Sebastian receives his first job the next day in the form of a text. It reads:
First day on the job. Make daddy proud.
A shudder runs down the length of his spine, which he tries to convince himself is due to disgust.
Sick bastard... He thinks to himself.
Attached is a picture file of a man in a suit. Sebastian recognizes him somehow, but has no hint where to find the man. He guesses it must be a test to see how little he could go on.
He's gotten the job done with less.
Time passes slowly between jobs. He lives for the jobs. His income literally depends on it, but there is something else. Another reason he does it.
He would never tell anyone, but a very dark part of him thrills to the sound of a gunshot. It's like a game of God. He gets to call the shots on who lives and who dies. He's unstoppable. Ever since he was a boy, he has liked to play God.
He gets a rush just thinking about it. About looking through the sights, finding his target, drawing out the last precious moments of a human's life and then finally squeezing the trigger, watching a life end at his hand...
His pot of water starts boiling over.
The man is a member of parliament. That is why he recognized him. He has killed men in parliament before.
There is the remains of a condemned apartment complex just opposite the man's hotel room, luckily enough. He doesn't know why the man is staying in a hotel. It isn't his job to know that.
The sun set hours ago. He works best under the cover of night. It makes it easy for him to separate Sebastian from Sebastian Moran, trained assassin.
He's just watching the man through his sites, witnessing his last moments and breathing the cold night air. What will his last actions be? It's a fascinating game to play, like looking at an ant through a microscope, waiting before leaning away and letting the sun do its job.
Sebastian Moran waits like a panther until he can't stand to wait a second longer. He squeezes the trigger...
The man falls back headfirst, spraying red on the furniture and carpet.
Sebastian stands and begins disassembling his gun. He deftly puts the pieces back into his duffel bag and leaves.
The next day, Sebastian wakes up and finds a newspaper on his tidy bedside table. The cover story is the assassination of the man he killed. There's a post-it on top of it.
Beautifully done.
Sebastian quirks an eyebrow and gets up to take a shower.
When he gets out, no sooner has he toweled his hair dry that his phone rings. The number is hidden, so he is pretty sure it's Moriarty, but not 100%.
"Moran."
"Sebastian!"
Yep. He was right.
"Moriarty."
"Good morning! Have a nice shower?"
Sebastian narrows his eyes.
"Nice enough."
Asking would be admitting that Moriarty is too clever for him.
"You're not wearing my gift. Why not wear it all the time? It suits you so nicely."
Sebastian's face has already filled with blood, and a towel decorously draped around his waist by the time the man on the other end of the phone finishes his sentence. He has to physically bite his tongue not to ask.
"Bit too fancy for a shower."
A chuckle.
The bastard's bugged my apartment. Shit.
Sebastian opens his bathroom door and walks out of the steam, shutting the light off as he leaves.
"Don't you think this is a bit much? I said I'd come when you call. Do you not trust me?"
Silence.
"I like to keep an eye on you."
Sebastian looks up at the light fixture in his room, finding a small camera hidden in it.
"Uh-huh. So, what did you call me for? It can't have been to tell me you're spying on me."
"No, I'd like to see you."
The sniper sits on his bed, pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Alright, when?"
"As soon as possible." His tone implies the word naturally at the end.
"Where?"
"How about your place?"
Sebastian raises his free hand, as if to say where else? He sighs.
"Sure, let me just-"
"No need."
Moriarty opens his front door and leans in, his phone still to his ear. He's grinning in that odd way he does, and Sebastian stands.
This time, he's not fast enough to stop himself.
"How did you...?" He bites his tongue. Dammit.
The shorter man steps all the way in, his grin broadening.
"A magician never shares his secrets." He shuts the door behind him.
The assassin sighs and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face.
"So what's so important it couldn't wait for me to get dressed?"
Moriarty is approaching him, hands in pockets.
"You know, for a trained military assassin, you're very... Chaste."
Sebastian swallows. Moriarty is cornering him. He tries to subtly side-step him, but he knows he wouldn't be able to get past him. That's his thing, right? Noticing what others do not.
On top of that, he feels his damn face betray him, his cheeks filling with blood. A soft smile spreads like butter on Moriarty's face.
"A blushing gunman. How pathetic." Sebastian locks his jaw, and opts against backing down. He stands tall as the shorter man comes to a stop not a foot before him. "Still. You're pretty."
Sebastian fists his hands by his side and tries to look anywhere but into those flat blue eyes, staring up at him so expressionlessly.
"You never answered my question."
"Right. Why I'm here."
Moriarty finally drops his eyes, lighting on Sebastian's chest. He draws a finger up the center of the sniper's moulded stomach and chest.
One mill per kill, one mill per kill... He manages to remain completely still.
He inhales, feeling very strange, but keeps still nonetheless. The finger travels back down, and then traces horizontally just above his towel.
"Have you got any tea?" He asks conversationally, still running his finger feather-light against his skin.
"I have."
"I'll have a cup, if you don't mind."
"Of course."
But Jim doesn't move. Just keeps watching his fingers running over Sebastian's front.
"Er... Boss?"
"Hmm?"
The pad of his middle finger slides over Sebastian's left nipple, and a small tremor shakes in his core, fills his neck with blood.
"Shall I... Fetch it for you?"
Jim smiles, his attentions now trained on Sebastian's collarbone.
"Yes."
Sebastian stays there a moment more to see if Jim stops. He doesn't. Sebastian clears his throat and awkwardly shifts past him, toward the kitchen.
"Right, herbal or black?"
"Black."
"Sugar or cream?"
"No."
Sebastian's eyebrows quirk, but he continues preparing the tea.
He's turned around, putting the kettle on when Jim enters.
"I really do wish you would put it on."
Sebastian turns around to find the other man standing in the doorway, his hand wrapped around what Sebastian assumed was his extravagant gift.
"For Chrissake..." He mutters under his breath before reaching out his hand. "Alright."
But Jim isn't handing it over. He's rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, smiling oddly. Oh no...
"No no no. Jim..." His outstretched hand turns palm-down, keeping Jim at a distance. The man inclines his head.
"Sir." He corrects. He takes a step forward. "And let's not forget our agreement."
Sebastian grits his teeth and narrows his eyes. Jim has him right where he wants him, he has a metaphorical on him, and how he wants to fasten his literal leash on his... Pet.
Shit.
"Sir."
Jim smiles and stands before him.
"Good boy." He deftly loosens Sebastian's towel with two fingers, and it falls to the floor. The taller man swallows, but refuses to shy away from his blank stare. He keeps eye contact steadily.
He hears the faint squeal of the diamond screwing off, and then he is seized by Jim's long, slender hand. He draws a sharp inhale through clenched teeth, instinctively pressing himself harder into the counter.
"There, you see?" The shorter man whispers. "You're mine." He squeezes slightly, and Sebastian groans quietly.
Jim's thumb finds one end of the piercing, and Sebastian has to squeeze the edge of the counter to keep from crying aloud as the silver bar is slid into place, none-too-gently. Jim keeps eye contact the entire time, as if testing to see how long Sebastian could keep it together.
The end of the piercing is screwed back in place. Jim's hand slides up Sebastian's body, coming to rest on the front of his throat gently, as if he would choke him. He swallows, his adam's apple sliding against Jim's palm.
"Don't take it off." He says dangerously.
One mill per kill one mill per kill one mill per kill one mill
"Yes, sir."
Jim's smile is getting to be familiar. It breaks on his face and he pats Sebastian's cheek twice before turning and leaving the kitchen.
After Jim leaves, Sebastian realizes why he does this. Why he toys with him, why he keeps him on such a tight leash...
It's because Jim Moriarty knows.
The clever bastard knows why he loves his job. He knows the thrill he gets from playing god. Which means he must get a different kind of thrill from having a god on a leash.
Fuck.
AN: I told you that you wouldn't have to wait long for updates! Feedback is great, but if you like it as is, I'm not pressuring you to leave a review. ^^