Beach
Jim blinked. Of course Sebastian would want to do everything; he had a zest and zeal for life that Jim found quite odd. Not that Sebastian was the only human in the world to find pleasure in the mundane, but Jim often found even his own convoluted feats of genius tiresome.
Jim was… tired. So tired he’d briefly forgotten that of course Seb could barely last two hours without needing to devour half an antelope (well… it was usually venison and beef they kept in the new freezer). Jim’s brain was… foggy, and his reactions were sluggish. He was sort of aware of the uneven ground, but seemingly was too sleep-deprived to properly avoid the hazards, and jolted when he fell against Sebastian’s sturdy weight instead.
Jim’s dark eyelashes fluttered in confusion as Seb said something about menaces in a voice that… There was something playful about the voice, like Sebastian was insinuating some sort of naughtiness on his part, but Jim couldn’t quite follow. Sebastian couldn’t possibly have had someone come out and dig these holes… and why would he want to?
Jim knuckled his face, almost knocking away his sunglasses in the process.
“Food,” he said slowly. “Let’s get you fed, and give me a chance to get my head working, and then we’ll…” Jim flashed a weak smile even though it took an awful lot of effort to lift his head to look at Seb (or even think to tease), “go for walkies.”
Jim stayed resting against Seb’s bulk for a bit longer, then carefully moved away to let Sebastian set down a blanket, which Seb did with brisk efficiency. The contents of Caruso’s hamper were also set out thus.
Jim did his best to avoid knocking anything over and scrambled onto the blanket with a lack of coordination or gracefulness akin to a sleepy toddler. He dropped onto one hip, pressing against Sebastian’s side, and had brief visions of burning if he fell asleep with his head on Seb’s leg in the sun. His shirt would probably leave him dappled with unusual freckles.
Grimacing, Jim reached blindly for a snack that might give him a jolt of much needed energy. He was damned well going to try to be tolerable company. No falling asleep or screaming fights or anything else that wasn’t soaking up every last moment of their time together.
Jim fumbled for something to feed to Sebastian. It was probably folly to do so with paid observers, but Jim was uncertain how else to express esteem for his loyal pet. And besides, he probably wouldn’t be alive for many raised eyebrows from the team in future.
~
“Why don’t we do this more often?” In his bubbling exhilaration this had slipped out before Sebastian knew it. It was a very silly question. “Sorry, daft question,” Sebastian corrected himself, “Forget I said that. But thank you for indulging me.”
This was as far from Jim Moriarty’s natural habitat as you could get. He looked quite out of place, he didn’t like it and he’d definitely see going to the beach as a waste of time, not to mention unsafe and uncomfortable. Sebastian wriggled a bit to mend at least the latter as best he could.
He snapped up the chicken wing Jim somewhat blindly waved in the direction of his face, before it accidentally poked his eye out or got inserted into his nose.
“Wouldn’t it be better if I fed you, instead of the other way round?” Was Jim still concerned about what their staff thought about them? That horse had bolted a long time ago, Sebastian was certain. Gnawing on his chicken wing, he one-handedly opened all the packages in their picnic hamper and started to select things he knew Jim liked – a slice of melon wrapped in ham, a bite sized little pie filled with spinach and salmon, a piece of cold roast beef dipped in Cumberland sauce – and Jim seemed tired enough to simply accept the offerings, after the second one not even bothering to use his fingers. For every bite and morsel Jim ate, Sebastian ingested three. Gradually Jim started to look a bit less inert and a bit more lively again. Sebastian perused their choice of beverages. “We do have water or apple juice or white wine, what would you like?”
~
Sebastian’s question startled Jim, and he was grateful that Seb quickly retracted it. Especially with such grace. The answer ‘because this is too human for Moriarty’ felt too uncomfortable given their whiskered futures.
Jim tried to distract Seb with food but was evidently too clumsy with tiredness to do so, because Sebastian soon took over. And Jim let him. It only belatedly occurred to him what a picture they’d make for the other staff. Feeding Sebastian like a favoured pet was one thing, but the other way around… well, it was sort of subservient of Seb, right? And keeping Jim alive, for the moment. That was in his job description.
Eating helped shake some of the fog from Jim’s mind, and he took the apple juice Seb offered. A tiger would probably prefer water, but Jim figured the sugar might be beneficial to his energy levels in the short term.
He looked out along the sea water. “We never do things like this because I’m not good at much that isn’t work. I usually need to keep busy so my brain doesn’t try to eat itself which doesn’t really leave time for anything else. Fucking you is the only sort of downtime that makes sense to me.”
Jim drank slowly, then put the plastic goblet aside and pulled his knees up to his chest, frowning at the water. “Ireland’s small enough that you’re never really far from the coast. When I needed space as a teenager I’d sometimes go to the water and look out. You could see the Isle of Man on the left and lights from Blackpool and the bit of Liverpool that’s not obscured by Wales to the right. Used to imagine I could see the lights from London. Couldn’t wait to get away to somewhere it seemed time moved faster.”
~
Oh, Sebastian could think of a few things Jim was very good at, besides work. But Jim got ahead of him by naming one of them quite candidly himself, and also, there was another enchanting little glimpse of Young Jim. Whenever that happened, Sebastian was enthralled and he quietly savoured it, because honestly, it sounded a bit like poetry. It even slowed down Sebastian’s eating, which was saying a lot.
It wasn't hard to picture it, especially now, as Jim’s eyes had that faraway look, maybe reliving what that yearning teenager had felt, but with the hindsight of two decades. But he had accomplished everything he’d set out to do, and to gain, hadn’t he? That city of lights. It had become the heart of his empire, if rather the shadows than the light. Jim Moriarty was rich beyond measure. Untouchable. Someone nobody dared to make fun of anymore, but instead the worst nightmare of anyone who dared to cross him.
“So… when did you leave the farm?” You certainly didn’t see the Isle of Man and the lights of Liverpool from Galway. “You went to Dublin?” Although certainly not fast nor big enough for that lonely, strange, frightfully intelligent, hungry teenager… but it seemed like a plausible way station.
~
When questioned, Jim glanced at Sebastian. “Teenager,” Jim muttered. A young teenager. He chewed his lip and nodded slowly. “Went to Dublin first to get used to city living in a more controlled environment. Smaller, culture’s not so much of a jump as London.” Better to make mistakes somewhere he was going to leave anyway.
A number of those mistakes were humiliating to look back on, but he hadn’t known better then. He was bright, but he didn’t know things.
He’d been picked up by the garda and dragged back to the farm more than once. That hadn’t been good. His grandmother had been cross about the drug dealing and card counting, but… the solicitation had really worsened the homophobic bullying from most of the farm hands. (It had made the already awkward flirtation with one of them even more difficult too.) Perhaps most humiliating of all though was how much of his grandmother’s ire seemed focused on others taking advantage of Jim. Because he was young and small and queer and not quite right in the head. She seemed certain his criminal misdoings were due to his childish naïveté and not practice for an ambitious criminal career.
He’d gone back and forth a few times, especially when his grandmother had started to ail. After everything with his mother, he’d been even more desperate to escape to somewhere else. The hands wasted no time in calling Jim selfish, but his grandmother wasn’t without wit and seemed to understand that he couldn’t. And everyone knew he didn’t belong in Galway anyway.
And now Sebastian was sick. They both were.
Maybe Jim should have turned his brilliance to being a doctor, but he wasn’t having much success with cures so far.
Jim sighed, wishing he and Sebastian were alone so he could press closer. “Pair of overgrown rebellious brats, aren’t we?” he murmured.
~
“I’m glad that’s something you said, not me.” Sebastian smiled, but hid it behind the delicious pork pie he had resumed eating. He wasn’t allowed to point out even the most obvious parallels, like when Jim was throwing a tantrum like an overgrown toddler or became all puffed up and prickly like a feral kitten.
But like always when he was being given a glimpse into Jim’s past, this was special, and he soaked it up and tried to picture it. He was wondering what if they had met back then. As teenagers.
Would they’ve even liked each other? Would Sebastian have killed Jim, because the little runt dared to tell him a few things about himself that Sebastian was still a few decades away from being able to acknowledge? Would Jim have killed Sebastian, because the big oaf became an intolerable distraction from all the goals Jim was burning to achieve? Or – would they have fallen for each other head over heel and set out to build that empire together? Or gone on to become model citizens, mellowed down by each other and that first great transformative thing in life called first love? Well - the latter option surely being the most absurd and most unlikely one – to speculate and fantasise about all those possible and impossible scenarios was riveting.
But none of them had come to pass, maybe because they had been meant to meet later. Much later, when they’d acquired and refined the skills life had to teach them, when it had shaped them into what they were now – and thus how they needed to be to fit. And not despite the damages, the scars and dents life had dealt them on the way, but because those were part of that fit.
Ah well, Jim would probably have a healthy dose of vitriol for his bodyguard with benefits waxing philosophical, so Sebastian turned to the practical.
“What happened to the farm? Does it still exist?” Like somewhere deep in Jim’s vast portfolio of real estate, assets, firms and companies? “If it does,” Sebastian added humorously, “now would be a good time to be sending a few sides of beef.” And maybe a few lambs and rabbits as hors d’oeuvres.
~
Jim rolled his eyes at Sebastian. “No one’s allowed to complain about me to my face, but I do know.” He shrugged and stared back out at the water. “We’re both stubborn and independent and moody and don’t let many people tell us what to do. But I doubt anyone softer could survive our lives.” Jim’s jaw worked. “Moriarty needs to be fearsome. He has to have a temper, but be unpredictable enough to be unsettling, and be spoilt and petty because that’s what powerful men are. Always getting my way, or screaming bloody murder and pantomiming until even ghosts quake in their boots. Not much room to be mature or measured or fair, is there?” He snorted. “Not that I’m capable.”
He wasn’t ever going to learn either. Not in this lifetime, short as it was.
Jim grimaced, and kept grimacing when Sebastian asked about the farm.
“It’s still there,” Jim admitted quietly. “Was run by people my grandmother approved of for a long time, and then they trained younger ones up later on. It ekes out its existence much as it ever has.” Mostly without much attention at all from Jim, although he’d injected enough money into it for it to survive the 2001 foot and mouth outbreak. He’d been much younger then and less established; he’d lost sleep over frittering away so much cash on something that served no practical purpose. But he suspected he’d have had more sleepless nights if he hadn’t. He was more sentimental than his upbringing gave him any right to.
Probably why he was on a fucking beach with Sebastian on his last day alive.
“British beef won’t do you?” Jim scoffed. “You could scope out the estate portfolio; find some venison to hunt down for yourself.”
~
Of course Sebastian knew that to a degree, Jim’s behaviour was a facade, his armour, a projection of himself of how the world should, no needed to perceive him. He’d thought this through and strategised it, just how he’d calculated every step, from Young Jim leaving for Dublin, just as every other step after.
Probably. Because no one could be an actor all the time. How Jim Moriarty appeared, how he looked and what he did, couldn’t only be derived from cool, genial planning but his character, whims, impulses and desires too. Although the lines were so blurred that probably not even Jim knew exactly where they were.
What Sebastian knew as well, was that – again, to a degree and with a bit of nudging - Jim Moriarty could be somewhat measured and fair, at least where his inner circle was concerned. Of course, even an inner circle could not be allowed to ‘get ideas‘, right hand man included.
“I know. And you’re doing a very good job of it,” Sebastian pointed out, not really joking this time. Well, they were. After all he was part of this very shield and armour, which worked two ways: physically protecting Jim and making the world fear him (not that Jim wasn’t fully capable of that himself, but even emperors needed to delegate every now and then).
When Jim talked about the farm, Sebastian nodded, further diminishing their supplies, repeatedly animating Jim to try this and that. So far he hadn’t bothered ‘scoping out’ Jim’s portfolios nor had Jim invited him to do so beyond things that had were connected to Sebastian’s work, like properties suitable as safe houses, contraband storage and such. “Now that is a wonderful idea. If I discover you owning a deer estate in Scotland, I might even go there in my current form to do some stalking and stock up our fridge.”
Although a day at the beach was really the only sort of holiday his job allowed for, and he doubted Jim harboured the secret desire to spend Christmas at their own version of Balmoral. But Sebastian found the image of their entire household relocating to a Scottish castle for the holiday season quite amusing.
“Now…” He had toed off his shoes and socks quite a while ago, now he was shuffling his naked feet through the sand, his eyes following Jim’s gaze across the water. “How about a little dip before we’re too bloated to stay afloat?”
~
Jim did his best not to think about Sebastian going to any such estate to hunt deer once Jim himself was gone. But he did make a mental note to update the files he had set aside for Sebastian after his own death to include the Scottish estates higher up the list Jim had already made of places Sebastian might prefer to endure transformations at. Deer were big enough game to keep Seb fed, and a Scottish estate might be preferable for Seb after hating growing up on an English one.
Jim was a little concerned that tiger Seb might not have enough of human Seb’s brains to avoid being
gouged by antlers though.
Jim tried his best to turn his attention back to the Sebastian at his side, who had at least survived a weretiger gouging, somehow. Perhaps it was possible that Jim could achieve the same?
Jim doubted it, and how the fuck did Seb manage to wriggle his toes in the sand contentedly today of all days? Jim was the one who compartmentalised his feelings.
And he could do it for a little longer, if it made today a bit more bearable for one of them. Jim reluctantly drew to his feet when Sebastian suggested approaching the water. “Alright, poppet,” Jim murmured. “But fair warning: I don’t appreciate being dunked under the water and I won’t spare your dignity in front of our audience if you decide to be a prick.”
Jim’s stress and tiredness were showing more than he wanted them to, and he did his best to push them aside as he pressed against Sebastian’s side. Jim slid a hand inside Seb’s back pocket and squeezed fondly. Sebastian already felt warm from the sun, and he smelt good, and if they didn’t have the other team members around maybe Jim would have nuzzled him. The thought of grabbing Sebastian’s collar and trying to kiss him the way they had that one time in the kitchen… made Jim’s chest hurt.
He couldn’t anyway. There was a tiny chance that he wouldn’t die tonight.
And anyway, what if Jim did kiss Seb like it was his last day alive? Jim was sadistic, but not so much that the thought of leaving Sebastian alone with a broken promise and a broken- a- another hurt, possibly, was… Well. Jim wouldn’t do that.
~
“Oh, I’d never,” Sebastian was almost shocked Jim really thought he could. Jim sniffed and the pleasant squeeze of his hand turned into a quick, hard pinch. Alright, yes, it had happened before – Sebastian behaving inappropriately, not showing the proper respect, and with an audience present. He reckoned Caruso counted as such. “Dunk you, I mean.”
Even less so while Jim was still looking tired and pinched with worry. He had really mentally gotten into that rut that he wouldn’t live to see the next morning, hadn’t he? Sebastian thought this neither cute nor funny. Then again - they were both very familiar with that sort of situation. But usually danger invigorated Jim, and Sebastian too. Worrying about the odds to survive was the surest way to get you killed. It impaired judgement and reactions. But he also understood this was a unique situation. He only had to cast his mind back to the horrible days leading up to his first change. And then he’d made it through it and survived. But by now he’d learned that any sort of pep talk did not quite have the desired effect on Jim, who was the master of calculating odds and that always and especially included the bad and the worse and the worst case scenarios.
“Quite the opposite. I would make the sea part before you, if I had the power.” Although of course that would defy the purpose of going for a swim. When they’d reached the tide line where the dry sand ended, Sebastian shed his clothes, until he only wore something that passed for swimming trunks, because as much as he liked skinny dipping – the last thing they needed was to be sitting inside the local police station for indecent exposure when they really needed to be on their way back to London.
~
Jim almost stumbled again when Sebastian’s comment made him falter, falling out of step with the big blond.
I would make the sea part before you, if I had the power.
And Sebastian would, wouldn’t he? That was the inescapable thing about Sebastian Moran: he was devoted in a way Jim found utterly peculiar. His loyalty was like something out of a story.
His accursed affliction only made Sebastian even more otherworldly. Of course it would take a bizarre creature to find Jim Moriarty charming; the changeling queerness had only sharpened into something crueller and uglier over time. Jim didn’t belong in this world, and had few qualms ruling viciously over the inferior human race. He’d been numb to the biting loneliness of that life…
And then Sebastian Moran strutted into Jim’s life. All swagger and smart mouth and smarter instincts and blue eyes Jim found captivating for too many reasons to list (most of them embarrassing).
Blue sky and blue water and Sebastian’s blue, blue eyes. Far from the worst view Jim could have during his last day alive.
He joined Sebastian at the edge of the wet sand and whilst Seb stripped down Jim mutely removed his footwear. Sebastian moved towards the sea brightly, and Jim padded after him over the firm, wet sand, buried shells and varieties of scattered seaweed.
All of this felt intensely odd. It had been a long time since Jim had killed time on a beach, and never with… whatever the fuck Seb was to him.
Jim waded barefoot into the lukewarm water after his golden Sebastian.
Jim knew their staff were watching, but he suddenly couldn’t shake the feeling that his younger self was too. Jim could imagine the relief and astonishment and lust the prospect of being paired with such a superb specimen would invoke. Jim felt briefly smug, not only to have Sebastian’s devotion, but from all the spectacular sex they’d shared.
The fact that Jim was no better than his younger self at knowing how to talk to a date was… exasperating.
Jim closed the distance to Sebastian and stood close enough to kiss. He pulled his sunglasses aside impatiently and stared up at Seb intently, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
~
Sebastian’s joy about the simplest things – the sparkly air, the slight, utterly satisfying give of the compacted sand beneath his feet, the calm sea reflecting the sunshine like shelves of glass – was a bit tainted by his companion trudging behind him with an air of misery about him. Sebastian slowed down, so Jim would catch up. And so he did, going almost toe to toe with Sebastian. Who marvelled how those eyes seemed as changeable as the man himself, they could take on any hue from pitch black to almost… amber now. Sebastian had never seen them like this – with a depth very different from those of bottomless pits they sometimes resembled. Sebastian was jolted from his reverie by their glare and an impatient twitch. Once again Jim reminded him of a demanding cat, all set to take a swipe at you if you dared to pet it – and just the same if you dared not to.
Sebastian slowly dipped his head a little, his lips almost brushing Jim’s …
“You know, if this were our last day on earth I wouldn’t give a fuck about appearances and consequences,” he said softly, “but since it is not…” He wouldn’t, well, couldn’t be seen taken the initiative or appear in any way like he was not knowing his place. Something he’d learned by now, no matter how loyal or how far away their audience. Also, hinting at the Rules of the universe still being in place might help a bit to pull Jim from his doomsday gloom?
But to deny Jim (or himself for that matter) a kiss. Seemed even more impossible. So Sebastian dropped to his knees, still perfectly close enough for a kiss, just that now it was him looking up at Jim, as it should be, and not the other way round.
Hoping Jim wouldn’t drown him on the spot for risking it to look like he was about to fucking propose.
Which no one would, right, with no ring and kneeling in the silt and ankle-deep water of Wittering beach. But Jim was a tad touchy even to mere allusions to that subject.
~
Jim’s breath felt a little ragged when Sebastian dipped his face closer; they were already all but chest to chest and Sebastian’s proximity made Jim ache.
Was Seb actually going to kiss him? Of his own free will, hang the rules and the repercussions and the witnesses?
Jim wanted him to. Jim wanted that kiss badly… and he couldn’t be the one to do it. Jim was the only one allowed to initiate the kissing because he couldn’t kiss the way Sebastian could.
Like Jim was a real boy, with tenderness in his chest instead of a gaping black hole.
Like Jim was a creature who could be cared for at all.
Like Jim was a man whose feelings could have any sort of purer purpose. As if he didn’t already know that Sebastian would already be cured if the way Jim felt meant anything useful.
Jim almost couldn’t breathe at all.
“You know, if this were our last day on earth I wouldn’t give a fuck about appearances or consequences.”
Jim closed his eyes then, because he was terrified that if he didn’t, Seb would see how much he wished the man would take advantage. Would give him the kiss Jim didn’t dare take.
Jim was frowning, and Sebastian must have registered Jim’s reluctance, because… because, “but since it is not…”
Sebastian… dropped to his knees?? The water splashed loudly around them at the force; or perhaps it only seemed that way because it was too long since Jim had inhaled and all he’d been hearing was his frantic pulse and his even more panicked internal monologue. That seemed of two minds: he warred with himself over the fearful need to kiss Sebastian, and the furiously logical refusal of such folly.
Jim had always expected to die in pain, perhaps after long hours or days or months of torture. He’d never expected suffering quite like this.
Nor that he’d be willing to linger not for vengeance but simply more of the same: befuddling, exquisite agony.
Jim felt dizzy, and hot. His sunscreen surely needed reapplying.
Maybe he had sunstroke? Jim certainly couldn’t think now that Sebastian was on his knees in the shining water before him. Seb’s lips were plush and perfectly kissable, and Jim would take them if he were any sort of man at all.
But Jim wasn’t. That was the problem. Even before he’d been infected, Jim had never really been a human, mortal man capable of even having soft feelings, never mind expressing them.
Which was probably why Jim suspected that if he did kiss Sebastian then, he’d bawl like a bewildered toddler losing their first ice cream to a savage sea gull.
Startled and frightened and broken wasn’t something anyone deserved to experience at the other end of a kiss, and Sebastian certainly deserved someone who could at least pretend to keep his head together.
“What’re yeh doing, you fucking idiot?” Jim derided softly, struggling momentarily to get his accent under control. He reached out and tugged Sebastian’s golden hair. It was warm and soft to the touch. Perfect as the rest of him.
~
The mixture of shock and confusion, fright and longing in Jim’s eyes was hilarious but also quite alarming. And impossible to decipher – not that anyone could ever hope to decipher the man. Then reality seemed to blink and try to right itself into something Sebastian found much easier to deal with – Jim’s exasperation and the typical slip in accent was as reassuring as Jim’s hand in his hair.
“Making an eejit of myself of course,” Sebastian agreed, “thus upholding the order of the universe, should it care to watch while you kiss me. Or the other way round – I don’t think they …” –he flicked a glance back towards the beach and their two sentinels, “are close enough to tell the difference.”
~
Hearing Sebastian using an insult Jim tossed at him often shouldn’t have felt endearing, probably. It did though. It almost made Jim feel better at ease again, but-
Kissing. Talk of kissing. Kissing Seb, or Seb kissing him. Jim wasn’t going to die tonight- he was going to die today, after grievous heart palpitations.
He was too fucking tired and stressed to deal with this shit properly. Not to mention that this close to a full moon picking a fight with Seb felt like risking having his head bitten off, fur coat or not. And Jim didn’t want to fight with Sebastian anyway. Not today. Not if there wouldn’t be a tomorrow.
Jim rubbed at his face in agitation and almost knocked his sunglasses into the water whilst doing so. He took an aggrieved breath, and gave Seb’s hair another tug.
“The sun must have gotten to your head for you to be so blasé,” Jim scolded. “Your fun little day out is going to be significantly less so if I have to put a bullet in two of our best.” Probably best not to threaten to make Seb do it, not at this time of the month.
Jim dropped his voice. “I’m finding today a little testing,” he admitted. “I don’t… like being unable to predict what’s going to happen, and not being able to do enough about all of… tonight. And such.” Jim twisted his neck in agitation. “I’m feeling tired and raw and the wrong sort of reckless, so I can’t. Kiss you right now. Not in any way I could allow witnesses of, and… Look, I know you don’t like talking about it, but we might be running out of time, so… If I don’t make it through tonight, I want you to have some tough, loyal friends around you.” Jim’s jaw worked. “I don’t like your Congolese friend, but I know he’d try to keep your head above water if I’m not here to.”
There. That had sufficiently soured the mood that there wouldn’t be any further risk of kissing. And Sebastian sensibly had them out here in the open instead of their kitchen, so there was little around worth breaking.
Jim’s hands were shaking. And Seb looked somewhere between stricken and furious. Yeah, well, the prospect of becoming kitty food tonight hardly filled Jim with delight either.
“Don’t dwell on it,” Jim said softly. He pulled back to splash Sebastian a little. “You managed to drag me out onto this little play date, so we can at least try to enjoy it, hmm?”
Jim would just have to take the thought of letting Sebastian kiss him to his grave. Which would not be difficult, considering how soon he’d be there.
If there would even be enough left of him to bury…
~
Even in an easily irritated state, and even if Sebastian wanted to be angry about Jim’s convoluted explanations – which he didn’t – bedraggled, shaking and profoundly miserable Jim did exactly the opposite. Sebastian couldn’t remember ever seeing Jim so… out of his depth, and in such mental and emotional anguish (and didn’t that effectively disprove that Jim Moriarty was a genial but in all other regards a run-of-the-mill psychopath?). Sebastian could have pointed out that Jim Moriarty of all people could do as he bloody well pleased and to hell with what any ‘witnesses‘ might think. But he knew it wasn’t as easy as that. Part of that awe and fear inspiring Moriarty image was built exactly on what people saw, which apparently mattered even beyond his hypothetical demise because it might help protect Sebastian should he be left behind on his own. This, together with the tortuous admission of why Jim couldn’t kiss him right now made Sebastian’s heart constrict and overflow at the same time…
And of course any mood or moment for kissing was definitely over anyway when you’d have to turn teasing into haggling to make it happen. But hey, no reason to not enjoy their play date, Sebastian should simply not dwell on it. It being the just presented, gloomiest scenario of how this day could end.
“Pot – kettle, right?” There was no malice or mockery in Sebastian’s voice, and not too much force behind the water splash either, which he returned in Jim’s direction. He’d much rather have pulled Jim into his arms and told him that everything would be alright, and that they, that Jim, had done everything that could be done in terms of preparations. But the world’s greatest pessimist would not appreciate such a display either, not publicly.
Sebastian got to his feet again and they waded a bit further into the water. “Unless this is some Victorian style swimming costume -” Sebastian’s gaze wandered over Jim’s shorts and delectable lacy shirt, “I gather you won’t be joining me for a quick swim?”
~
Could Jim… feel guilt? Because Sebastian’s visible disappointment had Jim feeling rotten. And not the fun, ‘aren’t I wicked?’ sort of rotten either.
He steeled himself as best as he could and wracked his brains for a way to improve the abysmal situation.
Jim laughed weakly and almost gratefully at Sebastian’s playful dig at his outfit. Normally it was always Jim bemoaning Seb’s fashion sense (or lack thereof).
“I’m not like you, golden boy,” Jim pointed out. “I don’t have skin like demerara sugar. Direct sunlight will have me going up in flames and scattering across the sea as malignant ash.”
Maybe that was a tiny exaggeration, but only just. Glossing over the miserable lobster stage was probably for the best, because Seb was probably enough of a bastard to find that mental image somewhat amusing.
Still, Jim followed Seb out into the water anyway. The car didn’t have heated seats to dry off on, but they had brought a few towels. Damp clothes were the least of the discomfort Jim anticipated experiencing that day.
~
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Malignant ash was not what Sebastian was thinking about whenever he smelled Jim’s skin. When not drowning in the sillage of expensive products, which lately Jim had the grace to use sparingly due to Sebastian’s heightened sense of smell, he enjoyed the more subtle layers of Jim’s natural scents– not just the ones he’d come to connect with certain moods and tempers, bodily urges, even certain times of day or night, with illness or well-being, elation, irritation or the promise of sex… Sometimes there were enchanting, strange little associations, pleasant and simple like the smell of the night air just before dawn, or a whiff of Earl Grey tea. With cream… Well, not everybody could smell like demerara sugar - but it went well together, didn’t it…
Of course he couldn’t say all this to Jim.
“I do like lobster,” he grinned. The water was now just deep enough to dive out of sight. But also clear enough that Jim could see him just as well as Sebastian saw the sun-dappled seabed and blurry underwater landscape, including Jim’s pale legs and feet. He circled around them until he had to come up for air, gasping and shaking himself like a dog, droplets of salt water flying everywhere.
~
It wasn’t that Sebastian had never before encouraged Jim to be less disparaging of himself, to hold himself to less inhuman standards, but it struck Jim then just how often his supernatural companion did try to coax him into something closer to human. Even with whatever malingered in their blood, Jim probably… was behaving more like a person than he had in years. He had literally waded into the sea and for no other reason than being around Sebastian.
Perhaps Sebastian was the one vanquishing a monster. But that wouldn’t do either of them any good, would it really?
Jim felt like dunking Seb for that cheeky, overly familiar comment about lobster, but not the way Moriarty would. A less sadistic playfulness had reared within Jim, and it had no fucking right to be there. Jim quite enjoyed watching Seb escape away under the water, and liked even more that Seb circled, not like a shark, but as someone who enjoyed Jim’s company enough that he didn’t want to actually escape, even if his mouth got him into trouble.
Jim watched, smiling despite himself, but felt tethered by their audience and an uncertainty of… how to play. He’d toyed cruelly with many as Moriarty, and he’d been carefully, attentively, gleefully sadistic when fucking Seb, but Jim felt stunted and awkward as he waded along near Sebastian, his shorts soaked above the mid-thigh. Splashing or tackling Seb didn’t seem a good idea with the team nearby, and silliness like throwing seaweed at Sebastian seemed like it would seem uncharacteristically stupid to the onlookers.
Wasn’t having his bones reshaped tonight enough discomfort to bear?
But Sebastian looked so beautiful, sunny smiled and sparkling wet under the sun. His collar shone and glinted like the treasure Seb was. Jim ached.
~
Never too far away from Jim, Sebastian kept paddling, swimming and diving. The cool water seemed, and the exertion felt, marvellous, quenching some of the burning and not altogether pleasant energy itching in his bones. Sometimes he splashed into the water so close to Jim, that he almost drenched him. Almost. He couldn’t bring himself to leap at him like an exuberant, wet Labrador and damn the consequences, because there was an awkwardness about Jim that squeezed Sebastian’s heart. An attribute no one would ever associate with Jim Moriarty, except someone who knew him like Sebastian did. Or Caruso too. It was in these moments, that he appeared utterly human, and also very, very young.
“Maybe I should have brought a tennis ball and one of those flexible throwing thingies.” Sebastian was a little short of breath, after half paddling, half crab-walking back to Jim. It was an amusing thought, if a little too late. It would have given them a way to play without Jim loosing his dignity and Sebastian enough for the both of them.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to polish off the rest of what’s in that marvellous picnic basket. And maybe some ice cream.” And while that was utterly true, also… the tide had turned. Without looking at a watch or landmarks – Jim’s legs and shorts would probably do, he had moved so little – Sebastian could feel it.
~
The thought of his pet catching a tennis ball led to Jim thinking about Sebastian with a ball gag in his mouth and seeing him all wet and shapely was not helping. Jim reminded himself sternly that fucking Seb on the beach where their team could see was not a good idea.
Jim ought to have ensured they brought a fucking frisbee. They could have burned some of Seb’s seemingly boundless energy off without it looking odd for any reason other than that Jim didn’t play with much other than minds and implements of pain.
It might not have been terrible, to have a future where there were occasional frolics on the beach. Well. It would have been a terrible idea, but it might have been… pleasant.
Jim tried to stop thinking about the night ahead and ground himself in the temperature of the water and the pressure of the waves and the texture of the sand underfoot. And the brightness of the water and the utter delight of watching Sebastian splash about.
Sebastian’s stomach had him approaching Jim with intentions of leaving the water and… and Seb couldn’t be denied food, and certainly shouldn’t be tormented this close to the full moon, but…
Jim clambered up onto a rock and launched himself at Seb. Ignoring the unpleasantness of Seb’s dripping skin soaking his clothes to him, Jim clamoured onto Sebastian’s broad back.
When Seb showed the sense not to instantly toss Jim into the sea, Jim breathed out and rested his face in the crook of Sebastian’s neck, doing his best not to press any of the pointiest parts of his skull anywhere uncomfortable. He wasn’t nuzzling, but he could smell the sea on Sebastian’s skin easily.
And the others had stepped closer, clearly trying to determine if Jim had decided Sebastian needed throttling or drowning.
“You don’t mind carrying me, right?” Jim mouthed against Sebastian’s skin. His lips twitched. “I’ll buy you all of the ice cream that you want.”
~
Luckily, when it came to Jim, Sebastian’s survival reflexes had acquired those ‘delay’ or shut ‘down’ features. Which would often lead to things that left him hot and breathless (and probably some day to his demise), but today the silly little attack was simply playful and pure joy. With a big smile Sebastian briefly closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of Jim clinging to him, and his warm breath ghosting against his neck. Of course he didn’t mind carrying Jim.
“Yes. Next to parting the seas for you, that’s the least I can do.” Slipping his arms around Jim’s knees pressing into his side, he hoisted him into a more stable position. “Let’s get you out of these treacherous waters,” he hummed, “there’s leeches and limpets everywhere.”
Their guards relaxed and kept their distance while Sebastian waded out of the water and headed towards the next ice cream stall. “Well, sugar daddy, even if I was tempted to say I’m all grown up and can buy my candy myself – right now I don’t have any money on me. Do you? Or a weapon to conduct a robbery?”
~
Jim had the peculiar feeling that if Sebastian could part seas, he would do it for him. Seb was the sort of man who could manage the impossible, even being so loyal (and exasperating) that Jim didn’t quite know what to do with him.
Still, Jim nipped at Seb with his teeth when he made his little dig. He could quite happily drain as much blood as any leech (or shark, honestly). Still, Jim didn’t bite too hard, because he didn’t want Sebastian to drop him, obviously. And besides, Seb’s skin tasted strongly of seawater.
Sebastian actually seemed endearingly contented. Although he probably would drop Jim if he pushed the sugar daddy thing, which was perilous anyway at this time of the month.
Jim huffed, making a Herculean effort to be good which was entirely pointless since he was never going to make it to heaven anyway. “What’s the point of belonging to a rich man if you can’t get any treats out of it?” Jim could probably buy the entire seafront if necessary, but what would Seb even do with that? About as little as he was currently doing about feeling Jim pressing against his back in his damp shorts after the ‘daddy’ comment, was what. The pricktease.
“Do you really think I need a weapon to steal from anywhere?” Jim said disparagingly. “And of course I brought money. It’s wet, mind you, but the plastic notes can cope with a bit of sea water.”
Jim kissed a droplet of sea water off of Sebastian’s earlobe without thinking about it. They should probably retrieve the rest of Seb’s clothing, but Jim liked him like this. Skin to skin and lovely to look at, even if Jim was only looking at the cords of Sebastian’s neck and thinking how much he enjoyed nibbling them.
“You’re not all grown up,” Jim grumbled as Seb carried him towards the ice cream vendor. “You might be big and strong, but you have an exasperatingly bratty little pea brain, and I don’t doubt for a second that you’re going to order enough treats to kill a diabetic.”
Which was unfair, because food stolen from Seb always tasted best, but the prick got quite possessive of his snacks this near the full moon.
~
Jim nibbling on his neck sent pleasant little shivers down Sebastian’s spine, as did the evidence that Jim found him quite delectable. It was pressing nice and firmly against his back muscles as he walked. “Glad to feel some signs of joie de vivre returning to your body,” Sebastian observed fondly.“And of course I’ve no doubts you can steal from anywhere. Although I would like to witness inconspicuously leaving a scene with an arm full of ice cream cones. Or… we could steal the whole waggon. Make it look like an accident,” he prattled on while nearing the ice cream stall, slowing down a little.
“Do you want to get off?” He swallowed a giggle, because it felt good to be a bit silly instead of doom and gloom, even though it might be justified. “I meant, stay put or get down?”
Sebastian was already ogling the ice cream choices, less enticed by the frozen slush varieties but the creamy stuff from the machine that looked like it was brimming not only with sugar but with fat and protein too.
“What do you fancy? I’ll have some of the… No, not the wafer thingies," he told the ice cream guy, who had just grabbed one of the cones. "Can’t you put it…” Sebastian saw an empty, gallon sized plastic bucket that had contained sprinkles, “put it in there? Half full will do.” The vendor looked slightly incredulous, and Sebastian twirled his finger. “You heard me. And sprinkles on top.”
Jim looked slightly incredulous too, but less so.
“I’m not a diabetic, so it won’t kill me,” Sebastian declared in simple logic. “But you might have to put up with my brain having only half the capacity of a pea for a little while.” Because he was about to momentarily freeze its frontal lobe.
~
Jim did not wish to dismount Sebastian but supposed he’d prefer to avoid being viewed as the ageing twink in the relatio- in their… pairing… which he surely would be if they reached the counter with him still curled around Sebastian like a baby monkey.
Jim’s shorts were still sodden, so it was entirely apparent that it wasn’t merely his fat wallet that had been digging into Seb’s broad back as Jim fished it out of his pocket with some difficulty.
Jim also found it difficult to keep a straight face when Sebastian ordered enough ice cream for himself alone to make an ordinary man ill.
Neither of them had the constitutions of ordinary men anymore, Jim remembered with a start. He had almost ordered his usual rum and raisin out of habit, but alcohol had worked its way out of both their diets recently, with tigers not being partial to the stuff. That transition had seemed to make Seb a little grumpy at first, but Jim mostly hadn’t found himself missing alcohol.
It did seem a shame not to order his actual favourite ice cream on his last day alive however. Usually Jim avoided anything that made him seem young; given his small stature and youthful appearance it was hard enough to get taken seriously without being seen to enjoy bright blue bubblegum ice cream.
Fuck it. The vendor clearly thought Jim was the bottom anyway, even if he was paying, so Jim might as well have what he liked. He didn’t look at Sebastian as he ordered, scowling instead at the ice cream flavours on display.
Honeycomb. Next to tablet, that was Des’ favourite.
Jim’s jaw worked and he eyed the options more closely. Anything too bright or fruity seemed too incongruent for the stoic Mwamba, but perhaps he was a man of complexities? Jim didn’t know him well, but vanilla seemed like a painfully boring option amidst everything else. Mint perhaps? Or the cherry chocolate looked appetising?
“And a honeycomb in a normal person’s tub,” Jim ordered. He inclined his head at Sebastian, not quite looking at him, and asked, “What does your friend like? If your pretty little pea brain can contain such a nugget of information?”
~
“Pistachio, and walnut," Sebastian ordered for Mwamba, because pea brain or not, that memory was etched into it quite vividly. As were other little mundane facts and pleasant details the mind seemed to retain, almost as if striving for a balance, a compensation, a counter weight to memories too horrible to carry, in any other form but an abstract file, closed and locked away. Conrad had been right. If there was a heart of darkness, a ninth circle of hell... It was the Congo. In Sebastian's experience anyway. He and Mwamba both had been there. And managed to get out again. There were a few things in life you couldn't share with anyone who hadn't been there. Not having been there was a fucking blessing, and nothing to be jealous about. Except of course, even without saying so, Jim Moriarty was a jealous bastard. And possessive. Sebastian didn't put it past him that he loathed that anyone might share bits of Sebastian's past, any memory of any importance, no matter how horrid, that didn't involve him. And Sebastian was wise enough to never touch the subject. You never knew what might happen. Jim tolerated Mwamba, just about. Never before today had he let slip that he also had the most trust in him to have Sebastian's back should he ever find himself on his own. Without Jim (but with all of Jim's enemies).
Nothing Sebastian wanted to dwell on this afternoon. It would not happen, he told himself. Not today, tonight or tomorrow.
"Thank you," he said as he received the normal person sized ice cream in addition to his gargantuan portion, and Jim paid for the whole lot. He waited ’till the wallet was stowed away again, trying not to croon about the baby blue bubblegum stuff. Would he dare to remind Jim, next time he ordered rum raisin?
Laden with ice cream, they ambled over to their two guards.
~
It bothered Jim a little that Sebastian instantly knew Mwamba’s favourite order, but he had asked. And Seb was good at noticing things.
Besides, Jim knew all sorts of details about his staff, even beyond the inner circle he had most of closer interactions with. It was useful to know things about people, to better manipulate them. He knew that Des liked tablet ice cream best, but it wasn’t readily available outside of Scotland, so occasionally providing some after a job well done improved the man’s morale. It wasn’t always immediately obvious when information might become useful, but Jim liked to have it all the same. He knew that Des has a nickel allergy; a scar in his tongue from a metal stud in his youth; and his father was a steelworker. Well. Des thought his father was a steelworker. That man was actually his grandfather, and his nearest ‘sister’ was not actually such, but Des had no idea about that.
Des also clearly had no idea what had made Jim and Sebastian both grumpy all week, only for them to take a ridiculous day off for what could possibly, horribly, be misconstrued as a date.
Thankfully, Des at least had the good grace to simply say thank you for his treat and keep his mouth fucking shut about Jim’s blue ice cream. Although Jim could see the man wondering and worrying about it. Jim’s moods had (despite the infection) been overall more even since Sebastian got his feet under the table, so Jim’s unexplained tension and altered habits recently was bound to be an object of concern.
Jim stopped up short realising that if he died tonight, Des and the others might be out of a job tomorrow. He had made various plans for such eventualities, but the reality of that hadn’t really hit Jim until that moment. He was used to trying to imagine and prepare for all possible eventualities, so practicalities like keeping certain parts of the empire running or providing for those who had earned his favour hadn’t felt quite so… sudden.
Jim felt uncharacteristically lost and stomped through the sand towards Mwamba, simply trusting Sebastian to keep up. Sebastian did, of course, and Mwamba had the decency not to look entirely bewildered by his own gift of ice cream. Although he did give Seb’s own portion size such a glance. Sebastian had always had a large appetite, but recently it had gotten significantly disproportionate to his size.
Jim stalked back to the picnic blanket again because he was already damned enough without attempting to make small talk. Seb was shovelling ice cream into his mouth as he followed, but Jim wasn’t even sure he had an appetite. Still, not daring to get between Seb and his food was the least of reasons not to go crawling over Sebastian for comfort right then. Jim poked at his ice cream as it melted and wondered whether it would be so atrocious to be taken as a weretiger’s mate tonight if it at least meant he got more time.
~
Sebastian ate a bit slower, now after the worst craving was satisfied, while Jim seemed to be merely studying his ice cream while it melted. Sebastian pointed at vividly blue heap. “Come on, there must have been a reason you ordered that,” he said softly, “Surely not to watch it dissolve?”
Then he sat more upright, needing to make room for the rest the second half gallon of his own ice cream, savouring the crunch of the sprinkles.
“And we should make plans. I still think us still being alive tomorrow and saddled with a were tiger situation, is much more likely than anything you are contemplating right now. So … we’ll have to adjust the routine grocery deliveries. I’m afraid we’ll also have to adjust my work schedule, at home and outside. Unless making a few assassinations look like tiger kills becomes an option…” Now… that might be fun. Sebastian could almost feel his teeth itch. “Not very inconspicuous-looking though, not in good old England anyway.”
He nicked a spoonful of Jim’s smurfy ice cream, just to try it.
“You know, I know it’s not my fault, but nonetheless I’m a nuisance regarding the smooth running of the empire, I’m aware of that,” he added, more seriously. “You did hire me for the opposite. I appreciate you putting up with it.” He knew that Empire could do entirely without having thrown a spanner into its works every four weeks. And the Jim Moriarty that hired him, would have had no qualms of replacing any faulty parts, no matter why they had become dysfunctional… Hell, it was practically part of Sebastian’s job description to do the same.
He lifted the container to slurp the rest of the slush out of it. He was getting restless, but he was also soaking up every minute out here in the sun, together with Jim on a picnic blanket, even though the mood was not very cheerful. Jim was leaning against him, but it felt like a long time ago that Sebastian had been feeling like furniture when Jim did that. It was pleasant, and he wouldn’t want to miss it for the world.
Still… Sebastian threw a glance at Des and Mwamba who had finished their ice cream a while ago, and a longer one towards the sun and the sea.
“We need to go soon,” he said quietly, resting his chin on Jim’s shoulder. “But there’s no reason why we can’t do this again.”
~
Jim glanced up without remembering to put an expression on his face when Seb’s soft voice chided him that ice cream was for eating. Of course it was. Jim just wasn’t convinced he had an appetite anymore.
Still, he took up a soft mouthful without protest. It tasted sweet, and sort of comforting, but mostly Jim felt like his head might explode. There was too much noise in there, and none of it hopeful, or helpful, or kind.
Unlike Sebastian. Jim didn’t know if it was a deliberate machination or not, but Seb started going on about preparations and that was a practical distraction and it helped.
Jim came up short at the possibility that there might be two tigers to keep fed in the future. He was so sceptical about surviving that he hadn’t thought much beyond the possibility of perhaps still being alive tomorrow, and the blind spot was jarring in its rarity.
It was so unlike him to miss things. Except of course the solution to the entire were tiger situation, but that had proven itself incredibly challenging. Jim hadn’t thought of the practicalities of having two weretigers around in future because he simply didn’t expect that possibility to prove itself.
Jim took another spoonful of lurid blue ice cream.
He kept on mentally poking at the idea of perhaps surviving whilst Sebastian wittered on entertainingly about the possibility of being Jim’s very own weretiger assassin. He quite enjoyed the theatricality of a spate of seemingly inexplicable animal attacks upon his enemies.
Jim’s musings were brought up short by Sebastian once again sincerely thanking him for putting up with him. As if Jim could bloody help his attachment and was indulging it out of the imaginary goodness in his stony little heart.
“You’re a treasure, Sebastian,” Jim growled. “No treasure worth having is easy to come by or keep.”
And that was quite enough talk like that, even if it was Jim’s last day alive. He gave Seb a warning glare that the conversation was done, and resumed spooning up what he could of his mostly melted ice cream. He wasn’t sure when he’d gravitated back against Seb’s side, but he liked being there. And watching the sunlight hit the crashing waves.
Sebastian’s chin on Jim’s shoulder felt nice, if a little heavy. It was a comforting weight; Seb’s closeness reassuring.
Time to go.
“Alright,” Jim breathed. He reached up to pet Seb’s cheek with chilled fingers. “About time I got to touch you properly again anyway.”
They got up and Jim helped gather their things for the sake of having something to do with himself.
“If I do survive?” he said with a soft frown, “I expect I won’t recover as easily as you, and you’ll be frail yourself. Caruso’s used to tending to me when I’m half-dead, so she’ll be able to help. You can tell her whatever you think she needs to know, if you think she’ll believe you. But if I am injured, you don’t let her anywhere near me without appropriate safety precautions. Two weretigers in the family is more than enough.”
Jim sighed and brushed sand off of himself. “And… yes? I suppose once I’m better, if you want a few little outings in future, we… can discuss that.”
An uncomfortable promise, but he might not live long enough to fulfil it. And if he did, well, at least they’d both be alive.
~
“Well, you do have a bit more flesh on you than you used to, so you have some fuel to burn, and I’ve no doubt that between me and Caruso we’ll nurse you back to strength.” Also, as Sebastian had pointed out before, if the weretiger bug was as contagious as it was in Jim’s scenarios, the world would be teeming with the creatures. Instead, obviously, it was such an exceedingly rare occurrence that it only existed in legend and folklore. But they’d been over that, doing so again would accomplish exactly the same thing: nothing. So going along with Jim’s planning and scenarios seemed the best way to keep him from losing it completely.
Sebastian had rolled up their blanket, closed the picnic basket and now repacked the content of his backpack. “I brought a change of clothes for you, in case you’d want it?” Jim’s fashionable shorts and the lower half of his racy shirt were still damp. “If a tracksuit is not too undignified. And for really big emergencies I’ve also brought this.” With a questioning glance he lifted one familiar, soft, faded blue jumper. He might be the pet in the household, but some tricks were just universal. And dragging an out-of-sorts Jim to a beach had much in common with taking a feral kitten to a new and scary environment.
~
The prospect of Caruso and Sebastian nursing him back to strength was mortifying, but Jim resigned himself to it being the lesser evil. He refused to think how Moran being the dominant tiger might impact their usual dynamic, or what Caruso might have to say about Jim choosing to live with a man capable of putting him in his place.
Jim grimaced and followed Sebastian to the car. Then grimaced further, at the option of trading his damp clothes for a tracksuit. In public. He’d rather be damp. At least if they’d taken one of his cars he could dry off on a heated seat, but the flashy blue thing they’d arrived in was too original for such practical modifications. Stupid bloody car.
And Jim wasn’t sure whether he or Sebastian was the most stupid of the lot, when Seb offered his favourite jumper, because Jim instantly wanted to strip and crawl into it. Jim stared hard at the garment, and then at Seb.
“It’s bad enough wearing that in front of you; there is no fucking way I’m wearing it where anyone else could see me.”
Jim took the folded jumper anyway, stomping uncomfortably to passenger side with sandy feet. He let himself into the car and sulked at the sensation of his dampness against the seat, his salty fingers playing over the jumper like a fucking security blanket.
“I’m not a fucking toddler,” Jim breathed through his teeth, but he wasn’t really picking an argument. He was just tired. He squirmed in his seat, trying to get even marginally comfortable.
~
“No”, Sebastian replied, “you’re not.” Only you sometimes behave like one. But now was not the time to incite another tantrum. Jim was miserable enough, squishing around in his seat.
Sebastian got behind the wheel, dropping his backpack behind the driver’s seat and the offensive track suit in Jim’s lap. “At least sit on that, so you don’t ...” ruin the seats “- catch something.”
Well, as Jim surmised this was his last day, he surely would appreciate getting the full package in one - from date to old married couple.
Sebastian started the car, studiously avoiding Jim’s look. He waved their escort to move and followed the first car, while the second settled in behind them.
“This was a nice trip,” he said with a smile, almost biting his tongue to keep from singing. Because this was not their last day, and treasure and kitten would go on more of these little outings in the future.
Well, they’d at least discuss it, he definitely would not forget that promise.
~
Jim stayed quiet. He didn’t want to lower Sebastian’s mood with his own, but he was also so agitated he could easily start a screaming match and get quite cutting with it, and Jim wanted that even less. He wasn’t usually one for valuing others’ feelings, nor feeling guilty for his treatment of them, but he was bizarrely attached to this human (former human?) and didn’t want his temper to mar what was probably his last day with Sebastian.
Jim took Sebastian’s advice about using the tracksuit to cover the seat with. He didn’t give a fuck about the seat’s wellbeing- he could afford to replace the whole damn car and he’d ensured Moran would be able to as well should he have to fend for himself in future- but the tracksuit fabric was more comfortable underneath him than the seat itself. He’d dried out somewhat, but not enough to be entirely comfortable.
But he was irritable anyway, so his discomfort hardly mattered. And this might be the last time he was ever uncomfortably wet in a classic car beside a handsome blond he was obsessed with, so it was an experience at least.
His doom malingered frustratingly. Jim would much prefer to die in action, and quickly. Waiting to be torn apart by the- by the only person he’d ever really… felt adored by, it was cruel. Torturous.
And Sebastian was calling this a nice trip, and Jim almost laughed, but somehow it was. Despite the misery and stress and fucking exhaustion, it was delightful seeing Sebastian enjoy himself. And there were moments when Jim even forgot himself enough to have fun.
If Jim did survive, perhaps his efforts to obtain a cure might take him abroad. Perhaps Jim could find moments to make such a trip pleasant for Sebastian? Between the army and his affluent childhood, Seb was well-travelled, but Jim got the feeling that sharing his time might be more valuable to Sebastian than most destinations.
Jim eyed Seb carefully. “Where would you want to go, if I was the sort of person to go places with you? Beyond work or the tailor I mean.”
~
Oh, that was progress! Talking about a hypothetical future was much better than doom and gloom and hopefully some sort of distraction. And it was an in interesting question.
“Hm, actually, apart from that… tiger incident, I really did like India. I wouldn’t mind a more leisurely visit,” Sebastian found himself saying. “Also the Mediterranean, somewhere steeped in culture and sunshine, like Italy. Venice? Or the opposite, somewhere less crowded and more wild, like the Carpathian mountains. Or Tibet, or...” Sebastian realised that, even if Jim wouldn't be adverse to travelling per se or had no empire to look after, it was hard to picture him in any of these places, much less enjoy himself. In places that where hopelessly crowded and an onslaught to all senses, or remote and ‘uncomfortable’, too hot or, worse, too cold. Also, pondering the question, Sebastian realised that going somewhere with Jim - anywhere - trumped the choice of destination by far.
“Or even a cottage in Wales might be nice, or some Galway farm,” he concluded with a smile. “Where would you like to go? If running the empire and having an internet connection at all times wouldn’t be an issue?”
By the way, it was remarkable: Jim hadn’t buried his face behind his phone once during their little outing.
~
It surprised Jim that Sebastian might want to go back to India, but also it didn’t. If the man could enjoy ‘quality time’ with Jim Moriarty of all people, then returning to the country where he almost died didn’t seem so outlandish.
Unlike the thought of Jim joining Moran to traverse some mountains. Jim didn’t even like skiing, never mind the thought of being on the back of some smelly animal for hours bored out of his fucking mind.
Then Jim grimaced. “I am never going back to the farm or anywhere near it,” he said with finality. He frowned again at his sharp tone.
More gently, he added, “I don’t mind some of the Med. I’ve met some of Caruso’s contacts out in Sicily and the wine was good. Even the food. And some of Italy is tolerable for shopping. Milan Fashion Week. I like Fashion Week in Paris too. I know you hate dressing up, but I suppose some of the rest of the team could mind me whilst you explored, then we could have eaten together.” Jim cast Seb a sidelong look. “Could have tried to fuck you on every continent.”
~
“Antarctica too?” Mirth was dancing in Sebastian’s eyes as he threw a quick glance over to Jim. “That’s quite… dedicated.”
But – apart from that – it was undeniable that their travelling interests would diverge quite a bit. Jim would become tired of watching Sebastian indulge in outdoor pleasures and Sebastian would be bored out of his mind attending Milan fashion week, mingling. If that’s what travelling with Jim would be about, which it wouldn’t. “Well, we could sprinkle in a few little assassinations along the way. Not on Antarctica probably, but imagine a masked ball in Venice. Even I would enjoy dressing up for the occasion.” So romantic.
And of course Jim had been to Sicily, surely la famiglia had welcomed him graciously.
Sebastian also made a mental note to tread carefully around the subject of the Galway farm. Better avoid it altogether.
The roads seemed slightly more busy compared to a few hours ago, as they were nearing London and rush hour, but so far they were more than fine for getting back home in time. Even taking into account that they didn’t really know what exactly triggered the change. Sebastian felt his stomach lurch a bit at the thought, but he refused to let it spoil the rare drive in this car, with Jim by his side. They had made their preparations, and they’d survived the first time. And maybe… maybe the second wouldn’t be as bad? He didn’t feel quite as wretched as he had four weeks ago, neither physically nor mentally.
~
Sebastian had an odd tone in his voice when he said even he would enjoy dressing up. Jim did his best not to analyse that. Usually he analysed everything people said to him, but something within often warned him not to look too closely at how Sebastian behaved around him. It was just… tidier that way.
“I love a masked ball,” Jim said instead. “The way people act when they think there are reduced consequences can be rather entertaining… And I do enjoy a theatrical outfit. I wonder, would it ever get boring for you making stripes your signature style?”
Jim smiled to himself picturing Sebastian in a tiger-themed outfit. Then Jim pictured himself in a darker feline mask of his own and remembered, unpleasantly, Moran calling him ‘Kitten’.
Jim grimaced and looked out of the window.
Their surroundings were becoming increasingly built up. He looked to the sky, unable to avoid thinking of the full moon even when he couldn’t yet see it. His skin itched, and he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not.
“I don’t do extremes of temperature very well,” Jim told Sebastian quietly, “but Antarctica has its merits. Less people around, and… far less light pollution. London hides the stars more often than not, but there? Especially with the long nights? Imagine the stars, Seb. They might make a brief visit worthwhile.”
~
“I’ll never get tired of wearing stripes for you,” Sebastian said. Then, with a slight catch in his voice, he added: “or from you.” Stripes Jim gave him. Although lately renewing them would require almost daily work. And here was an even more trippy thought: “Imagine I could learn turning at will – you could be attending a masked ball with a real tiger on a leash.”
Or not just a masked ball. Business meetings too. After all, Jim loved making an entrance.
And still, he sounded almost wistful when evoking the polar night sky and its stars. A silence vast enough to even swallow up the noise? That tormenting noise that could drive Jim to distraction, to doing whatever it took to switch it off or cut it out, that noise that even Sebastian could only turn down temporarily.
Sebastian adjusted their speed to the somewhat slowing flow of traffic and decided that if he only had the likes of Alpha Centauris or the Magellanic clouds as competition, there was no need for jealousy.
“We could go some day? To Antarctica I mean.” It was a breathtaking joy to witness the rare occasion of Jim enraptured by something. Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Adds a whole new ring to just staying the night.”