Warnings: Rape, (consensual) Sex, Violence, Swears.
Pairing: Jim Moriarty/Sebastian Moran
Chapter One
"He's la-a-te," Jim Moriarty sing-songed, propping his feet up on his desk and flipping through texts on his mobile. A Manila folder tumbled to the floor, scattering its precious documents. Jim didn't bother retrieving them. Just some drivel concerning Iranian arms deals; vastly unimportant.
Sebastian Moran shot him an miffed look from his seat by the window -an expression that Jim would've murdered anyone else over- but was too wise to comment. He returned to his book, A Scanner Darkly by some American author. Jim couldn't comprehend Sebastian's sudden interest in the man's written works, and it both intrigued and annoyed him.
"If he doesn't show, I blame you," Jim said, attempting to elicit some kind of response. "You're the one who bullied me into this."
This was, in fact, true. Living life without fucking over Sherlock Holmes was tiresome, and it had become difficult not to simply pop on over to Baker St. and have a cuppa and a nice chat with the precious Mrs. Hudson. Just imagining the looks of horror on Sherlock and his pet, Watson's, faces when they came home and saw him in their sitting room made him absolutely giddy.
But no, it would've been much too soon after their last meeting. A little suspense never hurt anybody. The problem was, even skewering the Ice Man's plans had lost much of its entertainment value, and he had found himself recalcitrant when dealing with new clients, preferring to stew dangerously in his own boredom.
The problem with people, Jim thought, was that they all considered themselves to be sooo interesting; especially the wannabe criminals who hired him because they were too cowardly or inept to take care of their own shite.
"You need something to keep your mind occupied, or you're going to go mental," Sebastian stated gruffly, grey eyes peeking over the top of his book for a moment before disappearing.
"I'm already completely insane," Jim snipped immediately.
Sebastian laughed, looking up briefly at Jim's face to make sure he wasn't offended. "Well, you're going to drive me mental. All you do is watch surveillance footage of Holmes and-"
"Aw, don't be jealous, sweetheart," Jim interrupted. "You know you're daddy's favourite."
The glare Sebastian sent him was delicious and Jim grinned impishly at him.
Before things had a chance to escalate, Jim heard the faint squeak of shoes on vinyl outside the door to his office. This was soon followed by a knock. Jim settled back into his seat with an aggravated sigh, reluctantly tucking his phone away. "Entrer!" he trilled.
Daniel Green didn't just walk into Jim's office; he sauntered in, looking far too smug and suave for a man who was five minutes late to their appointment. It would have been more impressive had it been genuine as opposed to a desperate act. Nervous anxiety practically radiated from the man. Jim could read it with ease from the fresh worry lines decorating his forehead down to the sweaty fingerprints he'd left while tying his shoes. To show his displeasure at the man's tardiness, Jim maintained a stolid expression in the face of the faux-apologetic smile he received. Green's pretentious smile faltered at Jim's non-reaction and he dithered near the door-frame, swinging his arms like a Neanderthal as he waited for Jim to speak.
He was quite a handsome fellow, Jim couldn't fail to notice; a rugby player by the look of him - probably exquisitely muscled under that three-piece suit. His neatly combed dark hair and golden-brown eyes were complimented by an artfully stubbled visage and perfectly tanned skin. He was every adolescent girl's pretty-boy dream. Exactly how Jim had figured he'd look. It was quite disappointing.
Jim wouldn't have bothered with him at all if the young man's father hadn't been the CEO of BAE Systems. The war in Afghanistan and Iraq had benefited their company greatly, and Sebastian had been eager to get in good with them.
"Are you going to sit down or continue lingering in the door, wasting my time?" Jim inquired neutrally, drumming his fingertips on the arms of his chair. He rotated himself gently back-and-forth using the toes of shoes, head swaying slightly.
"Y-es, of course. I mean, I'm going to sit, thank you." Green closed the door behind him, a little too hard. It shut with a sharp snap, ruffling the loose papers littering the floor. Green cringed a little, trying valiantly to hold Jim's gaze as he took the seat opposite.
Jim waited for Green to finish fidgeting and fix his eyes more steadily on Jim's, before asking in a higher-pitched tone than before: "Well... what d'ya need?" He savoured Green's bewildered expression at the sudden shift. Priceless, truly.
Green shifted in his seat once more, crossing an ankle across his thigh, surreptitiously wiping his hands on his neatly pressed trousers. "Ummmm..." sweat beaded on his upper lip.
"I can't work with 'ummmm'," Jim stated. His well of patience, which had begun to ebb at the man's lateness, was now almost entirely non-existent.
Green reddened, eyes narrowing in anger as though Jim was a nasty teacher who had reprimanded him for giving a stupid answer. "Three-hundred-thousand pounds," he muttered, glancing over at Sebastian, whose nose was still buried deeply in his novel.
"You need me to loan you that amount?" Jim asked incredulously, voice thick with feigned ignorance.
"No! That's the price for the job I need you to do," Green stated obviously. Now that he was talking money, confidence (or was that pride?) had crept into his voice. For some reason it rankled Jim.
"Ahhhh, well, you see Dan," Jim said slowly, "I don't care about the money... though, for a man of your status, it is insultingly low." Anger coursed through him suddenly like a hit of quality blow to a junkie's nervous system. He saw Sebastian shift out of his peripheral, closing the book on his index finger, always so attuned to Jim's emotional state. He was surprisingly observant for a normal person. Normal, but not typical; definitely nothing as atrocious as that.
"Tell me what you want me to do for you," Jim commanded, pronouncing each word distinctly. "We'll discuss payment later." He waved his fingers dismissively.
Green planted both feet firmly on the floor, leaning forward, shoulders hunched and wiping the sweat from his upper lip. All false bravado had evaporated. "What about him?" he asked, looking pointedly at Sebastian.
"Think of him as furniture," Jim said flipping his hand carelessly in Sebastian's direction.
"Right." Green cleared his throat before continuing. "There's this video," he murmured quietly, clearly trying to keep his words from reaching Sebastian despite Jim's dismissal of him. "One of my mate's, he got blasted and posted it online. He deleted it later, but it was downloaded a bunch of times. If it's found by the wrong people, charges might be pressed and..." he trailed off, gazing uncertainly at Jim.
Jim frowned, wanting to scream in frustration, perhaps overturn the desk or snatch Sebastian's precious book away and chuck it out the window. It was so fucking trivial!
Yet, helping the idiot would be easy money, complete with an excellent chance for blackmail at a later date. Why not do it?
"What does the video contain?" Jim asked, fingers drumming restlessly again.
Nearly forty seconds of silence followed the question as Green struggled to word his answer. Just as Jim was about to grab his lapels and shake the ever-living piss out of him, he spoke.
"A group of friends and I hired a couple strippers, and we took turns filming them on my friends phone." Embarrassment coloured his face. "We took turns." Green's eyes found the floor and seemed unlikely to move.
"You fucked them?" Jim inquired, smirking at the way Green twitched at his crude choice of verb.
"Y-yes, but it wasn't..." Green rubbed the back of his neck, appearing wide-eyed and shocked. It didn't improve his looks.
"Wasn't what?" Jim prompted quirking an eyebrow.
"It wasn't entirely consensual," Green admitted slowly.
Jim's smile transformed into something grotesque and his entire body ceased moving; even the minutest twitches halted. His stomach swooped and his body broke out in goose-flesh. Almost four years had passed, four glorious years, since he'd slipped up this badly. Up to then he'd always conducted thorough background checks, hardly ever took on clients without knowing what they wanted from him beforehand. Having intimate knowledge of their dirty laundry was also good. But he'd foolishly allowed respect for Sebastian and some vague personal curiosity to drive him this time. Now he was reaping the reward for his carelessness.
"By not entirely consensual, you mean you and your friends raped them?" Jim asked tonelessly, mind entirely blank for once.
"Yeah," Green breathed shakily, sounding relieved at not having been the one to verbalize the word. "They were only...you know... what they were, but if someone sees it -a rival of my dad's company, or someone else- my family could be ruined." Appearing close to tears now, he looked pleadingly up at Jim, shoulders hunched, clearly waiting for him to offer up some sympathy and reassurance.
Jim's hands curled into fists, nails biting deeply into his palms. His eyes burned and his smile curled into a grimace of hatred. "Get out," he hissed
"What?" Green gasped, entirely taken-aback. "Are you going to do it?"
Jim stood so fast his chair toppled and he slammed his hands hard upon the desk in front of him with a resounding bang. Green jumped from his seat, horrified. "Leave, now," Jim commanded. His body and voice trembled as he spoke.
Green's eyes flicked from Jim to (a now standing) Sebastian, then back to Jim once more. "I don't think you fully comprehend-"
"Leave before I kill you," Jim hissed venomously.
Green, now deathly pale, stumbled backwards to the door and let himself out. Jim waited until the sound of his harried footsteps faded to nothingness before bending down and picking up his chair. There were streaks of blood on his desk and he stared uncomprehendingly at the crescents his nails had dug into his palms.
He still felt sick and light tremors periodically wracked his frame. Cold sweat beaded on his brow and wet his underarms. He swiped away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Boss, Jim." Sebastian said gently, causing Jim to cringe.
"What?" he snapped, feeling shaken.
Sebastian said nothing, but his calloused fingers pressed a tissue into Jim's hands.
Jim didn't thank him, he just cleaned the blood from the shallow cuts, folded the cloth and wiped down the table. At least he hadn't bled too heavily. He crushed the tissue in his fist and tossed it into the waste-basket
"Not trying to complain, but we really could've used him," Sebastian said after a prolonged pause. It would've been impossible for the most simple-minded individual to miss the curiosity present in Sebastian's voice.
Jim twisted around and lunged forward until their faces were less than two inches apart. "I don't give a shit about some snotty CEO's prick son!" he snarled.
Sebastian didn't flinch away. He just stared dispassionately into Jim's eyes, and then shrugged as if it was no biggie. "Whatever you say, boss."
There was tiniest hint of derision placed on the word 'boss'. Given his current mood, Jim could have snapped Sebastian's neck for the slight. Instead Jim glared hard at him, then leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose.
"Irene Adler'll be in soon," he growled before flinging himself back into his seat, cupping his elbows in his palms and rubbing them soothingly. She'd better be in soon anyway, or she might as well consider herself a corpse.
1984
"Hold still, will you," Samantha Moriarty chastised gently in her soft Cork drawl. She gripped Jim's chin between her fingers and thumb, taking a prolonged look at his injuries. The pain emanating from his wounds, the taste of blood in his mouth, and his mother's deepening frown felt out of place with the comforting scents of dinner heating in the oven and the aroma of her favourite apple candles surrounding them.
Jim sat patiently on the chair she'd pulled out for him at the dining table, swinging his legs a bit as her hands ghosted over his face. The toes of his trainers barely brushed the floor, and his hands rested on his knees, fingers plucking at the loose fabric of his trousers. He was still humiliatingly short and small for his age.
His mum sighed and dabbed at Jim's broken lower lip with a soft cloth soaked in antiseptic. Jim grimaced but stopped squirming, compartmentalizing the pain emanating from his injuries with difficulty. Not only in his split lip, but the bruises forming on his right cheekbone and his lower abdomen. There were minuscule slices on his forearms as well, from where he'd braced himself on the pavement earlier.
Jim looked steadily into his mother's dark-brown eyes as she worked, determined to remain unflinching as she tended his wounds. Her hands were gentle on his abused flesh, but he loathed the comfort now as he hadn't when he was younger.
He didn't need this. He needed to be allowed to go to his room and plot his revenge in privacy. That wasn't exactly a decent thought to express aloud, however.
"Who did this to you, James?" she asked for about the hundredth time.
He shrugged non-committally. "No one. It was just an accident.."
She regarded him sceptically and opened her mouth, most likely to interrogate him further, but before she could speak the front door opened and his dad plodded inside. He was a rather huge man with a thatch of thinning grey hair and shrewd dark blue eyes. There was a tired sort of smile on his face, but it slid off almost comically when he saw Jim's condition.
"What the feck happened to him?" he nearly shouted. He tossed his small briefcase on the table with a
thud and wended his way around the table. He practically shoved his wife out of the way to kneel in front of Jim and grip his shoulders in his large hands.
"I tripped on the way home from school," Jim lied defiantly, glaring fiercely at his parents even as his injuries throbbed anew.
Mrs. Moriarty stood by watching them, chewing her lower lip anxiously, arms crossed protectively over her stomach. "I think it was that Sean Hughes," she blurted suddenly. "I really should have a talk with that lad's parents."
Jim scowled, hating everything about her in that moment. Her inability to comprehend his needs, her timidity, and especially the way her accent shifted from Cork to Dublin in subconscious mimicry of his father because she was ashamed of it.
"Is that true, James?" His father watched him intently, hands holding him in place. The faint smell of chemicals broke through the clinical smelling soap he must have washed up with earlier. Today must have been a lab instead of a lecture day.
Jim nodded reluctantly.
"Did you give him a decent knock in return?"
Jim shook his head. "He's a lot bigger than me," he confessed, face burning.
Mr. Moriarty huffed an annoyed breath. "It doesn't matter. You can't let
anyone walk over you like that, or others will see and it will never stop. You have to defend yourself, or you'll be pegged as a weakling."
"Arthur," Jim's mother protested shrilly.
They both ignored her. "I'll get my own back," Jim whispered angrily, looking his father right in the eye.
After a moment his dad nodded and gave his shoulders one final squeeze. "Good man." He stood and grabbed his briefcase. "Now help your mama set the table?"
"Yes, sir," he agreed, eager to end the conversation.
While his dad went to his room to change, Jim helped set the table, pretending he didn't notice his mum's concerned expression, daydreaming of the myriads of ways he would like to make Sean Hughes pay.
Jumbo Jet. Dear me, Mr. Holmes, dear me.
A ghost of a smile flitted momentarily across Jim's face as he reread the text before deleting it and cleaning out the rest of his messages. He let his hand and phone flop onto his stomach and leaned his head back to watch the national news with a disinterested eye. He'd slung his jacket across the back of the couch and was sitting cross-legged in his armchair. His stomach growled, and he honestly couldn't recall the last time he'd eaten. It mattered little as it was nearly six in the evening, which Sebastian would be home soon. Probably with a disgusting pizza in tow.
He closed his eyes and Daniel Green's handsome face flickered behind his lids, smirking. Jim gritted his teeth, body tensing. "Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath. It'd been almost two weeks and still he couldn't let it go. He'd even found the damned video. It had been quite easy. It had made its merry way around several rapey porn sites. Jim hadn't been able to watch it, though he had downloaded it with the savoury idea of leaking it to a hungry journalist. In spite of his intentions, the video just sat untouched in his downloads folder like a nettled viper waiting to strike.
Jim didn't want to smear the young man's name quite yet. He had other plans first.
Several minutes later Jim heard Sebastian's careful, even tread outside the door before detecting the scrape of a key sliding into the lock. Jim sat up quickly and straightened his tie, attempting to look alert. He gazed at the shifting, colourful images on the television, trying to appear as though he was paying attention to what was going on in the wide world.
As predicted, when he turned his head, he saw that Sebastian was juggling a large pizza box and a plastic bag bulging with what were obviously an array of various convenience store items. There was a dissonant jingle as he dropped his keys onto a cabinet and headed for the kitchen, snapping on the lights. "You hungry?" Sebastian called.
Jim slid out of his armchair and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it. "A bit," he answered, stepping into the kitchen behind Sebastian and leaning against the counter, watching as Sebastian occupied the island. "I'll take a piece of that."
Sebastian smiled a little at the demand and fetched two plates from the cabinet. He dished the slices out in utter silence. The voices of the news anchors echoed eerily through the flat. "How did it go?" Jim asked eventually, as Sebastian rescued the cheese that was attempting to make a bid for freedom, pulling it apart in stringy ropes. The quiet between them was making him edgy.
Sebastian sensed the tension and regarded Jim warily, sucking grease off his thumb. "Smoothly. He didn't put up too much of a fuss, though that might change after he's had a little while to calm down; to feel safe. When people feel safe they do stupid things."
Jim hummed in agreement.
"What's going on with you?" Sebastian inquired seemingly out of random. There were dark smudges under his eyes from who knew how many sleepless nights, yet his gaze was as sharp as ever. Jim knew that some of the guys teased Sebastian by calling him Hawk-Eye, and Jim loathed that easy camaraderie.
Jim grimaced and looked elsewhere, not yet ready to answer. He reached around Sebastian and snatched his plate from the island, biting into a slice of pizza with more relish than he usually reserved for the vile food. He wrinkled his nose when he tasted onions, but kept chewing. Sebastian didn't join him, waiting patiently for Jim continue. Jim swallowed his bite noisily, desperately uncomfortable all of a sudden. He loathed for anyone (even Sebastian) to see him do anything as human as eat.
He grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth, stalling for time.
"I want you to apprehend Green," he said when he felt sufficiently composed.
Sebastian's eyebrows shot up nearly to his fringe. "That rich-bitch wanker you turned down a couple weeks ago?"
"That's the one." He tried to sound blasé and thought he succeeded fairly well.
"Why? He didn't seem worth your time. And what am I supposed to do after I have him?"
They were definitely getting a bit too comfortable with one another if Sebastian was questioning his demands so easily. It was beginning to irk him. "Just bring him here. Make sure you don't leave a trail."
"To our home?"
"Yes," Jim said, fighting to keep his temper in check. All he wanted to do was let it loose, give it free reign.
"Are you sure that's wise? It's difficult enough keeping this place off the radar without offing people inside of it." He sounded upset.
Jim narrowed his eyes and set his plate down. "I don't care how mad it is. I want him brought here. Soon."
"What am I supposed to do with him then?" Sebastian asked stiffly. He straightened his posture, which meant Jim had to look up at him.
"Nothing, until I'm through with him."
Sebastian looked genuinely surprised. "But you don't get your hands dirty."
Jim grinned toothily at him, exasperation dissipating rapidly. "There are always exceptions, darling."
Sebastian smiled uneasily and dug into his own pizza, clearly unamused. His eyes were worrisomely guarded.
Jim felt his stomach twist, wondering if Sebastian was planning to abandon him; if his mood swings were becoming too much to handle. He'd be the first to admit he had been particularly volatile the last couple weeks.
In spite of -or perhaps because of- his worry he stepped up to Sebastian and wrapped an arm around his back, so they were chest-to-chest. His other hand rested on Sebastian's shoulder. Sebastian turned his head to the side, away from Jim's face, and Jim could sense the carefully controlled anger in him. It was difficult to ignore his first instinct, which was to lash out violently at the rejection.
"I need you to do this for me, baby," he murmured oh-so gently, brushing his lips over Sebastian's jaw. "It's off the clock. Personal. You're the only one I can trust." That was true enough. "I need you to trust me in return."
He tasted sweet victory when Sebastian's arms came around him, drawing him closer. "I know it's dangerous, but I have to take care of this, Sebastian." Death threats, while quite effective motivators, were entirely unnecessary where Sebastian was concerned. Jim had far stronger incentive to apply. "Do it because you love me," he wheedled softly.
Sebastian relaxed entirely in his arms and sighed deeply. "All right," he said against Jim's temple. "I will. Anything."
"Thank you so much, baby," Jim said, glad now that Sebastian wasn't looking at him to see the roguish grin cross his face.
"Fuuuuck," Jim exhaled slowly as Sebastian's lips wrapped around the tip of his cock while one of his hands rolled the foreskin down exposing the head so that he could traced random patterns across the glands with his tongue. Jim's breath stuttered and he drifted his hands across his torso, flicking at his own nipples until they were hard nubs. His skin and hair were still damp from his shower as he'd barely had time to towel off before Sebastian had been upon him. Nearly a month of unintended celibacy had left him highly receptive to every little touch.
Sebastian pulled off for a moment and jacked him slowly as he licked his wet lips, eyes gleaming in the lamplight Sebastian had insisted upon leaving on. "C'mon, no teasing," Jim complained half-heartedly, voice too husky to bear much weight as Sebastian bent his head and lapped up the small beads of pre-ejaculate already oozing from his meatus.
Jim let his head fall back against the pillow with an aggravated groan as Sebastian continued to ignore him in favour of pulling Jim's foreskin back over the sensitive head of his penis and gently smoothing his palm over it.
Jim reached down blindly and cupped the back of Sebastian's head, wanting desperately to give an insistent tug to his blond hair. Unfortunately, Sebastian had gotten a buzz cut several weeks ago and the follicles hadn't yet grown long enough to grasp. Jim compromised by rubbing firm circles into the nape of Sebastian's neck with his fingertips.
Sebastian hummed his approval before taking Jim inside his blessedly hot, wet mouth, sinking down until his entire cock was lodged in his throat. Jim gasped and curled his toes, hips moving in restless grinding circles as he fought the urge to thrust. But when Sebastian began moving up and down -throat constricting deliciously in long, languid swallows- Jim couldn't hold back. He pushed his hips up hard and pulled Sebastian's head down at the same time until his prick was buried and Sebastian's nose was nestled in his closely trimmed pubic hair.
After a small huff of exasperation, Sebastian relaxed and let Jim fuck his throat. Jim did just that for several glorious minutes, albeit slowly, not wishing to damage his throat but relishing the wet half-choked noises Sebastian made on every upward thrust. He kept going until he felt an urgent heat pool in his abdomen and harden his prick even further. He dug his nails lightly into Sebastian's scalp in warning, not wanting to come before the real fun began.
Sebastian popped off at once. A thin thread of saliva briefly connected his tongue to the head of Jim's cock. Jim inhaled sharply at the sight and heat coiled low in his belly. Sebastian gave his own prick several rough tugs, lower lip blanched between his teeth as his eyes roamed greedily over Jim's body.
"Come here," Jim demanded, opening his arms.
Sebastian settled over him at once and captured his lips. Jim smiled at his blatant eagerness and reached between their bodies to stroke Sebastian's cock slowly, content just to kiss for a bit.
Sebastian detached himself from Jim's mouth far too soon for his liking however, and kissed along his jaw, nipping lightly every now and then. Jim tilted his head back in reluctant acquiescence and released Sebastian's cock to run both his hands across Sebastian's bare back, kneading muscles and tracing the familiar indents and ridges of old scars.
"Can I fuck you?" Sebastian asked before sucking Jim's earlobe into his mouth and worrying it with his teeth.
Jim hesitated a moment, uncertain, before nodding his consent.
"Yes," he practically whispered.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" Sebastian said, scraping his teeth over Jim's Adam's apple.
"I already said yes," Jim huffed, even though his heart was racing and Sebastian's not-insubstantial weight pressing him into the mattress was becoming less welcome by the second.
Sebastian kissed him again and Jim could feel the smile against his lips. "Hands and knees?"
"No, uh, I wanna stay like this — for now."
Sebastian nodded and kissed way down Jim's body, paying particular attention to Jim's clavicle and nipples, teasing them with his tongue and light scrapes of his teeth. When Sebastian reached his pelvis he shoved gently at Jim's thighs. Jim -getting the memo- obediently hooked his elbows around his knees and pulled them close to his chest, exposing his body to Sebastian's whims. A small 'mmmm' of pleasure issued from his throat as his thighs brushed his hard nipples.
"That's perfect, Jim," Sebastian murmured breathlessly, kissing the base of his cock almost apologetically and rolling his testicles in one of his large palms before sucking one whole into his mouth.
A whimper -a legit whimper- worked its way out of Jim's throat at the unexpected action. He may as well have received a well-placed blow to the solar plexus, his breath shuddered out of his body so quickly. That was new. That was very new. A drop of unease travelled to Jim's stomach and he licked his lips nervously, finally breathing again when Sebastian gave the gentlest of tugs and let it fall from his mouth.
"Is this okay?" Sebastian asked eagerly. He looked far too happy with himself.
"Yeah... more than okay," Jim gasped, even though he wasn't positive. He didn't have a heart, but even so, he couldn't bring himself to tell Sebastian to stop. It was obviously something he'd been practising especially to please Jim. "Do the other one."
Sebastian smiled wickedly and gave his other testicle the same careful treatment, taking the entirety of it into his mouth and caressing it with the flat of his tongue. Jim bit his lower lip as tension of a less pleasant sort took the place of his arousal. What the fuck was wrong with him? It felt incredible, yet...
Before he could voice his discomfort, Sebastian had moved on. An inadvertent ah escaped his lips as Sebastian's tongue flicked over his arsehole. He usually loved rimming –his favourite kind of foreplay in all honesty– but that knot of nervous tension only grew tighter.
Sebastian, for once unaware of the war raging in Jim's head and body, spread him open further, tongue sliding a coy route along his perineum then back to his hole. Jim tilted his head to the side, regarding the worn spines of the Philip K. Dick novels stacked on Sebastian's side of the bed. His damp hair clung to his face. He read the titles over and over to prevent himself from bursting into a full-scale panic attack. I can control this. I am in control.
He couldn't stop him in the middle of things. Sebastian would know why.
With the threat of imminent shame looming over him, Jim forced his body to remain lax as Sebastian dipped a forefinger coated with lubricant inside of him teasingly, then inserted his middle finger as well. "I think you're ready for my cock," Sebastian chuckled.
But when Sebastian positioned himself between Jim's thighs and pressed his slicked cock to Jim's hole, the terror burst free violently. With a sharp protest he sat up and lashed out, fist connecting with Sebastian's shoulder with a meaty thud, sending him reeling off their bed.
"Don't!" Jim shouted.
He rolled over and curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his legs and hugging them close. Jim realized he was shuddering, loosing rapid breaths between his clenched teeth. The slick openness of his body was deeply unpleasant and demeaning now as opposed to sexy. His cock was entirely flaccid.
"Do you want me to go?" Sebastian asked quietly, like Jim was a wounded animal that needed comforting; he hated him for that. The last person to see Jim like this... well... she hadn't lived long enough to spread rumours. But it was Sebastian. Jim couldn't resort to that this time, could he?
"If you wouldn't mind," Jim said in a more calm tone of voice. He sounded bored in the extreme, which was excellent. But it didn't matter. Sebastian was looking at him. Really looking, as though he'd stripped away Jim's flesh and could now examine his secrets at his leisure. "Please, just leave." He sounded like a sullen teenager, but it was preferable to sounding broken.
"I'll sleep on the couch," Sebastian said, walking carefully around to his side of the bed and grabbing a pillow and the book on top of the pile. He didn't ask Jim what had happened. He didn't look angry or scared; only very tired. He snatched up his pants from the floor as he made to stride from the room.
"Sebastian," Jim said, causing him to halt in his tracks. "Get Green for me. I need to finish it." He felt if he could just get his hands on the man and do what was necessary everything would be fine again, for always. Green's friends whom had participated didn't matter, just him.
Jim wasn't afraid of pain, nor was he afraid of dying, but he was afraid of being made to feel small. And he felt incredibly small as Sebastian stared him with those brand-new x-ray eyes he seemed to have acquired, trying to make sense of Jim's current state.
"Give me two more days," Sebastian said before leaving.
1984
Jim listened with keen ears from his bedroom as his parents shouts echoed through the house. He looked down at his grammar homework, pencil suspended over the sheets as the words blurred before his eyes. His father's voice was gruffer than normal with resentment and his mother's hysterical and wavering. They probably didn't even realise how loud they were being."-have to talk to someone, Arthur! We both know he's responsible and it's time that he owned up to it!"
Jim's dad's voice was deceptively calmer, but Jim could imagine the red flush staining his face and neck very well as he answered. "Would you have him expelled? Is that what you want?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "And if it's anyone's fault, it's yours," she added spitefully.
"I'm not going to punish the boy for defending himself."
"Defending isn't the word I'd have chosen." Her accent had drifted back to Cork and her tone was suddenly softer. "There's something wrong with him, Arthur. He's not..."
"Not what, exactly? Are you trying to imply that he's retarded or something? Because, judging from his test scores that's very far from the case."
"You know that's not what I meant," she said coldly.
He sighed heavily. "Hughes is going to be back in class next week. No lasting harm done. Why can't you just let it go?"
"He needs to own up to what he did, apologise, and then we need to find a counsellor or therapist... or, or someone who knows how to deal with this sort of behaviour."
"Absolutely not," he said bluntly. "He already has a hard enough time as it is without the other students thinking he's even more of a freak."
Jim flushed angrily and let his pencil drop to his desk. It rolled off onto the floor where he made no move to pick it up.
His mum laughed humourlessly. "I don't care what you want. He needs help, and frankly we do too."
Before his dad had a chance to reply, Jim heard the front door slam. He watched from his window as she walked briskly down the pavement, probably on the way to her sisters. Jim felt resentfully impressed; it was a rare occurrence indeed when she stood up to his father.
When his dad called him to dinner an hour later, neither of them mentioned Sean Hughes or the argument that had taken place. Throughout dinner Jim feigned ignorance easily enough, prattling on annoyingly about the lessons he'd had that day while his dad chewed robotically at his food. His dad nodded and hmmm'd every time Jim paused to draw breath, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. When Jim rose to clean the dishes, he didn't think his dad saw him at all.
By the time Jim went to bed, his mum still hadn't returned.
Jim woke in the middle of the night, hair standing up on his arms and neck. He held his breath, unsure of what had wakened him so abruptly. He pushed himself up in bed and listened hard. All that came through was the rustling of leaves from the wind rushing through the trees outside. He licked his dry lips and slid out of his blanket, certain that something was off.
He decided to investigate.
His bare feet were chilled when they touch the floor and he curled his arms around himself as he crept out of his bedroom. His heart thudded too loudly in his ears, blood rushing. Hyper-awareness dictated his movements, and he unfurled his arms so he could drag his fingertips against the rough plaster wall as he made his way to the sitting room. He knew instinctively that something was deeply wrong.
Then he heard it.
Harsh yet muted, a skidding noise, breathing and a continuous lewd, wet sound. He turned the corner to the sitting room and stopped dead, blood running cold as he saw.
The first thing he comprehended was his mother's purse lying on the floor, contents scattered, and the most inane thought ( mum's home ) fluttered through his head.
The second was her, her body propped against the back of the couch, held up by his father's weight. Her dress was hiked up around her waist, exposing her pale thighs and her pants were twisted around her ankles, looking almost fluorescent in the dark.
His father was lodged between her writhing thighs, thrusting brutally, face screwed up in a grimace of what appeared to be agony, but he didn't make a sound. A thin rivulet of something black trickled down his mum's leg. Her mouth gaped in horror and her eyes bulged, tears streaming from them in rivulets. Her gaze was fixed blindly upon the ceiling. The dark brown of her irises looked absolutely black in the non-light. Small, pained animal noises burst from her throat in regular intervals. She might have screamed, but his father's hands were wrapped tightly around her neck, effectively closing off her trachea and leaving only a thin passage for her to wheeze through.
Jim watched in horror for perhaps another ten seconds, torn on which direction his feet wanted to carry him, than turned and padded jerkily to his room, not knowing what else to do. As he burrowed back under the covers something black and visceral as he'd never experienced rose inside him like a furious, inescapable tide. It was akin to what he felt when Sean Hughes was having a go at him, but amplified times a million. He didn't want to simply disgrace or maim. He wanted to eviscerate, to kill. The feeling was terrifying and heady.
Less than ten minutes later he detected his dad's footsteps walking back to their room. Two minutes later, his mother's steps passed, veering off into the bathroom. A shower started.
Jim laid awake for the rest of the night, adrenaline surging, glaring at the wall as if he could burn it down with his eyes alone. Every time he closed them, his mother's face intruded; the image of his father viciously fucking into her; the blood running down her leg.
He got out of bed when his mum knocked on the door, calling him for breakfast. He dressed slowly, masking his emotions as best he could before going to the kitchen.
A plate of fried potatoes, eggs and waffles (because she knew he hated toast) awaited him, but he had no stomach for it. His eyes kept straying to the scarf covering his mum's neck, the way the swaying of her skirt didn't quite mask the way she limped as she walked, the hurt hiding behind her smile.
With a jolt of horror, he realised he'd seen her like this before, many times.
Was that how he'd been conceived?
His father interrupted his thoughts, striding into the kitchen and ruffling his hair gaily. "Eat up, you can't learn on an empty stomach."
Normally Jim would have pointed out that that was, in fact, false. He was too busy watching their interactions to do more than nod. So perfectly coordinated, such skilled acting. How many years had they had to perfect it?
Jim honestly didn't know why he cared so much. He didn't even like her much. Maybe it was because he knew what it was to be shamed, beaten, put in your place. Or perhaps, no matter how indifferent he felt, you just didn't let anyone harm your mother. All he knew was that he was resolved to do something about it.
"Aren't you hungry, James?"
"Yes, mum," he lied, digging in. He ate every last bite.
She didn't mention Sean Hughes that morning.
