Before Sebastian Moran started working for Jim, he had 12 scars. Some were on his hands, a few on his legs...most of them were on his back from the time he spent hostage in the enemy camp in Afghanistan. They were big and ugly and he hated them.
In the first two years of his employment under Moriarty, the number of scars tripled. It wasn't that he was bad at his job; he wasn't. He knew he was good and he was one of the best snipers around, even if Jim refused to acknowledge it. No, many of the scars were of his boss' doing. Jim got kicks out of making him bleed. He would tie the sniper to the bed or to a wall in one of their warehouses and he would come at him, knife sharp and breath hot.
He was only scared the first time it happened. He had woken up by the docks on the Thames and as Jim advanced on him, Sebastian had to wonder if that was where he died, at the hands of a mad Irishman. But with the first cut came the first moan of pleasure. He wasn't sure who did it first. It didn't matter.
It was dangerous for him to be in this position. Jim treated him as nothing more than his sniper and personal body guard that he used for sex more nights than not. For Sebastian, it wasn't that simple. Perhaps it was his addictive personality, the craving for affection that he didn't get as a kid or whatever other bullshit a therapist would spout at him about it, but he was falling head over heels for the maniac.
If someone asked him what it was he liked about Moriarty, he wasn't sure he would have been able to answer it clearly. There wasn't any one thing.
He liked that Jim could be playful. Some days he would get home and Jim would have tied himself to the bed in nothing but Sebastian's shirt. When the sniper peeled it off, lace panties would entrap Jim's leaking cock and Sebastian would moan and devour him until his jaw ached.
He liked the way Jim could distance himself from everyone. Not once had he shown any sort of affection that wasn't sexual towards Sebastian. Jim had the best poker face in the business and Seb supposed that was why he had gotten where he was today; because Moriarty didn't care about people.
He liked that Jim was a good cook. Only when he wanted to be, of course. Most days Sebastian would have to cook or they'd end up with takeout but when Jim did make something, usually a small cake for a birthday or profiteroles when he was bored on his day off, the food was spectacular.
He liked that Jim treated his body as a canvas. Each cut, each burn was an artist's stroke, marking and adding meaning and memories to the already marred drawing board. Whether the cuts were spur of the moment or meticulous and careful, Jim did all of them with pride like a child showing his drawing on the family fridge.
One day, three years into their fucked-up agreement, Sebastian didn't return home from a job on time.
He had been in an empty apartment, waiting for the fat prick next door to leave his flat when around lunchtime, he headed out. Seb knew he always went downstairs to pick up a curry and flirt with the hookers at the bar which meant the sniper had an hour to sneak into the flat, steal the flash drive and bail. If it were up to him, he would have just killed the bloke but Jim said he was too prominent to go missing without someone noticing.
It all went according to plan to start with. The asshole left his flat and Seb gave him a few seconds before he let himself in. It was dingier than his own place next door; the floorboards were warped and splintering, the kitchen was a bacteria farm and the bin overflowed with old Chinese containers. The only nice thing in the apartment was a state of the art computer that sat next to the window. He got to work downloading the files he needed and he was only halfway done when a floorboard creaked behind him. He whirled around, expecting to see the fat bloke back, certainly not expecting a group of what appeared to be Russian mobsters with quite large guns advancing on him.
Sebastian cursed and his gun was out in a second, taking out the guy closest to him with a shot to the head. The ginger man behind him copped a bullet to the knee before he let off a round that lodged itself in Sebastian's gut. He had never been properly shot before, only grazed and they had happened on the battlefield where there was no time to worry about them. It was like fire splitting him open from the inside.
Moran fell to his knees with a cry of pain. This wasn't supposed to happen. He raised his gun and fired, catching the next man in the groin. He fired off a few more rounds, not entirely sure where they went but when he looked up all of them were dead. He stumbled to his feet, feeling weak, the world spinning around him. He snatched the flash drive and shoved it in his pocket, stumbling more than once on the way back to his apartment.
He was losing blood fast and he managed to pack his things and shoot a text to Jim before he passed out on the fire escape.
According to the driver, he slipped in and out of consciousness on the way home, Moriarty's henchman having found him before it was too late. Seb didn't remember when he stopped screaming. He wasn't even sure he did.
When Sebastian awoke, his whole body ached. The world had stopped spinning if only for a moment. The room was familiar. Thick curtains held the sunlight outside where it belonged and the satin sheets felt cool and refreshing against his heated skin. The bandage around his stomach itched.
He was home- not in Jim's room where he spent most of his nights now, rather in his own room. It hadn't been used much if at all in the past year as he found himself sleeping better with the small body of warmth beside him. If Jim had noticed, he hadn't said anything. He seemed to rather enjoy having Sebastian at his beck and call anyway.
It was a struggle to get up. When finally, he managed it, he touched the bandages, fingers brushing the edge of the gauze. Heat rose in his chest, anger and embarrassment colouring his cheeks. Jim would be pissed.
Slowly, almost cautiously, he made his way downstairs to find the criminal mastermind with a cup of tea in one hand, the newspaper in the other, looking like the picture of innocence. Sebastian was relieved to see the flash drive of information by his boss' side.
Jim didn't look up as Sebastian moved through to the living room, not even speaking as he sat down, noticing only then the plates of food that covered the coffee table. Cakes, scones, slice, Jim's famous profiteroles, even tarts let off an aromatic fragrance that filled the room and Sebastian moaned gently, reaching for a lemon slice. A pale hand slapped his away and Jim sat down across from him, still not looking up from his paper.
"You've got a hole in your stomach, tiger. No sweets for you."
But Sebastian only grinned.
He knew what he liked about Jim.
He enjoyed Jim's playful side, the way he would surprise him with little things after a hard job; new toys here, new lingerie there. Money couldn't buy happiness but for Jim it was as close as he was going to get.
He liked that the criminal was reliable, always keeping an eye on him for something to go wrong. He never doubted Sebastian's ability, just rolled with his mistakes, made him learn from them.
He liked him because, even if he didn't tell Sebastian to be safe before a mission, even if he didn't perhaps confess his love for the man or show any sort of affection outside of the bedroom, Jim, a man who never did anything for anyone else, had gone to all this trouble of cooking and baking for him, out of worry and that was affection enough for him.
Besides, maybe he'd have a few new scars at the end of it all too.