Jim's eyes were darkness never-ending. Only when a kind light hit them did that chocolate intensity become apparent. If Sebastian was the sentimental type, he would tell you there are 42 shades of brown in those big dark eyes; but he, of course, is not. He also wouldn't be able to tell you how many folds there were across his forehead when he was surprised. He wouldn't be able to even start to explain the precise angle each arched brow creates. Sebastian Moran couldn't tell you the exact shade of Jim's nipples, or the length of his fingernails, he couldn't tell you how far back his legs went, or the scale Jim moaned when he was aroused (nor for that matter could he tell you exactly what tone rang out when he came).

Or at least he'd never admit that he could.

He wouldn't tell a soul that Jim reminded him of a Bush Baby or a Chihuahua. He wouldn't utter a word about any of the information he had stored up about the consulting criminal because truth be told… he didn't even know it existed in that vault of his. Sebastian was a sniper he could spot anything, he was perceptive, but there wasn't much he locked away or remembered. And yet Jim, he knew inside out. He would tell himself it was because of the constant proximity. He was always keeping an eye on Jim when he was around, if he wasn't on a job. He protested the domestic routines, but he fulfilled his role in them nevertheless. He would do anything Jim asked of him, and he told himself it was because he was a loyal employee, because Jim had been good to him.

And though all of that is entirely true, there's another reason altogether. A reason that is so infinitely complex that it's quite possibly the most disorienting and most difficult experience to comprehend; and yet it can be summed up into one word: Love.

It's a word Sebastian hasn't uttered aloud in his entire adult-life. He'll often say lust. But it's simply not true in Jim's case. By all rights they should hate eachother, constantly be at one-another's throats, and though they often are, usually there's no harm done at the end of the day. There's an ease to the forgiveness because it's slick with love.

The really idiotic thing is though, for two men who are supposed to be so smart – neither understand what they're sharing. Sebastian especially. He doesn't believe in love. Doesn't acknowledge it. Rejects it at any instant because he knows he isn't destined for happiness. In the end, as it always has in his life thus far, it will end in bloodshed. If he does see that there may be love been him and Jim, he's pushed it away to the furthest corner of his mind, because if he thinks about it, if heever entertained the idea… he knows that'll be the moment it all comes to an end.

42 shades. Forty-two shades.

That's what Sebastian's thinking with his hand circling his cock and Jim's. The little man pinned beneath him. Nimble legs wrapped around Sebastian's lower back, as he rocks, feeling the friction. He's staring into Jim's eyes too much, but this moment is one where neither cares. Neither of them give a fuck about social norms (not that they ever did much), they don't care about ranking or appearances or any other bullshit. In this moment, in this space, they can kiss and not have to think about what it means, they can stare and smile and pant and gasp and writhe and the outside world doesn't even exist.

The contact is broken when Jim's head is thrown back in a moment of ecstasy, he's pressed against the bed, one hand clutching a mass of the covers, the other reaching for something, something. Moving from Sebastian's shoulder, to his side, twisting at his nipple, nails cutting into his flesh, grasping his hair, trying to hold his hand.

Sebastian's pace grows relentless as the wet smack of their flesh and his sharp, low gasps begin to coincide with that melodic A minor scale Jim was humming, his face lined with concentration. And Jim taps his shoulder and Sebastian allows him to readjust himself, pulling his legs back, resting his calves on Sebastian's shoulders, just so they can be closer, feel some connection – he would usually only take on this position when Sebastian was inside of him.

Jim's fingers are ghosting old scars, reopening some of them as he breaks flesh with the scratch of his nails, just four millimetres overgrown, because he hasn't cut them in a week. He can feel the beat of his heart in the bend of his legs, pulsing against Sebastian's flesh as he continues to jerk them off together. Feeling the rub of Jim's cock against his, and his calloused hands moving viciously to get them off. To watch Jim come.

And he's letting out little gasps and purrs…

And his eyes suddenly flash open, wide and full, with that little 'o' of his mouth. And as he comes over them, his eyes flicker closed and he's letting out a perfect little F natural. And that sound makes Sebastian follow him, like he always would. His hand moves in a few more stuttered jerks as they come together, and Sebastian's eyes slide shut to enjoy the pulse of ecstasy and simultaneous freedom and emptiness that come with it.

And he lets go.