Hello there~ I had the idea for this buzzing around in my brain developing itself for days. It had to be written. Set just before the conclusion of The Great Game (1x03).
Contains: MorMor (Moriarty/Moran), graphic sex (?) and some swearing.
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (c) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Sherlock BBC (c) Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat
It was not unusual for Sebastian Moran to find himself perching in strange places.
He had once camped out on a castle rooftop for the better part of three nights for no discernible profit, and another time he had become trapped in a cavity wall when the unexpected arrival of his target had forced him to hide. He was used to being flexible and adapting to these situations and the problems they presented. He never complained about these bizarre circumstances, only asked for a slight increase in his payment (the cavity wall incident had cost his employer an additional hundred pounds for faulty supply of the target's whereabouts and schedule). He accepted them as part and parcel of his job. He was dispassionate about needing to squeeze himself into strange locations for the perfect vantage point. It did not affect him.
But he had, to his mingled irritation and aggravation, found that this particular location was… vexing. It was by no means a difficult location to place himself within, to blend into with the ease of a professional. He did not require special passes or alibis or bribes. All he needed, in fact, was a casual change of clothes, a wallet, and the ability to order a coffee and to find a window-seat in this small café.
In a logical light there was no cause to find it vexing, if one did not count the noise of inane chatter and the squealing of small children being given milkshakes and sugary cakes.
No, the reason for his vexation was that he needed to occupy this position at all. Looking out of the window like a casual tourist or perhaps an office clerk on a break, he had a perfect view of the front entrance of Bart's Morgue, as well as several decent views on windows and a fire escape. He wasn't being paid to sit here in this frankly second-rate café drinking third-rate watered caffeine and sugar, and the information he gleaned from his surveillance would serve no one but himself. In fact, if his employer – though he repressed a shudder at the impersonal term – discovered his observations he would not be happy. You didn't hire an assassin to stalk you, after all. You hired him to kill the target.
Moran sharpened his attention as a very familiar figure, accompanied by a skinny young woman, stepped out of the entrance. He narrowed his eyes slightly, allowing his specialised sunglasses to act as binoculars, 'zooming in' on his target. His face was expressionless but a sick feeling rose in the pit of his stomach as he watched the man grin in that charming, disarming way of his and lean in to kiss the blushing young lady's cheek.
He had to restrain the impulse to tighten his hold on the slim back case in his lap, containing a high-powered, silenced rifle, complete with laser sights and a support. From the outside the case appeared to be some sort of musical case, perhaps holding a flute or even a clarinet, but the instrument within allowed only death to split the air, rather than music.
No, Molly Hooper was not to be terminated. It was unnecessary, wasteful, inefficient and would contradict the plan, the Game that his 'employer' had spent so long constructing. It was part of the plan to make Molly like him, like the man Moran had been following faithfully since the start of his contract a few years before. It was part of the plan that Moriarty – he bit his lip slightly at the mere thought of his name – would see the great Holmes. The girl was necessary, the only morgue technician who could stand to be around the consulting detective. Through her, Moriarty could get to Holmes.
He didn't have to be so damn convincing as her new boyfriend, though. He didn't have to look so… happy.
Moran silenced that thought before it went anywhere else. Of course he had to look happy, that was part of the deception. Stop being an idiot, Sebastian.
He tore his gaze away from them as the Hooper girl blushed and tentatively kissed Moriarty – his Moriarty, the cheek of the girl – on the lips for the first time in their 'relationship'. Moriarty had employed himself in the IT department for the past week to build up a rapport with Hooper, and had gotten impatient enough with her infatuation with Holmes to make his move.
Moran took off the specialised sunglasses – only a little conspicuous wearing them inside, it was a bright day – and frowned minutely down at his cup of noxious caffeine. He should stop this surveillance, it was only angering and hurting him. It had no useful purpose. But despite himself, his eyes found their way back to Moriarty across the road. He watched the graceful lines of Moriarty's arms as they circled around Hooper's waist, tracked his eyes down the smooth curve of his spine and the planes of his back, the muscles contracting visibly through his tight T-shirt as he pulled Hooper close. He watched with hungry eyes as Moriarty parted his lips to press wetly against Hooper's, saw the grin in his expression. The glint in his eyes that only Moran could recognise, even from this distance, as the thrill of deception rather than enjoyment of a kiss.
He tried to pull his gaze away again but was only partly successful; his eyes locked on the near-mesmerising sight of Moriarty's fluorescent green underwear, the waistband just visible over the top of his tight, low-slung jeans. His hands itched to touch the fabric that he knew would be silken, and warmed from the heat of Moriarty's body. He wanted to run his hands over Moriarty's back, dig in his nails, scratch furrows of desire into the criminal's back, marking him as taken, as none of Hooper's business. He body tingled with the phantom desire to be the one in Moriarty's arms, his mouth being explored by that clever tongue.
Moran swallowed thickly and with sharp, efficient motions snapped open a newspaper, holding it to block his view of the entryway to the morgue. He mastered himself, blindly reading stories of celebrity marriages and council disputes. This blip in his professional scheduling concerned him a little. He was not currently 'on the job', so by rights he should be home, or perhaps at the Bagertelle Card Club, frittering away his time and trying to distract himself from the gnawing, empty sensation that gripped him whenever he was not in Moriarty's presence. He should not be following Moriarty, he should simply leave the café and walk away, await further instructions. Perhaps Moriarty would have a job for him again soon. Maybe he would even want to meet him for a more personal reason.
Moran shook his head and accidentally glanced over the top of his newspaper, and squashed the instinct to curse foully. How long could he drag on a kiss? Honestly.
Not that Moran had ever objected to those smouldering, lingering kisses that sent shivers of pleasure sweeping through his body, that teasing crush of their mouths that only made them both hungry for more.
He was fiercely glad when Hooper broke the kiss, breathless and flushed. She waved goodbye to Moriarty and headed back into the building, looking giddy. Moriarty waved back and strolled away casually, the smile dropping from his face as he walked to be replaced by his customary look of closed-off introspection, perhaps a hint of satisfaction. As Moran watched him walking with that oh-so sensual roll of his hips, his head weaving slightly from side to side, Moriarty flipped open his phone, tapped into the keys and put it away with a smirk.
Moran's pocket vibrated and he automatically checked his messages.
Did you enjoy the show, dear? Meet later, I've got a job for you. My place. JM
Moran clenched his jaw at the teasing implicit in the text. Moriarty had obviously known Moran was watching. He had probably prolonged the kiss just to wind up his associate, knowing it would aggravate him. Moran had no idea how he had been spotted, but grudging respect welled within him; this impossibility was just one of the many reasons his mind and body were so tangled up in Moriarty.
Moran didn't reply to the text and left the café, no longer needing the pretence of drinking the slop of caffeine that everyone in the western world seemed moronically addicted to consuming. He slung his 'clarinet case' over his shoulders and walked calmly to the nearest Tube station, keeping an eye on Moriarty sauntering on the other side of the street. Moriarty smirked and glanced his way just once before climbing into a taxi, the second that their eyes met sending chills down Moran's spine.
Moran spent the rest of the day shopping around in some less-than-legal establishments, idly looking for any upgrades to his impressive weapons cache. When you were in his sort of business you had to stay at the top of the game, with the best possible tools, or you would fail. He knew that 'later' referred to a time just after half ten, from trial and error. So he had time to waste.
But just the simple knowledge that Moriarty wanted to meet him later made him restless and threatened to make a smile break on his normally impassive face. Moriarty hadn't wanted to meet with him in quite a few weeks, as Moran had been out of the country for a previous job and hadn't been required since. He was a disciplined man, aside from this blip of following his employer, and had tried not to ache for his employer in the time apart. He had tried very hard. And anyway, he was so hopelessly ensnared by Moriarty that he was ruined for anyone else, even his hand. It just wasn't the same, and wasn't nearly as satisfying as those infrequent, heady nights where he was the absolute centre of Moriarty's attention.
As the day crawled towards 'later', he dressed smartly in a nondescript black suit, his dark purple shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He briefly debated wearing a tie – Moriarty always appreciated formalwear – but, with a bitter clench of his jaw he decided to leave it, a small mark of rebellion that would not go unnoticed. He combed his dark hair haphazardly, the slightly-longer fringe curling above his grey eyes. Normally he would gel the hair away from his eyes if he were on a job, but he wanted to ruffle Moriarty's feathers a little by appearing just a touch more casual than normal.
He armed himself easily, slipping small pistols into a double shoulder rig, sliding small but sharp knives into sheaths on his forearms and calves, and finally slipped a stiletto knife down his left boot. It didn't hurt to be prepared, and nowadays it was second nature to him to arm up before leaving the house. Such was the cut of his suit, however, and the skill with which he armed himself that a casual bystander would instantly forget him, thinking him perhaps to be a funeral-goer, or attending a social function. No one would suspect him of being a damn fine assassin.
Moran made his way through the busy London night to a small detached house in a calm, almost suburban part of the city. He backtracked and doubled on himself numerous times, checking he was not being followed. No one was to know the location of this house. The secret of its owner was far more valuable than his life.
He pulled a key from its place on a chain around his neck and let himself in, closing the door quickly behind himself. He made his way to the living room, noting the small changes to the décor as he walked; another painting here, a small statue of a Greek god in the corner. The lights and heating were on, illuminating the comfortably wealthy house; Moriarty was here already, then.
He sat easily on the sofa in the living room, waiting for Moriarty to appear. It wasn't his place to go looking for the man. He would make himself known in his own good time.
Usually the game Moriarty played with him would set his heart pounding with anticipation, pooling pleasurably in his groin, but today Moran had no patience for it. Remembering Moriarty's little performance with Hooper put a sour taste in his mouth. He was just annoyed. He sunk into dark thoughts, unconsciously getting a knife from his sleeve and spinning it around his fingers, a nervous habit he had picked up recently after being sent to perform surveillance on DI Gregory Lestrade, who twirled his pens when he was trying to think.
"Coffee?" A light voice, with a wisp of an Irish accent, enquired from the doorway. Moran refused to look at him even though he ached to gorge his hungry eyes on the criminal.
"You know I can't stand it," He said instead, his voice neutral but low in tone. He failed to see the importance of speaking louder than was absolutely necessary.
"Oh really?" Moriarty said playfully, sitting across from Moran on a plush chair that looked like it had been transported direct from Victoria's reign. "I thought you had six cups of the stuff today in that little café."
Moran couldn't avoid looking at him now and let his gaze linger, heat flaring under his skin. Moriarty was dressed as impeccably as always, and somehow managed to make a two-piece suit look comfortable and effortless. White shirt, fitted to his moulded body like a second skin, light grey trousers crisp at the seams and somehow making his legs look longer as one draped itself over the knee of the other. Dove-grey blazer with a neatly folded white handkerchief in the pocket, unbuttoned as he lounged in his chair. Westwood. His hair was neatly arranged, just a touch of gel. He was dressed up tonight.
And that knowing smirk that bored right though Moran, accompanied by a tilted eyebrow that silently enquired, finished ogling me yet? His eyes were cold, but bright with anticipation. He licked his lips, drawing Moran's gaze there irresistibly, setting his own lips tingling with memories of previous kisses. Moriarty's gaze travelled slowly over Moran as well, sending pleasurable shivers down his spine. Moran felt like he was being undressed and devoured in that gaze, especially when Moriarty's eyes caught on the carelessly unbuttoned collar of his shirt, revealing a teasing triangle of tanned flesh. Moriarty's pupils dilated a little and his eyes drilled into Moran at that spot, seemingly lost in his thoughts.
Moran mimicked Moriarty's position, resting his ankle on the knee of the other leg, and his hand on the raised leg. He knew the motion would stretch his shirt and trousers just a little over his muscled body. Those dark, dark eyes became deeper, the master criminal's pupils dilating fully as his breathing became just a little heavier.
Moran's lips twitched; Moriarty wasn't the only one who could play a tease.
"These suicide-bombings," Moran said quietly after a moment, revelling in the temporary control he had with Moriarty fairly staring at his chest, legs, hands, crotch. "Why didn't you hire me for the sniper?"
"The work is beneath you, darling," Moriarty replied in that playful tone of voice, lips curling in a smirk as he met Moran's eyes. "I knew you'd want something a bit more challenging."
I want to be beneath you, Moran's idiot brain supplied for him longingly. He ignored it. "So what's the new job?"
"I'm glad you're all dressed up," Moriarty replied, grinning slowly. "It's going to be a fun night. Sherlock saved the last 'bomber', and I'm simply waiting for his next move. I know what it'll be, though."
"What?" Moran asked, irritated just a little at Moriarty's inability to give a straight answer.
"He'll want to meet me," Moriarty grinned, eyes and teeth glinting white. "He's met Jim the IT technician, but he'll want to really meet me tonight."
"I take it you saw him then."
"Ohh yes," Moriarty breathed, eyes darting up to the ceiling in remembrance. "He's very good, you know. Picked out the little gay act in just a few seconds. Kinda dishy too, you know." He laughed.
Moran didn't reply, but the knife spun a little faster in his fingers, a mark of his annoyance. He swallowed down the bitter bile that rose at Moriarty's easy compliments of his nemesis. Did he have to compete with Holmes now as well? And it was just a trick, was it? Hypocrite. Damned hypocrite that he couldn't help but ache for.
Moriarty glanced back down to survey his companion, his expression flickering slightly at Moran's lack of response.
"Anyway, the job tonight. I need to you dress up that adorable house-pet Sherlock keeps around and play sniper at the location. That's more of what you wanted, isn't it?"
Moran nodded once; it was a simple enough job, needing no further explanation.
"The usual rate, of course," Moriarty smiled.
Moran nodded again crisply. Irritation crossed Moriarty's face for a brief moment before he schooled himself.
"Jesus wept, what's with the silent treatment tonight? I know you're not a talkative bugger but still, Moran." Moriarty said, rolling his eyes and the last syllable of Moran's name in a way that he knew made the sniper hot under the collar.
Moran suppressed a shiver and smirked just a little, bitterly pleased that his rebellion was getting under Moriarty's skin. Moriarty surveyed him for a moment then chuckled. "Oh, that's cute. You're jealous, aren't you?"
Moran shot him a scornful look but didn't deny it, choosing instead to watch the flickering knife blade as it danced around his fingertips. There was no point denying things around Moriarty, and he didn't like being lied to.
"You are!" Moriarty exclaimed with an almost childish delight, clapping his hands and leaning back in his chair. "That's really very adorable, Moran."
Moran said nothing, fighting the impulse to blush. A master assassin does not blush. Fuck, a master assassin shouldn't be this ridiculously attached to his employer. It simply was not professional.
"Aww, was it watching me snog Molly's face off?" Moriarty cackled playfully, pulling a mock-pouting face. "Did it make you jealous, Moran?"
Moran's eye twitched, an uncontrollable reaction to the sick anger in his stomach. Moriarty caught the twitch and was about to say something when a laptop on the coffee table whirred with an alert. His attention snapped to the device and he checked it, a predatory grin stretching his lips.
"The Pool, midnight," He read out. "I told you he would want to meet me. Ooh, our first date. How do I look?"
Moran rolled his eyes and slipped the knife into its sheath, not bothering to respond to Moriarty's blatant teasing. "I'd better go find Doctor Watson," he said in a clipped voice, standing up; Moriarty rose with him, head tilted slightly to one side.
"You really are upset," Moriarty observed, blinking in surprise. "How precious."
"Took you long enough to notice," Moran said, the words slipping out before he could recall them. He grimaced and made to leave, annoyed with himself for giving that much ground.
Moriarty grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back into the room, looking up at his face with a fascinated curiosity. Moran was a few inches taller but it didn't often feel that way.
Moriarty raised a hand to touch Moran's cheek, a gentle caress that set his face tingling, blood pulsing through his body. "Oh dear," Moriarty said softly, rolling his Rs teasingly, making Moran's hands shake just a little. "Have I been neglecting you, Sebastian?"
He pressed close, shepherding Moran back against the wall, eyes glinting with anticipation. Moran was too distracted from hearing Moriarty call him by his name, a rare gift, to demur.
"Oh dear, oh dear me," Moriarty purred, stroking his hand through Moran's hair and pressing close, the fabric of their suits rustling. "I didn't realise you were properly jealous, I thought that was just for fun."
Moran couldn't meet his eye, turning his head so that Moriarty's hand stroked down his cheek. He hated himself for the weakness but the desire that pulsed through him on seeing Moriarty's smile more than made up for it.
"Poor Sebastian," Moriarty cooed, trailing his other hand down the assassin's chest to press against his crotch, cupping his already-hard member. Moran sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes at the touch, craving it and hating himself for needing it. Moriarty smiled and pressed his hand harder, watching eagerly as Moran's lips parted of their own volition, an admission of enjoyment. "You know Molly is just a means to an end, silly."
"You seemed very happy to be kissing her," Moran pointed out a little breathlessly, feeling Moriarty's hand stroke him slowly through his trousers, his erection only growing harder. His fingers scratched a little at the wallpaper.
"Well of course," Moriarty replied impatiently. "Otherwise she'd think something was the matter. Has your brain gone walkabouts today, Sebastian? Usually you're so much smarter than this, smarter than the little folk who never open their eyes."
"You haven't wanted to meet me in so long," Moran admitted reluctantly, catching his breath in reaction to Moriarty's slow ministrations. "I thought…"
"Silly Sebastian," Moriarty laughed. "I didn't mean to neglect you. You haven't even touched yourself since last time, have you?"
Moran gritted his teeth and shook his head sharply, mortified. How could Moriarty know that? He must have cameras in his house or something, he though blearily. Moriarty chuckled darkly and ground his hand against Moran's groin; a soft gasp escaped Moran's parted lips.
"How loyal," Moriarty chuckled, drinking in the slight breaks in Moran's composure. "You must be bursting," He drawled. "Aching for a quick release, right?"
Moran shuddered and scratched at the wallpaper, trying to keep his face impassive while he was teased, his blood pounding hotly through his body and carrying sweet waves of desire with it. They always had this game. Moriarty loved to try and break his will, loved seeing him abandon all control. In trade for the merciless teasing that would entail, Moran would fight him as long as possible, keeping a straight face. Everything was a game to Moriarty, and Moran was happy to play as long as he got his release.
"I suppose I owe you one," Moriarty grinned, watching the muscles in Moran's cheeks twitch as he fought to keep a blank expression. "For being so loyal."
He took off his jacket, taking his hand away for a necessary second and pressing back even harder once it had been removed. He rolled up his cuff and with quick motions unbuckled Moran's belt, undid his trousers and yanked his underwear down to the floor.
Moran bit his lip hard, brow creasing in concentration as he fought to keep from crying out, from panting, from urging Moriarty on as the delicious sensation of Moriarty's hand wrapping around his shaft threatened to overwhelm him. He had been aching for this, dreaming of it and jumping in the shower every night, trying to quell the lust that just the thought of Moriarty could induce. Full-on sex would have been even better, of course, but he was lucky to even get handled like this. It had been far too long since their last personal meeting.
Moriarty rubbed his hand up and down, creating as much friction as he could, his hot breath bathing Moran's neck. Moran tried to reign his impulses in, but it had been too fucking long, and Moriarty was right, he was desperate. His expression flickered between an impassive mask and anxious distraction. He didn't notice when he stopped biting his lip and short, harsh pants escaped his throat. He noticed when Moriarty squeezed harder, rubbed faster, chuckling all the while.
"Come on now Sebastian," He sang gleefully. "I know you don't like to talk but I want to hear something now. I know you're close, come on.."
Moran clenched his jaw and swallowed the spit that was accumulating in his mouth, still playing the game of refusal.
"No?" Moriarty laughed and rubbed his thumb along the damp tip of Moran's erection; he groaned harshly, the sound reverberating through his chest, unable to stop himself. "Ah, that's better! So sensitive after so long, Sebastian… I am impressed. But come on now, don't you want to let go? Let it all go, you know you'll enjoy it…"
That groan had released the floodgate, and he couldn't stop himself from moaning, panting and whispering obscenities as he teetered on the brink, kept back from release.
"That's very good, Sebastian," Moriarty grinned, rubbing along the wet slit again, his hand slick with Moran's pre-cum, "But I want a little bit more now. You know my name. Say it. Say it, Sebastian."
"Jim," Moran groaned, his control snapping and feral need sweeping over his features. He writhed against Moriarty's – Jim's – hand, desperately seeking his long-awaited release. "Oh fuck, Jim…!"
His whole body shuddered as he finally, finally came, Moriarty's name pushed harshly from his throat. He slumped against the wall, panting for breath.
"Mm, very good," Moriarty purred. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
Moran helplessly nodded, opening his eyes just in time to witness the marvellous sight of Moriarty offhandedly sucking the cum from his hand, a languidly pleased expression on his face. It was for moments like this that Moran suffered through the teasing, stayed with Moriarty and sought no other clients, endured the jealousy and remained totally loyal.
Moriarty leaned up and murmured into his ear, "Don't worry, Seb. You're too much fun to cast aside."
Moran grinned foolishly, experience allowing him to translate that into a profession of fidelity.
"You know what? How about later, after this little job, we make an evening of it. What do you say, Seb?" Jim grinned, watching Moran's face light up.
"You promise?" Moran replied, raw need slipping into his voice before he could control it. He gave up trying to be impassive and clutched at Jim's shirt, uncaring that he would crease it. He didn't care that he sounded weak, that he had lost this game of wits for this round. He just knew he wanted him even worse than before, as he always did, insatiable and falling deeper every time.
Jim smiled in a manner that could, on anyone else, be construed as a tender expression. "I promise, Seb." He leaned up and kissed Moran's eagerly waiting lips, teasing him all over again. When he broke the kiss Moran was panting again, half-erect. Jim laughed and stepped away.
"Goodness, Sebastian, for such a calm man you're very… animated today." Jim smirked. "And I'd love to have you right here and now, believe me." Moran shivered and started redressing, biting his lip to contain a grin. "But we do have this little job to take care of first, unfortunately. You get to play with Semtex, though."
"That makes up for it a little," Moran smiled, briskly tucking himself and his shirt back into his trousers, clearing his throat and assuming his blank mask again.
Jim grinned and pulled his cuff back down and his jacket back on. "Let's be off, then. I can't wait to get back."
This is developing a life of its own. BI There will be a chapter 2.
Hope you enjoyed reading it, if you'd take a moment to leave a review I'd really appreciate it. :)
See you next chapter~