Crawl into my heart, take me apart
Do what you please to me, I won't resist
Find what you're seeking, I am not leaving
'Til I am drunk, loved up, bitten, and kissed

- Cat Pierce - You Belong To Me -

When she was done she sipped at her beer, eyes on nothing. She was considering how much longer she'd be able to stay managing the grifter department, going over a small list of new recruits in her head that showed promise. If any of them made a move on her, she'd have to kill them to defend her spot on top of the hill. That would be fun to explain to Jim. Christ. She sighed.

He stood to clear their plates, though he left the dishes for later, grabbing a second beer. He offered one in her direction, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Please," she said, throwing back the rest of hers and thinking about moving directly on to vodka instead. But no, beer was a little more acceptable.

He walked over to hand it to her, then headed into the living room to flop down onto the couch. He picked up a knife from the end table, starting to flip it through his fingers lazily.

Lorna stayed where she was for a few minutes before walking out after him, leaning against the doorway to the living room, beer in hand. "D'you think that if I ever take that all-expenses-paid vacation Jim'd let you come with me?"

"If you take that all-expenses-paid vacation, I will take time off and go with you. Jim will have nothing to say about it," he retorted.

She chuckled, sipping at her beer. That made her feel surprisingly smug. Really, unnecessarily smug. Lorna: 1, Jim: 0. "Alright, good. I was putting off asking about it because I didn't really feel like going alone. Not as much fun."

He nodded. "Wait until he decides what this new plan of his is and if he needs us. If he doesn't, we'll go," he decided. He looked around the apartment, and then shook his head. "Fuck it. Let's go to my apartment for the night. I want to relax."

She grinned, taking a swig from her beer. "Sounds good to me. I could use a little extra jacuzzi in my life. Jeans optional."

"Very optional," he agreed, heading for his room to grab a bag. "And I am entertaining the idea of fucking you into something, so keep that in mind too."

"What, there are times you aren't entertaining that idea? I'm shocked and appalled, Sebastian," she snickered, ditching her beer on the coffee table and following him into the bedroom to help pack a little.

"I am not completely driven by sex, Lorna. Sometimes it's bloodlust," he retorted dryly, tossing a change of clothes and his toiletries into a duffle bag.

"What, it's not the same thing?" she asked innocently, flashing him a grin as she slipped by him into the bathroom to grab her own toiletries, her clothes already stuffed haphazardly into the bag.

"It's a Venn diagram with a large overlap," he snorted, packing a few weapons into the sides.

She snorted in return, flopping down on the bed as she waited for him to finish. "That's a cop-out. But I'll let you win, because you really 'took' one for the team today."

He glanced over at her, walking over and sliding a hand up her torso and then around her throat. "That so?" he asked casually, fingers drumming.

She bit her lip, though still gave him a cheeky smile, just on the edge of defiant. "I'm not even bending the truth. Am I?"

His grip tightened a little. "You seem to be under the impression that because I was submissive once, it's going to become a habit."

Her eyes darkened a little as his hand flexed. "On the contrary; I just really enjoy riling you up."

"Is that so?" he asked, eyes narrowing just a little. Then he smiled, a dangerous glint in his eye. He slid his hand down under her beltline, fingers sliding across skin, his other hand still at her throat, thumb massaging the side of her windpipe just a little. "I could say the same."

She sucked in a bit of a shallow breath, a hand curling in the sheets below her. The things it did to her when he got that look. "Let me guess; you're going to wind me up and then decide we should go, right?"

"I'd hate to be predictable, but it's going to be so much fun to watch you squirm," he retorted, bending down to bite into the side of her neck slowly.

"Shit," she gasped, fingers grasping onto the front of his shirt. "Yeah, I'd say squirm is probably accurate."

He pushed his hand down a little further, fingers finding her clit through her knickers and rolling slowly against it, working his way up her neck with his teeth until he found her ear, biting slowly.

She arched, moaning, warmth flooding through her. "Christ, Seb," she breathed, hard. "Please."

"Please what?" he whispered in her ear, the hand on her throat tightening just a little as if to remind her it was there, his fingers at her heat keeping up a purposefully slow rhythm.

She opened her mouth and nothing came out. She tried again. "Just- please. Please, Sebastian."

He circled fingers sped up for just a moment, as if to obey the request, but then he smirked against her ear.

"No..." he whispered, removing his hand and pulling away with a dark smile to look at her, flushed, eyes dark. "Maybe once we're at my place. And don't even think about getting yourself off."

She gave him a challenging look, which was hard to do, as aroused and flustered as she was. "What are you going to do to stop me? Out of pure curiosity."

"If you're really interested in finding out, feel free to try," he said calmly, turning to zip up their bag.

"That's not very ominous," she snorted, though she decided not to try her luck until they were in a more permanent position, and sat up. Though anybody they passed in the parking garage would have been able to tell what they'd been up to a few minutes prior.

He opened a drawer, grabbing a few things and tucking them into his pocket before slinging the bag over his shoulder. "On we go, then."

"Wonderful," she hummed, sliding off the bed and heading for the door. "God, it's been too long since we've been to yours."

"The place does seem to be a bad luck charm," he pointed out, his hand brushing against her thigh as he passed her.

"Nothing bad has ever happened to us while we were there, though," she argued, studiously ignoring his touch. It wasn't easy. Ignoring him never was.

"No, just after we were there, or before we arrived. Still. The point stands." He headed out of the apartment door and waited for her to exit before shutting it, his hip bumping her arse lightly as he did, constantly and purposefully just a little too far into her space.

It wasn't exactly hard to notice, the way he seemed to be occupying the air around her, always close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him. As they got into the elevator, she had to keep herself from letting her mind tumble into the gutter. She couldn't help it. She supposed that was probably the point.

He slipped an arm around her in the elevator, drawing patterns across her hip, intent to keep what he was sure was an uncomfortable ache between her legs alive for the entirety of their trip.

"Two can play at that game, you know," she murmured as the doors closed, her eyes sliding up to him, still a little dark. "Watch your step."

"Is that a threat?" he rumbled, amused, his hand sliding under her shirt to brush against her lower stomach.

"Absolutely," she returned, leaning against him as the doors opened again, for the lobby. Two low-ranking peons got in, chattering amongst themselves. It was likely they hadn't even recognized the pair of them.

"Don't like the taste of your own medicine?" he murmured in her ear, tracing her beltline with soft fingers before pulling away as the elevator door opened on the parking garage. He stepped out.

She shouldered past the chatting morons standing in her way to catch up with him. "What medicine would that be, again?"

"I'll give you a hint. It's silver, circular, and fit on my cock," he shot dryly in her direction, first making sure that no one would hear him speak.

"Oh, you mean Jim's medicine," she laughed, following him to his favorite Jag. "When do you think he measured you, by the way? Or do you think he was willing to risk getting one too small?"

"I think that he has an incredible eye for size," he retorted. "Look how well the clothes he got you fit. And I didn't hear you complaining about his medicine. You seemed quite pleased." He opened the rear door and tossed the bag in.

"I wasn't going to throw a fit if you weren't," she shook her head, climbing into the passenger seat. She waited for him to get in to speak again. "And hey, anybody trussing you up like a Christmas present for me is bound to make me happy. I mean, sure, would I normally rather be bound..."

"Then consider this your bondage," he smirked, climbing in and starting the car, heading for the exit with a squeal of tires. "Wound up like a spring with nowhere to go."

"I don't suppose you're the kind of man to crash the car just to spite me if I started to get myself off now?" she grinned, drumming her fingers on her knee. Then she laughed. "Christ, this is almost like Italy, isn't it?"

"No, I am not," he returned levelly, no indications of his intentions one way or the other in his voice. "And yes, it is." A slight smirk.

She chuckled, leaning back in her seat and trying not to rub her thighs together. "Do you ever wonder what that Don is up to now?"

"We should go find out some day. Pay him a visit. It'd be fun. You could lose at poker again," he smirked.

"We're trading in sexual favors this time. I'm not risking anything as broad as a dare again, holy hell," she snorted, shaking her head.

"I still have one," he reminded her, a hint of smugness in his voice. He watched her shift her position for the sixth time that minute. "Tad fidgety, are we?"

"I don't know what you're referring to," she said blankly, shifting again to cross her legs.

"Of course you don't," he said with a grin, reaching out to put a broad hand on her shoulder. "See? You're all tense," he sighed, starting to massage it gently.

At first she tensed up even more just to spite him, but then she sighed and relaxed into it, beginning to wish very much that they were no longer in a car. "Yeah, okay, fine, I'm tense. It happens."

"Has to be uncomfortable," he returned as he slowed behind a line of cars at a stoplight, hand shifting down along her arm.

"Remember how I tore the stuffing out of your sofa that one time? And how I warned you that I would do that in a car?" she raised an eyebrow, though her fingers were twisted into the hem of her hoodie.

"Seats can be fixed," he said with a shrug, fingers trailing over from her arm to her knee, rubbing gently.

"Sebastian, I swear to god," she muttered, though there wasn't any bitterness to it - it was beginning to edge on needy. "You're a cruel, cruel man, you know that?"

"God isn't going to help you here," he retorted, fingers tracing the seam of her jeans up the inside of her thigh. "And I try."

She let out a quiet little sigh, shifting a little impatiently, before she looked over at him again. "How about you relent on trying to get me soaked before I even get into that jacuzzi, and my poor little heart won't give out in anticipation of a third orgasm today?"

He sighed. "It's so much fun though," he grumbled, relenting and letting his hand drop, turning down the street for the apartment.

"I know, I know, believe me," she snorted, rolling her eyes.

He pulled into the parking garage and pulled into his spot, grabbing the bag from the back and waiting for Lorna to exit before locking up.

She had a distinct bounce in her step as they headed for the door. She loved living with Sebastian, but the fact was they both could never be completely relaxed in HQ, where any minute they might be called upon, or someone could, conceivably, pull a gun on them. And not everything had been perfect here, either, but there had been less fights here in comparison to pleasantness, and that was something she could get behind. "You know, I may actually be in a wine kind of mood. God, I'm aging. Help me," she shook her head, waiting for him to unlock the door.

"I don't think there's anything to be done," he sighed, keying into his flat. "You're old. It's all over. Nothing but wine and complaints about bad knees to look forward to now."

She groaned, stepping into the flat with sagging shoulders. "God, this is too soon. I'm like, twenty-six. Five? Seven? I don't know, I lost track after twenty-three," she shook her head, kicking off her shoes as she walked and leaving them strewn behind her.

"It only gets worse once you're thirty," he returned cheerfully, heading for the kitchen to find something decent on the wine rack.

"Christ, don't tell me. At least let me be disappointed when the time comes instead of dreading it now," she huffed, trailing after him. "And get something expensive. I want to drink money."

He laughed, grabbing a bottle he'd been gifted by a grateful side-employer a few years back and reading the label before nodding and opening the drawer to find the corkscrew. "I forget how young you are sometimes. It's fucking hilarious."

"Oh, shut up, you're not that much older than me," she rolled her eyes, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen. "How is it funny, anyways?"

"I have, by your estimation, seven to nine years on you. That's enough." He opened the bottle and set it down to breathe while he hunted down glasses. "I'm not sure why it's funny. It just is."

"Please, I've dated men twice my age. Men old enough to be my father," she scoffed, watching him lazily, with a sense of appreciation that this was the one she'd gotten caught up with.

He poured them both generous glasses. "I know that. I'm just saying that I find it entertaining how young and naive you are," he teased, handing her a glass and heading for the main room. "Jacuzzi?"

"When is the answer no?" she laughed, following him with her glass in hand. "And I'm going to have to say that I'm probably more jaded than you. You're the optimist in this relationship."

He headed for his bedroom, and through to the large bathroom, setting the bottle of wine and his glass on the sink and reaching over to turn on the tap in the jacuzzi. "Me, an optimist. That's a stretch."

She set her glass down by his and started to strip. "But me, a pessimist? Dead on," she pointed out, tossing her shirt out in the general direction of the bed in the bedroom.

"That is true," he conceded, undressing. He didn't remember the fact that he'd re-carved some of the words on his stomach until he took his shirt off, and decided his best play was to pretend like it wasn't there.

She noticed it immediately - how could she not, the way she looked at him? "What happened?" she frowned, stepping forward a tapping a finger to his abdomen, just below the new cuts.

"Hmm?" he asked, reaching over to test the water temperature, ignoring the pointed tap as he raised the heat of the incoming water a little and turned on the bubblers.

She settled her hands on his muscular hips, thumb stretching a little to brush ever so slightly on the broken skin. "This. What happened?" she asked again, kissing his shoulder once absently before resting her cheek there. "I'm not going to yell or anything."

He snorted air through his nose. "You aren't that intimidating when you do, anyway," he retorted, adjusting the jets a bit before pulling away just enough to step in and sink into the water with a sigh, reaching up to tug on her hand a bit and invite her in.

She let herself be gently tugged in, sinking down after him with a similar sigh before she twisted and leaned up to grab both of their glasses. She handed his to him and then settled back with hers. "You're still deflecting me."

"Noticed, did you?" He accepted his wine and considered leaving it at that, but sighed and shrugged. "Hadn't been cut into like that for a while," he muttered, tapping his cheek. "It felt good."

She let out a quiet sigh, settling down in the warm water and taking a sip from her glass. "I'm not thrilled, don't get me wrong, but I can understand," she said, shaking her head a little. "As long as you don't start relying on it again. I don't want either one of us to be forcibly stuffed back into the infirmary for observation."

"Noted," he said quietly, taking a sip of wine and shifting to center his back over a jet. He wasn't concerned. He'd stopped himself earlier. He could do it again.

She let herself relax with a soft sigh. "God, I missed this bathtub. What a marvel of modern technology."

He nodded. "It is nice. Relieves tension." He smirked into his wine glass.

"Oh my god," she rolled her eyes, flicking water at him. "Don't do this to me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he snorted imperiously.

"Liar," she smirked, elbowing him ever so slightly.

"You're one to talk," he smirked, not giving her the satisfaction of rubbing his ribs. He drained his wine glass and set it aside for the time being.

"Well, I lie for a living," she snorted, shrugging. She didn't hurry with her glass, and she knew exactly what she was doing. She smirked.

"I'm well aware," he retorted, studying her while she doddled. The scar across her face had silvered now, and was slowly fading, but it was still very visible, and he knew it would be for a while to come, if not forever. It didn't bother him, in fact he rather liked it, but he knew she disliked it.

She was not as comfortable being watched as she had used to be. Time was that she had been completely fine with it, even enjoyed it. She'd been confident then in her looks, that it didn't matter what the lighting was, that she'd always been prettier than the other women around her. Now, when she felt eyes on her, she felt the scars burned onto her face, on her shoulders and back and running down her body. All she could think that people were staring at them. She downed the rest of her wine.

He saw the hint of a flush in her cheeks, and frowned, watching as she downed the wine. "Alright?"

"Yeah," she cleared her throat, setting her glass aside. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit," he said, frowning and sitting up enough to catch her eye when she turned away.

She let out a quiet sigh, and leaned back again, running a hand over her face. Her fingers trailed over the scar that crossed nearly the entirety of her face, crossing her nose and ending just above her jawline. "I... I don't particularly enjoy being looked at anymore."

He considered that for a few moments. "I enjoy looking at you," he said quietly. "You're beautiful. Your scars add to it."

"I know they don't bother you," she murmured, shaking her head a little. She couldn't really look at him. "But they just.. I hate them."

"Why?" he asked bluntly, though her words sparked an unusual bout of sympathy in him. He hated seeing her upset, and it was obvious that this was something that had been bothering her for a long time.

"I don't know," she whispered, drawing her knees up to her chest. "I'm used to being... flawless. Physically. Now I'm damaged. Everyone can see the reminders of the awful shit that has happened to me."

He considered that for a while, mulled it over. He wasn't a man who was good with words. They weren't his forte. They were hers. He wasn't comfortable with more than a few of them at a time, and rarely did they convey what he wanted them to. This rarely bothered him; he was a man of distance, of destruction. He could will his meaning into physical being with a bullet or a knife, when he really needed to.

But right now, for once, he wished that he had a tongue that was more adept at expressing the images that played through his mind. A way to tell her that the scars weren't imperfections, they weren't damage, not unless she let them become so. They were the weathering of a stream on a boulder, the bruising char of fire on a tree that still stood. They were a defiance against what could have been, against fate and nature. A mark that screamed victor, not victim.

But he wasn't a man of words, and she couldn't read his mind, so instead he shifted and reached out to pull her against his side, and pressed his lips and nose to the top of her head. "Fuck that. Who gives a shit what they think?"

She leaned into him, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Christ, did she love him. "Me, sometimes, I suppose," she chuckled quietly.

"Well, I don't. So sod them, and trust me on this one, alright?" he muttered. "And enjoy the damned jacuzzi."

"Yeah, okay," she chuckled, nesting him a little more.

He smirked just a bit, rubbing her back. "Much better."

"This place has a habit of our work seem.. further away, doesn't it?" she murmured thoughtfully, shifting into a more comfortable position, her arm stretched out along the back of the tub; he was hot as fuck, and the hot tub was just making her warmer. It wasn't often she had warmth to spare.

"That is sort of the point," he deadpanned, his hand finding the back of her neck and massaging gently, letting the heat and his fingers loosen knots.

"Yeah, but it's... hmph..." she lost her words for a second as he started to work on a particularly bad knot, then regained her train of thought. "For us, it seems to be that work is just... always present, you know? We go out to eat and we have to worry about kidnapping. In your quarters at HQ, there's always like, a bombing threat. Here... I don't know."

He shrugged a little, thumb rubbing over the tight muscles. "Yeah. I guess that's true. It's my sanctuary. Has been since I bought it."

She made a small content sound in response, eyes closed, melting back into his hand. "Mm, you keep that up, I'm going to pass out on you before you get to cash in on your freebie night."

"If that's the case I didn't do nearly a good enough job of winding you up," he chuckled, the hand remaining on her neck, but another slipping down beneath the water to find her thigh.

"You did a fine job. But wine and a jacuzzi? That's going to unwind anyone," she smirked, looking up at him through her lashes.

He nodded just a little, drawing circles on the inside of her leg absently. "It's unwound me a bit, too, to be honest," he grunted, head flopping back against the edge of the tub.

"Good," she chuckled, giving him a cheeky smirk. "Being tense after the day you've had is just going to make it hard to sit tomorrow."

"Carefully, or I'll put you right there with me," he warned, not bothering to open his eyes.

"I've been made too sore to sit right by you more times than I can count, that's not really a threat," she pointed out, lifting a hand to run a finger across his collarbone.

He felt goosebumps rising up under her finger. "Reasonable," he admitted grudgingly, an arm slipping around her waist.

She grinned. "I know. I think I'm pretty good at reminding people unfortunate truths, don't you?" She loved it when he put an arm around her waist like that; she felt an odd mixture of safe and a little bit pleased, both because of the possibility of it (it wasn't like she got picked up and pinned to the nearest surface every day) and because it made her feel like they were solid, that all was good between them. And it made her feel like she was his. With her doubts about Jim that was even more important.

"I'd go so far as to call it a talent," he chuckled, shaking his head a little and, with a light tug, shifting her up onto his lap.

"Oh, good," she hummed, as if she hadn't just been deposited into his lap, "I love hearing about my talents."

His hands found her hips at either side, and he bent slightly to press his lips to the back of her neck. "That's because you have a dangerous ego issue," he retorted against her skin, teeth scraping.

A very noticeable shiver ran down her spine, and she had to stop herself from rocking back into him. "I don't know if dangerous is the word I'd use," she mumbled. "Non-existent, maybe."

"Is that so?" he asked, grinning against the back of her neck, hands sliding over her abdomen as he pulled her closer to him. "I don't know... I'm certainly an egomaniac, I thought for sure you were in my ranks, what with all your boasting points."

"It's not boasting if it's the truth," she smirked, dragging her nails up his thigh under the water. "Are there any bonuses for being in the club, though?"

He sighed through his nose, a low growl sounding in his chest as her nails scraped against him. "One or two," he murmured, hands closing around the inside of her thighs and lifting her, sliding her back further until her arse brushed his stomach, his cock rubbing against her skin.

"Such as?" she hummed, leaning back against his chest, studiously pretending that she didn't want to grind down on him, and that his hands weren't inches from where she wanted them to be.

He rolled his hips up against her slowly, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. "Membership benefits include me cooking for you and sharing my jacuzzi."

"What's this, then? A sneak peek?" she murmured, pretending a little less studiously, barely suppressing a shudder.

"Got to get you interested somehow," he pointed out. "Sign up now and see where full membership takes you."

She chuckled. "Alright, but only because that sentence was so masterfully crafted. I don't think you really had to work to get me interested, though."

"True," he grinned, lifting her hips and shifting a hand down to line his dick up with her entrance. "So anyway, ready for membership?"

"Just fuck me, already," she groaned, leaning her head back against his shoulder and turning a little to bite the corner of his jaw.

He laughed, but pushed into her without further patter, his hips circling slowly beneath hers.

She took in a sharp breath, arching off him a little, a little sensitive from earlier in the day but still hungry for more.

He placed a hand on her center back, leaning her forward a little and groaning as she tightened around him as a result, his hand following her spine down below the water and then skirting out to her hip again as he buried himself within her fully, taking a moment to appreciate the feeling.

It really wasn't very often that they slowed down enough to bother to savor the moment, to really drown themselves in the sensation. "Christ, you feel good," she moaned, circling her hips down onto him, the on-the-edge-of-cool water a stark contrast to the burning heat of him.

He smirked just a little, starting to roll his hips slowly. "I should hope so," he returned, broad shoulders rolling back against the porcelain of the tub, muscles flexing in his chest and arms.

She lost the will to make words, reduced to quiet gasps and breathy moans, completely focused on the searing friction, soothing the ache in her core.

He slid a hand over her abdomen, felt her muscles clench and shift as he started to move slowly, for once in the mood to take his time. He pressed his forehead to her back, his lips brushing her spine as he set up a slow rhythm.

It was hard to contain herself. Most times she was too busy occupied keeping herself in the same place, holding on for dear sweet life to squirm, her hand clutching the side of the porcelain tub hard enough to turn her knuckles bone white, moving to the rhythm he set as well as she could without throwing him off with her ever-present urgency.

He could feel the tension throughout her body, energy rolling beneath her skin, but kept control, pushing her forward further in the tub until her balance depended on his grip, starting to slowly roll his hips against her.

She gasped his name, resigning herself to being kept up by his will and his alone, her back arching, a drop of water, or maybe sweat, rolling down her spine, leaving a cold trail. This was what nirvana felt like.

He smiled as she whispered his name, pushing into her a little more firmly in response, adding a bit of force but not speed. He angled his hips so that the tip of his cock pressed against her walls, tracing lines within her as he swayed his hips forward and back against hers, the water swirling around them.

Slowly but surely he was building her up towards the end, her heart beating hard in her chest until she was sure he could hear it, feel it, biting her lip as he changed angles and holding back a needy whimper.

He shifted until he could kneel, bury himself in her deeper. A hand reached forward to grasp her neck, fingers tracing the thin scar his knife had left running across it. He pressed his knees outward against the inside of her thighs, spreading her further and allowing him to reach just a bit deeper, the arm around her waist holding her up and against him firmly.

She grabbed his wrist like a lifeline, her breath coming harsh even before he had a hand on her throat, another spark of electricity shooting down her spine. "Seb, Seb, fuck," she gasped, a hand going behind her to claw at his side, uncontrolled.

He gripped her throat a bit tighter as she scratched him, letting out a low, growling moan as she called his name. He finally allowed his pace to pick up, the water around them sloshing in response. "Christ, you feel good," he hissed in her ear between clenched teeth.

She couldn't find the words to respond, just arching further, changing the angle again and nearly crying out until it caught in her throat and all she could manage was a low moan. She finally found her voice. "Seb, fuck, I'm close, I'm close," she panted, her voice strained, thighs shaking.

He allowed himself a bit more momentum, his grip on her tightening as he approached the edge as well. His nails scraped across her throat. "What the fuck... are you waiting for then?" he asked, voice strained.

She came at the scratch of his nails, her own scoring marks down his arm, her lips parting in a soundless cry, burning up from the inside from the heat of him.

The wave of molten energy that flowed out of her and over him sent him spiraling without a chance of recovery, and a few seconds later he came, shouting her name as he buried himself deep within her, the water from the tub sloshing dangerously close to the edge.

She slumped back against him, heart still beating hard against her rib cage, the cooling water a balm on her hot, sweaty skin. "Shit," she breathed, resting her head back on his shoulder. "I feel like I'm going to melt, now."

He could feel her pulse pounding against his chest, making him feel like he had two heartbeats rather than one. He grunted his agreement with her commentary, leaning back against the side of the tub. "You know, I design this lovely apartment, state of the art entertainment systems, game room, stocked bar, and all you and I ever seem to do is fuck in th' jacuzzi."

"That's a lie and you know it. You design this lovely apartment, state of the art entertainment systems, game room, so on and so forth, and all you and I ever seem to do is fuck after leaving the jacuzzi. We're usually a little more patient," she snorted, chuckling wearily.

"Are you calling me a liar, Harrison?" he drawled, staring up at his ceiling absently.

"I'm not calling you a liar, just don't lie to me," she smirked, shrugging just a little.

He nipped the back of her neck as a retort.

"Fine. All we ever seem to do is use the jacuzzi and fuck, and sometimes there is overlap. Better, Ms. Details?"

"Much better," she agreed, smirking to herself. "But fine, I'll concede that maybe we should spend a little less time in those two categories. A little less. But we have so little time here, it's a little difficult to achieve."

"I wasn't complaining," he retorted. "I was commenting." He shifted her out of his lap, standing with a grunt and a stretch.

She got up too, with a little more effort, her legs still not working quite properly, and stumbling a little out of the tub and grabbing a towel. "Oh, I'm hoping you weren't planning on anything after this, because I'm a little orgasmed-out."

"I wasn't, no," he snickered, drying his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist and grabbing the bottle of wine. He poured them both another glass of wine before heading out into the bedroom with his glass and the bottle.

She trailed after him, the towel wrapped around her chest. She took a sip from her wine glass. "You know, I don't have the patience for wine most times. I forget how much I like it."

He nodded a little in agreement. "It certainly isn't my favorite, but every once in a while it certainly is enjoyable." He headed through the bedroom, out into the apartment proper, walking down the steps and then over to the wall of windows, opening the curtains to reveal the night landscape of London.

She followed him down, stopping next to him, still wrapped in a fluffy white towel. She took a sip of wine, eyes on the city in front of them. "London is still my favorite city, I think. Above Paris, certainly. Too many French people there."

He shook his head. "Not mine, though I do enjoy it," he said, walking over to sit on a leather couch facing the windows.

"Which one is yours, then?" she prompted, staying where she was, wet-tipped hair pulled over her shoulder. The night was surprisingly clear - she could see farther into the city than normal.

"Portland," he said, zero inflection in his voice to indicate whether or not he was serious. He took a slow sip of wine.

"Portland? I've never been that far west. Most of the work I've done in America was for Armetti, and New York City is a big place. I don't know if I've ever gone farther than Detroit," she murmured, deciding to take him seriously. She got the feeling with him that he liked to let the truth out when it was least likely to be that - true. And he had the tendency to tell her surprising things. She wondered if even Jim knew what she did about his life. She had a twinge of jealousy at the thought that maybe Sebastian had told him, too.

He shrugged. "Jim had business there a few years before you came around. Spent about a month there. We had a good time." He set his glass aside, standing up to walk over and wrap his arms around her from behind.

The mild sting from his words was soothed by the physical contact, and she sighed, leaning back against him a little. "Don't get me wrong, I love the traveling part of our jobs," she finished off the last of her wine, "But, I don't know. This is just home. Spent all my formative years here and whatnot. Plus, it'd be a pain visiting the family on Christmas if I lived anywhere else. They're certainly not going to climb out of the ground and get on a plane."

He chuckled a little, resting his rough-shaved chin on her damp head. "I was not suggesting we move to Portland. London is fine." He took her wine glass out of her hand and stole a sip, handing it back.

"Hmmph, like Jim would ever let us move," she snorted, watching the blinking lights of a plane pass slowly by. "Anyway, I wasn't being defensive or anything. Just thinking aloud." Something that I didn't think I'd ever be able to do with you around.

"Mmm..." he said, straightening and smacking her arse lightly as he headed for the wine bottle to refill his glass, before turning to offer her the last few inches with a raised eyebrow.

"Nah, I'm good," she shook her head, finishing off the last of her wine. She didn't want to get beyond tipsy tonight. There was nothing she had to cover up with drinking.

He shrugged, pouring it all into his glass and sitting again and stretching out across the couch, leaving a spot for her next to him if she wanted.

She came over a moment later, sinking down next to him, quiet for a moment. As much as she was stupidly, stupidly jealous of Jim and Seb's working/sexual relationship, she found it hard to imagine a moment like this between the two of them. Just idle quiet. No agendas, no goals. She leaned her head against his shoulder, shutting her eyes with a sigh. "Fuck, I'm tired."

"Sleep, then," he says with a chuckle, shifting an arm around her and closing his own eyes. "Or do you want to go to bed?"

"I don't care, all your furniture is equally comfortable," she murmured, and then wanted to kick herself for wondering if he knew what Jim's furniture was like.

Stop being so paranoid.

How?

"I think you just insulted my bed," he snorted, shifting up over her to get to the floor and scooping her up, heading for his room.

"I did no such thing," she grumbled, not at all phased by being carried, even up stairs. She'd spent a lot of time while recovering from muscle atrophy and starvation being carried about places by him, and it wasn't as if it was a completely rare occurrence before then.

He elbowed the door to his room open and walked in, tossing her onto the bed playfully and flopping down next to her.

She yawned and tossed her towel off to the side, rolling over to snuggle up to him, already half-asleep. "Just so you know, if Jim ever shows up here looking for a threesome, I will not be engaging. I love you and this apartment but for god's sake I don't wanna deal with the physical representation of the job here. I'll put on loud music and drown you two out or something."

He had already closed his eyes, but opened them to observe her incredulously. "Where the fuck did that come from?" he asked with a snort, trying to ignore how casually she'd tossed out the phrase that they- or at least he- still danced around.

Her eyes were still closed. She hadn't wanted to meet his eyes before she said it, and now she wanted to even less. "I don't know, nowhere in particular."

"Some where in particular. Don't fucking bullshit me," he snorted gruffly, sitting up and away from her so that he could consider her with more ease.

She groaned, leaning heavily back against the couch, eyes still stubbornly closed. "If you know it's in particular, don't make me say it. I don't want to say it. Christ."

"I don't know what the fuck it's particular to," he snorted. "So cut the passive-aggressive fuckery."

"I am not being passive aggressive," she retorted, finally cracking open her eyes to squint at him. "I'm jealous, Sebastian, okay? I can't help it. I can't compete with Jim."

"Jesus," he sighed, getting up out of bed and heading out of the room, grabbing a robe on the way out.

Her stomach made a sickening drop, and she rolled onto her side, pulling the covers up until they were untucked and piled lopsidedly on top of her. She didn't know what to think of his reaction; just that she was stuck with the awful feeling of wanting to be somewhere else and not being able to make herself leave.

He put some music on low downstairs and poured himself an impressive glass of whiskey. Jealous. Jealous of Jim.

He would have liked to have blamed her, but really, he couldn't. If she were dating someone like Jim, he'd have probably killed the person.

She kept herself from breaking down into anxious tears, curling up further and burrowing into the pillows, and started to try and will herself to sleep. Less thinking happened when she was asleep. Less idiotic things came out of her mouth.

He took his time and a few records to work his way through his drink. He had little doubt that she was upset he left, but he was pleased to find he didn't particularly care. His bout of dependence on her had been waning, and he was finally regaining his ability to detach.

Sleep was hard to come by when she felt so trapped; too afraid to leave, too afraid of what he might do to stay. She sat up, leaning back against the headboard with a thump hard enough to hurt a little. She raked a hand through her hair, trying to ignore the nervous rhythm of her heart. She'd thought she was over this fear of how he might react to certain things she said. She guessed not.

He stood, finally, setting his glass on the end table. He paused to consider the wood through the condensation-speckled glass, a momentary gathering of thought. Then he headed back towards the stairs. He took his time walking up, each step quiet and measured. He reached his room and pushed inside. Despite the darkness he could tell that she wasn't asleep, could hear the short breaths, could almost imagine the rapid pounding of her heart.

She could see him better than he could see her - her eyes had adjusted to the oppressive darkness in his absence, and she could tell by the tilt of his head he wasn't exactly certain where she was. She didn't mind that. Still, she made a slight shift in position, just enough to rustle the sheets a little, cluing him in. She didn't lay back down, though, just stayed leaning against the headboard, eyes drifting up to the nearly-black ceiling.

He walked over to his side of the bed, climbing in and laying down, pulling the blankets up. "Do stop panicking, will you?"

She snorted, not bothering to look down at his dark form, her stomach twisting unpleasantly. Why did he have to pretend that the way he acted wouldn't have repercussions on her? "I wouldn't, if you didn't fucking react like that. How I am supposed to act after that? Would you rather I was angry? Hysterical? You made me tell you what was bothering me, and then you do that. The only appropriate reaction is fear. But I guess that's just a little too raw, isn't it."

"Don't turn this around on me," he growled, a warning tone in his voice. "You're jealous of Jim? I asked you, when this started. I have given you nothing but... but unparalleled courtesy in this situation. If you're jealous then you should have told me long before it became a problem."

She made a frustrated noise, raking a hand through her hair. "Sebastian, I'm not saying it's your fault. I didn't tell you because it's not your problem. You think I wouldn't have said something if I wanted something different? I'm far too selfish for that. But this... I didn't think it was worth bringing up." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I'm not trying to turn this around on you. I am saying it would be nice if you could just say this first instead of disappearing for half an hour and giving me cardiac arrest."

"Well, you react your way, I react mine. The fact that you could even consider Jim to be a threat to..." He gave a broad wave of his hand and snorted. "Ridiculous."

She was quiet for a moment, her stomach settling a little. "He's a genius, and a sadist, and our boss. It might be ridiculous to view him as a threat, but..." she gave a helpless shrug. "It didn't help that before we killed Magnussen and fucked in the basement he asked me, rather aggressively, whether or not I'd be jealous if he fucked you." She let out a tiny, tired chuckle. "Damn that memory of mine."

He took a slow breath. "Do you want to change the situation at all? Or is this a pointless conversation?"

"I don't know, Seb. I really haven't given it all that much thought," she sighed wearily, shifting to lie down finally. "I can't predict how I'll feel tomorrow about breakfast, let alone this. I think it's best just to leave it for now."

"Good, great. Now that we all feel so much better, go to sleep," he muttered, rolling away from her and closing his eyes.

She tried not to feel stung and failed, curling up into a ball about as far away from him as she could manage without falling off the bed, respecting his obvious need for space. At least her jealousy hadn't manifested into accusing him of loving Jim.

He was quiet for a long time, drifting in and out of sleep. Every time he thought he was finally drifting off, he found himself suddenly awake, as if he'd never been dozing.

Finally, he rolled over and pulled the lump of Lorna into his arms. He was asleep in two minutes.

She fell asleep as soon as he did, soothed by his unexpected, warm embrace, and that if he was willing to drift off in at least the same bed as her, things were alright.