Napalm in the Morning

[[ Colonel Sebastian Moran; independent rp blog. Post-reichenbach. Please read the about page ]]

[mistersmoran-blog]

"I’m asking. Fucking christ I’m asking.”  He ran a thick palm over criminally (hah) short hair, his broad frame slouched in the doorway.

"Details."

[willyoufixitforme]

    Jim flashes a little smirk and motions him closer into the office, currently lounged out in his desk chair.  The desk itself was covered in makes and number pads, all of the evidence of putting his web right back together.   But the playfulness all fades when the job itself is mentioned.

           “Stachovski.  In Russia.  Holmes visited him and he flopped.  Make it dirty would you?”

[mistersmoran-blog]

He clenches his jaw, straightening into something very close to his military bearing. Sebastian leans his chin up slightly, thumbpads skimming the stubble along his jaw. "Stachovski," he repeated, leaning his head to the side. His expression distanced for a moment- running through his arsenal to decide which gun he wanted to take with him... if any. Dirty. Hm. Maybe he'd use whatever he had on hand.

Yes. Better.

"Done," he drawled. "You want pictures, boss?"

[willyoufixitforme]

Give me a fucking job, boss. I'm losing my mind here. If I have to sit still one more day I'm going to eradicate the nearest army base, I swear to fucking God.

    “Language, Basher.”   Not like he minds, but it’s always fun to poke and prod at his sniper.

               “I've a job for you, I was just waiting for you to ask.”

[mistersmoran-blog]

"I'm asking. Fucking christ I'm asking."  He ran a thick palm over criminally (hah) short hair, his broad frame slouched in the doorway.

"Details."

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

Also more dangerous, but you know. Win some, lose some.

[mistersmoran-blog]

I can do more dangerous. Less interesting is what kills me.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

Don’t go to office parties in Hell, then.

Actually, now that I think about it, you need to either not die or go to heaven when you do. At this rate, you’ll tear Hell apart from boredom during your probationary period.

[mistersmoran-blog]

Boss is down there, we'll just go on as usual once I get there. Hell, he's probably set up already.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

Among other things. Although some of the guys in Hell are just juvenile with their insults. It’s sad.

[mistersmoran-blog]

That’s their lack of creativity showing its face. Boring. The assholes in purgatory are much more interesting.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

Also more dangerous, but you know. Win some, lose some.

[mistersmoran-blog]

I can do more dangerous. Less interesting is what kills me.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

[He raises his as well, but drinks a bit more slowly.] You’d be surprised what some people have called me. Or maybe you wouldn’t be. I don’t know.

[mistersmoran-blog]

Probably not. You’re a vile serpent and all that, after all.

[Smirks]

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

Among other things. Although some of the guys in Hell are just juvenile with their insults. It’s sad.

[mistersmoran-blog]

That's their lack of creativity showing its face. Boring. The assholes in purgatory are much more interesting.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

Not when it comes to the kids. Hey, you should come over some time. Not to Aziraphale’s place, to mine. I can get take out. And before you accuse me of being cheap and lazy, one, I’m just lazy, two, I wouldn’t wish my cooking on Satan.

[mistersmoran-blog]

Not my specialty. Not my hobby.

Why would I accuse you of being cheap? I’ve seen your place. And your car. [raises glass in a toast, drinks half of it down at once.]

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

[He raises his as well, but drinks a bit more slowly.] You’d be surprised what some people have called me. Or maybe you wouldn’t be. I don’t know.

[mistersmoran-blog]

Probably not. You're a vile serpent and all that, after all.

[Smirks]

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

So that goes into the sort of “grey area” category, then. [Accepts with a grateful smile.] Thank you.

[mistersmoran-blog]

[Shrugs. It’s what they do, really. Drink together.]

Nearly everything’s a grey area.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

Not when it comes to the kids. Hey, you should come over some time. Not to Aziraphale’s place, to mine. I can get take out. And before you accuse me of being cheap and lazy, one, I’m just lazy, two, I wouldn’t wish my cooking on Satan.

[mistersmoran-blog]

Not my specialty. Not my hobby.

Why would I accuse you of being cheap? I've seen your place. And your car. [raises glass in a toast, drinks half of it down at once.]

[mistersmoran-blog]

It counts as evil if you’re using that dumb as fuck ‘it’s only one or the other’ routine I guess.

[shrugs carelessly, fetches a glass of wine for crowley and a glass of scotch for himself]

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

So that goes into the sort of “grey area” category, then. [Accepts with a grateful smile.] Thank you.

[mistersmoran-blog]

[Shrugs. It's what they do, really. Drink together.]

Nearly everything's a grey area.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

[Shrugs] He’s adorable for a tiny squirmy thing…let me guess, though, babies aren’t really your deal?

[mistersmoran-blog]

[His nose wrinkles up just thinking about it] Definitely not.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

I can see that. I mean, they’re not really so bad, but I’m not the one who has to look after him 24/7.

Does starting a betting pool on what his first words are going to be count as evil, do you think?

[mistersmoran-blog]

It counts as evil if you're using that dumb as fuck 'it's only one or the other' routine I guess.

[shrugs carelessly, fetches a glass of wine for crowley and a glass of scotch for himself]

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

We don’t use those terms around here. I much prefer “favorite uncle”.

[mistersmoran-blog]

Didn’t figure you did.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

[Shrugs] He’s adorable for a tiny squirmy thing…let me guess, though, babies aren’t really your deal?

[mistersmoran-blog]

[His nose wrinkles up just thinking about it] Definitely not.

[mistersmoran-blog]

Uh, no. No, you didn’t tell me about Anthony. [Deadpan, an eyebrow raised.]

Yeah, apparently. I suppose congratulations to you and them? I’d guess you’re the godfather but I don’t imagine that’s a term you’d be especially fond of.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

We don’t use those terms around here. I much prefer “favorite uncle”.

[mistersmoran-blog]

Didn't figure you did.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

Last I checked, still disgustingly in love. You know, gross couple stuff.[Shrugs] The kids are okay, too. Anthony’s all grabby. I can’t wear ties around him any more.

[mistersmoran-blog]

No kidding. Anthony? I thought there was just the one girl. Where’d he come from?

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

The baby? I didn’t tell you about Anthony? [He stops and stares off into space] Shit, with everything going on…Lady was pregnant, remember? She had the kid. He’s… [Pauses to count on his fingers] Eight-ish months? And they named him after me?

[mistersmoran-blog]

Uh, no. No, you didn't tell me about Anthony. [Deadpan, an eyebrow raised.]

Yeah, apparently. I suppose congratulations to you and them? I'd guess you're the godfather but I don't imagine that's a term you'd be especially fond of.

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

[Nods] Sounds good to me. My place? I’ve restocked.

[mistersmoran-blog]

[He’s silent for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought, before he pushes himself to his feet.]

Yes. Your place. How’re the angel and the box doing, anyway?

[angelanddear-archive-deactivate]

Last I checked, still disgustingly in love. You know, gross couple stuff.[Shrugs] The kids are okay, too. Anthony’s all grabby. I can’t wear ties around him any more.

[mistersmoran-blog]

No kidding. Anthony? I thought there was just the one girl. Where'd he come from?

[thedynamicasteroid-archived-blog]

He raised an eyebrow at Sebastian’s words, “Deal with them directly? What, don’t think I could, Moran? And I will offer this warning only once, don’t tell me how to run my  organization. I’m the brains, remember? It isn’t your place to question my orders.”

[mistersmoran-blog]

Moran gritted his teeth, scraping his fingers through his hair, frustrated by Jim’s attitude. Sometimes it was impossible to get a thing right with the Irishman. “Of course I think you could. Why would you want to? You hate dealing with idiots and he’s as thick as they come! I’m not- jesus christ.”

There’d be blood at the end of this, probably, and it’d all be his.

[thedynamicasteroid-archived-blog]

"Do stop telling me obvious facts, Moran. Clearly I would have known if you were the son of God." James teased with obvious condescension in his tone. "It isn’t your place to question my orders. It’s the last time I’m going to tell you. I have my reasons, and they’re none of yours."

[mistersmoran-blog]

Moran groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat. And the army chaps that had thrown him out had thought he was stubborn. They hadn’t the slightest fucking idea. The man turned, rolling back his bulky shoulders, eyes narrowing as the bones of his spine crackled at the movement. It just wasn’t worth arguing with Moriarty. Some of the time (most of the time) he thought him life might be easier if he just shot himself in the foot. “Whatever.”

[friendlywarningmydear-blog]

աǟֆɦ ǟաǟʏ ʀօʍǟռƈɛ ||Alpha/Beta/Omega||

[friendlywarningmydear-blog]

James never thought of such things. He didn’t want a alpha, he didn’t want to even be a Omega, and if there was any sort of mate in his life it was and shall always be Moran- no matter what gender he is. 

Sebastian is the only person to ever willingly be with him-to want and E N J O Y their time together. He’d wanted someone like that before he went psycho as a child, but it wasn’t until the beta came into his life in which Moriarty remembered such a fleeting HUMAN want.

But with a single touch, not even the consulting criminal cared about being so ordinary- being held and marked in such ways actually had him mewling and purring in approval that only Sebastian had.

The teeth biting at his skin had the hot omega getting even hotter, neck moving to expose more and nails digging into the rock solid shoulder and chest. 

"Feel so good…." He managed to get out, not even alpha’s get such remarks from him as it is genuine and he only feels comfortable and pleasured from the beta he took from the streets.

[mistersmoran-blog]

Hiking Jim up with a flex of fingers, back straining, Moran lifted the man to torso height and pinned him against the wall. He held the smaller man there with both hands beneath the man’s thighs and the majority of his weight pressing into him. Moran wasn’t the least bit careful, digging his teeth into throat and shoulder. He sucked a dark mark at the hollow of Jim’s throat, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises through Moriarty’s tailored suit.

As little patience as he had, any further action was stalled by the way his standing as Moriarty’s right hand man had been beaten into him. He wouldn’t take complete control of the Omega until he was given permission- he wasn’t one of those idiots treating the master criminal as though he existed solely to satisfy their physical whims, just because they’d both been born with certain hormones. Fuck them. With a blade, anyway.

As long as it was him Jim was asking for, he was going to satisfy the man's desires. (And after that, too.) Sebastian had never thought he was the sort of man to be led- he'd been kicked out of the army for a reason. He didn't miss the irony that, when he found someone worthy of obeying, it would be someone their society dictated should be bound to the whims of their mate like a housewife from the previous century. Moriarty had been made to defy expectations, it seemed.

[mistersmoran-blog]

I FIXED IT. He’s dead. I’m not pulling the idiot out of jail. You said not to kill him, which we both know you should. He can rot in there. [He’s pissed, now. Jim has to be doing it on purpose.]

You wouldn’t. Without me you’d have to deal with them directly.

[thedynamicasteroid-archived-blog]

He raised an eyebrow at Sebastian’s words, “Deal with them directly? What, don’t think I could, Moran? And I will offer this warning only once, don’t tell me how to run my  organization. I’m the brains, remember? It isn’t your place to question my orders.”

[mistersmoran-blog]

Moran gritted his teeth, scraping his fingers through his hair, frustrated by Jim's attitude. Sometimes it was impossible to get a thing right with the Irishman. "Of course I think you could. Why would you want to? You hate dealing with idiots and he's as thick as they come! I'm not- jesus christ."

There'd be blood at the end of this, probably, and it'd all be his.

[mistersmoran-blog]

“I don’t want a thing from you, except your death,” he answered cooly, the loathing smirk curving his mouth depleting to a blank earnestness. “You’re the one waltzing unannounced into another man’s place of business demanding entertainment. I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong man, detective, I don’t sell smoke and mirrors.” He knew that his refusal to play along would irk the man more than anything and that was the simplest pleasure he could derive from Holmes. Cut him off from his frantic need for indulgence. He only indulged one maniac, and Holmes wasn’t that man, never would be that man.

“Moriarty’s absence disappoints you? Then I suggest you chase after him like the sniffer dog you are. Go on. Out.” He put out his cigarette.

[not-an-amateur-detective-blog]

Sherlock inhaled and lifted his chin, as if balancing something on the end of it. He looked down his nose at the man before him. “Touched a nerve, did I? Worried that the only reason people are even remotely interested in you is because you’re his pet?” Sherlock asked coldly, making sure he sounded as unimpressed as he felt. He knew Moran was holding back. He wanted to tempt him out. He wanted to make the man so mad he threw something… Sherlock couldn’t take this man, but he could certainly come out of it rather well - and that in itself was a bold statement. 

Sherlock glanced down at the cigarette and licked the inside of his bottom lip before lifting his eyes once more. “No-one even knows your name…” Sherlock added - spite and hate running through his tone of voice as he watched Moran carefully, looking out for any warning signs. 

[mistersmoran-blog]

Rolling his eyes, Moran moved to the window. He opened it halfway, perching on the ledge as he pulled out a cigarette from a silver case. It was engraved, but not with his name. It wasn’t a trophy, it had been a gift. Sort of. He lit up with a sound halfway between a snort and a chuckle. His pale eyes fixed on Sherlock, grey in the low light. Exhaling a plume of smoke that was quickly sucked out the window, Moran shook his head slowly, derisive. “I can tell you’re trying to rile me up, Holmes. Here I was told you were a master manipulator- an equal to the ‘great Moriarty.’” Jim’s self-imposed title was half-spat, Moran bitter in the wake of the man’s death. “Yet you’re completely transparent and you’re going about it entirely in the wrong way.”

“His pet? You think that touches a nerve.” He laughed, short and hard and completely unamused. “You’re right. I was his pet. That doesn’t pain me. Nobody knows my name? Your pride is showing.” He licked his canine, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m an assassin. No one knows my name? You flatter me. If that were true I’d be the best in my field. I’m not like you. I don’t need people to fawn over me.” He took another long drag of his cigarette, gaze unwavering. “Never liked people, really.”