precisionfocus | < It's Christmastime in the city ... >

< It's Christmastime in the city ... >

"James!" Sebastian called as he shut the penthouse door. "Can't snag the manual lock right now." The electronic lock, at least, clicked as the heavy door shut behind him. Fingerprint scan, voice recognition, electronic access card, and physical key. His first impression of the expansive flat James Moriarty owned had been that its owner was highly paranoid. "We're having steaks," he announced as he carried his several bags of groceries to the kitchen. "Or I am. You can order in, but that's what I'm making. What you get for not giving me any grocery list when I asked."

He was used to talking to himself. James often either left without telling him or barricaded himself in his study for his work or else just decided not to answer. If it were one of the first two, James would see and hear it when he reviewed the security tapes. Sebastian put away the food he had bought, and he heard the manual lock turn and click.

James was in the penthouse, at the very least.

December first meant he had worked for James Moriarty for seven months. He had lived with him for six months. The last week of last April had found his cellphone ringing. The voice on the phone had confirmed he was Sebastian Moran and set up an appointment to meet with him the next day. Shady as Hell, but an Army vet trying to make ends meet and no income save his pension could not afford to ask too many questions. But James's business proposal had been entirely satisfactory.

As Sebastian left the kitchen, he heard a quiet sound he had previously dismissed as coming from outside increase. Now, he heard it specifically from the concealed speakers that littered the penthouse. 'With the dawn of redeeming grace...'

"Christmas?"

Of course, he knew the holiday was fast approaching. His mother had called him just this morning, asking if his employer would give him Christmas off. She had encouraged him to ask. If he was free, she insisted he try and bring James to meet the family. She had no idea that James was both the 'James' he spoke highly of and implied he was in a relationship with and the 'Mister Moore' he worked for. From 'Moore' to 'Moriarty' was a small step, but it was enough to make the alias effective. He had also passed a few pounds to a charity. Still, he had not expected this man to acknowledge the holiday, let alone play traditional, religious Christmas music in his home.

"Lovely recording of the song, though."

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Christmas was probably the holiday highest on the list of ones no one would ever expect an overlord of the criminal universe to celebrate. Why would any one? When one thought of evil, it was generally an image of a thin, cruel looking man swathed in black with a cat or bird of some kind close to them as they both stared menacingly from the shadows.

James Moriarty seldom did what was expected. Especially that which was expected of him.

He'd been awake for three solid days forming an overly cunning plan for someone to tunnel into a bank vault and steal two point one million pounds from under the London Bank. It was - to be frank - a stupid idea. But James was promised some very lucrative connections for his troubles if his plan succeeded. Not to mention half the amount of what the robbers would be stealing.

But it would have to be absolutely fool-proof, no muss no fuss. Which explained his obsession with detail with this one.

Once he heard Sebastian come in, his eye flickered to the screen split up into countless smaller camera angles all over the house; upon detecting motion they would enlarge the specific camera feed. Very simple. Especially for 'Jim from IT'. Apparently he decided now would be a good time to take a break from his criminal consulting to walk about the house, breath a little and get right back to work.

He padded out of the heavy doored room, looking slightly disheveled from his normally kept self. A rumpled white-collared shirt, dark slacks and a half-undone tie was what was left of his previous ensemble. His shoes had been discarded on the second day in.

He did the latch up and went through his phone, habitually checking it every thirty minutes or so. It was when he saw the date on his phone that he smiled; one of his more genuine expressions for a change. A quick scrolling through his music and - voila. A recording of Silent Night began to play throughout the house.

He only just entered the kitchen area, still staring at his phone as Sebastian mumbled to himself before he bothered to respond.

"No. It's Yuletide. You know how I just adore paganism. Of course it's Christmas music." Dunce. His voice rang of disuse and he realized quickly that he was a bit peckish once he saw the steaks.

Sebastian heard the way he spoke and turned, heading back into the kitchen. He checked the oven-- not quite hot enough for cooking the steaks yet-- and then could be heard clattering around for a moment. He returned with a glass full of ice and a foggy liquid. Water with lemon juice. God only knew when James had last thought to drink something. Or eat, for that matter.

"I didn't take you for the type to like Christmas music."

Granted, there was a lot he hadn't expected. He hadn't expected a 'criminal consultant' to need the help of a bodyguard. And then to turn that bodyguard into an accomplice within months. Not that Sebastian minded. It was something to do. Something interesting. A cause. He didn't care about the 'patriotism' or 'ethics' of the cause. It was something.

"Or Christmas, really." Except perhaps the gifts. He had been wavering on that point for some time. Whether it would be appropriate to get the mastermind something. They were in a business relationship... More? No. Sebastian didn't feel he could call it more than that. They weren't actually seeing each other. Were they? Well... He decided once again he didn't care about the details. They didn't matter. But it would matter if James expected something and didn't get anything. Not a matter of life or death, but he'd certainly hear about it.

...Best time to ask, he supposed. Better to ask it himself than wait for James to bring it up. "Will you need me? On Christmas, that is."

James drank about half the glass in steady gulps before stopping to actually breath. He tapped hi fingers on the glass before sitting down at a tall stool at the island in the center as Sebastian went about groceries and the like.

"I may be a complete bastard but I'm not a Scrooge."

He wouldn't make it some terrible secret that he really did enjoy Christmas, there was no point. Besides, it was only Sebastian. He smiled in a kind of benign way that could make anyone think he wasn't what he proved to be countless times. "What kind of monster do you think I am?

As for Christmas....that," he tweaked his neck to the side at the word, stretching the sore muscles. "depends entirely on the world. So far: a big, fat resounding no. But who knows."

"How long have you been hunched over that computer? Should have moved to your laptop. It would let you sit up a bit more, even lean back on the couch." And he knew that the laptop-- or was it plural now?-- could handle the man's activities. "Friend of mine gave me that advice, while we were still in the service." He had plenty of old friends in the service, and few were ever given the specificity of a name.

Even as he spoke, he walked around the couch and placed his fingers against the back of James's neck, feeling the muscle there. He pressed down carefully where he felt the strain, rolling the heel of his hand against it after a moment. An almost thoughtless gesture. It wasn't ingratiating or anything of the sort. He simply... knew to do it.

"My mother called," he explained as he pressed his thumb into the muscle and rubbed. "Wanted to know if I'd be home for Christmas."

"What sages you've befriended in the past Sebastian. I was too busy to move." For three days.

At the mention of Mrs. Moran he scoffed easily, the sound bubbling up in his throat quickly thanks to the distracting attentions his neck was getting.

"Your mother." Disparaging comment to be inserted here. Except that Sebastian's hands were so large against the back of his neck and his muscles just seemed to vanish under them. His head lulled forward and James gave up a little groan with it. "Cutting the turkey, hanging the lights, the ladies stay inside and giggle over cider while the men go out hunting. A day in the life of the Moran brood."

It wouldn't do to say he tried to hide the hint of jealousy in his voice. Because he didn't. It was a rare honest moment for James.

Sebastian continued the gentle pressure on the back of James's neck. He'd had far too many girls knead his sore muscles, a few of them who were actually professionals in the field. For all he'd enjoyed it, he'd also listened. So he moved his other hand to set against James's shoulder and rub where the neck met the shoulder and back, pressing with the heel of his hand again before applying pressure with his fingers and making slow, small circles over the outside of James's shirt.

It was a sensitive subject. Otherwise, it would have been brought up long ago. Which was part of the reason Sebastian was glad to be behind James when he asked about it. And working at those tight muscles. Made it harder for his boss to snap at him.

"Does... your family do anything for the holidays?"

It was possibly to grow tense during a massage, James found out. And here he was assured that such a thing could never happen. Not with how good it felt to have someone kneading at the area. And yet at the mention of family his back drew a little more straight and his eyes went a little more cold along with his voice. Telling signs to back off the conversation piece.

"Wouldn't know."

The message registered, loud and clear.

Sebastian continued rubbing at the covered flesh of James's upper back while his other hand kept up its attention on the back of his neck. Still, there was a caution to his touches. He heard the cracking of the ice under his feet and was carefully, slowly retracing his steps back to safety.

...If it was safety. For all he knew, it might provoke a worse reaction. Still, it was worth a try.

"She told me to invite you," he murmured. "My mother."

Sebastian would be able to feel under his hands the way James was breathing; controlled and timed. Perfectly normal by any doctor's standards. But James doesn't do normal.

His head rocked back and forth with the way Sebastian was manipulating the soft-tissue and strained tendons. God, it felt good.

He seemed to have suddenly developed a automatic reaction to scoff at the word 'mother' just now, for he does it again and the sound echos from the glass he has raised to his mouth.

"Do you always do what your mummy tells you?" He sounds completely childish but at least he's drinking something.

Sebastian fell silent. He felt like an idiot for even bringing the topic up at all. If he worked Christmas, he worked Christmas. If not, maybe he'd head home. Maybe not. But bringing it up to James...

Idiotic.

So, instead, he moved his hand on James's neck down, onto his back, just beneath the neck. He pressed the heel of his hand into the area, rubbing in a slow circle. His other hand gripped James's arm lightly and ran up and down it, leaning a bit over the back of the couch as he worked.

"You're not going to answer my question. Brilliant."

His voice was sharp even when he was boneless. Damn Sebastian knew what he was doing, and he couldn't really help wanting to slip forward against the counter to let him get at his back more. Still he did have a large amount of control left in him, those moans and hisses he was letting go were slightly involuntary - like heavy breathing after running a long time.

"You weren't expecting an answer," Sebastian replied quietly.

He delved one hand along James's spine, tracing each side. One with his thumb, the other with his middle finger. He applied just a bit of pressure to try and offer some relief. Then, Sebastian stepped back... but not before ghosting his lips across the underside of James's jaw from behind.

"I'll keep going after dinner."

And, with that, his attention was back on the oven. He had to admit, though, that there was a temptation to just turn it off and warm up the steaks later. Or cook fresh ones. God knew James was picky enough and had the money to afford doing that. But like hell he was going to suggest it.

No... He'd finish fixing dinner and then see if he could lure the other man away from his work and schemes and research on Holmes.

James whined low in his throat when Sebastian's hands ... and his lips left. And he was just getting comfortable too. He glowered at his bodyguard, cook, personal assassin ect. ect., looking as if he was very creatively plotting his death.

He watched Sebastian do things in the kitchen for a bit before he rolled his eyes and slinked down from his stool with the exclamation of "This is boring, I'm going back to my cave."

And he downed the rest of his water before smacking his lips together. He walked up to Sebastian and, as if he were 10, held the glass against Sebastian's arm. "More."

Edited 2011-12-25 11:02 (UTC)

Sebastian opened the oven again to check on the steaks. They ought to be just about done, but James's announcement and request were fresher still in his mind. He shut off the oven then turned to take the glass. Ice, water, lemon juice... he mixed them all before returning to the other man and putting the glass on the counter near him.

"Dinner's just about ready."

Even as he said it, though, his mind wasn't on the steaks. Instead, moved more in front of James than beside him and put his hand against the counter on one side of James. It wasn't quite boxing him in, but he did lean over the man. And kissed him none too lightly.

"Don't you dare burn it," he managed to mutter against Sebastian's mouth - and into it. He allowed some pushing on Sebastian's part before retaliating on his own. There may have been a defining height difference but personality was not compensated for in that difference. James shoved himself against the sniper, hands everywhere - completely inelegant but he was not aiming for that. Right now he just wanted. And he would have.

His teeth sank into the fleshy part of Sebastian's lower lip while his tongue ran close to the line of pressure he was administrating. He dragged back and let his lip go with a highly manipulative moan to go along with it. James' eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly parted, inviting. Specifically designed to do so.

Sebastian's hand curled around the counter as he leaned into the kiss and those hands. It was a rule he had been told when he'd first said he'd consider the job offer, and it was a rule he'd seen proven time and time again. Whatever James Moriarty wanted, he got. And if he wanted this... there was no way in Hell Sebastian would even think to argue with him.

He groaned at the feel of those teeth on his lip, and his eyes slid closed for a moment as James's tongue made itself known. The sound of the moan that accompanied the release of his lip was enough to make him stop breathing for a moment. Sebastian knew better than to think he had any control. Every movement and sound made by the other man was according to some plan... and Sebastian had long since learned to simply bow to that will.

His lips closed over James's again, and he moved to press his tongue into the mastermind's mouth.

James happily let Sebastian slide his tongue in against his, pressing and tangling with his the very instant he passed James lips. His hands crawled up the man's sides to link fingers around the back of his neck, draping them there as they progressed. James, after a few moments of pulling and pushing; both subtle and not on both their parts, parted from him and studied his face for a moment before sweetly saying:

"Fucking keep your promise and cook. I'm actually hungry now."

Another nip, at his chin now, before he slid out of Moran's hands like some kind of eel. He grabbed his water before shuffling off to his darkened corner and shouting.

"You know how I like it, darling."

Bloody as hell.

Edited 2011-12-25 11:59 (UTC)

"Fucking tease," Sebastian muttered under his breath as the man walked away.

Even so, he smirked and licked his lips. He wanted nothing more than to follow. To show James exactly what he thought of the sudden demand for food. But James would probably expect that. And what fun was it now, playing into his plan? No. No, better to wait. He'd get his chance after dinner.

The meal took only a few more minutes to finish and serve, the table set for two. "Dinner," he called.

....And no answer from our residential psychopath.

"James," Sebastian called again.

He was half tempted to, if he received no answer, eat alone and leave James his plate in the microwave.

...Of course, he knew he wouldn't. But it was fun to think about.

"Two seconds for fuck's sake!" He sounded rushed, like he was closing down windows on his computer(possibly computers)and getting re-dressed in his suit. If there was anything James believed in without reserve, it was looking good for dinner even if it wasn't in public.

His steps had a click to them now - he'd put on his shoes again. When he reemerges from the hall his jacket is on as well as his vest and his tie is neatly done.

He glanced at the spread before shooting a look back

"My, my. Isn't this well-done." He smiled before sitting down, fiddling with his cuffs. "Oh and --," he held his glass up and wiggled it for Sebastian to see. "More."

Sebastian wondered for a moment which it was. Either James had been an utterly spoiled child... or a completely ignored one. Nothing else explained that (rather irritating) habit of his-- demanding something as if he had every right in the world to it.

With business, he understood. Easily. But situations like this.

He took the glass, though, and complied. No doubt making the problem worse, but it wasn't worth bickering over. Not tonight, at least. He fixed another glass of ice water and added lemon juice to it, fixing himself the same before he set James's drink in front of him and sat down across from him. He felt suddenly glad he hadn't said anything about the demand.

The thought came almost unbidden. When he'd first moved in, on the occasions when he had steak prepared, James used to drink a glass of wine. He pushed the thought aside and cut into his steak.

He went through the business of how utterly pedestrian the scheme had been before he took a hold of the project - and of course how inept the people asking him to arrange this. The actual digging under the bank, the extraction and the get-away car for a not so small fee. He usually did this at meals; explained things to Sebastian. He never, ever asked if he wanted to hear them. He didn't much care either. But he wanted the outlet.

He talked and talked all through dinner and -finally finished he leaned back in his seat. And got to the real crux of the evening.

"So. Your mother asked you to invite me, did she?"

This had the hint of turning bad.

If Sebastian minded being told these things, he didn't show it. Rather, he leaned forward when James spoke. He knew when to ask questions and when to listen in silence. He'd worried the first time he'd been curious, feared that asking anything might lead him to be expendable... but James seemed to enjoy the audience of one.

When James leaned back and changed the subject, Sebastian could not help but be wary. He had not forgotten the coolness with which James had greeted the mention of the whole thing earlier. Carefully, he nodded.

"She did."

James nodded a bit before moving onto his next question.

"What have you told her?"

He wanted specifics. If it was going to take wheedling or any form of manipulation on his part he wouldn't be against doing so.

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