Chapter Text
Jim has been looking forward to this for ages. Sebastian has noticed, as the date for their next "session" with his old army mate Paul draws nearer, Jim getting ever more manic and gleeful in his management of his criminal empire, ordering Seb out to sort a number of longstanding hits, and coming up with some really rather inventive ways of punishing any of his employees or, indeed, clients, who have stepped out of line.
And now, today, the big day has arrived at last. A whole evening, night and, if they want, weekend of fucking, bondage and torture, and Jim's bouncing around the flat in a way that makes "Animal" from The Muppets appear the very epitome of British sang-froid and restraint.
"Is everything ready, Sebby? Did you remember the beer? And the vodka? And - what are those things you said Paul likes - the Indian thingies?"
"Yes, Boss. Beer - check. Vodka - check. Tonnes of ice - check. The Indian food with the coconut chutney and sambar - check. It's all under control, so stop fussing. God, you're like a fucking mother hen, clucking about all over the fucking shop. Chill and relax, babes, for fucks sake."
But Jim is too lost in his excitement to hear him. Seb sighs and cracks himself open an ice cold beer. For possibly the millionth time, he pities Jim's parents. If this is how Jim is as an adult, Christmas and birthdays in the Moriarty household must have been a fucking nightmare.
"Sebby - what about the chair? Have you got it all rigged up like we said?"
"Baby, everything is fine. We're gonna have a fucking good time, yeah? I've been over everything, and you don't need to worry. Paul'll have a fucking fantastic weekend with us. We've got booze, we've got food, we've got porn. We've got a fucking pantechnicon of BDSM stuff and, best of all, Paul and I have got our very own, personal little fuckslut to play with. What more could anyone want?"
Jim gives him a look, the manic glaze retreating from his eyes for a moment or so. "Ooh, get you, Sebastian. "Pantechnicon", indeed? Have you been playing online Scrabble with that man from Broadmoor again?"
Seb looks hurt. "No. I know lots of big words. I do have an Oxbridge degree, remember, you little git. I could astound you with my panoply of phraseology, confound you with my erudition, or just make you drool over my big fat cock. What d'ya say, Jimmy? Fancy a little facefucking to warm you up, get you in the mood, eh?"
Jim scowls. "I'm off to check my hair. Call me when Paul gets here."
Seb sighs again and wanders off to the lounge to check the chair. Jim's little surprise from a few months ago has undergone a few modifications since then. For one, the black leather recliner now sports quite a range of phallic-shaped attachments, from short, stubby, bulbous plugs, to eye-wateringly large rubber monstrosities, to metallic dildoes for electrical play. The chair is also fitted out with various straps and metal loops for restaint and a pair of stirrup-like attachments for splaying its occupant's legs out and wide apart.
Jim and Seb have played with it rather a lot, enjoying switching their roles as impaler or impalee, fucker or fuckee. And now Paul's going to get to join in the fun with them.
Just then, there's a buzz at the intercom. "Seb. It's me, mate."
Sebastian presses the security button. "Come on up, mate. We've been looking forward to this."