tw: This story will contain depictions of canon typical violence, mentions of past sexual abuse (never shown in detail), some mentioned period typical trans/homophobia (but only sparingly bc this is my self indulgence dammit), and sexual content with consensual sadomasochistic actions. If none of that is your vibe, feel free to skip this one - yuumori can get kinda dark, and this story does the same. Additional trigger warnings will be added to the following chapters if necessary. Stay safe while reading, and enjoy!

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

-or-

be gay do crime

By: Aviantei

[Shibuya Operation – Story Storm]

Those Jade Green Eyes, Act One:

"don't you know 'bout the devil (he's a gentleman)"

Winter, 1864

The world was cold, cold, cold, the crispness of winter and the recent snowfall stripping the street of crowds, colour, and warmth. The sole exception was where the boy sat, on his knees and staring at the body before him, the one that had stained the snow with its red lifeblood, the one that no longer had a life to keep the corpse from growing cold.

The boy couldn't breathe—or, he could, but each breath was a heaving, trembling, high-pitched thing that did nothing to calm his nerves or collect his thoughts. They were scattered items and impressions, a jumbled mess of panic and memory and the idea of how oh so very easy it was for someone to disappear, to die, to be gone from life forever, and nothing, nothing, nothing whatsoever would be able to bring someone back, no matter how many hot tears soon froze over the boy's cheeks.

And then, in the middle of that storm, the one word that still had any meaning spilled and sobbed out from his mouth:

"Mama…!"

January, 1875

He was an attractive man, if not in a more subtle way than his compatriots. His skin was fair, and he didn't bother to hide the dusting of freckles across his cheeks like many others would have. The ginger red of his hair caught the low buzz of the lightbulbs in perfect flecks of gold, the color subtle yet eye-catching all the same. It was too hard to say for certain at such a distance, but his eyes might have been a glittering pale green, or perhaps a blue. William James Moriarty tended to prefer his men a bit taller, a bit sharper at the jaw and darker in complexion, but the one now in his sights had managed to land in the exact exceptional sweet spot to catch his attention.

William wanted to destroy him.

Not in any way violent, not in the way that William took the scum of the elite and wrecked them so there was no way to come back. No, none of that. But that same dark part of him that craved making such people tumble into the despair they so deserved also craved watching his partners crumble under his every touch, a mewling, overstimulated pile needy for more that they couldn't even handle. Perhaps it was depraved, debased, but William didn't consider himself despicable. Not whenever he made sure that his chosen prey in that arena was more than willing.

Said potential partner's gaze cased over the room, a haphazard attempt at trying to find a convenient excuse to leave the exchange he was in. Lucky for his sense of decorum, his conversation partner was too enamored with the sound of his own voice to notice the ginger-haired man had no interest in the discussion at hand. Those pale and promising eyes landed on William, who flashed a smile.

He knew well enough that he was attractive, a fact that he tended to use to his benefit. Everyone was susceptible to a pretty face, no matter their preferences. Of course, William would have pursued his ideals regardless, but he wasn't about to waste any advantage he had—even if it was for something as simple as having a little bit of fun.

It wasn't as if there was much other purpose in him being here. All the hard work to set the stage had been completed, and remaining was a matter of maintaining appearances. Why not secure some further assurance while he was at it? William sipped at his champagne, deciding that if the pretty redhead didn't extract himself from his conversation within the next two minutes—

Ah, no need for anything drastic.

The redhead's reaction to the smile had been instantaneous—the lights made it hard to tell if he'd blushed, but his expression at least looked like he'd been struck by lightning, and it took him a long moment to tear his gaze away. William just widened his smile and waited. Whatever the redhead said to excuse himself from his conversation, it didn't seem to last anywhere long enough to be polite, but there weren't any immediate issues as the redhead navigated around the outskirts of the dancefloor at a clip that was just a bit too hurried to go meet with a stranger.

How promising.

William flagged down the nearest waitstaff for a drink as he waited. While it wasn't all that long of a trip across the room, each second felt just a bit more excruciating than the last. Obtaining a fresh drink for himself and one more for his new associate, William offered out the glass the moment the pretty redhead was in range. The other man's eyes were, in fact, a soft jade green, one that seemed so pristine and perfect to view through a sheen of pleasure-induced tears.

"Having a rough night, are we?" William asked, causing the redhead to let out a breathy chuckle, though it wasn't quite clear if it was because he had walked with such haste across the room or the inklings of attraction. That flush rather did look adorable up close, though, so William liked his chances. "I find that most of the time, conversations at these types of events aren't worth the effort." They were draped in nothing but polite platitudes overlapped with each other—and often they were mere screens for the muck that rested inside many of the nobility's souls.

"They're not," the redhead said, the faintest bit of a smile starting to blossom on his face. "But if we ignore them overall, we're sure to offend those who hold such things in high esteem. That's something we must put up with in this society." And then that smile became much brighter in its earnestness as he turned his full attention on William. "If nothing else, I suppose it's given me an excuse to make your company, my lord."

Since willingness was an essential factor in William's tastes, he made sure to complete a scan of the redhead, checking for signs of interest. All elements seemed to indicate an openness if nothing else, but that flush had yet to retreat from just above the redhead's collar, and the faint liddedness to his gaze also betrayed his interest. Though they'd just started conversing, the redhead was already at a distance that was a bit too comfortable for total strangers, even at an event such as the present one. The indicators were favorable, so William had no issue with casting his line and seeing if he could get the redhead to bite.

"Well, my lord," he said, earning a faint pleased exhale as his reward for that form of address, "I find that staying so in the open eye often leads to unwarranted interruptions." Such as his own interruption of the redhead's previous conversation; if another party-goer so much as attempted to disrupt their conversation, William could not guarantee that his composure or manners would remain intact. "I would so hate to have that happen now that I've caught your eye. Any chance that we could move to a more private location?"

It was in close quarters that William could make use of his most effective weapons, and he wielded them all with careful care in precision: the deepening tone of his voice, the tilt of his head at the perfect angle, the right mix of innocence and alluring in his gaze. Of course, it was all present, but still subtle, enough to invite, but not enough to overstep.

The heat crawled back up and into the redhead's cheeks, but his lips parted to say, "I believe I know somewhere we could withdraw to."

William broadened his smile. "In which case, I'm in your care, your lordship."

Seeing as the redhead chose to keep ahold of his champagne glass (though not without taking a bit too long of a sip from it first), William did the same and followed the other man's pace. With the dancing in full swing and plenty of food available for the taking, the sight of two men slipping out of the room wasn't enough to warrant all that much attention, and it wasn't as if the host of the party hadn't prepared for such things, either. With the few open doors and sound of light conversation from them, it was clear some additional rooms had been prepared for anyone who might wish for a bit of privacy or more intimate conversation. Already planning for the possibility that their destination was one such space, William began to slot additional strategies for winning over the redhead in place in his mind; now that he'd seen the man up close, he didn't have any intentions of relinquishing his chosen target's attention unless he received a firm refusal—and he was more than confident in his ability ensure such an outcome wasn't a possibility.

But all the additional plans seemed to be a futile mental exercise as the redhead passed every possible open door, instead rounding the corner into another hallway altogether. He didn't so much as hesitate, either, his stride confident as he navigated the route with no hesitation, and William kept pace, ensuring that he didn't seem too hurried.

"You seem rather familiar with this manor," he said, letting a hint of amusement into his words. The redhead slowed a bit but didn't come to a full stop, instead tossing a glance over his shoulder that just increased William's growing appetite all the more.

"If I said this wasn't the first time I'd slipped away from one of our illustrious host's parties, would you blame me?"

"I wouldn't. Not even such a dull event could make way for something much more exciting." The redhead was still watching William, gauging his reaction, and William provided a smile, this one more seductive than the last. "Though I will say I hold a regret that I haven't attended one of these gatherings prior to this, thus preventing me the opportunity to have snuck off with you before."

That pleased blush was back, though William didn't get to appreciate it for more than a few moments before the redhead had stopped before a door, swinging it open in the next second. Just like the rest of the manor, the furniture was immaculate and well worth more than a lower-class family would need to live on for at least a decade, which was rather impressive given the location and the size indicated that the place couldn't have been more than a potential guest room. His familiarity extending even here, the redhead stepped inside, first depositing his half-empty champagne glass on the bedstand before going through the motions to ignite the waiting oil lamp. That task complete, he dipped down to slip off his shoes before he at last sat on the corner of the bed, those green eyes narrowed and inviting.

"Forgive me if I've misinterpreted, my lord," the redhead said, batting his eyelashes, "but I assume that this was the sort of private location you had in mind?"

It was a struggle for William to not just drop his own glass in the hall and take what he wanted, but he maintained his composure as he stepped inside, ensuring he closed the door tight behind him. "Your assumption was correct," he said, letting his voice dip deeper as he stepped across the room at a slow but sensual pace. "Forgive me if I've misinterpreted, my lord, but I assume you are more than open to my proposition? Though I suppose I should first admit I was hoping to keep your attention until this party reaches its conclusion."

The closer he got, the more obvious it was that the redhead's eyes were glittering with a clear interest, and William didn't once look away as his all-but-untouched glass joined his new companion's. "If you believe I'm worthy of garnering so much of your attention, I would be more than happy to pass the night away with you."

Such a clear and open invitation was just about all that William needed. Though his newfound partner was shorter than him already, the difference between them was all the more obvious with the redhead sitting on the edge of the bed. William leaned down, at last allowing himself to touch the other man, a single finger ghosting from the top of the other man's collar and sliding up and under his chin. That pretty face tilted up at the slightest prompting, mouth already parted, and William let himself hold out the anticipation for several seconds before at last claiming those lips for his own.

It wouldn't have been accurate to say that the kiss was sweet, but that didn't stop William from drinking it down as if it were ambrosia itself. It was clear that the redhead, for all his soft appearance, had some experience, as he melted into the kiss at just the right angle, mouth giving way to William's tongue with a pleased groan. The redhead's hand fisted into William's lapel, pulling him closer, and William's palms met the mattress to keep him upright and balanced, for what little amount of time such things would even matter. The exchange was heated, and it was a clear signal to his body that it was time to act on every half-flitting fantasy that had raced across his mind the moment that he'd spotted the other man across the ballroom.

There was no sense in keeping track of things like time whenever you were indulging yourself, but William was certain that at least a few minutes had passed in their kiss before their mouths at last broke apart—though that was just the precursor to William's mouth exploring other facets of that freckled skin, the mix of cologne and a sweeter undertone of sugar and lotus beneath enchanting his senses in the process. Much like getting started on solving an extensive formula, the opening exploration was enticing, a way to observe all the options and begin experimenting to find the best possible reactions.

His new partner was a sensitive one, it seemed, as every press of lips to skin pulled out the most delightful gasps and beginning notes of moans, though they weren't overblown. No, with the pulse William could feel against his tongue and the deepening flush across the redhead's skin, it was clear those reactions were genuine, and he couldn't have asked for anything better as he explored up the redhead's neck and to his ear, experimenting with a gentle tug of the teeth against the lobe.

The redhead's voice slipped a fraction louder, though it was from pleasure rather than pain, and the signs were looking favorable that William could get the exact experience he wanted. His preferences may have leaned towards the rougher inclinations when the mood struck him, but he wouldn't force that if his partner weren't interested, and William would have been more than content to have a more acceptable by societal standards experience if needed. But if he could have the full extent of his desire fulfilled…

His fingers already working on undoing the bowtie about the other man's neck, William spoke into the redhead's ear. "If I may be so bold as to impose, I will confess to wanting nothing more than you squirming beneath me—though my tastes are a bit improper for polite conversation." He worked his nail in a gentle scratch down the redhead's now exposed neck, just the slightest pressure to create that burn that had his partner's breath hitching. "I will be more than happy to be gentle with you if you prefer, but with your permission, my lord…"

"Yes." The response was quiet, but no less assured for it. "Any way you wish to have me, my lord, you may have me. It would be an honor to please you so."

The invitation was almost enough to pull out a groan from William's lips, but he pressed that down in favor of dropping a bite against the flesh of the redhead's neck—not enough to leave a mark behind, but earning him another pleased sound, nonetheless. With the redhead's legs already spread, William dragged a knee up into that space, giving him much more leverage to tip his partner over and onto the mattress. It was such a pretty sight, seeing the other man laid out in the lamplight, and William set about feeling across the redhead's torso, each grab getting bolder and rougher, each testing the limits ever further. Even with permission, he didn't intend to go too far, not when he had such a prime opportunity to enjoy himself.

The redhead watched him with hungry eyes, and William didn't miss the twitch of his fingers. "No need to be so hesitant," William said. "I suggest that you get your fill of touching me while you still have the strength to do, my lord." He might have wished to be in control, but he enjoyed the attention from his partner just as much as anyone else. So when those hands found their way to undoing William's own bowtie and collar to expose more of his neck to the air, he didn't mind in the slightest, and the fresh contact of another's fingers to his own flesh after abstaining for a while brought that dusting of pleasure to his awareness.

Not wanting to waste a single second, William first shrugged off his jacket before dropping it aside and positioning himself atop his partner. Perhaps he should have taken a bit more care seeing as he would need to be dressed and exposed to public scrutiny before leaving, but such concerns seemed so distant in comparison to the sensation of the redhead wriggling underneath his weight, those hips rolling up against him in a most pleasurable rhythm, one with an accompaniment of wordless moans and one pleased utterance of "My lord…!"

Delicious. How much more compelling would that voice be whenever its owner was stripped bare and overwhelmed with the purest ecstasy? William intended to find out, and he claimed another deep kiss, not bothering to stop the trail of saliva that formed whenever he pulled away to continue his exploration of the redhead's skin, heading in a downward direction. Tearing apart his partner's clothes so the buttons would pop off was a tempting option, but William schooled himself into undoing each and every fastening of the formal wear the proper way, first pulling open the vest before doing the same to the button down, earning a stretch of skin that would not be exposed except in the most intimate of circumstances.

It was across the redhead's stomach that he allowed himself to test the full threshold of the invitation to do as he pleased. Much to William's delight, the other man responded in pleasure with each deep bite, all the way up until there were marks still etched into his skin, and those were soon added to by dark bruises that William sucked into existence, enjoying the starting arch of the redhead's back ever closer to him, and he responded by heading higher with every intent to do the same to the other man's chest.

And then he pulled that shirt open just as his lips found an extra stretch of cloth he hadn't been expecting.

William pulled himself up to get a better look, and the breath caught in the redhead's throat. The fabric was wrapped around the redhead's chest, almost like a medical dressing. William would have assumed nothing more of it had his previous touches not revealed a more prominent curve of the waist, not to mention the fear that had marred the redhead's expression as he reached up to close his shirt, as if to hide the evidence. "I—"

"To be clear, you are a man, yes?" William asked, ensuring that his voice wasn't accusing. There could have been a thousand different reasons and explanations as to why someone would dress or disguise themselves in such a way, but it wasn't worth entertaining all of them whenever keeping the redhead comfortable was the utmost priority. So he posed his question with as much gentleness as he was capable, ensuring that his expression didn't give the slightest sign of an anger or betrayal he wasn't feeling.

The redhead's mouth opened, but no sound came out. His eyes were watching William, as if waiting for the instance of some harsh word or even worse, but the tension seemed to drain out of his shoulders after a moment of no such action occurring. He sucked in a deep breath, washing away the fear from his expression and replacing it with a confidence that was more than admirable as he gave his response:

"I am."

"Very well, my lord." William may have been able to understand much about people from simple observation, but even he had no place in telling someone else their identity; there was no need to drag the conversation out any longer. "In which case, I see no issue in continuing as we were, then." Looking stunned by William's response, the redhead nodded. William offered him a smile that made his continued interest more than clear, and he traced his fingers along the edge of the binding. "It must be uncomfortable wearing such a thing for so long. If you wish to remove it, I would take no issue."

The redhead swallowed, a trace of hesitance before he opened his shirt back up, shifting into a half-risen position. "…Please."

There was no reason to deny such a request. The redhead shrugged off all three of his topmost layers as one, forming a pool of fabric atop the mattress, and William's hands drew up his back to find the clip that held the bindings in place. It didn't take too much work to undo the whole thing, though the redhead remained hunched over, hands still covering his chest. Recognizing that he didn't want to be seen yet, William pressed his lips to his now exposed shoulders, the faint smattering of the freckles there visible in the candlelight. There was still tension in the muscles, but the redhead didn't push William away, so he continued, his next move running his palm wholesale down the curve of the other man's spine.

That motion earned a pleased hum, and William continued until the redhead had relaxed once more, leaning into the touch more by the second. Still not pulling back, William ran both his hands up his partner's sides, earning the sensation of delighted goosebumps and a shiver of pleasure. Once, his palms wandered too close to the sides of the redhead's breasts, resulting in a flinch, but William changed course the next instant. There were plenty of other options to explore; he need not insist on something that would cause his partner discomfort.

His choice soon bore fruit, the redhead easing out of his hunched form to take the initiative in continuing to undo William's own buttons, seeking out flesh for flesh. His partner's fingers were soft ad skilled, feeling over William's collarbone before those lips soon followed, and William took it upon himself to grasp the other man by the hips and scoot him closer, catching his hands under the redhead's buttocks in the process, the sensation full in his palms. The redhead let out a little moan, the sound dampened by his mouth's proximity to William's skin, leaving behind a trail of gentle yet wet kisses that were left cold by the exposure to air.

The redhead didn't stop there, either, his hands feeling up the expanse of William's muscles now that he had access to them. The training he'd gone through and maintained for the sake of his ambitions had left him rather fit in a way that many might not expect from his build, but it seemed the results were to the redhead's satisfaction. Those hands worked their way lower, fingers tracing the shape of William's hipbones as far down as he could go, and then there was the practiced movement of someone who'd undone another's belt for them a number of times.

William pulled free one of his hands, catching onto the redhead's wrists. "There's no need to rush into it," he said, with the slightest press of authority in his tone. His partner locked eyes with him, lust dancing in the pearlescent green, though it seemed he still had some sense to him. That would be wonderful to see gone, eroded piece by piece from the overwhelming desire, but William was patient enough to work his way up to that moment. "I daresay I'm much more in the mood to see you pushed to the edge than I am in satiating myself at the moment."

The shudder was obvious in the redhead's body, and he bit at his lip before asking, "What would you prefer I do, then?"

"Continue to enjoy yourself, of course. Though…" William brought the redhead's hands to his lips, his mouth reaching out to suck upon one of those fingers before he pulled back with one of his most effective smirks on display. "I'd very much like to devour you right now, my lord."

"W—" The redhead swallowed, unable to look away, transfixed by William before him. "What might that consist of?"

"I believe that actions speak louder than words, wouldn't you say?"

Though he'd just stopped the redhead from doing so, William's next move was to remove his partner's belt, and his slacks followed soon after, joining William's jacket upon the floor. The undershorts received the same treatment once he'd loosened the drawstrings, and William ducked his head down to the redhead's legs as soon as the opportunity was presented. His mouth once more went to work, more bruises left in his wake, whilst he drew feather-light circles on the inside of the other man's thighs, earning the loudest gasp yet, and those hips even jerked into the air once or twice, already seeking out greater pleasure still.

William would provide, but not just that moment. The longer he continued his explorations of his partner's legs, the more broken up the other man's breaths became. It wasn't until William had worked his way up and down those limbs that he at last pressed a kiss right above the line of pubic hair, earning yet another buck that he almost received a bump on the chin for. His next kiss was lower by just a fraction, and the redhead's voice broke at last into a shout. "Ahh—! Wi—" A swallow that did little to bring back his composure. "Will you please—"

"Please?" William echoed, his fingers brushing alongside the edges of the redhead's lips, robbing him for the moment of the ability to form words. "I suppose if you ask like that, I couldn't hope to refuse." Not to mention the scent of the other man's desire was thick and obvious; dragging things out further would be for little more than William's own amusement—a tempting option, to be sure, but it seemed a bit uncouth to be so rude to someone who'd been nothing but accommodating to William's whims. "I must confess that I didn't expect to have so many options whenever you caught my eye, though. Would you be opposed to my continuing with my original plan?" He dipped a finger between those lips, just enough to tease the entrance and to pick up some of the redhead's slick before casting even lower to where another entrance awaited, and that gentle press seemed to have knocked the wind right out of his partner.

It was the redhead's hand that moved first, fumbling towards the bedstand and managing to catch the drawer by the edge to push it open the slightest fraction. In the interest of not dropping their abandoned champagne onto the carpet, William assisted, and there was but one item in the drawer, making what the redhead had been seeking obvious. William retrieved the jar, the scent of Vaseline emerging once he screwed off the cap, and his prey was attempting to pull it from his hands. "I can do that," the redhead said, no doubt wanting to rush the process.

William smiled, lifting the jar out of the other man's reach. "I told you, did I not? I want to see you pushed to the edge. I can't have that if I don't do that work myself." The redhead made one last grab for the jar, but the determination to do so was fading from his eyes. "I do promise to make sure you are good and ready before I enter, if that's your concern."

The redhead seemed about to say something, but he was too busy blushing to form a retort. Whatever thought had been in his head seemed to be a favorable fantasy, as he dropped his hand back to the blankets and propped up his legs to give William better access. "Just…please don't take too long, my lord. You make it hard to contain myself."

"Your restraint will be well rewarded, I assure you." With the matter settled, William got to work on coating his fingers, the Vaseline sticking in places but doing well enough. Satisfied with his work (and spurned on by the longing look his partner was giving him), William scooped up a bit more before tugging the redhead into his lap to get the best angle. There was that faint amount of resistance before he was able to tuck a finger inside, tight pressure closing in around the digit whilst the redhead moaned, looking so pretty that it was hard to resist skipping over all the preparation to see the final result.

But William had schooled his patience over the years, so he was able to focus on the task at hand, despite the growing pressure his own arousal was providing. That was all the more reason to do a thorough job in advance, so he tested a few slow movements, working the lubricant in as much as he could. It was clear from the quick pace that the redhead's body adjusted that this was nowhere near the first time he'd had such an experience, and there wasn't that much trouble with adding in a second finger as well. William's partner had gotten all the noisier, those eyes fluttered shut and his face flushed from the pleasure, wordless sounds slipping out and growing ever higher-pitched as William spread his fingers to test what resistance there might be.

There was very little, as it turned out, and the redhead was trembling, a bit of his slick dripping down to William's hand connected to his body. He didn't think it would be that much of an issue to tuck a third finger inside as well, but that was not what he'd promised. Instead, he used the spread of his fingers to work in an extra dollop of lubricant to be safe, by which point it was clear that any further work would just be delaying the inevitable.

So William placed a steadying hand on the redhead's hip and ducked his head down, drawing a long lick between those lips and savoring the heady taste, bitterness and all.

He let out a satisfied sound, but the rumble in his chest was lost in the near euphoric cry his partner released, the man sounding on the edge of tears. "D-don't—" he managed to choke out, "Don't keep teasing me, m-my lord."

"Apologies. I couldn't resist." Well, at least one of those things was true; it was hard to feel apologetic whenever he'd gotten such a good reaction out of it. Still, William was a man of his word, and it was approaching the time to fulfill both his promises and his own desire. "I seem to have made quite a mess of my hands, and it won't do to leave anything visible on my clothes. Would you care to assist?"

It was a difficult task—for one, the redhead was shaking so much that he had a hard time sitting himself up, and for another, William had no interest in relinquishing his fingers until he was able to replace them, so the angle wasn't ideal—but it wasn't long before those practiced hands had finished the work of undoing William's belt and all the rest. Soon, there was that faint relief of freeing his erection, and it seemed that the redhead intended to leave the fabric bunched up at William's knees, the look on his partner's face more than inviting as he laid back and those hips lifted up once again. William took a short moment to lubricate himself as well, and then, with the addition of a hand beneath the other man's buttocks to steady him and one last stretch of the fingers, he let himself in.

The heat that closed around him had been well worth the wait, and William laid himself down atop his partner with a groan of satisfaction. The redhead was moaning, too, his arms wrapping around William's shoulders to pull him close, and it was almost too many new sensations to handle at once: the softness of the redhead's torso flush against his own, the tight squeeze of the embrace around him, hot-mouthed kisses against his neck, the pure rapture starting from where the two of them were connected and spreading throughout the rest of his body. Sinking into all of the sensations at once was William's preference, allowing everything to create such a cocoon of pleasure that could distract his mind from everything else in the world.

His partner squirmed, somehow even more impatient now that William was inside him than he had been beforehand. "I-I'm ready," he said, all traces of his earlier confident demeanor long slipped away to the desire. "I'm ready, your lordship, please move, please—"

"Mm. Understood."

The first move was a shallow one, but that didn't make the shout from the redhead's mouth any less significant. William took things in simple movements at first, reading the reactions with careful intent. It wasn't long before he found a handful of favorable locations, and he settled on one to start making longer, deeper thrusts, working himself in more and setting off that delicious friction he'd been craving, the redhead's body letting him in with ease but closing tight around him all the same. Yes, he'd made the correct assumption in thinking the other man would make for a suitable partner to pass the time with, there was no doubt about that whatsoever. In fact, suitable seemed like far too tame a word, all things considered.

But it was no time to worry about semantics. No, now was the time to pick up the pace, build up the overall sensation of the pleasure, and to lose himself in it all while he could. His partner was more than receptive, the returning movements of his hips adding even more to the rhythm, and they matched up soon enough, making each thrust and slice of delight all the more delectable. Not to mention that voice, calling for him without the slightest care for who might hear; well, given that there was a ready lubricant waiting in a drawer and a fire in the hearth, the lord of the house or at least his servants seemed to have an idea with what happened behind closed guest room doors. Furthermore, such an alibi would be impossible to deny, should it all come to it.

And it might have been that one little thought that could have soured the whole experience were it not for the fact that William became very much aware of the redhead trying to slip an arm between them, providing an ample distraction.

"Naughty," William said, resting his hand atop the redhead's. "Whyever would you need to do such a thing whenever I've already said that I'd take care of you?" If his partner had a cognizant response, he wasn't able to form it. "But you've been so wonderful for me. I'm more than glad to provide." Lifting himself up as needed, the chill that opened up between their bodies was almost unbearable, but it was a necessary sacrifice if he were to do as promised. It took just a swipe across the redhead's vulva to get the coating necessary, and then the subsequent press against his clitoris—

"Yes." The word managed to form, though the combination of William's thrusts and his slower pace of rubbing seemed to be the perfect formula for success. "Yes, yes, please keep that up, I'll—"

"I wouldn't dream of stopping now." They were almost at that critical moment, where pleasure blurred into ecstasy, the one William had been aiming for ever since the redhead had caught his eye across the room, the true first step to leaving his partner behind in such a mess he wouldn't be able to think straight. No, stopping and denying the other man of the pleasure William had been teasing out of him would be cruel. "Is there anything else I can give you to help?" After so much, William considered himself generous, even if the final goal was much further than one orgasm away. But the better the first was, the closer he'd be to having destroyed his partner in the most thorough way possible.

"A-a name." The response was so quiet that William almost didn't hear it, but the redhead mustered up his composure and his courage to clarify, "I'd…l-like to have a name to praise."

"Liam," he said without even pausing to consider it. In most cases like these, he wouldn't dare to give out his real name, but William was already so deep in the pleasure that he didn't bother to give a pseudonym. At least he had enough sense of mind to give a nickname other than his full name, and the prospect of his adorable partner calling for him and no one else—

And call he did, voice trembling as much as the rest of him, a crescendo of that precious ecstasy while his body clenched tight: "Liam, Liam, yes!"

That was more than enough to give that rush of satisfaction William had been seeking, and he hummed his pleasure as he pushed a bit deeper, a bit harder. The repetition of his name was still there, though it was broken apart by a pleasant splutter, and it wasn't too much longer until the pretty redhead was all the prettier for his whining and whimpering, that further enhanced as William continued the steady rub along his clitoris for long after the waves of his orgasm had passed. It wasn't enough to leave his partner raw—because that wouldn't do when this was just the opening act—but pushing past the limits was always delightful, and the redhead had done nothing to stop William whatsoever.

William pulled his hand up to caress the redhead's cheek. "Do you need a break before we continue?" he asked, voice such a soft whisper that it would have been impossible to hear were he not right beside his partner's ear. The responding shake of the head was swift, almost desperate, and William complied by not stopping whatsoever, enjoying the nice, tight feeling along his arousal, that comfortable sensation sparking electricity, fraction by fraction, up his spine. "My, my, how lucky I am."

The redhead's hands were knotted in the blankets, and there would be more than enough wrinkles as evidence of their activities from the strength of his grip. But his back was arched up in clear satisfaction, those jade green eyes half-lidded in the lamp light, and William indulged himself in leaving kisses down the other man's neck and shoulders, sneaking in a bite here and there, each the slightest bit harder than the last, and every resulting yelp and gasp was all the more enjoyable than the one that came before it.

"Y-you—" The redhead swallowed, though it did nothing to give him back his composure. "You don't have to—ah—to g-go easy on me, Liam. Please." He didn't even need to be told to beg to get what he wanted, and that was more than enough for William to acquiesce, his own movements getting a bit rougher, his teeth sinking deeper to drag out the faintest taste of blood. Oh, he enjoyed the slow pacing, the tease, but one round of that seemed to be more than enough as he dug his nails into those freckled shoulders without even meaning to, and then he had the redhead's legs hooked around his waist.

If William was losing track of himself already, then perhaps he'd gone a bit overboard, but there was no sense in going back now. He may have not been in his clearest mind, but it was beyond obvious that the redhead was even worse off, a line of drool having slipped out of his lips; William pressed in with a full-mouthed kiss and experimented with how deep he could push his tongue in. The results were impressive, and the possibility of that mouth also— William groaned despite himself, but at least he hadn't lost enough control that he finished without warning. He would at least maintain enough of a hold on himself so as to eke every last bit of pleasure out of his partner first, that much he could promise.

I'm not anywhere close to done with you yet.

But there was still plenty of time in the evening to go, and one extra release than he'd intended wouldn't hurt, now would it?

William licked up the shell of the redhead's ear, enjoying the whimper that earned him. "You wouldn't be remiss enough to not provide me a name to call in return, now would you?"

The redhead almost choked as William pressed up at just the right angle to earn a strangled gasp. "J-Jame—Jameson…!" he said, and it was far more breath than words, but William heard him just fine.

"Ah, Jameson," William said, and that alone was enough to send Jameson tumbling right off the edge all over again. "It's been far more than a mere pleasure, my lord."

"Mm, Liam—William!"

And William let himself tumble right off the edge with him.

It was far past the polite hour to do so whenever William James Moriarty left the Aldborough Manor. If nothing else, his coachman didn't seem surprised by the fact, or at least he had good enough training and an even better paycheck to not care about such things. Either way, the second son of the Moriarty family made his exit long after everyone else, looking more than satisfied on the way out, the comforts of home waiting for him.

Jameson wished that he could say the same waited in his future, but such a thing as a comfortable home hadn't existed for him in years. To make matters worse, he couldn't even leave the Aldborough Manor; he was already at his residence, despite his distaste for the fact. And while he would have liked nothing better than to sink into the blankets he'd been so ravaged against and enjoy the leftovers of William James Moriarty's enticing scent as he fell into rest, doing so would just be asking for trouble.

If nothing else, the Moriarty boy—William, he couldn't help but think though he wasn't supposed to get attached, such a lovely name—hadn't left Jameson to put himself back together. With murmured words and gentle hands, he'd helped Jameson back into his clothes with the same ease as he'd taken him out of them in the first place. Of course, Moriarty had doubtless been intending to make it so Jameson could also head home without delay. If it wouldn't have been more than obvious as to what had kept them so long after the party had concluded, Jameson didn't doubt that Moriarty would have ensured that his own carriage had arrived first. There were precautions in place for such things, yes, but they were obnoxious to deal with whenever Jameson was so drained.

Except, Jameson realized as he made his way through the halls, he didn't feel drained at all. Oh, he was tired, yes, and more than ready to fall asleep, but that was from a sense of general ease Moriarty had put him at rather than scraping the last vestiges of being from the bottom of his already plundered soul. Where others would take and take and take and leave Jameson dreading the feeling of being in his own skin, Moriarty had made him feel grateful to inhabit the body he did. Hell, even by the time he couldn't have taken anymore, Jameson would have offered himself up yet one more time had Moriarty asked for it.

If I could get him to come back again… It was an awful thought, one Jameson shouldn't have wished on anyone. But if it meant a regular night of reprieve from the thousands of tiny knives puncturing their way out of his skin, he would take it, even at the cost it would involve. Moriarty had seemed to enjoy himself more than enough, despite taking his time tending to Jameson, and it wasn't as if it was easy to find someone who was willing to become a target for such rougher desires. Having a convenient piece of prey in your back pocket was tempting; Jameson knew, because that was why at least half of the others came back, no matter how high the price became.

Already knowing that the night wasn't about to end in anything that would make him feel better, Jameson cast such thoughts aside and let his mind wander back to the bed he'd already abandoned, retracing the lines that Moriarty had drawn across his skin, the pleasure he'd sent echoing through every last corner of Jameson's body. Even if Moriarty never came back, Jameson could at least have those memories to cling onto whenever things became too unbearable to stand; he was rather good at focusing on a daydream and blocking everything else when he could afford it. Might as well add something more than worthwhile to the collection. That name slipped off his lips in a murmur, and he tried to remember the taste of it, too, of the shape it contorted his mouth into, those gorgeous scarlet eyes savoring every last moment of attention and pleasure—

His hand on the doorknob of his destination, Jameson set his determination to at least attempt to make Moriarty return, at least once, and pray that it didn't turn into a show of disgust once he realized just who he'd chosen to bed that night.

And then, as if slipping out of his body altogether, Jameson set those thoughts aside, opening the door he was expected to report to every night, without fail. If the so-called guest room he used for his activities was decked out to the nines, then the room he'd just entered went all the way up to eleven and beyond. Golden decorations glimmered in the low lamplight, the flame making the shadows present shift every second. There were the usual concessions, too: a wardrobe, a writing desk in the corner, a low table and surrounding seats for when more intimate company was called for, and, in the room beyond that, a massive bed, one dressed in silk that should have been a dream to sink into but instead was a place that Jameson dreaded like no other.

The one source of relief was that the master of the house, Lord Stratford, was not in bed, not yet. No, he'd taken up residence at the desk, though the letter or some such correspondence he'd been working on went abandoned at the sound of Jameson's entry. The Viscount of Aldborough wasn't quite an aging man, but his youth had not quite been preserved, either. With his light brown hair down from its formal styling and the genuine smile that accented the wrinkles on his face, he would have seemed harmless and dull to anyone who didn't know better—which, as it were, those who knew better contained a small group of people, Jameson included.

"I see that you're back later than usual," Lord Stratford said, those grey eyes already assessing Jameson, as if he were any good at guessing the extent of what had happened in the guest wing whatsoever. Already staring a hole into the wall behind his patron lord's head, Jameson let Stratford do as he pleased. "I take it that things went well?"

Jameson nodded. "Lord Moriarty expressed great interest, my lord," he said, grateful that his mother had never used anything besides the formal term for the man, saving himself the trouble of ever having to use the viscount's name out loud. After all, why else was he here but to be a hollow replacement for her? Right, he was to bait nobles into bed and allow Stratford to reap the rewards for his silence. "If nothing else, he left no question as to his activities for the evening."

"Good, very good. Let's see it, then." It was with years of careful practice that Jameson contained his flinch and the tremble of his hands as he began to disrobe. That, too, was part of the process; goods needed to be checked after their use so they could be confirmed not to be broken—not that such a once over never went past the physical, where all the true destruction rested inside. With Jameson's jacket, vest, button-down, and chest wrap dropped to the floor, the array of bruises left over from the Moriarty boy were more than obvious, and Stratford's gaze landed on the wiped clean but already scabbing bite mark against his shoulder. "A rough one, it seems. You wouldn't have guessed to look at him."

No, Jameson wouldn't have guessed, either, but he also hadn't complained. The kisses and bites had been forceful, true, but they'd built up, never going too far and breaking past the limits of Jameson's pain tolerance. Just like everything else, it had been almost kind, and Moriarty hadn't acted in such a manner until after confirming that Jameson was receptive to it. Such a far, far cry from every other person that had ever deigned to lay their hands on his skin in such a manner, ripping off parts of him as if they had an uncontroversial right to it all.

"I think I might be able to make him a regular," Jameson said, his voice quiet but not betraying the hope inside him at the prospect. Stratford raised his brow, but he didn't stop the examination of Jameson's body, and those hands turned Jameson around to find another set of similar marks and reddened skin from the scratches across his back. It was a wonder he was able to produce words instead of vomit. "He seemed more than content to take his time. Such a thing would be worth a price, would it not?"

"He'd have to pay extra to continue to treat you in such a way, but it's not as if the family can't afford it. Benefits of being part of an Earldom." While others might have resented those positioned above them, Lord Stratford did no such thing. Instead, he had Jameson target those in such positions, letting their ample cashflow further enhance his own. "Let me see the rest." At least with his back turned, Jameson could clench his teeth without worry of any ramifications as he worked on discarding the rest of his clothes, the whole ensemble soon an abandoned collection on the floor to be cleaned and pressed by some maid feigning ignorance in the morning. "Well, we do need someone to replace Baron Braybrooke. Are you confident in your ability to convince him?"

Considering that Moriarty had even gone through the trouble to help Jameson clean up in the aftermath, no, Jameson wasn't sure. No matter his tastes, something about Moriarty had seemed too gentle, too noble to indulge in anything as crass as paying his partners to bed him. Hell, even without money involved, Jameson would have bedded him again at the slightest invitation—but that response wouldn't do any good, so he just nodded instead, already longing for the morning to come as Stratford's hands grew ever bolder.

"You did catch his eye before even approaching him, I suppose," Stratford said, and Jameson couldn't help but remember the surprise he'd had, that not just one of his target options had been interested from the outset, but that it had been the one he'd been most interested in trying his hand at. "Very well, I'll put the offer on the table when I negotiate with him." And then there was the creaking of the chair as Stratford stood up, embracing Jameson from behind. "You've done so well for me, Verity. Shall we celebrate?"

There were a number of things that Jameson rotated through the position of being the worst part of it all, but moments like the current one were in close consideration. Putting aside that the name he'd chosen for himself was his and no other, Verity wasn't even the name he'd been given at birth. No, that name was his mother's, and she was long from the world. Hearing her name was a reminder that she was gone, and that sometimes stung more than what was to follow whenever Stratford opted to remind Jameson that he was nothing more than a substitute.

After all, his mother had been a whore, so it was natural that he'd become one, too.

There was the small mercy that Stratford wasn't sadistic in his actions, but that was somehow more offensive because it sometimes made it harder to hate him than the others. No, that was a lie: Jameson hated his patron with every fraction of his being, hated what all that the viscount made him endure, and acting a convenient little doll in bed was about all he could muster. It seemed that, since Jameson hadn't had a soul-crushing experience beforehand, it was much easier to let the rage simmer in him as Stratford led him to bed. Stratford's hands were like brands, leaving no piece of him untouched, and Jameson had to sit there and smile through it all, like he enjoyed it. That charade was going to be much more difficult whenever he had enjoyed Moriarty all the more, but faking it all was as easy as breathing to him after so much experience, so he could endure it.

But you didn't have to fake it with Moriarty—with William. The world was so unfair, giving him a sliver of something good and then tossing Jameson right back into hell again. He did his best to attempt his imaginings, to pretend he was back in the guest bed instead of where he was, but it was all wrong, Stratford's fingers too thick, his hands clumsy in a way that Jameson felt assured Moriarty would never be, his kiss tasting too much like the whiskey nightcap the viscount must have imbibed to pass the time. He didn't seem drunk, though, which was one small blessing in the midst of an expanse of curses. The kiss didn't last long, either, as Stratford worked his way down to Jameson's chest, and he braced himself for the unwanted suckle against his breasts.

Instead, Stratford's body weight dropped hard down onto him, and Jameson swallowed down his yelp. He waited for the follow-up kiss, for the hotness of a mouth he wished would disappear, but it didn't follow. Jameson peeked open an eye, but Stratford was still motionless, though he didn't seem to be snoring in the way he would be had he fallen asleep. "My lord…?" Jameson reached out to shake Stratford's shoulder. "My lord, are you alright?"

The nasty part of him wished that Stratford wasn't alright, but the part that didn't want to be trapped beneath someone else's body wanted Stratford off him, so attempting to wake his patron up it was. Except, the closer he paid attention, the more he could tell Stratford was taking shaking, shuddering breaths, almost as if he were desperate for air. Jameson hefted his patron up, hoping that would alleviate the issue, but Stratford clutched at his chest.

"Can't…" Stratford gasped out. "Can't…breathe…"

Jameson's pulse quickened as his instincts recognized the crisis, but he didn't know what to do. Stratford had never had any particular health issues before, so there was no clue to what could be the issue. No, no, that wasn't important, that wasn't Jameson's job; staying so far out and away from London, they kept a doctor in the manor, so he just needed to pass the job off to someone else.

Jameson opened his mouth to shout.

The news of the death of the Viscount of Aldborough was nothing more than an obituary in the paper, a lengthy but otherwise common enough notation of his life and accomplishments along with the information that he had passed in his sleep. There were, of course, several lamenting words at how there had been no medical indication that such a thing would happen, and the whole thing was portrayed as very tragic.

William read the news with satisfaction that a plan had gone off without any issues, and then he'd began to make the preparations for the next steps in the process. The main objective was done, but the crime consultancy that had been requested of him was not yet at a proper close; there was still an epilogue to come, the falling action that would wrap up the remaining loose ends.

Though he had not received an explicit invitation, it wasn't difficult in the slightest to learn when the funeral was—Albert had heard about it in his social circles, which made things all the easier. So with Louis having cleaned and pressed his funeral clothes the night before, William got dressed and made his way to the proceedings.

Such gestures were not often part of the plans that he'd grown accustomed to crafting. Why invite suspicion by arriving to funerals unannounced and uninvited? Why bother seeing the results of his efforts, the ones he so— And yet such deaths were essential to save people, were necessary for the sake of improving the world. William would not let himself forget such a thing, but that didn't mean he needed to see the corpses in their coffins, lowered and buried in the ground to confirm the results of his efforts. No, there were far more efficient means for such tasks.

The Lord Aldborough's death was no different in that regard, and yet William had chosen to leave the progress on his latest thesis for another day and left the comforts of his home. Judging by the slowed pace of the carriage, several others were heading for the same destination as he, and, sure enough, the funeral home was near overflowing with a sea of nobles dressed in their finest mourning black.

Considering the small number of days it had been since the passing and the fact that Stratford hadn't been in a precarious health position beforehand, the funeral was rather elaborate. Flower arrangements spilled out of every available orifice, and the coffin even had intricate designs in gold over the lid. While William joined the throng to mime paying his respects, he couldn't help but note that Stratford's corpse did make it seem as if he'd done nothing but pass away in his sleep.

William knew better.

He moved on before he could start thinking too much about it. Dwelling on such things wouldn't change what needed to be done, nor would it help him accomplish what he'd set out to do on that day. It was when he was making his retreat from the coffin side that William found his target, sitting in the front row.

Where he'd last left Jameson beyond overwhelmed but at least dressed and on his feet, there was none of that ease to the redhead's form now. He sat, back straight, eyes staring forward in an almost blank stare, not registering any of the procession before him. Given his position in relation to Viscount Aldborough, it was no surprise that he had such a prominent place in the audience, and most people would have assumed that he was shell-shocked. After all, Jameson had been in a similar position to William and Louis: an orphan, picked up from the streets by a noble in an act of charity. Anyone would be shocked to lose the person that saved them from such squalor without warning.

Of course, that interpretation assumed that the Viscount Aldborough was an ordinary, innocent man that had nothing to do with blackmail. That interpretation also assumed that Jameson was clueless about such things, which William knew not to be the case. But passing judgement with such incomplete information was unacceptable in every way, and that was why William had taken time out of his day to attend, to complete his information before making a final call.

In time, the viewing portion of the funeral reached its conclusion, and next it was time to complete the procession to the graveyard.

They must've made quite a sight, so many carriages making their way through the streets and to the cemetery. Though it was a lengthy drive due to the sheer number of people following the same path, Louis didn't so much as complain about it once as William sat inside the carriage and ran options over his head, reviewing the situation and confirming the gaps that he needed to fill in before he could bring his current crime consultancy to a close.

For starters, "Jameson" was not the name that William had found whenever Albert had used his connections to look into the Aldborough household. Even so, said moniker was not a name William had any interest in using; after his discussion with the other man, to use any name but the one provided would have been rude. William didn't call Louis by any name other than that, and he would not do the same to Jameson.

Given that Jameson had been an orphan beforehand, there wasn't much in the way of documentation on him prior to his entry to the Aldborough manor other than his birth certificate. Combining that with his adoption papers, he had been no older than thirteen whenever he'd been whisked out of Whitechapel and into a new life, just a few short years after William, Louis, and Albert had destroyed the Moriartys' prior manor and taken their first steps forward as brothers—about the time they'd attended Eton College.

Thirteen was an impressionable age, and, though William did not have all the facts, it was not very hard to imagine how Jameson might have been convinced to serve as a collector of blackmail material.

Now, are you a victim, or a willing accomplice…?

Based on the reactions Jameson had given in bed, he was willing to believe the former—but, again, asking wouldn't have done any good the night William had bedded him, even if it would have brought honest answers. Even in that case, though, it would have run the chance of letting Stratford know that William was onto him, so he'd refrained. Or perhaps that had been the excuse he'd concocted in favour of indulging himself for an evening in a way he tended to not allow himself to do.

Either way, there would be answers before the day's end.

Whenever the carriage came to a stop and Louis opened the door, William donned his hat, tucked his cane under his arm, and joined the procession. The crowd was sombre, but there was a noticeable lack of tears among those present: Viscount Aldborough had been well-known, but not well-cherished, it seemed. How many of the people there were attending for no other reason than to have the claim that they had done so?

William made sure to keep his expression schooled into one appropriate for the occasion, uncertain if he were better or worse than those surrounding him.

And then, within the hour, it was done, Stratford buried laid to rest in his elaborate grave, and the crowd began to disperse. There were the beginnings of scattered conversation, but William did not join the mass exodus. It wasn't long before the crowd was gone, leaving none but himself and Jameson present, though the other man had yet to notice his presence. It was notable that Jameson had not even a sign of any of the house's servants at his side, but such circumstances were also much more convenient for William, so he was not about to complain.

Stepping forward, William called, "My lord."

Jameson whipped around as if he'd been struck, his expression blown open in shock at the sight of him. "W—Liam?" That pearlescent gaze was wary, and William would daresay that Jameson wouldn't have looked more surprised at the sight of a ghost before him. "You—You're—"

"Apologies for intruding on your mourning," William said, whenever it was clear that Jameson didn't have an end to his sentence. "Perhaps it is out of line for me to say such a thing considering the extent of our acquaintanceship, but I wished to check in on you following such a tragic event."

"Yes…Tragic…" Jameson seemed to remember the position he was in, his expression dropping as he glanced to the fresh-covered plot of ground that concealed his patron beneath it. "It was unexpected, if nothing else. I never thought…"

"I'd imagine not." William came to step up to Jameson's side; funny, how if it weren't for the intricate markers of death that they crafted, no one would suspect that the dead were beneath their feet. "No one who attended today seemed to have guessed that such a thing would happen." Of course, that surprising element was what made it all the more tantalizing for those so inclined to gossip—and then there was William, who had known in the most intricate detail of when and how it would happen, a death of his own making. "You'll have to forgive me, but I overheard, that you and the Viscount Aldborough…"

"He was my patron, yes." Jameson's gloved hands tightened the slightest bits at his sides, and he didn't bother to open them back up. With his head dipped and his hat still on, it was difficult for William to get a read on Jameson's expression. "If it weren't for him, I'd be living a much humbler life than the one I have now."

The tone of his voice suggested that that might not be such a bad thing, after all.

"Indeed," William said, casting one last glance about their surroundings to confirm that they were alone, which they were. "Of course, I also heard that the Lord Aldborough was rather fond of extorting money out those who happened to be seduced by the ward under his care."

If William's arrival had made Jameson jolt as if he'd been struck, that careful sentence made the other man's expression seem as if he had just glanced upon an unspeakable horror. "H-how… Where…?"

"The Baron Braybrooke." Jameson's breath caught, but William gave him a sharp smile that kept him in place. "You must've heard the news, yes? About he and his wife's suicide the last month." William took a step forward, and Jameson seemed stuck between running and standing shell-shocked. William rested a gentle but firm grip upon the other man's wrist, keeping him from escaping as he leaned closer to Jameson's eye level. "It seemed they'd been arguing about an affair the Baron was involved in, and he'd spent quite a portion of their fortune to maintain it. Whenever the guilt got to him, he chose to end his life, and in despair, his wife went with him, leaving no one but their son behind. And said affair…was you, yes? One of many you've participated in and that the Viscount used to help line his pockets."

Jameson was shaking under William's grip, his breath coming out in panicked little gasps that were one step away from hyperventilation. But William didn't let up, didn't back down, because it was such pressure that was necessary to discern the truth. Jameson's voice trembled, unable to look away as he asked, "D-did you know when…?" When they'd locked eyes across the ballroom, whenever William had driven Jameson to ecstasy—both went unasked.

And William answered, "Of course I did."

"Why then? If you knew that was coming, why would you—"

"I was just one potential new target invited to that party, yes?" Jameson swallowed, the fear on his face increasing as it became clear just how much William understood. "If you were going to drag someone into your trickery, I would have rather it be me than an unprepared party. Not to mention that I knew full well that nothing harmful would come to myself because of it." There was no risk of blackmail if the blackmailer would be dead before the dawn broke. "It was clear you knew who I was. You almost called my name several times before I told it to you, and you let it slip in the end." It had been a delicious sound, one that William had enjoyed so much that he hadn't bothered to call it out in the moment—though that was not something to focus on in the present. "Of course, I could ask the same of you, my lord:

"Why did you participate in such a thing? Take care, for your answer will impact your fate."

After all, if Jameson had acted with malice, then he would be the next to join those that William had delivered punishment on.

Jameson may not have known all the details, but he seemed to understand that William was not speaking in any exaggerated sense. When he opened his mouth, Jameson's words came out in a rush: "What else was I supposed to do? He picked me up off the streets; he pretty much owned me. I could be obedient and survive, or I could get tossed aside. If it wasn't me, then he would have just turned someone else into his goddamn doll. And if I went against him, he threatened to tell everyone that I was a woman dressing up for fun!" Whether it was on purpose or by luck, Jameson managed to yank his hand out of the weak spot in William's grip where his thumb met the tip of his fingers. "I already feel awful enough as it is, my lord. I don't need you to tell me that I've done something so disgusting that I won't ever be able to get rid of it."

"Such things were not my intention at all."

Jameson's mouth snapped shut, though he was clutching at the wrist William had been holding onto. With his hackles so raised, there would be the risk of attracting attention—not to mention the increased difficulty of having a productive conversation. Since it didn't seem as if Jameson intended to run away, William didn't bother to restrain him again. And even if he did make for an escape, William was confident in his ability to catch up.

"I have no intention of judging you for choices that you made under such duress," William said, and, for a moment, it looked as if Jameson might cry, though he managed to restrain any potential tears from falling. "I believe what you say, Jameson, and I wish I could do more than apologize for what you've gone through. That he would use his position to force you into such behaviour, not to mention threaten you with spreading such a bold-faced lie, is unacceptable."

William allowed the words some time to sink in, and Jameson bit his lip for a moment before asking, "Then why…?"

"Why did I choose to approach you today?" Jameson nodded, and William returned his gaze to the extravagant tombstone, marking the place of a despicable man. "That would be because the Baron Braybrooke's son asked me to exact revenge for the loss of his parents. And while the Viscount Aldborough is gone, I needed to determine if you were to be a target of that punishment as well. After hearing your side of the story, I've decided that you will not be." The confusion on Jameson's expression was extensive, and William swept his hat off his head to hold it to his chest. "Though you already know my name, we haven't had a proper introduction, after all.

"I am William James Moriarty, crime consultant."

There was a beat of silence as Jameson mouthed the words crime consultant, and William offered a much more genuine smile as he went to explain. "Given your circumstances, you must know how much privilege is afforded to those in the upper classes. Even if they do despicable things, there are often no repercussions. I've taken it upon myself to deliver punishment in places that the law will not at the behest of those who have been hurt by the greed of the nobility."

Jameson had clutched his hands at his chest, but those eyes had a glitter of hope in them. "So then, my patron…"

"…passed away because of me, yes. That was another reason why I accepted the invitation to his party, though I knew that he intended to turn me and my family into another stream of income for his pocketbook. By setting the right stage, it's more than possible to make it look as if someone has done nothing more than slip away in their sleep, though in truth he was suffocated by his own body." He'd kept his voice quiet, but William made sure Jameson had heard; all things considered, Jameson deserved to know that the patron that had abused him for so long hadn't died a peaceful death by any means, for whatever that reassurance was worth.

It was difficult to predict how Jameson would react, though. Many people William had helped were beyond relieved for his work, others could do nothing more than repeat their thanks for the lack of being able to speak anything else. And, of course, there were the more rational options: the fear, the horror that someone had chosen to end another person's life without any hesitation. It was a risk, bringing such a thing up without confirming how Jameson felt about Stratford first, but he would find out in time, so there was no point in hiding, though it would require some damage control should there be a negative reaction.

And then, after a long minute of silence, Jameson burst into laughter.

Jameson opened his mouth to shout—and closed it.

Stratford was still gasping, near writhing atop him in a manner that was somehow more coordinated than his usual flailing in bed. Any of the few servants that were still awake would still be tending to the ballroom, the guestroom, and other such areas; the rest would know well enough to avoid the west wing and their lord's indulgences. Sure, if he made enough of a racket, someone would come, and they'd be able to get to their doctor in time to help. But for the moment, Jameson was the sole person who knew what was transpiring, knew that Stratford's face was close to turning an unfortunate shade of blue, and it could stay that way.

What if…I just let him die?

It would not be the first time Jameson had witnessed another human being's end. Before Stratford had picked him up, he'd lived in the brothel his mother had once held her employ at, and he'd grown up in the slums of London. Death was common there; some were just more peaceful, while others were more violent. What the viscount was struggling with fell somewhere in between, but the fact that his breaths were far more of wheezes seemed to indicate that an end was near.

Jameson could be free of it. Free of the disgusting touches, free of being called by his mother's name. Of course, leaving things ran the risk of Stratford recovering and punishment soon following, but what was the worse he could do? Put Jameson out of his misery once and for all? Even that would be worth the chance that the Viscount Aldborough would be gone, one little petty piece of repayment for everything that had built up over the years.

I take it back, God. You may have taken Mama from me, but if you get rid of him, too, I might just forgive you.

"Ver…ity…" Without Jameson's support, he doubted Stratford would have been able to speak—and he was just as certain that Stratford was seeing his mother. "Verity, please…" Jameson adjusted his hold, his hands cupping Stratford's face as he put on one of his prettiest smiles. Stratford's eyes danced with relief, but Jameson did nothing but speak the truth to his patron for the first time in eight years:

"God, I hope you burn in hell."

And, when at last those shuddering breaths came to a halt, Jameson pushed the corpse off him, tucked the viscount under the blankets, and rolled onto his side to fall into a peaceful sleep.

Jameson laughed, but it wasn't a humour-filled sound, no. It was a sound of desperation, and relief, and tears. William did not dare interrupt, even as the other man hunched forward, his hands pressing against his face.

"Hahaha… Ahhh…" Jameson's next inhale was the precursor to a sob, but he kept the tremble in his voice to a minimum. "When he collapsed like that, I thought…that maybe God had come back for me after all this time and saved me. But that wasn't it. It was just another human being. Another person rescued me from everything…"

William frowned, catching a detail he hadn't been expecting. "I took special care with the timing on the dose I had snuck into his night-time drink," he said, the tightness in his forehead indicating a furrow in his brow. "With the planned timing, he should have passed away in the night without anyone noticing. So then…" Between that information and everything else Jameson had said, William reached his conclusion. "He kept you in his bed, didn't he?"

There were trails of tears leaking down his face, but Jameson still mustered up a brave smile. "My mother was his favourite paid indulgence, you know," he said. "What other motivation would he have for taking a prostitute's child off the street and keeping him around?" Jameson placed a hand on his chest, as if showing himself off, and William swallowed down the disgust at someone using a child as replacement for his mother. "Ahh, but that doesn't matter anymore, because he's gone now. He's gone, and he's not coming back, and he can't…" Jameson hiccupped, his head dipped, and he reached out to grasp onto William's hand with a tight grip as his voice snivelled, "Thank you, William. Thank you so much…"

If anyone else were to see them, it would look like nothing but the ward of the deceased breaking down in sorrow and asking for the comfort of a friend. Calling the two of them friends was a stretch—not to mention that Jameson was crying tears of happiness, not sorrow. But William gave no objections, instead squeezing Jameson's fingers back and pulling out his handkerchief with his free hand to wipe away the other man's tears.

"It's cold out here, my lord," he said, his voice pure and enticing silk, "and it's a long ride back to your abode. Would you care to take shelter at my home for a while to compose yourself before heading back?"

Jameson nodded, and William ushered him towards the cemetery entrance and away from a tombstone that neither of them would doubtless ever visit again.

[Author's Notes]

Me at approximately this time last year having only read the English releases of the manga: Oh, that's an interesting idea I can write some William smut as a one shot and be done with it canon's so intricate I don't wanna fuck it up by playing around with it too much.

Me a couple of weeks later after binging the anime and with the ending of a much longer project in mind: Haha fuck.

As is wont to happen with me, my characters had other ideas, and Jameson here demanded to have a full story, so yeah. This is the first project I've ever done this level of hefty chapters with, and it's also the first time I've ever published any of my nsfw, but we're on the one night stand to lovers slow burn here, so I'm not getting around it. This is definitely a fic that will come in seasons, with probs some decent gaps between arcs as I organize all my content.

This first season will be my 2022-2023 [Shibuya Operation - Story Storm] entry, which is an annual challenge to complete a project (or an approximation of one) in ten weeks! The first season of this fic will be five chapters long and will update bi-weekly from now until completion! Please go check out the rest of the [SOSS] community in the fanfic dot net forums, and maybe join us if you're interested! We're small, but we are a supportive community, through and through.

This fic will be edited by the ever amazing Punk Trash Noiz, who is way too fucking good to me, you have no idea. On that note, I've come to realize after playing Dai Gyakuten Saiban that I like when media set in Britain uses UK English, so my US American English ass will be doing my best. Let me know if I missed anything.

Title of the story is from Halsey's "Ya'aburnee." Title of the chapter is from Merci Raines's "The Devil is a Gentleman."

Next time: Those Jade Green Eyes, Act Two. Please look forward to it, and happy new year!

-Avi

[12.31.2022]