#moriartyproperty

[fangsforhire]

‘I saw you watching me.’ ‘Yeah well had to make sure you didn’t kill her.’ ‘Sure whatever you say, Moran. Whatever you say.’

[fangsforhirearchive]

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[tragedybefalls]

@moriartyproperty and jamie: five times kissed drabble

He’s tipsy the first time it happens. It’s been a bad week, he hasn’t slept in a few days and coffee isn’t cutting it. There may be more vodka in his mug than there is caffeine and he isn’t usually a lightweight but sleep deprivation, no food in his system, and the fact he’s been drinking for two days now makes it fairly easy for his judgment to be altered. And then there’s Sebastian.

And Jamie never keeps his cool around Sebastian, even sober.

The man lets himself in like he always does, finds the cranky shop owner sulking among his books, scowling and irritated at life and himself and everything in between. And in his own way Sebastian is concerned (which means he’s more amused than anything), with an arched brow and a pointed look. And Jamie can only huff, throwing a few drunken comments around, some meant to insult, which the older man only brushes off, returning his own remarks easily.

Maybe the man knows, maybe he doesn’t, about the effect he has on the younger Moriarty. About how easy it is to push his buttons and tip him over the edge – into anger, into annoyance, into frustration. Maybe he does it on purpose. And if Jamie had been sober, he could have kept up the bickering, and nothing would have happened, and things would have been safe.

But Jamie wasn’t.

And when something Sebastian says rubs him the wrong way, he finds a handful of the man’s shirt and pulls him forward. It’s messy and irrational and barely lasts a few seconds. But Jamie’s made his point.

He’s sober the next time. Completely. And maybe that’s worse, because he’ll remember every little thought, every little move, every little detail. And it’s not easy – not the kiss, the kiss is easy. It’s easy but it hurts. He’s wanted to kiss Sebastian since they met, first to spite Jim and then – and then…

And that’s what makes it hard. That’s what makes it difficult, to know that he’s kissing Sebastian but Sebastian’s not kissing him. It’s not reciprocated. It never will be.

So when they’re arguing and arguing and he’s desperate and scared and he wants to be first he wants to be chosen, and he can’t think straight because he’s angry and he might as well be drunk all over again but he’s not, he’s sober and it’s shit because when he just does it, does it again without thinking and nothing happens just like nothing happened the first time, he knows.

And it doesn’t change anything.

And later when he’s sitting by himself in his flat in the dark in the corner of his room, knees drawn and arms wrapped around them in makeshift comfort, he hopes that maybe he’ll fade away.

Its months later before the third time happens. Jamie’s been avoiding Sebastian. Or maybe Sebastian’s been avoiding him. It’s possible they’ve been avoiding each other, or have just been too busy to make their usual excuses to see each other. Because that’s what it’s always been; excuses. Not reasons. Never reasonable. Just excuses.

Jamie’s more or less recovered from his mishap, his misstep. He’s not over it, but he’s not drowning in hatred anymore. Or at least, not outwardly. He’s sleeping less, if that’s possible, and he’s notably more withdrawn and negative. His entire demeanor is hurt, an abandoned puppy. But he’s always been great at pretending, at lying.

So when his door opens and he looks up from his desk where he’s reading to greet his customer, his eyes widen when he sees who it is – and they narrow just as quickly. He swallows, teeth grinding harshly as he demands that the other leave. He’s not wanted (a lie, so terribly a lie, one that Sebastian surely sees right through and is likely why the man doesn’t move).

And it’s a silent stare down, one that even the little black kitten that had been sitting with Jamie doesn’t want to be near, and he darts off, away from the tension that fills the shop. And minutes pass and Sebastian still hasn’t said a word and Jamie doesn’t want to give in but god he just can’t stay mad at him, he can’t, and he’s so exhausted and keeping up this front is hard and he gives a sigh, everything collapsing around him as he deflates.

“What do you want.”

The words are muttered, tired, and he looks away, hating how weak he is.

“To apologize.”

And the words alone are enough to have Jamie glancing up in surprise, but when the man places the briefest kiss on Jamie’s lips, and leaves without another word, Jamie is left staring, bewildered.

It only takes three days before the youngest Moriarty is banging on Sebastian’s door, furious. Because Sebastian can’t just do that. He can’t just ignore Jamie for months and then come into the shop and kiss him as if it means something, he can’t. Because Sebastian wants Jim, everyone knows that, and to do something like that is so incredibly inconsiderate not only to Jamie but to Jim? Where’s the loyalty? And Jamie could be fucked about Jim, okay, but he knows how Sebastian feels about his brother, he knows that he’ll never be Sebastian’s first choice, and so he knows that what the man did makes absolutely no fucking sense. And by god he’s going to find out why.

So he’s going to stand outside the man’s door, pounding on it, until the man answers.

And he has an entire speech laid out, he does. It’s got obscenities and logic and accurately timed insults and he’s thought of all the different things Sebastian could say so that he could properly counter them, because Jamie is completely livid, he’s never been this angry before, and it brings him back to that first time he kissed the man and how he knows only Sebastian makes him this angry and it just makes him angrier.

But when Sebastian opens the door, nothing he wants to say is said.

Instead, Jamie pulls the man into a heated kiss, filled with all the things he loves and hates about him, and he doesn’t let it end after a few seconds like before, doesn’t back out after a few moments in fear because dammit he’s here for a reason.

When he does step back, he’s still fuming, and there’s fire in his eyes, whether that’s desire or anger he isn’t sure anymore, but he forcefully prods Sebastian’s chest, spitting out, “Apologize for that.”

He doesn’t care if it makes sense or not. He’s gone.

They’re sitting together. It’s comfortable, for once, like it was in the beginning. Jamie has sprawled himself out across Sebastian, feet up on the arm of the sofa, back tucked against the man’s side. The man had tried shrugging him off, first in irritation, then in jest, but has resigned to let him be because Jamie is a persistent shit who won’t move and whines when anyone tries.

And they’re talking. Not arguing. Just talking about things. Stories about their past – the military, school, Jim, travel. Discussing beliefs and differences in beliefs and trying to decode each other. It’s easy. It’s safe.

Jamie’s playing with Sebastian’s hand, tracing the patterns in his palm, occasionally spouting facts about his life in palm reading philosophy, to which Sebastian will scoff. In a moment of silence, Jamie closes Sebastian’s fingers around his palm and brings the man’s knuckles to his lips, kissing them softly.

“I hate you.”

And Sebastian only laughs.

[maniacollisionarchive-blog]

"Yeah, you wouldn't mind keeping that a secret, would you?" [Maybe this could be what Seb says after he just told Jim about his kid?]

for a long moment, he can only stare at the man. when he’d pointed out, ever so casually, that “sebastian, darling, there’s a small human in the flat,” the response he was not expecting was his pet to have known about it. and he certainly hadn’t expected the man to request that jim not tell anyone. exhaling softly, he crossing his arms loosely about his waist, gives the man an inquisitive glance as he takes a few steps in the beginnings of a pace. “a secret?” asking a criminal like jim, who lives off of trading secrets and blackmailing people, to save this one for the two of them -- and whoever else sebastian might have told -- is impractical at best. true, if there’s something jim doesn’t want know, it won’t be, but a child? since when has his sniper cared about a child?

it doesn’t take being a genius to work it out. “yours, then,” jim comments, gesturing idly towards the infant with an arched brow. he doesn’t wait for confirmation. “explain to me this, tiger, and i’ll consider it -- we are both aware of the plausibility of tiny morans out and about in the world, and ignoring it has been easy enough. yet here we are.” the pacing stops, the criminal facing the man. “who is she.”

[maniacollisionarchive-blog]

¡ [@Jamie]

Send ¡ for my muse to call yours suddenly, panicked and possibly in pain.

“sebastian? fuck. okay. i don’t know when you’re going to get this but listen. please. don’t go to the shop. i’m not there. i don’t... i don’t actually know where i’m going to be when you get this. please don’t overreact but --

-- small thud, muffled cursing ---

sorry, gotta stay moving. i’m being hunted. you know what that’s like right? maybe that’s where you are now, some assignment for jim. god the fucking irony in that. okay not the point, the point is...

-- glass shattering, an audible intake of breath, long moment of silence ---

i need you to come get me. sebastian, they’re catching up. i’m injured. i don’t know how much more distance i can get before...

--- larger thud, faint shouting ---

find me first!”

end call

[maniacollisionarchive-blog]

[ -insert moon symbol for a sleepy text @Jim- ]

{txt: tiger} i don’t like the color of our ceiling. get it redone by tomorrow. -JM{txt: tiger} also i want to move all the shelves to the other side of the room. and i want a different sofa. this one is wrong. -JM{txt: tiger} how are you asleep. 3:06 is the perfect thinking time. we’re out of caffeine. i need you to go get more. -JM

[maniacollisionarchive-blog]

[Meme] "This is my fault." [@Jamie]

send me  “  this is my fault  .   .   .  ”   for my muse to die in your’s arms  .

things don’t always go according to plan. sometimes people are hard to charm, sometimes things have been moved, sometimes there are more people than originally planned for, sometimes.... sometimes someone fucks up. 

it doesn’t really matter who’s fault it was, in the end. it could have been any number of factors -- maybe because sebastian had underestimated the difficulty of the assignment, hadn’t brought enough people to counter their counter-attack. maybe because, when sebastian issued the order for jamie to fall back, jamie hesitated a moment too long in his decision to run. maybe because knives are fast but not as fast as a collapsing building, and not in the hands of someone afraid to take a life.maybe because the targets had been prepared, set up a contingency plan that involved setting fire to the building to prevent anyone  -- including themselves, and the young moriarty trapped inside -- from escaping. 

jamie doesn’t blame anybody but himself, if there needs to be somebody to blame. all he wanted was to prove himself. to impress his brother. to impress sebastian. to show that he was capable of more than just charm, take, leave. he wasn’t just the little moriarty. he was someone else, someone important. he thought he was ready. he thought he could handle whatever happened but he couldn’t. on some level, he doesn’t even think sebastian actually means what he says -- just a guilt in failing to save the boss’ brother. a fear in what big bad jimmy will do about it before he inevitably moves on. anything for the job, right? anything for the boss. and jamie, even in shared name, isn’t jim.

it’s the end -- they can both tell. maybe that’s why sebastian admits such a thing in the first place instead of reprimanding the young moriarty. he knows he can’t be saved. jamie can’t understand why the man pulled him from the burning building when the fire, the smoke, the beam that had fallen on top of him had already done their damage. he’s burnt. snapped leg, broken arm. his ribs are crushed. he can’t breathe, either from a punctured lung or the smoke, who knows. he’s bleeding, inside and out, bruised, and barely conscious and in sebastian’s arms he looks half dead already, a broken child. 

he coughs, whether from the smoke or being unable to breathe or the blood in his lungs, and can feel the red liquid trailing out the corner of his mouth. he wants to laugh but the air in him is leaving. so is the light, the hope, the edge. he can’t feel anything anymore -- a blessing, he supposes, for he’s sure he should be in incredible amounts of pain. and have his eyes been closed this whole time? open them. goddamit, open them.

it takes more than it should have, but bloodshot, blurry vision settles on sebastian, head tucked against the man’s shoulder to keep it from slipping back. hah. if only he wasn’t imagining the emotions he sees when he attempts to focus on the man’s face. couldn’t name them if he tried. sebastian probably couldn’t either -- if jamie thought them real. he knows they’re not. if there is anything in the face of his brother’s favorite, it is fear of jimmy’s reaction. he wants to feel angry but he only feels empty. hollow. like he’s floating but something is keeping him tied down.

god he’s fading so fast --- he hopes the assignment was worth it, hopes jimmy will be proud of him for what he’s accomplished in all of this. the arm tucked between him and sebastian’s chest is a blessing -- jamie doesn’t think he’d have enough strength to have lifted his hand on his own, but it’s already resting on his stomach. fingers open from around the small flash drive containing everything he’d been sent in to retrieve. all this for some stupid information. that urge to laugh returns. imagine if he’d memorized instead -- they’d really be fucked then. shame he’ll never know what was on it.

“make....” another cough, and the hollow feeling is heavier. more blood, he feels like he’s drowning inside himself. but what is a moriarty if not dramatic, and he can’t leave his words unfinished. dramatic and stubborn. “make it count...” he mutters, the words draining him of more energy than he can spare. “or i’ll... i’ll haunt you.” the words are barely above a whisper. how threatening he must sound. sebastian would mock him for it. faintly jamie wishes he could see it, could wake up and have this just be another one of those chief of staff meetings he always daydreams during. even hearing the man yell at him once, just once again...

the darkness is overtaking the red in his vision and so he closes his eyes. but it’s okay, he supposes. he completed his part of the assignment. after all of that, jamie succeeded. sebastian’s the one that didn’t keep him safe -- jimmy’s gonna be mad. pretty big failure and all, right? still... things go wrong. people die. jamie once would have been scared of that -- kind of is still but maybe the world isn’t right for him. he’s tired of fighting for attention. he’s tired of causing chaos. he’s tired of not being his own person. he’s just... he’s just tired. 

he stops struggling to find air, stops fighting the pain in his lungs. stops trying to keep himself from drowning or maybe falling or maybe floating because he can’t tell anymore and simply... accepts it. fingers around the flash drive go limp. head lolls. in a final weak flutter, a heart flat-lines. death is strangely peaceful.

and maybe. maybe he did it on purpose anyway.