you could have my heart (and i would break it for you)

-or-

be gay do crime

By: Aviantei

His Fourth Bow, Act Two:

"air knocked out of my lungs (want you to stay)"

"So you're Lord Verity. Carol's told me a lot about you."

It was the first time that Jameson was able to meet Alice while she was conscious, which was nothing but a relief. It was not to say that she hadn't been conscious at all prior—she had, in fact, woken up the second day after they'd taken her to Dr Burnett's clinic—but her mental state had not been conductive to visitors. She was, at not a surprise to anyone, panicked and on edge, and the presence of any strangers did not bode well, and even more so if they were men. One of Dr Burnett's assistants hadn't been able to enter the room at all, and word seemed to be that, without Carol's presence, Alice might not have been able to stand any women in the room, either, which would not have boded well for the treatment that she needed.

Everyone had agreed it would be for the best to keep visitors to a minimum, and Jameson had no issue with receiving regular updates on her condition by post until Alice calmed down. At some point or another, it would be better for Alice to gain exposure to other people again, but that could wait until there was little risk of her exacerbating her injuries should she lash out in a panic.

Which was why he'd been surprised to hear that Alice wished to meet him whenever he was available. There was, however, no reason to say no; the worst that could happen was that Jameson's presence could trigger her panic, and then he'd just step out of the room and leave it at that.

Besides, it's better than my sitting around, waiting for William to tell us what to do. It had been but a few days since they'd concluded their meeting, and, while Moriarty Manor felt busier than usual as Fred, Louis, and Albert ran around, Jameson had been left with no pressing tasks in the name of resting after all he'd done when it came to Robson. However, his nervous energy was at such a peak that he couldn't concentrate on much when it came to leisure, so he was glad for the excuse.

And so there he was, back in Dr Burnett's clinic once more, though at least he wasn't a patient that time. No, that role instead went to Miss Alice, who—while propped up on several pillows and wrapped in bandages—had lost none of her apparent beauty. With her dark hair down and spilling over her shoulders paired with the deep blue colour of her eyes, she made quite an impression already. Jameson could do little more than imagine the attention she must've gained whilst walking the streets in search of a bed mate.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Alice," Jameson said, sweeping off his hat and dipping his head in a bow. He did not deign to comment that the situation leading up to their meeting was nothing even close to pleasant, nor did she. Jameson had every intention of allowing her to set the pace of the conversation. "And it's nice to see you as well, Miss Carol. Would you mind if I come in and take a seat?"

Carol's presence wasn't a surprise whatsoever, and she was already in the chair closest to the bedside. Jameson imagined her keeping sentry there for days on end, responding to nothing that would distract from her duty, like a soldier outside of Buckingham Palace. To his eyes, her cause was much nobler. "What would be the point of telling you no when we're the ones who invited you?" she asked, pulling herself up from her chair and moving to a different one up against the wall. "Welcome in, my lord. Do make yourself comfortable."

Just a bit of her customer etiquette dipped into her tone, enough so that Jameson wouldn't have been surprised to see her dip into a curtsy. She did no such thing, though, her eyes instead hawk-like as Jameson crossed the room. Alice watched him, too (he made slow, deliberate movements so as not to startle her), though her gaze was far less critical. Whenever Jameson settled into the still-warm seat, it was Alice who broke the silence. "Thank you for coming. I'm sure you must be busy at this time of year."

"It's not a problem at all," Jameson said. While the social season was still ongoing, it just so happened that there was a lull in his schedule at the worst timing, seeing as he was idle when it came to the Waterford case. He welcomed the opportunity to get out of the house and feel like he was doing something useful. "Even if I were busy, I've been meaning to check in with you, so this is a perfect opportunity." If the situation had involved visiting anyone else's sickbed, Jameson would have asked how they were doing, but it felt beyond inappropriate to do so in Alice's position. "Whatever you wished to discuss with me, I'm all ears."

Alice's smile was soft, if not small. "Thank you," she said, and then nothing else for several moments. Jameson kept an eye on her expression for any signs of disconnecting with reality—he knew well enough that sometimes your mind just wished to retreat somewhere far away and without any warning—but Alice instead seemed to be in a state of careful thought. "I heard from Carol that you made an offer to her matron to help out anyone that wants to leave Whitechapel."

Those had not been the words that Jameson was expecting. It was true, of course—even if he hadn't had the opportunity to follow through on it just yet. He just hadn't thought that Miss Penny had shared the news with anyone, seeing as no one had requested to use Jameson's services just yet. That might've said a great deal about how the women in the boarding house viewed their situation, but he didn't have the state of mind to dissect that just.

"I did," he said, wanting that assurance to be made explicit. He could hear Carol shift behind him, but Jameson kept his eyes on Alice. "That offer even applies if you don't work for Miss Penny. If there's anyone who wishes to have a different life, then I have no issues whatsoever supplying anything you need to make it happen." God knew he had more than enough, anyways—not even supplying Fred with a new wardrobe had had anything close to a dent in his resources. "Would you like me to help you in such a way, Miss Alice?"

There was but a single beat between the end of Jameson's sentence and Alice's nod. "Where I live isn't a problem. But when I think about going back to work…" She didn't finish the sentence, nor did she have to; Jameson knew well enough what sort of thoughts visited her mind then. Alice took a shuddering breath before continuing, "I don't mind doing a job to earn my way. But I know that getting any other sort of employment with my past might be difficult, so I was hoping you could help…" She looked past Jameson, to where Carol was seated behind him. "I was hoping you could help me go somewhere else."

In other words, she wished for a fresh start, somewhere that she might be able to move on from everything and everyone she was before.

"I'll make it happen," Jameson said. To be honest, he was sure he'd be relying on the Moriarty brothers to help handle the logistics, but he had to start somewhere. With time and practise, he was certain he'd be able to sort such things out on his own. "We'll want to wait until you've finished your recovery and Dr Burnett clears you to go, but I'll send you anywhere you might want to go, and I'll make sure you'll have a good quality of life once you get there." Hell, just giving Alice the coins in his pocket would have been enough to change her life in a drastic manner, but he didn't want to be as dismissive as that, like she was someone he just had to pay off to get out of his hair. And even more than that… "What about you, Miss Carol? Do you want to go with her?"

Jameson looked over his shoulder, trying to get a read on Carol's feelings about the situation. Even if she hadn't shared her feelings about being close to Alice, Jameson would have been able to tell by her willingness to hunt down Robson for her sake. To be separated from someone you cared about that much couldn't be an easy prospect to consider.

Carol's expression faltered. Had she been thinking about her answer for a while? Alice must've expressed her wish to go elsewhere to her friend—Carol had at least shared the news of what Jameson had offered at any rate. "I…don't know if that's for the best," she said.

"Would you mind if I asked why?"

The sharpening of Carol's gaze meant that she did mind, but she answered anyways. "I want to make sure Alice is alright, that's true. But I think, with the deal you made with the matron, I'll be more helpful where I am." It was Jameson's turn for surprise, since he hadn't known how Miss Penny had explained the request to keep an eye out for information to the boarding house residents. "You want us to help you find more injustices so you can correct them, right? So I want to help."

"You could do the same if you went with Miss Alice." Jameson didn't know why he was so adamant about the concept, but he wanted them to run away together, to go somewhere that they could leave behind a place that had hurt them, to live a peaceful life in comfort while they found happiness. "It isn't as if evil is limited to Whitechapel."

If the issue with society was those whose hearts had twisted into unrecognisable shapes, you could find people like that anywhere. Even if Jameson found the safest, most utopian place in the world, there would still be some conflict brewing underneath the surface, so long as drastic measures weren't taken to overthrow it.

Carol shook her head. "It may not be limited there, but it is a place where evil tends to gather and take advantage of those who are vulnerable." Jameson couldn't deny that at all. "So I'll stick around a while longer and do what I can. You put yourself through a lot for us, and I want to return the favour."

"I didn't do that because I wanted you to owe me a favour."

"I know. And that's what makes me want to pay you back."

For once, Carol had smiled, and there was none of her usual edge to it. Though Jameson had been acting for his own selfish causes, hadn't even considered dirtying himself further to be worth mentioning, it had still moved something in Carol, making her want to help. And if Jameson was going to walk the path he was on despite knowing the ending, if he was going to recruit Miss Penny to their efforts, if he was going to allow Fred to join their cause as well, then he damn well better accept Carol's help, who had offered without being asked.

Unable to take the brilliance of that smile any longer, Jameson turned away, facing Alice once more. "And what do you think, Miss Alice?"

"Mm. I think it's fine." There wasn't a single bit of falsehood in that smile, so Jameson didn't continue the debate. He'd already pushed it further than necessary, though. "It will be a bit lonely without being able to see Carol every so often, but that's something I can handle."

"I'll be sure to visit you," Carol said. "I'm certain I can get Lord Verity here to cough up money real quick."

Alice giggled, but it wasn't as if the words didn't have merit. "Whatever it is you need, let me know," he said, meaning it. He had more money than he knew what to do with, after all, and that was part of the point of his offering help; not even the ample allowance he sent to Miss Penny of a regular basis had made any sort of impact on his wealth, not whenever William had helped him set things up to be sustainable for the long-term. It was unfair to the core that he could live in luxury without even lifting a finger, and it wasn't as if funding others wasn't just a stopgap, but he'd use it as much as he could until the Moriartys were able to complete the long-term change they sought after. "Pardon my assumption if either of you do, but if you don't know how to read, I could set up lessons for you as well. That way you could write to each other while you're apart, if you so wished."

Jameson couldn't shake the feeling that he was overstepping in some way, but Alice's eyes lit up for the first time, making their sapphire blue even more brilliant as a result. "Oh, that would be wonderful. We have some people who can read at our place, but the only one who knows any sort of writing is the matron, and she doesn't have much time to teach us since we wouldn't have much opportunity to use it, anyways."

"I know basic numbers and some math from working the front desk, but not much more than that," Carol said. From experience, Jameson knew that Miss Penny could write, though her words were simple and to the point, but of course she'd be in the same spot of not being able to spare much time to teach anyone. "Sure, I'll take you on for that. I can teach the other girls when I get a chance, too, so it'll benefit everyone, too."

And as they continued to chat about where Alice might go and what she might like to see, Jameson swore to himself that he'd do whatever it took to protect the happiness between the two women, no matter what may come.

Sharing a room was something simple, but William couldn't help but appreciate it. The most he'd ever shared lodging before was always with his brothers, and those had been in far more restricted contexts: the roof of the bookstore, he and Louis huddled beneath their one threadbare blanket in the corner; the group rooms of orphanages, as many rickety beds shoved into the space as could be allowed while still leaving space to walk; the side room at the original Moriarty Manor that he and Louis had been shoved into; the two-to-a-room life of a dormitory while at Easton College. But to do so with Jameson was a distinct experience.

For one, the relationship between them was an altogether different beast. Part of the reason for them sharing a room was to make indulging in each other simpler—which it accomplished in spades. Jameson's appetite was as notable as ever, and the first several nights after they'd moved Jameson's wardrobe and other collection of personal effects (substantial due to Albert's regular gifts), sleeping next to each other was enough to lead to one of them reaching out to each other, drinking in everything that they had to offer.

The night before had been no different, and it had been one of their longer indulgences, even by William's standards; as there was nowhere to go for the both of them in the morning, they could do so with little consequence. Jameson had been a particular sort of needy, which was always a welcome treat for William to indulge him, one careful orgasm at the time.

That neediness had seemed to still be working in full force, William thought as he awoke to movement above him before a weight settled upon him.

Jameson had crawled upon William's chest, looking at him with a hopeful expectation. He was already shed of layers from their involvement the previous night, but the sight of him in nothing but one of William's button downs, the front open and exposing his stomach and chest, was more than enough to pull William to full alertness.

"You do know how to offer a wakeup call, dear," he said, reaching up to draw lines and vectors upon Jameson's thighs. What was the formula that could connect each and every one of his freckles into each other in an infinite loop? William wished to make a careful study of it, to map out those speckles upon Jameson's skin so he could plan his route with the utmost accuracy and then shower the other man with kisses to bring him to absolute bliss. "I take it you're requesting my attention for the foreseeable future, then?"

"And would that be so wrong?" Jameson was already pressing his palms against William's forearms, his biceps, his shoulders. At the last of the three, Jameson's fingers were gentle as they traced the outlines of the bruises left behind by his own mouth. "They say that having too much of a good thing will spoil it, but I have yet to find that to be the case when it comes to enjoying you."

"What a coincidence," William said, slipping his hands inside Jameson's borrowed shirt so that he could run his hands up his partner's sides, enjoying the way Jameson's weight shifted as he arched at the touch, "I find myself in complete agreement. Rather than feel as if you've been spoiled for me, I find you more and more enjoyable every time we come together." There was no way that William could ever get tired of Jameson, no matter the context, not whenever there were still so many new experiences together, not whenever retreading similar ground would reveal new and exciting results as an effect of their growing intimate familiarity with each other.

"And the same is true for me." Jameson had taken to toying with William's hair, a lock curled around his index finger. The light of the dawn streaming in through the windows made his hair and eyes brighter than usual. "Which is why, if you don't mind, my darling, I would like to see just how much this morning will improve in comparison to last night."

If sharing a room with Jameson meant that each and every morning would unfurl in such a way, William would not protest whatsoever. It was, of course, an improbable scenario—sooner or later, one of them would not be in the mood for such things—but for the present day and the immediate future? Yes, there was little doubt that they'd be enjoying each other for some time to come.

"Sounds like a worthy experiment, my dear," William said, sliding his hands to Jameson's back and tracing the ridges of his spine. "Would you like the same conditions for a proper comparison, or shall we introduce a new set of variables to the equation?"

Jameson giggled, and it was delightful to hear such a sound first thing in the morning, as well, though William could confess he had other sounds he was rather interested in hearing as well. "It seems like such a shame to not change things up, doesn't it? I believe part of the fun of being with you is how many different ways we enjoy ourselves. Don't you agree?"

"I do." It was part of what made Jameson such a wonderful partner for him, as far as William was concerned. "Hm, I worry I was a bit too rough with you last night, Jameson. Shall we change up how we indulge so you don't feel raw afterwards?"

"I wouldn't be opposed." Jameson had a sly little smile upon his lips, starting to grind his hips against William's at a gentle pace. "Though you don't have to play at such concern for me, my darling. If you want something to that effect, all you have to do is ask for it." True, William didn't need to worry much; Jameson derived plenty of pleasure from such stimulation as well, after all.

"Whyever can't I have both thoughts inside me?" Pulling Jameson close to him, William continuing rocking their bodies together, Jameson's wetness already starting to leak out. It was almost a shame William wouldn't get to be able to enjoy it in full, but there was every possibility they might have more than one round in them that morning, should time permit. "No matter how much I crave my own pleasure, it means very little to me if you are not also enjoying yourself."

Jameson had taken up the opportunity to kiss into William's shoulders, making a gentle line all the way to his collarbone. "With you, my darling," Jameson said, "I am certain that even if you were to leave me raw in the aftermath, it would still be an incredible experience all the way through. After all, that way I'd have the opportunity to be reminded of you inside me the whole day long."

The thought appealed to William much more than he would have liked to admit; as it were, though, with their current positions, there was no way to hide such a thing whatsoever, and Jameson's lazy smile proved that he had noticed and was plenty satisfied by the results. "If you believe you'd find that enjoyable, my dear, it isn't my place to argue with such a thing. However, that would make it difficult to enjoy you again, which I have every intention of doing as often as possible now that we are to share a bed, so perhaps we should save it for another time, yes?" Jameson swallowed, and William felt confident he knew just which option he would pick—but would it be so much more satisfying to hear it out loud. "What say you, my lord?"

It was an unfair address for that very moment, and they both knew it, Jameson even going so far as to release a faint groan in half protest, half pleasure. "You've made a compelling argument, darling. But I expect you to follow through on your promise when I ask for it."

"You have my word."

"Then we have a deal."

Jameson smiled, though the expression was soon covered by William pulling him down and into a kiss. That just made his smile grow all the wider, though, the sensation perfect for first thing in the morning, whenever the rest of the world and the manor were quiet. Both still feeling the effects of sleep, they kept their pace lazy, even as their hands felt over bolder and bolder portions of each other's bodies.

In time, William's touch grazed over Jameson's buttocks, Jameson arching in response to the touch. William didn't stop there, hands settling upon his rear and massaging it from both sides. Jameson grasped onto William's shoulders, his moans going right into his partner's ear, making William's erection press into Jameson's pelvis, further stoking both of their desires to be joined together as soon as possible.

But as much as Jameson would have liked to throw caution to the wind, William was never one to rush. Instead, he rolled them over, making sure Jameson was comfortable on his stomach before going back to his massage of Jameson's buttocks a bit longer before spreading the cheeks apart. One of those long fingers pressed against the back entrance—not enough to enter, but plenty to offer a promise of the pressure that would soon follow. Jameson pressed back with a groan, but William kept him steady enough that nothing yet entered him.

Such a gentleman, even whenever in that moment Jameson would have been fine with William being anything but.

"Darling," he called, hoping that would be enough to get the results he wanted.

"Hm?" William responded, not changing his pace in the slightest. "Whatever is it, my dear?"

Fine. If he wanted Jameson to beg, then Jameson could beg. "I understand exercising caution, but I believe one of your lessons was not being so cautious that your partner becomes impatient, was it not?" To further his point, Jameson stretched out his arm, having just enough reach to pull open the bedside drawer where he'd tucked the tin of Vaseline upon moving in. "Please, I want you to take me, William."

"I will, in time, I promise." Jameson pursed his lips and glanced over his shoulder to pout at William, but all it did was earn him a chuckle which did very unfair things to Jameson's insides. That William lifted Jameson's hips up so that the latter was propped up on his knees with his behind in the perfect position to enjoy just made William not accepting the Vaseline all the more confusing. He wouldn't penetrate without it, Jameson was sure, so then just what was he planning? "If I tell you it will ruin the surprise, Jameson… Though if it would make you more comfortable for me to be upfront with you, then I will."

William had a hand on Jameson's behind, which was making it rather difficult to think. After a moment's consideration, Jameson sighed. "I will trust you," he said, "because you have always given me unparalleled pleasure before." With that permission granted, William began to kiss a gentle line down Jameson's back, and he let out a gasp. "D-don't make me take that privilege away from you, William."

It was a half-hearted threat at best, but William took it with the utmost seriousness. "Heaven forbid," he said, making it to the end of Jameson's spine but not stopping his kisses in the slightest. No, he went lower and lower, pacing himself out inch by inch until he was pulling Jameson's behind apart and kissing over his entrance, and then—

Jameson was no stranger to anal stimulation, and he even enjoyed it whenever he was in the mood—but never before had he felt something like what William was doing. It took him a few dizzying moments to realise that it was William's tongue inside him, and the moan that slipped out of his mouth revealed his basest response to the feeling quite well. There was still the faint burning pressure that came with such penetration, but since the organ was much softer than fingers or a penis, it had a very different sort of softness to it that was enough to make Jameson cling to the sheets and press his hips back for more.

William didn't stop Jameson from doing so, but he did put his hands upon Jameson's hips to keep him steady. His tongue took a slow exploration, and each passing moment made the sensation feel more foreign and enjoyable all at once. It was hard for Jameson to tell if he liked the stimulation in general or that if he liked the fact that William was the one doing it, but did the specifics matter all that much in the long run?

Right now, the most important part is that I get to experience something new. He would never begrudge that for anything.

With such acceptance (and William's hands with a firm grasp around his waist), Jameson was able to relax without slipping out of position. Shutting his eyes, he nuzzled into the pillow, following the shape of the tongue inside him with as much state of mind that he could muster, even as his mind grew fuzzy from the sensation. Jameson didn't think such treatment would ever be his favourite, but it was an enjoyable enough piece of foreplay that it succeeded in its job of making Jameson's body feel warm and ready to go.

William's fingers ghosted up Jameson's thigh, finding the wetness between his folds waiting for him. With that bit of lovely distraction, Jameson didn't even protest the main stimulus slipping away. Soon after, there was the pop of the can of Vaseline opening, which made Jameson clench up, as if his body had been waiting for the signal; he soon relaxed as William began the process of probing Jameson's rear with his fingers, the digit able to surpass William's tongue in length.

Such a fact was to Jameson's great satisfaction.

"Goodness, you're much more tense than expected," William said, and Jameson was likewise surprised. That first night, he'd taken William so easy, and now it was taking slow and careful work to open him back up. "Then again, we haven't indulged this way in quite a while, so I suppose I can take the blame for that."

"I feel it's more accurate for the two of us to share the blame," Jameson managed to get out between his moans. William wasn't going exceptionally fast, but he was prodding around for a spot that would earn him the most favourable reactions, and Jameson was enjoying each and every moment. "I haven't asked for it much either, but…mm, like that."

William complied straight away, taking a nice slow pace of pressing as much as he could against the same spot, Jameson's back starting to arch. As a matter of course, William showed no mercy as he prompted, "'But'…?"

Jameson swallowed, as if that was going to do a damn thing in returning his rational thought to him. "But I do enjoy indulging this way." It was an idle thought, but something about the indulgence made him feel a bit more like a man; after all, if his body had been in line with who he was, such penetration would have been the one option available to him. "I'd like—ah, William—I'd like to do it more often, whenever the mood strikes."

"I can agree with you on that matter," William said, just as he pushed a third finger into Jameson's waiting body. The moan he earned was as delightful as always, and it was enough to make a groan slip from his mouth. Soon—soon Jameson's body would be wrapped around William as it was his fingers, clenching and tight as both of them made their way towards ecstasy together. "Though I do suspect we'll disagree on my next point, my dear."

"O-oh?"

"Should I take you slow or fast?"

Slow or fast. It was a simple question, and yet Jameson groaned in his usual conflicted abandon; to go slow would promise William would do everything he could to make a satisfactory orgasm; to go fast would mean the same but with more immediate satisfaction. Though he had no intent to speak it aloud at the moment, William was also torn between the two, and he could be convinced to go either way with very little effort, even as the slow pace of his fingers seemed to suggest his preference.

Watching Jameson attempt to pick between such opposing choices was half of the fun, though.

"I-I don't care," Jameson said, which wasn't an answer at all. His wriggling hips seemed to be answering well enough, him pressing back into William's fingers, making William prod just the slightest bit deeper inside him. "I just—I just want— William, please, I want you to move, I want you in me, it's not enough."

William put on a show of humming, as if he were considering his options, though he'd already made his choice. "Come now, Jameson. I know you can choose what you're in the mood for."

Jameson whimpered, still rutting himself into William's hand. "F-fast, please."

Just as I thought.

For once, William didn't mind complying to Jameson's request, taking a few test pumps of his hand to ensure he wasn't overdoing it—or at least, overdoing it to the point that caused Jameson discomfort—and then he'd taken on a rapid clip. Jameson's walls spasmed against the contact, unable to decide if they wanted to clamp down upon his fingers tight or stretch more in the prospect of letting more in. That William would on occasion spread his fingers no doubt added to that, but Jameson's repeated moans of William's name was plenty of encouragement to keep going. At last satisfied with his preparations, William lifted himself up onto his knees, and a jade green eye peered back at him through a mess of red hair as he felt the shift in movement.

"Hurry," Jameson said as William slowed to apply more of their lubricant to his penis, the erection hard against his grasp.

"I will." Even the lubricated strokes of his hand were enough to make William shiver, which was a sign of just how much desire he'd allowed to build up in himself—just the way he liked it for the sake of maximum satisfaction. And that he still had so much inside of him after their thorough enjoyment last night? That was nothing but a testament to Jameson's attractiveness, now wasn't it? Not wanting to keep the compliment to himself, William added, "You make me want to rush to you every single day, my dear."

Jameson let out a high-pitched groan that was enough to make William throb. It also made Jameson's insides become tight to an almost impossible degree, but he soon took deep breaths in an attempt to relax himself. There would be a time for that tightness soon, and William craved it just as much as Jameson did, so there was little point in delaying the moment where he pulled his hand back, stretching Jameson out in the process before beginning to press himself in.

"Jameson," William called as he did so, Jameson's needy moan serving as the backdrop. The Vaseline did its job, though whenever William attempted to pull back a bit to give him a better opportunity to stroke in, Jameson pushed his hips into William, letting William's penis sink into that tightness nice and slow as Jameson's voice grew louder. Were they in any other situation, William might have gripped onto those hips, keeping Jameson from pushing himself too far too fast (as he was wont to do in his neediness), but he just couldn't bring himself to do it, not whenever the result felt far too good. Instead, William at last allowed himself to put his chest over Jameson's back, supporting himself with hands pressed up against the mattress as they both took a moment to adjust, Jameson's insides almost fluttering against the hardness now sheathed in full inside him.

Yes, they needed to indulge in such a way much more often.

"Fast, was it?" William asked, earning a rapid yesyesyes from Jameson. William began to move, his pace slow for Jameson's body to adjust to what was happening, but even that caution had Jameson rocking, trying to indicate the speed he wanted. "I'll keep my word, Jameson, but if you're not careful, we might have to stop sooner than you'd like." That prospect was enough for Jameson to ease up, though his following whimpers were needy. "Just give me—a little bit of—time."

Having done a complete thrust in and out at a moderate speed a few times, it was getting much easier to move, which gave William the confidence to go faster, getting closer to what Jameson wanted—and what William had to admit he wanted as well. Jameson was very good at making William want to throw caution to the wind, to chase pleasure as soon as possible, and that was without him putting in any effort. Once Jameson started asking, seducing, and downright begging, it was a struggle with his own patience to keep up his usual methods of a careful and calculated path to orgasm.

"William, more—"

Case in point.

William repeated Jameson's name—once for every thrust that landed inside him—and Jameson moaned up towards the ceiling, his back in a beautiful curve, his rear shaking from their shared movements, and William allowed his reason to take a secondary role in his choices. He bit into Jameson's neck, wrapped one arm around Jameson's torso to hold him as close as possible, the two of them sinking down partway as holding themselves upright became a very low priority, their voices mingling as William groaned without words.

And in the midst of all that wonderful warmth, a giggle.

"Mm, darling, I love it when you get like this."

Whenever the planning and calculations fell to the wayside.

Whenever William started thinking of nothing but how Jameson felt against him, around him.

Whenever it was just their bodies, racing towards ecstasy together.

It was okay for him to not restrain himself, just for a little while.

The words were like shoving a hot nail down his spine, making him burn, the tension that was his arousal growing tight to an almost impossible extent. He bucked a bit slower, but each move was deeper, and Jameson's surprised yelp soon gave way to those higher-pitched shouts of pleasure. Good signs, yes, but William would not stand for repeating his mistakes.

"Do you remember our words, dear?" He knew Jameson had worked to commit them to memory, but that had been in simpler conditions than what he was experiencing then and there. Jameson nodded, but William was going to make certain. "Tell them to me." At a whimper, he smiled and added, "I won't follow the instructions just this once, if that's what you're worried about."

With that assurance, Jameson half-moaned, "T-tardus. S-satis." And then, as if he were attempting to move a point, Jameson squeezed tight around William, a fresh groan of his own stealing William's next words. "I don't need them, William, not now, please keep going."

Please give me more.

"As you wish," William said, though it was what he was wishing for, too.

And so he let go, pushing into Jameson with abandon as Jameson moved with him, those two actions adding up into something greater than the sum of their parts. Within a minute, William was climaxing first, groaning with Jameson's hair getting into his mouth for how close he was. William kept going as long as he could, his pace stuttering a bit, but going until he had nothing left to give. Jameson's body had no mercy, tightening even as William began to soften due to his completion.

"Just a moment, dear," he said, wrapping both arms around Jameson to hold him tight. "I'll take care of you, soon."

And with that, William adjusted, allowing himself to roll onto his back to give his trembling knees a rest. He took Jameson with him, so that he was hugging his partner from behind, their bodies still pressed together, gooseflesh appearing under William's hands as Jameson was exposed to the somewhat cooler air above.

William didn't even give Jameson the time to ask, William's fingers tucking into Jameson's folds to find his clitoris. Jameson arched, grinding his backside harder into William, and his overall level of squirming was perfect evidence of just how on edge he was, of just how little it would take for him to come undone.

"William, yes, William, yes—darling, darling, darling!"

In the aftermath, they lied there, just like that, their chests rising and falling out of synch as they both attempted to catch their breath in bliss.

"Mm," Jameson mumbled as he twisted his head enough to claim a kiss, "what a perfect start to the day."

William agreed.

The plan that William had pulled together worked as so:

The timeline would be the night that Waterford left London for his northbound estate—a date that, according to the servants in his townhouse that Fred had spied upon, had yet to be settled, but would be approaching soon. By attracting Waterford into a meeting, they could be able to isolate him with ease, where Jameson would once again have free range to handle him as he pleased. The one additional element to complicate matters would be not involving Waterford's coachman, but that was a far less complex issue that could be managed in numerous different ways.

How to make him arrive without revealing Jameson's identity—and thus leaving a traceable route to their household—was then the matter of discussion that occupied them in the basement conference room.

"If we're trying to avoid a connection to Jameson, then taking any sort of blackmail approach is out," Louis said, tossing it aside without being considered. "It would be simple to mention being aware of his past activities with Stratford, though I suppose that's even out of the question, since you don't wish for any of their crimes to be made public."

"I know that does nothing more than make things more complicated," Jameson said, though he couldn't bring himself to apologise.

"There's no need to worry," William said. "This approach also makes it easier to avoid any connection between you and the regulars. Besides, from what I can tell, the Marquis has no shortage of ill rumours surrounding him, and none of them seem to bother him much." Jameson grimaced, but the assessment didn't come as any great surprise. "I doubt such a threat would be effective."

"So then what's the plan?" Fred asked, his forwardness showing his interest better than anything else. It would have made Jameson smile if the circumstances weren't what they were.

"We need bait, yes?" Albert looked thoughtful. "Is that what you're considering?"

"It would be the most straight-forward option, yes," William said. Jameson could already imagine the outcome, as he'd done several times before. "We've done well thus far to make any noticeable threads, and I'd like to keep it that way. Though we do also have the option of setting a trap for him while he's traveling, making it appear to be an accident—or at the very least a robbery focused on malicious intent."

Louis frowned. "But even then we have to ensure he follows the route we want him to. A trap does no good otherwise. And then if it's too close to London, we run the risk of making a scene nearby. In an ideal circumstance, we want it to be far out enough that Scotland Yard doesn't handle the case, decreasing the likelihood that they'll make a connection with the other incidents we've caused for Jameson's request."

It was the same sort of warnings every time, but they were necessary. They'd come so far without any issues, but each additional murder became more complicated as time went on, added more variables to the equation that Jameson wouldn't be able to keep up with. William just seemed all the more impressive for handling things without issue.

"When it comes to the Yard, we do have Paterson helping us out," William said, and both Jameson and Fred gave him questioning looks at the unfamiliar name. "A member of our cause who happens to work in the police force. He's been sending us regular updates to ensure that no connections have been made, which has so far been a success." That was a bit of a relief, but Jameson couldn't help but wonder how much longer that would last. "But, yes. If we set up a meeting with some sort of bait, we can ensure we have Waterford where we want him."

Jameson could feel his brow furrowing. "But wouldn't setting up a meeting leave behind evidence that he was going to meet us?" That would defeat the purpose of a perfect crime.

"I have two countermeasures in mind to deal with that." William held up a matching number of fingers. "The first is that we do not make it appear as if the murder happened at a meeting. Instead, we frame it as a case of robbery—an attack on Waterford's carriage whilst traveling." That was simple enough, not all that different from the way they'd had Albert act as if he were responsible for Charleville's demise. The far more deserted location of a road for travelling would make it simpler, too. "Second, if the cause of our meeting is much more illicit, then it wouldn't be unusual for the sender to not include their name, now would it?"

Albert nodded. "I see. We already know well enough what sort of dark pleasures the Marquis involves himself in—" though the wording had been chosen so as not to make Jameson hear the specifics, he shuddered in remembrance anyways "—it won't be an issue to know what he considers to be worth it." And he'd considered Jameson well worth it, if his frequent visits and the expensive trinkets that always made their way into Aldborough Manor in the aftermath.

Well, Jameson had already attracted Waterford's attention before, and he had no doubt he could do it again. "Then I'll—"

"That won't do," William said, and Jameson was too stunned to respond. What about it wouldn't do whenever they'd already accomplished that before. "Our main goal here is to ensure this isn't traceable back to any of us. By now, you've already established yourself into high society, not to mention there are a few more events you're to attend. We cannot risk Waterford catching sight of you, then learning you are a ward of the Moriarty family. Even putting that aside, it will be easier in this arrangement for you to be a different entity than who Waterford sets his sights on."

Far be it for Jameson to question William's wisdom whenever it had worked so many times before. "What will we do about having a suitable enough 'bait' to catch his eye, then?" Whenever it came to Waterford's tastes, there weren't many in their group that could match them.

"Then I can play the bait. If it will help move things along, I don't mind," Fred said, the words coming too easy for Jameson's taste. Even worse, he knew his reaction was due to the fact that he did much the same thing with himself, using his body as a pawn in the intricate game of chess they were playing, though to consider Waterford anything like a king would be giving him far too much credit. Besides, even with the similarities involved, there was one critical difference in their circumstances that couldn't be ignored:

Fred was still pure and untouched—or at least if any such thing had happened to him, he had yet to confess to it. Even so, Jameson was confident in his assessment; anyone else he'd ever met that had been violated in such a way had a certain look to them, one he'd been able to recognise in an instant, the weight of their experiences pulling down on them. Fred—while impacted by his life of poverty in other ways—had no such signs to the matter.

Jameson, on the other hand, was already beyond saving.

And so, in a voice that was clearer than he'd expected it to be, Jameson said, "No."

"No?" Louis echoed, sounding in a near state of disbelief.

"You do know what 'no' means, don't you?"

"If you have concerns, Jameson, feel free to speak them," William said, cutting things off before Louis could fire back any sort of retort.

Jameson gave Louis a long look, as if expecting him to complete his thought anyways. Louis didn't, however, and it was once Jameson was convinced of that fact that he continued. "I think that having Fred play bait is too full of risks. Even whenever we plan the circumstances, we'd be putting him at risk for something worse than mere injury. Waterford is not a patient man. You put something in front of him that he wants, and he will take it." He had been one of Stratford's first clients after things had begun, and he had never stopped using the services until they weren't available for him to use anymore. "I don't care if we are around to stop it; I don't even want him in the same room as Fred."

He would not, by any stretch of the imagination, repeat Stratford's sins by letting a child he'd promised to care for be even considered a target for such twisted lusts.

"I understand where you're coming from," William said. "I wouldn't want anyone to go through such a thing, either, nor do I intend to put Fred in any risk with this plan. And with your circumstances, having strong feelings about this is understandable. I did my best to take that into consideration."

Which was nice and all, but that didn't do anything to change Jameson's feelings on the matter. But when it came to William's tone… "But you still came up with this plan in the first place."

William's expression ticked towards a grimace, and that he didn't have an immediate response spoke plenty. It was Albert who cleared his throat. "You've been putting yourself at risk this whole time," he said, and Jameson shot him a glare. The Earl held up his hands in surrender. "I am not picking sides here. I am just expressing a concern. It shouldn't be a necessity to expose yourself to such risks, either, whenever—"

"But it's my problem to solve!"

A hush fell over the room, Jameson having risen to his feet. His chest felt tight and hot, his breaths came out ragged. The Moriartys understood a lot, but they couldn't understand that, the way that Jameson was willing to do anything to himself if it gave him the slightest chance of feeling control over what had happened to him—over what had happened to others, like Alice. Hurting himself was fine—he'd already been hurt—but subjecting someone else to even the idea of being viewed in such a way?

Would it even be worth anything if Jameson didn't take on everything himself?

Louis's expression showed that, even if he understood that logic, he wasn't convinced by it.

"What good does that do?" he asked, the snap of his voice making Fred wince. "You may not have noticed, but you keep doing this to yourself. Dragging yourself into danger after danger, and you think we don't see it? To say there's no risk in what we're doing would be false, and it's true that we all take on danger, but there's a difference between doing it when it's necessary and when it's not."

It would have been one thing if William had said it, or even if Albert. If Jameson insisted he wanted to do it, they would have no doubt yielded. But because it was Louis, who understood a part of Jameson that his brothers would never be able to, it was harder to argue back.

Because even if Jameson wanted to handle things on his own, wanted to spare anyone else the suffering he'd gone through, that didn't make it enjoyable to don dresses and frills, to make himself an object of desire in a such a way—and even go through with it as he had with Robson all that long ago. But it was easy, which made it the simplest solution.

And then Louis dealt the final blow by asking, "If I said I would take on the role of bait myself, would you let me do it?"

If I were to disguise myself like you keep doing, would you let that happen?

Jameson's voice came out trembling: "I'd never ask you to do such a thing."

"So then why do you ask it of yourself?"

"Um!" It was Fred who kept the silence from sinking down over the room. His nervousness was apparent in everything from his voice to his body language, but he'd stood up, nonetheless. That was enough to distract from the mounting tension, or at least for the moment; Jameson's insides still felt like they were trapped in the middle of an inferno that couldn't be put out, no matter how much water one might attempt to douse upon them. "I think…arguing isn't going to help anything."

"Well said, Fred," Albert said, rising to his feet as well, though the motion was much smoother than Fred's outburst. Albert clapped his hands together once, the sound crisp. "This is a complicated matter—" Jameson didn't think so; it was simple "—but we do have a short amount of time if we're to line this up with the Marquis heading home. Why don't we take some time to ourselves, then we can resume the discussion?" His eyes flicked to William in a moment of silent communication between brothers. "It can be rather oppressive being down here for so long. Jameson, Fred, care to join me for a short walk outside?"

In other words, he would be handling them while William handled Louis. Jameson might have found that arrangement adorable, were they in any other circumstances. But Jameson had no reason to protest, so he followed along as the two youngest Moriartys stayed behind.

They didn't speak a word the entire time up the stairs from the basement nor to the closest door to the backyard. The weather outside was gorgeous—not too long ago, they all had shared breakfast in the crisp but comfortable morning outside—and it made the strategy room downstairs feel like an altogether different world, or at least like some sort of faraway dream.

The darkness and the light.

After a few more silent minutes in which Albert led a procession around the edges of Moriarty Manor's property, Jameson couldn't take it anymore and asked, "Are you waiting for me to say something?"

"I thought if you were thinking things over, it would be rude to interrupt," Albert said, glancing back over his shoulders. Fred kept close to Jamson's side, as if he wanted to be present right away should he be needed. "You've proven to be quite capable of managing yourself on your own, Jameson. I did just think a walk would suffice."

"And that William would be best to handle Louis?"

"And that Will would be best to handle Louis, yes." It was a rational course of action, but Jameson couldn't help but feel like Albert was overestimating his ability to handle a situation. "Do you want to talk things over, or would you rather wait until we return to do so?"

Jameson didn't know what he wanted to do, and so they continued to walk in silence, Jameson running his palm along the tops of the hedges that dotted the ends of their property. The leaves were tough but not uncomfortable, for what it happened to be worth. A gentle breeze caressed his face, and the sun felt pleasant upon his skin. Albert let him think, not saying a thing, and Fred was just as quiet.

"I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me," Jameson said, his voice soft. It must've been audible, though, because Albert nodded. Jameson glanced to the boy walking alongside him. "I don't want Fred to get hurt because of me."

That, above all else, was something he would not compromise on.

"Even if there's no risk of putting him in harm's way?" Albert asked. Jameson didn't even bother to hide his scepticism, and Albert added, "There's more than one option when it comes to serving as bait. Your method is one, yes, but even something as simple as a picture of one's face can be plenty." The mention of photographs was a logical one, but it still made Jameson clench his fists tighter. "Further, we can disguise Fred as we've done to you, so there's even less risk involved." Albert turned around, coming to a stop. "Jameson, none of us wants anyone to come to harm, aside from those who deserve it. But given what we know of our target—" In other words, what he'd participated in for years with Stratford's blessing "—this will be the quickest option to achieve what we want—what you want."

The deaths of the regulars who hadn't needed blackmail to pay Stratford substantial sums to tear apart Jameson from the seams.

A warm feeling wrapped around Jameson's palm, and it took him a moment to recognise it as Fred's hand grasping onto his own. He was young, so his hands were small, but they were rough in the way of living on the streets, his nails cracked and brittle. Gentle grey eyes were serious as they stared into Jameson's. "It's okay," Fred said, squeezing tight. "Let me help you."

"But Waterford is—"

"I know. But it will be okay. You'll look out for me." Jameson's mouth went dry, unable to say anything in protest. He was trying to look out for Fred, trying to keep him from getting embroiled in something that would put him at risk, but what good would that do? If that had been what he wanted, he should've just sent Fred off somewhere far away to live a life of comfort, just as he was doing for Alice. "Let me help you," Fred said again, "please."

"Let us help you," Albert said. "That's what Louis was so worked up for, I'm sure. And Will and I feel the same. If we can solve this case with the minimum risk possible, wouldn't you say that's worth it?"

From every logical perspective, it would be, and Jameson was out of rational sounding counterarguments. Anything else that sprang to mind was irrational, but what else was he supposed to do? Nothing was rational about the way the regulars had hurt him, all of it chasing Jameson down into the darkness, but if they could have a beacon of hope amongst the shadows?

"One photograph," Jameson said, his voice coming out clipped. "Nothing inappropriate, and no contact with Waterford for Fred. I won't compromise any further on that—if Fred is willing to do so." Fred nodded with an ease that reminded Jameson too much of himself, but he couldn't dwell on that too long, otherwise he would snap, so Jameson let it float away, like a leaf carried downstream.

"That shouldn't be an issue," Albert said before resuming the stroll around the yard as if nothing had happened.

Jameson's fingers twitched against Fred's, and the boy squeezed back.

September, 1875

In the end, it hadn't taken more than a few letters to catch Waterford's attention, sent in the form of simple messages that Louis delivered in a disguise. Each missive detailed a proposal for offering Waterford certain services, though the terms were kept vague enough that it wouldn't be out of place should someone uninvolved come across them, but clear enough the sort of business they were proposing. In that case, it didn't seem out of the ordinary for a private messenger to come and drop off the letters and take back the replies, rather than waiting for the postal service to handle the job.

Jameson had attempted to write the letters, but he hadn't been able to stomach it. William instead handled the task, though he let Jameson know just what was involved. If they were to pass Jameson off as someone trying to capitalise on the gaps that Stratford and Leinster had left, then he would need to be able to play the part. As it were, Jameson suspected he might not be able to stomach that part, either, which was why William would be there with him on the night in question.

Once Waterford had agreed to a meeting, it was just a matter of planning the location. Waterford would need to stop there, after all, and that would include having a coachman involved since the intention was to do it out of London. Making the building one owned by the Moriartys would just be creating an unnecessary tie.

For better or worse, though, Stratford had owned a number of out of the way places—not that Jameson had been to any of them. He'd been aware of them as part of the Aldborough Estate's paperwork, though Jameson had been selling them off every now and then. One just so happened to be on the route—a small place someone could get away to, which by Stratford's standards, meant a building that could host a full family and a couple of servants. Still, it was off the beaten path while still being in a convenient enough location that it wouldn't be inconvenient for Waterford to stop by while on his route home. That he tended to take a leisurely migration also worked in their favour, since no one would be expecting him back in Birmingham right away.

And so an arrangement had been made, which then just meant Jameson and William needed to be present at the time. Sneaking out in the middle of the night would have done just fine, but William wasn't content to let Jameson sit around, ruminating the day away until then. No, he instead took Jameson out to a nearby burgh in the afternoon, enjoying a rather large lunch just in case he ended up without much appetite for dinner, which seemed more than probable.

From there, William had taken him around for some shopping. Nothing caught his eye, but at least seeing all the different shop displays was enough to keep his mind from wandering too deep due to the stimulation. It was a bit of a shame that he was too distracted to absorb anything, but he'd at least fallen into a neutral capacity, which was better than he'd expected of himself.

And then, with one last glance at his pocket watch, William led Jameson to the carriage, where they would soon dawn their cloaks and blend into the approaching darkness.

It was time to become devils.

The atmosphere in the spare house was oppressive, the scent of dust and mould having seeped into the air while the place was out of use. Some parts of the building had also fallen in disrepair, which William had deemed to be fine for their purposes, and he doubted that Jameson would ever go through the effort to repair it in the future. That, too, was fine for the endgame of the plan, so long as they were out of the way of anyone who could cross by.

The room they would use later on was already secure, and so they began the drive to their stakeout point. It was a couple of miles, but they took it in silence, parking their carriage a bit farther back as they went to the main road, the route that Waterford would take while visiting one of his favourite inns along the way. Jameson didn't grow out of breath throughout the journey, but he seemed to be locked in the mode of focus that always descended upon him at such days.

As the sun set and darkness descended upon the world, William kept an eye on Jameson without attempting to be too obvious. He'd seemed to calm down from his initial protests to the plan—and it no doubt helped that Fred was still in Moriarty Manor, several kilometres away from where Waterford would die not knowing anything more than his face.

From there, it was just a matter of waiting, which William passed the time by going over details of the plan in his mind, as well as any backup strategies. Soon enough, the sound of hoofbeats formed in the distance, Jameson going even tauter than before. Willliam adjusted his hood, stepping forward near the marker where Waterford had agreed to meet him. Soon enough, the carriage came up the road in the dusk, its lamp swinging dull illumination onto the path in front of it.

William stepped forward to the edge of the road, removing the cover on the lamp they'd brought along so that he could flash the signal they'd arranged with Waterford through the letters. Sure enough, the carriage slowed as it approached, fine horses at the front of an even more impressive cabin. The driver adjusted his hat. "Well I'll be. Someone went an' did what the master said they would."

Due to the combination of the hood and the overall darkness, William's smile wouldn't be very visible, but he put on an amicable expression, nonetheless. Such performances were essential to being believable. "My own master isn't the type to go back on his word," he said, leaning into the roles they'd arranged, William playing the assistant to Jameson's schemes. "Even so, I have been asked to talk with the Marquis before completing our transaction. May I?"

"Milord, the—"

"No need," came a voice as the carriage door opened. William had done enough research into Waterford to recognise the Marquis, even in the dim lighting of a lamp: he was a tall, thin man, his cheeks already appearing somewhat hollow despite his age not being much more than a decade above William's. "You're someone who works for the one who contacted me with this offer?" Waterford asked, pulling out the letter with William's own careful writing tucked away inside.

"Quite," William said, the lie slipping through his lips like silken garments slipped through fingers. "As this is sensitive business, I think you can understand that my lord doesn't wish to have any unnecessary persons around for negotiations. We do have a carriage of our own prepared to take you to our final destination, if you'd do us the pleasure of coming along."

Waterford's coachman no doubt had some reservations about letting his employer go off into the dead of night with a stranger, but he didn't say anything. Waterford let out a sigh. "And I suppose that any evidence I had my man come along would be a violation of your master's trust?"

"Indeed. While complications in such matters can be brushed under the rug with a bit of cash exchanging hands, it's much simpler to never need to do so in the first place."

"Well I assure you I have every intention of making a successful transaction tonight. Harold, I'll be going off with this gentleman for the time being. I'll give you a bonus, so be back before midnight." William hadn't even given him a number, and yet he'd chosen a substantial amount of time—no doubt imaging a "test" of the merchandise he imagined he'd get. Still, that much time was more than enough. Waterford inclined his head towards William. "I take it that's more than enough to satisfy your master."

"Indeed. Now, my lord, if you'd come along with me." William began to work his ways back into the trees, the ground clear enough to transverse without much issue. "As said, we have a special carriage waiting for clients such as yourself, so it's just a few minutes' walk away. After that, I'll take you to our location where…"

William continued to talk, his voice covering up the sounds of Albert sneaking up on the coachman and knocking the man unconscious until it would be time to use him to set the stage into its final state.

William took a more winding of a path than necessary to the waiting carriage in hopes of throwing off Waterford's sense of direction. Jameson waited there for him, though he was perched upon the driver's seat with the hood of his cloak up so he wouldn't be recognisable. William spent the time in the carriage discussing fabricated matters of business. All the while by the road, Albert would be moving Waterford's carriage and his coachman out of the way. Later, they would arrange the lot of them at a different location to have an accident, but that was a matter for the aftermath.

"Do forgive the apparent state of our meeting location," William said as they unloaded out of the carriage before the villa. It was not much to look at whatsoever, but Waterford didn't seem too perturbed. "We've chosen to keep the outside state and many of the rooms in disrepair, but I assure you our salon is in much better condition."

"I know what you're going for. A place like this is best left be so no one has any reason to suspect it's in use." Waterford followed William up the stairs, the latter leading the way to the one room they'd gone through the effort of giving a thorough washing and light furnishing. William opened the door, lamps already burning for their arrival, and gestured for Waterford to enter. "Besides, if the quality of your product is good, then I have no doubt I'll be able to help you find more business. I'll admit I'm excited to see just what kind of goods you have—"

"There will be no child for you to prey upon tonight," Jameson's voice declared as he stepped into the room. His hood and cloak from his guise as carriage driver gone, Waterford showed no signs of recognition. For his part, Jameson was ice cold, his dismissive nature doing nothing but elevating the level of his beauty. "It's been some time, Marquis. I would say that I'd hoped you'd changed, but even I know there's no coming back from being as twisted as you are."

Waterford scoffed. "This master of yours is nothing but a boy." Jameson didn't deign to reply, instead closing the door behind him. He strode across the room, coming to stand at William's side, the two of them having positioned themselves in such a way that blocked the exit from immediate access. Waterford didn't seem to notice, too preoccupied with other matters. "Well, no matter. Everyone needs to start somewhere. You've gone through the trouble of giving me a personal invitation, so you know about me, but I believe it's best practise for any sort of business relationship to introduce yourself to those you're dealing with."

"What," Jameson said, rather than asked. "What? You don't even recognise me?" He was trembling, enough for it to be visible, and it was uncertain whether rage or fear was the primary cause of that reaction. William didn't dare reach out to him, didn't wish to push the situation beyond something neither of them could control. "You can't even think of a single reason why I'd want you to come out here alone?"

"Should I?" Waterford asked, which was the wrong thing to say in every possible way. The inferno behind Jameson's eyes was hot enough that it would have been no surprise to find him blazing to the touch. "The most we've interacted was in our letters, wasn't it? And being alone is rather commonplace for our business. Though I suppose if I had to compare you to someone, let's see…" A few moments' contemplation, and then, "Oh, that's it. You're Stratford's, aren't you?"

William glowered at the man. "Jameson belongs to no one." To imply such a thing would be to say Jameson was no more than an object, something to be used and discarded, and nothing further than the truth—and yet Waterford didn't even seem to register what William was saying, his gaze focused on nothing but Jameson before him.

"I almost didn't recognise you, but now it's obvious! You must've taken after the Viscount if you're trying to restart his business, hm? But I know what you want." Waterford laughed, almost sounding drunk upon his own elation. "Of course you came back to find me. It must've been hard, what with Stratford dying. He was always willing to pass you around, but now it can't be as easy to let you be the whore you are, huh?"

I want to kill him.

The thought formed in William's head with ease—with far too much ease—but he couldn't bring himself to be concerned. To have someone speak of Jameson in such a manner was unacceptable, even more so whenever the panic and shame overtook Jameson's body. Yes, William had wished to bring Waterford to justice before, as he did with all such nobles who abused their power, but the sensation was all the stronger, and William wanted to make Waterford regret every last word that came out of his mouth.

"You," William said, his voice emotionless, "are very lucky that I've chosen to let Jameson handle this situation. Otherwise, I would tear you apart right now." His cane was there, right in hand, and William had always been quick on the draw. It would be so easy to abandon the entire plan, to draw the blade and stab it through the other man's heart, and the twisted piece of William knew it would be so, so satisfying to do so. "However, you've wronged Jameson much more than you've wronged me, and I have no intention of taking that away from him."

So long as Jameson asked to dispose of his abusers with his own hands, William would not deny him that.

Waterford blinked, looking at William as if he were a curious sort of animal he'd happened to spot along a country road while glancing out the window of his carriage. "Ah, that's it," Waterford said with a click of his fingers. "I recognise you, too. You're the mathematics Moriarty boy. What, did he seduce you into bed, too? Did you feel special when he got on his knees and opened his mouth for you? You shouldn't. I mean, sure, it feels nice, but you should've been able to tell you'd gotten your hands on damaged goods at that point, right? That whore will open his legs for anyone that gives him the slightest bit of attention!"

"You don't understand Jameson in the slightest." It would have been much more effective to stab the man through the heart to silence him, but William did his best to make do with words. So long as it kept Waterford quiet, kept Jameson from having to hear such nonsense spoken about him, it would have to be enough, for just a bit longer. "I think the fact that you view him as a whore says a lot more about the type of person you are than it does about the calibre of his character."

"Oh, he got to you good. What else am I supposed to view him as?" Waterford shrugged, shaking his head as if he were dealing with a child that was making nothing but excuses for their poor behaviour. "He plays hard to get now, but he wasn't always like that. He was desperate for the attention, enjoying every second of getting passed around like some—"

"Shut up!"

Jameson's shout was equal parts rage, fear, and desperation, the sound ripping through William's chest with an unrivalled intensity, and he wasn't even the target of it. He turned to look at Jameson, to see what condition he was in, but by the time he'd turned, Jameson had already rushed forward, the dull but impactful sound of a knife sinking deep into flesh reverberating through the room in his aftermath.

Jameson's blade had lodged in Waterford's mouth, silencing whatever he was about to say next, and William was left to stare at Jameson's back.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Each utterance was accompanied by another strike of the blade, the movements haphazard but effective, nonetheless. It may not have been the strategy they'd discussed in advance, but the end goal had been accomplished. "Just stop already! I don't want to hear anymore!"

Jameson's tears were undeniable, but William couldn't fix it with a precise word, not with pain like that. Besides, had William not just been imagining doing the same thing? Blood had started to spill to the floor, to cover Jameson's hands, sleeves, chest, and face, but the knife still moved, not stopping until Waterford's corpse had fallen to the ground, Jameson collapsing to his knees beside him, still clutching to the knife as the sound of unrestrained sobs echoed throughout the room.

William kept his footsteps gentle but not silent so that Jameson wouldn't be surprised whenever he kneeled down beside him. "Jameson," he said, the other man still sobbing. "Jameson, talk to me so I know you're still here."

"I-I'm sorry," Jameson said, having to push the words out between shaking breaths. His hands were shaking as well, the knife gripped so tight in his hands that William didn't even attempt to pry it out, in case the blade nicked him in the process. "I—I know I was supposed to—the plan—but I just couldn't—"

"Hush, it's alright. That's nowhere near the most important thing right now." The plan could go to hell as far as William was concerned; Jameson's wellbeing was what mattered most. "This will just cause some adjustments, but it's nothing we can't manage. Right now, I want to make sure you're alright."

Jameson whimpered, not looking at William, and William was too worried about the effect he might cause were he to touch Jameson to provide any comfort. Jameson took in a sharp sob of a breath, his next words emerging as a mutter, "…but you…"

"But me?"

"I don't want anyone else but you!" The shout was just as frantic as the one before it, all the way down to how terrified Jameson looked as he lifted his head, jade green eyes searching William for a sign of something, though it was difficult to tell just what. Jameson tried to breathe, the sound sharp as air raced into his lungs. "You and no one else in the world! Always you, William, I swear—!"

"I know, my dearest. I didn't doubt that for a single second." There would be no world in which he would trust the word of someone else over Jameson, let alone someone so depraved. "He would have a distorted view of the situation; most people who commit such atrocities do." Jameson whimpered, the tears unceasing as they spilled from his eyes, streaking through the blood upon his face. "His word means nothing to me. I promise you—"

The verbal reassurance disappeared as Jameson crashed his mouth into William's, as if seeking asylum. Jameson was, William knew, attempting to prove the sincerity of his earlier declaration, and the stress and panic of the moment meant that appealing to him with words and logic would have very little chance of getting through. So William met Jameson where he was, not caring that Jameson's hands were pressing bloodstains into his lapels, that the very same blood was transferring between their lips. Jameson's mouth was hot, his breaths uneven, but he still kept going, his shaking fingers moving to loosen William's tie and undo his collar, those lips trailing down William's neck as Jameson planted himself in William's lap, straddling him upon the floor, promising that he was William's in his entirety.

"I don't—I don't want him. I don't, I don't, I don't." Jameson pressed his body closer, and William put his hands upon Jameson's waist to steady him. Jameson didn't give William any time to respond, pushing into another desperate kiss as he reached for his own tie to loosen it, his freckled neck an offering. "I'll do anything—William, I promise—" Jameson moved to undo William's belt next, the metal clinking as Jameson pushed a hand down William's trousers, blood pumping through his body from the touch. "I… I…!" Another sob broke through his words, Jameson almost collapsing atop William, all of his strength gone. "S-Satis—! I'm sorry, I know I started it, but, satis, I can't—"

"Shh. It's alright, Jameson. I will not make you do anything you don't want to." If Jameson had insisted on pushing forward, had desired it, William would have let him, would have done anything asked of him, but he had no need of something that would bring Jameson stress to give, regardless of whether he already had the beginnings of an erection or not. He reached up, wiping the blood away from Jameson's face as best he could and placing a kiss upon his forehead. "You are free to do as you wish."

"But—he said I'm—"

"You are not a whore, Jameson." That simple reassurance was enough to make a fresh round of tears erupt from Jameson again, and William continued, "I know what you've gone through. I know that others might judge you for such a thing. But I do not, and you should not do so, either. Your past does not define that part of you, my dearest."

Jameson opened his mouth as if to respond, but nothing came out save for an even louder sob. William hummed his reassurances, rubbing circles into his back as he began to follow the melody of their duet, the first piece that sprang to mind. It didn't fit the situation at all, but the idea of letting that silence linger was too much, but there weren't many words that could be said to help, either, so he let the music do it instead.

I'm here.

I've got you.

I'm not letting go.

He didn't know how long they sat there. All William knew was that he'd let Jameson cry as long as he needed, even as Waterford's blood and body grew cold.

[Author's Notes]

We've got a long one here with some emotional whiplash, whoops. The struggle of dealing with trauma is that things get messy. Piecing out where to put the chapter breaks in this arc was kind of rough, too, so I hope things come across well.

Continuing my thanks to anyone giving this fic a chance. I hope you all have a nice next twenty-four hours and beyond.

I did do a Jamie and William sketch recently, but I haven't had the energy/time to scan it yet. Work has entered a busy period for me, but I'd def like to doodle more. The struggle of having hobbies that are time consuming. *contemplates watching the Moriarty anime again for the nth time*

For Arc Four, I paced out events a bit differently than past ones, so I hope you enjoy what comes next in the arc finale!

Title of the chapter is from Bastille's "bad_news."

Next time: His Fourth Bow, Act Three. Please look forward to it!

-Avi

[16 November 2024]