Sense
Often enough Jim wore an inscrutable mask, at other times the air around him was simmering with energy and emotions which Sebastian was still learning to … well, he’d probably never be able to read them, it was more akin to sensing seismic waves. At the moment he wasn’t sure whether Jim was so put out because Sebastian thought he didn’t care about him, or because he now knew that he did…
Sebastian felt a silly little thrill of happiness about that. And about how, when he struggled with processing it all, especially the more horrifying aspects, the light but reassuring contact of Jim’s leg against his increased. That, and the funny side of it that was certainly there too if you wanted to see it, brought a broad smile to Sebastian’s face.
Jim’s laugh when his stomach rumbled was infectious.
And what he did then was even better.
“Mmm… mountains of food and belly rubs,” Sebastian purred, letting himself sink back and stretching slightly under Jim’s hands and mouth, “that goes definitely on the ‘pro’ side …”
~
Jim let out an exasperated snort into Sebastian’s navel as the blond melted smugly under his feigned attack. Jim ghosted his fingers down Seb’s skin, nails rather ragged after their efforts with the skirting board and kitchen, before pinching lightly.
“You wicked little wanton. I don’t know where you get the idea that you’re such a pampered pet I exist to give you belly rubs,” Jim scolded.
He rose back to his knees, but only to sit up and carefully unfasten the silver crucifix. Jim toyed with it for a moment, dropping part of the chain through his damaged but still deft fingers, then let the pendant drop.
Jim pulled the chain high at the last moment, saving Sebastian’s exposed (and now tense) skin from the touch of the silver.
Jim smirked and lowered the necklace slightly, not letting it burn Seb but ensuring the playful threat of it was enough to heat Sebastian’s skin.
“Don’t you appreciate,” Jim sniffed, “that I am in combat with my arch nemesis here?”
Jim dropped the crucifix only to catch it in his other hand, knuckles grazing Seb’s taut and slightly squirming stomach.
Hiding the silver briefly in his fist, Jim crawled over Sebastian to carefully place the item on the bedside table, well out of reach of where Seb might accidentally brush against it.
“I am a fiercely jealous and possessive man,” Jim growled warmly, and pushed under Sebastian’s chin to kiss along the stubbled throat. “Anything that takes your attention from its rightful place of being on me, at all times, must be taught the correct order of things.”
Jim worked his way down Seb’s chest, palming Sebastian’s stomach firmly as he kissed.
“Belly rubs,” Jim said in feigned disgust, then audibly opened his jaw as though to bite down ferociously. He thrilled at how Sebastian’s muscles reacted under him.
Jim startled Seb by instead blowing a sudden raspberry into Sebastian’s navel. Sebastian jerked at the unexpected sensation and Jim cackled, breath tickling the sensitive skin near his face.
Jim finally gave Seb’s stomach another sharp nip and grumbled, “Do I look like the sort of man to give my pet belly rubs?”
Jim sat up and wrinkled his nose. “Your stomach hardly deserves any rewards anyway,” he complained. “It’s bad enough that my days are now scheduled around its fucking demands.”
~
Jim’s little game with the crucifix was unnerving. Not least because it made Sebastian wonder whether he'd gradually become more sensitive to silver. At the start, there’d been that delayed allergic reaction from the cutlery, but two nights ago, handling the silver while making the bullets, it had ignited an immediate unpleasant sensation. Now, it didn’t even need a touch - even the mere proximity of the crucifix made his skin twitch and the little hairs on it stand on end, like in an electromagnetic field. But maybe that was just because he was anticipating a touch of unknown effect – after all, one of Jim’s specialities. When Jim finally put it down - and, as Sebastian noticed, well out of the way – he let out a grateful breath.
Of course, Jim didn’t need a crucifix for a little bit of torture and soon Sebastian was luxuriating and purring like a cat under strokes and kisses, but still tensing and twitching under the subtle little the threats of teeth and nails…
“Hmmm…” He cracked an eye open and tilted his head, like he was dutifully considering the question whether Jim looked like a man giving belly rubs to his pet. “Actually… you don’t look like someone who’d even have a pet, and yet – here you are.”
He grinned as Jim wrinkled his nose in slight disdain. “I know, right?” Sebastian didn’t even put too much effort into looking suitably contrite about all his horrible demands. “But at least apart from one night of the month I’ll be able to open cans of food myself. Or use my phone to place an order… Or even cook.”
~
Jim grimaced. “I’m not the sort of man to bother with pets. Toying with the odd transient human is distasteful enough.”
Jim glared at Sebastian without real menace. “You ruined everything.” Jim tilted his head in faux consideration and grazed his sore fingers down Seb’s hip. “Luckily for you, you have some uses.”
Sebastian pointed out some of his less irresistible aptitudes and Jim chuckled darkly.
“After the last month you’re going to have to do considerably more than feed yourself unaided to make things up to me.”
Jim held Sebastian firmly and locked eyes. “Once you’re sufficiently rested, I have some frustrations to fuck out.” Jim lifted a hand and wriggled his fingers theatrically. “And you’re going to have to start with a show, since I’m not quite recovered enough to slick you as well as you’ll need for how hard I want to fuck you.”
Jim gave Seb’s side a playful squeeze. “Then when I’ve ridden you hard and left you wet, we’ll see about you picking up some of your old duties for a couple of weeks. I don’t want you off of the property yet, but I should get my money’s worth out of you before we’re all at the mercy of your monthly moodswings.”
Jim ruffled Sebastian’s hair annoyingly to soften his point about what might be to come.
“But first,” Jim said. “Food, and that list of yours. Would sir care to dine in his room, or are crumbs only for my fucking bed?”
Before Seb could answer, Jim added, “Here’s two for your list. Con: I can’t punish you exactly when and how you deserve when you’re poorly. Pro: you heal better, so when I do get to hurt you, I can play rough.”
~
It was good to hear Jim making plans, because Sebastian wasn’t up to that yet. His brain was still lagging behind somewhat, still readjusting to the patterns of human thought, after the spell ruled by primal physical urges and animalistic instincts. Maybe Jim sensed that because surely the majority of his plans seemed to take said urges and instincts into account indeed.
Which made it obvious that Sebastian’s body was recovering quite quickly, well beyond the vital functions. Blushing included as Jim wriggled his fingers, insinuation very blatantly what kind of show Sebastian would be giving him, and to what purpose.
Lizard brain too occupied with that, Sebastian didn’t dwell too long on the satisfaction about not only getting reinstated in his duties but also feeling capable of doing them. He’d loathed to feel useless and inadequate.
By the way, Jim had done a good job of teaching him caution regarding his own initiative in physical interactions, and so Sebastian only flexed his hips a bit to press closer into the grip of Jim’s hand.
But first things first.
“Sir would like to eat here.” Sebastian’s mouth watered at the thought of delicious food already on the way, and while – for any kind of activity - Jim’s bed was undoubtedly preferable, such an impertinence might be stretching things a bit.
Listening to the first two points for their List, Sebastian found himself swallowing hard. Jim’s musings about using him, either in detail or in delicious or scary hints never failed to sent shivers through him. If Jim had so far held back due to the woeful inadequacy of human toys that tended to break, the thought of what he might do unhampered by such inconvenience – good god. Sebastian swallowed again and the chills doubled, but so did the heat. Jim’s lips curled imperceptibly while his gaze raked over Sebastian’s skin as though mapping it out for his darkest fantasies.
“I -” Sebastian had to clear his throat before he could speak again, “I might be even more useful in the field with my enhanced senses – that would be a Pro. Monthly mood swings – Con.” He pulled his lips between his teeth. “From your point of view anyway.” Thinking about it – there were quite a few things that classified as horrible Cons in Jim’s eyes, but didn’t overly concern Sebastian. Like fur on expensive carpets and wardrobe.
~
Sebastian’s blush made Jim want to have his way with Seb there and then. If he pinned Seb so hard the man couldn’t move, and didn’t let him come, that wouldn’t be too strenuous, would it??
Jim’s thoughts stopped racing ahead to what he wanted to do to Sebastian when the blond expressed a serious interest in food. Jim had half-expected his proud pet to refuse to demean himself with ‘making a show’ of stretching himself out, and then Jim could have curled closer and purred threats about the deliciously cruel ways Jim might take Sebastian against his will. If Seb had been brave enough to denounce Jim’s ability to mistreat his favourite toy thus, Jim could have made a show of his physical interest in the game and found somewhere very uncomfortable for Seb to accommodate Jim’s interest.
Jim reluctantly tried to wrestle his thoughts back to what Seb actually needed, not what Jim wanted, and truly, it was a souring experience.
Except Sebastian nudged a little closer into Jim’s grip, clearly enjoying their proximity, and Jim felt a warmth all over that wasn’t lust or rage.
Jim miserably resigned himself to a life of allowing this miscreant to ruin his bedsheets. The pleased, sarcastic way Sebastian playfully referred to himself as sir ought make Jim want to smack him one, and it did, but not in an actually annoyed way.
Jim had untold patience for work, but where the fuck had Seb managed to unearth this tolerance in him for insubordination in their - his - private life?
Jim leaned up and tugged Seb’s scalp under his lips. The grumpy show of affection gave him a moment to sort through his feelings and pick a more reasonable facial expression to wear when he pulled back.
“Food won’t be long, poppet,” Jim murmured. “Wouldn’t want my spoiled pet to have to wait, would we?”
Sebastian’s expression didn’t help Jim’s mood, and it helped even less when they got talking about the List.
Seb’s eyes were blown and that flustered, faraway look fired sparks directly to Jim’s eager prick. This was getting ridiculous. Jim had never denied himself his base urges like this in his entire adult life, and here he was doing it for free.
“I might even be more useful in the field,” came Sebastian’s voice, horribly reasonable for someone causing such frustration. Of course he’d be useful in the field, he was a fucking supernatural creature. Jim now had a weapon which wasn’t simply wielded better than anyone else could, but would not be believed to exist by anyone else!
Jim rolled his eyes with a level of irritation that may have been unfair when Sebastian mentioned his mood swings.
“Au contraire, precious,” Jim drawled. “I’m going to get in a lot of cardio making you sorry for those mood swings.”
Jim considered The List for lack of any other distraction to Seb’s proximity and the fact that denying himself only made Jim want more.
Jim blinked slowly. Or… was the problem there internal? Was it possible Seb just had more… animal magnetism than usual?
The back of Jim’s head unsympathetically pointed out that no, Jim was simply so grateful Seb was okay that he all but wanted to crawl into Seb’s skin. Pathetic.
“Con: you’re going to eat me out of house and home,” Jim muttered. “Pro: at least I can afford it, and you can’t run your mouth as much when it’s full.”
Jim chewed his lip. “Con: we don’t know if being a were has any debilitating consequences we’ll need to manage.”
Jim gave Sebastian a protective squeeze and chose not to dwell on it.
“Pro: you might be better able to defend yourself from enemy attacks, and less susceptible to diseases cats don’t have.”
Jim tugged Sebastian’s hair. Even with scabbed fingers it was an impossible habit to break.
“Con: you might have nine lives, and so I might have to live a very long time to keep you out of trouble.”
~
“See, I’m taking such good care of you – making you eat, work out…” Sebastian said with a saintly smile. He had a fine radar for how far he could go (even if he didn’t always act accordingly). At the moment he was still ‘being poorly’, and thus to be treated leniently, even though Jim’s calculating look suggested that state might soon expire. The familiar tingle down Sebastian’s spine also suggested his body quite agreed.
He nodded imperceptibly, basically tightening Jim’s grip on his hair himself. “Very true. I’m glad you can afford the keep and care of an expensive pet. A guinea pig wouldn’t be half as magnificent as a tiger…”
But even though his brain was – very slowly – acclimatising to the turn all this had taken, literally, he grimaced at the mention of possible debilitating consequences. Jim didn’t dwell in that, but gave him a little reassuring squeeze, as though he’d read his mind. Instead he pointed out the possible benefits when pitched against enemies or human diseases.
“Well I hope I won’t need distemper shots.” He vaguely remembered hearing about some big cat population ravaged by it a few years back. But that was exactly one of the things they couldn’t know. All those speculations were completely blown away, because what Jim said next was possibly the sweetest thing Sebastian had ever heard.
‘You might have nine lives, and so I might have to live a very long time to keep you out of trouble.’
No matter how ostensibly annoyed Jim tried to sound, the protectiveness in these words made Sebastian feel all warm and fuzzy.
“I don’t see that as a Con,” he said softly.
Before Jim could get all prickly and take it back, his phone dinged, announcing the arrival the food delivery, and someone from the day shift bringing it over. It turned out to be Mwamba, which put another smile on Sebastian’s face. Another protective one, who probably wanted to see with his own eyes that Sebastian had not been skinned and eviscerated last night.
Sebastian suspected if there was anyone next door beside their formidable cook who Jim found slightly unnerving, it was the big Congolese, who barely ever uttered a word more than necessary and was quite hard to read.
~
Jim rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to be attending me, but we seem to have it arse backwards,” he grumbled softly, and continued surprisingly unconvincingly, “If I’d thought I’d be running after you hand and foot I’d have shot you on sight.”
Truly, neither would have believed Jim would ever volunteer for a caretaking role, and Jim would have violently resisted any path to such, but… now that he was here? He didn’t mind it so much. Although he gave Seb’s hair another possessive little yank for good measure.
Sebastian nodded, pulling against the grip, and Jim smiled warmly despite himself. Jim tightened his grasp of Seb’s hair and stayed like that, resisting the urge to give Sebastian another kiss. There was quite too much affection on display already.
Jim considered Seb’s hair. Like the man’s scruff, it had been growing in far quicker of late. The longer length was rather pleasing for grabbing onto. It also made Sebastian seem a little more… informal? Jim had ordered Seb to keep his hair a little longer on top for sex purposes already, but it had still looked uniform and neat, the army background clear in Seb from just a glance. Seb’s appearance now was not precisely softer but… more intimate? He looked much more off duty and ‘at home’ which Jim reluctantly admitted to himself that he very much liked.
“We’ll need to get you a trim before you’re back on more duties,” Jim sighed. “Can’t have anyone thinking I only keep you around because you’re pretty.”
Jim’s lips twitched wryly. “Woe betide the poor bastard that underestimates you.” Which Jim had. To his fucking peril. And not simply because Seb was good-looking.
“I’d have been all around better off with a guinea pig,” Jim groused.
Sebastian’s amusement (and perhaps offence) was short-lived when Jim reluctantly brought the conversation around to the potential negative consequences of their visiting tiger. Unpleasant or not, it was best to face threats when there was time to consider their options, not once they were imminent and unavoidable. Besides, what if Seb had had such a thought already and was carrying it alone? Sebastian was not alone and Jim would not tolerate the man thinking he might be. Either way, Seb seemed to appreciate the dryly comforting squeeze Jim gave him.
Jim snorted ungracefully at Seb’s concerns about distemper vaccinations. “I’m very sorry darling, but it probably is a sound idea to test your tolerances for feline illnesses and medicate you appropriately.” Jim shifted to allow Seb to see his grin. “I’ll even hold your hand during your jabs if the needle is too big for my brave SAS boy.” Jim’s amusement dimmed. Frowning, he added, “Providing the vet is giving the shot in your arm. If it’s an immunisation that needs to be put in your arse I’ll give you it myself. No one stabs you there but me.”
The look Sebastian returned did nothing to help reduce Jim’s desire to pin Seb down for some penetration with a larger, blunter, warmer instrument.
Sebastian seemed far too content with Jim’s assertion about nine lives being a contender for the Con side of the list. He dared to contradict Jim quite calmly, no doubt delighting in all the ways he could drive Jim to distraction over nine fucking lifetimes. The stress of that thought alone was almost enough to make Jim swallow a bullet. He had absolutely no justifiable reason for pulling Seb close by the hair and growling, “That’s because I’m the one who suffers your nonsense. Rest assured if I’m forced to tolerate you for nine lifetimes I’ll endeavour to thrash you into submission. Just the one lifetime is far too long to tolerate your mischief unrebuked.”
Sebastian wisely directed his gaze to his phone as it announced the approach of the Three Billy Goats Gruff and possibly their friends too.
Jim released Seb’s scalp, rubbed his knuckles comfortingly into the abused roots for a moment, then shoved Seb away with an almost playful palm to the side of the face.
Jim shifted to a less intimate distance and smoother his appearance deftly.
The bearer of the food had the decency to knock and await approval to enter Seb’s bedroom. Nonetheless Jim felt a twinge of exasperation when the food was brought in by Mwamba, not that it surprised him.
Sebastian had been employed within Jim’s inner circle for a few months, the start of autumn or so (Jim knew the exact date, hour and minute, but despite his fastidiousness with details hardly being at all unusual, he hardly wanted to admit that to himself). There had been another vacancy at the time, Jim’s temper being what it was then, and as Chief of Staff Seb had brought in this bloke he’d known and trusted from his time in the Congo with the SAS. The pair got along well, although not so well Jim felt the urge to castrate anyone.
Despite locking antlers a few times in the army, Seb got on well with all of the team. Jim did not have the same rapport but it was pleasant the way Seb fit so neatly into at least this aspect of life.
Jim got along well enough with his inner circle staff; their survival necessitated it and he did not choose to surround himself with idiots. Indeed, to keep Saavi occupied after he’d poached her from the government he’d occasionally bounced ideas around with her and found her vastly more useful than the stereotypical rubber duck.
Jim had no such connection with Mwamba. The stoic man was difficult to read, and he hadn’t been around long enough for Jim to learn all of the man’s tells.
“As you can see, the Chief is in perfect health,” Jim said a bit more acerbically than he intended to. Seb did look much brighter, although the lovebites, tousled hair and scattering of pink scratches meant Sebastian didn’t exactly appear pristine.
“You can leave the food there,” Jim said with a dismissive wave.
~
Sebastian leaned into Jim’s grip and tried not to look too smug and pleased. Had Jim just admitted he’d underestimated him? Sebastian couldn’t remember Jim saying that ever, about anyone.
Of course that didn’t refer to Sebastian’s professional value - he’d long proven that to be beyond all doubt. To everyone around here, as a matter of fact. Otherwise the past weeks, and the last few days in particular might have undermined his standing with the teams.
“I don’t think any vet could afford to treat his patients like the fucker who rammed that needle into my spine a few days ago.” And a much bigger one than anything supposedly involved in feline health care! “I survived that without you holding my hand”, he said pointedly. To be fair, Jim had offered to have the man killed, which secretly still pleased Sebastian.
Just as Jim’s violent promise to take good care of him for the span of nine lifetimes. Like a little taster Jim rubbed his knuckles over his scalp then pushed his face aside like one would with an intrusive pet. Sebastian grinned.
Their little banter was interrupted by Mwamba arriving with their food order. There was no way that any amount of smoothing down hair and virtuously sitting apart would change the intimate atmosphere that was thick in the room, but the truth was out anyway next door, and had been for days. Mwamba looked as stoic as ever, but the way his eyes carefully took in the scene in general and Sebastian in particular could almost count as agitation by his standards.
Jim sounded decidedly tart pointing out the Chief was in perfect health.
“Good,” was the one word of acknowledgement from the big black man, and not before his inscrutable
gaze had moved to Sebastian and received an almost imperceptible nod of confirmation.
To a capricious wave of Jim’s hand and a “Thank you, Mwamba,” from Sebastian he placed the food on the nights stand by Jim's side of the bed, then he disappeared again. The man moved so quietly it never ceased to be stunning, even unnerving to anyone except Sebastian, who knew him to be one of the best trackers and scouts he’d ever met.
Jim looked at the door for a full five seconds after it had closed behind Mwamba, maybe wondering what might have happened if Sebastian had not given not a nod but an infinitesimal shake of his head. Which was a moot point of course! Whatever Jim’s thoughts, Sebastian shook him out of it by making a grabbing motion towards the tray. Someone next door had put the enticing array of goat variations on plates and dishes and it smelled absolutely mouth watering.
~
Jim couldn’t help but bare his teeth at Sebastian. “Most vets are likely dealing with people who dote on their pets; let me assure you, darling, that Daddy doesn’t have that problem.” Jim’s lips curled playfully. “And given how much you’ve bitched and whined about the dreadful, mean doctors, sweetheart, you’re doing a terrible job of convincing me that you can face some shots without complaining.”
Jim paused. Was there anything he was now at risk of catching? He was regularly physically intimate with a supernatural creature. Was transference of Seb’s malady made through claws and teeth, and did it only count if Seb was a tiger at the time?
It wasn’t like Seb had permission to break Jim’s skin when they fucked anyway, and Jim certainly didn’t fancy letting a were tiger get a swipe at him.
The prospect of not bleeding Seb for fun did not appeal to Jim however.
Did everyone exposed to were infections turn? Was there immunity?
Would contagion from Sebastian always result in tigers? Jim was even smaller than Seb was, and the change in mass for Sebastian had clearly been deeply exhausting.
The racing thoughts whirred on in the back of Jim’s mind even as he laughed and joked with Seb. There was no point stressing about these details; he’d find an answer to everything he needed to. He always did.
That didn’t stop Jim from noticing, not for the first time, that Mwamba had always had a very soft tread for such a large man.
“Can you hear him walking down the corridor now?” Jim asked Sebastian as they set out the food together. “Or are your senses only heightened in the lead up to the change?”
Perhaps Jim shouldn’t let Seb back to active duties just yet. It made sense to keep Sebastian as a very handsome lab rat, testing just what he could do and when and how.
Sebastian probably wouldn’t be pleased. He might not mind showing off, and learning just what he was now capable of, but Jim could already picture the unimpressed pucker of Seb’s brow if Jim nicknamed him his lab rat. That could be amusing, but Jim knew Seb missed feeling useful and wanted back to his duties. Perhaps best to keep the lab rat aspirations as a joke or threat for later.
Jim took Seb’s chin in hand before Sebastian could eat anything. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that your buddy looked to you when I spoke to him. If you’re staging a coup the least you could do is wake me with a blowjob every morning to make the transition easier on me.”
Jim plucked up a piece of goat meat with his fingers and pushed it to Sebastian’s mouth, careful not to burn Seb’s lips or his own skin.
“In all seriousness, keep an eye on that. The leniency I show you and Caruso does not extend to the rest of the team. If you don’t ensure your hire knows that his life is mine, that’s on you, petal. And I won’t be sympathetic if I later have to make you put down someone you like.”
~
“Hm?” Sebastian’s eyes were glued to the alluring meal in front of him, with his sense of smell taking priority over the others. The power of multitasking seemed something primarily human he struggled with so shortly after the shift.
He had to tear his gaze away from the food to mentally rewind Jim’s question whether he could still hear Mwamba after the door had quietly closed behind him.
“Yes,” he said after a few seconds. He had been listening not only to Mwamba’s receding footsteps – which you normally barely heard when he was in the room - but to other sounds as well. They were not grating on his nerves any more, but certainly still way beyond the human range. The faint ticking of his watch on the night stand was clearly audible, for which you’d normally have to bring it close to your ear. Noises of the house and the city outside. He could still distinguish between the smell of the roasted goat and the traces of dried blood on Jim’s bandages.
“I think it… dropped down a notch. The sensual enhancement I mean. It’s still there, but it’s not driving me crazy any more.” The smells not nauseating any more, the sounds not intend on splitting his head, and, as he realised just now, the morning sun not quite as glaring and disagreeable as it had been lately. Such a blessing. Not to mention the miraculously healed wounds.
Sebastian perked up hopefully. “Maybe I can even have a drop of whisky again.” Just a cautious little dram around the night of the new moon…?
Sebastian made a small apologetic sound when Jim invariably pointed out that the wordless communication between Sebastian and his buddy had not gone unnoticed. He grinned at the ludicrous thought of Jim Moriarty falling prey to a coup by his staff, and being content with a daily blowjob in exchange. But the joke was, as often, just a thinly disguised threat. Not that those were necessary in this context. Everyone on the teams had a very clear understanding of what it meant to work for Jim’s criminal empire, and especially that close to the emperor himself. And if anyone ever had any misconceptions, however unlikely that was, Sebastian cleared them up. Or Jim did. On occasion even prophylactically - as he’d just done with Tom, Sebastian presumed.
“Yes Sir,” Sebastian said, and Jim was probably the only man on earth who’d heard these words from Sebastian’s mouth without a lacing of sarcasm. “They do know.”
They all knew. Most of all Sebastian. And to rid him of any possible delusions, brought about my too much mollycoddling and leniency, Jim effortlessly inserted a chilling little reminder of what he was capable of.
Gingerly and very careful with his teeth, Sebastian took the offered morsel of meat from his fingers. It was succulent and tasty and Sebastian gave an appreciative groan while he chewed blissfully. Yet very mindful not to make any mess, even though it was only his own bedsheets that were in any peril.
“You might want to try this, it’s heavenly…”
~
Jim wasn’t certain what was worse: that Moran wasn’t even listening to him because food had been made available, or the warm, indulgent feeling that was worming through Jim’s chest in response.
This was dreadful. When had Sebastian stopped being reasonably wary of him?
Best not to think about it. At least Seb was considering Jim’s question, and Jim had something else to think about as Sebastian described a shift in his senses again.
Jim glanced back to Sebastian’s face. They were both resilient men, but they wore it differently. The bright optimism Sebastian displayed did something complicated to Jim’s insides.
Luckily, the issue of Moran’s popularity gave Jim the opportunity to wilfully ignore that problem. Sebastian grinned at Jim’s farcical little joke about treachery and was relaxed enough that Jim could see the moment Jim’s follow-up threat made Sebastian’s blood run cold.
The respectful tone Seb answered with soothed and jarred Jim’s nerves in equal measures and left the Irishman feeling off-kilter. Sebastian had a talent for responding to Jim’s rebukes without getting himself killed, but after a month of being around an increasingly irate and aggressive blond, the return to Seb’s very best manners was unexpected.
As was the way Moran could savour his food when he had Jim Moriarty’s hand on his jaw and a threat in his sensitive ear.
Jim blinked slowly as Moran offered him some of the meal Jim had paid for. The tone wasn’t especially playful, and Jim regarded Sebastian with a frown. Was Seb trying to distract him, or was this about Jim eating enough again?
Jim felt like upturning all of the food in a petty display of temper. Seb could discover how unappealing food-soiled bedding could be.
Jim pushed Seb’s face away and dismounted to pace beside the bed.
Jim rolled his neck, mentally running through what to do, what to say. His fingers drummed with too much energy and then he ground to a sudden halt, not quite turned away from Sebastian.
“I know that I started you with a lot when I brought you here,” Jim said. “You’d more than proved you were capable of your official duties… You’d years of stellar work in the forces, and the spots on your record about your attitude weren’t anything I believed I couldn’t beat or otherwise break you out of.”
Jim looked at Seb. “The rules are different here. There’s not a man alive who can’t be bought or broken, and there will always be people trying to take what isn’t theirs. I sleep at night knowing that every one of my hires next door is too afraid of me to happily betray me.”
Jim crossed his arms. “Mwamba’s good. And as long as you’re worth having around, his being loyal to you is tolerable, but like everyone else next door, he’s replaceable to me.”
Jim grimaced at Seb’s facial expression. “I’m not scolding you. Keep eating, and without giving yourself indigestion.”
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. “A lot of what you do around here has been good. The whole team are right in their opinions of you. But the way I run things around here is for a fucking reason, and if you cause problems with my ability to trust my staff, it’ll be your job to clean up before I even begin to punish you.”
Jim growled and threw himself onto the end of the bed, jostling but not overturning the food. “I’m not… if you were in trouble you’d know it; I’m only emphasising that I have my way of doing things and you always fucking well do something else entirely.”
~
Apart from taking a bit of heat (which was quite unjustified) off Mwamba, Sebastian’s suggestion that Jim might eat something had been entirely harmless and without guile. So the sudden stiffening and the flare of irritation Sebastian sensed was bewildering. Then again, that was also something Sebastian had inevitably gotten used to. It was also a good thing he was almost back to his usual judicious self. Sebastian's gaze warily followed Jim as he jumped out of bed, rolling his neck - as he often did when exasperated or ordering his thoughts, or both. Just that usually Sebastian didn’t hear his cervical vertebrae scrunch. It was hard not to grimace.
When Jim started to speak it sounded like praise, but the perfunctory kind that was bound to be followed by a but and something serious. The next feeling Sebastian had become familiar with only since meeting the man currently pacing a rut into the floor boards. It was like trying to make sense of an invisible, intricate and convoluted painting by catching a few isolated glimpses. He got most of the points Jim seemed intent on making but simply connecting the dots with straight lines was as successful as drawing by numbers to replicate a Picasso.
His facial expression must have looked accordingly, because Jim rolled his eyes and prompted him to keep eating.
Christ, if anyone knew Jim had his own way of doing things, it was him, right? So what the hell… ?
Sebastian steadied the food tray when Jim flung himself back onto the bed. After a few long seconds of silence, Sebastian simply said: “Sorry,” - a bit at a loss and resigned to the fact that he wasn’t able to follow and a tad crestfallen about it. “What is it you are telling me?”
That he blatantly did things differently from how Jim wanted them done? Hardly. That he did his official duties well, but not the unofficial ones – whatever those were?
“There isn’t an issue with what I do but how?” With the fact that the teams were loyal to him? Which was a good thing, except that it wasn’t? Because it was better to simply scare people to cow them? Well, Sebastian was quite capable of that but Jim was already doing a stellar job of it.
Or did Jim feel forced to curb his temper and be more reasonable than he liked to, because otherwise it was bound to lead to a good boss – bad boss perception among the troops?
“I gathered you hired me to keep your staff in order. I am doing that.” Every single one of them was excellent, and fluctuation had dropped to a minimum. “There’s no accounting for a last residual risk. Never.” Jim had said that himself. All the more reason not to give them … that reason.
~
Moran’s apology only managed to make Jim feel worse. Seb rarely seemed sorry about anything, but here he was being subdued and trying to communicate reasonably, when it was becoming increasingly clear to Jim that it wasn’t really Seb or even Mwamba that he was furious with.
“No,” Jim said shortly and without grace. He drew his knees to his chest and glowered, but not at Seb, lest the man take it personally. It wasn’t Sebastian Jim was upset at.
Jim buried his face in the fabric of his trousers and growled, “I told you I wasn’t telling you off, so I don’t need a fucking apology from you, do I?”
Jim sighed and forced his tone to soften, although even the milder version was dangerously brittle. “Sometimes, sweetheart, you’re just the closest thing in the room to shout at,” he spat from between his bent knees. Jim pressed closer into himself, resisting the tremors caused by the adrenaline surging through his body as his upset rose and resisted his understanding. The most natural way to relieve that was to hit something, but Sebastian was the only one here. And Jim was much too irate to be careful with him.
Jim should have been annoyed by some of what he was complaining about, but he wasn’t really. There was something else, something worse, filtering through from the back of his mind. Jim breathed with deliberation, his torn fingers pressing hard into his flesh as he resisted his habit of lashing out when he felt such a swell of frustrated anger.
“You’re alright, Sebby,” Jim added in a tight but not unkind tone. “Just eat; rest; don’t touch me. I’ll get a leash on my temper in a minute.”
And oh - there it was. The reason Jim’s subconsciousness was clawing furiously from the back of his mind to the fore.
Mwamba thought Jim was capable of making Sebastian scream the way Seb had when every bone and muscle within Seb’s body rearranged itself. They all had: Tom and Caruso and everyone next door.
And that was good. If people thought Jim was capable of harming Seb like that, then Seb was in no more danger from enemies than he was before.
And even if no one had heard Seb in such pain earlier, they’d be concerned for Seb anyway. Because Jim always, always broke his toys. He got bored. He lost his temper. He liked to hurt people.
And that was what was making Jim’s skin crawl, his frustration and anger seeping right into the air around them.
Everyone liked Sebastian and expected Jim to at some point not just hurt the man but harm him badly. Part of Jim inexplicably revolted at that, wanting to explode that he would NEVER!
Jim threw his head back against Seb’s footboard and winced when the bruise there connected.
The thing that curled malignantly around his insides and made him want to be sick was the fact that of course Jim would eventually do exactly what the team expected. Of course he would. He’d have to. Seb was already far too close. Far too important to him.
Sebastian Moran was a threat that needed neutralised, and at his core Jim was merciless. At some point Jim would hurt Seb and it wouldn’t be fun and Sebastian wouldn’t recover.
Or worse? Jim would break Seb irreparably and he’d enjoy it.
The thought made Jim want to peel his skin off and burn it.
~
Sebastian was eyeing Jim as he sat at the foot of the bed, retracted into himself, almost motionless, but the air around him brimming with tumultuous energy. Loaded with tension in a way it literally made the fillings of Sebastian’s teeth hum.
He eyed Jim warily, only slightly reassured by the statement that he wasn’t the cause, but just a convenient lightning rod - most of the time. Which didn’t come as a big surprise, and wasn’t exactly news either, Sebastian didn’t attribute that much importance to himself to believe otherwise. Which quite helped to bear the outbursts with reasonable grace and a good measure of stoicism – most of the time.
‘Just eat; rest; don’t touch me’ Sebastian’s right eyebrow briefly curved upwards. As if he would. Not of his own accord and when he was in his right mind anyway.
It wasn’t easy to keep eating in an atmosphere as charged and brittle as glass about to explode, but he was so ravenous he did exactly that. Methodically he diminished the mountain of food, keeping his eyes down on his tray, only now and then venturing a covert glance into Jim’s direction.
He couldn’t remember seeing the man look so … tortured by whatever went on in that freaky brain of his, and yet so paradoxically still. A dangerous stillness that had nothing to do with calm and everything with the breathless silence in the centre of howling storm.
Sebastian knew better than to utter a single word. Sometimes he would do that, but right now that would have been a foolhardy recklessness even Sebastian Moran kept away from.
When he finally put down the cutlery because there was no way he could fit in one more bite, his stomach still felt strangely … hollow.
~
Eventually Jim did, as promised, get a handle on his anger. Or at least, enough to recognise that his desire to shoot something, or several somethings, and / or stab someone into less than ribbons, was not going to dissipate but could be held at bay long enough to put some physical distance between himself and the far too vulnerable Sebastian.
Part of Jim wanted to sweep the food aside, press Seb into the bedding, and kiss him hard enough to disprove the gnawing fear. Jim could and did take whatever he wanted, and part of him wanted to believe Seb was no different from other treasures.
Except Jim didn’t believe in fairytales, even with a companion cursed to transform into an exotic beast under the light of the moon. Of course he’d be unable to keep Moran. Jim wasn’t built for affection.
And the swirling frustrations made Jim worry he might resentfully take Seb too roughly by the throat if he drew close.
Unbidden, Jim thought back to a Britney Spears song he’d misheard in his youth. Lucky. The lyrics referred to an appearance of tears in the night, and Jim had never been much of a crier, so that might never have caught his attention. Instead, he’d thought the word to have been ‘bees’ and he’d considered that a clever metaphor for the way thoughts buzzed ominously and overpoweringly in difficult times.
That was how Jim felt now: like there were warring bees in his brain and under his skin, straining to spill out violently, and none too precious about who they stung on the way out.
Jim took a deep breath.
“I need to go out for a bit,” he said hoarsely. Jim bravely pushed away from the bed, but quite without consciously meaning to, Jim’s fingers found Seb’s ankle and squeezed.
“I need you to be good as gold whilst I’m out, understood?” Jim said with deathly seriousness. “You have to get all of the rest you need. If you’re hungry you get someone to bring you food. You do not get up to any more fucking nonsense like tidying up this place - you rest.” Jim raised a brow darkly. “Resting also means no playing with what’s no longer yours. You have bed rest to recover your strength, not deplete it.”
Jim let go of Seb’s ankle and shook his head emphatically as he said, “I’m not playing either, Mor- darling. Daddy’s very cross, and we don’t want to misdirect my temper, do we, petal? So you are absolutely going to be a good boy, just for this little while, with no exceptions.”
Jim nodded fiercely, staring hard at Sebastian until the blond understood to play along, mirroring the action. At his sides, Jim’s fists were tight, nervous tension singing threats all the way up his arms and the chords of his neck.
Jim forced himself to take another careful breath.
“If you get bored, precious, occupy yourself with something that won’t make Daddy cross with you. You could order us a new kitchen perhaps. Caruso’s cooking is all well and good, but it’s not on a par with your grilled cheese, is it?”
Jim forced an approximation of a smile onto his strained face and moved towards the door, heart hammering with the need to fight something. Himself included.
Jim texted a short order to the driver on call and signed off as M. Benton had Jim’s number saved, but one of the few ways Jim managed to keep any fucking staff alive was by at least trying to give them warning when he felt at his most unpredictably lethal.
~
’I need to go out for a bit.’ Jim’s voice belied the casual phrase – it was a tense and tight as a bowstring. Hell, the whole man was. And Sebastian, who had uttered almost the same words a mere three nights ago, remembered exactly how that felt. You had to get out before you killed something, or at least thrashed a kitchen.
But of course Jim didn’t leave without reading him the code of conduct - one that would have taken a considerable amount of joy out of life if not for Jim being the one giving it, and the reasons for it. The notion that parts of his body weren’t his anymore to do with them as he pleased, was twistedly hot and sent a heavy surge of arousal towards said parts.
He hoped that wasn’t a transgression already and tried to look suitably demure when nodding in acknowledgement.
When the door had closed behind Jim, he also hoped they wouldn’t have to be looking for replacements for any vacancies among the staff very soon.
There was an upside to being explicitly ordered to stay in bed: you could blithely stay in bed. That’s what Sebastian did, falling asleep sated and warm, and when he woke up again it was almost noon.
He polished off the leftovers, before he finally got up, but only to retrieve his laptop and return to bed immediately. The next two hours he spent on that sinfully expensive kitchen website Jim had browsed two days ago and where he had already marked favourites. Those were untainted by any sense of practicality but gave Sebastian a pretty good idea of what the Lord of the manor found agreeable from an aesthetic point of view. Matching that with his own wishes their new kitchen was taking shape, featuring brushed stainless steel, dark granite, and worktops that looked like polished driftwood. In the end, Sebastian was quite pleased, confident it would be less quaint than their original kitchen but still a place that inspired you to cook rather than bring people here who you needed to disappear by slaughtering and dismembering them…
He clicked on the button that requested an offer (including the ‘removal of previous kitchen’, which was already demolished, thank you very much) and people who would come in to take measurements.
After that he must have dozed off again, into a blessedly relaxing sleep of the kind that had been eluding him for weeks. Still, what woke him up was a sound normally inaudible from this side of the house: gravel crunching underneath the tires of a car coming up the drive.
~
Absently Jim felt a wave of relief that for once Seb had understood not to be provocative. That had very much helped keep the blond safe for now.
Benton followed the rules too. He stayed in the car instead of getting out to open Jim’s door and kept the separator window up, keeping a safer distance between himself and the volatile Jim Moriarty. Jim snapped himself in, straining with agitation against the seatbelt almost immediately after, then threw himself back against the seat only to kick out a few times.
Benton did not even glance at Jim in the rear view mirror. He merely put the car into gear and drove off, focusing on the predetermined destination Jim had texted, although the hairs on the back of his neck were on edge. It was impossible not to be aware of Moriarty when he was in such a dark mood, even when the rule was to focus on the job and give Jim no reason to turn his attention that way.
Benton took Jim to another residence. It only had an indoor shooting range, not land, but Jim’s temper was in no state to tolerate the longer drive to get out of the city.
Benton stayed in the car. He’d stay there as long as necessary, listening to some educational language thing or watching something clever. Having to wait for the return of his driver had the potential to return Jim to a bad mood when he was like this.
Jim emptied clip after clip until his ears hurt even under the ear protectors. Reloading ammo and squeezing triggers chafed at his scabbed hands. Jim shot until he was bored and dizzy, too long spent with his arms high.
It wasn’t enough. Jim needed blood; the smell in his nostrils and the thickness under his nails. He needed to feed off of someone else’s fear to remind himself he was powerful. He needed someone else’s pain to distract from his own.
Jim texted one of his subordinates, demanding a candidate to be made an example of at the office.
Somewhere secure he could be without his usual bodyguard, but make use of his anger. Make it work for him, for his empire. Feed the fear of Moriarty that kept things under his control.
At the last minute Jim added a follow up text: not a blond. It irked him to say that, but he was known to give enough orders seemingly on a whim that it wouldn’t be questioned even if someone dared. Not that anyone would.
It felt odd to be back in the office without Sebastian. It had only been a few months but Jim had gotten so used to having the man around. The only person Jim could bear to have in his proximity day after day after day.
The only person Jim wanted to see daily. And touch.
Jim paid little attention to the crime of the man sacrificed on the altar of his temper in the supposed name of the empire. Jim noticed the criminal’s hair was almost as dark as his own locks, fear giving the man a pallor that matched Jim’s everyday skin. Jim noted the eyes on them both. He noted the tools laid out and how they made the hapless stranger react and absently noticed at one point hearing someone vomit but not caring enough to glance around. Not when the sick violence he was exhibiting was channeling his fury and frustration into something that made Jim feel that bit closer again to having control.
Afterwards, there wasn’t a thread Jim was wearing that was salvageable. Even the gloves he’d worn as a barrier between his scabbed skin and the stranger were enough to give men nightmares. The blood had soaked right through Jim’s clothes, but afterwards when Jim undressed to shower he had to fight to peel off his boxers in places, the gore having not only soaked through but stuck to his leg hair and stained his skin.
Jim felt disgusting, but tired in a way that was almost reassuring. Like discovering after a fall as a child that your knee wasn’t actually caved in, only hurting, Jim still felt raw, but more grounded than before. A strange sort of grounded, where he felt floaty and only partially returned after a disassociated state, but at least affirmed in who he was and what he could do to a threat.
Jim waded towards the shower in his private office. His limbs felt wobbly and too heavy all at once. His fingers wouldn’t curl enough at first to switch on the water.
Jim simply stood under the stream for some time. He watched the worst of the muck slough off, then trails of red and brown for some time after before the water started to look at all clear. Jim almost kicked some dried chunks of matter across the plug hole to better filter them through the drain, but with an abrupt moment of clarity Jim remembered the wounds on his feet, which he probably shouldn’t be steeping in someone else’s bodily fluids.
Jim stepped back quickly. He lifted each foot in turn to examine it. They were probably okay; the wounds not as abused as his hands had been.
Jim sighed and shifted, keeping his stance wider than was comfortable to stay out of the puddle of water. His hair was disgusting and Jim reached for his shampoo-
And his eyes prickled suddenly. Jim stared at the bottle through burning eyes as he remembered how Moran had deeply inhaled his hair, and implied it was the smell of Jim that he liked so much.
Jim blinked quickly and flinched. What was that?
Jim almost fell, flailing for the wet tiles as he reeled mentally and physically.
It wasn’t that Jim couldn’t cry. He had wept sometimes, when he was young. And sometimes he’d been in so much pain his eyes had watered. There had even been a few moments when emotions had made Jim’s eyes glassy as an adult.
But it had been a long time since any tears had fallen from his eyes. Jim wasn’t even sure that one had; he was under the showerhead and gunk was falling from his wet hair at random intervals.
Jim straightened and slowly reached for the shampoo again. He didn’t dare examine his feelings and if a tear had fallen, it had startled any others into staying put.
Jim cleaned himself up and dressed in a spare outfit that did not feel quite right for his unsettled mood.
Jim made Benton take a further detour before they drove home.
~
After straining his ears for half a minute, following footsteps on the gravel and the car rolling away, Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief. Someone entering the house with no warning from next door automatically pinging on the two digital devices currently in the room – that meant it could only be Jim. That in turn meant he was back from whatever madcap or grisly expedition he’d gone on without his best bodyguard. The evidence that the Moriarty Empire as well as its Royal household were still running smoothly regardless of Sebastian Moran being out of commission was still rankling, on the other hand he’d had enough time to come to terms with that, to a degree anyway.
Sebastian caught himself surveying his room for any signs that he might have disobeyed any rules on the list Jim had given him at his departure, and that was vexing as well. He hadn’t, had he? And yet here he was, like a pet appeasing his master preemptively for something he hadn’t even done, for fuck’s sake.
With a huff he balled his pillow into a neck-supporting shape, pulled the laptop over and opened it again. After five minutes he decided that reading up on Feline Medicine was not a wholesome activity and instead started to browse through websites of Indian folklore – anything to do with tigers… Anything that might, even between the lines, have a connection with his own… condition.
All the while his hearing (and the subconscious part of his brain processing it) followed the sounds Jim made around the house. When his footsteps drew near but passed the broken door, then entered the next one to the adjacent bathroom, Sebastian lifted his head and frowned. A plonk and clank suggested that something had been thrown into the bin? What the hell..?
He was about to get up, when the bathroom door to his room opened and Jim sauntered in. Without as much as even a perfunctory knock.
“Oh please do come in,” Sebastian said cheerfully, adding a mumbled “Any activities I wouldn’t want to be caught at are forbidden anyway.”
He was about to look at his laptop again, but then, suddenly little hairs all over his body stood on end. With Jim a distinct smell of blood had entered the room. Furtively and avoiding any obvious scrutiny, Sebastian’s eyes skimmed over him. Lapel, shoes, fingernails – all clean. Not a hair out of place. But his suit was not the one he’d left in four hours ago, and the traces of a comb were much too sharp. Recent. There was a fresh and distinct whiff of luxury shower gel, and a stronger one of cordite, but underneath all that Jim reeked of blood, and worse.
In a way that made Sebastian’s skin crawl and he felt himself pale.
~
Jim found his lips twisting crookedly into a wry, genuine smile.
“Sorry petal, am I supposed to announce, ‘honey, I’m home,’ whenever I walk around my own damned house? I’d have brought you flowers if I knew you were feeling neglected.” Not tiger lilies either.
Jim raised a brow at Moran’s naughty little mutter. “Is that a revolt I hear, Sebby? Would you rather I didn’t claim you as mine and you were left to touch yourself unaided from now on? I very much doubt you’d have as much fun.”
Jim removed his suit jacket and tie, tossing them absently aside. They’d felt wrong from the moment he’d put them on, but some part of him felt like he could finally breathe now that he was home. Jim unfastened then top few buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.
“Speaking of your behaviour, darling, am I to understand that you have been a good boy for me whilst I was gone?” Jim glanced at Sebastian with a small but warm smile. “That is most unlike you, but very much appreciated.”
Jim opened his mouth to perhaps say something fond or reassure the blond that the danger had passed, Daddy had dealt with it, but…
Sebastian was pale and tense and…
Jim felt entirely uneasy. “Sebby? Whatever is the matter? Were you naughty? Darling it’s alright, Daddy has his temper under control and I won’t punish you too severely now. You are quite alright. I-”
Jim paused, noticing Sebastian’s flaring nostrils.
“Seb? Is it it me? Are you-” Jim had a momentary nasty thought that Sebastian was hungry, the tiger within smelling prey, but that wasn’t the look in those blue eyes at all. Jim frowned and brought his hands to his face to sniff.
“Is it me?” Jim asked, openly offended. Surely the little opened scabs on his hands would not make Seb pale like that?
Or… could Seb still smell what Jim thought he had showered off? Gunfire and gore and whatever else?
“Seb, it’s nothing; I’m not hurt,” Jim said slowly. “I was just… letting off some steam. There’s nothing you need to worry about?”
If he had any sense, Seb would worry about being near a man who could do such things. Jim certainly worried he might do those things to Seb.
But it was too late now. Jim could not bear not to have Sebastian Moran anywhere else but here at home with him.
So it was a waste for Seb to worry. He might as well enjoy whatever life he had left.
Jim felt sick again.