Fic: A Cursory Glance, R
Title: A Cursory Glance
Character: Jim Moriarty
Genre: het
Author: eriksselest
Fandom: BBC Sherlock - AU universe
Word count: 760
Rating: R
Prompts: Meme #1 at a_muse_meme How did you lose your virginity? (In the bedroom, Author’s Choice)
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters.
Notes: Trying on Moriarty for a bit - any comments are love, since I’m not certain about how I did with the characterization (new muse and all). This takes place a year or so after Carl Powers.
Moriarty walked into the crowded, hazy pub with one goal in mind. He left his denim jacket on a coat hook by the door and took a stool by the bar. He ordered a cursory tequila shot, asking the bartender to leave the bottle and wedges of lime behind as he scanned the crowd looking for her. After about five minutes later her short, ginger hair caught his attention. He sent casual glances her way for any outright staring may have set those around him on edge. No, Moriarty was not yet the man that he would become, but he was well on his way. He was the picture of a meek teenage boy, but everyone knows the saying about appearances. After about ten minutes the girl finally took a seat next to him at the bar. He pushed one of the two shot glasses towards her, the table was now open.
"So, you're the elusive Moriarty that I've been hearing about. You don't look like much . . . like the whispers say." She said with a light smile as she knocked the shot back and poured herself another.
"You would do well to not be so brash, my dear," he said with a wide, shark like smile. "We have bigger matters to attend to . . . so I've heard from the whispers."
“Yes, word is that my father has been doing some unsavory banking - there is a man in his employ that works closely with him . . . but my father’s trust has been waning.” She knocked back another shot.
“I see, so you need my expertise to get this man out of the way?” He watched her mouth as she sucked on a wedge of lime, the way it curled around the edge as if sucking the very life out of it, like a vampire. It was so pretty. Too pretty for her. “I’m sure we can figure something out.” Moriarty paid the bartender for the shots and a little extra for accommodation and his silence. He slid behind the girl, catching the scent of smoke that her sweater had taken on from her time in the pub, and he gently placed his hand on the small of her back. With an outstretched arm and a slight smile he motioned to a set of stairs on the side of the room leading to the second floor. “Step into my office.”
Right away she got up from the stool, staggering ever so slightly, as Moriarty grabbed the bottle of tequila behind her and cast a short, but definite glance at the bartender, locking eyes with him. Moriarty followed her upstairs into the dingy, but well kept bedroom. A couple of chairs lined a desk in the corner, but the girl bypassed them and lay right on the quilted bed. Now this was an odd, but not unfavorable turn of events.
Moriarty placed the bottle on the nightstand and proceeded to kneel on the bed next to her - eyes piercing right through her. She made quick work of their clothes amidst their kisses. She would have noted that Moriarty tasted like spice and cloves had she not been so overeager and already just a teensy bit tipsy. She moved on top of him, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig or two, riding him and laughing like a mad woman. Moriarty could really see who he was dealing with now, and it excited him ever so briefly. He sat up and rested his face along her small bosom as she continued, ghosting her fingers through his hair and then clawing her nails down his neck and back. No, he did not like that - the sharpness leaving marks. The darkness and weight of the moment returned to him in a wave as he flipped them over and finished quickly.
She was left there, passed out on what she thought was bliss. Moriarty quickly replaced his clothes, picked up the bottle that had been tossed to the floor during their romp and placed it on the desk, looking upon her with a bored disgust. He scribbled “Thanks” on a card and left it on her abdomen and then scribbled another note on a piece of parchment, addressing an envelope to put the note into. He returned to the barkeeper and slid the note to him.
“Make sure this gets delivered . . . and that our friend is taken care of.” He grabbed his jacket as he exited the pub and returned to the darkness from which he came.
Cheers!
~Sel