Playlist: Panic! at the Disco - Miss Jackson
Oh, where will you be waking up tomorrow morning?
Oh, out the back door, goddamn, but I love her anyway
- Panic! At The Disco - Miss Jackson -
A month later, Lorna was sitting in the security room in HQ, feet on the table, coffee in hand, and eyes on the screen. Not the most boring job she'd ever detailed while her ass was seated safely in a second-rate office chair. The Boss hadn't been joking when he'd said the Adler woman would work fast; Christ, was she giving that woman a whipping, though. She chuckled tiredly into her coffee, setting it down after a moment and rubbing at the darkening circles under her eyes. She may have been all healed up after possibly the most nightmarish portion of her life ever (and thank god the scarring was so faint, although she had gotten a tattoo across her hip to cover up the worst of it; a crane), but that didn't mean staying up all night just to make sure the pictures were taken was good for her health.
Seb walked in a few minutes later, taking the mostly-empty styrofoam cup out of her hands and replacing it with a large cup of good Ethiopian coffee from the place a few blocks over. He sat down next to her, kicking his feet up as well. "She seems to know what she's doing," he commented idly.
She made a noise of pleased thanks and then lifted her shoulders noncommittally. "I haven't seen her make any mistakes, at least. I always wince when professionals don't know enough to avoid the kidneys," Lorna replied, stifling a yawn into the crook of her elbow. "Haven't seen the camera yet, though."
"You won't," he says, watching the screen. "Think about it. If you wanted pictures in this situation, would you honestly carry the camera on you?"
She snorted softly, side-eyeing him. "That woman is in there paying to be whipped. Somehow, I doubt, for the first time. Whose to say she doesn't like it?"
"She wouldn't risk it," Seb says. "Not if it's not agreed to beforehand. She might like being whipped, but she's not stupid. She's royalty, she wouldn't risk letting someone have that power."
"Royalty isn't required to be smart. But I'll concede that you're probably right," Lorna hummed, mostly because he'd gotten her coffee that wasn't the shit that came from the cafeteria downstairs.
He shrugs. "Who knows. I've just seen Adler work before, and I doubt she'll risk it."
"The up close and tight in the britches kind of seeing or the being cramped and tired in a smelly old office kind of seeing?" she smirked, purposely not looking at him. It was easier to pester him when she wasn't required to fend off his death stares.
"Both, actually," he says with easy calmness, eyes still on the screen. "You'll probably get your shot at both as well, at some point."
"I certainly hope not. I spend enough of my time wearing uncomfortable clothes, I don't think putting on really tight britches is going to be a useful expenditure of my time," she quipped, then made a face. "I couldn't, anyway. Promised Malcolm no out-of-job promiscuity. I cannot remember for the life of me why."
"You two still managing this whole 'steady' thing?" he asks with bored curiosity. "Gotta admit, didn't see that one working out."
She made a vague hand gesture and an even vaguer noise. "I don't know. I'm more sticking around until I don't feel like it anymore. I don't know his motivations, and I haven't asked because I'm worried he'll want to talk about it."
He snorts with laughter. "It's your own damned fault. I told you he was a sap."
Lorna groaned. "Yeah, I know. Ugh, I should have just kept sleeping with people who don't give a shit. This is why someone else should be in charge of my personal life. I'm not responsible enough to handle it on my own."
"I wouldn't have complained," he laughed, reaching out to steal her cup of coffee and take a sip before standing, handing it back to her. "Right. I've got a meeting with the boss."
She rolled her eyes, swatting at him in defense of her caffeine. "You broke it off, remember? Good luck with the meeting, anyways."
"Whatever you say," he deadpanned. "Anything you want me to pass on?"
"Tell him the coffee in here is shit. Also, that I don't know what I did to be able to watch porn on the job," she snickered, then frowned. "Okay, not the first part."
"I'll do you a favor and edit out the second part as well." He rolled his eyes, heading out the door and for the elevator, scanning his hand and eye and heading upstairs. He stepped out and headed for the boss's office.
Lorna laughed as he left, settling herself down for at the least another hour of being stuck in this room.
Jim, on the other hand, was reading down a long list of statistical probabilities as Sebastian neared his office. It wasn't often he went out of his way to go ahead and have somebody hammer out the specific likelihoods, but on plans as long and as big as this one... he needed to be prepared for every possibility.
He knocked, entering just before he was told, as per usual. "That the statistical analysis?" he asked, eyeing the thick document.
Jim didn't answer for a moment, finishing absorbing a line of data and then allowing himself to look up. He was perhaps just a bit more unkempt than usual, and he knew it, but if Moran wanted to risk commenting on it, that was his head. "Yes. Useful for narrowing down possibilities. A tad more dry than I like it."
"I'll remind the statisticians to add illustrations to the next draft, sir," he deadpanned, leaving it up in the air as to whether he was being serious or a smartass. He took a few steps forward and sat across from his employer. "But the results seemed promising."
He grunted, folding down the corner of his page to mark his place before pushing the hefty document behind a pile of building-up business proposals and out of his sight. "I'm not a superstitious man, but I'm still withholding judgment on that until I finish the whole thing," he huffed, running a hand over his hair in a last-ditch attempt to smooth it into submission. "Anything to report?"
"The Adler affair is going well. She seems to be handling things as well as we expected. Harrison's keeping an eye on her," he said coolly. "On another note, new studies suggest that sleep every few days and a meal or two during the time between are vital for sustaining human life." Definite sarcasm now.
Jim snorted, fixing Sebastian with a dry look. "If you can find a way to download those statistics directly onto my brain while I'm asleep, I'd be happy to drop into a more normal schedule. Until you figure that out, however, I will have to continue with this one. Either way, I'm healthier than the majority of my employees. I'm happy with that, for the duration of this little project."
He was relieved that there was minimal backlash for his comment. Jim seemed to be in a good mood. "I'm not sure who you're thinking of that's so unhealthy, sir, unless you're referring to Harrison and I, in which case I should remind you that we're both cleared for active duty as of Tuesday."
"I was actually thinking of the various failing hearts and livers I'm sure are in many of your futures, but I should remind you that you began working before you were cleared," he pointed out, leaning back in his chair with a squeak of leather. Not that he was angry - he appreciated the overtime.
He shrugged. "This place doesn't run itself," he snorted. "And you've been occupied. Speaking of livers, how's that dry spell of yours going?"
"I hardly have time to drink a cup of something containing caffeine, let alone anything that's a depressant. It's going well," he smirked, even if he could still feel sleep nipping at his heels. Perhaps it was actually time to take a break.
He nodded, considering Jim and the way his eyes were glazed slightly. He sighed. "Why'd you hire me, Boss?"
Jim blinked, focusing on Moran with surprise. If he'd been expecting the sniper to ask anything, that hadn't been the question he'd have thought it would be. "You have an excellent eye and a matching talent in guns. When it turned out you were as good at managing inferiors, it would have been a mistake to leave you open for employment from a rivaling network. And you're far more useful alive than dead."
He waved the response off with a snort that was a bit risky, but he was annoyed. "Top of my job description, boss, what is it? If stuff goes to hell, what's my job?"
Jim's eyebrows lifted slightly, keeping a cool demeanor glued firmly to his face. "I fail to see what you're asking, Moran. You're a sniper. Am I wrong?"
"That's my primary occupation, sir, yes. But the first thing in my official job description is to protect you, sir, at all costs. My request then, that I can best serve that duty, is that you not run yourself into the ground and force me to take action." His voice is back to calm and respectful.
He was honestly speechless for a moment, only keeping himself from sputtering by clutching the last tired dregs of his dignity to him. "Are you threatening to make me go to sleep?"
"No, sir," he says calmly. "I'm informing you that if I am required to take action in order to fulfill my contract- which you designed- I will."
Jim looked at him for a long moment, tapping a finger against the top of his desk. "...Fine. I take your point. I will retire in twenty-five minutes. Is that... satisfactory?"
"Completely, sir," he said, nodding. "Might I suggest in that time period you allow me to make you a steak or something?"
Jim sighed, reaching for the stat document again. "If you're determined to feed me before I sleep I suggest you whip up something quick. I won't be picky."
"Yessir." He stood, straightening his jacket. "Anything else, sir?"
"Wake me if there are any developments that need to be dealt with. Otherwise, no, there's nothing else," he murmured, rubbing at his eyes for a moment before leaning over the papers again.
He nodded sharply, turning to exit the room. Once he did, he allowed himself a small smirk at the victory, before heading to the kitchen to start to prepare some food. Within fifteen minutes he'd prepared a stir fry with steak and a variety of vegetables which wasn't half bad, and headed back into the office, plate in hand, along with a large glass of water. "Here, sir," he said, placing it on the desk, raising an eyebrow.
"I appreciate it, Moran," Jim muttered in thanks, dragging the bowl towards himself without lifting his eyes from the data, and began digging in. His stomach growled immediately.
He allowed himself another smug smirk when his employer wasn't looking, before he sat down in the chair across from the desk again, intent on making sure that Jim actually went to sleep when promised.
He glanced up at his sniper as he cleared off the stir fry and reached for the glass of water, taking a sip before speaking; "You look like my nanny."
"I wasn't aware that you needed one, sir," he said. The 'but apparently you do' was left unsaid and obvious.
"Harrison suggested I installed a trap door in here. I've never taken her seriously until this moment," he said ineffectually. He really couldn't work up the energy to get truly angry with Moran's sass.
"Shall I put it on your to-do list, boss?" he deadpans.
Jim groaned letting his head fall forward to rest on his closed fist. "Jesus and Mary and all the saints, Sebastian," he sighed, then slumped down the rest of the way and waved the back of his hand at Moran. "Get out. I'm going to sleep."
"In a bed, not your chair," he risked, standing and saluting crisply. "Night boss." He headed out.
Jim stayed where he was for a moment out of sheer stubbornness before he got up and moved, swearing, to the sofa. It wouldn't do to wake up cramped.
Sebastian went back downstairs, pushing through the door to the monitor room, practically giddy. "I live," he crowed, flopping down in a chair next to Lorna.
She looked over her nearing-tepid coffee and raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Wow. Are you just high off the adrenaline or did you actually go and have fun?"
He was buzzing. "I made him eat food and sent him to bed. And I lived."
She accidentally inhaled a sip of coffee and spent a few seconds hacking it back out of her windpipe before squeaking "What? You sent him to bed? Holy fuck, you just got off a roller coaster that has a habit of eating people alive."
He barely restrained a grin, adrenaline coursing. "I know. I know. But he was running himself into the ground and I told him it was my job to look out for him, and if he wasn't going to go sleep then I'd make him. And he fucking went.
"Holy shit. It's like I'm sitting in the presence of God. If you have something statistically unlikely to get done, now would be the time, because you're not going to get any bloody luckier than this for the rest of your life, I'll bet you anything," she chuckled, now at the point where she was just laughing at his giddiness.
"Alternatively, it could go horribly wrong just to make up for the luck," he retorted, reaching up to rub at his eyes, chuckling. "Christ, I've worked this job too long."
"I'll agree with you there," she snorted, returning her eyes to the monitors. "When's the last time you took a proper vacation? 2000 B.C.E.?"
"Just got off one, as you well know," he says, kicking his feet up and watching Adler fuck the living daylights out of her quarry with a rather impressive strap-on. "In this business, disability and vacation are synonymous."
"Mm. I suppose there's some truth to that," she agreed, reaching for the flask of whiskey she'd tucked into her jacket and splashing some into her coffee before setting it on the desk where he could reach it. "Actually, speaking of which - Cohen down in hits is peddling coke to other employees. Not the fun kind, either. Well. The too-much-fun kind. I'd have a word with her, but..."
"But...?" he asked, reaching out for the flask. "You know the policy. No drugs. There isn't a warning system here. Get him taken downstairs and confined. I've got a few techniques I've been meaning to try out."
"Her," she corrected automatically, then shook her head. "That's not- I'm... Hm. I'm avoiding temptation."
"Her, right, sorry," he muttered. "Distracted. There's sort of live porn going on." He returned his attention to her. "Temptation to... Ah." He made the connection. "I'll deal with her," he said easily. "I think I've found a way to replicate what Holmes did to us."
"Live lesbian porn, though, I'll point out. Hard to mess the pronouns up. And thanks. And... gross?" she glanced over at him, scrunching up her nose. "If I never have to spend another minute a room with those creepy-ass beetles I'll be a happy woman."
"Replicate. Not exactly the same. But suit yourself. I'm just looking forward to capturing the sniveling cunt at some point and giving him a bit of a tour."
"I'll be there for that one, don't think you can even try to stop me," Lorna growled into her now Ethiopian-Irish coffee, watching as the Adler woman brought out a gag that looked deliberately uncomfortable. "I still have nightmares about the sod." Ones that weren't held back by the presence of Malcolm, who she'd never thought of as particularly threatening, and therefore not particularly safe.
"I wouldn't dream of trying to stop you," he said calmly. "I thought you'd shaken the nightmares."
She sighed. "Mm. No. They're not as bad as they used to be, in terror or frequency, but they haven't left. It doesn't interfere with my work, though, so you needn't worry about it. They'll clear out eventually, I'm sure."
"I wasn't worried. Just curious." He raised an eyebrow as the whip reemerged. "She's got endurance, you've got to give her that."
She glanced at her wristwatch. "It's been an hour and a half since they started. I'm starting to be concerned about dehydration, to be completely honest."
"It is what she does for a living. Adler, at least. Though I'm pretty sure most royalty fucks off for a living, as well, just in a less literal sense." He took a swig of the whiskey from her flask. "Weren't you staying mostly dry?"
Lorna scoffed. "What? Me? Moran, the only reason I went mostly dry for like a week was because I was filled with little bitty insect burrows. I've been in a manageable state of inebriation for a week."
"Oh, silly me, and here I thought you had your liver in mind," he snorts.
"It had its vacation," she shrugged, "Its sick leave is over."
"Yeah, well, I bet you it's flying a white flag," he retorts, taking another pull off the flask and closing it up.
She leaned over, taking it back and slipping it into her jacket again. "I'm a grifter, Moran. We don't plan long-term. No point, when my striking good looks could disappear any moment," she smirked, settling back into her seat. Hell, she didn't even want to try worrying about the long term. That's what a Boss was for.
"Yeah, right," he rolled his eyes, then nodded towards the screen. "Looks like they're finishing up."
Lorna followed his nod to the monitor, then let out a sigh of relief, immediately kicking back from the table and climbing to her feet. "Thank god. I have an hour before I have a date with Malcolm and I need sleep or I'm going to kill him. Unless you, I don't know, have a job for me?" She hummed half-hopefully, raising her eyebrows at him.
"Want to get out of the date?" he asked, mildly curious, reaching to turn on the recorder just in case, before standing and stretching as well.
"Yeah, a bit," she admitted, lifting her shoulders and letting them fall back down in a defeated gesture. "I lack the energy to lie without motivation from a job. Ugh, never grow a conscience."
He considered her for a moment, then shook his head, smirking a bit. "I'm not your mercy squad. You're a grifter. Grow the guts to handle your own interpersonals."
She put her free hand on her hip, the other still holding on possessively to her coffee, and stuck her tongue out at him. "You're a very cruel man, Moran. You're going to be up shit creek without a paddle when you need a little compassion from me, just you wait and see," she tried saying disapprovingly, and failed when she only ended up smirking. Then she waved a hand at him, turning on her heel. "Sleep. I'm going to do that."
"I could be less compassionate and offer to lie about some mission to Malcolm and fuck you into the wall. Our surveillance has me all ramped up. But I'll be nice, shall I?"
She narrowing avoided spilling her tepid coffee all down her front at that, stopping in the doorway and turning again to look at him. She didn't know whether to be shocked or pleased, so she settled for both. "That's really the only kind of compassion I could ask from you, isn't it?"
He shrugged. "Compassion's pointless if you don't get something out of it," he retorts, walking past her out the door and down the hall.
She chucked the coffee into a very full bin by the door and then followed him, just a step behind. "I won't argue. But that's only because I'm sure you'd make me pay for it if I did."
He smirks. "Good. You can be taught. Now go sleep."
"Aye aye, captain," she chuckled, taking the next left and heading for the elevator, more than a little excited to be able to sleep in her own bed. He watched her go, sighing, and headed for his apartment. Time to get some work done.
The very first thing Lorna did when she woke up from her catnap was to check her phone for any messages from the Boss or Moran that told her she had an actual job waiting for her, as had become routine during the few weeks she had been confined to sobriety and had found herself lacking things to do. Nothing. A long email from a lower-level grifter who was asking for a bigger costume budget - which only showed a disappointing lack of creativity - and a text from Malcolm that she couldn't even force herself to open, because there was a 50% chance it would contain a heart emoticon. When that was settled she got up to grab a bottle of the brand of bourbon that Moran had seemed to taken a liking to and stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. Unless he was asleep that would be enough for him to know she was awake.
He heard the door, and smirked slightly, looking at his door from where he was reading and counting down in his head. Five, four, three, two...
It took her a moment to resign herself to the fact that he simply did not possess the manners to get up and open the door without actual prompting, but she delayed her knock on the door by a few seconds just to see if she could throw him off anyway.
He rolled his eyes. "Get off your high horse," he called, listening to the silence outside his door that told him she wasn't walking towards or away, just standing there. "I'm comfortable."
She snickered, opening the door and stepping inside, amused and very secretly pleased with herself. "Believe me, if I had a horse I wouldn't be hanging out with this crowd. I brought that bourbon I'm pretty sure you like. I might be completely making it up, though, so feel free to correct me."
He glanced at the bottle, secretly impressed at her memory, though his expression remained unchanged as he nodded slightly. "Not a bad brand. Didn't you have a date?"
"I'm blowing it off for your half-offered 'compassion'," she shrugged, setting the bottle down with a thunk on the coffee table. "Unless you were joking, in which case I'll leave the bottle as a token of appeasement and trot right on out of here."
He raised an eyebrow, considering the situation. He had been joking. But he hadn't gotten around to jacking off, and hell if the idea of actually landing some decent tail didn't sound appealing. Not that he'd missed Harrison's company, remotely, of course. But an infrequent line of bar-stool bimbos could only get you so far. He stood to go get glasses. "So, what's your mission that you're supposedly off on, then?"
She sank down into the couch, fighting back surprise, and shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Something in Wales, maybe. Had to attend a blackmailed abbot's secret party. I do a lot of ridiculous things, coming up with an excuse will not be difficult."
He returned, chucking a glass her direction. "This high school drama is becoming ridiculous," he pointed out, rolling his eyes. "He's becoming more of a mark than a boyfriend. All you ever do is lie to him to get what you want."
She caught it one-handed and leaned forward to uncap the bottle, chuckling. "Yeah, you're right. I'll break it off soon, don't you worry. I've gotten all I wanted from him, after all."
"Remind me what that was again?" he snorts, flopping back onto the couch next to her and holding out his glass.
"Free dinner, frequent sex, a few large-but-comfortable shirts," she hummed, filling his glass and then her own before setting the bottle down again. "I was hoping for emotional security, silly thing that I am, but alas, it was not to be."
"You're a grifter," he guffawed, taking a sip of his drink. "Good luck with the emotional security thing. Not saying it's impossible, just... difficult."
"Ah, I know. No point in worrying about it right now. If it happens, it happens," she snorted, following suit and making a small dent in her bourbon. "Either way, I know better now. I just hope Malcolm doesn't sabotage any cars I need to take out."
"If he knows what's good for him, he won't," he laughed. "A chauffeur who can keep his mouth shut is extremely expendable. A grifter is not. Anything happens to you, and I will enjoy testing out my new equipment on him."
She grinned. "You see, it's times like these I really appreciate my job status. In times of doubt I have to try and remember my job security."
"That you do," he chuckled, taking another sip of bourbon. "How'd your nap go?"
"It was fantastic, thanks for asking. I'm still running on a very low tank, but I'll manage. How was that paperwork?" She didn't really know what he'd gone off to do while she was conked out in bed, but it was a safe bet it was something dull.
He shrugged. "It wasn't bad. Mostly going over the boss's plan of attack for this whole Holmes business, getting details covered."
Lorna grimaced a bit, taking a swig from her drink. "I don't like the whole business. It sounds an awful lot like a war to me, and I've always been better with small, unconnected skirmishes."
"It isn't war," he said quietly, shaking his head a little and contemplating his glass. "It's a hunt. Captain Ahab looking for his White Whale."
"Except his Whale knows almost exactly where he is and how to fight back. Maybe it is a hunt. But I have a learned respect of that goddamned Whale," she muttered, frowning slightly.
"So did Ishmael," he pointed out. "The 'goddamned Whale', as you put it, is Ahab's equal. The mad man versus the mad beast."
"Excuse me for my lack of knowledge about it, I never got to the end of it. Ironically, I dropped it in the sea while on a whale-watching trip."
He snorted, setting his glass aside for the moment. "Please tell me you're joking."
"Nope," she shook her head, keeping a straight face, "I was fifteen and my mom decided to take me out for something educational. In preparation, I started reading it. Unfortunately, we hit some rough seas... Moby Dick went right overboard. I was quite upset at the time."
He decided he wasn't going to respond to that, instead taking a long sip from his glass. "You gonna text Malcolm some excuse? And a reason why you haven't borrowed a car from him?"
She made a noncommittal noise. "I was thinking I'd text him in a few hours saying someone or another pulled me off the street and drove me straight to the airport. Something came up, blah blah blah. I think he's the kind of man who'd rather accept a weak lie than a harsh truth, don't you?"
He nodded, the barest hints of a smile turning the corner of his mouth. "Very true."
Lorna downed a good portion of her drink and then looked fondly down at the bottle. "Christ, I missed hard liquor. You can still keep the bottle, though. Merry Christmas."
He snorted slightly but nodded his thanks, raising his glass her direction. "Appreciated."
"You're perfectly welcome. It's the least ass-kissing I could do. Besides getting you a cat or something. You strike me as the type that's allergic, though."
"Not allergic, but I'm not sure how well a cat and I would get on," he smirked. "It might end up dead for sneaking up on me while I was sleeping."
"Good point. Maybe I'll just drop a tank full of live lobsters outside of your door on Christmas Eve," she grinned, finishing off her bourbon and leaning forward to set the glass down on the coffee table. "Unless you're partial to some other type of seafood."
He laughed, tossing back the last of his own glass. "You are eager to suck up, aren't you?"
"Continued job security on my part," she chuckled, leaning back and making herself comfortable, "But it's still not really necessary. I'm painfully ahead of the other grifters. Painfully. Even if you wanted to kill me - I mean, assuming you don't - I'm a lot more useful than my ultimate successor."
"A lot more full of yourself, too," he smirked, leaning forward to pour himself another half-round of bourbon.
"I've earned it," she hummed, staring up at the ceiling to avoid looking too smugly at him. "And I'm pretty, I'm allowed to be full of myself. What else am I going to pour my time into, knitting?"
He shrugged, sitting back. "You really should find a hobby. Even I have a few, though they remain job related."
"I would take up one, if I didn't spend so much time on the job. Any job-related hobbies I have don't look like hobbies to anyone else, anyways," she snorted, lifting her head from its resting place on the back of the sofa to look at him. "What do you do that doesn't involve guns?"
"People, in various forms of the word 'do'," he mutters into his glass, the smooth drink enticing. "Do, or do in, or a bit of both."
She grinned. Oh, that was just too good not to dig into. "Really? In what case did the 'do' and 'do in' happen in the same instance? Were you hammered or something?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I have to be hammered to want to have fun with my victims? It's a hobby, after all."
"Alright, I'll give you that," she smirked, shrugging lightly. "If I'd known that could be considered a hobby I'd have told you. My job is mostly my hobby, let's face it."
"No, this is outside the realm of my assigned work," he retorts. "Like I said, I've almost perfected Holmes' work. This is experimentation on the side."
She just smirked at him, toeing off her shoes and drawing her feet up so she could sit more comfortably. "Moran, you just enjoy going extravagantly above and beyond the line of duty. And fulfilling your own needs, sexual or sadistic. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to have a manager who knows what he wants all the time. Means I don't always have to guess."
"Sounds like I've made things too easy," he deadpanned. "I'll need to work on that." He set his glass aside again, a little warm from the alcohol, but not much else.
"Hmmph. Easier, maybe. If it stems your making things difficult for me you should know that it's taken me this long to even get over checking you for weapons every time I see you. And it's because I know you always have them."
He allowed his teeth to show in a broad grin. "Oh, but it's so amusing all the ones you miss when you do that."
She groaned. "And that is precisely the reason I stopped. I don't need to know how big of a threat you are to my life at all times; I know you could kill me fairly easily. Knowing how easily is just something I don't need, you know?"
"How easily I could kill you has very little with how I'm armed," he points out. "It's just a matter of having more options. I wasn't aware you were so squeamish." Still the cold smile.
"I didn't used to be," she huffed, "And then I met Squeamishness in the form of flesh-eating beetles. If you somehow have weapons worse than that on your person, they're something I don't have the desire to find out about."
His smile dropped slightly. "No. I don't. Nor would I want to." He reached out and picked up the glass again, considering the thin layer of liquid in the bottom and tilting it back.
"Then I can start checking you for weapons again, if you've truly missed me eyeing you up every day," she quipped, raising an eyebrow at him.
"I don't know how I've gone this long without it," he returned, voice devoid of inflection.
"Horribly, I imagine," she hummed, her voice perfectly pleasant.
He snorted. "Alright, if you think it's so important. What am I carrying at the moment?"
"An empty glass," she smiled, only barely stifling a laugh.
He smirked slightly. "And that's the end of your thorough search, is it?"
Lorna broke into a full grin, lifting her hands and giving her fingers a wave. "If it's going to be thorough, it's going to be handsy, Moran."
His expression didn't change, nor did his posture, leaned comfortably against the arm of the couch. "Do I appear to be objecting?"
"No, but appearances can be deceiving," she chuckled, leaning over anyway and kneeling beside him so she could start unbuttoning his shirt. She'd seen the knife in his pocket a while ago, mostly on accident, but she was fairly certain he had a small gun on under his shirt, and she wasn't going to get to it without getting the fabric out of the way.
He raises an eyebrow, smirking just slightly, crossing his arms behind his head and letting her explore. "That's fucking gold, coming from a grifter."
Lorna laughed, finishing with the buttons on his shirt and reaching inside to tug pointedly at the gun holster with a muttered 'yep'. "On the contrary, when I walk into a party or a restaurant or a club with a tight dress on and an obvious lack of morals I suggest to people that they're going to get laid. I tend to follow through on that wordless promise. Just because I'm there for another reason doesn't mean my appearance is deceiving."
He nodded as she located the gun holster. "I'm not sure that's a sound argument, but I'll give it to you because I'm feeling generous."
"If that's the word you want to use for it, fine," she teased, leaning in for a better angle to stuff her hands into his trouser pockets, coming up with a knife and what looked like a small bottle of pepper spray. She set both on the coffee table instead of trying to hazard stuffing them back in.
He grinned, letting out a quiet laugh. "You're more invasive in your frisks than the airports," he grinned, though he let a hand drop to push her hair back out of her face.
She patted down his legs with a smirk, lifting one foot at a time to get down to his ankle before coming up with one last knife. "I'm aware you're capable of carrying a lot of weapons on you at a single time, unlike the airport agents. And I'm a lot more interested in getting into your pants."
"Both excellent reasons to be more thorough," he agrees, smirking. The hand in her hair shifted and tightened a little, gaining a lightly held handful.
"More thorough, huh?" She chuckled, bumping her head into his hand lightly and then reaching for his belt. "Well, if you insist.."
He grinned, fingers tightening a little in her hair, enough to establish a bit of control, his other hand coming forward to trace fingers over her hip.
She would have started kissing a line down his bare and, frankly, tempting chest if not for the hand in her hair telling her that she was not going to be the one making any decisions here, and instead used the time to drop his belt on the floor and unbutton his trousers. "You want me somewhere, or do you plan on keeping my head hostage?"
"I'm deciding," he said simply, his free hand sliding into the back of her trousers and getting a firm grip on her arse. He considered her for a moment, before pulling both hands forward in one smooth movement, overbalancing her and pulling her down against his chest as his teeth found the side of her neck, the hand in her hair pulling her head with firm control to the side.
Against all odds she managed not to let a surprised squeak escape her as she was pulled into him, although couldn't stop the gasp that left her at the feeling of his teeth scraping across her skin. If there was anything she'd actively missed about the infrequent and few times she and Sebastian had fucked it was his willingness to be rough. And, since she was in no position to move to straddle his lap, she simply contented herself with rocking her arse back into his palm and dragging her nails down his abdomen until they dragged at the waistband of his pants.
He sat up, bringing her with him, his teeth making marks in her neck before he released. The hand in her hair moved to grab her waist and he lifted her with both hands as if she weighed nothing, until she was more conveniently across his lap. Both hands moved then to the front of her shirt, and he held her gaze as he tore it easily down the center, eyes daring her to question.
She only gave him a vaguely exasperated look, pushing at his own offending article of clothing down his shoulders and arms until it wouldn't go any further, then smirked. "Well? I'm certainly not going to rip your shirt off."
"Good, I like it," he smirked, sitting forward to pull it off of his arms and toss it to the side. Then he returned to his previous task of making his mark on her neck, this time his teeth closing directly over her jugular as his hands found her hair again, tilting her head back until she was forced to arch her back a little to accommodate, shifting her off balance and putting her weight into his arms. Control.
She gasped again as he got back to what was sure to leave a bite-shaped bruise while simultaneously putting her in a position that left her no leverage, her hands searching for purchase on the sofa before she was wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her fingers in his hair, a last ditch effort to hold onto some of the power. There really wasn't any point. She was perfectly fine with giving it up to him.
He yanked his head against her grip in his hair with a mild snarl, his hands shifting from her hair to claw lines down her back as his mouth softened suddenly on her neck, shifting up towards her ear with scraping teeth and a hot tongue bent on exploring. His fingers found the clasp of her bra, undoing it deftly.
She gave up holding onto him to shed her bra and shuck it off to the side, arching as close to him as she could, her skin singing under his touch. This position was severely frustrating to her; not only was she held over empty air at his mercy, she was completely unable to grind her hips against his and give back a little of what he was giving.
He smirked at her frustration, and at the abandonment of her bra, his mouth seizing the opportunity presented by her arched back and exposed breasts, feathering down over her shoulder and collarbone, stubble scraping, until his lips closed over a flushed peak, tongue tracing circles. His hands found her shoulder blades, pulling her hips down against his for just a moment and grinding upwards before pulling away again, controlling their interaction, challenging her.
"Fuck, Moran," she growled, half in complaint at his playing and half a plea for more, dammit, her cheeks flushed and back arched as close to him as she could manage in silent, wanton encouragement. Christ, it was hard enough wanting him without him keeping such a rigid control over the situation that she hadn't even gotten her teeth on him yet.
He bit down on her nipple firmly enough to hurt a bit, though no further yet, and released, watching her lustfully as she shifted and squirmed, at his mercy. After a moment, he shifted backwards, pulling her up until her center of gravity was back over him and she had her balance again. He pressed his palms flat against her back, fingers spread wide, and slid them up and over her shoulders, down her arms to close around her wrists, but other than that he gave her freedom to move, eyes challenging.
Determined not to waste a single second of her relative freedom, she ignored his grip on her wrists and the pleasant aches from his bites and stubble burn to close the few inches between them to kiss him with a rushed lack of finesse. There was no point in taking her time, not when he could stop her at any second.
He laughed against her mouth, but returned the kiss eagerly, tongue pushing its way into her mouth to scrape against hers, hands pushing her arms behind her back but not pushing her away, just enjoying the feeling of her slightly strained under his force.
She let him dominate the kiss, even though it was tempting to bite down on his tongue and take back her hands for her own use. Still, she did roll her hips down into his with the express purpose of attempting to make him lose a little of his cool.
He was already plenty hard, to the point where the confinements of his trousers was becoming uncomfortable, and that certainly didn't help. He let out something between a growl and a moan at the friction, pulling his tongue back and biting into her lip as a retort.
It was her turn to laugh, pulling back from his lips completely to suck a mark into existence on his throat, beginning to undulate against him a slow rhythm. She would drive him crazy if it was the last thing she ever did.
He took a sharp breath through his nose, but moved right along with her, one hand moving to hold both her wrists in place, the other trailing across her back and over her ribs until he could get a full, firm handful of one of her breasts, kneading firmly.
She let out a pleased hum against Moran's neck, nipping at his collarbone before kissing and licking a trail up to the corner of his jaw and to bite at the shell of his ear. "D'you think you could give me my hands back?"
"Depends on if you ask nicely enough," he retorts, tilting his head back slightly as she explored his neck. He gripped her wrists a little tighter.
"Alright. Please?" she ventured, leaning back and smirking at him. On his lap, she just barely made it to eye level. "Unless you're going to bust out your handcuffs you can't do this forever."
"Handcuffs... Not a bad idea." He smirked, but released her hands.
"You can add it to the queue, if you feel like it," she chuckled, rolling the tension out of her shoulders briefly before she was kissing him again, hands skating down his sides. One she slid between them to squeeze him through the fabric of his trousers, the other dragging red lines back up his sides. If he didn't like it, she was sure he would let her know.
He did, though, the pain of her nails in his skin invigorating and clear combined with the smoldering heat in his gut as she handled him. He slid a hand down the back of her trousers again, fingers curving forward to brush against her heat through her knickers in retaliation. He pulled back from her lips to take a breath. "We have a queue, now, Harrison?"
She was breathing a little bit harder now and fighting the urge to rock back into his hand, chasing any bit of friction he'd give her, but she still managed a cocky grin, leaning to one side and lifting her knee to reveal the patch of the sofa she'd torn the last time they'd gotten handsy with each other. "I think I remember you saying you were going to fuck me into a wall when this happened. I remember you saying that today, actually."
He glared at her, then sighed. "Fine. There's an idea queue. Don't get cocky." But he grinned slightly, his fingers pushing aside the material of her panties to get to her actual skin.
"Don't worry, I-" she cut herself off with an indecent moan as he pressed against her, rocking back into his hand needily. Some part of her cognitive functions that remained reminded her that her hand was in prime position to start tugging down his trousers, which was what she immediately started doing.
He grinned, his middle finger circling her entrance a few times before he pulled his hand back, instead grabbing at the waist of her trousers and working to get rid of them as well.
Lorna managed to yank his trousers half down by sheer force of will before she let out a grunt of frustration and got off him to kick off her own half across the room and waiting impatiently for him to do the same. "You're very good at looking smug, you know that?"
"It's what I do," he said, standing at his own pace and pulling his trousers off. They were both covered in matching sets of pale, barely-there scars, really only noticeable when you saw them all together, a network of shimmering, slightly-pinker lines of new skin over their body. He pulled his pants off, as well, tossing them aside and reaching out to push her knickers off with a smirk.
She didn't answer him, too caught up in stepping out of her underwear while surreptitiously taking in the new scars. She knew what she looked like with them and had begrudgingly made peace with that, but it was slightly comforting to see someone else having them and still looking just as fine. If fine was a strong enough word. She stepped back into his space, running her fingers up his arms to rest her hands on his shoulders. "You're inconveniently tall, by the way."
He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you're just inconveniently short." He shrugged. "Anyway. That's where the wall comes into play." He grinned, grabbing her waist and lifting her as he turned quickly to push her against the cool wall, held up so that her face was level with his. "See?"
"Mm. Very useful," she agreed with mock-seriousness, wrapping her legs around his waist to get better leverage and then breaking out into a laugh that mostly stemmed from the endorphins in her system, and shut herself up by kissing him again.
He kissed her back, roughly now, his hands sliding down from her hips to grab her arse and give him a bit of leverage as well as he ground into her slowly, letting out a moan against her mouth, his teeth scraping her lips and tongue.
She pressed her shoulders back into the wall so she could rub into him easier, biting into his lip to spur him on faster. She could feel heat uncurling up her spine, and it was distracting to the point of madness.
He grinned, tasting blood on his tongue as she split his lip. He could feel how hot she was against him, the desperation in the way she moved, and he lifted her away from him, pinning her hips and waiting for her to stop moving. He turned his head to bite- slowly, painfully, till he caught a taste of blood in return for the one she'd taken. Then he set her down for a moment. "Condom," he muttered, going into his bedroom and digging one out of the end table.
"Okay," she breathed out once he was already gone, leaning back against the wall for support while she waited for him to get back, a hand absently coming up to check for blood on the bite he'd left and not being surprised when she found it. Yes, she would have to break up with Malcolm the next time she saw him. She was going to covered in marks by the time she and Moran were done.
He returned, condom in place, and didn't pause, stalking across the room towards her and lifting her, slamming her none-too-gently against the wall as his hips pressed roughly against hers, bending to trace his tongue over the slowly bleeding mark on her neck.
She nearly lost her wind as he slammed her into the wall, gasping for breath as she wound her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers into his hair, more for something to hold onto than any sort of vain bid for control. Hell, she didn't want control, she just wanted him to soothe the growing aching heat in her core.
He lined up with her and waited for no permission, he could feel it vibrating through her body if he wanted it, anyway. He pushed into her with smooth force, a hand snaking up between her arms to find her throat and grab hold, pressing her head back against the wall as his hips rolled against hers for a moment, getting a feel for the angle.
She moaned shamelessly as he finally filled her, digging her nails into his scalp without care - his grip on her throat had the effect of making her feel like it wouldn't be pushing any lines, after all. "Don't stop," she demanded, panting for breath and doing her damned best to move her hips in rhythm with his.
"Is that an order?" he sneered, his fingers digging into the side of her neck a little. But he didn't stop, instead starting to increase the length and power of his thrusts.
"You and I both know I can't order you t-to do anything-ah, fuck," she moaned, her sentence breaking up as he started to pick up the pace. The wall was starting to rub a little uncomfortably at the skin of her back now, but god it was worth it.
"M-might be amusing... if you tried..." he grunted, breath a bit short. Her movement against him was glorious, and he shifted his hips farther underneath hers, pushing her up the wall a bit and giving him a stronger angle of approach.
She managed a breathless laugh. "I think it might lo- mmph -lose it's oomph with y-your hand around my neck," she panted, using her grip on his shoulders to help lift herself and drop hard down onto him, swearing triumphantly behind clenched teeth.
"Fuck-" He let out a groan, losing himself in the sensations for a few moments, tilting his hips until he was dragging against her walls with each stroke. His thumb grazed the side of her jugular, back and forth, possessive.
If she wasn't pinned to the wall she would have buried her face in the crook of his neck and held on for dear life, but as it was she had to gasp for breath with her head tilted back to the ceiling, and thus she was quite a bit noisier, high-pitched whines dispersed amongst her pants for air. She thought she was going to pass out, he felt so good, like she was filled to the damned brim.
She was tight and fluid around him, grasping at him as he moved and reacting to him with strength. He could feel her pressing against his grip on her neck a little and it turned him on more than he was prepared for, the feel of her swallowing and breathing and whimpering under his palm, her legs cinched tight around his waist. Flames were licking their way up his spine and across his shoulders like wings, and he cried out slightly as he pressed his forehead to the wall next to her head.
Lorna didn't think there'd ever been anything more satisfying in the world than hearing Sebastian Moran coming apart right beside her ear, even over the sounds of her heart pounding in her head and her own strangled cries. She could feel the pleasure boiling its way towards the tipping point, arching into him in a frantic, needy demand for more, for anything that would push her over the edge and stop her from burning alive.
She pressed into him hungrily, and took him in that much deeper, making him cry out again, his teeth finding her shoulder and sinking in there for a moment as he reached down with his free hand to slip between them and find her clit. It wasn't an easy matter with them moving around so much, but he did manage to locate it, and started rubbing quickly with their movements.
That was it. That was all she could take. The extra stimulation sent her sparking over the edge, her voice suddenly silent as she gasped and shuddered and clawed her nails across his shoulders and she held on as tightly to his waist with her thighs as she could, because if she let go now she was certain it would kill her.
She twisted around him, clamping down around him tightly and sending fantastic sensations through him as he continued to move, but he didn't last long past her. A few moments after she came he joined her, teeth digging into her shoulder as he muffled his cry, white light flashing behind his eyes.
She found herself winded as she blinked black spots from her eyes, her pounding heart slowly beginning to quiet as they caught their breath. Absently, she ran her fingers over the faint raised lines she'd left with her nails. "M-Moran, I'm going to.. need my neck back," she breathed, stumbling over her words a bit sluggishly and not helped by the building ache in her windpipe.
He nodded, releasing her neck quickly and finding her hips, pulling out of her and gently lowering her to the ground, still supporting a good portion of her weight as he let her get her feet. His eyes were still closed, forehead against the coolness of the wall.
She slumped back against the wall, legs shaking beneath her, and just took a long moment to retrieve her breath. Contented exhaustion was beginning to settle in her limbs and chest, making her feel weighed down. Still, she remained where she was without moving, giving time for Moran to come down from the endorphin high on his own.
He gradually relaxed, grunting slightly as he stood, reaching up to rub at his face. "Feel fucked into a wall enough?" he asked with a touch of bleariness.
"Yeah," she breathed, too well-fucked to bother with a snappy retort. She lifted a slightly unsteady hand to wipe at the drying blood on her neck, looking slightly inconvenienced about it more than anything else. "Think I want 'nother nap."
"Yeah," he muttered, nodding in agreement and motioning for her to follow as he headed for his room. He disappeared into the bathroom to clean up, but returned a few moments later to flop onto the bed.
She followed without questioning, crawling into bed next to him and immediately stopping herself from curling into him - a habit she'd gotten into with Malcolm that wouldn't fly here. Instead she just grabbed one of his pillows and burrowed into it, making a contented little sigh.
He grabbed the blanket, pulling it up, and buried his head under a pillow. A few moments later, he was asleep.
She followed immediately after, falling asleep without dreams for the first time in a week.
He woke slowly, groggily, letting out a low grumble as he shifted in his bed, reaching out for his pillow, only to find a warm body next to him. His hand was on his knife from the bedside table before he had time to really process, but then it came back to him and he relaxed, setting the weapon aside.
Lorna woke up when the bed shifted sharply under her, coming to her senses in time to hear the blade Moran had grabbed being set on the nightstand. Soon after she registered that she cataloged the various aches and pains that her bedmate had left behind and rolled over, grunting as she stretched. "I think I have stubble burn on my chest," she mumbled, cracking her eyes open.
"Am I supposed to apologize?" he asked, laying back and turning to look at her, grinning at the purpling bruises left behind by his teeth and hands.
"No," she chuckled hoarsely, "I enjoyed it. Have to put some disinfectant on that bite mark, though. Are you sure this isn't why Boss calls you Tiger?"
"I have no fucking clue why he calls me Tiger," he snorts, rolling his eyes. "Just picked it up one day. And I've never bit him, so that's not a valid reason."
She yawned, nodding, then sighed. "Mm. What time is it? I should text my cuckold and tell him not to plan for any more dates."
He glanced at the clock. "Almost two in the morning," he grunts, amused.
She snorted, drawing the covers further up her torso in a clear display of her intentions of not moving. "Never mind. I'm comfortable anyway."
He laughed. "What do you think he's thinking right now?" he snorts, staring at the ceiling.
She chuckled, shrugging. "I don't know. I wonder if he'll try to confront a few men in the building when he sees my throat, really. I'm already bruising, it should be spectacular."
"I'll happily tell him who's responsible, if he really wants to know," he smirked. "I'd love to see his expression."
"Christ, if you really want to ruin your working relationship I won't stop you," she laughed, dragging her fingers through her mussed hair.
He laughed out loud. "That won't ruin anything, if he knows what's good for him. And if he doesn't, like I said. Chauffeurs are incredibly replaceable."
She grinned, stretching out and muffling another yawn into the crook of her arm. She felt like she needed a shower, but it was two in the morning and she was tired and comfortable. It would have to wait. "Well, then. Take a picture. That way if you really like the particular shade of purple he turns you can save it for later to paint your walls."
He smiled. "Sometimes it's scary how well you understand me." The phrase surprised him, not one he would usually use. But it was 2 in the A fucking M, and he was tired and well fucked, and nothing was of consequence.
She was too tired to do much more than chuckle. "I've carried your sorry ass out of a crazy torture dungeon, I think a small amount of familiarity is to be expected," she hummed, letting her eyes close, even though still awake to participate in any conversation.
"True," he muttered. He sighed, relaxing a bit, mind spinning back towards sleep before he forced himself to wake up a bit. "C'mere..." he mumbled quietly, lifting an arm to offer her space next to him. "So I don' try t' kill you in my sleep."
"M'kay," she yawned, rolling over and sleepily cuddling up against him, too appreciative of his warmth and general safety factor to question any further.
He tucked her against him, shifted once more, and then was asleep.
She fell asleep the second he was still - which was about two seconds after he'd fallen asleep - and slept like a fucking baby.