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< 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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"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.

Sebastian looked at James, considering the question for a moment. His first reply was decided against. He almost said that he'd told her he would ask. But a second thought made him consider that... James wasn't asking that.

"She knows I live with my employer, Jim Moore." That was, after all, the name on all Sebastian's payroll checks. A perfectly legitimate paper trail to a private bodyguard of a wealthy man. "She also knows that on my days off-- since I hardly want to spend free time where I work-- I crash with a friend-- James Moriarty." And that was all he'd described James as in that regard. A friend. "My employer is wealthy but paranoid. Not likely to be in any real danger, but he thinks he is." It made her less prone to worrying about him. "My friend is something of a tech expert. Doesn't drink usually. Whole different sort of guy from most of my old Army buddies."

He spoke as casually as he could. He would not let himself assume that James might even be considering it.

He didn't try to hide any laughter on his part. The little name trick was simple but it was...something of a matter of pride in his choice of bodyguard. When he finished, James had to resist the urge to clap.

"Well done, darling. Well done." If there were any doubts in the legitimacy of what Sebastian was telling him it didn't show. He seemed to be banking that this was well thought out and not something just thought up on the spot.

"And your answer, hm? What'd you tell dear old mum?"

'James' was a common enough name. To have a friend and boss with the same first name was hardly a shocking thing, and it made things so much easier. It was the first rule of lying-- keep things simple. And he had to carefully balance everything he told his family. Too much information, and they could ruin everything and put themselves at risk. Too little information, and they might pry.

The term of endearment made him smile briefly, even if it caused a certain tension in him at the same time. James used those with friend and foe alike, and Sebastian hoped his position was not likely to change so suddenly, but he knew better than to assume it couldn't.

"I just told her I'd ask, if I thought I might be free for Christmas."

James hummed his understanding, his eyes drifted down to the crumb adorned plate and the fork that rested on it. Idly he reached for it and flipped it around in his thin fingers. There are moments, as he handles it, that it looks like he might grasp it more firmly - curl his fingers into a fist around it. But he never does. His eyes are wide and incredibly vacant; to say that they're the window to the soul would be a horrible lie as there is nothing there to see.

Or perhaps that's horribly accurate.

"Come over here, Sebastian." His voice was quiet and lacking in the usual dramatic inflections he tended to enjoy.

Sebastian knew it would only be worse if he stalled. Part of him wondered whether to be worried or relieved that it wasn't the steak knife in James's hand. Still, with only minute hesitation, he rises from his seat at the table and walks around to stand near the other man's chair.

"Yes, James?"

Here there were two ways this could end. Two different things could happen now; one route ensuring scars and the other avoiding them entirely. With his free hand James reached up to curl his fingers in the fabric of Sebastian's shirt and tug him closer to where he was sitting, he didn't quite feel like moving at the moment but when his wary soldier came close enough James passed the tip of his tongue against his lips before kissing him.

Sebastian was ready for the worst possible scenario. He was prepared for pain. No matter where James stabbed, if he did, the fork was not long or sharp enough to be fatal. Hurt like shit, yes. But there would be time to fight. A few good hits, a head slammed into the table. The soldier felt fairly confident that he could, at least, leave a few good marks if it came to that.

He didn't fight the pull on his shirt, bending over the man's chair, still ever aware of the situation and ready to react if need be. The closer he got, though, the less worried he became. ...James wasn't one to want to ruin a good suit with blood.

Then that tongue was on his lips and his mouth was against James's. He groaned quietly and leaned forward even more, one hand taking hold of the arm of a chair.

There was no subtle design here, no carefully orchestrated noises. James seemed to have forgotten about the fork and instead paid attention to the matter at hand. His handsome sniper - his - was so fun to work with. But to play with...even more fun. That was why he liked Sebastian. More or less why.

Huffing a breath from his nose, he sucked on Sebastian's lower lip lightly, not really concentrating. He didn't bite him like he usually enjoyed doing, but the flat of his teeth was against the flesh between his lips like a quiet reminder that he could - at any moment - chomp down.

James's hand quickly released his shirt and crawled upward, fingers tapping against his chest and neck like a spider before he blindly found his chin. His touch stroked up and down the edge of his jawbone slowly, as if he were contemplating the line of it before his gaze traveled higher to make eye-contact with Sebastian.

"You said you'd finish after dinner." His tone was uncharacteristically pleading. There might be a pout approaching.

Lips or tongue or teeth... Sebastian found he could not really bring himself to worry. Stupid as it was, there were times and situations where he trusted James. And, even more strangely and perhaps even more foolishly, they were moments like this. Quiet and private. What others might have considered the most dangerous.

But it was in a crowd, slipping about to find a mark or completing some task under the mastermind's supervision... That was when he was most on guard.

This? He leaned into the feel of the mouth, tilted his head toward the touches. Then, when James spoke, he smiled faintly and chuckled. "So I did." He moved his hands to unbutton James's jacket and push it off. The less cloth, the easier it would be to get at those taut muscles. That removed, he began to unbutton James's dress shirt.

A few seconds with Sebastian undoing his buttons was all it took for James's brain to go alert again. The hand that grappled with the fork earlier shot up to clasp over the one attending to the buttons on his shirt. The metal underneath was cold and brought him to it's attention. Snaking his fingers between Sebastian's he shook his head, a smirk and a blaze in his eyes.

"Bedroom," James groaned. He endeavored to distract Sebastian from what he was doing with an abrupt departure from the slow, contented mood of the evening. His hands darted up to fist in Sebastian's hair and tug sharp while molding his mouth to Sebastian's, tongue sliding past his lips and against the roof of his mouth. He began to stand up - only slightly - working to get to more of the man before untangling himself from his strangely categorized bodyguard and grinning sharp.

He had some way of slipping out of things that could remind one of slime; oozing down a wall. This was an admittedly childish way to get out but as Sebastian had him pinned in his chair, he slipped down to the ground and under the table before racing to the bedroom.

He removed his tie and with it something underneath his shirt. that he put on the dresser. To appear as if this wasn't his only objective here, he toe'd off his shoes and finished off the rest of the buttons on his shirt.

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