstacles - but because Seb wasn’t stupid, he didn’t dare protest outright.

Or at least, Jim thought that the man wasn’t stupid. Sebastian could not possibly think himself clever asking a question like that. He even had the gall to look interested in the answer!

“To be jealous, there would have to be something worth wanting, that I couldn’t have,” Jim said witheringly. He felt vindicated when the noise of the breaking plate and following clatter of cutlery caused Moran distress.

Jim did not care whether his employees lived or perished. He did care about having control, and he had not enjoyed the feeling of it unravelling of late. He glowered at Seb’s upraised - and sore-looking – palm.

“What would you know about it Moran?” Jim snapped. “Have you had to unpick and restitch a multitude of plots - some years in the making - because one idiot employee failed to notice a 400lb fucking kittycat three weeks ago?”

Jim stood and grabbed Moran’s short hair. Sebastian reacted a bit quicker than usual - one of Jim’s only physical advantages over Seb was speed - but knew better than to impede Jim when he was in such a mood. Jim tugged firmly, hovering just along the line of force it took to cause pain, and Seb grunted, the tension in his body showing annoyance. Previously Sebastian reacted so stoically to having his hair pulled that Jim had strongly suspected the man liked it.

Jim brought his face close to Moran’s ear. “Let’s disabuse you of any silly notions you have about your rapidly dropping value, pet. You’re only my best whilst you’re alive, and you’re only alive because I find you worth fixing. Get on my nerves, and I’m sure you can use your imagination to picture what will happen to you instead.”

He nipped Sebastian’s ear with his teeth.

~

It had been months ago that a minor transgression (if it had been one at all) had brought about that gesture of dominance from Jim the first time - Sebastian wasn’t able to recall what had caused it. But he did remember what it had triggered in him - the flash of anger, the impulse to deck the little fucker and break his wrist, and how all this had been drowned out by something else. How the hand, after darting into his hair quick as a snake, had tightened its grip and pulled, and how it had sent a thrill of apprehension through his stomach, then turned into rush of heat, further south.

It made his breathing go quick and shallow, and his eyes half close, seemingly listening attentively to whichever reprimand Jim deemed necessary, while in truth Sebastian had difficulties following because his brain deployed too much blood elsewhere.

Today that stab of rebellion was stronger, the urge to fight back twitching through his muscles. But even in his current fractious state that vexing mechanism he didn’t care to examine too closely, still kicked it. And the sharp nip to his ear kept him lucid enough to understand what Jim was saying - the implied, barely veiled consequences if he became more of a liability and a burden than an asset.

“Rug?” he breathed through his teeth, quoting Jim’s favourite option. “Shoes?”

Not moving his head, he still managed a cocked eyebrow and sidelong glance at Jim’s face.

~

The truth was that Jim did not know whether to burst out laughing or snap Moran’s neck or both.
No, that was not the truth, but the truth didn’t bear thinking about.

Jim stared Moran down, doing his best to infer that the man would lose an eye if he didn’t lower that eyebrow.

Jim tutted slowly. “If you’re trying to endear yourself through humour, Moran, it’s not working.”

Jim tugged at Sebastian’s hair, not really increasing the discomfort as long as Seb moved with the grip. Jim breathed against the now straining muscles of the man’s throat.

“Of course, if your aim is to be as annoying as possible, you are doing a spectacular job, Sebby,” Jim scolded in a low, perilously playful voice that made the other man swallow hard. Jim briefly tightened his grip on Sebastian’s hair, just to remind Seb of the hold.

“Rugs and shoes are for misdemeanours, darling. If you insist on riding roughshod over my nerves I’ll have no choice but to leave you in such a mess there won’t be enough hide left to make anything with.”

Jim grazed his fingers over Sebastian’s bandages, just firmly enough to make a point. “You’ll be a good boy if you know what’s good for you.”

~

Sebastian’s eyebrow relaxed, ... deliberately … slow, but his eyes, fixed on Jim’s, kept smouldering.
He fucking knew he had become quite insufferable to have around, not least to himself, Jim could be assured of that! But he also had quelled many impulses to trash furniture and wring necks, especially pale scrawny Irish ones…

“I know it might not look like it, but I am… being a very good boy,” he ground out, while Jim’s grip kept the tension in his neck and shoulders barely this side of painful. Not that Sebastian wouldn’t be able to break it, by sheer physical force. He just didn’t.

Maybe not exactly because he was ‘a good boy’, but due to another vexing thing he didn’t care to analyse: he found the way Jim threatened, offered, promised violence - with vivid words, a brush of his fingers or a heated breath against his skin – utterly intoxicating. And loaded with sexual connotations he definitely wouldn’t want any shrink’s opinion on…

Jim Moriarty effortlessly messed up his deeply rooted instinct of self-preservation. While part of it twitched in an attempt to function as it was supposed to, another part flagrantly rolled over with bared throat.

His pride bristled with irritation at the manner in which that condescending little bastard spoke to him, while some depraved part of him wanted to purr.

~

“Doesn’t look like it? Sebastian, not being as naughty as you are evidently and foolishly tempted to be doesn’t quite equate to being a good boy for me - and I am sure you know that.”

Jim slid his hand from Sebastian’s bandaged shoulder, unhindered along the man’s collarbone, up the trembling pulse of Seb’s throat, to his jaw. Jim could see every muscle in Moran’s body was conflicted, poised to move (poised to rip Jim’s arm off and use it as a weapon no doubt) and yet glued to the chair all the same.

Jim pushed his fingers against the grain of Sebastian’s stubble, and ran the pad of his thumb along Seb’s lower lip ever so slowly. Jim tauntingly kissed the man’s slightly sweating temple and in a dangerously gentle voice said, “You know how I feel about being lied to, you wicked thing. Do it again, and you’ll lose your lovely, pink tongue. I’ll have your teeth too - string them up in a necklace for you - and then you won’t be nearly so pretty. Then what value will you have?”

Jim bopped Sebastian’s nose. “Consider yourself told off, poppet.” He smoothed down Seb’s hair, rubbing away the ache in a mockery of affection. Heat from Sebastian’s back radiated against Jim’s chest.

Jim moved away, but only to circle around Moran and seat himself on the table, his leg against the bigger man.

~

Sebastian tried to recall where he had lied to Jim, but logical thought was very much impaired at the moment. He had to stifle a moan and felt every bit of his skin flushing under Jim’s touch. It took a lot of self control not to lean into it nor flinch away, he wasn’t even sure which, and maybe that was what kept him very still.

Threats again, more ominous ones now, and Sebastian had learned that even when (or especially when) they sounded deranged or creepily nauseating, you better take them seriously. The quivering tension had seeped out of him to some degree, but it was a strange mix of relief and disappointment both, when Jim finally stepped away from him.

Still barely moving his head, Sebastian’s eyes followed Jim as he came back into view, then they pointedly travelled from the man’s face down to his groin, when he settled down on the edge of the table in front of him.

“Is that a ‘good boy’ cue,” Sebastian asked slowly, “having something to do with my tongue and teeth as well?”

~

Jim regarded Moran with a cool nonchalance which he did not feel.

It felt good to have his leg pressed against Seb. It felt better for Sebastian to be looking at him like that.
Jim widened the spread of his thighs comfortably at the man’s question.

“Can your last remaining brain cell not deduce that for itself?” Jim asked archly, although it hadn’t been his plan before Moran suggested it. Jim had been wary about instigating that sort of thing of late, since it usually only happened when emotions were running high and Seb’s emotions of late were chaotic at best.

“Apologies only matter when you mean them, and teeth don’t really sell that,” Jim drawled in faux disappointment. “However will I believe your contrition and commitment to being a good boy for me?”

He pushed his leg closer against Sebastian, gaining more contact. “If you’re feeling inclined to be a very good boy, then I could be amenable to becoming reacquainted with your tongue,” Jim said. He licked his own lips not at all subconsciously.

“If your best rendition of a ‘good boy’ performance is akin to what you’ve done before, I’ll let you bite me anyway, but that means I will certainly bite you. And you know that you’ve gotten me feeling rather miffed with you, and that you’re already sore, so those are factors you may wish to consider.”

Jim met Sebastian’s gaze, shrugged, and then snapped his knees closer together.

“The choice is your own, darling. Perhaps you’d rather call that skilful doctor of yours instead?”

~

Oh, still a little hung up on that, are we? Sebastian thought. It sparked a brief glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes which he tried to hide, just like the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Had he said how much everything wreaked havoc on his senses lately? And Jim at close proximity… god, his scent was intoxicating, like he was emanating heat and sex and madness, laced with a hint of aftershave and … a whiff of Maharashtra curry.

Sebastian found himself staring at his lips, then he blinked and shook himself out of it, wrenching his eyes away.

“That’s quite a lot of factors to consider. I’d still be tempted, but as apparently it would be seen as an act of contrition, well …” His expression of regret turned into one of pure virtue. “Thou shalt not lie, as you just said yourself.”

~

Jim was used to being able to read people with ease and was not especially happy when Sebastian’s entranced, somewhat amused expression flipped into something inexplicably wilful. Moran had a bad habit of that in general, but it had been flaring up all the time recently and Jim could not yet determine what was triggering the infuriating pattern.

Sebastian was now looking away, his tone just on the playful side of snippy.

Jim chuckled darkly. “No, you’re never sorry, are you?”

Sebastian rolled his jaw a little but didn’t look back. That was intriguing. Moran didn’t typically shy from eye contact. In fact, he had always been a bit too comfortable holding Jim’s gaze far longer than sensible when testing Jim’s temper.

“Sebastian,” Jim drawled, “you’re being terribly rude.”

Jim reached out and snatched the man’s jaw, dragging it close. He drew his own face even closer.
“Don’t look away when I am speaking to you, darling.”

Seb did look then, not that he had much choice.

“There. Why hide that pretty blue?” Jim taunted. He could feel Sebastian tensing in his grip and held firm.
“I don’t know what game you are trying to initiate, Moran, but my time is too valuable to me to waste it upon finding out.”

Jim bit Sebastian’s lower lip then let go of the man’s jaw.

“You can leave now. I am sure you would be grateful of a rest period whilst you are still an invalid.”

~

The dark eyes regarded him with a mixture of vexation and curiosity. Not that Sebastian could satisfy the latter - he barely knew himself any more lately. He knew he was restless and edgy, and antagonistic to a degree that went far beyond his usual, mostly rather playful audacity, but he had an uncanny knack for adjusting it to Jim’s – fluctuating and mostly not very high – tolerance to this sort of thing.

Lately though, he itched for confrontation, for violence, for something - and it made him want to crawl out of his fucking skin.

Of course he saw the danger in that, because he hadn’t taken leave of his senses altogether, yet, and clung to a rudimentary resemblance of civilized behaviour. Which was still so atrocious that Jim wouldn’t normally swallow it for a mere hour, let alone weeks.

Sebastian could tell the patience of the man was wearing thin. By Jim’s standards it had been that of a saint, and in the end it wouldn’t matter whether Sebastian tried his best – to function, to obey, to heal – it was the outcome that mattered.

Suddenly Jim’s face was close again, his mouth, close enough to -

Sebastian didn’t try anything, just his breath caught briefly as Jim’s teeth punctured his lip, then he exhaled slowly as Jim drew back and released him.

“Thank you,” Sebastian said, and he meant it. If there was something he was sorry for, it was the mess he’d been recently. “… for putting up with that crap I mean.” With a slight smile he got up. “And for doing the dishes.” It did have its perks to be an invalid.

Before Jim could change his mind, Sebastian had slunk out of the door to find a nice dark corner to spend the rest of the daylight hours. He even refrained from pointing Jim towards the Tupperware boxes for stowing away the leftovers.

~

Moran’s blue eyes were wild with turbulent emotions as Jim gripped his face but the man stayed very, very still. Jim did not know what to think of it. Seb had always skated a very thin line between obedience and insubordination (sometimes with a bit too much malicious compliance thrown in) but amidst all the inexplicable anger on Sebastian’s face, there was something that made Jim uneasier still: there was a sliver of something like fear. Like Moran’s dwindling self-control was becoming a thing of panic for the man.

As well it ought to be. Moran was going to get himself killed if he couldn’t stop grating on Jim’s nerves before a diagnosis and cure were found.

Sebastian stayed very still when Jim bit his lip. He barely dared react at all. Jim had expected a response of teeth or tongue or even Seb to pull away, but… nothing. Sebastian just breathed shakily. He kept his hands where they were too, and that unnerved Jim more than a little.

What Jim knew of Sebastian Moran, the man’s behaviours and responses to various stimuli, it was all corroding. Seb was becoming someone else before Jim’s very eyes and Jim had no explanation or concrete plan to fix things. Jim always had a multitude of plans and right now he had nothing. Jim’s control was slipping away and as much as fighting a lack of control had been invigorating when Jim was younger, it didn’t gratify him now.

Jim sat back and dismissed Sebastian. He felt sick more than annoyed, but Moran was in no position to correctly diagnose the peevishness Jim could feel on his face.

Seb thanked him then, and it almost startled Jim right off of his perch on the table. The man was beyond unpredictable these days.

Sebastian smiled at him, and it looked guilty up until it didn’t, until it looked naughty, and Jim felt a flare of distrust (but not at all unsafe) as Seb pushed back his chair.

Moran made a jibe about Jim - Jim fucking Moriarty, his deadly employer - doing their dishes, and then he was already too far away for Jim to slap the man’s backside much less grab Moran by the neckline of his top and slam his face into the very dishes for his presumption.

Jim could throw a plate or knife after the man - and his fingers twitched to do so - but he didn’t. Seb sounded playful and pleased and Jim had missed that… and then it was too late and Sebastian had slithered away anyway.

Jim turned and eyed the leftovers. He picked up a container - still too warm at the bottom to be put in the fridge - and stabbed into it with a fork. That was how bad things were now. Jim Moriarty was comfort eating.

~

Knowing full well it was foolish, Sebastian checked his emails for the first time at 5 o’clock the following morning. No doctor would send out emails at that time, and they had told him not to expect the results before ten.

He still stabbed at the keys of his laptop in annoyance, minimizing the window of his mail program, not closing it before he snapped the laptop shut.

He’d been on the balcony for hours now. He’d always liked being outside, but lately he was drawn there, especially during the night. The light was low, and the roar of the city behind the stately trees surrounding the Mayfair villa was down to a hum, out of which you could pick individual noises you’d never hear during the day. Which today wasn’t a source of comparative peace but stupefaction that almost made him flee inside. He realised he could hear the bats. The fucking bats. They were wheeling and zig-zagging through the dawn, and usually it was a slightly eery because quite silent spectacle. Well it wasn’t. He was going insane, wasn’t he?

He pulled at his hair, then covered his ears to check whether the array of different high pitched sounds were inside his head. He almost wished they were… but no.

But truly hearing them wasn’t a whole lot more comforting either.

He got up from his chair and walked the length of the balcony to the second big door, leading to Jim’s bedroom and peered through the glass, probably for at least five minutes. Even without any lights on inside, he could see quite well: the furniture, the valet stand with Jim’s suit, the bed. Jim was sleeping (there was no reliable pattern to that) and usually that would be rather satisfactorily and not a source of distress. But he had to know…!

He knocked on the glass pane and, when nothing stirred, he did it again. Of course it was downright insane to disturb Jim’s beauty sleep which he didn’t get enough of as it was, but by now Sebastian was at a point where being thrown off a balcony didn’t seem like that much of a threat any more, but rather a relief.

~

Jim was rather rudely awoken from perplexing dreams by a jarring noise. He opened his eyes a crack and glowered at his surroundings.

What had the noise been? Jim listened, but couldn’t hear Sebastian moving around inside or a television left on. What-

There it was again. From the balcony..?

Jim rolled over, and squinted at Moran’s frame backlit by the threatening approach of spring sunshine. What was the man doing?

It wasn’t that Jim wasn’t used to Seb prowling the balcony, he was. But what new madness had possessed the man to interrupt Jim’s sleep?

Jim’s eyes slowly adjusted to the meagre brightness and he glowered pointedly at Sebastian before raising a brow in question.

Seb looked somewhat distressed, but that was hardly new. And it was too early for his results to be back.
Jim crawled forward on his stomach to get a better look. “This better be good, you idiot,” he grumbled into his bedding.

Sebastian stood there gormlessly.

Jim sighed in bitter annoyance and sat up, pulling his duvet with him.

“There fucking better be an emergency Moran or you’re going to start losing bodyparts!” Jim snapped, resentfully knowing as he spoke that it wasn’t any such thing otherwise Seb wouldn’t have bothered knocking.

Jim had the horrible realisation that Moran was staying on the other side of the door for a reason: it was locked. Either the idiot had locked himself out, or he couldn’t be bothered entering Jim’s bedroom the long way round, and both options made Jim want to make Seb sleep out there for a week.

Jim glared utter fire at Sebastian and hoped the man knew just how hateful he felt.

Jim yanked at his duvet and dragged it to the balcony doors, where he stood and faced Moran with a stormy expression.

“Think long and hard, sweetheart, about your excuse for getting me out of bed and on my feet at this fucking ungodly hour, because I am currently trying to decide whether I’d rather drag you through this glass or send you to the ground,” Jim snarled. He unlocked the door and yanked it open.

~

Death by Incensed Psychopath started to look like a real possibility, but Sebastian was beyond caring. "Very fetching. " He smiled a little as his eyes roamed down, to where the duvet trailed after Jim like a bridal gown, before they rose up to Jim's face again - the print of his pillow still on his cheek. Sebastian stepped back, before Jim could take a swipe at him or push him over the railing.

"Sorry to wake you up, it's just - I wanted to show you something, and they'll be gone soon." He turned and pointed at the birdlike but ... un-birdlike flitting shadows under the clear sky.

~

Jim glared Moran down whilst the man had the audacity to comment with seemingly fond familiarity upon Jim’s appearance. It was fucking cold in England before the sun was fully risen for fuck’s sake.

Sebastian did not sound suitably sorry. He did not sound sorry At All.

Jim blinked very quickly, following the path of Seb’s gesture and staring quite hard, before he stared even harder at Sebastian. Jim could barely hear the familiar squeaking and chirping over the sound of his own furious pulse in his ears.

“The bats, Seb?” Jim questioned. “You wanted to wake me - after I’ve been up most of the night for your sake - to show me the fucking bats that have always been here?”

Jim snatched for Sebastian’s clothing and drew close. “You fucking better be delirious with fever, darling, because you know Daddy is not a morning person - Daddy is not really an any time of day person and certainly isn’t a just woken up person - and I am seconds away from gutting you. What the actual FUCK, Seb?”

~

Jim grabbing him while in a rage and nothing but a duvet was quite alluring. Undeniably dangerous, and a bit funny too. Regrettably Sebastian was not in the right mood to enjoy it as he usually would have. Not intent on a fight, he still changed his posture and slightly shifted his weight, getting his back away from the railing and a bit closer to the wall. Apparently death was not yet tempting enough, least of all such a shabby one.

“Yes, right, the bats,” he said carefully, acknowledging the confirmation. “Now, tell me what you hear please?”

~

“I hear your impending doom,” Jim said darkly.

He looked Seb over, the man’s strained expression and uneasy posture. Not nearly enough of that was from having the audacity to get Jim out of bed.

Jim glanced at the dancing bats and willed his agitated pulse to slow enough that he could focus on listening to the damned things (and why he was doing so he didn’t know).

They sounded the way they always did.

Jim turned back to Moran, and took in the look on the man’s face.

“Christ,” Jim muttered. Still clutching his duvet around himself, Jim let go of Seb to pinch the bridge of his own nose tightly. Barely audible, Jim reminded himself, “Don’t kill Sebastian…”

Jim took a number of calming breaths that did little to actually make him feel calmer or less like beating Moran about his head and vital organs.

Jim looked back up at Seb. “The hypersensitivity thing?” he surmised. “Even the fucking bats are too loud now?”

Moran looked far too bothered by that deduction for Jim’s liking.

Jim sighed. “I’d give you something to shoot them with but I don’t know if your usual ear protectors are up to the job.”

Jim did not like Sebastian’s expression at all.

“Stop it,” Jim said firmly. “Don’t you dare spiral. Worst case scenario and this doesn’t go away? You adapt. I’m sure you can make better hearing work. And I fully intend to figure whatever all of,” Jim gestured disparagingly at Moran, “this is. So put on your big boy pants and get inside. I refuse to deal with your emotions at this time in the morning. Jesus.”

~

“I heard that, loud and clear”, Sebastian commented on Jim’s brief exercise in auto-suggestion to let him live. “Much appreciated.”

And although Jim hadn’t answered his question about the bat sounds, Sebastian nodded.

“It’s not just hypersensitivity.” He tried not to get agitated. If Jim was showing an unusual strength of nerves, so could he. “I hear better, but I also differently. Not just the occasional chirp and squeak…” Instead it was a multi-layered concert of noises. “… I’m hearing their fucking echolocation sounds, and your laptop’s hum, well – it doesn’t, right? I mean it didn't ... before. Also, it’s not getting entirely dark any more, even at midnight, to me it's like an hour before or after sunrise, and -”

Yes, probably Jim was right, he was spiralling, and he never did. No matter how dire the situation - that’s what made him exceptional, that’s why James Moriarty had hired him. And even now, Jim still trusted him to do that. Sebastian consciously unclenched his hands, removed the tension, one step, one breath at a time – just like when he was behind his rifle. Now about that - fucking hell, he hadn’t even thought about that aspect, but Jim had, of course.

“Well -” Sebastian drew a deep breath, feeling somewhat stable again. When Jim set his mind on figuring something out, he did. Sebastian had yet to experience a case or a problem Jim couldn’t crack. He had no intention of providing him with the first.

“I guess you’re right. It’s not the worst affliction one can have in my job, is it?” An ultrasonic hearing range, and seeing in what was pitch dark for others.

He realised he blocked Jim’s path back to his bedroom and inched out of the way.

“Coffee?” he offered. If Jim had the stomach to watch him wolf down leftover Indian Cuisine for breakfast that was…

~

Jim rolled his eyes at the thanks, but found his brain kicking into gear as Sebastian spoke. Great, he was awake now, brain too full of possibilities to trick back into sleep, but at least the prospects were interesting.
He did want Seb back to normal, but a selfish part (actually he was mostly selfish, so a business-minded part) was suddenly quivering in smug calculation about how he could utilise a killer with perfect night vision.

See, he was right not to kill the man.

What was causing these symptoms? Could Jim harness them? Replicate and test them in others?

Moran seemed brighter too. Finally. Jim had sorely missed the days when a firm talking to got Seb in line.
Coffee? Jim wanted buckets of the stuff for all of the trains of thought he wanted to follow.

Could Moran still cope with the noise of preparing coffee? Was his hearing improved, or did it hurt?
Why was that even a consideration?

Jim grimaced and retreated through the balcony door, Seb at his heels like things used to be.

“Come on trouble, caffeine for me and a ridiculous breakfast for you.”

~

There were things that hadn’t changed – like the effect of that look Jim gave him had on Sebastian. His mouth went a bit dry and he almost shivered with delight and apprehension under this gaze whenever it raked over him as it did now. Something lit up in Jim’s eyes - calculating, maybe even fascinated, hungry and suddenly bright with the prospect of oooh the possibilities …

It was the kind of irresistible light that made moths throw themselves into a flame with complete abandon.

Following Jim into the kitchen, Sebastian braced himself against the unpleasant noise of the coffee maker, and, although he grimaced during the brief but screeching sound as the beans were pulverised, the subsequent gurgling and spluttering of the machine was quite bearable.

Yes, he would adapt, it hadn’t been just an order, but a plain a statement of fact about the world according to Jim Moriarty. His right hand man would adapt and that was that.

Briefly something twitched inside Sebastian, whispering it was a misconception that anything in all this was subject to his will and self-control, but then it receded, and let him cling to this illusion for a bit longer.
He placed Jim’s coffee – black, one sugar - in front of him, then put his own curry spiced breakfast into the microwave and made tea for himself. Lately coffee had started to wreak havoc on his heart rate, leaving him high as a kite and slightly nauseous afterwards, but amongst all his freaky symptoms it seemed like a minor one and he simply switched to tea entirely.

He anticipated the high pitched ding of the microwave, but it still made him jump. He hid it quite successfully (he believed) by turning towards the cupboard.

“You’ve said you’ve been up all night to … uhm, for ... my sake?” he asked casually, busying himself with plating his food. Leaving aside the fact that he would have much preferred other means to keep Jim up all night, he was still very intrigued. "Research?" Of course he would never say it out loud, but that was actually... quite … sweet? Even if it was not a sign of Jim caring in the way ordinary people would, it nonetheless meant that he attached some value to him.

“Did you… find anything?”

~

Jim pulled his coffee towards himself as singlemindedly as he could when his mind was filled with so much.
He kept one eye on Seb as the man moved around the kitchen. The man’s mood was much improved, although Jim observed various grimaces and flinches at the noise of ordinary household objects. His fearsome right hand. He should get Moran a pair of fluffy ear muffs, the soft sod, Jim thought absently with a twist of his lips.

He wondered how much Seb could hear. How much he could differentiate distant noise. Why go to the sometimes arduous bother of bugging a room if Moran could be safely placed nearby to eavesdrop at will?
Providing Sebastian could cope with traffic noise. The general hustle and bustle of overcrowded London streets.

He’d learn. Moran was resourceful when he had to be, and making himself useful enough to keep alive was a good motivator.

Jim drank deeply from his still scalding coffee and arched a brow as Sebastian not-so-casually tried to raise the question of Jim’s research without making eye contact.

“Lots of things,” Jim said, although he still didn’t have an exact answer and that annoyed him thoroughly. “I’ll know better which options to pursue when your latest results come in.”

Jim risked slipping the fork from Sebastian’s fingers and lightly rapped the man’s knuckles with it. “And don’t think you’ve gotten away with waking me up either; I’ll be sure to find a suitable punishment for you later.” Jim placed the fork back in Moran’s hand before the pause in breakfasting put the man in another dark mood. “I’ll staple your eyelids to an alarm clock if you dare pull that on me again.”

Jim drank some more, savouring the acrid taste on his tongue as he thought some more. “Do I want to know whether you got much sleep? Or were you pacing like a caged animal all night again?”

~

Sometimes his boss’ threats were so horrific yet bizarre that Sebastian’s couldn’t keep a sordid part of his brain from examining their practicality. He was about to question whether staples, while certainly capable of punching human eyelids could actually penetrate the housing of an alarm clock. The topic held some potential to launch a sophisticated debate… But of course Sebastian did no such thing, he’d seen things… happening to people who had.

With Jim’s mind still bent on punishment it was better to lie low and not to fuel his fantasies.

“I don’t know if you wanna know,” Sebastian muttered as he resumed eating after his fork had been handed back to him. During his army days as well as in Jim’s employ, nocturnal missions were quite common, but despite that, or maybe because of that, he quite appreciated a good, unbroken night’s sleep. Now, that almost seemed like a thing of a very distant past. All his symptoms – the restlessness, the itch, the aimless anger and aggression only got worse once the sun was down, and something drew him outside. Barred from leaving the house and grounds in his current condition, at least not without Jim’s permission and at designated times, he had come to spend more and more of those hours on the balcony. It was big enough for pacing, if only in the fashion of a caged animal indeed. And he was quite sure, Jim hadn’t failed to notice.

“I saw a fox tonight, raiding the bins next door,” he said, and realised he sounded a tiny bit wistful. About being free to roam outside, not about the bin part of course. Although he had gone to the fridge in due course...

~

Sebastian’s expression as Jim (lightly!) told him off paused Jim’s racing thoughts about possible uses for the man’s symptoms and their cause in the first place. Seb’s facial journeys were often captivating and this one was no exception; Jim could see Moran was aching to say something back but for once had the good grace not to. Jim doubted the good behaviour would last…

Sebastian didn’t even say thank you for the return of his fork. Jim would find that actively provocative if the man didn’t seem so caught up in his response about his night.

Seb had always been inexplicably outdoorsy but he now sounded jealous of an urban scavenger. It was honestly pathetic.

Jim twisted sharply to look at Moran properly and almost lost his loose grip on his duvet as he did so. He didn’t need it as much now. The coffee had warmed his core, and the hand around it.

Jim left his coffee on the table and flicked Seb’s forehead. “You’re only grounded because you’re a liability presently and I don’t have the patience to clean up after you. Get that new temper and poor judgement of yours sufficiently under control and you can go on all the walkies you like.”

Jim grinned jaggedly and sat back. “Providing you also keep on top of your chores here. If you think I’m picking up your fucking dishes now that you eat sixty times a day you are sorely mistaken, petal.”

~

Even though that was the last thing Sebastian needed at the moment, James Moriarty displayed his usual knack for fuelling all sorts of conflicts inside Sebastian. Like wanting to sink to his knees in devotion in front of him versus musing whether his bones would snap as lightly as they looked… Whether it was blood in those blue veins beneath the pale skin or whether he was running on pure spite.

For a moment it was none of the above, when that duvet artfully slipped, and Sebastian found himself even distracted from his food by the soft hollow of Jim’s throat, and the sharper shadows behind his collar bones.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly and he had to suppress the reflex to bat aside Jim’s hand when it came so close to his face.

Listening to Jim giving him the lay of the land, he simply continued eating and nodded.

Then he stopped chewing as if an interesting thought just struck him.

“Thinking about it, I just displayed exceptional self control,” he pointed out. “So, petal might go on as many walkies as he likes anyway.”

Seeing Jim’s grin disintegrate was equally comical as it was frightening.

“After doing the dishes,” Sebastian conceded.

~

Sebastian Moran was the most exasperating person Jim had ever had the misfortune to meet. If Jim was lucky, the man would succumb to a mood swing whilst out and go drown himself in the Thames. Replacing Moran couldn’t be anywhere near as frustrating as living with the man.

“You’re damned right,” Jim snarled, getting close to Seb’s sensitive ear. He swept away from the table, discarding his duvet, and snatched up his mostly empty coffee cup.

Jim hadn’t missed the way Sebastian’s gaze had travelled along his exposed skin earlier. Let him look. Let him get an absolute eyeful of what he wasn’t getting after waking him up and having the audacity to take that tone again the ungrateful prick.

Jim jabbed sharply at the coffee maker’s controls then crossed his arms haughtily. He could feel Moran’s gaze on him as he waited.

A feeling on the back of Jim’s neck suggested Seb was annoyed still. As if he had any right to be annoyed.
“I’m going to get ready then make a start on work,” Jim said sulkily. “Come find me when the doctors get in touch.”

~

The venomous snarl into his ear made Sebastian’s grip around his fork twitch ominously, but in the end he proved his exemplary self-control once again - his reaction went no further than stiffening his neck and screwing his eyes shut. Also, they reopened them quite quickly at the much more charming sound of the duvet swishing over skin and down to the ground.

He turned to ogle – of course he did! - the naked glory of Jim’s backside who meanwhile mauled the coffee maker, maliciously giving Sebastian the time to salivate a bit before he picked up his coffee and flounced out of the room.

And without saying it in so many words, he had not only brushed off any notion Sebastian’s hormonal brain might have gotten about following him, but had also rubbed across that sore spot of Sebastian being excluded from what was usually his part of ‘work’. And that left an even more hollow feeling in Sebastian’s stomach, no matter how big his breakfast.

Sebastian pushed his empty plate away and stared off into the distance. He had three or four hours to kill before he could hope for an email from the hospital. So, he did distract himself by clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. To evade the disagreeable noises the thing made he then headed to his own bathroom.

A shower was out of the question with all his bandages and the wounds underneath, so he washed, changed the dressing on the cut in his hand, brushed his teeth, shaved. With a mixture of annoyance and resignation he added the slight itch of his gums, lips and tongue to the exasperatingly long lists of weird symptoms, as well as the fact that his stubble looked three days old and not one, even though he’d shaved yesterday.

The email came in shortly before ten, all the remaining results with some disgustingly cheerful cover note, that there was still nothing fundamentally wrong with him. The only thing of some substance, and not much of it, was the diagnosis from the skin biopsies they had taken from his palms – ‘idiopathic allergic reaction’. Slightly fuming, Sebastian googled the term and found out it wasn’t med speech for ‘the patient is an idiot and imagines things’ but for ‘no clue where it comes from’. Which was, honestly, not much better. Also, Sebastian did not think that was the explanation of his overall condition.

He forwarded the email and all attachments to the printer in Jim’s study, which stopped whirring just when he entered after a brief knock.

Sebastian flopped down on the fancy settee by the window while Jim was poring over the pages.

“I know I objected to it earlier, but I do feel like shooting them,” Sebastian growled.

~

Jim was still irritated after his second coffee and shower, but with work piling up due to his research on Moran’s maladies he had plenty to distract himself with. Jim holed up in his study and spent the following hours perfectly occupied, not at all glancing repeatedly at the time waiting to hear about Sebastian’s results.
Those results being sent to the printer by his side was very welcome. Jim snatched them up page by page as they appeared, skimming over them urgently.

By the time Seb knocked and entered Jim’s displeasure had transferred to the allegedly brilliant doctor who had blithely written the most irksome cover letter Jim had ever paid for.

Seb didn’t say anything, just took his usual spot by the window. Probably for the best.

Jim examined the attachments diligently and didn’t enjoy them much better.

Jim only looked up when Seb eventually spoke. The man sounded particularly aggressive, and normally hearing that directed at other people pleased Jim immensely, but it had lost its lustre today.

“Are you really sure this time sweetheart?” Jim asked dryly. “Because I think of shooting you every day but you seem to prefer that I don’t.”

Jim crumpled the cover letter in distaste. “They’ve proven themselves collectively useless, so I’m amenable to disposing of the entire team of wretches.”

Jim considered the idiopathic allergy result thoughtfully. “Moran? Is there anything you touch that I don’t? Anything that could be compromised? If we separate your other symptoms from your wounds… Perhaps you are still being exposed to something toxic that is exacerbating things.”

Jim had utilised specialist doctors, but perhaps they were the wrong tool. Perhaps he needed experts on wider toxicology. Jim knew there was a wide enough market for poisons and chemical weapons, especially new ones that weren’t tested for, which didn’t leave an easily identifiable trace…

~

Sebastian watched Jim peruse all the material, then crush and bin the cover letter with downright disgust. Thinking about the fate of the doctors hanging in the balance, Sebastian shrugged, looking a bit peeved. No, he wasn’t sure. Hell, he was feeling like a lot of things lately, didn’t mean they were good ideas… The shrug also seemed to indicate a waning concern whether or not Jim would follow his impulses and shoot him.

The elusive allergy was the only new thing they’d gotten, so Jim zoomed in on it, examining it from all angles, running through the possibilities. Sebastian gloomily listened to the questions, and suddenly found a quite unhinged giggle rise up in his throat. He managed to stifle it, biting the inside of his cheek. Was there something he touched that Jim didn’t?

“Weeell … recently,” he stretched the words a bit, “there is a thing or … erm, two… I can think off.” It was really hard to keep a straight face. “As to anything toxic which I’ve been exposed to over a prolonged period of time -” Sebastian found it prudent to pass over the very first thing that sprang to mind, and shook his head, “- no idea. It all started after India and I’ve brought nothing back from there, except those fucking injuries.” Maybe gut feeling wasn’t the best thing to go on in these matters, or maybe it was. It was his body after all. Even with that strange feeling of alienation, if you had been in quite a few extreme situations together in the past, you knew it quite well. “Somehow they do feel like the source of everything else,” he mused, not very convinced of disconnecting them from the rest of his symptoms.

~

Moran’s shrug put Jim’s nerves further on edge. The angry episodes recently weren’t nearly as bothersome as the gloomy ones.

Jim blinked as Sebastian loudly failed to withhold a deranged little laugh. It was enough to make Jim look away from the results.

Jim stared hard at Moran, who was biting his cheek ineffectually. Jim covered his mouth with his hand for a moment then eventually said, “Did… Did you just make a dick joke? I’m staying up to all hours worr-WORKING ON getting you what you need, and that’s the only type of taking yourself in hand you can think of?”

Maybe Jim’s life would be easier if he had his pet creatively neutered, although amputation seemed somewhat a waste. Perhaps he’d get a casting of Moran’s dick before he removed it for good?

Jim squeezed the bridge of his nose tightly and tried to focus on the rest of Seb’s response, not the last time Jim had seen the prick’s prominent prick.

Sebastian made a very damning face before shaking his head at the toxic question. When did the man lose any appreciation that if you poke at someone toxic you get burned?

Ridiculously, Moran’s assertion that he didn’t have any allergic reaction to a planted toxin only lessened Jim’s mood. He’d rather have an unknown enemy infiltrating and poisoning his home (and staff therein) than this maddening unsolved puzzle of Seb’s poorliness.

“Guess we’d better order you some sound cancelling earphones,” Jim said sourly, although he had no intentions whatsoever of stopping trying to ascertain the mystery of Moran’s maladies.

Jim pursed his lips and wondered whether he ought say something to boost his undeserving man’s morale. He didn’t know what to say, so lamely asked, “You hungry again? Or fancy a drink?”

~

Although Sebastian tried to convince Jim of the opposite, he was aware his control over the nature and amplitude of his reaction to … anything really, seemed rapidly slipping away. He found Jim’s indignation and his turn of phrase exceedingly funny. Which was dangerous, and so, resting one elbow on the back of the settee, Sebastian looked out the window, and was almost biting his wrist to suppress his mirth, still bubbling up. Then it vanished just as suddenly.

Sebastian blinked and looked over to the man cautiously. He felt flustered. Even putting it all down to Jim Moriarty seeking a solution to a problem that vexed and inconvenienced him – those solutions usually did not include caring about someone’s comfort and wellbeing.

Before the silly little rush of warm tingles in Sebastian’s stomach could get out of proportion, Sebastian told himself it must be a trap.

But, laying traps his boss never looked remotely like as he did now: slightly awkward and endearingly self-conscious. A bit disgusted too.

“I’ll find something to eat, don’t worry,” Sebastian said quietly. “And I could use a drink, but it’s ten o’clock in the morning.” Contrary to a carefully cultivated reputation he hadn’t drunk himself senseless once since working for Jim, also lately any alcohol with more strength than a beer woefully disagreed with him. “Well, maybe a ginger ale,” he suggested. “Join me?” He always noticed the carefully concealed signs of nocturnal working hours and too little sleep on Jim's face long before anyone else did. Jim detested (and usually fervently denied) that. So, without waiting for a rebuke, Sebastian got up from his perch. “I’ll bring it out to the balcony.”

When he did, Jim was indeed there, sitting in one of the chairs he’d moved out of the sun and into the shade from a tree. Sebastian adjusted the table as well, put down their glasses and settled into another chair..

“About those headphones,” he began, “I don’t know.” It would feel wrong, just short of a blindfold! He clung to the logic that if anything still justified him still being bodyguard and head of security around here it was his heightened senses. “Maybe during the day …” So he could get a few hours of real sleep. “We could change the rota of the others, so one of them would be here, at least outside.” He’d looked over to the building next door Jim had acquired together with his own house, partly to be rid of nosy neighbours, but also to move in part of his staff there, among them the security detail Sebastian was in charge of.

~

Sebastian stayed sniggering through Jim’s hastily covered slip, thankfully oblivious, but stopped laughing abruptly when Jim asked after the man’s needs.

Jim felt a flare of regret and frustration. Of course he didn’t normally do that sort of thing but… Things weren’t normal, and Jim couldn’t bring himself to look at the hesitant expression on Moran’s face.
Looking away couldn’t hide the soft tone of Sebastian’s voice. This was a mistake.

Or - Seb’s tone gathered something of its usual momentum. He suggested a soft drink and honestly? Jim was exhausted. Maybe Seb noticed because he made an executive decision and went for the glasses.

Jim stayed seated for a moment. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and massaged his temples. He was just tired right? Stressed probably.

Jim pushed back his chair sharply, smoothed down his clothing, and skulked off to the balcony. It was too bright. Jim stilled for a moment, wondering if Moran’s malady was catching, but quickly dismissed the notion and dragged a chair into the shade.

He deliberately did not look up when Moran approached, but he did accept the cool glass offered.

Sebastian brought the headphones back up and sounded uneasy. Jim was uncertain whether that made him feel better or worse: the vindictive part of him said better but the part which felt safer when Seb was reliable said otherwise.

During the day? So the selfish bastard could catch up on sleep after depriving Jim this morning? Jim felt himself bristle indignantly.

Ah. The rota. It made sense to change it, but hearing Moran admit it put something acrid in Jim’s stomach. It almost felt like Seb was admitting defeat, and despite the man’s gloominess earlier Sebastian never usually gave in willingly.

It was a logical business choice. Jim should have suggested it weeks ago - should have insisted.

He inclined his head slowly and frowned into the drink he hadn’t tasted yet. “Fine, but I’m not having anyone else in here. You’re a trial on my nerves by yourself and you were half housebroken.” Jim looked over the balcony edge. “I pity anyone who dared break in to face you, your temper, and your insatiable appetite. I’d be surprised if you didn’t eat them.”

 

~

“I’ll decide that on the spur of the moment,” Sebastian mused and realised it didn’t quite sound like a joke. “But I'll drag them away from the creme coloured Kemal Rug before I disembowel them.” He fiddled with his chair until it was out of the sun as well, but put his aviator glasses on all the same. He could still hear Jim’s imperative order to adapt, and that’s what he would do. Until the next flare-up anyway.

The boss was a bit tight-lipped about the change of the rota and Sebastian wished he wouldn’t make a big deal of it. It wasn’t like his best man had to be put out on grass. Even before his sickness, at night Sebastian had either slept, or he was away on an assignment. So they usually had more people on security duty then – taking turns between watching the CCTV screens and motion sensors from next door, vetting the mail and patrolling two properties. Now that would simply be switched around. Currently Sebastian didn’t sleep at night anyway, and the lads would be thrilled for a chance to work largely during the day, as any normal human being would… Not that that was their principal’s concern, he paid them well enough to work all hours, and they did.

The much bigger worry in all this: about Sebastian's condition they were still in the dark completely - what it was, what caused it and how it could be treated. Or how it would progress if … it wasn't.

This alone was enough to drive you mad. Sebastian’s mind was turning in circles and one of them always took him to one point in particular, whenever he tried to take research into his own hands. And it ended up on websites that sounded even more bonkers than he felt.

He took a sip of his drink, slightly wrinkling his nose at the bubbles.

“So… the doctors seem to be useless,” he started carefully, “... and I reckon it won't lead anywhere to lean back and wait…” Over the past days things had been deteriorating rather impressively, and it felt like everything was pushing inevitably towards some point of… disaster, something … coming to a head and not in a good way. Sebastian kept his gaze on his glass, as he continued while trying not to prompt Jim cutting in. Surprisingly he didn’t, so far anyway, although Sebastian was stalking towards what he wanted to say in a very roundabout fashion Jim was usually not a big fan of. “So… whenever I research the individual symptoms I end up with a fuckload of conditions that might cause this, that or the other. But one thing keeps cropping up that seems to have a common thread linking all of them. of course it's totally insane, but… “ He trailed off. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. One prospect he didn’t fancy much was Jim sending him off to the loony bin.

So he simply opened his laptop, pulled up one of those preposterous sites and turned the device so Jim could look at the screen. Then he leaned back, swiped his fags from the windowsill behind him and lit one. The smoke in his lungs felt more acrid than usual, but it still had its effect of calming his nerves.

~

Jim’s lips twitched in reluctant fondness as Seb promised to keep the pale rug stain-free. He’d better.

Moran also looked a little like he was internally trying to ‘put on his big boy pants’ as he avoided the sun himself. Jim liked him in those sunglasses, they framed his face well.

Jim felt a bit better and didn’t want to examine why such small actions of Seb’s could make any difference to his terse mood.

Not that Moran looked happy: there was tension in those strong shoulders like Jim had told him off for suggesting the change to the security shifts - and Jim hadn’t. There was a point where Jim had been pleased by how responsive Moran was to his moods and needs but not right now.

Sebastian’s moods lately were bad enough without reflecting back anything of Jim’s own.

Seb’s aviators hid his eyes, but Jim didn’t need to see those to tell the man was still stressed.

Oh. Moran wanted to talk. And the man did, in an exasperating, roundabout manner that was quite clearly leading somewhere Jim was highly sceptical his well-educated, salt-of-the-earth sniper would seriously consider. Of course it was long past the time of questioning whether Moran had lost his fucking mind.

Jim waited. Sebastian seemed to have the sense not to raise the ridiculous possibility out loud, but it hung in the air between them.

Sebastian reached for his laptop, and Jim vividly remembered the websites he had discovered Seb had been looking at.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose as he was exposed once more to a familiar webpage.

Sebastian didn’t dare speak - fucking sensible of him - and tried to both avoid Jim’s gaze, and self-soothe by lighting up. Part of Jim wanted to work the burning cherry of Seb’s cigarette into the man as often as it would take to bring Moran back to his senses.

There was another maddening and slightly alarming draw Jim felt to the text before him. Jim found himself reading things through again - not for the first time - aggravatingly not even for the tenth time - and mentally checked off every one of Seb’s glaringly connected symptoms.

Nonsense. Jim loved a good fairy story, but he wasn’t a child. Seb wasn’t a child. This was fucking ridiculous.
But myths had to be born of some lived experience, some oral truth, right?

“Moran,” Jim said quietly, “I need you to tell me that this is a misjudged joke because you’re poorly.”

~

“Yes - ” Sebastian answered, because when Jim needed him to do something, that was his instant, default reaction. “I mean – no…” It wasn’t exactly a joke. This fucking fiasco had was rapidly loosing the potential for that. “I don't know!” Probably rather a sign of desperation, to shove such an abstruse theory under the nose of the most intelligent and scientifically minded person he knew, who developed his schemes by way of formulas and equations that filled walls (sometimes literally), calculating probabilities and running through mathematical permutations of effects and outcomes in his head while ordinary people had to resort to pen and paper for any shopping list comprising more than five items. On the other hand, that was exactly why Jim had to see it too? No other … ‘diagnosis’ by far conformed with Sebastian’s symptoms, in such eerie detail.

“It’s all there, right?” The refractory wounds, the sensual aberrations and hypersensitivity, the strange cravings, the aggression and mood swings, insomnia and weird behaviour, right down to the nature of… prior events. Nothing the precious doctors had come up with did remotely fit to such an extent…

“How likely is it people just made up such crackpot stuff and yet it’s right about every single thing?!”
Sebastian clamped his fingers around his cigarette so tightly he almost crushed the filter when he took another deep drag.

He had watched Jim closely reading that website, and the man appeared … quite composed? Not that his boss was easy to read, but Sebastian had become quite good at picking up very subtle signs. Nothing he saw indicated surprise, or amusement, or anything you'd expect when someone came across such… bollocks for the very first time.

Chapter 3: Impossible

Whatever tightness had been residing in Jim’s chest since Seb came back from India temporarily released itself when the man rushed to agree, to obey, only to squeeze Jim a little tighter when Sebastian started to stumble into being truthful instead. This was not good. It was not good at all.

Jim listened to Moran with growing foreboding. Although desperate in tone, there was a sliver of something compelling in Seb’s harebrained argument. It worked itself further into Jim’s consciousness like a malignant splinter.

Compelling or not, the theory was nonsense, a waste of energy and time. He and Moran had to put it aside and be logical, because practically speaking, Jim couldn’t have -nor trust as a right hand- a man who believed in superstitions or folk tales like this one.

Jim turned away from the laptop screen and the images there that stalked around in the back of his mind. Daylight bounced off of Moran’s aviator lenses like headlights catching the gaze of a wild animal.

Jim grimaced and reached for his glass, wishing its contents were stronger.

“As pretty as you’d be in nothing but a collar, Moran, if this theory had any academic worth there would be credible sources. I understand that you’re frustrated and are eager for a fix to get you back to normal. However, if you really believe you are magically going to turn into some handsome beast, you are either going to have to bring me sufficient proof, or we are going to need to have a serious conversation about your sanity.”

Jim drained his glass and bared his teeth awkwardly. “Not that sanity has ever been a prerequisite for working here, but I need to know that I can trust your judgment. You know that.”

~

Jim so casually invoking that image of him ‘in nothing but a collar’ triggered some completely autonomous reactions in Sebastian’s body and the baser part of his brain. To stave them off, he reached for his drink and gulped down half of the cool liquid in one go. It wasn’t nearly as effective as he wished, but if his eyes had gotten a bit glassy – well, thanks to the shades no one would ever know.

He wrenched his attention back to what Jim was saying, and it wasn’t that surprising. At least one of them seemed still capable of thinking clearly. Although Jim being the sane and sensible one was quite a memorable occurrence.

“I know that,” Sebastian said a bit hoarsely. Vetting staff – part of his very job description – he himself would never have deemed anyone who spouted such nonsense fit for service or even trustworthy.

“It’s ludicrous,” he mumbled, but not as convinced as he tried to sound.

“And if… I mean just as a very hypothetical scenario, we’d know for sure in two days time.”

The lunar cycle was certainly much too pedestrian to be a part of Jim’s refined astronomical interests, but Sebastian hadn’t only recounted the events in India time and again in his head, but after ending up on that particular website for the umpteenth time, he had done the maths.

“I could go away for a while,” he suddenly suggested, trying to make light of it, and simply sound reasonable. “Just for a bit, until I’m … better. I wouldn't keep grating on your nerves, and … as it is, I’m not much use here anyway.” It pained him to admit it, but it was the truth. But the heart of the truth was, two days from now he’d rather be somewhere where he’d be only a danger to himself and not to Jim. "I could go to that cottage in Wales, or wherever…” Jim owned multiple properties doubling as safe houses, all over the UK, hell, all over the world. “Maybe the change in scenery would do me good, and all this blows off in a week,” he finished lamely.

~

Moran abruptly throwing his drink down his neck drew Jim’s attention, but Seb’s nerves were so visibly terse Jim decided not to tease. He did tuck the moment away in his mind for later perusal, because Jim may have recently developed saintly patience but he hadn’t lost all touches of himself.

Moran seemed torn between relief that one of them had intact sense and unquietened concern about the hocus pocus nonsense. Jim wasn’t used to Seb’s meek voice. There were plenty of daydreams where it may be a welcome feature, but this was no such circumstance.

Jim put his glass aside and rubbed at his face. A ‘hypothetical scenario’? Sebastian was giving this folly further head room?

“I’ll be sure to download a menstrual tracker to your phone,” Jim snapped. Should he be snapping at Moran, with the man’s mercurial moods?

Jim glowered. He shouldn’t have to consider any such thing. Either Moran towed the line Jim drew or he died.

The fact that Jim kept redrawing the line to accommodate Seb didn’t bear thinking about. Although maybe Jim should. Things couldn’t be allowed to continue this way indefinitely (or at all).

Jim looked up sharply as Sebastian dropped his latest bombshell.

Something akin to horror had flooded Jim’s chest at the mere thought of losing Seb. The prospect of Sebastian becoming a fierce beast (farcical, completely fucking farcical) was not nearly so alarming.

Jim swallowed. Could Seb hear his pounding heart from here? Of course not, preposterous thought.

It wasn’t so ridiculous to react this way, was it? Moran belonged to Jim, and Jim decided when to dispose of his belongings. It was no secret that Jim was possessive. He’d almost broken Seb’s valuable fingers the first (only!) time the man had mistakenly tried to use Jim’s favourite cup.

No one took Jim’s things away. He’d worked hard enough to ensure that. Moran offering to withdraw to another property and country felt like Sebastian was bowing out on the flimsiest of excuses. Perhaps it was an attempt at grace or tact but that was not Seb’s decision to make.

After all, nothing was going to happen in two days.

Was it?

Jim shifted uneasily in his seat. Moran’s foolishness had gotten into his own head. Diseased nonsense.
Jim hated the thought of Sebastian being gone for a week, and that made no sense. He’d sent Moran on jobs for longer.

That had been his decision though. Why did-

Jim swallowed. Yet another question to his psyche that he would lock up rather than examine.

“What’s your clever plan then, darling? Lock you up alone and see if you break free to maul the local livestock?”

~

“Well at least it would be them and not you!” Sebastian snapped back, and the stark horror of that idea made him realise again how much he actually was off on that wild tangent of that hogwash theory.

It’s what made him stifle any snippy comments about PMS being something predictable, compared to the moods of some people he knew. Too much a matter of kettle and pot, under current circumstances…. All while trying to ignore the sudden allure of bloody carnage involving livestock, which was disconcerting, because he had only ever felt such impulses towards… people.

“But I reckon you could just as well lock me up here.”

To be fair, the way he’d behaved over the past weeks it astonished him that Jim hadn’t done that already. Or worse.

~

Jim startled at the sudden force of Moran’s tone.

Jim was unused to being surprised by anything. Even though Seb had been unpredictable of late, Jim had gotten used to the aggression and the sulking and the gloom.

Or so Jim had thought.

The way Sebastian worded his outburst also didn’t sound like the man was just worried about what Jim would do to him for such a catastrophic overstep.

Seb was loyal. Jim knew that. That didn’t … Something in Seb’s tone, he…

Jim had no problem reading other people. With Moran it… It was best not to look to hard or listen too particularly or think overlong on anything Sebastian did that made Jim feel… off.

Jim burst across the short distance separating him from Sebastian and snatched away Seb’s sunglasses to look the man in the eyes.

“Modify your tone if you want to live that long, sweetheart,” Jim snarled. He considered the man. “And even if you don’t care to live, do remember that your job is to do as I please.”

Jim handed back the aviators - a tiny bit bent, but not broken- and stepped back. “If you wanted me to tie you up, Sebby, and throw away the key, you only had to ask, didn’t you know?”

Jim smirked salaciously to hide the fact that Seb had rattled him. Even as a wild animal, Sebastian wouldn’t actually hurt him, would he?

Not there was any likelihood of anything supernatural happening in any amount of days’ time, moon or no moon.

Jim swiped one of Sebastian’s cigarettes. “For the record, I expect you to be house trained even if you do transform into an enormous house cat. The rug threat stands regardless of what skin you’re wearing.”

~

As always, Jim’s expression was hard to read, so when the man suddenly flew into his face, Sebastian’s heart almost jammed in his chest. He only kept from toppling over with his chair by slamming the breaks down on all evasive reflexes.

His pupils twitched – contracting and widening in quick succession, hit by light and the close proximity of those fierce dark eyes, penetrating his, now that their protective tinted shield had been ripped away … But he didn’t look away. Tense from head to toe as if nailed to the back of his chair (mainly for the lack of somewhere to go), he stared back, his eyes narrowing against Jim's snarling rage.

Sebastian finally lowered his chin and his eyes when he got his shades back. He laid aside his cigarette to have the use of both hands to work the slight kink out of the frame, and then he froze again, as Jim added something else.

‘You only had to ask’…

In a soft voice purring with menace and glee and something else that made Sebastian feel cold and unbearably hot at the same time. Something he could barely face because it came from a place he always kept carefully guarded, even from himself.

Meanwhile Jim had moved on to his closing statement - that he did not care in whichever shape or form Sebastian obeyed, as long as he did.

“Yes, Sir.” Sebastian’s fingers tightened, almost snapping his aviators for good, the blood in his ears still pounding -

‘You’d only have to ask’

He raised his eyes again, slowly, after the frame of his shades were roughly back in shape.

“Just one thing,” he said quietly, "one thing I don’t do." The world went quiet too as it witnessed Sebastian Moran finally succumb to madness. "I don’t beg. Didn’t you know?”

Then he fixed his gaze back on his sunglasses and put them back on as if nothing had happened.

Jim’s cigarette was still unlit, so Sebastian picked up the lighter from the table and helped him out, before he relit his own.

~

Caging Seb into his chair was appealing, so it was typical of the exasperating man that Jim was too unsettled by the recent conversation to fully enjoy it. To enjoy Moran, chiselled jaw lifted and those clever, bright eyes blown. Jim owned many fine things but when Sebby looked up at him like that it was obvious why he was the favourite.

Seb was still endearing to look at when he dropped his head, putting aside his cigarette and fixing his sunglasses without complaints.

Sebastian was most beautiful when he froze, ever so perfectly still, at Jim’s flirtation. Jim could almost forgive the man for the trouble he’d caused recently when he looked so deliciously astonished and conflicted and wanting.

It was easily worth the turmoil that caused the diversionary comment for the way Seb’s breathing changed, never mind the way the sunglasses almost broke in his strong hands.

Jim got away with his theft too, which would have been an unquestionable right last month, but Sebastian had been so sensitive recently. Not that Seb seemed to be thinking of the cigarette at all - his own was burning away ignored - Jim thought wryly, amused by the way Moran’s blue eyes had glazed over, glued unconvincingly to the aviators.

And then Seb looked back up. Jim wanted to strip him right there and then.

Moran’s voice was so quiet Jim leaned in to hear him.

Jim didn’t expect a direct response to his earlier teasing, because Sebastian had a habit of pretending to be deaf when he was embarrassed, so Jim felt his world slow down when Sebastian spoke.

Just one thing. One thing I won’t do.

Was… was Seb talking about playing? Or was he talking at cross purposes, still stuck on his damned wounds and what they might mean? Seb better not try to eat him.

I don’t beg.

Jim went from salivating to an uncomfortably dry mouth. Jim knew Seb was trying to set a boundary, but all he heard was the sort of challenge that was far more fun than trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with Seb. Jim always got what he wanted.

Didn’t you know?

Having his words turned back on him should make Jim want to hit Seb -and… it did- but more than anything Jim wanted to bite that handsome, playful, cocky curl of Sebastian’s lips into submission.

Seb seemingly tried to hide back under his aviators after his rare daring, but before Jim could protest that, Seb helpfully lit Jim’s cigarette and then his own.

Jim stared at his glowing cig but the notion for it had passed. Permitting Seb have his own also seemed less appealing now.

Jim generously stubbed out his own on something other than Moran’s skin and reached slowly for Seb’s.
Sebastian didn’t seem glad to relinquish it, but his Adam’s apple bobbed prettily when Jim pressed close.
“What have I told you about lying, darling?” Jim purred dangerously. “If I want you to beg, you’ll obey, willingly or otherwise.”

Jim tugged on Seb’s hair mockingly. “I’ve always enjoyed the fight in you, and half the fun of an arrogant brat like you begging is how much you claim not to want to.”

~

Sebastian gradually relaxed – but not entirely. The little tyrant would never accept a statement of what Sebastian would or would not do, even if for a moment it appeared like he did. Sebastian wasn’t deceived. Changeable didn’t even begin to describe James Moriarty…

And that vexing trait extended to the smallest and most mundane things. Unmoving Sebastian watched how Jim, with vague disdain, eyed the cigarette that had just been obligingly lit for him – after he’d fucking nicked it in the first place - and stubbed it out. Then his little paw slooowly reached for Sebastian’s.
Fucking hell, the man was exasperating at the best of times, sometimes in such an irritatingly feline way that you wanted to stuff him into a sack, weight it down with a few bricks and hurl it into the Thames.

But because this was one of Jim’s very own favourite ways to get rid of bothersome problems, Sebastian grudgingly gave up his own fag, not before taking a final pull that burned it down to a stub anyway. It was snatched from his fingers and he was immobilised again by a grip into his hair, as Jim informed him it was a misconception to even think any of his actions were his choice. Not his father nor the military had been able to relieve Sebastian of that notion, it was what finally had gotten him kicked out of his ancestral home and army both. Only to shack up with a murderous psycho who demanded unconditional obedience. No sane person would be able to come up with an explanation, but then again, no sane person would ever understand how James Moriarty made him feel. Spellbound. Alive. His stomach tight with heat, and something he didn’t even have a name for - dark and twisted desires no one ever had been able to force him to acknowledge. And merely Jim’s voice had him awash with adrenaline and fear and exhilaration that … finally, there might be someone who could…

So far, Sebastian Moran had never begged anyone for anything in his life, least of all because someone simply told him to. His mouth curved imperceptibly into a we’ll-see-about-that smile, his voice not much more than a whisper.

“Make me.”
~

Jim grinned like the man had just made himself well at home in a perfectly unhidden trap. He tugged again at Moran’s hair, pleased at how predictably simple the blond was still occasionally capable of being, and tutted loudly.

“Where are your manners, Moran? Has Daddy already spoiled you, letting you run amuck whilst you’ve been feeling sore and scared?”

Holding Sebastian so he could see past the lenses of the sunglasses, Jim stared Seb down, making sure the man could feel the heat of the dying cigarette before he stubbed it out threateningly close to Seb’s fingers.

“Your little incident of late aside, Sebby, I know everything about you, and you know it.

“I know you liked being pushed to excel at home but that you were never sufficiently seen for who you are nor appreciated. I know that you craved both the structure and excitement of the army but you refuse to blindly follow and they refused to appreciate your insights. They both failed to beat that rebellious streak out of you or keep you sufficiently stimulated.

“I know you chafe at taking orders from idiots, and that I am the furthest from that you’ve ever known.

“I also know the placement of every freckle and scar on your body, and which parts of you still hurt when it’s cold or it’s humid. I know your tells for when you’re tired, or flustered, or hungry or bored or any other emotion you could mention. I know how many targets you’ve failed to hit; which ones you meant to and which still annoy you. I know that you broke that old trinket of mine in the library, replaced it out of your own pocket, carefully cracked and glued it to look like the original, and hoped I didn’t notice. I know what playlist you listen to just to work out and which when you’re working through something whilst working out. I know that you clean your equipment meticulously even when you’re tired although no one tells you to. I know which words you slur most when you’re tired, and how to needle you enough to make your accent come out when you don’t want it to. I know how long you can go without sleep, and how long I can ignore you before it drives you crazy. I know that the first time I called you a ‘good boy’ your ears turned pink and it was a Thursday. I know that your poker face isn’t worth shit when my slapping your arse out of the blue makes your breath catch the way it does. I know that when I pull your hair like this it makes you want to knock me on my own arse, but you never do, because you like it too. You like that I make it perfectly clear that I own you.

“So of course I know when you’re posturing, and how much you want to give up your control - not to just anyone - to ME. I know that I don’t have to do anything special or showy, because you’re already mine. You’ve been developing my saintly patience of late, so if you want to perform some charade of resistance I can wait - or I might just take what I want.”

Jim tilted back Sebastian’s head. The man’s pupils were superbly dark and Jim drew so close their noses almost grazed against each other; Jim’s breath steamed up the bottom of the aviators a little.

“Now,” Jim said sternly, own eyes glittering with cruelty as much as desire, “are you going to say the magic word, and convince me you’re worth treating, or do you need some tougher handling?”

Jim bit Sebastian’s lip before the man could reply.

~

Jim looked suspiciously like he always did when everything was going according to plan, with a deceptively lazy smile and an excited glint in his eyes, savouring what was to come, and then… moving in for the kill.
Sebastian was about to utter something defiant and very foolish to the effect that Jim knew nothing about him, but the words never even reached his lips. Jim’s first observation made Sebastian go still, because it was like the whine of the first bullet coming so close you felt the heat singe your cheek. And that… was only just the start.

At this distance the tinted shades were no protection at all and might as well not be there for all the use they had to hide behind, and Jim gleefully zeroed in. Sebastian’s heart tripped into a staccato rhythm that made it almost impossible to breathe, the ensuing fusillade threatening to leave him shell shocked (and that was saying a lot), coming in so thick and fast and precise, that Sebastian was barely able to fully process, let alone react to the individual volleys.

He felt immobilised, pinned down while Jim effortlessly dissected him, the razor sharp scalpel of his mind and tongue slicing and cutting, until everything was exposed and laid bare…in quivering, bloody pieces, raw and twitching.

Tissue and nerves and blood and bone neatly separated, everything that made up Sebastian Moran tagged and bagged, and in well under a minute. And it was done effortlessly, almost in passing.

Was it? -

Was it?

Beneath the flush of embarrassment, vexation and shock, Sebastian felt a sudden glow, deep and warm and very much akin to pleasure. His poker face might be as transparent as a glass of spring water to Jim, but Sebastian knew something about him too -

Jim was not interested in people, not beyond the leverage to manipulate them. He avidly studied the human condition, but human individuals that piqued his genuine interest were few and far between. And yet he knew all this -

Sebastian’s scrambling thoughts were derailed by Jim’s lips on his, a sharp pain and the sudden taste of blood, and Sebastian retaliated as fiercely as he could while keeping his hands to himself (Jim had made it clear once what happened when he didn’t, without permission, and Sebastian still bore the scar to remind him), with something between a bite and a kiss, until he was yanked back by his hair again.

His breaths coming fast and shallow, Sebastian stifled a smile, savouring how that deep, humming glow inside him got yet a bit stronger, and the tight grip in his hair.

“If you do know all that about me - I gather that last question was rhetorical?”

~

Jim grinned against Sebastian’s mouth. Seb snapped back gamely, keeping his hands exactly where they fucking were like a good boy (for once!) and Jim crushed his mouth against Seb’s bleeding lips in what could almost be considered a passionate kiss, but was more an assertion of dominance (which Seb pushed against, but ultimately accepted). The bar was recently low where Moran was concerned, but Seb was practically behaving himself. Probably a bit stunned and raw after being so easily taken apart (few people really enjoyed that), and possibly having the sense to behave himself after learning Jim knew (of course he fucking knew) about the fate of the little bust in the library. Infractions in the Moriarty household were always ferociously punished, although doing so timeously was not always the most fun option.

Sebastian had certainly been making a rod for his own back with all of his exploits over the last few weeks, but they would be rectified in time.

Jim yanked Seb’s skull back to better look at the menace. Sebastian did an appalling job at trying to hide a pleased expression, but in all honesty, not smiling after having Jim’s lips on him would have fooled nobody: Seb wanted this.

Jim smirked and tugged a little harder. He knew Seb liked that too.

Sebastian’s comment stretched Jim’s smirk much wider still.

He nuzzled in towards Seb’s ear, mouthed the lobe ever so briefly and gently, then purred not at all gently, “I so hoped you’d pick that option…”

Jim sharply nipped Sebastian’s earlobe between his teeth, then snapped at the shell of Seb’s ear and pulled enough to make it angry and red but not bleed. The hand not gripping Sebastian’s hair trailed threateningly up Seb’s throat and held the man in place by his strong jaw.

Jim parted his teeth, allowing Sebastian’s now sore ear free, and laved it playfully with his tongue.

“I just wanted you to be able to think back on this later,” Jim whispered, “and remember I gave you the option of playing nice.”

~

The purring in Jim’s voice resonated along Sebastian’s nerves as a shiver of anticipation. His eyes wanted to close … They had watered slightly from the firm tug on his hair and the position Jim forced him into pressed his throbbing wounds against the back of the chair and it … god it evoked images in his mind and … good god…

Jim nuzzled his ear with a deceptive gentleness that most likely wasn’t genuine but entrancing nonetheless. Just briefly though, because suddenly Jim’s teeth clamped down. Sebastian hissed softly but went stock still, because he was quite attached to his ear and wanted things to stay that way. They did, for now, Jim playfully licking the wound he had not quite inflicted. Sebastian swallowed against the hand that had snaked around his throat, not forcefully either, but the fingertips resting ever so lightly on the pressure points beneath his jaw.

Jim’s whisper sounded pleased, and a bit thrilled as well? Definitely delighted, like someone who had just found and tucked away a little treasure.

Yes, Sebastian had just given Jim carte blanche. Not that Jim needed consent for anything from anyone, but Sebastian found it justified to feel a bit special to have been asked – well, sort of.

’Later’ kept pinging around in his head … later - which, coming from Jim could mean anything between three minutes and three months.

“I reckon it’s what… keeps me sufficiently stimulated,” Sebastian breathed, with a small but insolent smile. The tip of his tongue dabbed away the blood from his lip.

~

Jim chuckled in Seb’s now throbbing ear then travelled lower; he grinned falsely against Sebastian’s throat, feigning gentleness with no real effort. They both knew his tastes better than that after all.

Jim kept his grip tight in both hands, forcing Sebastian’s head still, and ghosted a series of taunting, barely there kisses in a parody of tenderness down the part of Moran’s neck not held firmly in Jim’s grasp. Jim blew softly on the bare skin, amused by how the handsome chords of Sebastian’s neck strained warily. They both knew Jim would stop being gentle eventually.

“I’d so hate for you to be bored, pet,” Jim teased. He snapped his teeth loudly, wordlessly promising that at some point Sebastian was going to be bitten hard, but didn’t just yet.

Jim trailed his fingers from Seb’s throat down his collarbone and hooked in the neck of Sebastian’s clothing. Pulling from the front and firmly pushing the back of the man’s skull, Jim encouraged Sebastian out of the chair and onto the floor. Sebastian went with the nudging, more out of curiosity than any great physical pressure.

Jim rubbed Seb’s jaw in a mockery of approval then took that hand away. Seb tilted his chin in quiet, questioning challenge as he looked up from his crouch.

Jim petted Seb’s now sore skull patronisingly. “Let’s see what tricks you know. Give Daddy a paw.”

Sebastian didn’t move. He gave Jim a sceptical look, and Jim flashed his teeth before slapping Sebastian’s face so hard the man’s jaw rattled and the aviators fell crooked.

“You never do make it easy on yourself,” Jim commented.

He held out his hand, palm upwards. “Let’s try again, shall we, precious? Give me your hand.”

Sebastian slowly shifted his arm, not quite obeying. Jim snatched up Sebastian’s wrist and took a step backwards. With his other hand, he separated Seb’s middle and index fingers before pulling them towards himself, away from Sebastian’s body. Jim kept bending the digits at an angle from Seb’s wrist until he felt tension sing all up Sebastian’s arm and Seb’s eyes widened minutely.

“Feel that?” Jim asked blithely. He increased the pressure and took another step backwards. Sebastian resisted, but Jim watched the man carefully and continued until Seb sank forward to his knees in an effort to ease the tension on his fingers. Moran’s greater weight and strength were suddenly irrelevant.

Jim dragged Sebastian a few paces with the finger grip. “The funny thing about this, petal, is I won’t do any damage at all as long as you move exactly where I lead you. We won’t even dislocate your fingers unless you’re wilful.”

Jim drank in the sight of Moran on his knees then let go and kicked the man onto his side.

“My bedroom, poppet. NOW. Unless you want me to make you crawl the whole way.”

~

One of the first things you learned about Jim Moriarty was, that every gentleness was a ruse, but to Sebastian it was even more intoxicating for the eddies of danger swirling just beneath the surface. Downright irresistible. A light pressure that conveyed without a doubt were Jim wanted him, and Sebastian went, off the chair, down. Because he was curious, he told himself, but maybe that was what the moth believed as well, heading straight into the flame.

But ‘easy‘ would be dull, to both of them, and by going all out with Daddy and pet and tricks and paw Jim ignited the first spark of resistance in Sebastian, as he knew he would.

The slap came as a shock – open handed to be humiliating, but vicious enough to make Sebastian see stars.

Stunned for just the fraction of a second, that was enough for Jim to snatch his hand and the physical advantage. Which Sebastian inherently had over Jim - until he had not, because Jim fought dirty and knew all about leverage. And because Sebastian locked down all his deeply ingrained combat reflexes that would have gotten him out of this (probably at the price of broken bones, probably on both sides.)

But as it were, there was only one way to go, when the pressure of Jim’s grip increased. He would not stop at snapping tendons and joints, and paradoxically it was his decidedly cheerful tone that eradicated all doubts about that.

To Jim, toys that had lost their usefulness and value, held one intoxicating final pleasure: breaking them. Which for Sebastian added a pinch of very real fear to the rush of adrenaline and arousal, that his trigger finger might only just be the start.

So beside the searing pain there were many more and a lot more complex sensations that sang through his body as he sank to his knees - breathing in tense, sharp bursts, eyes wide and fixed on Jim, who smiled and stepped back, forcing Sebastian to follow like a bull on a nose ring.

The indignant snarl that had been clawing its way up Sebastian’s throat, came to nothing but a half choked sound through clenched teeth.

Yes, he had basically asked for this. Hell, begged for it with all but uttering the magic word.

He hadn’t really thought Jim would pass that up, had he?

He’d rather hoped he would not.

Yes, he was fucking insane, as the rational part of his brain tried to point out, but it never stood a chance against his body, which strongly begged to differ.

Jim releasing his hand was a brief respite, and while Sebastian looked down and curled his throbbing fingers the way they were supposed to, he never saw the kick coming. Not quite connecting with the wounds beneath his bandages, but close enough to make him wince and close his eyes for a moment.

“So much for the invalid's bonus,” he muttered, while struggling to his feet gracelessly.

“Want one?” Jim asked blithely, looking down on him with a toothy smile.

“Hell no.”

Mouth dry, heart pounding, he walked ahead, his dick already half hard.

Bedroom was conveniently close.

~

Jim gave Moran’s rump a possessive slap as the man finally did as he was told for once and walked on ahead. Jim followed with a lazy contentedness, admiring Sebastian’s shape and weighing up the many, many things he wanted to do to it.

Jim openly swiped a knife from the top of the balcony doorframe. He almost always had some on his person when clothed, but he would keep those in wait for now.

Sebastian looked at him intently, the soft noise of the knife sliding off of the frame into Jim’s hand making him look around. Those heightened senses could be fun to play with.

Jim grinned and held up the folded blade casually. “I can’t expect my invalid to manage undressing by himself, can I? What sort of callous brute do you take me for, Sebastian?”

Jim’s dark eyes sparkled playfully, just daring Seb to say something he would punish him for.

~

"The sort of callous brute that makes invalids do the dishes and kicks them in the ribs?" Sebastian offered drily.

He also had the feeling the pretended, intended use of the knife might be a diversion? The telltale noise of a knife being picked up and now seeing it in Jim's hands - had not exactly quietened the more serious of his concerns - then again, Jim would probably want to do an evisceration in the downstairs bathroom, not in the luxury one adjacent to his bedroom.

~

Jim’s smile was unrepentant. “Excuse you, Moran, I very specifically kicked you below the ribs. Did I not leave enough of an impression? If so I’ll gladly do it again.”

Jim sauntered closer and circled Sebastian playfully. He did it more than once just to be obnoxious and play on Seb’s nerves a little. From not quite behind the man, Jim flipped open his knife because he knew Seb would have feelings about a blade he couldn’t see.

“I wonder, Moran, do you wear this ridiculously hideous teeshirt to annoy me, or was it always your plan to have me remove it?” Jim asked, tucking his knife under the hem of Sebastian’s faded Stena Line Ferries teeshirt and tugging upwards. He didn’t hold the fabric down as he cut, so the rip was jerky, and there was a high risk that Sebastian’s neck could be cut once the reinforced seam of the teeshirt’s neckline was reached.
Jim smirked at Sebastian and reached up. He wrapped his fist in Seb’s neckline, making it tighter, and pulled.
Sebastian’s lip had stopped bleeding, so Jim nipped at the wound again. His blade tip was pressed against Seb’s throat, so any reaction that involved movement would result in more broken skin.

~

To trust Jim Moriarty was lunacy, but Sebastian did. In a way. To the point of letting Jim flick open a knife behind his back, and that was more than could be said about any other person. Sebastian was still on his toes, mentally, his heart rate picking up, and the little hairs on the back of his neck on end. Even more so when, after having done a few unnerving circuits, Jim slipped the blade underneath his teeshirt - which apparently had been annoying him for a very long time.

"I admit I've seen you eye it with disgust," Sebastian said with a straight face, "it was quite... satisfactory." The knife ruthlessly jerked the fabric and Sebastian was sure it would have been easier on his injuries if he'd just taken it off. Of course... that was the point. His hand rose, as the hazardous blade moved into precarious proximity to his neck. Sebastian kept very still, cold blade suddenly tight against his neck as Jim reopened his lip with a sharp nip.

"Would it be possible," Sebastian enquired, barely moving his lips, and with a very tiny gesture downwards," - to keep those? Intact I mean?"

He liked the pair of jeans he was currently wearing and seeing them destroyed he'd regret more than the teeshirt.

~

Jim laughed at Sebastian’s trying comment about the ugly teeshirt, which wasn’t the safest move when his blade was so close to Seb’s deserving throat. If Jim’s hand slipped a tad it could be considered Sebastian’s fault, except for the fact Jim wanted the blond to know that sliding the knife into Seb’s neck would be a very deliberate thing.

Which it was, when Jim delivered an abrupt rabbit punch to Moran’s stomach which reactively buckled Seb over at just the right angle to bring Seb onto the blade in a way that stung like hell and began to bleed a fair bit, but wouldn’t actually do any real damage beyond yet another little scar if Seb lived long enough to heal over.

Jim twisted the neck of the ruined teeshirt tighter, slowing the bloodflow both to the gouge and Sebastian’s brain.

“That mouth of yours will probably be the death of you, Sebby,” Jim mused, restricting Sebastian’s breathing just a tad more. The teeshirt was getting wet with blood, but when Jim finally slackened his grip the wound wasn’t very big at all.

Jim’s gaze traveled down to Sebastian’s jeans. “Asking for a favour so soon after being naughty? A bold move, darling.”

Jim tugged on the ragged teeshirt like a collar to pull Seb close and pressed a kiss into the wet wound. “What’s it worth, sweetheart?” Jim asked, then bit into Sebastian’s sore neck.

~

Retaliation for the snarky backtalk came promptly, and it indeed silenced Sebastian. A quick and very precise jab to the stomach tended to do that, especially when you doubled over onto a knife. The world slowed down into that one poignant second of that's it - that Jim had judged this wrong - or right if this harakiri-by-proxy was what had been on his mind all along... The next second, experience and instinct honed in a life of battle kicked in, the first signalling he was not grievously wounded and the other that he might still die all the same, because carotid arteries and windpipe were things not meant to be compressed... Sebastian's hands shot up, and got as far as Jim's elbows, but didn't grab, didn't punch. Vision going blurry, Sebastian knew it was seconds only until this was past the point where he could save himself. Jim was smiling, and his tone was scolding and quite easy, but that didn't mean anything... What he said drowned in a rush of sudden lightheadedness when the makeshift noose around his throat tightened some more -

If not for Jim's grip on the thing, Sebastian would have stumbled when finally oxygen rushed back in, the very moment before his knees buckled, and another bout of searing pain blew the rest of the cobwebs away. He barely noticed the blood still trickling down his chest and abdomen, as his eyes were glued to Jim's lips, his very smile red with blood.

"Come again?" Sebastian rasped, swallowing around a cough, his mind scrambling futilely for what the conversation had been about. What was worth what? Jim pointed downwards quite succinctly. Ah yes, that. "With the bloodstains not an awful lot." Wait, they were talking about the same thing, right?

~

Jim felt quite pleased when Sebastian was a good enough boy not to try to defend himself, and it was much harder for the man to talk back when Seb couldn’t breathe. Jim wondered briefly - with a deepset frown - why he’d been putting up with Moran’s mischief the past few weeks. Clearly the blond simply needed some firm handling to encourage better behaviour.

Sebastian was on his knees, dizzy and sputtering, wheezing deep breaths through his sore throat into his grateful lungs. Jim was not afraid of the man, even when Seb wasn’t as pretty and aware of his place as he was right now, although Jim had been warier of late. Seb’s temper had been volatile, but Jim knew thousands of ways to deal with a bigger, stronger opponent.

Jim swallowed, licking Sebastian’s blood from his own mouth. Standing above a chastised Moran was the proper order of things. How and why and when had Jim decided anything else was tolerable?

Sebastian had to ask Jim to repeat himself and really, the only proper response was to punish him. Moran ought know better than to focus more on his discomfort than his master’s voice.

Jim looked down at the man, bandaged and bloody and his. With a put upon sigh, Jim answered Seb’s query with a gesture of his knife downwards.

Jim rested a hand on Sebastian’s scalp and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “You’ll be scrubbing the blood out of my shirt later, what’s another addition to the laundry pile?” Jim commented.

He grazed his nails around the small gouge in Seb’s neck, which Sebastian could not help but wince at. “Rub a bit of salt in and the problem should work itself out. Providing I choose to let you live that long.” Jim shifted his thumb to the angry line left along Seb’s throat by the tatters of his teeshirt and massaged the skin. Seb’s Adam’s apple bobbed under Jim’s fingers, the man’s pulse still reflecting earlier panic that had not quite faded.

Jim forced Sebastian to meet his gaze. “You know, when you stop running this pretty mouth of yours you’re almost likeable.”

Jim spun the butterfly knife in his other hand, droplets of blood freckling everywhere they landed. The blade swung back in on itself but Jim left the lock undone as he playfully tapped Sebastian’s nose with the warm handle.

“Take off your belt for me, handsome. Daddy’s going to teach you your place.”

~

Well, rubbing salt into wounds was Jim’s speciality, Sebastian had his own tried and tested methods to treat his injuries, thank you very much.

But given the situation - still shaken, bleeding and on his knees again - he held his tongue, sensing profound misery if he didn’t. All this was slipping sideways and beyond playful in a very short time. Into even more dangerous territory than being with Jim was at the best of times, and Sebastian didn’t trust his own judgement like he usually did.

He lifted his head as Jim raised his chin with a pointy finger, and contemplated the sublime ark of fine crimson droplets the spinning knife had left on Jim’s crisp white shirt, its top button undone (which did things to Sebastian the most blatant porn couldn’t) and the fiercely beautiful face above it – the only time Jim looked more rapt and sensuous than while watching violence inflicted on his behalf, was when he was dealing it out himself.

However, all Sebastian’s good intentions imploded when he heard the next order – he was supposed to do what?! He froze, tasting bile rising in his throat, and something stirred that was more than his usual streak of unruliness, something that had been growling and clawing at the inside of his skull for the past weeks.
“No”, he said hoarsely. One brief, bitten off syllable. Not running his mouth, where one word was all that was to be said.

~

Jim tilted his head interestedly as Moran - so close to obedient a moment ago - outright refused the most recent command. Jim knew fine well that Seb hated the ‘daddy’ thing, and that was a good bit of the fun in using it in their everyday conversations.

As much as Jim enjoyed needling Sebastian’s sore points, Moran wasn’t giving Jim anywhere near enough credit. Yes, Jim could stripe Seb right away, but where was the fun in that? Belts were wonderfully versatile items in the right hands; they could transform into restraints, choke collars or gags as easily as implements of pain.

“Honestly, Moran, I’m offended you think I’m that boring,” Jim drawled.

He shoved his knife under his own belt and knelt before the other man to be nearer Seb’s eye level.
“Firstly, if you refuse to grasp the importance of itty bitty words like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ I really will spank you like a little lad for your abysmally lazy manners.”

Jim pinched the nipple not obscured by bandages. The bandages themselves would need changed at some point, bloodied by Seb’s neck.

Sebastian made a warning noise in his chest, but Jim ignored it and gripped the man’s face tightly.

“Secondly, pet, you said you were only uncomfortable with begging. You know I punish lying, so if you don’t want me to take off my own belt and whip you until you hand over yours like I told you to, I suggest you tell me sharpish exactly what you do want.”

Not that it mattered, really. Jim let go of Sebastian’s chin, patted the man’s cheek and stood.

He very deliberately took his knife back out of his belt and threw it onto the bedspread. Jim then pointedly turned his back on Sebastian - let him try anything!- and walked to the side of the bed, which he kicked.

An underbed storage drawer swung out, and Jim crossed his arms impatiently as he waited for a response.
Moran had never seen most of the contents of this drawer, given that the rare occasions when they had fucked had been emotionally heightened moments that had been too intense to pause for toys or anything else. Jim hadn’t even used most of these since Sebastian had moved in, although he had bought a few new things that caught his fancy.

Jim listened briefly for what Moran might have to say before fixing the man with a Look.

“Here’s how this works: you belong to me. If you want to continue to play, you are going to have to ask me very nicely.”

Jim grimaced. “Christ knows what use I have for a houseridden sniper with no bottle.”

~

Sebastian didn’t even try for a poker face anymore, when he understood – with a hitch of delay – that to Jim it had been woefully transparent again, what Sebastian had expected him to do. Such assumptions, wrong as they mostly were anyway, never went down well with the man, who must be the most changeable and unpredictable entity on earth.

Nevertheless, Sebastian was still blatantly shocked when confronted with the slightly irritated, but this time maybe not quite rhetorical question, of what he wanted.

What did he want?

He wanted… Good God… He wanted the man in front of him, all this darkness and intensity to bring him down, devour him, push him into unconditional surrender, because no one ever had done this to Sebastian Moran.

He wanted Jim to claim him and tear down any boundary he might come across along the way, to brand him with the mark of his ownership. Sebastian had no idea what he craved more, the journey or the destination, but he knew this: Once something truly belonged to Jim Moriarty, although he might at some point tire of it and break it, he’d never simply let go of it.

But even if Sebastian had allowed himself to see it all so clearly and put it into words, there was still the matter of a fractious, obstinate pride that would keep them from being said.

But here was another thing he knew about Jim: things that fell into his lap held no fascination for him, and much less value than those that were rare and special and hard to come by.

Of course, to Jim all this was a game to play, but so was everything, or rather, what he loved most.
When he turned away Sebastian’s stomach clenched at the notion that he might simply walk out of the room. But no, it was to reiterate the rules, and show him the tools, so to speak.

Sebastian, who had regained his feet and followed Jim over to the bed, was rooted to the spot, transfixed, aghast and a tiny bit shaken, staring at the content of the large newly revealed compartment under the bed. It looked like a treasure trove, but instead of gold and gem stones it held gleaming metal and black leather, braided ropes and chains, and a plethora of implements of rubber and silicone and… Jesus fuck, Sebastian knew whips and restraints when he saw them, or self explanatory stuff like blindfolds and dildos, but some other things he struggled to assign name or purpose to. He had an inkling that in time though, he would…

A shiver snaked down his spine and headed straight for his groin. Only now he became aware Jim was watching him intently, before he arched one eyebrow and made a taunting, jarring little remark, insinuating… cowardice?

Sebastian glared back and raised his chin a fraction. With the vague feeling he was stepping into a very obvious trap, he did it anyway. Unblinking, his hands opened his belt with slow, precise movements, pulled it free and handed it to Jim. Then, stooping and picking something up, the added a set of heavy handcuffs.

“For a start you might want to add these, just for your own safety.” Which was not a taunt - they both knew his legendary self control had been flailing a bit, lately.

Chapter 4: Licks

Moran’s facial journey was intriguing, but his expression when he peered into the underbed drawer was especially delightful.

Jim might just prefer the glower that followed though, when he successfully goaded Seb into finally doing something. Sebastian was incredibly prideful for a glorified scivvy, as though that body and killer instinct made him at all special (it might).

Jim swallowed hard, then willed himself to react otherwise calmly when Seb not only undid his belt, but surrendered it.

Jim gave a small nod of acknowledgment at Moran’s selection from the drawer and smiled slyly at ‘for a start’.

“You endanger my safety and I’ll put you in a box, sweetheart,” Jim scoffed.

He stepped slowly towards Sebastian then grabbed the front of the man’s jeans, pulling hard. Seb stumbled closer with a crooked smile.

Jim divested Sebastian of the rest of his clothing in short order, but then slowly nudged Seb closer to the bed. Sebastian backed up with his eyes fixed on Jim until he was boxed between the exposed drawer edge and the mattress.

“You’re a very a good boy for being brave and finally doing as you’re told,” Jim purred. He pushed Seb hard in his bandaged chest, knocking Sebastian backwards onto the bedding. Seb narrowly avoided landing on the uncomfortable metal of their selected toys.

Jim grabbed the handcuffs and grinned viciously. He made a small ‘come hither’ gesture with his index finger.

Sebastian eyed Jim’s bedding and wondered whether he’d be punished for bleeding on it. Jim smirked, grabbed Seb by the tatters of his teeshirt, and pulled. Sebastian bit down a hiss as the fabric - and the rough blood dried into it - rubbed at his injured throat.

Jim paused and put his thumb to the wound. “If you’re fussy you can have a couple of butterfly stitches later, but you’re fine.”

He yanked the neckline over Sebastian’s head and then pushed at Seb’s shoulder so that the man fell backwards again.

“I want you to be able to see what I’m doing to you,” Jim said with a wink. He fastened Seb to the headboard.

Jim sat backwards, still fully dressed, and looked Moran over.

He then picked up Sebastian’s belt, very aware of Seb watching him, and folded it over. Jim’s expression was pure sadism but his voice was ever so gentle as he softly asked, “Do you want to know what I was going to do with this?”

Sebastian lifted his chin in wary defiance. Cute, stupid bastard.

Jim glided the belt lightly over Sebastian’s bare skin, his expression suggesting an imminent blow.

Instead, Jim lightly swatted Seb’s nose (much like a rolled up newspaper for a naughty pet) and forced Seb’s mouth open with his fingers. Jim toyed with the dried blood on Sebastian’s lips for a slow moment then said, “You told me you didn’t want to beg, and I thought this leather would be nice and safe for you to bite down on, so that I could help support you in your efforts.” Jim pushed the belt into Seb’s mouth and then kissed the leather barrier between their mouths.

Jim pulled back and added, “We don’t want the game over too soon, do we, poppet?”

Jim tweaked Seb’s nipple again and answered himself, “Of course we don’t.”

Jim hopped back off of the bed and grinned at the look Seb gave him - wondering whether Jim would just leave him or retrieve something ominous from the still open drawer.

Not one to disappoint, Jim did lift something from the drawer. He slapped Seb’s bare thighs apart before sidling between them confidently.

Jim held the item up for Seb to see: two conjoined rubbery rings, twisted around a shiny metal thing that Sebastian could only guess was a bullet of some sort.

Jim flicked open the unlocked butterfly knife and pried it into the sex toy. “Want to see a trick, Sebby?”

~

When the cuffs clicked shut around his wrists it was… like another door closing behind him on this journey, of which they’d only gone the first steps, and although Sebastian’s pulse hammered against his ribs, there was also a hint of relief in the deep breath he let out. The restrains took away his choices (or at least a good number of them), but that was exactly what he’d been asking for…

Everything Jim did seemed designed to keep him physically and mentally off kilter, or maybe Sebastian simply attached too much importance to himself, and Jim simply did what pleased Jim …

Insinuating, threatening blows that never came, instead parcelling out pain and discomfort more subtly, and much more ambivalently, igniting sensations and reactions Sebastian was rather unprepared for.

The light, but deliberate pressure of a thumb into the cut on his neck came across almost like curiosity, as though any opening of Sebastian’s skin was a temptation to Jim to peel a little deeper and see what was underneath. His fingers rubbing over Sebastian’s lips with almost clinical observation, before they entered his mouth – Sebastian tasting his own blood on them – felt like an obscenely intrusive violation, and yet, in an awfully twisted way so… deeply intimate, that Sebastian’s indignant impulse to clamp down his teeth, turned into a swirl of his tongue around the two digits.

He didn’t miss the flicker of appreciation in Jim’s eyes, and then the fingers were replaced by his own belt, putting an end to intimacy, at least the kind that might come with a kiss, but there was much more to it. It effectively gagged him, but leaving him the option to let it go; it implied what was to come might him want to bite down on something, but it also gave him a sanctioned excuse not to beg.

Not that Jim Moriarty needed anything to draw confidence from, but between the legs of a bound and naked man was a position that could make the eyes sparkle even of someone who knew more about being in power than anyone. Especially when you were about to…

Sebastian blinked, eyes glued to the object in Jim’s hand – the two silicone rings gave him a quite alarming idea of where it was meant to go. Not at all sure about ‘tricks’ that involved such delicate anatomical part and a knife, he hesitated for a moment. Then, with a brief lowering of his eyelashes and a small nod, he agreed.

~

Jim smirked at Sebastian’s agreement and slapped the flat of his blade against the man’s thigh, leaving an imprint with Moran’s own blood.

“Didn’t Daddy just say he’d spank you if you didn’t start saying please or thank you?” Jim asked faux-sternly, both men very much aware of the leather strap obstructing Sebastian’s mouth. “We’ll deal with that later. I’m not having you turned feral by the time you’re fit to return to your day job.”

Jim tweaked Seb’s soft leg hair using the hand holding the knife, causing the weapon to graze lightly against the vulnerable skin as he did so.

“Not that I wouldn’t enjoy taming you…”

Jim returned his focus to the doodad in his other hand. The rings now partially removed, he pushed the knife through, and met Seb’s gaze whilst swiftly opening and closing the legs of the knife until they were closely wedded to the rings with an ease that suggested Jim had done this before. Sebastian didn’t know what to think of that, but then Jim locked the knife in position and placed it ominously on Sebastian’s bare stomach.

Jim unfastened his shirt cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. “I know it’s been a while for you, so I’ll be a gentleman and give you the option: shall I be kind and prepare you, or is blood sufficient lubricant?”

Sebastian watched Jim purposefully run a hand up his leg and bit down just a little on the belt when Jim grabbed him.

“Trick question,” Jim teased, “I don’t give a fuck about your opinion.”

Jim gave Seb a not so friendly squeeze then drew back, kneeling up to undo his own belt. He unfastened and whipped it from his belt loops with a sound that made Seb’s mouth dry, which was a feat considering Seb could hardly swallow properly around his own belt.

Jim dumped his belt at Sebastian’s side and the man gave it a mildly sour look, as though being expected to share bed space with a snake.

Jim found his smile to have become a little too fond and looked away with a frown. He focused on unzipping his fly and freeing himself from his underwear. Jim gave himself a slow stroke and pursed his lips at Sebastian to hold back a grin. He bloody missed this, not that they’d ever done things quite this way before.

Jim begrudgingly plucked up lube. He did intend to be rough enough for Seb to be sore later, but there was no need for them both to injure themselves.

Jim nudged Seb’s cheeks further apart with his knees and rubbed softly at the blond’s opening. Sebastian’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes were blown and he looked terribly, intoxicatingly pretty for such a big, masculine man. The bloodied wounds and bandages only added to Seb’s appeal, as did the slightly wary expression the man had, at war with Moran’s evident desire.

Jim fully intended to be rough and quick, eager to push the game forward, but the soft noise Sebastian made through the belt when Jim breeched him with a firm, slick finger quite turned Jim’s plan on its head. Jim took his time, savouring Seb’s tightness around him and the bit back grunts that escaped Moran’s makeshift gag.

By the time Jim was willing to do anything else, all four of his uppermost knuckles were swallowed in tightly compressed heat, he had lube halfway up his wrist, and Moran was making perfect little moans that almost made Jim forgive the past few weeks. Jim was also attached to the bedspread by a shining rope of precome, which he wryly supposed would make it easier to attend to his next step.

Jim retrieved his hand with a bit less gentleness than Moran probably needed, based on the fucking adorable noise that fell out of the man’s mistreated throat.

Jim winked and plucked the toy from where it had tucked itself into the dip of Sebastian’s ribs.

Sebastian straightened his spine to watch Jim very carefully.

Jim lifted his hips to give him a better view. He slid the contraption along his slick shaft, allowing the blade to jut out at a fierce angle.

Sebastian looked deliciously concerned and confused.

Jim grabbed the man’s hips and shifted his weight forward to keep them pinned.

“The trick, darling, is how I keep you very, very still when you don’t want to,” Jim said. He took one hand back and aligned himself carefully, closing his eyes for just a second before he met and held Seb’s gaze. He pushed in firmly. Sebastian’s chest juddered.

Jim composed himself and adjusted Moran so the knife was precariously placed against the blond’s scrotum.

“You understand gravity, don’t you pet?” Jim said. “You stay nice and still for Daddy and you’ll barely chafe.” Jim pulled out and slammed back in fiercely, causing Seb to gasp in a way that almost made him lose the belt in his mouth. Seb flinched again as the movement slapped his privates uncomfortably over the knife edge, causing an undeniable sting.

“If you’re naughty and move a muscle without Daddy’s permission… Well darling, you’re going to bleed.”
Jim placed both hand on Sebastian’s hips and ground in fiercely.

~

Jesus - they had gotten here quite quickly, hadn’t they? From sipping a mid morning ginger ale to blood or lube in under ten minutes. The fact that they both heavily gravitated towards the darker side of pleasure, and were well matched in their respective proclivities barely scratched the surface of an explanation…

And of course the question was another rhetorical one, nonetheless Sebastian breathed a small sigh of gratitude when Jim reached for the lube.

Fuck…… the sight of Jim kneeling between his thighs, fully clothed with blood-spattered cuffs, made Sebastian’s brain stall just as much as the maddening contrast between the first soft touches and that first breach… Then a second finger. Sebastian gasped at the third. Jim slowly worked him open, leisurely and with excruciating skill and purpose, fingers stroking and curling inside him, luxuriating in the velvety heat. Seemingly intent on making Sebastian unravel during the preliminaries already. And he did come very close, when the taunting pressure of four knuckles hinted at the possibility of… Jim not stopping there…

The sounds hitched to the end of each of Sebastian’s short, choppy breaths would have been enough to turn his ears pink with shame, had he had any capacity for self-reflection left. Jim’s hand withdrew. With a grunt of relief (and something else, not to be examined), Sebastian’s exhaled shakily and slowly blinked himself out of the haze. Noticing how much Jim was affected too by all this. Through the tumultuous blue of Sebastian’s eyes flickered a hint of smugness.

It winked out completely as he watched Jim prepare himself. In a straining, glistening, proud erection there was always a subtle connotation of violence, of a weapon, but there was nothing subtle about this.

Jim manhandled him into position and humoured him with a cordial explanation, which couldn’t belie for a moment the devilish glint in his eyes, as he saw Sebastian finally grasping the devious nature of the contraption – pleasure and pain, intricately entwined by two black silicone bands.

A twinge of panic surged and it almost had Sebastian object, fight the restraints, trying to get away from this madness. But something much stronger made him utter a wordless, throaty sound of agreement, a challenge almost, while Jim held his gaze and vice versa.

When Jim finally entered him with one slow but relentless push, enough time had passed for Sebastian’s muscles to tighten again. His breath caught, and broke free with a hiss when Jim bottomed out, the cool blade grazing sensitive skin. The second, harsher stroke had him groan deeply and his head fall back. He flinched slightly as the coldness inadvertently turned into a sharp, red-hot line…

Yes, he knew about gravity, he knew a whole bloody lot of things, but when Jim clawed his hips and ground into him again brutally, Sebastian forgot sanity and reason, every law of the universe and fucking solar system and almost believed in god again.

Jim's eyes glowed with feral pleasure as Sebastian, by sheer instinct and need canted his hips, and was brought up short by a fiercer nick of the blade, lending a startled note to the end of his moan. Craving to move, to push back, yet forced to keep still, hold his position and simply take it - degraded to a fucktoy, a receptacle for Jim's pleasure with no permission to chase his own, and it was shocking and awful and hot and … - increasingly difficult. The angle and pace Jim set seemed deliberately designed to drive Sebastian wild and to distraction. His abdominal muscles trembled with the effort to keep still. Either not wholly successfully, or the knife was meant to get to him anyway, if Jim only ground in deep enough. It was agonising and frightening too, enough to make any normal person's erection wilt, but well… neither of them was normal. Sebastian’s teeth ground into the leather of the belt, as he panted around it in a paroxysm of lust and pain - one did not exist without the other, just as the faux-polite question of blood or lube had been a sham from the beginning - it was both.

~

Jim had always enjoyed having Seb underneath him, but this was a far superior experience. Moran’s eyes were clouded with lust and pain and frustration - which he thoroughly deserved after antagonising Jim’s nerves of late. Sebastian had always seemed to struggle with obedience and this experience was no different; he seemed to buck his hips more than he kept them still, and every time he misbehaved Seb’s breath caught from the blade’s punishing bite. The very best bit of that was that every time Sebastian got himself hurt, his internal walls flinched around Jim in glorious tightness. Jim gripped Moran tightly and fucked him hard.

God, the noises the man could make, even when gagged. Jim was tempted to keep Sebastian bound to his bed forever. Seb himself might complain for the sake of his pride, but Jim had no doubt Moran’s greedy dick would love it. Sebastian could stay gagged if he liked; his prick told no lies and was flushed bruise-dark with desperation.

Jim pummelled that sweet spot within Seb until the blond was feverish with need and willing to accept every kiss of the blade for the chance to thrust even the tiniest amount. Jim had been keeping the man pinned to control that, but then he finally took his hands from Moran’s now bruised hips to push the man’s thighs a little further apart. It took Sebastian a moment to notice, delirious as he was, but on recognising his new freedom he snapped his hips with vigour - and spluttered a strangled yell into the belt in his mouth as the fresh angle cut him deeper than before. Seb’s insides were suddenly like a vice, which was possibly the only thing that kept Jim from coming right there. He doubled over, chortling hoarsely, and pressed his forehead against Moran’s chest, mindless of the bandages. Jim’s shoulders shook with mirth, and Sebastian felt the man’s laughter tremble all through his body. Jim’s hair had gotten damp with sweat and fallen forward near Sebastian’s face, filling his nose with the smell of the man’s expensive toiletries.

Jim pressed a sharp little kiss into Seb’s sternum and rose back up. His eyes glittered as he met Sebastian’s gaze; he rolled his hips slowly and deeply into the man.

“You’re gonna do yourself a real injury, Sebby,” Jim said, his voice low and more Irish than usual, his eyes crinkling at the sides but still lit with something dark. Jim’s shirt was too expensive to be fully see-through, but his collarbone was misted with sweat, and the bottom of the garment’s placket wet with fresh blood.
Sebastian didn’t say anything, mouth set around the leather, just raised his hips gingerly in response.

Jim grinned, dragged one of Seb’s damp legs over his shoulder, and crashed into the man at pace in search of his own pleasure.

Sebastian seemed a little startled by the handling but not at all unwilling. He threw his head back and didn’t stop making noises that would embarrass him thoroughly if he could still think straight.

Jim fumbled for Seb’s bleeding skin and pulled. “Don’t yeh dare come,” he growled. “Not before me and not ‘til I say.”

Moran’s eyes flashed but then lowered quickly. Jim dug in his nails and Seb gave a brief nod.

When Jim came, it was with an intensity that made him see stars. Sebastian dragged him closer with his strong legs and Jim bit at the other side of the man’s neck until it bruised and the chain adjoining the handcuffs sang above their heads with tension.

Jim slowly drew back and snickered raggedly at Moran’s appalled expression when he moved to pull out.
“What, you think you’re more than a warm hole to me?” Jim asked with amusement. He managed to keep his accent close to his everyday neutral (not his telltale, emotional, rural pest) and was somewhat impressed by his ability to do so when he’d came so hard it felt like his internal organs had liquified and poured out too.

Despite that, Jim was still remarkably hard when he did remove himself. Jim threw his dirtied toy aside and thought maybe he could go again before long if he kept playing. Who knew tying Moran to the bedframe and torturing him a little could give Jim the refractory period of a teenager?

Jim ran his thumb firmly over Sebastian’s wet, swollen opening and bent his head to give it a kiss. Sebastian’s legs went very still and Jim grinned at his power over the man before nosing his way up to lick the bleeding underside of Seb’s scrotum. In honestly, Sebastian was cut all over that general area, but the gouges at the bottom were the deepest and still weeping.

“You want to come for me, pet, you’re going to have to earn it,” Jim said. He nipped Moran with his teeth and sat back. Sometimes Jim was tired after sex but he was still flooded with adrenaline and lust as he looked over Sebastian’s debauched state.

“I suppose we should deal with the little matter of you telling me ‘no’ earlier,” Jim said. Sebastian stilled completely and Jim grinned wickedly at him. “I did promise I’d spank you for your abysmal manners too.”
Sebastian gave the most adorably grumpy little pout and turned his gaze in the opposite direction from the belt.

“Think ten’ll do it?” Jim asked cheerfully.

Sebastian looked around quickly, face crinkling with distrust. He waited for the catch - ten dozen perhaps - but Jim only patted the man’s thigh with clearly false commiseration and reached for the belt beside them.
Jim smirked. It wasn’t about the pain, it was about the submission, and if Moran was as clever as Jim thought then the man would realise that.

Jim wrestled Seb’s legs until they were high and to the side, sufficiently exposing Sebastian’s cheeks whilst
also being pinned at such an angle the strong man wouldn’t be able to kick free if he got… upset.

“I read a disciplinary record as long as my arm noting every strapping you got from your teachers, and every caning you got from prefects,” Jim commented. “I believe your father had you bend over as well.” Jim kissed Moran’s buttock. “If anyone has already belted you like this, pinned down and cuffed to the headboard with jizz trickling down your pretty crack, Daddy is going to be terribly jealous.”

Jim snapped the folded belt off of Sebastian’s skin before the man could sufficiently arrange his comprehension or feelings about Jim’s comments. Sebastian breathed hard through his nose, familiar with the pain but not having felt it in a long time.

Jim met his gaze and waited.

Seb swallowed uncomfortably.

Jim lazily covered Sebastian from top to bottom, glancing pointedly at Seb’s not at all flagging erection in lieu of encouragement.

Sebastian jutted his chin.

“Told you sweetheart, you just need some firm handling from someone who sees through your adorable machismo,” Jim drawled. “Don’t. You. Think?”

Jim startled Sebastian with three fierce swats in swift succession, each on top of the other.

Sebastian shivered and bit down on the belt hard.

Jim settled his other hand on Seb’s red cheeks and embarrassed the man further by playfully rubbing out some of the sting before squeezing a fistful of flesh possessively. Jim trailed his fingers down and pushed in a pair gently, toying with Moran in a way that made the big blond squeeze his eyes shut.

“Ah ah, you look at Daddy when he’s inside you,” Jim scolded mockingly. He pulled out his fingers and gave Moran a slap with his bare hand, painting a print over the few livid stripes.

“If you can’t be a good boy I’m not going to let you come,” Jim warned, pushing his fingers back in slowly.

Sebastian wriggled a bit despite himself as Jim toyed with him, that wicked genius clearly extending to Jim’s probing digits. Jim worked himself back in to his knuckles - so much for not liking getting his hands dirty - and watched with proud propriety as Seb ground into his touch.

“Now don’t be greedy,” Jim teased with a smile in his voice. “You’ll need more than some bloody spunk if you try to take me to the elbow, and you’re in the middle of a spanking; I haven’t forgotten.”

Sebastian was not happy when Jim exited him again before any real release. He was seconds from spitting out his belt to complain when Jim cracked his own with unsurpassed ferocity against the crease where Seb’s arse met his thighs.

“Want you to feel that one tomorrow,” Jim said.

Sebastian blinked tears from his eyes.

“One more,” Jim promised. Seb tensed then tried to relax his muscles, expecting the worst. The tension made his wounds ache, and he was sure his teeth had started to cut through his belt.

Jim surprised the man with a light swat. Moran waited, but Jim put the belt down and fondled the man’s sore backside again.

“What, you want more?” Jim mocked.

Sebastian huffed through his nose and looked away not entirely convincingly. Jim looked down at the bottom under his hand, which could be wiggling to remove the sting and get some friction near his groin, but seemed to be suspiciously angling his opening closer to Jim’s digits.

Jim gave Seb’s crease a light spank. “Yes honey, I’m considering letting you come now for being a good boy, but not on my fingers.” Jim glanced at Seb, who looked utterly ruined, his bandages peeling off at the edges, covered in sweat and blood and ejaculate, and drool drying at the corners of his mouth where holding the belt for so long had made saliva drip down his chin.

Jim would probably have to let Moran move his arms soon or his sniper might lose the full dexterity of his fingers, but they still had enough time.

Jim dragged his fingers along Seb’s tender globes. “Daddy’s very proud of you, Sebby, and I am damned well going to come in you again.”

~

The devious, gorgeous feedback loop of pleasure and pain nearly melted Sebastian’s brain. Craving the first he accepted the second, until they blurred into each and became indistinguishable. Every response triggered another – the particularly vicious bites of the blade jolted his body into spasms of involuntary resistance, that made Jim’s breath catch as well, and bury himself deeper. Sebastian had never seen him – Jim Moriarty, who never let anyone see what went on inside him, except in a calculating way - so … intoxicated, like he was discovering a thrill on a scale he’d not known existed, which in turn for Sebastian surpassed everything he experienced.

His muscles were shivering with exertion, balancing on the razor’s edge - literally - of snatching as much pleasure as possible without getting castrated in the process. Jim hoisting one of his legs over his shoulder and going all out stoked a surge of relief, of lust, of hope that…

But no.

The harsh grip drew a startled and almost furious noise from Sebastian. Jim leaned in, leaving no room for doubt that this was not for him, but Jim, and Jim alone. Blinded by trickles of sweat, Sebastian buried his teeth into the belt so hard it creaked, teetering of the edge of mutiny. Then, a few long seconds later, he gave an infinitesimal nod of acquiescence.

There it was again, that shocking (sublime) feeling of being used, being forced with no regard to his own pleasure – but that wasn’t quite true either, because feeling Jim finally come with pulses of heat, gripping him hard and biting the side of his neck as though about to rip out his jugular was … unbelievable. Sebastian pulled him in with his legs, arching up to take Jim as deep as he could, which incidentally earned him one more cut from the friggin’ knife, but his only true regret was not being able to see Jim’s face. Which maybe was no accident either.

After Jim had pulled back, dishevelled and flushed, looking down on him like an only half-sated predator at the prey he’d brought down, contemplating how much to play with was left of it. Giving it a little prod and a lick to see it twitch. Sebastian did, partly from the pain, partly from the utterly obscene sensation of Jim’s fingers and tongue sliding through the sticky mess around his abused opening.

He twitched again, harder, when after the fake gentleness Jim reached for the belt lying on the bed, ridding Sebastian of his misconception that they were through with that topic. Turned out they were not, maybe due to the simple fact that you didn’t tell Jim Moriarty ‘no’ - a law of nature. Still, for a moment Sebastian was in complete disbelief that Jim was indeed going there. Not just hints, but words so blatant they would get anyone torn to shreds, regardless whether they were uttered to Sebastian’s face or behind his back.

And if Jim knew all those details, he certainly knew all of them -

That thirteen year old Sebastian Moran had solemnly vowed that he’d just received his last thrashing ever - by Augustus, or anyone else for that matter. It had occurred the night before the big annual do at Moran Manor, and Sebastian had waited until the next day to announce his decision to lend it some gravitas.

When the big hall had been brimming with merriment, filled with his father's peers and cronies and glamorous attachments, Sebastian had walked in, hunting rifle over his shoulder. He had put the first round into one of the huge chandeliers, which gave him instant and very satisfactory attention from everyone, and enough space as well. For a moment, his father’s gawping, almost apoplectic face in the iron sights of his rifle had been a big temptation. But after informing him – and everyone else present - very calmly, that if he’d ever lay hands on him again, he would kill him, Sebastian had lowered the rifle a fraction and the second bullet had ripped a chunk of splinters from the polished hardwood floor in front of Moran senior’s expensive shoes with barely an inch to spare. Sebastian had walked out, and never set foot into the house again for almost two years.

The matter had sparked some scandal and spicy rumours, not least because due to the shock and deafening clamour of the shots, no one was quite sure as to what exactly Sebastian had said. What had probably kept him from being disowned right away was his father’s attempt to downplay the matter to an endearing coming-of-age insurrection of a spirited young man. The only thing that had mattered to Sebastian, was that his father had understood if not every word, but the seriousness of the threat. The gossip died down eventually, although some who'd heard the story remained dubious if young Moran’s words had or had not referred to more than corporal punishment (they had not).

Well, talk about a rift through the family.

A sharp slap of the belt stopped Sebastian from spiralling into the rabbit hole of his formative years, jerking him back to the present, basically making him decide whether ’anyone ever’ exempted the man whose unfathomable eyes were currently watching him closely. The man who owned him, and who was driving that point home, having him tied down in his bed, fucked and bloodied.

A few seconds passed and they both knew the answer. If it had been ‘no‘, even in his current position Sebastian would have had ways to fight back, and most likely successfully. He didn’t.

The blows of the belt were painful, but this wasn’t a mindless thrashing to inflict as much violence as possible. It was Jim driving that truth in to the hilt, grinding it into Sebastian’s very bones. It was a conditioning, showing Sebastian he would demand surrender, and Sebastian would give it to him. And Jim would push him as far as he liked. In turn every push was rewarded with lust, swamping Sebastian’s body with the same mind-melting intensity as the pain, until he was a shivering mess, craving more - no matter of which.

Any focus he could muster throughout – and Jim demanded it – was centred on Jim, on the fact of who was doing this to him- the harsh vicious blows, the more lenient ones, the deliberate, proprietary penetration of his body, unerringly igniting sublime pleasure, and stopping it again. Every low word, every blow and every touch spelling it out for Sebastian: ‘As I wish‘.

Eyes blown and blurry and stinging, breathing harshly and drooling around his belt, Sebastian felt more animal that human, just like the sound he uttered against the sodden leather in his mouth – but it almost… almost sounded like a ’Please’ .

~

Jim’s entire core filled with heat as he heard Sebastian‘s delicious response. He’d be asking more nicely than that before Jim was done with him.

“Good boy,” Jim murmured. He pulled away slowly and hushed the bereft noise Moran made behind the sodden belt.

Seb obeyed, but seemed too out of it to fully register the interaction. Jim lightly bit the inside of Moran’s leg and the blond groaned softly at that.

Jim flipped Seb’s legs to the other side and was a little unnerved but mostly amused by how Sebastian didn’t even attempt to fight the manhandling. God, the beautiful brute was almost boneless with desire.
Jim wrapped his arm around Seb’s legs and pushed with his chest, pressing Sebastian’s hips into the opposite direction from before. Seb gave a glassy-eyed look of confusion and Jim merely smirked, petting the man’s cheeks teasingly. Even if Moran had been lucid, Jim would never have bothered to explain that he didn’t want to risk cramping (resulting from Seb having been twisted into an uncomfortable position for so long) causing even one second of distraction from Jim’s plans for Sebastian Moran.

Jim admired his handiwork, marvelling at the single dark band across the entirety of Moran’s sit spot. Gorgeous. Jim pressed into it -not to punish anything at all but simply because Jim could - and Sebastian hissed adorably. Smiling wider, Jim drew his fingers along the injury, and gave the meat of Seb’s arse a playfully sharp bite whenever Moran flinched.

“Mine,” Jim growled into the broken skin. He wasn’t looking for a response, but Seb grunted weakly behind his gag in what seemed like agreement.

Jim leaned up and cast an admiring gaze at the ruined blond.

Sebastian noticed the shift in atmosphere and looked back, panting raggedly.

Jim had had enough of being generous. He raised from Seb’s stretched legs and snapped them apart ferociously.

Sebastian’s eyes were wide and his pupils enormous.

Jim looked down the length of the man’s body, filled with smugness at its many fresh marks.

The discarded toy caught the corner of Jim’s gaze. He hadn’t even switched it on to let Seb suffer an interaction with a vibrating blade. Jim could easily reach for it now - Seb was in no position to deny him anything - but there seemed little need for that game currently.

“Honestly Moran,” Jim teased, “I punch you, put a knife in your throat, and choke you… You stay stoic. I put a blade to your bollocks, and you do your best to take it like a man.”

Jim scratched his nails down Seb’s stomach, making the man flinch, and continued in faux incredulity, “But now look at you! A few swats and some fingers in your arse and you come apart!”

Sebastian attempted the most ineffectual glower Jim had ever seen, and the Irishman revelled in it.

“Oh sweetheart, was this your plan all along? Have you been so huffy and naughty recently hoping Daddy would take you in hand like a stroppy little brat?”

Jim trailed his fingers to Sebastian’s straining arousal and held the man’s gaze as he toyed with it firmly. Seb made a beautifully breathy noise.

“You’ve wanted to be put in your place for such a long time, Seb,” Jim said. “If you’d only been a little braver and asked me very nicely, I’d have put you where you belong much sooner…”

Sebastian didn’t seem to know how to respond. He probably wouldn’t have even if most of his blood wasn’t diverted to his dick or bleeding freely from numerous wounds.

Jim toyed with him lazily, the corner of his lips curled upwards cruelly in a way that made it utterly clear he knew exactly how desperate Sebastian felt and did not care - or at least, had not a shred of compassion for Seb’s predicament.

Jim lifted Sebastian’s legs and pushed them up against the man’s torso, uncaring of any discomfort caused. Sebastian was a very fit man, but he didn’t often have much reason to have his knees pressed into his shoulders.

Jim trailed his fingers down to the still wet wounds left by his butterfly knife and pressed firmly. Seb growled softly but Jim did not withdraw his touch until his fingers were slick with blood.

Then he brought his hand back to Seb’s opening and bared his teeth as Moran undeniably whimpered.

Jim chuckled, teasing the man torturously slowly on his fingertips. “Where’s my big, tough, mouthy murderer now? You sound like a desperate. Little. Slut.”

Jim withdrew his touch and it took all of Seb’s self control not to sob.

“Oh, don’t hold your tongue on my account, pet,” Jim drawled. “You know I’ve always found the mouth on you amusing.”

Sebastian didn’t have a single quip to share for once. He only wanted Jim inside him.

Jim knew that too. He took more blood, wiped it on the tip of his prick, and stared Moran down as he entered painstakingly slowly.

Seb breathed raggedly.

Jim fucked Sebastian unbearably gradually when Seb so desperately craved release. There wasn’t a thing Seb could do about it either, Jim having him pinned almost in thirds, his folded legs crushed against his torso.

Sebastian thought he might die soon if Jim didn’t grant him release, and he was horribly sure Jim would enjoy it too. People were afraid of Jim Moriarty for all of the wrong reasons. This was the cruellest thing Seb had ever experienced from the man.

It eventually became clear that Jim was keeping Seb on edge for a reason other than merely ‘because he could’. Jim was waiting for something, and Sebastian could not for the life of him comprehend what that might be. Not when his entire brain was melted with need.

It took even longer for Jim to display anything akin to pity, and when he did, Sebastian knew that was a trap too.

“You know what you have to do if you want to come, my darling,” Jim purred.

Moran looked up at him with an almost helpless expression, just a sliver of obstinacy left in his gaze.
Jim slapped him hard, grinned. Then he slapped the man again.

Sebastian held his words close still, trembling with the effort. Tears traced down his cheeks, nothing to do with the livid red handprints on both sides of his face, just the intensity of his confused feelings.

“Oh well if you don’t want this, Sebastian darling, we can stop right now…” Jim warned.

Sebastian spat out his belt before he could even think about doing anything other than blurting, “No!”

Refusing to take that as the win it was, Jim raised one brow and stared Sebastian down.

Seb shuddered. “…I want this,” he said hoarsely.

Jim grasped the man’s chin. “Of course you do, but I expect better than that and you know it, treasure. What do you say if you want to come?”

Sebastian was uncertain whether Jim would even comply, but he knew he had to say it: “Please.”

Jim grinned widely at Seb’s reluctant little growl.

“There now, was that so hard?” Jim mocked. He forced a kiss onto Seb’s startled lips before Sebastian could respond, and then Jim snatched Seb’s desperate arousal and the blond’s brain visibly short-circuited.
“Come for me, Seb,” Jim ordered, and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, Sebastian did, roaring out his release as he bucked into Jim’s possessive grip.

Few things were as beautiful as Moran coming undone beneath him. Not only that, Seb’s orgasm was constricting his internal walls, forcing them to spasm spectacularly around Jim, who was still buried to the hilt within the man.

The experience had been exquisite when Sebastian had flinched in pain, but now that he quivered in compulsive pleasure, sounding like that, Jim found himself forced towards his own release. He bit into Sebastian’s shoulder and rode through his second orgasm, Moran jerking under him and spilling hot between them for a deliciously long moment.

Jim closed his eyes for a time, luxuriating, then rolled off of and away from Sebastian, who choked out a wordless protest that Jim generously chose to ignore.

Jim lay on his back and caught his breath. Fuck.

Beside him, Seb gingerly eased his legs off of his chest.

Jim tested his own legs. Unusually weak, but the feeling of control slowly returned as he manipulated them carefully.

Sebastian watched him from half-lidded eyes.

Jim gave him a sleepy sneer and reached for his knife.

Sebastian stiffened.

“At ease, soldier, you’ve been a good boy, haven’t you?” Jim mocked.

Moran had the sense to look wary still.

Jim stood, and managed not to be too fawn-like as he walked towards the door.

Sebastian wriggled his hips higher up the bed, clinking the handcuffs off of the headboard as he did so. “Boss-”

“I’ll free you when I feel like it,” Jim said, and sauntered from the room.

If Moran had any sense he’d stay put. Jim threw his toy beside the kitchen sink and washed his hands. He then quietly prepared a few cold meat sandwiches and grabbed his discarded duvet before returning to the bedroom.

Moran had moved to look speculatively at his restraints, and froze guiltily upon Jim’s return.

The blond then gave Jim a perplexed look.

Jim did not deign to respond. He did not need to explain himself to underlings.

Tossing the duvet to the foot of the bed, Jim put the plate at Seb’s side and straddled the man.

Sebastian stilled again.

Jim unfastened Moran from his bed an arm at a time and rubbed some feeling back into the numb limbs. Seb grimaced a little at the pins and needles sensation, but was far more interested in having Jim so close.
Jim snapped his teeth lightly at Seb’s throat and moved to dismount.

Seb reached for the man’s waist. Jim’s gaze flared warningly and Sebastian snatched his hand back as though burned.

Jim grabbed the blond’s jaw. “Behave,” he scolded fiercely, but then hopped away and flopped onto his back.

“If you need help patching yourself up you can wait. I still have sleep to catch up on and if you dare wake me before I’m ready ever again you won’t live long,” Jim promised darkly. He removed his shirt, getting comfortable, then curled onto his side.

“Nap here if you like, but if you get crumbs in my bed, Moran, I’ll castrate you without hesitation.”

~

Sebastian felt like he’d been run over by a freight train... after getting caught in a ship’s propeller, and before a wild animal had gleefully mauled the leftovers. To take inventory seemed easier by naming the body parts that were neither bleeding nor hurting. Maybe… his feet.

He felt raw…, naked, turned inside out, as though Jim had unravelled him entirely, taken him apart, physically and mentally, down to his very soul, all the pieces laid bare for his pleasure, to be curiously examined and devoured…

And yet, lying in this mess of rumpled sheets, damp with almost every bodily fluid you could think of (his acute sense of smell could tell them apart quite easily), aching all over and barely able to lift a finger - Sebastian had never felt this … whole.

Probably just some hormonal glitch, whispered the reasonable part of his brain – notably absent for the past hour or so – but on a deeper level Sebastian knew this wasn’t quite the truth. The whole truth was lying beside him, comfortably curled up on the side of the bed that was still reasonably clean, deceptively peacefully asleep.

Sebastian had to fight another biochemical glitch that made him want to scoot over, longing for … well, maybe not something outrageous like hugs and cuddles, but … something, even the tiniest physical contact… Which would definitely lead to him loosing his fingers or other parts of his anatomy. So, with a sigh he settled for the second best thing - almost as good: Recalling the little bitey kiss, after Jim had opened the handcuffs and how he'd rubbed his arms, the nonchalant permission to stay and nap, the plate of meat sandwiches beside him…

Probably perfunctory and grudgingly performed necessities of generic household maintenance from Jim’s point of view, which didn’t keep Sebastian from revelling in every tiny little memory. He knew he should clean himself up and look after his injuries (the agony of his month-old wounds had abated somewhat, probably just in relation to the new ones), but he also knew none of them was critical, and he already was on as much medication as he could digest. The delicious smell of the sandwiches kept wafting around his nose. He stirred, biting back a groan. There was no way he could sit but he managed to find a position, lounging at his side, to reach for the plate…

°°°

Drifting up from a bone-deep exhaustion, Sebastian realised he’d fallen asleep with the last bite still in his mouth, and chewed it down. Fuck… even his jaw and teeth hurt. The light slanting through the windows was that of late afternoon, and it illuminated the empty side of the bed… empty apart from a bottle of water. Sebastian moved gingerly to pick it up, unscrewed it and downed half of it greedily. While taking his time with the second half, his gaze fell onto the curled up belt peeking out from between the sheets. It had dried somewhat, the still dark patches bearing desperately deep teeth marks. He nudged it off the bed with his foot before sinking back into the pillow, from where his eyes roamed up to the place where the chain of the handcuffs had left nicks and glaring scratches in the matte black steel of the ornate headboard. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. Much more permanent reminders of this day than a few crumbs in the sheets. Yes, there were crumbs… but the sheets were goners anyway…

It took him another half hour of dozing and napping to gather his resolve to get up and limp into the bathroom.

~

Jim switched to another browser tab the moment he heard Moran finally drag himself out of bed. The man did not need to know that Jim had returned to scoping out crackpot websites again.
The man probably did need help cleaning up though. Jim had looked Seb over upon waking up himself and catalogued the blond’s various injuries. Moran would certainly be sore upon waking (deservedly so).

Sebastian also deserved to be woken with another hiding for fully disregarding Jim’s very clear direction about crumbs. Jim did not give a fuck if Sebby thought the ruination of the sheets or his pretty hole were a solid argument for doing as he damned pleased - Jim had been clear, and Seb as usual had defied him.

He had also passed out mid-chew, which Jim reluctantly supposed meant Moran was just too tired to care, not actively trying to vex him. Jim had stared at the man for some time, certain choking on a sandwich crust would be a deserving end for a man who left crumbs in his bed, but then Jim had sourly nudged Seb into the recovery position so if the man DID choke he might live to regret his poor choices.

Jim had gone for a shower to try to clear his head, then dressed and avoided another glance at Moran - naked, bruised, scabbing, thoroughly fucked, and dozing in Jim’s bed - before escaping to his home office.

Seb hadn’t roused by the time Jim had torn himself away from his devices for a cup of tea. It was ridiculous: Jim had had barely any sleep but was functioning like this was any other work day, whilst his invalid sniper snored through a disgusting mouthful of food after being lightly beaten and well shagged.

The noise of water boiling or Jim moving around didn’t wake Seb. When Jim finished his tea and a Danish biscuit, he grabbed a bottle of water and took it through to his room. He dumped it on the bed but still didn’t wake Moran; that could wait until Seb roused or was due a dose of heavy meds.

Jim had crossed his arms and stared for a moment, reliving the earlier fun. By no means did Jim regret the games, but it did leave him with more to think about. Was this to be a regular thing? If Moran didn’t get better, would Jim keep him around anyway as a plaything?

Jim did not know how to feel about that. It was almost easier to dwell on the ludicrous possibility that Sebastian Moran was going to turn into a fluffy, striped beast upon the arrival of the approaching full moon.
Jim had retreated back to his laptop in disgust, and that was how he had ended up perusing foolishness on the internet instead of getting real work done. Again.

Jim listened to Seb move about, then grumpily ordered some matte black paint for his headboard. He could hardly blame Moran for scratching it with the handcuffs, but there were quite enough reminders of the blond about the place these days without a permanent one on Jim’s fucking bed. He’d file down and repaint the scratches before things got too familiar.

Jim sent off the order and frowned again. He turned and looked in the direction of his room. The noises had stopped, suggesting Moran had decided to use Jim’s own bathroom instead of any of the others. The man’s nerve never ceased! Jim had left Sebastian use of his legs, so he was perfectly capable of walking!

Jim considered Seb’s wounds again. Beautiful things, but the blond would probably struggle with the more awkwardly placed, intimate injuries.

Hating himself thoroughly, Jim slammed the laptop closed and went in hunt of his maddening Moran.

~

Sebastian had gingerly washed himself with a cloth, since due to his intractable, heavily bandaged wounds a shower was out of the question. Then, eyeing the plushy, luxurious towels he made do with a box of tissues to blot dry his new injuries. There wasn’t much to be done about them; after passing out and leaving them unattended for a few hours they’d already started to scab over. They’d scar but…. well, what’s a few more, he thought, and most of them were not in very obvious places anyway. Apart from the horizontal one on his neck, which would look like a botched or halted attempt to slit his throat. Only he would know who put in there - someone who never just attempted or even botched anything.

Chin raised, Sebastian examined the cut. Not deep, and nothing compared to the souvenirs he’d brought back from abroad, but still in a poxy place, because of all the movement there. He rummaged in one of the cabinets. The serious first aid kit was in his own bathroom, but he did find some basics - a few butterfly strips, dressings and adhesive plaster tapes. The door was slightly ajar, and the bedroom door wasn’t closed either. Jim must have left the one to his study open as well, because all the while Sebastian was working he could pick up little sounds – the rustling of paper, the chink of a teacup… it was strangely soothing, and it also distracted him from overthinking too much what had happened. Jim would not like it if he came up with any weird conclusions and implications of what…

He was startled by the noise of a laptop being banged shut forcefully, but kept aligning the second butterfly strip and pulled it taut across the gash in his neck. Just his eyes moved slightly, as the door behind him was flung wide. His gaze met Jim’s in the mirror.

The man was looking impeccably groomed again, like Jim was about to get dressed for high tea at Buckingham Palace, while Sebastian stood - buck naked apart from his bandages - in front of a wash basin filled with sodden, balled up, pinkish tissues.

“Wanna help?” Sebastian cocked one eyebrow and slightly moved his hips, implying he was not talking about the cut in his neck.

~

“With what? Giving you a grin on both sides of your throat?” Jim asked darkly.

The other side of Moran’s throat was already marked - by Jim’s mouth - and the man was uncertain how to feel about that after the heat of the moment. Moran was his belonging, and it was perfectly fitting for Jim to mark what was his, but the pleasure he felt every time he looked at it curdled when Jim wondered why it felt that good.

Jim walked towards Sebastian, unable not to notice the way the blond moved his hips suggestively, just as Jim hadn’t been able to avoid noticing how leaning towards the mirror had made Seb’s arse jut out temptingly in the first place.

“That sink won’t take your weight,” Jim found himself saying.

Sebastian looked at him, and Jim circled the man obstructively rather than look back, taking in the beautiful sight of all Seb’s marks instead. Jim rested his hand across a bite mark on Sebastian’s buttock and squeezed.
“Why do I get the feeling you deliberately make a point of getting under my skin?” Jim complained in a low growl.

He let his gaze smoulder into Seb’s skin for a moment then met the man’s eyes in the mirror.

“I did not give you permission to be in here. You were lucky I let you stay in my bed once I was done with you.”

Jim reached around to Moran’s groin and dug his fingers harshly into the wounds there.

“I also told you quite clearly that your bollocks were forfeit if you soiled my sheets any further; you chose to act as though your ears were made of cloth.”

Sebastian’s hands had both dropped from tending his neck and Jim moved his face into the space left. He brushed his lips over the stitches just firmly enough to be uncomfortable but not undo Seb’s work.

“Is your naughtiness deliberate, darling?” Jim asked. “I’d really like to know. Do you push and push and push because you want my attention, my worst kind of attention, or are you simply not as bright as I give you credit for being?”

Jim reached up and tilted Moran’s jaw towards him, their lips almost brushing.

“Are you just not house trained yet, pet?”

~

Sebastian had gone very still, swallowing a hiss when Jim’s fingers pressed into the marks of his teeth, and then, even more painfully, into the very sensitive ones the blade had left. There was an eery change in the atmosphere. Jim’s gaze, perusing his injuries, like a discerning artists pondering which part of the canvas still needed improving, made Sebastian’s skin tingle. With a flutter of trepidation he tried to will his cock not to twitch. Then the sensation morphed into a prickly warning down his spine.

His confusion about what it actually was that was bugging Jim so much started to lift, and a whiff of irritation crept in. Seriously?!

“I was just using the nearest bathroom,” he ground out tersely. The bathroom adjoining the bloody bedroom he’d just woken up in, for fuck’s sake, like any fucking normal person would. Luckily the dangerous glimmer in Jim’s eyes and the firm grip around his jaw reminded him that you did not get irritated with Jim Moriarty, no matter how intimate an experience you thought you’d just had in said bedroom. “I didn’t touch much in here and the fucking sheets needed changing anyway,” he tried for appeasement. And, yes, probably it was due to his not-so-bright brain (that nonetheless sometimes insisted on basic logic) that he couldn’t refrain from pointing out: “And you like me having balls. Would be a shame to remove them? It makes pets very... dull.”

~

“I don’t give a fuck what you touched in here,” Jim said. “I’m hardly worried you’ll snoop in my medicine cabinet, rearrange my toiletries or steal my fucking towels.”

Moran didn’t get it still, Jim could see it in his sulky blue eyes, the tension in his jaw, the resentment in his lips. Sebastian was confused and frustrated and barely holding down his own temper because he did not understand.

Honestly, it was not Jim’s job to explain things. Daddy or not.

But if Jim didn’t make things clear in Moran’s head, the man would likely continue to be a pest, and Jim knew he didn’t have enough tolerance for that. Seb would end up incapacitated or dead, and what a waste of time that would be after everything Jim had done to keep the man.

“You know I value my own space,” Jim said sternly. “You’ve lived with me long enough to know I’m territorial, and possessive, and selfish, and cruel, and I don’t fucking share.”

Jim dropped his hand from Moran’s jaw and slithered it around the man’s neck in an embrace that brought them dangerously closer together.

“My problem, sweetheart,” Jim hissed against Sebastian’s skin, “is that you seem to think that giving any part of yourself to me entitles you to something - leniency, access to my space, an ability to flout my rules - from me in in return. It does not.”

Jim pulled back to angrily meet Seb’s gaze.

“That’s not what I offered you and it is not what you asked for. That is why Daddy is cross with you, petal.”

Jim grabbed Moran’s scrotum and tugged lightly, then pulled back.

“As for my fucking sheets? It’s not your place to decide whether or not to do as I say!”

Jim punched the bathroom mirror, shattering it, and Sebastian was horribly aware of Jim’s painful grip on his injured scrotum. The blond was strongly tempted to break Jim’s grasp when the man worked a shard of mirror free, but the anger radiating from Jim Moriarty suggested that might be a fatal mistake.

“I’m well aware of the state we left my sheets in,” Jim said crisply, “and that has no bearing whatsoever. I’m quite happy to sleep on your blood stains, sweetheart. I am not okay with you leaving crumbs in my bed, especially when I said that if you couldn’t manage not to then to go elsewhere, and I am entirely not okay with your disobedience.”

Jim teased the mirror shard very gently against Sebastian’s skin. His hand was bleeding.

“I do like your bollocks, darling, and I’d like them just as well in a jar on my desk.”

Instead of digging in the weapon, Jim squeezed Moran firmly with his other hand. “It’s not about ‘excitement’; it’s about boundaries. I have rules and you follow them, or Daddy will be forced to do much worse than bend you over my knees.”

Jim dragged the shard upwards, ever so slightly nicking Seb’s naval, and as the blond gasped Jim tossed the shard behind them into the sink, where it cracked audibly into smaller pieces before settling amongst the wet tissues.

Jim licked the dripping blood from between his fingers casually, and Sebastian could see small slivers of mirror in the wound.

“I like playing with you, Sebby. Very much in fact,” Jim said quietly. “But I am still the same man I was when you first moved in, and if you don’t constantly keep who I am at the forefront of your tiny mind you are going to get badly hurt.”

Jim leaned up and kissed the blond, smearing blood into Sebastian’s stubble. “What a waste that would be,” Jim murmured.

~

Well, when James Moriarty explained something to you, even without ticking off points by breaking your fingers, you listened. When he was hissing in your face and had you by the short and curlies, you listened extra carefully.

So, yes, Sebastian knew Jim to be particular about his things, and that he didn’t much like to share - be it teacups, plans, weapons, sofa space or his thoughts. That it made no difference whether they were talking about a toothbrush or merely a bathroom he hadn’t even been occupying at the time, that was new...ish.

And duly noted. And it didn’t stop there. Apparently Jim found it necessary to remind Sebastian of a few things, in case he was getting ideas of entitlement after what happened today, and maybe … he was right to do so, as familiar as he was with Sebastian’s distaste for rules he didn’t see the logic of.

Especially when they were made by authorities he didn’t respect or people he deemed idiots.

And that's what made the difference - Jim was an anomaly here. He was the smartest human Sebastian had ever met, and the most … assertive, and if there was anyone with the divine right to lay down rules and expect them to be followed without questioning, it was Jim. Whether Sebastian saw the logic or not didn’t matter, he even accepted the possibility that it simply escaped his grasp.

But he did have an inkling, even though he decided to keep that to himself. Because this was the follow up of the lesson that had been started a few hours ago: a lesson in obedience.

There was a sliver of rebellion by default that would only ever leave Sebastian together with his last breath, and Jim gave him the lay of the land of how far he’d tolerate it, and to what lengths he might go to subdue it. Sebastian stifled a flinch as Jim smashed the mirror, grabbed one of the fragments and, almost gently, placed the edge where … well, the very last place you wanted a razor sharp piece of glass. Especially after becoming closely acquainted with a knife in the same area. The shard barely grazed his skin, a touch as subtle as the amused glimmer in Jim’s eyes when Sebastian’s testicles twitched and tried to retreat from the danger zone. With a nick to Sebastian’s abdomen he seemed to imply he’d generously broaden the choice - between being gutted or neutered.

Heart pounding in his throat, Sebastian signalled understanding by giving a nod and briefly lowering his eyes, but only when the shard tinkled and broke in the sink, was he able to swallow again and resume breathing.

For a moment his knees felt a bit weak - either from the adrenaline blowback or the rough, bloody kiss. His hands grabbed the edge of the sink, seemingly to steady himself, but his arms also boxed Jim in quite effectively.

Jim glared at him incredulously. Yes, Sebastian remembered The Rules, and also his job description: first and foremost he was responsible for Jim’s safety, at all times.

“We should look after that,” he said, pointing at Jim’s freely bleeding hand, while Jim in turn looked like he considered more possibilities involving Seb’s physique and sharp objects. “I am sorry to interrupt your daydreaming,” Sebastian interjected, “but… having two hands to do it would be much more convenient, and… glass in a wound is a real bitch.”

~

Jim was not impressed with being caged into the sink after lecturing (and kissing) Moran at length… but then Jim was, despite himself. Sebastian’s physique was undeniably impressive, and the naked man was particularly delicious up close.

Already prettied up with so many cuts and bruises, Jim could not help but muse what other colourful injuries he could inflict upon Moran. Certainly the blond deserved it. He always did.

Jim rolled his eyes at Seb’s offer. “It’s hardly the first time I’ve needed to pick something out of my knuckles, Seb,” Jim said, “and it was the mirror or you.”

Jim raised his hand to examine it and realised Sebastian was so close there wasn’t enough room to lift his arm. Seb seemed to exude heat as he towered over Jim.

Jim thumped Sebastian with the heel of his palm. His raw wound ached at the jostling, but Jim had plenty of experience ignoring burst knuckles.

“You are far too close, bonehead,” Jim complained. He could feel the sink at his back and could not quite see Sebastian’s expression - they were close enough for another kiss.

Sebastian didn’t move. “Was I fucking talking to myself a minute ago when I gave you a talking to about disobeying me?” Jim snarled.

Moran swallowed visibly, but didn’t back down.

Jim gave the man a perplexed look. “The sink won’t take my weight either,” Jim said acerbically. He really would gut and castrate Seb if he attempted that.

Jim ducked under Sebastian’s thick arm intent on putting more space between them both. He felt a sudden pressure on his arm and looked down at Seb’s unexpected grip there.

Moran only dared grab at him when he was trying to keep Jim out of the line of fire or some other hazard.
First and foremost, Sebastian Moran’s job was to keep him safe. The sniping gig was just making use of the man’s superb talents.

Jim sighed and glanced at the still open first aid kit.

Relenting, Jim and stepped back into Seb’s personal space.

“Fine,” Jim said. He wriggled his fingers. “Have at me, pretty boy.”

~

“Never thought to hear that one day,” Sebastian murmured with a little smirk, while gently relocating Jim towards the fancy floating sink, eyeing it with a calculating look. “And you know, I think it would… Take your weight I mean.”

He opened the cold water tap. “Make a fist and - ” Jim had already complied, but Sebastian intercepted the swing at his face with ease,“… and rinse it.” He had caught Jim’s wrist and directed his hand under the running water which infused a deeper red into the discarded tissues before swirling down the drain. While filling a syringe with wound disinfectant he marvelled at the strange discrepancy of Jim being so unnervingly fastidious about things and entirely not squeamish when it came to blood and gore, nor when it came to injuries of his own. Jim didn’t move a muscle when Sebastian flushed the tiny and not so tiny splinters from the cuts with considerable pressure, then massaged some increased blood flow towards them for the same effect.

This was by definition nothing but a perfunctory touch, but all he’d ever been allowed, so Sebastian savoured it. He probably had quite a weird kink when it came to Jim’s hands – strong yet elegant, beautiful and highly capable in what they could do…

Right - better not get carried away.

Sebastian cleared his throat, but still sounded a bit husky. “Keep it like that for a bit.” He nodded at Jim’s hand and pulled fresh tissues from the box before he closed the tap, then blotted the bleeding knuckles dry and examined them closely.

One last small splinter that had embedded itself in the flesh he picked out with a forceps, then everything was to his satisfaction. “Right, seems good.” Jim would never tolerate a fully bandaged hand even though that would have been best from a medical point of few, so Sebastian just taped a dressing over the wound.

“I hate to say it, but no heavy kitchen chores for a few days” – which Jim never did anyway, “and no…erm.” Sebastian pushed his tongue into his cheek to keep from grinning, swallowing a ‘no probing of unclean places’. “I know,” he said contritely, looking genuinely crestfallen. “Such a shame...”

~

“You fucking wish,” Jim muttered with no real fire behind his words. The possibility of ever submitting to Seb for once was too preposterous for words.

Jim held his tongue at Seb’s next comment. Sebastian was probably right that the expensive sink could take Jim’s weight, but Jim was sceptical the thing could hold up to the muscular Moran’s enthusiastic thrusting. Not that Jim was ever likely to entertain a thought like that beyond a hypothetical question of physics.

Seb deflected Jim’s punch and the Irishman grinned unrepentantly. The man had asked for a fist after all!
Moran also seemed to be taking good care of Jim’s wound. He was certainly being more gentle than Jim would bother to be.

Jim did not know how to feel about that. It felt… pleasant to be physically close to the man like this. Even the callouses on Moran’s fingers against Jim’s delicate wrist didn’t feel bad.

It felt odder when Sebastian was done and drawing himself straight again readying to move back at last. That was the proper order of things, but Jim was uncertain he liked it. If he had wounds to be tended to he would like them under the care of a naked Moran from now on.

Jim scoffed at Seb’s joke about chores – as if - and found himself matching Sebastian’s grin at the swallowed innuendo. Were Moran’s bravery and stupidity ever not wrestling for use of his tongue?

Jim kicked Sebastian’s calf lightly. “You know I’ve got two hands, right?”

Before Moran could reply, Jim crossed the short distance between them and pulled Sebastian’s blond head down for another possessive kiss. Jim sucked on the man’s lip slowly before pulling away.

“That was for being a good boy and helping patch me up,” Jim said. He slapped the side of Seb’s strong leg and added, “Don’t make me lose my temper with you again, honey.”

~

“That’s what I’m trying to avoid, morning till night…” Sebastian replied virtuously, the taste of the kiss still lingering on his lips, while he inconspicuously removed the arm he’d snaked around Jim, only in order to steady himself of course.

“Can I finish patching myself up, now that I’m here…” He surveyed the mess of bloody splinters and tissues. “I’ll clean up afterwards,” he offered – as if that wouldn’t be him anyway. “Or call someone in…” Jim had plenty of staff living next door, but Sebastian wasn’t sure whether Jim wanted them privy to the glaring evidence of their little domestic, especially in the bedroom...

~

Jim laughed dryly. “You’re a terrible liar, Sebby.”

Moran was right to remove his arm - the presumption - but Jim felt oddly displeased at the loss.
“I ought to send you out of here in a box,” Jim said honestly. “Perhaps several boxes.”

He snatched for Sebastian’s wrist before the man could move back to a respectful distance. “I might as well make certain the rest of you is sufficiently tended to,” Jim said with a sly sparkle in his dark eyes.

He reached up and swatted Moran’s nose. “And you’re damned right you’ll tidy up this mess. You can change my sheets too, since you’re so good at those crisp corners.”

~

“Yeah, there’s no end my talents,” Sebastian pointed out, after making a somewhat conflicted noise regarding Jim’s help. As enticing as it was, as much as he hungered for every touch Jim deigned to bestow on him – he saw the mischievous glint in the man’s eyes. And in the absence of raging hormonal oblivion he was suddenly very aware of the tender and delicate spots his injuries were in. But, again, you didn’t tell Jim Moriarty ‘no’, they’d just reestablished that…

Sebastian eyed the sink, which would have been a good height, but he had no intention to test its weight-bearing capacity, especially not while it was still littered with shards. He stalled for time by sorting through the remaining materials of the first aid kit.

“Really, I don’t want to be a burden,” he muttered, “I can do this myself, it’s fine…”

~

Jim raised his brows and smirked. “Afraid of me now Moran? You should be.”

He tugged the bigger man close. “But we established you’re going to be a good boy for me now, aren’t you? So you’re in good hands. I take care of my best trinkets.”

So saying, Jim covered the hand of Sebastian’s which was still beside the first aid materials.

“Normally I’d tell you to sit, but I think you’re still a little sore right now, aren’t you?” Jim teased. “Never mind. It was for your own good… and my amusement.”

Jim assessed the remaining injuries and set to work tending them. For the most part he restrained his usual ‘playful’ roughness with the wounds and concentrated on actually doing the task promised.

“Once this chest of yours heals I’m going to pin you belly down and fuck you into the mattress,” Jim murmured. He smiled at Moran’s expression and continued fussing.

Jim pressed a sharp kiss into the butterfly stitches on Seb’s throat. “Lucky you’re not going to turn into some mystical animal on the full moon. I’d have to scold you so fiercely if you got fur everywhere. You wouldn’t be able to sit down for a month.”

~

Jim worked efficiently and was, by his standards, almost gentle. While uttering the most delicious … promises. Sebastian’s eyes perused his bandages in the mirror, the one the hospital nurses had swathed on yesterday. They had been roughed up a bit too, but he reckoned tomorrow would be soon enough to change them. The pesky injuries underneath them were still there, but the last hours had taken his mind off them, and all the associated complaints, quite thoroughly. Sebastian smiled, watching Jim; his hands, the line of concentration between his expressive eyebrows.

“Maybe … the mystical animal would shed fur everywhere and there wouldn’t be a thing anyone could do about it,” Sebastian said placidly. It was a thoroughly crazy notion he’d gotten hung up on, wasn’t it? For a moment Sebastian could see that, right before it started to stir once more, just as the burning itch made itself known again.

And while Sebastian was wildly determined to simply ignore it, he caught himself worrying again, and running through options and possible precautions he could take.

He jumped a little at the friendly swat to his tender backside telling him Jim was finished.

“Thanks,” he smiled crookedly. “The trinket is much obliged.”

Chapter 5: Experiments

Jim snorted and cuffed the back of Moran’s head. “Knowing you, if you did transform you’d get fur everywhere deliberately just to get Daddy’s attention. I’d have to buy newspapers regularly so I’d have one in reach at a moment’s notice to swat you with.”

Jim finished and couldn’t resist a little slap at Sebastian’s lovely backside. Seb startled as though his mind had gone elsewhere, but he smiled back charmingly enough.

Jim rolled his eyes at the man’s comment. “Trinket is spoiled beyond belief,” Jim said archly, but could not bring himself to be mad about it.

He openly admired Sebastian’s form. “It’s time you got your chores started.” Jim dropped his voice to a purr, “I’ll turn up the heating so you don’t need to put clothes on over your tender little boo-boos.”

Jim pushed away from the sink and rubbed absently at his own injury. “I’ve got work to do,” he said reluctantly, wondering how much he’d actually get done and how much he’d waste on sites about were creatures.

Of course Seb would be feline. He was a law unto himself at the best of times, and would probably gleefully cause cat-like mischief if given the opportunity. Jim’s lips twitched briefly at the thought of Seb as a three or four hundred pound tiger prowling the kitchen counters taking sulky swipes at any left out dishware.
Then Jim started thinking about what excellent hunters big cats were, and what owning a tiger assassin would be like. It wasn’t a terrible daydream.

~

Sebastian almost preened under Jim’s appreciative gaze roaming over his bandages, cuts and bruises and he did feel thoroughly spoiled. Which was of course absolutely bloody bonkers, which in turn had stopped being a concern to him quite a while ago. It was practically a prerequisite when you moved in with Jim Moriarty and not only survived the experience for any substantial amount of time but thrived.

He was still smiling after Jim had left the room, and still did when raiding the fridge to replenish his blood sugar level. Then, flaunting the dress code he put on a pair of sweat pants to preserve at least part of his dignity, and a pair of kitchen gloves to protect his hands from even more damage than they’d already sustained, he set about his chores. When he was finished the only edges in Jim’s chambers (at least in plain sight) sharp enough to cut your fingers on were the crisp corners of the bed linen.

While working, Sebastian’s mind had started to go around in circles again, and finally come to a conclusion about what he would do. It was so wild and ludicrous he decided to not breathe a word about it to Jim, but even if the idea was batshit crazy, it would serve as a good distraction for a few hours. In his own room, he perused the things on his desk, the content of his drawers and a few boxes stacked away at the bottom of his wardrobe, picking out a few items and pocketing them.

Then he knocked on the half-open door of Jim’s study.

“I’ll be in the den if you need me.”

~

Jim grunted and didn’t immediately look up from his screens.

“Why are you dressed without my permission?” he asked dryly, glancing up briefly and twitching his lips in what may have been a cue that he was mostly joking.

Jim stretched and rolled his neck. Rubbing it absently, Jim finally looked at Moran properly.

A frown creased Jim’s brow and his fingers stilled. “What’s that look you have? What are you up to?”

Before Sebastian could reply, Jim grimaced and jabbed a finger in the other man’s direction. “No, whatever it is, don’t tell me now. I don’t have time for more tangents or distractions.”

Jim sighed and reached for a caffeine source. “Go play dear, Daddy’s working.”

He pursed his lips when Moran scarpered with unusual willingness. Jim refused to consider what the man might be up to. At least the blond seemed to have found some focus.

Jim couldn’t say the same about himself. He tried to force his attention in the direction of his intricate network, but it kept drifting elsewhere.

Jim rubbed at his face exasperatedly and opened an article on ‘what to do if you encounter a tiger’.

~

The Den, his den, was one of the three garages the former coach house of the manor had been turned into. On first glance a motorcycle shed, housing a Black BMW F800GS bike and all the paraphernalia and equipment to go with it. But there was a well-hidden trap door, which led down to another room, and this one was absolutely pristine: with gun cages and lockers filled with weapons and tools and ammunition, all sorts of military gear, and a precision work bench. Needless to say the supplies stacked down here were not for trimming the box hedges and fertilising the roses. This room also had reinforced walls and ceilings that didn’t only make it soundproof, but (should something go wrong in here) would contain the damage to anyone present and not blow up the manor – or half the street.

Sebastian prepared the workbench, laying out the necessary tools and materials, and beside them all the items he’d collected around the house.

He would never – neither in the field nor on a job - touch any ammunition that had been tampered with, not even by himself. Much too unreliable and almost certainly detrimental to a high precision weapon. Making his own ammunition had always been more of a hobby, a craft for the sake and the beauty of it. It had been driven by necessity for a while, many years back. Even in the most famous special forces regiment in the world, and even with bending the rules so far they were unrecognisable, the amount of training ammunition that was allotted to you fell woefully short of what Sebastian Moran had deemed necessary to become the best marksman of the British army.

He started by meticulously cleaning out 45 millimetre brass casings, then calibrated the scales and other equipment he needed to assemble shells, powder and primer. Then he fired up the acetylene torch.
His loot from the house included a lone cufflink, a tea spoon, a pair of sugar tongs, a napkin ring and an old letter opener.

He had no intention of relying on the little stamps on the items, marking the material as pure and genuine, but while handling all the stuff he had developed the quite disconcerting notion that… he might be able to feel it. And that he might have finally stumbled across the source of the rash on his hands… Whether five star dining or take-away food, in the House Moriarty the table was always laid with china and silver.

~

Jim predictably found himself slouched over were creature research again. At this point he almost wished Seb was a were so that they could accept the idea and move on, instead of Jim twitching to reopen closed browser tabs again and again.

Jim was tempted to drag Moran into the office by the ear, bend him over the desk the way the blond had so hated his father doing, and belt the troublesome employee until he snivelled. Except none of this was really Seb’s fault, was it? Not that that ought to matter.

All of the sources Jim had scoured stated that a were was much easier to kill in their human form. Even if Jim did have odd, unignorable suspicions that Moran’s furry concerns were somehow compelling despite being utter lunacy, Jim point blank refused to behead Seb now on the off chance that his man was indeed now a supernatural creature.

The same went for shooting Moran through the heart with silver. That being said, Jim had sourced some silver alloy bullets - telling himself they were an idle curiosity, an amusement - just in case. The thought of actually using them bothered Jim more than he wanted to consider.

Which was laughable. Jim would have been perfectly happy before now to shoot Seb somewhere not too debilitating if the blond irked him enough, but the thought of shooting Sebastian for being a threat… felt dreadful. Perhaps because silver bullets were for killing weres (allegedly) and Jim strongly disliked the possibility of losing Moran, even to his own hand. Besides, Seb wouldn’t ever actually do Jim harm, would he?

Jim considered going down to his poison garden and digging up a particular purple flower which might ward off unsafe creatures from his rooms, but he’d rather die than have Sebastian catch him smuggling a poisonous plant into the house - betraying the humiliating fact that the were tiger theory was getting to him.

Besides, wolfsbane was for werewolves. Would it even work on a were tiger? Tiger lilies were poisonous to cats…

Jim ordered himself some flowers for his office and felt stupid about it the entire fucking time. Thank fuck Seb was in his den and wouldn’t be around to answer the door to the courier.

Jim switched off his computer with a glower and stalked through to his bedroom. His tastes swung from minimalist to ostentatious but he’d always been a hoarder for certain things.

Jim pulled out a trunk of discarded blades and rooted through them. He’d bought a couple of very pretty ceremonial silver knives years ago, but grown bored when he learned how much force was still required to snap the soft metal blade inside someone.

Of course, being at close enough quarters with a tiger to be able to use a knife was not ideal. Sure he didn’t want to kill Seb, but what about tranquillisers? They worked on real tigers… maybe just up the dosage?

Jim suddenly sat very still, remembering a moment in his childhood where he’d heard that werewolves were excommunicated Catholics. Nonsense of course, but… St Patrick had allegedly turned a Welsh king into a wolf. St Naile had cursed a family to be wolves for seven years.

Jim scrambled for another much smaller box he hadn’t touched in fucking years.

The smell of it when he opened the thing made him feel a bit sick, but Jim persevered and slowly moved aside some frayed fabric. There. Amongst the other few remaining items - a soft-bristled hairbrush, a lipstick case, rosary beads, an allegedly lucky sixpence, a wooden bird and a bloodstained little St Christopher medallion - was the object of Jim’s search.

It had never done his mother much good, but Jim carefully pulled out her silver crucifix, squeezed it in his palm, and then fastened it around his neck. Just in case.

The weight felt odd. Jim had never been a good Catholic boy, but if a cross around his neck during the full moon would keep him alive then he’d tolerate it.

He hid the chain under his shirt because no fucking way was he admitting anything to Moran.

Jim squirrelled everything else away before he thought too much about it.

Sebastian was going to get the thrashing of his life when the full moon came to naught and proved them both fools.

~

Using the bench lathe, Sebastian shaved off the outer layer of the bullet tips – simple lead round nose projectiles. The were easiest to work with, least likely to fragment or ricochet, and suitable for the weapon he intended to load with them. An old sturdy service revolver that had seen if not the First Afghan War but definitely D-Day. After dipping the whittled down noses into the molten silver – he’d never liked that pretentious ornate letter opener anyway - he had to wait for them to cool down. There were several more steps involving the reloading apparatus and the lathe, and then the finished cartridges looked like the originals – apart from the bright silver tips.

He wasn’t sure whether there was a threshold of necessary amount of silver to make this work (sources were unnervingly sketchy and contradictory!) or if you had to do this at midnight at a full moon? Well - for obvious reasons he did not have the time to play it safe and wait until tomorrow night. He supposed this would just have to do and … was hopefully better than nothing.

What he also avoided was to ponder his state of mind; he simply told himself that this was just a lark that helped him to distract himself and pass the time…

It was close to midnight when he peeked into Jim’s study – after knocking of course - and still found the man at his desk.

For a moment his mind went blank as all other thoughts fled when he caught sight of a huge, lush flower arrangement on Jim’s desk, a completely alien presence, for the simple fact that he’d never seen anything like this in here before. The beautifully speckled orange flowers did not only look exotic, but utterly out of place.

Sebastian, momentarily forgetting what had brought him here in the first place, regarded them suspiciously.
“What is that?”

~

Jim glanced up at the knock on his door and stretched, ruefully noting the time.

Sebastian seemed stunned and then distrustful. His tone as he questioned the presence of the fresh flowers was so amusing Jim forgot to feel awkward about their purpose.

“A gift from my greatest admirer,” Jim replied drolly. “Superb colours, don’t you think?”

Jim observed Moran fondly. “What sleep pattern are you on? Are you coming to ask me to bed, in which case you’re wearing too many clothes, or are you still sore and intent on your own room?”

Jim grinned at Seb’s expression, gave a few last clicks and stood. “No? Were you thinking of something other than helping me get a good night’s sleep? Because if so I’m offended.”

Jim glided towards the man and pushed Moran lightly out of the doorway. “I am also hungry. Since when is it not your job to remind me of meals?”

Jim spun around, feigning indignation, and slapped the very uppermost part of Seb’s thigh where they both knew the belting had hurt the worst. “Did you eat without me?” Jim accused. “You wretch!”

Sebastian winced, and looked torn between being glad Jim was in an upbeat mood, and upset at the bright blooms on the man’s desk, which Seb seemed to think had some connection to that good mood. Which they did, but poor Sebby did not seem to realise that his perplexed pout was adorable and entirely the cause.

“Keep away from the lilies, precious,” Jim teased, tapping Moran’s crinkled nose, “I hear that they’re toxic to pets.”

Jim grabbed Sebastian’s wrist with the intention of visiting the kitchen. “You’re enough of an invalid without getting any sicker. Now, what was it you wanted to say to me, pet?”

~

Jim’s greatest admirer? Well, Sebastian was quite sure he’d remember if he’d sent flowers! Of course at the moment he’d rather bite off his tongue than say that, because Jim’s disgustingly chipper mood did nothing for Seb’s own. Nor did the intimate banter that would normally make him blush and struggle a bit with the idiotic hope it might be genuine. But it was either a trap or a ruse, because his position here did not entail anything like asking Jim to bed. Even his dogged tries to ask him to eat could easily throw Jim into a hissy fit if not timed with utmost strategic cunning or sounding like anything other than a suggestion.

But at the moment Sebastian felt decidedly undiplomatic.

“Given the fact that you eat half as often as a normal person, and me, lately, twice as often, yes, I have eaten without you,” he crabbed, “repeatedly.”

He still regarded the beautiful orange bouquet with narrowed eyes and a slightly wrinkled nose, until Jim nudged him out the door. But Sebastian wasn't ready to let go of the offending desk ornament just yet. “Has it been vetted?” Of course it would have been – every surprise delivery, and most of the expected ones as well, were painstakingly examined by a ‘health and safety’ expert of Jim’s staff next door. “Maybe it’s something toxic meant for the owner and not the pet,” he said ominously.

Jim’s hand on his wrist twitched slightly and Sebastian sensed waning patience, so he relented and followed down the stairs and towards the kitchen, mumbling something about supposing he could do with another meal as well.

About what brought him here in the first place –

He reached behind his back, pulled the old Ruger revolver from his waistband and pushed it into Jim’s hand. “I know it’s neither fancy nor elegant, but in the event of…” He paused as he realised the glaring lunacy of it all didn’t seem such a lunacy after all, any more, even though Jim looked at him incredulously. “Well, in the event you’ll have to defend yourself against mythical creatures,” he continued firmly, “it will be more reliable than any other weapon.” He looked straight at Jim, who was impossible to read now, and calmly finished: “Don’t hesitate to use it.”

Then he turned away to rummage through the freezer. “Pizza? Grilled cheese?” Yes, he knew sometimes Jim was more fond of comfort food than he admitted.

~

Jim raised an eyebrow at Moran’s backchat, but allowed the man to continue to sulk for a moment because his blatant jealousy was delightful. If Sebastian noticed Jim’s thinning patience he made no move to hold his tongue until Jim gave his man a warning squeeze of his wrist.

“You know fine well I’m not stupid enough to let an enemy plant something in my office, so I suggest you stop letting your imagination run away from you before I get offended, darling,” Jim said in a low voice.
Moran dropped the subject, but Jim got the feeling it was not at all forgotten.

Sebastian considered why he had approached in the first place and reached into his waistband. Jim would have much preferred some clumsy flirting from a man who knew he had no power to ask for anything. Jim’s hand closed around the weapon instead and he felt filled with a strong urge to pistol whip the blond.
Jim would not have to shoot Moran because the man would never, even as a tiger, cause Jim harm. And Sebastian was certainly not going to turn into a tiger anyway!!

Jim breathed out slowly and kept his face carefully neutral as he considered: Sebastian could not possibly be threatening him, not if he had handed Jim the means to take him down. Jim could tell from the weight of the gun it was loaded.

Don’t hesitate to use it.

Firstly, it was not Seb’s fucking place to give orders, and he certainly oughtn’t turn his back without waiting on a response.

Moran had turned his attention to the distraction of food so he must know he was out of line. The fact that he was offering comfort food suggested he knew Jim would be cross.

“Sebastian,” Jim said icily, “don’t turn your back on me. Daddy’s not done with you.”

Seb hesitated, recognising the intense chill that had entered the atmosphere.

Jim dug the revolver into Moran’s back. The blond could turn and take the gun if he wanted to, but it was obvious to them both that Jim would punish that harshly.

“How dare you dump something like this on me and assume you know best?” Jim snarled. He pushed the Ruger muzzle into Moran hard enough to bruise. “Go take a fucking seat. We are going to have a little chat.”

Jim nudged Seb and made certain that his dark eyes burned ominously enough to receive compliance.
“If gun play is a turn on for you I could put you on your knees right now and put you to work,” Jim growled, “but whatever game you’re playing at doesn’t seem nearly as appealing.”

Jim stalked in a crescent around Moran. “We’ve discussed how mad the were theory is, sweetie, but evidently you need told that even in a world where you could magically turn into a tiger, you’d never fucking harm me. It should never have escaped your notice, Sebastian, that I own you body, mind and soul - no matter what skin you’re wrapped in.”

Jim straddled Moran’s lap and pressed the revolver into the man’s bandaged neck. “If you ever did try to swallow me up whole in some great big tiger jaws I’d let you - in order to have the pleasure of carving my way back out of your ungrateful hide.”

Jim threw the gun aside in disgust. “What, you think loyalty is handing me your life on a platter, Sebby? Are there silver bullets in there that you thought would make you my good boy?” Jim vibrated with anger. “If you think there are any circumstances where you would do me harm - even turning into a maneating were tiger - then you are not loyal enough for me.”

Jim spat on the ground. “If you think that turning feral would be enough to make you forget that you are mine then your end will be far less gentle than a bullet to the brain, you fucking simpleton.”

Jim drew a ragged breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so livid without inflicting extreme violence.

…If Seb couldn’t trust himself not to hurt Jim, how could Jim? The thought made him sick and that fuelled his fury.

Jim stepped back.

~

Jim’s voice left no doubt this was serious. Altercations with Jim Moriarty were always serious, but there were nuances. And this was a full eight out of ten on the Moriarty anger scale. Or maybe a nine. Nine point five. The gun slid across the table and clattered to the ground when Jim threw it aside as though he couldn’t trust himself to keep it pressed to Sebastian’s neck without cocking the hammer and pulling the trigger. He was shaking with fury and intensity, and it was enough to make anyone scarper or shrink into the ground.

Sebastian did nothing but slightly avert his gaze, seasoned to weather such storms stoically, but then his eyes flashed up at Jim -

Not loyal enough for me

The skin around Sebastian’s eyes tightened minutely, as did his jaw.

Not enough?

Deliberately and of his own accord he’d just handed the imperious little despot permission and means to fucking kill him, to make sure Jim was safe, and that was not good enough?!

Whatever was making him volatile and irritable to an unknown degree as of late, stirred and clawed inside Sebastian’s chest. His voice was low and heated when he replied. “I am yours-” … in a way that defied any sense and reason, “ - but I don’t know what's going to happen! What if there won’t be anything left of me that can … remember? Recognises … you?” This notion was so inconceivable and horrifying it took his breath away, but it was the very reason he did not stop. Even though Jim’s eyes were seething, promising a slow and ghastly end if he didn’t.

“I am yours!” Sebastian felt so desperate he almost shouted. “But I don’t fucking KNOW! And you don’t either! No one does! It’s not like there’s a whole lot of empirical knowledge around, is there? Yes! It’s fucking silver tipped bullets!” When Jim had jeered at this, Sebastian had briefly felt awkward, like getting caught doing something exceedingly silly, but now he didn’t care any more, about almost everything it seemed.

“And no, I don’t give a flying fuck whether I’m daddy’s good boy, as long as you’re safe.” He was in such a state now he would not be shut up before he’d had his say, unless Jim picked up the gun again and put a bullet through his head right here and now. “That is my job description, remember? And I will fucking do it, and this is as close to a guarantee as I can get.”

He had retrieved the gun and, still lucid enough not to force it on Jim a second time, he firmly put it down on the table. “So, please take it.” It was phrased like a request but still sounded like an order. Sebastian tended to sound that way whenever he put his foot down for Jim’s safety, often at his own peril. “As a joke if you will, since nothing will happen anyway you say. Should you need it – well, just another disloyal hide to be stripped off someone. With a bit of luck the bullet won’t kill me right away and you can still skin me alive.”

~

Well now. Sebby was upset too, was he? Jim leaned close and snarled, eyes dark with rage, “In what fucking world am I forgettable, Moran?”

Sebastian Moran had the nerve to further raise his voice and state that Jim didn’t know something and whilst that was true, Jim Moriarty sure as fuck did not appreciate hearing it.

“I don’t need to know whether you’ll turn or not!” Jim hissed. “Either you’re mine in every way, no matter what, or you’re not, and I should hardly need to tell you that’s not good enough for me. You’re all in or you’re nothing, sweetheart.”

It annoyed Jim more than he could word that the only time Seb had lowered himself to saying ‘I’m daddy’s good boy’ he was using that disrespectful tone.

“If you can’t trust yourself why should I? Why would I choose to defend myself with a weapon given by a disappointment who’d rather roll over and die at my hand than provide me with what I demand?”

Jim bristled with anger as Seb tried to lay down the law. “A joke? I am not laughing, darling. Your job has never just been to protect me - you’ve survived this long by pleasing me - and you’re doing an abysmal job of that right now. You think I’ve tolerated you for the past month just to put a bullet in you tomorrow? No. I’M NOT FUCKING HAVING IT MORAN.”

Jim pushed Sebastian hard and reached for the gun, which he snagged the back of Moran’s waistband with and tugged downwards.

“Arse up over the table, precious. I’m going to make damned sure you remember me.”

~

There was enough fury in Sebastian by now to not flinch as Jim snarled into his face like a creature possessed. Fury about Jim point blank rejecting the possibility that impending events might be completely out of Sebastian's control.

“Yes, I’d rather die than kill you!” Sebastian was desperate, knowing how utterly irrational Jim could get when encountering things he could not bend to his will. “And for fuck’s sake, I only want you to kill me if I don’t roll over!” he pointed out the rare but in this case glaring absence of logic in Jim’s argument. Something that likely carried an instant death sentence, because Jim snatched up the gun. Then, so be it, then at least they would be done with this farce!

The muzzle of the gun was shoved into the small of his back and another, almost debilitating wave of adrenaline hit him, and suddenly with it the very real fear Jim might opt for not killing but paralysing him. The iron front sight caught on his skin, and then… his waistband, pulling it down.

For a fraction Sebastian’s brain freewheeled in the attempt to catch on. Jim wanted him to - what?!
He breathed raggedly, dizzy with shock, outrage and an entirely incongruous rush of blood from his brain towards his groin. He stared at Jim, realising the man had never been more serious in his life. And more furious. Which came in handy to tell himself that was the reason why he finally did turn around, not complying completely just yet, and in slow motion only. Bending forward just a fraction and bracing his hands onto the table.

He gritted his teeth, every line of his body tense with indignation and defiance. “You’re not fucking serious,” he hissed, while the gloriously mis-wired parts of him hoped for the opposite.

~

Jim ran the muzzle down the crease between Moran’s cheeks, then snatched at Sebastian’s clothing and yanked them further out of the way.

“Deadly,” Jim replied.

He pushed Seb’s buttocks far apart enough to sting, then spat a couple of times, making the blond squirm as the fluid raced further down towards his opening.

“Don’t expect me to be gentle,” Jim warned darkly. He put fingers to his mouth and swirled them wetly under his tongue. “This is a lesson,” he said, and pushed in without further warning.

Moran flinched against the table at the rough handling but swallowed any noise of pain or protest.

Jim worked his fingers quickly and unsympathetically inside Moran. Sebastian’s tense back and bowed head made it clear that it hurt, and that was fine, because it would help him remember, and he had been far too comfortable running his pretty mouth.

Jim pulled his fingers out just a tad and bowed to spit between them, guiding just enough wetness inside to be able to begin scissoring his fingers without actually making Sebastian bleed. Not that he didn’t deserve that.

Jim held the Ruger to his lips and made a show of wrapping his mouth around it wetly, audibly slurping so Moran knew exactly what he’d brought upon himself. Jim paid the front sight particular attention with his tongue; that was going to be deeply uncomfortable where Jim was about to put it, and even more so on removal. Seb would certainly remember the handling through the full moon and beyond.

Jim popped the gun from his mouth with an obscene noise. He kissed Sebastian’s lower back - this strict punishment from Daddy was for his own good - and then grazed the revolver along Seb’s crack towards Jim’s fingers.

“You are mine, no excuses,” Jim declared in a scolding tone, then swapped his fingers for the nose of the revolver.

~

For a second Sebastian had (mis)interpreted Jim picking up the gun again as sign that the man had finally come to his senses, after he’d hurled the weapon away in disgust. But his relief was short-lived, as was the tentative hope (yes, there had been that, despite still feeling quite sore) that he was in for a straightforward, hard, possessive fuck.

Of course the thought of anything ever being straightforward with Jim was ludicrous, but the rough and (barely) perfunctory preparation, ruthlessly pushing discomfort towards pain, but not quite, inevitably added sparks of arousal. Some of it due to the physical sensation, probably more from the perverse kick of how Jim would bend him over and fuck him, whenever he pleased. When Sebastian finally caught on that ‘whenever’ was only part of the message, the other one being ’whatever with’, his mind reeled with panic.

This wasn’t…

Jim couldn’t…

A bit of spit wouldn’t nearly be enough…

He tried to pull away from the cool hard metal, but there was nowhere to go, trapped as he was between Jim and the table – one that was much sturdier and even bolted to the floor, after its predecessor had
been totalled in a violent sexual encounter, a few weeks after Sebastian had moved in.

“Jesus fuck,” he panted, “there’s gun oil in the drawer over the -”

Jim pushed, and Sebastian sentence ended abruptly mid-air. Hands curling into fists he dropped his head as he tried to keep breathing and accommodate the insistent pressure and relax. It was just that relaxation and alarm wasn’t a particular synergistic combination, and Jim was not a patient man.

~

Jim laughed harshly. “If you’re a good boy I’ll use gun oil next time.”

He slapped Sebastian’s still pink and tender backside with a wet hand. “Right now Daddy’s going to be very firm with you, because if you’re silly enough to believe you’d forget who owns you, then you’re blatantly in need of a sore hole to help you focus on the truth for the next few days.”

So saying, Jim breached Sebastian further with the revolver barrel. Seb was certainly not ready and bruised his hipbones jerking against the table in response to the burning force.

Jim heard Moran’s shaky breathing and could see how the muscles in the man’s back shifted in discomfort, but he kept pushing until Seb had taken the Ruger as far as he could.

“You want to play stupid games with guns, darling, you can suffer the consequences,” Jim chastised.

He eased his new toy slowly out of his favourite toy then slammed it back in with punishing force.

Jim curled his free hand near Seb’s kidney and rubbed his thumb in soothing circles. It was the only comfort Sebastian was going to get for some time. Jim continued wrestling the revolver in and out of Sebastian at a brutal pace, never quite giving the blond time to adjust.

Sebastian was in such a bad way his back was starting to sweat. A thin thread of pink blood wound its way from him onto Jim’s hand and the dressing Moran had carefully placed there.

Jim adjusted the angle and slowed the pace, but kept the depth just as punishing. Seb’s legs trembled and the pained hitch in his breathing changed to something more flustered.

Jim bent and spat again, on Moran and the gun as he eased it out then fed it back in firmly.

“Good boy,” Jim murmured. In a voice so soft Sebastian probably wouldn’t have caught it if not for his sensitive hearing, Jim added, “You’re always so brave for me.”

Jim bit hard into Sebastian’s back to distract the blond from the noise of him unlatching the cylinder. No need to continue an unnecessary risk unduly - Seb had surely begun to get the message and Jim was becoming increasingly distracted by how arousing he found this.

Jim reached around for Moran and despite the pained noises Sebastian was as hard as the gun metal. Jim coated himself in Seb’s arousal and twisted out the Ruger, careful of that dangerous sight.

Jim inspected the weapon not for blood but for how much of it. There was a thin streak, and a trickle of pink - a mixture of both of their bodily fluids - dribbled out of Sebastian’s enflamed looking opening.

Jim dumped the gun on one of the nearby chairs - Seb didn’t need to see that he hadn’t been fucked with a loaded weapon the entire time - and lathed his tongue over Moran’s tender entrance. Sebastian shuddered beautifully.

Jim used Seb’s liberally dripping arousal to better lubricate the man’s opening before forcing in. Jim grabbed Seb’s hip with one hand and wrapped another around the man’s chest, fucking into him with brutal, possessive ferocity.

“I should put the gun back in you when I’m done,” Jim panted. “Plug myself inside you as a reminder that this is what you’re for.”

Jim groaned and mouthed Seb’s throat.

He continued to fuck Sebastian at a punishing pace and buried his face into Seb’s uninjured shoulder as he got close.

“You’re mine,” Jim reminded Moran in a growl. Uncaring of the man’s discomfort, Jim raced after his own release. Seb was so tight and the noises he made utterly enthralling. Jim had quite forgiven Moran’s trespasses and Jim was not a man to forgive, much less easily or swiftly.

When Jim came it was with a roar, and he dragged Sebastian closer still uncaring of any discomfort caused. This man was his.

Jim eventually realised the bandages under his hand were probably suffering from his grip. He ran his fingers over them in assessment and determined the dampness was merely sweat, not more blood.

“Turn around,” Jim said hoarsely, pulling back. “I’m going to watch you come for me.”

~

As if there was the tiniest risk of Sebastian ever …, ever forgetting who owned him. Not while there was so much as a breath and a wisp of his own consciousness left in him. Or even beyond – Jim seemed to want to make sure of that as well.

Leaning over a table and being buggered with a weapon was a lesson in humility if ever there was one. Size wasn’t even the point. It felt alien and hard and impersonal, and it was wielded with brutality. It was a demonstration of power, establishing the fact that there was no end to the things Jim could, and would do to him. Putting him in insane danger was part of it. (Christ, Jim’ gun safety was appalling at the best of times, but this… )

Sebastian’s breathing was erratic. Sweat burned in his eyes and dripped onto the table, and two of his fingernails broke as he clawed the wood as though trying to hold on to something. And to his stubborn, almost furious resolve to stay quiet. Which Jim annihilated with a particularly vicious thrust and a new angle.
With a filthy, broken groan Sebastian almost doubled over. His hips jerked, and his flagging erection went back to hard and leaking.

It still fucking hurt, because it was supposed to, but whenever it threatened to segue into sheer pain, Jim twisted it into something much more intricate than torture. Small gentle touches, barely there, his voice lowly uttering obscenities that made Sebastian’s breath hitch just as much as the whispered praises.

He knew he was bleeding, but he also knew one of Jim’s fingers covered the snaggy front sight of the revolver, as he abruptly wrenched it out of him. Sebastian exhaled with a raw, needy sound as it was replaced by the blunt, slick warmth of Jim’s cock, bigger, and just as insistent. A different kind of stretch and burn, but the pain was gorgeous and hot and the ultimate proof of how much Jim wanted him.
With a ruthless, self-centred savagery he railed Sebastian against the table.

To feel him spill inside him with a possessive growl pushed Sebastian close to the brink as well. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from coming without permission, and, very indecently, all over the polished rosewood table.

When Jim finally pulled back, leaving him empty and without the steadying weight behind him, Sebastian’s knees almost buckled, the roar of blood in his ears so loud that it took him a moment to understand what Jim said.

Shaky and out of breath, Sebastian turned around slowly to keep his footing. Leaning against the table, he didn’t mind its edge digging into his bruised backside, as long as it kept him upright. He raised his chin, tongue wetting his lips, as he took in Jim - flushed and dishevelled and decadently beautiful. Sebastian held his gaze and took himself in hand, as ordered. Funny, how only a day ago, the command to shamelessly wank himself, pants around his knees and spunk trickling down the back of his thighs, would have made him flinch or frown (or both), while now, yesterday seemed a rather distant memory.

Swiping his fingers through his own wetness, he started off slow. Honestly… this wouldn’t take very long, but he dared to say Jim would still get his money’s worth. After all, as it had been pointed out, Sebastian was here to please him. But in this very moment himself too. Also, his cock was certainly nothing to be ashamed off… A smile was playing around his lips, before they parted slightly, his grip getting firmer, and his breathing faster...

~

Joseph, Mother Mary and the baby Jesus, if Moran wasn’t the most sublime thing that Jim had ever seen. Sebastian had a flushed, cocky little grin on his face that Jim would have loved to have bitten into submission, but the sight of the blond slowly stroking himself with eyes so hazy with lust was far too delicious to look away from. Jim leaned against a chair and savoured the show.

Why hadn’t Jim demanded this much earlier? He’d known early on that Moran was attracted to him. He’d known Seb to be a delicious lay from the first time he’d fucked him against the front door after a particularly exhilarating job. Jim could have been railing Sebby every which way this whole time.

Jim swallowed and broke his gaze away from Moran. He knew exactly why he’d chosen not to glut himself on this beautiful, mouthy brute.

Jim pushed away from the chair with purpose and Sebastian gave him a half-aroused, half-wary look.
Jim placed his hand over Moran’s and controlled the pace of the strokes.

“You’re mine,” Jim whispered predatorily. “There’s no take backs.”

Sebastian managed to convey an astonishing amount of derision in his gaze for a man who’d been bent over the kitchen table having a loaded gun wielded by Jim Moriarty tear his arse. Take backs indeed.

Jim abruptly paused the strokes and squeezed warningly instead. Seb failed to hold back a breathy noise of protest, but knew better than to say a word.

“Say it,” Jim said coolly. “Tell me you’re all mine, Seb.”

It felt different from snapping it before, but Sebastian wasn’t stupid enough to defy Jim in that moment.
Jim batted Seb’s hand away from the desperate prick anyway. Moran didn’t even seem surprised, but his breath caught all the same when Jim ensnared him in a grip that was just a bit too tight to be truly comfortable, but not so tight that Seb wouldn’t be able to finish.

“You won’t forget, will you?” Jim drawled in a voice so calm it made Seb anxious. He drew the nails of his free hand hard over Moran’s bandaged chest.

“It doesn’t matter what else you might have floating about in your blood, darling. Supernatural or not, the only thing that matters is that you are mine, no excuses.”

Jim raised the hand on Sebastian’s chest up around the man’s neck and pulled him close, his other hand still rocking roughly over the wet head of Seb’s leaking cock.

“Both of your hands flat on the table or I stop,” Jim warned suddenly. This was not a cuddle session. Expression still a little petulant, Seb’s palms hit the surface hard enough for the noise to echo around the room.

“Good boy,” Jim teased, and kept up the motion of his fist whilst leaning in to kiss Sebastian with purpose. When he knew Seb to be quite drunk on the combined sensations Jim drifted his lips to the man’s ear.
“Come for me, pet.”

Sebastian did, barely registering the mocking kiss Jim pressed into his scalp before pulling away as if bored.
“You’d better shower before getting in my bed,” Jim warned, and sauntered over to the fridge, licking his palm nonchalantly.

~

Jesus fucking god… and wasn’t Jim a vicious, controlling little bastard...

Taking over even that, like there was nothing of Sebastian’s he didn’t want to utterly… possess and control. Every inch of him, every breath, every wound, every move and shiver and groan, ... each of his senses, his tongue, his cock and every last drop he could wring from it...

Yes, his - all of it.

“Yours…” Sebastian had breathed, and moaned, and probably … more than just once. He could barely remember, as though his brain had been through a furnace.

Sebastian would snap other people’s neck for the things Jim said and did to him, while Jim had the undisputable, divine right to … all of it.

Of course, there was still the odd growl of protest, and flares of rebellious obstinacy, stemming from genuine exasperation and stubborn pride. But today had left nobody fooled about one thing: how much the sparks of mutiny came from a hot and twisted desire for Jim to put them out, and how much Jim enjoyed doing exactly that.

Regaining his breath Sebastian inconspicuously braced his hands on the table, taking some weight off his wobbly legs. He watched Jim with half-closed eyes as the man now turned away and towards the fridge in a blithely blasé manner, like he’d just finished some mildly boring household task. Speaking of which -

“Maybe wash your hands before making dinner?” Sebastian suggested. “Considering where they’ve been.”

He pushed himself off the table and hitched up his trousers, hoping he hadn’t just forfeited what had definitely been a very circuitous invitation to Jim’s bed, and he felt a warm, highly incongruous little flutter at the thought.

~

Jim turned around, tongue still on his hand. His eyes glittered and he sucked Seb’s release from his fingers.
“Why? I told you I was hungry,” Jim said, although hell might freeze over before he considered actually doing what his pink tongue insinuated.

“Besides, you weren’t complaining when I had my mouth on that greedy hole of yours, or the time before that either,” Jim purred. He raised his brows and stared Moran down, waiting for a reaction.

When he got one, Jim smirked and turned back to the fridge. “Whilst we’re having this ridiculous conversation, darling, perhaps you’d like to explain to little old me why you think you get to tell me what to do, or why you suddenly think you aren’t making my dinner after neglecting to invite me to join yours?” Jim wrinkled his nose. “In favour of playing with guns and superstition, may I add.”

Jim lifted a block of cheese, broke off a bit, and lobbed the rest playfully at Seb, who just managed to catch it.

“Reflexes are slow, sweetheart,” Jim commented. “If a good orgasm ruins both your brain and your motor skills I might not bother in future.”

Jim hopped onto the worktop and bit into the cheese. Swinging his legs idly, he gave Sebastian a look that suggested he best get on with things, else Jim might just take the command personally.

Moran gave him a droll look but approached the open fridge on legs that could have done with leaning against the sturdy table some more. “Grilled cheese?”

Jim wiped his free hand on Sebastian’s collar bone. “There’s a good boy.” He popped the rest of the cheese into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“You know, you should probably clean the revolver if you want it to be functional.” Jim tilted his head and feigned a reasonable expression. “You can put it in the sex drawer if you like, so it’s close to hand.”

Sebastian ducked behind the fridge door to roll his eyes even though he knew Jim would know.

Jim watched with an intense stare as Seb went about preparing food. Even by Jim’s usual standard of being annoying it was disconcerting.

“What?” Seb asked at last.

Jim raised his brows warningly at the tone but shrugged casually. “Just wondering,” the Irishman said, “now that you have less than twenty-four hours to live - allegedly - do you have any grand plans? Other than giving me a good morning blow job of course.”

~

“Well, I might just take my slighted, misappropriated revolver back to the den and it’ll be you who has less than twenty four hours to live,” Sebastian muttered. “Allegedly only, of course,” he added drily, peeking over the door of the fridge.

Reflexes still sufficiently intact, he ducked back as a paring knife from the block just beside Jim swished over him and buried itself in a cabinet door behind him. Sebastian plucked it out, took a bag of grated cheddar from the fridge and stood, raising both things in mock surrender while closing the fridge with the side of his foot. Then he set about heating a skillet and buttering slices of brown bread, while Jim watched from his perch.

“But since you asked - ”,Sebastian said, heaping cheese onto the slices of bread before he put them in the pan. "After I’ve dedicated myself to this said morning activity admirably, I’ll put my affairs in order.” Not that they weren’t. “For there to be a smooth transition after I’m gone, I’ll re-assign my various duties among the staff.” He buttered up two more slices of bread to fry them as well. "Some of the choices would be tricky though, maybe you’d like to nominate someone? For the more… uhm delicate tasks?”

~

Jim watched with lingering interest as Sebastian prepared what he claimed to be grilled cheese but Jim knew to be nothing of the sort. Butter and a skillet indeed! They’d argued about it when Seb first moved in, which had been fun because Moran wasn’t nearly as comfortable being gobby with him then as he was now. Which… Jim should have kept better control of. But he liked Sebastian’s sass.

He liked Seb’s grilled cheese too. Jim was an excellent mimic for many things but he’d never successfully made a convincing imitation of Sebastian’s creation. It usually reminded Jim uncomfortably of what his mad old grandmother said about a not so secret secret ingredient, and that annoyed Jim to no end, so he didn’t bother trying anymore.

Jim smirked at Seb’s easy acceptance of his new morning duty, and scoffed at the rest.

“As if Des and Davey haven’t been picking up your slack for the last month anyway, and I’ve been paying them accordingly.”

Jim feigned doe eyes and grinned. “Ooh, you want to know about the others? Hung Gary obviously-” and then he started listing the other residence security team members to the tune of Mambo No.5’s chorus.
He stopped before the ‘little bit of me’ line and hopped down from the counter, only to pull Sebastian towards him.

“Come on Moran, dying men get a last dance, isn’t that what people say?” Jim teased. He danced around the bigger man and supplanted more staff members into the next verse of the song.

“A little bit of me…” Jim drifted close, and his expression softened so genuinely Sebastian knew not to trust the prick for a second. Jim took Seb’s face in both hands reverently and murmured, “Baby…”

Sebastian glowered.

Jim grinned widely and leaned in to lick Moran’s stubbled cheek. Now close to Seb’s ear he whispered, “You know I simply adore you, beautiful boy, but if you burn my dinner your life span will be a lot shorter than twenty four hours.”

Jim held Seb firm so he couldn’t move away yet, and gave him a passionate but brief kiss.

~

No matter what tune got him going, you could not watch Jim Moriarty dance without being cheered up, or in awe, or aroused or simply staggered by how gorgeous he was. Or – a bit of each. There was something about the flamboyant little fucker – his body and his face - that a single picture or frame could never convey, nor do justice. Like something that was per se reasonably attractive, but became utterly dazzling when in motion, in a way that made it impossible to take your eyes off it.

Sebastian watched the exuberant little show, trying not to laugh or growl as Jim reeled off each and every bloody name in their residence’s security detail.

While an obnoxious, autonomous part of his own brain launched into fucking auto-complete every time Jim cut off after ’ a little bit of me ‘ -

And then pulled him close and whispered something so unbearably sweet and kissed him like he actually meant it. Just for the sake of being the utter prick that he was, but nonetheless Sebastian couldn’t stifle a small, almost tortured sound, feeling like his heart would certainly melt, just as the cheese in the pan behind him, … and then burn to cinders, just like the fucking cheese would too.

Sebastian shuffled backwards, reaching behind him without looking, only to whip around and snatch his hand back with a hiss as it met the hot steel of the pan instead of the handle.

He turned and set about loosening the crispy bread from the pan with a wooden spatula, while Jim cackled behind him like the lunatic he was, highly entertained.

“Glad to be of service,” Sebastian groused, “you might want to think of that when I’m gone…”

He ground a dash of pepper onto the molten cheese and topped it off with another layer of roasted bread. “Speaking of that – I could write down the recipe for you,” he offered, while transferring the finished product, which was as delicious as only very simple meals could ever be, onto two plates. “I could add drawings?” he offered maliciously. It was beyond him how Jim, despite how much he liked this food, had never managed to make it. And not for the lack of trying either.

~

“I’ll be sure to tell the next poor bastard that moves in with me about his idiot predecessor who couldn’t correctly identify and avoid the sorts of hazards even small children know to be careful of,” Jim smirked. He made a production out of leaning over and switching off the heat, and only grinned wider when Sebastian turned a scowl on him.

Jim pulled his plate closer but didn’t immediately reach for his hot food. He didn’t fancy matching burned fingers with Moran.

At the blond’s ever so witty little jibe about teaching Jim to cook, the Irishman surged closer, wrong-footing Sebastian enough that the oaf stumbled dangerously near to the still hot pan. Jim pressed into the man, making it clear a swift kick to the back of Seb’s knee could have brought the heated metal into risk of contact with Sebastian’s lovely face, then snatched Seb’s sore hand instead.

Jim glared long and hot enough for Sebastian to seriously worry that he was about to lose a few layers of skin by method of frying. Then Jim tugged the offending body part closer for a firm but patronising swat.
“Don’t be so naughty,” Jim chastised, “you know that’s no way to talk to your Daddy.”

Jim lifted Seb’s hand to his lips, gave the burn a lick, a feel better kiss, and then a sadistic little bite. He allowed Seb to take the chastened hand back.

“Behave yourself,” Jim warned. “We’ve already proved that you are most certainly not too big for a good old-fashioned backside-warming, and you don’t want to be in tears during the last day of your life, do you, sweetie?”

Jim drew back and took his plate to the table with no visible regard for Sebastian’s response.

“Honestly, you’re so fucking selfish. You’d think living with me would teach you what a dreadful trait that is,” Jim complained. He turned accusing eyes on an incredulous Seb and said, “If you die you know I’ll starve. What a plebeian end to my incredible empire, and it would be entirely your rotten fault, you prick.”

Jim shook his head as though scandalised and lifted the still hot food to his mouth. Daintily biting into an edge, he groaned softly with pleasure.

Sebastian warily tried to ignore the noise and brought his own plate to the table, although he did not sit down. Jim’s eyes sparkled a little at that but he didn’t tease for once, his mouth occupied thoroughly.

Jim watched Sebastian eat. Something in Jim’s gut twisted abruptly.

This might not be their last meal, but it could be their last moment like this. Jim had been so insistent that everything would be fine, but it might not be! There was no way Jim would admit such foolish concerns to Moran - not least due to the possibility that a placebo effect might be beneficial – but…

But what if..?

Jim pushed aside his plate with sudden force. Seb looked up from his own but Jim did not meet his eyes, instead snatching up his crockery and launching it across the room to shatter loudly.

Seb flinched at the noise and Jim pushed away from the table. He was still hungry, but his barely eaten meal was now covered in shards of unfortunate plate.

Jim quite forgot about Moran’s moods of late and the fact he no longer tolerated stolen food. Jim reached for Seb’s dinner.

~

Sebastian had set his plate down and was eating standing up, gingerly leaning against the sink, when the shattering tableware made him wince. He bowed his head in an instinctive duck for cover, but was still quick to catch on when Jim stood and tried to snatch the food from his hand. Which Sebastian thwarted, equally automatically, by raising it above his head, into spheres little psychos could not reach, at least not without a step ladder. For a moment Jim was on tiptoe and almost nose to nose with him, glaring. It would have been funny, if Sebastian hadn’t been suddenly so thoroughly annoyed that he snapped.

“Listen, I have no idea what crawled up your arse and died, but this is the exact same food like I just gave you!” He’d watched Jim take the first bite with that small sound of deep contentment – it was these brief glimpses of utterly human bliss and joy which were why he secretly liked doing little things for Jim, but also the very reason why he had no fucking idea what had just happened. “So if there’s something wrong with it - ” He tersely pointed to the pinboard at the side of the fridge that sported numerous brochures of food delivery services and caterers and even a five star cook Jim had on a retainer. “Which is, by the way, how you survived totally fine up until a few months ago.” Until Sebastian had taken to cooking, but only every now and again anyway. “So no, you won’t starve.”

Sebastian had stepped back a bit, out of the immediate danger zone for a jab in the ribs or a kick to the balls. He felt in no shape for any of that, but he also found his anger flaring up instead of dissipating, even though he knew he was well out of line. But condemned men usually got asked if there was anything they still wanted to impart on the world, right?! So he did.

“You know, if daddy found it in him to occasionally not act like an utter prick just for the sake of it, he’d be surprised that people may actually like doing things for him. Even if they’re not - ” Not Sebastian Moran. “… me,” he finished sheepishly, before he took a big bite off his crunchy cheese fry-up.

~

When Moran moved the food out of his way, Jim stretched up for it without thinking. Suddenly realising that that was not normal behaviour, Jim glared back at the man, expecting the matter to be a poor joke and for Seb to relinquish his delicious morsel.

He didn’t.

Jim dropped back to the soles of his feet in utter astonishment as Moran gave him a ticking off and told him to bloody well order in a replacement dinner for himself.

Jim was so shocked he didn’t even reach for a weapon. He didn’t even move to strike Moran.

“The problem wasn’t with the fecking food you fucking eejit,” Jim blurted in frustration. His brain kept looping as he tried to understand what had just happened, because even with Sebastian’s recent sulks the man had never been this belligerent.

Jim had zero desire to go back to living on takeout food alone, he thought unhelpfully.

Seb had retreated a step, which would normally be sensible but Jim couldn’t quite manage to react normally. He looked at Moran and found the man staring back unrepentantly.

“I wasn’t acting like a prick for the sake of it,” Jim growled back, “and I’ve never fucking cared about what people like outside of pulling strings.” Not strictly true, but even geniuses could have blind spots.

Although Jim wasn’t so blind that he didn’t know fine well he didn’t want anything other than Moran, and the possibility of losing him was unraveling his already ragged edges.

Moran having the audacity to bite into his food knocked Jim from his reverie.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jim demanded. “Are you trying to piss me off? Are you losing your bottle on the countdown and you want me to end you quicker? What?”

Jim was tempted to bring Seb’s fingers to the chain around his throat just to test once and for all whether the silver would bubble Moran’s flesh. Jim had no desire for Sebastian to think he was buying in to any of the lunacy though.

Jim spun on his heel towards the chair where he left the Ruger. He didn’t care if Seb saw the cylinder was no longer locked in place.

“Come here,” Jim insisted harshly.

Sebastian looked like he expected to be shot, which would be the smartest thing to do if the gun still fired properly.

Jim gave the man a thoroughly hateful look and removed one of the bullets. They looked different from the alloys. Silver noses.

“One way or another, we’re putting this insanity to bed once and for all,” Jim snapped. He stormed over and demanded, “Give me your arm.” Seb’s inner elbow was one of the only bits of widely unmarked skin left.
Jim didn’t wait for compliance. He snatched up Sebastian’s limb and stared in sudden realisation at the red palms of Seb’s hands. They used the silverware to eat every goddamned day.

Jim tossed the bullet aside and snatched up a wet fork from the drying rack by the sink. Before Moran could interpret his intent, Jim stabbed the utensil swiftly into Seb’s exposed arm - not very deeply, but Sebastian still released a furious yell - and Jim stared hard at the reaction of Sebastian’s skin.

~

With an enraged shout Sebastian swiped the fork out of Jim’s grip, but not before its prongs had buried themselves into his arm. Jim could count himself lucky that at the last instance Sebastian had redirected his blow to the offending piece of cutlery, because the force made it fly across the room and knock a few spice jars off a shelf before it clattered into a corner. Baring his teeth in a grimace of pain, Sebastian's cry spilled over into a copious curse, furious mostly with himself. Because - it had happened again. Out of amenability and a wacky tolerance towards the little bastard, as well as the fascinated, adrenaline-laden curiosity for what he would do, he’d been too slow once the answer revealed itself.

The pain was excruciating, completely incongruous to the physical trauma, and for a few seconds so debilitating he couldn’t wrench his arms out of Jim’s grip.

Then he did and stumbled backwards, clutching his his arm. Jim followed, eyes glued to the inflicted injury with the detached analytical interest of a mad scientist, and Sebastian could barely restrain himself from decking him after all. He remembered the strange, flustered look on Jim’s face, claiming his outburst had had nothing to do with his food…?

“So, still not acting like a prick for the sake of it either, I suppose?!” Sebastian asked waspishly, now staring at his arm as well. There wasn’t much blood, but within seconds the skin was swelling, taking on a reddish-blue tinge, while the four puncture wounds started to leak with inflammation. Sebastian felt the sudden frenzied urge to suck them out - they did look like a snake bite – from some mutant with a double set of fangs.

Which was absolutely not normal after the stab with a reasonably clean fork that hadn’t gone in even half an inch.

“Now, Dr Jekyll, what do you make of it? Also, you could have asked, you know? I only realised it today, while handling different types of silver, but … I could have told you.” But maybe Jim wouldn’t have believed him, because it hadn’t been as spectacular, merely a … disagreeable sensation. And Jim was a sucker for making his own experiments.

~

Jim tilted his head to the side. “I’d have been more gentle if you hadn’t just told me off, like a little lad,” he said a little hotly. “You’re lucky I haven’t flayed you.”

Jim eyed the injury with more detachment than he truly felt. “Never mind what I think of it, and I have a very poor opinion of anything you have to say at the moment, sweetheart… Now that we at least have some proof of what we’re working with, you need that cleaned out, a cold compress on it, and a strong antihistamine.” Jim pursed his lips. “Should help the swelling and the sting, stop it itching as much.”

Jim rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. He shouldn’t be offering to help the ingrate after earlier but…
These weren’t normal circumstances.

“Silver allergies can just appear if your immune system is compromised but we both know it wouldn’t look like that,” Jim said in a low voice.

He looked Moran up and down. “I suppose if we both survive I’ll need to buy you some new cutlery. If I forgive you.”

Jim sniffed and swiped up the leftovers Seb had dropped on the counter in alarm when he was stabbed. Lightly stabbed, not that he was grateful. Jim could have put the fork right through the bastard’s hand, or his eyelids, or his upper lip, or his already bloodied ballsack. Jim could also have used the blunt end of the fork, or a spoon.

Or just slit his throat and been done with the mess.

Jim kept out of Moran’s reach and surveyed the man sulkily, only feeling marginally better when he bit down and found the very centre of the food was still a bit warm.

“Only you could make such an otherworldly discovery such a pain in the arse.”

~

“Likewise,” Sebastian muttered, walking over to the sink and sullenly rinsing his arm. Not that it would do much good, considering the narrow deep punctures that had instantly closed up again. He still squeezed the flesh to make a bit more blood well up. The pain was still nasty and was now supplemented by an unnerving itch. And, most significantly, they now had confirmation…, right? At least Jim seemed inclined to admit as much and not regard him as a complete imbecile anymore. Well, not in this matter anyway.

To come to grasp with all the crazy possible consequences of their discovery – beyond buying new cutlery - was a different matter, and not something he’d manage without ingesting a few calories before.

“You seem strangely … unconcerned,” he observed, while Jim was lustily chewing down his dinner. Or maybe Jim had taken his theory into consideration much earlier than he’d let on, and this heinous move had mostly served as a subterfuge and primarily a ploy to steal his food after hurling his own across the room. Which Sebastian swept up before he started to prepare himself a new dinner, while Jim ate the one that was half cold. Served him right!

~

“Why would I be concerned?” Jim asked, barely looking up from his spoils. “I’ve made it very clear that you’re going to be a good kitty for Daddy.”

He kept chewing, but the food wasn’t quite as comforting as it usually was. It gave him something grounding to focus on, and that was helpful. His mind was bouncing around all over the place despite his carefully neutral expression.

The unnatural reaction to the silverware didn’t necessarily mean that the were theory was true, or the ridiculous websites sufficiently accurate, but Jim knew in his chest what he expected, and Moran certainly vocalised similar worries. Fucking Moran. Jim would never have let him out of his sight if he’d had any inkling of this. The raja had been far from worth the hassle.

Not that Jim wasn’t thoroughly intrigued by the possibility of having access to something powerful so few believed existed, but he’d rather it had happened to anyone on his team but Moran. It would have made dealing with it all much less… messy. Sebastian himself was a walking catastrophe without becoming fucking supernatural.

Natural tigers were solitary and territorial, Jim had read. He used to consider himself that too.

And then there was Seb.

Jim chewed slowly and watched Sebastian clear up the broken plate. Maybe the man did still remember the rules if hurt firmly enough, but the size difference between them as humans was nothing compared to that between a small human man and a supernatural tiger.

Jim should never have gotten a pet.

Said pet was smirking to himself grimly as he made more food, as if Jim cared that his had gotten cold. That was the most insignificant of Jim’s problems.

~

“Yeah, right,” Sebastian mumbled, refraining from launching that futile discussion once more – they’d been over it. Jim point-blank refused there could be circumstances beyond his – or Sebastian’s – control.

While his bread-and-cheese sizzled in the pan, Sebastian retrieved the silver tipped bullet, reloaded the revolver properly and snapped the cylinder back. He laid the weapon aside for cleaning, trying to keep his mind reasonable clear (and his ears their normal colour) by not contemplating why it needed cleaning in the first place.

His restlessness hadn’t abated, but with the ominous result of Jim’s experiment he'd made the decision to deal with whatever was to come in the way he dealt with any mission. They always contained unknown variables, and the best you could do was to prepare as meticulous as possible, and keep your mind centred on that as best you could.

Jim’s eyes were following him around, and there was no way to tell what went on behind them. But he seemed quite composed as well, munching his dinner. Sebastian plated his. Their epitome of comfort food had lost its lustre somewhat, but it still re-charged the batteries.

Sebastian had finished his within minutes and put his plate aside.

“I’ll clean up and then I’ll nip over to the team and go through any necessary adjustments with them,” he duly informed Jim of his next steps.

Chapter 6: Infractions

Twenty minutes later, with yet another bandage added – a vinegar-doused dressing over the fork stab in his arm - and as clean, representable and as orderly dressed as possible, Sebastian appeared in the security headquarters occupying the ground floor of the villa next door. The two properties were connected; the second house a bit more modest than Jim’s abode, but still quite a residence in its own right. Part of their staff indeed lived here.

Saavi gave Sebastian a brief look, then she turned back to her current task of watching the wall of monitors, together with Tom. “Is there a security hazard next door we should know about?” she asked casually, while everybody else wisely held their tongue. Yes, Sebastian thought, the walking safety hazard had dark eyes, was prone to the most erratic moods, and they all knew it. They also probably suspected it had something to do with the apparent setbacks in the physical recovery of their chief, but no-one else dared to comment on it. Good. Sebastian didn’t either, to give them nothing to gossip about (which they’d do anyway after he’d left.)

Before even mentioning the rota or announcing a briefing, he launched straight into what he was actually here for.

“A few hours ago there was a delivery of a bunch of flowers. Who vetted it, and where did it come from?”

Des and Poppy were absent – their turn to patrol the grounds apparently – but the other four were here – Saavi, Tom, Jerry and Hung Gary. Sebastian briefly closed his eyes with the pained grimace of someone who had a headache, as, very unbidden, the chorus of Mambo No. Five popped into his head.

Tom swivelled around on his chair, looking slightly alarmed. “I did. All good, nothing suspicious at all. Came from that Wild Things Flowers place on Davies Street.”

How fitting, Sebastian thought sourly. Then he frowned. Jim had a selection of shops and purveyors he’d sort of accredited to supply his home – just like the queen. Sebastian was quite sure that place was on the list. “Did you enquire who made the order?”

~

Tom shook his head slowly. “Boss knew it was coming. Said to expect it.”

The others knew fine well not to question Moriarty more than necessary to do their jobs (and sometimes not even then). They could also tell that Moran’s manner was off, even more so than it had been since he got back from the job in India.

“Is… something wrong with it?” Tom asked warily.

Their chief had a look on his face like yes there was, but he didn’t immediately come out and say so.
“I took it next door,” Hung Gary said. He hesitated then added, “He seemed in an… odd mood?”

Sebastian gave him a baleful look. Moriarty was always in ‘an odd mood’.

“I can’t describe it,” Gary said exasperatedly.

“Try,” Sebastian said shortly.

Hung Gary swallowed. The boss had seemed… overly dismissive of the delivery, but not in the way he did when he was focused on other things. It felt… off. Forced in a way Moriarty’s emotions didn’t…

“It just felt off,” Gary said.

“Like he was embarrassed?” Saavi asked with a smirk.

The team laughed a little warily. The suggestion seemed absurd, but it felt risky to joke at their volatile boss’ expense.

The laughter dried up as it became clear that Hung Gary was not laughing. “I… Probably not?” he said unconvincingly. The suggestion was mad but… closer than anything else he could think of.

Whilst the others stared at Gary incredulously, Saavi watched Sebastian. The movement of his jaw. The way his hands flexed.

“Whoever it was is brave sending the boss flowers,” Jerry said.

Saavi raised her shaped brows just a little at the chief but didn’t quite dare press too closely on what she suspected was a crush on their mutual employer. She returned to the camera feeds with pursed lips.

A phone rang, the caller ID declaring Moriarty was calling.

Jerry answered quickly and Jim did not bother with a greeting. “Moran. Has he discussed the shift changes yet?”

Jerry looked at Moran warily. “He’s just got here-”

“Don’t make me remind you what happens to naughty employees who lie to me,” Jim said coolly. Jerry paled. Jim pressed, “Is Moran being a pest about the delivery earlier?”

The briefest hesitation was enough for Jim to feel his question was answered and his tone dropped ominously. “Put him on speaker. Now.”

The room grew silent other than the soft hum of electricity from the numerous monitors.

Sebastian had barely managed to speak when Jim jumped down his throat, “If you can’t adhere to restricted duties, poppet, perhaps that’s my fault. Perhaps I was too lenient when you had that little problem trying to pull rank on Michael. Should I not have been understanding that those mean brutes I sent you to wouldn’t let you eat breakfast? Was I not clear? If there’s anything you need to know, you’ll be made aware. The team are perfectly capable, as you know. If I receive anything you need to know about, you’ll be informed.”

Jim’s ire was uncomfortably clear.

“Team?” he said coolly. “Clear the fucking room.”

“We’re in the surveillance room,” Sebastian said. The cameras were monitored at all times.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Jim growled.

The team departed in a scramble.

Jim dropped his voice. “Speaker off.” He waited for a beat then said, “I suggest you debrief the team on the shift changes sharpish and get the fuck home. If I have to come fetch you, you’re going to have an audience.”

~

Sebastian hadn’t yet decided which he found more strange – knowing when an admirer would send flowers, or the notion of Jim Moriarty looking embarrassed in any scenario he could think of – when the man himself rang and released a rather vitriolic tirade at him. On speaker and in front of everyone.

“Copy that,” Sebastian had listened tight-lipped to the public scolding. It wasn’t the first either (but by far the most vicious), and they always riled Sebastian up, as they could pose a danger to his authority with the staff. On the other hand, Jim and Sebastian both had left not a sliver of doubt that the boss alone was in a position to do so. Last but not least it also made it clear that Sebastian was not mollycoddled or above reprimands (he had registered Jerry’s brave but utterly futile attempt to cover for him). 2IC was always a position of both hammer and anvil, between the head shed and the troops, and Jim had no interest whatsoever to destabilise it - hence the removal of the team from the scene for the rest of the rant. Switching off the speaker, Sebastian let it wash over him sullenly. Cute backchat or arguing was out of the question.

“Regarding that briefing,” his pronunciation was so clipped you could cut yourself on the edges, “in the light of … recent findings it’s not a good idea to pull people from the night to the day shift… I’m simply going to tell them to go to the higher alert level, and that Des and David are to report directly to you until further notice.”

~

It had been amusing for a moment, that Moran had been so focused on the flowers and the mistaken assumption of some rival for Jim’s attention, but the more Jim had thought about the matter the more it irritated him greatly.

Moran’s clipped tone now was doing him no favours, but at least he had the sense to keep from voicing his resentments aloud.

Jim considered the man’s point about the briefing. As ever, Sebastian understood that work mattered more than his feelings, and his observations there were rarely wrong.

“Yes, fine,” Jim agreed shortly. “If you do survive tomorrow I’ll certainly be taking enough compensation from your hide for all the trouble you’ve caused that you’ll need to rely on them a little longer.”

Jim lowered his voice to a growl. “I’m deathly serious though, darling. Be swift, or Daddy’s going to give you a very public spanking and that would be dreadful for your authority, don’t you think?”

~

Jim had an interest in keeping the hierarchy of his troops in order, but he also loved his threats and watching people react to them – scurry or grovel or freeze in fear, but those baring their teeth in defiance were few and far between.

“Ffff…” -uck you!

Sebastian ground said teeth together, because there were things Jim would tolerate, and then those he would not. But this went both ways… Humiliation in a sexual context was one thing, and Sebastian’s reaction to it was a sublime mix of aversion, fury and arousal; it to be taken to a public stage though was nothing his pride was prepared to let happen. But so far it was only a hint, a threat, an insinuation Jim revelled in. He would not do it.

Maybe not even out of consideration, but simply aware of the dangers, like overstretching the intricate mesh of their dynamic. He had woven quite a number of additional threads and cords into it over the past hours, but nothing was unbreakable if overtaxed.

So, no, he wouldn’t.

Probably.

Thing was – you could never be quite sure of it. Anything.

“I think that would be quite detrimental, yes,” Sebastian breathed, and rang off.

He realised he was sweating while his mouth was dry. Throwing the phone onto the table, he grabbed a bottle of water from a crate beneath it and guzzled down half of it. The next five gulps he took slowly, counting them and timing his breaths. Then he screwed the lid back on, put the bottle aside and called the team back in. He also paged Des and Poppy to recall them from their round.

With them slipped in a pair of huge Alsatians, Smith and Wesson. Usually exuberantly friendly with anyone of their pack, they literally hesitated mid-flight towards Sebastian, suddenly wary. Smith stalked around him but didn’t come near, Wesson did come a bit closer, sniffing the air, then drew back with a confused look, hackles raised.

Sebastian closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Take them out.” The team stared at him with wide eyes. “Fucking hell, I mean outside!” He was not going to launch into a Giant Cat of Sumatra explanation but simply pointed towards the door.

“Right. A briefing. And I’m trying to keep it brief. You’re going to be on high alert level over the next few days. Nothing specifically pertaining the usual suspects, just in general.” He did not have to tell them to do their jobs properly, they always did. “Des and David are to report to the boss directly, since I probably won’t be here, something expected is likely to crop up at short notice. If the principal seems more eccentric than usual, don’t question it, just do your job of protecting the perimeter. If security feeds from inside the house are disabled, chances are he did it on purpose, so tread lightly there too.”

There weren’t too many of those anyway, and the camera covering hall and front door had gone dark quite a while ago already, and never come back on.

“This is the standing order until further notice,” he now addressed Des specifically. “If it goes on for more than a week, in order to keep up a rota with enough R&R for everyone, draft in four lads or lassies from the Close Protection Team - they willnae be very busy during that time anyway.” Des looked a bit pinched at Sebastian’s deliberate mangling of his linguistic heritage, but nodded.

“Questions?” Sebastian looked from one to the other. A strict need-to-know politics applied to all levels of Jim’s empire, but Sebastian knew people tended to work better if the things you demanded of them did not seem entirely erratic all the time - something Jim refused to see any sense nor justification in, but to a certain extent he let Sebastian handle things his own way. Sebastian in turn would not let this go as far a ‘Chinese parliament’ about each and sundry, but reasonable points and questions were always heard.

~

The team’s faces held a lot of questions, but they didn’t dare voice most of them. Sebastian was able to excuse himself quickly and get himself home for what was likely to be yet another bollocking. At this rate there wouldn’t be any of himself left to worry about come the full moon.

Jim gave him an unusually cold look upon arrival, and given the fact that on any given day Jim swung violently from molten to glacial, Sebastian quickly realised that things were particularly Not Good.

Jim glanced pointedly at the clock on the wall. “Sensible. Good boy,” he said, but his tone was devoid of its usual playfulness.

Sebastian waited, and Jim jerked his head. “Go sit down.”

Moran briefly met Jim’s gaze - they both knew Seb was sore - but did as bid.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and Sebastian took note of the fact that Jim was furious. Seemingly speechless with it in fact, as Jim pressed his lips together in a white line and paced.

“I found your naughtiness endearing for a hot second,” Jim admitted frostily. “Interfering in things that didn’t concern you, behind my back even though you’d know I’d find out, and for what? What could you possibly mean to achieve other than my ire? Have you not felt enough of it lately? Do you feel neglected? Did you harbour some ridiculous hope that I’d confront you about this and I’d reassure you that you’re my one and only, my best boy, and I’d bend you over before the whole team and make it thoroughly clear to everyone that you. Are. Mine?”

Jim stopped pacing abruptly and his eyes flashed hatefully in Moran’s direction. “It’s none of your fucking business if I’m screwing half the cabinet and six royal families. What the fuck do you think you were doing going behind my back?”

Jim shook his head. Icily he whispered, “Everything I’ve been doing to accommodate your little problem, and this? What fucking good are you to me alive Moran if I can’t fucking trust you!!”

~

Jim was livid. And the pinnacle of Jim’s fury wasn’t a wall of fire, but a breath of ice that could make hell freeze over. This was bad. Sebastian’s anger about finding this utterly incongruous to his crime didn’t change a thing, because this was also the point where reasoning wasn’t just futile but suicidal.

Jim’s sneers were utterly malicious, every word more debasing and derisive, each and every one designed to hurt, and – needless to say - not in a good way. Just like making him sit down.

Sebastian felt heat creep up his neck, but not towards his ears.

“It was just an enquiry.” And not one that questioned Jim’s authority in the eyes of anyone. The pretence he was just checking on the team’s work totally held up. In his eyes it was not a breach of trust, but if Jim chose to interpret it as such, there was nothing anyone could do about it. Sebastian’s voice was toneless from the effort to keep all the emotions out of it that raged through him. They could only be his downfall.

“And no, I don’t feel neglected, and I didn’t want you to find out and fucking – whatever. I was curious.” If that was a sin, so be it. Yes, he was jealous, but that didn’t need concern Jim either, because it was totally irrelevant to – anything. Which still posed the question why Jim had deliberately sparked it with his bloody teasing. To see whether Sebastian was a fucking robot? Well, he knew he was not!

“It’s a human emotion you know,” Sebastian snapped, knowing full well that was not an excuse for anything in Jim Moriarty’s universe, but the exact opposite.

~

“It wasn’t ‘just an enquiry’, Moran,” Jim said flatly. “No one else would ever dare approach the lines the way you dance over them - and to an extent I’ve allowed that before because you keep things from being boring and I always thought that you respected the lines that counted - but you just gambolled right on past this one and your face says you still don’t even see where you’ve gone wrong.”
Jim shook his head. “I’m Jim Moriarty, sweetheart. You might have gotten comfortable because you live here with me and get freer rein as Daddy’s favourite, but you’re still supposed to be my fucking right hand man. If Desmond or David were sneaking about behind your back snooping into things that didn’t concern them and that you’d already told them to leave alone, you’d know there was a problem. You’re not stupid. You’ve never been fucking stupid.”

Jim’s eyebrow shot up perilously when Sebastian snapped at him. “Since when does not keeping control of emotions in the job you do not put you at risk?” Jim said brittlely.

He stepped closer, uncaring of the anger flushing Seb’s cheeks and sparking in the man’s blue eyes. “If I can’t trust you then you’re both a liability and a waste of my precious time, Sebby.”

Jim regarded the seated man seriously. “That would make me deeply unhappy.”

Jim took a deep breath. “I need you to remember that your feelings or your privileged position or how out of sorts you’ve been recently are no excuse to go behind my back. I don’t fucking like it.”

Jim’s expression turned grim. “Give me your hand - don’t fucking look at me like that, do as I bloody well tell you, Moran - yes, thank you. Now, do you remember the habit of tying a string on one’s finger to remember something?”

Jim held Sebastian’s thick wrist in one hand and trailed the fingers of his other horribly gently across Seb’s smallest finger.

“I heard your pinkie finger is always a bitch to heal,” Jim mused pointedly. “Almost always heals crookedly. Would you remember then? To be my good boy?”

Sebastian shifted as though ready to resist. Jim adjusted his grip and moved to the next finger. “Then again, you have no real need for this one, do you?”

Jim applied the shortest burst of odd, horrible pressure to Sebastian’s ring finger and the blond felt it pop out of place. It didn’t hurt terribly, but it didn’t feel good and Jim merely ignored the growl that rose up in Sebastian’s broad chest.

Jim pushed the digit back into its socket with care not to make the injury worse. “If I have to take you apart bit by bit and put you back together again to make you obey me I will,” Jim said ominously.

Jim risked giving Sebastian’s left hand a kiss and then let it go. “I’ll need to splint this for you or it won’t heal nicely,” he said, moving out of reach. He hesitated, still looking furious, but added, “For the record, people send me plenty of thank you gifts for what I do. If I’d planned to make you jealous I wouldn’t be subtle about it… and it still wouldn’t be your place to stick your nose where it doesn’t fucking belong.”

~

The way Jim put it, there wasn’t an argument in the world to invalidate his, so Sebastian stopped trying. Also, it wasn’t the first time Jim had made it clear under which circumstances Sebastian was useful and amusing and worth his time, but never ever so utterly devoid of any teasing and playfulness.

They were on the very brink of some fundamental decision, with not a whole lot of options on the table regarding the outcome. All bad, but being killed or maimed not the worst of them.

There were consequences, always, sometimes surprisingly … light, sometimes so out of proportion, Sebastian’s brain stalled. Like now, when Jim grabbed his wrist. And while Sebastian’s pulse tripped and stumbled into a headlong flight, any other fight or flight responses never made it from his brainstem to his limbs, but fizzled out and got lost in a void as black as Jim’s eyes, where nothing else mattered but what Jim wanted.

It was about as insane as it could get, and on some detached level Sebastian knew that. But the man gently caressing his fingers seemed to have dissociated that part from everything that had kept Sebastian alive through war and danger, and replaced it with… Sebastian had no idea what it was. Curiosity, addiction, submission… an unquenchable hunger for whatever Jim felt like dealing out. Violence included.
Whenever Jim laid hands on him, it almost put him in a trance, like a switch was flipped, handing all power over to Jim.

The world slowed, ground to a halt, and then everything happened at once – disbelief, fear, the compulsion to obey, the anticipation of excruciating pain -

It didn’t come, instead - - - a sensation so wrong it arrested his breathing, a sound he could feel rather than hear. Adrenalin blind-sided him with such a force that it was followed by a wave of nausea. Or maybe it was the sight of his finger sticking up at a sickening angle. Sebastian’s breath unhitched with a rasping, growling sound, as Jim adjusted his grip, and with a pull and swift, downward pressure the finger clicked back.

Jim’s eyes were pitch black rapture.

If I have to take you apart bit by bit and put you back together again to make you obey me I will.
And that had only been a taste of it, the light kiss grazing Sebastian’s hand seemed to say.

With the finger Sebastian’s reflexes had slipped back into place as well, reconnecting with something snarling and primal, which was not very fond of twisted games. Not overly impressed by sermons either.

Which Jim delivered from what he probably considered a safe distance, but Sebastian had crossed it within a second. Pain shot through his left hand but it didn’t keep him from fisting both into Jim’s shirtfront and pushing him back against the kitchen counter, not stopping to force him over backwards until his elbow was perilously close to the still hot plate of the oven.

“Breaking me?” Sebastian hissed. “Think that’ll be easy? But I guess you hope it’s not. Keeps things from getting boring after all.” He’d forced Jim’s legs apart, pressing in close to leave no room for devious kicks and blows to his sore private parts, but it also made for a very interesting revelation. A grin crept into his furious scowl.

~

Jim giggled and it was not a nervous laugh at all - it was exhilarated. Sebastian had heard the mad bastard cackle in peculiar situations before when adrenaline was high and survival likelihood was low but things had never been like this before. Jim’s eyes were wide and almost black and his grin stretched right across his face.

“Only… Only you, petal, could respond to a telling off for acting in an untrustworthy manner by fucking flying for me,” Jim snickered.

He hooked one leg around Moran, keeping him close, not that the livid-looking blond showed any inclination of moving away.

“Who said anything about breaking you my precious; I said I’d take you apart and put you back together,” Jim smirked. “You’re no fun if you’re too badly broken to play with and I do so enjoy the fight in you.” Jim raised a brow. “I didn’t break your bones or skin, did I, even though you upset me dreadfully. This is what comes of spoiling you I suppose.”

Jim did not seem at all bothered about his uncomfortable position or his dangerous proximity to the warm stove, even though he could feel the heat in the air near his skin.

“Go on then,” Jim goaded patronisingly. “Show Daddy what a big, strong man you are, and that you won’t be pushed around. Or are you exactly what your father said? A stupid, angry brat with too much attitude, not enough sticking power, and entirely wasted potential? Are you nothing but a disappointment, sweetpea, or are you going to make this interesting and give me something worth creatively punishing you for?”

Jim locked eyes with Sebastian and tilted his chin defiantly. “Brute force doesn’t scare me, precious, and you know it.”

Jim shrugged and moved his arm closer to the stove. Pinned as he was his palm couldn’t reach, but his wrist got close enough that Sebastian started smelling Jim’s sleeve.

“Surely I don’t need to do everything for you,” Jim sneered, canting his hips salaciously. “Tick tock, tough guy, what’s my pretty boy going to do?”

~

Sebastian had never met anyone who slipped from one extreme mood into another so unpredictably and yet genuinely as Jim Moriarty. The glacial rage was replaced by a mad euphoria that made his eyes blaze. And yes, Sebastian had to give him that, even in his seething fury Jim had not harmed him permanently, much less beyond repair, and the more this sunk in, the more stunning it was.

Now the mad little bastard was cackling and vibrating with so much glee it was infectious. The goading and the jibes were back in a blink, but after the utter shock of having a finger dis- and relocated, the sneers rolled off Sebastian like droplets of a barely noticed summer shower.

Dismissing the provocations with a huff he ground his hips against Jim’s groin.

“Don’t I know,” he hummed at Jim’s bluster how he wasn’t afraid of brute force and violence. More precisely, he was living in such disregard of it, it drove Sebastian (and any other employee ever tasked with keeping him safe) to distraction and sometimes despair.

And, although it was tempting to rise to the bait and ravish the little fucker, it wasn’t nearly as temping as - -
Ignoring the painful signals his abused digit fired off, Sebastian kept Jim in a tight grip, leaned in and … kissed him. Not to be goaded into pillage and plunder, nor into something akin to the savage response he sometimes got away with when things got rough and heated. But not gently or timidly either. It was a slow and purposeful kiss, it was utterly unprecedented, and as deliberate as a condemned man making the most of enjoying his last meal.

~

Jim’s mind short-circuited. He’d anticipated a thousand different things Moran might do to him but that kiss was so outside of anything expected - Seb had never dared attempt that before - that Jim froze in absolute, utter shock.

Sebastian pressed in close, not stopping but not getting rough either. Just firm and present and a lot of things Jim didn’t dare name.

As Jim’s brain rebooted itself instead of launching into a map of options it overwhelmed itself with too much data: the rush of blood racing towards his groin, Seb’s hard musculature pressed against him unyielding, the counter edge cutting into Jim’s back, the scabbed skin of Seb’s lips covering and moving against his own…

Jim floundered and almost burned himself trying to flinch away. Sebastian didn’t move - didn’t give him an inch - just pressed in close and kissed him like he didn’t have to accommodate Jim in any way. Jim could have hit the man in the throat then and pushed. He could have used Seb’s weight against him, could have used his own speed and slippery evasive skills.

Jim did none of that. He kissed back embarrassingly hesitantly, then tried to lean up and dominate the kiss, make it normal, understandable, safe, but Sebastian just curled the edges of his lips a little and kept Jim caged beneath him.

Jim tried to grind upwards into Seb, make this their game, not Seb’s alone, but Moran held him firm.
Jim didn’t know what else to do, so he held on and closed his eyes at last, focusing on nothing but how Moran kissed him. Kissed him like…

Sebastian released him at last and Jim struggled for breath like he’d forgotten how.

Jim shifted back a little, not ready to get up, and covered his face like an ordinary person might if they’d been slapped so hard their lip had burst. He felt shaken and was uncertain if he was actually trembling or whether the adrenaline coursing through him was simply rattling his senses.

“Yeh fight fuckin’ durty,” Jim breathed, and didn’t recognise his voice at all.

~

“Learned from the best,” Sebastian breathed back.

He could still feel Jim’s lips on his, the brief hint of a struggle… the little squirms of resistance dissipating, aborted… Jim’s arms slipping around him … The violent retaliation Sebastian expected - never happening. It wasn’t triumph that had surged through him, but something much sweeter, ... softer. It made it almost impossible to end the kiss and release Jim, and it had gathered as a little lump in Sebastian’s throat. From there it permeated down into his chest and squeezed. It was like getting a glimpse of something precious and fragile and unprotected… devoid of any mask and defences. Jim looked flushed and shaken to the core and about fourteen years old.

When he hid his face behind his hands Sebastian wanted nothing more than to gather him in his arms, yet he knew he could never let on that he had seen what he wasn’t meant to see… No one was ever supposed to…

He saw Jim’s knuckles whiten as he fought to compose himself, before he let his hands fall away from his face. With a weakly resentful snort Jim made a decisive effort to struggle back up, and Sebastian gave him a little help – with barely an inch to spare he intercepted Jim’s left hand before it came in contact with the hot stove.

~

Jim flinched as Moran protected his hand from the cooling but still dangerously hot stove.

Uncomfortable, Jim tried to deaden his expression and sit up but nothing seemed to move quite like he wanted it to yet. He felt dazed and disorientated.

“Next time jus’ blacken muh eyes, yer?” Jim mumbled, and found himself slurring a much less crisp predecessor to his everyday accent. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

Sebastian was staring at him. Jim was much too uncoordinated to take a swing at the bigger man (and his brain was entirely too melted to plan a method of attack he’d actually survive). His threats weren’t of much use either, since he wasn’t exactly intimidating right then and his accent was far too raw, young, honest… everything bleeding out of it like an open wound.

Jim disentangled his leg from Seb’s and wriggled back enough to sit upright. Even on the counter Jim was never quite eye level with Moran but that vantage felt much less vulnerable than being bent backwards.
Sebastian at least had the decency not to say much right away.

Jim pinched the bigger man’s arm lightly, half-worried Sebastian would snatch him up and drag him closer.
“That… That better not have been a goodbye,” Jim grumbled softly.

His collarbone raised and dipped visibly, an edge of silver chain just catching the light before disappearing again under his rumpled shirt collar.

Jim steeled himself, bringing to mind the fact that he was a fucking terrifying force damn it, and dared to drag his eyes into a sidelong glance in Seb’s direction. “I told you,” Jim said with a bit more grit. “I told you…” Jim shifted, running his palm over the covered outline of a weapon to feel more himself. “You’re mine,” he said, and he tried to look at Seb properly but couldn’t bear it, looking right through the man’s forehead instead of risking being able to read whatever was in Moran’s eyes.

~

Sebastian smiled. Jim’s brogue was so thick you could cut it with a knife, but as funny as it was, his words send a little twinge through Sebastian. God that kiss must have melted his own brain as well, making him wonder … Was that what teenage Jim had been like? A feral little beast, taking violence in his stride and dealing with it, much better than with… the opposite. Understanding it much better than… what had happened just now, and learning its language down to the last nuance…

Sebastian knew exactly what that felt like.

He dipped his head.

“Not a goodbye,” he said softly. Not if he’d any say in it. But they’d been over that.

At some point, and quite a long time ago, he’d accepted as a preordained fact that his own end would most likely be a violent one (and he'd rather it was by Jim’s hand than anyone else’s). It didn’t much trouble him. What did, was the thought of leaving Jim behind. Oh, Jim was untouchable, and he’d become like that all by himself, and he didn’t need Sebastian for it. He’d keep ruling his ever growing empire and with it half the world, he’d keep planting terror in the hearts of men, and weaving schemes from the strands of his web that bent the world to his will … But would there be anyone who’d … know more about him than that? Who’d kiss him like that and lived to see what Sebastian just had seen? Who was his in a sense Sebastian was sure no one but him was even able to grasp?

“I’m yours.” He had been from the day they’d met. “Even before you told me,” Sebastian looked up, and a somewhat lighter, mischievous note crept into his smile. “But I love that you keep doing it.”

~

Jim felt a shaky sort of relief when Sebastian agreed what had transpired was not a goodbye. Concerningly, Jim’s shoulders slumped of their own accord, and Jim felt very much like just asking Seb to punch him out until whatever was wrong with him had finally ebbed out of his system.

Jim was uncertain whether it could be that easy though. He rolled his shoulders agitatedly.

I’m yours. Even before you told me.

Jim looked up at that without meaning to, and finally met Moran’s serious, warm gaze. Jim tensed, fisting his clothing warily. This was what he wanted so… why did it… why did he want..?

Jim choked as Moran’s tone dared travel into teasing the utter prick.

Jim kicked at him weakly. “What deh - do you expect?” Jim asked, forcing his accent into submission through gritted teeth. “You never fucking listen to a word I say, so I have to repeat myself a thousand times to get any sense to permeate in that thick skull of yours.”

Jim’s gaze flashed, somewhere between cross and fond and woefully ineffectual.

He scrubbed at his face and neck irritably when Seb’s smile didn’t even pretend to shrink back.

“Right, you’ve had your fun, Moran,” Jim muttered, sidling off of the counter and doing his best to skulk past the bigger man.

“Make yourself useful and pour me a fucking drink, would you?”

Sebastian didn’t immediately move back, and they were so close Jim could smell him. Feel the heat from his skin.

Jim did his best to elbow his way through and spat, “Please.”

~

Sebastian couldn’t remember seeing so many emotions, genuine ones, warring on Jim’s face, which was so … open and young and achingly beautiful. Like the kiss had shaken something loose, opened a crack in an impenetrable armour and it was so rare and touching Sebastian wanted to do it all over again.

But he didn’t… Whatever it was that was now blinking into the light in both rapture and confusion, Jim had his reasons to keep it under lock and key. Reasons that might be sensible or good or sad or just simply… imaginary – he had them. And someone rattling on the doors of the prison seemed to overwhelm him in a way it felt like … quite enough for one day. So Sebastian, budging a little, let Jim push past him.

“Being asked so nicely, how could I resist,” Sebastian said, slightly amused. Jim adding a ’please‘ - never mind the disgusted tone – was as surprising as it was shocking. So much so Sebastian didn’t think of his injured hand, until he almost dropped the whisky bottle when taking it off the shelf. He managed to place it on the table, and softly cursed during the attempt to open it. Well, he could sit down and wedge it between his thighs and then only use his right hand but…

He found Jim watching him as he looked up a bit sheepishly.

“Maybe you could…? Please? I’ll get the glasses.”

Which he could do perfectly well with one hand.

~

Jim felt annoyingly relieved when Moran conceded the space to let him past, even if he did have to be mouthy about it. Jim didn’t even respond by digging in a sharp elbow at the blond’s playful tone.

Jim felt bone tired and light-headed. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be utterly thrown like he had just been. In truth Jim wasn’t certain he’d ever been quite so affected.

Moran almost dropping the expensive whiskey lightened Jim’s mood a little. He was darkly gratified to see Sebastian wasn’t on top form tonight either.

Jim approached the table quietly but kept out of arm’s reach.

“I don’t think I offered you a drink,” Jim murmured. “Thought you’d gone off anything stronger than beer?”

Jim held out his arm. “Give it here.”

Moran gave him a look, but handed over the heavy bottle. Jim moved closer to the table so that if his jelly limbs failed him he wouldn’t smash the container.

His arms still didn’t feel quite normal, but Jim managed to open the whiskey without issue. Jim slumped his hip against the table and brought the bottleneck to his mouth even though he’d have threatened to skin Moran for the same thing in most circumstances. “Don’t need a glass.”

The liquid burned and covered the taste of the other man on Jim’s mouth. The bottleneck was firm and entirely different from Sebastian’s lips, but neither truth quite managed to overwrite the fact that Seb had … kissed him… like that.

Jim knocked the whiskey back without any of his usual care for letting the liquor breathe or getting a nose of it or any of that showboating. It burned like alcohol on a wound that needed cleaning and that was what mattered.

Without making eye contact, Jim held out the bottle for Sebastian to drink from himself or put aside as Seb pleased.

“I want your fingers splinted before you sleep,” Jim said. “You bloody deserved it, but I don’t want you healing crookedly when you don’t have to.”

~

Taking the bottle and a cautious sniff – which only had the same effect on him as a few days ago if not worse, Sebastian pushed the stopper back in.

Jim Moriarty glugging down whisky straight from the bottle while the hedonistic part of the household padded over to the sink to draw himself a glass of tap water – if they needed any more signs that the universe was precariously askew, that was certainly it.

Jim looked flushed and still a bit out of sorts, but seemingly had regained his composure. The atmosphere was strange, something weirdly between intimate and awkward. When Jim pointed out that his finger needed seeing to, Sebastian nodded. He was currently trying to stave off the swelling and pain by holding it under the running water, with limited success.

While Jim disappeared and came back with their much used first aid kit, he was rummaging through the kitchen drawers to find something to use as a splint and found a thin wooden butter knife that was reasonably straight.

~

Jim looked at the knife, to Sebastian and back again. Jim’s eyebrows quivered for a moment before he succumbed to shoulder-shaking laughter.

Moran looked perplexed, but Jim didn’t cut the noise short.

The laughter helped. Some of the crawling discomfort from the earlier lapse in control expelled itself as Jim snickered.

“We’re not in the fucking Scouts, Moran,” Jim derided. He pointedly held up a packet of purpose-made finger splints and shook them.

Some confidence regained, Jim moved closer. “Honestly, sweetheart, as if I’d break you and not have the tools put aside to fix you. What sort of a terrible owner do you think I am?”

Jim flashed his teeth.

Sebastian‘s hand was still a little damp and Jim grabbed a nearby dish towel to pat it dry before starting to feel a fresh wave of uneasiness.

Jim did his best to ignore it and his expression dropped into neutral as he opened the first aid kit.

Jim did his best not to think about Seb’s hands being fisted tight in his shirt front earlier.

Instead Jim mentally measured Sebastian’s fingers, folded a corresponding wad of soft gauze into an approximate shape, and warily reached for Seb’s hand.

The flesh was cool in places but warmer where the knuckle was a little swollen.

Jim gently eased Sebastian’s fingers apart and fitted the gauze around the splint then between the digits, folding the fabric with a peculiar conscientiousness. Moran had lost his smart mouth for the moment, which was mostly welcome but a little off-putting. Snapping back at the blond would at least ease the intimacy of the act into something more casual.

Jim lightly pressed the fingers into the wadding, analysing the angle of the bones and ease of movement. Satisfied, he turned and reached for a roll of medical tape. He looped the proximal phalanges of the ring and pinkie finger together, tested the tightness, then cut the tape. Jim did the same to the distal phalanges near the top of the pinkie to keep the lines straight.

“Wriggle your fingers for me?” Jim murmured.

Sebastian obeyed, and found that the cushioning eased his discomfort somehow.

Seeing Moran’s improvement, Jim almost took the hand back for a habitual mocking kiss.

The thought burned him and Jim turned to the first aid kit instead, awkwardly checking the scissor blades for tape gum before tidying things away.

“Better? Good,” Jim muttered.

He risked a glance at Seb’s blue eyes then grabbed the kit to his chest a little too defensively.

“It’s late… I’m going to change for bed,” Jim said. He didn’t often bother, but the thought of sleeping in his skin beside Moran after earlier was alarming. Besides, Jim did not want to explain the little bit of jewellery around his throat.

There was also the risk that Sebastian could hurt himself on it… but that was unlikely. On the rare occasion they shared a bed Moran knew damned well to keep to his own side.

“Are… you coming?” Jim asked because he was afraid of no man. “I don’t think I heard you go for a nap today so I expect you’re tired?”

Jim felt physically exhausted but his brain felt on fire. He doubted sleep would come easily to himself.

~

Jim tended to Sebastian's injured digits with quiet focus, the dark fringes of his lashes lowered, his expressive eyebrows knitted in concentration. Sebastian, forearm on the table, head slightly bowed, was almost put in a trance by watching him, by feeling his hands on his, which probably warranted some psychiatric diagnosis or other, considering it was the very same hands that had inflicted the damage in the first place. They looked deceptively delicate beside his own, but they weren't. They were strong and skilful, and capable of basically anything their owner put his mind to, at least that was what Sebastian was convinced of (Jim not putting his mind to doing the dishes could not shake that conviction). Just as he was convinced Jim could have been anything he wanted to be - a doctor, a teacher, a scientist, a detective - only that all these occupations would have driven him demented with boredom after a short while. Exploring, explaining, investigating ... it all meant dealing with things that were already there. In comparison the possibilities, the creative scope and overall potential of a criminal empire were almost endless. Sebastian tried not to think about whether even that might go stale on Jim some day.

Jim worked unhurriedly, accurately and with great care. When he was done, Sebastian duly wriggled his fingers and nodded. Yes, much better. To be fair, none of the medics he'd encountered in his turbulent life would have done a better job.

"Maybe you were in the boyscouts too, prepared as you were," Sebastian commented on the purpose-made splint. Considering the fact Jim had created the emergency he'd been so admirably prepared for, Sebastian's tone was rather placid.

He watched Jim meticulously tidy everything away and gather the first aid kit to his chest. In the air between them still hung something that had shaken and dazed them both. It probably said a lot that it was less the shocking bout of brutality it all had started with, but the very antithesis that had followed. The quiet intimacy of the medical care didn't bring things safely back to neutral ground either.

Then Sebastian blinked, because Jim asking him if he was coming to bed was the most shocking part of all. The completely ordinary domestic phrase took Sebastian's breath away, even though on occasion he'd been ordered, dragged or allowed into Jim's bed before.

"Yes, I'm coming," he said quietly.

Basically left with the use of only one hand and a half, it took him thirty minutes to top himself up on his medication, change laboriously into (very loose) boxers and a fresh t-shirt, as well as clean and reload the revolver that had caused such offence. He found Jim in bed already and stifled all domestic jokes. Things still felt hanging precariously in the balance, so Sebastian simply placed the weapon on Jim's nightstand.
"I know you told me to put it away with the toys, but I'd rather you'd keep it there. Please. Just until... , for a few days I mean."

~

Jim was pleased that Moran had agreed to sleep in his bed tonight (and couldn’t rightly explain even to himself why he’d asked the man instead of commanding it) but was also relieved that Sebastian had other things to do first. Jim was used to having the blond follow him like a shadow and the presence was usually a comfortable one, but… things were not usual.

Between … what Moran had done … and the heavy uncertainty hanging over the man’s life expectancy, Jim was glad to have a few moments to himself to gather his thoughts and usually unquitting iron nerve.

Jim rifled through his sleepwear with more care than he’d usually take before a meeting with a sheik, oil baron or mafioso. Jim had always appreciated the efficiency of costumes as a certain type of both armour and trickery.

The black silk pyjamas, Jim decided. The darkness lent him a sharp, intimidating air, the shine of them almost ethereal when the harsh colour (or rather, a sense thereof) washed him out to an eerie bone-white.
Tonight’s look selected, Jim stalked through to his bathroom and spent far too long brushing his teeth. His dark eyes burned into his reflection in the remains of the broken mirror he was yet to replace.

Jim tried not to look at his hand, but flexed his fingers reflexively, considering the previously ignored ache and sting. He’d broken something - hurt himself - rather than lash out at a perfectly replaceable employee.

Jim’s reflection was unconvinced by the assertion either, sneering in distaste and uncertainty. Jim gargled and spat again, as though he could spit the memory of Moran’s insubordination from his mouth if he just tried hard enough.

Jim’s lips were swollen and red by the time he finally stormed out of the bathroom.

Jim paced ridiculously for a few moments, questioning both his motives and what the fuck to do when Moran descended.

Jim eventually settled into bed and stared at the ceiling in irritation. His arms twitched with exasperating adrenaline surges and he willed away the urge to toss and turn. Looking ruffled and flushed was hardly going to sell his pretence of nonchalance.

On arrival Jim focused on Moran’s fresh attire rather than look too closely at Sebastian’s face. Jim had never found much fault in his impenetrable expressions before, but Jim had been so disarmed earlier he had entirely lost his mask for a few horrifying moments and was unconfident in his ability to maintain a new one under much scrutiny. Seb was more familiar with his manners and everyday tells than anyone else, and whilst the man’s powers of perception ordinarily made him good at his job they made him almost a threat right now.

A threat Jim had invited to his bed, but keep your enemies close, right?

Jim rolled his eyes at Sebastian’s choice in underwear. The baggy shorts did nothing to flatter the blond’s body, but Jim supposed between the various gouges at the front and the bruises at the back Seb would be more comfortable than in the tighter underpants Jim preferred him in.

Anything that helped strengthen Jim’s resolve not to fuck the exasperating brute into the mattress yet again (but worse, with… other elements) was likely beneficial.

Jim chewed his lip slowly at the return of the Ruger. The Ruger he’d fucked Seb with, when he’d bent Sebastian over the kitchen table yet again and made his claim once more on the blond.

The means of ending his problems with Moran. The signifier of the ticking timebomb of whatever had really happened to Sebastian in India.

Jim sighed and lifted his pillows, exposing the handgun there and the other strapped to the headboard. Which he still hadn’t painted over, the chipped paint drawing Jim’s eyes horribly.

“You think I’m letting you in here if you grow a tail and sharp claws, Moran?” Jim asked in a bored drawl.
He didn’t look at the man’s face but he could see the tension in Sebastian’s body.

Jim gave a put upon noise, slipped out of his bed and fetched a box. He indicated a serrated silver triblade nestled within that he had bought on an idle whim, not for tiger mauling.

“Darling, what makes you think I’d want to make it quick for you if you ever hurt me?” Jim asked with a smoothly cocked eyebrow and perfectly even voice.

~

While any ordinary man would look silly or cosy or vulnerable in pyjamas, or at least harmless - Jim Moriarty looked dangerous. Even before producing one of the most horrific weapons Sebastian had ever seen.

"That would make ... quite a mess," he agreed cautiously, stifling a grimace, but for a few seconds entirely unable to tear his eyes away from the silver gleam of the cruelly twisted, triple-edged blade. The resulting wounds would be gruesome, almost impossible to patch up and had a good chance of being fatal. Even without the additional effect of the material.

Gingerly Sebastian eased himself into the bed, carefully keeping to his side. "And I don't want to spoil your fun fantasies, but what makes you so sure you'll have the time to ... take your time? I didn't... " To which of course Jim would point out what a clumsy oaf he was, but they both knew he wasn't. "Why not keep both within reach, the knife and the gun, I simply think it's the most reliable option, and you might have to choose one.”

Jim seemed to have regained his composure completely, so Sebastian found it irresistible to tease a bit. He indicated the middle of the bed. "You could lay the knife there, it's an ancient method to ensure nothing ... untowards happens between the occupants."

It also stung a bit more than he cared to admit, that Jim almost looked as though he had rinsed his mouth with acid after Sebastian had kissed him.

~

Jim gave Sebastian a dark look. “The least said about you of all people being taken unaware the better. I am forewarned and have my methods of disabling you first if necessary… The blade is for after, when I ensure you never repeat any mistakes that deserve a personal touch.” Jim glanced at the Ruger distastefully. “Leave it there if you want, but a bullet is far too pedestrian an end for the likes of you.”
Jim took the knife from its box and turned it over in his hands contemplatively.

“Really, Moran?” he said. “You want to risk one of us rolling over onto this in the night?” Jim brought the tip to his mouth and flicked his tongue against the blade pointedly, a wet bead of blood immediately welling up thereafter. “It’s sharp, you know?” Jim murmured, flashing his teeth in a pink smile.

Jim hopped closer and drew the blade with absolute precision just over Sebastian’s teeshirt.

“Besides,” Jim taunted, “you didn’t half squeal when I poked you with the fork.”

Jim snapped the blade back into the box sharply.

“I think you’ve picked up enough wounds for one day, don’t you?” Jim asked dryly. “We can always start again tomorrow if you’re desperately inclined. There’s still unbroken skin on your feet…” Jim’s voice dipped menacingly, “Like you say, I might wish to slow. You. Down.”

Jim flipped onto his back, away from Seb, and bounced lightly on his pillows.

“I would have thought you being sore would be enough to ensure nothing happened until your promised method of starting my morning, Moran, but you don’t need to worry.” Jim turned stiffly onto his side. “I think you’ve instigated quite enough touching for one day, don’t you?”

~

The blade was so sharp it would slice through a feather sailing down onto it, let alone flesh and skin. Sebastian's eyes glazed over, watching Jim's tongue flicker out and the crimson droplet emerging on it, and he froze as the fabric of his t-shirt parted with a mere whisper, but not the skin underneath. A nonchalant display of the utter precision and self-control Jim was capable of, if he so chose. But you never knew if he would, and more than once Sebastian had seen him slip into bloody bestiality within a blink, and not always for any discernible reason.

And it made something inside Sebastian go hot and tight and breathless, something that made no distinction whether Jim insinuated he was going to fuck him or to hurt him. Today the line between the two had become more blurry than ever before, to such an extent it barely existed anymore. Merging the two into something new, weirdly, twistedly intimate, and reassuring.

Sebastian would have been hard pressed to name a body part of him that didn't hurt, and yet he felt strangely complacent, peaceful almost.

"Yes, it's been quite a day," he muttered, "but tomorrow's another one." The tip of his tongue dabbed his split lip lightly. He smiled when reminded of his morning project, and simply tried not to think about how the day might end.

Which worked for about five seconds before he realised what he'd just seen as Jim had turned onto his side - a glint of silver, barely visible against Jim's pale throat, but set off by the shimmering blackness of his pyjama shirt. Sebastian tilted his head to catch a better glimpse. He'd never seen Jim wear jewellery, not in bed anyway, and outside only on very rare occasions as part of a disguise.

"If I knew it would do any good, I'd go down to the kitchen and make you a garlic wreath. But maybe that would only make you more spicy." Thinking back over the last weeks, he had not found garlic repulsive. And yes, he was being inappropriately silly but suddenly the tension and worry threatened to overwhelm him and this seemed as good a way to deal with it as any other.

~

Jim tensed as Moran shifted to look at him oddly. The warm weight of his mother’s crucifix hung toward his shoulder as Jim lay on his side, surely unseen, but Sebastian was observant - had he noticed Jim didn’t normally button his pyjama jacket all the way at the neckline?

And then Moran opened his smart mouth, and Jim supposed Seb had either seen something when Jim had moved, or he was just astute. At least enough to notice, if not to keep his fucking mouth firmly closed.

Dying a little inside, Jim turned towards his pillow to glare blackly.

“If the dogs aren’t allowed garlic I imagine it’s not much good for cats either, even very big ones with no sense,” Jim grumbled.

He rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. “I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Jim said. He made a face, avoiding Moran’s own, and muttered, “It’s no secret to you what my real accent sounds like. Some things stick, despite all logic.”

Jim snorted. “Christ knows the logical thing would have been to have either buried you or put you in a mental institution, not pander to you.”

Jim kicked Sebastian not quite lightly. “Speaking of an absence of logic, why are you still trying to annoy me? Aren’t you tired after your long day of driving me to fucking distraction?”

Jim sat up then, and swallowed as he looked at Sebastian. Seb did look tired, but he also looked overwhelmed, and not in a fun way.

Jim rolled his eyes awkwardly. “Fuck sake, Moran, no one’s shot your puppy. You’re going to be fine. I’ll fill your fuzzy belly full of steaks and drug you if you try to get me to pet you or anything else equally embarrassing. I’ll be fine, because even something with fangs and claws is bound to be less of a disaster than opening my living space to you.”

Jim gave Seb another kick and a steady glare. “If I am going to face an oversized house cat tomorrow, I’d rather he wasn’t irate from being overtired, so get the fuck to sleep, will you?”

~

Sebastian had only seen the silver chain, not the pendant, but Jim himself in his ire had given him an inkling as to what it was. Sebastian nodded. "You can take the lad out of Dublin, but not - " Jim shut him up with a half-hearted kick, and Sebastian stifled a smile. He wasn't as good at covering up his exhaustion and apprehension though.

Fidgeting to find a remotely comfortable position, he paused. Did Jim just... had he just tried to reassure him? It didn't quite correspond with Jim glowering at the ceiling, and it did sound grouchy and a bit awkward, like trying something he'd heard you should be doing when someone displayed distress. Show empathy, or, if you lacked that feature, fake it. Still, it was enough to put a smile on Sebastian's face and a warm tingle in his chest - for exactly that reason: it was nothing that came natural to Jim, but only as a conscious effort.

And it even worked. Jim was right: they had both survived multiple occasions with all odds stacked against them, so why wouldn't they now…

"Yes, we'll be alright," Sebastian murmured. He nestled his head deeper into the pillow, closing his eyes. His sleep pattern was so fucked up, you couldn't even call it that anymore, but after almost thirty waking hours apart from a brief post-coital nap, he probably would conk out within minutes. And he almost had when the corners of his mouth curled up again. "You know, never mind what will happen," he slurred, "it sounds good anyway..." - the steaks, the drugs, and Jim putting up with him forever...

~

Thankfully, Sebastian settled without necessitating further uncomfortable reassurances, or even threats. Jim watched dubiously as the man settled into the pillows and smiled.

“I should suffocate you in your sleep,” Jim muttered sourly, noting that Seb was drifting off even as he spoke. “Your lone brain cell is frolicking around with dreams of rare dinners and bellyrubs when I should be having a clutch of bear traps delivered. I bet not even that would teach you, would it?”

Jim gave a deliberately quiet but still bitter snort and shifted slowly, careful not to wake his exasperating right hand man.

Jim was tired too, but with the way his synapses were firing he knew sleep of his own was far from imminent. Padding on bare feet, Jim paced slowly as he ran yet more mental calculations. There were so many unknown variables, so many things that could happen… but if Jim suspended his disbelief, most paths brought him to one conclusion: Jim was going to be alone with a tiger in the house in less than twenty four meagre hours. A tiger Jim did not want to kill, but that very well might try to savage him. Perhaps even eat him.

Jim mentally mapped out where the weapons were situated across each floor and where Sebastian-the-striped-menace might feasibly force his way to. Jim then cross-referenced which weapons might be effective, and in what ways, and what the risks were.

Jim cast a look back at his bed, where Moran was sleeping peacefully, the bastard.

Jim slipped out of the bedroom quietly to make a few more adjustments. There wasn’t much he could do about a tiger’s sense of smell, but if Seb didn’t know where Jim had strategically placed things then he couldn’t remember those facts as a predatory maneating supernatural beast.

“Should have fucking moved in Poppy,” Jim grumbled to himself as he double and triple checked various dosages. “Poppy wouldn’t have instigated this fucking madness.”

Tom might have, but he was spooky enough he’d probably take an attack from a supernatural creature in his stride.

“Should never fuck the staff,” Jim lamented to himself. He gave various surfaces around the place which he had fucked Moran good and hard upon a withering look. He returned to the bedroom.

“Should have gutted you the first time you spoke back to me,” Jim whispered accusingly to Sebastian’s back, then crept back into bed.

Jim sat and watched the man sleep for a moment. “Should just lock you in a cage tomorrow and be done with this,” Jim grumbled, and finally threw himself into his pillows to sleep.

Chapter 7: Marks

For Sebastian it was the first, almost unbroken night's sleep in weeks (there had been a sleepy trip to the fridge in the small hours of the morning), not counting the other night when Jim had drugged him, but putting him through the wringer like he had yesterday apparently had a very similar effect. Memories of that had him drifting into vivid dreams every now and then. They were permeated by exotic, delightful smells and colours and sensations that drew Sebastian in, free of worries and impending danger and complications.

With the midmorning sun pleasantly dimmed by the newly installed blinds, even waking up didn't immediately prompt the return of his malady. Yes, there were the familiar aches and pains, and more recent ones as well, but also a pleasant warmth, the smooth whisper of silk, and an alluring mix of scents…

Sebastian opened his eyes, looking straight at black glossy fabric and also black, mussed up hair, and quickly closed them again. He inched backwards, trying to fake half-sleep, or at least drowsiness, all while straining his ears. Jim's breathing pattern was inconclusive, it was slow but ... maybe a bit too quiet for genuine sleep? With a very real sigh and a deep breath Sebastian regained his side of the bed, making a show of 'waking up'...

Then it all came back: possibly (but hopefully not) his last day on earth, and his plans on how to start it.

~

A sudden chill permeated Jim’s back. He blinked awake in groggy confusion and discomfort.

The duvet strained against him as something shifted further away. What..?

Oh. Sebastian. He’d slept here last night. Far more than Jim had.

Jim felt a further chill race up his spine as he realised the warmth against his back had been Moran. At least the troublesome rogue had the sense to return to his side of the bed without prompting.
An even more troublesome part of Jim’s mind pointed out that all of the bed belonged to Jim, especially the middle as he liked to starfish out, and Moran ought not have a side of Jim’s bed at all.
Had… Had Moran done that before? Slept pressed against him then moved away in the morning?

That thought was almost as bad as-

Oh God. Oh Jesus fuck…

The Kiss yesterday…

Jim groaned aloud and pulled a mostly unused pillow from nearest the headboard over his skull. “It’s too fucking early for this…”

Jim felt Sebastian shift at the opposite side of the bed. Jim sat up and glared, his under-eyes ringed almost as dark as his pyjamas.

“What the fuck have I said about waking me before I’m ready?”

~

Sebastian made a soothing noise and tried to look innocent, but he knew enough of Jim's moods to know there wasn't much point in explaining to the little abrasive fucker that he hadn't woken him deliberately, as he had yesterday.

"And the top o' the morning to you too," he said brightly. "We could try to enjoy our last day...?" The tip of his tongue appeared in the corner of his mouth which curled into a smile. And although he didn't go as far as to cross over to the other side of the bed, he did move a bit lower, a pointed look leaving no doubt as to what he meant. "Also, for some things it's never too early?" He batted his eyelashes.

~

“You can lose the Lucky Charms shite right now if you want to live long enough to get to brush your teeth this morning, Little Lord Moron,” Jim responded acidly.

His vengeful look faltered as Moran did that thing with his tongue in his smile like he always did when he felt comfortable enough to be playful. When the fuck had the blond prick gotten comfortable enough that his response to a genuine telling off was that fucking infuriatingly charming smile? Especially when all Jim could hear was ’last day’…

Oh. Sebastian shifting down the bed a little helped Jim’s tired brain realise how to parse that cheery inflection in Seb’s voice. And then the bastard had the cheek to make a face at him, as though Jim was some kind of imbecile for being too fucking sleep deprived and… unsettled… to immediately follow.

Moran going so far as to bat his eyelashes made Jim want to punch the cretin easily as much as to fuck his smug face.

Jim actually considered rolling back over to sleep for another hour or three until his brain felt less like mush. It was all too much already.

Moran’s ever-so-pleased smile finally wavered.

“It’s never too early to want to peel the skin from your bones,” Jim bit back.

Stretching until his spine popped, Jim gave a sigh and glowered at Seb. “I shouldn’t be surprised that I’ve barely opened my eyes and already you’ve got something to make up to me, should I?”

Jim kicked the duvet off of his legs and pretended not to notice (and certainly not enjoy) how Seb’s eyes lit up.

Jim snatched for Sebastian’s hair and dragged the man towards his hips. “Bring that pretty mouth here, pet, before it gets you into any more trouble…”

~

The coarse and frankly quite…unimaginative disfigurement of his name was something Sebastian was so used to, it only prompted a brief but arrogant arching of one eyebrow. Something you’d better not dismiss, ever, was the fanciful threats Jim loved to make. Often people who'd scoffed at their ludicrousness found themselves on the receiving end faster than you could say 'psycho'.

Sebastian had no misconceptions about that. And yet, despite, or maybe because of yesterday's savagery, he had gotten more comfortable. It had shown the significant extent of brutality Jim was ready to inflict on him, but also confirmed he put a value in him that set Sebastian quite apart from ... everyone else really. Within reason of course, he knew that too...

Now, despite all the grousing, the baleful glint in Jim’s eyes flickered towards intrigued. Not that he'd let the opportunity pass to snatch control and a fistful of Seb's hair. Sebastian willingly followed to where he wanted to be anyway. Not without a small grunt of pain when, taken by surprise, he tried to brace himself on his injured hand. He settled down on his elbow.

"Quite impatient are we?" he murmured as Jim lifted his hips, accommodating his efforts to peel off his pyjama trousers. The hand in his hair twisted and Sebastian took the cue to shut up, revelling in the interested twitch of Jim's growing erection as he greeted it with a hot breath and a slow swipe of his tongue - appreciatively, taking stock, but also... claiming territory. Every inch of skin and firm, glorious flesh he meant to take his time with, breathing Jim's sent, tasting his arousal and yes, impatience...

Before the bitching could recommence, Sebastian preempted it - taking Jim deep, swirling his tongue, then drawing back slowly.

~

Jim felt a twinge of something that might have been regret when Moran crumpled a little where his injured hand didn’t quite want to take his weight. It was unclear why Jim hadn’t found that amusing and he felt a momentary rising panic: had last night or the possibility of losing Moran tonight unsettled him more than he realised?

Jim was grateful for the ill-advised comment Sebastian had the audacity to throw his way; it gave Jim the excuse to twist his grip on the blond head more harshly even as Jim raised up his hips, redistributing his weight pettily. Sebastian stopped making smart comments, but wasn’t so bothered that he didn’t dive in tongue first.

He was good for something.

Except Moran took too long to get started, nosing him like a pet glad of a returning master, and Jim’s mood was not nearly patient enough for teasing.

Sebastian seemed to pick up on that at last, finally showing off what that long throat could do, and trailing his clever tongue up the underside of Jim’s dick to tease the head, and then… pulling away?

Jim blinked at Moran, trying to determine if something was wrong or if the man was just going too slow.

Sebastian drew back in, taking Jim like a good boy, then withdrew at a frustratingly glacial pace.

Jim twisted his grip on Seb’s hair again, then pushed up and swung the bigger man onto his back.

Jim kicked off his pyjama bottoms completely before Sebastian could do more than catch his slightly winded breath.

“For someone who might not live beyond the night you’re taking your sweet time,” Jim grumbled. It occurred to him that if it was Seb’s last day on earth they might spend it all in bed together, but that thought grated Jim’s nerves.

Jim straddled Sebastian’s chest and gripped the man’s head. “Do a good job and maybe Daddy will let you come at some point today, Sebby,” Jim growled softly, and then he pushed past Moran’s lips firmly.
It was not an easy position for Sebastian to breathe in, but Jim figured the blond would let him know before he came close to passing out. Jim cradled Seb’s head in his hands and fucked his throat at a much faster pace than that of Sebastian’s content licks.

Jim felt Seb reach up and grip him, but a quick look down showed that despite Sebastian’s watering eyes he wasn’t in overmuch distress. Jim couldn’t help but hold Seb’s gaze as he continued to thrust into the welcoming heat of the man’s mouth.

Jim felt something drop in his gut but it wasn’t just blood thrumming towards his groin. Seb’s lips around him were wet and red and swollen, just like they’d looked after kissing Jim senseless in the kitchen.

~

Right, impatient had been quite an understatement... This was domination, with Jim grabbing him and literally shoving down his throat that it was in his control alone what Sebastian's mouth did to him, and how, and to what effect…

Sebastian's active contributions were as limited as the oxygen reaching his brain, but he made the best of both, his mind fogging up between suffocating and the rushes of short breaths he was allowed, between his injuries screaming under the weight that pinned him down and the delicious forceful intrusion, violating his lips, his throat... No, he couldn't do much, but when he bucked up underneath Jim, or swallowed around him, sucked or moaned - Jim could not entirely feign nonchalance or indifference. And to Sebastian every little wisp of feedback was glorious. His good hand had grabbed Jim's hip, rather steadying him than pushing him away, sometimes digging his nails in when he was desperate for air ..., signals Jim sometimes heeded but occasionally not, until a few teeth grazing his shaft finally did the trick. Another breath was granted but then retaliation was fierce and reflective tears blurred Sebastian's vision.

Not that Jim cared, this was to show he was ruthlessly taking his own pleasure. And needless to say Sebastian found this much hotter than he ought to.

~

“If you want to keep those teeth of yours… my darling… I do suggest… you take better care … with them…” Jim panted with a fierce edge to his voice that his grip on Moran’s skull echoed.

The blond looked very pretty indeed: his cheeks flushed, his lashes wet, and drool dripping down his chin like it had when Jim had gagged him with the belt before.

Jim enjoyed being rough in general, but he made a point of making Moran’s throat pay for how those red lips made Jim feel - and every other recent indignity too. Jim felt and ignored the burn of Sebastian’s nails scrabbling a little desperately at his hip for permission to breathe.

Jim could finish quickly like this - he had all of the control here and Seb’s mouth was so good - but he took his time. Even if Seb turned blue, he’d live, for now.

The frustrations of the past month culminated in Jim’s grip and the brutal snapping of his hips. Everything came down to the man forcing his straining lips wide for Jim. He had been and was so much trouble, had broken so many rules, caused so much upheaval… he might be the death of them both and Moran wasn’t even sorry!

He was almost never fucking sorry, and Jim would never have put up with it all if the man hadn’t also been so damned entertaining. Every time Jim fucked Seb he felt the blond making a home that little bit deeper under Jim’s skin.

Things could not be allowed to continue as they had, even if they did both live to sunrise. Moran needed to learn and accept his place before Jim fully forgot what it was. The kitchen incident could never happen again.

Jim kept thrusting, barely aware of the choking noises Sebastian made, nor the blood rolling down his own hip from the man’s frantic grip. Jim’s fury and arousal had always been intertwined, and rattling Moran’s brain whilst Jim fucked that favoured throat was intoxicating.

Jim pulled back abruptly, roaring as he spilled over Sebastian’s upturned, aching face and bandaged chest. Dizzy with suffocation and not expecting the sudden onslaught of hot liquid, Sebastian spluttered and fell as far as he could, still pressed between Jim and the bed.

Jim shuddered and twitched, his knees seemingly boneless. He dipped down and licked a stripe through the seed painting Moran’s face, the texture of Seb’s seemingly ever-present stubble familiar under Jim’s tongue.
Finally smearing the remaining mess into an artist’s signature of his initials, Jim sat back and regarded Sebastian.

“Good boy,” Jim said roughly, accent thick.

~

Sebastian wasn't fully aware yet, how deep his need to submit and surrender to Jim ran, whether Jim had merely discovered or woken it or had trained, ingrained, and fucked it into him... By now it was so firmly grounded, it even broke the existential wave of panic inevitable when choking, and tamped down on the visceral and entirely natural impulse to fight it. Not completely, he still bucked and thrashed and clawed at Jim's hip, but basically enough to incapacitate himself to stop Jim should he... go too far. Just when a twinge of doubt formed in his foggy brain, Jim pulled back, leaving him coughing and heaving in big gulps of air into his burning lungs, while hot streaks of come landed all over his face and chest. Jim towered above him, head thrown back, roaring out in feral pleasure and satisfaction while marking what. Was. His.

"Jesus," Sebastian croaked. The inside of his throat was so raw he could barely speak, and he didn't, while Jim gave his cheek a brief lick, before lewdly pushing his fingers through the sticky mess in a sprawling signature. Sebastian, still panting, snaked out his tongue and savoured the drop of the bitter, heady taste he found still sticking to his lower lip. Fuck, he was quite sure he even had some in his eye... He squinted up at Jim when he called him a Good Boy, and felt the familiar exasperating flutter in his stomach he equally loved and hated.

"That," he rasped with a grimace that was half pain, half grin, "was quite different from what I had pictured." Which had been the point entirely, hadn't it? But there was no denying his own erection, flushed and hard against his abdomen, and although you could, scientifically, put that down to an autonomous reaction to suffocation, they both knew it wasn't.

Sebastian's hand was still on Jim's hip, fingertips inconspicuously drawing a little pattern of his own. Jim would probably skin him if he saw it before he showered, but then again... when if not on his last day?
Although he wouldn't be able to keep up the pace if it continued like this. "Breakfast, please?" he whispered hoarsely, trying to think of something he'd get down at all. The little Irish bastard would probably be suggesting porridge ...

~

The rasping sound of Moran’s voice made Jim twitch again, and few sights were as pleasing as Seb reaching out his tongue to get a taste of what Jim had left on him. Even in those baggy shorts it was clear Sebastian had far from hated the punishing treatment.

“Well now your ego and imagination both know better, don’t they?” Jim responded archly. “You’re my fucktoy,” Jim pointedly looked down at the spectacular damp patch at the front of Seb’s otherwise ugly shorts, “and you love it.”

Sebastian’s hand was still on Jim’s hip, keeping Jim steady when he’d like to collapse on top of the mattress (or, more honestly, Sebastian) instead. Jim did his best to blink away the distracting pounding of his pulse that declared he’d came very hard and still needed a moment (or a nap) to come back to normal functioning.

Jim bared his teeth at Moran’s request for sustenance, but felt a little thrill at the ragged way the man whispered ‘please’. It must have just been residual endorphins, because Jim leaned in and purred, “You’d rather eat than have Daddy take care of you?” He nipped the shell of Seb’s ear then pulled away with a shrug. “Alright.”

Jim drew back a little then frowned. “Close your eyes. You let me dry in like that and your eyelashes are going to stick themselves together.”

Jim waited for Sebastian to obey (possibly because Seb was now thinking of his own sexual release, or because it was rarely a good idea to voluntarily blind oneself near Jim) then moved back in. He breathed playfully on Moran’s face then carefully licked away the trail of semen that was dripping from Sebastian’s warily crinkled brow.

Jim sat back, wiping his hands on his thighs. “Go on then. Get started on breakfast. There’s fresh honey in the cupboard; it’ll coat your throat and soothe it.”

Jim stood and grinned. “Although I like you quiet. I’m less likely to murder you for your witticisms.”
It was then that Jim noticed Seb was eyeing his cut hip strangely.

“Yes, I know you drew my blood, you brat, and there will be consequences for that later, rest assured.”

Jim paused. Enough blood had returned to his brain now to remember the seemingly innocuous shapes Moran’s thumb had worked into Jim’s hip earlier. It hadn’t been a benign tactile gesture at all. It hadn’t even been the sin of affection.

Jim raised his pyjama shirt in horror and stared at the bloody SM there.

“Oh, you fucking didn’t!!!”

~

Apparently Sebastian was such a good boy he hadn't even expected to be 'taken care of' right away. Nor to be tidied up... this way. Jim's tongue licking over his eyelid seemed an act about as debauched as Sebastian felt. And, like always, he soaked up the small moments he liked to interpreted as near-tenderness, even when it was merely perfunctory advice.

When the movement of the mattress told him that Jim had moved away, Sebastian cracked open the eye now saved from being glued shut. Jim's reaction to having been bloodied was surprisingly jolly, until... , until he took a closer look, then it changed to utter disbelief and he all but screeched.

"I uhm ..." Sebastian's barely functioning brain scrambled for the best way to react, while he tried not to smirk at the two well accomplished letters but look suitably perplexed. "Must have happened when I was about to pass out," he rasped, realising too late that was a tricky explanation too... Like, he'd been scribbling some last message for posterity, just running out of space?

'SM itten kitten' ?

'SM ol bastard snuffed me' ?

He did not have the feeling that would be going down well.

"It'll wash off," he mumbled lamely, with a little shrug, as if he had no idea what the fuss was about...

~

Jim backhanded Moran hard enough to crack a cheekbone, like they both knew he would have done for backchat before they started fucking, but had rarely done so ferociously since.

“Don’t lie to me,” Jim said coldly. The playful curl of his lips had been entirely replaced by a grim line.

Jim clawed at the drying initials until his already broken skin was inflamed and freely weeping. “That is not the fucking point and you know it,” he snarled.

He glared at the fresh bruise across Moran’s face. “I told you that I’d keep you safe tonight, so whatever this madness is you have no excuse for it. You have nothing to feel brave about and no extenuating circumstances to excuse what fucking better have been temporary insanity.”

Jim spat on the bigger man. “You’re nothing to me. If you can’t learn that you don’t belong here. I haven’t put up with you all of this time because you’re a terrific shot - if I kill you, the next best man is better than anyone alive. You’ve been an entertaining pet, but you know I’m not sentimental.”

Jim shook his head furiously, his mother’s chain starkly pale against his flushed neck. “I haven’t wasted a fucking month of my life letting you recuperate and drive me to distraction just to waste you now, but I’m at the end of my patience and I’m NOT a patient man…”

Jim reached for his discarded pyjama bottoms disgustedly. “Keep out of my sight, if you don’t want me to do anything you’ll regret.”

Jim spun on his heels, not bothering to dress, and stalked away. He was shaking with rage again.

This had been a mistake. All of it.

Jim hadn’t felt comfortable joining Moran in the kitchen for breakfast earlier after what had happened between them before, but he stormed towards it now. He was livid, unbearably so, and he needed something to destroy.

The drawers went first, then Jim began to wrench the cupboard doors off. They’d been expertly made and fitted, but Jim’s wrath lent him strength.

~

A fraction before the vicious blow connected Sebastian knew he'd become too careless. Blinding pain and an explosion of stars across his vision extinguished all delusions. He'd been pushing and dancing over lines left, right and centre and Jim's deceptively erratic reactions to that had let him believe that he would, somehow, get away with it.

That fucking tiny little doodle sent Jim into a fit of rage unlike any other Sebastian had experienced before, at least not being on the receiving end of it. It froze you to the core and then incinerated you, caustic and venomous enough to blister your skin and singe off your eyebrows.

Suddenly it seemed like providence he'd been such a nuisance these past weeks, maybe it was what - barely - saved him now. Luckily no one wanted to see that much effort and patience go to waste.

Shocked and stunned, Sebastian bit back the bile rising in his still burning throat, and wrenched his reflexively blurring vision away from Jim's livid face and that... alluringly flushed... neck.

'It's not me who needs keeping safe!' he wanted to shout as Jim stormed out, but didn’t.

Although the very proof echoed through the house a minute later - splintering wood, screeching hinges, breaking glass...

Sebastian wiped the spittle from his face with the edge of a sheet, flinching when touching his swollen check. For the moment he found it quite easy to resist his ingrained impulse to rush after the little fucker to save him from tearing a nail or stubbing a toe.

Instead, after a while he slid out of bed and skulked off to his own room to lick his wounds. He changed those bandages he could manage on his own, took his medication and waited for the infernal racket downstairs to tire itself out.

~

When the cupboards and their contents were vigorously strewn about the kitchen, Jim had shifted his focus to the fucking worktop Moran had pinned him against. Solid stone that it was, it took a lot of effort to make much dent in it, never mind destroy it. Jim attacked it from all angles with screaming incandescence, even going so far as to climb into the carcasses of the cupboards to batter the unfortunate object from underneath with various things that came to hand.

The dressing over Jim’s knuckles had flaked off at some point. His entire hands were bloody. He’d never bothered to actually dress, and had not just run ladders in the silk of his pyjama top but lost one of the sleeves and a number of buttons to his work. Every one of his limbs was bleeding, and when Jim finally retreated back enough to survey his actions he walked sticky, red footprints through the carnage.

The countertop was broken into large pieces, one of which had destroyed the hob and possibly the functionality of the oven itself given the size of the dent in the side.

It was probably as much as Jim could manage without fetching explosives or power tools.

Slumping a little, Jim’s fury worked itself back down to a moderate simmer. The physical exertion was more than he’d had in some time, and he hadn’t slept much to begin with.

Jim abandoned the mess and limped to one of the guest bathrooms to shower. He was going to take a fucking long nap in his office and not think about Moran at all.

Pieces of the kitchen fell from Jim’s open wounds and clogged the shower drain. Just standing in the growing pool of water stung the broken soles of Jim’s feet but he couldn’t bring himself to care overmuch.
He wiped at the worst of the grime with grazed arms and switched off the stream of water with a sigh of relief.

When Jim dried himself indifferently the towel came away bloodier than expected. He dropped it on the floor and walked over it, his feet still leaving bloody prints in his wake.

Jim pulled on his pyjama bottoms, the shirt irredeemable, and made his way to his study. His earlier limp was less pronounced now that the flotsam had been flushed from his soles, but it was beginning to be uncomfortable to walk.

Jim dropped down onto his comfortable settee, not at all mindful of the grazes, bruises and various injuries he’d brought upon himself in his rage. The sight of the tiger lilies on his desk squeezed Jim’s insides and he twisted around, uncharacteristically turning his back to the door.

Jim was asleep before the cuts on his feet had time to congeal.

~

Only when a last furious banshee howl and the banging of multiple doors told Sebastian that the kitchen had been vacated, he ventured downstairs. Whatever he'd expected - he wasn't prepared for this. Short of a hole in the wall and severed limbs strewn about, the kitchen looked as though it had been hit by an RPG.

"Jesus... fucking... hell." Sebastian stared at the scene of the destruction in utter shock. It spoke of such unhinged fury, that for a moment he felt almost queasy. The severed pyjama sleeve and bloody smears and footprints amongst the ruins had much to do with it, painting a gruesome picture of the physical state Jim must to be in. Sebastian's feigned indifference as to what the raving little lunatic did to himself imploded. The only thing that kept him from going after him was Jim's thoroughly genuine threat and the realisation that he was currently standing in the wake of a lethal hurricane that, had it not changed path, would have left his shattered bones strewn about, not the kitchen’s.

Everything in here was torn, smashed and mangled, and a complete write-off. How Jim had managed to even break the stone countertop, crack the hob and dent the steel door of the fridge was beyond him.
Barely able to walk straight, with very limited use of his left hand and his right eye rapidly swelling shut, Sebastian felt neither capable nor inclined to do anything about the kitchen, not given this apocalyptic scale of damage. But he felt just as incapable of not checking on Jim, who must have torn his hands and feet to shreds, fucking irate psycho that he was, maybe so out of it on adrenaline and rage, he might not even be aware of the severity of his injuries.

The only upside: it was dead easy to follow his trail... After listening on the study door, Sebastian entered with stealth and infinitesimal slowness. The settee and the curled-up half-naked figure sleeping on it were smeared with blood, but after quiet scrutiny Sebastian decided it wasn't enough to be life-threatening. There was still the danger of sepsis, but, if Jim didn't kill him on sight later on, Sebastian would make sure to drench him with medication.

He returned to the kitchen and, glad to be wearing shoes, he picked his way through the rubble. Stepping over broken drawers and appliances, crunching through shards of glass and plastic, sugar and cornflakes, he collected an assortment of random food that still seemed edible and retreated into the garden.

Devouring an eclectic meal of cold ham and sausages, an unheated lasagne, squishy untoasted toast, cheese and chocolate pops, Sebastian had caught a brief glimpse of Gary and Poppy on their rounds, with the dogs displaying the same strange behaviour towards him as last night, after which the security detail kept a certain distance from this part of the garden and the main house.

Sebastian killed another hour by lying in the shade, sucking on ice cubes and nursing his bruised face with a bag of frozen peas he'd swathed in a towel. Then he threw it aside, because if this indeed happened to be his last day, it was highly absurd to invest time and effort in healing! And in this case it also didn't make much of a difference if Jim annihilated him a few hours early, right?!

He rang one of the swanky restaurant places that also delivered breakfast, and shortly after that he knocked on the door of the study, bearing a bowl of warm soapy water, and an armful of clean towels and medical supplies.

~

Jim woke up reluctantly, his muscles aching and his skin stinging. He pushed away from what he was sleeping atop of and grimaced as various cuts he had stuck to it; he peeled away impatiently, lip curling in disgust as blood welled from fresh ruptures in his scabs.

Jim tried to rein in his fragmented thoughts enough to determine what had woken him. A noise? Had there been a noise?

Jim surveyed the room foggily. Moving to sit up properly, he noted the state of his hands and feet and felt a rising wave of exasperation.

The kitchen. He’d destroyed the fecking kitchen instead of giving Moran the lethal beating he deserved, and it was just mistake after mistake after mistake with that man.

Jim wasn’t used to making mistakes. Especially not consecutive ones.

He’d lock Moran in one of the panic rooms tonight, and himself in another just to be safe. If Moran did turn, then Jim would have him transferred to a research facility and examined. Perhaps the contamination could be utilised, replicated, weaponised. If not, or if Moran didn’t turn, then it was time for the blond to be put down. Jim had let things get too muddy for too long already.

The door pushed open and Jim reached under a cushion for the nearest firearm.

Moran. Of bloody course.

Jim blinked incredulously at what the man carried in his arms. “Are you fucking serious? Any wounds you can’t deal with yourself you can call in a doctor for or go begging to the team next door. I told you to keep the fuck out of my way.”

Jim noted with some satisfaction that Moran paled upon hearing Jim click the safety off of his pistol. That pretty face was pretty spectacularly swollen and discoloured too.

Jim rolled his stiff neck in irritation. “Can’t you ever just do as you are told? It’s a terminal bad habit with you.”

Jim decided not to stand given the raw throbbing in his feet and drew the handgun with sleek efficiency despite his mistreated fingers.

“Did you think I’d have forgiven you by now? Think you could come with your tail between your legs and apologise? That I’d bend you over my desk beneath those flowers, give you a thrashing that would annihilate all those scars from your father, fuck you and forget your pretty trespasses?”

Jim glared at Moran down the sight. “What was so fucking important to you that you ignored my orders again?”

~

Sebastian found himself looking into the barrel of yet another firearm, and bombarded with so much venom no-one but Jim Moriarty could fit into fewer words. If his eloquence was anything to go on, despite his appearances the fucker was quite well. Still, it took Sebastian a second to understand he didn’t even consider it might be himself in need of medical attention.

Sebastian's own irritation and aggression, having been kept at bay in that diversion of shock and awe, sex and violence over the past day, reared its head again, and almost made him drop unceremoniously everything he carried, turn on his heel and march out.

"'m not here 'cause I need attention but you do." He bared his teeth because speaking still hurt do much it made his eyes water, making him only more furious. He also was not here to apologise for anything, let alone tail between his legs. "I could call in the doc, or you could make every cop and criminal of this city happy by dying of sepsis." Not a very stylish end for the ruler of an empire, but known to have happened all through history.

"Or you could take these," completely ignoring Jim’s brandishing of his fucking Beretta, Sebastian threw a water bottle and two tablets onto the seat beside Jim, then set the bowl on the ground, "and put your feet in there."

~

I’m not here because I need medical attention but you do.

Jim’s brain stalled at Moran’s response.

Slowly, the Irishman looked over Moran’s visible wounds then trailed a careful eye over his own.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Moran, I don’t need a doctor,” Jim said. He gestured dismissively with his free hand. “Just cuts and scrapes; nothing needs stitching really.”

Not technically true, he could do with a few butterfly stitches here and there and there and there and maybe a jot of medical glue, but there was nothing he’d bother bringing a medic in for.

“Sepsis is for people in the field, you old woman,” Jim derided. “I can clean up properly later.”

He startled as Moran threw down what seemed suspiciously like a peace offering and Jim almost pulled the trigger on instinct. The sorry state of Jim’s hand may have just saved Moran’s life, a lifetime of honed reflex slowed by stiffness, broken skin and pain.

Moran knelt like he didn’t care one way or the other about the gun pointed at him (an exasperatingly familiar habit) and positioned the bowl, running his mouth with attitude like not only was this just another day, but one where he was annoyed. Like he had anything to be annoyed about!

Moran had fucked everything up!

Jim turned the gun barrel to Moran’s skull. He could easily be disarmed at this distance but if Jim hadn’t blown Seb’s brains out by now he likely wouldn’t, yet, and Moran’s fucking infuriating behaviour suggested he knew it, cocky prick that he always was.

“What the fuck does it take to actually get you to stop swanning about like this is your fucking home, Moran?” Jim demanded.

~

"Hm, I reckon - " Sebastian seemed to ponder the question, "if we were to move somewhere else?"

Of course Jim considered Casa Moriarty to be his home, and Sebastian just the live-in help. On the other hand - with a fixed abode where he lived 24/7 Sebastian did not consider himself 'homeless' either.

"Besides, last night on the phone you explicitly told me to 'get the fuck home’," he pointed out, raising his left arm to deflect a devious kick aimed at his face. On his haunches as he was, apparently it was at a very convenient and thus irresistible height. Pushing the offending ankle upwards resulted in a brief imbalance of its owner, during which Sebastian simply took the Beretta from Jim's hand and lobbed it out of reach.

"And with most injuries due to household accidents, it's utter bullshit that sepsis only occurs in the field." It was stunning how such a genius mind could deliberately choose to be totally obtuse in some regards.

Again he pointed at Jim's feet and the bowl.

~

If there was anyone else in the world more capable than Sebastian Moran at making Jim’s jaw swing shut Jim hadn’t found them yet and didn’t want to. Jim did his best to communicate his feelings with a kick to the man’s face, but Moran predictably blocked it - and had the gall to launch Jim’s pistol across the room without bothering to put the safety back on, despite his regular dry comments about how Jim treated firearms. Although Moran had never fucked Jim with a loaded gun so he probably did still have the moral high ground there.

Jim shook his head as Moran tried to command Jim’s feet into the bowl like he was a little lad in need of looking after. Moran’s other hand was still on Jim’s ankle and Jim twisted it away, drawing his knees towards his chest in irritable defensiveness.

“Sepsis occurs most often when the wounds are inadequately cleaned, which is more likely in the field, not
at home where I have access to running water and antiseptic products,” Jim bickered coolly. “I washed the worst of the dirt out and I’d have gotten around to the rest after my nap - and your new habit of never letting me sleep isn’t winning you any favours, Moran.”

Jim regarded the surface of the water rather than the other man’s face.

“Last night I was only pissed at you for going behind my back - your sins recently have been considerably worse, don’t you think? You can’t possibly believe things still work now.”

Jim lightly kicked the surface of the water despite how it stung his open wounds. Beads of water sloshed up and caught Moran’s chest and chin, his expression very different from this morning.

“If it’s any comfort,” Jim said stiffly, “you lasted significantly longer than anyone else ever did.”

Jim gave Moran’s blond hair a brief tug, then tried to squeeze past the bigger man to limp away.

~

Sebastian wiped the water droplets off his face with his forearm.

"Well then..." he said much more casually than he felt. His chest had gone tight, but grovelling neither suited him, nor ever gained any favours with Jim, " - won't you allow me the last service of washing your feet?"

To be honest, after walking around barefooted they couldn't be a whole lot cleaner than before Jim had washed them. Sebastian had enough sense to not snatch Jim's leg or even just his pyjama bottoms, but by reaching for the armrest of the settee he simply blocked his path, not in an aggressive way though.

~

Jim did not hate when Moran blocked his path, and that probably was a whole lot of his problems right there.

He was reminded uncomfortably of Sunday School for a jarring moment, but it had been Jesus who’d washed his disciples’ feet, wasn’t it?

Jim thought about Moran in the ground, or in some hellish laboratory.

Jim wrapped his fingers in Moran’s hair again. “We’ll get you through tonight, and you can have tomorrow to recover if you need it, then you can pack up and we - I - can figure out where best to put you until you’re able to be of any use in the field.”

Jim reluctantly drew his gaze away from Moran’s scalp and back to the water. The thought of letting Moran tend his wounds a last time made Jim’s insides clench.

Jim sighed. “I know what I said before but… how are your wounds? Is there anything you need me to help you with?”

~

Sebastian felt suddenly sick and unbelievably... cold. He'd crossed one line too many, and would be sent away... Strangely it was Jim's softer demeanour now that was driving it home with a finality Sebastian had refused to acknowledge when screamed and raged at. Like being oblivious of fatal wound until you suddenly found yourself on the ground with someone cradling your head and telling you gently that everything’s going to be alright…

Sebastian leaned his head into the grip on his hair, to feel Jim's hand tighten again, in a however fleeting illusion he'd never... let go.

"No, thank you," he answered Jim's inquiry after his wounds and fortunately his gravelly voice could be put down entirely to his raw throat, "'s all fine." What he actually meant was that it didn't matter. Same as it had suddenly ceased to matter whether he'd get through this night or not...

Jim's eyes were dark and impossible to read when Sebastian looked up again, and he almost asked what had happened to 'the others who hadn't lasted as long' as him, but he was quite certain he knew the answer. He was also quite certain he should be chuffed about the exceptionally lenient decision not to terminate but simply redeploy him. But in this moment, he couldn't have cared less, or rather, he almost envied them.

~

Jim swallowed hard when Sebastian pushed his head further into his injured hand and Jim tightened his grip reflexively.

Moran’s voice was hoarse and oh so that’s what he sounded like when he finally realised what a bad boy he’d been. It didn’t satisfy Jim at all like he’d once thought it would.

Sebastian - Moran - lifted his chin to look at Jim, and it was surprisingly easy for Jim to make his own expression unreadable because Jim didn’t know what he felt. Certainly not relief, and surely he ought to, as he was finally dealing with the problem? Admittedly not as harshly as deserved, but Jim fervently refused to examine why the thought of dealing with Moran properly made something curdle inside.

“Alright,” Jim said carefully, although nothing felt that way at all. He continued to pet Moran’s hair and noted small patches of blood coating the pale strands, making them stand in tufts. Jim’s fingers were shredded, but none of his injuries from the kitchen matched the acidic burn in his chest, and Jim couldn’t persuade himself to release Moran’s scalp either.

Jim kept his voice flatly emotionless, which was probably more telling than he’d like. “What do you want to do with your last free day at home, Trouble?”

Jim bared his teeth just a sliver. “The kitchen’s out of commission, but I intended to order you whatever you wanted later anyway. You ready for second breakfast?”

Jim heaved a sigh. “I probably do need to get myself patched up.”

~

Head bowed, and numbed as he was, Sebastian soaked up the feeling of Jim's hand still in his hair. It had to last him until... well, forever? How ever long or short that may be.

He could barely grasp what had happened - this was it, and all because of a little doodle of two blood-smeared letters. And like a condemned man, he got one last wish? A last meal of his choice as well it seemed…

"I already ordered breakfast," he mumbled. "For two." Well, four, more like. "Should be here in about half an hour."

He flicked his fingers against the bowl. Irredeemably stubborn. "And I'm still responsible for your safety" - even though mainly for pleasing him as Jim had pointed out. But since apparently he'd failed spectacularly at that, he insisted on at least doing his basic job on his last day. "So let me...?"

~

A bitter little snicker escaped Jim’s lips and he couldn’t resist giving Moran’s hair a wry tug. “Oh, now you remember how to anticipate my needs,” Jim grumbled. “You couldn’t have thought about your actions a little earlier?”

Jim sighed as Moran pushed the issue about cleaning up his injuries. “You’re responsible for my blood pressure,” Jim murmured wryly. “But fine, you win. You can save me from a terrible demise from sepsis.”
Jim edged back onto the settee. “Brave thing. Only you could piss me off like you did only to disobey me again - and then get your own way.”

Jim occupied himself retrieving the two tablets from where they had bounced. His moods had always been changeable, but where Moran was concerned it felt enough to give himself whiplash. It was a mystery how Moran had survived this long.

Jim drew up his legs to roll up his pyjamas and ruefully acknowledged that he had done a bit of a number on himself - his hands and feet were raw.

Jim lowered his mistreated feet into the water and focused on the sting. It was better than examining the twisted aches within. Or how fucking bored Jim would be without the exasperating blond at his feet.

~

"Nobody's perfect," Sebastian murmured. He had not anticipated Jim's reaction to his little gesture, even though he could claim to have quite a good Jim-radar. "With one exception of course," he added, his inflection carefully devoid of sarcasm and flattery alike.

How they'd gotten from what happened yesterday to today being his last day in a completely unexpected, unthinkable way, had not quite sunk in yet. Sebastian felt hollow, paralysed, and completely lost. But he'd deal with that tomorrow, if there was a tomorrow. Maybe at some point in the future he'd even think how this turn had been rather beneficial in regard to his life expectancy. The thing was just that... at the moment he was simply incapable to envision any point in the future not involving Jim. Well, he'd continue working for him, right? Which was something else he couldn't imagine... There were things that could only ever head one way, never back. How the fuck were they fucking supposed to..., how was he supposed to -

"Hands, please." Those beautiful, brutal, skilled hands... Sebastian committed them to memory (as if he hadn't already - every muscle, vein and knuckle under the lacerated skin) while he meticulously cleaned them and flushed the wounds with disinfectant. Three butterfly strips closed the worst of them. He kept dressings and bandages to a minimum, but when he was finished, Jim hands looked a bit like that of a boxer before slipping on his gloves, but he still had reasonably free use of them.

The thoroughly soaked feet came next…

"What - " - ' are you going to do without me?' was definitely not the best way to finish the sentence, and Sebastian caught himself at the last moment, swerving into "What happened to the other ones?" Which was, on closer inspection, probably not much better either.

~

Jim’s expression flickered. If he was perfect he wouldn’t have made the mistake of moving in a man who dared mark Jim Moriarty with his own initials like Jim was an ordinary man who could be owned. Ordinary men did not build nor keep empires.

If Jim were perfect he wouldn’t want to keep the man who had dared mark him either.

Jim was quiet as Moran tended carefully to his ruined hands. Jim would have none of these wounds if he’d just killed the man instead of tearing up the kitchen. (Actually, if Jim had killed Moran the place where Moran had kissed Jim like that probably would still have been destroyed, but again, imperfection. Few geniuses were perfect.)

Moran reached for Jim’s foot. He tended to it with the same care, and the touch carried so many associations Jim’s nerves were frayed.

He shifted uncomfortably as Moran dared to query the fate of his predecessors.

“You know the answer to that,” Jim said flatly. “Most of them are in the ground. Where I ought have put you already a thousand times over.”

Jim kicked out a little, not minding the sting when his foot connected lightly with Moran’s broad chest.
“As to what to do with you… You mentioned Wales before. Did you like it there?”

Jim pushed Moran’s chest with his foot, dampness spreading through the bandage beneath.

“Not that it’s a fucking holiday. You fucked up royally and Daddy is deeply disappointed in you.”

Jim swallowed and reached for Moran’s jaw. “There will be no more fuck ups from you. You will be on your best behaviour. There will be no day drinking. There will be no flirting with the locals. You heal up, and then you do whatever jobs I decide. Nothing else. Improvisation is not your forte these days.”

~

"Wales?" Reminded him of another 'home' he'd been eventually cast out of, and unfairly so, because he had, allegedly, fucked up and misbehaved. But the memories also had the golden hue of glorious beginnings, of SAS selection and training, both gruelling, but finally a challenge that seemed worthy, and Sebastian had sunk his teeth into it and had excelled. While Hereford was the home of the Regiment, the Brecon Beacons were its heartland, and a place that had wrung blood, sweat and tears from you like that, never really let go of you, and vice versa. "Yes, I... actually did like it," Sebastian said. Basically it had been the most intense experience in his life up to then, and, good or bad, Sebastian craved 'intense' like others craved heroin.

Of course Jim knew all that, Sebastian was sure he knew every single one of his scores in tests and training, and other, extracurricular activities as well. Wales was a lot bigger though and it would probably be best to keep a good distance from his old haunts.

He rocked back a little, removing Jim's foot from his chest and swaddled a dressing and bandage around it.
Wait, despite all the draconic rules - was that Jim trying to be nice?! Well if so, maybe he could simply revise his decision altogether? He prided himself on being changeable! Honestly, Sebastian wasn't sure whether all this sounded like he was banished or put out to grass altogether.

"Since I don't suppose we're talking about a foxhole on the slopes of Pen y Fan, where do I go?" he asked a bit listlessly. Actually he didn't really care if he'd be moving into fucking Conwy Castle, it still meant... away.

~

Anyone else would be grateful for their life after pissing off the most dangerous man in London, but as Jim knew, Moran was not anyone else. He was as contrary as any dumb animal one might adopt as a pet, but even more annoying, because he was smart enough that some of his stupidity had to be on purpose.

Jim flicked Moran’s forehead. “I have places all over, and can certainly acquire anywhere I want. Where do you want to go? If you’re not here it’s all the same to me where you go to recuperate.”

Jim leaned back with a glower. “Rest assured I’ll put you to work when you’re fit and you’ll have no time to smell the roses then, but you’ll heal better somewhere you feel at ease, won’t you? And you could at least look grateful to be alive, you gormless prick."

Jim sat up abruptly. “Are you fucking sulking? Is that what that look is? How fucking spoiled are you that you thought you could put your fucking name on me, like we’re fucking equals, and not be punished? Or is that it, are you just hired muscle and a pretty face and you didn’t think at all about the fact I’m not your fucking boyfriend?”

~

Through Sebastian's glumness flickered more and more irritation, after all, what did he have left to loose?! Well, there was the trifling matter of his life, but that had never been enough to keep him docile.

"Christ in hell, no I didn't!" he spat. "People don't tend to think when they're... having sex - " They did all sorts of stupid things, calling out names, making promises, slipping into delusions for a sweet fleeting moment... it was of no significance and nothing you ever took fucking seriously, "especially when close to passing out from a cock down their throat!" He bit his tongue to hold back his offer of assistance in case Jim wanted to try it some time.

That he took them for equals was so utterly ludicrous Sebastian didn't even bother with a denial. When Jim had sat up, Sebastian had caught the one yet untreated limb, holding it as tight as he could with his splinted hand. "And don't worry, I know full well what I am to you - " he was cleaning a big gash in the heel with clinical precision, while reiterating: "- warm hole, fucktoy, pet." Which he exasperatingly didn't mind as much as any self-respecting person should, but it was not necessary to convey the irrefutable fact that god had no equal.

He shrugged. "Anywhere in Wales is fine." He put some medical glue into the cleaned cut and closed it with three butterfly strips on top. "If I can't be here it's all the same to me where I am." Then again, Jim had made an effort - even if just from a HR department's point of view - and might revoke his offer. So Sebastian hurried to specify: "Cottage by a lake, with fishing and hunting." He needed to keep his skills up, right? A pub within walking distance would be nice too.

~

Jim grew even more riled by Moran’s disrespectful tone. “That’s worse!” Jim hissed. “You’re so comfortable that even when you think you’re about to pass out you’re not afraid to mark me like I’m your fucking belonging. I’m no one’s bitch and you won’t ever own me!”

Jim tore his foot away, eyes flashing. Don’t kill Moran. Jim swallowed raggedly. After a beat he added in a clipped tone, “Anything I do when I’m fucking you is deliberate.”

Jim thought sourly of taking the cylinder from the Ruger. He should have just pulled the trigger inside Moran and saved himself everything that came after.

Moran took Jim’s other foot, voice low as he described himself in ways Jim would have found deliciously erotic if the blond had bothered to smirk when he said them. That infuriating attitude was still present.
Jim tried to mentally soothe his temper. Moran was agreeing, despite his tone. And that refusal to ever really behave was one of the things Jim liked best about him.

Jim focused on the sensation of Moran tending the deepest wound in his foot but it wasn’t enough of a distraction. None of the aches and pains, even combined, were enough.

Moran had calmed his tone some, returning to Jim’s earlier question about accommodation. The resentment remained evident. Didn’t he understand how lucky he was?

Jim wrenched back his other foot, but only to use it to springboard himself from the settee in a flash, tackling Moran’s broad chest with enough force to knock the bigger man to the ground. Uncaring of his injuries, Jim swung a bandaged fist at Moran’s swollen cheekbone fast and hard enough to prevent the stronger man from immediately responding.

“We both know that if you were just a collection of warm holes you’d be dead by now,” Jim snarled. “It doesn’t need said, just like you didn’t need to ask what happened to the others. You know, and if you keep on pushing me, sweetheart, I’m going to snap.”

Jim sat up, keeping part of his weight on Sebastian’s bandaged chest to make himself harder to dislodge. “Your options, darling, are: one, be a bit more fucking gracious about the fact I’d rather send you somewhere safe and pleasant than waste you - the least you can do is say please. Two, you can keep making me furious and see where that lands you; my money’s on a flowerbed I can see from my office window.”

Jim leaned forward. “Or three… You kill me and I haunt you for the rest of your short and miserable existence.”

~

For a few winded, agonised seconds Sebastian was convinced Jim had finally snapped and was indeed about to kill him -

Jim's knuckles being wrapped didn't do much to soften the blow, not when it had been so perfidiously aimed. The world was swallowed by murky blackness and pain, then burst back into a sickening double vision, Jim's weight like a nightmare on his chest. The bowl clattered away, Sebastian rolling through squishing medical rubbish when he had managed to heave in enough air and move. Jim trying to stay on top like on an unruly horse wasn't by far as funny as it would have been under different circumstances.

"I am sorely tempted," Sebastian wheezed, throwing him off. Not to attack but just to defend himself, because as a ghost Jim would likely be even more insufferable, and the flowerbed option wasn't very appealing either. Not as much as the “Lakeside cottage with fishing and hunting, fucking please," started to be.

Chapter 8: Trouble

Jim rolled onto his back and lay there, chuckling breathily up at the ceiling. The crucifix around his neck bounced in the dimple of his throat and his pyjama bottoms cut into his scabbed hip, twisted from the roughhousing. Water leaked under the settee from the basin but didn’t spread far enough to reach anything electrical.

“Your wish is my command, blondie,” Jim drawled. He rolled his eyes and sat up. “See how easy things are when you just use the magic word? Please Jim will you fix it for me?”

Jim regarded the other man with a shrouded expression, then shook the thoughts from his head and stood smoothly, like he hadn’t just been physically thrown by a much bigger man nor had almost enough injuries to rival Moran for once.

Jim stepped over to the blond and held out a bandaged hand in an offer to pull Sebastian to his feet.
“Just to be clear, poppet: you fuck anyone else whilst staying in your adorable Welsh lakeside cottage with fishing and hunting and I’ll start by destroying every living member of their family and friendship circle.”

Jim smiled jaggedly. “Now, what did you order for breakfast? I think I came across some safe cutlery for you this morning but it might be a task to find it amidst the rest of the kitchen.”

~

Sebastian looked pointedly at the crucifix adorning Jim's throat, but refrained from any comments on 'magic' of his own. The colourful array of injuries Jim had adorned him with lately were a painful if not entirely unwelcome distraction from his Indian souvenirs, but he had no desire for more.

Slightly suspicious, he reached for Jim's helping hand and struggled to his feet, still a bit dizzy. But luckily the two grinning psychos had merged back into one.

"Quite a lot of things..." Sebastian answered vaguely. He'd ordered about half the breakfast menu that had been on offer for deliveries. Eggs and sausages, crunchy bacon, salad, pastries, fresh rolls, waffles and pancakes…

What Jim said next occupied his mind much more urgently. "Wait, you're sending me away and then - what, I'm supposed to be celibate for the rest of my life?" he asked surlily. "Or are there going to be conjugal visits?"

~

Noting the fact that Moran still seemed a little dizzy after the crack in the face, Jim kept hold of the man’s hand.

Jim made a wry expression at the description of breakfast - every meal Seb had ordered for the last month had been quite a lot of things. Jim almost said something amused and even a little conciliatory, but then Moran fucking dug another hole for himself.

“What part of you are mine, Moran, has eluded you?” Jim demanded, giving Moran’s hand a warning squeeze.

“Let’s examine your situation, shall we? You haven’t had a legitimate job since the SAS kicked you out, so you can’t go straight, and since you flinch at loud noises and think you might turn into a tiger, no one in our line of work will hire you even if I don’t blacklist you. My enemies might torture you for security information, or just to punish you for when you were actually a credit to me and good at your job - either way: you won’t survive long without my protection. You’re scarred enough inside and out that you’ll never manage to fit in within respectable people and no one’s going to want a relationship with you. You’ve got a pretty face for our line of work, but you’re never going to be more than a bit of rough for anyone who likes a bad boy for a weekend. The accent you have when you’re pissed off won’t help. You never think anything through so your education won’t benefit you. Your physique is great, but it’s got an expiry date - as do most of your joints after years of rough treatment. Without me you have no job, no home, and no future - I’ll make sure of it.”

Jim pulled Moran in close. “So yes, you will remain faithful to me, and if you think you’ll struggle with that, I have no qualms about burning your face off so you really are nothing but a fuckhole. Whether I choose to visit you or not doesn’t change the fact that you are mine - and if you’ve got a problem obeying I don’t mind breaking both your wrists before you go so that you can’t touch yourself either.”

~

It was as though a knife twisted inside Sebastian’s guts, his mouth suddenly so dry his tongue felt like a foreign object. There could be a cruelty to Jim Moriarty’s threats that made them sound so bizarre one’s brain baulked, unable to wrap itself around them. So, experiencing that for the first time, some people - poor gormless idiots who didn’t know better – tended to not take them seriously. Sebastian knew that you better bloody do so, even on the off chance that they were not meant seriously, because that too could change in a blink and on a whim.

There was also the slight chance the little deviant only fucked with his head, and supreme manipulation used truth rather than lies. The words hit home, because they touched on Sebastian’s deepest fears (not the broken wrists, although highly inconvenient, that was nothing that wouldn’t mend), but the transience of everything physical, the knowledge that some day he would not be at the top of his game any more, because everything and everyone had an expiry date.

But inside him something else twisted as well, and it growled and flattened its ears, glowing eyes fixed on that pale, slender neck – quite undeterred by the silver trinket around it - and how easy it would be to snap, how easy it would be to crush the fine-boned skull that housed that fucking overgrown freaky brain…

Something that even drowned out the twisted fascination with being the object of such perversely possessive fantasies.

Sebastian’s voice was almost soft when he mused, “You’re starting to make Option Three sound increasingly appealing.” You kill me and I haunt you for the rest of your short and miserable existence. “And I’m quite sure the world’s too big even for your fucking ghost to find me.”

He stared into the pitch black eyes in front of him, then the doorbell rang and he added, “Breakfast’s here,” in a normal, almost cheerful tone.

~

Jim quite enjoyed how Moran exuded a dark energy when he was furious that whispered the potential for terrible things. Still, Jim arched a brow quizzically at Moran’s soft threat.

“You wouldn’t stay here if you killed me? Take over as best you could until things crumbled? You argued that this is your home after all.” Jim gave the large hand in his another squeeze. “You’re wrong of course; there’s nowhere you could go that I wouldn’t hunt you down. Dead or alive, if countries had to burn to flush you out I would raze them to the ground.”

Jim stared up at the blond, ensuring Moran knew he was serious.

Point made, Jim shrugged. “If you ever do kill me you’d better make a proper performance of it. We could get you one of those trailing, sheer robes with the ostrich feather trim, so that when the team next door have to decide whether to follow you in the wake of my demise you can at least try to trick them into thinking you have a shred of my style and pizazz.” Jim snapped up Moran’s other hand and gave the splinted fingers a tug. “You can play the grieving widow, since you think any future visits to my kept boy would be conjugal.” Jim’s expression made clear what Moran ought to think of that.

Jim snorted at the arrival of food and Moran’s suddenly bright tone. With a pointed look at Moran’s sore cheek, before releasing the splint to make as close to a jazz hand gesture as was possible with so many bandages, Jim asked dryly, “Which of us is answering the door? Or did you order so much it’ll take both of us to carry it in?”

Jim pulled away slowly, enjoying being in Moran’s personal space when he was so irate. Jim felt safe in the knowledge that after what had been said Moran wouldn’t dare kiss him like in the kitchen.

Still. It was impossible not to notice the resentful, almost hungry look Moran gave Jim’s throat.
Jim darted close and gave the badly cut skin between Moran’s legs a warning twist. “If you are considering risking your life for an ill-advised hickey, Moran, I suggest strongly that you don’t. I’m not sending you away because I don’t want you anymore. I’m sending you away because you need to learn fucking boundaries and because my patience for your nonsense is on its last frayed thread so I trust you’ll be much safer in a different country from me.”

~

No, Sebastian wouldn't stay here and try to take over, ostrich plumed robe or not. He didn’t give a flying fuck about having a criminal empire, he simply wanted the man whom he admired for building one. And this wouldn‘t be ’home’ either without this man in it. So no, he wouldn’t stay but rather wander to the ends of the world trying to forget Jim Moriarty. Although the world might be too small for that.

Sebastian tried to hide it, but Jim fervently reassuring him he would find him no matter what, brought a small, smug smile onto Sebastian’s abused face. Also, considering Jim just told him no one would ever see much value in him in whichever regard, he seemed prepared to go to quite astonishing lengths to keep him in his clutches.

Breakfast delivery at the door, Sebastian carefully drew back his injured hand when Jim released it. “With about twelve functioning fingers between us, I think we should both go,” Sebastian suggested. He pushed away the disconcerting though that ’hickey’ didn’t even begin to describe the image that had flashed through his mind mere seconds ago. Instead he tried to nurse that grain of consolation that he was being sent away for his own good.

Poppy was at the door with several carrier bags of undoubtedly thoroughly vetted food, looking at them with wide eyes. She was obviously having quite a few thoughts about their appearance, but wisely refraining from voicing any of them, except: “Is everything … in order?”

“Splendid,” Sebastian deflected. “Just the stove… malfunctioning.”

He grasped two of the bags with his good hand, one with his left.

~

Jim snorted softly at the not-so-inaccurate joke about their fingers. He pulled away lightly and padded carefully on his tended feet towards the front door in lieu of a verbal agreement.

Poppy’s face in the doorway was picture-worthy. She didn’t seem to know what to look at, but her wide eyes certainly took in Moran’s swollen face; the better look at his throat she could get now he was dressed casually; the wet spots where the upturned basin had splashed them both; the ridiculous state of Jim’s hands; and the various light scrapes he’d gotten across his arms from dismantling the kitchen. She’d also clocked the chain around Jim’s neck, but at least Jim had had the foresight to pull his pyjamas up to cover his hip. Poppy couldn’t possibly discern any legibility to that, not after how Jim had clawed at it, but Sebastian’s fingernails had also left half-moons that were too large to be mistaken for Jim’s own.

Jim tilted his head at the woman as she tried to shape her face into an appropriate response to the stove leaving himself and Moran in such a bloody state. “He’s starting to get well enough to spar and you know how much he has been hating all of the bed rest. We took it a little far.” Jim nudged Moran bodily and reached past him for the remaining bags. “Fair warning, I’ll probably have some people in to fix the kitchen in a few days, but I’ll give the team details nearer the time.”

Poppy nodded and -clever girl that she was - understood that she had no further purpose. “Enjoy your breakfast, sirs.”

Jim nodded and left Moran to exchange a couple of polite sentences before closing the door.

“‘The stove malfunctioned’,” Jim snickered when they were alone. “You used to be a much better liar. Did I rattle your brains loose with my cock this morning, bruiser?”

~

Sebastian just shrugged. He wasn’t just a bad one, he wasn’t a liar at all - “Do you see a functioning stove? I don’t,” he replied, cocking an eyebrow.

Poppy had left and god, he didn’t even want to imagine the gossip starting next door right this minute.
But Jim didn’t give a hoot anyway about what people thought, and Sebastian didn’t need to either, now that he was basically suspended from his position as chief of staff.

This grated a bit too (although it paled it comparison to everything else), because he knew he was good at it. Ironically that also meant that even in his absence the people he had chosen and trained where fully up to their tasks. Him having been out of commission for weeks already meant they had already adjusted and things were running without hitches… Which was a credit to him but also a somewhat bleak proof that everyone was expendable.

Sebastian took the bags into the living room and realised he hadn't ordered coffee because at the time they'd still had a kitchen. So he retrieved the old kettle from the den to at least brew tea. Wading through the debris of the kitchen he found a tray, two chipped mugs and mismatched plates, as well some cutlery - silver for Jim, a steak knife and fork with a wooden handle and a stainless steel egg spoon for himself.
A short while later, 'Sirs', looking a bit worse for wear, were enjoying their posh breakfast from boy scout style crockery. Sebastian poured tea from a dented pot.

His bruised face and throat turned eating into a limited joyous experience. Chewing slowly and swallowing even more cautiously, it still didn't do much to distract himself from the dismal turn the morning had taken, on top of the ominous uncertainty of what the next night would bring. Surreptitiously he glanced at Jim's silver necklace.

~

Jim grinned at Moran’s quirked brow. “Trouble, do you think she cares that we’ve been ordering enough food to feed a smuggled family in here for the past month, or do you think she’s thinking about what I’ve done to your face and neck?”

Jim’s expression grew serious. “I don’t care if the team know that we fuck, but it’s important they respect you and they might have a harder job trusting your judgment if they knew how rough we like it. Poppy’s ex-military and has four brothers - she’s been around macho idiots who take sparring too far her whole life. She might still think we fucked on the kitchen table, but it explains why I’m cut all over and you’re not dead.”

Jim paused and tilted his head. “Well, maybe not so important to protect your reputation now, but if you do come back some of the current teams might still be working here. Caruso will probably outlive us all.” Jim shrugged and started carrying the food to the living room so they had somewhere clean to sit and eat. “You should probably see both teams before you leave, not just for a briefing. You’re well liked, you know? They’ll be sorry to lose you.”

Jim occupied himself organising the food into thematic groups, Moran lowering the rest of the bags before him, and after a moment Jim heard the man move into the kitchen to scavenge up plates and cutlery.
Jim slumped onto the couch once unseen. He’d rarely encountered decisions it made him miserable to enact. He couldn’t possibly keep Moran around given how catastrophically things had progressed, but he didn’t want the man anywhere else but here at home.

Jim looked up and smoothed his expression when he heard Moran leave the kitchen, but the quiet footsteps disappeared towards the den instead. Jim flopped. Perhaps he could construct a dungeon within the premises and keep Moran chained there for the rest of his days. Knowing the blond he’d still find a way of getting himself into trouble.

Jim eventually sat up when Moran returned with tea and plates, doing a commendable job of carrying everything with his splinted fingers.

Jim helped dish up for something to do, but couldn’t bring himself to eat much. He was going to lose all the weight Moran had helped him put and keep on. Jim was going to need a whole new wardrobe and he wasn’t even pleased about it. The trouble Moran caused!

Jim pushed his leftovers towards the man, expecting Seb to inhale them, but Jim stilled as he noted the man had barely made a dent in his own food.

Jim frowned and sat closer. “Are you alright? Did I knock some of your teeth or the top of your jaw? I was aiming for your cheekbone the first time so it would heal cleanly but I was angry… Do you need ice on that? Extra meds?”

Jim sat back. “Why the fuck am I fussing? You’re a grown man. Call the dentist if you need to. I’ll pay for her to drop everything if you’re struggling…”

Jim pulled back further. “Not that you don’t deserve to suffer, but you’ve got a long enough day ahead of you. And I am not facing a tiger with toothache, thank you very much.”

~

“Come nightfall you might be glad if my teeth were loose,” Sebastian said ominously, but inwardly he winced. Jim’s caring might be nothing more than perfunctory maintenance, but Sebastian craved every tiny shred of it.

No, he was not alright, but he had to consciously remind himself that Jim was the reason in the first place why he felt bruised inside and out. The tingle of warmth at the little fucker fussing about his wellbeing was actually quite pathetic.

“Nah… no dentist necessary. Just taking my time,” he said in a softer tone, glancing at the plate Jim had pushed his way, filled with food he’d not much more than poked around in. Sebastian continued to eat his own, methodically but slowly, in a strange combination of being hungry but entirely without appetite. Although the scrambled eggs were quite tasty and easy to eat.

“About me talking to the teams again...” he shrugged, “I already told them yesterday I might be absent because of something coming up at short notice.” And hadn’t that been prophetic, he thought sarcastically. “Just not for how long.” And everything Jim said was another twist of the knife – that this wouldn’t be a brief interlude, that he was meant to say his fucking farewell to everything and everyone around here - and he almost wished Jim would put a fucking bullet – silver or not - into his skull tonight.

Almost… , not quite.

Well, Who Dares Whinge, right?

He wouldn’t. He straightened his shoulders, skewering a piece of bacon with his fork.

“But yes, I’ll go down and talk to them when they’re all there at the shift change. Then I’ll pack.”

After all, he had a day to get over with, and if Jim thought he’d spend his last day like nothing had happened… , well, no, he was a bad liar and worse at pretending. But he was good at facing the most difficult, uncertain and yes, dismal situations and preparing.

Sebastian started on the pancakes which he’d actually ordered with Jim in mind, who sometimes had a ridiculously sweet tooth, but hadn’t touched them.

“Just for your information, I’ll set Mrs Caruso on your heels and tell her to make you eat properly.” The resolute Italian matron lived next door as well, was a great cook, probably Jim’s liaison with the Sicilian mafia, and prodigiously unafraid of him.

~

Jim didn’t quite flinch at the dark way Moran spoke of what might happen that night, but he felt his pulse quicken to an uncomfortably harsh tic at his throat.

Jim rolled his shoulders and neck to ease the sensation. He calmed a little when Sebastian’s voice softened. Maybe Jim wasn’t changeable at all, just hyperattuned to his right hand man.

Wasn’t that an embarrassing possibility?

Jim did not like the idea of Moran spending the day with the teams nor packing either. He dropped onto his back and tucked his head against Moran’s leg, not so much that he jostled any plates but enough to make a claim on the man. Jim had often used a disregard for personal space as a way to offend or unsettle others, but it was comfortable with Moran. Jim certainly was not touch starved before the blond moved in, but he found Moran’s (otherwise entirely exasperating) presence grounding in a way that was incomparable to anyone or anything else.

“I know what you told the team,” Jim said with a mild frown. “I just thought you’d want to see them.” Jim shrugged. “Happy to keep you all to myself. Whatever you want, pet.”

Jim had blocked out his work calendar for the day and the next, not that Moran needed to know. Jim wanted to keep a close eye on Moran if he did need to recover tomorrow. Today he’d been less sure of. After The Kiss the prospect of keeping Moran in bed all day, edging him and draining every last drop of come from the man until even if feral, Moran-the-tiger would be too bonelessly tired to do anything but show his fluffy belly and nap, seemed less comfortable. After this morning, Jim didn’t feel comfortable with that plan at all.

Moran’s thigh was still comfortable though. Jim had almost found himself drifting into complacency when Moran made his threat.

Jim leapt up and gave the bigger man a shove. “Don’t you fucking dare! I don’t need her mothering.” Or her sharp words when he didn’t eat, thank you very much. Jim threw a leg over Moran’s so he could kneel up and glare face-to-face with the taller bloke. “Maybe I ought send her to feed and mind you. If you tried your contrary bullshit with her she’d have the sense to drag you in by the ear and give you a ticking off you’d actually listen to.”

~

Sebastian automatically raised his plate a bit to accommodate Jim when, like an intrusive cat, he sneaked into his space and settled down comfortably. Sebastian’s grip on his plate tightened imperceptibly, quelling the impulse to set it aside and run his fingers through Jim’s hair, maybe even, very lightly mapping his face, to … remember. But as it was, the hovering plate also blocked his face out of Jim’s sight… hiding him closing his eyes, all the pain and desperation unguarded for a moment. God, how he would miss this, not just the sex and the excitement but this… probably more than everything else.

Happy to keep you all to myself. The sudden quiet gentleness in Jim’s voice… whatever you want, pet, as though he was going to face a firing squad at dawn – and in a way he would - and it almost made Sebastian crack the plate over Jim’s skull. Then don’t send me away!

He didn’t want to see the team, he didn’t want to pack either, he didn’t want to move an inch away from Jim, but instead soak up any contact possible, as close as possible… When finally moving away it would be like bits of his skin came away too, and this would be good, and another thing to remind him for a while…
Fucking hell, Moran, don’t -

Sebastian pulled himself together, rolled up another pancake and took a bite, careful and slow, because of his throbbing cheek. It was only reasonable to eat, before you were going to starve. But maybe not so to shoot up before having to go cold turkey.

Which totally meant, of course he fucking would…

The plate flew out of Sebastian’s hand when Jim shot up like a scalded cat at the prospect of having Mrs Caruso look after him. Sebastian stifled a grin. He’d rarely seen anyone vex Jim quite like that fearless matriarch; he always seemed at a loss about how to deal with her and still get fed. And she was a fabulous cook. She also was sort of a housekeeper next door, mother superior and keeper of the peace all rolled in one.

“Well, I wouldn’t try whatever you call ‘contrary bullshit’ with her.“ Certainly not kissing her like that, nor adorning her with his initials. “But there’d be pandemonium and anarchy next door if you sent her away.”

~

Jim did not appreciate the fresh light in Moran’s eyes that told of a poorly repressed smile, but it was somewhat pleasant to see the man marginally cheered.

Jim squinted at Moran. “Are you telling me there’s a way to actually make you behave? I’d fucking love to hear it. It’d save me the hassle of trying to source and train a new chief of staff, a personal bodyguard I can stand for any length of time, and another sniper. My work is falling behind as it is keeping an eye on you…”

Jim frowned and put his hands on his hips, fingers curling sharply away from the wound there. “I don’t give a fuck what any of them next door think. Either they fall into line or they’re gone. And packing off fucking Caruso is nothing compared to banishing you, God help me.”

Jim punched Sebastian’s shoulder. “You’re the worst thing that’s ever fucking happened to me. You upset me in ways no one else would even dream of - and you’re never fucking sorry! I make accommodation after accommodation for you, and you never appreciate it much less learn anything. You’ve seen what I do to other people who upset me, but you? No one can do it like you! And I let you! You treat me like your belonging and I don’t flay the skin from your bones or bubble your skin inch by inch - I send you on a fucking holiday and no wonder you don’t bother to apologise, because you don’t respect me at all - and that fucking ripples out, Seb, I am not losing the empire I’ve put every bit of my soul into building just because being Daddy’s favourite seems to make you think you’re fucking untouchable!”

Jim pushed away from Moran to stand, breathing raggedly. He clenched his bandaged fists as he tried to rein in his temper.

“Fucking pandemonium and anarchy? What the fuck do you think it’s been like living here for the past month, tiger boy?”

~

Stoically, head bowed, Sebastian let the rant wash over him, but hearing how vexed and furious Jim sounded left him in growing turmoil. Looking up and seeing him, eyes black, flushed and hurt, was worse.

“I am sorry, right?” Sebastian almost shouted, his voice in tatters. “I didn’t choose to get mauled by that bloody creature, and you don’t have to look out for me, I offered to leave until … this is over.” A few days ago, and Jim had hit the roof about it. “And if I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, then why am I still here?” Why had he lasted considerable longer than anyone before him? “Because I’ve been doing a bloody good job, well, no - three for the price of one by the sound of it!” Or why did Jim suddenly have three vacancies to fill with him gone?! “Have you ever considered it’s not only your saintly patience and your sweet and accommodating nature but that I’m doing my best as well!?” Apart from good work – “That I’m tiptoeing around you when necessary, that I put up with your fucking insufferable mood swings, that you finally have a sleeping and eating pattern to speak of and although you’re crabby about it you know it does you good, not to mention getting your rocks off with someone who loves what you’re doing to him – not that you fucking care about that but I don’t even mind that you don’t, I like it and I even like being around you, and sometimes even get so comfortable as one would around a normal human being and forget that you’re ... not - - like anyone else I’ve ever met.” By now Sebastian was just as out of breath as Jim was, his throat burned and his fingers clenched the upholstery of the sofa to physically keep him seated. It fucking hurt and he could almost feel the splint give away, or his finger - he didn’t give a fuck which -

“But you are, and almost everything I do that bloody upsets you I don’t do on purpose. We’re no equals and who owns who is fucking clear, because I might have the brain of a goldfish compared to that freaky mutant thing of yours, but I’m not an imbecile!”

And that’s why he’d never breathe a word how sometimes - when Jim took him apart in a way no-one else could, or in the delirious post-fuck daze – he imagined that Jim was his too, at least a tiny bit, if only for an oblivious, infinitesimal… moment.

Then the corner of his mouth twitched.

"As for what to do so I behave myself. Turn into a Cosa nostra godmother with two hundred pounds live weight and a little moustache... No more overtures from me then."

~

Jim felt his blood pounding in his ears when Moran apologised. “I do have to look after you,” Jim said gruffly. “You’re mine.”

Jim paced as Sebastian began talking again, only to snap a moment later, “What a bloody stupid question; you know fine well why I keep you close.”

Jim paused in his tracks. “Moran, you’d never have become my right hand man if you hadn’t been exceptional. Surely you noticed most men in comparable positions don’t tend to fill all the roles you had assigned to you?” Jim rolled his eyes. “Or did you think I paid you so much for being a pretty face?”
Jim laughed darkly. “Or perhaps it was danger money on account of the mouth on you. Of course I’m neither sweet nor patient so that should tell you that when I try that… That it doesn’t come easily…”

Jim dragged his bandaged fingers through his hair. “You’re supposed to do your best! You’re supposed to bend yourself in knots to accommodate me, never the other way around!”

Jim approached with tight steps. “I‘ve always had mood swings and you used to manage them just fine before you got hurt…”

Jim snatched for Moran’s clothing, pulling up just a little. “There’s the problem right there, sweetheart! You’ve got me eating and sleeping and sometimes even feeling something closer to a living, breathing human being and what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? What the fuck am I supposed to do if you’re not here?”

Jim released Moran and began pacing again, because the thought of fucking the frustration out of the situation was entirely tempting but possibly not helpful.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is that what’s wrong, Moran? I’m too human around you? You forget that I’m not ordinary because I’m not a snarling shadow monster every second of the day? What am I supposed to do, torture you out of your wits with fear daily? How good would you be at any duties then?”
Jim looked Sebastian over. “You’re not a goldfish, you’re my piranha, but you ought to watch yourself darling, and if you were anything other than an imbecile you’d have ran a long time ago.”

But Sebastian only smiled, and joked about Mrs Caruso.

Jim raised a brow. “Are you saying with all your feeding you haven’t been trying to fatten me up to your ideal size?” he teased back very softly. “If you were twenty years younger she might agree to take a wooden spoon to you on my behalf for being such an appalling employee. Perhaps I could try a silver serving spoon on you; bruise and burn you at the same time. There’s got to be something I can do to persuade you to be a good enough boy to stay.”

~

Genius that he was, sometimes even Jim chose to depart from the paths of logic. Confirming Sebastian’s worth did not answer the question, why he was ‘the worst thing that had ever happened’ to him, quite the opposite. Sebastian didn’t press the point. From the utter vexation burning in Jim’s eyes he choose to draw what he knew was an utterly silly conclusion, but he wanted to indulge in, at least for a for a few precious moments … - that Jim would miss him, that maybe in some small way he even needed him. That Jim didn’t want him to go, despite all the reasons he had to send him away. ‘Then bloody don’t!’ Sebastian wanted to plead. But he understood it wouldn’t be that simple to restore the natural order of things he had apparently disturbed horribly (whether this was just a figment of Jim’s imagination didn’t matter, it was Jim’s perception that mattered).

So he had to repent and atone for his sins.

“Yes,” he said evenly and swallowed, “there’s got to be… something.”

~

Jim looked simultaneously relieved and frustrated at Sebastian’s agreement. Of course Moran couldn’t ever make anything easy. “That’s all you’ve got to say? I’m giving you chapter and verse trying to make you understand and you finally decide you’re merely a yes man?”

Jim took the weight off of his sore feet and dropped onto the settee, drawing his legs to his knees as he sourly conceded, “Probably for the best, I suppose.”

Jim tried to gesture towards what was remaining of the pancakes, but found the bandages and the shredded state of his fingers made snapping them annoyingly ineffective. Jim glared Moran down until the blond passed the food over.

“Now that you’ve turned my life upside down again I’m going to need to feed my poor ‘freaky brain’ if I’m going to have to figure out what the fuck to do with you.”

Jim twisted and forced his way bodily against Moran’s side, pinning the man’s strong arm so it couldn’t wrap around him, but allowing the natural curl of Seb’s wrist to let his hand fall against Jim’s uninjured hip. Jim chewed slowly, the heat and firmness of Moran’s body against him a steadying presence. It helped that Jim didn’t have to see the man’s face from where he sat.

“I think for the time being if you can’t be trusted to keep your hands to yourself when I use you then I should restrain you, don’t you agree?” Jim said. “And you still have the little matter of making me bleed hanging over your thick skull.”

Jim took a deep breath. “For now, you stay where you belong, and you fucking better behave. Any cute comments and you can have a broken jaw to match that cheek of yours.”

Jim finally twisted to look at Moran. “Maybe I should put a mark of ownership on you, so it is blatantly clear what your place in all of this is.”

~

Carefully keeping his hands to himself Sebastian wriggled slightly to provide the most comfortable backrest possible for Jim, who was leaning against him in that blatantly pushy manner, which Sebastian found exasperating and quite sweet at the same time.

The knobby spine and a whole array of angular bones and protrusions digging into Sebastian’s arm and side very much invalidated Jim’s claim of having been fattened up, but Sebastian didn’t mind at all. All that mattered was the most recent change of Jim’s mind and mood. Being allowed to stay sent a rush of relief through him, and it wasn’t really diminished by the fact that that little erratic fucker might make another U-turn, or several, within minutes.

“Well I want to apologise belatedly and in advance for that apparently intractable problem of ‘that mouth on me‘. It seems inevitable it either says too much or not enough,” Sebastian muttered.

The apparent signs of Jim having recovered somewhat were promising though.

“Although maybe we still could get that cottage in Wal -”

The warning pressure of a sharp elbow against his ribs shut him up but did not entirely erase his grin.
The morning had been a roller coaster time lapse of what living with Jim was like: the world going from exhilarating fireworks, to perilous hell and back to full colour while you hung on by the skin of your teeth…
Sebastian let his head slump back, not even trying to keep his sigh of relief inaudible.

To be fair, and he really meant this: “I… know I’ve been a burden lately, and I … I’m glad you put up with me.” Because normal social standards didn’t apply to Jim and Sebastian knew exceptional allowances were being made for him. Most of all, the grumpy reason given to him put a warm glow inside his chest.

You're mine.

Of course that came with a price too, which in Sebastian’s slightly warped mind was totally legit. If you ignored the insanity of the archaic concept to physically own another human being, that was. Which he did, and so - a mark of ownership seemed quite a natural conclusion. As did rendering himself completely helpless and at Jim’s disposal … at any time.

In fact: “Sounds like Christmas come early,” he purred, quelling another flutter of apprehension, because something like a hickey and a little red heart painted in lipstick was very likely not what Jim had in mind.

~

Jim paused eating as Moran made a further, more specific, but seemingly unrepentant apology in a far too comfortable little mutter for someone who had just had a thorough telling off from Jim Moriarty. It included future infractions, and the comfortable acceptance Moran had that there would be such.

Jim glowered into his pancake but let it pass. He had the infuriating feeling that that he was going to have to turn a blind eye a number of times in the future if he was going to keep Moran alive and at home. Jim bit into his pancake sulkily, but pressed up against Moran as he was he couldn’t bring himself to act on his annoyance.

Sebastian had the affront to suggest Wales and Jim allowed himself the brief pleasure of digging his knife-sharp elbow into the nuisance. The worst thing was Jim could feel the resultant smile on Seb’s rotten face even as the blond gasped in pain.

Then Moran sighed, leaning back, and gave a thank you that seemed much more heartfelt. Jim swallowed. “Like I said, worst thing that ever happened to me.” He kept his face turned away and added, very softly and entirely resentfully, “I’m… glad that you did. Marginally.”

Jim sat upright as Moran fucking flirted in response to Jim’s threat. Jim tossed the last few mouthfuls of pancake aside and spun around at last, straddling Seb to glare hotly at him.

“It’s not a reward, you tosser,” Jim growled. “Christ, if you’re going to be such an irritant every month from now on perhaps I’ll carve an entire collection of marks on you until you run out of skin,” Jim said darkly.

He tilted his head in faux thought. “But perhaps I’d prefer to brand you.” Jim pushed his hand between their bodies, between Sebastian’s legs, and then obscenely, possessively further. Jim threateningly nosed in towards Seb’s throat as he drew an M shape around the man’s opening. “I’d love to make clear to you that if you cannot behave I shall make you hurt until you learn to be good. Even if you are never able to sit down ever again.”

Jim pressed a cruel kiss onto Sebastian’s swollen cheekbone then pulled back, only to tug Seb’s ear. “Then again, I’d quite like to mark you where everyone else can see too.” Jim kissed Moran’s forehead. “I’d love to mark you right here but that might not be terribly subtle. Quite crass even.”

Jim trailed a finger down the sensitive skin behind Seb’s ear. “Perhaps one of those tasteless little tattoos army imbeciles get of their own initial, since we have the same.”

Jim tugged Sebastian’s ear in his teeth. “I think JM would be much prettier though, don’t you agree?”

~

The rest of the pancakes were discarded in a huff and a second later Jim was straddling him. Sebastian, wedged between the back of the sofa and the hot breath washing over his throat, grew very still and tense as Jim’s hand snaked between his legs and behind his balls - which drew back in dismay at the talk about branding - and then further.

“I’m sure I can be good without… that.” His voice was suddenly a bit tight, and he barely breathed. He knew Jim would do exactly as he said, and inflict as much pain as he deemed necessary to – well, what did he want – a submissive wreck, broken in body and spirit? Probably not, but… the threat was not an idle one either. Sebastian’s breath caught and he flinched a bit when Jim’s brief kiss unerringly found the part of his face that hurt most.

Yet nonetheless, the graze of fingertips behind his ear as always set off that exhilarating, vexing response of a rush of goosebumps flitting through the corresponding side of his body. Then a nip of teeth and he twitched.

“As you know this particular imbecile hasn’t got any tattoos, tasteless or otherwise.” Just a plethora of scars that told more stories than ink ever could. “Of course JM would be prettier than anything,” he conceded. “And if I ever fall into the hands of the enemy I’ll pass it off as keepsake from a possessive ex … Jenny Monroe… Jane Mary…”

~

Jim smirked into Sebastian’s neck as the big, brave man suddenly decided he did know how to behave after all. The way Seb flinched upon having his broken cheekbone kissed was very gratifying too. By the time Sebastian twitched beneath him, Jim was feeling very smug indeed.

Jim hummed in agreement as Seb acknowledged his lack of tattoos. Jim was very well acquainted with Sebastian’s lovely skin.

Jim’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as Seb agreed in a not so respectful tone that a JM tattoo would be pretty.
Jim snatched up Moran’s chin as the moron fucked things up as usual. “I know you’re far from clever but do you think you are amusing?” Jim snarled, good mood suddenly absent. He shifted Moran’s face to be a little more uncomfortable. “I’ve figured out what you need to be good: your fucking lips sewn shut. From now on you can eat through a tube, how does that sound?”

Jim gave Moran a look that would have made lesser men wet themselves on the spot.

“I’m going to have a present custom made for you, darling: a great, big, silver ‘M’ filled with the legend Property of James Moriarty. I am going to heat that lovely trinket and see how many layers of your skin I can burn through. Every time the wound starts to heal over I’ll interfere with it to ensure that scarring is as dramatic as you deserve.” Jim moved to Moran’s ear and snapped deliberately loudly, “Does that sound good?”

Jim pulled back with disgust. “Or you can stop being such a stupid fucking prick and remember that you are already on thin and cracked ice with sharp-toothed creatures circling hungrily beneath you.”

Jim took a deep breath and smoothed some of the anger from his expression.

“If I’m going to keep you alive and around, sweetheart, I need to know why you do stupid shit like that since you can’t manage to stop yourself. What are you trying to achieve? Because Daddy isn’t laughing and mostly wants to make you physically incapable of laughing ever again. If you’ve somehow failed to notice, petal, just the thought of you with someone else’s name on you makes me livid and I don’t find your choice in names particularly cute either, sweetie.”

~

Head bent back in an awkward and increasingly uncomfortable angle, Sebastian had to admit Jim was right to flip his lid. The truth was, he wasn’t quite sure himself why he was doing it. Inside him something fractious, feral, rebellious... that around Jim was normally tempered by reason and sanity and sheer self-preservation, now clawed and pushed and seemed indifferent to the consequences…

Well, no, not quite. During the last twenty four hours he had drawn so much fire that although some of it had been thrilling and delicious, the sum of it was very close to what he could take. Especially teetering on the edge of being expelled from paradise as he currently was.

And with all the allowances he’d made – Jim would not be the one relenting first. So, for now, Sebastian did.

They’d moved past a point where the threats did not sound enticing anymore, even to a masochist.
Imperceptibly shaking his head (refraining from pointing out just how many things Jim would miss about his mouth), he looked up. Jim crouched over him, eyes boring into his. So close Sebastian could smell fury and aftershave and golden treacle pancakes, while the dangling crucifix trailed across the skin of his own neck and made it twitch like that of a fly-stung horse.

He flinched at the final, deliberately painful snarl into his ear, and with a look of malicious satisfaction, Jim pulled back.

Sebastian’s lashes lowered in a gesture of acquiescence

No backchat, no lame explanations or cute excuses. Not even a hint of smugness about the irrational jealousy over silly fictitious names.

~

Jim blinked in surprise at Sebastian’s submission. It had become such a rarity that Jim had expected more upsetting behaviour.

“That’s better,” Jim said, doing his best to soften the edges around his sternness.

Jim sighed, noticed Seb cringing not out of his way but from the threat of silver around Jim’s throat. Jim’s lips twitched in dry fondness and he covered the crucifix with his bandaged hand before leaning back in to kiss Moran’s temple. “I like you much better when you manage to be my good boy, irritatingly infrequent as that can be.”

Jim rested his chin on Sebastian’s blond head for a moment, just drinking in the closeness and the fact that Seb was going to STAY.

Jim pulled back and wiped the expression from his face.

“Want to help me choose a replacement?” Jim asked. He waited until Sebastian turned gratifyingly pale, then mockingly clarified, “For the kitchen. Since you’re staying. I had the last one put in largely on aesthetic, since I can think of few things as mind numbing as cooking regularly. Given that you actually use the space if there are any specifications that would make the new one more functional… You might as well have some input.”

Jim twitched the corner of his lips to let Moran know that the teasing was deliberate and entirely deserved by the pest. Who was very comfortable to sit on.

~

Sebastian found the little gesture of Jim shielding him from the silver trinket around his neck ridiculously touching. Relaxing ever so slightly into the touch, he exhaled and his eyes closed. They flew open again, his whole body almost paralysed, when Jim said something about -

a replacement?!

Jim took his sweet time before graciously putting him out of his misery by spelling out what he meant, his eyes sparkling with glee. The fucking kitchen, which Sebastian had already forgotten about.

“Christ,” he mumbled, slumping against the back of the sofa. He was nearing the limit to how many jolts and backlashes of adrenaline he could take in a day. The teasing little barbs that might or might not have been hidden in the prompt of his opinion about the kitchen didn’t even register. Only that he was being asked for specifications about anything in this house (well, it had happened before – with the gym, the den and a few other things, but with ‘banishment’ hanging over his head, he’d not expected it to happen ever again).

“Well…” he smiled, “the last one was built for pygmies, so higher worktops would be nice.” So he wouldn’t have to slouch all the time. It would inconvenience other … erm, activities, at least if they didn’t switch and hell freezing over was more likely than that, but they still had the kitchen table? If he remembered correctly that massive piece of furniture had escaped intact if not unscathed. “And a bigger fridge might be nice and an indoor grill… maybe. You can still chose the fronts and the colours from an aesthetic point of view?”

~

Jim’s brows rose at Moran’s little dig about his height, but Jim kept quiet and let the man continue. Lull fools into a false sense of security (he’d clearly managed that a bit too successfully with Seb) and let them take just enough rope to hang themselves with…

Jim rolled his eyes. “Of course you want a bigger fridge. I’m surprised you haven’t asked for an extension to be built for a new pantry, the way you’re eating me out of house and home. You’d better hope your metabolism keeps up with all your feasting, or you won’t be able to see your dick past your belly even when you’re at full mast.” Jim feigned pity, “Which would be a shame, as it’s rather pretty.”

Jim shifted in Sebastian’s lap, just barely grinding against Seb’s stomach. “Speaking of dick,” Jim purred, “I had blocked my diary with the intention of edging you for hours then milking you until you were boneless. Transforming from one species to another must be much easier without any bones, don’t you think?”

Jim cupped Sebastian’s face and thumbed the scab over the man’s lip. He grinned when Seb’s tongue peeked out and flicked it playfully with his own before pulling back teasingly.

“Of course, just because I don’t punish you as much as I ought to does not mean I bestow rewards that are undeserved,” Jim drawled.

He met Moran’s gaze pointedly. “That very hurtful comment about my height has just cost you dearly, petal, and if you ever want to come again I suggest you search for the reserves of charm that seem to have kept you alive thus far.”

Jim dismounted and slunk over to the other seat to fetch one of his discarded laptops. He pushed it into Seb’s chest a little harder than necessary. “Speak to me like that again and once I’ve broken your legs I’ll see exactly how prettily you whimper when I use something silver inside of you.”

~

Sebastian’s gaze dropped briefly to inconspicuously assess his waist.

“I’d have to eat a lot more for that to happen,” he stated with a hint of smugness. Of course Jim’s concerns were entirely unfounded. For… multiple reasons: six quite well-defined ones and the pretty one Jim currently wriggled his pointy arse against. It stirred distinctly as Sebastian - his eyes almost glazing over - listened to Jim’s well thought-out method to help his… impending transformation.

Good god. Sebastian literally felt his brain shrinking down to the dimensions of that of a dumb beast and his tongue tried to catch Jim's finger running along his lip. With a wide grin the capricious bastard hopped up and shoved a laptop onto him to…. choose a kitchen?

Sebastian fumbled with the device while his mind spiralled down into the stream of imaginative options of horrendous and sublime torture Jim promised if he ... - what was it he was supposed to do... ?

Laptop finally opened, he stared at the website Jim had apparently been browsing last and his mind glitched again. It would have looked like a very high-end pet shop, just that the models wearing the collars, harnesses and muzzles were not animals.

Sebastian swallowed a moan, and, adjusting the laptop to effectively hide his groin, he tried to arrange his face into an ironic expression before he looked up at Jim.

"Kitchen outfitters, huh?" It came out much more croaky than intended.

~

Jim grinned slyly in response. “I did tell you how I’d like to see you in nothing but a collar, and the shade your ears turned suggested you were amenable… Was I mistaken?”

Jim settled against Sebastian’s side again, stealing the man’s body heat. It was a bit brisk to be walking about in just silk pyjama bottoms in spring.

“Do you see anything you like?”

Between Seb’s voice and the way he’d shifted the laptop higher up his lap it was quite clear the man had.
“Are you embarrassed?” Jim teased fondly, almost but not quite forgetting Seb’s trespasses in regards to insulting his height earlier as he drank in the blond’s reaction. “It’s only the natural order of things. Perhaps you’d even behave better if you had a reminder of your place in this relationship weighing on your neck all day long…”

Jim mouthed the sensitive skin of Sebastian’s throat, covering the necklace around his own so the man wouldn’t flinch and send the laptop flying. “You are mine…” Jim purred.

He rubbed his cheek against Seb’s own and sat back. Jim eyed Moran sidelong for a moment, smugly noting how affected the man was, then hit a key to cycle slowly through some other tabs, letting Sebastian’s gaze linger for some time before moving along.

“If I do have a new furry pet after tonight I thought it would be best for you to have a collar so that if you get yourself seen it’s clearer that you’re the property of a rich eccentric and not a wild animal to put down,” Jim said quietly. “Some of these choke collars expand quite a bit, so in theory you could wear one as a human and it would expand with you, although we might need some experimentation to ensure we found one that didn’t pull your fur.” Jim playfully nipped Sebastian’s neck. “After all, if I’m going to hurt you, I’d rather it was deliberate.” Jim soothed the red mark he had left on Seb’s skin with a flat stroke of his tongue. “And if you were to wear a chain, it could be passed off as plain jewellery rather than its true purpose. There’s even some varieties that don’t come off without tools, although I suppose we should see if your neck will get girthier tonight first.”

Jim flicked the tab again. “I do think you should have a nice bedroom collar too…”

Jim pulled back, kissed Moran ever so briefly on the lips, then reached for the trackpad directly above Seb’s erection. “But we should look at kitchen options first, right? Sooner the new kitchen is in, the sooner you can try that new grill, and I know how important eating is to you…”

~

To say that Sebastian had seen something he liked would have been an understatement. Still, for the sake of the last shreds of self-respect his pride growled in indignation, just… that the sound he heard actually leave his throat wasn’t remotely one of protest, but one that made Jim smile and his eyes gleam. Half teasing, half soothing him about the fact that it was after all, entirely pointless to contest the natural order of things.

Sebastian shifted to accommodate Jim settling against him, and in a way that ensured as much bodily contact as possible. Because – at least that’s what he told himself - the little bugger always seemed hypothermic, compared to himself. As it sometimes happened, for a second or two Jim slipped into a strikingly feline body language, affectionately rubbing his cheek against Sebastian’s. It made him feel fuzzy and warm, even though he was aware that cats did that to their favourite piece of furniture as well.
Warm and fuzzy turned into hot and bothered when Jim was clicking through a breathtaking array of collars, gleefully delving into the different types and purposes and oohh… the possibilities…

Before he actually started drooling, Sebastian tried to imagine kitchen fronts, appliances, colour palettes… with limited success, when Jim arrived at somewhat hilarious concerns whether any of the collars would pinch or snag. Which, in the light of al of Sebastian’s bruises and injuries, was somewhat farcical, but also sweet. Not that he’d ever tell Jim!

“Sure you’re worried about my fur and skin and not the resulting blemishes on the aforementioned rug?” he hummed and smiled when he felt Jim’s teeth and then his tongue on his neck.

Yeah, maybe it was best if they looked at kitchens now, even though all in all Sebastian’s mind had gone quite blank on that subject when Jim finally pulled up another bookmark.

Like everything, Jim only ever went for the most upmarket suppliers, and it turned out you could have everything made to measure, and any adjustment your heart could imagine, so in the end selecting a model boiled down to aesthetics again.

“Just don’t order all that gadgetry,” Sebastian said when they looked at ‘examples’ of the fully outfitted kitchens. “Just give me a few good sharp knifes. Oh that’s nice - ” He did like the option of having the knife rack on the wall and at a certain height above the worktop. Much easier to reach – for him. An indoor grill was a possible options with almost any of the models. “A kitchen island is a good thing as well.” You could leave stuff on it instead of on the table that occasionally needed clearing on very short notice … “And a second fridge.” He’d been serious about that too. “Oh look” – there was one with a rack of hooks that looked as though it could accommodate whole sides of beef.

~

Jim dug his elbow into Moran’s side. “Oh, now we no longer hide the knives in the drawer we’re going to hang them where I can’t reach them?” he said dryly. “That won’t protect you if you make Daddy terribly cross.”

Jim rested his chin on Seb’s shoulder, only just avoiding the bandages. “And you know how often you do, darling.”

Jim drew his fingers along Sebastian’s warm, broad chest. “I’ll get you the sharpest of blades. Bone handles, so your delicate hands will heal.”

Jim grinned into Seb’s neck. “This island, do you propose I order it at a height for you to prepare food at, or for you to be bent over? We’ll have to christen the new kitchen thoroughly after all.”

Jim eyed the laptop screen distractedly. “Yes, yes, as many fridges as you like. Industrial size. All the baubles and trinkets and bells and whistles… Give me a list and I’ll order whatever you want. Or use my card
details, I don’t care; I’m bored.”

Jim knocked the laptop closed and aside before straddling the man. “I keep you around because you aren’t,” he growled.

Chapter 9: Scare

Well, that had probably been very transparent. Sebastian tried to look suitably contrite but didn’t bother with a denial. (Not that keeping the kitchen knifes out of reach would help him, but occasionally he quite enjoyed being a bit petty. Someone must have rubbed off on him).

He made an appreciative sound when Jim promised him posh bone-handled knifes. Sebastian didn’t care about luxury for the sake of it, but he did have a hedonistic streak and appreciated high quality things. When it came to tools and weapons he didn’t settle for anything but the very best – mainly for obvious and practical reasons, but he also enjoyed them. He also enjoyed Jim’s erratic bouts of splashing out to indulge him, but… for different reasons. He abhorred the feeling of being a ‘kept boy’, but it was diminished sufficiently by the fact that he could buy those things out of his own pocket without batting an eyelash, had he cared enough.

“Kitchen islands are very practical and versatile, especially when you can have them made to your own specifications,” he said in faux innocence. “Of course we have to test it to see if it meets them.” He prudently swallowed anything about ‘making new memories’ or Jim would have a fit and probably destroy the third consecutive kitchen installed within the space of a week.

For now the man’s attention span regarding home improvements seemed to have come to an abrupt end. When the laptop was knocked aside to make way for Jim, Sebastian let his head fall back and smiled. Out of Jim’s mouth the verdict ‘Not boring’ was one of the highest praises imaginable, no matter how grouchily delivered.

“I aim to please,” Sebastian purred and Jim scoffed, like he found that really hard to believe. Well, it was true, although a tightrope walk between boring Jim Moriarty and infuriating him.

Sebastian’s hands twitched on the sofa, but stayed put.

He wanted to kiss Jim back, but restrained himself, barely.

The horrendous fallout of his last infractions was still too recent.

~

“I don’t believe that for a second, but please prove me wrong and get on your back,” Jim said, twisting Moran’s shoulders in such a way that the man didn’t really have much choice but to move. Seb wasn’t exactly pliant, not expecting the rough handling on his poor bandaged shoulder, but did obey.

Jim’s lips twitched in a very poor excuse for a not-at-all-sorry-apology. He crawled up Sebastian’s chest and reached for Seb’s wrists. They were far bigger than Jim’s own and both men knew Seb could break the hold in a second if he wanted to, but Jim kept the bigger man pinned with the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re mine,” Jim said. It almost felt like Moran’s name: Mine. “Mine, and I am not letting you go; not to Wales, not to anywhere.”

Jim dipped his mouth to Sebastian’s unbroken cheek, then jaw, throat and shoulder rather than linger on Seb’s expression or what it might mean. In lieu of a physical collar Jim began sucking a juvenile necklace of bruises just beneath what the neckline of a shirt would show. The swinging crucifix grazed Moran’s skin just barely at first and Jim pushed his thumbs into the veins of Seb’s wrists to warn him to keep still. As Jim moved further down the man’s body Sebastian’s skin was protected by his clothing, for that moment at least.

Jim wanted Seb, no matter how infuriating. He wasn’t sending the blond anywhere and if the brute did dare to try to eat him that night Jim did not want to spend his last hours buying a fucking kitchen.

“You are not forgiven,” Jim added, in case his possessive affection was misunderstood.

Jim yanked up Seb’s top with his teeth to kiss the hot skin beneath. Jim nipped at Sebastian’s sides teasingly but didn’t add much to Seb’s growing tally of marks, although the barest grazes of the crucifix left curved pink lines.

Jim finally released Sebastian’s wrists with a squeeze, then tugged sharply at the man’s waistband.

“You do not have permission to come,” Jim stated sternly. “Nor to ask me to stop.” His voice dipped into playful, seductive cruelty. “No matter what I do to you.”

~

A bit taken aback by the sudden roughness, Sebastian yielded without fuss - true to his word and, for the moment, in very good boy mode. Anything to keep Jim’s mood from oscillating back to furious. Just a few hours had passed between mind-blowing sex, becoming an outcast, and the punishment being revoked. The crime apparently was not erased from his tally, but for the moment Sebastian couldn’t have cared less, his relief amplified by the notion that Jim himself had found the consequences of his own verdict something he was not willing to cope with.

I am not letting you go; not to Wales, not to anywhere.

“Don’t want to … go,” Sebastian moaned as Jim sucked bruises into his neck, one for each time he’d told him ‘mine‘ over the past day, like a string of incantations, a mantra, a spell, woven tighter and tighter with each reiteration -

Mine

“Yours.”

There were other, weirder things that seemed to come to a head as well, like Sebastian’s sensitivity to silver. For weeks the reaction had been delayed. Last night, tampering with the bullets, it had become obvious, now his skin immediately reacted to the slightest contact. Together with the dull throbbing pain from various parts of his body and everything Jim was doing to him pushed him towards sensory overload at a frightening speed. He was already dizzy and breathing heavily when understanding Jim hadn’t even started yet.

Jesus fucking god almighty, how was he supposed to …

When Jim’s hands had left his wrists, Sebastian kept them over his head by grabbing the armrest of the sofa. The pain in his palm and finger was drowned out by the onslaught of more immediate sensations. But he still had enough self-control to swallow the whine that clawed in his throat when Jim wrenched down his pants. Although considering how hard he already was, trying to appear composed rather than obvious was not only futile but downright funny.

“No permission to … anything,” he croaked. “Understood.”

~

Jim stripped Sebastian completely, delighting at the blond’s rare obedience, then snatched for one of Seb’s wrists again. Jim’s fingers found Moran’s pulse as he made a show of looking to the clock on the wall.

“You left me unsupervised with your food, sweetheart,” Jim tutted. His expression was an obscure mixture of playful and harsh.

Jim gave Moran’s wrist a squeeze then settled on the man’s bare chest.

“Now you need to listen, and listen carefully,” Jim said in a chilling, no nonsense voice that got Sebastian’s attention instantly. “I’ve calculated as well I can for your freakish new metabolism, but I’ve given you what would be a fatal dose otherwise. I don’t intend for you to go into cardiac arrest, but if you struggle or get too overexcited the drug will flood your system quicker - and I am timing when to administer your antidote very carefully so we don’t want any nasty distractions, do we?”

Jim gave Sebastian a stern look. “Consider this a lesson in obedience; one that I expect will be sorely needed since I’m keeping you at home with me.”

Jim ran his hands over Moran’s skin. “Let me explain what is going to happen: the drug is going to go for your extremities first and work itself to your organs, paralysing you. This will be painless, and in fact your skin will be hypersensitive as your nerves start to corrode.” Jim brushed his lips over Sebastian’s skin. “Feel that kicking in yet?”

Jim dug in his fingers. “If the dosage is correct but I don’t administer the antidote, eventually most of your functions will shut down. You’ll still be able to breathe, think, pump blood, but will effectively be a living doll, unable to fend for yourself and entirely at my mercy. I know I said I’d still want you if I burned off your face, but if your muscle tone goes completely I can’t promise I won’t bore of you.” Jim eyed the man seriously. “So you’d best be sensible and not give me any reason not to cure you, agreed?”

Jim grazed his nails over the sensitive parts of Seb’s sides.

“If you’re a good boy you might enjoy this… but - and I am deathly serious, my darling, look at me - you must not come. The drug is going to make your skin so sensitive, and if you come so hard you black out, the antidote might not sufficiently reboot your system, and there is a limited window to repair the damage.”

Jim began to manipulate Moran’s skin with kisses, licks, bites and scratches exactly in the places he had learned Seb would come apart from.

Jim took his sweet time, luxuriating in the way Sebastian began to sweat and quiver, but glancing every now and again at the clock. Jim grinned wickedly then reached proprietarily for Seb’s hard prick.

“I mean it, Seb: do as you’re told. If you can’t, you’ll find that living the rest of your days in a wheelchair will stop you being able to reach any knives in our new kitchen…”

~

This was so surreal Sebastian’s world seemed to slip sideways. Disbelief turned into shock, then a surge of panic that made his body convulse like in the clutches of a nightmare. The little black-eyed terror on his chest didn’t budge, but simply placed a finger on Sebastian’s sternum and tutted, elaborating further on the chilling consequences of flight or fight. Or anything else he might want to do … Wide eyed, breathing harshly, Sebastian felt as though a the blood in his veins had turned to ice, so paralysing that for a moment he was certain Jim had miscalculated the dose and these were his final moments.

Then something else hit him: he would always have denied that he’d ever trusted the man, but now he realised, that in some twisted way he had.

He would also have insisted that he of all people, knew how scary Jim Moriarty could be, but now he realised that he had not.

In all his life nothing had ever had put such a fear in his heart as the scenario that was described to him now in such vivid, sickening detail, but he’d always been convinced that if it came to that, there’d be that one final way out of it (a fall, a single bullet, an overdose of morphine, after all it didn’t take much to end your own life), but now he realised there might be not.

As a footnote: he had also never ever lost an erection quite as quickly as he did now, because nothing ever had gone from a delightful, sexually charged adrenaline rush into one of primal, existential terror.

In hindsight, a few cuts and bruises, a fractured cheekbone and a dislocated finger, hell, even banishment to Wales seemed like a laugh.

His brain wanted to block out Jim’s voice and the hideous images described and yet he was compelled to listen, because that’s what you did, when Jim Moriarty told you that you needed to understand something.

“You motherfucking… psychotic … bastard ...” Not that any of these words were remotely adequate, but his brain glitched again at the monstrosity of Jim’s ‘lesson‘. It also stumbled over the possibility that maybe Jim was only fucking with his head, or, if not, that there might be still enough time to pry the antidote from him. Or at least break the fucker’s neck before he didn’t have enough strength left for it…

Sebastian’s autonomous nervous system didn’t give a shit about the devious, well meant advice to keep calm. His pulse raced, accelerated even more by his nerves’ frightening feedback – itches and tingles and fucked-up sensations which could be the onset of a drug, or simply just the same shit that had been ongoing for the past weeks …

Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut as Jim kissed his way down his body, adding little scratches, touched spots that he knew would unravel Sebastian, and with every breath and every second Sebastian’s chances to not play this game, dwindled further. If Jim hadn’t lied through his teeth. If he had though…

There was no way of knowing.

Other parts of Sebastian’s autonomous nervous system were just as defenceless and, gradually, complying as well. Blindly. Stimulus - - reaction. With a groan Sebastian bucked helplessly into Jim’s possessive grip.

~

“You already knew that,” Jim said unsympathetically. He bit into the delicate skin near Moran’s hip. “Or did you think you were exempt from that aspect of me?”

Jim hummed to himself, seemingly unbothered other than glances to the time, and continued toying with Sebastian’s body outwardly uncaring of how the man felt about things. Jim nosed around the curve of Seb’s thigh before pressing two fingers of his free hand into the erratic pulse at the blond’s groin.

“Goodness, it seems we’re playing with all of your fears today,” Jim mocked, but then his gaze softened marginally and he said, “You’re going to need to calm down a little, okay sweetheart?”

Jim flashed his teeth at the incredulous glare Moran shot him.

Jim smirked back but then made a genuinely soft, shushing noise. “Come now, you know I wouldn’t irreparably break my favourite toy, would I?” Jim kissed Seb’s skin. “This is just a good fright, to remind you to behave in future.” Jim stroked Sebastian masterfully. “Think of this like a sound spanking for a deserving, naughty boy from his attentive daddy - except painless, and I’m sparing you the humiliation of crawling over my lap.”

Jim knew Moran was far from impressed by that analogy, but Jim hadn’t spent months mentally mapping every weak point of Seb’s perfect body not to be able to manipulate the man’s physical reactions. Sebastian was brought to the brink of orgasm and kept there whether he wanted to be or not.

Jim glanced at the clock then snatched one of Moran’s hands. “Can you still move your - yes, good,” Jim grinned as Seb curled his fingers reflexively into a fist. Jim prised it open explaining, “I want to be able to tell when you start to lose strength in your fingers, understand?” Jim turned his gaze on Sebastian intently. “I was teasing about letting the drug eat away at you. You know I wouldn’t harm you that badly without good reason, don’t you? I thought you did, given how comfortable you are being naughty…”

Jim curled his fingers around Moran’s. The blond’s grip was tight with annoyance but not crippling.

“Good boy,” Jim said, giving Seb’s wrist a kiss. Jim checked the time again then returned his attention to Sebastian’s body.

Jim meticulously softened each touch gradually and visually imperceptibly, then his grip of Sebastian’s hand, until he muttered, “Either it’s starting to kick in or you’re extra stoic today.”

Jim let go of Seb’s spooked erection after adding a quick kiss. He hopped up Seb’s torso with what was superficially his usual recklessness, but took his weight carefully away from Seb upon landing. Jim placed a too light touch at Sebastian’s neck, feigning checking the pulse there, and met Seb’s eyes seriously. “Looks like you’re perfectly capable of self-control when you’re sufficiently motivated. Are you ready for the antidote?”

Jim ghosted a kiss against Sebastian’s ear. “Obedient, brave boys get thoroughly taken care of, and I’ll be sure to make you come hard once I’ve dosed you.”

~

You had to be thoroughly insane to compare this to a spanking. Bloody deviant. Still, Sebastian was pathetically grateful for the tiniest sign of reassurance. He was clinging to them, wanting to believe… Jim would not harm him without ‘good reason‘.

“ ‘s just very hard to know where the lines are,” he mumbled. He’d been snarky, even rude and insolent at times, and had made Jim cackle. He’d drawn a little affectionate doodle and the world was brought crashing down around his ears.

Gradually Jim took the worst edge off Sebastian’s fears, yet at the same time his bloody clinical monitoring kept them thrumming through Sebastian’s body. It would have seemed impossible to bring anything sexual back into this fucked up, cruel and bizarre situation… But, if anyone could, it was Jim, knowing Sebastian inside out…

At first it was almost clinical as well, in its precision, unerringly administering the right triggers, hitting Sebastian’s sweet spots, with exactly the right amount of pressure and intensity…

Arousal started to drown out other thoughts and emotions, but not extinguishing them… Sebastian had never felt so powerless and helpless and shaken. It was a lesson, it was a demonstration and proof that whatever Jim wanted, Jim got. That he didn’t even need to resort to force or violence, that he didn’t even need to bother with a single restraint, and that Sebastian's physical strength didn’t give him even a shred of an advantage.

Sebastian was pushed to the brink - tense, panting, sweating, and was kept there. By a touch, by a word, and yes, by fear as well, which stirred again as his tactile sensations changed in quality… and he had no way of knowing whether this was due to what Jim did (or not), or due to what his nerves were able to pass on (or not).

“Sure you want me obedient all the time?” he rasped, as the duplicitous little manic bestowed sweet little kisses to his burning skin, promising him … release. “You’d be bored out of your mind in no time.”

~

Jim laughed loudly, and it took him a moment to rein the surprised, fond amusement into something dry and stern, which rather ruined the effect but not entirely. Moran was at that moment very aware Jim was a dangerous man… although seemingly not so much that the blond didn’t still have his sense of humour.

“I can always replace you,” Jim said unkindly, “but I’m not worried. I doubt that you’re capable of behaving all of the time, but if you were, I’d never be able to kick you out of bed and London would burn. So that might be for the best… just don’t go too far.”

Jim winked softly and kissed Seb’s unmarked cheek. “Stay here. I’m going to get what you need. You can probably risk sitting up, but stop at once if you feel dizzy, alright? And don’t try to stand.”

Jim stood and petted the man’s scalp before walking to the other couch where he knew he’d left a bottle of vitamins. Sebastian had bought them, saying that Jim couldn’t get sufficient Vitamin D from forsaking UV rays for the glow of his devices. Jim had hidden them down between the cushions rather than admit Seb was right, but opening the cap would sound like real medication to Sebastian’s sensitive ears.

Jim grinned salaciously at the man and placed the tablet on the tip of his own tongue. Returning to Sebastian, who had sat up bravely, Jim crashed down on top of him and mashed his mouth to Seb… but he did not give up the pill. Jim kissed Seb firmly, but kept his tongue curled around the ‘antidote’ minxishly and turned his head every time Sebastian almost wrestled it away. It started to dissolve against their tongues.

~

Although Jim had thoroughly shaken Sebastian and reminded him of the terrific danger of living in his orbit, he knew full well that while Sebastian was capable of many things, constant good behaviour wasn’t one of them. Sebastian cast down his eyes demurely.

Alas, the City of London – hell, more like the entire Commonwealth - was not aware of how deeply indebted they were to him for diverting and absorbing part of the attentions of a genius criminal mastermind, taking the brunt of his quick rages, erratic moods and darker urges…

Still feeling a bit weak-kneed, Sebastian stayed obediently put, merely sitting up. He watched warily as Jim walked over to the other sofa and rummaged about between the cushions, slyly hiding his hands by keeping his back to him. The cap of a pill bottle popped and Sebastian frowned, having somehow expected a syringe. Wouldn’t a jab be much swifter and in terms of administering the antidote, and much more accurate regarding the dose?

Jim turned with a lewd grin, showing the tip of his fucking little pink tongue and the yellowish pill on it – before it disappeared between his lips. Sebastian blinked, utterly incredulous. He surged up, but Jim jumped him before he could lunge for him, or the sofa and the pill bottle…

Sebastian grabbed the back of Jim’s neck and… well, speak about a teeth-clashing, tongue-battling… desperate kiss!

“ive ith ‘ere!” God, this was so undignified!

Until … Sebastian paused, licking his lips. The little fragments he’d managed to catch with his tongue were almost tasteless, almost… His eyes narrowed.

“If that’s what I think it is I’m going to break your neck,” he breathed. Which might put paid to his chances of getting the real antidote. Unless… he didn’t actually need one at all?!

~

Jim blinked slowly, dark eyes blown and sparkling. He cupped Moran’s jaw and pressed close enough to spit the remains of the wet vitamin into Seb’s mouth.

Pulling away, Jim said, “I much prefer my plan to relieve your frustrations, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

Jim’s expression sobered slightly. “I told you,” he murmured. “It was just a fright to remind you who you’re in bed with. Just because I choose to be lenient with you doesn’t mean I couldn’t fuck you up horribly if I wanted to. Going forward it’s best if you remember to ensure I don’t want to. Because I do not want another morning like we have had. I should be able to trust you and I shouldn’t ever have to consider exiling you.”

Jim looked wildly upset again, but he bundled back the anger in his eyes then flinched his face into a neutral expression.

Jim pulled himself together a moment later and grinned jovially in an eerily convincing manner. “You should be grateful the clock stopped or I’d have tortured you longer. At least your height’s good for something: you can change the batteries later. Did I keep you too distracted to notice, or were you enjoying the game too?”
Jim dragged his bandaged fingers flirtatiously and a tad threateningly down what he could reach of Sebastian’s naked body.

“Besides,” Jim said, “you’re perfectly intact and unharmed aren’t you? I told you the entire time that I’d keep you safe… and I’ve spent the whole time edging you, giving you my total and undivided attention. That’s what you want from Daddy, isn’t it?”

~

Sebastian made a reluctant but vaguely affirmative noise. Well, it depends, he thought groggily – it depended very much on the kind of attention Jim turned towards you, with heaven and hell in close proximity…

Yes, he was unharmed (apart from a little fresh spot of PTSD probably).

“Yeah, you’ve told me…” he conceded. “And you’ve told me a whole lot of other things before that too.” He still felt a wisp of icy cold about those and tried to block them from his mind. Gradually he relaxed, letting his head sink back against the sofa, a wave of little tremors following the trail of Jim’s fingers down his abdomen. He watched the little maniac from under his lashes, nonplussed by his impudence to be upset and simultaneously indignant that Sebastian was.

“Some things ‘upset’ not just goldfish,” Sebastian mumbled, “but even piranhas.”

But exactly that had been the point, as Jim had told him. There was no way to tell when he was telling the truth, because half the fucking time he was lying through his teeth and was utterly convincing. Even for Sebastian, who was better than most at differentiating between the two, just like he was at picking up signals and sensing Jim’s moods, there was still a potentially detrimental margin of error.

But that Jim had no wish for things to go that way… strangely enough Sebastian did believe (and not just because he could reach things without a ladder and was good with a rifle). It would not make him forget the fearful shock any time soon, but for now it chased away the rest of the cold. Thoroughly.

Or maybe that was the way Jim’s hand was still moving into a direction he found very agreeable.

“About that frustration relief… ?” he murmured, cautiously hopeful.

~

“And you almost never listen anyway, so it’s hardly my fault that you pick and choose,” Jim said with a distinct lack of sympathy in his voice, but he frowned as though he’d suddenly encountered something interesting. Jim looked over Moran thoughtfully, his touches becoming distracted, but he snapped back to the present when he felt Seb melt beneath him.

Jim smiled at Sebastian’s little complaint. “You were supposed to be upset. Briefly. It wasn’t a funishment. Although you can have plenty of those in the future if you ask nicely.”

Jim trailed his hand lower and smiled. He very much enjoyed the wary optimism in Sebastian’s face and voice.

“Oh?” Jim teased, “did you believe that?”

Jim moved down Seb’s body before the doubt could even form in the man’s eyes. “Too fucking right I’m going to take care of you. You were such a good, brave boy for me, Sebby.”

Jim dragged his crucifix around to the back of his neck where it rested between the top of his prominent shoulder blades and out of the path of Sebastian’s skin. Jim dipped and bit and kissed and licked and sucked a path of his own towards Sebastian’s groin alternating between seeming starvation and faux nonchalance.

“That being said, I don’t think you’ll last long enough to prep, you needy bitch.” Jim slapped Sebastian’s thigh tauntingly. “I suppose we’ll just have to finish you off first and you can owe me one.”

Jim pressed his thumb into one of the cuts he had left near Seb’s balls. “I know you’re good for it; I know where you live.”

Jim ripped some of the bandages from his palm and spat into it, ignoring the sting. He gripped Sebastian firmly and sucked a bruise into the man’s hip whilst stroking in just the right manner to provoke delicious reactions from his often stoic blond.

Jim pressed a soft kiss over the wet skin he had marked. “You’ve been such a good boy for me. So brave. So obedient. I am very pleased with you.”

Jim increased the motion of his arm as he arched up to take in how Sebastian looked. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous like this, you desperate little whore. You’re all mine and you know it - you love it, don’t you, being my best boy? My favourite toy?”

Jim nipped at Seb’s side. “Silly little masochist; Daddy’s been so mean to you, not letting you come all day. We need to fix that, don’t we? You’ve been so, so good not coming without Daddy’s permission, haven’t you pet?”

Jim stilled his hand, just to meet Seb’s gaze playfully. He picked up the motion again, making a point of forcing Seb’s torso to convulse with the overwhelming, eternally frustrating pleasure.

“I did promise you,” Jim said almost kindly. “Tell me how much you want this and I’ll give it to you, sweetheart. Show me how prettily you can…”

Jim paused, tutted and removed his hand. “Sorry, silly me, you don’t beg, do you, poppet?”

Jim put his hand back on Sebastian and locked eyes; he bared his teeth.

“…Ask me nicely.”

~

Of course he picked and chose - Sebastian found that a very legitimate thing to do, if someone was so hard to keep up with as Jim. After all, Jim did the same in regard to promises he’d just made minutes ago.

A huff caught between Sebastian’s teeth and turned into a deeper, and very different sound as Jim set about to keep his most recent one. His prodigious knowledge of what to do and how to draw the most exquisite reactions from Sebastian quite belied his show of lackadaisically casualness. Then there were spells of such thorough dedication that made Sebastian wantonly arch into his touch, quite impervious to the little demeaning whispers. Deeply familiar with all of Sebastian’s buttons, Jim of course knew his deep inner conflict about those, part of him bristling, part of him turned on (if pride and masochism were mutually exclusive, then Sebastian was a walking oxymoron).

Praises on the other hand, Sebastian wasn’t picky about. They always made him glow and it was rather secondary which of his traits Jim found commendable and whether a bit of mockery was sprinkled in or not.

But to be honest, before long Sebastian’s still functioning brain cells were so hormonally impaired that Jim could say pretty much anything he liked as long as he got on with it…

But apparently not before Sebastian - - what?!

Sebastian’s nostrils flared and his neck muscles strained as he arched in frustration.

“And here you’d just promised…” Well, as far as he was concerned, he’d done a week’s worth of begging yesterday and no, he would not.

Ask nicely - that he could try.

“I would be very much obliged,” he overarticulated, “if you kept fucking going, Sir.”

~

A flushed, indignant, heartily aroused Sebastian was easily one of Jim’s favourite sights.

“Listen to your whining; aren’t you adorable?” Jim teased. He raised a brow at the man. “Given that you’re supposed to do exactly as I say when I say it, my darling, exactly why would I have any problem fulfilling my promise?”

Moran did not seem to appreciate that at all, as if his ballache was somehow more important than the fact he was lucky to be alive, never mind attended to so thoroughly.

Jim chuckled heartily at Sebastian’s nakedly resentful and downright disrespectful cooperation. “You fucking brat,” Jim said dryly. “I can see how long your lesson lasted you.”

He gave Sebastian a firm squeeze. “You’re lucky you’re already dosed up to your eyeballs or I would try it for real.”

Before Seb could react in any way that might get him into further trouble, Jim stretched up to capture the man’s mouth in a firm kiss.

Letting go only to mutter, “Sit up, so I can multitask a little better, won’t you?” Jim caught Sebastian’s lower lip between his teeth and pulled until the man had no choice but to follow him.

Jim gave Seb’s regularly mistreated lip a softer kiss in praise or apology or neither; he wasn’t going to spare any thought on the reason but continued to pepper Seb’s mouth with a number of attentive, possessive kisses as he curled a bandaged hand around the back of Seb’s neck.

Jim’s other hand expertly attended to Sebastian’s greater need, not a bit of attention going to the torn state of Jim’s fingers as he rolled his thumb masterfully over the dripping head of Sebastian’s cock with every stroke. Seb trembled against Jim, panting helplessly against Jim’s mouth as he seemingly struggled to find the presence of mind to kiss back even sloppily as Jim trailed his less occupied hand down Seb’s back to manipulate the spots Jim knew sent extra sparks of pleasure directly to Seb’s overwhelmed prick.

“Mine,” Jim said firmly. “Good or not, you are mine.”

Sebastian’s sweat rolled down Jim’s arm and chest. Jim’s pyjama bottoms were soaked from a combination of precome from them both. The wet silk rubbed against Sebastian’s belly as Jim pressed against him, leaving a further slick trail neither of them paid a jot of attention too. Sebastian’s whole attention was on how desperately he needed release, and Jim’s was on taking Sebastian apart in the most deliciously ruinous experience possible.

Jim nuzzled Seb’s jaw and licked away the taste of salt he found there.

“Go on then, sweetheart. Come for me.”

~

Sebastian had half expected more prissy scolding, a disciplinary cuff on the ear or downright denial, so now with a jolt of new hope he promptly obeyed, eagerly scrambling up into a sitting position, his efforts considerably hastened by sharp teeth pulling on his lip. They tore the fresh scab off again, but for all he cared Jim was welcome to do this a hundred times over if it meant he kissed him like that, held his neck, and his … - -

Oh dear … motherfucking… god.

With a helpless gasp Sebastian jerked into the grip, which was good and hard and reckless and nothing short of fucking perfect. Jim, seemingly finally done with teasing, made an amused sound of encouragement and Sebastian’s body – with the existential threats of mutilation or an imminent demise removed – greedily hurled itself into the pleasure with total abandon. His hips rolled in time with the strokes, craving, chasing the little shocks of hyperstimulation that came with every swipe of Jim’s thumb. He swallowed and exhaled noisily as heat slid down his spine, following the pressure of Jim’s fingers.

Jim stroked him harder and Sebastian was dimly aware of the wanton animal sounds he made, and of Jim greedily devouring them straight from his lips - with an unusual lack of snippy comments… - so, not entirely unaffected. Of course, he did have the situation in a tight grip so to speak, but it was undoubtedly an erection pressing against Sebastian’s hip.

Their kisses became more breathless and messy by the second, mainly due to Sebastian’s multitasking abilities rapidly declining to those of a rutting beast.

Not quite forgetting the ingrained duty to wait for permission, his groans took on a frantic, warning note - he simply wouldn’t be able to comply, if Jim kept this up – and then a downright desperate one, as the point of no return rushed past him.

Sebastian felt his balls contract, and Jim’s smile against his jaw. Like a towering wave Sebastian’s climax arched over him ... breaking ... crashing down on him, with the saving grace of permission in his ears, followed by a raw shout of his own. Jim stroked him through it, a tad harder than what would have been merely pleasant, a bit longer that what would have been considerate…

Finally, drained and boneless, Sebastian slumped against Jim’s shoulder. Still in a daze he mouthed the naked skin and gave it a slow lick. It was only now, and not before giving his cock a last proprietary squeeze that made Sebastian jump a little, that Jim released him.

~

Jim’s mind was rarely ever quiet. Nor was it often focused on one thing alone - few things didn’t have related consequences to take into consideration, or were so captivating they could demand Jim’s total attention.

Granting such to Moran would not be without consequences, but Jim would face those later, if necessary, and preferably never.

Sebastian Moran coming undone continued to be the most beautiful and satisfying sight Jim had ever seen. Jim had devoted years to complex plans that barely induced a fraction of whatever the feeling threatening to swell across his chest was. Pride? Contentment?

It almost felt like peace when Sebastian slumped against Jim, not a thought left in his brain to account for how his sweaty form was suddenly crushing Jim. Jim excelled in stressful situations but this physical pressure dampened his brain to something suspiciously like what he imagined the mind of a goldfish might feel like. And he couldn’t bring himself to mind, curling an arm around the oaf to stabilise Moran.

Naturally Sebastian couldn’t fucking help himself from misbehaving, even whilst in a post orgasmic haze. The affectionate way he mouthed Jim’s skin brought back all those consequences Jim had so been enjoying ignoring.

The feel of Seb’s tongue felt almost as gratifying as it was terrible. Jim gave Seb a squeeze that snapped the blond back to some level of awareness then let go.

“Behave,” Jim warned softly. He knew Seb was in no fit mental state to process directions, so he pushed the man onto his back and held him there lightly. Twisting, Jim reached for Sebastian’s discarded top and used it to clean up the warm mess between them.

Jim had no idea what inflection to put in his voice, so it was emotionless as he said, “Don’t touch me like that.”

Jim’s arousal had visibly lessened and he stretched uneasily. Jim brought a hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose and realised the state of his hand now.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Jim muttered, although that was far from the worst thing which might happen.
Jim stood. “I need to clean up again, and dress, and I guess go negotiate next door for another feed for you. Do you want me to leave you to nap, or…” Jim crossed his arms over his chest with a soft frown. “Do you want to join me, clean up properly? I’ll help deal with your bandages?”

~

Even though he would have liked very much to stay like this, with Jim’s arm around him, Sebastian was pliant and obedient and let himself sink back against the sofa. His eyes drifted shut during the perfunctory clean-up Jim gave them, then his brows creased slightly as his mind lethargically struggled to make sense of the latest reprimand. The last minute or so was a blur, but his hands still were - and had been all the time – clenched into the sofa cushions. He’d done nothing but… His tongue ran along the inside of his lip. He wasn’t quite sure, because it had been such a tiny gesture… But one of his own accord? Maybe that was it. But asking did not feel like a very salubrious idea, even had he had the strength, which he didn’t. But then his right eyebrow rose a bit.

He was going to be the death of Jim?

“’s quite a dafima… defamatory thing t’say ‘bout one’s body guard,” he mumbled, a moment later suppressing an eye-roll. Jim seemed to have seriously resigned himself to the notion that Sebastian – if not occupied by some kind of sexual activity that was - either needed to nap or eat.

Which was cute and quite insulting at the same time.

Jim had stood up fluidly; Sebastian rolled off the couch and to his feet much less gracefully.

“Cleaning up. I’ll help.” After all, it had been for his benefit that Jim’s injured hand was in an even worse state now…

~

Jim snorted a little, the noise somewhere between wry and bitter. “Oblivious prick, you have blessedly little going on in that little piranha brain of yours don’t you? Must be nice,” Jim muttered.

Jim twisted his pendant around to the front now that he wasn’t skin to skin with the blond.

“Besides,” he said at a louder volume (not that Sebastian’s sharp hearing couldn’t pick up the earlier comments), “you’re not just my bodyguard, are you?” Before Seb could get any dangerous ideas, Jim added, “You’re my fucking exasperating pet.”

Jim’s lips twitched lightly as Sebastian attempted to stand too. “Those legs a little wobbly, darling? I’m surprised you can stand at all. Perhaps I let you come too soon.”

Jim quirked his brow as Moran seemed to be under the misapprehension that he needed help, as if he had been the one sweating through bandages he was supposed to keep dry and sterile, never mind the fucking tiger slashes that stoutly refused to heal. Correction: possible were tiger slashes.

“And what help are you going to be, Bambi?” Jim scoffed lightly. He put his hand on the small of Sebastian’s back. “Come on then, if you can manage. Your bathroom. Your wound care things are there.”

Jim hovered close to the still naked and marginally unsteady blond despite his own limp. It was getting worse now that Jim had calmed.

Not that he had good reason to be. Even if Sebastian abstained from eating him, or fucking infect-
Jim paused. He had failed to sufficiently consider that…

He’d exposed himself to Seb’s blood a number of times in the past month. There had even been a risk of transference: Jim wasn’t particularly careful with himself.

He didn’t tend to bother wearing condoms to fuck Seb either. It had been one of the reasons Jim didn’t let Sebastian out to play, his own possessive nature aside.

Jim looked at his right hand man askew. Mood swings and increased aggression. If Jim could possibly have any more of that he likely wouldn’t notice. Increased appetite? Certainly not. No better or worse at healing either, and no sensitivities that weren’t already an issue.

Well. Maybe some of Jim’s emotions had gotten a bit more capricious of late, but that was simply a product of trying to adjust to Moran’s new nature wasn’t it? And the less that was examined the better.

So probably not infected, if that was even a risk.

Jim didn’t want to think about the possibility of Moran attempting to take liberties with a much smaller tiger mate. Jim would tear Seb’s throat out, and then everything would be for naught.

Jim gave Sebastian a small shove. “You never fail to sow chaos in your wake,” Jim snapped softly.

He dug into the back of Sebastian’s knees when they entered the bathroom. As the bigger man crumpled, Jim asked, “Do you think you’re capable of making my legs weak enough that I don’t have to think for a while?”

Pushing down his silk pyjamas without waiting for an answer, Jim added, “I hope I don’t have to tell you that any funny business like this morning will spell the end for you.”

~

Never mind the acidic remarks (and Sebastian’s hearing had picked up every single one of them, as he’d been supposed to), he rather concentrated on the small gestures he should probably not make too much of - how Jim had kept the dangling silver crucifix away from his skin, his hand on his back…

And so, sufficiently lulled by that, even a light kick to the back of one leg sent Sebastian crashing down onto the bathroom tiles knees first. Funny how he’d thought that there were no parts of his body left unhurt, only to be duly disabused of the notion. Dulled by lack of sleep, post-orgasmic exhaustion and medication, his reflexes were woefully slow and ineffectual to break his fall. After a yelp of pain he clenched his teeth, staring down at tiles that looked a bit blurry for a moment or two.

“That,” he ground out when he could breathe again, “was fucking unnecessary.”

Any daze, blissful and otherwise, was gone from his eyes as he lifted his head again, they were dark with pain and something bordering on fury.

There was something else creeping in, when he made the slightly delayed connection between Jim’s question and his silk pyjama bottoms rustling to the floor. Revealing light skinned thighs and -
Seriously?!

It wasn’t exactly news how much sadistic delight the prick (well, both of them) took in someone crumbling to their knees in pain, but that took the biscuit.

Admittedly, normally Sebastian would jump eagerly at the chance, but now he briefly wished he’d had opted for the nap while he'd had the choice. He was still upset, not least at his own Pavlovian reflex. Pain. Jim. Him on his knees. And there it was.

Yet, he didn’t move. Breathed slowly. Swallowing and realising he was staring at the proof of how much this turned Jim on as well. He tore his eyes away and up, until they met Jim’s.

“I think that I could,” he said evenly, lifting his chin. God, the idea alone of reducing Jim fucking Moriarty to a wobbly-kneed, thoughtless mess ... “Sure that's what you want though? You know: Bambi-legs, piranha-brains...”

~

This past month Jim had gotten used to the sight of fury in Sebastian’s eyes and that new edge to his voice. It had been alarming at first; Seb was so big and strong and deadly and in all honesty Jim very much enjoyed that. Seb’s submission was worth more because he didn’t have to submit… or at least, not without Jim employing some dirty tricks. And he certainly didn’t have to want it or enjoy it in such delicious ways.

Now that dark fury and the sudden coiled tension in Sebastian’s muscles was familiar, like staring down a gun barrel, and Jim was not afraid. Death did not scare Jim especially, although he wouldn’t necessarily choose it (certainly not by tiger bite!). There were few moments these days when Jim really did worry for his life, and generally when he did it was exhilarating. Winning all of the time with no real challenge at all was boring. The first few times Jim had fucked Seb it had been because the tedium of work had escalated to the exhilarating risk of lethal peril and Jim’s nerves had sang with adrenaline and delight.

Jim gazed coolly back at the irked man at his feet. “Just because you can’t follow what you did to upset me, darling, doesn’t magically mean you’re blameless.”

Sebastian grew distracted by the prick exposed close to his face. Jim’s lips curled at the sight. Upset as Seb was, he did have some instincts that made him a very good boy.

Jim let his eyes light flirtatiously when Seb finally raised his gaze again. “Besides, on your knees for me is where you belong, regardless of what that silly pride of yours tells you.”

Moran’s eyes telegraphed that he still wasn’t happy about how the redness of his knees hurt, but Jim’s earlier ‘question’ had captured that part of the blond that struggled to resist a challenge. Jim felt blood rush past his belly as Seb raised his chin in defiance, not that Jim’s face showed it, but a moment later Sebastian could hardly miss how Jim’s cock twitched happily right by Seb’s face.

Jim’s lips unconsciously shifted in bemusement as Sebastian questioned him. As if Jim had ever in his life not known exactly what he wanted. (The reluctance to sometimes admit that what he wanted was right in front of him did not count.)

“Whatever do you mean?” Jim scoffed. “I don’t need my legs; I have you. You’re perfectly capable of aiding me if I want you to, and if you were ever going to harm me - furry little accidents aside - you already would have done. I’ve slept safely at your side and if you didn’t lay a finger on me when I was that vulnerable you won’t when you get me off.” Jim kept a sliver of threat in his otherwise casual drawl, because he knew Moran had dared to press against him in bed at least once, and Seb ought to know it wasn’t appreciated. Not that Jim would come out and say that, because then he’d have to punish the blond. Or watch Seb wonder why he hadn’t in the first place.

Jim shifted his weight. It hurt to stand, but that was good, because it kept him from succumbing to the urge to pet the blond scalp before him for simply being within reach.

Jim stared at Seb for a moment then leaned against the cool wall. “Do you have any idea what it’s like having a mind like mine?” Jim chewed his lip blankly. “Fuck, Seb, if I could switch it off sometimes? Be able to just… stop? Not forever, I’d go mad…der, but take a break?” Jim rolled his eyes, “Yes of course I’d want that. You know how much I hate people but if someone could just make it stop? I’d wife him on the fucking spot.”

Jim glanced back at Seb. “I don’t fancy your chances, gobshite, but a good knee-trembling orgasm at least turns down the noise a fraction.”

~

Sebastian was somewhat mollified and taken aback too. Jim never bothered with giving him any insight into his head – for the same reason Albert Einstein had probably never explained quantum theory to his dog (or maybe he had?) - so this was unusual. Even more - it sounded… surprisingly honest. Genuine. And a bit tired as well.

The question whether Sebastian had any idea what it was like having a mind like Jim's was rhetorical of course. He shrugged. “Can’t say that I have.” Except, on a metaphorical level maybe?

“Like driving a Maserati GT in a world of cobble stones and country lanes?” He sat back on his haunches. That’s something that would drive him crazy anyway. “Or… working on a laptop with twenty windows simultaneously open?” Jim knew Sebastian struggled with three…

But before he felt too glum or inadequate because it was obviously nothing he could fix, he'd rather concentrate on what he could do.

“Well, there go the nuptials,” he muttered, “but turning down the din a bit I think we can do that…”

He nodded towards the laundry basket unceremoniously. “Sit.” He’d noticed how Jim favoured one of his bandaged feet, and also in case the wobbly-knee effect set in. Which he was thoroughly determined to achieve. Considering the state he was in - the pain from his cheek throbbing through half his face by now and his hands impaired by bandages and a friggin’ splint - he reckoned he’d better get a bit more comfortable. He reached for the bathmat that was draped over the side of the tub and folded it twice.

~

Jim hadn’t expected the shift in Sebastian’s mood, but then he hadn’t expected to be so open either. It was odd to hear anyone try to empathise with him, and instead of clamming up Jim rolled his neck in thought.

“It’s not just feeling restricted, having to slow down torturously to interact with anything in the intended manner,” Jim murmured. “It’s like everything is connected in thousands of different ways and there is nothing that doesn’t have a multitude of consequences, significant or not. And those consequences have consequences and on and on and on as far as my mind can see… but the threads are almost entirely invisible to the rest of the world, like they’re not there at all. Everything I do or don’t do I have to weigh up all the consequences for potentially a lifetime, but everyone else just tramples through blindly. And they don’t make sense, not really. You can learn to read them, to anticipate them, to manipulate them, but they’re fucking alien and they are by and large the absolute majority. And all the time all the consequences and potential consequences and past consequences make noise and weaving the strings makes it bearable, an orchestra of an absurdist, screaming rabble, but there’s no way to shut it off or out. It never gets quiet.”

Jim rubbed his face tiredly and chuckled softly at Sebastian’s comment about marriage. Fuck, that had been startlingly honest, hadn’t it, but Seb’s tone didn’t make Jim panic.

Jim pushed away from the wall and nudged Seb lightly in the face - not his broken cheekbone - with his distracted but not entirely disinterested arousal. It had its own taste in strings and consequences.

“As if I’m the marrying type,” Jim scoffed. “You get paid a king’s ransom to put up with me; who the fuck could cope?”

Jim nodded at Seb’s agreement to turn down the noise and dipped to give the man a firm kiss because it wasn’t unappreciated that sometimes Seb could. He also gave Jim a headache more times that Jim could count with how complex and complicated he could make things… but Sebastian was a rare thing.

Jim didn’t expect to be told what to do, and he’d have rankled if he’d noticed, but Moran did that thing again where Jim forgot the rules. Distractedly, Jim pressed a kiss into Seb’s browbone so possessively the man’s head was forced to one side, and then Jim stepped out of the last of his clothing. He limped over to the indicated basket and considered he probably should have been more careful with the soles of his feet earlier.

~

Sebastian’s own sharp strategic mind had made him an excellent soldier (and an insubordinate one at the same time), and a capable right hand man of a criminal kingpin, but regarding living life in general, well … he basically crossed (or burned) his bridges as he got to them.

To have the mind of a genius he’d always regarded as a gift – and a very useful one, an evolutionary advantage so to speak – but had never given much thought to the possibility that it only came at a price, that it wasn’t just a blessing but a curse as well. Your freaky brain processing everything, foreseeing outcomes and consequences, running through all permutations of further consequences, while the threads were constantly splitting and multiplying like a fucking snowball system. Seeing all those myriad threads far into the future, while almost everyone around you could not. Weaving those threads into a pattern, into a web – to your own advantage, but also to keep them from driving you demented. While everyone around you were a myopic as a mole and had the anticipation abilities of an ant.

The words ‘I cant follow you‘ took on a much wider meaning than people just being unable to understand you. You were living amongst them and yet in a whole different galaxy.

And for them it was just as hard to cope with you, as the other way round.

“Yes, no complaints there,” Sebastian agreed softly when Jim pointed out he raked in a prodigious salary to put up with him. Sebastian sucked his lip between his teeth when he realised he felt something he couldn’t even pinpoint at first and when he did … that he must never breathe a word about it. Jim was totally happy with people fearing or even hating him, or when they admired him, but Sebastian was certain he would not take kindly to… being pitied.

Nor to being told that it was none of all those reasons why Sebastian was still here, battered and bruised and on his knees, and now rubbing his cheek against Jim’s cock as he stepped closer. Or maybe he knew, what with his freaky ability to analyse people and Sebastian being a fucking open book to him. With Jim finding pages and chapters and tiniest footnotes even Sebastian hadn’t known were there…

He smiled when Jim kissed him and proceeded to take his seat on the basket without objecting. Sebastian shuffled closer and nudged Jim’s knees a bit further apart. The folded up rug cushioning his own, he settled down. They were both a bit banged up, so they might as well be as comfortable as they could.

“You know...” Sebastian said, while leaning forward and breathing out, his lips close to the flushed skin, then touching it almost reverently, and with a mischievous smile, “those gadgets that scramble any signals so you can't hear them any more. Let’s see if this works as well.”

He licked a few slow stripes until he had brought Jim’s arousal back to full attention. And somehow Jim’s scent and taste and the way his breathing changed worked a similar magic on himself as well. He gradually forgot the pain of his injuries and all that had happened today or might happen tonight, and immersed himself entirely in his task, with pleasure and dedication.

~

Moran only sucked his lip under his top teeth for three reasons that Jim knew, and had seen plenty instances of since the blond had entered Jim’s employment. There were specific variations for pain, anger and arousal, and a delicious collection of combinations.

The expression on Sebastian’s face after Jim’s confession was none of them. Seb had never directed such Jim’s way before - Jim would never have anticipated it either - but Jim recognised it with a twinge of surprise and displeasure.

Jim did not like the look at all. It had been a long time since anyone had directed pity at Jim Moriarty and even longer since the unwelcome expression flickered on the face of someone who-

Well, who felt like Seb seemed to after he pinned Jim down in the kitchen. Or anyone who gave a damn out of something other than fear or greed really.

Jim was excellent at making his skill set valuable to people. The rest of him took more work than he was willing to put in these days.

It had always been difficult to pass for anything close enough to normal, never mind likeable. Jim had learned to be an excellent mimic through the decades, but he’d never quite been able to repress the too smart, too sharp, too sick parts of himself to pass as good company.

It wasn’t just Jim’s rages that saw off Moran’s predecessors. Most people couldn’t settle in Jim’s presence, especially when he walked around his own home not masking his true nature, and even the toughest employees tended to get spooked, make mistakes, get killed.

Jim wanted to tell Seb that there was nothing to pity. He had everything he could want. It wasn’t possible to be lonely when there was no one to yearn for - a match for Jim’s mind didn’t seem to exist, and when he was younger he had looked.

Besides, the alienation had gotten a bit less of a yawning abyss after Sebastian had moved in.

Jim really had unintentionally gotten himself a pet. He’d never even cared much for animals, didn’t have the empathy for them, although they were neutral enough creatures he’d never bothered to hurt them for pleasure. He’d been responsible for the death of an aggressive working dog as a lad - and taken the hiding for it - but that had been defensive as much as cruel. This tolerance of Seb? It wasn’t normal.

It occurred to Jim that sitting injured like this being offered relief wasn’t normal either. Jim was never normally hurt when he stuck his dick in Seb’s face unless they were stumbling home giddy with adrenaline. This was… something else. Almost domestic. Seb had been pissed moments before and now he was licking Jim like he wanted to take it all away, but not in a bad way, and that just made everything worse because if they survived tonight Jim was really going to have to get on top of reining in whatever the fuck was happening here.

This was worse. Jim couldn’t even focus on enjoying what Seb was doing to him physically right here and now, because there was too much to be concerned about. Seb would probably read Jim’s accelerated pulse as arousal, not stress, but -

Jim noticed the awkward way Sebastian held his splinted fingers, clearly trying to be a good boy for once by keeping his hand off Jim whilst the other one was doing a good job itself wrapped around skin Seb had permission to touch.

Taking Seb’s injured hand, Jim placed it on his own leg where the angle was more comfortable.

He did his best not to think about why, or what Seb might think of it.

Jim focused at last on what Sebastian was doing to him and -

Oh.

Oh that helped.

~

Drat. Probably it wasn’t the best opening to look at someone with pity before going down on them, and Sebastian was fully aware that assuming Jim Moriarty wanted, or even needed that sort of compassion wasn’t only preposterous, but highly dangerous. That he hadn’t meant for Jim to see it was hardly an excuse, because the man saw fucking everything.

And he was not amused.

All the more Sebastian now focussed on luring Jim’s ever-racing mind out of its ruts, away from whatever it was occupied with, not least for his own sake. One of his hands being out of commission wasn’t too great a handicap. When Jim took said hand and let it rest on his thigh, Sebastian slowed down a bit, his gaze flicking up to scan Jim’s expression. Lips slightly parted and his eyes unfathomable as ever, Sebastian still saw the tiny flutter of his lashes, everytime he alternated the small lazy circles of his tongue with a bit more pressure. There was nothing of the harsh impatience Jim was wont to display in this constellation, which never failed to turn Sebastian on, but this was a different treat.

Rather erring on the side of caution, he decided his hand had not been put on Jim’s leg to do anything, but as a kind gesture. And since that was something Jim appreciated even less to be noted, Sebastian cast his eyes back down again and carried on with new enthusiasm. And gradually he did feel the tension in Jim’s thigh ease off, and turn into a little tremble. Sebastian greeted the delicious, salty note of precome on his tongue with a low, appreciative hum. The feedback was instantaneous and gorgeous and he redoubled his efforts but not without risking another glance upwards. And god, otherwise he would have missed this beautiful sight of the light flush on Jim’s neck and chest and his eyes closing.

~

“Good boy,” Jim breathed, trying his damnest not to think of anything further than himself and the man at his feet.

Sebastian’s breath was warm. The split in his lip was a distinct and not unfamiliar texture against Jim’s sensitive skin. Seb’s palms were still rough from the silver allergy, but Jim had gotten used to that.

Jim hadn’t gotten used to the way Moran had become more than a warm mouth. The way whenever he used Seb’s body Jim never thought about anyone else. The way Jim always liked to admire Sebastian, not just for his body or his willingness or any bruises, but because it was Seb. The way Jim praised the man and meant it on a level he didn’t expect to.

Jim liked surprises. Sebastian was… more than that.

Which must have been why Jim didn’t drag the man in by his skull even though every vulnerability shown merited a fierce show of strength to maintain the status quo. Sebastian’s cheek was swollen and darkly bruised where Jim had backhanded him earlier. It must hurt to administer the talented licks Seb accompanied well-timed strokes with, and there would have been a time when that pleased Jim. The blond had deserved it, and he looked so very lovely on his knees painted in all manner of injuries.

Still, Jim kept his pelvis where it was, controlling the urge to thrust right to the back of Sebastian’s throat even when Seb hummed contently and Jim had to close his eyes and bite his tongue. There was no way vibrating that injury didn’t hurt but Seb did it with a smile and eyes lit with proud devotion.

Jim’s hips rolled as his restraint grew distracted. “You’re my good boy; keep going,” Jim ordered thickly.
Torture. This was actually torture. Jim had gotten used to taking what he wanted and it took a lot of will power not to throw Seb to the tiles and throw apart those strong legs. Kiss away any opportunity to look at Sebastian a little too long or say… Jim didn’t know what. I can’t get enough of you? I don’t think I’ll ever grow bored of you?

Jim breathed shakily and focused on physical sensations. The creasing of dressings as he curled the bones of his feet. The basket rim cutting into his clenched and - oh, oh well - bleeding hands. Seb’s splinted hand on Jim’s thigh. The undeniable pleasure -

“Get up,” Jim said hoarsely.

Sebastian stared at him, uncomprehending and suddenly wary.

“Up, it’s not enough,” Jim snapped. He stared back at Seb’s expression and relented, “Not enough touching, to keep me out of my head. Your hand keeps doing what it’s doing. The rest of you needs to be up here. Need you on my mouth, against me, more of you.”

Jim covered the uninjured fingers on his thigh with his own bandaged ones, trembling hips protesting Sebastian’s slowed attentions.

“Nuthin’ funny,” Jim said. “Jus’ need… more skin, more pressure… teh ground me.” Jim gave Seb a pointed look. “An’ keep me from makin’ yeh cry if I grab that pretty face o’ yers and crack it worse ramming my cock into that lovely mouth I’m so fond of.”

~

My good boy

Those few simple words Sebastian usually felt so ambivalent about, that made his pride twitch in irritation, and yet suddenly they felt like liquid honey and Sebastian soaked them up through every pore. The itch to object was suddenly gone (apart from the fact that he wasn’t able to), or maybe it helped that Jim couldn’t see his face… Or his pride had been stunned into silence and was entirely occupied with contemplating a few stark and simple truths it had been forced to face over the last twenty four hours.

And Jim’s voice, god that voice… it never failed to do things to Sebastian on a deep, visceral level, and now it almost choked, his accent slipping all over the place between rushed, shaky breaths…

It reduced Sebastian’s needs solely to the one to please, oblivious to any pain it caused, and never mind possible mistakes he’d pay for later …

There would be some, as he’d inevitably trip up in the tangle of rules Jim issued, or kept to himself and still expected to be followed, or changed on a whim or made up as he went… It didn’t matter, because in this very moment he sounded as needy as an addict in withdrawal and it was Sebastian he craved.

The whiff of hesitation when Sebastian pushed himself to his feet was not unwillingness, but only his body struggling to obey and his mind scrambling to understand what it was that Jim wanted. Well, it wasn’t too difficult to grasp the gist of it - more.

Sebastian’s hand had already returned to what it was doing as he was pushing close, the basket creaking alarmingly under his weight as he braced one knee on it, capturing Jim’s lips, breathlessly devouring the delicious, disjointed orders - obscenities - praises. The frantic kiss was very unlike the one in the kitchen, it was Jim clawing back control, but not completely. He writhed against Sebastian, kissing back in a frenzy, and Sebastian pressed in more, shielding Jim’s knobbly spine from the hardness of the tiles by placing his bandaged hand between his shoulder blades.

~

Sebastian surged up in a heartbeat - when had he gotten so fast? - but then he paused. Jim was ready to drag Seb in by the nearest bit of vulnerable skin, but Sebastian seemed to make up his mind what to do and pushed a knee between Jim’s legs decisively. The wicker basket screamed with a gunshot crack, followed by the aftershock chatter of the woven slats shifting down and outwards to accommodate the greater weight.

Jim almost snickered at the awful, loud noise but the sudden proximity of Moran - and what Seb continued to do with his hand - locked Jim in the moment. Jim swallowed his reaction as Sebastian attached his mouth to his and pushed.

Of course, Jim needed to be closer to the wall to give Seb better purchase - he was so much taller and there wasn’t much room for that knee, still a tender pink beneath the blond hairs and indented texture of the mat. Jim spread his own thighs accommodatingly and scooted backwards, but Sebastian stopped him from hitting the wall with a shielding arm curled around his back. Always such a good boy.

Jim arched up into the kiss. More. Don’t think about consequences. Don’t think about tonight. Don’t think don’t think-

Sebastian’s tongue, eager and familiar and his. Seb’s stubble, always growing in so quickly now - since the tiger; it’s a were thing - stop, don’t think-

Sebastian’s smell, grounding and familiar. Better than any other scent money could buy.

Sebastian’s hand of course was impossible to ignore, and Jim didn’t want to. He hooked a leg around Sebastian and dragged him in further, kissing away the sudden shudder of breath from Seb which might have been a noise of alarm or amusement - the basket wouldn’t take their entire weight, yes so what, Jim would take a few scratches for this no problem - or perhaps it was the precursor to a moan, because Seb did then, when Jim dragged his fingers through his hair at the pressure Jim knew the blond liked.

Jim pulled away from Sebastian’s mouth to better hear his noises. Jim loved those. He attacked one side of Seb’s jaw and mouth with firm kisses then moved along to fiercely cover Sebastian’s ear and throat with his attention. Jim bit deeply and growled when Sebastian’s hand faltered. “S’not about you, sweetheart, don’t you dare stop,” Jim warned. He sucked a mark just under Seb’s ear.

Sebastian rallied obediently and Jim made a soft noise against the man’s neck. He swallowed then muttered gruffly, “Much better.”

Jim rocked his hips into Seb’s familiar grip and buried his nose where the man’s neck met his straining shoulder. “Jesus Christ,” Jim said. “Why do I let you do anything else? I should chain you to my bed and do nothing but you all day-”

Sebastian turned his head and he didn’t say anything but Jim almost heard the ‘no complaints here’ left unsaid. Jim also remembered exactly why he couldn’t practically fuck Seb all day.

Jim ignored the unwelcome thoughts. He inhaled Seb’s scent deeply.

“Going to keep you,” Jim said. “Going to fuck you every day. Going to get you a collar with my name on: property of Jim. Going to make you mine in every way imaginable, and some no one else could.”

Jim shuddered, panting, biting down on Seb’s skin as he felt himself get close.

“Going to carve my name on you,” Jim said, juddering. His voice shook. “Going to let your body heal just to hurt you over and over again, and make you like it. Going to ruin you for anyone else, make you mine.”

Jim squirmed up into Sebastian’s touch, frowning. “God, don’t stop,” Jim said raggedly. He was so close. Seb turned his head towards Jim, clearly able to tell.

Jim had gone past the point of being able to control how his hips bucked. Sebastian’s hand knew him. Knew what he wanted; what he needed…

“Tell me,” Jim said, focusing very hard on keeping his accent in check so he didn’t sound like a needy mess. “Tell me how much-”

NO. Dangerous.

“Just tell me you’re mine, Sebby.”

~

The basket protested again as they shifted - back towards the wall, back onto familiar ground, back to frantic and eager, and any regrets Sebastian might have had about being denied doing this at a more leisurely pace had long since dissipated.

He was just as happy with Jim giving directions like the tyrant that he was. His ferocious nips and kisses left trails of heat across Sebastian’s skin, just as the things he panted into his ear seared burning images into his brain.

keep you … fuck you … collar ... property ... in every way imaginable ...no one else could

Here was the thing: no one else could.

Sebastian was ruined already. Even the idea of ever being with someone else became more absurd by the day. Jim was uncut heroin lighting up his veins and in comparison every paling memory of every sexual encounter Sebastian had ever had was that of a silly, adolescent joint of stale weed.

Jim’s teeth viciously bit down into his neck, resharpening his focus. Jim was close, so close, and an exquisitely panting mess, hips bucking, the dip between his collarbones glistening with sweat. And his scent, god his scent threatened to fog up Sebastian’s brain again – a swirl of every nuance of need and arousal and Sebastian was sure he could smell Jim’s blood too, rushing beneath his skin, or maybe it was the smears his hand had left in Sebastian’s hair.

Sebastian’s fleeting impulse to ignore orders and turn the tables with a bit of drawn out torture remained just that. He didn’t want to shorten the odds on this being his last day on earth, but above all - Jim coming apart so beautifully in his headlong rush was divine, and it was Sebastian who took him there. But there were still rules, and with a tortured groan he squeezed his eyes shut, to block out the visual temptation of Jim’s sleek, arching neck, as he pressed the back of his head against the tiles now for more purchase to rut into Sebastian’s grip. Which moved hard and fast now, adding subtle twists and squeezes. Jim’s reaction was intoxicating … as was the breathless litany of twisted fantasies that fell from his lips that would have sounded scary to any sane person, which… Sebastian was not. The images sent prickles of fear down his spine, but a much heavier rush of heat towards his groin. Fuck, he was fucked up, and … even more fucked up: it didn’t even alarm him any more. He would never have the excuse that Jim hadn’t told him - that’s what he offered. And that’s what Sebastian took, what he wanted.

“I’m yours,” with every ragged breath against Jim’s ear, “Yours.”

How much…?

“Everything… All of it…”

And it seemed to be his words as much as anything else that finally did hurl Jim over the edge, and Sebastian would forever refuse to believe otherwise.

~

Jim came with a shout that he just had the presence of mind left to stifle mid-exclamation as he turned away from Seb’s sensitive hearing. That was the thing about getting out of his head and into his body - the heightened awareness of his senses meant an intensity of feeling that quite shut down Jim’s ability to think, however briefly.

Jim collapsed against the wall dazedly, not bothering to push Sebastian off of himself. He did nothing at all for a few long moments, then let his breathing settle as it pleased.

Good. He felt good.

Jim’s brain sluggishly came back online. He probably shouldn’t have made such a point of asking for that to take him past the edge, but it wasn’t like it was a bolt from the blue. Any mistakes he was making with Moran were already well underway.

Jim dragged his gaze to the blond and untangled himself. “Suppose I’d best let you straighten your poor spine,” Jim said dryly, voice still a little off. He rolled his neck and shifted his backside a little, starting to notice how uncomfortable the wicker truly was.

He drew his legs in awkwardly. They were heavy, and were rocked with small aftershock spasms periodically. Sweet Jesus.

Jim spared Seb a glance. The bastard looked a little smug but Jim simply returned a slight, jagged smile. He’d have plenty of opportunities to wipe that smirk off and replace it with something far less cocky. Although Seb did deserve to be a tad proud. He was good.

Jim gazed down at the spatter that had escaped their chests and Seb’s fist. Shining pearlescent white in Jim’s dark curls, Jim diminished the stars with a swirl of his fingers, then flicked the excess at Seb idly. The remains of the short lived bandages were in a sorry state.

Jim shifted his weight forward, exasperated by the fresh creak of the laundry basket.

He pointedly jerked his head towards the shower. “We both need to clean up. Go move the showerhead lower than your bandages whilst I come back to myself. Then we’ll see about letting you have a proper wash; you deserve it and you certainly need it. I’ve gotten my fucking blood in your hair… not to mention my warm come matting your chest fuzz.”

Jim chewed his lip as Sebastian moved. “It helped,” Jim told Seb’s back.

~

The way Jim shuddered and bucked in his grip was delicious, but how he tried to keep the noise down for Sebastian’s benefit was downright sweet. And then all the tension was gone as he slumped back, relaxing, eyes a bit vacant even, that powerful engine behind them idling, barely ticking over.

With a last slow and very light stroke Sebastian gently let go of him, also catching his breath. Of course he smiled, because if anyone knew how a mission accomplished felt, it was him. The effects would probably not last very long, but he was familiar with that as well.

Only now he became aware again of his own hunched and slightly awkward position, but he still waited until Jim stirred, before he extricated himself, shuffling back and straightening up. Since he didn’t want to spoil the mood and get hissed at, he refrained from lifting Jim off the basket to set him back to his feet, although, seeing the angry red imprint of the wicker pattern on his own knee, he would have loved to get a peek at Jim’s backside.

He snorted as a flick of tiny sticky droplets landed on the side of his face - for a man of refined and impeccable taste Jim could be surprisingly … crude. No wonder Sebastian needed cleaning up so frequently, well, both of them actually. He remembered that was why they’d come here in the first place.

“What a lucky coincidence we’re in a bathroom already.” He obediently padded over to the shower and the little smile on his face grew into a big one as Jim told him he’d done well.

Without turning Sebastian simulated a little ‘pleased to be of service’ bow and scrape and almost tripped. Fuck, he’d forgotten how wobbly his legs had been even before this latest intermezzo.

He adjusted the shower and fiddled with the dials until the water temperature was just right.

~

Jim laughed raggedly when Seb’s response to his wary praise was a silly little performance caught short by a stumble. Being the horrible man that he was, Jim had a habit of shoving and tripping Seb simply because he could, or for an excuse to touch him, or bring Seb down a peg, or because Sebastian looked so pretty on his knees. It was vastly gratifying that even Seb’s own body seemed to agree, even if Sebastian did manage to catch himself before actually falling.

“Try not to hurt yourself, sweetheart; I so enjoy giving you my personal touch,” Jim teased lightly.

Sebastian’s fingers twitched like perhaps he was tempted to respond with a rude gesture, but quickly thought better of it.

“Careful,” Jim drawled in his sing-song warning tone.

Sebastian busied himself with his objective, having the sense not to make a joke about Jim’s height as he significantly lowered the showerhead.

Jim shifted his legs consideringly. Seb turned at the soft crackle of the laundry basket and Jim gave him a mildly sour look before muttering, “Yes, yes, you did a thoroughly good job - shut up.”

Chapter 10: Cannelloni

Jim shifted his legs some more, willing them to realign themselves with their purpose, then slid himself off of the basket. That proved more difficult than desired, as the back of his thighs had stuck a little to the wicker and it was clear upon standing that Jim had indentations of the woven wood covering him from tailbone to behind his knees.

Jim held on to the basket for a moment as he tested his legs’ willingness to support his slight weight and wryly tried to rub the worst of the pattern out of his skin.

“I should have put you on your back on the floor,” Jim grumbled. He took a few careful steps - Bambi indeed - then followed Sebastian into the shower cubicle.

Jim kept his bandaged feet out of the pool of water and peeled off the least salvageable of the bandages Seb had recently went to the bother of wrapping Jim’s savaged hands with. Briefly determining which bits of his skin were intact enough to be functional, Jim reached for Seb’s shower gel and opened it.

Jim pressed a kiss into Sebastian’s shoulder then wordlessly began both washing the sweat from Seb’s body and some of the ache from the man’s muscles, working in the least shredded of his knuckles into the places that carried most tension.

“Good boy,” Jim murmured, working carefully around Seb’s bandages, keeping them out of the spray as well as rogue droplets of soapy water as Jim worked a washcloth up over Seb’s chest and shoulders.

Jim kept his voice soothing but masterful as he got Sebastian to shift and bow his head closer; Jim worked the cloth up Seb’s neck, careful of the butterfly strips at the side of his throat, Jim making soft murmurs like he was tending to a dumb animal. One that might bite or kick if spooked. In fairness, having Seb in his home was almost as alien as moving to his grandmother’s farm after his mother’s death had been, being required to care for animals Jim had never even seen up close before.

Jim avoided Sebastian’s gaze as he washed the man’s face, careful of getting soap in Seb’s eyes as much as hurting that fractured cheekbone further. The sting of Jim’s now wet open wounds did nothing to diminish the pleasure Jim felt at handling his favourite belonging, although there was a bubble of trepidation in his belly from doing so in such a manner. Sebastian had the sense not to question anything, but it was obvious from the set of his dripping jaw that he was burning to ask.

Jim looked away to give Sebastian’s wet skull another kiss, then set about massaging shampoo into Seb’s short hair, working out the clumps of dried blood.

~

By now they were both a bit worse for wear. Considerably so, and when he watched Jim pluck the sorry remains of his first aid measures off his bloody hands and reach for the shower gel, Sebastian was about to object. He was perfectly capable of cleaning himself up - well, somehow - and Jim shouldn’t…

He shouldn’t…

Shouldn’t…

Sebastian’s brain hit the pause button and from there trundled into standby. That was not uncommon whenever Jim laid hands on him, but … different. You needed to stay wary, because that’s what you did whenever Jim Moriarty touched you, whatever the context, but under Jim’s ministrations any attempt to do so was futile.

His hands were that of a virtuoso, and his attention to every inch of Sebastian’s body just right – the painfully throbbing side of his face got trickles of warm water Jim squeezed from the cloth, while the swipes around cuts and bruises were careful and gentle. He massaged tied up muscles and found lumps of tension Sebastian hadn’t even been aware of.

Every now and then, when something felt particularly good, Sebastian exhaled with a low groan. Whenever Jim nudged or softly ordered him to lift an arm or turn or bow his head, Sebastian complied. He wasn’t consciously aware that Jim communicated with him like with a dim-witted animal, because that was about the level his dazed mind had sunk down to. Blissed out and in a near-stupor that would probably lead to him passing out on his feet or melting into a mindless puddle on the floor.

Still, Sebastian scraped together as much attention as he could in order to not miss anything – not a sensation, not a touch or softly murmured word. And from somewhere came the hazy thought that Jim had never done anything like this before, not to him anyway. This was not the perfunctory minor medical care he did perform when there was no need to bother with a doctor, nor was it like the occasional little gestures of affection – fake or genuine – he sometimes bestowed on Sebastian. They could be nonchalant or gruff or needlingly off-handed, and never ever remotely like this.

“You’re devasta - ” Sebastian bowed his head, leaning into the touch as Jim massaged the soapy liquid into his hair and scalp and found that his mental capacity did not go beyond three-syllable words anymore. “You’re awfully goodatis,” he slurred.

~

Jim paused at Sebastian’s comment and looked at him. “Oh please, it’s hardly difficult,” Jim sniffed. “You may be wholly unfamiliar with the concept but things really can be this easy when you simply do exactly as you are fucking told.” Jim flicked bubbles at the man, pursed his lips a little, then reverted his attention to his task.

Jim massaged the shampoo into the sensitive skin by Seb’s ear until Sebastian gave a low moan that did something to Jim’s chest. Jim gave Sebastian’s ear a tug. “Don’t go reading anything into this either. You were filthy and I wanted to ensure you were cleaned up to my standards; that’s all.”

Jim released Seb’s ear. His torn fingers trailed lower, teasing parts of Sebastian that hurt but didn’t mind the attention at all when Seb had been so thoroughly ministrated.

“You asked to be mine,” Jim said quietly. “Not just fucked occasionally, but belong to me completely. So I suppose that makes it my responsibility to tend to you better than you can do yourself.”

Jim stopped teasing Sebastian’s skin and abruptly returned his attention to rinsing away the shampoo without getting Seb’s bandages wet. “When the notion takes me anyway.”

Jim ran a critical eye over Sebastian, checking he hadn’t missed anywhere, then gave the man’s rump a light slap. “I’m done with you. You are excused.”

Sebastian blinked unhappily as his sluggish brain tried to process why Jim had stopped touching him.
Jim moved past Seb towards the spray of the water, trying not entirely effectively to keep his bandaged feet out of it, and ducked his own head under to start rinsing himself off. His hands didn’t look happy with their treatment at all, and the one that had slapped Seb’s bum certainly hadn’t enjoyed it like it would ordinarily, but that didn’t stop Jim reaching for Seb’s body wash again.

“Earth to Seb, sweetheart? I’m done with you,” Jim murmured. “Or are you such a spoiled pet already that you need Daddy to towel you dry too?”

~

Honestly, while Jim tended to him better than he could do himself, he couldn’t expect Sebastian to follow all the things he said. That particular phrase filtered through though and, leaning into the massage, Sebastian sniffed to hide an inappropriate giggle. And not because he was thinking of how Jim had slyly replaced his Tesco 2in1 stuff with something sinfully expensive not long after he’d moved in.

As thorough the washing and bathing was, as far as Sebastian was concerned it was still over much too soon. “Thank you,” he mumbled, struggling out of his daze. The little slap helped. No, he would not sink so low as to have daddy towel him dry. “But no, thank you.” He plucked his bathrobe from a hook on the wall and shrugged into it, gingerly because of all his bandages and injuries.

He winced when watching Jim soaping himself down with his lacerated hands and his bandaged feet getting soaked.

“Can I at least help you with your hands, please?” He made the little twirling motion of applying new bandages when Jim blinked through the suds with a questioning glare why he was still here.

~

Jim replaced his glare with an eye roll and turned to wash the dried body fluid from his torso.

“You worry too much,” Jim said. He let the water run over himself for a few sweet moments longer then switched off the stream. He’d washed earlier, so it was only really the evidence of their play he needed to remove.

Sebastian was still standing there gormlessly, looking pleasantly flushed in his fluffy bathrobe. His split, puffy cheek made him look a bit like a boxer, and the monogrammed initials over his heart never failed to please Jim. M for Moran, Moriarty, and mine.

Jim stepped out of the shower and pressed against Seb as he reached for a towel.

“I don’t know why you care,” Jim drawled. “I might be a bit too torn up to scratch any handsome tigers under the chin tonight, but it’s not like I’ve been shot somewhere unpleasant.”

Jim unfurled his hands for Sebastian to see. They’d stopped bleeding, but being wet hardly made them more palatable.

“Bit inconvenient, but nothing to worry about,” Jim said. “I’ve survived much worse.”

Jim leaned up and nipped Sebastian’s much mistreated lower lip lightly between his teeth.

Pulling away, Jim said, “Especially before I had you keeping me safe.” His voice was odd and he withdrew a few steps more, only to find a smile and a wink for Seb. “The only fragile part of me you need to concern yourself with is my temper, darling.”

~

Jim being naked in his presence was a rare thing. With their sex becoming a bit more premeditated lately, it was Sebastian who usually found himself without a stitch on him, but not Jim – consolidating dominance and submission…, not that Sebastian analysed these things and how beautifully they worked. He simply made the best of the rare opportunity to ogle the exquisite lithe body that was usually either hidden by classy bespoke suits, or doing things to him that took away Sebastian’s presence of mind to leisurely gawk.

Only when Jim was finished rinsing himself off and stepped towards him, Sebastian virtuously lifted his eyes, not even trying to hide a smile when Jim stepped closer and leaned against him. The small bite felt almost like a reprimand, but it definitely didn’t seem very put out.

“I’m sure you have.” Yes, Sebastian could imagine Jim had survived much worse, and he glowed when Jim acknowledged his merits of keeping him quite safe lately. And if he had any say in it, it would stay that way. Considering Jim’s temper was quite a big part of doing this job successfully. “Well…” he said drily, “I’m presently imagining your temper when you lose the use of your hands to gangrene.”

He took a large plushy towel from the shelf, shook it open and draped it around Jim’s shoulders like a coronation gown. “Caligula would look like a choir boy compared to what you’d be like…”

~

Jim arched a brow and leaned in towards the towel Sebastian draped around him. Pressing in close, Jim bared his teeth. “The one who had the fucking sea whipped, Sebby? That one?”

Jim nuzzled into Sebastian’s neck dangerously. “Do you want me to flog you, precious boy? Do you want me to shred your skin, make you scream? See what a pretty crier you are? Take your mind off of those claw marks on you, make you hurt so much you sleep on your belly for weeks?”

Jim grinned widely as Sebastian stood stock still. Drawing back, Jim licked his lips and said, “But Daddy’s going to have to be firm with you: you are in no fit state for a good whipping, as much as that disappoints me. We’ll have to bank that delicious thought for later.”

Jim smirked and spun confidently before swanning over to where one of the first aid kits was kept.

“Go on then, since you’ve put me in a good mood. Protect my fingers before I go brave our fierce cook and persuade her you’re worth feeding properly.” The corners of Jim’s eyes crinkled as he added wryly, “Best to lead with you. She likes you much better.”

~

“Yeah, that’s the one I meant,” Sebastian murmured, but instead of appreciating Sebastian’s effort of saving him from raving madness by looking out for his physical wellbeing, Jim’s eyes glittered in excitement, as his mind hurtled off on a tangent Sebastian hadn’t even seen. A bit late he realised that you did not mention one of the most infamous insane tyrants in history without sending the most notorious contemporary tyrant into wide-eyed rapture, and giving him ideas. Which he then insinuated were actually Sebastian’s?! It was mind-boggling. Even more so how the way he breathed those ideas against Sebastian’s neck that sent slivers of heat and chills down his spine, made him see and feel them, so vividly and alluring as though they were his own.

With a rush of relief (and a hint of disappointment?) Sebastian heard that their execution was sensibly… postponed, but he still needed a moment to recover his normal voice. “Yes, and who… ” Jim leered at him, and Sebastian cleared his throat while he picked the utensils from the first aid kit, “who needs a horse, when you might soon be getting tiger as your Second.”

He carefully dried the hand Jim held out gracefully; put an antiseptic on the wounds; added a dressing and a bandage, then repeated the procedure with the other. And, when Jim didn’t object, with his feet as well. When all that was done, Sebastian had gotten his bearings back, and his stomach gave a loud growl, pointing out the current priorities.

With a questioning look he nudged a pair of beach slippers towards Jim, even though they were twice his size and hardly sufficient clothing to go and see the great Ms Caruso in. “Shall I get your battle dress… I mean the robe from your bathroom, oh my emperor?”

~

“I suppose we’ll have to see whether you manage to change at will in future, or just according to moon phases,” Jim mused. “Hypothetically.” Jim held out each of his injuries in turn to be tended as he thought. “I might prefer you as a tiger. You can lounge at my feet in a pretty collar all day, and eat anyone who bores me. You’d probably be far less trouble.”

Glancing at Sebastian, Jim made a face and added dryly, “Although knowing your penchant for backchat, you’d somehow manage to get on my nerves even when lacking human vocal chords.”

Jim tested the flexibility of his bandages when Seb finally let him go, but looked up sharply as the man’s stomach loudly demanded attention in the otherwise quiet space.

Scoffing at Sebastian’s playful suggestion regarding battle dress, Jim shook his head and patted Seb’s stomach over the fluffy robe.

“I don’t think we have time to play dress-up, darling; your other boss is calling,” Jim said with what he felt was a remarkably generous lack of jealousy. In any other mood he would insist physical needs of staff came far below any whim of his own.

Jim fluttered his freshly bandaged fingers to the open neck of Sebastian’s robe and pulled it aside. He brushed pointedly against the various visible marks his mouth had left on Seb’s exposed skin.

“Speaking of dressing, you might have gotten away with the odd hickey and imprint of my teeth when we were only fucking periodically, but these aren’t going to be covered with a collar. Well, not by a shirt collar anyway.”

Jim stroked the red mark sucked directly underneath Sebastian’s ear.

“You are far too delicious not to mark you as and when I please, and I know the recent near house arrest has been difficult on you. I expect I may eventually even let you recommence some of your former duties in future if things settle.”

Abruptly, Jim firmly tilted Sebastian’s chin to look at the man seriously.

“You do not let it be known you’re a favourite outside of here unless you want an even bigger target on you than you already bear.”

Jim dropped his hand. “I don’t care if or when next door know I fuck you. I do care that they respect you, and that it’s clear I never bend over for my staff. I expect you to be able to control your teams, or I’ll deal with things my way.”

Jim’s threat was vague but clear in its severity. He considered Sebastian’s expression and added, “You might want to think about what is seen of you for the next while until you know how you want to proceed.”

Jim’s expression shifted and he leaned up to kiss the edge of Sebastian’s sore cheek. “I’m not just referring to the fun marks either.”

Jim fixed the collar of Seb’s robe and stepped back. “I’m going to get dressed so I can get you fed. Up to you if you come with me.” Jim’s lips twitched. “If you can’t think straight until you’ve eaten, there’s a biscuit stash in my office that you haven’t demolished yet.”

~

“I hoped I’m just as ornamental and useful in my human form.” While admittedly lying at Jim’s feet in nothing but a collar during negotiations with international crime syndicates would probably not be particular effective, standing by his shoulder looking intimidating had proven to be so… Not to mention whipping his troops into shape and keeping them so.

That’s why Sebastian certainly had a very clear understanding of what Jim pointed out quietly – getting back his full responsibilities could only happen if he was up to it. And if there’d be no doubt about that in the rank and file of the empire.

“I’ll see to it,” he said with a quiet confidence. The marks Jim’s fingers traced out one by one would not change that. He would not flaunt, nor would he furtively try to hide them, because there was not a chance of that anyway. He’d wear them like all his scars, with nonchalance, pride and dignity.

If he would have to break a few bones to rid anyone of any misconceptions, he would do so.

He’d start with it next door and tonight if necessary, but he didn’t think it would be. Hopefully, because a five star Italian dinner would be much more to his taste. His stomach growled again at the thought and he grinned as Jim rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, but couldn’t quite hide a smile as well and even offered him access to his biscuit stash.

“Oh, I guess that will tide me over until Caruso has worked her magic. And yes, I’ll come with – the portions will likely be much bigger,” he pointed out. He knew it vexed Jim how the woman no doubt gave him the respect he was due, but also never bothered to hide her soft spot for Sebastian. “I’ll be ready when you are.”

Jim’s stash of sweets and biscuits in the bottom drawer of his desk was a sight to behold. Sebastian inhaled a packet of Oreos while selecting provisions for the journey next door, sparing the minstrels and the M&Ms that Jim preferred (wisely resisting the temptation to pick up a black marker pen and change the ‘&’ into a heart – Welsh exile was still looming on the horizon).

And because a bathrobe with nothing underneath was a bit too informal for dinner, when Jim came downstairs he found Sebastian wearing a tracksuit, and – very appropriately - munching his way through an XXL size pack of KitKat.

~

Jim often took his sweet time getting ready, but he could dress in a flash if he wanted to. His paper-pale skin and a dove grey suit did a great deal to camouflage his bandaged hands to a casual observer. Not that there was much that was casual about his hand-picked team’s observational skills, but there was no need to draw attention to the fact. Whether Poppy had opened her mouth or not was neither here nor there. And no one else was quite so adroit that they would understand Jim chose this particular grey suit because the jacket buttons were a smidge easier to unfasten / fasten upon sitting / standing as the bandages got in the bloody way.

Sebastian had indeed taken up Jim’s offer of a snack or forty and had ransacked the stash of confectionery with the unnatural appetite he had displayed all month. Jim found himself regarding the blond with fondness instead of disgust, as if the prospect of offering up his own treats wasn’t enough of a warning sign that Jim’s judgement was far from impeccable of late.

Jim approached and caught Sebastian in his grip. The man looked down.

Jim darted up and licked the melted chocolate crumbs from Sebastian’s lips. Chasing the sweet taste on Seb’s tongue, Jim forced a kiss that left Seb flushed and wanting.

Jim pulled away, lasciviously licking a swirl of melted chocolate from the part-eaten wafer in Seb’s hand, then bit down firmly. The Kit-Kat broke with an audible snap and Jim grinned as he pulled away completely to swallow his spoils. Seb couldn’t get mad at Jim for stealing his own food, right?

Jim backed playfully towards the door anyway. “I’ve gotten used to tasting you whenever I want,” he told Seb. Shrugging, Jim explained, “The moment I can’t have something I want it, so I wanted another taste to tide me over whilst we are next door.”

After a beat where Seb just looked at Jim, Sebastian then shoved the remainder of the KitKats into his mouth and followed. Jim wasn’t entirely sure whether the man was simply hungry or actually trying not to say something provocative for once.

Jim chose to needle Seb further to test his theory as they made their way onto the other property.
“It’s a real shame that Mrs Caruso probably wouldn’t appreciate it if I fucked you over her table until it broke. There aren’t many surfaces left I haven’t fucked you on.”

Jim’s gaze twinkled as he drifted in and out of Sebastian’s reach. Seb knew fine well to keep a stoic posture once they were in view of the surveillance cameras, but Jim had a wicked habit of quietly purring temptations without moving his lips enough to be read on a screen.

Jim’s amusement faded the closer they got to the other building. The last time Seb had been here Jim had given him a bollocking, and now they were showing up with Seb’s cheekbone cracked.

Most of the security team had been around long enough Jim had bothered to learn and use their first names. He even mildly liked some of them. They’d all seen his temper and nearly all had experienced his violent outbursts firsthand… But Jim had a system. Well, a few systems, depending on his mood. A few signatures patterns that the more discerning grew attuned to.

A cracked cheekbone wasn’t a case of wrong place wrong time, or a playful tap, or a very mild chastisement. A broken cheekbone meant a fuck up.

And Sebastian fucking Moran had fucked up, considerably so, but Jim felt oddly uncomfortable about the others knowing. It was almost like he’d given Seb that public spanking after all, but there wasn’t even a perversity to the violence to mark Sebastian as clearly his and above other reproach.

Maybe it was a good thing Seb had blatant hickeys on view. He’s mine, and you mind your business what he’s done to be so sore.

Not that the team would pry, but the whole thing was unsettling and Jim’s emotions were so near the surface of late and he’d ran the options in his head of how to do this so many times but he still didn’t know… A whole lot of the time lately Jim examined the threads of possibilities where Seb was concerned and simply didn’t know how best to proceed.

~

Sebastian’s jaw dropped, because Jim Moriarty in a suit, and especially in this one, was a divine apparition. His own attire suddenly felt downright chavvy. “Bit overdressed aren’t we?” he muttered, but without any rancour. Jim blatantly fellating and then biting off a piece of his Kit-Kat was much too distracting, let alone the pushy kiss. Best of all was the notion of Jim needing sustenance to keep up a civilised appearance even for a short while next door - it left a tiny but very pleased smile on Sebastian’s lips while he kept himself virtuously quiet by stuffing the rest of the chocolate waffle into his mouth. It also left him with a reaction that proved his sweat pants a very accommodating yet inconvenient piece of clothing. Which was exactly what Jim had aimed for probably. And the little bastard didn’t let up, gleefully ventriloquising his dirty little musings out of the side of his mouth all the way through to the staff quarters.

“Oh I’m sure there’s plenty left,” Sebastian murmured, referring to the shortage of yet-to-be-defiled surfaces, “ ’s a big house. And there’ll be a brand-new virgin kitchen soon…”

In his head he was running through the things Jim had said about what and what not the troops were allowed to think, and strangely enough the way all eyes turned to them when they entered left him quite unruffled, and more relaxed than he’d anticipated.

The impression they made would probably meet Jim’s criteria quite well: The state Sebastian was in made it obvious it had been him on the receiving end of whatever had taken place. The hickeys and bite marks would stop any rumours, because they simply did away with all doubts about the nature of their… altercation, and also spoke against it being work related. They testified that Jim Moriarty claimed Sebastian in any way possible. So openly and naturally it left no room for speculations and sly whispers and erosions of hierarchy, but rather cemented Sebastian’s position in it.

To be so open about what was going on would have been tricky, had Sebastian not earned his position originally solely due to his professional competence, but everyone working under him had long since understood that he had.

~

Jim Moriarty was quite content to be habitually overdressed for everything; the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Besides, it was one thing swanning about in shirt sleeves with no tie at home in front of Sebastian, and quite another to be so casual anywhere else. A good suit was both armour and key, and Jim was the sort of man who wanted everything.

At the moment he wanted to despoil any remaining surfaces that still awaited his fucking Seb into a melted wreck upon them. The thought of fucking Seb in their future virgin kitchen was so pleasing Jim forgot for a moment to hide his limp from the surveillance cameras, and Jim rarely forgot anything.

He preened a little as they drew close to the other villa and noticed Sebastian had stopped responding a while ago. Jim looked to him attentively, but he didn’t seem to need reassurance. He didn’t seem worried at all. Jim didn’t understand that.

Moran’s calm irked Jim a little, but it felt nice too, for reasons Jim couldn’t name and wouldn’t want to. Jim’s expression wanted to soften, but he kept it coolly professional. They were right outside the front door now, and Jim did not want video evidence of him simpering at the back of Moran’s head like some vapid half-wit.

There’s more staff near the front of the house than normal, was the first thing Jim noted when the door opened. It was probable they were curious, having been forewarned of the arrival by the cameras.

Shock glued attention first to Sebastian’s sore face (although Seb had managed the confectionery, so he must be feeling slightly better). Jim couldn’t blame the bunch for staring: the entirety of Seb’s zygomatic arch was as swollen and colourful as a burst plum. Politeness and self preservation occurred to the team at varying speeds, and one by one they dropped their gazes, but not before catching the state of Sebastian’s neck: both the stab wound and the bites.

“Don’t you all have work to do?” Jim asked the room with a warning note to his voice. “If not I can certainly find something to consume your days.”

The group knew not to bother wasting his time with excuses. Those with no practical reason to be near the door scarpered.

Jim nudged the small of Sebastian’s back briefly. “Kitchen, Chief.”

Sebastian obeyed smoothly for once in his life. Jim was tempted to swat the prick for proving that he was capable of behaving when a situation called for it, but given that the team had seen quite a bit already Jim abstained.

Mrs Caruso was predictably in her domain, preparing batches of meals for the night shift to consume later.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, barely glancing up from her task. She took a second glance. “When the doctors said ‘bed rest’ I doubt that was what they had in mind.”

Jim shrugged. “He was restless and constantly underfoot. We made it work,” he said with an utter nonchalance that belied the odd reaction his body was having to talking to someone about what he and Seb did.

Mrs Caruso harrumphed and paused her task to fetch a bag of frozen peas from the huge freezer. She wrapped it in a dish towel and handed it to Sebastian pointedly.

Jim leaned against the wall, not least to take the weight off of his sorest foot. “As you can see he could do with a bit of coddling, and that’s well outside my skillset. We’ve also managed to bugger up the kitchen something awful, but he eats more than he breathes at the moment, and we can’t have him going without, can we?”

Mrs Caruso crossed her arms. “You’ll be wanting fed as well, will you, James?”

Jim peeled away from the wall. None of the other staff would keep their tongue for that, but Mrs Caruso was a peculiar beast. She perplexed him greatly, which was probably why he kept her around, regardless of her useful mafia connections.

“I’d not dare turn down your kind offer if you’re so inclined, but I can appreciate you have your hands full already. As long as golden boy here is properly fed I will count myself happy.”

Mrs Caruso scoffed. “Wash your hands and take a seat, both of you. I won’t have you starving.”

Jim glanced at Sebastian quickly and wondered if the man could sit down after their recent games.

“Much obliged,” Jim said, edging towards the Belfast sink to pretend to wet his hands before anyone made comment on his bandages.

~

When their matriarch so bluntly made it clear she was neither daft or blind to the obvious, a rush of tingly sparks suddenly inhabited the empty space of Sebastian’s stomach. In a quite adolescent way he felt caught out but also secretly pleased. Thankfully she didn’t dwell on the subject either, after she had once more proven that she was a law unto herself, because no other member of the staff would dare making such a comment – not in the principal’s presence anyway.

Who in turn would dignify no one else with an answer that was not only a slightly gruff explanation but almost sounded like he was justifying himself.

Eyes cast down, Sebastian was biting the inside of his unharmed cheek while meekly waiting his turn to wash his hands. Even though their efforts were somewhat hampered – Jim’s in regard to washing his hands, Sebastian’s in regard to sitting down - they obeyed her without a fuss. Which came reasonably easy for someone with Sebastian’s military training (the only prerogative being the order making sense), but was basically unheard of about Jim Moriarty.

And since an unspoken rule existed that what happened in Mrs Caruso’s kitchen stayed in Mrs Caruso’s kitchen, Sebastian had no qualms to snatch up the seat pads of three other chairs and transfer them onto his own before settling down. And Jim had no qualms admitting freely that he was aware of the fact he sucked at being kind. Sebastian suppressed a giggle by clearing his throat when their buggered up kitchen got a mention too. Instead of a glare from Jim he caught a twitch of his lips, which Jim tried to hide by pinching the bridge of his nose when Sebastian emphasised the sturdiness of the table with a brief rap of his knuckles.

“Don’t even think of it,” Mrs. Caruso chided him primly and Sebastian snatched his hand back just in time, out of the way of a heavy plate that was plonked down between them. He had the grace to at least try to look contrite, while his eyes lit up at the delicious array of antipasti.

“Thank you,” he belatedly mumbled around a mouthful of carpaccio and grilled peppers.

Jim plucked cutlery from a jar on the table and pointedly handed him a fork – no silver here – before he started to eat with a bit more emphasis on table manners.

Their magnificent cook put a casserole dish into the oven and turned up the dials to reheat whatever was inside.

“Your famous cannelloni?” Sebastian asked hopefully, this time after he’d swallowed his food.

“The very same.” With a benevolent smile and in passing she gave his shoulder a light motherly squeeze, and Jim a glare when Sebastian flinched a bit because of his injuries.

Sebastian knew better than to look up and see Jim’s reaction, and then he realised something. Of course it hadn’t been necessary for Jim to accompany him to get him food, Sebastian had done so on his own multiple times before and with great success. But it was something else this joint visit to the staff quarters had accomplished. After the scathing reprimands over the intercom yesterday, his appearance today meant he held Sebastian in as high regard as ever, and any erosions of respect – even hypothetical ones – were nipped in the bud. It had been a protective move, without making Sebastian look like he needed it.

Struck by this insight he looked up at Jim who daintily nibbled on an olive, and even without a word passing between them it was clear he knew Sebastian appreciated that.

~

Jim was always loathe to finding Sebastian adorable, but as he watched Seb gather a number of cushions to make it possible to sit on his sore behind Jim felt a surge of amusement tinged with a much softer emotion Jim did not appreciate at all. At least there was a possessive sort of pride twining around those emotions. It felt good that Sebastian was so evidently his.

Jim drew his gaze away and focused on his conversation with Mrs Caruso. It was impossible not to grin when Seb inevitably made a joke in front of Mrs Caruso about being fucked in this very kitchen because his man had no shame whatsoever. Jim pinched the bridge of his nose to hide his face so as not to encourage the fool.

Mrs Caruso told the overgrown brat off far too lightly for it to have any lasting effect. Jim would know - his harsh physical chastisements rarely persuaded the blond to behave for long. Seb even gave the woman puppy dog eyes, which he wouldn’t waste time on with Jim. Jim found himself inwardly lamenting that finding Seb’s indolence cute was going to be the death of him.

Sebastian had no such concerns, eating like Jim starved him. Jim was certain there would have been a time he would have stabbed Seb with a utensil for acting with so little restraint, but now Jim merely pushed cutlery into his grip with resigned indulgence.

Jim took a fork of his own and stabbed at a few morsels of antipasti, leaving most of the meat for Seb to inhale. At least this selection wasn’t quite so raw as the bacon Sebastian had become partial to.

Mrs Caruso gave Seb an affectionate squeeze as they discussed the food placed in the oven. Sebastian - big, tough, brave, strong Sebastian - flinched under her light touch. “Don’t look at me like that,” Jim told the woman as she turned a glower on him. “I’m the reason his arse is sore, but his shoulder has been savaged since India.”

Mrs Caruso did not look impressed, but a pink-eared Seb ducked his head and seemed to have a small epiphany. Jim could read the thoughts forming in Seb’s head and swiftly occupied himself eating something so he couldn’t possibly smile back. It was only business sense, to protect Seb like this. Perhaps also tending to his new pet’s needs, yes, but-

Mrs Caruso cleared her throat pointedly. Jim looked up and noted her strong arms were sternly crossed over her large bosom. “And what about his poor face?” she said.

Sebastian shrank into his seat a little, then grimaced at the discomfort of his rear.

“I didn’t do that for fun,” Jim said coolly.

“One can hardly tell, James, with the amount of broken boys you’ve left in your wake,” the cook retorted.
Jim lifted his chin warningly.

She took no notice. “Would you care to explain why Sebastian sends you flowers, you kick everyone out of the surveillance room after giving him an earbashing, and then today he’s got a split face?”

Sebastian almost choked on what he was swallowing, then clutched the swollen side of his face regretfully as it twinged furiously. Jim handed him back the frozen peas discarded on the table and Seb took them without a word, icing his face until it was bearable to chew again.

“That wasn’t for sending me flowers,” Jim scoffed. “I’d have been more prone to bafflement and incredulity than that.” And perhaps some other emotions best not considered.

Sebastian was quiet, but Jim frowned and gave him a nudge. “And don’t you start getting jealous again either. I was quite clear with you earlier.”

Mrs Caruso looked to the ceiling with a ‘Lord, give me strength’ expression that Jim did not appreciate. And then her gaze fell upon Sebastian’s splinted fingers.

“You do realise that it is possible to communicate without violence?” she said witheringly.

“Speak for yourself,” Jim said dryly. “Relax and look at the size of him; he’s perfectly capable of defending himself.”

Sebastian gave him a look, because that was hardly the only factor at play and they all knew it.

Jim gazed right back. He picked up a shred of meat and held it to Sebastian’s mouth. “Don’t start. You’re here to eat, not make faces.”

Sebastian’s expression faltered, but he took what was offered. Mrs Caruso didn’t look as surprised as Sebastian would have expected.

“Like you said,” Jim said pointedly to the woman, “you’ve seen my broken toys. He’s not one of them.”
Sebastian Moran had not seen any of Jim’s ‘broken toys’, but he had seen plenty of broken men Jim had toyed with. He didn’t want to be amongst their number.

“I should certainly hope not,” Mrs Caruso said. “I hope you’ve noticed the changes since you moved this one in.”

Both men looked up at that. Jim was not impressed with the changes at all and if Mrs Caruso had seen-

“You’ve been much calmer,” the woman said. “Things have been more stable. The team have been safer from your temper. You’ve been eating-”

“Eating better has been stabilising my moods,” Jim said tightly. He hadn’t expected… what she said. “Seb has been good - and patient… - with that, but it’s hardly a magic trick.”

Mrs Caruso raised an eyebrow. “Getting you to eat? Yes it is. If my cooking alone isn’t enough to make you fat there’s a great deal wrong.”

“Maybe I just employed the wrong cook,” Jim retorted, although they knew that wasn’t the case. “Will you stop your fussing? I asked you to mother Moran not me.”

Sebastian chose not to point out that Mrs Caruso all but giving Jim the shovel talk was probably a kind of mothering.

Jim fidgeted and got up from the table to pace despite his injured feet.

“Even geniuses need given a lick of sense now and then,” Mrs Caruso said, not worried by Jim’s reaction. “You wouldn’t employ me if you didn’t value it.”

Jim gave her a scorching look, which might have been more effective if she hadn’t lived with him for almost a decade nor raised a family of almost equally fierce criminals.

“Isn’t your ‘famous cannelloni’ ready yet?” Jim grumbled in lieu of acknowledging that.

~

Since Sebastian’s appetite had been healthy even before growing the metabolism of a race horse, he was no stranger to Mrs Caruso’s realm. Apart from being fed no matter the time of day he sneaked in, it brought up faded but fairly happy memories of the big kitchen in his ancestral home, from a time when everything was still mostly well with the world. At an age when the stables or kitchen were refuge enough to get away from his father, and grievances harmless enough to be alleviated by apple pie or pork cracklings. Mrs Caruso even reminded him a bit of Martha the Cook, even though Martha probably would have gone apoplectic if anyone had asked her to make as outlandish and new-fangled things as Pizza or cannelloni.

Sebastian was inhaling his food not only because he was starving, but less chewing meant less discomfort to his cracked cheekbone. So when Mrs Caruso imparted her understanding of certain events, something inevitably got stuck mid-swallow before he almost coughed it across the table.

He’d sent Jim - what?! However or – whoever had stared that rumour?!

He managed not to choke, but the grimacing had startled his cracked cheekbone into a flare of pain that made him tear up. Still, he contradicted her assumption waving his hand, until Jim pushed the bag of peas into it again. Gingerly holding it up to his face, Sebastian slightly slumped on his chair, waiting for the pain to abate while Jim and the cook resumed their remarkable conversation.

It was utterly intriguing, as always, because Sebastian had never met anyone who dared to speak to Jim Moriarty like that, and lived. Not only that – while Jim’s reactions ranged from prickly to snippy, he seemed uncharacteristically on the defensive. That Caruso was not his equal didn’t hinder her in the slightest to talk to him as though she was. Of course, that this was a six-eyes-only setting had something to do with it too.

Well, more like four eyes actually, because the two of them conversed over Sebastian’s head - not quite as though he wasn’t there, but not far off.

“I can hear you, you know,” Sebastian muttered past his bag of peas, before he lowered it and dropped it back onto the table to resume eating. And listening. He felt a bit like a fucking toddler playing in the corner while mummy and daddy talked about him in the third person. Or like the family dog whose presence was occasionally and off-handedly acknowledged with pat on the head, a mild scolding or a morsel from the table.

On the other hand, there was compensation. How Mrs Caruso seemed to carry a torch for him put a warm, albeit slightly embarrassed glow into Sebastian’s chest (and his ears), and the things she had to say about him basically amounted to a lot of praise. Moreover, they compelled Jim to grudgingly agree – with some of it anyway. Sebastian, careful not to make faces basked in the verdict that he indeed stood out in the line of his predecessors, which seemed a good thing considering how they’d apparently ended up. To be honest, he hadn’t even been fully aware of some of the positive impact he’d not only had on Jim but the wider Moriarty household as well.

The conversation then descended into an almost silly bickering while Sebastian held his tongue, dedicating his mouth to methodically clear the big plate, until the cannelloni were ready. All the while he also meticulously stored away all the information he could glean.

It didn’t even need puppy eyes to make the portion that appeared on a plate in front of him extra big, but he thanked their cook with the loveliest smile his bruised face could manage.

Even Jim sat his arse down again when Mrs Caruso put the second plate on the table and pointed sternly at his chair. Yes, she was as formidable as her cannelloni were heavenly.

~

Jim was agitated enough by the time Mrs Caruso dished up her cannelloni that he dropped back into his seat without argument. Once the food was cool enough not to remove the roof of his mouth or skin from his tongue, he focused on shovelling in forkfuls to shut up his racing mind. Flavour, texture, ingredients, smell, he broke down each bit of data and dismissed it.

Unfamiliar with and entirely alarmed by the sudden swift influx of (undeniably tasty!) food to digest, Jim’s thin body quickly protested that. A grimace crossed his face unobstructed by his better sense and Jim sat back, pushing his plate towards Sebastian habitually.

Mrs Caruso walked into Jim’s line of sight. He started to protest her creased face, “I ate plenty, honestly-”

The back of her hand was suddenly approaching his own face, and he didn’t expect that at all and raised his nearest arm defensively as he tried to understand why the fuck the woman he’d employed for years suddenly decided to hit him, but…

Mrs Caruso batted away Jim’s arm and pressed the back of her plump hand against his forehead, frowning intently.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jim demanded, barely maintaining the presence of mind not to splutter.

“How are you feeling?” the woman responded without answering his question at all. Jim noticed that Sebastian was no longer hunched over his coveted meal but was eyeing them with interest.

Jim resisted the urge to clutch his protesting stomach. He swatted the much older woman’s hand away indignantly. “Put me down! I’m fine! What the devil are you playing at?”

Mrs Caruso dropped her hand but continued to give him a visual once over. “Are you poorly, James? Do you need me to make you a good, Sicilian chicken soup?”

“What in Christ’s name gave you that idea?” Jim groused. He tried to shoo her out of his personal space but the stout woman stood firm.

Touching him like he was one of her many children instead of someone liable to take her arm off, Mrs Caruso turned Jim’s head towards his discarded plate. Before giving up, Jim had made a bigger dent in his meal than Sebastian had so far managed in his own. Jim briefly made contact with Sebastian’s gaze then looked away.

“I was hungry,” Jim lied with an air of exasperation.

“I’ve never seen you eat so quickly in your life,” Mrs Caruso said.

Jim made a face. “I employ you for your exemplary culinary skills, woman!”

“And the rest,” she responded archly, still hovering. She gave both men mildly concerned looks. “Sebastian has been eating more whilst he recovers, but it’s usually a fight to get you to eat. Are you sure that you’re well?”

“Maybe I’m about to have a growth spurt,” Jim snarked. He knew fine well that he avoided his food when he was bored and ate uncharacteristically when he was stressed but no one needed to know that. Seb’s company made him calmer his foot! Jim’s mood swings were off of the charts recently!

Mrs Caruso crossed her arms. “James, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t care. Tell him, Sebastian.”

Before Moran could open his mouth, Jim snapped, “In case it’s escaped everyone’s notice, I’ve had a frustrated ball of energy in close quarters with me for a month, chafing at having nothing to do all day and even by my standards being a bit fucking belligerent and difficult to live with. To stop me killing everyone’s favourite boy I have been fucking Seb into a blissed out little puddle multiple times per day trying to get some fucking peace - so if I’m hungry, it’s because I’m burning an Olympic level of calories trying to make him adhere to ‘bed rest’!”

~

For a while Sebastian’s attention was entirely absorbed by the delicious food and the aim to ingest and enjoy it with as little discomfort as possible. Luckily not too much chewing was required.

Jim’s plate being shoved in his direction was a common enough occurrence, but then he perked up, witnessing Mrs Caruso examining her employer like a child suspected of running a fever, undeterred by his protests and swatting. Sebastian felt a little twinge of guilt and alarm for getting distracted, while there might be something wrong with the man he was to safeguard and care for at all times (even though Mrs Caruso saw Sebastian as the one in more need of protection). But even more he was amused and tried to hide it, or he’d probably pay for it dearly.

When she turned Jim’s head to face his plate, Sebastian did the same – the left-overs were untypically scarce.

Together with a mouthful of food Sebastian swallowed a giggle at Jim’s quip about an impending growth spurt. “God forbid,” he murmured, because honestly, it was a scary thought! How would he be able to do his job if he’d lost his last resort to physically pick Jim up and remove him from a danger zone?

He was about to second the cook’s argument that when ordinary people asked how you were doing it usually meant that they cared, but he didn’t get to it, because the next moment Jim launched into a tirade of how his unusual appetite had come about. It was the second time that Sebastian almost choked. His fork clattered from his hand onto the table and from there to the stone floor. He dove after it and it was the next best thing to crawling under a rock to die.

Through the blood surging up his neck and to his face he heard Mrs Caruso huffing. “So selfless of you, James. Can’t say I see the hardship though.”

Good god… how long could he stay under the table to pick up a fork? Sebastian resurfaced, suddenly envious of kids, pets and other household members who could indeed not understand what was being talked about. Well, maybe he could pretend as well? Even with his face feeling as though he’d been standing in front of an open furnace?

~

A bandaged hand curling defensively around his uncomfortable stomach, Jim wrinkled his nose petulantly at Mrs Caruso. “You have no idea the disgusting depths of selflessness I have found myself capable of recently. Don’t let that butter-wouldn’t-melt smile fool you; he’s infuriating.”

For all Jim’s voice was peeved, his gaze was amused as it travelled down to where Sebastian had dived under the table to be rid of the embarrassment of the conversation.

Mrs Caruso bit back a reply as she too paused to await Seb’s return.

The silence seemed to chase Seb out and he emerged with a face hot enough to cook food upon.

“Darling, if you want to crawl under tables in the workplace for me I suggest my desk is more practical. Poor Mrs Caruso is going to worry she hasn’t sufficiently fed you,” Jim drawled.

Mrs Caruso gave a small noise of derision and batted the air chidingly at Jim for teasing Sebastian so. Her eyes nonetheless sparkled as Seb failed to find a clever reply.

Jim tutted playfully at Sebastian. “Look at your precious face; I could kiss you. Is this what it takes to shame you into being quiet and sweet? I don’t need to take my hand to you at all, just tell people how much you love it when I fuck you?”

Mrs Caruso pointedly reached for a clean fork. “Boys, behave. Sebastian, finish your food before it gets cold.”

Jim grinned wickedly. “Now where is the fun in that? You know racehorses; if a thoroughbred breaks a leg badly enough it’s usually best to put him down, but not if it’s still worth putting him to stud. And this one remains a purchase I’m glad I made.”

Jim pinched Seb’s bum, higher than the sorest parts so the man didn’t flinch too terribly.

“Even if you do drive me to distraction,” Jim added. He let Sebastian sit down.

“If you’re so chatty today, James, perhaps we could examine why you have kept this ‘infuriating’ man around and developed such ‘selflessness’,” Mrs Caruso said.

Jim rolled his eyes. “I just told you: because he is an excellent playmate. Don’t you have any conversational gems for us? Surely with the amount of grandchildren you have one of them must have done something worth regaling.”

Mrs Caruso chuckled. “Oh, small talk, is it now, James? Have I touched a nerve?”

“If you’re hoping I’ll turn the same colour this one has you’re going to be disappointed,” Jim sneered lightly. He gazed at Sebastian, fully enjoying the man’s expression and lasting flush.

“I had fully intended not to embarrass you in front of the team today,” Jim said, rising from his chair. He stepped closer to Seb and nuzzled the man’s neck. “Mrs Caruso doesn’t count though, does she? She already knows you’re a brat and love some attention.”

Jim took the fork from Sebastian and curled an arm around carefully to feed him. “Think you’re capable of being a good boy for me so our dear cook doesn’t worry that I’m going to do terrible things to you?”

Jim mouthed Seb’s ear. “I shall do terrible things to you of course, but I do hope none of it is anything we can’t both enjoy.”

Sebastian swallowed. Mrs Caruso cleared her throat and said half-exasperatedly, “James, sit down.”

~

Luckily there seemed to be a point beyond which it was simply impossible for Sebastian’s face to turn a deeper shade of vermilion than what it already was. So even with Jim declaring him kissable, suggesting his desk for better under-the-table activities and comparing his value with that of livestock useful enough to keep – after Sebastian had sat down again his blood gradually redistributed to more physiological patterns.
And because Jim was right – Mrs Caruso didn’t count, and there was no appearance whatsoever to uphold after all that anyway. Sebastian tilted his head and allowed himself be spoon-fed. Well, fork-fed. For exactly one bite, then he snatched the fork from Jim’s grip.

“Now where’d be the fun in that,” he echoed Jim’s words back at him. They’d both be bored out of their minds if he’d be a good boy all the time, meek and without a fight. He smiled when Jim nuzzled his neck, and refrained from pointing out that he’d never seen Jim care in the least whether people liked the terrible things he did to them. To admit that he did with him might have been a careless slip, or a cruel joke, or simply the truth, and Sebastian wanted to believe the latter.

Jim finally complied with Mrs Caruso’s order and finally threw himself back onto his chair like a petulant child. Sebastian polished off the rest of his food, and Jim’s as well, and then a big portion of tiramisu for desert, which even Jim couldn’t resist.

“That was marvellous,” Sebastian mumbled, stifling a burp, the constant gnawing hunger miraculously silenced, at least for the moment. “The day you were hired should be a company holiday,” then he added “And not just because of the food.”

Jim scoffed, but Mrs Caruso looked very pleased, although she grumbled a bit: “And let me guess who it would be cooking the holiday dinner?”

Passing through the security headquarters on their way out, this time there was no commotion, nor gawping or covert meaningful glances.

“That worked quite well,” Sebastian stated, when they trudged back over to the big house, stuffed to the gills. “We should probably make an appearance for the night shift as well, but… maybe a bit risky today…” It was early evening, after a long and eventful day without a wink of sleep, and Sebastian felt exhausted. Just not in a pleasant way - this fucking irritated restlessness was humming in his his bones again. He had to admit though, that Jim’s methods of… distraction had thoroughly occupied his mind and senses over the last hours. But now the thoughts and worries about tonight crept back in.

Then an idea struck him. “Maybe I should lock myself in the den? If… it really happens I doubt I could operate a key or tear down a steel door…”

~

Jim grinned when Sebastian stole his fork back and parroted his own words back at him too. If they’d been alone Jim would have yanked Seb’s head back and kissed him fiercely enough to make the blond forget eating altogether.

Since that wasn’t happening Jim dropped back in his chair and held back any warning to Mrs Caruso about her telling him what to do. He could play nicely when he tried… there was just rarely sufficient motivation for Jim to bother.

Sebastian demolished the remaining food whilst Jim held a silent conversation with Mrs Caruso. For all Sebastian was observant, he could hardly be blamed for being oblivious to raised eyebrows, pointed stares, puckered lips and even mild glares, when the famous cannelloni was present.

’You’re different with this one.’ ‘Perhaps.’ ‘You ARE.’ ‘What of it?’ ‘…We like this one.’ ‘I am aware.’ ‘Don’t break this one, will you?’ ‘Do I normally treat anyone like this?’

Mrs Caruso pursed her lips. She didn’t seem to have an answer for that, which was fine, because Jim didn’t want to explore the fact much further. By the time Seb had finished eating, Jim and Mrs Caruso had come to the end of their own conversation too.

The woman retrieved dessert instead and Jim wryly supposed his stomach had settled enough by now for a sliver of Mrs Caruso’s infamous tiramisu. Seb certainly wouldn’t protest extra leftovers of that either, even if they were both fit to bursting by the time they were ready to leave.

Sebastian of course couldn’t resist buttering Mrs Caruso up with well-deserved praise, and Jim was thoroughly relieved to find he felt no jealousy. At least he wasn’t that mad yet.

“I suppose I could loan you Seb for the day,” Jim said, because he couldn’t resist one last tease. “Food wouldn’t be quite to your standards, but he’d look so charming in nothing but an apron.”

Jim slid back into appearing coolly professional and a smidge intimidating when they were back in view of the rest of the team. Playfulness had its place, and joking in front of Caruso was not the same as presenting an entirely more appropriate united front to the rest of the team.

“Course it went well,” Jim said, wrinkling his nose as Sebastian spoke. “What were you expecting? Me to kill a handful of people for being stupid enough to look at you funny?”

Sebastian very politely held back whatever rude response Jim could see hovering behind Seb’s eyes.
Returning to a safer topic, Sebastian mentioned the other team and yes, he was right. Doubly so, because if Jim had to replace his fucking home team, the people he had vetted so thoroughly, because his fucking chief of staff had eaten them, well, Jim would not be best pleased.

Jim put his bandaged fingers on Seb lightly. “We’ll see how you feel in a few days. I imagine even if you’re not sore tomorrow you’ll be exhausted. You’ve not had much of a nap today either, have you? You probably should get some rest if you can, in case tonight is draining.”

Jim nodded at Sebastian’s suggestion about the den, but then gave the man a Look. “You don’t need to deal with a door. I’ll be there. Near an exit naturally in case you’re stupid enough to forget who you belong to, but I’m certainly not locking you in a room and leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Jim crossed his arms tightly. “It’s not as if there’s credible sources for what happens. I still cannot figure out how a shift would practically work nor how it would feel for you or whether it even comes naturally. Burning curiosity aside, I want to keep an eye on you. What if you get stuck part-way, or you hurt yourself? What if I need to tranq you and get you a fucking vet?” Jim looked away. “Whether you like it or not, I’m not leaving you unsupervised, and I don’t need to hear any arguments.”

Jim shrugged. “Besides, if you do turn tonight, and it’s a cyclical thing, the sooner I observe, the sooner I can process it. Figure out the most bearable way for it to happen each month. Decide if there’s anything you do or don’t need. See what the fuck we’re dealing with. What I’m sharing my home with.”

Jim nudged Sebastian bodily. “Find out if I’m going to order a lot more bedding and lint rollers because once a month an enormous house cat keeps casting on my sheets.”

Jim curled his lip. “Not that the invitation to my bed stands when you’re furry even if you are tame. The cat hair would drive me spare.”

~

Well, Sebastian was hungry, not deaf or blind. He had no problem multitasking – eating and soaking up every word as Jim and Mrs Caruso bickered. Of course he pretended to be as oblivious to his surroundings as the family Labrador gobbling up his food. Jim peevishly agreeing with Caruso’s observations did not mean he wouldn’t skin Sebastian to keep him from getting ideas…

Only at one point, digging into the delectable desert, he slowly crossed his eyes – maybe incidentally just when the apron was mentioned, maybe in bliss because Mrs Caruso’s tiramisu was so rich it could make you drunk.

Walking back through the garden, with dusk creeping into the day, Sebastian’s thoughts inevitably returned to what he’d quite successfully managed to block out for most of the day. He looked up when Jim touched his arm, somehow stopping him from spiralling again. And not only had it been Jim who’d taken his mind off the elephant – or tiger - in the room, but he was also carefully dissecting the problem as he always did: pulling up all the possibilities, making contingencies, planning and thinking much further than Sebastian, who had been fully occupied by the most immediate concern – that they’d both get through the night to see the next morning.

Listening to Jim, Sebastian was suddenly quite overwhelmed how it could be the same man who a few hours ago had whispered the most terrifying scheme to ruin him into his ear, who now laid out in equally thoughtful detail how he’d keep him from harm. Because he was curious of course, and also because he was disgusted by and would not tolerate anything that inconvenienced him. And the mere possibility that there were more reasons than that helped lift Sebastian’s spirits.

He grinned when Jim playfully nudged him.

“And pray tell what would you do if I’m stuck halfway?” Yes, he was joking because seriously considering such a thing made his blood curdle. “Any research on that?” Like on batty websites and ancient tomes in the library, which were after all their only sources?

“I’ve heard hairspray is a great way to remove pets' hairs…” From clothing, not from the pet! As for lint rollers – Jim only had to adjust his regular deliveries in bulk and frequency?

God this was getting horribly silly, but it seemed as good a way to cope as any other. Sebastian had definitely no wish to ponder what it would feel like… He grimaced, getting a bit more serious again when they reached the house.

“Maybe the den isn’t such a good idea after all if we’re both going to be there. Too many hazards down there…” Chemicals, ammunition, explosives and sharp tools. “I think I’ll simply go to my room then. Maybe I can catch a wink.” He felt worn out. And maybe tomorrow they’d laugh about all this because nothing had happened. Sebastian would wake up and everything would be as before – the irritating intensity of noise and smells, the frigging injuries suppurating under the bandages, the hunger and irritation and itchy restlessness. In short – the very same that was slowly driving him to distraction…

So, while on the one hand Sebastian dreaded what might happen, he also abhorred the possibility that nothing would.

But before he turned in he brought a few more pills from the stash in his bathroom and only left after he’d witnessed Jim taking them.

Chapter 11: Cuffed

Jim curled his lip disgustedly at the prospect of what might be required if a were got stuck in a partial transition. “Never you mind,” Jim said, Sebastian’s amusement not enough to ease the discomfort of the things Jim had read. “You have enough to be getting on with; I’ll deal with that if necessary. And then we never speak of it. I think we’ve invited quite enough fairy stories and lunacy into our lives already.”

Jim pursed his lips. “It’s nothing I’d expect to scare you or anything,” he added, because Seb had enough to be stressed about already, “it’s just… All of the options are fucking ridiculous.”

Jim moved to an angle behind Seb that partially obscured him from the surveillance cameras and swatted Sebastian mostly playfully. “I used to have a perfectly ordered life before you thundered into it, you know.”

“Least I’m not boring,” Seb responded. He looked down when Jim didn’t pull his hand away but instead gave Seb’s sore rump a mild squeeze. It hurt a little, but it wasn’t especially sadistic. There was the possessiveness that coloured almost every touch Jim gave, but there seemed to be something like affection too.

“You are never boring,” Jim agreed. It sounded like begrudged praise.

Jim broke the moment by reaching up to tap Sebastian’s nose. “Hairspray or not, no pets on the furniture.”
Jim straightened abruptly as a related thought made itself known. “I’ve never been close to a tiger before. What if I’m fucking allergic?” Pulling out his phone, Jim snatched Seb’s wrist to tug the bigger man along as he started yet another bout of ridiculous research on the way to the house. Jim’s keystrokes were set to silent but Sebastian could still hear them. And the sodding bats gathering for dusk.

Jim declared, “People with cat allergies are also allergic to big cats, but because the dander is similar if I’m not allergic to cats I ought to be fine.” He gave Sebastian a soft glower. “Luckily for you.”

Sebastian pressed his lips together softly and looked like he was swallowing the urge to point out none of this was on purpose.

Jim sighed and rolled his eyes. “Now you know you never get sympathy from me, so if you keep making that face I’m going to consider it insubordination. I know this isn’t your fault. I’m complaining because it isn’t your fault. I don’t do well with not being in complete control of everything and if I don’t prattle away some of my annoyance to vent I’ll simply explode later and there’s no good time to do that this evening.”

Jim squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be bloody sure to explode at you two days from now when you’re fit to face up to all the frustrations you’ve created.”

Jim gave a tug on Sebastian’s sleeve to indicate the lecture was over and to come home.

Sebastian understood it was safest to leave Jim’s outburst alone, especially as he was quite conscious not so long ago Jim would never have dreamed of explaining himself. It was difficult to understand how or why that had shifted, but Jim was not so changed that asking would do any good.

Sebastian merely announced a change of plan for tonight’s preparations and Jim chose to accept it as a change of subject, even if the consideration of hazards was quite in keeping with the original conversation.

Jim’s gaze flickered. “Cats are generally more sensible than dogs about not eating things they oughtn’t, but we used to have to keep the antifreeze where the mousers couldn’t get to it. Depending on how self-aware you are in future we might need to look at tiger-proofing the house. The grounds as well. Possibly need some better fencing around my poison garden. I’ve already checked there’s not much on the grounds toxic to tigers other than there.”

Sebastian blinked. Evidently he hadn’t thought of that either. Jim could hardly blame him; Seb had quite enough to worry about. He looked exhausted too.

Jim nodded approvingly as Sebastian said he would go nap. Afterwards they could see about preparing one of the panic rooms. Jim still wasn’t certain whether it was best to use the one on the top floor (furthest from exits) or the ground floor (quickest if medical intervention required). It could be decided later. He’d let Seb sleep, they’d get organised, probably order in steak for second and third dinner, and then they would deal with tonight.

Jim wondered whether he ought try to nap too. He’d slept earlier, but if he was going to stay up all night?
Sebastian interrupted Jim’s pondering by stoutly insisting on another dose of medication for them both, and that was ridiculously unnecessary but Jim didn’t argue. Let Seb exert a bit of control over his surroundings for the moment, make him feel useful and occupied, his little mind was probably alight with stress. Or perhaps smaller intellects didn’t stress as much?

Either way, Jim took the tablets without fuss and watched in surprise as Seb headed to his own bedroom to nap. Jim had rather thought Sebastian thoroughly enjoyed the rare treat of being welcome in Jim’s bed, but perhaps he felt safer alone. Given the things Seb had seen Jim do, that was fair.

Jim went to fetch a parcel from his own room. It was for tomorrow, if Seb was indeed deeply sore in his muscles and even bones. If Seb was going to crash on his own, it might be best to add the new electric blanket to Sebastian’s bed now, when they both had the energy, than later, when they’d been up all night and Seb was in no fit state for anything.

Jim almost barged in habitually to Sebastian’s room, but he remembered how territorial and touchy the man had been of late. Jim knocked briefly. “Seb? Before you get too comfortable, you might want this…”

~

It was the second time in as many days that Jim bothered to explain himself to Sebastian, something he’d never been prone to before. Sebastian knew he shouldn’t read too much into it, but it added to that sense of a shift occurring between them lately. One that felt more meaningful to Sebastian than just getting a ‘Brief Insight Into The Mind Of Your Employer’ manual solely for the sake of keeping him alive – well, both of them really.

He blinked as Jim mused about making the house and grounds tiger proof. Sebastian was still in the process of wrapping his head around the possible events tonight, and had no real free capacities to envision them turning into a regular fixture in their future diaries.

It seemed so outrageously insane, and Sebastian swallowed a sudden, half desperate, half hysterical giggle at Jim’s deliberations about measures that may have to be taken.

“If I were to be appropriately fed, I might be able to refrain from drinking antifreeze,” he chipped in helpfully. Actually he hadn’t thought of the den being a danger in that regard, more the presence of sharp objects and hazardous substances in case of a commotion or … fight. Which was something he didn’t really want to think about, but he had to, and it was actually the reason he chose his own room to retire to – it was familiar. A safer place than being out and about in the house, or, god forbid, the garden… together with all the strange afflictions, sensations, needs… that seemed part of his vexing condition, the strong pull to be outside always became downright irresistible come nightfall. Almost as if that’s where something wanted him to be, and therefore he was wary to give in to it…

In terms of inside the house, he was suddenly drawn to his own room. Sebastian told himself that it was only the logic that familiar surroundings might help him keep some shreds of self-awareness, as Jim called it… What he kept well away from was the thought that that’s exactly what animals did too – hide in a familiar, quiet, peaceful place when they were terminally ill.

The way Jim humoured him, taking his pills without nagging, made Sebastian even more uneasy when it should have just satisfied him.

Oh for fuck’s sake, he was only going to have a nap! No need to get all twisted up about it. Not more than he already was, because despite feeling a bit silly he had made a few more preparations. Closing the door behind him, he dragged a hand through his hair and over his face, then he shook himself out of it and surveyed the room. He closed and locked the window; moved a formidable stash of food from the cupboard underneath the bed.

He took off his tracksuit and sat down. It hurt a bit, but in a good, and almost too distracting, way. Yes, Jim had been been very thorough distracting him. From the bottom drawer of his night stand Sebastian took the things he’d squirrelled away before – the metal handcuffs they’d used earlier, and another set from Jim’s collection, leather ones linked with a short chain.

Sebastian snapped one of the metal cuffs around his left wrist. His imagination deserted him when he tried to picture what exactly would - if it did - happen in terms of physical changes… Where the fuck was a tiger’s wrist?! Surely it was broader than a man’s? So that meant it might get crushed or broken, but Sebastian honestly didn’t care too much at than point. Maybe it would be a good thing if that happened, hell, anything incapacitating him in some way was probably a good thing.

He froze at the knock on the door – Jim never knocked?! Let alone came to his door to bring him something? Instead of calling him in, Sebastian jumped up, left hand behind his back and closed tightly around the dangling part of the cuffs to keep it from jingling. He opened the door, just wide enough to peek through.

“Oh… what…” He blinked at the flat but fairly large parcel Jim pressed at him. On seeing the label his first reflex was a frown. A bloody electric blanket? What did Jim take him for – eighty years old? And being cold was something he’d definitely not complained about lately, what with his freaking turbo metabolism.

“I know,” Jim said as though reading his mind, or at least his face. “But maybe tomorrow.”

Sebastian’s throat went a bit tight, as always on the rare occasions when Jim briefly let it slip that he genuinely cared. Sebastian slowly took the parcel. “Aww…”

But the last thing you could let Jim Moriarty know was that you thought him cute, even though Sebastian thought this must be the sweetest thing ever. While he had at first looked a bit hesitant at taking the package, he now gathered it closely to his chest, lest Jim would change his mind.

“Thank you. I’ll… try it out now.” In case he was occupied otherwise or in no shape to bother later on.

~

The moment Sebastian’s confused frown changed to an emotional-looking acceptance Jim wanted to snatch the blanket back to beat Seb with it. Sebastian had the sense to notice too, pulling it protectively to his broad chest out of Jim’s grasp.

“Sure don’t go gettin’ yer panties in a twist, Moran,” Jim derided. He glowered and swallowed, rolling his tongue and jaw until his words sounded under his full control again. Infuriating. Everything about Moran was always infuriating.

Jim looked to the side, ignoring how Seb appeared with his tracksuit off now and the collar of lovebites making him seem particularly charming. Resenting thoroughly how fond he was of Sebastian’s appearance, Jim grumbled, “Like you’ve never filled a hot water bottle in the past for a girlfriend with menstrual cramps? Even psychopaths can be inclined to look after their own, and you live here, don’t you?”
Jim grimaced in soft disgust. “Not that you’re my girlfriend neither. You are the bane of my existence. Sure I’m just trying to tempt you to one spot whilst you’re weak and helpless so I can do myself a sodding favour and suffocate you with a pillow.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything, probably because he knew Jim would respond badly to cheek in that moment.

Jim made an irritable noise, because Seb didn’t have to say anything for Jim to hear the flaw they both recognised in that plan. “Or I would if I had any sense,” Jim spat. “I’m a possessive control freak as you well know, and as much as I enjoy your suffering, I prefer that to be at my own hand. Sooner you’re better the sooner I can stop treating you like you’re fucking fragile.”

Sebastian heard the threat there, but his expression suggested he heard other things besides.

Jim straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “More importantly, it doesn’t take a genius to notice that you’ve a sudden aversion to letting me see your room, or the hand behind your back. I’m sure you understand those details smack of a naughty boy trying to keep misdeeds from his daddy. Do I have reason to be cross with you, or can I leave you to rest like I told you to?”

~

“I know it beggars belief, but for a change I’ve not been naughty,” Sebastian defended himself with a touch of indignation. “Just about to catch some sleep.” And all preparations had been very responsible ones, although for a moment he did feel like a teenager barring the door to his room, blocking daddy’s line of sight to a stack of porn magazines and a packet of kleenex wipes on the bed.

Furious Jim could be quite scary, but vexed Jim … - Sebastian pursed his lips to counteract a smile that threatened to pull the corners of his mouth back to his ears, hugging his present a bit tighter. “And yes, I think once or twice I actually did make a hot water bottle for a girl to… help her through her monthlies.” It never ceased to throw him when Jim talked quite matter-of-factly of mundane things you’d never expected he’d ever given any thought about. “Basically because I was very glad when they came on time,” he added drily. He couldn’t contain his grin any longer. “It’s ever so sweet to see you so prepared to help me through mine from now on. Very reassuring.”

It might be concealed in a joke – but he was. He was grateful and quite a bit calmer than he would have been otherwise, if Jim had dismissed this ludicrous theory point blank and not decided to help Sebastian deal with it. And for that relief, Sebastian would gladly suffer any fallout and eruptions of temper when Jim didn’t feel the need to be considerate any more.

He drew back a little and made to close the door. “Oh and I think one thing I don’t have to be afraid of.” Because it wouldn’t be like Jim at all. Sebastian’s smile had turned softer. “You won’t suffocate me in my sleep.” Where’d be the fun in that?

~

“I thought you’re supposed to be a tiger, not a dog,” Jim said sourly, even though it was hardly the first time he’d been reminded of Sebastian’s wild nature. That had been a source of irritation for Jim, especially since he’d had to cancel so much of Sebastian’s time off to avoid the man bringing home anything unpleasant.

Jim hadn’t even been particularly creative about the excuses, knowing that Seb baulked at taking stupid or unfair orders from superiors before, and was certainly bright enough to know he was being fucked with. Jim expected that after he’d started fucking Seb eventually there would be an explosion of frustration from the man, which Jim would of course punish, and somewhere between then and some violent copulation Jim would assert that Seb belonged to him now and Jim did not share.

However, either Jim Moriarty’s reputation frightened Seb more than the blond’s often maddening behaviour suggested, or Sebastian Moran was the most tolerant man Jim had ever met. Only the second most tolerant man in the world though, because Jim tolerated Seb.

Jim shifted in his suit, not enjoying the light in Moran’s eyes that suggested the man was finally starting to notice that whilst Jim could tolerate knowing that he’d been with other people, thinking too much about it made Jim want to break things.

Naturally Seb chose that moment to grin and tease that he found Jim sweet and reassuring and-

“Mother of God, I’m glad it’s a creature curse,” Jim blurted.

Sebastian turned confused eyes on Jim and the Irishman added with a pained face, “Imagine if I’d gotten you pregnant.” Jim twisted his shoulders as though to shake off that thought. “A wild beast once in a lunar cycle I can live with.”

Sebastian looked at him.

Jim shook his head. “Now see, my life would be much easier if you became a baby tiger every month. I could just scruff you and put you somewhere that’d keep you out of trouble. Fuck knows how that would work though, it’s driving me mad trying to understand how it’s physically possible to become bigger. Providing you do. Maybe you’ll just grow ears and a tail like a really cheap horror movie. Christ.”

Jim waved Sebastian away. “Go. Nap! Whatever nonsense you’re up to behind my back - again after we had a fucking talk about that - I don’t need to know right now. I’ll beat you or paralyse you or whatever you deserve later.”

Sebastian’s expression sobered a bit.

“You give me a fucking headache,” Jim grumbled. “Get some rest.”

Sebastian nodded and began to draw the door closed again, but couldn’t help a smug little quip about the method Jim would use to dispose of him.

“You’re fucking right, sweetheart,” Jim growled, “when I do you in I’ll make certain that you suffer.”
Jim pushed the blanket into Sebastian’s sore chest with enough force to make the bigger man stumble backwards, then Jim yanked the door closed himself.

“Sleep!” Jim ordered, and stalked away. He was so annoyed he wasn’t even curious about whatever Moran was up to in his room that he ought not be.

Jim yanked his shoes off and put them away. Otherwise ignoring the ache of his mistreated feet, Jim went through the house and checked the various emergency preparations were precise. He didn’t have control over what was going to happen to Moran’s body, but Jim Moriarty could damned well try to control everything else.

~

“No, I won’t.” Sebastian wrinkled his nose, point-blank refusing Jim’s suggestion to imagine - … No. It wasn’t even the mind-boggling idea what a scourge for mankind Moriarty-Moran offspring would constitute – that was rather an entertaining thought – but it turned out that, surprisingly, his fantasies did have hard limits regarding the ways Jim might take possession of his body.

“Being a tiger cub though is a more amusing idea.” Making him not quite as awe-inspiring as he would have liked, but some perks would be worth it – like eating Jim’s tie, embossing neat patterns into handmade Italian leather shoes and throwing up all over the cream coloured Kilim carpet. And no, there wouldn’t be the poor man’s horror movie version either – nothing in this household was done on the cheap, ever.
Least of all killing employees, as Jim confirmed. Which was weirdly reassuring.

When the door had been shut in his face, Sebastian unwrapped the blanket. It had a cosy fleecy sleeve, and was quite large, a perfect fit for his king size bed.

After he’d installed it and pulled the sheet back over that, he returned to the more grim preparations… well, precautions more like. His mind baulked again when he tried to picture such a… transformation at a … physical level. There was simply no way of knowing, and so he decided there was no point in trying to anticipate the details. Whether any restraints might harm him or not was quite insignificant compared to his goal to keep Jim safe. In the end he buckled a leather cuff around one ankle, and affixed the corresponding one at the other end of the short chain to the footboard of the bed – funny how all the beds in this house were different but invariably of a design that made something like this quite easy. Then he clicked the handcuff dangling from his wrist to the headboard, putting the key within easy reach on the bedside table. It seemed sound reasoning that he would not be able to use it in the event that made all these safety measures necessary.

Rolling to one side he reached for the switch of the electric blanket and turned it on, only to switch it off again a few minutes later. I did work beautifully, but the warmth made his wounds itch…

Or maybe it wasn’t merely his wounds, but the night creeping in…

Due to the eventful, exhausting and sleepless day, he drifted off, and as soon as he did came the feverish, weirdly coloured and sensual dreams he’d become accustomed to.

~

Jim had done three circuits of the house before he was satisfied. It might pay to be superstitious on an evening like this, and three was supposed to be the charmed number.

Limping uncomfortably, Jim could not quite bring himself to sit down. He was full of nervous energy, fussing with his suit and his mother’s crucifix and sternly telling himself that seven checks of the house was unnecessary. As was thirteen.

Jim ran the maths in his head again. Sebastian’s vital statistics. The average ranges of that of a tiger. The percentage Sebastian was bigger than the average man. The possible correlation that would have to a tiger’s size. How much sedation might be too much or too little, and whether a difficulty breaking a supernatural creature’s hide would make a difference there.

So many ways things could go wrong. So many ways consequences could spiral.

Jim checked the time at last. He was surprised Sebastian hadn’t roused by now. Even if Seb was tired out by changes preparing themselves under and indeed within his skin, usually Sebastian’s stomach held time on its own.

The minutes crept on and on. The house was quiet. No grumbly-tummied, exasperating, handsome blond materialised.

Jim started to grow uneasier still. It was just the anxiety of the wait, surely, but…

What had been so bad Sebastian had refused Jim access to his bedroom? Why had he picked there to sleep at all?

Sebastian had provided Jim with a weapon for tonight and been displeased when Jim refused to use it.

What if..? Jim’s blood ran cold and he couldn’t remember the last time a thought had so sickened him to his core.

That wasn’t allowed. Jim had decided to keep Sebastian alive, so no one was allowed to take that life.
Seb was a fucking eejit, but he wasn’t stupid.

Jim was bolting across the building before his brain could conjure anything else.

Seb’s bedroom door was unlocked and Jim burst through it, sweating and paler than death and his heart pounding, choking, too high in his throat and-

And Sebastian was just there. On the bed. Spreadeagled and bound, in Jim’s own restraints. Those cuffs were custom made, and had never looked so good as they did now around Sebastian’s flesh.

Jim straightened his posture and tried to settle his breathing, which sort of worked but also succeeded in making a vein in his face twitch. Jim was quivering and Sebastian was looking at him most quizzically over Jim’s abrupt entry, a little awkwardness seeping in after a beat as Sebastian acknowledged Jim could see his restrained state.

Jim hadn’t known what facial expression to wear at all, because the sudden relief that threatened to tumble right out of his chest had choked under the shock of seeing Seb so beautifully laid out, like a sacrificial offering simply there for the taking.

Jim wrangled his voice into a flirty drawl and if it sounded breathier than normal Seb was perfectly welcome to mistake that for mere arousal.

“I wondered if perhaps you were hungry but I think I am going to be the first to eat,” Jim warned. He circled the bed and when his heart rate slowed enough to be read as anything other than fear Jim finally reached for the blond.

~

Sebastian had slept fitfully, with a little break a while ago. He had woken up with an aching head and a restless, jittery energy humming through the very marrow of his bones. Rolling around, his free hand had hovered above the key, almost hypnotised. It would be so easy to set himself free... By now it was dark outside, and nothing had happened, right? Probably never would. But in the end it had been exactly that irresistible, irrational urge to scour the house and grounds that had made him reach underneath the bed instead and dive into the provisions there, as though eating could quell all sorts of hunger. It worked, not terribly well, but it did. He'd diminished the food stash under the bed, leaving a colourful heap of junk food wrappers beside it.

Ingesting the last pork pie from a packet of six he let himself fall back. He left the light on, because the way he could see in the dark unnerved him as much as it thrilled him - not only the amount of detail in the greys but a faint greenish tinge that reminded him of night vision optics. Also, he could hear Jim, not just down the hall but literally at the other site of the house, which was quite impossible, or would have been up until recently.

He must have drifted off again, because when the door flew open it gave him quite a start, and the sight of Jim did as well. He'd barged in, without any preamble, which was not unheard of, but Sebastian had never seen him like this - panting, wild-eyed, almost shaking and white as a sheet. Whatever had brought this on, it was followed by a visible effort to calm down. The burning intensity did not cool down though, just seemed to shift in nature while Sebastian watched Jim circle and stalk closer. Sebastian's initial alarm transformed into something else.

Not many things turned him on so quickly and inevitably as Jim looking at him like he did now. With such unbridled, all-consuming hunger, like he was about to tear into him and eat him alive. Eyes riveted to Jim's face and suddenly a bit short of breath, Sebastian reached up with his free hand. Blindly he groped around for the half-eaten bag of dried meat snacks he had dropped there, then, mirth dancing in his eyes, he held it up under Jim's nose.

"Beef jerky?"

~

Jim paused, horrified. “Open food by your pillow - Sebastian Moran what is wrong with you?” Jim wrinkled his nose and took the packet sharply. Ordinarily he’d probably have thrown it across the room in distaste, but Jim placed it beside the key on the bedside table, still within the blond’s reach. “Why you’d want to eat that dried rubbish anyway is beyond me - you’re hardly reliant on army rations here.”

Jim took in with a mildly wounded air the many junk food packets on the floor. “And they won’t have done you much good either, will they, clever dick? If you’re going to put your muscles and bones through hell you need good protein not this shite. The sugars might help for a while but they’re not going to help repair anything are they?”

Sebastian gave Jim a look, like such a lecture from a man who might skip eating for ten days during an intense project if not cajoled into snacks by Sebastian was rather rich. The fussing had put something soft in Seb’s gaze too which Jim quickly turned his eyes from.

“Don’t you give me that look,” Jim grumbled. “If I have to eat properly then bloody so do you.”

“Oh yes, because you always do as I say,” Sebastian said dryly. Jim whirled around and Seb swallowed, but they both knew the closer the full moon came the more he’d been running his mouth.

“Watch it, pet,” Jim warned, but no blow was forthcoming, and that was usually more ominous than immediate violence, yet Sebastian got the distinct impression Jim wasn’t marking that one up for later punishment. Seb wasn’t sure if going unpunished by the violent psychopath beside him was a starker proof that Jim thought he was in a bad way. Surely it couldn’t be anything else?

Jim took off his suit jacket and hung it on the corner of footboard. He crossed his arms.

“Now that we’ve gotten the hilarity out of the way, are you going to let me have my way with you or do I need to take you by force?”

Sebastian blinked then swallowed. Even with one wrist and ankle restrained it was unlikely the skinny little fucker could take him by force without employing some very dirty tactics. Which of course sounded very intriguing indeed.

Jim snorted deprecatingly at the man’s expression. “Of course. No surprise there.” Jim removed his tie with a swift hiss of fabric then his trousers followed, both being placed over the footboard.

Jim approached Seb’s bound side, wading through crinkling wrappers in socks bulging over his bandages. He leaned in for a firm kiss, then slipped onto the man, pressing against him playfully. If he’d had a real death wish Seb could have sent Jim flying to the ground with one quick shove, but he didn’t. Seb wanted to know what Jim would do. The man seemed calmer now, his pale skin less concerningly colourless, but there was a layer of sweat on Jim’s thigh, and hip, and belly as Sebastian’s steadying hand moved up the man’s body.

Jim took the hand and pushed it, palm upwards, onto the pillow. “Stop thinking so much,” Jim scolded against Seb’s open mouth. Sebastian could have took his arm back at once, but he merely curled his lips against Jim’s at the irony of that command. Jim nipped Seb’s much mistreated lower lip in response. It was going to be permanently torn open if that habit continued.

Jim worked his mouth over Sebastian’s face with surprising attention, not just going for the jaw or temples but even pressing oddly soft kisses onto Sebastian’s eyelids.

“I’m not dying,” Sebastian found himself saying.

Jim grabbed his chin in a bandaged hand. “Not from tiger wounds, no, but you will be from running your mouth too much if you don’t shut up when I’m not asking for your opinion,” Jim retorted, moving his mouth to Sebastian’s neck and sucking.

Seb rolled his eyes and considered taking his hand back just to squeeze Jim’s skinny little side pointedly, but he continued to behave for the moment.

Jim seemed intent of mapping all of Sebastian’s chest and shoulders… and arms … and knuckles… and fingers with his mouth, licking and sucking with an attentiveness that dried Seb’s own mouth and gave Jim something firmer than Sebastian’s abdominal muscles to press against.

“Force isn’t all about brute strength sweetheart, or you wouldn’t enjoy falling to your knees for me so much,” Jim said, working his way back up the sensitive inside of Seb’s arm. Nipping the elbow crease with his teeth, “Sometimes force is in the strength of someone’s will.”

Jim kissed and nipped and sucked a path along Sebastian’s ribs, the dip beneath, the rise of his muscles and hipbones. Jim grinned against Seb’s skin and dragged the flat of his tongue against the scabbed cuts left by his butterfly knife. “Sometimes it’s about an offer that can’t be refused.”

Jim met Sebastian’s gaze, his small body nestled between Seb’s strong legs. Jim’s breath was on Sebastian’s hot skin, but Sebastian knew Jim couldn’t possibly be offering what was insinuated. Jim would never… right?
Jim smirked and dipped his head. Avoiding Seb’s straining interest entirely, Jim’s lips burned a path down the sensitive skin of both thighs in turn.

Jim pushed up Seb’s unrestrained leg as though intent on taking the man, but merely sucked a bruise into the sensitive skin around Seb’s ankle instead.

“I’m going to play a game with you, Seb,” Jim said, and he could feel the effect those words had on the pulse in Sebastian’s leg.

The earlier fright and the delicious sight of Sebastian bound - Jim had instantly discovered that he liked not only restraining Seb himself, but also the man laying himself out like a gift - left Jim in no doubt that he wanted to claim the man physically again. He also wanted to yell at him, because if Seb was stupid enough to think restraints that fit a human wouldn’t maim a tiger the blond needed a good talking to, but that could wait.

Jim did not feel like yelling, which was unsettling in itself.

He felt like reminding himself what Seb sounded like when very much alive.

Jim’s emotions were mangled and raw enough he didn’t think he could face pushing inside Seb, nor having the man look at him. Jim’s hands weren’t in the best condition for preparing the man for penetration either. And another hand job wasn’t nearly enough for the intensity swirling in Jim’s chest.

Jim worked his way back up. “At a time of your choosing, I’m going to give you a blowjob. Just one, then never again.”

Jim mouthed around the cuts left by his knife. He hadn’t done such a thing in over a decade, almost two. But it wasn’t something one forgot, and he knew exactly what Seb’s prick liked. Whether Jim’s gag reflex had returned in the time since Jim didn’t know. But he could find out.

Jim also knew that regardless of Sebastian’s decision, Jim was going to take the man in his mouth. Jim was going to give Seb a blowjob of his choosing too.

Jim blew softly on the fevered tip of Sebastian’s prick. “Well?” he asked it, before delivering a teasing kiss. He glanced up at Sebastian with a wicked grin. “Do you want to know what the back of my throat feels like now, or later?”

~

A lecture about his eating habits from the man Sebastian frequently had to cajole into eating at all - that was rich! And because that was so, he didn't bother to point out his vast experience how not only to get through physically extremely demanding situations but deliver a peak performance. That meant cramming the highest amount of available calories. Repair came later. Besides, he always secretly enjoyed Jim fussing about his wellbeing. An even rarer treat – a first to be precise - was the thorough, yet almost... gentle attentiveness that Jim bestowed on every inch of his body... even though - Jim being Jim - avoiding the ones that were straining for it the most. Sebastian was literally melting, although some of the light touches felt a bit like being given the last rites. And of course he never had any objections against Jim having his way with him, it was just too delicious to resist and to be forced to surrender. Not so now though, because Jim was right: sometimes the most irresistible force came in the shape of an offer you couldn't refuse.

"One like this?" Sebastian softly jingled the cuff between his wrist and the headboard, baring his throat for easier access as Jim sucked another bruise into his neck, before proceeding southwards with utter dedication. Sebastian's breathing got heavier, then it caught on the burning tendrils of pain when Jim's tongue had reached the cuts of his knife; those had barely started to heal. Sebastian swallowed thickly when Jim pushed his free leg up, one moment insinuating a rough fuck without much in the way of preparation or lube, going on a virtuous detour down to Sebastian's ankle the next. With a pleading sound, Sebastian bucked his hips to draw attention to the plight of his straining and deliberately ignored erection. He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled shakily when Jim's breath ghosted over his heated skin and announced a game, offering - -

Sebastian's brain stalled like it had literally blown a fuse. Then it stumbled through the words it had just heard. Surely there must be some mistake, because it defied the power of imagination to hear Jim Moriarty
utter them. In that order. Meaning what they meant.

Sebastian's eyes flew open as though trying to align reality with what must surely be a delusion, when Jim made it obvious that it wasn't.

Now - and never again. Or not now, but later.

"Now!" Sebastian blurted out, not even feeling appropriately embarrassed. But at least with the grace of adding a breathless, "Please fucking god please... now."

Jim chuckled. "Are you sure? Remember, just once."

Sebastian nodded, regaining a bit more of his vocabulary. "There is a certain danger of me dying tonight after all..." And in the light of Jim's offer - one way or other, the chances had just increased.

~

Jim nipped Sebastian’s erection very carefully with his teeth and grinned as everything nearby tightened in response. “Ab-so-fucking-lutely not,” Jim retorted. “You die when I decide and not a second before.”

Jim snatched up Seb’s length in a bandaged hand. “And I am not NEARLY done with you yet, soldier.”

Sebastian hissed at the grip. Jim shifted closer and feigned a smirk, bowing his head to steady himself with a few teasing kisses to the nearby knife wounds.

Jim was really going to…

Fuck, it had been a while. More than a while. Jim focused on a visible pulse in Seb’s groin, steadying his own to at least match Sebastian’s before the blond’s supernatural hearing had a chance to realise just how much Jim was unsettled.

It had been… so long. Jim didn’t do this. Not with anyone. It was rare for him to share his bed with anyone, or his space for any real length of time, but this? Jim did not do this anymore.

Jim breathed in and then settled on his haunches, bringing a falsely lazy rocking motion to his wrist that made Sebastian’s hips quiver.

“You belong to me,” Jim said with casual matter-of-factness as though he was remarking that his cuticles needed oiling not that he owned such a remarkable human being. If Seb even was human anymore.
Jim licked his lips idly and raised his hand to curl a thumb expertly around the sensitive head of Sebastian’s cock, teasing the velvety skin for a few long moments.

“I don’t care what you are now, what you think will happen later, or even what you want,” Jim said. He tilted his head regally and regarded Seb from under raised brows. “All I give a fuck about,” Jim drawled, “is that you are mine, no matter what, and you exist by my will alone.”

Jim stroked Seb with more vigour. “I decide whether you live or die. I decide whether you feel pain or pleasure.” Jim gave Seb a too firm squeeze and smirked. “Or both.”

Sebastian bucked reflexively, gasping.

Jim feigned pity and stroked Seb’s thigh soothingly with his free hand. He could feel in the tension of the muscles that it didn’t reassure Seb much and Jim snickered, nervous still but not sounding such in the slightest, merely internally comforted that at least Seb had no idea how safe he was. Jim slapped the strong thigh lightly before leaning forward intently.

Sebastian grew very still.

Jim breathed on him teasingly. “You are mine, in every way. I don’t need to crush you like ruined origami or use your own blood for lube to show you that no matter how big or strong or brave you are, you will always be mine.”

Jim licked a broad stroke with the flat of his tongue from Seb’s root to tip, swirling and sucking the end to emphasise what was to come.

“I can take you apart, Sebby, and control exactly what you think and feel.”

Jim gave the tip another kiss. “And I’m going to,” he purred against it. He stroked the shaft and licked delicately. “I don’t need to do a thing to prove to you how much you are mine, but I am going to. Because I enjoy it.”

Jim nudged Sebastian’s prick lightly with his cheek. “Because you enjoy it.”

Jim dragged his unoccupied hand down Seb’s stomach, the fingernails free of bandages drawing bright lines on the taut skin. “Because there is no escape for you, and you’re so far gone you wouldn’t want that anyway, would you?”

Jim squeezed Seb’s side, not wanting a response if Sebastian had enough blood flow to his brain still to process the question.

Jim curled his tongue, bringing more saliva to the fore, then took Sebastian in his mouth as deeply as he could, pulling back up with his hand by his hollowed cheek to swirl more spit around Seb’s prick, making it easier to suck down further, and further.

Jim’s gag reflex had returned after years of refusing this sort of behaviour. He ignored it other than to swallow any choking noise with the several inches Seb offered up to him. Jim’s eyes watered and he focused on ensuring his blond was so overwhelmed he would never notice that sordid fact.

Jim focused on nothing other than taking Sebastian apart, filling him with pleasure, need and intoxication. Jim drank in every indication of the man’s desire and increasing desperation, but rather than basking in them Jim used them to further his efforts, responding to everything with the sole aim of ensuring Sebastian Moran would never, ever leave him.

Throughout every second of manipulation Jim kept his posture and expression - not that Seb was fit to look at anything other than the inside of his skull by then - perfectly arrogant and possessive. Jim was increasingly finding himself up against the realisation that he’d rather die than lose the irritating prick he had hitting the back of his throat right now, but Jim would also prefer death to Moran knowing - really knowing - just how far he’d burrowed himself under Jim’s ordinarily impenetrable skin.

~

This… couldn’t possibly be real.

Sebastian was convinced he must be caught in the hallucinations of a fever dream – he quite often felt like he was running a temperature lately - or had been reeled into some trap … one which Jim would spring on him any moment now, either oozing caustic contempt or amusement about Sebastian’s delusions …

But the more blood redistributed from Sebastian’s brain to other parts of his body, the more he lost the ability to think - or care beyond anything than what Jim was doing to him. And god, the things he said – what those were doing to him as well… They laid such an absolute and unconditional claim of power on him that mere days ago Sebastian would have twitched and snarled, but once again Jim showed him the truth: that Sebastian was indeed too far gone to mount even a token rebellion, the point of no return long passed and not even in sight any more. Making it clear Jim didn’t care what Sebastian wanted was … exactly that. His possessiveness made Sebastian shiver and groan, Sebastian, who would have ripped anyone else’s face off for it. But Jim Moriarty was unlike any man. To be the focus and centre of his attention rendered everyone who’d come before insignificant, and anyone who’d come after … inexistent. Even the three remaining brain cells still at Sebastian’s disposal were enough to understand that. Every touch, every squeeze, every hard grip only underlined Jim’s words and turned them into something that physically seeped under Sebastian’s skin, into his bones, his very soul and at some point he was sure the man could talk him into an orgasm.

“If you keep that up you won’t even have to - - “

Engulfed by the heat of Jim’s mouth, he almost whited out. It wasn’t just the physical sensation, but a melt-down on a mental level as well. Reducing Sebastian to a panting mess, circuits functioning on the most primitive level: sensation and reflex. Word processing had stopped, so it was just as well Jim had stopped talking. He still was in supreme control, turning even a blow job into an act of domination: nails digging into Sebastian’s hips when they bucked upwards, taking his cue from every moan and gasp and curse Sebastian uttered to hurl him deeper into mindless pleasure.

A sharp nip penetrated the muggy fog where Sebastian’s brain had been and he removed his hand from the back of Jim’s neck and grasped the sheets instead. His perceptiveness was rewarded with an exquisite swipe of Jim’s tongue and an appreciative hum that made Sebastian almost arch off the bed.

“Fuck, god … I’m going - … ”

Jim swallowed around him and into the note of desperation in Sebastian’s voice crept one of warning,
“ - please…” There was a sketchy memory of needing permission for what he would not be able to hold off for much longer.

~

Jim tensed as the heavy weight of Moran’s large hand settled on the back of his slim neck. It was difficult to blame the blond for such insubordination when he was so far gone, and the way Seb’s fingers curled did not indicate intentional threat one bit, but Jim responded with a pointed increase in the use of his teeth that even a brainless blond moron could understand. If Jim was going to tolerate a touch like that from anyone it could only be the insufferable brute bound to the bed beneath Jim, but thankfully Jim Moriarty hadn’t yet lost all sense where Moran was concerned.

Jim really shouldn’t be playing this game at all.

The hand on the back of Jim’s neck removed itself obediently and grabbed the sheets with a force that would have fractured Jim’s fine bones. The chastisement hardly seemed to have upset Sebastian one bit and Jim found himself licking at Moran attentively, reminding himself that if he was committed to such a disastrously reckless action he could at least ensure this was the blowjob that Sebastian Moran rated above all others for the rest of his life. The reward simply for being alive and willingly remaining in Jim’s company.
Jim made a point of humming appreciatively, Seb being hardwired at this point to recognise good boy without even needing words. Sebastian’s hips all but levitated off of the bed, Jim’s slight weight doing nothing to pin the stronger man down.

Jim was debating whether utilising his sharp bones to corral Moran back into place would ruin Seb’s enjoyment overly, when Sebastian’s ragged voice announced an extremely pleasing desperation.

Jim nudged closer determinedly, nose scrunched up uncomfortably against Seb’s pubic bone as he tried to hit the sweet spot between Sebastian being able to enjoy hitting the back of Jim’s throat - without irritating Jim’s gag reflex enough to make it impossible to disregard.

“-Please…”

Jim fucking adored how Seb sounded in that moment.

Jim pulled back just to lap greedily at Sebastian’s precome before possessively taking back every inch he had surrendered.

It occurred to Jim that the transfer of sexual fluids was a common way to spread afflictions. Letting Seb come inside him seemed a far less tolerable way of picking up whatever the claw marks in Seb’s chest were infected with than a swipe from an errant tiger Seb in the (hopefully not near) future.

Jim shifted his bandaged fingers. If he hadn’t been harmed by an exchange of blood by now he was likely safe from that possibility. Although perhaps Seb would be more infectious after transforming. If he actually did.

Sebastian was starting to panic at Jim’s hesitation. Both a ruined orgasm or coming without permission seemed like terrible possibilities, but if Jim didn’t rescue him soon Sebastian would have no choice to tip into one or the other, and even if he was allowed to make executive decisions in the bedroom he was in no fit state to make any.

Jim gave Sebastian a squeeze, then pulled back, jaw aching.

Sebastian shifted to gaze at him feverishly, barely capable of speech but quite appalled at the way Jim removed him from his mouth with a casual pop like he perceived zero urgency to the situation.

Jim shushed the man even though Seb hadn’t formed a word.

“You know you are entirely mine, Sebby,” Jim said, giving Sebastian’s bollocks a teasing squeeze, “so you’re going to give me every last drop of you, do you understand?”

Sebastian nodded emphatically, barely managing to speak before Jim dove at him, swallowing Seb down like Sebastian might never get parts of his anatomy back.

The pause had pushed Sebastian’s orgasm back a fraction, but Jim’s demand and the enthusiasm with which he had launched himself at the man had Seb desperately close again. Jim continued sucking at him like Sebastian was wilfully trying to keep something of Jim’s away from the Irishman, and Sebastian thought he might just die. Jim devoured him like he was trying to suckle out Sebastian’s very soul and Seb was in no fit state to point out that Jim already had that in his possession!

When Sebastian came, it was with a noise that hurt his own ears, and Jim only pulled away when Seb was undeniably boneless, lapping up every sensitive aftershock with an acquisitiveness that was downright torturous.

Jim rolled his jaw audibly then grinned, licking his swollen lips like he hadn’t chased down every last drop already.

“Good boy,” Jim purred, as if there was any need for that flirty tone of voice when Sebastian was semi-conscious.

Jim stayed on his haunches for a moment further, his avarice mostly satisfied despite the uneasy feeling the taste at the back of his throat gave him. Sebastian was a picture of perfection and Jim could not bring himself to be displeased.

Stretching, Jim moved up Seb’s body and reached for the key to the handcuffs.

Regarding Sebastian dryly, Jim ruffled the man’s hair - it was definitely growing in quicker - and unbound Seb’s hand. Jim rubbed at the sore redness at Sebastian’s wrist reflexively and scolded without much heat, “You just wait until you’re compos mentis enough for a telling off. You’ve hunted, you fucking idiot, you know what damage an animal might do to itself if it feels trapped.” Jim couldn’t resist pointing out the difference in wrist size between Sebastian’s exact measurements and estimations of that of a tiger, not that Seb seemed to be listening at all beyond a vague, fond tilt of his thick skull in the direction of Jim’s fussing.

Jim gave the man’s hair a light tug. “The next time you feel like tying yourself to a bed it had better be mine. And if I don’t have you in a collar by then you’ll have to make do with some suitably provocative underthings.”

Jim trailed his fingers along the ‘collar’ of love bites around Sebastian’s throat. “This will have to do for now, pet.”

~

You know you are entirely mine -

And astonishingly, for once the proof Jim demanded didn’t entail blood and pain and broken bones, all of which Sebastian would have given gladly at this point, along with promising eternal servitude, his firstborn son and his left kidney, if Jim only let him -

Well, Jim didn’t just let him..., he had at Sebastian like a man on the brink of starvation. Sebastian came with a hoarse cry, in convulsions of almost agonising pleasure and Jim devoured them. Drawing them out…, barely letting up but lacing the aftershocks shuddering through Sebastian’s body with twinges of hypersensitivity. It was the most exquisite torture, and in the end it had Sebastian slump back into the sheets - breathless, boneless, brainless.

It took a while for the thunderous heartbeat in in his ears so subside enough to hear and his mind took even longer to reboot. But by now ’good boy’ lit up a neural pathway by tone and inflection alone – no need for his cerebral cortex functioning…

Sebastian cracked his eyes open, the corner of his mouth curling up. The languorous swipe of Jim’s tongue across his lips and his half closed eyes lent him the pleased, smug air of cat who’d gotten the goldfish – well, the prize piranha in this case.

Sebastian was dazed in his post-orgasmic stupor, in the sensation of Jim fussing around him a bit, prattling on about things that couldn’t be more insignificant to Sebastian at the moment, but he loved it. He leaned into Jim’s hand buried in his hair, and his brow creased. Nice underthings??

“Like wa’?” he slurred, but then relaxed again at the notion that a collar would do fine. He shifted surreptitiously, just enough to get a bit closer to Jim, not quite daring to touch, let alone snuggle. Only then it sank in that Jim had freed his wrist. “’Not sure youshouldo dis.”

~

Jim scowled reflexively as Sebastian shifted closer, but continued petting at the man all the same.
Jim’s frown deepened as Seb drowned his words in a melted slush that Jim oughtn’t have been so well practised at understanding.

“Why on earth not?” Jim demanded. His chest seized in agreement because sucking his employee’s cock hardly made sound business sense, but Jim knew instinctively Seb didn’t mean that. By Seb’s blissed out state he’d be quite content to have that lovely prick between his legs surrendered to Jim’s mouth for the rest of time.

Jim didn’t even spare the moment to dwell on the smug relief that gave him – that he hadn’t lost his touch - because he threw his attention in Sebastian’s direction instead.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Jim demanded, tilting up Seb’s jaw to check his pupils and pull the less injured cheek aside from the gums behind it to check the current sharpness of Sebastian’s teeth.

Sebastian pulled back his head, startled more than anything else. He looked normal. Or as normal as anyone who’d just had his brains sucked out his dick could look.

“How do you feel?” Jim asked seriously, which he’d probably never asked a month ago. “I thought perhaps midnight, or the witching hour? If you turn? Do you think you’ll be earlier?”

Jim glanced towards the window, which Sebastian had covered before his nap. “Just a second.”

Jim slipped from the bed and peered to the sky outside.

“It’s cloudy,” he reported, body twisted enough that Sebastian could see a shadow of partially dried precome on the front of Jim’s boxers and a sliver of pale skin between that and Jim’s shirt. The sweat on that had mostly dried in too, the earlier panic pushed to the back of Jim’s ever-active mind.

“I can’t see even a sliver of moon yet,” Jim said. He returned, took his phone (one of many) from the pocket of his shirt jacket on the bed and checked an app. “Cloud cover should stay for a while…”

Jim looked over Sebastian attentively. “How do you feel? Do you want anything? Need anything?”

~

Whenever Jim touched him – whether delivering pleasure or pain, whether in a teasing way or genuinely caring, purposeful or absent-minded while his high-strung mind was already occupied otherwise - Sebastian savoured it. Still, he flinched a bit when Jim poked at him like at an ailing dog to examine his pupils and gums, even though he had little doubt Jim quite sincerely tried to determine how he felt.

“Bit dessicated to be honest,” Sebastian mumbled. Also, quite placid and content. For the time being, the irritation, the itch, the restlessness had mellowed.

He reached for the water bottle on the floor beside the bed. Taking big gulps, Sebastian shrugged when Jim offered his hypotheses about the – possibly - looming events.

Moon phase, sunset, time of night, cloud cover, weird astronomical details… it could be all or nothing that played a part?

“’S not like there are many peer reviewed studies around on the subject,” Sebastian said sheepishly, after closing the bottle again and putting it back. Lazy but deeply appreciative his eyes drank in Jim’s light figure by the window, the obvious evidence he’d enjoyed what had just passed as well – hell, Sebastian couldn’t only see but smell it…

Another scent wafted into his nostrils as well, and he picked a few slivers of dried meat from the open package on the night stand. “Well, a fag would be nice, but I have to regain some strength first to make it to the balcony,” he said, chewing, in answer to Jim’s question whether he wanted something. Truly, what he felt most like doing when Jim returned to the bed, was to curl around him and purr. But something as feline as this was probably not what he should be doing right now… Too alarming. So he just shifted slightly to make a bit more room. Definitely not enough for much distance between them.

Turning his head Sebastian peered at the watch he’d propped up on the night table. Not long till midnight.
“Not that I want you to leave, but, mightn’t it be safer? Or tie me up again? Or at least get the revolver I gave you?”

But Sebastian's suggestions did not meet with much approval and he hadn’t enough energy to argue.

~

Jim felt exasperated when the big lump refused to make enough room on the bed for them to lounge entirely separately. Watching the back of Seb’s skull as he twisted to check the time - an ankle still bound to the footboard- Jim reluctantly acknowledged some creatures just got clingy when they were sick.
How that had become Jim’s problem he did not know. He sighed as Sebastian began fussing and without thinking about it Jim reached for his scalp, once again petting Seb as best he could with his bandaged fingers.

“Told you; I’m not going anywhere,” Jim said with an almost gentle sort of strictness that he didn’t recognise from himself. “There’s no fucking way I’m letting you turn wearing shackles meant for human limbs; even if you didn’t break them irreparably, what if you tried to chew your trapped paw off?” Jim emphasised the point with a firm tap on Sebastian’s skull. “If you can’t run or shoot or fight then all you’re good for is fucking. You want me to move someone more competent into your room to do the rest of your duties for you?” Technically, they had more than enough rooms that Seb could keep his own, but a bit of jealousy and competitiveness was motivating.

“Told you to fuck off with that silver bullet stuff too,” Jim grumbled. “If I need to shoot you I’ll tranq you - and I’m perfectly prepared.”

~

Jim’s clairvoyant mind hopped through possibilities and consequences that hadn’t even remotely occurred to Sebastian.

The prospect of turning into a mindless beast entirely governed by animal instincts was very unsettling, and this particular image nothing short of disturbing, but he couldn’t help but snort softly through his nose, with a brief glance down to his shackled ankle.

“Not such a bad idea then, is it? Because I’d rather be occupied with chewing through my paw than your neck.” Although inflicting such harm to himself seemed the better alternative of the two, Sebastian’s looked quite peeved as Jim pointed out the consecutive chain of consequences of that.

But nothing quite affected Sebastian like Jim's final statement that he was not going to leave him alone. The very fact that he was prepared to see them both through this, to see Sebastian through it, even at his own peril, meant more to Sebastian than anything else. As far as it was possible at all in these bizarre circumstances, it was Jim’s staunch tenacity, and Sebastian’s trust in the man’s legendary resourcefulness that calmed and reassured him and kept him from spiralling.

Most of all, it was Jim’s earlier statement -gruff and simple and yet utterly astonishing – that he didn’t want to lose him. No matter the motive and reason behind it, for Sebastian that very fact was enough. Enough to get through this and come out alive at the other end, or at least die a happy man … – well, whatever he’d be by then.

“Did you ever have any pets? Not like me – not that anyone is like me,” Sebastian was quite confident in this regard but that’s not what he meant. “I mean, a real pet?” A pet like ordinary people had. Although he could not quite picture even an infant Jim with a hamster. But maybe a gangly, feral little kitten? Or a poison dart frog?

~

Seb didn’t bother to argue for once, looking tired. Jim pet him some more and was genuinely surprised by the question that came from Seb’s mouth. Jim supposed the man wanted a distraction.

Jim gave Sebastian a mild tug. “Of course no one is like you - other men have fucking self preservation instincts. And no one in the world gets away with as much shit as you do.”

Sebastian looked pleased, but Jim was quick to correct any complacency. “Don’t you go thinking you’re getting a free ride forever, fucker. Daddy’s being very tolerant this month because it’s all new, but if you think I’m putting up with your moods every cycle I’ll be swift to put you right. I’m not treating you like an invalid forever, darling.”

Chapter 12: Intermission

Seb got that look on his face again like he hadn’t been thinking beyond tonight.

Jim sighed and shifted his weight. “But you want a distraction? Fine.”

Jim considered the question about whether he ever had a pet and shook his head slowly. “Not exactly.” When he’d been very small he didn’t know anyone with a pet. Everyone struggled to feed themselves and their addictions and their families, no one had the money to feed an extra mouth.

“I moved to a farm,” Jim said. “Got sent to live with my grandmother. And all her fucking enormous farm hands, and more animals than I’d ever seen in my life before that. Most of the local farms stuck to sheep or cattle, some both, but my grandmother wasn’t happy with just those. Not that she had alpacas or any of those new fads, but there were pigs and goats and some poultry. Normal things.”

Jim chewed his lip. “On a farm… Everything has a purpose?” Maybe not the old horses put out to graze, which suggested a sentimentality he was mostly sure his grandmother had not possessed, but those huge, cantankerous creatures cost a lot to feed, and more energy to tend them, and there were years of vet bills.
“Animals are a tool or a product. They work, or get eaten, or sold. You hand rear a rejected lamb or calf and know it’s going to end up on a plate, even your own. I was expected to tend the animals. No room for dead weight on a farm.” And he’d been far too small to tend the land or succeed at much manual labour. They’d tried to fatten him up, but it was a bit late by then.

“I had a dog?” Jim said. “After one of the older dogs died, I had to take on a new pup and train it? But working dogs aren’t pets. They might be trained more than your ordinary family Labrador, but they’re half feral. They live outside, in a pack. The vet comes to the farm for them because they’re not socialised with situations like a vet’s office. Unless they’re show-worthy and you’re taking them to strange places, they might not even be lead-trained. If a working dog can’t be trained, it’s not been socialised to become a pet. Unless someone is willing to put the work in to reprogram it, the pup gets shot. There’s not room for sentimentality.”

Jim considered Cat the Dog, with her white eyes and shaggy coat. There had been a certain pride in training her.

“Some of the farm hands would have favourite young every season. I never really understood it? Why bond with something that you can’t keep? Especially if it’s going to die?”

Jim kicked Seb idly. “You better live longer than a dog.”

Was that tactless? Given tonight? Or too honest by far, too vulnerable?

Jim shifted and muttered, “Some of the cats liked me. Would sleep in my room. You need mousers on a farm to keep vermin out of the animal feed. I’d ignore them and they seemed to respect that. I didn’t… bond with them or anything.”

Jim blinked. “I got a fish one year, for my birthday. From one of the farmhands.” It had been unexpected. He mostly avoided the giants, who collectively had little time for the young runt among them and who had no problem bruising him if they thought he’d done wrong, whether he understood the rules or not. He learned them quickly.

“I didn’t really see the point. Something else I had to feed. A tank to clean. It was a betta; a fighter fish… you have to keep them separate from others or they’ll try to kill what’s around them. Had a few nips on its fins already but was quite a flamboyant-looking thing.”

Jim hadn’t missed the similarities between himself and the pretty, scrappy, easy to suffocate creature, but he hadn’t understood the point. He’d started recognise what men would do by then, and their more obvious motivations, but he hadn’t quite learned yet how to read a man’s mind. Glancing back at Sebastian, Jim acknowledged there were still some minds he had more difficulty reading than others.
Jim considered whether he was supposed to ask about Sebastian’s childhood. Were there details his research hadn’t uncovered, and did they matter?

“I don’t know what happened to the fish,” Jim said. “Dead now, obviously, but I left it behind. When I left. I expect the hands kept the farm going, so one of them probably found it a home.” He’d never named the fish, but he would sit and watch its fancy fins fan in the water sometimes.

Jim eyed Sebastian dryly. “Anything else you want to know?”

~

Of course his question had been meant as a distraction, but Sebastian found himself increasingly captivated by Jim’s lengthy account of the pets he never had. Where a simple ‘no‘ would have been the most obvious answer, Sebastian was treated to an intriguing and detailed description of The Life and Times of the Young Jim Moriarty - a selective one of course. The animal theme kept the narrative light, away from family tragedies and traumatic events. And yet, the glimpses around and behind the pets that never were, turned out to be a compelling insight into Jim’s past, and a small but quite personal one into his mind as well.

On the one hand, Sebastian soaked up every little detail to treasure it forever, on the other he realised that some of them had slipped by because he was thoroughly engrossed simply by looking at Jim, imagining the skinny little figure, scraggly and elfin, bonding with nothing and no one, but seemingly not entirely unhappy. Learning that emotional investment wasn’t sensible, and sentimentality was something you had to be able to afford. All while his perceptive mind was unfolding, getting a measure on the world. On animals and humans alike no doubt.

“I bet that dog could read and write when you were through with it,” Sebastian grinned, slightly changing position and settling back into the pillows, rearranging his legs as the chain would allow it. That peculiarity aside, the situation felt oddly domestic – in a good way. Intimate. Sebastian savoured it.

“So, nothing as ordinary as a gold fish, even back then,” he observed with a smile. He guessed even unnamed, the solitary, hostile, flamboyant little fucker of a fish could be counted as a pet after all.
“A piranha seems a fitting replacement.” Said piranha certainly hoped his owner wouldn’t up and leave again one day, but of course he kept that to himself.

So was there anything else he wanted to know?

“Oh, lots and lots of things,” he admitted, “but I won’t push my luck.” Even with such a mundane subject, he was still incredulous, feeling quite warm and pleased. He had an inkling he’d just listened to the most personal information Jim had imparted on anyone in a long time.

Reciprocating seemed a bit pointless. Jim even knew the name of his first dog (Sebastian still used it concocting passwords and Jim invariably cracked them and scolded him for such brainlessness). Therefore Jim was also aware Sebastian was familiar with most of the aspects of country life he’d described – his ancestral home being a working estate after all – but that was not the point. The point was, Jim humoured him, and did his best to help pass the time.

Almost startled, Sebastian realised that midnight had already come and gone.

“Crikey…” he wriggled the fingers of a still very human looking hand. “Thank god I haven’t turned without even noticing.” Maybe he never would. Maybe all this was nothing but a harebrained theory.
“I don’t feel different either.” Not different to a few hours ago. The wounds beneath the bandages still crawled and itched, and his splinted finger throbbed slightly, in time with the cut in his neck, his bitten lip, and his backside… But none of this was new.

~

Jim grinned and unconsciously leaned in closer as Sebastian got comfortable, more amused by Seb’s assessment that Cat would have been able to read and write after Jim’s training, like Jim could indeed do anything, rather than by the thought of being young and lonely enough to try.

“That bitch was certainly smarter and more obedient than you,” Jim said. “Prettier too.”

Sebastian didn’t seem remotely offended or motivated to surpass Cat in those areas. Why would he? Cat worked hard for her keep and recently all Seb had done - despite protests to the contrary- was be a kept boy; some spoiled, handsome, terribly moody creature who kept the interest of a rich and powerful man by virtue of his magnetic sexuality.

“On paper a piranha might seem like an upgrade, darling, but you are far more trouble than the betta. Think how much simpler my life would be if you weren’t so high maintenance.”

Sebastian gave him a habitual indignant look - the implication always that Jim was hard work, but he looked guilty too, clearly thinking of the curse he’d brought back from his travels.

Jim tugged Seb’s hair. “That said, I am glad you came back to be the most exasperating part of my life rather than not coming back at all.” Jim rolled his eyes rather than look affectionate. “It wouldn’t do to let me get bored.”

“No sir,” Sebastian agreed quietly. Jim glanced at the man again, having expected an appearance of Seb’s not so smart mouth to break the more serious atmosphere.

Jim held in a sigh and tried to weave Sebastian back into a distraction.

Sebastian resisted, but shifted back into the mood of earlier, when he was pleased with the attention he had been receiving in the form of Jim’s distraction. In fact, Seb seemed to be thinking, which was always an odd look for him. Jim eyed him wryly, wilfully forcing the corners of his lips back down to a neutral expression. Jim settled down, absorbing the rare peace as Sebastian lay quiet and bound beside him.

Sebastian rolled to glance at the time and his posture changed at once.

Jim flicked the man in the forehead, disregarding Seb’s ugly moods of late. “Of course you wouldn’t turn without noticing. I am entirely certain that the very first time a supernatural force rearranges your bones you’ll notice!”

Sebastian was looking doubtful and concerned, but not at Jim’s assertion. The insanity of their situation was returning.

Jim didn’t think they were fooling themselves with nonsense though. Sebastian was… different these days. Not so much that Jim could no longer stand him, but even ignoring the stark disintegration of Seb’s obedience there was no denying the man’s physical senses had changed. Jim hadn’t been able to sneak up on Sebastian in weeks.

“So if it’s not midnight it’ll be one in the morning,” Jim shrugged. “You’d probably be better off in one of the panic rooms, less to destroy.”

Sebastian didn’t move, still regarding his body and declaring he felt no recent changes.

Jim grabbed Sebastian by the ear and tugged sharply, finally getting the man’s attention. It ought to be more galling that Seb was the one person in the world who felt at home enough in their company to ignore Jim Moriarty.

Sebastian’s eyes were their usual blue but filled with uneasiness. Jim twisted the man’s ear just enough to be uncomfortable.

“If you’ve put me through your stroppy, teenage insubordination for a month for no good reason - if you’ve made me rearrange projects years in the making and twist my life in knots to accommodate you - you’re going to find out what it feels like to have your bodyparts rearranged anyway - because Daddy’s going to whip you so hard I’ll be able to pull your spine out and show it to you!” Jim snarled.

Sebastian grew very still, frustration and resentment flashing in his eyes, but he quivered in surprise as a glaring Jim Moriarty sealed any argument inside of Seb with a firm kiss.

Jim swung a leg over Sebastian and dropped Seb’s throbbing ear only to take hold of Seb’s large wrists. The bandages tickled the bare skin a little. Jim guided them into the pillows near Sebastian’s head and leaned forward to put more weight on them.

Jim nipped at Sebastian’s mouth with more gentleness than usual then pulled back. He glared at Seb sternly but not without affection. Whatever anger had been in Jim’s voice a moment ago was being quite deliberately forced back inside.

“We’ve got a little under an hour to kill,” Jim said. “Think you could come again? Not that you deserve such a treat, but I don’t want you tense before the change if we can help it.”

Jim shrugged a little. “Seems logical that your muscles would reform easier if they were already relaxed and pliant, don’t you agree?”

~

Sebastian found that Jim’s musings and grumblings about his merits and shortfalls as a pet very much justified to behave like one – being blatantly selective in his hearing for instance. Being called the most exasperating part of Jim’s life didn’t irk him in the slightest - he’d gotten used to that – and it took nothing away from the thrill to be called a part of Jim’s life, period.

Admittedly the multitude of Jim’s methods to distract him were only surpassed by the ways to wrench his attention back to him. With a grimace Sebastian tilted his head, following the twisting of his ear until his eyes were back on Jim’s. Listening to his furious rant about what he would do to him if all this had been for nothing, all his saintly patience, the outrageous disruptions of his work and his life (because Jim was the epitome of someone wanting nothing more than a quiet and simple life, right?). The consequences sounded so chilling, they almost made the unknown horrors of impending transformation pale in comparison. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed with irritation – was that bloody supposed to help?! But before he could ask, Jim shut him up with a very imperious kiss and Sebastian realised that indeed it did. Help. It settled his nerves, as though his mind didn’t see much point in panicking any more when the only alternative to the frying pan was the fire. It was a feeling akin to the strange calm on the eve of battle.

Jim straddled him and Sebastian let his wrists get pushed up and pinned down without objection. An hour to kill. They seemed to pick their way though this nerve-wrecking night step by step. His eyes briefly left Jim’s stern face to flicker over to the watch, but then snapped back at Jim’s next question, insinuating how they might pass that… next hour.

Despite everything, Sebastian felt a breathless laugh tickling his throat.

“I guess not many hear that question from their employer.” Then again, there had been a point in his life when he’d been hell-bent on never being at anyone’s beck and call ever again. It had needed meeting Jim Moriarty to divest him of that notion, thoroughly. He had still put up a fight, playing hard to get even when he was already tumbling like a moth into the flame.

“I’m sure you could make me?” he mused, looking at Jim through lowered lashes. The truth was – even half-dead – which he wasn’t, yet - Jim could still make him come. The man’s scent, his proprietary gaze, his completely bald-faced question was enough to close a sizzling electric circuit between the grip on Sebastian’s wrists and his weight pressing down on Sebastian’s groin. Sebastian wetted his chapped lips with the tip of his tongue. “It’s a very considerate offer, Sir,” and the deference in his voice was only half faked.

He moved his hips a bit, pushing up. “Doesn’t have to be entirely selfless either.” Straining his neck, he nipped at the soft skin on the inside of Jim’s forearm.

~

Jim growled softly. “You better not hear it from anyone else either.”

Sebastian wisely didn’t tease, but his gaze suggested he quite enjoyed Jim’s possessive tone.

Jim always enjoyed when Sebastian looked up through his lashes. Seb could not quite pull off coy - too smug by half most days - but he was captivating all the same. When Sebastian played at being deferential, calling Jim Sir in that very deliberate voice, far more sexual than his usual, Jim’s lips tugged at the sides entirely of their own accord. Seb ground up against Jim pleasingly and Jim eventually smirked, giving Sebastian’s wrists a squeeze.

Doesn’t have to be entirely selfless either.

Jim almost said something cutting about that, because he certainly wasn’t letting Moran get used to being so spoiled, but then he felt Sebastian’s teeth on his outstretched arm and Jim’s smirk softened instead. “Brat,” Jim said. “I don’t care if you’re a maneater, Sebby, it’s poor form to use your teeth on your owner.”

Before Sebastian could say anything, Jim moved further down the man’s body. “I do hope you’re not too sore,” Jim drawled, then dug his fingers into Sebastian’s skin. “For now, that is. I do intend to leave you tender when I’m done with you.”

Jim pushed Sebastian’s unbound leg aside and settled between the man’s thighs. “As much as I’d like to tease you all night,” Jim purred, “we’ve got less than an hour.”

So saying, Jim pushed Sebastian’s cheeks apart firmly enough to be sharply uncomfortable but just on the safe side of painful. Seb hissed and Jim licked a stripe between Sebastian’s legs, his grin felt against Seb’s skin.

“Sorry, darling,” Jim teased, “but unless you want me to lose a bandage in you I’m going to have to work you open creatively.”

Sebastian swallowed audibly.

Jim grinned and grazed his teeth lightly near Seb’s opening. “Not suddenly shy, are you?” Jim asked brightly.
He kissed and licked and sucked at the warm skin. “You know how much I enjoy this part of you.”

Jim alternated broad, flat, firm strokes of his tongue with teasing, curling licks and possessive kisses. Sebastian pressed his unbound thigh against Jim’s head as though he could muffle the sounds Jim’s tongue provoked by covering one of the Irishman’s ears. Jim chuckled into Sebastian’s wet skin and Seb had to bite his lip to prevent the escape of an even more undignified noise.

Jim pointedly bit Sebastian himself, scolding, “Stop that. I love to hear you, pet.”

Sebastian swallowed.

Jim sat up to give a fierce glare, then settled back down to nuzzle his nose between Sebastian’s cheeks. Seb quivered.

Jim lapped at him for some time before licking one of his few unbandaged fingertips liberally and easing it in and out of Sebastian slowly.

“That feel good, pet?” Jim asked smugly. “Just wait until my prick is inside of you.”

~
Whenever Sebastian thought that at some point along the way he would surely lose the ability to blush, something Jim said or did to him proved him wrong.

Like now.

Oh dear mother. Fucking. Jesus…

His head fell back into the pillow while the air left his lungs with a shuddering moan. Not just from the onslaught of unbelievable sensations, but the flood of deliciously depraved images when Jim went down on him again, and a bit further… down than before. Anything else in Sebastian’s universe ceased to exist – which was fine, because he would surely die within the next minutes anyway.

Jim’s breath ghosted over his skin, then his tongue, and if there was any part of Sebastian's brain that hadn’t melted already, it did now. This... felt like the most intimate and yet most obscene thing anyone had ever done to him.

Less than Jim's words as such it was the gently teasing tone that filtered through… Any flickers of embarrassment were drowned out by a surge heat and arousal. Jim didn’t neglect to add a few reminders and exquisite little hints of pain with his teeth, or by running his tongue over the still sore and sensitive cuts he’d applied yesterday - which as much as anything else had Sebastian’s cock perk up with renewed interest.

Not that he wasn’t a stranger to multiple goes in one night, but honestly – by any rights he should have been out for the count for at least a little while after that mind-shattering blowjob.

But there seemed to be no end to the changes wreaking havoc on his body – his metabolism, his senses, his level of testosterone, and seemingly his libido as well. Which probably ought to be concerning, because a refractory period made a lot of sense as nature’s safeguard against dehydration and hypoxic brain damage, right?

As it was, his seemed to have shrunk into that of a beast in rut. Just like the degenerate sounds he was reduced to make. He tried to stifle them or at least block Jim’s ears in a feeble attempt to preserve the last shreds his dignity, but he was promptly told off and … gave up.

Barely half an hour past the last time, Jim had him panting for it again, and the little bastard sounded accordingly smug about it.

Sebastian’s muscles twitched around a teasing fingertip pushing into him and all he could do was not to whine.

He exhaled with a ragged “Yes,” drunk with anticipation. He’d never felt so exposed before, so open, and … wanting. “Yes…”

He also felt Jim breathe against his flushed and heated skin, smiling.

~

“My good, good boy,” Jim purred, and he meant it. He took his time - despite the watch hands ticking towards supernatural changes - to work Sebastian beautifully open. It was much easier not to let his mind run away with consequences or even panic of what was to come when Jim kept himself so thoroughly occupied.

Sebastian was a wanton mess, flushed and pliant, uncharacteristically so, and for all their increased sexual contact of late Jim bitterly regretted not spending every second of the past month licking and teasing stoic, snarky, strong Seb into the hapless, obedient, and exquisitely vocal creature beneath him.

Perhaps if they both survived the night Jim might lick Sebastian back into shape, or at least, a very attractive puddle.

With great reluctance, Jim pulled away from the wet and welcoming entrance before him. It took Seb more than a beat to even notice the withdrawal of teasing fingers from deep inside himself and the questioning protest he made was more of a confused mewl than a query.

Jim hushed him with a rare tenderness. “Don’t fret, my greedy boy, I’ll be in you again soon enough,” Jim teased in a low, fond murmur.

Twisting, Jim ferreted through his pockets in the clothing folded over the footboard until he obtained a plump, rectangular sachet that he spirited back between Sebastian’s spread legs at once. It was remarkably and frustratingly difficult to open the lubricant with sore and bandaged fingers, but Seb was in no fit state to process a demand for assistance.

Eventually, Jim got the single-use packet ripped open; its cool contents slathered on himself and Seb’s opening.

“Good boy,” Jim drawled again. “Don’t want you bleeding like a virgin tonight of all nights, do we, pet?”
Jim gave the damp skin near Sebastian’s opening a firm kiss then crawled closer. Certainly best not to think about the confusion of a supernatural tiger with a bleeding bum knowing its frail, human mate was to blame.

Jim grounded himself in the sight before him, as it was best not to think of cross tigers at all if he was going to bring himself and Sebastian to orgasm in the limited time available.

Sebastian was glorious, cut, bruised and wanting, eyes so dark with desire Jim thought with a sharp thrill of adrenaline that they had already started to change into something other.

Seb shifted his hips and made a sound that wasn’t human and Jim grinned, relieved and teasing. He recognised inhuman desperation and Seb wasn’t close to turning - only to sobbing with the furious need to be filled.

Jim lined up and stroked the tip of himself in tantalising, light circles against the slick skin spread open for him.

“Oh dear,” Jim mocked. “Is Daddy taking his sweet time with you, Sebby? Are you worried you won’t have time to come?”

Sebastian, predictably, said nothing. The adorable frown on his forehead suggested not that he’d been annoyed by Jim’s habitual nickname for himself, or the playful threat, but by the cruel teasing of his entrance.

Jim pushed in abruptly, watching Sebastian’s reactions with delight as he buried himself none-too-gently to the hilt within the man. Sebastian was tight, and he clenched a lot at the sudden, uncomfortable breach.

Jim tutted. “Careful what you wish for, darling. I know you like it when Daddy’s rough with you.”
If Sebastian hadn’t already came recently and been teased mute by Jim’s prepping of him, he might have had the wherewithal still to sass back. Instead he simply canted his hips and indicated he wanted more.

Jim grinned, reaching up again for Sebastian’s wrists and pinning them down. He ground into Seb firmly as the man groaned and bucked, his hard prick smearing precome over the front of Jim’s shirt and stomach.
“I should have done this to you the moment I moved you in,” Jim growled. “Tied you down and fucked you until there wasn’t a word left in that pretty head of yours.”

Jim pulled out and slammed back in fiercely. “Your other talents can’t compare to how well you take my cock, darling. Perhaps I won’t reinstate your other duties even if you do recover. Perhaps I’ll keep you chained and collared, lose myself in you every day until I’m spent, every last drop of my come filling you.”

Sebastian writhed, his hips meeting Jim’s punishing pace, but his arms stayed put where Jim held them.
“My perfect fucktoy, aren’t you?” Jim said, his pace bringing them both close to the edge in record time. “Finally found a way to knock that sass out of you, haven’t I, pet?”

Jim’s sharp hipbones were leaving marks on Sebastian’s skin and Seb didn’t make any effort to change the angle.

“You’re such a good boy for me when I fuck the naughtiness right out of you, aren’t you, Sebby? Such a good boy,” Jim panted. Before long he couldn’t speak either, only able to maintain his ferocious thrusts as he came to recognise how close they both were.

Jim glanced at the time and released one of Sebastian’s wrists. He was fairly certain he could make Seb come from penetration alone, but they were running out of time and Jim snatched up Sebastian’s feverish prick masterfully.

Seb made a noise like he might come just from being reached for, and Jim almost tumbled right over the edge from that.

Jim searched within himself for the mental reserves needed to manage speech. His voice was thick and lilting when Jim spoke, but he couldn’t find an atom within himself that gave a fuck about it in that moment.

“Are yeh gonna be a good boy an’ come fer me, Sebby? It’s now or never, a thaisce. I’m going to come in yeh either way…”

~

Being at the centre of Jim Moriarty’s attention was like the universe stopping in its tracks – mind-boggling, breathtaking, heart-stopping. From sheer terror for most people. Sebastian had witnessed it: how they realised there was, after all, a chasm of hell and it opened beneath your feet the moment the intense gaze of one slight, dark haired little man turned towards you.

To experience that force on the other end of the scale – although infinitely more desirable – felt just as … annihilating. But the state of delirium Sebastian was in meant he didn’t care one wit whether he survived this, and other worries and perils had sunk into oblivion altogether.

The world shrunk down to sensation and mindless lust, and to the man above him who was the source of it all. Sebastian almost felt flares of panic at any loss of contact, however brief.

Jim’s soothing voice left him trembling and pliant and eager. At any other time Sebastian would have been mortified by the keening sounds wrung from his throat, now he was barely aware they were his own. He was fuzzily grateful for anything that anchored him – the chain around his ankle, the grip around his wrists that kept them above his head even when Jim had let go of them.

What was he - - ? ah yes lube – dear fucking god… another delay …

Sebastian let out a groan that seemed to originate somewhere below his diaphragm as Jim finally pushed inside him, in one fluent, determined move, and, as with all things, his judgement was impeccable. Or at least that’s how it felt to Sebastian - whether it was reasonably considerate, whether there was discomfort exquisitely just this side of painful, or a brutal harshness that pushed him over that line – it was perfect. It couldn’t be anything else because it was Jim.

And it was perfect, because however detached and unaffected Jim might pretend to be, he was not. And because in the smooth, beautiful arrogance the little bastard oozed, there were sprinkles of praise, and even hints of affection.

Like now. When during that downright pornographic stream of lewd insinuations and little obscenities so precisely designed to push all Sebastian’s buttons, the things he did to him left Sebastian without any capacity for rebellion and his ears with not enough blood to even deepen in colour.

There was no teasing anymore, they were one in their joint, frenzied rush towards the edge, there was no devious ’permission withheld’… Before Sebastian’s flash of alarm could turn into real distress, because he was done for the very moment Jim grasped his cock, Jim gave it to him. In a voice that slipped into that bewitching, telltale Irish accent and then even a bit further into Gaelic. Hands clenching into fist, but never leaving the pillow or breaking Jim’s grip, Sebastian came with the sound of a man dying. Held down by the chain around his ankle, Jim’s grip and his weight, as he ground into him, following suit only seconds later.

Sebastian felt bruised, inside and out, thoroughly drained and … utterly content, under a slumped over, sweaty heap of seemingly equally blissed-out psychopath, breathing shakily against the side of Sebastian’s neck. There was a faint whisper and a slower, deeper thrum. Sebastian’s mind, still sluggish, took a while to point out: heartbeat. The whisper was his watch ticking, about two feet away on the bedside table. He was long past the point and currently not in a state to be alarmed by things he’d never been able to hear. He had also lost pretty much any sense of time, but he’d take another moment looking at the time. For now he kept his eyes closed and only turned his head a fraction, just so he could bury his nose in Jim’s hair.

~

Sebastian exploding in his bandaged hand with a noise like that would have been enough to wring an orgasm from Jim even if the Irishman hadn’t already been so deliciously close. Jim kept fingers on Seb until the man couldn’t bear it, then barrelled his hips into his blond with ferocity, ending each thrust with a circular movement that teased Sebastian’s poor prostate and let Jim push ever closer.

Previously they’d only ever fucked after work, never before, and in the past month there hadn’t been work to rush off to together. Or rather there had been, but Jim had prioritised staying at his pet’s side. They’d never really had to fuck within a time restraint before, like they were young and liable to get into trouble if they were late somewhere. It was certainly novel.

Everything had been an agony of monotony before. Sebastian made things unfamiliar and riveting without trying, or even being aware of what he’d done most of the time.

Beneath Jim, Sebastian was warm and tight, his inner walls still spasming with aftershocks. The muscles in his bent leg were quivering, and his arousal was hot and wet as it smeared between their stomachs.
Jim couldn’t hold himself back even if he wanted to. He felt his body taking charge and flooding with sensation. Jim was so overcome he didn’t unravel with a bellow or even a cry; a quiet, guttural sort of whimper pushed out between his lips and he slumped, trembling, atop Sebastian.

Jim rested his head in the comfortable crook of Seb’s neck. He’d normally have the presence of mind to stay up on his arms until removing himself, but it’d been a long day and Sebastian’s chest seemed built specifically for this purpose.

For a few blissful seconds Jim’s mind was quiet, except for the niggle at the back telling him to get up to check the time soon.

Jim did not want to still be inside Seb when the man transformed, even if he didn’t especially want to leave either. In other circumstances this might have been an excellent place for a nap.

Jim reluctantly came back to himself and registered that when Sebastian had shifted his head towards his, the man had also pressed his nose lightly against Jim’s scalp, and was inhaling deeply.

“If you like my shampoo that much we can switch you to my brand; I’m sure they make a variety fit for blonds,” Jim drawled. Seb stiffened at being caught, but Jim merely smirked a little and pressed a swift kiss into the man’s neck.

Jim reluctantly pushed up - against the mattress, not Seb’s injuries - to gaze at the watch beside them.
They’d done well for time. Perhaps in future they could make a game of how quickly they could achieve climax. Jim was certain that telling Seb he could either come in a specific pocket of time or not at all would have the blond amenable.

Jim settled back on his knees, stretched, and unfastened his disgusting, damp shirt before peeling it off. He wiped Seb’s semen from his body with it then did the same for the blond, paying care not to open the wounds amidst Seb’s pubic hair.

With deep reluctance, Jim pulled out. Seb didn’t seem thrilled by that either, despite his wincing, and Jim gave Sebastian’s knee a small kiss that was mostly teeth. Jim noted the small amount of blood on his sword, but Seb seemed in no great discomfort as Jim wiped up the warm trickle of barely pink seed and clear lube from Sebastian’s opening. Keeping the wadded shirt pressed to Seb as though tending an open wound, Jim retrieved Sebastian’s water bottle and handed it over.

Seb reached for it sluggishly and drank deeply, before hesitantly offering it back to him. Jim drank then, giving the man a doubtlessly ineffectual glower to communicate that he wasn’t being tender, simply of the opinion Seb was in greater need of hydration.

Jim put the bottle aside and glanced at the time, remembering their earlier game and smiling reflexively at Sebastian’s endearing annoyance then.

“How are you holding up?” Jim asked. “Are you feeling like I should bring in a tranq gun and unfasten that leg cuff before you do yourself an injury?”

Jim dipped his head to nip Sebastian’s thigh with his teeth. “Alternatively, do you feel like the next hour is going to come and go with nothing happening? If so, I think tying you back up and torturing you for a month would be fair, don’t you?”

~

Sebastian reluctantly stopped himself from revelling in Jim’s scent, and made a vague, lazy sound in reply to Jim’s suggestion about changing him to another shampoo, in which Sebastian found several flaws.

“’S awfully difficult to sniff your own hair, innit?” he pointed out, only gradually recovering the power of speech. “’Nless I let mine grow out quite a lot.” And he could not imagine Jim approving of a riff-raff hippie look on him. As it was, Sebastian’s hair was now just a little longer at the top than when Jim hired him … the man having hissed out a complaint a few weeks later when railing Sebastian over the hapless kitchen table for the first time, because a military style buzz cut did not lend itself particularly well to sadistic little psychos getting a good grip on it.

Sebastian, still in a sleepy daze, added: “Also, it would not smell of you.”

He didn’t know whether it was something he’d said or their whole precarious situation that made Jim detach himself from him rather sooner than he would have liked. He did like the image of Jim napping on him like a sated predator on the torn ruins of his prey. But, Sebastian also retained the hazy understanding that although the right place, now was not the right time.

The aftercare was a bit of a compensation and it silenced any noise from Sebastian. Of course Jim would claim it was nothing but perfunctory. That although he highly enjoyed creating the most godawful mess, he also put great store to ultimately leave things tidied up.

With an adorable little wrinkle in his nose Jim wiped them both down, first himself, then Sebastian, much like a hard ridden horse. Sebastian kept his musings to himself, about how the recent spike in their sexual activities relegated at least one of Jim’s sinfully expensive shirts per day to the rubbish bin. Jim not getting naked but habitually removing just as many clothes as necessary to fuck Sebastian not only showed he was not to let go of being in complete control, but the air of domination and the displayed casualness were catnip to the submissive part of Sebastian’s lizard brain. Sadly, it also did not leave much room for romantic fantasies, should Sebastian be daft enough to have those.

Ah well, with Jim Moriarty you better take what you got, and it was plenty.

Like that beautiful, suppressed whimper during his climax, revealing so much more than it concealed. A little nip or kiss here and there, like that of a playful cat with its favourite toy. The proffered water bottle…

Asking Sebastian how he felt, of course, currently had more pressing reasons than to simply ensure his wellbeing. Finally Sebastian decided to risk a glimpse at the watch and his breath hitched. It was one o’clock on the dot.

His face took on a look of concentrated introspection, until after a while an impatient finger poked him between the ribs and tore his focus back to Jim.

“Dunno,” Sebastian shrugged, waggling his fingertips to indicate that he knew this wasn’t a very helpful contribution. “It’s not very reliable I mean…” - the feedback his senses and synapses gave after being fried and flooded with all sorts of his body’s own drugs were maybe not that trustworthy. But - - no, he didn’t feel like something was about to forcefully rearrange his body – apart from the bits Jim had already made a valiant attempt at.

Not a time to relax yet Sebastian reckoned, but maybe not a time to straight away flay him for his sins either?

He gingerly stretched his free leg, and the other one too, to restore some blood flow underneath the cuff.

“Maybe we could hold off a bit on the torture?” he suggested, his attempt at puppy eyes a bit hampered by feeling wrung out and exhausted. “Until I’m back to being able to fully appreciate it?” He settled down more comfortably. “And I don’t know about ‘fair‘… After all, all this started with a work-related accident”, he pointed out. Even if their crackpot theory as to what was happening should turn out moot. “Even if it’s just some utterly profane, merely unusual and frigging annoying bug the beast inoculated me with.”

~

Jim very deliberately did not let himself dwell on Sebastian being indiscreet enough to nakedly admit to enjoying Jim’s smell. Jim could write off the clumsy inhalation as Seb being post-coitally addled and under the considerable strain of his possible transformation tonight. Jim was an expert at burying inconvenient facts.

The truth in Sebastian’s voice almost made Jim flinch. The practical response would be to lash out, punish Moran soundly enough that he remembered his place in future regardless of how well Jim fucked him. Jim couldn’t bring himself to do that, and not just because he was fucked out himself.

Jim chose not to think on that either.

Despite Jim’s usual iron will, fresh uneasiness settled within as Jim cleaned them both up, hydrated them both, and fussed after Moran more like a treasured possession than an intriguing project. For all Jim was fascinated by the possibility of were creatures being real, and having one of his own to use, he was more interested in Seb’s wellbeing.

And Sebastian was ignoring Jim, the insufferable prick. By the time the witching hour had come and gone, Jim jabbed Seb hard in the side, thoroughly impatient with the man. And himself.

“You’re unreliable,” Jim snarked in response to Seb’s useless description of his symptoms.

Sebastian Moran was the most infuriating man in the world, and only he would dare turn puppy-dog eyes on Jim Moriarty with a request for temporary clemency and feel comfortable enough that Jim wouldn’t take his tongue and eyes for it. Not that Seb was quite stupid enough not to show any caution, which was something. He also looked tired, and Jim did not know why he cared.

No, he did know. Jim certainly did know. He simply didn’t understand why that reason was true. Nor why he was letting it prompt him into making such ridiculous choices of late.

“You’re not nearly out of it enough that I couldn’t very easily make you pay thorough attention to being personally tortured by Jim Moriarty,” Jim hissed, but then he punched Sebastian’s arm with a familiarity that softened his words and soured his mood further.

Jim kicked Sebastian’s side, waspish and resentful. “I didn’t pay you to get hurt, did I, you fecking eejit?!”

Jim was quiet for a beat, seething. “Nothing’s supposed to hurt you but me.” He looked away. “I am of a mind to infect you with all manner of horrendous, undetectable diseases.”

Jim fidgeted, eyes dark and bare shoulders tense. He took a deep breath and fought to smooth the rage from his features.

“If… we’ve both bought into this remarkable stupidity and it’s not… If you’re merely sick with something rare and all the bizarre changes in you have a reasonable explanation…”

Jim looked at Sebastian seriously. “I’ll keep looking. It might take me some time, but if you’re sick and we’ve been foolish… You can sleep in the morning and I’ll go back to the drawing board. I’ll make certain you’re okay, Sebastian.”

Jim elbowed the man a bit. The corners of his lips twitched tightly.

“If nothing else I’ll need you fighting fit so you can appreciate some torture.”

~

Jim had no qualms whatsoever to jab or box or kick him, but Sebastian realised that even when the little freak was seething, these assaults showed a certain amount of restraint, and were not maliciously aimed at injured parts of his anatomy any more (which narrowed the choice considerably), so he simply took them stoically. Not entirely without reaction though – because that would have incensed Jim even more.

“Well, when you hire people to fight and kill for you – not to mention protect you with their life - it means exactly that: there’s quite a big chance that they get hurt at some point in the process and that’s exactly one of the things you are paying them for.” Not that this logic was particularly reflected in the pay of a soldier, but it certainly was if you were in the employ of Jim Moriarty.

Sebastian did not allow himself to bask too much in the warm glow of Jim explicitly forbidding him to get hurt by anyone but him – after all, he was probably really just furious about getting robbed of the fun. Although that theory required quite some stretching to explain Jim’s grim determination to make sure Sebastian would be alright again.

Watching him perch there like a frail but very angry bird made Sebastian want to take him into his arms and try to simply hug and gently squeeze and rub that horrible resentfulness at the world out of him, or at least soothe it, if only for a brief while. Which of course was a suicidal and ludicrous idea.

Instead he said softly: “I do appreciate that.” Yes, impending torture and all. Jim glared at him, mouth quirking. “I know, I know,” Sebastian intercepted lightly before the little fucker could reply, “you simply hate investments to go down the drain.” He shrugged, pretending that regardless of Jim’s motive, or the price he would make him pay, he still was grateful for the fact.

Jim sat huddled, as though freezing, and Sebastian shook out the duvet with one hand and with the other lightly patted the mattress beside him.

~

Jim gave Sebastian an incredulous look when the prick saw fit to not only contradict him, but lecture him on the job and purpose of a man like Sebastian. As if fucking anyone was like Sebastian, because no other fucker would dare…

And they wouldn’t simply get away with it either. Jim tried to focus his breathing and by extension his flaring temper.

Jim glowered and shrank into himself when Sebastian thanked him for his patience. As well he should! It only highlighted to Jim just how out of character his own behaviour was of late, that his behaviour had caught the otherwise oblivious Moran’s attention. Of course, Seb could be observant when he wanted to be. Both versions of the man annoyed Jim to no end.

Jim found the corners of his mouth curling as Sebastian continued to look seriously at him and Christ this was a fucking disaster just waiting to happen. It was horribly close to being actively courted, if one compared how Jim Moriarty usually treated men he fucked (appallingly).

Jim comforted himself that by goldfish standards it was no such thing. Just because he was acting less like a vengeful god than usual didn’t mean any mortals could possibly consider his behaviour human.

Sebastian interrupted whatever caustic comment Jim was yet to fire at him, but Seb’s words and actions were placating. He was horribly good at pacifying Jim. The other staff seemingly knew it too. There were far less temper-related employee deaths these days, and a lot more stability within Jim’s inner circle.

Here’s hoping they just thought the sex was what put Jim in such an even temper, comparatively speaking.
Jim found himself spiralling morosely, at least a little. With the urgency of watching time and Seb fading, Jim was transferring the earlier anxiety into things he preferred to be too busy to think about. Jim was no stranger to being reckless and downright mad, but whatever he was allowing to happen with Moran was the fucking stupidest thing he’d ever done and would probably ever do. Jim hugged his knees, feeling almost queasy at the consequences for such foolish weakness, and was momentarily entirely lost by the flap of colour before him.

The duvet. The noise was a little easier to process than the blur of movement.

Jim just about had time to absorb that when Sebastian patted the mattress.

Jim scowled more harshly still. He wasn’t a fucking pet that could be prompted to come, but… Seb didn’t mean it like that. His gaze was peaceable, and tired, and Jesus Christ was Jim tired himself.

“Wake me up if anything happens,” Jim said, and he twisted in towards the other man, flopping down closer than usual. If something did happen he wanted to be near enough to feel any warning movement and know to get the fuck out of the way.

Jim pressed his forehead into Sebastian’s side. “If you maul me in my sleep you won’t be going anywhere with a glowing reference. I’ll haunt you,” Jim grumbled.

~

Sebastian fidgeted with the duvet to let it settle over Jim at least partially and as inconspicuously as possible - nothing as intrusive as tucking him in. He knew Jim had a whole litany of thoroughly logical reasons why they were spending the night in one bed, but for the moment Sebastian was simply content with the fact that they would… even if they’d either not have the whole night due to horrible events unfolding or, if nothing happened, Jim would be thoroughly disgruntled because they were not one step further regarding Sebastian’s malady.

Jim must be really exhausted too. As averse as he usually seemed to tolerating parts of their anatomy touching for any length of time (outside the context of job or sex) curling up towards Sebastian and resting his forehead against his side almost amounted to snuggling.

His breath tickled Sebastian’s ribs as he grumbled peevishly.

“You’ve already made it abundantly clear,” Sebastian reminded him placidly, “that I won’t be going anywhere, period.” Least of all with a reference, glowing or otherwise, except maybe a slit throat or a neat hole in his head. “And should I outlive you, you’re going to haunt me anyway because it means I’ve failed at my job.”

~

Jim grunted as Sebastian covered them with the duvet. Once shirtless and no longer active there was a bit of a chill in the bedroom. Sebastian tended to run hot, and the room was heated accordingly.

The warmth radiating from Sebastian’s side was annoyingly pleasant. Jim almost moved away on principle, but…

He was tired. Moran was warm. Tomorrow would be wretched, if truly nothing happened tonight.

The great Jim Moriarty, fooled by a fairy story. His right hand man, inexplicably sick still.

It didn’t bear thinking about...

Jim raised his eyebrows at Sebastian’s calm voice. “Oh you’re actually capable of listening, are you?” Jim huffed. Of course Moran would be going nowhere. He was far too… important. If nothing else, the closer Jim kept Seb the less opportunity anyone would have to notice what a pressure point his idiot employee was becoming.

Jim swallowed. “You say that like you’d care,” he said without stopping to think about what a sensitive opening that could provide in the conversation. Jim reached along and gave Sebastian’s hip a squeeze. “If you fail to keep me safe I won’t be around to punish you. You can retire somewhere sunny and not have someone shouting at you every day.”

Jim scratched Sebastian’s belly. “At least until I claw my way up from Hell to give you a piece of my mind for fucking up.”

~

“I do care,” Sebastian had gone still, as though not to scare away an exotic animal that had unexpectedly wandered close and settled down next to him. “I would -” miss you. Jim’s fine-boned, manicured little talons curved and sank into his skin, bringing him back to his senses. “- have to cope with quite a dent in my professional pride,” Sebastian finished instead.

“And while the specifics sound pleasant-” somewhere warm and no-one yelling at him all day, “-I’d probably get very bored after a week or two. Well… maybe a month.” He was used to his life’s equation containing a dangerous unknown, either by seeking out circumstances that provided them (war, enemy territory) – or risks he compulsively introduced himself. Not because he wished to die, but because that was what life was all about. And the most thrilling, beautiful, and compelling version of that variable he’d found in working for (and living with) that unique and vexing little lunatic who’d chimed into his life like a bullet from a high velocity rifle.

Sebastian found himself unable to even imagine a world without that. Without him. After Jim, never again could anything else... ever be enough.

“So…” Sebastian concluded, trying to keep the light tone, “I reckon I’d welcome you back, and let you scratch and claw to your heart’s content.”

~

I do care.

Something twisted inside Jim’s chest. It started with a punch of pleasure that swiftly curled into something nauseating and alarming.

I would - - have to cope with quite a dent in my professional pride.

Sebastian finally caught himself - not least because of the warning dig of Jim’s bandaged fingers - and wisely recovered the statement along with his senses. Jim quietly let go of a breath he hadn’t remembered holding, but he didn’t feel a sufficient wave of relief. Something else in his chest ached.

Of course Moran would get bored. He was drawn to anything that flooded him with adrenaline and Jim Moriarty had been pure danger… until fucking Moran softened him up.

Jim tried to clear his mind by picturing dreadful tortures he could inflict on the blond. That only made things worse by underlining what Jim already knew: there was a limit to what he was willing to subject Moran to.

Jim had gotten attached. Despite all logic, he had gotten himself attached to the fucking infuriating lump
next to him. It would only get worse.

Jim burrowed down further under the duvet, scowling horribly.

“I’ll do my best to take a month wrangling Hell under my rule so you can have yourself a holiday,” Jim said in a pinched voice. “Do try not to drink or smoke yourself to death whilst Daddy’s downstairs, will you?”

Jim was quiet after that, unhappily so, and brooded at Sebastian’s side. It was warm beside him and the familiar scent of Seb was comforting despite how much the man’s presence made Jim’s ordinarily talented brain cloudy with foolish, human emotions.

Jim had thought himself immune before.

He rolled onto the flat of his back. Glaring at Sebastian’s bedroom ceiling Jim muttered, “You’ll get us both killed, you stupid cunt. You must realise that, surely?”

~

“I’m going to get us both killed?” Sebastian gave Jim an incredulous, sidelong glance. “Now that’s rich.” And just as pointless to remind Jim of the several very close calls they’d had – all solely due to Jim’s shenanigans, hubris, and delusions of being indestructible, or at least god.

Probably not the reason someone had dubbed him the Napoleon Of Crime, but nonetheless something that seemed to come easily with barely scraping 5’7, Sebastian thought a bit maliciously. Or with having excellent bodyguards.

Jim shifted again and Sebastian almost gasped, as this time it was two bony feet wriggling under his calves and they were frigid.

“Well, if hell doesn’t freeze over as soon as you set foot in it, no doubt a month will be more than enough to order it into a new empire. And add an extension.” And henceforward there’d be thirteen circles instead of nine.

 

~

Jim didn’t know whether it made things better or worse that Sebastian was seemingly myopic when it came to the glaring blind spot in his ability to keep them from what Jim saw as an inevitable and unpleasant demise. For a sniper with supernaturally improved senses that was rather poor form.

It was bloody typical that Sebastian focused on being put to work and having to earn his living when honestly what was the point in living dangerously if you couldn’t feel the exhilaration of a near death experience every now and again?

Indeed, if they hadn’t both been aroused by danger they might not have ended up fucking in the first place. Perhaps they would be safe from everything else too.

Jim wasn’t afraid to die. He was also sceptical that he’d ever put Seb in a taxing situation the blond wasn’t exceptional enough to get them out of, give or take a few boo boos. And Jim had patched up the worst of those himself!

Perhaps that was where he started to go wrong. Sebastian had been spoiled from almost the very start!
And Jim couldn’t even sent the prick as far as Wales, never mind to the bowels of Hell.

It was all awfully frustrating.

Jim pushed his icy toes under Sebastian’s toasty, warm legs, because if Jim couldn’t sufficiently hurt the man he would torture him in other ways. The socks and bandages did little to insulate Jim from the chill. It was horribly tempting to tangle legs and call it a night. Everything was going to go to pot anyway.

Sebastian was valiant about thawing out Jim’s feet with his calves. He was a brave boy when he put his mind to something. Jim liked that about him.

Jim found his lips cracking into a smile at the thought of adding an extension to Hell. He shifted, getting comfortable. When was the last time Jim had been given a bedtime story?

“So once you get us killed, I suppose you’ll be wanting a bed in this extension? Or are you intending to spend the rest of eternity at my side?”

~

Gradually they both relaxed, settling down more comfortably, and Jim’s feet ceased to feel like icicles in socks.

“As splendid as it might be, I’m not going to sleep in the annex, not even one you built,” Sebastian mumbled, “I’m going to be on your right, next to your throne… Or -” he continued to muse, picturing a reclining tiger, “at your feet, depending on my shape and form. Whatever pleases you, or looks more impressive to the petitioners who get granted an audience by the Lord of the underworld.”

Was he rambling? Sebastian felt exhausted yet restless, weirdly sated and hungry at the same time. One o’clock had come and gone, half past one approaching. There was a good chance the hours would keep ticking by like this, and Sebastian felt simultaneously relieved and dismal. Also, he didn’t want to think about it any more. Regardless of how the dawn would find them, he just didn’t want to miss a single moment of this strange suspenseful night. Because Jim was here, keeping him company - for whatever reasons, whether because he was curious or because he cared, or both – he was here.

~

Jim chuckled softly despite himself. “You can’t even imagine me resting when I take over Hell? I work from my throne the entire time?”

Jim rolled onto his side to regard Sebastian and grinned crookedly at the look he received. “Fine, you might be correct,” Jim conceded. He rested on his elbow, one shin perilously close to being tangled with Moran’s, and said, “Doesn’t matter to me what skin you’re in when you’re at my feet as long as you at least pretend to behave.”

Jim trailed his fingers over the bruises at Seb’s neck. “A collar shall be considered your uniform of course. Can’t have Cerberus thinking you’re a stray moggy they can share for dinner.”

Jim pulled away his hand and registered that Sebastian seemed disappointed. He was far too attached, but beautifully so.

Jim slithered up the bed and gazed at Sebastian for a beat. “If the concept of my caring wasn’t so laughable I’d think you made up half of this nonsense just to get me to sit up with you.”

Jim nuzzled Sebastian’s neck. “Is that what’s been happening, Sebby? You’ve been telling tall tales to get Daddy’s attention?”

Jim sucked the lobe of Seb’s nearest ear, tugging before letting go. “Was acting out not working for you? Have I been all work and no play?”

Jim grinned mockingly and ground his hips into Sebastian’s side even though he definitely wasn’t ready to go again so soon.

“Are you secretly a genius yourself, pet? Has this been some convoluted and farcical plot to have me fuck your pretty little brains out more often?”

Jim nipped at the shell of Sebastian’s ear. “Naughty boy, didn’t I tell you that you only had to ask for that? I spoil you, don’t I?”

Jim knew fine well Seb had done no such thing. The blond had been worried for weeks, and if Jim was honest with himself he had been worried for the man himself.

So Jim wouldn’t punish Sebastian tonight for not turning. Probably later, when Jim felt less generous and more like his usual horrid self. Whatever was wrong they would have to consider further.

Jim could toy with Seb to keep him from spiralling too far into hopelessness. Jim fixed all sorts of ridiculous problems. This one could be… well, Jim did nothing for free, but perhaps… mates’ rates? Not that they were anything like friends.

Jim pushed that thought aside.

“Doesn’t matter what’s wrong with you, pet,” Jim said in a voice so soft he was certain it would jar Moran from worries. It would cause far bigger problems, but they were well on their way to that catastrophe already.

Jim made his voice stern again, which felt far more natural. “Your place is next to me and that’s where I’ll keep you.”

~

It was very easy to spin the Tale of Jim Moriarty, Lord of the Underworld, and his devoted creature, maybe because it was a parallel universe not that different from the real one. Occasionally Sebastian’s eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the leisurely touches and little nips Jim bestowed on him, all the time cautiously aware he was not allowed to reciprocate in kind. The twisted power imbalance between them had been there from the start, but by now it had become so natural Sebastian rarely questioned it anymore.

“That’s an awful lot of questions,” Sebastian mumbled in reply to Jim’s teasing interrogation, "and I can’t possibly answer them,” because round about number five he’d already forgotten the first two. After which everything was eclipsed by what Jim said next, with this eerie, almost supernatural intuition for Sebastian’s deepest and most gnawing fear.

’Doesn’t matter what’s wrong with you, pet…’

For a few seconds, his voice was so quiet, the words settled like a warm soft blanket of reassurance around Sebastian and whether that was genuine or just a very intricate, masterful manipulation - it was enough.
Sebastian embraced it with a deep sigh and it eased his mind so much he truly relaxed. Seemingly just for a moment, but he felt slightly disorientated when he opened his eyes and glanced at the watch the next time. A thin sheen of sweat prickled on his skin, and he felt shivery and hot, and a bit queasy. Probably just from the realisation that it was almost three o’clock. Something tugged at the back of his mind but was gone before he could grasp it.

God, he needed a bit of cold air. He stirred, which was answered by a clank of the chain on the footboard and a little querulous, sleepy sound from Jim.

“Shhh, nothing wrong,” Sebastian murmured, although he suddenly did feel like throwing up. Without disturbing the blanket or the Jim beneath it too much, Sebastian curled up, just enough to reach the leather cuff and free his ankle. “Just need a cigarette.” He inched out of bed, and fuck, his injuries hurt, and everything else too. He felt like coming down with the flu, and wouldn’t that be a laugh after all this.

Chapter 13: Change

Not bothering with any clothes, Sebastian stepped out onto the balcony, lighter and cigarette in one hand. Above the big plane tree the clouds were infused by silvery light, brighter than the general luminescence of everything he’d almost gotten used to now. He breathed deeply and for a few heartbeats the chill of the night air was refreshing, and the enthralling symphony of noises and smells overwhelming. But it took him three attempts to light his cigarette – his hands were shaking and he felt sweat trickle down his spine.
The itching and clawing under his burning skin was back and turning into something much worse. A crushing pain constricted his chest so fiercely he doubled over with the blurry, disjointed wish for this being something as harmless as a heart attack. A tortured, choked sound caught in his throat that felt like it was being torn out.

He stumbled, knocking over the table, unable to find a something to hold on to as he crashed to his knees...
Pain was no stranger to Sebastian Moran. More like... an old acquaintance, to whom you acquired quite a tolerance if you'd met often enough, the scars on his body like the collection of memories other people kept fucking scrap books for.

But never, ever … anything like this.

Sebastian screamed.

It felt like being crushed in the fist of a giant. Something intent on bending and breaking joints, twisting bones, and ripping off skin… tearing muscles and ligaments and realigning them, squashing his skull and scratching the retinas out of his eye sockets. Something inflicting agony on a scale that would normally result in blacking out, but kept him conscious, forcing him through this… wide awake.

Down on his hands and knees, nails dragging blindly, hooking into claws, cutting, carving deep gouges into the wooden deck. Every raw scream tasted of blood. He lost the perception of time, because along with his human form, all man-made concepts diminished and then lost their meaning completely. His senses rushed through the remainder of the transformation, honing themselves into preternatural clarity as conscious thought and reason vanished. With every convulsive breath his screams dropped a pitch, lower and deeper than any human range, changing into a gravelly roar, chilling, dissonant, ragged… catching between bared fangs.

Then – all the pain was gone.

As were the wounds which had stubbornly refused to heal for weeks. Old scars still there, but hidden under black and white fur with only a hint of orange.

All perception of self had slipped away, the vestiges of what had been a rational mind condensed into savage, primal instinct, focused on satisfying equally primal needs.

The first of which was an almost debilitating, raging hunger.

The tiger shook himself, stretched, and lifted his head into the night air, scenting. A myriad of interesting and strange and alluring smells. The distance down to the ground was not daunting, but something closer was more compelling. It drew him irresistibly. Something akin to caution had him pause briefly before passing out of the shadow and into the light, then he nudged the door further ajar with his broad head and sauntered in.

Although watchful, his eyes showed no hint of conscious memory or human thought, retaining nothing like recollection or recognition … nothing but their original colour.

~

Jim was barely roused when Sebastian’s ankle cuff had rattled the footboard, and still largely unconscious when the blond slipped from the bed murmuring about getting a smoke. Jim rolled into the warm space left by Sebastian’s body, frowned a little that the sheets felt a bit sweaty, then promptly tumbled back into dreaming.

Sebastian’s scream ruptured Jim’s sleep thoroughly, and the man kept screaming. Jim bolted upright, reaching for the gun under his pillow, but… he wasn’t in his bed?

No. Sebastian’s bed, because Seb-

Was screaming. Outside? Somewhere? Changing. It was really happening.

Jim was awake, wasn’t he? His injuries from the kitchen twinged, so he probably was.

Next door would be able to hear that… noise. There was no mistaking the racket Sebastian was making for anything but agony, and not the fun kind. People were going to think Jim was brutally murdering his chief of staff at this rate and… no. Jim would never? Not making him sound like that.

Jim doubted there was anything to do to lessen Sebastian’s current pain. He was uncertain whether it was safe to knock the poor bastard out until his bones had finished rearranging themselves. Regardless, Jim could hardly just leave Seb alone in that state.

It didn’t even occur to Jim to be curious. Sebastian was experiencing something widely believed not to be real, to not exist, and Jim would get to see it firsthand... but all he could think about was Sebastian.
That was going to be a problem.

Not least because Jim sprung from Seb’s bed towards the noise only for it to stop.

Jim’s body was still propelled by his motion but something within screamed at his muscles to stop and they did. Was that his limbic system at work? Whatever stilled Jim in his tracks seemed to remember before he and the rest of his great big brain did - if a transforming human stopped screaming, that meant they were no longer human enough to do so.

It was still dark out. It was spring, so the sun would be brightening the London sky as best it could by five or so, but for now it was dark enough that Jim didn’t so much see the shadow move on the other side of the glass door as much as he sensed it.

Jim stood very, very still. He was good at that. He’d grown up practising being invisible. He’d also grown up in the habit of having weapons strapped to his body so that he was never unarmed in a state of semi-undress and what the fuck had he been thinking of, missing that tonight of all nights?

He hadn’t really believed. Jim had fretted and prepared hour after hour but hadn’t really, truly believed such a thing could be possible, even though he hadn’t doubted Sebastian thought this to be true.

Jim had thought they were missing something. The theory was too fantastical, and…

Well, he’d expected Seb to be bound for a start.

The feline shape silhouetted by moonlight nudged at the door and began to move it.

That was the point where Jim should have ran.

Instead he stayed, transfixed, and his spine was already poker-straight but he puffed up his chest and spread his arms and gait.

Bigger. In the event of a tiger encounter, look bigger. And ideally have eyes on the back of your head, and a fucking tranq gun in your fists.

The great head pushed the glass door aside. It - he - was larger than expected. Not bigger than an ordinary tiger, but simply larger than life, taking up space in a way Jim hadn’t accounted for.

Jim no longer owned the room he was in and it was a long time since he hadn’t been the most dangerous creature present.

God, but this predator was magnificent. Beautiful even in the low light, or perhaps particularly so because of the gloom, seeming especially supernatural as it melted in and out of the shadows like a dream slithering between the realms of waking and not.

The body language did not look friendly. It looked very, very confident, but not in Seb’s usual manner. The human incarnation was deadly in his own way, but he didn’t have blades attached to all of his fingers and toes.

The supernatural tiger gazed at Jim, and something icy slid down Jim’s senses. The only recognition in those intelligent eyes was that Jim was a viable breakfast.

Don’t run.

Jim was fast, but he’d never had the stamina to outrun Seb’s long legs even as humans. Sebastian had had to drag Jim along to cover in moments where things had gone spectacularly wrong before.

If a tiger has already spotted you, make noise. Do not let it consider you prey.

Jim made himself as big as possible and his voice even bigger. With every ounce of command available, he bellowed, “Sebastian, sit down!”

~

An instinct of self-preservation made the tiger scan the room, but hunger was the first and most raging one of his primordial needs; it blotted out all others. So his attention focused on the very convenient prey, standing right in his path, frozen. There was some barely-there association in the tiger’s thick skull between the two-legged variety of game and danger, the need to exert caution. It looked vulnerable enough though, easy to kill. Slender neck, easily crushed bones, soft flesh… smelled good too. Fixating the enticing throat with a stare, the tiger prowled forward, slowly, in a slight crouch, tense.

Then halted, poised, almost confused by the sudden display. The slight creature suddenly struck a pose that didn’t do much to make it bigger, but the bark it uttered was alarming. The tiger flicked his ears in displeasure, before flattening them against his skull, and answered with a breathy, very hostile snarl, nose wrinkled, fangs bared. So much irritation from something so feeble…

The tiger circled slowly, not yet closing the distance. He moved with ease, but underneath was something else. Caution. Every graceful step fluent but also careful. Like getting attuned to himself. Like … recalibrating his muscle memory to his body before taking a leap.

~

The command - or perhaps its volume - gave the tiger pause, but also irritated the beast.

Typical fucking Sebastian. Even with an animal brain - did he have an animal brain now? - Seb couldn’t just do as he was fucking told, oh no, he always had to make himself a problem.

Jim willed his heart rate to stay something slower than rabbit-like as Sebastian the tiger circled.

“No,” Jim said fiercely. “Bad tiger. I am not your dinner, you gormless prick.”

Being murdered in his pants and socks by a tiger was not how Jim had anticipated the fall of his empire until recently. He’d be damned before he let it happen.

Jim focused analytically on the size of the supernatural creature and the proximity to the nearest tranquilliser.

The fucking thing pounced instead, and Jim rolled out of the way with luck more than skill, sliding under the bed and putting it between them before Jim’s mind caught up enough to realise Sebastian wasn’t quite comfortable on his four legs just yet.

Jim scrabbled through the food as he tried to reach the door, throwing the largest remaining meat products to the opposite side of the room.

Jim’s attention fell on Sebastian’s discarded t-shirt. In the distant past, Jim had been expected to skin stillborn lambs and fix those fleeces to lambs who had been rejected, tricking the mother into accepting the mixed scent until they became accustomed to the new lamb.

Would the smell of human Seb confuse the tiger version? The silver crucifix hanging from Jim’s throat felt very flimsy protection indeed.

Did male tigers kill cubs like lions did? Jim’s neck wouldn’t survive a scruffing either.

Whatever, any possible protection was better than none.

Jim swiped up the t-shirt and backed up towards the door.

Never turn your back. Do not run.

Jim stumbled out of the doorway as the tiger tried to decide between easy snacking and the thrill of chasing prey. Jim slammed the door and finally let himself run with no patience at all for the damaged state of his feet.

~

The tiger’s myoneural junctions were learning by the second, but for the moment a piece of silken fabric was all his frightful claws took out of their target which dove out of the way and under the bed. Snarling and scrambling, the tiger tried to follow, but was hampered by his size. Taking furious swipes at his elusive prey it took him longer to emerge on the other side, almost demolishing the piece of furniture in the process, but then got momentarily distracted by more and different smells of things that promised calories…

The minutes of transformation, the roaring, spine twisting rearrangement of muscle and sinew, bones and organs had consumed energy at a rate that any normal human or animal would be hard pressed to go through in a week. In its wake it had left a beast driven to madness by such unspeakable hunger, that pouncing and ripping apart something that turned out more tinfoil wrappings and plastic packaging than real sustenance was more aggravating than satisfying. It only stoked the all-consuming need to tear into something substantial ... - tearing flesh, cracking bones, drinking blood. Driven by the sheer and simple task to live.

The tiger turned from devouring the scant morsels of food - and parts of the wrappings with them – and flung himself at the infuriating obstacle suddenly in the way between him and the delectable, living, breathing quarry. It didn’t budge at first but didn’t prove strong enough to withstand the onslaught of raging claws and teeth for very long either.

Lock and hinges held, but the panel did not… Claws like scimitars carved, cut and tore through it, reducing it to shreds and kindling after they’d created edges to hook into. The growl and roar of the tiger rose to a new pitch of frenzy.

A completely unleashed... Hunter Killer Predator. Hunger, need, blood lust. Primal instincts, not tempered, controlled or reined in by human mind and reason, traces of compassion or vestiges of morals (which even Sebastian Moran possessed).

Without these things - shut out (or locked in), obliterated, gone – what was left?
Maybe … the essence of Sebastian Moran.

Missing said things and traits, or rather not just missing, but completely devoid of any idea they even existed, on a plane of consciousness that could not even grasp them. And so therefore, also not hampered by them.

In that primeval and frightening way, the tiger was ... complete and utter perfection.

And whether driven by sheer elementary instincts or something else too, for the moment there was simply just this: behind that door was something, someone he needed to get to, get to, GET TO …

It drove the tiger to distraction and into a renewed attack on the door - the huge paws tore at the ever widening hole, sending slivers of wood flying, formidable jaws closing around the rails between the panels, crushing and splintering them like bones, until the jagged hole was finally wide enough to squeeze and force himself through it...

~

Jim Moriarty was not afraid of death, but he wouldn’t exactly call being pursued by a supernatural tiger invigorating either, especially not when Sebastian seemed inclined to take the ‘maneating’ reputation seriously.

There was no time to curse Seb now; if Jim wasn’t swift there wouldn’t be a later either.

Jim tuned out the jangling of his nerves to map out the nearest viable options. The crashing and growling coming from Sebastian’s bedroom (and indeed… Sebastian) did not help.

The nearest tranquilliser gun (and more lethal options) were in Jim’s bedroom. Jim ruled those out immediately; he was NOT running into a room that connected to the one with a tiger in by a balcony even if the glass was reinforced.

Jim considered the size of the beautiful monstrosity. The practical part of him screamed that any promises to Sebastian were nullified when the beast tried to eat him, but Jim was stubborn to his core and he did not want to hit Seb with a lethal dose of tranquilliser. The dosage had to be enough to knock out a tiger safely - not killing Seb or merely infuriating the beast.

Of course, Jim had no way of knowing if a supernatural tiger would have the same resistance as a real one.

A godawful crashing and splintering noise as the tiger apparently gave up on Sebastian’s junk food and decided Jim was the tastier morsel sent a fresh shock of urgency into Jim’s legs. There wasn’t time to find a place to hide and wait the night out judging by the hellish snapping of door panels nearby.

Where to go?? Panic room or downstairs?

If Jim threw himself down the bannister like a child he could cover more ground than his injured feet could otherwise manage, but Sebastian sounded hot on his tail and there was nothing stopping a tiger simply leaping from one landing to another.

Panic room then. Jim would just have to try to switch off the automatic camera feed’s relay to next door before Sebastian came into view. Being pursued by a tiger the team had no knowledge of would not be fun to explain, although he could hack all the footage from the panic room. He wouldn’t be able to stop live footage being seen before he switched it off, but he could put a subtle jump in older footage and say it was a test. Sebastian’s tantrum about the flowers could be a plausible diversion tactic.

Jim could have bought Sebastian a tiger as a sort of ‘back on the horse’ therapy. The eerie blue eyes could be a product of breeding and a deliberate choice to ensure the rarer eye colour, more common in white tigers, was less triggering than whatever Sebastian’s attacker had looked like.

There was a gut-wrenching noise, and then ominous quiet as Sebastian evidently pushed through the hole he’d made in his bedroom door.

Jim’s racing mind honed in on the most pressing questions. Could he reach the tranquilliser gun in the alcove just before the panic room door in time to use it? Would he have time to throw the reinforced door closed behind him if he didn’t?

Jim stumbled, pain shooting up past his knee as his feet angrily protested their heavy use.

Giddily, Jim remembered a Dr Seuss quote from his childhood that had always resonated with him: now all my troubles are going to have trouble with me!

If Jim survived this, Seb would too. But not in any enjoyable fashion: Jim was going to make a patchwork Sebastian rug using just enough flayed skin at a time not to kill the man, but certainly enough to make it fucking hurt. Perhaps Jim could alternate squares of human skin and supernatural tiger fur.

~

Leaving clumps of fur on the jagged edges, the tiger wrenched himself through the hole in the door. His flighty prey was not to be seen, and there were several possibilities where it might have gone.

Now that nothing moved in his field of vision, among the sharpened senses of the predator that of smell was most acute. There was the faint olfactory trace of food in the air, and a few more that meant nothing to him because the human mind and memories able to process the associations were quite obliterated, but others… There was a faint metallic tang at the top of the banister, long since cleaned but a blood-sodden T-Shirt had briefly hung there days ago.

But a much more recent smell on the floor spelled prey walking wounded. On cut-up, bandaged feet. They led to where the landing turned a corner. Crouching, keeping to the wall and skirting furniture closely – as if that would provide much cover for his huge frame – the tiger crept up to the corner.

~

Jim righted himself with a grimace. He was perfectly practised in ignoring pain and discomfort, but his feet did not want to co-operate. Or perhaps it was his legs?

Jim was trembling, from adrenaline or insufficient sleep or possibly simply distress.

He’d gotten used to having Sebastian’s bulk driving him along in flights for his life. Jim felt oddly alone for a moment, and he fisted Seb’s teeshirt with a fresh wave of agitation and resentment as he forced himself to move.

There was a time when Jim would not have believed this situation possible. Sebastian’s curse was the least of it. Jim never let anyone close and never let his guard down and never valued anyone’s well-being above his own.

So why was he unarmed and injured, being stalked by a deadly animal in his own home, none of his protection team doing the main thing they were paid for, all for some insubordinate subordinate he’d have killed long ago if he hadn’t been so bored?

Jim wasn’t fucking bored now.

Jim kept moving, the hiding place of his weapon in sight.

He sensed Sebastian’s approach before he heard it, the tiger turning the corner of the winding corridor.
Jim was not alone.

Jim scrabbled for the hiding place but briefly ignored the tranquilliser gun.

Jim snatched up a canister of pelargonic acid vanniylamide and pointed the spray just as Sebastian pounced.

~

In a low crouch, the tiger crept around the corner, every fibre of his being lit up by the thrill of the hunt, but even more ravaged by hunger – and there was his quarry: scrambling away, the smell of sweat and adrenaline and blood a delicious scent in the air, at least for the tiger… triggering instant attack. One leap for momentum, the next with deadly precision. His senses and brain, nerves and muscles, were finally in perfectly aligned synergy, and what was about to happen was a foregone conclusion of primal simplicity.

The silver gleam around the bare slender neck didn’t really diminish its allure, and the way the slight creature raised a paw in his direction barely registered. It did nothing to intimidate the tiger - not that he could have stopped his leap in mid-air if it were.

The world disintegrated in an explosion of agony so excruciating it obliterated everything - his target, his sight, his hunger even – everything. His coordination too. It was as though he had dived into a world of fire. With a roaring snarl he blindly clawed at anything he encountered. He flung himself around in circle, torn between trying to escape the pain, and renewing his blind attack, both equally unsuccessful. Knocking over a side table he crashed into the wall, then almost smashed through the banister, which splintered but held – but only just. Mad with pain he started to violently rub his head against the floor, the wall, against anything he bumped into, but nothing helped scrub away the fiery foe from his eyes, nose, ears, mouth. It only made it worse.

~

Jim was vastly relieved that the PAVA spray (not for civilian use, but purloined anyway) actually effectively halted Sebastian from doing him real damage. The tiger made a terrifying noise of distress somewhere between horror and fury as his eyes erupted in pain. He crashed to the ground and then into every surrounding surface.

Jim kept well back, not wanting swiped by a briefly blinded creature with knives for toes.

There was a limited amount of time that the irritant would be at its most potent. Ten to fifteen minutes for a human, with little data on the effectiveness against tigers, and none whatsoever on whatever Seb now was.

Jim was far enough away not to be at immediate risk of contamination, or to have permanently damaged his sniper’s eyes.

Still, although Jim lifted the tranquilliser gun, he waited. Designed to incapacitate, the PAVA spray was known to provoke dangerous reactions in some.

If Sebastian did react badly, Jim would likely still have to tranquillise him for medical attention. That didn’t make Jim any more inclined to dose Seb with anything else if the tiger started struggling to breathe. It wasn’t like Jim could simply order Sebastian to breathe slow and easy through it. The tiger version obeyed even less than the human!

Jim waited, so nervous sweat was soaking into the bandages on his hands. They were awkwardly bulky, and it took conscious effort to curl his finger around the trigger of the tranq gun, pressure light as he watched Sebastian scraping his furry skull desperately against surfaces in an attempt to remove the source of pain.

Despite the panicked thrashing, the tiger did not seem to be in more trouble than desired. The aggravated roars suggested a healthy pair of lungs.

Relieved yet still stressed beyond belief, Jim aimed and fired.

~

Due to all the pain and discomfort ravaging most of his sensory organs, the tiger was barely aware of what (in his state) felt like no more than a pinprick in his left thigh. With a wrinkled nose and bared fangs he was racked by a bout of violent sneezing, eyes squeezed shut and streaming with tears, and in a wild frenzied attack he finally sank his teeth into his prey, which unfortunately turned out to be disgustingly inanimate, linty and tasteless. The curtain screeched as it was ripped down from its rod, to land in a heap the tiger shoved into a corner by burying his face in it. Which did help a bit, if only by blocking out the light which hurt his eyes dreadfully.

Nonetheless he abruptly stopped and whirled around again, because underneath the rage and the pain and the hunger the sense of being in danger flared up again - the hunt had turned into a fight. The prospect of killing and eating slipping down a notch in priority, behind the instinctive reaction of self-defence. Confusion crept into the agitation and fury, followed by disorientation. Back was the vexing dissonance between brain and limbs, and when he turned in bewilderment to face his opponent – wherever he might be – the tiger’s hind legs gave out. With a snarl he heaved himself up again and things seemed to be right again, but only briefly. The pain receded into the middle distance, and everything else with it. Nausea set in. Head bowed, he took a few stumbling steps, drooling long strings of saliva, then tripped over his own feet. This time it took longer to get up again.

He charged once more, quite gracelessly, because even in his foggy brain the need to bring down that horribly dangerous little creature seemed more urgent than ever. Somehow he had backed it into a corner but his own coordination was shot, the strength draining out of his body rapidly. The attempted leap was nothing but a wobbly stumble that sent him plowing into his opponent, claws scratching uselessly over the floor instead of finding purchase. The last light of consciousness winking out, the tiger slowly keeled over onto his side, eyes flickering but unable to see, his mind unable to process…. Briefly his limbs stiffened, a tremor running through them, claws splaying and hooking into thin air. Then the tension seeped out of his body and his head hit the floor with a thump.

~

If his life didn’t depend on not giving away his position to an enraged tiger, Jim might have giggled. Watching Sebastian blindly attack a curtain only to have it crash down almost upon his furry self was the only part of this night Jim wanted to recount to a lucid Seb in teasing detail.

The rest probably involved violence and shouting rather forcefully near Sebastian’s sensitive ears.

Still, they both had to live long enough for that to happen.

The tiger whirled, its intent clear and ominous but its limbs in dissonance. Despite every nerve in Jim’s body being on high alert - an animal who thought itself dying could be the most dangerous of all - Jim felt an unsettling concern of another kind. The tiger stumbled and drooled, the difference between drugging and poisoning such a thin line, and somewhere within this staggering beast was Sebastian. Sebastian with his cheeky quips that shouldn’t be funny or allowed, and his earnest blue eyes, and his strength and loyalty and moments of insightfulness and his fucking beautiful way of coming undone when he submitted to Jim’s most personal attentions.

Dosing Seb with Halcion a few weeks ago to have him rested before the worthless medical tests felt nothing like this. Everything was too imprecise, too untested, too much of a risk, of a loss. Knocking out an unknown creature with an estimated dose was too much of a gamble - however meticulously calculated - for Jim not to worry.

Building his empire used to feel something like this. Every movement calculated and intense, any potential loss or failure catastrophic.

Jim was so intent on watching for any indication that tranquillising Sebastian had induced something more serious than approaching unconsciousness, and so loathe to draw attention back to himself by moving, that the tiger’s last ditch effort to pounce again caught Jim unprepared, the many strings of consequences foretelling this possibility having been distractedly ignored. Where Sebastian was concerned Jim’s good sense always seemed to be disregarded.

Being bodily barged by a 300lb tiger shocked Jim out of his musings and into survival mode, but there was little to be done: Sebastian crumpled to the ground in a way that didn’t fill Jim with the mortal relief it ought to have done.

Jim felt sick as Seb’s body tensed, but despite a few concerning spasms, the rise and fall of the tiger’s enormous side gave reassurance Sebastian was still somewhere within the land of the living.

Jim’s more sensible instincts told him to leave and take cover lest the animal intent on eating him recovered. Jim pulled himself onto all fours, but did not leave.

Staring at the enormous predator for a long while, Jim steeled himself, then crawled over to observe Sebastian more closely. Jim kept close to the tiger’s spine in wariness of teeth and claws.

With deep reluctance Jim reached for the tiger’s wet lip and pulled it up. Heat, saliva and cat breath all made themselves apparent, but Jim held the flopping skin high and stared intently and in dread.

A distinct lack of purpling or even blue tingeing in Sebastian’s gums brought something like relief, but it felt hollow. Perhaps Jim’s emotions were too wrung out by then to manage anything other than exhaustion.
If Sebastian’s gums were okay, he was probably breathing okay, and he probably wouldn’t die. He hadn’t been dosed too strongly.

That was no proof that Seb was not under dosed, and likely to wake hangry at any moment.

Jim ought get himself behind the panic room door, but he could not bring himself to stop watching over Sebastian.

The teeth were enormous up close. Jim eventually lowered Sebastian’s lip. He did not move away.

Jim grew aware that he was cold, the sweat all down his skin chilled and clammy. Jim finally pulled Seb’s disgusting teeshirt on and remained by his side.

Were lore generally told that sunrise ceased a transformation. At this time of year, dawn came early. Jim began to wonder how late or indeed early the hour was. He felt bone-tired, and had to consciously avoid wiping at his eyes. His hands might be contaminated by any PAVA spray Seb hadn’t managed to wipe off. Jim would need to open the windows later and have surfaces cleaned to ensure contaminants did not remain. The curtain pole would need replaced too, but perhaps that could remain long enough to playfully point it out to Seb. If Sebastian remembered nothing Jim could have the rest tidied away and regale Sebastian with an embarrassing tale of a stupid tiger attempting to climb the curtains like a kitten.

Jim did not want to examine why he didn’t want Sebastian to worry about the truth.

Sebastian slept on, even more of a great lump than usual. Jim drew closer, his icy limbs drawn by how much warmer the air near the tiger was.

Hesitatingly, Jim reached out and touched the thick, warm fur. The man he shared his bed with transformed under the light of a full moon into this impressive, deadly beast.

The exposed window gradually brought a creeping threat of light into the room. Jim could barely keep his eyes open.

~

The drugged sleep kept the tiger’s eyes open, unblinking, staring into the distance – and so it was sketchy shapes and shades that reconnected with his brain first, the greyish hues of night vision, but very blurry and stingy… Then sounds, soft ones, from the house itself and the city beyond, and, much closer, those of a living, breathing presence behind him. The tiger stirred, sluggishly – a paw twitching, his head shifting in an attempt to turn that was aborted. He dropped it back to the ground, heaving a big … sigh. Which had him register the smell. It was vaguely familiar, neither inciting panic nor aggression, and very confusing. But everything was confusing. There was the will to move, but the neural impulses fizzled out along the way, resulting in the mere ghost of a reaction in his muscles – yet. He drifted back into oblivion, resurfaced again after a while. The next attempt showed a little more success and he rolled onto his chest lethargically. On the edge of his vision he clocked the little creature who had spewed fire into his face, and the tiger’s teeth bared in a snarl which turned into a sneeze and ended in a befuddled huff.

His still largely vacant mind was at a loss whether to charge or flee – not that he was fit for either at the moment – he tried to get up again, and after much scrambling managed a sitting position, barely. His huge paws started to slide apart again slowly and it needed all concentration not to slump back down. His head weaving in little horizontal motions, he tried to focus on the little figure – who had scuttled out of reach, unfortunately. The tiger sensed that to lift a paw off the ground to venture an experimental swipe would end in toppling over again, so he just stared.

 

~
Alarm shot up Jim’s spine as the tiger stirred. Was Sebastian dreaming? Moving in his sleep?

No, the way one enormous paw reached out lethargically before the great beast shifted made it clear that Sebastian was waking up.

Being unprepared was becoming less unprecedented and more of a terrible habit where Seb was concerned. Jim regretted his complacency in merely sitting petting and observing a creature that was unrestrained and liable to make further attempts to eat him.

Jim wondered exactly how slowly he could move. If he all but melted away, would that draw his tiger’s gaze?

The paw flopped and after a tense moment so did Sebastian’s ears. Drifting in and out of sleep as the tiger was, perhaps Jim had a chance to escape.

Sebastian shifted again.

With the knowledge that staying put was increasingly dangerous, Jim forced himself to soften his breathing and rise as silently as possible.

Sebastian’s gaze zeroed in and the floor vibrated beneath them with the sudden force of a snarl.

Jim saw his life expectancy dwindle to seconds, only for remnants of the PAVA spray to provoke a sneeze that displeased the beast greatly.

Sebastian fumbled his way into a sitting position and Jim had no time to dwell on the creature’s endearing wretchedness, intent instead on throwing himself back and out of the way.

Sebastian had plenty of time to stare. He’d always been bigger and stronger than Jim, and a natural killer, but in this form, even weakened as he was, Sebastian was a threat Jim wasn’t certain his big brain could overcome. That was shocking as much as it was exhilarating.

~

The mere bulk of the tiger more or less blocked the small man’s way out of the corner, so he took his time before venturing another try to get up. His hind quarters wobbled as he did so, but he stayed upright. Reciprocating the stare of the dark eyes – they were unreadable and thus spelled danger - something stirred in the shut off recesses of the tiger’s mind. Maybe it was the scent, or those eyes…. It filtered down to where memories got buried, but lingered, even when they seemed entirely forgotten.

But the slight disturbance was just that, and drowned out by existential urges, like hunger. The lack of fuel for his insane metabolism was gradually replacing the anaesthetics as the cause for the beast’s wobbliness. He could sense and almost smell the delicious rush of blood through veins and arteries, through the chambers of a rapidly pumping heart, through viscera and tense muscles … and it started to drown out that strangely familiar scent that had confused the tiger and made him hesitate. Eyes fixed on the human, he crept forward, cautiously, mindful of more devious attacks or sudden attempts to flee.

But nausea and the smell of food didn’t mix well – the tiger started to salivate again and his stomach rumbled. He wavered again and swerved, his posture turning from tensely poised to hunched over, as a heaving spasm squeezed his insides. The increasing convulsions forced his head down, until in universal feline custom he disgorged the indigestible remnants of his last meal – a densely packed oozy lump of junk food wrappings (and a few bits of curtain). The retching subsided and he looked a bit sheepish but then perked up – the nausea had receded.

The recovery was short-lived, because the tensing, twitching uneasiness inside of him did not. The light had changed. Imperceptibly at first, then gradually more … distinct, taking on a golden hue and with it came a vague but very unpleasant memory – or premonition - of something horribly painful… A sense of impending doom or at least vulnerability that told him to back off.

~

Backed into a corner facing a wobbly tiger. Not exactly genius behaviour.

The tranquilliser gun was of little use at these quarters, and Seb passing out again halfway through chomping Jim into pieces was of meagre appeal. Likewise, even if there was enough spray left in the filched PAVA canister, the proximity was a danger to them both. Jim didn’t fancy blinding himself and blinding his best sniper was hardly good for business either.

Jim’s frayed temper briefly flared with a ridiculous urge to bite Moran for dominance, but even if he could startle the woozy tiger that way there was little likelihood of Jim not ending up in ribbons. Possibly with Sebastian eating his organs whilst Jim was alive which… was not the most fun way to go really.

The curtain pole was too far away, and possibly tainted with irritant.

Jim’s fingers crept along the upper seam of the skirting board speculatively. The building was too modern for the wood to be warped and easy to find an opening to pry from, but just how good was the workmanship? Not that a thin plank of wood with some nails sticking out was an impressive weapon against such a deadly opponent, but it would have to do.

Of course, attempting to pry off a skirting board with his shredded and bandaged fingers was not helping follow the guidance for surviving a tiger encounter that advised to make oneself as big as possible.

Jim was also struggling to avoid eye contact. It was impossible not to look at Sebastian, and those eyes… Jim kept looking for something like recognition within.

For an instant Jim almost thought he saw the approach of that, but it must have been wishful thinking.
Sebastian approached in a crouch. His stomach grumbled audibly.

Jim tugged a bit harder at the skirting board. He had his nails under the groove but little else.

Jim wondered whether to shout. He wasn’t certain how threatening he could be beyond an immediate surprise. Perhaps he could sing, that would make it easier to prolong the noise.

The only song that sprang to mind was the villain song from ‘The Lion King’. Jim was unconvinced he wanted those lyrics to be his last words.

Jim was ripped from such musings by Sebastian… convulsing? Choking? That noise… Was he having an allergic reaction? Was he about to vomit?

Jim was not prepared. He should have had a vet on-site, not just on call. He could hardly call help from the phone in his suit jacket pocket. His nearest option was in the panic room, if he could get there without provoking his sick tiger.

Sebastian brought up a vile puddle of rubbish and fabric. Jim was torn between revulsion and worry, but then Sebastian seemed brighter, like he’d merely coughed up a fur ball.

A brighter tiger was not an improvement. It was perilous.

Jim forced his fingers harder into the gap he had created than they were really fit to go.

However, the light of day was approaching. It was adding more colours to Sebastian’s thick coat and shone. Could Jim keep Seb at bay long enough. If only-

Jim finally heard a crack of wood creaking away from the wall.

~

There was something about certain small creatures that still stopped others, even large predators, in their tracks - be it colour or a threatening noise or the mere way a scorpion raised and curled its tail – even if they had no previous experience of an encounter. Maybe genetic memory or instinct, or some sort of primitive risk-benefit assessment.

And in the light of what it could do when attacked, his potential prey looked more scrawny than ever in the tiger’s eyes. Also, there was something else, a reluctance, that was not simply wariness alone that increased his doubts whether this particular human was something he wanted to eat. Which clashed with the lack of alternatives and the debilitating hunger literally consuming him. He growled and snarled in fury, mixed with desperation as his muscles and limbs were already trembling as though they were running out of fuel, and soon he might be too weak to do anything about it. The wide-eyed stare of the human’s eyes felt like they were drilling holes into his head, invading it, and yet their alluring darkness called to him. Like the thrilling darkness of a boundless jungle made to get lost in, promising everything he needed –

hunt fight kill mate feed rest

The hypnotic spell was broken by a splintering, most unpleasant noise as the little menace scrabbled at the wall and armed himself.

The tiger pounced.

Haphazardly, everything suddenly out of sync again, and it was like he'd hurled himself into a wall of pain (in which the blow with a piece of board was merely a pinprick). Sweeping his opponent off his feet was more a lucky strike than good aim and they barrelled into the wall together. Roaring, paws flailing and clawing, ripping out chunks of carped and wallpaper, the tiger writhed on the ground.

The pain was not quite as horrific as a few hours ago – not violently moulding and forging something into a new shape but letting it turn back into what it was supposed to be seemed to require less crushing force – but bad enough. The transformation also burned off the dwindling reserves of energy down to the last dregs, so when it was finally over, it left Sebastian, although back to his human form, almost unconscious.

~

Determining where to strike a pouncing tiger (whose stomach had been growling loudly enough to hear!) whilst not doing any damage that might cause Sebastian real suffering was no easy task.

There were a fuckton of ways Jim could have made this night easier on himself, and Jim thought of them all as Sebastian rose into the air intent on feeding. Jim’s blow barely connected as Seb spasmed in mid air, not that it would have achieved much anyway.

Jim prepared himself for sharp agony as a paw swiped far too close for comfort, but whatever was wracking Seb’s form threw out the tiger’s aim and landing. Jim did not know whether Sebastian was having some alarming allergic reaction or whether the change was upon Seb, but there was little time to worry as he was crashed into the wall, Sebastian’s heavy form partially behind him. Jim felt alarmingly crushed for a moment even as his head exploded in fiery, white pain, and then he bounced back off of the wall into the soft fur and hard muscles of Sebastian.

From the floor, Seb stretched, quivered and roared, but the pained noise had little to do with cracking against the wall. Jim frowned unconsciously at the racket, but didn’t move.

°°°

When Jim woke, it was with a splitting head and ringing ears. Feeling sorry for himself and rather irritable, Jim tried to move and recollect the reason for his discomfort.

He was lying at an odd angle on something warm and that made no sense; his laptop was not nearly this comfortable to fall asleep on and besides it was large and… ribcage-shaped.

Jim sat up with a start, then yelped as the sudden motion brought bright stars across his barely focused vision. His aching head had not liked that at all.

Jim shifted uncomfortably, realising he was cramped against a wall, and hazily looked down at his pillow.
Sebastian. No longer in tiger form either, but that did not make Jim particularly calm.

Jim tried his best to wriggle away but fucking Moran was literally crushing him into the confined space and writhing was only scratching up exposed skin where the skirting board had left a raw and ragged space.
Jim remembered the frankly concerning behaviour Seb had displayed before seemingly having knocked Jim unconscious. He’d seemed physically distressed. Sick.

Jim peered at Sebastian as best he could, the rise and fall of Seb’s ribs indicating that if nothing else at least Seb wasn’t dead.

There didn’t seem to be any more spasms, and the transformation had clearly fully occurred. That was probably why Jim’s ears ached: proximity to too many decibels for too long.

Sebastian looked different: a little thinner in the cheeks (and perhaps elsewhere, if he ever had the decency to roll over and free Jim’s legs) and a bit grey like he needed a good feed. No wonder; how many calories did it burn to change your entire physical form?

Jim blinked. In the light it was clear Sebastian’s cheek wasn’t angry or inflamed anymore. His scabbed lip was healed, and the stab-wound on his throat too.

More annoyingly, Seb’s neck was bare of a collar. The back of Jim’s mind started whirring with sadistic possibilities for a playmate with advanced healing skills, but mostly he just stared for a moment. Seb’s eyelids did not flicker quite like he was dreaming, but his breathing hadn’t changed noticeably despite Jim pulling away as best he could upon waking.

Jim glanced down and assessed whether he could manipulate any part of Sebastian’s body to roll the bigger man off and away from him. Thankfully he didn’t seem to have cut off circulation to anything but the dull ache in Jim’s ribs suggested he’d been somewhat squished at some point.

Jim pushed at Sebastian’s side in annoyance. “For fuck’s sake, Sleeping Beauty, some of us would like to get off of the floor and be able to fit some oxygen in our crushed lungs,” he huffed.

And then Jim noticed he was still wearing Seb’s t-shirt, trapped in it in fact, given how the great brute was pressed against him. Would the indignities never cease?

~

The fog lifted slowly and sluggishly from Sebastian’s mind, and it took him quite a while to not only to realise where he was, but to form some hazy recollection of who he was…

The pattern of the carpet – why was it ripped to shreds? - and the bannister to his right suggested the first floor landing. He felt as weak as kitten, like someone, something had chewed him over and spit him out. Even lifting his eyelids was as exhausting as two dozen bench presses. His position was semi-comfortable and entangled with a slight figure, who was curled up, half squished beneath him, his head resting in the soft dip between Sebastian’s hipbone and ribcage. Black hair, angular bones and now – a very querulous voice. Uhm… yes. Jim. Gradually and in fuzzy, disjointed pieces, other things started to come back to Sebastian as well – the memory of the tense apprehension of something inconceivable about to happen, horrible pain, hunger, confusion and chaos… It was all a jumble and more an echo of these sensations rather than accessible memories…

He would have liked to simply stay like that a bit, because being so close - Sebastian remembered that much from before - wasn’t something the boss usually appreciated or even allowed. Alas, sadly Jim still didn’t - first poking, then pushing indignantly against Sebastian’s side. Might have something to do with being trapped beneath him... Groaning with the effort of it, Sebastian rolled a bit to the side. Just from that small move his heart raced with exertion, but even more when his eyes fell on the shredded wallpaper, the mauled curtain apparently torn from the wall together with its bent pole. The place looked wrecked and not in a way a human could…

“Christ, hasit…” he licked his dry lips, his tongue fumbling around the words as though remembering how to form them, “has it ‘appened?”

His joints, muscles, tendons felt like he’d run a marathon after six hours in the gym. Lying still again, he took stock more thoroughly and started to understand what was so... off. Even though he felt sore all over and to a degree he’d never experienced before, his cheek didn’t hurt anymore. Nor did the wound on his neck, his cut hand or … more sensitive, private parts. But above all – except for some very faint scars the large festering wounds that had tortured him for weeks were… gone. Maybe he’d dreamed it all? Hallucinating while in a septic fever or… No, the destruction around them said otherwise. And then more memories came slamming back – preparations including silver bullets, restraints, the panic room. They were on the wrong side of its fucking door, at least one of them was!

His mind stalled as his gaze zeroed in on Jim, in boxer shorts and a worn T-shirt. Baggy T-shirt. Sebastian’s London Zoo T-shirt.

“Wha’sat?”

Jim had extricated himself from under him and shuffled back a bit, looking quite peeved, but yet - his eyes gleamed. Sebastian, finding it horribly exhausting to hold his head up for longer than a few seconds, let it drop and rest on Jim’s feet. “Camouflaging?” he slurred, with a glint of teeth in his smile.

But then it vanished. "Why're you nodin the panic room fofucksake?" he mumbled.

Chapter 14: Spoon

The effort it took Sebastian to roll aside enough to permit Jim’s escape gave Jim pause. Still, Jim dragged himself away as soon he had enough opportunity to wriggle free. He felt exasperatingly ungainly doing so.

“No, you can barely keep your eyes open because we took the fucking into the hallway and you trashed my fucking house,” Jim retorted dryly. He stretched out, noting the various aches in his body: from being squished; sleeping awkwardly; being battered about by a fucking supernatural tiger; using his torn fingers to pry up a skirting board; and running on his bandaged feet.

The things he did because of the exasperating lump beside him.

Jim peered at Sebastian curiously despite his frustration. It was fascinating how the man had healed, with only the tiger wounds (and old scars) remaining on his skin. Ruefully Jim acknowledged that the staring was from concern as well, but he was allowed to be a little unsettled after everything that had happened!

He was bloody glad Seb was okay.

Jim noticed Seb was staring back, and at his attire. Or rather, at Sebastian’s creased and faded teeshirt, which Jim had commandeered.

Jim’s mouth opened to say something prickly and sarcastic, and possibly even the truth about being cold, but the words that came out were, “I didn’t know if the smell of us fucking would be enough for you to know who I am to you. Whether you’d remember me hurting you and not understand that human you likes it. And tigers are unsociable; territorial. Thought if I smelled like you it would help you recognise that I’m familiar, if you weren’t able to remember me properly on your own.”

Which Seb hadn’t, but he couldn’t blame him for that, could he? Jim felt awkward at his explanation even though it was perfectly logical, but enduring Sebastian’s teasing smile was far less uncomfortable than when it dropped from Seb’s face.

Of course Sebastian could have had his bones rearranged twice in less than twelve hours and still be concerned about Jim. It made the Irishman feel oddly unsettled and comforted at the same time.

“You really think I’d lock myself away from the most fascinating thing I’ve ever encountered in my life?” Jim scoffed weakly.

He cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. “Right, enough pillow talk. We need to get you cleaned up- you cannot and must not touch your face until I’ve at least wiped you down, and definitely don’t fucking rub your eyes - and you look like you need a good meal.”

Jim chewed his lip. “Your room is in a bit of a state-” not least the door “-so do you want me to help you to my room and I’ll bring you food?”

~

Lying on the floor Sebastian listened with half-closed eyes to the reasoning behind Jim wearing his t-shirt … It seemed rather a far flung hope but still also the best bet to harness smell, the most associative of all senses to remind tiger Sebastian …

Who he was to him -

Someone who fucked him, someone who hurt him…, and someone who Sebastian could not, would not, ever, seriously harm. Quite the summary, huh?

“Yes,” Sebastian breathed, “human me likes that.” His lips twitched in a hint of amusement. “Not sure about a tiger though." Hearing it like that, it seemed a desire so twisted only human nature could come up with it.

“It… seemed to have worked?” he suggested tentatively, his eyes roaming over Jim, who looked quite banged up but not much worse than a few hours back? No claw marks or gnaw marks anyway?
And the rumpled and stained t-shirt still emanated the sultry scent of sex – their sex -which had Sebastian’s eyelids droop another fraction.

But had the tiger recognised it? Reacted to it?

“I can’t … remember,” Sebastian admitted. In fact, he couldn’t remember anything, nothing he could grasp anyway, like the echo of a dream that had you wake up sweaty and with a racing heartbeat, but no real memory of it.

The glow to have provided the ‘most fascinating experience’ ever in Jim Moriarty’s life – and the bar was bound to be quite high for that - silenced Sebastian reprimands for Jim not taking refuge in the panic room, and it seemed quite pointless now anyway.

Then Sebastian frowned. What was it about his face that he shouldn’t touch it?! Why? It actually did feel a bit funny, his eyes like he had sand in them, the skin tingly. A shock of alarm jolted through him, panic almost – had there been a glitch in transformation…?! Did he still have whiskers, or furry ears, or a pink nose…

“Is there..?” In a paradox response to the order Sebastian invariably did reach up – and, quick and hard, Jim shot forward and batted his hand down.

“PAVA spray, you big dolt!”

Sebastian understood and sagged in relief, even though he did not like what this suggested about the tiger’s behaviour towards Jim. But, as Jim had said, first things first.

“I’m not sure how far I’ll get without eating something, but I could try?” Sebastian felt dizzy with hypoglycaemia but washing off the contamination seemed the priority, or else things could turn highly unpleasant again quickly. “Your bathroom, if I may… ?” It was the nearest one from here.

He rolled, struggled ungainly onto all fours and braced his hand against the wall to get up.

~

Jim felt his resentments about what he had endured begin to melt away when Sebastian - without even the energy to hold his eyes open - smiled just barely as he agreed what human Seb liked. Jim frowned reflexively at the effect Sebastian had on him.

Seb’s gaze flickered open and Jim rearranged his expression to neutral. He didn’t want to consider why he wanted Sebastian to feel more at ease after all that had happened.

“I told you not to worry,” Jim said in lieu of admitting the scent hadn’t worked and Seb had been right to do just that. Or at least, right to think a tiger might try to eat a Jim. He was likely highly mistaken to find the appropriate reaction to the irrational and sadistic bully that was Jim Moriarty being eaten to be a thing worth being displeased about.

Jim considered Sebastian slowly as the man admitted not to remember recent events. Jim had the power to share the details, hold them back, outright lie, or any combination.

“You made a bit of a mess, but no harm done,” Jim said quietly. It didn’t even feel like lying through his teeth despite how the bump on his head ached.

Sebastian didn’t argue about the panic room, but got a very concerning little smile on his tired and uncannily thinned face. Oh. Oh no. Jim felt a tired sliver of exasperation that Sebastian could hear an irrefutable fact - encountering the supernatural was fascinating - and take it as a personal compliment. As if he wasn’t spoiled already.

Jim held onto the deserved rebuke. Sebastian looked so done in a firm poke in the side might have been too much for him, and Jim did not want to fully acknowledge that.

Naturally Seb could never quit when he was ahead, and his reaction to being told to keep his grubby paws off his contaminated face was to wholly disobey. Jim somehow found the energy to slap away Seb’s trespassing hand and even the generosity not to toy with Seb’s fear but to simply tell the truth instead, even though it proved Sebastian had been right to worry.

As Seb rose Jim rushed to Sebastian’s side (being free of it for such a short moment) and helped support the man. It was thoroughly unnerving to see Seb so weakened but it was hardly unreasonable after all that had happened.

“I’ve got you, tiger,” Jim said, bracing Sebastian carefully. “Don’t exert yourself more than is good for you. If you can’t manage I’ll bring some wash facilities and a mountain of calories to you.”

Jim gave Sebastian’s skin a light squeeze. “I’ll find plenty of ways to make you pay for all of this coddling later. Right now we’re only focused on what you need, even if that means letting you use my fucking bathroom this one time.”

~

“That’s music to my ears,” Sebastian muttered with a small grin. But as sweet as it was to think that Jim would go to such lengths, Sebastian still had that sliver of stubborn pride left. He struggled to his
feet, feeling wobbly like a newborn foal, but he still made an effort to support at least part of his weight on his own while he leaned on Jim as they shuffled towards the master bedroom.

On a wing and a prayer they made it into Jim’s luxurious walk-in shower before Sebastian’s legs simply gave out, and he sat down, shoulders against the tiled wall.

It was good that the war had also taught him how to swallow his pride when in really dire physical condition. It was rewarded with being the sole focus of Jim’s caring attention.

Not minding the soft, in fact almost gentle grumbling, Sebastian's eyelids were drooping again as Jim set about to wash him down with a cloth and soap and warm water. The last time he had bestowed such care on anyone, it had probably been some orphaned little four-legged critter on a Galway farm some twenty years back?

Apart from a little smile at that thought, Sebastian didn't even have the energy to fret much about whether he'd not only lost weight but how long it might last to regain his strength and stamina... But it was a nice, almost alien change to be free of festering wounds, any wounds in fact. The three day old cut in his palm had paled to a faint pink scar, and neither soap nor water burned in all the... numerous places of recent injuries.

Whereas poor Jim … looked even worse than last night.

“Sorry I can’t do the same for you,” Sebastian mumbled. He was almost in a stupor, blinking through soap suds and water, catching sight of Jim’s lacerated, bloodied hands – the dressings he had applied a few hours ago (it felt like days) were gone, and Jim’s bandaged feet didn’t look much better. More like he’d walked across the rubble of a war torn city on them…

~

It had been unnerving, when Sebastian had been injured in India. There had been a sliver of pride too, that Jim’s favourite sniper could survive a tiger attack, but at the back of Jim’s mind something had suggested the loss of Sebastian Moran wouldn’t merely be bad for business.

Jim felt a stronger sense of unease now. The annoying whispers about what Moran was or could be to him were louder, having been given far too much attention in the last month.

Sebastian’s weight as Jim helped the man along was grounding and worrying in uneven measures. Jim kept his face turned away and the possibility of chemical contamination was almost a negligible motivator. Seb was lighter than Jim had ever known, and how did all of Jim’s body recognise that?

Jim did his best to peel out of his own socks, boxer shorts and Sebastian’s ugly teeshirt without withdrawing too much support from Seb, who was increasingly shaky on his feet. At least already being naked meant Jim was spared the intimacy of trying to help his exhausted… bodyguard… undress.

They were in the shower, walled in by glass, when Sebastian’s knees finally buckled underneath himself. It probably hurt no more than knocking Seb to his knees had done previously, but there was no surge of satisfaction at it. Even the rush of Seb’s breath and the pained grunt brought no sadistic pleasure.

What the fuck was this? Was suffering only fun when they were playing now? Jim did not sign off on this!

The automatic response was to overcompensate with deliberate cruelty. Jim stifled that – ignoring why - and drew his attention across Sebastian instead. Jim assessed the man’s needs and tuned out how he felt about any of it, kneeling and tending to his supernatural Sebastian with a gentleness Jim resolutely ignored.

With this being so out of character, Jim supposed it might worry Sebastian that he was even more weak than apparent. Jim didn’t do much that was gentle, not without a price or an ulterior motive. But how could you bathe someone’s face of irritant without carefulness? Jim did his best to distract and reassure Sebastian with familiar chatter, chastising and chiding about nothing in particular.

It was uncanny that Sebastian was so very healed. It was worse that he was otherwise weak and a little thinner than Jim had ever seen him.

Jim blinked as Sebastian found the effort to speak, and direct his attention to Jim’s sorry state. Jim hadn’t much noticed the unfortunate state of his digits nor even the dull throb of his head.

“I don’t need you for that,” Jim said in a milder version of his dismissive tone than usual.

Jim’s hands left Sebastian’s face; they did their best to quickly work out some of the worst of Seb’s poor muscles’ tension and knotting under the stream of warm water without keeping Sebastian from food any longer than necessary.

Jim stood, pet Seb’s dripping scalp briefly, and switched off the spray of water. “Come on, bruiser,” Jim said, reaching for a towel, “the sooner Da- the sooner I have you dry, the sooner we can fatten you back up to your troublesome self again.”

~

“I know,” Sebastian slurred in response to Jim’s dismissal about his needs. “- ’S still nice, innit?” His weakness, the warm water and Jim’s hands kneading his sore muscles put him in such a daze that for a moment it almost slipped his mind who he was talking to: if anyone didn’t need anyone it was Jim Moriarty. And from spending weeks on end behind enemy lines Sebastian also knew a thing or two about self-sufficiency. You gathered information, killed your enemies, found your own food, tended to your own wounds. Made your own plans, kept your own council and your back to the wall. You could live like that, if you had to. It just became very tedious after a while. Lonely.

Sebastian managed to raise an eyebrow and even his head a little. “Good.” Jim’s optimism about feeding him back to full health was reassuring. “I almost started to worry...” About Jim cutting the Daddy crap - which was his favourite tease not least because Sebastian loathed it.

Jim helped him to his feet and prodded him out of the shower.

“God I could eat an ox,” Sebastian mumbled while Jim was drying him off like a toddler. And indeed he did start to feel weak enough to make being fed chicken broth intravenously appear a much more manageable option. “’Mfraid walking down the stair’s not in the cards.” He sounded exhausted and a bit embarrassed, eyeing Jim’s bed wistfully through the open door.

~
Sebastian’s assertion gave Jim pause. ’S still nice, innit?

Seb had really been through the wringer of late, but he still managed to look pleased by Jim’s attentions.
Jim had been looking at Sebastian all that time, but he’d been ignoring the impractical things. Moran got emotional when he was under duress - at least he did here, at home - and Jim usually did his best to ignore it if he couldn’t outright scold Sebastian into maintaining a semblance of detachment.

Jim considered Seb’s pliant body in his grasp. Something to fix to maintain its functions. It was nice to touch Seb like that, but it was dangerous too, and the excitement didn’t feel entirely good. Losing Sebastian was unacceptable, but so was having him wholeheartedly.

Sebastian did not take Jim’s uncomfortable silence as anything in particular. He hovered around the edge of consciousness, which might have been endearing if Jim acknowledged such things and wasn’t rattled by the reason Seb was so bone weary in the first place.

Apparently Jim trying not to needle his invalid unsettled Sebastian enough to provoke him into raising his head and his brow, but despite the superhuman effort Seb didn’t seem overly concerned. Despite everything, Sebastian seemed to trust in Jim that things were tolerable.

Jim pried the soft lump out of the shower and dried Seb off with a bit more gentleness than was really required. Sebastian was not made of spun glass; if anything after tonight there was no doubt that Seb was the strongest person Jim knew.

Still, Jim thought of his previous sardonic query about whether Seb had needed Jim to towel him dry, and the reluctant way Sebastian had rallied enough pride to refuse. This didn’t feel awful, not exactly. Sebastian only submitted to such fussing when he’d been broken by sex or suffering - usually both - and having the brute withstand the gentle handling stirred something within Jim. Not that Moran was in any fit state yet for Jim to make good on his promise to fuck Seb belly-down on the mattress now that those wounds were no longer a hindrance.

“You can have steak if you want, but that means you have to chew,” Jim replied to Seb’s soft whining about hunger. Jim wasn’t entirely joking when he asked, “Sure you can manage that?”

Oxtail soup might be a bit more likely. Sebastian was swaying on his feet as it was.

“And I wasn’t giving you the option of using stairs,” Jim scoffed. “Think I’ve put up with all of this just to lose you to a careless tumble?”

Jim would have swatted Sebastian playfully if he didn’t think Seb would tumble at the slightest pressure right then.

Jim gave Sebastian a light but possessive squeeze, then attempted to twist a towel around himself without releasing Seb.

“You,” Jim said firmly, “are getting tucked up in my bed where you belong. Just this once I’m going to let you eat there, and if you make any mess when I feed you I will butcher you when you’re well enough to appreciate a hiding.”

Jim carefully nudged Sebastian back into the bedroom. Settling him in what had inexplicably become Seb’s side of the bed, Jim ferreted through a drawer for another phone.

“Do you mind if I order food and have one of the team bring it up?” Jim asked quietly. “I think you’re well enough I could step away to answer the door but… I think next door might have heard you a little last night. Probably best that they know I haven’t murdered you horribly yet.”

~

‘... In my bed where you belong.’

Struggling over to said bed with Jim’s help, Sebastian smiled. If that wasn’t the sweetest thing he’d heard in a long time. Well yes, he’d heard Jim’s considerations to chain him to the head board forever and all sorts of salacious fantasies, but that had been during the hormonal deluges of sex… Now though, it simply stated a matter of fact, and a completely natural one at that.

Seriously, if nothing else, that made all the misery seem worthwhile.

Jim tucked him in, and although Sebastian valiantly tried to hide how embarrassingly clingy he felt, he probably wasn’t entirely successful. He hadn’t an ounce of energy left, and his brain was ticking away almost in standby mode, which kept him from thinking about all further ramifications of what had happened but the most simple and immediate ones.

“Yes, of course you can step away,” he mumbled bravely. “Talk to the team and tell them a story about how their chief is still alive…. I would step out onto the balcony to wave at them to prove it, but I’m afraid … not right now.”

Right now he also didn’t give a fig about the consequences of messing up Jim’s bed with food, as long as there would be. Food. His stomach rumbled – probably about to digest itself in desperation..

“Maybe some soup first?” Something that didn’t need any effort to ingest and break down. “Then a steak or two…” he suggested timidly, “then any delivery service you can think of?”

God, this was great.

He felt a thrill and at the same time horrible trepidation. He had barely started to wrap his head around all this, but … was all this really going to be a monthly occurrence from now on?!

~

Jim could hardly miss how needily Sebastian leaned into him, although at least it seemed like the man was trying not to. Or maybe Seb wanted to crawl right onto Jim’s narrow lap but simply didn’t have the energy to.

Things had already gotten more muddied than Jim ought to have allowed, so just this once would make little difference. Right?

Jim was unconvinced but settled by Sebastian’s side anyway and pressed close. He petted at Seb whilst lifting the phone to his ear.

“Tom,” Jim said briskly. “I need you to get Caruso to whip up some soup and heat all the leftovers. You are going to bring everything directly to my bedroom and ignore the mess. I might order food later and have you bring it here too.”

Jim hung up without waiting for more than an affirmative.

Tom was fairly unfazed by the macabre so he had never batted an eye with the bloodier aspects of working for Jim. He wouldn’t blanch at the destruction left by a tiger and he wouldn’t worry overly either if he thought Jim had been playing a bit rougher than socially acceptable with the man warming his bed.

The man Jim turned to then, curling in close and tossing the phone aside. Jim mouthed Sebastian’s neck mostly because he could and partly to distract Seb from his grumbling stomach.

“Dinner will be served shortly,” Jim murmured.

He gazed at Sebastian then frowned. Jim sat up.

“Problem, kitty-cat,” Jim said, but he kept his voice light. “You’re all healed up, and you should have a broken cheekbone.”

Jim put a restraining hand over Sebastian’s sternum and dipped closer. “Stay still.”

Jim covered Seb’s cheek with his lips and sucked a dark bruise where the wound had been.

Jim tilted his head thoughtfully. “Do you suppose I should have said you’re still alive, or do you think asking for food is sufficient?”

Jim flopped back down and pulled Sebastian close. “Never mind, I’ll show you off soon enough.”

~

Sebastian almost started drooling when listening to Jim on the phone – leftovers from Caruso’s kitchen tended to do that to him even when he was not shaking with starvation. He uttered a grateful sound, with a hint of impatience, when Jim announced dinner to be here shortly. Breakfast more like, but who cared about the semantics.

He was also silently grateful that Jim seemed to sense his other needs as well – things Sebastian usually did not put on display, and which Jim did not appreciate when he did – and stayed close to him.

Sebastian felt like not only his body but his brain as well had been through the wringer, which was probably quite an apt description for what had happened. The enormity of which he was yet unable to process. He didn’t want to either - because it was like fear and chaos and maybe madness were hovering just on the edge of his vision and might pounce if he looked. Not knowing what had been incubating inside him had been hell. Now that it was out, Sebastian was not sure if it was less scary…

So for the moment, he concentrated on the perks.

It was also... interesting, to say the least. Especially that turning into furry beast at full moon seemed to be an explanation – excuse even - Jim accepted for having had his nerves frayed down to a stub during the past month. Apparently it had also earned Sebastian an extension of the untypical tolerance and leniency. Gentleness even.

Or maybe Jim was just really glad that he had turned back. Before eating - -

The thought of eating derailed Sebastian’s brain again and any effort to remember what had happened sunk back behind a murky veil and a gently pulsing headache.

Problem, kitty-cat -

Kitty-cat blinked at Jim, before he understood. Ah yes. The team on duty had seen him last night, and the observational skills of people working security for Jim Moriarty were nothing to be trifled with. Before Sebastian could analyse the problem, Jim solved it, with an intense, bitey kiss – to a part of his anatomy Sebastian could not recall sporting a hickey, ever.

Sebastian grinned at the question of whether ordering food was sufficient proof of life.

“Dunno. They might just surmise you’ve worked up quite an appetite, killing me.” But Jim hadn’t sucked the bruise back on his cheek for nothing, so probably someone would be allowed in here soon enough. “Then I need bandages as well, or I could just…” Sebastian huddled against Jim, sinking a bit deeper into the mattress, tugging the cover up enough to hide his neck. Maybe that would be enough to thwart any unwanted observations?

“Please tell me,” he said, with a suddenly dry mouth. “What…, did I… What did I do? You didn’t mace me for fun, right?” Funny enough, in this moment he almost wished Jim had. Just for fun…

~
Jim’s lips twitched of their own volition as Sebastian released an impatient little whine from the back of his throat, as though his feelings mattered enough to share. He’d been quite demanding in his request for food in the first place, the spoiled creature.

Jim was certain he ought to be reminding Sebastian Moran of his bloody place, but there was a shadow of an indulgent smile on Jim’s face as he curled reassuringly closer to the bigger man. Better to be hung for a sheep than a lamb, right?

Jim had the unpleasant feeling he wouldn’t be able to eat for some time if he did kill Sebastian, but he certainly wasn’t telling the prick that.

Jim raised a brow as Sebastian tried to manipulate his way into getting more cuddles by ‘hiding his healed neck’. This was not becoming a monthly occurrence.

Although having all of your bones rearranged twice in a few hours was probably enough to make anyone feel vulnerable. Jim still wasn’t convinced he was a logical candidate for a snuggle buddy, but… he did not entirely hate this. Perhaps he was somewhat unsettled by last night himself.

He had almost been eaten.

Speaking of which, Sebastian chose that moment to break the soft quiet with an uncomfortable question.
Jim snorted and for absolutely no sensible reason pressed his lips into Sebastian’s blond hair. “I just didn’t feel a rolled up newspaper would fully get my point across,” Jim said.

Sebastian did not look overly convinced and Jim regarded his second in command intently before saying, “You didn’t understand commands in English, so you were about as obedient as usual. I fed you but you made quite a mess of your bedroom. You didn’t immediately have proper coordination and you were rather zealous in your experimenting with your new body.”

Jim nipped Sebastian lightly with his teeth. “It seems that you have to be under the moonlight to transform but I don’t think you can wait it out inside - you seemed too agitated. I’ve got a better idea now of how you behave so we can make some adjustments to ensure next month is a smoother transition. All you need to focus on is recuperating; I’ll manage the details.”

Jim’s phone chirped, advising that Tom had let himself in. Jim’s heart sank a little as the phone repeated itself. He picked it up and announced grimly, “Your favourite cook has decided to invite herself.”

~

Sebastian stifled a burst of involuntary giggle at the image of Jim swatting at bothersome tiger with a rolled up newspaper, but the implications of what he’d said were less droll, even though he still circumnavigated the nitty-gritty. At least that was the impression Sebastian had and his heart sank. He had attacked Jim, hadn’t he? But he was too exhausted to press the point and discuss it. After all, they had four weeks to do that…

“I’m sorry,” – even though strictly speaking his human self wasn’t to blame, and also he couldn’t quite refrain from remarking, “I usually am.” Very obedient. They both knew that - otherwise he would not have survived a week in cohabitation with a tyrannical little psycho.

Sebastian was also sorry about the trail of destruction he’d left, and he hadn’t even seen his room yet. But if the door and the fragments and splinters all across the landing were anything to go by… “Since we do have people coming in for the kitchen,” – a gentle little reminder that Jim didn’t even need to turn into a mindless beast to wreck the place – “maybe they can fix the rest of the house too?”

Jim rolled his eyes but didn’t seem overly offended. Apart from closing his eyes, Sebastian tried not to react too obviously to the small signs of tenderness Jim bestowed on him – lest Jim might stop if he became aware of it.

“Maybe it’s the moonlight… Or maybe the time of night,” Sebastian chipped in. It had been a fleeting thought when he’d left the bed as he’d started to feel really weird, but now it came back to him. “The attack, back in India – it happened a good bit after midnight. “I can’t be entirely sure, but it was past two. Around 2:30 I think.” Lying in wait for a kill, he usually kept track of the time quite carefully, because fundamental things were tied to it – the changing of light or background noise, the rota of guards, habits of the target…

"You'd been feeding me? Doesn't feel like it," Sebastian teased weakly. His lips twitched on hearing it had been obvious how the tiger – he still had problems of consistently thinking of it as 'me' - had needed time to adjust and find his legs, and the use of his weapons. It sounded like a blessing, regarding Jim’s survival. Still, Sebastian was also fascinated, and in a way regretted to have no memory of how it felt - to be able to claw through a door, to shred wood and curtains, rip panels off the wall… But it was also scary, and obvious consequences about how they’d handled the next time… good Lord - the next time… This was still too enormous to grasp. Especially now, still half dead from the first time.

But – they would work this out, Jim would work this out, and Sebastian had never been more grateful for anything.

He perked up as Jim’s phone announced food on its way. “My favourite cook…” Caruso herself?!
“Oh dear, I can’t remember her ever leaving her realm and coming over …” He would not stand any sort of lecture right now, and Jim didn’t look terribly keen on it either.

There was a resolute knock on the door, and Jim answered with a somewhat grim invitation to come in.

“What in Jesus’ name have you done to him, James?” were Caruso’s first words upon entering, with Tom in her wake.

Sebastian tried to look reassuringly alive. “He’s made me very hungry,” Sebastian tried to take the heat off of Jim. Mindful of not losing the cover of his elusive injuries, his eyes were glued to the trays laden with plates of food and covered dishes.

~

Jim was uncharacteristically lost for words when Sebastian apologised. “For once you were hardly naughty on purpose, and I’ll ensure you make it all up to me when you’re better,” Jim said after a beat. His lips cracked into a smile as Sebastian insisted he usually was obedient. “Filthy liar,” Jim retorted without heat. “You’re the most troublesome person I’ve ever decided to let live.”

Sebastian had the gall to look somewhat offended and Jim’s voice lifted in resigned amusement, “You’re lucky you’re pretty, tiger.”

Jim rolled his eyes as Sebastian not so tactfully compared his rampage with Jim’s fight with the kitchen. “Of course it’ll all be cleared up; I’m not going to keep the mess as a monument to the night, am I?” Jim gave Seb a chiding squeeze, “And might I remind you the state of the kitchen is your fault, because it’s how I should have treated you? Quit whilst you’re ahead, brat.”

Sebastian didn’t argue, but Jim got the distinct and exasperating feeling that was because Seb was exhausted, not because he didn’t dare or actually agreed.

Sebastian’s comment about the time of the initial tiger attack gave Jim a welcome distraction from his frustrated efforts to maintain the status quo Seb regularly trampled into dust. Jim enjoyed a puzzle and was almost calm when his phone shattered any hope of peace.

Jim gave Sebastian a dry look as the blond perked up at the prospect of food. The surge of affection Jim felt was resented but no less fond for that fact. Then Jim blinked as Sebastian expressed something other than delight at Caruso’s behaviour. Surely it was enjoyable for the prick to hear the woman get away with berating Jim like an errant grandson?

Before Jim could dwell too much on it, Mrs Caruso knocked the door with the air of someone who was going to march right in regardless of a welcome. At least she’d bothered to knock at all. Jim wondered why he put himself in these situations and invited the woman in for what was bound to be a tiresome berating. At least Seb would get fed if Tom could make it past the woman.

What in Jesus’ name have you done to him, James?

The accusation was resoundingly unfair, Jim felt. He certainly hadn’t knocked Sebastian from a tree, gouged nor infected him with were abilities. Sebastian certainly hadn’t been the one in peril during his transformation either. He was a bit sleepy and had a grumbling belly; Jim probably needed checked for concussion.

Whatever caustic retort Jim intended to use died in his mouth as Sebastian came to his rescue. His heroic bodyguard even when weaker than a kitten, not that Seb generally had anything to fear where Mrs Caruso was concerned.

“It was date night last night; I’ve drained him of a vital bodily fluid, so I suggest you let the dear boy eat before the accusations start rolling in,” Jim added witheringly.

Mrs Caruso looked uncowed, but also perhaps a little surprised by his priorities. That prickled something within Jim because yes he might have some Bluebeard tendencies where other people were concerned, but Sebastian Moran was blatantly no such creature.

Still, it was probably best for everyone concerned if it wasn’t common knowledge that Jim was developing such a soft spot.

“Not like you to flay a man then tuck him up in your bed,” Mrs Caruso said.

Jim glanced at Sebastian. Did the brat realise how Jim generally treated other men? He must surely think himself exempt, the way Seb carried on, but examining why only made Jim’s stomach clench. This was certainly not the time to be thinking of the way Sebastian kissed him in the kitchen, nor what it might mean.
Sebastian, prick that he was, wasn’t even paying them attention by the looks of things. He was thoroughly focused on the prospect of food. If he’d been well enough he’d probably have leapt out of bed and tackled Tom for sustenance.

“Men don’t always scream when they’re in pain, my dear; given the litter you have I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that,” Jim said, turning back to Caruso.

It was bloody clear the noises Sebastian made when first transforming were not of pleasure, but Jim didn’t need to share that either.

Jim sighed and shifted, trying to help Sebastian sit up without looking too much like he was mollycoddling his chief of staff. Seb tried to keep the duvet covering himself, but Jim wasn’t overly worried about that, most of Seb’s injuries had previously been hidden by a shirt and so what if the abrupt healing of Seb’s neck wounds was perplexing to the others? Seb needed to eat!

Jim snapped his fingers at Tom and had the soup in his grasp moments after.

Sitting above the duvet in a towel and curled around Sebastian, Jim directed a harsh glare at his other employees. “One word from either of you about this one getting preferential treatment and I’ll have both of your tongues for sandwich meat, understood?” Jim growled.

Without waiting for a response, Jim manhandled Sebastian into a position where he could keep the man upright and feed him at the same time. Something in Jim’s guts recoiled at being seen to have his guard so lowered, but something equally unnerving flickered in his chest as he did so.

Jim willed Moran not to embarrass him further than he was already suffering.

~

“You know,” Sebastian said cheerfully and to no one in particular, “everything around here is my fault.” Well, almost everything. “Which is fine. I’ve gotten used to it. Also I am quite good at it, and pretty, and that’s why he lets me live.”

Why were they all looking at him so weirdly? Admittedly his brain had just about enough fuel left to perform very simple processes, not enough to follow the sharp banter Caruso and the boss were engaged in. But it seemed his contribution to the conversation had cleared things up.

With some wriggling he tried to support Jim’s efforts to prop him up into a position suitable for eating. The delicious smell of the soup fogged up his mind even more, and he greedily picked up the spoon before Jim could. Only to promptly spill some soup onto the fine bedlinen because his fucking hand was trembling.
That sobered him somewhat. Christ, what a nightmare. And with Caruso and Tom watching, even though Jim snatched the spoon away and artfully blocked their view, so they probably didn't witness the misery in full glory.

Sebastian peered at them over Jim’s shoulder with a glance that was half a plea, half a glare. He nodded slightly and carefully mouthed ‘sandwich meat’, corroborating Jim’s threat that not a word of all this was to leave this room.

~

Jim made a slow, uncertain snorting noise that threatened to turn into a snigger. He silenced himself with a fierce press of his lips, and his voice was even when he eventually commented, “That is the most insightful thing you’ve ever said, darling. Have I finally managed to knock some sense into you?”

Sebastian was uncharacteristically well behaved, but only because he was too out of it and focused on food to bother with a cheeky response.

Jim felt a wave of exasperation as Sebastian snatched impatiently for the spoon and unsurprisingly made a mockery of Jim’s rules about eating in bed for the second time. It certainly wasn’t just Sebastian’s good looks (or even how prettily he took what Jim gave him) that kept the man alive after such bad behaviour.

Despite all of that, Jim moved at once to support Sebastian’s efforts. This was not merely to save his bedding any further indignities, but instead to protect Seb’s pride. Jim did regularly belittle all of his staff, but there was a difference between team members seeing someone get the brunt of Jim’s sour temper, and being so overwrought motor functions as simple as feeding oneself had become impaired.

Jim felt a further wave of aggravation as Seb chose to look by him at the others rather than at the food Jim was trying to get into Sebastian’s starving system. “Will you pay attention?” Jim snapped with less bite than usual.

Sebastian’s gaze snapped back to Jim, and then the soup. Jim let him take a few mouthfuls before leaning close and murmuring in a range only Seb’s sensitive ears could hear, “Don’t think you’re getting away with soiling my bedding, trouble. You can count yourself lucky I’m not throwing you across Daddy’s knees with an audience. You are in for a reckoning tomorrow, pet.”

Jim twisted to raise a brow at Mrs Caruso and Tom.

“You can see he’s alive and I can assure you he still has all the same appendages and teeth he was in possession of yesterday. I think we’re done here.”

“There’s a rifle amongst the war zone masquerading as a hallway,” Mrs Caruso countered.

Jim scoffed and fed Sebastian a few more spoonfuls. “It’s a dart gun; a proper rifle might rebound in that space. Funnily enough the chief here is bored stiff of bed rest and we’ve been doing our best to keep his living situation enriched. I’m not hunting him in my hallways.”

Sebastian stopped eating.

Jim gave him a look. “Don’t force me to use aeroplane noises, tiger.”

~

The soup tasted like manna from heaven, and the soft but playful threat Jim murmured into his ear while feeding him, regarding what tomorrow would bring, was almost as good. Sebastian hoped he’d be well enough and capable to fully savour it, it would be a shame if not… Although Jim’s insinuation of an audience never failed to raise Sebastian’s hackles. Just that today he didn’t have the energy even for that.

And as delicious and reviving as Mrs. Caruso’s soup was, her mention of a rifle hooked itself into Sebastian’s sluggish brain mid-swallow, and he gawped at her. Jim’s explanation was clearly a lie – although Sebastian’s living situation had become quite enriched lately, shooting a dart gun inside the house had not been among the amusements.

Speaking of amusement – “I would very much like to see that,” he mumbled between two spoonfuls of soup. Jim making aeroplane noises. Or maybe not. In terms of dignity this was already the next worst thing to being fed with a beaker cup.

Tom had moved a chair close to the bed and set down the tray with the rest of the food, yet still he and Mrs Caruso seemed to have a hard time to pry their eyes away from the fascinating scene and leave. Until Jim gave them a threatening look and they did.

Sebastian was feeling a bit less shaky already, but his hunger only woke up more, clawing at his insides with a vengeance. If he’d been confident he’d be able to snatch the soup bowl out of Jim’s hand and drink the contents without creating an even bigger mess, he would have done so.

As it was, he kept eating what Jim fed him, his eyes glued to the spoon.

“Since when,” he started, when his blood sugar crept back towards normal, “do we even have a dart gun?” But then it dawned on him. “Tranq gun?” It seemed a sensible precaution to make, expecting a tiger in the house. “Did it work?” Sebastian sounded curious, and not offended at all.

~

Jim allowed himself a brief moment to drink in Sebastian’s conflicted expression. Seb would welcome a reckoning if he was well enough, the perfect slut, but he certainly would’ve been blushing prettily if he’d been less exhausted.

Jim blinked slowly at Sebastian’s surprised reaction to there being a gun in the hallway. Evidently Seb had been too out of it to notice. Perhaps Sebastian would have missed the gravity of the situation Jim had been in earlier too.

Jim gave Sebastian a droll look as the man told him he would like the accompaniment of aeroplane noises to his spoonfuls. Jim’s lips cracked into a jagged little smile when Sebastian’s expression suggested that upon consideration, the man had sensibly changed his mind.

Having won that round, Jim turned a warning glare on his other employees. They finally decided to remember who was in charge and Mrs Caruso reluctantly left, ‘Thomas’ in tow.

The colour had come back to Sebastian’s thin cheeks a little, poking out from beneath the pale stubble. The food seemed to be helping.

Seb’s brain seemed to be coming online along with his body, as when the others left he not only queried the gun which had upset Caruso, but cottoned on to its true nature.

“Of course it worked,” Jim said scathingly, and silenced Sebastian with another spoonful of soup. “You woke up snuggling me, not with me slicing my way out of your insides, didn’t you?”

Jim smirked. “Perhaps next month.”

Sebastian’s mouth dropped open and Jim took back the spoon. He tapped Seb’s nose with it tauntingly then refilled the utensil. “Perhaps I should invest in a ringmaster’s whip? I’m certain I could housetrain both your forms much better that way.”

Jim considered the man before him. And what he himself was doing, the intimacy of it and the only partially resentful tenderness of feeding Moran when the man couldn’t feed himself.

There would be time to be rough later. They’d need to test Sebastian’s new healing abilities, wouldn’t they?
“It’s been a long time since I’ve given a Florentine whipping,” Jim mused. “Can’t have a tiger without stripes, can I?”

~

Sebastian’s attention started to shift from the spoon to the close-up of Jim’s face and the little things going on there… a flicker of mischief in his eyes, a hint of fatigue… a small twitch of his brows, the little furrow between them that spoke of concentration but also of a myriad of other things going on behind them – there always was. Sometimes Sebastian was vexed by this, most often awed, and sometimes, like now, simply grateful. Because probably everyone else would have botched tranquilising a creature they’d never seen before, and erred in either direction, which would have been detrimental. Of course Jim could have simply chosen the sensible option, the panic room, but then Sebastian remembered that Jim hadn’t wanted to miss the most fascinating experience ever, and who was he to argue with that?

He grimaced a bit when Jim pointed out blithely how that might have gone. Sebastian snorted softly. “I’ll take extra care chewing properly then,” before it hit him what else Jim had said. ‘Next month.’

This truly, really, properly sunk in now. Next month.

This was going to happen again, and again … And again.

The rosy tint in Sebastian’s cheeks wavered. “Christ,” he murmured rather tonelessly, feeling a bit sick. And how could he not? Basically they now had proof that he’d been taken over by something that put him, them, through this every four weeks. Turned him into something he had no control over. Some savage part that was severed from him, and his conscious brain could not get in touch with. Or could it? He paused, as though listening, but for the moment, whatever was there had gone completely quiet. Utterly exhausted as well maybe.

Something Jim fantasised about taming with a ringmaster’s whip? Sebastian gave Jim a sidelong glance, his tongue dabbing a drop of soup from his lower lip. Jim kept him from slipping into distress by the most irresistible distractions.

“A Florentine … ?” Everything Florentine he knew were things you could eat. All delicious. But -
“I take it you don’t mean,” Sebastian asked, affecting casualness, “tenderising a steak for consumption?” Or maybe Jim did. In a way…

He definitely had a knack for nudging Sebastian's recovery process into the right direction. The emergency state of keeping vital organs functioning seemed to ease into a stage where circulation tentatively ventured further.

Sebastian focused diligently on swallowing the soup that was spooned into his mouth. The bowl was almost empty, and he started to feel quite up to more solid sustenance.

~

If Sebastian had been less fragile Jim would certainly have swatted the blond for his cute quip about chewing Jim up properly. If it had been anyone else perhaps Jim would have upended the bowl over the offending person’s skull with significantly more force than Mr Belvedere ever used with those porridge bowls. Of course, there was no one else in the fucking world Jim would be hand-feeding in his bed in the first place. Jim could barely believe he was doing it at all, but perhaps even caretaking was a form of control, and he’d always liked when strong men were helpless before him.

Although when Sebastian paled again at the notion his stripey problem was cyclical and potentially inescapable, Jim didn’t feel a flutter of pleasure. He felt somewhat unpleasant instead, and moved closer to Sebastian without first thinking about it or its consequences.

Jim teased Seb a little, not knowing what else to do, and felt a wave of fondness and relief when Sebastian allowed himself to be distracted. And oh, he didn’t know what a Florentine whipping was. Heat surged low within Jim at that, because that likely meant Seb had never experienced it before, and the possessive part of Jim thoroughly appreciated the opportunity to be Sebastian’s first experience of it. And his only, because Jim would not be sharing something so delicious.

Jim found himself chuckling warmly as Seb managed to both flirt and think about food at the same time.
“Whipping a steak sounds almost as unsatisfying as whipping the sea,” Jim teased accusingly, not having forgotten Seb’s little comment about a certain Roman.

Jim let his gaze grow heated. “The tenderising part, however, has merits,” he drawled. The colour had returned to Sebastian’s cheeks as Jim spoke. It was fetching indeed.

“You know I don’t do things by halves, Sebby,” Jim added. “Double-wielding means you not only wouldn’t know when or where I was going to strike next, but where the blow was going to come from. All you would be able to anticipate would be the pain, and you would be entirely at my mercy, where you belong.”

Jim’s eyes sparkled at the way Sebastian was hanging off his every purred word.

“Don’t excite yourself,” Jim scolded with a wide and playfully cruel smile. “You are in no fit state for games. You’re not even strong enough yet for me to make good on my promise to fuck you face down into the mattress now that your chest is much better. You are certainly too delicate for a good lashing.”

Jim feigned a tisk, eyes still glittering. “Some big, brave brute of a bodyguard you are, pet. Weak as a kitten, look at you. I could do anything to you and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

Sebastian might have looked momentarily chagrined, but his expression heated at the timbre of Jim’s voice.
Jim stared back wickedly for a beat, building suspense, then sat a little less close. He winked, indicating the bowl and the leftovers. “You’ll have to eat up to get your strength back, precious. It is entirely no fun abusing you if you can’t fight back even a little.”

Jim’s gaze burned into Sebastian. “Much more fun to make you submit because we know you want to, and not simply because you have no choice, don’t you agree?”

~

Sebastian agreed, with a low, almost chuffing noise.

The fascinated, playful, hungry gleam in Jim’s eyes, his velvet sandpaper voice when plying Sebastian with spellbinding descriptions and promises never failed to enthral him, not even now, in the sorry state he was in. But he must have been definitely out of the woods, because his body gradually recovered the reserves to deploy blood to places of his periphery that were not exactly vital. Was it fucked up to feel your cock stir while your hands were too weak to hold a bloody spoon? Maybe. Sebastian didn’t really care. Having turned into a supernatural beast and back quite put ’fucked up’ into perspective.

What happened, and would keep happening, was still almost too enormous to even start processing it. And the worst of it was that it seemed that his transformed self apparently would not really hesitate to harm Jim. That really shook Sebastian to the core. While Jim’s unique brand of flirting and Mrs. Caruso’s soup (and the fact that Jim was patiently spoon-feeding it to him) warmed Sebastian’s insides, he remembered how furious and outraged Jim had been, before, when Sebastian desperately had tried to get him to acknowledge that this might happen. And now…

When Jim tilted the bowl to gather the last dregs of the soup, Sebastian’s eyes searched his face.

“You are not going to… send me away because I … tried to eat you?” The fact that it wasn’t his fault if his conscious self had no influence on what the tiger did might be a rational assumption, but rational was not exactly Jim Moriarty’s middle name.

Sebastian realised that Jim sending him away being his biggest fear, rather than Jim putting a silver bullet between his eyes ,should probably disturb him. It didn’t. Not much anyway. Disturbing had been put into perspective by last night too, along with a number of other things.

“We really need to take precautions the next time,” he implored Jim. “I will go into one of the panic rooms. You could… have a peephole installed into the door and watch.” Yes, he’d forever treasure the fact he’d provided Jim with the most fascinating experience in his life, and a smile curled the corners of his mouth. But – the matter was serious!

When Jim put the empty bowl aside and the tray with the mouthwatering collection of leftovers between them, Sebastian discovered he could hold a fork and eat by himself. Even though he had to concentrate to take it slowly and yes - chew properly.

“Won’t you have something as well?” he asked softly. There was a second set of cutlery. There was also enough food - if Jim didn’t wait too long that was. Lasagne, meatballs in tomato sauce, grilled chicken with mushrooms, juicy sausages and two thick, almost rare Florentine steaks. Sebastian grinned.

~

Sebastian’s agreement sounded a bit more animalistic than usual, but Jim didn’t feel threatened. The big blond seemed perfectly human with the delicious flush from his chest to cheeks and interest stirring between them. That’d be another stain on the sheets soon.

Jim wondered whether Sebastian was really rested enough for flirting, but it felt familiar and normal in a way that feeding Seb certainly didn’t.

Sebastian grew distracted, not by their purred conversation but from it, and that didn’t feel normal at all.
Seb looked concerned again. Perhaps the martyr complex was to be expected when a man was named for a saint.

Perhaps Jim should fuck him into the mattress sooner rather than later to keep Sebastian’s tortured little mind occupied. The kindness would be far from a hardship.

Jim shifted his grip on the bowl to ensure Sebastian got the benefit of every last drop. The blond looked at him oddly, warily, and his brave, thin voice hurt something within Jim he hadn’t realised existed.

“Why would I do that?” Jim said flatly. “A feral tiger has limited applications, and you won’t learn anything away from me. Obviously I am going to have to tame my monthly houseguest.”

Precautions next time? Well yes of course, now Jim knew what to expect. Peeping on a caged tiger sounded woefully boring however.

“Sebastian,” Jim said firmly, “if I wanted you to worry I’d have agreed with you that there were risks that when transformed you wouldn’t recognise your Daddy and attempt to misbehave terribly. As you can see, we are both safe and well. Thinking is my occupation, and you’re wasted fretting.” Jim softened his tone. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to let you eat me?”

Sebastian swallowed. The fact that he easily could have eaten Jim was hardly relevant but hung between them all the same.

“We’re fine and safe and well,” Jim repeated sternly. He forced the last of the soup between Seb’s worried lips.

Despite Sebastian’s naked concern, the soup did seem to have helped him recover somewhat. Jim pulled the more solid food options closer and Seb was well enough to ask Jim to eat. Jim wrinkled his nose, in no mood for food, his brain was too wrung out, but Sebastian smiled at the Florentine steaks and Jim felt something in his chest that was going to get him badly hurt one of these days.

Jim moved to Sebastian’s side and tried to remember how long he had to wait before he was allowed to sleep after a possible concussion. But he’d already passed out, right?

The prospect of being looked over did not appeal to Jim, but he wanted Sebastian looked over today anyway. Just to make sure he was still okay. It was unclear if his body would still appear normal by human standards but Jim was less curious about that than he might have been. Probably his brain had decided he had quite enough to think on already.

Jim snatched up a shred of chicken and picked at it to fend off nagging from his bodyguard and chief of staff and fucking were tiger. Sebastian seemed wholly unimpressed by Jim pulling apart the strands of chicken breast rather than eating it, but the mountain of food was clearly calling his name.

Jim blinked, looking up to notice Seb had paused and was staring expectingly. Jim rolled his eyes and popped part of the chicken in his mouth, then the rest as Seb continued to stare.

Sebastian gave a small nod and returned his attention to ransacking the food containers. Jim felt sheepish about the tiny wave of pleasure Sebastian’s approval gave him, and flopped down on his side in a sulk. One leg remained pressed against Seb’s although there was a duvet between them, and Jim did not pull away.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Jim muttered. He felt a light poke in his side and then another bit of chicken appeared in his line of sight, even whilst he could audibly hear Seb tearing into the defenceless steak.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jim mumbled, but he sat up on his elbows and snapped at the chicken, nipping at Seb’s fingers slightly to hide that it wasn’t irritation he felt.

~

Jim quite enjoyed to allude to Sebastian’s limited intellect, but after all, compared to Jim (almost) everyone was an imbecile. So the little jabs only mildly insulted Sebastian, sometimes not at all. Like today. In the face of the overwhelming events, their impact and all the still unfathomable consequences, Sebastian was thankful for the flat-out order to stop worrying. He wasn’t sure whether he would be able follow it completely, but the fact that Jim was the brains in this operation (as in any) was simply irrefutable. After having been told twice, and in a reassuring and untypically quiet manner, Sebastian gradually relaxed. He even smiled at Jim’s aspiration to tame his cyclical house guest.

“That shall be fun,” Sebastian mumbled after swallowing a mouthful of soup. “Such a shame I don’t seem to be able to remember.” What he had done and what had happened to him while in his other skin, or anything at all that had gone on. “Maybe I … could learn,” he mused. Of course he had no idea if such a thing was possible, whether the transition would become less chaotic. Less painful maybe – with a prickly shiver down his spine he did remember that: it had been excruciating. Worse than anything he’d ever experienced, and that was saying a lot. But he was a physical creature, as Jim loved to point out – his body was quick to learn. And to recover. Maybe now even quicker. Weres did have enhanced healing abilities, right? The pale scars of what had been all sorts of injuries just a few hours ago seemed to prove that.

So maybe his mind could adjust as well. There were people who learned to wire their subconscious into remembering, even influencing lucid dreams… He should look into that mechanism.

He realised that while still exhausted, he did feel less weak, and overall better already. Probably not all of that could be attributed to Mrs Caruso’s soup, wonderful as it was.

Jim on the other hand looked more tired by the minute and Sebastian started to patiently and gently coax him into eating something too.

After a few bites of chicken it was thin slivers of succulent steak he dangled in front of Jim’s nose. He also noted the man was not entirely immune to approval. Or simply too tired to argue, if not to grumble. Having recovered the use of his muscles, especially the ones involved in wolfing down food, the overwhelming share of it still ended up in Sebastian of course. He still felt sore, and increasingly sleepy, but also more at peace than he had in weeks. No itches and roiling aggression, no restlessness, no clawing and scratching inside his skull. Together with Jim resting equally peaceful and close to him, it was bliss.

“I don’t think I will be needing anything for a while,” he reassured Jim. Indeed he discovered he had enough strength back to set down the tray beside the bed when every plate and container was empty. “But thank you.” With a deep sigh of contentment he settled back down. Then he tugged enough of the duvet free to inconspicuously pull one side of it across Jim as well.

“Let’s sleep a bit?” he suggested. The two envoys from next door would undoubtedly tell the day shift that everything was – reasonably – alright over here.
~

Somehow, fun wasn’t the word Jim had in mind for taming the beast that had been intent upon eating him. He was also glad Sebastian had no memory of how stupid Jim had been.

Seb learning to be more lucid during transformations had its merits however - the most significant being that human Seb was less inclined than the tiger variety to eat Jim.

Sebastian grew quiet and Jim shifted a little to look at him. Ordinarily Seb’s silence was golden but recently it meant Sebastian was fretting or feeling poorly or needed to get some sleep.

Sebastian’s expression did not seem a cause for concern exactly. He still looked somewhat weak and sore and worried, but he also looked contented by the food and the uncharacteristically careful handling. That could cause its own problems. It had a clear expiry date however, everything planned to go back to normal tomorrow, so there ought to be a limited amount of harm able to spring up from such a time frame. Surely next month Jim could be more blasé about Seb’s wellbeing after a transformation - they’d both survived this one after all.

Sebastian worked his way through the mountain of food, pausing now and again to hand some tasty scrap to Jim. Surely this was the wrong order of things, but although Jim groused in response, he also gave in and ate without much fuss. He must be too tired after everything to even bark at or intimidate the man in his bed, but that was fine, because Sebastian might be brightening after food but he still wasn’t recovered enough to take advantage.

Jim observed Sebastian tiredly, the food containers emptying rapidly, and Seb calmly knocked back Jim’s offer to help with other things if needed. Sebastian even said thank you, so the food must have been very medicinal indeed.

It was wonderful to see Sebastian content again, even if the realisation of that twisted something in Jim’s gut.

Thankfully Seb seemed blind to Jim’s embarrassment and discomfort. He finally stopped eating (possibly because he’d ran out of containers) and surreptitiously adjusted the duvet. Sebastian was well practised in attempting to make his caretaking as inoffensive as possible, but it still made Jim stiffen a little. Seb had been through hell and back if the screaming had been any sort of indication, and he didn’t even have his memories, which must feel alarming, but he still prioritised Jim’s comfort.

So he should. His main concern at all times ought to be Jim and Jim’s wellbeing.

None of Sebastian’s predecessors had been quite so tender about it though, and that left Jim feeling the raw kind of tender.

Let’s sleep a bit?

Jim wondered whether to hate himself and rolled over to face Sebastian. “C’mere,” he said gruffly, and avoided Seb’s gaze as he manhandled the man. Jim pressed his chest against Sebastian’s broad back and buried his chin into the perfect space between Seb’s neck and shoulder.

“Don’t get used to this,” Jim warned sternly. “It’s only because you’ve had such a hell of a night.”

Sebastian was still, likely with shock, and Jim promised himself he’d be especially despotic tomorrow to make up for these trespasses.

Jim was silent, possessive fingers curling tightly around Seb’s hipbone. Despite all of the eating it still felt a fraction sharper than usual.

“Job well done on surviving,” Jim muttered into Sebastian’s warm skin.

~

“Likewise.” Closing his eyes, Sebastian smiled. “You’re right – probably no one but you could have pulled that off,” and after a little pause, he added softly “not without killing me anyway.” Probably they also had had a good bit of luck in all of this. But even while Jim forgoing the use of a panic had been pushing said luck – who was Sebastian to berate anyone for taking risks? Jim had been true to his word – he had taken care of him. There was no way of knowing what would have happened otherwise. At first it had been Jim’s presence as a delectable prey that had kept the tiger here. Then him dousing Sebastian with the PAVA Spray and knocking him out with a narcotic had accomplished the same thing too…

Sebastian didn’t want to dwell overly on how things would have gone if he had gotten out of the house and on a mindless rampage. To eventually shift back and wake up weak and wobbly and disorientated in some unfamiliar place, bis body literally on the brink of starving to death and shutting down. Especially since spending part of tiger time in a drugged slumber very likely had kept his reserves from being depleted much more seriously. If he would have gotten out, of course he might have caught himself a meal - probably someone from the team… or the dogs. Christ. Sebastian wasn’t sure which option made him more queasy.

Instead he savoured the way Jim had plastered himself against his back. Sebastian shifted a tiny bit to settle against him more snugly, if that was possible. He probably couldn’t provide as much body heat as usual, but Jim’s skin didn’t feel as cold as it sometimes did. Maybe just because the temperature difference was smaller today. Sebastian smiled when he thought how Jim’s breath against his neck and Jim’s hand on his hip bone were usually ingredients of much less gentle scenarios than this. This was so sweet and cosy that he suspected it to be the reason why Jim manoeuvred him into this position -

Sebastian was not to look at him, nor should be get used to it and or get ideas. Of course he would also not breathe a word about big and little spoons, ever.

Sebastian adjusted the duvet and his hand came to rest on Jim’s, very relaxed, but to prevent Jim from pulling away.

He heaved a sigh – sleepy, safe.

Great bodyguard he was! And he would never breathe a word about that either. You did not feel safe with Jim Moriarty, ever. And yet, Sebastian did. For the time being.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Tigris Domesticus