Tripwire
It annoyed Jim further when Sebastian didn’t respond verbally, but shrinking into his food and eating at least meant he’d stopped actively making things worse. Jim seethed and stabbed into his own food furiously.
Appeasing his hunger did take the sharpest edge from his anger, but mostly Jim kept eating because the alternative was making Sebastian bleed. He was so angry.
But it lessened, the less he was antagonised. Until Sebastian seemingly felt safe enough to get up and pad over to the stove for more.
Jim pursed his lips together as Seb set the pot on the table and offered him more fucking gravy. For a moment Jim imagined putting the ladle somewhere creative, and not in a fun way. Or just holding Seb’s entire skull in the pot for long enough to be deeply uncomfortable.
“You aren’t getting around me that easily this time. You crossed a boundary and I’m still pissed at you,” Jim growled instead, keeping his hands and utensils on the fucking table and not puncturing Moran’s skin.
Jim took a deep, not very calming breath. Could Sebastian smell his anger over the food smells? Jim thought he could, but that was because the air around his pores felt thick with it.
Jim sighed and stood. Sebastian watched him, but didn’t stop Jim from pressing against his back, loosely trapping him against the table.
“You’re mine, even when I’m pissed at you,” Jim said tensely. “And you are in so much fucking trouble, Sebastian, I cannot emphasise that enough.” Jim pressed his lips against Seb’s skin and reached up to tug the front of his collar, his arm caging Seb close. “But you’re mine too. Eat up.”
~
Right. It hadn’t blown over, just calmed down enough that Jim trusted himself enough to come close. His hand on Sebastian’s collar, his whole body still felt stiff and tense behind Sebastian.
Who suddenly had a strange thought. There was an odd kind of symmetry in what they’d brought into each other’s lives - apart from excitement, mind-blowing sex, exasperation and intermittent chaos. Something countering that chaos, something rather beneficial he couldn’t quite find the fitting word for…? Stability? Shacked up with the most changeable man on earth? But yes, something akin to it.
Jim had gradually developed a pattern worth the name regarding food and sleep. Staff turnover had gone down considerably. And Sebastian had found a purpose, and finally a place where he belonged. More than that, Jim putting him in his place had soothed Sebastian’s rage against the world during all the years when it hadn’t given him someone who could. Now there was ... structure. Boundaries. Limits he could still push, but not without consequences. He might not know what they were, they might be of the sort that made his heart skip or his stomach drop, but they came, as sure as the sun rose. Without boundaries there was no fixed point that told you where you were, or where you should be and why.
Jim had answered that question.
Of course Sebastian asked for a refresher every now and then. And Jim was happy to oblige.
Or rather un-happy at the moment, but not murderous. He pressed his lips against Sebastian’s neck, in a way that said I won’t kill you but this is not over yet.
Which was helpful, because the delicious but thick smell of food and the faint residual whiff of perfume threw Sebastian a bit off the scent regarding Jim’s mood. Well, whatever it was, Sebastian signalled acceptance with a slight nod – not that there where any other options – and obediently finished his meal. Then he put his cutlery down in an orderly manner and waited. He sensed Jim might expect it, but he couldn’t bring himself to grovel and apologize again. He had said what he’d wanted to say in his defence. There was one thing he wanted to add though:
“I appreciate you not leaving me in a pet carrier outside Porton Down.”
~
An angry part of Jim railed against silently permitting Moran to eat. It only seemed to be held in check by a distaste for being reminded why Jim didn’t want to rip Seb’s jaw off nor beat him to an incapacitated pulp.
It was easier to be furiously offended than to really let himself think about why Moran wanted Jim to himself. If it was about ownership or a misguided desire for equality, then there was a simple solution: fierce vengeance.
If the reason was something else… something dangerous and shameful to think about…
Jim would rather ignore that. If he didn’t, he’d have to deny himself Sebastian altogether, and that option upset Jim in confusing, humiliating ways he did his best to avoid.
Jim simmered at the table, trying to come up with a way of dealing with Moran’s transgression that sufficiently pained and shamed the insufferable bastard, without provoking the prick’s temper into further escalation and behavioural trespassing.
When Moran finally spoke, it made Jim lift his head reflexively. He’d gotten used to caring what Moran had to say.
Not an apology, but a thank you.
Jim stared at Sebastian for a long moment.
“If you think your affliction makes you special: it doesn’t. It would be simple enough to infect more malleable test subjects and put you on a slab. I tolerate you because I currently like you more than I dislike you. Challenging me like you did today had you precariously close to moving into that other column completely, and I shouldn’t have to keep reminding you that those I actively dislike never live long enough to regain my favour.” Jim’s jaw tensed and his tone changed. “I don’t keep you around to disappoint me.”
~
No, Sebastian hadn’t thought his affliction made him special. Not in a good way anyway, because as it was, he was a fucking liability, and chances were this wouldn’t get better. In the cost-benefit-ratio Jim applied to everything this surreal… disorder might still weigh in as interesting enough to entertain and stimulate him, but every novelty wore off at some point, and what would be left was a sniper and bodyguard who every four weeks wasn’t just unable to work and function how he was supposed to – and whether he would be in between was questionable too, going by the last four weeks - but was a recurring hazard to everyone around, including himself, burning through resources of every kind ... Not least Jim’s attention and time, taken away from running his empire. With nothing to show for it but a monstrous creature you couldn’t utilise for anything – not for performing tasks, nor parading around nor cuddling – if Jim were of that disposition. So … the option of a new luxurious dressing gown, or a rug and a few lamp shades might over time become more appealing to Jim.
No, it was other things Sebastian hoped made him special, but if it was Jim’s intention to really take him down a notch, not much would have been more efficient than telling him there was nothing but a like/dislike-balance to ... well, to everything apparently.
“I don’t disappoint you on purpose,” Sebastian said tightly, sullenly staring at the empty plate in front of him. Which was a pointless thing to say really, because Jim didn’t even need a fraction of his fucking overblown brain to know that. Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “Why does it disappoint you that I ‘like’ you so much I don’t want to sh-” - nooo, trip wire – “see you with …” Sebastian’s convoluted explanation petered out altogether. What was he going to say? That he didn’t want to see Jim with fucking imbeciles who didn’t know or understand or were in the least worthy of him – because the man would instantly rid him of the notion that he, Sebastian, was anything else but exactly that.
Also, what Sebastian really wanted to say was even more simple: ‘I am just fucking jealous like any other bloody ordinary human being who loves someone.’
Sebastian pushed a resigned breath out through his nose and shook his head as a sign that he gave up. It didn’t matter, right? It didn’t matter what he felt, or wanted, not to Jim. As long as Sebastian toed the line and fucking internalized that it didn’t entitle him to want anything in return.
~
Jim wasn’t surprised by Sebastian’s sulky tone, but part of him was by the question. At least Sebastian had the sense to stumble over his words and cut them off before completion.
“Whatever feelings you may have are your own business. As long as you keep a sensible rein on them I have little quarrel with those,” Jim said.
He tilted his head. “You’re not a stupid man, Sebastian. Far from it. You’re insightful and intuitive and that keeps you and I both alive. And I know you run hot-blooded too, and that it can blind you to logic at times, but you should never have your feet so far under the table that you forget who and what I am.” Jim stared at Sebastian for a moment, letting the darkness within seep out his eyes for a moment before tucking it back out of sight.
“People in my position don’t get close to anyone. Family and friends are weaknesses that can be exploited. They can fuck people, but lovers are a risk. You know that. And I’m not just in this job: I am built to be incapable of close bonds with people. Look at my life Seb: you’re the only one I’ve ever managed to keep alive under my same roof. You think I’m capable of being anyone’s fucking husband? I don’t even make friends!”
Jim swallowed. “Even if I could ever bond with you or trust you the way other people might, and even if you would never ever put me at risk - close your mouth; I know you’re reliable- you’d be a risk. Christ, Seb, you’re already a risk. You’re not just grounded so your senses can settle. We’re… friendly, and that makes you dangerous. What good is a bodyguard whose life I value? Anyone I let in is a way to hurt and even destroy me. What sort of fucking target do you think my ring would be on anyone’s finger? You think I’d put you in harm’s way like that? You’re already in danger every second you’re near me and we all know it. Everyone is.”
Jim sighed tightly and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “It offends me when you joke about things beyond my reach. Don’t misunderstand me: I don’t want or need to be close to anyone. But I can get anything if I try, except that. I don’t need reminded of my weaknesses: I am entirely aware what they are. More than you seem to be, whenever you forget yourself. And as for your… possessive feelings?” Jim’s gaze darkened. “Who the fuck do you think you are that you could own me? I didn’t work so fucking hard, every moment of my miserable fucking life, to ever let anyone be in control of me ever again. Why the fuck would you delude yourself that you were worthy?”
~
Yes, what the fuck had deluded him …
Maybe the very fact that, other than his predecessors, he was still alive. That he’d made a difference in Jim’s life in a way no one else ever had. Maybe because of certain quiet, intimate moments they never ever talked about afterwards (except Jim, on occasion, to rid Sebastian of the notion they meant anything) … Or because of the collar around his neck, which Jim now stressed signified a one-sided bond only, not a mutual one. Still, if that was the only thing Sebastian was ever going to have… His hand instinctively went up to his neck and covered the piece of jewellery protectively, while his breath caught - what if Jim frequently touching and fingering the metal links of the chain was simply doubts if it wouldn’t be better to rip it off again?
The man said things that were numbing and devastating, heart-wrenching too, and confusingly mixed with other things that made Sebastian’s heart sing and it was a fucking roller coaster that left his insides weird and jittery, like a bunch of vipers and butterflies both.
There was a razor sharp logic in every point Jim made. And each and every one something Sebastian should know - without Jim having to explain – and he did. But there was something else, hovering at the edge of Sebastian’s vision, or rather his understanding. Each point being undisputable in itself, it felt like there was quite a fundamental flaw in the logic of Jim’s argument when viewed in its entirety. But Sebastian was too upset and in no frame of mind to grasp it.
Not with Jim standing behind him, loosening bullet after bullet and hitting centre mass. Not looking into the darkness revealed like an abyss behind a briefly shifting curtain. Not with Jim’s arm holding him from behind and in a position that amplified the pressure of the plug and fogged up his brain. Also - to challenge the logic of Jim Moriarty might be something better left for another day if he wanted to see one.
“I -” neither want to ‘control’ nor to ‘possess’ you, Sebastian almost said, but make your ‘fucking miserable life’ a bit less so. But apart from self-preservation there was something else that stopped him: Jim probably wouldn’t even understand.
I don’t need reminded of my weaknesses: I am entirely aware what they are.
“I know all this,” Sebastian said instead, much less rebellious than he’d felt a little while ago, more… tired.
“I know. It’s my own business.” And he would deal with it. Not bothering Jim. Not jeopardising the friggin’ empire. Not even joking.
~
Jim wasn’t certain what he wanted Moran to say, but it still felt oddly and uncomfortably deflating when the man demurred instead, looking more weary than wary.
Jim would have felt far more comfortable with an argument. Although he’d already allowed the prick enough backchat for one day, so it was probably a good thing that Sebastian finally gave up or gave in or just decided to hold onto his grievances for later.
Jim wasn’t certain. He also wasn’t sure when he’d ended up pressed against Seb again, not garotting the prick with his chain, but instead holding it hard enough for some letters to mark his hands. Sebastian was holding his collar too, but seemingly not to defend against choking. More like… he feared it might be taken away.
Jim released the metal. “It’s yours, Seb. I’m livid with you, and this isn’t over, but you earned that already; I’m not taking it back.”
Jim sighed and pushed back his hair. He should probably return to consistently slicking it back properly now his hands were healed. If he ever worked outside again.
Jim dragged himself over to the vents that expelled some of the cooking vapours. The walls of the building were thick enough to withstand a shoot out, but Jim wouldn’t put it past Caruso to be attempting to eavesdrop when her precious golden boy was in trouble.
“He’s still alive,” Jim told the vents, “Christ help me…”
Jim glanced at Sebastian for a long moment. Frustration and disappointment and resentment fought for position behind Jim’s eyes, but in the end he turned and left the kitchen.
He ignored the wide eyes of his other staff and stalked off as far as his poison garden. Tom kept it in good order, but he clearly hadn’t weeded it today; there were some small tendrils of green sneaking in.
As much as Jim hated to admit it, some of his best thinking happened when his fingers were in the soil. He hadn’t always had computers after all.
Jim knelt down in his smart clothing and buried himself in waging war with the weeds.
~
When Jim pushed away, Sebastian slumped forward a bit, elbows on the table, some of the tension leaving him with a deep, quiet breath. He was still on a learning curve regarding Jim Moriarty – he was quite sure it never ended. But while you could not let your attention slip when navigating the treacherous ground that man was, with a pocket of quicksand or the metallic chink of a landmine under your feet ever the possibility, some things seemed less changeable than others. At least where Sebastian was concerned. As if Jim refrained from being utterly unpredictable regarding each and everything, but instead put out a few beacons so the waters became navigable, keeping Sebastian away from the edge of the abyss. More than that. The patches of solid ground might be few and far between, but ordinary humans couldn't do entirely without them. And maybe… not even Jim.
Some certainties. Rare and therefore precious.
Mine. - Yours.
It’s yours Seb… I’m not taking it back.
A piece of metal jewellery, which - ring-shaped or not – had a profound meaning.
One even Jim wouldn’t renounce on a whim.
Sebastian realised his fingers were still curled around the collar. It had only been given to him today, and yet it felt like it had always been there. Had always been meant to be there, even long before it had materialised, letters and all - -
Sebastian stilled as this sunk in. Letters. On the inside, right next to his skin. His fingertips ghosted over them like reading Braille, but they couldn’t. Read them.
The impulse to take off the chain at once to investigate came and went. Jim hadn’t referred to anything, hadn’t mentioned this, and Sebastian wasn’t sure why, but it seemed best not to mention it either. Much less ask.
Instead he watched Jim talking to Caruso over the vents, and in other circumstances the whole situation would have been quite funny. Then Sebastian might have told Jim, that Caruso might not even hear him, because it was beneath her to eavesdrop outside her own kitchen, but that was neither here nor there at the moment, not with Jim looking at him with a strange mix of exasperation and, the worst, resentment, before stalking out of the room.
Trusting that someone would keep an eye on him whenever Sebastian wasn’t around for that very purpose. On his own for the moment, Sebastian would have preferred to be in a sanctuary like his own room, but found himself unable to wait. His fingers lingered on the collar for a few seconds, then they felt for the clasp and opened it. Only to discover that his impatience was thwarted by the fact that his... Gaelic wasn't good enough. Close to non-existent, to be honest. One letter to one solid metal link, he could read the words, words he'd probably butcher trying to even just pronounce them:
Mo pheata mo stór mo thaisce
Six words, in three pairs, like a spell. And ... he might not be able to translate in detail, but there was no doubt about one of them, repeated three times: mo – 'my'.
Which was the core of everything that mattered.
Mine.
When Caruso entered again, reclaiming her kitchen, the collar was back around Sebastian's neck, while he was mopping up the last molecule of gravy from the bottom of the pot with a piece of bread.
~
Caruso for once seemed surprised that Sebastian was eating. She walked around him, evidently looking for signs of maiming or that he had perhaps been pinned to the table or bench by a few sharp objects.
He was not.
“I thought I was going to have another body to remove from my kitchen,” Caruso said sourly.
She took on a tone that she had never directed at Seb before. “I expect immature outbursts and jealousy from him. Lord knows those brains of his don’t leave any room for common sense. But you? That might be a reasonable point to raise with a reasonable person, but you know James is anything but. And you must know he’d rather die or stab something than talk about his feelings! I’ve kept that boy alive against his will more times than I care to count and he’d still rather buy me a million unnecessary trinkets than say a simple ‘thank you’! You thought you could goad him into talking about monogamy or marriage?!”
Caruso sat down heavily. “I know he’s different with you, so perhaps you don’t appreciate what usually happens. The ones like Mwamba, the ones who know how to be invisible, normally manage a year or two. The mouthy ones, that he likes to play with, get burnt up or broken very quickly. James cannot share, or play fair, or acknowledge others as human beings most of the time. He doesn’t trust anything, least of all his feelings, and he’d always rather lash out than feel vulnerable. He keeps the team in another building because he can’t trust himself not to get violent if he has to share his space.”
Caruso pressed her lips together for a moment. “And then there was you. Flirting and bickering and staying alive. Getting him to eat. To sleep enough that he doesn’t shoot at things he hallucinates every other day.” Caruso looked hard at Seb for a moment. “You’re his lover, so you’ll have seen the marks. Unless you’ve been cutting him down or pumping his stomach or stitching him up every few months without mentioning it, he’s been having far less days when he can’t bear living in his own skin. Since you moved in.”
Caruso stretched back in her seat. “I wish you’d told me you were poorly, but James caring for you? Tending to you? When he can’t even bother to do that for himself? He might be in denial about what that says about his feelings, but we’re none of us blind to how he looks at you. And how you look at him.”
Caruso sighed. “You’re going to have to tread far more carefully if you want him to be a proper partner. You can’t provoke him into being more considerate of you: he’s not built that way.”
Caruso looked hard at Sebastian. “You’re going to need all of your sniper’s patience, and you’re going to have to wear him down a whisker at a time if you want him enough. He might think he’s grown, but he’s a feral kitten that needs coaxing for every shred of gentleness in him. He won’t just give you his underbelly.”
Caruso stood and moved over to tug Seb’s chain. “He’s already trying as best he can. You won’t get more from him overnight, and certainly not by-”
Caruso paused, finding the letters under her fingers. She carded through the links, familiar with the language James slipped into when in significant pain or exhaustion.
She let go and gave Sebastian a long look. “He’s pouring his black little heart out to you, as hard as that is for him, and you chose to shame him in front of an audience for it not being enough? I’d be astonished you’re still alive if I couldn’t see how attached he is. How you stupid children have survived this long is one of God’s great mysteries!”
~
A quick glance was all Sebastian had needed to know that the backup he’d almost come to expect from Caruso was not going to come. So he sulkily cast his eyes back down again, ostensibly focused on mopping up the gravy, then popping the piece of bread into his mouth.
It turned out there wasn’t just no backup coming but instead the not entirely surprising revelation that Caruso was very competent at roasting anything - leg of lamb, haunch of venison, a tiger’s arse.
And if Sebastian got her right, he was supposed to be the epitome of sense and maturity, making up for the lack of those things in the obnoxious little psycho he’d paired up with.
The fact that she did have a point made him feel even more antagonistic that he’d been to begin with. It forced him to admit – at least to himself – that there was quite a bit more to his purportedly light joke. Had he indeed thought he could tease Jim into talking about … this? Monogamy, ... exclusivity?
“Oh he does talk quite a lot about it,” he muttered crabbily. “Mine only, of course.” This could be misunderstood as the opposite of what he wanted – Jim would have jumped at the opportunity – but this wasn’t Jim but Caruso. Who was on a roll and quite unstoppable giving him a piece of her mind. There was a difference between being allowed little glimpses into the past of the Moriarty household and getting quite a concise account of it from someone who’d seen (and survived) it all. To be blatantly shown how much of an outlier Sebastian was amongst his predecessors. How much of a, previously unimaginable, difference he’d made already - be it to how things were run, the number of bodies that needed removing from Caruso’s kitchen, or the destructive disposition of the head of said household.
Because Sebastian was different. How different should not be the cook’s obligation to point out, because … Jim was different too. Utterly unlike anyone to be exact, and that was as much mind-blowing as it was the core of all reasons Sebastian was here. That pull, drawing him towards the man from the first day he’d met him, hell, heard of him… No matter the cost. Moth. Flame.
It was stupid, delusional and pathetic to expect what actually was ordinary people’s behaviour from that very man. Especially when Jim already tried. Hitherto inconceivable things, as far as interaction with humans went in general, and with lovers in particular.
Lovers. The word itself and even more the blatantly casual, natural way Caruso used it, made Sebastian’s ears glow and his heart skip a beat, but any elation was swallowed up by growing, burning tendrils of shame squeezing his stomach into one hot lump. Everything Caruso said was like a bullet, each hitting home closer to his heart than the one before. The ‘kitten’ was the kill shot (Caruso generously ignored the involuntary, breathless little snort-squeak Sebastian’s throat made).
The worst was, that in a way Jim had told him all this already - kittens aside, naturally - either in the pathological, clinically detached or the awkwardly convoluted way he was (somewhat) able to communicate about such matters. But yes, he’d tried, god help him, yet selfish, idiotic Sebastian needed a third party’s intervention to truly wrap his thick head around it and not only understand but … accept it.
Feeling shrunk to about half his size and quite upset, mostly at himself, Sebastian held his breath when Caruso stepped closer and paused when tracing the inside of the chain with her fingers. The sudden strange impulse to snarl at her, at anyone apart from Jim touching what was his, and his alone, dissipated into something calmer.
“I know that,” Sebastian finally said hoarsely. “Or I should have.” He stared into the pot. The bread was gone and every last drop of gravy. He rubbed both hands across his face, which briefly muffled his voice. “I mean I did…, it’s just… ” Oh for fuck’s sake, Moran, no whining! He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Keeping him alive, yes.” He sounded even again, grounded. “That’s what we’re here for.” Anything else was a bonus, and he’d already gotten more of those than he’d ever dreamed there would be. He pushed the pot away a bit, towards the middle of the table. “Thinking about it –” The corner of his mouth twitched, somewhat covering up how ashamed he felt. “Doing something not even Jim Moriarty is able to do … There can’t be too many people in the world capable of that, right?”
~
Caruso snorted and rattled off a list of things Jim Moriarty failed to manage but ordinary people could do - not least of which being controlling their temper, or appropriately communicating their feelings. “So don’t get smug,” Caruso added, which was quite unlike her. She usually encouraged Sebastian to feel special, and for James to view him as such, because she thoroughly approved of the positive changes Sebastian had wrought in their volatile employer.
She waited until Seb’s expression was suitably chagrined to soften her voice. “You and I both know James is a spiteful little monster, and he is capable of all sorts of performative cruelty if he feels vulnerable. So I’m not saying he wouldn’t go dipping his wicked wick elsewhere. However,” she fixed Seb with a very serious look, “that boy has barely left the perimeters since you got hurt. And even before that, it’s been a long time since he was interested in pursuing anyone but you. He might be loathe to admit it, but don’t you for a moment let him make you think that what you have is one-sided.”
Caruso got up and cleared the table. “I suppose we can go over your dietary requirements whilst we let him calm down and have time to miss you, but you won’t be hiding out in here all day being underfoot; he’ll only start simmering again if he feels neglected.”
~
Sebastian was used to be cut down to size by Jim, but from Caruso…? That had come as a bit of a shock. Even though he knew she was right with her admonition, or maybe because of it, Sebastian was still feeling slightly miffed. A bit like a child who’d received a clip around the ear from someone regarded as an unconditional ally. Also, by the way, not as someone who was supposed to talk about dipping wicks for god’s sake.
On the other hand, Caruso wouldn’t be Caruso, if she’d be fazed by anything or not talk about it. Also, she managed to soften the blow considerably with what she said next.
That not only did Sebastian and his ‘spiteful little monster’ have something, but that it wasn’t one-sided at all. Sebastian, without anything left on the table to divert his attention to, looked up at her.
And after she’d said everything she had to speak about, she swerved back to her professional capacity of healing the sick and feeding the hungry. Suggesting to talk about … oooh. Sebastian smiled. That must have been one of the most pleasant things he’d ever been invited to discus in this kitchen: his dietary requirements.
“Well, as far as I understand my … condition, it’s a lot of protein that I need.” And although Caruso was probably the last person on earth who’d suggest you get it from Soy beans and chick peas, it couldn’t hurt to point her into the right direction, could it? “Steak would be best I suppose …, most beneficial I mean,” Sebastian rephrased himself, trying to look thoughtful and innocent rather than greedy, when she turned around to him again with an imperceptible smile.
"Is that so?”
Sebastian nodded. “But I suppose chickens, rabbits and small ruminants would be fine as well.” He realised that sounded a bit odd and hurried to add: “So – meat dishes in general. With not too big a side of carbs and greens.” It felt he should try to tread a bit carefully, but you had to make hay while the sun shone, right? “And I need … I mean it would be very good, if there was a lot of it -” He was not stopped by an arching eyebrow, he had constant practise in ignoring that - “And available at all times.” Yes: day and night. “My life might depend on it.”
~
Whilst Sebastian was having a ‘Food, Glorious Food’ moment, Jim had planted himself firmly in the dirt and was running out of small weeds to ferret out. He was furious at Sebastian, and himself, but pushed away every thought of their recent encounter.
Instead Jim bitterly lamented having less sense than God gifted a field mouse and did his level best to think about anything else.
Every subject of consideration always linked back to Sebastian. Whether it was which plants might best poison him, or whether he would now be susceptible to others usually more toxic to felines, or simply the frustrating continued lack of a cure, Moran was around every corner in Jim’s twisted brain.
Jim skirted carefully around the plants which may be more toxic to him now than ever before. He wasn’t in the humour to receive further proof that on top of being an utterly ungrateful prick, Moran really had given him the world’s most atrocious STD. The thought of the month ahead made Jim’s gut twist with anxiety.
He felt bad, too, for not taking better care of Sebastian, despite their row and Jim’s own nature. He didn’t like risking the irritating bastard’s wellbeing, and Caruso calling out his thoughtlessness didn’t help.
It was hard. Jim wasn’t used to having so many difficult thoughts camping out in his mind, blinding him to fucking obvious consequences.
He cringed further at the thought that he might soon share Seb’s dietary changes. That would hardly go past Caruso without comment. As it was, he was going to have to get her a list of everything Seb might now be allergic to, and that wouldn’t be fun. Jim doubted Seb had even realised yet that his new aversion to alcohol likely meant an end to enjoying Caruso’s steak and ale pies, and any meat cooked in a wine sauce.
For some ridiculous reason, Jim found himself feeling oddly sorry for Sebastian. Jim liked the stupid fucking contentment that eating usually put on Seb’s face. Jim didn’t enjoy eating the way Seb did; he didn’t care what was put in front of him as long as it wasn’t colcannon or out a fucking tin. Sebastian liked his food, and as much as he’d been enjoying getting so much of it, the associated limitations must be chafing.
It chafed Jim too why he was feeling sorry for Seb at all. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, and certainly not one the fucking traitor deserved. Jim attacked a stinging nettle with his bare skin until he stopped thinking such unhelpful things.
~
Caruso seemed largely unfazed by the list of large and small… animals Sebastian compiled.
“And readily available at all times?” she reiterated with am expression that was rather amused than vexed. “Sounds just like your usual self, well, several of you.” Sebastian tried to look contrite – again. “Ah well,” Caruso wiped the table with vigorous sweeps, “l suppose I can cater for that. Less bothersome than had you told me you’d turned into a lactose-intolerant vegetarian.”
The towel in her hand made a shooing gesture into the general direction of the door. “Don’t leave him alone for too long after upsetting him like that."
Sebastian took the cue and his leave. He knew she was right, but not whether Jim wanted to see his face right now. He found him in his poison garden, tending to his beautiful lethal treasures there.
“You know that…” Jim didn’t look up, trailing his fingertips over a spiky leaf not quite unfurled yet, “… angel’s trumpet is lethal for humans, but not for rabbits? Unless you made such a rabbit into a nice casserole of course, to kill someone with.” Right. Sebastian thought about revising the list of meats he’d just given to Caruso. But like always, he was also fascinated by the Jim’s wealth of morbid – and useful – knowledge.
“Then maybe we should fence off that plot? I’ve seen rabbits on the grounds before and if the dogs happen to catch and eat one of them…?” Or tigers, for that matter.
~
Jim gave Sebastian an unimpressed look. “If either of the dogs are poorly trained enough to try to eat anything not directly given to them by the team, then they need replacing anyway.” Jim stared at Seb for a long moment, as though debating whether someone else needed replacing, but then he sighed and stretched, displaying muddy fingers and green-streaked cuffs. “If I don’t figure out a cure soon, most of this will need tiger proofing.” He indicated the perimeter as well. “Might be better staying in a country house for a while. Be one of those eccentrics with an unlicensed exotic pet.”
~
“Yeah, you’re right.” Sebastian stood undecidedly. Then he sat down on his haunches beside Jim. Who wasn’t wrong regarding the dogs. Sebastian even doubted they could catch a rabbit. Smith and Wesson were athletic canines, but hardly as light and nimble on their feet as that would take. He watched Jim, the green stains on his cuffs weirdly out of place. Imagining Jim Moriarty digging in the soil - not many people would think of gardening, he supposed. Sebastian though saw the fey little lad on a Galway farm, soaking up everything his world comprised of and things way beyond … Not in love with his chores, but you didn’t have to be to learn. You just had to be bright, and a little bit odd, to see the threads connecting everything in the universe in things like a feather, a wheel stuck in the mud or a dead rabbit.
Sebastian smiled and stopped his thoughts from wandering when Jim contemplated the need to tiger proof his poisonous collection. Most of which smelled quite forbidding to Sebastian, maybe the tiger would have enough sense to keep away? "Well, there's no way the tiger can be out here anyway." Sebastian sounded a bit regretful, but they had to be reasonable. He sighed. "Simplest thing would be to just lock me into the panic room and chuck in enough calories to make it through two changes.” Now that they had an idea of what was happening. “Not that I don’t like the idea of a place in the country…” Sebastian trailed off. (No need to get Jim upset again so soon, with another misstep into ‘us’ territory). But as far as Sebastian was concerned - it didn't even have to be a full moon. Which of course would defy the purpose of Jim’s suggestion. “I wish … those two parts of me weren’t as shut off from each other. So I wouldn’t be a danger to you.”
The smile came back then. "Well - you are an eccentric with an unlicensed exotic pet."
~
A smile twitched the corner of Jim’s mouth without his meaning it to. “Dickhead,” he said in a tone decidedly frostier than usual, but also undeniably fond still. “A real tiger would give me far less trouble.”
Jim’s nose crinkled. “For example, I don’t think we can simply lock you away. I think you might need to be under the moon to turn, so perhaps some sort of outdoor enclosure would be better.” Jim really didn’t want to think about whether he might also need one of his own.
He cast about for a distraction and said, “Not all of the sources seem to think the creature and the man stay separate. Maybe control is possible. Even if not on an entirely conscious level… For example. Teenage boys and wet dreams. An unconscious consequence of an animal urge, but once a man has an active sex life, or at least a closer relationship with his hand, the issue tends to sort itself out. Perhaps there are ways for us to take our furry friend in hand that lessen the likelihood of him taking control of you.”
Jim tossed a not at all poisonous weed at Sebastian. “If not, I’ll get you a very strong and pretty shock collar until you learn to mind your manners whilst you’re wearing your fur coat.”
~
Sebastian dodged the weed, then he made a little grimace as if he’d just been zapped. “You really have the most practical ideas,” he commented on the shock collar. But to be honest, he would have gone along with anything if it would help to keep Jim safe. “And you mean… giving in to the animal urges might make them more manageable? But yes, I’d like to see our dear cook’s face if I tell her that once a month she doesn’t need to bother to cook for me. Just have some livestock delivered.”
He pondered what Jim has said before. “You think I have to be under the full moon? I thought it had more to do with …” He paused. With gravitation and tides and the constellation of planets? God, how had this gone from researching folk lore to attempts of scientific explanations for all this … It seemed so absurd. He shrugged with a sigh. “God, I don’t know. If it’s just the light, then what about when it’s overcast? Or if I simply don’t go outside…” Could it be that easy?? Or rather make things even worse? Remembering the torturous days leading up to his first change, it didn’t feel like a good idea to try and completely deny whatever was in his blood to … materialise. To ‘reset,’ or whatever you’d call it. What would happen to a snake at the point where it had to shed its skin and then… couldn’t? Would it die?
~
Jim clamped down on any traitorous urge his tongue might have to tell Sebastian he ought consider himself lucky: Jim liked electroplay, but not enough to risk Seb’s heart with his habitual overzealousness with such games. Jim was lamentably adverse to anything which might damage his favourite toy. Person.
“If we did hole up in the countryside for however many moons it takes, you could have your fill of venison, I suppose,” Jim said, frowning down at his plants. He shifted position, briefly remembering that Seb would not be able to move so freely due to a certain snug toy.
It motivated Jim to look at Sebastian again. “You went to the bother of cuffing yourself to the bed… but you went out onto the balcony. I don’t have enough confirmed data yet to say for certain how the fuck it works.” Jim’s lips twitched. “But you’ve always been a fucking headache.”
~
Sebastian had never consciously entertained the idea of chasing after deer – not with a rifle but on foot - and actually being able to catch it! It triggered something in his muscles like the faintest twitch in a sleeping cat’s paws. He smiled. “I would bring it home and lay it down on your doorstep.”
But yes, they still didn’t understand the details and maybe hitches and catches of the transformation. Nor whether soon they’d be hunting together a notion that Sebastian still didn't want to entertain. But here was another thought: “I could also bring a few half-dead enemies for you to play with.” Which, thinking about it, was nothing he hadn’t done before. “Wouldn’t that be a nice compensation for the headaches?” Amongst other things?
~
Jim scoffed. “Don’t you do that already?”
Although not for some time, actually. That raja was the last assassination Jim had allocated to Sebastian, and there hadn’t been anything since.
He’d been funny about smelling anyone else’s death on Jim too.
“If I go too long without a kill-” or at least, sufficient physicality, “-I get… twitchy. Do you..? Is the exertion you get from your exercising and what we do together sufficient, or do you need… regular bloodings, to… take the edge off?”
~
Sebastian knew about that side of Jim, and he understood it to be one reason Jim wasn’t, despite all his good intentions, able to fully trust himself even around Sebastian. That need for an outlet, occasionally in its most brutal form… The maddening noise in that poor, tortured brain of his, which sometimes only a horrific outburst of physical violence seemed to be able to quell… , or turn down a bit, for a time at least… But it was still rare for Jim to openly, bluntly talk about it. And Sebastian would never be one to judge. That would be quite absurd – from one killer to another. But there were differences. Not making him better - what a ludicrous thought – just … different.
“I do miss it,” he said after a little while, almost as if listening inwardly. “I miss the chase. The stalking, the one crucial moment to strike. The satisfaction of a job well done.” To reduce the ending of a life to that was warped enough he supposed. He didn’t mind getting his hands bloody, that, in some cases could be deeply enjoyable too, but he didn’t need it the way Jim did, to keep his sanity or himself from harming or killing the next best living thing, or himself. Or he wouldn’t have found his calling in being a sniper. The biggest thrill and deepest satisfaction came from accomplishing a clean and perfect kill, under the most adverse circumstances. "Feeling alive, and a bit like god too.” He gave Jim a sidelong glance and a slight smile. Of course, Sebastian’s god complex was a lot smaller than Jim’s. Same pantheon, but many levels below where the webs of the empire were created.
”And the adrenaline rush. But… ‘what we do together’ very much takes care of this.” More than anything, ever before in his life, to be honest. Sebastian shifted cautiously, instantly physically reminded of what they did together. Of what Jim did to him.
“And I miss being useful,” Sebastian concluded. “Being the best at what I do. At what you decide you want have done. Being the best possible weapon for the only man on earth who deserves to have me.”
Just …. that wasn’t quite all of it. Sebastian had sensed things shifting in the past weeks. There were moments when his thoughts ground to a halt and he found himself riveted by a flash of skin, fascinated by a vein thudding beneath it, almost hearing the blood rushing through it, with a sudden taste of it materialising on his tongue – the unique metallic, sweet saltiness of it. Disturbingly these sudden impulses didn’t stop at Jim, if it happened to be his neck or naked belly Sebastian saw or smelled… So maybe now they both faced the fear and danger of gravely if unintentionally harming the one person they wanted to keep safe the most.
~
The chase, the crucial moment, and the satisfaction of a job well done were all pleasing experiences Jim could relate to. He was uncertain whether he’d be quite as content to exchange them for their admittedly deeply satisfying sex life if not for the fact that researching Seb’s malady, though torturous, was in some ways more interesting than his usual work. That was challenging, but building an empire was not as awe-inspiring as coming face-to-face with the genuinely supernatural.
Feeling like a god… well yes, of course Jim related to that. He liked that arrogance in Sebastian too: having the man submit to him simply meant so much more because Sebastian was marvellous in his own right.
Sometimes.
Missing feeling useful Jim found himself relating to more than he expected. He didn’t usually care about the people he solved problems for at work, it was simply a way he’d found to make himself indispensable; a path to power. Trying to find a cure for Sebastian… actually mattered. As, indeed, did the small matter of potentially saving his own life if he himself was infected. Repeatedly banging his head against a brick wall as far as making any progress went… was not an enjoyable experience.
Jim was used to his place in the world being: the best at anything he chose to do. And he only had to please himself (an admittedly difficult task). Being Sebastian, wanting to please Jim, be the best for him, was probably an unenviable position. Certainly it was difficult. Supernatural affliction or not, pleasing Jim was always difficult.
Although… less so for Seb than for most people.
Jim grew very still as he heard Seb describe him as: the only man on earth who deserves to have me. As a weapon, of course; that made sense. Jim was a dangerous employer, but he only took the best, and he rewarded his employees accordingly, both in the type of work he provided and the wages they received.
But the way Jim’s stomach knotted didn’t have anything to do with work. He didn’t primarily view Sebastian as his weapon. Or even his bodyguard.
Seb was… his. Just his. Something more important than an employee- even a once very useful one.
Sebastian had other uses now. He made it easier to eat. To sleep. To breathe.
Although sometimes he managed the opposite. He was frustratingly complex.
But Jim had always despised being bored.
“Use this month to recover from the last and prepare for what’s coming. You can explore your abilities in a controlled environment. Once the next full moon is out of the way, we’ll regroup and hopefully see about lengthening your leash, letting you use your skills. I’ll make a point of carving time out from research to keep you attended to as long as you make some fucking effort not to get on my nerves.”
Jim pressed his lips together for a moment. “And… not performing your usual duties doesn’t make you useless: you have other talents and you use them.”
Jim closed his mouth again and kept it closed. Being ‘the only man on earth who deserves to have me’ bounced around his brain demandingly, but Jim didn’t have the words to deal with that.
~
Sebastian quietly let out a deep breath, and he found himself actually relaxing a bit. Not only because his faux-pass just a few minutes ago, putting a foot in it with Jim and Caruso, seemed to have blown over. There was also the reassurance that even stripped of his main tasks in the engine room of the empire he wasn’t considered useless. It meant a lot. It seemed to be obvious, what Jim meant by his ‘other talents’, but Sebastian liked to think it went beyond a bedwarmer. Caruso had implied as much - and Jim too - and this time Sebastian wisely left it at that, without poking about in dangerous territory. He was on a learning curve about things that were better treasured quietly. And then there was the one thing that came as a bit of a surprise. He wasn’t a stranger to being thrown into a messy situation and deal with it. To think on his feet and come up with a solution, or at least pick his way towards it in the most practical and efficient way. But a supernatural affliction went way beyond the scale of what he usually faced. There was a difference between the nothing an AK47 can’t solve type of problem, and the Mr Moriarty I need you to fix this for me level of mess...
Sebastian had rarely been so grateful for someone else telling him what to do. What they would do. Being given an outline, a structure. Step by step. A week, and a month at a time. Never mind it felt a bit like tidying up your room while the whole world was sinking into chaos, but … you had to start somewhere, right? Even if it was mainly for the sake of keeping yourself from disintegrating with it.
Sebastian nodded. “I will.” Make an effort. Be careful not to trample of Jim’s nerves. At least now they had some idea of what the were dealing with, of what would going to happen. And as long as they couldn’t change it, they had to adjust.
Sebastian's foot nudged the little heap of weeds Jim had uprooted further away from the cleaned up patch of soil. “Do you… want to come in or stay a bit longer and commune with the earth?” Whatever Sebastian’s job description was at the moment, you didn’t just stop being a bodyguard.
~
Jim wouldn’t hold his breath about Sebastian fucking frustrating Moran making even a token effort to behave himself. Which was just as well, because the prick had him bristling a mere moment later with his cheek. Communing with the earth indeed!
“I want to bury you under this fucking earth,” Jim said, half under his breath and perfectly aware Moran would hear him.
Jim leaned back and surveyed Sebastian resentfully.
“…I’m still too cross to deal with you,” Jim said at last. “Every time I think of punishing you I just get angrier. So if you want to go twiddle your thumbs in the den whilst you’ve got them, by all means, you needn’t hang over me.”
A muscle in Jim’s jaw twitched. “Unless you… I didn’t stay before.” And Caruso told him off for leaving Seb to wilt. “If you want… company…” Or a fucking nursemaid, although Caruso had probably plied Seb with every treat imaginable once she’d discovered him still alive, and Sebastian certainly didn’t look weak after all that eating. Jim sighed, thoroughly put out, and dusted off his hands. “I can stay with you for a bit, if that’s what you want.”
~
Sebastian supposed, that while usually pets got their final resting place under the magnolia or the apple tree, for him it would be hemlock and deadly nightshade above his head. “Well, if it should ever come to that, maybe you could add a few tiger lilies to that poisonous mix?”
Being reminded of the importance of opposable thumbs he pursed his lips. The events of the past weeks and his subsequent affliction added a whole new aspect to what would have been a characteristic Jim Moriarty threat. He refrained from looking pointedly at Jim’s soil smudged hands or voicing the possibility that at the next full moon they might look different as well. He knew that that possibility upset Jim much more than he let on, and to be honest, Sebastian too.
Thankfully he was distracted from that thought when Jim… wait, what? Because he didn’t stay before? Sebastian blinked, needing a second or two to grasp what Jim was talking about. “You mean … after we …” Seeing Jim, looking all awkward and stiff with resentfulness yet trying his best squeezed Sebastian’s heart in a way that threatened to overwhelm him. Yes, Jim tried, something that was alien to him. How someone felt had never been of any concern to him outside of manipulating people, and you could literally see the physical discomfort that caused him. Like trying to use a stunted muscle, because so far it had been entirely irrelevant what an ordinary human being needed, well, a particular human being. And this particular human being couldn’t bring himself to tell him that no, Jim, there’s no point in rubbing down a hard-ridden horse two hours after … getting off. The events in the kitchen had turned the hormonal aftermath of their intense session into an equally overwhelming but entirely different emotional turmoil. The best aftercare for which was less cuddles and companionship but rather licking one’s wounds in solitude for a bit.
And yet Jim tried, even at the cost of bending himself out of shape, his wiring unequipped for dealing with such things. Sebastian felt a surge of tenderness, which washed over the hurt from their altercation.
“I’m alright,” he said gently. Seeing the look on Jim’s face Sebastian almost forgot himself to the point of reaching out and soothingly rub his arm. “Look,” he said, before Jim could react. “You just said yourself you’re still too cross to deal with me. And I don’t mind bit of den-time either.” But the last thing he wanted was Jim to feel rebuffed. “It’s fine, really,” and he truly meant it. “I appreciate it, but you’re right. You do some gardening and I’ll … polish something.” That’s how most well-functioning marriages worked, right? (Not that Sebastian would ever breathe that word again, even in joke). Both getting some space when they needed it, and thankfully they had it. The space.
“The den’s not out of bounds… should you feel like it.” He wouldn’t take offence if Jim didn’t, hell, he was used to Jim being cantankerous and distant for days, it was nothing he took too much to heart.
~
Jim had no idea how to feel about being rejected, never mind in such a gentle manner.
“Do what you want,” he said tiredly. “You always do anyway,” he added, piqued.
He stood, intent on getting away, but even as he irritably hip-checked Sebastian’s shoulder, Jim found himself curling his inner wrist around Seb affectionately. Carefully not touching Sebastian’s skin with anything that might have brushed against the poisonous plants.
Disgusted with himself, Jim stormed off towards the house, tersely telling Moran he was going to clean up.
A traitorous part of Jim already wanted to turn back and head for the den. Instead he stormed upstairs.
The sight of their bedroom made him feel a bit sick, but Jim kicked open the drawer and drew out a toy he hadn’t used in some time. Then he stalked through to the bathroom, only to cringe a bit at the lingering smell of so many products.
Jim threw open the windows to expel the fumes, then gingerly approached the bath. How has his attempts to bond with Sebastian today go so terribly astray?
It didn’t matter.
Jim threw on the hot tap and tossed in a spiteful amount of scented bubbles and oils. Fuck Sebastian Moran.
~
Well, that could have gone worse. Jim had marched off, but more confused than put out, judging by the rude yet affectionate little gesture he managed in passing.
Sebastian didn't leave the poisonous garden plot right away, but cautiously took stock of what was there, how it looked, how it smelled. Even to his new sensorium not everything spelled 'danger'... Would he, in his tiger form, have some sort of instinct to avoid accidentally poisoning himself if he happened to somehow get out of the house? Cats did that, right? Nibbling at green shoots to clean their stomachs? How did they pick the right plants? More importantly: avoid the wrong ones? Smell, instinct, and some genetically stored memory? Which Sebastian saw no way he could have, because his ancestors might have been and done many things, but not looking for means to hack up hairballs and the remains of their dinner on a regular basis.
Then again, it was probably quite moot to try and apply scientific reasoning to any of this. Also, unfortunately he was unable to remember those hours, not beyond a faint echo of overwhelming needs and sensory input. Nothing that implied that his human mind had any access to the tiger's, or vice versa... Thinking about it, about some sudden strange urges, he wasn't totally sure about the latter...
Holing up in the den, he cleared away the paraphernalia of his bullet-making and then found some distraction in the reassuring, calming routine of cleaning his rifles and other firearms. He could pass hours that way and he probably did, because it was early evening when he finally went back to the house.
~
Few things settled Jim’s nerves like violence, sex, or violent sex.
But he was too upset to risk being violent with Sebastian just then. Seb had reacted in disgust when Jim had taken his violent urges elsewhere too. Going elsewhere for sex would cause even further unpleasantness, and Jim was too unsettled to be getting intimate with Sebastian after their latest disagreement anyway.
But no matter. Jim was perfectly capable of taking himself in hand. He’d had plenty of practice due to his distaste for other people, and before Seb had gotten hurt it wasn’t like they were fucking all of the time. Their sex had always been explosive and passionate, but Jim had limited its regularity when he’d started to get inklings that he was developing a particular preference for one specific man.
A lot of good that restraint had done him, Jim thought sourly, sinking into the bubbles with a waterproof toy shaped like his own initial. He’d gotten himself attached and it was ruining his life. A bloody short life, if he didn’t kick his genius into fruition soon.
A further wave of stress flooded him. Jim did his best to shut down that thought and focused with difficulty on relieving his stress.
In a manner very different to what he would do with Moran. Because he didn’t need him.
Jim frowned, sliding his fingers along himself and tried to relax enough to work his toy inside.
It was a struggle. It was a long time since Jim had done this: he certainly wouldn’t let another man inside him, and his sexual needs had been fulfilled exclusively by Moran even some time before the were incident.
It wasn’t just time that was a problem. Jim was tense all over. He rattled through the toy’s vibrating options, trying to coax his body into acceptance. He needed relief to relax, and the only way to get Moran out of his head was to find that relief in a way that frustrating prick never would.
Except…
Jim couldn’t. Stop thinking about Sebastian.
Furious, he rose out of the bath, getting water and bubbles everywhere, and threw the still vibrating toy out of the open window. If either of the dogs found it, that was not his problem.
Snatching up a towel, Jim stalked through to the bedroom and ransacked his toy drawer. Still mostly sodden, he dropped onto his back on Sebastian’s side of the bed, nearest the door, and didn’t bother with lube as he slipped a basic but efficient masturbatory sleeve over himself. He could manage a fucking wank by himself, for fuck’s sake! And not think about Sebastian the entire time!
~
He could hear tires on the gravel of the driveway with the windows closed, or Jim’s footsteps from another part of the house – all things Sebastian was coming to appreciate, not least because they made him a better bodyguard. And, although it all took some getting used to, they started putting his mind more at ease, not diminishing his alertness, but turning it from something that was second nature to him into something even more natural. As he was adjusting, the increased sensory input didn’t overwhelm him any more, at least not as much as it used to…
But there were moments when he would gladly opt for not being aware of a few things. Like now, when a sound had drawn him to the back of the house, following the strange buzzing noise, which seemed to originate in a cluster of … peonies. A few seconds later he had found the source. Contemplating whether a wasp’s nest wouldn’t have been preferable to what he was holding in his hand right now. Well, at least this was much easier to kill – it had a switch. Sebastian looked around, then his gaze went up, scanning the windows, and a supposed trajectory … One of the windows was open - Jim’s bedroom, no, the adjacent bathroom. Even without that, the scent of Jim’s friggin scented bubble bath, hell, of Jim himself was a dead giveaway as to where it had come from. Sebastian was feeling a bit dizzy, teetering on a precarious edge between being upset, affronted and in stitches.
It appeared Jim had not confined himself to gardening as stress relief. Which, upsettingly, had not involved Sebastian. It had also not been very successful, judging from the place the toy had ended up in. Very good, Sebastian thought in somewhat sour amusement.
He suppressed the impulse to carry the thing back upstairs to where it had most likely come from … Running inside like a dimwitted Labrador, triumphantly parading his find from the garden into the house did not seem like the best course of action…
Sebastian dropped the now silenced corpus delicti back into the shrubbery and ambled inside. Making his presence known by clamouring about in their new kitchen, he tried to get all sorts of images out of his head… Jim resorting to bloody mechanical toys? Was this some indicator he was already getting tired of the one that backchatted and was too high maintenance altogether?
About ten minutes later, Sebastian stood in front of Jim’s bedroom door, tapping it with his foot, hands full with two mugs. “I made tea. Do you… want one?”
~
Tea?
No, Jim wanted an orgasm and to get Moran out of his head, thank you very much.
He picked up a pillow and threw it at the door. “Fuck off!”
Jim rolled onto his side, turning his back on the door and scrunching up his face with irritation and concentration as he tried his damnedest to empty his mind to tantric levels of not thinking about Sebastian.Jim inhaled deeply, cheek brushing something soft-
Oh, there was the kick of lust. And Sebastian’s ugly jumper, offered to Jim so assertively and underneath the surprise there had been that demeaning little twinge of appreciation: being offered his lover’s clothing, like he was wanted, like they-
Jim froze in alarm, finding that his hand and mind were getting far too carried away with themselves. That was not a suitable wank fantasy either, for fuck’s sake!!
He snatched off the rubbery sleeve roughly and jumped up, throwing the stupid thing onto the bed.
His prick stared up at him indignantly. He glared back at it, but it remained furiously flushed and refused to cower down.
He would ignore it and it would remember its place. Which was not inside Sebastian fucking Moran.
Jim stormed to the door and threw it open, only to come to an immediate halt. Sebastian was standing there still, an impassible wall, holding tea. In two sturdy mugs, not one of Jim’s delicate and delightfully smashable tea cups.
“I was fine before you came along!” Jim snapped, which wasn’t true.
~
Something soft hit the door from the inside, but the command to bugger off sounded much more waspishly. Sebastian debated with himself whether to obey. What if Jim had relapsed into feeling unwell? Sebastian chose the middle ground, neither entering nor leaving, but listening: after a while there was a slight thump – feet hitting the floor? Not unwell enough to get out of bed then - followed by footsteps padding towards the door, which subsequently flew open.
Jim glared at him, stark naked, hurling an accusation that was ludicrous really. Provided your definition of ‘fine’ did not equate ‘malnourished, irascible and insufferable’. At least with the first there had been some progress, right? Sebastian stood his ground, unfazed, gazing over Jim’s shoulder. The bed was rumpled, a towel amongst the mess and other… wank paraphernalia? His oh… where did his own faded blue jumper come into this?
His gaze refocused on Jim’s scowling face and then slowly travelled downwards.
“Well,” Sebastian cleared his throat, “You look fine to me now,” he observed. Glorious to be precise. "Can I ... help?"