James Moriarty scanned the crowd in the dingy bar. Not his usual company, obviously. But he was here on business, so he ordered himself a black velvet at swanned around the dimly lit room. The strains of old rock music and the smell of cigarettes swirled around him, no doubt clinging to his (very expensive) suit. Oh well, he could always burn it and get a new one.
He checked the photo on his phone. Taller than average, sandy blond hair, sea green eyes. Quite the dish, actually. He looked around the room again, looking for what was promised to be the best sniper in London. Perhaps Europe.
The bar was hot and busy, full of people who had long since hit rock bottom, drowning their sorrows. Plus that fact, the alcohol was starting to go to Jim's head. He didn't hold his drink very well as he didn't drink often. Disliked loosing control. Jim headed outside through the back door, pushing through the throng of alcohol-soaked nobodies, hoping to ease his swimming head and cool his flushing cheeks.
The cold London air was like a smack in the face and Jim relished it, taking a deep breath of pollution, exhaust fumes...and something else. A slightly higher class cigarette. And gunpowder. How he loved the smell of gunpowder.
He let his eyes drift along the lowlifes outside the bar until the stopped on a man. Taller than average, sandy blond hair, sea green eyes. He was dressed in dark, ripped jeans and thick leather biker boot and the arms of his tattered leather jacket were pushed up to his elbows. His blond-ish hair flopped carelessly just above his eyes, a shadow of stubble gracing his chiselled jaw.
Everything about the man alluded to danger, even the way he was standing, leaning against the wall with one foot up against it, ready to spring to life should the occasion arise. One hand held the neck if a bottle, swinging it casually. The other held a cigarette between two long, slender but calloused fingers. He brought it to his lips, cheeks hollowing as he sucked from the filter, and blew out the smoke. Jim was completely seduced.
Jim sauntered up to the man and stood next to him, leaning back on the wall. His suit was already ruined, a little muck wouldn't harm anymore.
"Colonel Moran," he drawled, not looking the man in the face, keeping his gaze straight ahead of him. The man raised an eyebrow at Jim, looking him up and down. Smartly dressed, well groomed. What the hell was he doing in a place like this?
"And you are?" He answered, subconsciously turning his body slightly towards Jim. "A potential employer," he said, finally turning to face the Colonel, "I hear you're quite the shot, Sebastian," he added, quieter, a sly smile creeping into his voice. Sebastian cleared his throat, ducking his head slightly do the smaller man could hear when he spoke quietly, "You heard right," he purred, unsure as to why he was confessing this to a man whose name he didn't even know. "Good," Jim replied. He turned on his heels suddenly and started to make his way back to the front entrance of the bar where his car was waiting.
Sebastian frowned, immediately following. That man was like a magnet, and Sebastian was but a shred of iron, powerless but to be drawn to him but unsure why.
He pushed his way through the bar, trying to keep sight of the small, dark haired man. When he finally emerged from the place, Jim was leaning against his car, arms folded across his chest, smiling smugly. "Coming, Colonel?" He asked, head titled as he opened the back door. Sebastian hesitated a moment. He looked at Jim, at the inside of the car, and then behind him at the murky bar.
Whatever this man was offering had to be better than living alone, just ahead of the bread line, slowly drinking away his army pension. He nodded, ducking into the car.
Jim smiled to himself, sliding into the car gracefully into the car after Sebastian. "Who are you?" Sebastian asked softly, feeling more than a little intimidated by the smaller man. Jim smiled a slow, cat-like smile. He held out his hand to Sebastian.
"Call me Jim, darling."