( • and brought his knight down with him • )
Sebastian lay stretched out on the sofa, a belt tightened around his arm as he injected the needle slowly. He relaxed as the drug began to take effect, knowing that Jim would have killed him if he was still alive. But he wasn't, and never would be again, and that was exactly why he needed this release. He hated himself for being so weak, knew Jim would be disgusted, and he was too. But, as his mind began to glaze over and his head dropped to the arm of the sofa, he found he really just didn't care any more.
The ex-sniper almost smiled as everything began to drain away, and if he opened his eyes, the world would have been morphing into strange shapes around him. He let out a little hum of delight, the blood racing through his veins burning like fire. It felt good. Like whiskey and memories of a white-hot poker pressing into his skin.
Faintly, somewhere in the back of his mind, between the twisted noises of traffic and a faint buzzing in the background, Sebastian heard the sound of a door opening and closing. He didn't pay attention to it- just part of the drug's effect, he'd hallucinated odder things. Rhythmic taps, slowly getting louder registered in his brain, but to the tall man slung out across the couch, they were just part of a faint little rhythm, beating along beautifully with his loud heartbeat.
And somewhere along the little song, with the buzz and the tapping and the beat-beat-beat, a pretty Irish lilt joined in, murmuring indistinguishable things in a low voice. It was beautiful, really. Familiar. Made him smile again and let out a little sigh.
Sebastian's smile disappeared, though, at the little prick in his arm and the feeling of warm leather sliding away. His arm felt cold now. And there was the Irish voice, too, closer this time and a bit louder. Sebastian, it had said. What did it want with Sebastian? Why was he asking-oh, right, that was him. A sharp pain assaulted his cheek, and he turned his head. 'Look at me', the voice commanded. Slowly, he cracked an eye open. The ceiling was slowly morphing, twisting in front of him and it hurt his eyes, but he turned his gaze to the person beside him as he was told.
Oh. Jim. It hurt to see him. He wanted to get away. That was why he did this in the first place, and even here, in this wonderful high, he couldn't escape the man who'd caged him, controlled him, made him fall in love, and then tore it all away. "Go 'way." He slurred, voice a husky octave lower than usual.
And with a smirk and a pissy little wave, as always, he did.
