So long little birdy.

[thecrackshot]

Moran stood over Jim's body, blood on his shoes.  Jim bought him those shoes last week because he thought the other pair were hideous or scuffed or didn't match his own eyes.  Moran hadn't paid attention at the time and now it was lost to him.  He smirked for a moment and crouched down, stupidly feeling for a pulse that couldn't be there. The wound

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[thecrackshot]

Pressing Jim back against the wall and bracing him with one hand, Sebastian pulled off his shoes (he knew the drill, no shoes in the house) and left them by the elevator before he did the same with the smaller man's shirt and left that too. A little dance was all that was needed to get them through the door and into the living room. The rug would have to do. He couldn't get them any further than that before he started tearing his own clothes off.

Sebastian wouldn't really have said he cared for men before he met Jim. He didn't really bother himself with sex at all. There were other things to do. He was constantly on the move and even before Jim moved him in, he wanted to be ready for the man's call. Jim had far more interest in sex than even his live in swear machine. But now, things had changed. Sebastian was too heated, his body burned. Fumbling out of his clothes and getting Moriarty out of his was a bit sloppy but at least interesting.

And so was the forethought. Moran hadn't just sporadically decided to kiss him. Not when there was a condom and lube in his pocket.

[dontbeobvious]

Well that sort of killed the lovely impulsive passion that he assumed this was... but, erm, Moran had a point. It robbed him of his glory if it ended with the whimper of a sexually transmitted diseased as opposed to the glorious bang of what he was baking on. Who knew, it might end up happening anyway.

Jim never cared for sex overly himself but it was the closed he'd ever get to being intimate with someone. Oh everything was physically for Jim when it came to anything friendship-ish or relationship-ish. It tended to shut them up.

One thing he did know and found confirmed by his meeting with Irene Adler was that sex was power.

It didn't matter who topped, who was doing what or who ended up with come all over them, Jim found it could have so many benefits beyond simple boring romance.

Tumbling onto the bed, Jim giggled madly in a rather high pitched manner and there, in all his naked glory, he knew he had all the power. And my God, did it ever feel good. It was obvious by how hard he was and how quickly he was writhing on top of Moran.

Yep, he definitely picked the right man.

[thecrackshot]

The tumbled off of the bed and onto the floor. He wanted Jim on his back, those big eyes focused up on him and he wanted to listen to the lilting, pitch shifting voice merge into his own. Sebastian was brutal as Jim egged him on. He grabbed at his wild hair, pulling back his head, and buried his face against his neck.

Sebastian wouldn't call it perfect. It was messy and he threw his back out towards the end actually. But, rolling off of the smaller man, Sebastian stared up at the ceiling with a sticky condom half pulled off, Moran smirked and tried to catch his breath. "Maybe you should go to jail more often."

[dontbeobvious]

That was pretty amazing actually. Jim didn't know why he was so surprised but my God, he was definitely not making full use of Moran. He was in a lot of pain, everything was tender and aching but he felt it. He felt all of it and he loved it. Exhaling deeply, he ran his fingers through his sweat slicked hair, taking it all in. What a work out that was.

"I thought you were meant to get horribly sodomised in prison, not after release," Jim remarked with a bright smile, shifting slightly so he could put his hands behind his head to cushion his head from the hard floor. It seemed he'd just discovered a great way to spend the next two or three months.

Sherlock was so right, having this man was useful. He planned to brag about his live in when they next had chance to discuss pets. Closing his eyes, he chuckled tiredly. "You're not boring Moran."

[thecrackshot]

Sebastian continued to be exceedingly not boring for quite a long time. He still yelled at Jim when it came to his watching habits and he cursed like a sailor and delivered tea on time when Jim was busy being brilliant. He was not too happy about Jim having to move out to be with Kitty for the last strike to Sherlock's demise, but he put up with it by caring for the rabbit and sniping assassins sent to squabble over each other. It was evil. What they were doing just to mess with Sherlock? It was pure evil.

The night of Sherlock's arrest, when Jim was hopefully done playing Richard Brooke forever, Sebastian called out for dinner and they ate on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. "God yea, I am well aware of what I'm suppose to do. Point. Shoot if Sherlock doesn't jump. I'm not an idiot. I've never messed any kill up. Not once."

[dontbeobvious]

Moriarty sat on the sofa, sprawled happily as he ate his noodles with a small amused look. He rather loved having a snack, after all, it was hard work playing a terrified actor but it was just so much fun. Jim was acting as a actor that Sherlock hired to play himself. How was that not confusing?

But it was the final nail in his coffin, the moment of absolute chaos to poor Sherlock when he realised that perhaps, just perhaps, Jim Moriarty was not real.

He would never admit the truth of the whole plan to Moran but for now, he kept the man believing that if Sherlock didn't jump, they'd shoot him. The orders would change the last minute, he had the text saved to draft. He intended to change the order to that if he died, John. Lestrade and Mrs Hudson would die.

He'd leave Mycroft out of it, poor soul, he was such an amusing and useful puppet. He owed him. "Don't let me down this time."

[thecrackshot]

After a few moments of snarking over his shooting abilities, Sebastian smoothed down the purposefully frazzled hair on Jim's head and set his own plate on the Irishman's chest to pick up his beer and drain it. They'd gone over the plan twice now. Moran had sent instructions to the other two assassins. They were all timed to Moran's word. The moment he saw Sherlock jump, he'd call them off.

Easy.

And then-- "Vacation to Boston, seriously, you'd better not be fucking shitting me about that. I have been dying to catch a real baseball game for two years now. Soccer, soccer, soccer. God, I'm so tired of soccer."

[dontbeobvious]

"Football, Moran, football. Soccer is what Americans call a well established game, your version of football is just rugby with padding," No, Jim didn't have much fondness for sports either way but while Moran was in the UK, he could at least acknowledge these things. But, of course, once he was in American then he could say it all he liked. Hell, Moriarty would promised to do the same but the same but he wasn't even sure he was going to go.

"I thought we could use a break, a change of scenery. I don't really like the drizzly London streets right now. I want to see loud yanks wave their flags high at a very boring sport that they're only enjoying because they're drunk!" He was joking, Moriarty always did have a flare for dramatics and stereotypes amused him.

After all, how many Irish jokes had Moran told over the years. How many times had he been called leprechaun?

[thecrackshot]

"Football is more violent than Soccer. You'll never get me to say otherwise." He hit the television off with his heel and sank into the sofa. He wasn't worried. He was more worried about Jim's little walk around London but this? Nah, this was his element. Hopefully he'd get to shoot Watson, but even if he couldn't, that was all right. Sherlock would die. Moriarty can go back to being the most brilliant man in the world and know that he managed to ruin the one man that threatened that.

He finished up his food and left it on the table before he not-so-secretly slipped his hand into Jim's pocket, snatched his cell and tossed it clear across the room.

"Not tonight. And not tomorrow night either. We've some celebrating to do."

[dontbeobvious]

"I have to agree there," footballers were a punch of overpaid girl no, Moriarty would only occasionally watched rugby at best, which was more violent than most legal sports. No wonder all the plays had disfigured faces.

Looking at where his phone had been, Jims jaw dropped and his mind ran through insults.

But, then he remembered that he was going to meet Sherlock tomorrow, and he need he had to throw his favourite pet a bone. After all, Moran had kept him amused all this while and now he was going to have to leave him. It was nothing personal, Moran would never understand what it was like to be him. To get to the point where even being alive was just so boring.

He needed Sherlock to be Sherlock, not this boring man on the side of the angels.

"Now, now, Morans, someones gotten brave. What, dearest, did you have in mind?" Jim asked, easy symbol was sung playfully as he shuffled closer.

[thecrackshot]

"I've always been brave. You don't scare me." Sebastian might be the only one that wasn't wholly and completely intimidated by Jim Moriarty when he wasn't playing his games. Then again, very few people knew Jim's face. Could connect the dots. And no one, Moran was sure, knew Jim the way that he did.

He lifted Jim up right from the couch, bride style, stepped over the rabbit, and took him to bed.

Not Jim's bed, with it's white sheets and geometic, mathmatical equations hung all over the walls, but Sebastian's room. They'd never been. The difference was startling. Maybe it was all the guns. Or the leopard print quilt.

[dontbeobvious]

"Ohhh you're going to make such a mess Sebby," Jim cooed as he was dropped onto the bed. He grabbed Sebs time of the way down, hauling his new best friend down on top of him. It was odd, actually, Because now he found himself actually sort of missing Sebastian and his little quirked.

He didn't know what to do to make it right because this while situation was wrong but he threw a bone, as always, and pulled him into a kiss.

The things they did together in here? Blimey were they full on.

"I can't wait till we destroy him, do you think he'll cry Sebby?"

[thecrackshot]

"No," Dabastian grunted as he pulled his belt open. "He only would do it to try and out act you. Impossible." He pushed himself up, hand against the side of Jim's head as he shook his hair out if his face and gently undid the smaller man's shirt. He was very careful with his clothing. Even the crappy, not quite designer ones from the thrift store.

The next kiss was biting, but he knew better than to leave marks. They'd examine Jim when he was brought into custody.

Well. Maybe his thighs would be fair game. He wanted something of himself on Jim while he was gone.

[dontbeobvious]

Jim smirked, fully aware of what Sebastian was up too when he started pulled down his trousers to get more skin to attack. He wanted to leave marks, brand Jim almost. Jim found it so amusing, like a puppy trying to assert dominance. Course, he should of known by now that Jim was always there to one up him.

Leaning up, he latched himself onto Sebastians neck and started to suck.

He was determined to leave his mark, no matter how small of a time it lasted, just so when he died people would still know Seb was his.

Pulling back, he offered a cunning smile. "Very nice."

[thecrackshot]

Would Jim say it was very nice to have a string of bitten bruises down the insides of his thighs? That was what Sebastian was doing, a string a black pearls. They had just one more night and Sherlock would be gone. Jim's purpose for the past year and a half would be gone. Was it any wonder that Sebastian was worried?

He fucked Jim hard, fucked him into the mattress until his sweetly odd voice sang out beneath him. They were never gently, they didn't cuddle without their clothing on. And when the sex was over, Sebastian just rolled over. Moriarty went over the plan again and Sebastian drifted off to sleep.

He was more than willing to wake up early, to have his breakfast -- high carbs -- but he was annoyed to have Sherlock be the one to ruin the way that Jim, in his sleep, had pressed up against his back and flung an arm over his waist. Ruiner. Maybe he'd shoot John Watson on principal.

[dontbeobvious]

He just had to drum it into Morans had, make him feel certain of what was meant to happen so when it went wrong, he knew that it was a snap of the moment type thing. Maybe then he'd care less. Shooting yourself in the head? Hell, it was going to hurt but he'd pull it off somehow, if he got the right angle and only went for the skull, he could survive.

If, however, he really did feel ready then? ... Well, he'd go for the brain. It depends on if Sherlock interested him enough to know he could keep at it.

But, of course, he had to be showy and pray that this would all work out. If not? He was in trouble. He had already written Moran a note which he planned to hide on his person. If he had any sort of brain damage, loss of genius or memory loss then he wanted to be shot and killed.

The next morning, curled up against Moran, he didn't bother to get up. He just lay there and contemplated his fate - it was going to be so fun!