Gravy
There was blood on Jim’s tongue. He followed the ebb along Seb’s throat, catching the salt of sweat as much as the coppery taste.
Sebastian would heal quickly, but Jim wouldn’t let him go back from this. “You’re mine, Tiger,” Jim said, pushing the last of his energy into the force of his voice. His arm felt tired as he lifted it to tug on the collar he had gifted the man, demanding a soul in return. “Whatever happens, you’re stuck with me.”
Unless Seb tore him open during the full moon. But that was still weeks away. Jim was counting down the days.
He nuzzled Seb a little, inadvertently smearing the congealing blood but not caring. “You’re worth the trouble, aren’t you?”
~
‘Yes, I’d like to think so’ might have been the appropriate response to that – a bit playful and reasonably modest. But the aftermath of emotional turmoil and his overwrought senses resulted in a state of almost serene clarity. Sebastian let his head sink back against Jim, who lingered in the aftermath too, tasting it… Sebastian closed his eyes with a deep, contented breath. Occasional little tremors of hypersensitivity still flared up along his nerves and skin, slowly subsiding.
“Yes. I am.”
Not a challenge, but simple confirmation. With quiet confidence, stating a fact. Yes, he was worth it. He was worth any vexation and … disturbance he’d brought into Jim Moriarty’s life. That he was still here was quite plain and undisputable proof. More affirmation – that he was to stay - lay gleaming around his neck.
“You are too, you know.”
~
Somehow even when Sebastian agreed with Jim, his tone could still sound insubordinate. Almost arrogant in his certainty that Jim was right, and Jim did not quite know how he felt about that. So he chose to ignore it, instead allowing himself to melt into Seb and to allow his heart rate to recover.
Jim’s eyes had barely drifted closed when Sebastian spoke again. His words forced Jim’s eyelids to snap open.
You are too, you know.
Worth the trouble. Sebastian dared think, dared say, that Jim was… worth the trouble??
Jim felt like the ground was opening underneath him, even though he was lying atop the secure bulk of Sebastian. How was he supposed to feel, or respond? Of course he was difficult, but most would never dare acknowledge that so nakedly.
That Seb said he was worth that trouble was entirely disorienting. It was not a reassurance Jim was familiar with.
Not wanting Sebastian to know that he was shocked speechless, Jim pressed his lips against Seb’s neck, near his collar. But it was a long time before Jim could force his body language to seem relaxed. He stayed tightly strung, his face uncomfortable and his eyes hot, like he’d been slapped.
~
Sebastian felt Jim stiffening, his breathing pause and his heart rate speed up. Almost as if Sebastian had whiskers picking up the slightest vibrations of all kinds. Like the crackling of electricity.
Yes, he had overstepped boundaries – again – but what must have sounded like an insolent little quip was only the wrappings around something earnest and heartfelt: reassurance. Whether Jim wanted it or not Sebastian wasn’t sure. But considering how often Jim felt compelled to emphasise his unconditional ownership…, he might? Want it? Even need it. Not that the scrawny little sociopath would ever admit it, even to himself.
The vibrations faded, yet not entirely, and when a kiss was pressed against his neck, deliberately or not very close to his newly acquired collar, Sebastian turned his head a little. Not far enough to kiss back – twisting like that would have meant to break the close contact of their bodies more than he cared for – but to gently nudge and rub the side of his face against Jim’s. Sebastian paused for a beat. Blimey, had he always done silly things like that or were traits of cat behaviour creeping into him?
Without disturbing Jim’s weight against his back too much, he lowered himself down until he was sprawling on the now messy duvet, head turned to one side. He kissed the nearest part of Jim he could reach – the side of his wrist.
~
Jim felt oddly grateful for Sebastian’s nuzzling, then annoyed at himself for such foolishness. He wondered in alarm whether Seb could smell the salt from his burning eyes. Jim fervently hoped not. Surely the stronger scents of their lovemaking would cover such a small thing?
Still, Jim’s mind wandered. With practice would Seb be able to discern the different protein makeups of different types of tears? Would that make him a more effective questioner, should they survive enough to turn their attentions back toward the running of the empire?
Jim realised those were musings for another day as Sebastian nudged and kissed him. “Good boy,” Jim murmured without thinking about it.
He eased back, shushing Sebastian when he seemed inclined to protest, and pulled out carefully.
“Don’t you move, trouble,” Jim warned, leaving only far enough to reach the underbed drawer.
He returned with a silicone plug and eased it into Seb, keeping his warm seed trapped inside. Jim pressed a kiss there, feeling thoroughly possessive, then finally flopped down at Seb’s side.
“Mine,” he whispered.
~
When Jim pressed the plug into him, a conflicted noise escaped Sebastian. But yes, he was a good boy and suppressed most of it, because the little sliver of annoyance didn’t change his acceptance that he had quite used up the generous allowance of disobedience he’d been granted for one day. After all, they had, almost ritualistically sealed a bond, an understanding, and while of course that did not mean Sebastian would never rebel again, now was not the time. Nor did he feel the urge. Despite his still raw nerve endings, his muscles settled down, accepting this other symbol of ownership Jim had… introduced. Fucked into submission, literally. And quite satisfactorily.
Sebastian lazily pushed and tugged a bit at the bedding underneath for added comfort, fleetingly contemplation how even things he would have regarded as awkward or obscene were weirdly hot, because of… well, exactly that, and because it was Jim doing them to him. Although his body was adjusting to the plug, its presence made itself known every time he moved. A reminder of everything it implied, for however long it pleased Jim to leave it there.
But all that wasn’t the true essence of what had just happened. It was the meaning of the chain around his neck, and the deep, satisfied certainty in Jim’s voice. And in Sebastian’s too.
“Yes. Yours.”
Increasingly sleepy and deeply content, Sebastian turned his face towards Jim, almost but not quite burying it into the side of Jim’s neck. During the past weeks he’d started to understand why animals seemed to spend endless time … sniffing and smelling each other. Humans were woefully unequipped to even realise what they were missing...
~
Jim didn’t know how he felt about the way Sebastian breathed in deeply by his neck. It felt like when Seb had sniffed his hair, but he’d said he liked the smell and Jim hardly smelt of shampoo now. Sweat, probably. Sex, definitely.
“What is it?” Jim asked. “Can you smell my… pheromones now? Are you going to be able to pick apart my hormone levels from now on?”
What a truly odd thought. How do you lie to someone who can smell your feelings?
Jim nudged Seb. “If it’s too much for you, you’re going to have to give me a moment before I’m ready to clean up. I’m not ready to do much more than lie here, and perhaps order you a good feed.”
Jim considered the way Seb had shifted the blanket. “If you’re comfortable enough here on the floor? We can move if you want.”
Where was this feeling coming from? Jim wasn’t a mollycoddler. But Sebastian was his, and something about Seb lying close, fucked out and collared, made Jim want to fuss over him a little.
Nervous energy, maybe? This was uncharted territory.
But Jim was knackered. Surely he’d burned all his energy off already?
Maybe it was just his body that was tired. Jim’s brain felt fried and electric, crackling with new possibilities too bright to risk squinting at. There was probably no coming back from burning off the retinas of your mind’s eye.
~
Jim stirred as though about to get up and shower or whatever else he thought was required - which was quite sweet but completely unnecessary. Sebastian placed a hand loosely around his middle like a cat instructing you not to move, because yes, “’m comfort’ble,” and he took Jim melting back into stillness as a sign that he was too.
“And I’m smelling a whole lot of things,” Sebastian mumbled. “’Tis not too much. Quite nice actually,” he added. “Like reading the paper. Just more pleasant.” While his eyes remained closed, the corners of his mouth curled into a smile. “I can still smell you had raspberry jam with your toast this morning - of course I can smell pheromones. They are different now from… before.” Less urgent, satisfied, delicious but differently. Sebastian remembered other smells. The smell of threat and rage on Jim like singed metal the other night when he’d left..., the reek of death and destruction on his return that had raised the little hairs all over Sebastian’s body… The smell of sickness that made Sebastian restless and want to bring home chickens (even if it was in liquid form from Caruso’s kitchen)… Or, the best - the galvanising, heady mix of apex predator, sexual hunger and a whiff of impeding violence… And then there was that hint of something unsettling like a gust of ozone that seemed to be there whenever Jim turned out to be in an awfully... creative mood.
A slight frown creased Sebastian’s brow. “What are you thinking?” No, he didn’t mean that in the sense of the most horrible question ever asked in the aftermath of sex. He was simply learning.
~
Jim felt a sharp chill of fear, then tried to force his body to halt its reactions. He consciously slowed his breathing and heart rate, but his flaring nostrils knew it was too late for Sebastian not to have noticed.
Dread bubbled in Jim’s gut. He’d wondered before about Seb’s new capabilities, but knowing that Seb could not be held at bay by masked expressions and controlled interactions made Jim feel a bit sick. Even as much as he trusted Seb, the thought of his every feeling being so exposed, so vulnerable in a way it had never been before, a way Jim could not hope to hide, it… It was fucking alarming.
Jim tried to keep his body limp over Seb’s, but the tension in his limbs had a mind of its own. He couldn’t force himself to be passably calm.
Perhaps Seb would think nothing of Jim reeking of oxytocin and dopamine after sex. It was natural enough for humans to feel bonded and rewarded after the act. And Sebastian had never watched him bed anyone else, certainly never smelt Jim do so, so he didn’t necessarily understand just how little Jim ever bonded with the people he’d fucked before.
Jim rolled off of Sebastian into a tense crouch. He hated letting anyone know he was fright- intimidated, and the thought of being seen as vulnerable was even worse. It was one thing collaring Seb, telling him he was important, being soft with him sometimes, but blatantly advertising how he felt? That was abhorrent.
“I’m going to clean up,” Jim blurted. If he doused himself in so many products that it was offensive even to his own nose, then perhaps that would keep Sebastian from having such a clear view of Jim’s feelings. Even if not directly, if Jim smelled so strongly that Seb felt compelled to keep his distance, so be it. Jim’s eyes were burning again, but it was probably the beginnings of a tension headache.
~
Sebastian didn’t need his elevated senses to feel it - the vibrations of stress and underlying panic were as palpable and edgy as Jim’s bones seemed to become whenever he went tense and stiff. What Sebastian could not grasp was the cause for this. He was raking his mind back over what he’d said or done… It was somewhat exasperating. Supernatural senses and also a heightened intuition of what went on inside the wee madman did of course did not enable him to read Jim’s thoughts let alone blindly follow the mental zigzags of his freakish brain; it was like attempting to guess patterns and pathways your own mind wasn’t even equipped for.
In the end intuition was the best thing he had to go by, and currently it told him not to resort to physical contact… Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it seemed to absorb the electric tension and flatten the amplitudes of whatever was going on in Jim’s brain and calm him down. Now… things felt like it wouldn’t.
Sebastian felt almost bereft as Jim rolled away, backing off into a crouch like a cornered animal. It was painful to see. After a slow blink Sebastian closed his eyes again, instinctively conveying he wasn’t a threat. Without changing his prone position he simply put a hand out in Jim’s direction, palm down on the floor. Jim didn’t have to - go away, clean up, trash furniture (please not) or whatever else – or maybe he had to?
Jim’s breath sounded choppy and distressed, adrenaline permeating the potpourri of other smells in the air; Sebastian heard him get to his feet and move away, towards the bathroom. Sebastian let him be. Well, he would follow him if he heard the sounds of splintering panels or bursting glass.
So far, and for quite a while he just heard water run and splash, followed by a long near-silence. Nothing that broadcasted grievous self-harm being inflicted but a bit unsettling nonetheless. When halting footsteps finally returned from the bathroom, the arrangement consisting of duvet, pillow and Sebastian had relocated to the foot of Jim’s bed.
~
Scrubbing at himself gave Jim something to do, but not enough of a distraction to mentally distract him. Repulsed and uneasy, he frustratedly soaped near his kidneys, detesting the endocrine gland that sat atop them. He knew that was of little use, and that his fear hormones would circulate through his blood stream to all of the cells in his body, an impossible feat to wash away, but at least scrubbing at his back until it was a tender red gave him a focus for his nervous energy.
Jim repeated his ablutions over and over until his arms ached and his entire palms were shrivelled.
Only then did he dry himself- wincing at finding the places he’d scrubbed harshly- and he was glad of the steamed up mirror because Jim didn’t want to look at himself then.
He didn’t know what to do with this. He didn’t know how to deal with being bonded to anyone in the first place - being bonded to someone who’d be able to smell through his masks and performances was unnerving enough to keep dragging Jim’s heart to his throat any time he focused on the thought too closely.
He’d always hidden. He’d always survived best pretending to be and feel other things.
Nothing good could come of being honest. Vulnerable. Jim felt sick.
The fact that Sebastian was loyal to and protective of Jim hardly helped. It felt even more like a trap - no one could ever truly like Jim Moriarty- but Jim couldn’t bring himself to do anything practical about removing Seb either.
Sebastian stayed. For as long as Jim could have him.
So Jim drenched and drowned himself in scented products until he himself was gagging at their potency. There. Sebastian couldn’t possibly find anything incriminating or humiliating under that toxic cloud, surely.
Jim lingered in the bathroom still, feeling ridiculous. It would be obvious why he now smelt like an accident in an aftershave factory.
Warily, Jim forced himself to return to the bedroom. He couldn’t hide all day. Despite all of Jim’s research, Sebastian’s new senses still weren’t about to go anywhere. At least if Seb ate him, Jim would never have to deal with the mortifying ordeal of being known.
Jim’s gut kicked to find Sebastian had removed himself from the nest on the floor in his absence. But not to leave: Seb had taken up space on the bed like he belonged there.
And despite everything, it felt like he did.
Jim lingered in the doorway, reluctant to subject Sebastian’s nose to the full power of everything he’d doused himself in. Jim felt lost for words, but the glint of Seb’s collar around his proud neck somehow reassured Jim that things might still be okay.
~
Sebastian scrunched up his face at the stench wafting over from the bathroom door, then, as Jim padded closer it hit him like a wall, fit to singe his nose, shrivel the frontal lobes of his brain and blow off the top of his skull.
“Ugh, whu’sat?” He buried the lower part of his face in the pillow, watching Jim pad closer through watering eyes. Had Jim for some indiscernible reason come to the conclusion that the time to off him was now? Suffocation was not quite Sebastian method of choice, but: “If I get one last wish – I much prefer choking to fumigation.”
~
Despite all his frustration, Jim did not enjoy seeing Sebastian’s distress. Especially not like that.
“Relax, poppet, you know I wouldn’t do you much real harm,” Jim muttered. He headed to his dresser and pulled out a few items of clothing. Yanking them on with less care than usual, Jim said, “I’ll leave you in peace in a moment.”
It was probably a good thing: snuggling was not going to aid any research efforts. Still, as Jim swept through the room to stop assaulting Seb’s nose as soon as possible, he felt sorry for it.
He’d grown to enjoy the contact.
~
Sebastian blinked, incredulous, and a bit crestfallen. Jim was doing … what? Leave him in peace?
“But… I don’t want to be left in peace,” he stated, muffled by the pillow. He didn’t want to be left, full stop. Not now, not … after this… Collared and owned, fucked out and slightly shaky. Emotional, and a bit… clingy. Jim… didn’t feel any of that? No, obviously not, the wee psycho. But he did seem upset too, so why? That, Sebastian thought, was a question he should have learned not to ask anymore by now. Still, there wasn’t anything truly malicious and spiteful vibrating around Jim, he sounded… genuine. Ish. He didn’t send Sebastian away, but flat-out removing himself from the scene felt somehow even worse than getting kicked out of his bed.
“What happened to … ” What they had talked about? No, what Jim had asked him about – whether there were things that would help a (comparatively) normal human – i.e. Sebastian – to cope with him… And it hadn’t been much at all, Sebastian had asked for…
“Forget it,” he said flatly – as if Jim had reacted, which he hadn’t, apart from wrenching himself into a hastily grabbed ensemble of garments.
Which was so untypical that it would have alarmed Sebastian, had he not been busy with a little rush of righteous indignation (and a bit of sulking).
He heard the door open and close, but instead of looking up or, perish he thought, pleading for Jim to stay, he clutched the pillow and rolled around to what was usually Jim’s side of the bed, attempting to replace the nauseating perfume miasma with the more subtle, more pleasant, unique scent lingering there. His all-time favourite scent, which he could have picked out of a million…. Which he was sure he now would be able to pick up even weeks after Jim had slept here and…
Sebastian snapped out of wallowing in self-pity and went completely still, breathing quietly. He could smell even trace amounts of whatever Jim had been doing, or his food, or the state he was in – to a degree – and he had been bragging about it. Was that it?
Well, could there be anything more upsetting if you were a closed-off control freak who had just started to allow someone glimpses behind the armour you were wearing and then to discover that you could not control it, because that someone could read you much more extensively than just the little increments you were ready to reveal? Sebastian Freud heaved a big sigh but decided better not to get ahead of himself… He’d erred before, and spectacularly when presuming he might even begin to decipher the enigma that was Jim Moriarty. On the other hand – Sebastian had been an ‘ordinary‘ human being back then, intuitive and not stupid, but human nonetheless.
Now – he wasn’t. Which momentarily was not pleasant, as it left him almost incapacitated by Clive Christian’s Imperial Majesty. It also left him with no real option but to stay where he was. Badgering Jim as to what was wrong would either lead to nothing or more unpleasantness. After a while he even dozed off. The afterglow of magnificent sex definitely helped, as did the warm, reassuring weight of the chain around his neck, and breathing into a pillow.
When he woke up, he couldn’t remember when or if he had opened the window, but it was open and the air was breathable again. The second thing he noticed was that Jim was still absent, and the third a horribly gnawing hunger.
Hands almost shaking with hypoglycemia, he pawed his phone from the neatly folded pile of clothes beside the bed and speed-dialled next door. “Food.”
When Caruso told him she didn’t know anyone by that name he mumbled an apology, but found himself unable to engage in a lengthy ordering process and just told her they would come over shortly.
He also didn’t find the energy to shower, and after all, he very recently had. And not everyone, no-one in fact, possessed the same sensitivity of smell as he did.
Still in the process of pulling his clothes on, he padded through the house in search of Jim. Well… he only had to follow his nose...
~
Jim was in his home office. By the time he’d remembered that Sebastian got a bit needy after intense sex (it was always intense between them); argued with himself at length about whether that mattered; then finally -awkwardly- gone to check on Seb, Sebastian was asleep. And sleeping unusually soundly; he didn’t stir when Jim hovered uncertainly in his own bedroom doorway.
Perhaps he’d just gotten used to Jim’s tread as an ordinary noise of the house? Jim wasn’t certain how he felt about not being subconsciously read by Sebastian as a threat.
Jim did however know that he felt embarrassed by being able to smell fumes from the bathroom still, even over his own perfumed self. He crossed to the window and opened it so that Sebastian wasn’t suffering unnecessarily.
That felt strange too, but Sebastian didn’t lift his head from Jim’s pillow any more than a lazy cat might. Jim’s pillow. That surely smelt of Jim.
Jim felt something twist inside at that.
So he’d retreated back to his home office, and his computers, and his research, feeling a confusing sting of mixed emotions. After that, even searching for supernatural cures on the internet seemed preferable.
Still, his tired eyes were grateful for the break when Sebastian arrived in the doorway, looking dishevelled and a little strained.
Food? Well of course Seb would need to eat. Jim - well, his stomach growled at him then that it had quite gotten used to Sebastian ensuring it was fed regularly, thank you very much.
Jim rubbed his face tiredly. “Can you bear to be in the same room as me? To eat?” he asked.
Jim blinked, his miserably sluggish brain waking up enough to remind him that Seb’s sweaty hair meant he hadn’t showered. Did that mean he still had Jim’s come plugged inside of him?
The thought made Jim want to take Seb again over his desk. Or… since Seb was hungry… over Caruso’s table.
Even the thought of an indignant Caruso brandishing a meat cleaver and some Sicilian curses could not prevent Jim from hardening behind his desk. “Will you be able to sit down to eat, Tiger?” he asked thickly.
~
Jim’s gaze, a bit bleary at first, was looking Sebastian up and down, slowly, then changed in a way that made Sebastian’s pulse pick up speed and his body throb in places that… well, that were especially sensitive right now. Jim knew, didn’t he? Jim didn’t need supernatural senses or seismic tactile receptiveness to know… things. He read people, and Sebastian especially, with his uncanny power of observation, knew it from Sebastian’s stance and how he held himself, although surely all these signs were so subtle no one else would notice…? At least as long as Sebastian didn’t sit down. Which he would be able to do, just…
“Very carefully, I will be, yes,” he answered with a deliberately straight face, but the corners of his mouth twitched imperceptibly. “And you’ll be able to… imagine, while you watch - ” Sebastian concluded the sentence with crinkle in his nose, “from the other end of the table.” Whatever had gotten into Jim to strive for making his company unbearable, it wasn’t exactly a new or alien thing for him to do - just the method was. Nothing Sebastian had the wish to turn into a discussion right now. He was starting to feel faint with hunger. But yes, if Jim buggered off and left his side immediately after buggering him senseless, it was only natural for Sebastian to try and keep some of the sensations and memories and evidence lingering for a little while longer.
“But I won’t be able to make it next door, if we don’t leave now." It was only half a joke: this freakish metabolism was quite an impediment. How was he supposed to get back to work? Serious work? Take along a picnic basket wherever he went? A rucksack full of cold meats and chicken sandwiches?
He realised his mind had been drifting when his stomach growled loudly. There was a similar sound coming from Jim’s direction.
“I already called ahead,” Sebastian added, impatiently beckoning, wriggling his fingers.
~
Jim grinned when Sebastian acknowledged his rear’s discomfort. He was about to make a teasing remark about not being rough enough, when Seb instead drew out a boundary: Jim, to be kept a table’s length away.
That felt like a kick in the gut for reasons Jim didn’t want to entertain. It wasn’t logical to care anyway: the smell was meant to keep Moran at bay. Or at least from knowing too much.
Jim swallowed, but his thoughts were interrupted by Sebastian’s strained urging: he needed food. He needed food so urgently his voice was clipped and he looked pale.
Jim frowned. He opened the drawer and almost reached for the large ‘sharing sized’ bag of his favoured M&Ms - which he had never shared in his life - before he stopped.
Smell. Would it be unpleasant enough to transfer?
Jim used a handkerchief to pick up the bag without touching it. Then he lobbed the sweets in Seb’s direction.
“You can start on that before you keel over,” Jim said.
It wasn’t enough that he smelled so strongly he was giving himself a headache: having to keep a physical distance from Sebastian now felt especially wrong when he looked faint. Jim wanted to get close and touch and hover - to reassure himself and even provide care - and it didn’t seem like a good thing that he could not do so.
“Come on,” Jim said gruffly, getting up from his desk. “Let’s get some real food in you, treasure.”
~
Sebastian caught the bag of sweets mid-air, tore it open and threw a handful in his mouth, before he looked at the packet. Crunching away, feeling the sugar hit almost instantaneously, he smiled. M&Ms. “Now wouldn’t that look good …” - on a business card. Posh stationary. Carved into the bark of a tree with a heart around it... Sebastian stifled the little careless joke by shovelling another load of the things into his mouth, because Christ, it would be feckin' delusional to imply any sort of equal partnership – business or private – with Jim Moriarty. It was the kind of joke that would send Jim into a fit.
Feigning unawareness of the narrow glance Jim bestowed on him on his way to the door, Sebastian munched away, uttering a grateful thank you noise around his mouthful of chocolate and sugary splinters - not just for the life-saving treat but also for the thoughtful gesture of Jim preventing the reek of perfume contaminate it.
~
Although Sebastian was quick enough to end his comment early, Jim was quite capable of recognising Moran was having some thoughts above his place inspired by the name of the sweets.
Being in the same room as the fumes from Jim’s attempts to cover up his hormones was probably punishment enough for the sensitive blond, but Jim cast him a darkly warning look regardless. Fucking brat.
“I wonder how deeply I’d have to have you tattooed to get ‘Property of M’ to stick in your skin these days?” Jim grumbled, striding towards the door and forcing Sebastian to back away from the stench alone.
This was intolerable.
“Move,” Jim snapped. “Let’s get you next door… and then I’ll go shower some of this off.”
~
Sebastian moved, even hurrying up, because trailing in Jim’s wake as he so often did, was currently nigh on unbearable. But rushing ahead seemed inappropriate, so Sebastian tried to adjust his strides to Jim’s tempo, and his distance so it kept him at the edge of the cloud. Jim’s annoyed grumbling even distracted him a bit from the hunger ravaging his insides. Jim seemed quite vexed, but Sebastian couldn’t help feeling a touch of regret too, about the annoyingly fast disappearance of Jim’s marks on him. Cuts healed in a few days, welts and bruises barely lasted the night, and if his cracked cheekbone was anything to go by, even severe scars and tattoos would go with the next full moon… Wasn’t there any permanent way Jim could mark him as his own, ... and wasn’t that a fucked up grievance to have?
Well, for now he’d have to be content with his beautiful collar.
Even though it was half hidden by the neckline of his T-Shirt, it did draw a few glances when they entered their surveillance headquarter next door – after all, this lot had been hired because they were bloody observant. There was even some unobtrusive sniffing, but everyone feigned indifference to quite a commendable degree, except the dogs. Smith sneezed explosively and Wesson mashed his face into Jerry’s trouser leg. Sebastian felt deeply sympathetic - at least someone had an idea how he was feeling.
~
Jim gave the dogs a scathing look. He was the suffering party here.
“Go eat,” he ordered Seb gruffly. He turned back, intending on finding a tolerable middle ground between exposing his feelings everywhere and actually being able to bear his own smell, when Tom took a brave step closer and made eye contact.
It was one thing Seb leaving him in a building they knew was secure, but letting Jim walk back and into his home unescorted was not strictly protocol. Whether protocol was followed or not was often determined by Jim’s temper and his staff’s resilience.
“Suit yourself,” Jim muttered, turning and letting Tom walk across the grounds with him. They passed the poison garden which Tom had been tending to expertly, but Jim wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. He certainly wasn’t inclined to discuss Tom’s cut mouth or the fact he was still alive. Or how Jim had tended to such a frail Sebastian despite how little he usually valued anyone.
Tom did a sweep of the building before motioning Jim inside. Neither really expected any issues but it didn’t pay to be lax.
Still, Jim was surprised when Tom didn’t take the opportunity to leave then. His company was barely safe at the best of times, never mind enjoyable.
“Going to shower,” he muttered, and Tom’s face betrayed nothing about how much that seemed necessary. They went upstairs together and Tom checked the bedroom, balcony and bathroom before permitting Jim inside. The bedroom wasn’t in significant disarray, only the lube lying out and that hardly mattered. If it smelt of sex still it was impossible to tell once Tom had opened the bathroom door.
The fumes almost made Jim use another bathroom instead, but the thought made him feel a bit ridiculous. He left Tom and stripped, striding into the shower to try vanquishing the stench.
He scrubbed until he couldn’t tell if the smell was still on him, or in the room, or simply in his mind. And then he sat on the base of the shower for even longer, feeling mentally drained as he took stock of his now raw skin. Even the worst patches would be fine by tomorrow, but they were as exasperating as they were tender.
Tom knocked on the door. Jim hadn’t expected him to stay, but he grunted in response, too fed up to even stand never mind get out of the shower and cover himself in a towel.
Tom let himself in carefully and eyed Jim. This used to be a much more common occurrence, before Sebastian moved in. Jim was certain the team drew lots to decide whose turn it was to check he hadn’t done himself a significant injury after he’d locked himself away for days.
Without a word, Tom fetched a cream for Jim’s broken skin and waited. Jim sighed and dragged himself to his feet.
“You don’t need to do that,” he said, switching off the stream of water and grabbing a towel.
Tom tilted his chin up and stood his ground. Like the scarification on his chest had already told Jim: the bloke was brave and reckless.
“You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days,” Jim said, drying himself off. His stomach gave a deathly gurgle, which made him flinch and sigh anew.
Tom audibly opened the jar in his tattooed hands. Jim looked at him. “I can-”
“Quicker it’s done, quicker you can join the Chief to eat,” Tom said quietly.
His words gave Jim more pause than the way Tom dug his fingers into the cream as though that was the end of the matter. Before Seb, trying to persuade Jim to eat was an ongoing war that had had several fatalities and even more casualties. Jim realised Tom still had a scar above his eyebrow from failing to duck a teacup Jim had thrown after insisting he didn’t want to be disturbed whilst working on a project he hardly cared about anymore.
“Why’d you put up with me?” Jim asked.
Tom blinked. “S’my job to keep you alive, innit,” he shrugged.
“There are safer jobs,” Jim said dryly. The chill of the cream on his sore forearms felt great, but it was hardly keeping him alive.
“There are,” Tom agreed, not looking tempted by those in the least, and seemingly not because people only left Jim’s employ in death.
Jim couldn’t decide how to respond to that, so he waited silently whilst the cream dried in then dressed in dark colours.
Tom accepted continued silence as they returned next door. Jim still didn’t know what to say, so gave him a solemn nod before escaping to the kitchen. Probably Tom deserved another bonus. Although he seemed to be running out of blank skin to spend those on.
Sebastian had turned as the kitchen door opened, but Jim didn’t say anything to him either. He crossed the distance and pressed against the seated man’s back, curling his fingers around the comforting chain at Seb’s neck.
“Yours is reheating,” Caruso said pointedly.
Jim took a morsel from Sebastian’s near empty plate and stayed exactly where he was.
~
Normally Sebastian would have objected to be sent ahead, but this time he didn’t put up much resistance. There was a house full of security personnel to look after Jim, and somehow things had worked this way for years, until he had arrived. So it should now, just until he had eaten something. The inconvenience of this freakish new metabolism was scary, but he had to deal with it. He almost fucking stumbled up the stairs, although this was probably more due to necking the rest of the M&Ms out of the bag while hurrying towards the kitchen.
“I expected two of you,” Caruso pointed out, putting a nice arrangement of carpaccio in front of Sebastian, who had sat down very gingerly while she wasn't looking. While she plated the main course, it took Sebastian about half as long to inhale the thin, succulent slices of meat meant as an appetiser, and what a strange concept that was. Only with a horrific amount of self control did Sebastian refrain from licking the plate clean, he probably eyed it like an alcoholic would look at a spillage of liqueur on the floor. Caruso, who usually appreciated well cleaned plates, gave him a strange glance…
“He’ll be here in a bit,” Sebastian reported Jim’s whereabouts, suggesting with a little gesture that until then he could eat for two? His eyes fastened on the portion of Ossobuco coming his way.
“Oh this is marvellous,” he sighed as he started digging in.
“You sure you’re alright dear?” the cook asked, gently scolding, “you shouldn’t wait ’til you faint with hunger before coming here.”
Mouth full and unable to speak, Sebastian nodded in agreement, but hurried to swallow and deflect her from unwanted questions by asking some himself. “So, how’s everybody doing?” And after the next bite. “Any setbacks of recovery after the latest epidemic?” The kitchen table was always a good place to monitor this, right? In between wolfing down his food he managed a few gossip-inspiring questions that kept her going…
When Jim finally entered. Sebastian was into his second helping of the second course, back to a normal eating speed and somewhat civilised manners.
With a smile and no conscious thought about it, Sebastian leaned back into the possessive embrace, his eyes nonetheless warily following the thieving hand daintily stealing a bean off his plate.
“You know,” Caruso, busy with Jim’s food, glanced at him over her shoulder, “I’m the last person on earth who’d object to a healthy appetite, but this-” she pointed a meat fork at Sebastian, “is not healthy. You should have him checked out by a doctor.” Sebastian groaned something to the effect hat he had been, and thoroughly, but to know avail. Caruso took no notice. “It started like this with my great aunt Emilia, god rest her soul, diabetes it turned out…”
Sebastian tried to interject. “I don’t have -”
“Of course it could also be simply overexertion, or any number of other things…” Caruso ploughed on.
“I’ve had him checked out,” Jim defended himself, which was usually quite entertaining to watch, but they had both fallen into their bloody habit of talking about Sebastian over his head, like he was the family Labrador who might have tapeworms!
~
Jim was usually tense and tightly wound. He didn’t want to think about how something in his chest loosened at a lack of rejection from Sebastian or his nostrils. Jim toyed with the links of Sebastian’s chain. The motion soothed his agitated energy in a way rosary beads had never managed.
Then again, Seb’s protection was much easier to believe in than anyone Jim had been told to get on his knees for as a boy. The thought was not comforting, even if his body decided to respond as if soothed.
Jim was glad of a distraction when Caruso voiced concern about Sebastian’s increased appetite, and even gladder by the frustration he could feel in Seb’s broad back from the fussing.
Caruso had her strong arms crossed. “Have you terrified his poor doctors enough that they won’t dare tell you the truth? This one’s appetite has been unnatural for months now- and don’t tell me this time that you’ve some magical minchia,” Caruso warned, “lest I remind you, young man, that I have seen you in the altogether and your birthday suit is no more special than any other. It can’t explain why he’s like this. I thought he might collapse when he first stepped in here, like he’d been starving, not kept fed as much as half the team put together!”
Jim blinked slowly as he considered his options. Telling the truth was no such thing; no one with sense would believe them. Although… most wouldn’t consider working for him sensible either.
“You’re right,” Jim told Caruso. That made Sebastian shift in his seat, then seemingly regret doing so, as the plug evidently made itself felt. Jim gave the man a reassuring squeeze with his forearm, neither letting go of Seb’s collar nor blocking Sebastian’s access to any food.
“Moran caught something rare when he got injured, and it’s still in his system,” Jim said. “It’s fucked up his metabolism for the time being. It’s also why he was so sick with the bug that’s been going around, but burnt through it quicker.”
Not at all mollified by the memory of Jim actually tending to a frail Sebastian, Caruso turned and clattered some ironware in annoyance. “And in all of your wisdom you didn’t see fit to inform me of any of this? Perhaps so I could plan around his new dietary requirements?” the old woman demanded, vexed.
Jim scoffed, his hand not leaving Sebastian’s collar. “Been managing just fine to keep him fed, haven’t you? I don’t need to spoon feed you-”
“He is not sufficiently fed, or he wouldn’t have resembled a bit of rice paper when he arrived!” Caruso snapped, gesticulating wildly with a utensil.
Jim sighed and nipped Seb’s ear in a clear ’see the trouble you cause?’ gesture. His stomach grumbled, but was unlikely to be fed soon.
“We’re still making sense of his symptoms and how to manage them,” Jim said crisply. “I’m hardly going to tell you things I don’t know, and certainly not when the optics are…” Jim’s jaw tensed. His fingers found the Gaelic between the chain links and he snapped, “Moran’s fine. Just need to keep on top of managing his symptoms.”
Rather than let Caruso look at his face, Jim looked down at Seb and gave the chain a firm yank. Which made Sebastian struggle to sit comfortably.
“From now on, you’d better have a snack before you nap. And you can stop getting on my nerves, so I can stand to keep an eye on you after wearing you out.” Jim flicked his gaze to Caruso. “With my spectacular minchia.”
~
Sebastian almost choked on the laughter bubbling through his chest. Luckily there was a delicious chunk of beef between his teeth that he could bite down on, or they would have probably punched holes into the inside of his cheek. It was surreal that there was someone who could tell Jim Moriarty bluntly that in some regards he was just like anyone else, without being struck down by divine lightning on the spot. Caruso the Formidable seemed untouchable by the forces and rules of this household and the universe alike. With an infinitesimal shake of his head, Sebastian looked up at her through his lashes, indicating that Jim Moriarty might look deceptively like an ordinary man, but he surely wasn’t. That only made her snort and wave her hand, dismissing his opinion as clearly biased, and then went on to staunchly fight his corner. Despite Sebastian’s vexation that obviously he must indeed appear frail and feeble, there was also a fuzzy glow radiating through him. Maybe it was his stomach, at the glorious prospect of their magnificent cook adjusting her efforts to his dietary needs. Not that he’d ever had reason to complain, quite the opposite. Caruso’s cooking would have managed to turn the entire staff, chief included, into a pudgy lot a long time ago, if they didn’t work and train as hard as they did.
Meanwhile Jim felt obliged to divulge at least some information, or explanation, and Sebastian realised this was necessary and it would probably not stop there, nor at Caruso alone. God, what a mess.
Jim’s hand twisting his chain brought Sebastian back to the present, but not quickly enough to fully stifle a moan. He had followed the pull by leaning back, the insistent shift inside him instantly reminding him… And that was the difference between Jim Moriarty and the rest of the world, sending a breathless shudder through Sebastian’s body with nothing more than a hand curling around his neck. Or just around his necklace, in this case.
Whether Jim had intended to demonstrate that he didn’t even need his spectacular minchia to achieve spectacular effects, there was undeniably a hint of gleeful smugness in his little speech, directed at Sebastian. Who wanted to sink into the ground because – fuck, since when was he the only person in a room still retaining the ability blush?! It was bloody annoying.
Caruso, mother of twelve (whether this was true or not) was unfazed. But of course curious.
“And what’s that then?” She looked at the necklace, or rather Jim’s fingers, still busying themselves with it. “I don’t recall him wearing jewellery.”
Well no, the chain around the neck of a pet usually wasn’t. Jewellery. Not firstly anyway. “But it does look very handsome on you,” she conceded, re-including said pet in the conversation.
“Yes, it is beautiful,” Sebastian agreed. “And special.” Not unhappy the topic had shifted, he dipped his head back enough to give Jim a glance and a smile.
“He had this made especially for you?” Caruso seemed a bit mollified.
Sebastian nodded. “And it’s steeped in magic.”
“How so?” Caruso motioned for Jim to sit down while setting his meal down onto the table.
“You see…” Sebastian had returned his eyes to his own food and resumed eating, “It’s not a ring, of course, but it has similar powers.” Jim had sat down, now his hands holding knife and fork froze mid-air. Sebastian pretended not to notice. “Apparently it turns you monogamous. But only the one who wears it,” - his brow furrowed as though he tried to recap, then he nodded, seemingly satisfied that he had understood correctly, “not the one who gave it to you.”
In his mind he calculated the trajectory of the fork in Jim’s hand to several vulnerable parts of his own anatomy, praying he’d be quick enough to intercept.
~
Jim regretted toying with Sebastian’s collar the instant Caruso included it in the conversation. He should have known better than to draw attention to it.
Still, Sebastian seemed pleased with it, and that had Caruso mollified. She had a ridiculous soft spot for the blond. Jim did too, but it was exasperating all the same.
Although he didn’t hate? That she seemed to approve? As he’d grown into adulthood he’d needed her opinions less and less, but they still held an especial value.
As did Sebastian, pressed against Jim’s front with his expensive trinket on display. Jim was almost relaxing into the unwelcome conversation about his gift when-
When Seb did that thing where his voice promised trouble. And trouble for him too, although that rarely seemed to stop him.
Jim released Moran slowly, waiting to hear the punchline to the collar’s magic properties, and removed himself to sit before his own plate at Caruso’s beckoning.
“It’s NOT a ring, of course, but it has similar powers.”
Jim’s eyebrows almost launched off his forehead, whilst the rest of him froze. The indulgent look on Caruso’s face changed to something Jim couldn’t immediately read.
“Apparently it turns you monogamous. But only the one who wears it, not the one who gave it to you,” Sebastian continued.
Jim very slowly put down his utensils. He pushed away from the table and returned to Moran’s personal space.
Jim slapped his cheek, HARD, with his healed hand.
“You are my belonging. I don’t share what’s mine,” Jim said harshly. ‘Except with you,’ he didn’t add.
“If you’ve got a problem with being faithful to me, tell me right now, and I’ll help you by removing any parts of your anatomy which might give you trouble.”
Jim threw a look at Caruso. “If you have any problem with that, you can cauterise him afterwards.”
The oven beeped forlornly, seemingly trying to change the subject by declaring Jim’s food to be sufficiently heated.
~
It was a rare privilege to say something like this to Jim Moriarty and live, but the blow was a shock nonetheless. Less real pain, but the sheer impact, the twisted intimacy. There always was whenever Jim invaded his space regardless of the purpose, and the hot, dizzying rush of adrenaline that always came with it. Sebastian’s eyes had narrowed and his teeth clenched, his hackles rising at the insinuation that he had a problem with straying. There was beat of silence, absurdly interspersed by the beep of the stove. Sebastian wrenched his eyes away from Jim’s, averting them just a fraction, just about refraining from open mutiny. You better take Jim Moriarty's threats seriously, especially when they sounded like they came from a dark and twisted place.
“No. I haven’t, Sir.” Sebastian’s voice was a bit gravelly from the adrenaline, and yet deceptively flat. With a slight, almost imperceptible emphasis on ‘I’.
~
Jim hadn’t really anticipated needing to remove any parts of Seb’s anatomy but he was still glad Moran had chosen not to ask for that. If that supernatural body was capable of regrowing extremities, Jim was in no rush to find out.
Still, Moran hadn’t chosen to completely deescalate.
“Caruso, switch that off and give us the room, will you?” Jim said without taking his gaze from Sebastian.
He heard Caruso go to the oven, then hesitate. “This will get cold again,” she said.
“You can blame your golden boy for that,” Jim snapped. “Perhaps if he didn’t think himself so special we wouldn’t be having this issue.”
He was annoyed at himself and Caruso both for that. And Sebastian. He’d been an uppity prick even before Caruso began spoiling him. And before Jim started getting attached.
“You don’t usually get them jewellery,” Caruso began, trying to remind him, presumably, that Seb was special, but Jim cut her off.
“GET OUT!” he roared.
Caruso knew when to listen to him, more than Moran ever did. She stepped away from the oven, but said Jim’s name quietly instead.
“I’m not going to kill him,” Jim said curtly. “But Daddy needs to give someone an attitude adjustment, and as much as an audience might help with his lesson, this is something that’s going to be dealt with in private. Right now. Go.”
Caruso did, managing to make her displeasure known without saying much at all. Jim didn’t turn to look at her, although he could feel her stare.
Once she had closed the door behind herself, Jim spoke in a voice he knew very well Moran could hear, without it being otherwise overheard.
“I’d make you go hold your face against a hot stove until you learned your place, if I didn’t think your healing would draw the wrong attention,” he told Moran very seriously. “It would probably do you good if I repeated that for as long as it would take for a normal man to heal. But then I’d have to tell people I’d gotten you plastic surgery afterwards, like your looks or feelings mattered to me. Unless injuring you in the same place often enough eventually takes.”
Jim shook his head. “That’s all too much bloody effort for you still to be pretty enough in the end to think anyone else might want you. Or that I’d ever put a fucking ring on you.”
Jim’s eyes flashed. “I own you. You are my belonging. This is not and never will be an equal partnership. At best, you are a pet. You have always known this. You have no say over what or who I do, including yourself. Do I need to make you watch me fuck a score of other idiots, or is a talking to sufficient? Because you have gotten on my last nerve today so if there’s something you need to put you in your place you
had best tell me. If you push me any more today you’re going to suffer, Moran.”
~
Although Sebastian had anticipated some reaction, it was chilling.
In a blink the atmosphere in the homely kitchen had changed, feeling like the temperature had suddenly dropped to thirty below zero. Which could be only partly attributed to the oven being turned off and Caruso – reluctantly – leaving the room.
No matter how much beyond anyone else’s knowledge of Moriarty Sebastian saw of him and presumed to know of him, moments like this reminded him not to be deluded that the things he did would be without consequence. Jim’s promise not to harm him beyond recovery had never been given unconditionally, and would probably just reach as far as the little psycho - and his temper – was short. Even Sebastian would do well to remember that.
He did, especially when Jim Moriarty ruminated about the most effective ways of punishment in tailor-made details that gave you all the time in the world to feel the cold trickle of fear spread and then condense in you stomach.
The reasons for what Jim considered should happen to you were given too, equally concise. In Sebastian’s case, having ideas above his station featured quite frequently and needed resetting.
Useful employee. Fucktoy. Pet at best… but never an equal.
Sebastian caught himself at the pathetic thought that if Jim fancied himself a responsible owner, then a disfigured pet would still be cared for, get a place by the fireside and…
Something stirred inside Sebastian, something that was anything but a pet… Hackles raised, tail twitching.
“Fuck’s sake, it was a bloody joke,” Sebastian growled sullenly, not raising his voice above the level of Jim’s, but also not averting his eyes this time. “You think I don’t fucking know all that?!”
And suddenly the prospect of third degree burns lost some of its dread, maybe because to be likened to a faceless line of other idiots hurt more than any bloody stove ever could. “But go ahead and fuck whoever you like if you want to be bored to death.”
Something changed behind Jim’s eyes announcing that Sebastian wouldn’t have much time left to utter everything that suddenly needed out. And everyone in his right mind would have stopped right there, hell, wouldn’t even have started saying anything at all. Not after the mistake of triggering that shift in Jim’s eyes you could only see when you were much too close. But any sense and reason in Sebastian was drowned out by that thing clawing at the inside of his skull, infuriated by the demand to cower and appease.
“You want to hurt me – burn me, skin me…” He knew pain, but it hadn’t been the war or even Jim Moriarty that had ultimately taught him. “You think you can top what’s happening to me at every full moon?!”
Then again, this was James fucking Moriarty and Sebastian wouldn’t put it past him that he could. Or at least try, and that was one of the few experiences Sebastian never wished to make. Sebastian was breathing raggedly, heart pounding. He realised he’d started to sweat.
“Go ahead.” Sebastian swallowed, forcing himself to calm down again. Not just calm - he sounded almost resigned as he added one last thing. “And as for staying pretty enough so anyone else might still want me when you’re through with me … I don’t want anyone else, so fucking be my bloody guest.”
~
Jim felt a further flash of irritation that even trying to be as reasonable as he was, Moran still felt the need to push.
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at, making jokes like that?”
Before Jim could even say anything else, Moran added something infuriatingly astute: Jim would be bored with anyone else now. He’d never connected with anyone quite as much as he had with Seb. That truth, and the way Moran tried to hold it over him, lit Jim’s gaze with a resentment bordering on hatred.
“You want to hurt me-”
Yes, very much so.
“Burn me, SKIN me…”
Actually… No. Furious though he was, Jim didn’t really want to go as far as he would once have done with others for something as minor as knocking on his office door when he’d declared he didn’t want to be disturbed.
“You think you can top what’s happening to me at every full moon?! Go ahead,” Sebastian continued. “And as to staying pretty enough so anyone else might still want me when you’re through with me… I don’t want anyone else, so fucking be my bloody guest.”
…Perhaps Jim could gladly kill him.
“You are the stupidest creature I have ever had the misfortune to meet,” Jim berated Seb. “Firstly, yes I fucking could hurt you worse. I wouldn’t even need to touch you, or fuck anyone else to do it. All I’d need to do is leave you to deal with your affliction yourself, or leave you in the care of the men in white coats. I already do plenty for you, more than I’d do for most people and you know it, so how about you start showing gratitude for what I do give you, instead of acting like a graceless brat?!”
Jim stormed off towards the oven. He needed some space to overcome the returning urge to hit Sebastian, and perhaps finally eating might lessen his propensity towards anger then.
Slamming the dish down, Jim growled, “I wouldn’t skin you. Not in here. I’m not exposing the rest of the team to your blood or what’s in it.” Stabbing into his food viciously, Jim added, “That’s the only reason I’m not giving you the buckle end of my belt right now. I am sick and tired of you making my life worse every time I try to be good to you, and I won’t fucking continue to tolerate it.”
~
Sebastian quietly let out the breath he’d not realised he’d been holding. He felt a bit dizzy, very much alike to the feeling when you’d just dodged a bullet.
He didn’t mind being called stupid, not just because, coming from Jim, for Sebastian’s ears it had an almost affectionate ring to it, but – again, coming from Jim - it was an inarguable truth. He was made aware of his lack of imagination by something that chilled him to the bone: what if Jim did just abandon him, and leave him to his own devices to deal with the thing he’d contracted? Or indeed left him at the gates of Porton Down, which no lab animal ever came out of again…
The surge of rebellion inside Sebastian was somewhat levelled by a feeling of gratitude when he had to admit that Jim was true to his promise to look after him. (Well, it had been a ‘work-related injury’, but Jim’s wasn’t an organisation known for having an exemplary HR department, and sometimes even Sebastian knew when to stop nitpicking).
The jibe at the presumed one sided exclusivity of their relationship had been a joke… Well… sort of. There was a multitude of signs that Jim Moriarty regarded his live-in right hand man as special, even though Jim hated being obvious about it. Except when he flipped his lid and vented his frustration into Sebastian’s face. Or pivoted into a displacement activity like eating, of all things.
Yes, sometimes even Sebastian knew when to shut up and count his blessings.
Subdued, he resumed eating, while Jim directed the rest of his anger at the juicy slices of veal in front of him. But the marvel of Caruso’s food was that you simply couldn’t stay livid for long while eating it.
They ate in silence for a bit, before Sebastian stood up and sidled over to the stove to refill his plate, transferring the whole pot to the table too when he returned. Just like a guileless pet whose appetite and good cheer resurfaced when sensing the storm clouds receding. Ladle in hand, he looked at Jim with a slight tilt of his head. “Bit more gravy?”