Kitchen
As Jim permitted him to eat the leftovers, Sebastian nodded slowly, recognising a diversion when he saw one, because Jim’s leftovers had been a staple of his diet almost since they’ve had their first meal in each other’s company. In private anyway. Not in a more formal public setting though, although Sebastian suspected Jim might have found that even more amusing. But, no matter what Sebastian might be - and with pleasure - in the seclusion of their bedroom (fucktoy), or in the semi-seclusion of their larger household (pet employee), the outside world would never see him as anything but what he was to said outside world: a menace, dealing out the will and judgement of the most dangerous man in London. Not a slightly dumb mutt gobbling up the scraps from his table.
Sebastian drew Jim’s plate closer and did just that. For once also refraining from pressing Jim to eat. Jim didn’t look so scrawny anymore that Sebastian had to fear he might collapse if he missed one more meal.
At the moment his informal attire sans tie lent him a slightly Bohemian air. Sebastian liked it a lot, almost as much as the pristine severity of his bespoke suits, which did unspeakable, breath-taking things to Seb’s insides.
What he didn’t like at the moment was that flicker of agitation and turmoil on Jim’s face, which was impossible to interpret (and in such moments it was very prudent to hold your tongue), but again it reminded him of what had happened a few hours ago. Sebastian had still no grasp on what it had been... An immediate outward threat he was not privy to, that Sebastian could discount: although clothed, against his habit Jim wore no weapons. Something physically wrong, sickness or worry? That seemed more likely, as Jim curled in on himself, hugging his knees. Fuck, Sebastian would prefer a hostile mob any day, that would be much more fun, and not half as dangerous as Jim could be to himself.
Jim’s body language suggested anything but what Sebastian still offered: “I’ll stay here, if you want me to?” If it… makes you feel better? “Someone from next door should be perfectly capable to keep an eye on things downstairs.” He tilted his head and looked at Jim questioningly, before picking the last remaining bits of egg from the plate with his fork.
~
Jim tensed in response to Sebastian’s questions. Pale as Jim was, Seb was unlikely to notice Jim’s knuckles turning white as they dug into the arms wrapped around his bare legs, but Jim straightened a little and pushed his hands through his hair, looking at the ceiling as he debated the options with himself.
Jim should tell Moran to go, because no good would come of getting even more attached… but it wasn’t like Seb was needed elsewhere. Any of the security team were quite capable of overseeing a few kitchen fitters.
“You’re welcome to delegate, but you might prefer the company downstairs,” Jim said in a voice so even he surprised himself. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely crumbling? Or perhaps he’d simply accepted that everything was falling down around him. “I doubt I’ll be much fun for you today.”
Jim could see Sebastian hesitating. The blond was intelligent enough to know a warning when he heard one, but also stupid (loyal?) enough to ignore such warnings with a regularity that would get anyone else killed. So far Moran had only proven to be a supernatural creature, not an immortal, so he really was pushing his luck.
Jim was in no mood for an argument. He felt drained. That didn’t mean Seb was safe; Jim tended to lash out when he felt vulnerable.
He tended to lash out regardless.
But maybe Jim could keep things together enough just to have Sebastian in his company still? It was a terrible and weak decision, but it was worth sparing the effort to tamp down on any flailing tendrils of temper.
Sebastian ate, waiting for Jim to make a convincing decision. Jim hesitated himself.
“Do you… mind distracting me for a while longer?” Jim asked then frowned, because that hadn’t been what he meant to say at all, that wasn’t how he spoke, and he kicked his cutlery back a bit, closer to Seb, because it wasn’t a good idea to have sharps around when Jim felt foolish.
“You’re free to come and go,” Jim said coolly. “I meant… I like when you’re…” Jim rubbed his face tiredly. “I can barely string a sentence together today. I’m definitely sick. I don’t remember you getting stupid before you started eating raw meat.”
Jim spent a frustrating amount of time feeling stupid for a genius. He felt like kicking all of the lunch things off of the bed, and it was only Sebastian’s sensitive ears that made Jim resist the inclination.
He gave Sebastian a weak kick instead. He didn’t actually mean for it to be weak either.
“You stay,” Jim commanded.
~
“Maybe trichinella in my brain,” Sebastian offered. Judging from Jim’s face, the joke wasn’t going down too well, so he hastened to add: “But I have it on good authority that its capacity left much to be desired even before I started to eat raw meat.”
His instincts had always been good though, and still were - he had swiped up and removed the cutlery, in sync with Jim’s apparent wish to distance himself from anything fit to misappropriate as a weapon. Jim was sending out mixed signals here – not that that was anything new – which Sebastian had difficulty reading, but he was finally making up his mind by giving a clear order. Which Sebastian appreciated. And wasn’t that funny, considering the ambivalent footing he’d always been on with taking orders? How they were welcome, when issued by Jim? Not just the work-related ones (Sebastian did not question their chain of command, unlike back then when forced to bow to the rank and authority of idiots), or in the bedroom, but also, like now, they helped him pick his way through the minefield of Jim’s moods.
Oh, of course he still put his foot down occasionally, especially out of sheer necessity when doing his job as a bodyguard, or purely for the thrill of it in a more intimate setting.
Now – he gladly complied.
While removing the dishes to safety, he drew the phone from his pocket and rang next door to call over Poppy and Gary again as protection detail. Then he flopped down onto the bed.
“No, I don’t mind at all,” he answered Jim’s earlier question. His torturous restlessness had diminished a lot since the turn. Chances were it would gradually return, but at the moment his body felt more… his own again. He listened attentively until he heard the reinforcement arrive downstairs and the noises of the works resuming, then he turned his head to look at Jim, still cautiously gauging the mood, but feigning casualness.
“Distract you from what?”
~
Jim felt his face pale at Sebastian’s wry joke about worms. Jim did have a number of such symptoms himself: fever, myalgia, malaise. Was he less thin than normal, and not because of his unnatural appetite but because of oedema? Worse yet, the thought of something chewing away at his brain made Jim feel quite ill indeed.
Nonsense. It wasn’t brain worms or any other kind of trichinella that Jim was suffering from.
Still, Sebastian seemed to notice Jim was rattled by the thought because he was quick to turn the conversation back to self-deprecation, Jim’s usual snapping about Seb’s lack of grey matter. Sebastian wasn’t stupid -he was quite bright actually, intuitive and tactically minded- but Jim complained that everyone was slow. It wasn’t his fault his brain raced faster than seemingly most of the rest of mankind. Jim could be nicer about it, but ‘nice’ was not in his nature. The insult wasn’t personal, and Seb didn’t tend to take it as such. He was smart that way.
Sebastian was apparently not smart enough to have the decency to ignore Jim’s rare bout of word vomit unfortunately. Jim avoided Moran’s gaze as the man told him ‘I don’t mind at all’ in a tone that did things to Jim’s insides. Difficult, embarrassing things.
Jim was saved from the need to dwell on that by Sebastian choosing to be far more stupid than Jim knew him to be: ‘Distract you from what?’
Jim straightened his spine indignantly. “Now really, talking about things isn’t going to take my mind off of anything, is it?” Jim complained in acidic tones.
He almost kicked everything off of the bed just to be petulant, but he didn’t. Possibly because he himself was feeling a bit too sensitive to bear the crash and clatter of breaking tableware.
Sebastian didn’t even have the decency to look properly cowed. He rarely did.
“Everything, Moran,” Jim said with brittleness, and didn’t know why he was rewarding the prick with honesty. “If it’s somehow escaped your notice I’m having a rather vile time recently, and I’d like to think about anything other than the multitude of problems I’m dealing with for a little longer.”
Jim shifted and toyed with the cuff of his shirt. It felt odd not having a knife tucked in there.
“I’m not ask-tell- I’m not looking for you to bleed for me, or anything,” Jim said quietly. “I’m not in the right mood for that to be a good idea, and I’m too tired to be careful enough. But… listening to you prattle on for a bit is more restful than being at the centre of my own thoughts, there’s less… noise… and maybe that’ll help me focus afterwards, or at least recharge some. That’s something pets do, is it not? Soothe their owners?”
Honestly Jim didn’t care whether Seb spoke or not. There probably wasn’t anything new Sebastian could tell him. But he wanted Seb close, the safe reassurance that he was there, and hearing his voice helped. Jim didn’t have the energy to fuck Seb, and felt somewhat uncomfortable after the last time anyway. He just wanted… companionship, for a bit? Was that was Sebastian was? A companion, like a pet? Or… a companion, like-
It was better not to think about any other options. It was bad enough Jim had acquired a pet.
~
The other day Jim had likened his brain to an engine constantly roaring in the highest gear, always on the verge of blowing up the very machine it was powering, and it hadn't only sounded dangerous but downright torturous. Bound to drive you insane (if you weren't already). With his own brain barely capable to even imagine how that felt - how was Sebastian supposed to distract him? Prattle - as Jim called it disparagingly? Well, for Jim almost anything coming out of the mouth of almost anyone, at almost any given time must fall into that category, so Sebastian didn't for a blink take it personally. (He also didn't mention how at the same time, some things were so stunningly alien to Jim that it was equally unbelievable.)
Of course there were other options of distraction too but... something that afforded Jim to rest seemed best.
Sebastian moved the last remaining pieces of tableware to safety.
"You know tigers have those black-and-white spots at the back of their ears, which can be seen when the tiger feels aggressive, or defensive, or pissed off, but also when he's drinking or feeding?" Yes, Jim liked to tease him about how Sebastian occasionally wound down by watching discovery channel... So what? That was his way to 'keep the noise down’, which was admittedly less hassle than what Jim was dealing with on a daily basis. "But they are apex predators, right? So who the fuck do they need this ruse for...? Other tigers? Bit stupid, because - wouldn't they know? That it's a ruse?"
Prattle indeed, prattle extraordinaire.
~
Jim was less and less in the habit of mapping out possible consequences for every interaction with Sebastian. Still, he’d half expected Seb to talk about himself (his new senses, since that was new to both of them, or simply something familiar), or even the new kitchen. Perhaps a tiny bit of Jim thought Seb might push his luck and find another distraction entirely.
A puzzle was surprising and welcome. More than that, the effective distraction flooded Jim with a complex array of emotions, his gratitude almost drowned out by affection and possessiveness. Jim had made it his business to know everyone else’s buttons, but Sebastian had a habit of reaching Jim’s in a way that really was breathtaking. Sebastian had at times found buttons Jim didn’t even know were there, never mind in reach.
Jim had long ago given up on ever being understood. Perhaps he’d been hasty.
He tried to move aside the lunch things to close the distance between Seb and himself. Sebastian seemed to recognise there was as much strength in Jim’s arms as one might attribute to a limp lettuce leaf and took over the task.
“You’re an apex predator,” Jim said, nuzzling up to Seb’s side. “I first took notice of you because you’re such a perfect killing machine.”
Jim nipped Seb’s neck. “But I’m not afraid of you. I’ve never been afraid of you.” A slight lie, but being transformed into a hungry supernatural creature didn’t count. “Until recently I didn’t need to know if you were feeling aggressive, or defensive, or pissed off, or hungry.” Jim’s voice dropped. “I’ve had to pay more attention recently, because you’ve been such a grumpy bastard.”
Jim bit Seb’s ear lightly and gave it a mostly playful tug. “Perhaps I’d have benefited from you having a pair of fluffy ears to signal with,” Jim said once he let go.
Jim shrugged against Sebastian’s side. “Maybe even apex predators can’t always resort to claws and teeth for everything. I don’t.” His lips twitched without his permission and he admitted wryly, “Not that my communication skills are always… as simple as the angle of some ears.”
At this proximity Jim’s nostrils were full of Sebastian’s scent. Jim almost wanted to rub his face all across Seb, to coat himself in the familiar, comforting smell. He was certain Seb’s condition had come with an increased animal magnetism.
~
An appreciative rumble vibrated in Sebastian's chest in response to Jim's praise. Was it pathetic how ridiculously pleasing it felt? Regardless whether Jim commended his eyes, his arse, his skill as a killer or his grilled cheese.
In that light, Jim imagining him with fluffy ears as helpful indicators for his mood (Sebastian couldn't remember ever witnessing Jim being interested in or even fazed by anyone's mood) didn't feel as undignified as it should have, but instead drew an amused chuckle from Sebastian. He wriggled himself into even closer contact as Jim curled into his side.
"Of course you're not afraid of me." The notion alone that Jim could possibly fear anyone was ludicrous. Just like the notion anyone could possibly not be afraid of him (unless they were entirely ignorant).
"By the way, having an apex predator as a pet - that makes you what? God?" There was a smile in his voice, and it didn't sound sarcastic at all, rather bemused, as though realising how close that came to the truth. For him anyway.
"I'm glad you don't," Sebastian grinned, and Jim let go of his ear, "resort to claws and teeth only I mean. It wouldn't be half as exciting..."
~
Jim felt an odd flutter as Sebastian agreed, in a surprised and somewhat incredulous tone, that Jim was not afraid of him. Jim was not afraid of death or pain, so of course he wasn’t afraid of dangerous men. Jim had harmed people in ways that shook hardened killers, when he was inclined to get his hands dirty. Jim Moriarty was the bogeyman criminals had nightmares about. He hadn’t been afraid of anyone bigger and stronger than him in a long, long time.
And yet. Sebastian Moran could make Jim’s heart pound. Make his mouth dry. Make him sweat. And not just from lust.
Although Jim’s balls had been hurting a little this last month over how much more sex they’d been having.
The thing that Jim focused on was that Sebastian could make him… nervous… like he was a fucking inexperienced teenager still used to fierce rejection more than… well, the ferocious loyalty and enthusiastic fucking Sebastian presented to him. Jim had scoffed that Seb had acted like a hormonal boy last month, all appetite and attitude, but at least he’d been bold. Jim felt like an anxious fucking wreck. Normally he’d get stabby for feeling aggrieved… but instead Jim felt horribly soothed by the way Sebastian pressed closer to him. It felt good to be encouraged to curl against his side that way.
Teenage Jim had never pictured being wanted by a man who could transform into a fucking tiger, but he’d always suspected it would take someone monstrous to want him. Whatever Moran offered with all his little indicators that he somehow liked Jim or his company, he couldn’t possibly understand how Jim felt. (Jim barely had the stomach to try to pick that apart, just glared at the carcass of his good sense from the back of his mind.)
Jim scoffed as Sebastian complimented him. A month ago Jim would readily have agreed to call himself a God, and demand fealty as such, and deign to be insulted by the undercurrent of surprise in Seb’s voice that said he hadn’t quite meant his jokey praise to be serious.
“I shouldn’t have to remind you by now that I am the only God you ought concern yourself with,” Jim said haughtily, but instead of hurting Sebastian he just… didn’t. He didn’t raise his head from Seb’s shoulder, just lingered in that scary place that felt safe.
For a moment anyway. Jim allowed himself that.
Then he twisted around and arched his brows at Sebastian. “I was under the impression that my being creative could be a little much for you, pet. You were ever so sulky when I didn’t drug you. And when I did!”
Jim trailed a scabbed finger along Seb’s throat, where he’d punctured when Sebastian first agreed to play a little more personally than usual.
“Course, you took my blade with good enough grace. Much better than my fork…”
~
“Ah yes… that.” Sebastian lifted his arm – which incidentally pulled Jim, nestling in the crook of his shoulder, still a bit closer – his eyes searching for the four tiny dots on his forearm, barely visible now. With all the madness over the past few days, the memory of the … fork experiment had faded almost as quickly as the scar. But yes, it did come back to Sebastian: the shock and the pain, in big parts due to his reaction to the silver, the subsequent inflammation and horrendous itching, and most of all Jim’s expression: a flash of cruelty in his eyes as bright as that of the gleaming metal, but also rapt curiosity, and exhilaration.
“No,” Sebastian mused while Jim’s fingers trailed across his neck where the knife had drawn blood as Jim had set out to show him what he’d gotten himself into, “it’s not too much for me… Although I do like the brutal lover better than the mad scientist.” Or the unhinged psycho, although witnessing him held a certain, horrible fascination too. Those were moments when even Sebastian thanked the Lord that we was not on the receiving end, and hoped he would never be. Lately Jim had instilled in him the confidence, to a degree anyway, that he would do his best to grant him that wish. That was the only safety net Sebastian had. But, although it was a very basic one and a bit dodgy as to how safe it truly was (and he had an inkling that Jim didn’t know either), it was … good enough. All Sebastian needed. And maybe it was more than Sebastian had ever had. What else was your worth as a special forces soldier than your usefulness and the pricey investment the realm had put into your training. And while in no doubt that was exactly why Jim Moriarty had hired him, Sebastian knew that things were a bit different now. He smiled. More personal, as Jim liked to put it.
Sebastian was addicted to the adrenaline that came with sharing work, bed and table with the man, but it would be unsustainable without the spells when they were utterly relaxed in each others company. Jim nudging him into a position he could comfortably recline on was as precious to Sebastian as Jim eyeing him with a predatory gaze while opening his underbed drawer.
“Well, it is the way of gods to be creative and unpredictable.”
Be it in a very harsh or very playful manner, Jim pushed Sebastian's boundaries in ways Sebastian himself would never have thought possible. Now it sometimes felt as if, apart from keeping him reasonably whole, there were no boundaries Jim wouldn't challenge if it pleased him. Jim seemed to sense where they truly were and took great pleasure in showing him. Which Sebastian found utterly thrilling - not always pleasant, sometimes unsettling, but always mind-blowing.
~
Jim’s expression spasmed as Moran pulled him closer to look for the mark from the fork. Silver wounds seemed to heal much slower than those made by Jim’s nails or teeth (or underbed toys) but that wasn’t what made Jim’s nose scrunch. Being squashed casually against Sebastian, caged in by his strong arm, it felt… conflicting. The scent of Seb flooded Jim with a sense of safety and want, even as panic reared within him at the urge to relax and let Seb… hold him. Not simply prop him up, not acting as furniture, objectified, but… consenting, active, a participating equal with a will of his own.
Jim had searched for an equal for a long time before accepting he had no match. He didn’t know why his body reacted as though Moran could ever fit that role. The man was a complement to Jim’s personality and desires in many ways, but that was no excuse to let that want drive Jim to idiocy.
…When did Jim even start daring to want again? Certainly before Seb started daring to squish him. But when had Seb’s scent in his nostrils make Jim’s insides twist?
Jim’s lips were curling up of their own accord when Sebastian said something no one else ever had so convincingly: it’s not too much for me.
Jim’s heart raced, and then every muscle in his body tensed hard.
Lover? Moran thought of Jim as his brutal LOVER? He dared think that, he dared say that to Jim’s face, whilst in throttling distance?
Sebastian continued on, teasing that it was the way of the gods to be as Jim was, but right then Jim couldn’t manage to be amused or flirtatious. He felt stunned, the blood pounding in his ears an overwhelming roar. He was hyper aware of Sebastian’s proximity: the muscles of his arm; the thread count of his shirt; the steady, comfortable tick of Moran’s pulse like he hadn’t just said something that made Jim burn even as his blood turned cold.
Jim pushed at Sebastian’s inner elbow and throat, using the momentum to both free himself from Seb’s embrace and roll away, landing on his feet on the floor. He wasn’t as nimble as usual, his body still weak and his healing feet not pleased to be landed on thus. But he had created space, and Jim shifted his stance defensively as he kept that space between himself and a Sebastian who didn’t seem to know whether to be concerned, exasperated, or simply confused by Jim’s reaction.
“Don’t call me that,” Jim said. “I’m not… we’re not that.”
The nearest weapons were Sebastian’s own, and Jim wasn’t getting close to that. There was a handgun slotted down by the headboard (and a treasure trove of knives beneath the bed itself).
Instead Jim silently backed towards the door and left. He slammed his office door shortly afterwards, loudly enough to hurt Sebastian’s ears, and slumped down with his back against it.
“I don’t even know if we’re friends,” Jim muttered.
His eyes flew open, uncertain whether Seb could still hear him, nor whether he’d meant him to.
“Fuck you,” Jim said harshly, his voice louder, and still didn’t know whether he was talking to himself.
~
Sebastian swallowed harshly, for a moment feeling like he was just shy of a crushed larynx, as Jim had used the next best parts of his anatomy to propel himself away. What the f…? Sebastian’s mind scrambled back over what he’d said to trigger such a reaction until Jim helped him along.
’Don’t call me that… I’m not… we’re not that.’
Well then what are we? Sebastian thought, but it wasn’t just his sore throat that prevented him asking it out loud. It was a nothing he wanted to ponder too deeply, because what good would it do? So far he’d been quite content with all the things Jim enjoyed to be – boss, master, owner and bloody god (the daddy thing Sebastian did not like, but it was part and parcel), and it would be pathetic to get ideas or even start to whinge.
Still, the explosive speed speed with which Jim put distance between them stung. Like he’d been snuggling with a pet and discovering it had a flea infestation or bad breath.
Just, in this case, it had carelessly used the fucking L-word.
Association to which must apparently avoided at all cost, like any contact would burn his skin and maybe a whole lot more than that.
Sebastian stared after him, massaging his throat. He heard the study door bang shut. And that’s where it got you when you became so comfortable around Jim Moriarty that you slipped up and forgot to weigh every frigging word before uttering it. Considering this was Jim, and from all the glimpses into his complicated nature he had allowed Sebastian lately, he should probably be glad he’d gotten off so easy. Jim simply leaving the room and Sebastian’s throat intact was actually quite a mild reaction.
Sebastian couldn’t even bring himself to silently mouth an appropriate reply to the hearty fuck you from the study, accidentally or by design loud enough so he could hear it.
After falling back into the pillow and staring at the ceiling for a moment, Sebastian rolled out of bed and straightened his clothes. He might as well return to his more official duties besides protecting and looking after Jim Moriarty and his empire - like overseeing the installation of their kitchen, in which he’d cook their meals, and let himself be happily railed over the kitchen table.
Again he saw before his mind’s eye Jim’s alarmed, shocked expression at a harmless remark no normal person would have been offended by. But he'd long come to terms with Jim not being a normal person.
“Well, if you want to get hung up on semantics, be my guest,” he muttered as he went down the stairs.
The kitchen and the new pantry had made good progress, a plus-side of high-end contractors. The wall cabinets were up, and part of the rest as well, some of the appliances already connected. After Sebastian had relieved Gary and Poppy from their guard duties, he helped with the granite worktops, simply because he enjoyed the heavy lifting. The grinding noise of machinery when the last adjustments and final polishing touches were made he enjoyed less, and his earplugs came in handy. In the end, the workers cleaned dirt, dust and debris, and Sebastian tipped them generously, even though the whole kitchen and the speedy work cost an arm and a leg as it was. Not that it mattered, even such an amount was basically petty cash for Jim.
Being on his own again, and having marvelled quite a while at their new and gorgeous kitchen, Sebastian set out to restock the pantry and refill shelves and cabinets with what had been salvageable from their old kitchen. Which hadn’t been cluttered, and their new one was even less in danger of becoming so, because Jim’s destructive spree had put quite a dent in everything usually inhabiting a kitchen. Sebastian replaced part of the dishes with ones that were kept in the huge cupboards of the dining room, not for the first time wondering why they housed sets of two dozen of everything. Because it was ‘stately’ and proper? Because they had come with the house when Jim had purchased it? Certainly not because he was having soirees and entertaining guests on a regular basis. Never, to be precise, because this was Fort Knox rather than Versailles. But did he – what an a strange and intriguing thought – secretly fancy the idea?
When his stomach growled furiously, Sebastian realised it was way past dinner time. Foregoing the brief impulse to ring Caruso and order something, he fired up the gleaming black range cooker. Their provisions were as depleted as their dishes, but there was bread and cheese…
~
Jim simmered in his office and tried to push the last few moments from mind. He didn’t want to think about what Sebastian had said, or how carefully he had retreated instead of punishing Moran for being so fucking stupid, or how he really felt about all of it.
Better to think of other things, and certainly better to get back to work. Or at least to researching a cure for turning into a tiger at the full moon. Then perhaps everything could go back to normal; Seb would remember his place and Jim would think clearly, not hampered by whatever hormonal nonsense was happening. Sebastian had only been moody, but he hadn’t been subjected to the magnetism of a supernatural mate during his first month. It was no wonder Jim’s head was all over the place.
Well, he would soon sort that out. Jim got up from his position against the door and strode with purpose to his usual computer. If true love’s kiss wasn’t an option for them, he’d find something else.
Tears from a love wouldn’t work either. Jim bristled as he compared fairytale after fairytale on his spreadsheet which required a component of love. What was a psychopath supposed to do when he needed to break a curse?
Hero’s tears clearly didn’t work either, because Seb had been in pain during the transformation and that hadn’t helped him. Stories didn’t usually count the killing of enemies against knights, so surely as a soldier and protector Seb counted as a hero?
Or were they both villains? Villains usually had to repent to be cured, or killed, or they would hunt some obscure object only to be thwarted by a hero.
Jim massaged his face tiredly. Perhaps he wasn’t the point anyway. Perhaps Sebastian had to perform a task that would cure himself? Perhaps curing Seb would also cure Jim, since that was where he’d gotten it?
Jim felt uneasiness in his stomach, not for the first time, at the thought that Seb might need to slay the tiger who’d infected him in order to be cured. The thing could have killed him last time, and even with Seb’s new powers he didn’t have the benefit of experience using them. Besides, putting Seb on a plane when he was still coming to terms with his new sensitivities didn’t seem clever.
Jim stretched and listened to the noises downstairs. It seemed like the others had gone; Sebastian had a quieter tread than anyone else these days.
Jim realised he was hungry, and considered returning to his room for leftovers, but he still felt uneasy after how things had transpired in his room earlier.
Jim stood and debated with himself whether to approach the kitchen. The scent of his favourite comfort food hit his nostrils as he opened the office door.
Jim didn’t know if Seb was cooking just because he was hungry, or if they’d become like a couple who’d coax each other after a spat into making up via some treat, but Jim found himself being led by the nose.
Sebastian could clearly hear his approach before Jim entered the kitchen. His posture was a little wary, but perhaps amused too, that he knew Jim well enough to settle him with such a pedestrian peace offering.
Jim looked around the new kitchen instead of giving Seb the satisfaction of knowing he was ever capable of winning. The kitchen… did look good. And now it had some of their old things scattered about it, it felt more theirs than it had in the mock up images.
Theirs. Because this was Sebastian’s space. If anything this was his kitchen. This wasn’t like the den, that was to Seb’s specifications because Jim never used it; this kitchen was built to suit Seb because he cooked for them both here and because…And because since Jim refused to send the menace away, this was… Seb’s home too.
~
The new kitchen had an extra silent exhaust, but its noise and the sizzling butter in the pan still interfered with Sebastian’s ability to thoroughly assess the sounds of Jim’s footsteps down the stairs. But even without that it was quite a futile effort to gauge Jim’s mood and intentions; just like with a feral cat who might be sidling into a room plotting bloody murder, or simply because it had smelled food and heard the fridge door open.
Sebastian smiled, but just to be safe he kept a good grip on the handle of the skillet. With Jim in an unfathomable mood it seemed not a good idea to afford him access to heavy items containing sizzling fat. Of course, if Jim wanted a weapon, there was no way of preventing him from finding one – after all, the knife block was right there on the worktop and not as high up on the shelf as Sebastian had tauntingly suggested earlier.
Finally, briefly, he did glance back over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Jim surveying the room.
“Fridge and pantry have not been restocked yet, so I’m afraid the first meal is to be a very simplistic one.” Not that he would have made anything else, because nothing worked quite like grilled cheese to soothe Jim’s temper. Of course there were no certainties - the last time he had made it they’d needed a new kitchen afterwards. Which had been, admittedly, not the food’s fault.
But hadn’t that kiss been worth it...
~
“And there I thought you were trying to butter me up,” Jim muttered, still looking around the room. Chewing his lip in uneasy contemplation, Jim shrugged. “I don’t hate simple things.”
Sebastian’s expression shifted like he heard the lilt to Jim’s voice suggesting Seb himself might be simple, but he didn’t rise to saying anything cheeky in response. So he was still wary after Jim’s rebuttal earlier, even though that was probably the most restraint Jim had yet managed to show in the face of one of Seb’s many trespasses.
Although maybe Sebastian did trust him, because the knife block was on the counter instead of hidden away in a drawer like it had been for some time. Jim wasn’t entirely certain he trusted himself that much, the memory of why the kitchen needed replacing in the first place butting its way uncomfortably to the forefront of Jim’s mind.
The smell of the cooking food had its own unpleasant memories. Jim was only just beginning to let himself realise how much Sebastian Moran had seeped into his life, a stain that was never coming out, and it hurt horribly to remember how scared Jim had been that Sebastian wouldn’t survive the full moon.
Jim found himself approaching Seb. One arm was a barrier, holding the hot pan over the stove, and Jim circled to get to Sebastian’s other side. Jim moved slowly to telegraph a lack of threatening intent, but Seb’s shoulders were still stiff when Jim walked behind him.
“Good job,” Jim murmured, meaning the new kitchen, but perhaps meaning the food or fucking surviving too.
He tucked himself under Sebastian’s free arm and if that made it much harder to cook Jim did not care.
Jim slid a hand along Seb’s thigh. “I might be sick, but I’d still have thought christening the new kitchen would be more important to you than making food.”
Truthfully Jim was not well enough for penetrative sex; it took him long enough to manage the stairs. But there were other ways he could show Moran his esteem. Jim was certain he was not the one who ought to apologise for scolding Seb earlier -it was unacceptable to speak that way- but he felt a pull to be closer to Seb anyway. He rested his head against Sebastian and tried not to think about how much he’d enjoyed Seb’s arm squashing him close earlier before Seb had ruined everything by opening his fool’s mouth.
~
Still on his guard, Sebastian relaxed enough to accommodate Jim inserting himself under his right arm. His stomach fluttered, heat tingling down his spine, and he couldn’t imagine this would ever change – these shocking autonomous reactions of his body whenever Jim entered his personal space. It was like something was set off inside him, circuits closing, currents flowing. Jim being close was a wild mix of danger and promise, apprehension and hope, and also… apart from all that, a silly, sweet little thrill that this was where Jim wanted to be: Close.
Like now. When the fact that Sebastian was cooking, inadvertently meant he had to squish Jim a bit, unless he wanted to interrupt the process or burn their meal.
Sebastian let go of the pan to pick up a fork to remove the fried bread from it, and replaced it with two more.
“You know, people usually think of that - ” Sebastian’s fork waved into the general direction of the sizzling pan, “when talking about ‘christening the new kitchen’.” Jim stiffened a bit. Christ, did he think his sexual advances had been refused? “I just thought it would be good to get your strength back up first? Before the real christening?” God, Sebastian was still digging when already in a hole, wasn’t he?
His fingers made a grabbing motion, while his arm blithely kept Jim in the comfortable trap he had chosen all by himself. “Could you pass me the cheese please?” It was sitting on Jim’s side of the stove. It was pointedly handed it to Sebastian, who still had the impression Jim was bit ...piqued?
Sebastian flipped the bread slices in the pan, then scooped grated cheddar out of the bag and onto them.
Suddenly, almost shattering the nice feeling of Jim's hand on his leg, there came an uneasy though – was Jim regarding sexual activity as … a regular treat that Sebastian had come to expect? As part of his pet’s essential needs he must provide for to keep it happy and healthy like ... some sort of life-sized Tamagotchi? Or – which was a much more flattering thought – did Jim enjoy it so much himself that he craved it too, even when he was sick and feverish and barely strong enough to walk down the stairs?
Sebastian liked the second option much better. And he had loved how last night he’d been able to grab the initiative and take a more active role, he just wasn’t sure whether Jim had. Enjoyed it. After all, it had been hardly his choice to let Sebastian.
Anyway, reminding Jim of the fix he’d been in last night was likely not a good idea, nor pointing out that sex wasn’t something Jim should ever feel obliged about. Neither of it would go down well, but be deliberately misunderstood instead, or cause offence. Jim had a penchant for all that… He was capable of making them both go without for a week just out of spite.
Sebastian ground some pepper onto the cheese as it started to melt, and completed the ridiculously simple dish by dropping the first two slices of bread onto it. With the back of the fork he pressed them down gently.
“Now, what would you like to drink with that?”
~
An odd lump appeared in Jim’s throat as Sebastian squashed him close without being told to. It was probably just practicality - Jim was in the way and Seb was in the middle of a task - but it felt intimate. Fond.
Jim pushed away memories of why he’d smashed up the previous kitchen in the first place. Sebastian couldn’t possibly have meant how it felt - why would he? - but Jim couldn’t shake the threatening feeling that Seb liked holding him. That didn’t make sense. It didn’t feel dominating, so Seb wasn’t winning anything, and Jim wasn’t the one pinning Sebastian so sexual gratification couldn’t come into it either. Jim honestly didn’t know why Seb might enjoy this, and he didn’t understand why he himself enjoyed their impractical proximity either.
Sebastian also didn’t take the bait when Jim trailed a hand high up his muscular thigh. What the fuck did usual people have to do with them? Moran certainly had cloth ears when it suited him, but he was always responsive to being touched.
Sebastian tried to direct Jim’s attention to the cooking. What the actual fuck?
I just thought it’d be good to get your strength back up first?
Oh. Jim didn’t know how to feel about that, except that he didn’t like it. Showing weakness wasn’t ever good, and he’d shown Seb a lot of it recently.
Jim wasn’t certain whether Moran was making a point or trying to distract him when he asked him to help with the cooking. Seb might have gotten away with slacker reins than usual last night, but there was no fucking way they were becoming fluid in their roles.
Anyone else would have been held over the stove until their skin bubbled at the very least. Jim was still somewhat tempted to punish Seb; that healing factor could probably cope with some second degree burns.
But Jim didn’t think Sebastian was trying to upset him. And the smell in the air kept the previous fear of losing Seb at the forefront of Jim’s mind.
Jim thrust the cheese into Sebastian’s palm resentfully, and hated how being tucked protectively under Seb’s arm almost made the indignity of being ordered about like an ordinary creature worth it.
Oh god. If Seb asserted dominance over him during the full moon would that… change something between them afterwards?
No. Of course not. If Seb tried it Jim would bloodily put Moran in his place. Nothing was going to change.
Unless Jim didn’t find a cure soon.
Jim could hardly believe he had gotten himself into this mess. He watched listlessly as Seb continued cooking, only glancing up when Seb asked him what he wanted to drink.
Alcohol. And a lot of it, not that Jim felt well enough to actually drink any.
He forgot to keep an expression on his face as he remembered Seb’s reaction to whiskey a month ago. Great. There was something else being taken from Jim’s perfectly fine life.
“Don’t care,” Jim grumbled.
He wished he felt well enough to drag Seb to the nearest countertop, bend him over it, and force him to remember exactly how things worked around here. Jim was neither an invalid nor Seb’s lover - he was Sebastian’s owner and…
And there was no point thinking about what he wasn’t recovered enough to do. Jim huffed and nudged Seb a safe distance to the side to give his neck a petty little bite. He’d let Seb feed them both, then Jim would get Seb on the floor for dessert. The bastard would be feeling much less uppity once he was whining with Jim’s tongue between his cheeks.
The thought was enough to make Jim a little lightheaded.
~
Even though Sebastian could hardly ever fathom Jim’s thoughts, he’d become quite perceptive to sensing them. Not their content, but in the sense of hearing the cogs whirring… Just as he could feel Jim simmering and the subtle nuances and shifts in tension.
The simple request to merely hand him the cheese seemed to provoke such an indignity as if Sebastian had asked him to do chores around the house? And yet Jim stayed as snug under his arm as before. Sebastian tried to think of a way to turn making grilled cheese into a much more elaborate and time-consuming endeavour, but sadly he drew a blank, unless burning it would be incorporated.
Also, there was no need for that grumpy cat impression when being politely asked for your choice of beverage, right? Nonetheless Sebastian grinned when Jim half-heartedly pushed him away, not without nipping his neck.
“I know you’re starving, but food’s almost ready.”
And well, if Jim didn’t care … ? Sebastian switched on the kettle, their old, now dented one, prepared the teapot and poured the water in when it boiled. Then he plated the crusty cheese sandwiches.
“Wanna eat here or … upstairs?” In bed? Crumbs, grease and all?
The teapot started to emanate a whiff of peppermint. Adding a lump of honey and a dash of lemon to it, from the corner of his eyes he saw Jim scrunching up his nose.
~
It galled Jim no end that Sebastian fucking Moran seemed more inclined to get toasted sandwich crumbs in their bed than to be claimed in their new kitchen. There was clearly something wrong with both of them. Yet even more galling was that Moran’s frankly insulting comment didn’t make Jim any less fond of the perplexing prick.
Jim found himself distracted by his ire by Seb making an executive decision: Jim was having tea, and with added honey, like a sick person.
Like Jim had offered Seb once. Because his grandmother did that for him when he was sick. Ireland had gotten a national health service later than England, so she’d grown up when doctors were expensive and only used for the most serious things. Everything else you just got on with it unless you couldn’t, at times with the help of a herbal remedy here or there that had probably sprouted up before even the old farm itself.
Jim was uncomfortable considering at what point he’d stopped considering Sebastian’s welfare to be akin to tending livestock and more like… not his blood family, but… family in another sense? Someone Jim felt more comfortable around than anyone else, kin included.
Jim sat himself at one of the chairs at the kitchen table and waited for Sebastian to bring things over.
“So much of what I do relies on my ability to predict other people’s reactions, even though you all seem to rely on some other entirely different way of thinking that certainly doesn’t include proper logic,” Jim said quietly. “When I first get to know someone I’ll sometimes make games out of the probabilities they’ll react in certain ways, and what contributing factors guide them.”
Sebastian was looking at him, and Jim toyed with the plate set before him before looking up.
“When I knew you were submissive in certain circumstances I wondered about who you’d been with before. What they knew about you. Whether they’d wanted some big, strong, killer who’d rough them up and gotten something else instead. Whether they really saw you at all. Whether you even knew about yourself.”
The food was too hot to eat yet and Jim regretted that. He wasn’t sure talking honestly was ever a good idea.
“When I got to know you better you weren’t quite what I anticipated. I’ve known calm killers before, but despite all your many flaws you have proven yourself to be a stabilising influence in some ways. How did others react to you being such a mother hen despite what you are? Did they see it as leadership? Acts of service? Did they find it incongruent at all? Do you?”
~
Sebastian stirred the tea until the honey had dissolved. He placed the mug down on the table, and rubbed a thumb across his right eyebrow. How could the question of what to drink and where to eat lead to a philosophical discourse? Or was it Jim’s circuitous approach to quizzing Sebastian about … previous hook-ups? To hunt them all down and make them disappear? Sebastian wouldn’t put it past the little psycho. But then Jim’s musing took a stranger turn and sounded like genuine … interest about how it had gone? Whether he’d attracted people who’d wanted some big, strong, killer who’d rough them up but had gotten something else instead?
“No,” Sebastian’s lips twitched as he studied his plate and tested the temperature of the sandwich but found it too hot to escape into the diversion of eating. “They mainly got exactly that: the big, strong, killer who roughed them up. No hardship to me.” He glanced up at Jim and the curve of his lips widened into a grin. Also, he enjoyed giving people he liked whatever would make them happy, but that was not the heart of the matter either. Jim was on the right path: “And no they didn’t… see. Not like you did.” Not even Sebastian himself had, not … really. The dominant part came natural to him, and if there’d been a twitch of something underneath it, he’d barely ever glanced at it… out of the corner of his eye, let alone acted on it. Or maybe he had? Maybe all that vicious rebelliousness, the arrogance and insubordination had been a furious challenging scream for someone, someone …
And finally not only had someone heard it, and seen it, and had proven to be more than a match, but also made Sebastian see.
It had taken Jim Moriarty’s shocking ability to pick apart all these layers and get to the core of that convoluted jumble of open and suppressed desires that made up Sebastian Moran. And it had taken the sharp pressure of Jim’s knife against Sebastian’s neck to make him acknowledge it – back on that first night when they had stumbled through their front door and into the kitchen pulling on each other’s clothes and Jim had left no doubt that it would not be him up against the wall, bent over the table or on his knees…
Which of course wasn't all altruistic Jim, out of the goodness of his heart giving Sebastian what he truly needed, but first and foremost taking what he himself wanted. It just happened to happily ... coincide.
Sebastian wetted his lips as he realised his thoughts had gotten quite carried away, while Jim poked his still steaming sandwich with a finger and then continued musing about Sebastian’s merits as a stabilising factor, and unexpected mother hen habits.
“You mean it’s incongruent to be a cold-blooded killer and not a callous asshole as well?” To be fair – it probably was. Sebastian shrugged. It was actually quite simple. “I take care of my own.” It was such a fundamental and natural thing, that it slipped out before he could stop it, or at least exchange the last word for one Jim would feel less inclined to freak out about. Sebastian made a placating gesture. “You know what I mean. Anything I want to protect and keep from harm.” His team, his mates, his men. His friends. His lover. His king. His tribe, horses, sheep and home… - a human trait as old as time.
“And I’ve no qualms killing for it”, Sebastian concluded.
He went to the new fridge, took out a bottle of ale salvaged whole from the ruins of their old kitchen and opened it. “Doesn’t mean my empathy extends as far as drinking herbal tea as well.”
~
Jim considered the way Seb grinned when recounting that he had enjoyed dominating his previous sexual partners. Jim knew that part of Seb was there, the bastard had tried hard enough to take the upper hand when a row they’d had about Seb doing his job - Moran had dared complain that Jim was reckless and - well, it didn’t matter - it had escalated into tearing at each other’s clothes and Jim had pulled a knife on Seb to make it clear who was always going to be in charge. And Sebastian was shown his place, and they both enjoyed that.
Jim hoped Moran got enough satisfaction using his dominant side as chief of staff, because Jim certainly wasn’t at all versatile enough to tolerate anything else. Certainly not on a one to one level and certainly not letting Moran get his pleasure elsewhere.
Jim felt a jealous ache at the thought of Seb’s former lovers making him grin like that, then a wave of resentment that Moran could make him feel that way.
The ache eased as Seb looked at him, and reminded Jim in a soft voice that no one had seen him like Jim had. Jim had reached parts of Sebastian that had been explored by no one else.
Sebastian looked content, and Jim’s throat felt tight.
Sebastian poked at his food - still molten, like Jim’s - and considered Jim’s questioning about his incongruous nature. He didn’t get the real question of course. Jim could never ask Moran why are you kind to me, because any potential confession of feelings was best kept well away from. But how did they deal with it? With you? With how utterly fucking perfect you are, without losing their entire minds? was still a question Jim desired an answer to.
It didn’t matter that the others hadn’t ever seen Sebastian properly. They’d been able to give Seb things Jim never could: submission and emotional intelligence and probably a whole host of other neurotypically necessary things.
It made Jim want to break something.
“You are an arsehole,” Jim teased softly instead. He could have said more, but the possessive warmth in his tone said quite enough by itself.
He let Seb continue on, only to flinch without meaning to when Sebastian called him his own. Seb either noticed that or Jim’s sudden, silent stiffness, because he held out a palm - the silver burns long gone - and soothed Jim that he meant just business although Jim doubted that was true. Although it had to be really, because Seb would have to be bloody mad to care about Jim beyond his pay check and getting fucked satisfyingly hard on the regular.
Jim merely nodded mutely as Seb said he’d kill to protect him. Of course. That was what he was for.
…There hadn’t ever been a bodyguard Jim would care to protect though. Jim had no qualms about killing most people on a whim, but there was almost no one he’d care to keep alive.
Jim took a rallying breath as Seb got up from the table and got a drink. He scoffed as Sebastian derided the tea he’d made Jim, as though it didn’t twist his insides that Seb cared to make it for him.
“You’re still carrying us both in the empathy category,” Jim said dryly.
He finally broke off a corner of his food, but the smell made him put it down again. How had Seb coped with all of these emotions last month? How had he only displayed ire and hunger when Jim… well Jim was so unlike himself the aroma of grilled cheese was almost enough to make him get up and pull Moran close, an urge to reassure himself that Seb was okay twinging every of Jim’s nerves.
Jim dropped the food and massaged his face with his other hand.
“Come here,” he said after a moment. He pushed his chair away from the table and gestured. “Just for a moment. Kneel.”
~
“I know.” Sebastian grinned. “Empatic killer that I am.” Sebastian took a swig of ale and sat down again. He wasn’t sure what to make of Jim’s almost… tentative prodding into his past - about which only a brief while ago he’d proven to know everything. And yet, while Jim’s dossier on Sebastian Moran comprised a wealth of detailed information, and his insight into and the grasp on Sebastian’s nature was deeper than anyone’s, he still seemed to find it lacking in certain regards.
There were still things he hadn’t anticipated, and Sebastian guessed, that was … good? Everything not anticipated wasn’t boring?
But Jim also seemed uncharacteristically puzzled by it, as Sebastian watched him pick up his sandwich and then drop it again and rub his face.
Grilled cheese was delightful in many ways, but the solid fatty mass it congealed into when it cooled down was not. That would be a pity, which Sebastian tried to point out gently.
“It’s much better if you eat it before it gets co-” - ooh.
For a moment, Sebastian froze, replaying what he’d just heard – or misheard? - but Jim pushing his chair back from the table emphasised the order.
Sebastian followed it and slid down from his chair, slowly and somewhat tense. Maybe he’d misread and Jim wasn’t occupied with adding a few more shades to his chart of human nature, but simply vexed by the endless tedium of teaching Sebastian what and what not he was allowed to say. Like call him his own.
Being ordered to his knees in front of Jim, as well as the act of complying, was embarrassingly enough to do all sorts of things to Sebastian. Honestly, you could not complain about being called a pet if your reflexes and reactions were as primitive and inevitable as those of Pavlov’s dog. Although the tension in the line of Sebastian’s neck and shoulders remained. Amongst many other things he was aware of the proximity of the table, and how a quick hefty shove or blow could make his head connect with it.
~
Sebastian’s fussing halted immediately as he tried to process Jim’s order. The blond’s wide eyes and trailing off comment made Jim feel a little steadier in himself somehow.
He wasn’t used to feeling unsettled, but unsettling others was a capacity wrought into his twisted core. At least something he’d always considered innate had decided to stay constant. Jim hadn’t always been glad of his ability to disturb others, but anything empowering must be vastly better than the horrifying ache at the thought of losing something -someone- that he wanted more than he’d ever thought possible.
Sebastian dropping to his knees on the kitchen floor was a marvellous distraction from Jim’s less comfortable thoughts.
They hadn’t bothered with napkins, and Jim had forgone suit trousers so he briskly wiped his hands on his bare thighs. Brushing down his legs also served as a self-soothing gesture, calming him enough to ignore the sudden kick of lust Seb’s obedience and position gave to his balls.
“Good boy,” Jim said quietly.
The skin around Sebastian’s eyes shifted slightly; he was typically conflicted about that praise. Jim wasn’t mocking though, so it was interesting that Seb seemed apprehensive.
Surely Jim was the one who ought feel that way, with the emotional rollercoaster Moran had strapped him onto of late.
Jim considered Seb’s actions for transgressions.
My own.
Sebastian’s words echoed in Jim’s head. Something conflicted and horrible reared in Jim’s gut. Was that how Seb felt when Jim belittled him? Appalled, but… enthralled?
This was why one should be far more careful with supernatural creatures. They had… magnetism. Strange, unfair, powers.
Jim sighed and reached for Sebastian, twisting Seb’s hair around his fingers habitually. It hurt a fraction less than yesterday, the scabs knitting together much easier (despite Jim’s inability to pander to them) than the odd wounds Moran had carved into Jim’s very being.
Seb seemed conflicted by the pain in his scalp. His eyes were dark like he’d be quite happy to be told to eat Jim first, but he’d certainly not melted into the touch either.
Jim mentally kicked into touch his previous urge to just touch Seb, to remind himself the bloke was fine. Ish.
Jim gave Seb’s skull a yank. He raised a brow at Sebastian’s expression and said, “Just to be clear, precious: you had things backwards.”
Jim gave Seb’s hair a fierce tug, only to let it go and glance a fleeting, stinging slap off Seb’s cheek instead.
“I do not, and will not, belong to anyone.”
Jim ran his foot up Seb’s thigh, mentally daring Sebastian to grab his ankle, although he knew Seb was naughty not stupid.
“You are mine. You are my own and no one else’s, not even your own,” Jim said.
Jim bent close. “Your lord and master; your king; your god: yes. Your owner: yes. But never yours.”
Jim ran his fingers over Seb’s mouth. “Only one of us is a toy.”
Jim looked at him for a long moment, then pressed his forehead against Seb’s and pushed a little, annoyance and affection a confusing mixture.
“That will never be me. And you will always be my own,” Jim said quietly.
He kicked Seb hard enough to draw a hiss. “Go eat before it’s cold.”
~
Jim’s fingers took hold of Sebastian’s hair with a tight, well-practised grip. The hint of a threat was always wrought into it, but to Seb it had begun to feel grounding too. Steadying. Demanding focus. On occasion it made Sebastian go compliant and almost boneless, but today he stayed a bit stiff, like a pet who figured he was not getting a treat but his nose rubbed into the mess he’d made. Or a fucking slap. Sebastian swallowed an indignant growl. Jim was needlessly getting worked up about something that had not been meant as a phrase signifying possession. Jim knew that, right? Or maybe he didn’t. Either way – it did not seem like a good moment to point it out to Jim Moriarty that his understanding of the finer nuances in human relationships were a bit basic. That there were a lot more variations than master and servant, god and his toys, owner and owned.
Come to think of it, since Sebastian had settled so well into that order of things that Jim laid out for him again, and was feeling too much at home with it, and undeniably enjoyed Jim enforcing the rules - maybe he had lost the right to still feel bristly about it?
However - Jim Moriarty was a world apart from ordinary humans, and Sebastian didn’t question his rules. Unlike many others he’d come across in his life, he acknowledged them.
“Yes.”
Sebastian’s eyes had briefly dropped to Jim’s foot sliding up his thigh. His posture shifted minutely as though he considered taking advantage, but he didn’t. Rules.
Jim pressed his forehead against his, not entirely affectionate, but close, more a head-bump and not a head- butt, which Sebastian was grateful for and responded with a little pressure of his own.
The protesting hiss at the mean kick ended in a soft snort as Jim quoted himself back at him, ordering him to eat before it got cold. Yes, thinking about it, making grilled cheese had led to a lot of things lately, eating a civilised meal rarely one of them.
Sebastian didn’t bother to get up again, he simply slid into a more comfortable position and reached for his plate. Sitting on the floor, slightly leaning against one of Jim’s knees, he started eating.
~
Moran sulked at the slap and the scolding, as Jim expected, but he also pressed his forehead back against Jim’s with warmth and simply agreed to what Jim said. It was clear Seb didn’t agree, but seemed resigned for the moment to go along with things.
Sebastian Moran had a particular knack for taking the satisfaction out of being indulged.
Although the pressure of Seb’s forehead was nice. It was also endearing when mere moments after hissing in discomfort from being kicked, Seb made a noise of amusement at Jim’s latest order. Snorting was not the response Jim was used to receiving in the wake of his orders, but Sebastian wore it well.
The blond was even more appealing when he chose to mistake the implied go back to your chair in Jim’s command to go eat with stay here, shift closer, and snuggle against my fucking leg.
Jim tried to hold in a smile and smoothed Seb’s hair instead. Petting him, although Jim had never cared for an animal like this.
“Don’t think you can charm me that easily,” Jim warned, although Seb could. He waited until Sebastian had swallowed his latest mouthful of food then gave the man’s hair a tug. “It irks me to no end that being Daddy’s favourite gives you such an overinflated sense of self.”
Sebastian stiffened again, but also didn’t look like he was agreeing with a word Jim was saying.
Jim leaned closer, eyebrows drawn low and stern. “I know fine well you were just using a turn of phrase. That’s not the point. If anyone else had implied, intentionally or otherwise, that my command was not absolute, do you think they’d have kept their tongue?”
Sebastian went from stiff to still.
“Ah, so my dick doesn’t give you amnesia,” Jim snapped. “You know fine well that it would have to be a good day for me to feel it sufficient to only remove their tongue. When Daddy is generous enough to let you off without even a sore bottom, the least you can do is try to look grateful, not fucking insubordinate.”
Jim huffed and let go of Seb’s hair. He smoothed it down lightly, then reached for the food on Seb’s plate.
Sebastian looked at him.
Jim broke off a mouthful and held it out to Seb. “Don’t give yourself indigestion getting agitated either. I could gladly throttle you most days, but you’re too good a toy to break over the many, many little ways you get on my fucking nerves.”
Jim rested his chin on Seb’s head for a moment so he didn’t have to look at him. A week ago Jim wouldn’t have bared his throat to Seb, but those strange, predatory looks Sebastian had been casting it had disappeared with his tail and whiskers.
“I have made quite a lot of changes recently,” Jim said, his jaw shifting against Seb’s skull. “Not just keeping a tiger in my home either. Or… moving you to my bed, instead of just fucking you when we’d had a hell of a day. Just… just having someone around, all of the time, is… It’s a lot, for me. Being around most people for too long makes my skin crawl and my head hurt. It’s fucking exhausting.”
Jim sighed. “I know I can’t be… the usual version of myself around you everyday -Jim Moriarty, terror of all men- because you’d fucking die. I know that. It’s your fucking job to stay at my side and if I don’t want to replace you I need to let you behind the curtain a little and… keep the bloody rages down to a simmer. Logically, I know this. And I know that finding the balance for… this domestic shit… is not easy for the both of us. You work your fine fucking arse off, I’m not saying you don’t.”
Jim looked at the ceiling. And the new cabinets. And Seb’s broad shoulders, which he liked very, very much.
“I just think I’m near my limit for how many changes I can take,” Jim said, strained and grim. At least the likelihood of transforming into a tiger this month meant his head might shut up, just for bloody once.
~
Overinflated sense of self, huh? Sebastian’s eyebrow arched slightly, bit it might just have been due to Jim’s tight grip on his scalp. Also, Sebastian searched through his mind for however he’d implied that Jim’s command wasn’t absolute. The question never left the tip of his tongue though, because he didn’t care for losing it.
He was reminded to not comfortably rely on Jim’s promise to keep him whole – the man was most unpredictable after all, and which appendages of Sebastian’s body he might deem expendable could be subject to change very quickly. The last demonstration of how perilously close to the edge Sebastian was living had been given only a few days ago, leaving a chill that hadn’t fully dissipated, not even in the furnace of a supernatural shift…
So even after Jim’s grip turned back into something more casual, Sebastian kept very still, his body and
his tongue both, except what he needed to take the bite of food from Jim’s hand and chew it down, while listening attentively.
He knew Jim’s patience with him was something extraordinary, as were the efforts on his behalf and the glimpses behind the curtain he allowed him. And Sebastian should know, familiar as he was with the constant terror Jim Moriarty constituted to the world. It was the very core of Jim’s being and his greatest armour. Which to be able to take off once in a while should also be a relief – or so Sebastian had hoped. But to lower his guard had over time become such an unnatural thing for Jim to do, that it seemed to stress him out even more than to keep it up at all times.
“I try not to be a burden all the time,” he said disarmingly, looking up at Jim, who’d finally started eating as well. And he knew that he wasn’t, otherwise he would have ended up just like his predecessors a long time ago. “I’m good with … how things are.” More than just good to be honest. What he meant to say was that to put more pressure on Jim was the last thing he wanted.
~
As Moran absorbed what Jim had said, Jim himself drew away enough to reach for his plate. He alternated between breaking off bits of his own food and pieces of Seb’s, even though Sebastian was perfectly capable of eating unaided. It helped to have something to do with his hands. If Seb would prefer not to have Jim’s scabby fingers all over his meal that was too bad, it helped Jim feel better in control.
And grounded perhaps? He used to do a lot of plotting (and sulking) whilst feeding the animals on the farm.
Feeding himself came less easily. Jim had torn his grilled sandwich entirely into pieces before he persuaded himself to eat any.
It wasn’t that it wasn’t good -it was perfect- it was just… Jim was unsettled. He’d stopped sweating and feeling a need to chew through his own arms, but he was still… uneven. Lost, just a little.
Jim chewed morosely and gazed down at Sebastian when the man spoke. I try not to be a burden all the time. Like anyone else would get away with being a burden any of the time.
Although Seb wasn’t that exactly. What he was was frightening -the biggest risk Jim had ever taken- but he was also… well… he felt safe in a way nothing else ever had? Jim barely had the vocabulary to explain it, not that he’d breathe a word to anyone about his stupidity. It was just, feelings were something other people had, something Jim used to manipulate other people. He had no fucking idea how to pursue his feelings without everything he’d ever worked for or wanted or needed coming down in flames. But Moran… he didn’t exactly feel like a burden, or not exactly anyway. He felt almost like a blessing… which meant he probably was atrociously dangerous and not to be trusted.
I’m good with… how things are.
Jim bit back a sigh when Seb spoke again. Wasn’t that sentence ripe for overanalysing? Jim was certain Seb wasn’t good for him, except for how fucking much it felt like the bastard was.
And… like Caruso said, insightfully… Jim was physically in a better place than he tended to be, ignoring the fever and bumped head and…
Shit. Passing out after a banged head, having a fever and throwing up, that was not good. But Jim had had concussions. He’d had concussions so bad he’d felt his brain slop wetly around in his skull, been concussed for nearly weeks at a time, but it had never felt like… this.
Emotional. Sensitive. Lost. On fucking edge, but not reaching for a weapon.
And there was the other half of Seb’s sentence: how things are.
How the fuck were things? It was almost all Jim could think about for the past month or so and counting… and yet he still did not know.
Jim groaned softly and slumped against Seb again. By Christ, but the blond was always so fucking comfortable.
“Of course you are,” Jim grumbled softly. “I fuck you and don’t kill you, even when you get crumbs in my bed which I’ll have you know is a crime that makes me want to peel my own skin off as much as yours. You are living a fucking blessed life, tiger boy.”
Jim straightened and smoothed his hair back. It felt odd having it soft and free of product. Made him feel younger, less polished and certain of himself. Which… he’d been suffering a lot of that lately.
Jim took his tea and surveyed Seb, looking fucking delectable and more than a little precious sitting on the floor against Jim’s bare leg. He’d look better still in a collar, and despite how uneasy Jim felt, part of him itched to order something suitable.
Jim caged Seb in as best he could with his wiry legs instead. Trying to pull him nearer only dragged the chair towards the big brute, but it was close enough. “You’re marginally good,” Jim allowed.