He had disappeared. Gone without a trace. Not even Sebastian knew what he had planned. For all intents and purposes, he had been dead. He had escaped to Dublin for a time, waiting it out, but he was back with just about the same amount of connections--if not more now that he'd been underground so long. He knocked on the door, not bothering to say anything. He just wanted to relish the look of shock on his tiger's face.
Bastian had done everything but burn all of Jim’s files and things after he found his cooling corpse on the roof, and had ended up packing it all away into a storage facility far on the other side of town. Then he’d picedk out one or two small things to keep with him, and went back to the club, the only place he knew he could lose whatever Jim had seen in him.
So when he opened the door shirtless and half dressed elsewhere, Sebastian’s heart actually stopped, and he had to grip the door frame to keep from falling over. He remembered that he had at least two knives on his person for self defense, and that if this man tried to get on his good side, he would have to fight for it.
Sebastian hissed in painfulled pleasure when Jim’s nails drew blood and his teeth found their mark. He needed more, more skin, more heat, more Jim as close to him as possible, and right now, Jim’s expensive clothes were in his way. Next to go was his tailored shirt, which didn’t even come close to holding up to Sebastian’s fingers and soon it too was on the floor in pieces. With such a vast expanse of skin now revealed to him, he knelt eagerly to suck at Jim’s nipple, biting and licking until it was standing bright red at attention. He then gave the other nipple the same treatment. He couldn’t decide what exactly he wanted from Jim, and a frustrated groan escaped him as he sucked another mark directly under his heart.
Jim’s eyes slightly rolled as his tiger moved over his skin, marking him up, and tasting his flesh and blood for the first time in forever it felt. However, he hissed, extremely upset to see that shirt torn off of him as if it was tissue paper. “Westwood,” he hissed with a warning, but the suit was already ruined. He’d have to buy another ensemble. He gave the slightest of moans as Sebastian shifted to his knees, and Jim’s fingers went straight into his hair, pressing his face closer to his chest as he sucked and bit at his nipples.
He wondered mildly, why taking him with him had not been a part of the plan. Then, he remembered exactly how attached he had gotten, how he had let the man penetrate walls that weren’t meant to be broken. He didn’t verbalize his frustration with himself, though. He simply held Sebastian’s head, fingers slightly pulling at the strands of blond hair. He’d figure out how to deal with this later. He always did.
