A coffee shop.
Probably the last place you'd think the top two most dangerous men in London would frequent on their self-appointed "day off".
Or, if you knew these two personally (which was unlikely… very unlikely) it could easily be the first.
Of course, if you looked at them in a public situation, you probably wouldn't make the connection between their appearances and the vast, criminal empire they ran together.
The first was of average height, thin, with very short black-brown hair and a pronounced widow's peak, and just the finest hints of dark stubble around his chin and upper lip. He was dressed casually, but it was very clear his clothes weren't cheap- designer jeans, black top, and shoes, with a pair of aviator sunglasses perched on top of his head. He looked comfortable but sharp, carrying off the look and managing to look as though he deserved a second glance even if he could equally disappear into a thronging crowd of people.
In stark contrast, the other man was practically a giant- far above average height, with sandy blond hair that had been shaved at the sides and a completely clean, smooth face. His arms and chest had obvious muscle definition- clearly visible underneath a too-tight, plain white t-shirt- and he was wearing black combat trousers with military-style boots. He looked a little more uncomfortable with what he was wearing and occasionally tugged at the neck of the shirt- as if wearing it hadn't been out of his own choice.
Which it hadn't. Jim Moriarty could be very persuasive if he saw his Sebastian in something he thought looked good. And Jim enjoyed the way the top outlined the other man's figure- showed the just barest hints of his muscles, his barely-contained power. Sebastian caught Jim's eyes wandering again and watched as the corner of his thin mouth lifted just the slightest. Almost subconsciously, he stiffened underneath that gaze, and the shirt was pulled a little tighter. Jim's eyes flashed.
"Control yourself, Sebastian," he smirked. "Not everybody needs to see."
That was a lie. Jim wouldn't have chosen the shirt otherwise- he had plenty of opportunities to see the other man in the flesh. He was showing him off- like a prize pet.
"Sorry, Boss," he said gruffly in reply. He wasn't, but it was always best to pretend around a man like Jim- even if he saw right through your insincerity half the time. "Shall I go get us a drink?"
"No, no, silly. Let them come to us," Jim said, leaning back slightly in the wooden chair. They looked just a little bit ridiculous- small wiry Jim and slightly hulking Sebastian sat together opposite those tiny, ridiculous tables clearly designed for couples who didn't mind eating and drinking with a square inch of space between their faces. Not like Jim cared about personal space- Sebastian was surprised the other man wasn't leaning on the table with his head in his hands and making proper eyes at him. He tended to do that. "Ah, here we are," he said, as an attractive young man wearing an apron and carrying a small flip pad and pencil came over to them. Sebastian's eyes flicked towards Jim again, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes as his Boss's tongue dashed over his lips appreciatively at the sight of their server. He was impossible, sometimes.
"Can I get you anything?" the server asked. To give him credit, he didn't seem perturbed by the lip-licking. Perhaps he was used to it. Even Sebastian had to admit that he was very attractive, even though he wasn't his type.
"Ooh, yes please sugar- we're not sitting here for the fun of it," Jim said, leaning forwards with a dangerous little smile. "I'll go first, Sebby, if you don't mind. I'll have… an assimo mocha with whipped cream, marshmallows, those adorable rainbow sprinkles, a chocolate stick, and a shot of caramel flavouring," he said in one, easy breath- not taking his eyes off of the server as he hurriedly scribbled down the elaborate order in neat shorthand.
"Ah, I'm sorry Sir, but we don't usually add extra shots to the mocha-"
"Oh, I'm sure you will- for me? I mean it can hardly be any trouble, can it?" Jim quickly cut in with a smile as smooth as cream- sour cream. The server hesitated, his "customer satisfaction guaranteed" smile slipping just the slightest… but at the slightly suggestive raise of Jim's eyebrows it soon returned- if a little shaken and worse-for-wear.
"No problem, Sir. It just might be a little… sweet… is all."
"Sweet is just fine with me."
"… Okay. And you, Sir?" the now-slightly nervous man went on, his attention now directed at Sebastian- who had been sitting quietly with his eyes closed the entire time his employer had been speaking. He was probably going to get in trouble later for showing obvious derision, but it had been a long week and he couldn't really care less. He opened his eyes and stared coolly at the waiter.
"Three espressos," he said calmly, holding up three fingers so that it was clear he was being serious. Something akin to panic flashed across the young man's face- he had probably been advised not to sell more than one espresso to a customer at a time, or something- but he quickly made his expression as neutral as possible again.
"Of course, Sir. Anything else?"
"Ooh, something to nibble on," Jim said, turning up his smile a notch. Now it was just getting creepy. Sebastian's fingers twitched with the deadly urge to slap his employer- but that would just earn him a one-way ticket to a world of pain. And not the good kind of pain. "What do you have, darling?"
"Uh, the usual," the young man said. He was starting to perspire a little. "Chocolate brownies, flapjack, cupcakes, teacakes, scones, shortbread-"
"Good, I'll have those."
"Which, sorry, Sir?"
"All of those. A selection. Bring a tray."
Jim was having far too much fun being as casually wicked as possible. You would have thought that he got his daily dose of badness from ordering Sebastian to shoot someone (preferably in the gut or foot) who had been annoying him recently, or from mailing ransom notes (for fun, he didn't need the money) to grieving families, or slicing up the flesh of his lover (Sebastian's inner thigh was still sore) to not need to torture people in an everyday scenario, but then again… he was Jim Moriarty and the world was both his literal and metaphorical playground.
"Y-yes Sir. Will that be everything?"
"Yep," Jim said, before Sebastian even had a chance to say anything. "Off you pop."
Even Sebastian found himself grudgingly admitting it was funny to watch somebody do a 180 and then walk off as though they'd had a hot rod shoved up their arse. His idea of a good time was the rushing silence of the hunt, watching the world through crosshairs while waiting for the prey to wander on by- not humiliating a young waiter who probably worked his butt off for shit wages, but c'est la vie. Jim wasn't about to change any time soon- especially not for him.
"How's the leg?" Jim said in a conspiring whisper with an unnecessary wink, lifting his foot to brush it along the inside of Sebastian's left thigh- right where his damn initials had been carved the night before. Sebastian's lips stretched thin and he hissed under his breath, but apart from the slight tautness of his face he barely betrayed the miniature spasm of agony that rippled through his body.
"Fine, Boss," he said through gritted teeth.
"Wonderful," the other man purred. "I'll have fun making sure the new addition is permanent tonight, then. For closing your eyes mockingly earlier. Don't think I didn't notice."
Sebastian sighed, expression still carefully blank.
"Yes, Boss," he said. He knew far better than to argue. And besides, the sex that came with the slice of the knife was usually pretty damn fantastic. What was a little sweet pain mixed in with the pleasure?
"Good boy," Jim hummed, still rubbing his foot along his hit-man's thigh. He probably wouldn't stop until the blood started seeping through the trouser leg. "Ah, perfect. He sure didn't take long."
The server was back, arm visibly wobbling under the weight of the tray he was carrying. Obviously he hadn't wanted to keep returning to the table, so he'd done his very best to pile everything on it together. Sebastian's three shots looked quiet compared to the mess of cream and chocolate and diabetes that Jim's drink represented. The plate of cakes had a couple of bites of each type of cake. Jim would probably nibble the edges of each and leave the rest. And no, Sebastian would not be permitted to finish them off. Keeping his eyes lowered, the young man carefully set everything down on the table, and the ridiculousness of its size was made clear in an instant- you could barely fit the drinks on there, let alone the selection of dainty treats.
"Oh, thank-you so much, darling," Jim gushed, using his index finger to swipe a dollop of cream off of the top of his drink. He then licked it off agonisingly slowly. The young man's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.
"I-hope-everything-is-all-right-for-you," he said all in rush, and then left with the tray.
"You just can't get the staff these days," Jim sighed with a roll of the eyes, and then proceeded to take a sip- or rather, a bite- of his overloaded drink. "Mmmhmm, exquisite," he said, closing his eyes appreciatively as he swirled the chocolate stick into his cocoa nightmare. "And yours, dear?" he asked, opening one eye.
"Fine, Boss."
The three shots were already gone, the empty glasses stacked neatly. The smell of coffee and chocolate was almost overpowering.
"Marvellous."
Sebastian was then required to sit and watch as his Boss proceeded to- as expected- take a delicate bite out of each and every one of the cakes, rattle off a list as long as your arm about what precisely was wrong with them, and then spend an excruciatingly long time draining the overly large cup of sticky-sweet mess in front of him. When he finished, he licked the chocolate film off of his lips with a little sigh. Sebastian barely even twitched a muscle.
"You wouldn't mind getting the bill, would you Sebby?" Jim said, mushing the various cakes together so that they couldn't be salvaged. Sebastian obediently took the wallet out of his trouser pocket.
"Of course not, Boss."
"You're practically paying with my money, anyway."
Jim just loved to remind Sebastian he was his superior on a day-to-day basis.
"Pretty much, Boss."
"Go on, then- and don't you dare tip."
"No, Boss."
Sebastian got up out of his chair, ignoring the hot trickle of blood down his leg, and headed over to the counter. He glanced around for the young man who had served them, but he seemed to have disappeared. Jim, his cheek supported by one hand, gave him a little wave with the other- each finger dipping one after the other. Sebastian managed a weak smile.
He loathed the man- absolutely despised him. But there was just something so damn addictive about a man who could act as camp as Christmas one moment, and then casually slice the finger off of someone who had the audacity to interrupt him the next.
Fuck Jim Moriarty, with his death-in-a-cup drink and his malicious flirting and his aggravating smile.
Fuck him, and his ability to snare you and never, ever let you go.