Recovery
Jim woke pressed against a strong back, his face nestled against a throat and Sebastian’s scent in his nostrils. Had he passed out inside the blond?
Dimly, Jim registered that he was snuggled between Sebastian’s cheeks and still rocking sleepily. A large hand was covering his own sore one on Sebastian’s hipbone.
It didn’t smell like they’d had sex. If anything Jim had been woken from a bone-deep sleep that had been born of a hunger so vivid his imagination had conjured the scent of food into the air beyond Seb.
Jim’s skull throbbed distantly and he couldn’t quite remember why. He shifted, intent on sending Sebastian to the kitchen or at least to fetch a phone to order food, then Jim noticed an absence of bandages on the man.
Jim sat up abruptly, forsaking Seb’s callipygian appeal in favour of scrutinising the man’s chest. Which was unbandaged and healed.
Seb was awake too, blinking up at Jim for the sudden manhandling, and with a start Jim finally remembered everything that had happened, not least the destruction of the kitchen. A sliver of incredulity flared and then dissolved into steady acceptance that Sebastian had transformed into a tiger and tried to eat him, and not in the acceptable way.
And Jim had let it happen. He’d made so many ridiculous blunders, because where Moran was concerned, Jim’s good sense dwindled.
Jim looked away, uncertain what to say to the man pinned beneath him quite comfortably. Jim’s gaze fell on containers of food at their side. Containers that were not empty.
Jim felt a sudden, chilling tension within his frame. Fury and humiliation made sudden battle within him and Jim turned with a hot glare to Sebastian, who had fresh crumbs on his lips. Seb paled at the look Jim directed at him, but there was enough redness left in his frankly captivating lips to suggest he’d been eating in Jim’s bed again until recently.
“Moran,” Jim growled. The blond looked surprised and a bit displeased by the use of his last name and Jim felt another twist of angry embarrassment at the possibility that Sebastian had already gotten used to the recent mollycoddling.
Jim snatched up Seb’s stubbled jaw to emphasise that whether Sebastian was fully recovered or not, the holiday was over.
“Please give me a reason for the replenishment of sustenance that does not include your letting someone into my bedroom whilst I was-” out cold, spooning you like an enormous fairground teddybear and grinding in my sleep “-blatantly indisposed.”
~
Sebastian exhaled with a bereft little sigh when Jim stirred - more distinctly than before – and removed his warm, pleasant weight. Along with the firm and very agreeable evidence of how appealing he found Sebastian’s sleepy form beneath him. Alas, snuggly times were over, apparently, and quite abruptly.
“I reckon, someone … has come in and replaced the tray,” Sebastian meandered about the obvious. “Seems we must both have been very fast asleep,” he added sheepishly. Well, that was only half true. His eyes had opened when Tom had tiptoed in after a quiet knock and set down more food. Sebastian’s eyes had closed again and if Tom was as smart as … well as he actually was, a selective amnesia would befall him, erasing any images from inside this room. As for Sebastian, he would not put anyone in jeopardy by divulging a name.
Jim’s voice was as edgy as his grip on Sebastian’s jaw. Sebastian blinked, impersonating someone much more sickly and ailing than he actually felt. But there was no way to surreptitiously remove the flaky crumbs from his lips, and even less so from his pillow. Seriously, Jim could really cut him some slack – it was a bitch trying to eat croissants moving nothing apart from one hand and your jaw.
~
Jim sat back, straddling Sebastian and frankly furious. His scabbed fingers left blotches on Sebastian’s released jaw, which faded slowly.
“Someone snuck unseen and unheard into the room I’m sharing with my bodyguard and his supernatural senses, did they?” Jim snarled, not believing Seb one bit. “Am I supposed to believe ‘magic’ is the answer to everything now, or are you simply fucking useless?”
Jim swiped at Moran hard enough to express his displeasure but not inflict any real damage. The man had tried to look inoffensive and poorly still, but if Moran was well enough to be causing mischief, lying about it to Jim’s face, and getting fucking pastry crumbs on the already dirty bedding, the blond was well enough to feel the sting of Jim’s bare hand.
“Now you listen here,” Jim said coldly. “I am not in the habit of getting friendly, but it’s not every day your man turns into a tiger. It shouldn’t need said that any uncharacteristic leniency or familiarity I show you in private is meant to stay private.”
Jim reached for a croissant of his own and picked at it. He needed to occupy his hands to prevent them latching overly tightly around Seb’s throat.
Pastry flaked in every direction, but given that there was already a path of crumbs connecting the food containers to the side of the bed Sebastian had desecrated, that hardly seemed to matter.
“I’d much rather wipe out everyone next door - both teams, if necessary - and everyone they might have interacted with today, than deal with the fallout later,” Jim said starkly. He bit harshly into his croissant and regarded Sebastian, who had the look of a man whose tyrant was being particularly unreasonable and bloody.
Jim stared back coolly. “There’s always the option to make an example of you, should I need to remind anyone that I don’t bond with my pets.”
Jim shoved the last of the croissant into his mouth and chewed belligerently, so this could not be considered a rash decision born of low blood sugar.
“It should be clear even to you why I keep my personnel at arm’s length and ideally in another building,” Jim said grimly. “Ignore the fact that the staff are hand-picked. Rumours are nasty, dangerous things. I make my living off of them. I won’t have them turning around and biting me. It’s bad enough I fed you in front of an audience, like you’re not as disposable as everyone else, but I fucking lowered my guard near you to make you feel better - and your response is to let me be seen in a compromising and vulnerable position when your entire fucking purpose is to keep me safe!”
Jim knuckled his tight face in favour of punching the oaf. “You’re not this stupid, Moran. The team aren’t our friends - they’re liabilities, every one of them. They might have the sense not to gossip about serious things, but nearly everyone can be made to talk. There’s a world of difference between enemies knowing I take my pick of the staff when I choose to, and them ever hearing there’s someone in my life I cuddle when he’s poorly.”
Jim hit Seb then, not nearly as hard as he ought to have, but Jim was pretty certain it was himself he was most upset with anyway. It wasn’t Moran’s job to think things through, and he was hardly going to turn down being spooned to sleep by Jim Moriarty, was he?
“I don’t have family; I don’t have friends; I don’t have embarrassing secrets,” Jim said flatly. “I am untouchable, and fully intend to stay that way. If you make yourself a pressure point I’ll remove you in the worst ways I can.”
Jim stood and slapped at Sebastian’s legs. “Get up and fix the sheets. I don’t care if you sleep here the rest of the day but I fucking warned you about eating in my bed.”
~
It was like a switch had been flipped, so abruptly that Sebastian wondered briefly whether he had hallucinated before he’d fallen asleep. But no, Jim had referred to the detestable mollycoddling himself…
Sebastian opened his mouth to point out that it was a bit irrational to berate a man who just a few hours ago had been too weak to even hold a spoon, for not physically barring the door! And that he hadn't asked to be fed or cuddled (although it had been nice, and at least the first might have very well saved his life).
But then he didn’t say any of it, because pointing out to the little maniac that he was being irrational or unfair would accomplish nothing but making him more irrational and unfair. And furious. Jim was incensed enough as it was.
So Sebastian let the rant wash over him, watching how Jim's fingers picked and pulled apart a hapless croissant, before he eventually buried his teeth in it to rip off a chunk.
Sebastian had to admit – from his chief of security point of view – that Jim had a point. The Empire was built as much upon Jim's frightening and forbidding reputation as on his genius.
And it was probably not the time and place to challenge that strategy when it came to your staff. There were a lot of fine examples in the history of tyrants and despots how that tended to end. If people felt more fear than loyalty they were bound to not merely turn on you and bite, but eventually they brought a knife.
The blow from Jim almost caught Sebastian unawares, but luckily it wasn't vicious enough to re-crack his magically healed jaw. He grimaced, but then... what Jim said next struck him much more painfully.
’I don’t have family; I don’t have friends; I don’t have embarrassing secrets…’
It made something inside Sebastian twinge, and for various reasons – none of which Jim must ever see. You did not pity Jim Moriarty. But … if that wasn’t loneliness in a nutshell, Sebastian didn’t know what was. And for Jim ... it seemed prerequisite and the essence of who he was. Had chosen to be. Had decided he must be.
Still - despite some valid reasoning, the diatribe still seemed vastly out of proportion to what had happened.
“Well, then why do you make it an ‘embarrassing secret’?” Sebastian replied just as flatly.
Jim had no problem with the workforce knowing he fucked their chief, and was also okay with them witnessing him taking care of his plaything to ensure his recovery - because that’s what it must have looked like – so The Cuddling could have just been him taking advantage of Sebastian’s merits as an electric blanket?
“And I’m sure my screaming last night had them think you already were about to remove me in the worst possible way," he muttered, while Jim finally slid off his chest and got up.
When Jim slapped his legs Sebastian rolled out of bed as well. It was a nice and pleasant discovery that he wasn’t wobbly any more, nor very sore. In order to keep it that way for a while, Sebastian moved to the other side of the bed, removing and adroitly gathering the sheets before he added: “Rumours can’t touch the untouchable.” While they were a useful tool and could also be a danger, they became quite blunt in both regards if never proven true. Otherwise Sebastian’s job would not entail making very grisly examples out of people who’d crossed Jim Moriarty.
“And rumoured pressure points are no pressure points,” he shrugged, “unless they …” he trailed off, swallowing… ‘unless they were real’.
Oh. Fuck.
His mind reeled, wishing for a way turn time back a few seconds and keep shtum.
The next best thing to do seemed to escape to the balcony to shake out the crumb-filled sheets.
~
Jim did not appreciate Moran’s tone - his own tone, thrown back at him - and Jim appreciated even less the man’s words: why do you make it an embarrassing secret?
The fact that Jim couldn’t seem to stop himself doing embarrassing, uncharacteristic and downright risky things with Seb was not one he wanted to examine, and certainly not out loud! It was fucking obvious, wasn’t it? Jim answered with a resentful glare, because admitting anything more than he already had would only make things worse.
Jim turned and paced a little; his expression was tight with naked agitation. He paused as Sebastian pointed out the noises from the blond’s painful transformation probably meant Jim had been playing roughly with someone he was content to kill. Jim breathed a little more freely. It was wrong, entirely wrong, but it could work in their favour. Clever Sebastian.
Why hadn’t Jim thought of that? He usually thought of everything. Was he so blinded by catastrophizing that he was developing blind spots? Or was this all a type of unravelling, a loss of control that would ultimately lead to his doom?
Jim was jostled from his thoughts by Sebastian standing, implausibly steady on his legs after how weak he had been before. Jim felt a surge of something pleasant that might have been pride or relief.
Seb went about stripping the bed efficiently and Jim wasn’t sure if the man’s words were meant to protect Seb’s wellbeing or Jim’s feelings. Jim chewed his lip, standing uncertainty at Seb’s back.
Then Sebastian’s words got Jim into trouble as they skirted what it was best not to admit directly. Jim’s mouth was dry, scathing words stalling on his tongue, but Sebastian rescued the situation by realising his mistake and fleeing outside.
Jim swallowed, feeling cold and shaky. His racing pulse hurt his head and he stalked into the bathroom for a brisk wash before slicking his hair back. Trying to feel more like himself. He observed his injuries apathetically as he did so. The smaller wounds appeared to be healing.
Jim dressed properly, in a full suit and the everyday weapons he’d been so lax with recently. Grabbing his phone and checking it for the identity of the interloper, Jim left for next door without a word to Sebastian.
The shift had changed, so Tom was in bed sleeping. Jim slammed the bedroom door to indicate his presence and Tom startled, sitting up in a faded band teeshirt as he took the safety off of the gun under his pillow.
Tom put the gun down upon recognising Jim, but he paled.
“My office,” Jim said shortly.
Tom put the safety back on and left the gun on the bed. After swiftly yanking loose jeans over his tattooed legs, he followed.
Jim didn’t use the office here much, preferring his own space, so there was a particularly cold and austere atmosphere. Jim switched on the kettle, poured some salt into a small but deep dish, and indicated a chair.
Tom sat warily.
“Nothing personal,” Jim said as he pulled out a box. Tom inclined his head.
The kettle seemed loud as it announced its task complete in the quiet room. Jim added boiling water to the salt and left the dish within reach of the sink generally used for the removal of blood.
Jim opened the box, unwrapped a fresh blade, and screwed it into a high quality craft knife. Tom stayed very still. The salt water suggested he’d survive whatever was about to happen, but sensible men gave Jim no reason to change his mind about that.
Jim straddled Tom almost casually. “You might want to hold your hands behind your back for this.”
Tom’s hands immediately moved to the back of the chair. He encircled each of his own wrists in his long fingers.
Jim tugged at Tom’s lip. The blade was ineffective for tongue removal, but perfectly suited to carving cursive letters into Tom’s flesh. Upside down and back to front, so they would be visible to Tom before a mirror, Jim worked SHHH into Tom’s flesh. Blood welled over, making it difficult to see, and dripped into shining patches on Tom’s off-black teeshirt. Jim persevered.
Tom’s body was tense and his brow furrowed, but he didn’t squirm once. His face had a number of scars already from youthful piercings, and his chest had some of the most dramatic scarification Jim had ever seen. Which Jim appreciated, a significant commitment to aesthetics.
This warning would seem harsh if anyone heard of it, Jim carving into an employee’s face on a whim, but the reality was that Tom was made of stern stuff to make it into Jim’s inner circle. This probably only hurt about as much as the inking Tom had paid good money to have across his naval, so they both understood this to be a tokenistic slap on the wrist.
It had been a while since Jim had done anything like this. Moran had been a remarkably good buffer, keeping Jim’s worst moods apart from the other staff members’ flesh.
Once finished, Jim threw the wet blade in the direction of the waste bin.
“There’s cotton balls in the drawer by the sink,” he said. “Bleed on my floor and I’ll make you clean it up with your tongue.”
Tom risked a steady look in Jim’s eyes. There was more loyalty there than there ought to be, but he’d tolerated Jim’s moods for years and he genuinely liked the Chief of Staff. Tom didn’t need a warning to keep his mouth shut about whatever he’d witnessed, but he understood why he’d gotten one.
Jim moved to pull away.
~
Unless they…
Jim had not objected. Neither had he gone ballistic, maybe due to Sebastian prudently keeping out of his way. Instead he seemed genuinely yet quietly upset, a combination that with him was exceedingly rare. So … did that mean Sebastian’s offhand conclusion had been inadvertently … spot on? The possibility surged through him with a heady rush that almost made him dizzy. Jim regarding him as a pressure point, one that made him furious and uncomfortable – that must mean Sebastian meant enough to him that it would give leverage to someone who knew.
Sebastian was aware that in his professional capacity he must view this as a bad and dangerous thing, and nothing that ought make him feel drunk with thrill and butterflies and a racing heartbeat. He sidled out to the balcony again when Jim emerged from the bathroom, impeccably groomed, face set in a way that didn’t make a secret of his mood. Sebastian busied himself with ridding the pillows and duvets of every tiny last crumb by airing them over the balustrade. From where twenty seconds later he could see Jim march across the lawn towards their headquarters, every inch the forbidding principal, in what Sebastian had come to think of as his ‘executioner’s suit.’ Oh fuck. Poor Tom. Sebastian dashed back inside, hesitated between throwing on some clothes and following, and picking up his phone to plead for the culprit’s life. In the end he did neither, because any such intervention would only make matters worse. But he did not put it past Jim to punish Tom by killing him, and Sebastian by making him feel responsible for it.
The firm ground Sebastian had believed himself to be on in regard to the running the staff and the overall more stable atmosphere in that department suddenly felt like quicksand. He had meant to go back to bed for another bit of convalescence sleep, but now he couldn’t. So he went to take a shower – in his own bathroom, remembering the tempest he’d last caused by using Jim’s.
The landing outside looked like a scene of urban warfare, as did his room. Just that apparently it hadn’t been boots or bullets that had shredded the door, but horrific claws and teeth. It was a disturbing sight, especially when thinking that this had been… him... Well… some bloody supernatural alter ego of him.
Sebastian had paused, now he shook himself out of the daze. Brushing his fingertips over the splintered bones of the door there was the brief echo of a memory – of fury and frenzied sounds, of different colours... Or maybe this was just his mind… trying to remember. On bare feet he gingerly picked his way through the sharp debris on the floor and towards his bathroom. Under the shower and afterwards in front of the mirror he did a more thorough assessment of his injuries, or rather the dumbfounding lack thereof. His older scars, testimony of his life of war and violence, were still there, but they looked as though another decade had passed over them since last night. Of the horrific wounds of the tiger attack that had been so reluctant to heal – only faint scars remained. The more recent cuts – neck, palm, scrotum – faded down to traces that were barely visible. His cheekbone seemed as good as new. It was deeply uncanny, but also… thrilling.
When Sebastian, towel around his waist, passed the door on his way out, his fingers were again hypnotically drawn to the formidable, parallel grooves marring the remains of the door. Running them along the deep gouges of lighter colour, something stirred inside him with a flutter and he smiled.
From down the hall he heard the sound of the front door, and the smile faded.
Well, he hadn’t really expected Jim coming back covered in blood and with Tom’s tongue on a necklace, but he was still glad that’s not what he saw when the boss came into view. Which of course didn’t have to mean very much.
Jim looked up at him, face inscrutable this time.
“What have you done to him?” Sebastian asked quietly, but without beating around the bush either. “I don't have to put out a job advertisement, do I?”
~
Jim could feel Sebastian’s attention the moment he let himself into the bedroom, but Jim made no effort to immediately acknowledge him. The sheets were dealt with and Moran was dressed.
Jim’s head was full of questions and doubts. He should probably have killed Tom and Seb and his reluctance to do so was prickling under his skin.
Sebastian merely waited. He said nothing, but the question of Tom’s fate was thick in the air.
Jim finally looked at the blond.
What have you done to him? I don’t have to put out a job advertisement, do I?
Jim sighed and began removing his tie. Even with his tie clip holding it flush to his chest, he had still been pressed close enough to Tom to get blood on it. Discarding the soiled thing with faux nonchalance, Jim examined the rest of his clothing for stains and murmured, “What makes you think I’d leave that to you? David and Des are capable of sourcing staff between them.”
Jim hesitated, then hung his suit jacket up so he could take off his shirt. He’d washed his hands in his office after he’d sent Tom on his way with a mouth full of cotton wool, but some stray red speckles marred the fabric here and there.
Jim drifted towards his furniture and picked out a more casual shirt, which he pulled on before turning back towards Sebastian. Keeping his eyes on the buttons instead of the blond, Jim said, “Tom’s expected on duty next shift as usual. He’s got a sore face, but he’ll live.”
~
Of course Jim would torture him by delaying his answer. Sebastian didn’t just pick up the fine blood spatters on Jim’s clothes, hell... he could even smell them, filing away the fact that his sensory ‘enhancement‘ hadn’t disappeared. But somehow it didn’t irk him as much as it had done over the past weeks. Maybe he had gotten used to it, maybe it simply helped that they knew the cause now (bizarre as it was). He felt better and generally less … raw and irritated than before the change, and not like he was running a fever any more - as though something had been satisfied for the time being and less prone to drive him up the walls. But with a… cyclical condition, would it return as the next four weeks passed? That Sebastian didn’t look forward to – and even less to the horrible process of transformation - but it would probably be better to be prepared for both.
How far would Jim’s patience stretch if in all his plans he had to consider the fucking monthlies of his second in command from now on? Sebastian appreciated the leniency he’d been shown so far, but he could hardly expect this to continue… Not in the long run probably, Sebastian assumed, unless in Jim's eyes this strange affliction of his employee was good for something – be it fascinating entertainment or an increased usefulness in the field.
Sebastian’s lips thinned somewhat as Jim pointed out how Des and David were thoroughly capable of fulfilling a task that used to be inherently his own. If that was Jim's way of telling him that he was still on light duty, why did it feel like a sucker-punch? Because chances were high that it had been meant as one. Maybe the little prick felt he had to make up for giving the impression that Sebastian wasn’t as expendable as anyone else.
But Sebastian was also very much relieved when Jim eventually deigned to answer his question about Tom. If the lad was well enough to work, what had befallen him couldn’t be too bad.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Sebastian said succinctly. “Also that everything is going swimmingly without me,” he added a bit more sweetly than appropriate. “So I’ll tidy up my room and then recuperate.”
True to his word he got a broom and a bin and swiped up the mess of junk food wrappers – eating the leftovers while he was at it – and the debris from the destroyed door. Choosing to ignore the battlefield out on the landing, he flopped down onto his bed without taking his clothes off. He was still tired, and a nap would do nicely before he would go on search of another meal.
~
The vindictive part of Jim felt a twist of pleasure at Sebastian’s visible reaction to being told his seconds could manage his duties between them just dandily. There had been kinder and more diplomatic ways to tell Seb he was still on light duties - not least beginning with telling the man straight up that Tom wouldn’t need replaced - but Jim was not feeling amicable just then. He’d barely had time to register that he liked waking up with Seb like that, before he’d realised he must never do it again and should never have done so in the first place, so Sebastian would just have to accept Jim was a bit prickly today. If he hadn’t made a merry mockery of Jim’s rules, emotions, and life none of this would have happened in the first place.
Of course, Moran had other ideas about how to behave. Or not behave, even. His tone offended Jim so much that the Irishman decided not to argue that the blond prick shouldn’t be tidying up a tiger’s mess, even if that was not only far from the type of recuperation Jim had in mind for him, but would also prevent Sebastian being shielded from just how dangerous his transformation had been.
Jim grunted a surly acknowledgment and stalked off to his everyday office. He shouldn’t be wasting time or energy on Moran anyway; there were mountains of work waiting on Jim’s attention. He had dallied long enough pandering to his fucking pet.
Not that Jim could focus. As much as he tried to set his typically immovable will on conquering what lay before him, he… wasn’t… interested?
Solving (or causing) problems for other people was all very well, and generally Jim liked it well enough, thriving on challenges, but…
What could possibly be as interesting as living with a were tiger? How could Jim concentrate on the mundane everyday when he held a secret like this? Who else truly knew such creatures like this? What else was out there that he had dismissed as fantasy?
Jim found himself flicking back and forth between work-related windows and browser searches on every were-related thing he had read before, reading now with a new understanding and different questions.
At some point Jim noticed he wasn’t alternating topics anymore; he was far down a rabbit hole of lore and dubious first person accounts.
Jim pushed away from his desk in frustration and paced a little.
It occurred to him that he hadn’t heard Sebastian leave his room in all that time. Hadn’t he said he was going to take a nap?
Jim’s brows furrowed. He couldn’t hear any noises that suggested Seb was still at work, and even if he was, it was far too long for him to be doing anything physical after the weak state Sebastian was in previously.
Why hadn’t Sebastian gone back to Jim’s room? Had he been too tired? That wasn’t good.
Or… Had Seb not wanted to sleep in Jim’s superior bed? He couldn’t possibly be scared of Jim’s temper, could he? Jim had been upset, yes - was still upset, honestly - but he’d still been careful. Lenient even. Wasn’t that obvious? He’d hit Sebastian a little, but only with his open hand, and it wasn’t like Seb couldn’t take and even enjoy much rougher handling. And Tom! He’d seen Jim do something no one else in the world had and Jim had let him live. He hadn’t even broken any bones or left obvious mutilations or anything!
Wasn’t that good enough? Jim knew normal people would choose to avoid even his restrained temper, but Sebastian wasn’t normal, was he? He liked what Jim did to him, sometimes. He provoked it.
Jim picked up something expensive and threw it hard. Was he really fretting over whether someone was unhappy with him??
Fuck Moran. He could sleep where he liked. In fact, Jim could set him and his inferior bed on fire and the ungrateful prick could sleep forever!
Jim stopped pacing. Seb could be poorly though. He could be exhausted and weak and need care - need help - and here Jim was pretending to himself that he could truly harm the bane of his existence in any significant way.
Jim pushed over some furniture in a fit of pique and stormed off to check Sebastian was breathing. He had better not be!
…Wait.
Fuck!
~
Sebastian had fallen asleep. His dreams weren’t as feverish as they’d been lately, but very vivid nonetheless. His brain was scrambling to process things that by rights were… unprocessable, mashing together bizarre nonsense and real memories and fictitious ones and stuff he’d thought about or simply had imagined… Every now and then little tremors and twitches ran through his body.
Just like his sense of smell, Sebastian’s hearing hadn’t diminished either, let alone returned to the level of ordinary mortals, and the same went for perception of his surroundings while in a slumber. Of course, one of the hinges of the door being a bit creaky since its mutilation also contributed to him startling awake when Jim entered. He needed a few seconds of orientation, pushing himself up on one elbow. Attention was a default setting whenever Jim walked in on him. Sebastian tilted his head a bit. Jim was more casually dressed now, which for him still entailed a touch of formality. His face… Sebastian couldn’t quite read. As often, it was inscrutable, and yet he somehow seemed… agitated? Sebastian couldn’t quite put a finger on it how he came to that… impression.
“Is something wrong?” His voice was a bit thick from sleep, but although he had screamed his throat raw a few hours ago, it wasn’t scratchy any more. The lingering shock and confusion about what had happened to him… was happening to him – aside, he decided that miraculous healing abilities was something he could get used to just fine…
~
Jim gazed at Seb’s bedroom door. He hadn’t had much chance to see the damage earlier, far more intent on being some distance from the claws that had caused such destruction.
He pushed the door aside and the mistreated hinges protested loudly enough they’d likely have woken Sebastian even before his improved hearing ability.
Seb had done a decent job of clearing the mess. Jim was able to skirt the room unhindered, digesting the last time he had been here. He did not immediately reply when Moran had the gall to ask whether something was wrong.
A great sodding many things were wrong.
Jim regarded Sebastian silently. The oaf looked well enough now that it slightly surprised Jim. After facing a supernatural tiger and seeing that Sebastian’s wounds had healed, Seb’s swift recovery ought not be unsettling.
The blond was still gazing at Jim in wait of a response. Jim was glad Seb was breathing, but it made this more difficult.
“You tell me,” Jim replied at last, tone brittle.
He had the peculiar instinct to cross towards Seb, get onto the bed and touch the man. Absolutely not. If Moran didn’t want to be in Jim’s proximity, Jim was not going to try to persuade him.
Irritation hung around Jim almost tangibly. It was clear that Jim was not keeping his distance out of fear, but there was a slight air of confusion and perhaps hurt. Except it could not possibly be hurt. It must be frustration. Jim was certainly frustrated.
Seb was right to keep his distance. He was the one being sensible.
Since when had their terrible habit of being too familiar been Jim’s alone? Was… Sebastian trying to behave? To help?
Or… Was he sulking?
Surely if he was annoyed he could pick an argument? He’d gotten in the habit of that lately.
Not that Jim wanted the man to feel comfortable enough to air his grievances, but at least Jim would know one side of what was going on, instead of both being a mystery.
Jim didn’t understand his own feelings at all.
~
“Me?” How could he… “Why?” Sebastian rubbed the bridge of his nose, realising they were parroting questions back at each other, and tried to overcome his confusion. Jim’s question implied that he saw him as the complainant – so, something must have given him that impression. Sebastian hadn’t really done much at all since sailing out of Jim’s bedroom a while ago… could that be…
“Because I am here?” Sebastian asked as cautiously as he would pick his way through a minefield. But Jim neither exploded nor did he say a word, and wasn’t that very helpful.
“As opposed to - ” he moved one finger to vaguely point towards Jim’s quarters, “there?”
Well let’s recap, he thought with a prick of irritation, maybe he had reasons for that? When he’d woken up in Jim’s bed, it had earned him glares and a blow and a speech how he’d become an embarrassing secret i.e. a liability. The fact that Jim’s fury had been ignited mainly by a third party witnessing the scene might have been understandable, but it hadn’t made it sting any less. And yes, Sebastian could be childish as well.
He looked at Jim. This strange, lingering air of agitation was still there and different from the irritated scowl or flippant impatience Sebastian was much more familiar with. In fact, Jim almost seemed… - Sebastian’s brain baulked to even think ‘insecure‘, so bizarre was it in conjunction with Jim Moriarty. But it softened Sebastian’s mood and he gave a tiny shrug, almost apologetically.
“You didn’t seem comfortable with it, so … ” - he’d done the usual: heeded the signs in the way that seemed best. Of course the remark about basically anyone else being able to do his job had miffed him, but if Jim hadn’t meant it as a barb, there was no point in complaining about it. (If Jim had meant it, even less so.)
~
Sebastian hadn’t seemed to understand Jim’s question at first, but given the speed with which the blond caught up and grew frostier, Jim wasn’t convinced Seb simply hadn’t consciously been showing his displeasure. Jim was uncertain whether that was worse or not. It was bad enough knowing why some perceived rejection was jangling Jim’s nerves after the past month had been little other than Moran expressing dissatisfaction with one thing or another as his stripey malady had him exceptionally irritable.
Except… Sebastian had been out of sorts for the past month but earlier, curled into Jim, he had seemed… different. Soft and quiet and content, accommodating Jim’s sleepy embrace as though it felt like a natural thing.
Which it wasn’t.
And then Jim had shattered the rare peace by being reasonably unreasonable, reasserting boundaries and generally being abrasive because that was what was required. Jim spent his life fixing all manner of complications, and the mess he and Moran had gotten themselves seen getting into needed fixing sharpish. Jim had played over so many possibilities earlier debating whether he’d made a further mistake, but whether he was harsher or more lenient, all paths led to ruin.
Jim watched Sebastian closely, hoping for some clue to make sense of it all. And instead of giving a voice to his visible irritation, Seb inexplicably softened his tone instead.
You didn’t seem comfortable with it, so…
Jim spluttered, just for a moment.
“Now you listen here,” he growled without thinking. “I appreciate that the shifting boundaries recently can’t be easy on you, but if I’d dismissed you then you’d fucking know about it. I didn’t send you anywhere. You decided that you’d rather play maid and sleep here.”
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling. He snapped, “I didn’t go through everything to keep you at hand just to push you away, did I? Fine, I went a bit far and got caught out, and I know I can’t fucking afford mistakes, but I did and it’s dealt with! I’ll be more careful next month.”
Jim jutted his chin. He would be. It had just been… a lot, what had happened. Everyone was fallible, and even his judgement could be sloppy under extenuating circumstances. So many feelings had been provoked and Jim was used to so few of them.
“Until further notice,” Jim said coolly, “you sleep in my bed. Apart from me, but at my side, like usual.”
Jim looked away and shrugged stiffly. “I’ve gotten used to you being underfoot.”
Jim looked up with a glare. “I don’t know why you always have to make things difficult!”
~
“I usually try not to…” Sebastian replied, but not in an antagonistic manner, just stating things from his point of view. But he did understand how Jim came to feel that way, not least because he allowed Sebastian the odd peek into … well, not into his mind maybe, but it was more like explaining in a way an exasperating child would understand as well, or a pet. Like for instance how it was not supposed to come into the bed. Or in this case - should.
The twinge of annoyance Sebastian felt at blatantly being ordered around like that was rather brief. After all, he was quite used to it, and Jim Moriarty the only man on earth he took it from. Also, Sebastian had to admit: it usually had a bright side to it as well.
Less than three days had passed from his very first time in Jim’s bed to this being made a standing order, and it set off that tingly glow inside Sebastian again. This was no hardship at all, even though staying on his side might prove one…
“As you say milord.” Sebastian cast down his eyes demurely, playing maid, but his lips twitched.
“Might the chain be long enough for me to reach … my own bathroom or … ” - were there to be yet more mindblowing shifts? Like the one that had just happened: Jim had taken some responsibility for the little calamity with Tom, not making Sebastian the sole and deliberate culprit in this.
~
Jim scoffed at Seb’s claim about not deliberately making everything moment of Jim’s life difficult. It was all Seb ever fucking did. The Irishman took to pacing again, but his shoulders had lost some of their tightness at Sebastian’s familiar claim. Sometimes Jim hated the thought of the insubordination but… it didn’t usually feel awful in practice? Even the snarking? Sebastian took up space in Jim’s home and made himself known but it was… companionable? Perhaps?
And Seb took his job more seriously in other ways. He tried to keep Jim healthy, fed and rested. He did try, and succeed, at lots of things. Of course he did.
Jim slowed his steps at Seb’s teasing. It was honestly difficult to tell sometimes if Sebastian’s playfulness wasn’t an attempt to get beaten around the head once or thrice. Jim wondered whether he had lost all ability to be fearsome, or whether Moran simply liked risking losing a few teeth. Or even knew Jim didn’t always hate Seb’s silliness, for all Jim grumbled about it often.
“Or nothing, you incorrigible prick,” Jim retorted hotly. “I can’t even persuade you to treat my bed with respect, so unless you can finally prove you’re sufficiently housebroken, you can consider my bathroom out of bounds still.”
Jim cracked a small smile despite or perhaps because of his harsh tone. Eyes glinting, he added, “Putting a chain on you, however, I could gladly accommodate.”
The wickedness in Jim’s eyes dimmed quickly, but his focus remained on Seb. Jim crossed his arms softly and took a few steps closer to Sebastian’s bed.
“You’re looking better,” Jim said. He rolled his eyes. “And acting like your annoying self…. How are you feeling now? Physically, I mean.”
~
In Sebastian’s opinion, being respectful to it wasn’t very high on the list of purposes of a bed, but considering his brand-new appointment to warm Jim’s, it didn’t seem the best moment to quibble. The tip of his tongue instinctively dabbing his upper lip – the place of the cut Jim had renewed multiple times and that was now gone too – he decided it wasn’t a good time for any backchat.
Even though the chain topic was most alluring.
In the end he simply answered Jim’s question as to how he felt, stretching slightly, experimentally.
“Actually … quite well.” His voice now showed the hint of surprise he’d already felt when getting up. “Still a bit exhausted and slightly sore. Like after a thirty mile speed march through rough terrain in full gear, but that’s…” Sebastian seemed to listen inwards, “honestly that’s a nice change compared to … before.” To the week-long misery of festering wounds and feverish irritation and bouts of aggression. “Not like… crawling out of my skin anymore.” Well, whatever he’d brought home from India, it had scratched that itch last night, hadn't it. He rubbed his hands over his face, not thrilled by the prospect of ’next time’.
“I wonder when it will start again,” he muttered.
~
Jim nodded. His fickle emotions aside, it was good to see Sebastian feeling better and hearing it from him too.
“Just as well; I like your skin,” Jim said with begrudging fondness.
He sighed as the blond’s handsome face creased a bit with foreboding. Jim resisted for a moment, considering all the paths that were more sensible and held their distance, but then he found himself stalking across the bedroom.
Jim took possession of the end of Sebastian’s bed. “Whatever happens,” Jim said solemnly, “it won’t be as bad as what you’ve now been through. You didn’t know what was going to happen before, and now you do. You didn’t know whether you’d be okay -” Jim paused to narrow his eyes in faux chastisement at Seb “- and now you do. I obviously would be fine as always. No matter what happens in the future, you know you can do this.”
Jim stared at Sebastian very seriously, ensuring Seb had absorbed his ruling, then rolled his shoulders and looked away.
He kicked Seb’s ankle lightly. “I’d like a doctor to look over you, in case there’s anything depleted or damaged that needs rectified. And we’ll monitor things, so we can plot out a pattern and have data to work with. How you feel, what you can do, what you need.”
Jim kicked Seb’s leg a little more harshly. “Don’t think you’ll be getting away with last month’s tantrums hereafter either. A few days’ reprieve on either side is one thing, but the rest of the time I expect you to remember that you’re owned by Daddy, not your instincts, tiger.”
~
”I’m glad to hear that.” Jim’s verdict that he liked his skin. “On me I hope, better than my changeling hide as a rug on the sofa?” That, even on the floor and under Jim’s feet, although satisfyingly cosy, surely would not be half as entertaining as having a live-in were tiger, even if it needed a bit of training. After all, Jim loved a challenge. Everything that kept him from being bored.
Jim’s little pep-talk called for a cheeky little retort, but Sebastian found he … couldn’t think of one. Because he deeply appreciated how Jim had, through all this insanity, never displayed any doubt that they’d get through this. How he’d kept him grounded in that certainty when it felt like the world was about to come crashing down around Sebastian’s ears. How Jim had not only borne Sebastian’s tantrums without killing or banishing him but had made it clear he would not be alone in this but had help. And how to that effect he had set his great and ingenious mind to work, when Sebastian had felt like he was losing his…
Even the little kick, like that of a spoiled child who expected the toy he’d cared for so nicely would return the investment, didn’t feel demeaning or horrible. Sebastian nodded at the prospect of being checked over by a doctor – again. It meant that Jim cared and would continue to do so, his motives were secondary. With the next kick Jim reminded him of the rules that applied – in any fucking universe ruled by Jim Moriarty (and as far as Sebastian was concerned, there weren’t any others). Well, that too was reassuring in a world that had almost disintegrated, and the nickname … made Sebastian smile. It settled around him like something that belonged to him.
“I will remember," he promised. "No pet wants to end up abandoned in a cardboard box by the side of the road.” There was a glint of mischief in his eyes, but hidden under the jest he really meant it. He was grateful. “Least of all in Wales.”
~
“Your fur was wonderfully thick,” Jim mused, remembering, “but it wouldn’t be nearly so warm without you in it.”
Jim regarded Sebastian. “You certainly need your manners taught to you, but you looked magnificent.”
Jim mentally scrolled through the events of Sebastian’s transformation. The initial sight of the supernatural creature. The sheer destructive power and awesomeness. Leaning over the felled beast, checking for breathing from behind those impressive teeth.
What a spectacular creature Sebastian Moran turned out to be. Being able to entirely fox physics and reason were almost the least of his qualities.
Jim’s nose crinkled in distaste. “Moran you utter buffoon, if I am ever sensible enough to rid myself of you it won’t be anywhere someone else could scoop you up and take you home for themselves. There will be no roadsides in a battered fridge box with ‘free kitty’ written on the side.”
Jim reached forward for Seb’s ankle and yanked just hard enough to get his point across. “Even in Wales, poppet, you belong to me.” Jim’s eyes burned with passionate intensity. The sudden urge to emphasise that point drew heat past his belly, and Seb had said he was okay hadn’t he, just tired and the satisfied sort of sore? Jim was a breath away from stripping and flipping the blond, he had been thinking of fucking Sebastian bellydown and brutally hard for weeks now, but Jim released Seb’s ankle and sat back again instead.
Sebastian was supposed to be resting, and Jim had already let the man away with fucking tidying up a starving tiger’s rampaging destruction when Jim should have sent Seb right back to bed with a pink handprint and a firm order to fucking rest.
Perhaps Jim should have just snuggled back into Seb earlier with a resolution to execute the entire team later to resolve the security issue. The risk of being so intimate and openly affectionate had been foolhardy, but it had kept Seb in bed where he belonged, not least because of everything that had happened to him since India.
“Don’t vex me,” Jim sighed. “It’s been a fucking long month.”
~
Under Jim’s proprietary, hungry look Sebastian’s breathing had become more shallow and choppy. To be told that if ever Jim tired of him he’d sooner end up under the floorboards than in anyone else’s possession would send a normal person running rather than into rapture, but … well, they’d been over this, Sebastian wasn’t exactly normal.
But of course he’d rather stay above the floorboards and so of course he agreed.
“I’ll strive to be less bothersome during the next one.” The next month. Sebastian realised this was the truth – this was the first day of the next cycle. Or the second day of the first? It still blew his mind, and it still had an alien ring and feel to it… But now, that they had a clearer idea than just crazy speculations and weird stories from old books and barmy websites – maybe he had already started with what Jim had told him he would do – ‘adjust’. And also, now that they knew what they were dealing with …
“Maybe...” he said, “Maybe there’s a cure?” He vaguely recalled the topic cropping up in his research, but honestly back then he’d been more concerned about the ‘diagnosis’. A hysteric giggle inched up his throat when he imagined the doctor, any doctor, being informed by Jim that his bodyguard was now a were creature and he needed the best fucking medical expert on that.
The question of how they would prove such a ludicrous claim, triggered the next one. “Maybe you could … take a photo next time?” The giggle tried to resurface again. No, it didn’t have to be a selfie of Jim and his tiger. “I am quite curious about my… magnificent fur…” Which was honestly not a compliment he had ever expected to hear, but it sounded intriguing, and you took what you got, right? Praise was praise, he wasn’t picky, as long as it was coming from Jim. Sebastian elongated his frame with a decidedly feline stretch.
~
Jim raised one brow when Sebastian made noises about at least trying to behave. Jim would bloody well believe that when he saw it. Actually, not even seeing would be enough to immediately believe it of his troublesome blond. Jim was sceptical Seb was capable of behaving unless he was gagged or that wicked mouth of his was sufficiently occupied.
Jim shifted a little further away again, expression dry. It was best not to think about places to put Seb’s mouth if Jim was going to successfully avoid wearing the man out when he was supposed to be recovering.
Jim blinked slowly as Sebastian interrupted his mental struggles with a perplexing comment. A cure? Sebastian Moran could turn into a marvellous, supernatural predator capable of delicious destruction and he wanted a cure?
Although he screaming during the change had been more intense than anything even Jim was capable of finding pleasure in. Jim stilled, eyes stuck on the blond diagonally opposite him. Was Sebastian Moran, fearless antagoniser of Jim Moriarty, properly afraid of something? Had the anxiety of the unknown blown up into fear of the painful cycles to come?
Jim moved his leg to give Seb another kick, but found himself hooking his foot around Seb’s calf and tugging it a little closer.
“If… it’s all too much, Sebby, and you want a cure, that’s… I’ll find one. You’ll probably need to be brave and put up with a few more changes until I do, but I’ll find it. If that’s what you need,” Jim said in a low voice.
He didn’t need a man with supernatural hearing; Jim could have a laser pointed at a window and steal the conversation within from the captured vibrations. He didn’t need a sniper with teeth and claws; he had plenty of employees whose command of knives and guns made the weapons seem like an extension of themselves. Jim Moriarty had no need of a tame tiger to instil fear: he created terror all by himself.
If Sebastian needed to go back to normal, Jim would facilitate that. Although he would want to know how to replicate the malady in others.
That was just business sense, to hoard a rare thing.
Jim really ought to have gotten footage, but he hadn’t really expected… well, a lot of things. His life being in peril was one of the few things he had half-believed enough to put stock in.
Yet he hadn’t worn his everyday weapons strapped to himself that night. Had the other half of Jim refused to believe Moran could really cause him harm?
“I’ll be sure to make ample time for a photo op next month. Perhaps I can find you a large ball of wool to play with.” Jim smirked and considered. “I think pumpkins are supposed to be popular tiger playthings. Unless you’d prefer a goat or something?”
Jim gave a small glare. “Although if you disembowel anything on my rugs you’ll have the compensation taken from your human hide.”
~
Yes, Sebastian did and would always remember – and with some pride – he had been the one to have provided the most fascinating experience Jim had ever come across, so when Jim started to speak, he didn’t expect anything but a rebuke for the attempt to deprive him of that, because that’s exactly what a cure would mean.
’If… it’s all too much, Sebby - ‘
Resigning himself to being scoffed at for selfishness and cowardice or something like that, Sebastian closed his eyes, but they snapped open again as Jim went on… and left Sebastian utterly stunned. “You... would?” he asked, tentatively snuggling his calf into the arch of the foot that had hooked around his lower leg instead of delivering another petulant kick. ’If that’s what you need’ was something that only rarely crossed the lips of the man sitting across from him, let alone sounding genuine. It made Sebastian’s throat go a little tight and he found himself averting his gaze to hide the fact that he felt incongruously touched by something that could be expected from … anyone, right? But Jim Moriarty wasn’t anyone, not in this regard nor in any other.
“You are right, you know... You are quite the responsible owner.” There was a hint of a smile, but no irony. “I… don’t actually know what I need,” Sebastian admitted then, pushing a hand across his face (the stubble reminded him that it would be nice to shave at a normal frequency and not twice a day, without looking shipwrecked). He also admitted that despite the shock he himself was quite intrigued as well.
“The pain was… like nothing I ever experienced, truly…” mind-bending, but since that was actually what had happened, what else could you expect? "But I think it then disappeared, like a switch had been flipped.” It wasn’t a clear recollection, more a memory in his bones. “Maybe it’ll get better? With training.” His mouth twitched, because no, he didn’t mean the kind of training that Jim had in his devious mind, but that had to be considered as well - the amount of disruption and danger to Jim that Sebastian’s shifts would pose. Thinking about it - there would be a lot to consider in terms of ‘the perks and problems of turning into a weretiger‘ on a regular basis, from the logistic hitches to maybe things they hadn’t even thought of yet.
“Well, I guess we’ll just see how it goes?” After all, there wasn’t much else they could do: As Jim said, it would take some time to work out a cure, if there was one. “We could make a pros and cons list, while we're looking.” Then they could still decide, and that gave them some sort of control over this, something they hadn’t at the moment.
“A ball of wool or a pumpkin would make for a very cute picture I guess. Shame you’re not on instagram,” Sebastian joked. To distract himself from and also acoustically hide the fact that his stomach growled at the mention of a … goat.
~
After expressing interest in a cure, Sebastian had shifted uncomfortably and closed his eyes, as though expecting a rebuke that would actually shame him. Given how blithely he went around ignoring all of Jim’s everyday chastisements, it was a jarring sight.
Even more jarring was how Seb’s eyes snapped open in disbelief when Jim had tried to reassure with a promise that they’d find said cure.
’You… would?’ Sebastian asked in a gut-wrenchingly hesitant voice.
Jim swallowed hard. Sebastian slipped their legs closer together.
Jim looked away. “Of fucking course I would,” he snapped, directing a glare at the wall almost hot enough to melt it. As long as he kept his expression and voice furious the warm flush of blood rushing up his neck against his will could only be considered a sign of anger, hopefully. Jim jutted his chin to the ceiling, frustrated, and quite without meaning to, added in a less aggressive voice, “I always spoil you, don’t I?”
Jim was glad not to be looking at Sebastian because he could feel the emotions thick in the air. This was torturous. Jim would much rather be on his knees, pistol whipped and bleeding freely, than be having a conversation so adjacent to his feelings. The ugly, dangerous ones, that were not anger or hate or pride or greed. The vulnerable, damaging monsters.
Sebastian’s leg felt simultaneously good and bad against Jim’s.
‘You are right, you know. You are quite the responsible owner.‘
Jim glanced at Sebastian reflexively as the man spoke. Such a soft, warm, little smile on Seb’s lips; Jim almost said something cutting and sarcastic in response to the way the fucking thing tightened his chest.
’I… don’t actually know what I need,’ Sebastian admitted, and then he spoke about the pain, and it was all Jim could do not to drag the blond close and nuzzle that ruggedly handsome, homeless-looking stubble, press sharp kisses into available skin, and promise that nothing would harm Seb again. Except Jim couldn’t do that, because it was unlikely he’d find a cure to the mysterious malady in a month, and he was never going to be the sort of man who didn’t hurt his partner, not that Seb was such a thing, and not least because they both liked some of the ways Jim hurt Sebastian. Jim pressed his leg groundingly closer to Seb’s.
Sebastian rallied all by himself, suggesting a practical plan of action. Jim filled with pride and perhaps some of that was allowed to bleed into his voice as he agreed.
The atmosphere lightened as they retreated into the less ominous subject of the photogenic potential of Jim’s new stripey monster. Sebastian joked some more to cover the noise of his stomach growling demandingly at the suggestion of a goat to toy with, and Jim threw his head back to laugh richly.
“Oh, my tiger,” Jim said as Seb’s ears turned pink, “you really are ruled by your stomach now, aren’t you?”
Jim twisted, reaching for his nearest phone. A fond, sly smile curled his lips as he placed an order with an exclusive Sudanese restaurant for a mountain of varied goat dishes.
Jim tossed the phone aside and finally approached Seb. Swiftly baring the man’s belly, Jim dipped and delivered a mild bite to the flesh just above the familiar fur there.
“I have to keep my competition occupied, don’t I?” Jim teased, breath hot on Seb’s wet skin.