He woke in the morning with a hell of a hangover. He grunted, reaching up to rub at his eyes, and debated the merits of trying to get back to sleep versus actually moving and getting pain relievers out of his bag. He compromised, reaching for the bourbon on the bedside table instead.
Lorna woke up when he moved, having taken over the middle of the bed in her sleep. She groaned, cracking her eyes to watch him grab the bourbon. She wasn't as hungover as him - she'd been less drunk. But she did have a stale nicotine patch on her arm. She sat up, covers falling around her waist, and peeled the thing off with a look of distaste. "Morning," she rasped, looking back at him.
"Shh..." He grumbled, taking a sip from the bottle and making a face, putting it down and flopping back onto the bed, pulling the covers over his head.
Taking pity on him, she rolled out of bed and went about the business of making coffee, getting dressed, and drawing the curtains, shutting out the morning sun. If their plane was cleared to fly tonight, he'd probably be better by then, but if not they would probably end up spending the day in darkness. It would be risky to wander around outside if the Don was motivated to find them. When the coffee was done, she leaned over the bed and tapped his shoulder, mug held out to him.
He shifted out of the covers and took it with a nod and a grunt of appreciation.
She simply nodded in return, taking the bourbon from the nightstand and moving it over to the desk as quietly as she could to keep him from being tempted. If he just kept going it would turn ugly. Either way, she would wait for him to recover a little before she tried to strike up a conversation.
He sipped the coffee slowly, nodding as she removed the bourbon. He'd just wanted a sip to keep the edge off, but the coffee would help. Then a lot of water. He took a few slow breaths, reaching up to rub at his eyes, letting himself settle.
She kept herself busy as he slowly worked on the mug of coffee, first gathering up her scattered clothes from the night before to pack away and retrieving the small camera before getting out her laptop and settling down onto the love seat, popping out the SD card and plugging it in. Better to send it to Jim sooner rather than later, especially if something happened to the camera. As soon as she sent them off she shut the laptop again and packed the camera away. She had the habit of keeping herself busy whenever she didn't want to think too closely about something, and last night was one of those things. She wasn't sure how to feel about the situation, although she did know what to be with herself; angry.
He finally drained the mug, sighing. "Thanks," he said hoarsely. "I generally know better than to get this hung over." He set the mug aside, and stood, stretching, still buck-arse naked. He headed into the bathroom, shutting the door, and the shower started up a few moments later.
Lorna didn't see the point in responding, just nodding from where she was on the sofa, doodling on hotel stationery. She was a little surprised that he'd gotten so hungover, though - she expected that he'd have a better tolerance. She supposed not.
He came out a few minutes later, drying off, and walked over to his bag to find clothes. "Should have known better than to drink that much," he muttered. "Was out in the sun all day and didn't have access to water. Was already dehydrated."
She smiled slightly, looking up over the pad of paper. She'd sketched out a rough picture of Morello - she had rather a collection she liked to keep at home for all her targets. Then, at the end of the year at Christmas, she burned them all. "We all know better in hindsight. There's a couple glasses on the shelf in the restroom if you want to down a few liters."
"I'll get there," he sighed, pulling on a shirt. "What're you doing?" He stood, walking over to look over her shoulder. "Morello?"
"Yeah," she confirmed, tilting the paper to show him in a better light. "Hobby of mine. I draw all my marks. Burn them at the end of the year. Morello wasn't ugly, either, which is a nice change," she hummed, returning her attention to the sketch.
He nodded, considering for a moment, before turning and starting to gather his things, packing up. He pulled out the scope he'd taken out of the car yesterday, starting to wipe it down, removing any dirt or dust it had accumulated.
"When can we leave?" she asked to break the silence, resting the stationary in her lap for a moment. "I miss London. The skies here are too... open, you know?"
He nodded in understanding. "I'll call the pilot, see what things look like," he said, walking over to sit on the bed and pull out his mobile, dialing the number and, after a moment, starting to chat quietly with the pilot. Eventually he hung up, tucking the phone into his pocket. "He says they should be cleared for takeoff in about an hour, so we should get a car to get going soon."
"Cool," was all she responded with, tearing off her sketch and folding it up to slip it into her pocket. Then she made sure she was packed - bourbon and vodka included - and set her bag on the bed before sitting next to it. "Jim has the pictures of the files, so when we get back he'll probably have read them."
"Probably," he agreed, nodding. "I should probably read them on the flight back. He'll want to discuss them."
"Alright. They're pretty dry, though. A lot of crap about past business deals, what happened when those businesses tried to back out. Standard mafia stuff," she shrugged, flopping back onto the bed with a huff. "I probably wasn't supposed to read them but they were all right there."
"Of course they were," he sighed, smirking slightly. "Careful, Harrison, or you'll get my job whether you like it or not."
She grimaced, making a grossed out sound. "Ugh, don't even joke about that, Moran, that sounds like the worst. I don't nearly have the ability to handle being around Jim for more than an hour, let alone the desire for sniping. Blegh."
He laughed. "Both can be learned with a little patience," he snorted. "Not that you have any."
"You're hilarious," she retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "But I really, really don't like leadership positions. I'm worried I'll abuse the power."
"That's the fun part," he smirked. "But don't worry. This position won't be open anytime soon, and if it were, you would not be a candidate."
She huffed, looking up at him. If he'd been less likely to hit back, she would have smacked him. "Rude. Keep in mind I totally didn't kill you in your sleep last night. Will I pass up the opportunity again?"
"Not if you don't want my job," he laughed, shouldering his bag. "Come on. No point in staying here any longer. Let's go find food and then get the hell out of here."
"Sounds good to me," she sighed, sitting up and grabbing her own bag to follow him. "And you said I wasn't a candidate!"
"So I'm lying one way or the other, suppose you'll have to wait until I'm dead to find out which one," he snorted, heading out the door.
Lorna shrugged, shutting her behind her and taking a few long strides to catch up with him. "Or I could just tie you up for a few days and see if you tell me. I don't know, just an idea."
He laughed. "Good luck with that," he snorted, heading down the stairs to avoid the sluggish elevator.
"No, no, see, it'll be easier than you think, cause you'll wake up like that," chuckled, trotting down after him. "I know where you sleep, remember? I mean, my live-in room is right across from yours, and you've got that cute little mailbox outside with your initials on it..."
He smirked. "If you think for a second that you'd be able to get to me in that room, you're sadly mistaken," he snorted. "Besides, even if you did- which you wouldn't- Moriarty would have you killed in a matter of days."
"What, simply for tying you up and asking a series of innocent questions?" she scoffed, trying and failing to stifle a smirk, then bursting out into snickering, her face turning pink from holding in the laughter she really wanted to let out. "So I guess that means no bondage, then?"
"I suppose that requires consideration," he snorted, rolling his eyes as they reached the last landing and walked out into the sunlight. He squinted a bit, but kept walking. "Time find a cab."
Lorna raised her eyebrows. "Really? You think they have cabs in a town this small? Let's either steal a car or take the one we had last night. Don't be ridiculous."
He glared at her, but sighed. "That car's gone, was just for the day. Let's go steal something, then."
"Okay. Choose, and I'll jack," she hummed, adjusting the bag strap on her shoulder as she twisted to unzip her bag. She had a lot of experience stealing cars. In fact, she'd even made her own tool, which she now had in her hand. It didn't come up often, but it was a good time when it did.
He nodded, starting to walk towards a parking lot. "As much as I'd like to take something fun, we should probably keep a low profile."
She nodded, scanning the cars she could see, twirling her fun little tool in her hand. "What about a black sedan?"
He nodded. "Black or tan," he said, looking around. "That one there," he said, pointing to a charcoal four-door near the back of the lot. "Dust on it, looks like it hasn't been used in a few days."
She made an affirming sound and headed for it with a business-like demeanor. She dropped her bag when she reached the driver's side, braced her feet, and stabbed the lock. Her tool had a very specific purpose. It was, actually, in fact, a re-purposed grappling hook. When she yanked the tool out, the lock mechanism came with it. "You wanna drive?"
He raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. "Yes." He walked forward, pulling the door opening and unlocking the other doors, before tossing his bag into the back seat and climbing in. He shoved the driver's seat way back, bending to start hotwiring the car.
She climbed into the passenger seat and did the same thing with her bags before rifling through the glove compartment in curiosity. Useless junk, mostly. "You want a pair of sunglasses, being all hungover and whatnot?"
"Sure, if you've got them," he said. There were a few sparks and the engine roared to life. "And... liftoff."
Lorna pulled a pair of aviator sunglasses out of the glove compartment and handed them to him, smiling. "There you are, Mr. Bond."
He wrinkled his nose slightly at the comment, but put them on anyways, sighing slightly as they reduced the glare and he shifted the car into gear, reversing out of the parking space. "Alright. Let's find this damn airport."
"I would help, but I was asleep for pretty much the entire ride here and thus I no longer know where here is," she shrugged, buckling her seat belt once they were moving. "If I can help some other way I'll be glad to. I think you still have a few dares left. I could moon someone out the window."
"Yes, very useful," he snorted, getting onto the highway that ran through the countryside, starting to read signs. "I know the general direction..."
She chuckled, resting her head against the window and watching the scenery go by. "If you need to, we can always stop and I'll ask for directions. Better?"
"Slightly," he snorted, grinning just a bit. A few minutes later, though, he pointed to an exit sign with a picture of a plane. "Hey, interpreter, I'm assuming that says 'airport'?"
"Yes," she smiled, rolling her eyes. "Good guess, Mr. Bond." She'd seen it irk him earlier and that was only reason to use it again. "Although it's kind of a cognate, so..."
He muttered something back about her being a cognate, and pulled onto the exit ramp, hitting the gas.
She knew some people who would be alarmed with Sebastian's driving. She herself was only slightly perturbed by it. And she kept a strong grip on her seatbelt. "Do you always drive like you're being chased?"
"Might as well practice for those times that I am," he shot back, drifting around the corner and then revving it onto the next stretch of highway.
She continued holding onto her seat belt, giving him a dry look. "Okay, okay, I see you have some very impressive driving skills for someone who looks like the Aryan dream man. You happy?"
He smirked, relenting on the gas peddle slightly, if only because they were trying to stay under the radar, literally. "I suppose I can accept that. Aryan dream man? Really?"
Lorna snorted, deciding not to make it easy for him. "Yeah! You would have been really popular in Germany during the 1940's."
He rolled his eyes, not responding as he returned his attention to trying to hunt down the airport.
She smiled smugly to herself. She still had it. "You look confused. You know it's the leftmost lane, right?"
"Perfectly aware," he growled, heading for it. "I thought you were going to be helpful."
She made an 'mmm-hmm' noise, looking out the window again, this time to hide her face from him. She was too smug for him to handle while he was driving. "Do you have fun ignoring me?"
He didn't respond, though he smirked, as that in and of itself was a response. He pulled off the exit for the highway.
"I'm glad you enjoy it, Aryan Superman," she chuckled, surreptitiously checking to make sure that he'd pulled off on the right exit. He had.
"Careful what you start calling me, I got a lotta dirt on you," he smirked. He revved the engine.
"Oh, really? Name the dirt, then," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest and looking back at him with a scoff.
"Nah, I think I'll be saving that for the right moment, thank you," he smirked as they pulled into the tiny airport.
She held up a finger to him, raising her eyebrows. "Wait. Are you telling me that you're not going to tell me my own dirt? I know all my dirt. I just want to know what dirt you have, Tiger. C'mon, spill."
He didn't respond, smirking as he slid into a parking space. "Come on, let's go find our plane."
"Moran- Moran! C'mon, tell me what you know!" Lorna insisted, grabbing her bag out of the back and getting out of the car. "What's it going to take, huh? I'll give you that bottle of bourbon you liked so much. C'mon."
"For starters, I've got Morello, which would be fun to toss around," he smirked, tossing his bag over his shoulder. "Then there's Ryan D., and of course your escapades under a certain V. Armetti... a few hits there that would be frowned upon even in our circles..."
She almost missed a step, although she recovered with a loud cough and a muttered swear as she followed him, ducking her head as her cheeks flushed. "That- that wasn't really a choice, Moran," she retorted defensively, clearing her throat. "Nevermind, nevermind, you win."
"Don't play with fire, little girl," he said just loud enough for her to hear, heading across the TARMAC towards a covered waiting area.
"You are so gonna pay for this," she growled, following him and glaring at his damnably muscular back, plotting revenge.
"I haven't done anything," he said, looking over his shoulder at her and flashing his teeth. "I could. But I haven't. You pushed, you wanted to know."
"You're all smug about it, that is totally unacceptable," she shot back, setting down her bag as they reached the covered area and reaching up to snatch the sunglasses from his face. "Hah! Burn, hangover man."
He squinted at her, mildly annoyed, but shrugged, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "I'm not going to melt from a headache."
"First of all, I'm just going to start doing really small, barely annoying things to slowly torture you into madness. Second of all... You're aware that burning and melting are two completely different things, right?" Lorna asked, raising an eyebrow at him skeptically.
"I am aware, yes. And you work on that. I'll let you know if it's working." He sat as well, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. It was odd... How much he was chatting with her. That was unusual. He was generally taciturn, but over the course of this mission they'd become more and more talkative. Now it could almost be called banter. He frowned.
She chuckled at the expression on his face, stuffing her hands into her pockets as she watched the plane slowly roll up. "You're really not hard to annoy, just in case you forgot. I suppose irritate is the better word - I worry about annoying you."
He smirked, standing and grabbing his bag. "Just be careful you don't set me off, and we'll be good."
She stopped herself from making a crack about the previous night and just snickered instead, standing as well. "Let's go home, huh?"
He nodded, watching as the plane stairs were lowered and starting up them. "Sounds good to me." He tossed his bag on the luggage rack once he reached the top, and headed over to the couch, sprawling out on it with a contented groan.
She followed up after him, glad to be back on the plane - it meant she was going to be going back home, back to her own empty bed where she wouldn't have to pretend to be disinterested and sober. "Sometime when you don't have a hangover - do you think Jim would be more or less upset by using his plane for fucking rather than smoking?"
Seb raised an eyebrow. "I'd have to catch him in an incredible mood," he muttered. "Or he'd have to not know."
She settled back onto the couch on the opposite side of the room from him, humming in agreement. "I'm not even sure what moods come with which events. Remember a couple years ago, before he faked his death, when he was playing games with Holmes? He was like a rollercoaster."
He snorted. "You're telling me," he said, sighing. "He's mellowed out slightly the past few months, but still. He's difficult to learn how to handle. It takes time, and you have to avoid getting killed in the process."
"I know," she shook her head, "He scares the living hell out of me, I'll tell you that. He's impossible to read. Kind of like you. Although you're just really, really hard," she sighed, massaging her forehead.
He laughed. "Jim isn't impossible. You just have to learn his tells. He has them. Every human does, and, despite arguments to the contrary, Jim is human."
She shrugged, suddenly exhausted. It was probably the light hangover she had catching up with her. "I don't know. He's human, yeah, but he's a lot more in control than the rest of us. Even you."
"I'm not saying he's not on a different level, he is. And sometimes, there isn't much you can read off of him. But other times... he's an open book." He shut up then, confused as to why he was talking so much, and kicked his feet up on the couch, lying back with an arm over his eyes.
"You're weird, Moran," she sighed good-naturedly, turning onto her side and making herself comfortable. "Just so you know."
"Finally, now that you've made that pronouncement, I can truly live. What was my life before it?" he asked sarcastically, expression not changing, body unmoving.
She threw one of the throw pillows on the couch at him. She was glad they were named that, now that she thought about it. "If you spliced together a bunch of chapters of your life, most would be of you on a roof with a gun and a mug of black coffee cause you didn't have the time to do anything else to it. I know what your life was before, Tiger."
He snorted, shifting slightly so the pillow fell onto the floor. "If you say so," he grunted, stretching slightly. "So, are you at the top of your career list?" Change of topic, but oh well.
"You mean for all of Boss's grifters? Yeah. Those suckers have nothing on me. Unless you mean for at the top of what I want to do with my life, and that's also a yeah. I have small dreams," she muttered, sinking into the cushions of the couch. "These are really comfortable..."
"That's what I meant," he said, stretching for a moment with a grunt as the plane started to prepare to take off. "And being the longest-lived grifter in the world's top crime organization isn't small."
She gave a mild shrug, folding her hands beneath her head. "I started young, it gives me an unfair advantage. But I suppose. It does make me a little nervous around the others, though. Or maybe watchful is a better term. That's why I hang out with the hitmen more often."
He laughed. "Yeah, imagine how I feel," he snorted. "All you little runts could be out for my job, or my head, or both." The plane started rumbling down the runway.
"As tall as you are runts is a tad bit insulting," Lorna chuckled, bracing her feet and shoulders against the couch. She had been through some rocky plane rides. "If it makes you feel better, though, I understand."
His smirk didn't falter. "Whatever you say, Lorna. I meant status-wise, but if you want to allow it to mess with your compounded consciousness of being short, go ahead."
She blinked, looking over at him. Had that been the first time he'd ever actually said her first name? She cleared her throat, looking back up at the ceiling and pretending to not have noticed. "Have you seen the heels I wear? I deal, I'm fine."
"Risky decision," he pointed out. "If you have to run, you're either in heels or barefoot." He got a grip on the back of the couch as the plane started to take off.
Lorna shook her head. "No, no, I'm as good at running on my toes as I am as running barefoot, and that's better than I am in sneakers. That's unless I'm running downhill, of course. Really easy to get scrapes on the bottoms of your feet that way. Not fun."
He laughed, rolled his eyes. "If you say so," he muttered as the plane finally got off the ground, jolting slightly as it started to ascend.
She let out a long sigh, a little relieved they'd gotten off the ground okay. Finally headed home. Which sounded ridiculous, considering they'd spent a day in Italy. "Maybe you should take a nap. Sleep it off, huh?"
"I was planning on it, but you keep talking," he grumbled, straight-faced.
She laughed quietly and then fell silent, letting him rest if he wanted. Hell, she wouldn't mind sleeping through the flight either.
He grinned just slightly as she laughed, then sighed, shifting to get more comfortable. Before long, he was out.
Unfortunately for her, she never passed out. Two hours later they landed back at the small little airport they'd come from, and smoothly enough that Moran didn't seem to wake up from it. A little surprising, but then, he was hungover. So she grabbed her bag from the bins overhead and the prodded Moran's shoulder with a careful hand. "C'mon, Tiger, we're home."
He woke suddenly, his hand tightly around her wrist and twisting it to an awkward- bordering painful- angle, while his hand reached for the knife that was usually under his pillow. Then he caught sight of her face, took in the situation, and released her. It all happened in less than a second. He stood, walking over to grab his bag. "Finally."
Lorna kept her arm limp as he woke up, having found it years before to be an effective way of staving off sprained joints from stronger grasps than hers, and when it was over pulled her hand back good as new. "That was my thought, too."
He slung the bag over his shoulder, opening the plane door. "And he's got a car waiting for us. Brilliant."
"Oh, that's nice of him," she sighed out, relieved. She didn't need to deal with a cabbie today, especially since she didn't have a pound on her. "I suppose he's in a good mood, then."
"Seems so," he said, starting down the stairs and towards the car. "A few times he's told me to walk or he'd have me shot, so yes, good mood."
"Jesus," she muttered under her breath, following him a step behind. There were few people she had to keep such careful track of, besides Jim and Moran. Maybe her mother.
He tossed his bag into the trunk and climbed into the back seat of the car, sliding over and strapping in. His hangover was significantly reduced, which was nice, and the cool darkness of the car was a plus.
She slid in after him, deciding it was better to simply stuff her bag at her feet. Jim's cars never lacked for legroom, after all, and she liked being able to watch things. It was one of the few aspects of control she liked to keep. "What are you doing tonight?"
He shrugged. "Depends on what Moriarty wants me to be doing. If I have the night off? I don't know."
"I have to call my mother," Lorna sighed, making a face. "She still thinks I'm an accountant. It's the only way I can think of to explain my strange hours, austere flat, and my lack of a personal life. There's probably a better explanation."
"Not necessarily," Moran said, shrugging. "That's why most of us cut family ties." He cracked his neck a few times.
"I tried. She found me. Again. I mean, we're talking about a woman who married a crime boss of her own, here. But I still didn't think she'd take it well, so..." she shrugged, turning to look out the window. The sky was the lovely gray she far preferred over a too-bright blue. And darker, luckily for Moran.
"More than one way to cut ties, but that's your business," he said, shrugging again. He reached up to rub at his eyes. "So, other than calling your mother, what are you doing?"
She gave him a slight shake of her head. "Hell if I know. Maybe I'll go the pet store and pet all the animals. Something depressing and sad, really."
He gave her a look that suggested he was trying to determine if she was kidding, or nuts, before shrugging and deciding he didn't care. "Whatever floats your boat."
She smirked over at him, then put on a face that said she'd just had a revelation. "Oh my god, you're right, I should go sailing! What better way to pass the time between getting reprimanded by you for laziness and terrified by Jim for no reason!"
He looked over at her again, studying her quietly. "I might kill you later," he decided with a nod. "It would be fun. I could sit on shore and put holes in your boat."
"Oh, don't be facetious, I'm sure you're perfectly aware I can swim," she rolled her eyes, obviously amused. She had fun irking him.
"And you're perfectly aware that once I'd had fun sinking your boat, I can shoot out your legs and arms," he shot back, smirking.
Lorna looked up at him, raising her eyebrows. "You saw that episode of Mythbusters, didn't you? Bullets lose most of their power in water, if they hit their targets at all."
He looked over at her coolly. "I trust my own experience over some American television show, actually. And if that really were a problem, I'd shoot you before the boat."
"As long as we're being logical about it," she smiled pleasantly, "Either way, I think you have enough mettle to kill me properly on the first shot, so I'm not going to worry myself about it, not if I'll never even have known it's happened."
"The more irritating you'll get, the more I'll enjoy taking it slowly," he pointed out with a laugh, opening his eyes to look at her.
"Oh, god, it's going to take days, then," she quipped, looking away from him to avoid meeting his eyes for too long. Joking was easier if he didn't think she was threatening him. Submissive people dropped their eyes first, after all.
He snorted as they sped through the city. "That's up to you," he retorted. He considered her for a moment, then returned his attention out the window.
"Don't ruin my good mood," she muttered, a little relieved that they'd pulled onto their street. Spending this much time in enclosed spaces with Moran was terribly intense.
He let out a short bark of laughter, but that was all, climbing out once they'd pulled into the garage and walking around to grab his bag from the boot.
She climbed out with her bag in hand, ignoring Malcolm's attempt at helping her; he had a misguided sense of chivalry. "I'll be in the lounge for an hour if you or Boss needs to see me, then I'm going home, Moran."
He nodded. "Understood. I'll let you know." He headed for the elevator.
She headed for the staircase, deciding she was done being in closed spaces with Sebastian Moran for a while.
Sebastian smirked as she avoided the elevator, hitting the button for the correct floor. He stood perfectly still in the elevator, before stepping out and heading for Jim's office, knocking on it.
"Come in," Jim called, standing at the opposite end of his office, looking out the window with a cup of tea in hand. He'd been waiting for them to return.
Sebastian pushed the door open, stepping inside, placing his bag near the wall as he shut the door. "Mission completed, Boss. I take it you got the photos?"
"Yes, I did, thank you," Jim nodded, turning away from the window and looking at Moran. His face darkened slightly, his eyes sweeping over him again, as if to check his math. "I do hope you intend to use that little crush of hers to your advantage."
He straightened slightly. Though he was used to it, the insight was still somewhat unnerving. He didn't let that show on his face. "I'm disappointed that you would think otherwise, sir."
"You're the one that fucked her, don't pull the disappointed card on me," he snapped, setting down his tea harder than was necessary. "You should know better than to try some shit like this without speaking to me first."
"I'm not allowed to fuck people without your permission now, sir?" He asked, his voice carefully free of sarcasm, though the words carried it anyway. "I'll make sure to phone home before the next screw."
Jim focused his gaze with all its deadly intensity on Sebastian, his grip white-knuckled on the desk in front of him. "The two of you? Yes. I am a tactician, Moran. The two of you are a mix I need time to calculate," he snarled, fighting not to throw something at him. "Not to mention Harrison is fragile as a piece of glass," he spat, standing straight again and fixing his tie. "Now she'll be thrown off for months. Who will fill her place? You? No. Some asshole who'll only fuck it up ."
"Harrison isn't going anywhere," Moran said, calm in the face of the storm, though he was watching each move warily. "Yes, she's got a fragile psyche. But I wouldn't have hired her if I didn't think she could handle herself. She'll be fine."
He snorted, rolling his eyes and letting out a harsh laugh at the other man's ignorance. "I'm a betting man, Sebastian, I'll admit that. You think that whatever little agreement you've struck up will be enough? Fine. But when it goes wrong for you, I'll be here with a big, friendly, 'I told you so'." He turned away, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked back to the window, falling into a vacuum-like silence. "Don't be so ridiculous next time."
He stiffened, eyes flashing, jaw tightening under the mockery. "If you would prefer it stops, sir, you're completely within your power to make that happen. Otherwise, I'm not sure what point you see in pursuing the issue when there are other, more important matters to discuss."
"I would prefer it had never happened in the first place, but now there's no fixing it, so I don't see a reason to stop it." Jim heaved a sigh, drawing his hands out of his pockets and turning to pick up his tea again, taking a sip before he continued. "Debrief me on the Morello case, then. I've read the files, but I don't know about the mission."
He took a few steps forward. "It was fairly easy, sir. We landed, went immediately to a party at Morello's as a husband and wife, looking to smuggle silks into Hong Kong. Harrison seduced Morello and got to his files once he fell asleep, while I covered her from both in and outside the building. She got what she needed and we got out. The plane wasn't ready so we spent the night a few towns over, and came back. No shots fired, no cover blown. I was forced to deal with a few persons who attempted to interrupt Harrison and Morello, but there weren't any major injuries."
Jim nodded thoughtfully, the dangerous mood seeming to have left him for the time being. "I'll be sending Morello that business offer I was considering. If he ever comes to London, I'll give you advance warning. It sounds as if he wasn't too happy to notice you two gone. Something about a declined invitation..? Thank you, Moran, that will be all. Shut the door on your way out."
He nodded slightly, heading for the door, stooping to pick up his bag as he went. He closed the door behind him, heading for the lounge where Harrison was waiting. "Watch your step around him for a while," he warned.
She frowned, looking up from the newspaper she had in her lap. "What? Wait, what happened?" she asked worriedly, the paper rustling as her fingers tightened slightly.
"He was furious at me for fucking you without permission," he said, leaning against the wall, expression unreadable. "Said you were fragile, and it'd fuck with your head. I told him it wouldn't be a problem. Will it?"
Lorna twisted in her seat to look at him properly, looking slightly helpless. "I think I can handle it, but I apparently don't seem to know myself as well as Jim does," she huffed, combing her fingers through her hair. "I don't know, Sebastian. I'm worse with myself than I am with other people. That probably says something bad about me right there."
He shrugged. "I don't think there will be a problem. Sometimes Jim is wrong. Just don't tell him that."
She nodded slightly, feeling more troubled than she thought she should as she picked up the paper again. The frown had still not disappeared off her face. She was already feeling conflicted, wasn't she? "What if Jim was right?"
He studied her for a moment, before walking forward and taking the paper, setting it aside. His face was stone, but he held her gaze. "Don't let everything Jim says get to you. If you do that, you won't last much longer here. You're getting the point where he knows who you are. He'll be more critical. If you let that get to you, you'll be dead within a year, and I'll be stuck finding a replacement." Without another word, he turned and left the room.
Lorna watched him go with something like shock, wondering what his game was. She had no idea what he wanted from her. It didn't seem normal for him to... look out for her like that. So she just picked up her paper again and went back to reading it. Better not to think about it.
Sebastian walked to the elevator and took it up to his apartment, stepping into it with a sigh. Finally. Solitude. He walked over to his refrigerator, pulling out the half-bottle of sake from a few nights before, and pouring himself a glass. He was unreasonably furious at his employer, best to take the edge off.
There was something that put her off about going home when she got up to do just that, and so to put off doing that she decided that she'd just go to her live-in room. So Lorna grabbed her bag and took the elevator, hoping that Sebastian wouldn't catch her in the hall.
He heard the elevator ping and knew it was likely Lorna. She was one of only two other people with access to this floor. The other was an accountant who ran most of Jim's books. They had the three best live-in places. The rest of Jim's workers had smaller rooms, or a bunk in a shared room if they were peons. But everyone had a place, if needed. If their residence was pinned by someone who shouldn't know, or they had work to do here, it was a safe place to hide out or sleep.
She fumbled with her keys - a bit embarrassingly - before she was able to get the door open, quickly stepping in and shutting the door behind her. Immediately she coughed - she hadn't been in in about a month, and it had gotten a tad bit dusty. She needed to do some cleaning, right away. That would occupy her for a while - that was a plus.
Sebastian poured another glass of sake and walked over to sit in his armchair, sprawled back. He sighed, relaxing, and turned on the television. For the moment, he needed to slow down.
A few hours later and she had done everything she could think of to put it off. Lorna had scrubbed the apartment within an inch of its life, had called her mother, and had even unpacked into her empty dresser. She didn't really ever considered the place as hers - she didn't usually feel like she could relax in the same building as Jim Moriarty. Tonight, though, she just didn't want to go home. So she took a deep breath and pressed the extension on the intercom for Moran's room.
He looked up as the intercom buzzed, frowning. Not the Boss, according to the lights. He pressed the return. "What is it, Harrison?"
"D'you want that bottle of bourbon? You've pretty much half finished the thing off anyways and I don't like it as much as you do," she said, shrugging to herself. "I'll even just push it across the hall with my broom, if you like."
"You that scared of me now?" he asked, smirking slightly but not letting it show in his tone.
"A little," she replied truthfully, figuring that he'd like that. "I'm still going to give you lip, though. Do you want that bottle, or don't you?"
He considered for a bit. He was bored. "Sure. No broom though." He stood, heading for the door.
She turned off the intercom, stood to grab the bourbon, and opened the door with a slightly rueful smile on her face as he opened the door across the hall. She took a step forward and held it out to him. "Don't blow it all in one night this time, huh?"
He nodded, reaching out to take the bottle, considering her. He was pissed as hell at Jim, Best way to get revenge? Prove him wrong. Best way to prove him wrong?
"You like sake?"
Her eyebrows raised slightly. "Yeah. But it's not exactly something you can just pick up at the liquor store. Why?" She continued, looking at him a little suspiciously.
"I have some. Figured I'd ask. Come on." He left the door open, turning back into his apartment and walking into the kitchen to grab another wine glass.
Lorna was a little taken aback, but she stepped over the threshold anyway, shutting the door behind her. That was a little unexpected of him. Damn him for continuing to do that. "Alright, then. Thanks."
He shrugged, walking back into the living area and grabbing the sake bottle, pouring her a glass and handing it over. "I thought you were going home?"
She gave a noncommittal shake of her head, taking the glass with a small nod of gratitude. "I don't know. I got up to go and then realized I... just didn't want to. What I really wanted was to get back to London, I guess. Once I'm here it doesn't really matter where I am," she murmured, sipping the rice wine with a look out his window. "You have a nice view."
He nodded. "It's a good one, yeah. I was around when Jim acquired this place, so I got my pick." He sipped his own glass. "How's yours?"
"Looks over a dilapidated old building in back, but I get a nice sunrise in the morning, so I can't complain," she hummed, feeling a little awkward standing in the middle of his place. She'd never been in before, and she wasn't sure where to look.
He watched her for a few moments, amused by her discomfort. "Must be pretty sparse in there if you don't know what to do with a chair," he finally smirked, broadly indicating either the couch next to him or the armchair.
Lorna gave him a sarcastic smile and sank down onto the sofa, flicking her hair over her shoulder with the same air as an embarrassed cat. "I have chairs in there, thanks. I always feel awkward in a new home. What, aren't you British?"
He smirked. "I got over the polite part. You're a grifter. You've got to be polite. I'm a soldier. I don't."
"Once a soldier, always a soldier, in my experience," she chuckled, although she assumed that he was perhaps even less polite in the army - he worked for Moriarty now, after all. You had to learn some manners here. "This is good sake, by the way, thanks. Although I'm not quite sure why you invited me in."
He shrugged. "You were around, I'm bored and pissed at Jim, seemed like fun." He took another long sip of sake.
Lorna couldn't keep the surprise off her face. "You're pissed at Jim? That's unusual, for you. You're almost never actually bothered by him," she pointed out, trying not to down all her sake at once. It felt a little too classy to get all binge-y on.
He shrugged. "He has his moments." He didn't elaborate. He wasn't sure why he was pissed at Jim. Maybe because one moment he insisted Sebastian was more than capable of his job, and the next he screamed at him for not checking in. Maybe it was because he'd felt respected at dinner, and like a child when he came back. Maybe it was nothing, and he was just pissed off in general.
"You sound like something is bothering you, but if you don't want to talk about it I can appreciate the value of silence. Or gossiping about coworkers instead," she murmured, looking at him with a tiny amount of concern showing through onto her face. She wanted to think that she was concerned because Moran working at less than optimum efficiency spelled trouble for her, but she had a sneaking suspicion that that wasn't actually true.
"You going therapist on me now, Harrison?" he snorted, taking a slow sip of sake. "I'm pissed at Jim, like I said. That's it."
"I'm not going therapist on you, Moran, it's called job security. I don't want you messed up. How on Earth am I supposed to take up the slack?" she raised her eyebrows. "And things are rarely so simple as 'pissed.' Open up, Tiger."
He laughed. "'Open up, Tiger?!" he guffawed. "Oh, god... No, sorry... " He pressed his hands to his eyes, still chortling.
She rolled her eyes, deciding 'to hell with it' and draining the rest of her sake. It was nice to see him laugh, at the very least.
He finally quelled the laughter, shaking his head. "Maybe he's right. This will cause all sorts of problems, won't it?"
She let out a quiet sigh, setting her wine glass aside with the quiet sound of glass on wood. "I don't know about you, but for me.. probably, yes. I couldn't even go back to my own place because it feels too empty," she shrugged, a bitter sort of humor in her voice. "But it's alright. I'll be fine. You're wrong about that. I won't let it kill me."
He glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow as she spoke. Oh, he was definitely in for it. But, before everything crashed and burned, he might as well make it worth it. "Want to piss Jim off?"
"Yeah. Mostly because he called me fragile, though. That's not cool," she muttered, frowning to herself before returning her attention to Moran. "Why, what stupid idea are you considering?"
"Fucking you against the wall," he said casually. "Might as well enjoy pissing him off. Technically he said we could do it, but if you don't fall to pieces, then he'll be furious."
Lorna made a thoughtful sound, giving a small lift of her shoulders. "Hm. That doesn't sound terrible. I do like it against walls. Okay."
He smirked. "You want more sake first? Finish off the bottle?"
"Let's face it, you're the one with strong opinions here. I don't care," she snorted, a small smile curling up the corner of her lips. "I'll still fuck you."
"More sake it is, then," he muttered, dividing up the last of the bottle between their glasses. "Then maybe some bourbon."
"This is really good, you know - where'd you get this?" She asked curiously, sipping at it again. It wouldn't hurt to be a little tipsy for this.
"Jim lost his dinner partners for a business meeting, didn't want to waste the reservation," he said, shrugging and sipping the wine. "His bill, might as well enjoy it."
Lorna laughed. "Okay, I'm all for taking advantage of rich men's black cards," she smirked, tapping the glass with the pad of her finger. She was a little restless.
He noted the movement. "Why're you so uptight, huh?" he asked, taking another sip.
She let out a slight sigh, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. "I don't know how to describe it to you accurately. Or with keeping any shred of my dignity. So just call it survival, hm?"
He raised his glass in her direction. "I can live with that."
She smiled and tapped her glass with his before downing a good portion of it. If she was being truthful with herself, it was because she hated feeling so human, and Sebastian made her abnormally human. But she did want to prove Jim wrong.
He downed his own sake with a sigh. "You're right, that was good stuff... I should get another bottle." He sighed, stretched, looked over at her. "What do you think, am I drunk enough to be this much of an idiot?"
"I think I should be the one asking that question - you're the one with the advantage here, am I right?" she laughed quietly, finishing off her sake and setting the glass back to the side. "But I'd say in answer to that question, if I were asking it, would be yes."
"Advantage, hell no," he laughed. "Jim can read me like a book. I might get shot tomorrow." He looked over at her. "But fuck him."
"Don't do that, he'd probably be really inconsiderate," she snorted, snickering. "That's not what I meant, anyway," she shook her head. "Between the two of us you have the advantage. I don't mind, though, I think it's a little hot."
"I meant he's going to shoot me," he said, shaking his head and smirking over at her. "But for the moment, I'm just buzzed enough not to care." He leaned over, considered her, then snagged her collar and pulled her into a kiss.
She curled her fingers into his shirt, kissing him back with a hunger. Some part of her was strongly protesting that she didn't want him to get shot, and the rest of her was insisting that she took his shirt off before it got in her way.
He pulled at her clothes insistently, before growing impatient and hauling her over until she was straddling his lap. He leaned back against the back of the couch, kissing her urgently, his teeth scraping at her lips.
She let out a slightly alarmed sound at being lifted suddenly but decided that kissing him was a better use of her time, her fingers fumbling to unbutton his shirt as she trapped his lower lip between her teeth and tugged. She was fine taking advantage of the height he'd given her.
He groaned against her lips, pulling her tongue into his mouth and pulling her tongue into his mouth and scraping his teeth against it. He ground his hips up against hers, rutting slightly, His hands found her shirt, and this time he didn't resist the impulse, gripping it with both hands and tearing it apart, pulling it off her and tossing it aside.
There was no way that him literally ripping the clothes off her didn't turn her on more than anything, a whimper rising up out of her as she finally got the buttons of his shirt undone, yanking the fabric over his shoulders and pressing into him, grinding her hips into his lap for more.
He pulled her against his chest, bending to bite the side of her neck, snarling as he ground against her so firmly that she almost bounced in his lap, before steadying just enough to let his hands find the waist of her trousers, starting to undo them.
She didn't bother being quiet with her moans, figuring that even if their accountant friend was in his place he could suck it up - his teeth made her squirm with need, only stopping from complaining that his hips had stopped moving so much because he was freeing her from her jeans. "I think you are going to be the death of me," she quipped, winded and with flushed cheeks.
"It's like I said, you need to find better partners," he smirked, growling in frustration and tossing her to the side on the soft part of the couch so that he could kneel up and undo her jeans, pulling them off with little gentleness. "You're too good to waste on that drivel."
"I don't have the luxury to only choose partners with both big cocks and the knowledge of how to use them," she shot back, grabbing him by the waistband of his trousers and pulling him closer to her with a wicked grin and dark eyes, her free hand curling into his hair to bring him back down to where she could bite his jaw, shoving a knee in between his thighs to rub into his groin.
"I'm glad you approve of my cock," he said with a smirk, though he grit his teeth, gasping slightly, as she bit into his jaw. "Not the only thing I can use, though."
"Oh? You referring to those teeth I've become so well-acquainted with?" she smiled, her hand sliding from his waistband down to grip him through his trousers, kissing the mark she'd made with her own teeth before kissing down his throat, tracing her tongue in a trail down to his collar.
"More what's behind them," he returned breathlessly, pulling away from her and smirking at her as he put two fingers on her chest, pushing her on the couch gently and staring her down before sitting back, pulling her knickers off and tossing them aside, reaching to spread her legs in front of him.
"Jesus Christ," she breathed, her fingers curling into the cushions beneath her in anticipation. She never let anybody do this for her, not targets, not one-night stands, not anybody. It was a matter of being afraid to lose control like that. And yet here she was, perfectly willing to beg him for it. "Please."
He looked up at her, eyes dancing, and they darkened as she begged. He bent down slowly, never breaking eye contact as he slowly kissed her lower abdomen. "What do you want?" he whispered against her skin, drawing her out.
"Sebastian," she groaned in complaint, looking down at him with a pleading look, her lips parted helplessly, wriggling beneath him impatiently. "Please. Please. Don't tell me about that tongue and then not use it."
He laughed against her skin, pressing another kiss against it before shifting back and moving lower. He turned to press a kiss to the side of her thigh, tongue tracing circles and teeth scraping, before he finally moved up to her core, pressing his lips against her wet heat before extending his tongue, tracing through her folds slowly.
She sucked in what was probably a thoroughly embarrassing whining breath, her fingers curling into his hair with force. God, she'd practically forgotten how fucking great this was - she tried and failed to keep her hips still, she was letting out a stream of muttered swears, and he could probably hear her pulse, let alone feel it.
He laughed against her, letting the vibrations travel into her skin through her tongue as he dragged it over her clit, slowly and lightly. Then he let that bundle of nerves be for now, instead moving downwards, letting the tip of his tongue circle her entrance, his hands gripping her thighs and massaging softly.
It was embarrassing how much she wanted him now, how desperate her sounds were getting. She desperately needed more. "Fuck me, please," she gasped, absurdly polite for the position that they were in.
But he was going to teach her patience. He did escalate a little, and with a smirk, plunged his tongue fully into her, starting to thrust with it at an even pace, the tip curling to explore her.
She cried out, pushing herself up with her free hand and grinding her hips into his mouth with shuddering gasps, gritting her teeth. She couldn't stay still to save her life - he was too good and she was too fucking pent up.
He moaned against her as she ground in his mouth, continuing to thrust with his tongue, alternating between broadening and extending it within her, reaching different sensitive points as he let his nose rub against her clit.
She couldn't fucking take it - she came, hard, bucking up into him with a shouted swear, her nails digging into the fabric of the couch until there was a ripping sound. There was a moment where she lost track of everything else except the earth-shattering pleasure blazing through her, and then she was lying down again, panting up at the ceiling. "Holy fucking hell."
He lapped at her juices languidly as they came, sitting back slowly, licking his lips with a self-satisfied smirk, eyes still dark, his trousers straining. "Was I lying?" he asked with a soft laugh, watching her enjoy the aftereffects of his handiwork.
"No," she breathed - she could feel her legs shaking, her heart still trying to catch up to a race it had most definitely lost. "No, you were not. Good way to get back on the wagon, believe me," she shook her head, looking up at him with her pupils still blown wide. "C'mere."
He smiled, leaning up, his hands finding the couch on either side of her, pausing to observe the stuffing puffing out near her fingers. "You ripped my couch," he said with a smile, leaning over her again.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to," she said in complete honesty, too filled up with endorphins to even joke around about it. He could have asked her bank password and she would have responded with a lazy smile. "You can have mine."
"Nah, rather keep the reminder," he smirked, bending to lazily make out with the side of her neck as he gave her a chance to recover.
"Cute," she chuckled, fingers tracing slowly down his chest before she was unbuckling his belt, taking her sweet time about it. There was no reason to rush, in her mind. Either way, her hands still weren't working quite right.
He let her take her time, remembering what she'd said about enjoying that bit, and worked his way up to casually sucking on her ear, exploring, finding sensitive points.
Eventually she got to unzipping his trousers and tugging them over the obscene curve of his arse, trying to ignore the shiver that went through her at his careful exploration. Still, she didn't feel like she'd quite given back enough, so she slipped her hand under the waistband of his boxers to wrap her fingers around him, stroking lightly.
He let out a shaky breath against her neck, biting down slightly involuntarily as she surprised him, his hips jolting forward into her hand a little at the touch. He groaned, panting slightly as he continued to try and concentrate on her neck and ear, but eventually lost the battle, his forehead pressing to her shoulder, muscles tense under her gentle touch.
She traced random patterns on his side as her other hand did the more important task at hand, pumping him slightly faster as he stilled, her grip tightening ever so slightly while she was still careful, dragging her thumb over his slit to make use of his precome, slicking him up as best as she could. She wouldn't mind at all if she made him come like this.
"Ah! Damn," he panted, his abdomen tensing, hips rocking forward with the movements of her hand. He bit into his lip, eyes screwing shut at the teasing pulls. He took a shaky breath through his teeth, groaning deep in his chest. "Lorna- ah-! fuck.."
"Do you want something?" she murmured curiously, adding in a slight twist to her less firm strokes, making sure to keep him on edge with random squeezes, her other hand skimming up his toned back to stroke at the nape of his neck. She really liked hearing him like this. She could stand to hear it more often.
"N-not gonna last lo-ong like this," he panted. "Still need t-to fuck you into the w-wall..." He grit his teeth tightly as she twisted her hand, almost whimpering at the burning pleasure.
"We can do that tomorrow, if you want, or I can stop and we can do it now. Which one do you want?" She asked softly, her hand not stilling for an instant.
His fingers dug into the fabric of the couch, almost ripping into it himself. "Tomorrow," he finally managed, his voice tight, his body starting to move with a little more urgency, needing the friction desperately.
She didn't need to respond to that, just had to speed up her hand and drag her nails up the curve of his spine, tilting her head to his ear. "Tiger, come."
He snarled in protest at the order, his mind rejecting the command from a subordinate, but his body had other ideas, and only a few seconds later he came gloriously, his back arching as he cried out, his body trembling slightly with the power of the orgasm.
She stroked him through his climax despite the fact that hand was suddenly rather sticky, a smirk on her face from his reaction. Yes, she'd have to remember his aversion to being told what to do. That would come in handy eventually. "Would you mind terribly if I used your sink?" she murmured, her clean hand petting up and down his back, soothing the tension from him.
He grunted something unintelligible, but shifted towards the inside of the couch so that she could escape, flopping on his side.
She took that as a yes, quickly washing off at the sink before she returned and collapsed back onto the couch beside him, an exhausted huff escaping her lungs. And, frankly, she was too buzzed on the sake and her own endorphins to stop herself from leaning into his chest, yawning.
It was a deep couch, with enough room for the both of them if they squished, and he was already drifting off as he drooped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him snugly.
Lorna was surprised, if pleased, that he'd reciprocated, and decidedly tiredly to make full use of it, burying her face in the crook of his tanned neck and closing her eyes, letting sleep start sinking over her.
He finally fell asleep, too far gone to be really aware of what he was doing, or concerned about any consequences in the morning.
I fucked my way up to the top
Go, baby, go
-Lana Del Rey - Fucked My Way Up To The Top -
Playlist: Lana Del Ray - Fucked My Way Up to the Top