Somewhere outside London, Great Britain
2 years ago
"You have quite the collection of scars," Moriarty mentioned as his fingers lightly brushed Samantha's skin.
Samantha lay with her back to him feeling the goosebumps prickle with his touch.
Oh god. What was she doing here again? She told herself the first time would be a once-off and yet somehow she let this happen a second time. She could blame the Scotch. She did have a glass or two or three last night. Memories of ripping off clothes, of tongue and teeth and nails reeled vividly in her head just then and she clutched her pillow tightly as if to suppress the shame she was feeling right now.
"This one is a bullet wound," Moriarty said then, drawing a circle in her shoulder.
She snorted and said, "The others aren't as interesting. Mostly training accidents if you must know. Apart from this," she turned slightly and ran a finger down the long scar on her outer thigh, "I got this on one of my earlier missions. I fell through a window while chasing a target in Moldova. I had to take months of physio before I was fully recovered."
"Ouch."
"Ouch indeed."
She lay on her back and gazed up at him. Her head was spinning and she couldn't tell if it was the hangover or the way he was looking at her just now. This was crazy. She was crazy.
"And what about this one?" he said, tracing the wide, slightly curved scar on her lower abdomen. "Looks old."
"Ah. This one is the least exciting. I would probably bore you," Samantha replied.
Moriarty gave a small shrug.
"If you were boring me I wouldn't be here," he said.
Samantha chortled.
"Ok," she said, "If you must know, I was diagnosed with endometriosis when I was fifteen. It was…debilitating. It interfered with my training and made it near impossible to keep up with my peers. I was given the choice of a lifetime of hormone treatment and painkillers or-"
"Hysterectomy," Moriarty concluded. "Did your employers provide that for you?"
"Yes. All agents are given the choice of contraception or sterilisation anyway. Anyone looking to start a family may do so but they will be discharged. You'll be surprised how few agents we had to let go for this reason. The agency is good at finding people who will be of long term value to them."
A thought occurred to her just then.
"You must not want kids," she said.
"I don't know what I'd do with them," he chuckled.
"Well…who's going to take over your empire when you're gone? Who's going to own this lovely house of yours?"
"What would I care if I'm dead?"
Samantha laughed.
"Pragmatic," she said, "Fair enough."
A moment of silence fell between them. Samantha suddenly became acutely aware of his naked body next to hers and a gush of heat swelled in her chest. As he brought his face to hers she stopped him and said, "What are we doing?"
His brow creased in puzzlement and the corner of his mouth quirked upward.
"I thought that was obvious," he murmured.
"I assure you, it is not."
Moriarty rolled his eyes.
"I was under the impression that we were having fun," he replied, brushing her hair back with his fingers.
"Fun, in my experience, tends to get…complicated," she whispered.
Moriarty gave her a look.
"Do I look like a guy who let's things get complicated?"
"I don't know."
Samantha felt she had overstepped her bounds somehow, as if she were accusing him of having a weakness.
"Well," he drew closer to her, bringing a hand to her inner thigh, "If that's how you feel, we could always stop having fun."
Her breath hitched as his hand travelled upward.
"I never said I wanted to stop," she said, her mouth brushing against his as she spoke.
"I don't either. Let's not overcomplicate things, shall we?"
With that he caught her mouth in a kiss, dispelling all her doubts with it.
