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I don’t need you.
Four charming, little words Jim spat at Sebastian like venom whenever he was ‘in a mood.’
Sherlock stopped updating his site and you can’t fix it? “I don’t need you”
John gets more attention than me because you haven’t killed him yet? “I don’t need you.”
Your snipers shot before I could finish my joke? “I don’t need you.”
I’m out of staples and you’re not running out to get more? “I don’t need you.”
It never meant much before, it was just Jim being Jim and Sebastian Moran was a patient man who didn’t let much bother him when he had to focus. He kind of had to be that way to be as successful at his job as he was.
But that night, that horrid night after the Fall, after the shot rang in his ears and his world cracked apart like his employer’s skull, those word suddenly carried all the weight in the world.
It had started as a simple, stupid argument about goodness-knows-what-but-Sherlock-was-involved-somehow-of-course-this-is-Jim-after-all.
It was the same bickering they always did, forever the old and sexless married couple.
“I don’t need you.”
“Yeah, you told me that before. That’s why I’m eyein’ Watson ‘n not you ‘n your boyfriend.”
It was the first time he’d ever, in their entire personal relationship, replied to any of Jim’s prompts He was too stressed from playing Secret Service with Mycroft for 12 months to keep putting up with with the little shit today and even if it meant his Boss pistol whipping him or having a screaming temper tantrum later it didn’t matter, he was tall and well built enough to handle anything Jim tried to pull.
Except for eating a bullet. That…that hadn’t been something he’d been prepared to handle. Nor had been picking Moriarty’s body up at the morgue, playing Mr. Brook’s agent for little ‘Molly Mouse’ or stretching on his employer’s bed feeling like a complete arsehole.
He’d debated stopping by a pub before returning to the flat, getting good ‘n sloshed and hoping he’d be too far gone to care but in the end he thought better of it.
Jim wouldn’t approve of his flatmate drooling or, heaven forbid, vomiting, on his silk sheets and a good chunk of Sebastian’s mind was still willing to suppress logic in favor of avoiding his boss clawing his way up from Hell to scream at him about it.
“I told you, I didn’t need you.” Came a singsong voice from the open doorway.
“Jim?!” The blonde shot bolt upright so quickly that he actually lost his balance, slammed his shin on the bedside table and fell forward, knocking over an expensive lamp and Jim’s long forgotten morning cuppa along the way. “W-what? You…you-!”
There in the hallway, standing in his typical tourist disguise with a grin that spread so wide it looked like his face was on the verge of splitting in half, was James Moriarty. The Napoleon of Crime. Alive and in the flesh.
“I told you Moran, I didn’t need you.” Jim repeated, sauntering into the room and removing his cap before placing it gently on the kneeling sniper’s head. “I don’t need anyone.”
A confusing mixture of overwhelming joy and utter hatred washed over Sebastian as he watched Jim crack his knuckles and flick his shoes off. Everything from ‘Do you know what you just put me through?!’ to ‘I can’t believe you’re real you little shit’ to ‘I love you, you utter fucking genius’ threatened to pour forth from his mouth but in the end he simply stood up, removed the cap and nodded. Military obedience overruled everything else.
“Yes well…I suppose I’ll leave you to your…planning or whatever it is you need to do now that Holmes has been eliminat-” The sniper was suddenly cut off, his monotone speech ended abruptly by a pair of talented hands pulling him down by the shirt collar and Moriarty’s thin lips pressing against his own.
“I don’t need you, Moran.” The words came out a more playful kind of venomous when they were being whispered against a pair of tanned lips and followed up by the small criminal pulling his sniper on top of him and wrapping his legs around his hips. “-But I am quite content to keep you around anyway.”
Suddenly, all of their pointless arguments vanished from his mind, military discipline went out the window and everything Sebastian Moran had ever stood for, every sin he’d committed, ever battle he’d fought, were gone from his mind. Whited out. Replaced by the simple urge to give into this violent, insane, little man grinding impatiently against him and biting at every inch of skin he could reach.
“Jim I-Jim-Shit! Jim, stop wouldja stop pissin’ around and give me a minute?!” Sebastian pleaded, pushing the wildly giggling Irishman back and holding him down by the throat. “If you’re not gonna tell me shit all about what happened but can I at least take my fucking trousers off please?!”
The only response he got was Jim pressing his hips up, resting his head back, eyes half lidded and breathing uneven.
“Christ Jim…” His words came out as a breathy gasp. Sebastian’s normally focused, precise mind was pulled apart by the image in front of him and suddenly just getting his clothes off seemed to be taking more brain power than he’d ever mustered in his life. He couldn’t even figure out how he got as much off as he did.
“Sebbyyyy…” Jim whined through his gritted teeth and shifted his hips.
God, Seb hated that nickname, always had, Jim knew, he only used it when he was going out of his way to be a prat. Somehow though, in that tone, with that expression, ‘Sebby’ was perfectly acceptable. Fuck, Sebby was the sweetest damn word in existence and deserved a section in Sherlock Holmes’ ‘mind palace’ it was so beautiful. Maybe he’d write it in what was left of it on the sidewalk, it would certainly be fitting.
“Ah ‘Bastian! C’mon alreadyyyy….”
Actually, screw that, ‘Bastian’ was better. Worlds fucking better.
“I got it love, gimme a minute.” Seb growled finally pulling off what remained of his clothing and slipping his fingers over the fly of his boss’ jeans. He did his best to pull them off with Jim’s legs shifting and his hips pressing into any friction provided. Eventually he managed to get everything, including a pair of obnoxiously green pants, off his boss’ skinny legs. ”You’re makin’ this a lot harder than it has to be.”
“That’s part of the plan, Moran.”
The sniper cocked an eyebrow and tried his damnedest to look unimpressed with the innuendo but…God, that smile was twisted. Even when using pun humor, something about that expression, that look of sick delight, got under Sebastian’s skin and burned. It made him want to slam him down and shag Jim senseless just seeing it and knowing he’d, in some small way, caused it
“Now…’Bastian, please~” the criminal purred in his ear, slipping his arms around the blonde’s midsection and pulling him back in place above him, Jim’s now bare legs around his hips. “I don’t like to wait.”
Okay, Jim had to mentally concede, maybe there was more to it than that. But telling your partner ‘Please fuck me I’m so desperate for you I feel like I’m on fire’ was a little extreme, even for someone as theatrical as James Moriarty.
So was letting them know that, for the first time since you were twelve years old, none of your thoughts were about Sherlock Holmes, that the pain in their eyes that morning made you alter your suicide plan or that for the first time in your life you felt like you had someone who was truly, truly your equal, not in brains of course, but…in something else..something you couldn’t quite put to words but that made them matter to you. Like no one prior.
Yeah that….that was going to stay locked up. One of the few secrets never to be sold because it was his.
Though keeping it was a lot harder when Sebastian picked him up and pushed him face first against the mattress. Harder still when clever, calloused fingers drifted over his legs, up his backside and slid up his sides to his chest.
“Seb…God, Moran, please.” Jim was begging. He’d never seriously begged, not that he recalled, but something about this was different. It burned and tore at him and touch seemed like the only thing that cooled the heat. He’d taken drugs that were less mind-altering that whatever this…this feeling was…
“You’re gonna fucking kill me with this shit, Boss.” Sebastian breathed in his ear, gliding his tongue along the rim. “Knew you’d do it somehow but…Christ…didn’t see this coming.”
“It’s just Jim, doofus.” Moriarty replied, voice breathy but still managing to sound sharp and annoyed. He didn’t understand why he was enforcing that, really, he’d always liked being called ‘boss’ before.
“Heh, yessir, Jim.” Sebastian grinned against his employer’s shoulder before mouthing hungrily at it.
Moriarty growled and snapped his teeth, pushing back against the man behind him. “Lubricant. Top draw. Now.”
He regretted giving that order almost instantly as Sebastian bit down on his neck and slid two well-oiled digits inside him at once.
“Wha-when did y-you find-“
“You think I’m such a damned idiot I can’t multitask?” Sebastian cooed, snaking his tongue out a lap at the bruises forming along his Boss’ clavicle. “Tut tut, Jimmy, you underestimate your hitman, not very wise.”
Jim squirmed helpless with his upper torso trapped under the sniper’s weight and his arse being practically lifted off the bed by a man with a great deal more physical strength than he usually gave him credit for.
“S-Seb’Bastian!” Moriarty moaned into the sheets as the fingers inside him moved faster, twisting and scissoring, stretching him out. It must’ve been years since he allowed another human being to even touch him, nevermind this, and the constant sensory input was making him dizzy.
Moran seemed to understand the mental request, the pitiful begging, as he slipped his fingers free and shifted Jim onto his side, lifting his right leg over his shoulder and slamming into him with what might have been more force than strictly necessary. Judging by the noise Jim made that didn’t subtract from the experience any.
Sebastian stayed still for a moment, letting Jim’s body adjust, or trying to. The brilliant, little criminal seemed to have other ideas as he moaned and squirmed and attempted to push back against his Sniper, to force him deeper.
“Moran-‘BastiaAH! God, move please~!”
Sebastian just stared at him, a sinister and sadistic smile on his face.
He couldn’t help it really, he had James Moriarty, the most dangerous man in London, squirming and desperate on the end of his prick, begging to be fucked. He’d never felt so powerful in his life. It wasn’t until Jim actually managed to grab the back of his head and pull him into a bruising kiss that he decided to take pity. Anyone that flexible deserved a reward anyway.
He pulled out of the man for a moment before flipping him onto his back and slamming into him again.
Jim let out a noise that would barely qualify as human as Sebastian pushed deeper and pulled his legs up to rest on his shoulders.
“So. Fucking. Good.” Jim growled, arching his back and pushing himself against Sebastian.
If a single moment in time could be frozen and bottled and enjoyed on demand, this would be it for Sebastian. Nothing else compared.
He thrusts his hips harder into the lithe little body beneath him, brushing Jim’s prostate each time and driving vicious and embarrassing little noises of pleasure from him.
“Not-NAH! G-gonna last, AHMagpie.” Sebastian panted, his fingernails dug into the sheets on either side of Jim’s head.
‘Magpie?’ Oh, that was new. He liked that. Still, Jim didn’t need the warning, he could ‘deduce’ it himself by the way his hired hand’s body shook and his muscles tighten. It didn’t matter anyway, he was well on his way himself, his right hand buried in his own hair and his left stripping his cock with each thrust of Sebastian’s hips.
“C-c’mon Tiger.” He choked, rolling his hips as best he could in the position they were in. “Finish me o-off.”
Sebastian growled, suddenly grabbing Jim’s legs and forcing them above his head. Jim had barely a moment before Sebastian was literally fucking him into the mattress and he was cumming all over his own chest and face, Sebastian followed, three brutal thrusts into that painfully tight body before bowing his head and hitting his peak with a full body shudder. He released Jim’s legs and slumped over him before rolling over by his side.
“F-fuck.” The blonde mumbled, running his fingers through his hair. “That was-“
“It was interesting, wasn’t it?” Jim wiped his face with the sheet and grinned at the man now in his peripheral. “I have to say…I understand why those Uni girls named it. ‘Basher Moran Special,’ Correct?”
“Oi! Watch it you.” Seb slapped him on the hip. “I thought we agreed you’d forget finding that out.”
Jim just shrugged innocently, shifting his hips and sitting up. He just about gagged at the feeling, semen and sweat running down his thighs and chest was about as pleasant as he thought it be. Still, he didn’t regret it. He even had a warm, tingly feeling in the pit of his abdomen like nothing he’d experienced before. A feeling he could get used to, he thought.
“I’ve always fancied you, boss.”
Jim turned his head abruptly, staring at Sebastian.
“Yes well…”
“You knew.”
“Oh course I knew, I’m not blind.” Jim rolled his eyes as Sebastian sat up.
“This doesn’t change anything, does it?”
“I’m sure it changes the PH balance in your testicles-“
“James.”
Jim sighed. “For god’s sake Sebastian, don’t make me say it.”
He raised an eyebrow.
”Jim.”
“I’m warning you, Moran.”
“Magpie.”
Jim let out an annoyed hiss, flopping back on the bed with his hands over his eyes.
“I may be a tad attached to you, yeah.”
Sebastian laughed and stood up.
“I’ll go get the bath ready for you, right?”
“You’re a prince, Sebastian.”
“And Jim?”
“Hm?”
“I need you too.”
Jim whipped a pillow at his face.