Carefully lifting up his shirt, Seb fought the urge to cringe at the scars that were forever imbedded into his original soft colored skin. He faintly remembers the first time James Moriarty ever touched him and not in the fingers-brush-by-accident way, but in the tentative tracing of every curve of his solid and toned body way; that's when he realized exactly how his body reacts to James' touch, and only James' touches. It won't react to anyone except Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal, mad man, and, to Seb, lover.
He was idiotic and he knew it, for following a man he barely knew, but if Jim was walking through the gates of hell (which, there was no doubt he would, just not at this moment in time.) Sebastian would follow. Much like a loyal golden retriever, he would do anything for his…master?
Now, where were we? Ah, right. How his body acts like a horny teenager whenever James is around. He wasn't even aware of it at first, maybe it was after Jim's thumb ran over his chaffed wrist, softly massaging where the handcuffs had left an ugly line of red, leaving the skin red and sore.
Maybe it was the time that he had been bleeding, the red smearing over his shirt and arm, a gash on the side of his face almost clean from the way he was drenched from the pouring rain. He had somehow made it back to Jim's place, frantically knocking on the door as he felt the blood loss finally taking its tole making him dizzy. How the door miraculously opened right as he fell forward, how Jim's short stature and small frame could have supported him, he still has yet to figure out but he woke up that morning to a stitched and bandaged arm his head resting comfortably on the couch cushion, his nose wrinkling as he smelt the underlying sent of rubbing alcohol, although the coffee covered it up well.
But out of all those times, something just clicked. It was a normal day really, Jim was yelling at him yet again for being an incompetent no good useless burden. Of course, the only reason Sebastian even delt with his bullshit was because he could only ever listen, or watch as it was, Jim's lips moving in a bewitching manner as he berated the assassin yet again. The way his lips looked soft, even in the harsh sneer that he was wearing right now as he looked down at Seb. But his next actions were unspeakably out of character as he delicately traced the latest scar, this one adorning the side of his neck, matching the ones on the insides of his wrist, a light barely noticeable scar amongst a collection of so much more.
Jim had traced over it with his thumb, just like the handcuffs. But, something more…instead of the natural languid way with which the consulting criminal would move this time he was almost hesitant. Too gentle, was the second thought to cross his mind, but he didn't care, not one bit. He especially didn't care when Jim's soft lips brushed against the light scar, Jim's tongue flicking out just enough to tease the sensitive skin. Shuddering inwardly as he felt Jim's delicate hands running tentatively over his shirt. The next moment, said shirt was on the floor replaced by the warmth and soft brush of fingers, feather light tracing every part of his scarred frame. Although he should have been a bit more pissed at the fact that the very reason he had such a collection of scars, was because of Jim Moriarty, but instead he pushed the thought aside, too overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure of it all.
That night ended with their clothes strewn about, forgotten in the heat of the moment, the air was thick with the smell of sex. Droplets of sweat clung to his clothes as he drifted off to sleep, faintly remembering the sensation of having Jim pressed close up against him their legs entwined, as if they could melt together and become one person entirely.
That moment so long ago was when he knew.
He'd do anything for James Moriarty.
He still did.