The Best Distraction

why hast thou forsaken me? / acrookedfairytale

Jim smacks his lips in a soft, forced noise that makes the room irritated. He’s been on his last leg these past few days, stretching out fields of men and information and forcing delegations. His impatience has grown impatient, and when he only acknowledges Charles with another click of his tongue it’s just as unsettling.

His legs cross lazily, smoothing the fabric of his suit pants together as he leans back on his palms, his shoulders still facing the other. “On with it,” he finally says, through a humming sigh.

And Charles, who’s learned to notice nearly everything, knows that there’s no time to waste. It’s quite like being forced to calm down - and he follows without realizing, soothed, somehow, by the irritation that hangs in the air.

"I don’t know if you’ve been informed," he begins, an air of ease coming down on him. "But we’ve managed to contact Bello, and he’s very eager to form a partnership. I think he’s the best way in.”

"Don't bother me with your thought," Jim snaps, voice just quivering on the edge of a much bigger promise. He presses one palm flat against the desk, turns his body to better face Charles and leans in. He doesn't say anything for a beat, a span of time that stretches uncomfortably, but that he wraps about his form like it's been freshly tailored. "I need to know," he says, and there's no edge to his voice, no malice or uncertainty, but a cold, pressing feeling that burns his lips.

why hast thou forsaken me? / acrookedfairytale

Something in Jim is an internal watch. A continual countdown to inevitable’s that dance before him in black numbers and clock-faces. It keeps him on his toes, makes him walk down streets with a conscious reminder of time and the rhythm that guides him through all the nonsense. And now he’s tired of waiting for it to pass.

He feels the pulse of the concreted room as he enters it. There’s no sunlight behind him but he shadows out the dark to conform around his own frame when he stands in the doorway. The air is rusted, it smell’s like dried water and copper and he’s walks into it, steps into the space where a shell is curled in on itself in the middle of it all. He kneels down, reaches out with firm, unattainable fingers and grabs at the face that once belonged to Charles Hilton, but now can’t even pull in the effort to stay upright on it’s shoulders.

"Wakey wakey.." Jim drawls, his voice a scraping softness against the room’s abusive casing. He know’s how deprivation works, can see the marginal hope in Charles eyes that doesn’t even attempt to restart when Jim addresses him. It makes for a bad entertainment.

He steps back, drops Charles’ chin from his fingers and starts for the door. A few men shuffle in when he leaves, taking up the crumpled heap of the other’s body and working off all the necessary chains before carrying him out.

Jim clicks his tongue along the roof of his mouth, counting off seconds.

+++++ one month ago +++++

"Hmmm," Jim replies, as he enters the office, lips moving abstract and slow around a piece of gum he chews as he makes across the room. He sits on the end of the desk Charles is settled at, let’s his legs dangle childishly. He doesn’t say anything, but when he bothers to look over at Charles it’s a patient sort of pressuring, the kind that dissolves unnecessary thought.

"Don’t keep me waiting.." Is all he says.

Charles sighs again, closing the small black notebook and putting it away. His eyes were burning into the back of Jim’s suit jacket, and his expression is that of a guilty child.

If Jim looks hard enough, he would see the uncertainty in Charles’ eyes - the doubt that was beginning to spring, mere hours before he was set to leave for the task. It’s reckless, allowing Jim so much as a glimpse of this, as it could send him roaring, and Charles could have died in that room.

But Charles knows better; knows Jim wouldn’t kill him now. Charles isn’t so arrogant as to think that Jim had indeed attached sentimental value to him - no, certainly not. While Jim could be affectionate, Charles dared not assume there was anything more in those words.

Simply, Charles won’t be killed because he was valuable right now - and this he was arrogant enough to say - because he had knowledge in the drug world nearly no one else had, and Jim would certainly suffer a big loss if he killed him.

He thinks of this, and allows his uncertainty to bubble to the surface. Still, he finds it difficult to not lie. Suddenly he smiles, standing, pacing the room. “I fancy, after this task… I’ll cease to be your favorite,” he grinned, rather cheekily. “The rest of the world will be yours, too, and I suppose - well, I suppose it’s an honor, helping.”

He’s quiet for a few moments, and he wonders whether Jim knows he is lying. It’s dangerous out there, Jim, I… I could fail, I could… put you in danger, even if slightly, and the idea is repelling, so repelling, I…

"I am a fool," he laughs. "But before I cease to be your favorite pet, I’ve to run the plan with you again. Would you mind?"

natashawrightt-deactivated20150

Jim smacks his lips in a soft, forced noise that makes the room irritated. He's been on his last leg these past few days, stretching out fields of men and information and forcing delegations. His impatience has grown impatient, and when he only acknowledges Charles with another click of his tongue it's just as unsettling.

His legs cross lazily, smoothing the fabric of his suit pants together as he leans back on his palms, his shoulders still facing the other. "On with it," he finally says, through a humming sigh.

Alex Pettyfer though..💕

#oh me oh my #jim might have a tiny thing for this man #(reblogs cos yes yes so pretty)#criminalwriter

why hast thou forsaken me? / acrookedfairytale

Well, Charles, you should have known better

A pathetic heap of a figure stirs; raises his head weakly as a door creaks open. A harsh light shines on his face. There is little evidence that he used to be handsome. Still, it’s there - in the blue of his eyes, in the lopsided grin showing whatever he’s got left of his once complete set of teeth. But even that was a shadow of what it used to be.

He’s a shadow of what he used to be.

"He’s not coming," a voice tells him. "He’s not going to save you, Hilton. He’s left you here to die," the voice continues, singing that last bit - just like Jim would have done.

Oh, Jim, memory is so sweet.

He makes out where the voice is coming from, but it’s not Jim - no, no, can’t be, Jim will come and save him any moment now, won’t he? Jim’s hand reaches out for him. Charles forces himself to get up.

Blood splatters to the ground as he’s met with a strong punch. Oh, not Jim, no. Jim will slap him, Jim will drag and bury his nails wherever he pleased on Charles’ skin. But he would never punch, never like that.

All of the scars Jim inflicted on him were gone now, even the one he never let fade away. Don’t forget I own you, Charlie.

Don’t forget you own me. Charles takes a deep breath, only to gasp for more air when he feels a heavy weight rest on his chest. Large hands grasp what’s left of his blonde hair and force him to look up.

Oh, Jim loved to do that, too. But Jim always let him rest after, always told him he needed to look his best for the clients.

He wouldn’t be able to see any clients in a year, at this rate, not with all the broken bones, and the bruises, and JIM PLEASE SAVE ME

"He’s not coming back, Hilton, you’re going to die alone," the voice said again. "Where is he? Where is James Moriarty?”

I don’t know, he should be here, he should have saved me

There’s a sickening crunch as another one of his bones is broken. Charles screams and screams. “Where is James Moriarty?” Still the same. Another bone. Another scream. The same question.

There’s a long pause. “He’s -“

+++++ one month ago +++++

The office was completely silent save for the sound of him writing down in his white notebook, the one he uses to settle his thoughts. He’s nervous, checking the clock every quarter of an hour or so. Jim should be back - he’s almost never late, and certainly not when there are important things to discuss.

Charles pulled out his phone, sighing, and sent a single text. I leave tomorrow. Need to see you for last-minute prep. C

To his surprise, a phone beeps from behind the door. Few seconds pass before it opens, and Charles sighs. “You’re not the slightest bit nervous at all.”

#I HOPE MINE MAKES SENSE BUT YOURS WAS GORGEOUS #IMMA CRY #criminalwriter #why hast thou forsaken me?

Something in Jim is an internal watch. A continual countdown to inevitable's that dance before him in black numbers and clock-faces. It keeps him on his toes, makes him walk down streets with a conscious reminder of time and the rhythm that guides him through all the nonsense. And now he's tired of waiting for it to pass.

He feels the pulse of the concreted room as he enters it. There's no sunlight behind him but he shadows out the dark to conform around his own frame when he stands in the doorway. The air is rusted, it smell's like dried water and copper and he's walks into it, steps into the space where a shell is curled in on itself in the middle of it all. He kneels down, reaches out with firm, unattainable fingers and grabs at the face that once belonged to Charles Hilton, but now can't even pull in the effort to stay upright on it's shoulders.

"Wakey wakey.." Jim drawls, his voice a scraping softness against the room's abusive casing. He know's how deprivation works, can see the marginal hope in Charles eyes that doesn't even attempt to restart when Jim addresses him. It makes for a bad entertainment.

He steps back, drops Charles' chin from his fingers and starts for the door. A few men shuffle in when he leaves, taking up the crumpled heap of the other's body and working off all the necessary chains before carrying him out.

Jim clicks his tongue along the roof of his mouth, counting off seconds.

+++++ one month ago +++++

"Hmmm," Jim replies, as he enters the office, lips moving abstract and slow around a piece of gum he chews as he makes across the room. He sits on the end of the desk Charles is settled at, let's his legs dangle childishly. He doesn't say anything, but when he bothers to look over at Charles it's a patient sort of pressuring, the kind that dissolves unnecessary thought.

"Don't keep me waiting.." Is all he says.

Jack Takes Jill Up The Hill | Charlie and Jim

The move down to his knees is a slow decent of hot, moistened exhales against Charles’ skin. Jim’s lips move in a savoring type of pucker and drag across the others bellybutton and down to pointed hips, the bones of which are prominently molding the skin over them like they’re barely managing to keep inside. It’s hot, in a way that makes Jim desire flesh, and the copper taste of blood along his tongue, but he keeps a tactful slowness, his eyes moving to settle their lust-blackened gaze back on Charles’.

There aren’t words, but deep, warm rolls of his tongue that find him as he takes his new pet into his mouth and settles there, trying the waters of little Charlies will power, as if daring him to walk over water.

The smuggler’s breaths become increasingly irregular; short gasps against long, heavy sighs, dotted with the occasional moan. There’s reverence in all of these things, but more so when he says Daddy,and his bright blue eyes are closed, head slightly tilted to the heavens as if in silent prayer.

It’s when Jim takes him that Charles begins to teeter over the edge. The very idea of Jim was intoxicating; but Jim sucking him off? Let them call him an alcoholic. He drinks in the image of dark eyes watching him, gorgeous pink lips wrapped around his cock. There’s no sobriety in this. He runs two errant fingers down Jim’s cheeks, but they stay there- they stay there, locking the mastermind in place while Charles moves his hips, seeks friction. Drunk, silly, little boy.

Jim keeps still as Charles takes over, steadies himself on his knees and anchors his fingers into the V of his hips. His back's arched forward like he's at an alter and Charlies a cross he want's to nail himself to -like religion exists. He hums and hollows his cheeks, works the other over with the heat of his breathe and the pressure of his tongue just against the head of his cock.

There's no art to this, but he can't help but watch Charles paint him a picture, see his breathing pattern out into abstraction and his hips stroke forward with the desire to reach something he might not get. But he's not so easily sold, and he takes his pet down in slow, even bobs of his head, eyes fixed and shoulders so commanding against the innocent pull of his lips around the others heat -a king serving the servant.

Come to daddy, deary. -JM

It’s been a while. I better get a present for all this waiting, daddy. C

A treat for a treat if you’re quick enough.

I’m waiting.

-JM

Same place, I hope. You’re so good at hiding, I’m afraid I wouldn’t find you in all of London. C

Oh, but you always know where to find me, Charlie.

-JM

Come to daddy, deary. -JM

It’s been a while. I better get a present for all this waiting, daddy. C

A treat for a treat if you're quick enough.

I'm waiting.

-JM

#ive missed you omg

Fashion Sense And Sex

The gentle pull of teeth around his ear had him hissing in air through his teeth like a filter. “Now you’re just teasing~” Jim croons, his hands sliding up the length of Sherlock’s arms until their curled around his lapels, and using it like an anchor he arches his chest against the detectives.”Rather hands on, aren’t you Mr. Holmes?” he breathes.

its-simplicityitself

He gasps in partly surprise & arousal as Jim pulls him closer, fighting against a moan escaping him as well; he doesn’t want to give away the upper hand so quickly after all. A breath of a chuckle escapes him. “I like to play to my strengths,” he growls softly. But Jim’s gaze is captivating in a way that he won’t quite admit, even to himself.

Subtly his hands trail down Jim’s sides to tentatively rest on the man’s hips, where his fingers begin to trace along the fabric there. He spends a few moments pulling gently at his shirt until his hands find warm skin that seems almost uncharacteristic for the criminal. But he enjoys the feeling for a moment almost tenderly before dragging his gaze back up to meet Jim’s. With a hint of a smirk he grips his hips tightly & grinds his own against him, pressing his erection firmly against him.

"What were you saying about ‘hands on’?" he mocks in a self-satisfied way.

Jim's hips lock into Sherlock's with a sudden rush of adrenaline that fights it's way up his spine. He indulges in it, bringing himself in close and letting his fingers smooth up the sides of Sherlock's neck until both his thumbs are pressing just above his adams apple. It's the type of trust that holds nothing to imagination, the kind where everything he could possibly do is still liable to happen, and he feeds off the endlessness of that like a drug.

"Oh Mr. Holmes," Jim purrs, tucking the detectives name into the comfort of his accent as he smirks. "You know, lust looks good on you," he teases, eyes shadowed between them as he draws his face in and fully kisses the detective on the mouth. It's nothing painful, but the weight of their lips together is heavy and full of too much possibility to be anything but thrilling.

morgrana

suitdup

#hot #need it

A Grimm Day // acrookedfairytale

"You’re trying my non-patience deary," Jim scolds, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. “I’ll be gone in no time, but you’re coming with me, or Humpty Dumpty and all the rest of those fairytales will have one. Big. Fall," he promises, his voice leading into a whistle that falls into a sharp silence at the end.

"I’m not going anywhere." The words were said so quickly, with such a firm tone, it even surprised the Grimm himself. Standing up from the table, Nick gazed at the other man, bright eyes flashing, before moving away altogether. Opening the door, Nick stopped next to the guard waiting on the opposite side. “Keep him overnight for further investigating. No visitors, no matter the reason, got it?" The guard looked confused at first before slowly nodding his head and moving to eventually lead Jim to his night cell.

The Grimm watched as the actions took place, considering. Jim couldn’t do much damage while in a cell and without access to a communication device, right? He would need to get a second opinion on all of this. Maybe talk to Captain Renard. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Moriarty," Nick murmured, giving the other man one last look before walking away in the direction of his Captain’s office.

#this is a bad reply and i suck but i still love you please love me im sorry youre amazing and -sobs-

Jim goes without a fight, the very audacity of his calm, cooperativeness an aching uncertainty of just how far his powers stretched. A guard clasps cuffs around his wrists then, and he giggles at the sound of the metal locking together. "So rough~" He coos, just as he's walked off down the hall.

"Ciao, Nick Grimm," he calls, with a lazy fall-back of his head on his shoulders that let him catch the others gaze one last time, the slow-fading sound of his footsteps echoing heartbeats now lost in the cold that he leaves behind in the cemented room.

Jack Takes Jill Up The Hill | Charlie and Jim

There’s a sound, like smoke burning against skin, that Jim makes while he falls into this rush. And he’s poised in this, shoulders taut and important while he looks back down into those obedient eyes, moving his fingers to smooth back those clean locks of hair with a burning affection at the fingertips.

The silence between them is golden, and he drinks the sound of rough oxygen and heated skin against moist lips, only stopping Charles after a few minutes with a rough pull back by the hair. “Up you pop, dear,” he breathes, his voice roughened with lust as he brings Charles up to his feet, only to move playfully down to his own knees before him, a Cheshire smile pulling at his lips.

Charles swipes the tip with the base of his tongue, paying attention to Jim’s breathing and adjusting as he went. There’s a certain thrill in it; to learn from your lover’s reactions and to please more as you go. He loves the word lover and revels in it because Jim has no way to get in that skull of his, no matter what he does.

The writer offers a glimpse of it, anyhow, as Jim orders him to stop. There’s disappointment and excitement trying to overpower each other, but more importantly Charles’ eyes roll up as Jim says the words. He licks his lips, fights the urge to take Jim by his locks because - good boys always wait for Daddy’s orders.

#im slow and its okay to hate me cos i hate me too -cries-

The move down to his knees is a slow decent of hot, moistened exhales against Charles' skin. Jim's lips move in a savoring type of pucker and drag across the others bellybutton and down to pointed hips, the bones of which are prominently molding the skin over them like they're barely managing to keep inside. It's hot, in a way that makes Jim desire flesh, and the copper taste of blood along his tongue, but he keeps a tactiful slowness, his eyes moving to settle their lust-blackened gaze back on Charles'.

There aren't words, but deep, warm rolls of his tongue that find him as he takes his new pet into his mouth and settles there, trying the waters of little Charlies will power, as if daring him to walk over water.

A Grimm Day // acrookedfairytale

There was a pause, and Jims charcoal eyes seemed to sway with his thoughts, ticking along in a quick recession that was impossibly smooth. “Don’t be dumb, I don’t want to kill them, no," he says, as if the idea of such a thing was a bit too tart on his tongue and he tilts his head up, his fingers folding beneath his chin. “That was just to get your attention, and to see you angry," he adds, the last word coming off like a informative whisper.

"But if you’re looking for an ultimatum then I’m veeeery disappointed in you dear Nick, I wouldn’t think it’d be THAT easy."

The Grimm felt as if he’d been played. Somehow he’d stumbled into this wicked web where he didn’t belong, playing with the black widow like an oblivious child. Jim didn’t want to kill Wesen, but use them. The idea sparked in his mind so suddenly, Nick wondered if it had been there all along, just laying dormant. “It’s not a good idea to make a Grimm angry," he murmured through clenched teeth. Oh no, easy would be the last thing Jim would think when Nick was done with him.

"I want you out. Out of Portland, out of Oregon. Don’t make me ask twice."

#uhm youre perfect #of course i want to rp with you 8)

"You're trying my non-patience deary," Jim scolds, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. "I'll be gone in no time, but you're coming with me, or Humpty Dumpty and all the rest of those fairytales will have one. Big. Fall," he promises, his voice leading into a whistle that falls into a sharp silence at the end.

Fashion Sense And Sex

“Ooooh, so mysterious,” Jim hums, a giddy bounce in his voice following his steps as he moves to stand fully before the other. And in a single move forward he’s straddling Sherlock’s hips, either hand coming up to cup the sides of his face with a silent promise for misbehavior. “Always the puzzles and the mind games… Always wanting to be clever,” Jim mumbled off, his eyes locking onto those deeply bowed lips with a haunting steadiness. “It’s all adorable, really.”

its-simplicityitself

Sherlock rolled his eyes & was on the verge of replying when he gave a slight start with Jim climbing on top of him. A small intake of breath was the only other sign of surprise he showed before a smirk crept across his face. “Ah, but there’s so much to be done with it, you would know, it’s part of your work as well,” he leaned forward slightly, not able to move much more. “The right word, the proper gesture, the mind is made up of chemicals & when combined correctly can create a volatile concoction,” he replied before biting the criminal’s ear lightly.

The gentle pull of teeth around his ear had him hissing in air through his teeth like a filter. "Now you're just teasing~" Jim croons, his hands sliding up the length of Sherlock's arms until their curled around his lapels, and using it like an anchor he arches his chest against the detectives."Rather hands on, aren't you Mr. Holmes?" he breathes.

A Grimm Day // acrookedfairytale

Jim’s grin seemed to fall at the others insistence, and with a sigh so heavy it echoed off the walls he rolled his head along his neck and let it settle with the company of a sudden hand smacking hard against the surface of the steel table. The sound of which deafened anything else into frightened silence. “Oh for the love of- Don’t you SEE?” And his sudden laughter fell from his lips with a passive acidity so plain and simple it sagged his shoulders.

“You, my dear, and that little head of yours,” he crooned, and with a defiance only he could manage, he reached forward, gently pressing his pointer finger into the others forehead. “And those Grimm little dreams of yours too.”

The Grimm was so stunned by the sudden outburst, he barely noticed the gentle touch to his forehead at first. This man was absolutely insane. Rage one second, laughter the next. And, somehow, he’d gotten Jim’s deeply unwanted attention.

Bright eyes widened a fraction, before moving back so as to put some distance between them. It wasn’t enough, though, to be comfortable. No, that could only be accomplished with Jim far, far away. Out of Portland. Out of America, even. Nick swallowed thickly, his restraint starting to reach its breaking point. “…How many more Wesen die if I refuse?”

#im horribly slow and i udnerstand if you hate me #i love you tho

There was a pause, and Jims charcoal eyes seemed to sway with his thoughts, ticking along in a quick recession that was impossibly smooth. "Don't be dumb, I don't want to kill them, no," he says, as if the idea of such a thing was a bit too tart on his tongue and he tilts his head up, his fingers folding beneath his chin. "That was just to get your attention, and to see you angry," he adds, the last word coming off like a informative whisper.

"But if you're looking for an ultimatum then I'm veeeery disappointed in you dear Nick, I wouldn't think it'd be THAT easy."

“Lies are too easy, sweetie,” the criminal hums, and he’s close enough to let the soft breath behind his words scrape against her skin, moving so his mouths just beside her ear. “Everybody has their price..” He sings, before pulling up into a stand, his mobile turning over in his palm.

“And little Seb’, he skipped right in. Always so viciously loyal~” He whistles, falling back onto the balls of his feet and lazily swaying, a smile coiling gleefully along his heated lips.

tagalongsusan

Susan swallowed, trying to hide the frightened shudder that shot down her spine as she felt his words scatter across her cheek. She was still slightly confused as to what exactly her brother had fallen into, although she wasn’t so stupid to know it was something dangerous. Definitely something illegal, although that wouldn’t have been a first, really. “Loyal to whom? You?”

She inwardly cursed at herself, but what was said was said. And she was curious to see if he was bluffing. “He’s loyal, but only to people who earn it. Flashing money in his face wouldn’t have done anything.” The fear, combined with the discomfort of his close proximity was beginning to grate on her and she glared at him.