Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9190400.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Sebastian_Moran/Jim_Moriarty, Jim_Moriarty/Carl_Powers, Sebastian_Moran/
      Carl_Powers
  Character:
      Sebastian_Moran, Carl_Powers, Jim_Moriarty, Sebastian_Moran's_Mother,
      Sebastian_Moran's_Father, Original_Female_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Sexuality, Gay_Bashing, Anal_Sex, First
      Time_Blow_Jobs, First_Time_Topping, Murder, Animal_Death, Bisexuality,
      Psychopaths_In_Love, Psychopathology_&_Sociopathy, Bullying, Rape, Dom/
      sub, Light_BDSM, Backstory, Revenge, Slow_Burn
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-27 Completed: 2017-03-13 Chapters: 14/14 Words: 52891
****** The Last Laugh ******
by umqra1895
Summary
     Sebastian Moran had it all going for him - a position as captain on
     the rugby team, a great girlfriend, and a popular group of friends -
     until Jim Moriarty came into his life and turned everything he knew
     upside down.
***** Translation *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
October 1995 
“Moran, Moriarty,” Ms. Beauchamp said, flipping the page on her pairing list.
Sebastian sagged in his seat, trying not to be too obvious about his
disappointment. Then again, who in his biology class would blame him? Nobody
would want to get sat next to Jim Moriarty as a lab partner for the longest lab
of the year.
He grudgingly turned to look back at Jim, meeting his eyes. Your desk or
mine?Sebastian's eyebrows asked. Moriarty stared flatly back. The boy
was...well, there was a reason why nobody hung around him. He was plain creepy.
Sebastian couldn’t say precisely what was so disarming about him. Maybe it was
his flat black eyes, or the fact that he always looked irritated or bored. He
put off an air that he couldn’t be bothered with anyone but himself, and so
everyone let him well alone. Moriarty was two years Sebastian's junior, meaning
he should be a year 11, but there was a giant brain behind that protruding
forehead of his, because he was in year 13 with the 17-year-olds.
Sebastian resigned himself that he would have to move, and grabbed his books,
moving to the very back of the room where Moriarty sat. He gave a fleeting look
to Miranda Velasquez on his way back. He’d rather hoped to be paired with her
instead.
He tried to be polite, when he sat down at Jim’s table, giving him a brief nod.
Ms. Beauchamp had finished pairing up the students and there was a general,
grumbling scuffle as students rearranged themselves.
Moriarty had yet to even look at him. “This will be easiest if you stay out of
my way,” he muttered under his breath as he turned the textbook open to the
required section. “I can assure us top marks if you just keep your oafish hands
off the thing.”
Sebastian stared at him, affronted. For fuck's sake, he hadn't said anythingto
Moriarty ever, and the first thing out of the rude little sod's mouth was an
insult.
“I'm not idiotic, you know,” Sebastian said, thumbing open his own textbook.
Moriarty snorted derisively. “Yes, you are.” His shoulders drew closer
together, seemingly wanting to put as much distance between himself and
Sebastian as possible. “Frankly, I don't know how you have any brain cells left
after bashing rugby opponents on a daily basis. How many concussions have you
had by now?”
Ms. Beauchamp was now handing out the assignment sheets for preliminary
research notes. “You will have the remainder of the class to get started on
your preliminary research for the pig dissection. Don't skimp on this; it will
be essential for the success of your project, and we don't want to fall behind,
do we?”
Sebastian accepted the assignment sheet, then turned back to Moriarty and
muttered between his teeth, “I'm not some idiot jock.”
“You certainly hang around enough of them.” Moriarty’s voice had turned from
sneering to acidic.
Sebastian stared at the assignment sheet, his fist curling on the desk. The
words blurred. So this was why everyone loathed Jim Moriarty; he clearly
thought he was better than everyone, cavalierly lumping people into categories
so he could look down his pale nose at them.
“You know, most people aren't that bad if you give them a chance,” he found
himself saying. His eyes flicked up to Miranda, who was walking past their lab
table to sharpen her pencil. She gave him a sympathetic smile, quickly whisking
by.
Moriarty's laugh was harsh. “I don’t need to give them chances to know that
they’re all liars and idiots.” He was furiously writing down notes on their
worksheet as he flung his words at Sebastian. His thin, spidering scrawl looked
like a madman's writing. “Including all your so-called friends.”
“How do you know who my friends are, anyway?” Sebastian retorted. “I have lots
of friends.”
Moriarty actually spared him a glance up for that, his thin eyebrows rising.
“Please, I don't need reminding that you have lots of friends. Sebastian Moran
swans in with his international reputation and a month later, he’s gone from
‘intriguing new boy’ to the golden child of St. Cuthbert's. If you were smart,
you'd do it for some sort of gain. Instead you fritter it away on...sport.” He
said the final word with distaste.
“I don't have an international reputation-” Sebastian said, beginning to feel
self-conscious. Had Moriarty really been paying so much attention to him? His
fists returned to curl against his knees. Moriarty made it sound like it had
been effortless. Did he even fucking know how exhaustingit was, charming
everyone, convincing everyone that he was socially laid-back but athletically
competitive, that he wasn’t an idiot or a nerd, that he was sexually suave but
wasn’t a creep?
“But you do, though, don't you? You've had tutors and education in, what, five
different countries? And your mother is a British ambassador of some
renown...not to mention your father's rank in the military puts him in high
standing, even if his Irish lineage does not.” Moriarty’s black eyes glittered.
“I know a thing or two about that.”
Sebastian stared at him in complete shock. “How?” How could he possibly know?
“Close your mouth, you’re not a codfish,” Moriarty chirped in a perfectly prim
Mary Poppins voice. “Don't worry, it's not that you're anything special,” he
assured him, easily returning to that bored, Irish lilt. “Other than the fact
that you've risen the ranks so quickly in this stupid school, there's nothing
at all remarkable about you. You're disgustingly ordinary. And your marks in
biology aren't stellar, so just let me do the driving, mm?”
Sebastian was dumbfounded. Moriarty hardly ever talked in class, and now he
couldn't seem to stop, lobbing insults one after another, and asserting things
he had no business knowing.
Confusion and astonishment gave way to familiar, dangerous fury, and Sebastian
tried hard to tamp it back down. The last thing he needed was to have another
outburst. His hands were still curled into fists, and he stared at his paper,
not able to focus on the words. He took a deep breath, then another. He would
keep his cool.
“Oo, anger issues. Is that why you play rugby?” Moriarty’s tone was so light
and cultured that he might as well have had a china teacup perched in his hand.
The shift in tone was so swift that Sebastian could have mistaken his voice for
someone else. “Keep everything in check?”
“What can I say? I'm competitive.” Sebastian’s jaw clenched.
Moriarty's mouth quirked up slightly, not looking up him as he flicked a couple
pages forward in his textbook and jotted down some more answers. “There are
more interesting ways to be competitive. With your social pull, you could do so
much more. It’s a pity that your ambitions are so tiny.”
Sebastian considered this, frowning. What did he mean, he could do so much
more? “And who do you compete with, then?” Sebastian snapped.
Moriarty sighed petulantly, looking up from the worksheet. “I don't have any
competition, at the moment. It does get so very boring.”He mock-pouted, looking
over at Sebastian. “Perhaps that's why I'm such a troubled youth,” he said with
sarcastic concern, straight-faced.
Sebastian couldn't help it. He laughed a bit at that, and he couldn't figure
out if it was discomfort at Moriarty's sudden changes and insincere manner, or
because he genuinely found it amusing.
“Done,” Moriarty said, pushing his worksheet toward Sebastian.
“You're finished? How?” He leaned over the sheet. Up close it was slightly
easier to read, but it was still a mess; All the letters were mismatched,
angling forward and then backward, each line of text swooping up and down like
telephone wires.
“I read the chapter a while ago. We only need one copy per table, so your work
is done. No need to thank me.”
“Don't worry, I won't.” Sebastian eyed the clock. There were only a few minutes
until the bell.
Moriarty snorted. “Don't be so soft about it. There's nothing a nobody like me
could say that would lower your precious social status or massive ego,” he
said, then angled his head up to look in Miranda's direction. Her back was to
Sebastian, her thick, dark braid tumbling down the back of her uniform jumper.
“And yes, she would fancy a date with you. Since you were wondering.”
Sebastian really was too startled to be angry this time. “How do you know
that?”
“I use my eyes and my brain, Moran,” Jim said mockingly.
It was hardly a satisfactory answer. The bell for lunch rang, and by the time
Sebastian had packed up his books, Moriarty had already darted out the door
without another word.
He was so bewildered by the entire encounter that he almost missed Miranda, who
was lingering in the laboratory's doorway for him. He had befriended her during
the last lab, when they had been partnered together, and they had taken to
chatting while walking to the lunchroom.
“Paired up with Moriarty,” she grinned. “How was that?”
Sebastian blew out a sigh, accompanying her down the chaotic hallway toward the
canteen. “For fuck's sake, he doesn't say a word and then the second I go
within ten feet of him, he's just this endless barrage of disparaging remarks.”
Miranda laughed lightly. “He'll be voted Most Liked, to be sure.” Her smile
faded. “He is odd, though. I’m not saying he deserves all the scorn he gets,
but he’s...hard to like. I went to primary school with him, you know.”
Primary school. Sebastian tried to imagine Jim Moriarty as a young child.
Shorter, perhaps, but still thin, with dark, intense eyes. “What was that
like?” Was he as unsettling as a child?
Miranda shook her head, turning the corner of the corridor. “He was...odd,” she
said vaguely.
“He said I had a massive ego,” Sebastian groused.
“Oh, I'm sorry, do you not?” Miranda asked, looking at him with wide, innocent
eyes, then grinned and elbowed him.
“Oy,” Sebastian laughed. They entered the canteen. Usually they parted ways,
but Sebastian felt slightly more confident after Miranda’s little nudge. “Want
to sit with me and Barnes and the rest today?”
“Erm...” Miranda looked over uncomfortably at the table where Sebastian usually
sat, with Barnes and Powers and Sundarum.
“You're always welcome,” Sebastian said. He could already see he was fighting a
losing battle.
“Sorry, Sebastian. It’s sweet of you to ask, but...I think Mindy wanted to
gossip about her French tutor,” she said apologetically, rolling her eyes. “But
I'll see you before the last block of the day, right?”
Sebastian nodded. “‘Course. Till then.”
He made his way to the table of his rugby mates, and Toby Barnes immediately
clapped him on the back as he sat. Toby was the broadest of the bunch, a
veritable wall when he was play defense, and the thump of his hand made
Sebastian buckle forward a bit. “Oi, Basher! Are you finally getting it on with
Velasquez?”
“I wouldn't say getting it on,” Sebastian said, putting down his satchel.
“Well, it won't be hard,” Carl Powers said loudly. “She's an absolute tart, she
is.”
Sebastian winced at the words and sat, looking at his teammates' trays to see
the day's offerings. Pork pie and potatoes, each about the same shade of beige.
“That’s uncalled for, mate,” he muttered.
Carl Powers was only well-liked, as far as Sebastian could tell, because nobody
wanted to be on his nasty side. He was handsome in a blocky way, his jaw so
square that it practically had 90-degree angles. He kept his rusty-coloured
hair buzzed short year round, even during the swim team’s off season. He
towered over the rest of the rugby team, his long limbs and large appendages
seemingly engineered specifically for cutting through the water. Powers was
good at rugby, but it was only a distraction for him until swim season came,
when he really shone as the school’s crowning jewel. The trophy case outside
the pool was practically a shrine to him.
“What, you don’t believe me?” Powers spat, his hand closing on the back of
Sebastian’s neck, and he leaned in to mutter, “Or is it that you just don’t
wantto believe me?”
Sebastian forced a tight smile, trying not to cringe underneath Powers’ grip.
If he could punch anyone full in the face at this school, it would be him. But
Sebastian had to play the game. He felt fury at Moriarty again. You think it’s
easy, being well-liked, when it means having to like this arsehole?
“Come off it, Powers. Like you would know,” David Sundarum cut in around a
mouthful of pork pie.
“Mate, I never told you about the party this summer? She was a rude piece of
ass.”
Sebastian rose quickly as Powers began to describe in disgusting detail his
various sexual exploits over the summer. “And then there was Sally Jacobson.
She had the tightest-” Sebastian couldn’t walk away fast enough. He went
through the lunch line, distractedly piling up his plate. He couldn’t stop
thinking about Moriarty’s cutting words. How Moriarty had been apparently
keeping a closer eye on him than his aloof demeanor would suggest. How Moriarty
said he was “wasting” his potential.
Sebastian had charming new people down to a science. He moved around so much
that he had to be good at making friends quickly. It was easiest to choose the
path of least resistance, falling in with the first people most likely to be
friends with him who wouldn’t turn him into a complete social outcast. It
seemed calculating and cold, but it wasn’t as if he hung around for long. And
it was better than passing through school as the perpetual outsider, all alone.
And anyway, this was his last year before university, so what did it matter who
he hung around with, anyway? He had tried keeping up with old friends from
Germany, from Pakistan. But they always fell out of touch, wrapped up with the
friends who were right in front of them. Friends were, as far as Sebastian was
now concerned, something you had when you needed them, and then when you moved
on, so did they. They were temporary means to an end.
He grabbed his lunch tray and headed back for his table. His eyes drifted to
Miranda. He viewed girlfriends in the same way that he did friends. Girlfriends
were a commitment, and relationships he’d witnessed always seemed to end
messily. There were good bits to have a girlfriend, of course...the obvious
bits. But Sebastian preferred a brief tussle and then to move on. But even that
got messy.
Sebastian realized that he was glancing about the canteen, scanning for
Moriarty’s dark hair. Everyone in double biology had the same lunch section, so
Moriarty should be here. He should be conspicuous, sitting off in some corner
alone. Now that Sebastian thought about it, he couldn’t remember ever seeing
him here. Perhaps he ate alone, hunched somewhere quiet. The idea made him sad
before he remembered how rude Moriarty had been to him.
He sat back down with his mates, who were now arguing about who the fittest
girl in school was.
“It’s Kari Brown, without a doubt,” Barnes was saying. “She’s a ten, if not a
ten point five.”
“You have to use the allotted scale of zero to ten, or the whole ranking is
pointless,” Sundarum laughed. “Basher, you shagged Brown, didn’t you?”  
“Hmm?” Sebastian tuned back into the conversation, already bored with it. “Eh,
no. I think you’re thinking of Isa Redford?”
“Oh, Christ, yeah…” Barnes gave a rather wistful sigh. “She’s the one with that
arse...fucking hell, Moran, what was that like?”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “There’s a time and a place, yeah?” he muttered.
He didn’t understand how the blokes at this school managed to chat about girls
in such close proximity to them. It all seemed so juvenile. He had a theory
that the less experienced one was, the more they talked about their shags. His
own experience supported this theory, at least. When he had been fourteen, he
had chatted about sex nonstop. He’d just started fooling around, and had come
to the discovery that sex was, as he’d suspected it to be, the best thing
ever.And it had been imperative that he proved to everyone that he was having
it, and a lot of it, and the highest quality of it, even if in actuality he had
only had a few eager, clumsy fucks with a German girl with large breasts for
her age. While had been enjoyable for them both, it had hardly been the
acrobatic, pornographic dream that Sebastian had painted it as to his friends.
Now that he was seventeen and had fooled around with nearly fifteen girls from
three different continents, he didn’t see the need to talk about it all the
time. His father would call it classless. And Sebastian knew, just like
everyone else at the table,that Barnes, bless, was still a virgin. It had
become glaringly obviously when Barnes, carried away with his story, said that
he’d tongued a girl’s cervix. Everyone in the locker room had hidden their
smirks.
It wasn’t that Barnes wasn’t attractive. He had a fit body, and his face wasn’t
a hopeless, acne-covered mess like Sundarum’s, who had a girlfriend regardless.
Barnes just got worked up and overexcited, and his eagerness came off as
completely off-putting to practically every girl he dared to approach.
At any rate, Sebastian was eager to change the subject. “I was researching some
statistics of the St. Alban’s league last night-”
“Oi, look at calculator over here,” Powers interjected, in what could be
interpreted in an amiable way. He had always struck Sebastian as rather
artificial, but he was the most valuable rugby player on the league, and
Sebastian, as acting captain, had to make good with him.
“Stats can save your arse, Powers,” Sundarum cut in. “What did you find out,
Basher?”
“We can trounce them on Friday if we defend strategically. We can’t just rely
on our usual methods of playing it by ear.”
Carl rolled his eyes. “Can we save it for the pitch tonight, Captain? We’re
off-duty.”
Sebastian tapped his fork impatiently on his tray as the lads turned back to
coarser topics. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Moriarty that he loved
competition. He loved the strategy of it, too. The better thought-out the
victory, the greater the thrill when they won. Still…nobody liked an obsessive.
He needed to cool off it if he didn’t want to be deemed a complete freak.
Considering it was only October, Sebastian’s social currency was in good nick-
not many newcomers got a captain’s spot on a sports team. He knew it was
pointless to care in the end, and he knew he wouldn’t keep up with any of these
people when he went off to university, but it was always better to have a few
people on his side. Moriarty could take a lesson that, for all his brilliance.
...Jesus, was he really thinking about him again?
After lunch was Sebastian’s favorite subject, Latin. It wasn’t that he had a
particular passion for Latin in general- the syntax and grammar were driving
him mad, even if the vocabulary was easy enough - but he loved learning a new
language, tasting it on his tongue, finding the connections between English,
Italian, French...
He had wanted to take French- it would have been an easy A since he’d lived in
France last year, but his father had dismissed the idea, using the old argument
that Sebastian should be “applying himself.” Fucking A.
Anger issues, is that why you play rugby?Moriarty had said. How had Moriarty
seen that? Sebastian hadn’t snapped anything angrily at him. He found himself
fluctuating between intrigue and fury at the fact that Moriarty seemed to be
able to read him as easily as their biology textbook. And apparently trying to
psychoanalyze him.
The rest of the day flew by - rugby practice in the drizzling autumn rain, then
home for whatever dinner Sana put in front of him.
Sana had been employed with the Morans since their stint in Pakistan in 1992,
and Sebastian had begged and pleaded for her to come along with them. Sana,
being unwed, took up the employment offer, and had served as the family nanny,
cook, and personal assistant, in whatever balance fit the family’s need and her
40-hour workweek. Although her job covered more than onet title could cover,
she was officially an ustanifor Sebastian - his tutor and governess of sorts.
Sebastian knew his father probably paid her well, but he was forever asking her
why she’d taken up the offer.
“Because I care for his son,” she would say wryly, pushing back Sebastian’s
hair. “Even when he gives me a headache.”
“Where are they tonight?” He asked, not actually caring about the answer.
“Ms. Moran is at a benefactors’ dinner in Parliament Hill,” Sana said, looking
up briefly from one of her cookbooks. She had an entire shelf of cookbooks, and
was forever testing new things off on Sebastian. Colette and August didn’t
care, so long as their son ate wholesome food that kept his strength up.
Tonight it was comfort food- A warming bowl of nihari. Sebastian eagerly dug
into the stew, savoring the lamb and the broth seasoned with cloves and spicy
peppers. Sana hadn’t needed a recipe for this one- she knew her Pakistani
dishes by heart, and they made both her and Sebastian nostalgic for Pakistan.
Sebastian wrapped his hand around the warm bowl.
“And Mr. Moran is in a meeting until this evening.” Sebastian noted that Sana
didn’t bother to say with who, and Sebastian couldn’t be arsed to keep up with
what his parents were doing. Ever since they had returned to London, his
parents- his mum in particular- had flung themselves back into high society
with a gusto that made Sebastian nauseous. It was all so fake, and what was the
point, in the end? Gaining accolades from other fake people? They tried so
bloody hard. And for what?
“This plate doesn’t look quite right yet,” Sana teased, then heaped more rice
onto his plate. “There. Perfection, yes?”
His parents’ homecoming was the same as always. Mother- always Mother, never
Mum- came home smashed, eyeliner at the corner of her eye smudged, and then she
made herself another martini. His father returned home a few hours later and
instantly retreated to his home office, not bothering to greet either of them.
Sebastian stayed downstairs long enough to greet them, or else Mother would put
up a fuss about where he was, but as soon as she’d slurred her usual questions
- Did you have homework today? Did you finish your homework? Did you do your
exercises?- he was quick to go up to his room, putting in a Nirvana CD and
cranking the volume up.
Were all adults this fucking fake and miserable? He was so bloody sick of being
a teenager, but the alternative didn’t seem much better.
__
The next day in biology, Ms. Beauchamp wheeled in a tray of pig specimens, the
sickening smell of formaldehyde filling the room.
“I want everyone’s gloves on before we begin. Mr. Channing, are you going to be
all right this time?” The teacher looked pointedly at Philip Channing, who had
a reputation for fainting at dissections. He was already looking rather peaky.
“M’fine,” he muttered, a light flush colouring his otherwise pale face.
Sebastian moved to sit next to Moriarty, who was hunched over a notebook, again
scribbling furiously.
“What are you working on? Is that for class?”
“No,” Jim said, making it clear that that was the end of the discussion. “Get
the supplies laid out,” he ordered, as if Sebastian was his inferior.
Sebastian considered telling him to fuck off, but instead, went back to the
cabinet to grab out the list of supplies. Miranda brushed his shoulder.
“How’s drama rehearsal?” he asked, after scouring his brain for something
intelligent to say.
She looked at him in surprise. “It’s going. The final production’s not until
beginning of December, but Mr. McCantish is already having a panic attack about
us remembering our lines. It’s the same every year. Oh- here.” She handed him a
set of sutures and a scalpel. “Don’t let Moriarty slice anyone but the pig up
with it,” she murmured conspiratorially.
“I’ll do my best,” Sebastian laughed.
When he returned to the table, the pig stared up at him. “Can I make the first
incision?” he asked Jim.
“Does it fascinate you? Have you ever looked at the organs of something
before?” Jim said.
So far they had dissected a worm and a cow’s eye. “Let’s just say I have no
interest in becoming a doctor,” Sebastian laughed.
“No, you wouldn’t, would you? That involves putting things back together, and
you’re more one to tear things apart,” Jim mused, almost admiringly.
Sebastian’s gaze shot up. “What do you mean by that?”
“Les personnes violentes sont faciles à détecter,” Jim muttered. Violent people
are easy to detect.
Sebastian automatically shot back, “Ce n'est pas si simple,” before even
realizing that Jim had spoken French.
Jim smiled at this, pleased, and Sebastian felt like he'd just entered some
unspoken test, for next, Jim fired back in Italian, “E 'sempre così semplice.”
It’s always so simple.
There was a loud clatter from the front of the room as Phillip Channing slid
from his chair and toppled to the floor in a dead faint. Sebastian couldn’t
help bite back a laugh as Ms. Beauchamp muttered a curse under her breath and
went over to help him. Miranda had lept up at once, Sebastian noticed, and was
busy looking over Phillip. She immediately shucked off her sweater to bundle up
behind his head. Sebastian could see the back of her bra through the white of
her shirt. Jesus- what was wrong with him?
“Now, there is a doctor in the making. She wants to repair. You just laughed
and sat back,” Jim said in Italian. “ True nature is revealed in chaos.”
Sebastian sat in silence for a minute as he watched Miranda offer to get the
nurse. Was Jim right about him?
“Right, Mr. Tempus, can you keep an eye on Mr. Channing until the nurse
arrives? The rest of you may return to work.”
“You speak Italian rather well for an Irishman,” Sebastian said back to Jim in
English, hastily trying to change the subject.
Jim actually smiled at this, something genuine, with actual delight. “It’s not
as good as my Gaelic, I admit it. But with your surname you have no excuse for
blaming heritage ... Moran,” he said in Gaelic.
Sebastian’s Gaelic was rusty, and his brain struggled to piece together the
words, switching gears at a breakneck speed. It was a game of catch, languages
flinging back and forth, and Moriarty was always throwing curveballs. Sebastian
felt his mind sparking.
“How many languages do you know?” He asked Jim, in Urdu this time. That ought
to throw him.
And indeed, Jim blinked at him a moment before replying in a bit of a rougher
pronunciation, “As many as I can fit in my head .” But it was in Urdu as well.
Sebastian was blown away. Jim raised his eyebrow at Sebastian. “ Hand me the…”
he gestured to the scalpel, evidently not knowing how to translate it to Urdu.
Sebastian didn't either. He snapped back to attention, sliding the tool Jim's
way.
“So...you really are a genius, then,” he said in awe, and in English once more.
Jim shrugged lightly. “You know at least ten languages yourself.” He took the
scalpel and looked as if he was about to make the first cut, but after a moment
he handed the knife to Sebastian. “After you,” he said, at least Sebastian
thought it was what he said. Russian this time- not his strong suit.
“Mm. So, Italian, Gaelic, French, Urdu, Spanish, Russian-”
“My Spanish is conversational at best, and my Russian is shit.” Sebastian took
the scalpel and cut through the middle of the pig, following the diagram. It
smelled even worse sliced open. “Eurgh.”
“Mm. Did I miss anything?” Jim asked.
“Er, I speak Hindi quite well, and I know some Latin.”
“Ah. Useful for biology,” Jim said, taking the T-pins and pinning back the skin
so they had a full view of the organs. He tsked and muttered in French, “So
disappointing, when it's leeched of colour like these are. Dead things...why is
life colourful and dead so...monotone?” He gave one of the lungs a disheartened
prod with the scalpel.
Sebastian wondered if Jim spoke in French because it was such a creepy
sentiment and he didn’t want anyone overhearing. Then he remembered that Jim
didn't seem to give a shit about what other people thought. Obviously, though,
it was meant for Sebastian’s ears only, and that filled Sebastian with a
certain measure of...was it pride? The thought disturbed him.
“Je ne sais pas,” he said, and they both exchanged a quick smile.
They fell into silence, save for muttering about the general physiology and
sharing notes. It was productive work, even with the distraction of poor
Channing on the floor, who was soon helped out on a wheeled stretcher by the
nurse, Miranda looking on in concern.
Sebastian and Jim’s silence felt less tense than the day before- one might even
say companionable. It wasn’t until the bell rang that Sebastian realized aloud,
“You know, I don’t believe you insulted me once today.”
Jim raised an eyebrow. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between
critical and amused. “Why, are you keeping tally? You really are a vain
creature. I suppose I wouldn’t expect any less from an ambassador’s son and an
army brat.” He bundled up his books and brushed past Sebastian, headed for the
door.
Sebastian hurried after him, seeing Jim dart the exact opposite way of the
canteen. “Wait! Aren’t you going to lunch?” he called after him, but Jim was
walking with a purpose, head bent, blocking the world out.
 
Chapter End Notes
     This is all based on a madcap RP I did with the phenomenal
     mythylamycaptain. Also huge thanks to jonahandhiswhale for being my
     beta reader, and to friend_or_phantom for being my British beta,
     Brit-testing my story for accurate language and details. Any flubs on
     the Britishness are my own. ;)
     I plan on updating this fairly regularly (once or twice a week), so
     stay tuned for more! I hope you enjoy.
***** First Date *****
Chapter Notes
     TWs: mention of animal torture/death, gay slurs, bullying
“Are you surviving?” Miranda asked as she and Sebastian walked their usual
route to lunch.
“With Moriarty?” Sebastian laughed. Moriarty was by far the strangest boy he’d
ever met, but he certainly wasn’t boring.“I think his bark is worse than his
bite.”
Miranda frowned. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Sebastian asked what she meant, and she looked up at the ceiling, as if
searching for words in the stained tiles there. “I told you we went to primary
school together. Well, his mum -or maybe some other guardian- came to school,
livid, and pulled Moriarty out of school. She made a big scene about him
killing their dog. He acted completely innocent about it, but...I’d seen
him...hurting animals on the playground the year before.”
She looked nervously at Sebastian, who nodded at her to continue. “There was
this magpie with a broken wing. We’d found it, my friends and I, during recess.
And we were debating if we should get an adult to try and help it, when he came
up...and he had this funny look in his eye, as if he’d hit the jackpot or
something. All excited.”
Sebastian’s mouth was dry. “What did he do to it?”
Miranda didn’t meet Sebastian’s eye, staring down at the floor now as they
walked. “He told us he’d take care of it for us. He’d been so quiet the whole
year, hardly talking to anyone. But at that moment he was so sweet. His voice
was so soft and gentle. So we let him alone...but then as we were lining up for
the bell, there were these horrible, pained noises coming from behind the tree.
Jim ran out to join the line last…and the next day, one of the boys found the
magpie, all bent apart, and there was a sharp stick jabbed through its eye.”
She shuddered. Sebastian couldn’t tear his eyes off her, although he wasn’t at
all thinking about her attractiveness now. “And what happened to the dog?” he
asked quietly.

“Sebastian, it was sick. It was really sick, what he- I assume it was him, at
least- did to that dog,” she said quietly, finally looking up at him. “I didn’t
even want to know about it, but one of the boys lived in the neighborhood and
saw it- it was lying on the front porch, all gutted open with flies buzzing
around it…”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Sebastian said, moving to rub her back as they got to the
canteen. He hated how it had upset Miranda, but he found himself sickly
fascinated with Moriarty’s actions. Why had he done it? What had been going
through his head?
They lingered outside the doorway, students hurrying past to get in line. “Are
you going to the match tomorrow?” he asked, changing the subject. “I’d love it
if you came. After all of Moriarty’s insults, my ego needs a boost,” he teased.
“Your ego needed deflating,” she grinned, rolling her eyes. “I can’t.
Frankenstein rehearsals, remember? And did I mention how tiresome it is to
pretend to die violently every single night?” She looked over at the table.
“Besides, I don’t support that prick Carl Powers when I can help it. No
offense. But good luck tomorrow, Sebastian.” She clasped his hand and gave it a
slow squeeze, much to Sebastian’s surprise.
“Right- thanks...er...good luck at dying in rehearsal,” he said.
When he went to sit, he was still smiling, and Carl laughed harshly. “Awww, is
Mr. Smooth all flustered about Miranda Whore-asquez? Cute.”
“Fuck off, Powers,” Sebastian muttered, looking around desperately for Barnes
and Sundarum, but they were already in line for food.
Carl laughed again, moving to rub Sebastian’s shoulder with his broad swimmer’s
hand. “Relax, mate. You know I’m just joking, right?”
Sebastian tensed under his hand. Powers’ ‘jokes’ were wearing increasingly
thin.
“I’m starving,” he muttered, and hurried to join Barnes and Sundarum in the
lunch line. They were busy talking about their maths teacher, Mr. Atkins.
“No, he has to be a poof. No self-respecting straight man wears argyle sweaters
in thosepastel shades off of a golf course,” Barnes laughed.
“Isn’t Mr. Atkins married, though?” Sebastian asked.
“That hardly means anything, Moran. Don’t be naive. Gay men get married all the
time.”
“Well, there’s only one way we’d be able to know for sure,” Sundarum said.
“Yeah?” Sebastian asked.
They finished loading up their trays and headed back toward their table. “Yeah.
Put Jim Moriarty in the room with him and see if they’d fuck.”
Sebastian’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. “What?”
“Oh, that’s right! You have biology with him, yeah?” Barnes said. “Well, this
will come as no surprise, but he’s a complete faggot. It’s pretty fucking
obvious.”
Sebastian said nothing, sitting down at the table.
Carl looked like it was his birthday. “Plus, we have concrete proof. I never
told you about the time Moriarty came on to me, Basher?” he said.
Jesus, was this “Tell A Story About Moriarty Day”?
“Sure. Right,” Sebastian said, rolling his eyes and trying to cast if off as a
joke. “If as many people came on to you as you said, Powers, you’d have dozens
of girls hanging from your arms right now.”
Powers laughed mockingly. Sebastian hated his laugh- grating and harsh, and
never friendly. “That’s a good one, Basher. Really funny. But it doesn’t change
the fact that Moriarty tried to get off with me.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Bollocks.”
“Mate, it’s true, I saw it happen,” Barnes said. “Jim was all handsy with him
outside the locker room one night, and Powers was shoving him off.”
This gave Sebastian pause. Barnes wasn’t one to spin tales.
“What a freak,” Sundarum muttered.
“Tell me about it. I had to take a boiling hot shower just to get his gross
little faggot fingerprints off me,” Powers smirked.
Sebastian was oddly silent for the rest of lunch, his stomach clenched in
anger. There was no reason to be upset, he told himself. He was being upset
over an animal torturer and a poof, he told himself.
But what would his mates at the table say about him, if they knew what had
happened in France last year? Would they call Sebastian a faggot, too?
In France, Sebastian had befriended a schoolmate, Emile. Emile was shy and
careful, with flawless brown skin and an infectious smile. He was one of the
few friends that Sebastian actually missed, although he doubted Emile would
ever talk to him again, not after the last time they’d been together.
Emile had stayed over at Sebastian’s while his parents were out at a late
dinner. They’d raided his father’s liquor cabinet, pulling the old stuff from
the back that he’d never miss, and a cheap bottle of wine. They’d gotten drunk
together in the living room, listening to CDs- Sebastian’s Nirvana and Stone
Temple Pilots, and Emile’s No Doubt and Blur - and making silly jokes.
After they were both drunk and giggly, Emile had leaned in and admitted that he
was gay. Sebastian, even in his drunkenness, hadn’t known what to say. He’d
never met a gay person before.
“I like you, Sebastian.” Emile’s dark hand had slid to Sebastian’s knee, and
Sebastian had felt a prickle of warmth slide up his spine. “Have you ever
kissed a boy before?”
Sebastian hadn’t. Emile had leaned closer, and then his full lips were on
Sebastian’s. Kissing Emile wasn’t so different from kissing a girl, he told
himself. Lips were lips. And he had been drunk, so of course it had felt nice.
But when Emile’s hand crept further up his thigh, he had pulled back, then
stumbled to his feet. “You should leave,” he’d muttered. “My parents will be
back soon.”
“Okay. Sebastian, was that okay?” Emile had asked, and Sebastian could still
see his face perfectly, the nervous apprehension written all over it.
“It’s fine. Just a mistake. I’m not- I don’t want to be- it’s fine that you
are, but- you should go,” he’d fumbled.
He hadn’t even walked Emile home, and he should have- a mile walk home for a
drunk, upset teenager in downtown Paris was no easy feat.
Emile had gotten home safely, because he rang Sebastian the next day, but
Sebastian ignored his phone calls. It was awkward at school for a while, but
Sebastian didn’t tell a soul about Emile, and a few months later, the other
thinghad happened, and they’d moved back to London.
What did it mean that he’d kissed a boy? Nothing, he thought belligerently.
He’d been drunk. It didn’t count.
“Oi, Moran! You coming?” Barnes shook his shoulder.
Sebastian snapped to attention. Everyone was rushing off to class, the next
wave of students beginning to enter for their lunch time. “Yeah-” Sebastian
muttered, looking down at his tray of food, which he’d been too distracted to
touch. “I’m fine.”
__
After lunch was Latin, and then political science, and then a free block before
rugby practice started. On rare occasions, Sebastian used the free block to
steal into the bathroom for a quick wank (not that he was proud of it, but some
days he felt insatiable), or out to the courtyard for a cigarette. More often,
though, he would go into the library and read. He would squirrel himself away
with books on language, military history, or anything he could get his hands on
that looked halfway interesting.
Today was a library day. He pulled his CD player from his backpack, hitting
play on the Garbage album inside and sliding his headphones on. He browsed the
familiar shelves, finally settling on a book on the history of rifles. As he
settled into a chair to thumb through it, he noted movement from the corner of
his eye.
Moriarty was hefting a pile of books that had to weigh as much as he did.
Sebastian gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement before returning to his book.
He turned a page, idly adding to his mental wish list of guns he wanted to own
someday.
Jim had settled across the way at a table. Sebastian had probably seen him here
before, but he’d never paid him any attention. He had been so easy to overlook,
but now that Sebastian had started noticing, he couldn’t seem to stop. Today,
the Irish boy seemed to be reading solely about astronomy. He was becoming
increasingly absorbed in a thick book, hunching closer and closer to the pages.
Sebastian must have been staring, because when Moriarty straightened to grab
another book from his pile, he looked over at Sebastian and stared back,
raising his eyebrows challengingly, waiting for Sebastian to back down.
Fuck you, Sebastian thought. This isn’t your library. I’ll stare where I
want.Out of sheer stubbornness, he stared back, a brow rising. Moriarty didn’t
even blink. Sebastian’s mouth nudged into a smile. A library showdown. How
petty. How mortifyingly nerdy.
Jim’s face remained immobile. Weird fucking creature, he was. Sebastian thought
of the magpie, and then the dog, and then the morbid thing Moriarty had said
about fresh organs in class. A shiver ran down his spine, the dark thrill one
got at a good horror movie. He finally conceded defeat, turning his attention
to his book and adjusting his headphones.
When he looked up again, Jim and his mountain of books were gone.
__
The next morning, Sebastian had a handmade poster on his locker wishing him
luck on the match. Instead of the usual “Crush St. Albans” or something
similar, it said, in large, sparkly green letters, “Give St. Albans a worse
existential crisis than Frankenstein’s creature.” He grinned. Miranda.
“Guilty,” she said when he confronted her after lab. “I never said I was good
at catchy phrases.”
“I love it. I’m framing it,” Sebastian said. He bolstered up his courage. “When
does your rehearsal end?”
__
By the end of the game, Sebastian was on cloud nine. Not only had they won the
match, putting them into the tournament semifinals, but over lunch he had
convinced Miranda to get a late dinner with him after the game.
He had to fend off thumps on the back and pressures to go out and party as he
left the locker room. When he mentioned he had a date, there were various
cheers and mocking “ooooos”, and Carl called out, “Don’t catch anything!” on
Sebastian’s way out.
Miranda was waiting for him at the pizza place, her coat buttoned up against
the windy October air. It was nearing the end of the month, and the cold wind
blew the leaves off the trees, car wheels flinging them up on the sidewalks.
“Why’re you waiting outside?” Sebastian laughed, jogging up to her and opening
up the door.
“You played a full game outside. I needed some fresh air as well,” Miranda
grinned. She stepped in and tried to tame her hair.
“I hate the cold,” Sebastian admitted.
“Gosh, what are you doing in London?” she laughed.
They grabbed a seat and ordered, chatting away. Miranda liked to garden,
Sebastian discovered, and even grew her own vegetables in the summer. She was
torn between wanting to study theatre or medicine, so she was loading up on
science and arts classes. Her dad was from Spain, and she had lots of stories
about him embarrassing her friends. Sebastian hadn’t realized she spoke Spanish
at home, so he eagerly dove into practicing his Spanish. She laughingly
corrected some of his poorer pronunciations, and taught him how to “lisp” like
a true Spaniard.
When they started talking languages, Miranda wanted to know everything about
Sebastian’s years abroad, and so he told her- how when he was nine, they’d
moved to Germany for a year, then India for over three, Pakistan for two, then
eight months in France. He was worried he was dominating the conversation, but
she was curious about it all.
“I want to travel,” she sighed wistfully. Sebastian felt a warm leap of joy
when her foot slid to brush against his underneath the table.
“You’ve never been to Spain?”
“A couple of times, but it’s always just visiting family, so there’s not much
actual traveling. We get herded along, take pictures in front of cathedrals,
get a sunburn at the beach, and eat, eat, eat. But we always zip past the
little theaters, the small cafes, the bookshops...I want to go exploring on my
own, talk to strangers…But it’s out of the question. They want to do everything
together. And Spaniards are loud.”She grinned. “Come over for dinner some
night, and you’ll see.”
Sebastian wondered if he was being asked out on a second date already. That
would be fantastic. He wondered what it would be like to have an overbearing,
involved family. His parents basically left him to his own devices, and he
couldn’t remember the last time they’d all sat down and eaten as a family. When
they did, it was because important guests were over, which meant a freshly-
pressed suit for Sebastian, and good posture, and keeping his mouth shut unless
asked a direct question.
“That sounds fantastic,” Sebastian said.
The waiter dropped off their cheque, and Sebastian promptly grabbed it. Would
she want to go back home with him for a while? He’d never done a proper date
before. He didn’t know how things were supposed to go. Powers’ words echoed in
his head. Don’t catch anything.Arse.
“What’s wrong?” Miranda asked.
Sebastian realised he’d been frowning down at the table. “Nothing. Some garbage
Powers told me,” he muttered.
It was the wrong thing to say. Miranda’s face closed off, and she looked away.
“About me?” she asked.
“Miranda, I didn’t buy it, what he said. He’s always making shit up. I don’t
know why I thought of it at all. Especially when this was going so well.”
Miranda looked around the busy restaurant. “Can we talk outside?”
He finished paying and they left. Miranda’s shoulders hunched up to avoid the
cold, and Sebastian wrapped his arm around her as they walked down the street.
The wind had died down, but they walked briskly toward the park. “Did something
happen?” Sebastian asked.
Miranda took a deep breath. “Over the summer, Carl invited me a rugby party.
Two of my other friends were going, so I came along. He...tried to get physical
with me and I told him no. And so he’s been spreading that I’m a slut ever
since,” she said quickly, as if trying to get it over with.
“That fucking bastard,” Sebastian seethed.
“It’s fine,” she said tersely. “I just don’t want to be around him. He makes me
sick.”
“I’m going to fucking choke him,” Sebastian snarled.
“Sebastian-” Miranda’s voice was tense, and Sebastian realized his arm had
tightened painfully around her shoulders.
“Sorry-” he said. He slid his hand down her back, moving to hold her hand. He
gave it a light squeeze.
“Just promise you won’t make a big scene with him,” Miranda said. “It’s really
not worth it. I know I did nothing wrong, and everything that comes out of his
mouth is a vicious lie anyway, so who really buys it?”
Perhaps that was true...Sebastian hadn’t believed Carl, anyway. Did this mean
the entire thing with Moriarty coming on to him was made up, too? He would
hope, if nothing else, that Jim would have better taste.
Still, being told not to “make a scene” felt like a challenge to Sebastian, but
he didn’t say so.  And anyway, he would be putting Miranda on the hook if he
raised a fuss, not just himself. But he was done, he decided, pretending to be
pals with Carl. “What a disgusting piece of human waste,” He muttered.
Miranda ran her thumb over Sebastian’s hand. “Not worth our mental energy,” she
said, raising her chin.
He stopped walking and turned to her, his hands sliding to her waist. “Right.
He shouldn’t spoil what was otherwise a rather fantastic first date.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Is that what this was? I thought we were just going as
friends…”
Sebastian’s heart fell. “Oh…” he dropped his hands from her waist, his face
burning. How had he misinterpreted that? And they’d just been holding hands-
“Sebastian, I’m kidding,” she laughed, pulling his hands back to her waist
again, and walking him back until he was up against the nearby building’s wall.
“School drama, remember?”
“You’re too convincing,” he laughed in relief, leaning in closer. “Or I’m too
thick.”
“Maybe both.” She teased, her lips just an inch away, and Sebastian only had to
tip his head slightly to close the gap, kissing her slowly.
She pressed against him, making a small noise as their kiss deepened. When they
pulled away, Miranda smiled wider, glancing up at him.
He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “You’re rather fantastic, you know that?”
“If you’re trying to woo me with flattery, it’s working.” She kissed him again,
and this time it was more heated, their bodies flush.  
When they drew away after a few minutes, Sebastian’s breath was faster. “Do you
have time to come back to mine…? We could extend this date a bit longer.”
Miranda’s eyebrows raised. “Is that how things usually go for you? Bit fast,
don’t you think?”
“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he purred, his hand
sliding down her hip. He heard her breath catch for a moment.
“Right. You’re not used to getting turned down, are you?” she asked, looking up
at him.
“Not usually, no,” he grinned, catlike. “I think you’re absolutely gorgeous…”
She bit her lip, shifting. “I’ll be honest, Sebastian, I want to. A lot. But
you have a reputation for…”
Sebastian was barely listening. All he’d heard was that Miranda wanted to have
sex with him. He swelled with pride before the second part clicked in. “A
reputation for what?”
“For...shagging girls and then dropping them cold,” she said in one breath.
“Oh.” Sebastian blinked. Is that why Isa Redford wasn’t talking to him? “It’s
not like I’ve shagged a ton of girls. And we were just having fun. We knew it
wasn’t serious when we got into it.” His face grew hot, his voice defensive.
“If someone said something and took it the wrong way, that’s her problem, not
mine.”
“I didn’t say you had a problem,Sebastian, I just wanted to make it clear that
I don’t want it to be some one time thing. I don’t want you to use me and then
drop me.”
“I don’t want to use you and drop you,” he said, moving closer. Miranda held
him back, a firm hand on his chest. Her face was clear, and he took a step
back.
She took a deep breath. “So, I think we should-”
“Right…” Rejection. This was a rather new sensation. And painful.
“Go on a second date first. If you want,” Miranda finished.
Sebastian grinned, relieved. “Right. That, we can definitely do.” Never mind
about his stupid “reputation.” Miranda wanted a second date with him.
***** An Arrangement *****
Chapter Notes
     TW for non-con
Jim Moriarty was plotting murder. He had almost figured out the best way to do
it, too. There were a few holes to work out, but...yes, it was coming together.
Beautifully. He closed his eyes, mentally unfurling the plan on a magnificent
scroll. All of the threads would join together until he could pull them like
marionette strings…
“Keep your eyes open, slut,” Powers’ voice barked, and Jim was forced back to
the present.
He loathed game days. When the rugby league lost, Carl Powers fucked Jim with a
violence that tipped from pleasure into sheer misery. When the rugby team won,
as it had tonight, Carl wanted his ego- and other things- stroked, and was
insatiable.
The only thing that kept Jim compliant was the fact that each of their meetings
only dug Carl further into a shameful future. And some part of Carl knew that
he was in too deep. How was a homophobe supposed to keep his social standing
when he had a weakness for getting his cock sucked by a boy in the school
locker room?
Carl was the only one who would have dared to fuck Jim Moriarty, and as much as
Jim hated to admit it, his body had needs, needs that had only increased as
he’d grown older, and among the clumsy and painful encounters were rare,
transcendent moments when pain and pleasure met at a crossroads. These were the
moments when Jim’s mind truly stilled for a few blissful seconds.
He never gave Carl the satisfaction of knowing this, however. He always tried
to keep perfectly still during sex, wanting Carl to be as frustrated and
unsatisfied as possible. Jim would very occasionally make his displeasure
known, but he never begged, he never cried, and he never moaned or asked for
more.
The pleasurable moments were few. Mostly there was sweat and grunting and pain,
and then a mess. Sometimes two messes, but often just one. Jim took a small,
personal delight in the fact that Carl was failing miserably at his main
objective, which was to manipulate Jim into admitting defeat. It seemed a
catch-22, but every time Jim agreed to meet Carl at the designated time and
place, Carl lost just that much more. He was reasserting his sexuality every
time, and Jim was collecting quite the library of encounters, some with audio,
some with camera footage.
The business with Carl had started over the summer, about a month before school
began. Jim never liked to be home, so he would sit in the shade of the trees
behind the school, near the rugby pitch, and read. Sometimes he would stay
until nighttime and try to stargaze, a mostly futile task in the light-polluted
city.
Rugby practice had started in August, a few weeks before school began, and Jim
would find his gaze drifting from his book to the shirtless rugby players’
bodies on hot afternoons. Their muscles would glisten with sweat in the
sunshine, and Jim found the spectacle a pleasant distraction.
He preferred it this way, admiring men from a distance. He hadn’t had an
attraction in anyone until a few years ago, when he’d seen some film where a
muscular, shirtless man had been chained up and bloodied, and he’d found
himself with a hard cock in the middle of his living room. He’d quickly covered
it up with a pillow and had waited for it to go away. Later, he learned to deal
with the itch in privacy. It seemed that he had a rather particular
predilection, one that only increased as he grew older. It was something he
could manage on his own- the idea of engaging with another human being was
completely distasteful.
At some point, Carl had realized, as many others in school had, through some
unknown combination of Jim’s soft voice, intense eyes, manner of walking, and
clothing choices, that Jim was gay.
It had started with a pretense of blackmail, Carl cornering Jim after school
and forcing him into the locker rooms to confront him. That entire plan had
backfired; Jim had no friends, no reputation to protect. He’d laughed in Carl’s
face and told him to tell the whole world, for all Jim cared.
That had earned him a punch so hard that his head rang, and then worse pain,
far worse, when Carl seized Jim and had him over a changing bench.
Jim had fantasized about killing someone before, but he had never met a
worthier target than Carl Powers.
He was patient, though. Carl continued to coerce Jim to meet with him, and Jim
cooperated. He found ways to prepare ahead of time. He hated it, having to
stretch himself and keep his own stock of lube and condoms, since Carl never
bothered with either.
Yes, Jim was patient. Patient enough to scrap up enough money to buy the
smallest battery-powered cassette deck he could afford, stowing it in his
rucksack before their meetings.
He would listen to the tapes later, taping over parts where Powers grunted out
his name. No need to have himself outed in this whole mess. It was always a
risk. He didn’t know what Powers would do if he discovered that Jim was
recording their little meetings. But it would all be worth it, when Powers died
in disgrace.
That’s what Jim told himself now, as Carl pushed Jim’s head deeper to swallow
more of his cock. Jim had done this so many times that he could tune the whole
encounter out and still do a good job. He let his head wander to something more
pleasant...but instead of his intricate plans, Sebastian Moran popped into his
head.
Sebastian Moran, the athlete with the blond hair that fell in front of his eyes
when he was bisecting a pig lung. What would he look like, bent over a table,
or splayed out on the floor, having his cock sucked? Those silver eyes widening
in shock, that strong jaw falling slack.
He was an intriguing character, that Moran. At first Jim had completely written
him off- he was too pretty. He’d felt an immediate aversion to him the moment
he’d swanned in at the beginning of the year. He’d stank of money and travel
stories, making girls’ (and some closeted boys’) heads turn as he walked
confidently down the halls, as if he owned the school.
Then again...perhaps not a bad person to have on his side. He was handsome,
strong, good with languages, and miraculously, he didn’t seem completely
repulsed by Jim. Moran might prove useful to him yet.
“F-fuck. Gonna finish-” Carl choked out, fisting Jim’s hair.
You’ll be finished soon, Carl, Jim thought to himself. Idiot. Trusting your
most vulnerable organ in the mouth of someone who has your utter destruction
planned… The thought was so comforting that Jim didn’t even mind swallowing
this time.
Usually Carl let Jim go after he’d come, but this time, he dragged Jim close,
his hot breath cloying against Jim’s cheek. “There’s a good boy.”
“I’m not good,” Jim said, eyes blazing as he looked up at him.
“Ooo, touchy. You were off in a little wet dream of your own there...dreaming
about Sebastian Moran?” he sneered.
Jim pushed him away, moving to drag his trousers back on. Carl looked pathetic
as he was, half-undressed, still in his rugby clothes, splayed out against the
locker room bench. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Jim asked. He would
have to tape over this part of the conversation. He was also furious at himself
for being so obvious.
“I know you’re lab partners with him,” Carl said. “Bet you enjoy getting so
close with that muscular body of his.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think you’re projecting, Powers?”
In a flash, Powers had yanked his rugby shorts up and slammed Jim against the
lockers, his hands closing around his wrists to pin them against the metal. “My
mate Duncan said you two are getting quite cozy in biology lab. Mooning over
each other over a dead fucking pig.” He grabbed Jim’s face. “Don’t pretend like
you deserve to have friends. He doesn’t actually like you. Nobody could ever
actually like you.”
Jim stared back at him, his dark eyes fathomless. “And what does that say about
you, that I’m the only one who would dare to get near that filthy cock of
yours?”
Jim knew he would pay for that comment, and he did, but the fury on Carl’s face
was worth the harsh blow to his stomach that made him cough and crumple on the
concrete floor.
“See you Monday.” Powers stepped over Jim and left the locker room.
___
Moriarty had bruises on his wrists. Sebastian noticed them when he returned to
biology lab on Monday. Jim’s uniform jumper was a size too large, and sagged
over his wrists, but Sebastian caught sight of the purplish splotches when Jim
was reaching for his notebook.
Sebastian caught his wrist carefully. The bruises were clearly indents of a
thumb and fingers. “Jesus. Are you okay?”
Jim yanked his arm away from Sebastian’s touch with sudden violence. “I’m
fine,” he snapped.
“Easy…” Sebastian’s voice was soft.
Jim’s eyes narrowed. Moran had obviously had a marvelous weekend- probably with
that Velasquez girl, since they kept glancing over at each other and grinning
like typical idiot teenagers.
“Stop trying to pretend that we’re friends, Sebastian. We’re not. You have your
friends, and I have…” Jim paused, then spat out, “Me.”
“Have any of them ever done anything to you? Or do you just harass them for no
reason, like you do to me?” Sebastian snapped back, quietly furious.
Jim’s face went white, and he pressed his mouth shut. There was no acidic
comeback for once. Instead, he worked the rest of the class in silence, wholly
ignoring Sebastian and taking painstaking precautions to make sure that their
hands wouldn’t so much as accidentally brush. The chatter around them only made
their table seem that much more deathly quiet. Jim kept his sleeves firmly over
his wrists for the rest of class.
It was only when the bell rang that he leaned toward Sebastian and hissed in
German, “I know things about your so-called friends that would make you throw
up.”
Then he grabbed his books and fled.
This time, though, Sebastian followed him, brushing past Miranda with a terse
“talk later”, making a beeline after Jim.
God, he was quick- and small, brushing through the swarms of students with
ease. Sebastian lost sight of him several times, but managed to see him dart
around the corner toward the art wing.
He didn't dare call out, worried that Jim would only evade him further- and he
was oddly curious to see what exactly Jim got up to during the lunch break.
Jim slipped into a classroom, and Sebastian slowed, moving quietly up to peer
through the door’s little rectangular window.
The classroom was empty, save for Jim, who moved to uncover a large canvas. He
hummed to himself - Sebastian could hear the muffled noise through the door-
then went over to the classroom’s boombox and put in a cassette. A disco beat
came out, and Jim began prepping his paints. Sebastian couldn't quite see the
artwork, but Jim was soon lost in his work, singing along to the tune.
Sebastian didn’t know what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. As if in a
trance, he opened the door and drifted inside. Jim had his back to him, but as
Sebastian rounded toward him, he got a full view of Jim’s painting.
It was breathtaking. It seemed to show an epic battle between good and evil,
and in the center a body was gutted open, its organs rendered in high detail
and vivid colours- a living body sliced open, unsettling and gorgeous. Its
limbs, organs, and muscles were threaded through with strands of light and
darkness that snaked out into the surrounding picture.
How could one picture evoke so many different feelings? Sebastian felt
revulsion and discomfort mixed with complete awe. He had never had such a
reaction to a piece of art before, and here was 15-year-old Moriarty, painting
away at some abstract details in the corner.
Before he could think of a way to make his presence known without startling the
artist, Jim spoke up without turning around. “Have you come to mock me?” he
asked.
“No-” Sebastian said automatically, a bit breathless. “Did you really paint all
of this?”
It was a stupid question, and he knew it was as he heard himself say it. Who
else could have done this?
“Mm.” Jim set down his brush and turned in his stool to look at him. The disco
music still blared. Sebastian actually knew this song.
I want your love, I want your love...
“I don’t do art often. Only when an idea strikes. Ms. Leasher is kind enough to
let me use her art room when she doesn’t have classes.”
“Is Ms. Leasher the one with the CHIC tapes?” Sebastian asked, swaying his hips
in a mocking fashion to the rhythm.
Jim’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “Just so. Judging by her selection, she
graduated uni in 1978 or 1979.”
“Is that how you figure out things about people? By their music collections?”
Sebastian dragged over a chair, sitting in it backwards. He studied Jim almost
as intently as he had the painting.
“What do you mean?” Jim frowned at him. He picked up his paintbrush once more,
dabbing it with blue and purple paint in a casual way that borderlined on
careless, then began using quick, deft strokes on the lower edge of the canvas.
“You knew all that stuff about me right away,” Sebastian said. “That my mum was
an ambassador and my dad was a brigadier..”
Jim grinned at him. “Oh, come now, I didn’t know his official rank. Cheers for
the volunteered information, though.” He clucked his tongue, than gave
Sebastian a look that bordered on sultry. “I pay attention to everything. Music
collections, how people dress. What they say. What their faces say and their
mouths don’t.”
Sebastian felt his face growing hot. All of their little exchanges in class,
and now that look...was Jim flirting with him? Or just messing with him? It was
impossible to tell.
“I’m bad at reading people, I guess, because I haven’t a clue what’s going on
with you,” Sebastian admitted with a little chuckle, pushing back his hair.
“You’re trying to decide if you believe what everyone says,” Jim said blandly,
then caught sight of Sebastian’s expression and scoffed impatiently. “You’re
either shagging or dating Miranda, and the concerned glances she throws us in
biology haven’t escaped me.” He glared at his painting. “Her fear of me borders
on pity. Intolerable.”
“She said you tortured a bird and killed a dog,” Sebastian blurted out.
Jim look at him mildly, his thin eyebrows arching. His eyes were black,
endless. “What if I had, Moran? Would you run away? Would you skirt around me
fearfully, avoid me in the hallways?”
“Why would you do that?” Sebastian asked, avoiding his question, partially
because he didn’t know, or want to know, the answer.
“I wanted to understand things, and those animals served a particular purpose
to me.”
“Yeah, but...it was your pet dog, Jim!” Sebastian spluttered.
“I never said I was ordinary, Sebastian,” he said silkily. “Surely you’ve
dreamed of what it would be like to kill something...or someone?”
“But-” Sebastian realized that Jim was right. When he had been young, he had
begged his father for stories about the wars: “Did you kill anyone? What was it
like? Were you up close or far away?”
August Moran had always cut these stories short, but Sebastian wanted
desperately to understand. That was the ultimate power, after all, being able
to shut off someone’s life completely, irrevocably. He couldn’t reconcile the
idea with the real thing. They would go to Shakespeare plays when he was young,
and actors would fall down, dead, run through by swords or poisoned or choked.
Then they would show up for curtain call, alive and smiling and bowing to the
applause. What was real death like? Sebastian had thirsted to know.
“But-” Sebastian started again. “It’s wrong,” he finished lamely.
Jim gave a sharp, dry laugh, cleaning his brush and dabbing at another colour.
“Is that why you trotted after me? To moralize me? Don’t be boring, Moran.”
There was a hint of a plea behind his usual bored tone. Please don’t be boring,
he seemed to be saying. For once.
“No- I came to ask what you meant. You can’t just dangle information about my
teammates then run off,” Sebastian said.
Jim sneered. “Now, now, Moran. We can’t have you picking fights with your
friends, not before your big championship!”
“I wouldn’t exactly call any of the blokes on my team ‘friends,’” Sebastian
said. “We eat lunch together, and we play rugby together….but they’re a means
to an end.”
Jim laughed in delight. “Oh, see, I knew you had potential,” he said, then his
face soured. “Still..some people are hardly even worth manipulating.”
Sebastian couldn’t remember the last time he’d kept his gaze so intensely
focused on a person’s face. When he was around Jim, he couldn’t tear his eyes
away. His moods and expressions changed so quickly, like clouds skirting across
a sky on a windy day.
“I assume that you’re talking about Powers, because yeah, he’s an all-out,
lying prick,” Sebastian said casually. “And a bully.”
Jim’s expression was unreadable, his face darkened. He stared directly at- or
into- Sebastian, but then broke the contact, eyes flicking to his painting.
“What did he tell you about me?”
Sebastian reddened, embarrassed at repeating it, but he told Jim what Carl had
said.
“And what did you think?” Jim asked, holding Sebastian with his gaze.
“I- I thought you had shit taste in men, if the story was true,” Sebastian
said.
Jim grinned, but there was something achingly sad about it. The smile fell off
abruptly, though, and he released a long, dramatic sigh. “My painting is being
shown at the Kitchener Gallery at the end of the month. It will be under an
anonymous name, but I’ll be there for the artists’ reception. If you wished to
come,” he said, the last sentence muttered so that it was almost
unintelligible.
Sebastian was taken aback by the offer. “I’d love to.”
Jim looked almost bashful for a moment, before his face turned ferocious and
intense. “It’s a very formal reception. They don’t let any old riffraff in, of
course, so you’d need to dress nicely. And I don’t want anyone else coming. So
please leave your girlfriend at home,” he said with a borderline sneer.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Sebastian said. Yet. “But point taken. I won’t tell
anyone.”
Jim stared at him, unblinking. “Promise me.”
“I promise, Jim.”
Jim continued to stare, cracking his neck slightly to one side. Sebastian
noticed a fleck of paint on the edge of his nose. “Go on, then. I need to
work.”
“Good luck,” Sebastian said, rising. He didn’t realize until he had left the
classroom that he had obeyed Jim’s commands effortlessly. It was the confidence
in his voice. Even in his oversize jumper and with paint on his face, he was as
imposing as a king on a throne. Sebastian shivered. How could a fifteen year
old boy with no friends exude so much power? And what did he intend to do with
it?
***** Strategy *****
November, 1995
After Sebastian’s confrontation with Jim in the art room, Jim had been
different around him. He’d grown quieter and more reserved, but he’d also
stopped hurling insults at Sebastian. The next couple of weeks went by without
incident, each biology session passing with relatively little fuss - save for
the fact that Sebastian was rather distracted with Miranda.
They’d slept together a week after their third date, when Sebastian had brought
her home to “study” in his bedroom, and now Sebastian couldn’t get enough.
Neither could Miranda- she kept looking back at him in lab, making him blush
and fumble with his equipment. Jim said nothing, but he would grow stiff and
defensive, muttering at Sebastian to pay attention, for God’s sake, and not to
ruin anything.
Despite that nice distraction, everything else was going well. The rugby team
was getting ready for the tournament semifinals, up against the team they’d
lost against the year before: Birchwood Academy.
At practice that week, Sebastian decided to try and ramp spirits up.
“Right, huddle in, everyone.” The rugby team circled around Sebastian. “We have
just three practice sessions until the game. That means we need to be strategic
for every last practice.
“Tanner, I want you focusing on racking up as many points as possible in the
first half of the game. From what I’ve discovered about Birchwood, they have
outstanding defense this year, so we’ll need to put our best foot forward
early. Oy, Powers! Pay attention,” he snapped as Carl muttered something to his
friend Anthony Littleman in the back of the cluster.
Sebastian’s voice was more curt than usual; Powers had become increasingly
snide over the last few practices.
“Excellent, Moran,” Coach Turnow said, stepping in. “Today we’ll be doing speed
and reflex drills before scrimmage. Moran, take them onto the field.”
Sebastian nodded, trying to ignore it when he heard Powers loudly mutter, “It’s
big of Moran to talk about strategy against Birchwood when he didn’t even
playthem last year.”
Still, every player was especially focused during the drills and the scrimmage.
Coach was in high spirits when he called the players in toward the locker room,
and the positive energy in the room was contagious.
“We’re going to fucking slaughter Birchwood!” Barnes crowed, clapping Sebastian
on the shoulder room. “Moran, did you see Powers’s tackle?”
“Yeah- good work, Powers. Just don’t batter any of your teammates up before the
match,” he said in an amiable way. Or tried to.
Powers glared at him. “Thanks, oh captain my captain,” he all but sneered.
Sebastian gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up, then opened up his locker. A folded
up note fell out, and he hastily caught it. On the outside was scrawled, “Open
when alone.”
Sebastian frowned. Was that Jim’s handwriting?
“Oh, mate, I forgot to tell you,” Barnes said, tapping him on the shoulder.
Sebastian hastily tucked the note under his shoes and turned. “Sundarum’s
cousin is letting us party in his flat after the Birchwood game. You can come,
right?”
“Yeah, definitely.” Sebastian tugged off his sweaty shirt.
“Right. Invite Velasquez if you want. And bring beer if you can.”
“Well, that goes without saying,” Sebastian laughed, grabbing his towel. He
finished shedding his clothes and hopped in the shower.
He closed his eyes, tipping his head back under the water. Was the note
actually from Jim? If so, what was he doing, skulking around the locker room
during practice?
Powers sauntered into the showers, boldly standing directly opposite Sebastian.
There were unspoken rules about the showers- nobody wanted to come off as body
shy, but nobody wanted to come off as queer either, so showering side by side
or with backs to each other was the norm. Nobody just staredlike Carl was
doing.
“Oy, stop, you fucking poof,” Sebastian said automatically, turning his back.
He didn’t like his eyes on him. Sure, it was normal to size others up in the
showers- just brief, embarrassed glances, if only to make sure your own body
wasn’t secretly a freak of nature.
“That’s rich. You calling mea poof,” Powers said under his breath.
Sebastian looked over his shoulder. “What the fuck did you just say?” he
snarled.
Powers grinned, making no motions to cover himself up or take up a more modest
pose. “You know what I said,” his voice dropping lower.
Sebastian turned back around, muttering a “fuck off” and becoming more hurried
with his washing up. He felt a wave of paranoia, thinking back to moments-
because there had been moments, however brief- when his gaze had slid over one
of his teammates’ for just a second too long. He could appreciate the male body
without being gay. Of course he could. Tanner objectively had a nice back. And
backside. That was just an aesthetic fact. His face burned, fury at Power
threatening to boil over.
“You know, Powers, for not being gay, you certainly talk about it a lot,” he
finally snapped, but when he turned around, Powers had already left. He cursed
and smacked the tile wall, making his hand smart. Idiot.
Did other teammates think he was gay? How could they? They knew he’d already
hooked up with Kari, and that he and Miranda were dating.
He wrapped himself in his towel, and quickly dried off and changed, making sure
to keep his gaze stoic and straight ahead at his locker. The folded note was
still there under his shoes. He hastily pocketed it before tossing on his
sweatshirt. Powers had already left, thank God.
Barnes sidled up to him. “All right, mate?”
“Yeah. M’fine…” Sebastian mumbled.
“Did Powers get to you? Don’t pay him any mind. He’s been childish about you
sitting with Velasquez every day at lunch.”
Ever since finding out what Carl had done to Miranda, Sebastian had been
sitting at Miranda’s lunch table. He’d faced the inevitable chiding: “She’s got
you whipped!” “Thinking with your cock again, Moran?”  But it was worth it to
avoid Powers’ leer.
“Childish is right. She’s my girlfriend.”
Barnes moved in a bit closer, his voice lowering, and for a moment, Sebastian
was worried that he was going to grill Sebastian about his sexuality. Mate, the
boys and I know that this is all just an act. Carl told us all about you.
But instead he asked, “How do you do it, Moran? I don’t fucking getit. You just
transferred here, for God’s sake.”
Sebastian fingered the note in his pocket, antsy to read it, but he heard the
edge of jealousy in Barnes’ voice, the frustration. Out of all of his
teammates, Barnes had been the most solid. He’d loaned Sebastian bus fare when
his dad hadn’t showed up to pick him up from their first game of the season,
he’d put in a good word for Sebastian to be captain, even though there was
resentment at his being a newcomer, and he was genuinely friendly toward him.
So Sebastian sat down on the changing bench, repressing a bit of a sigh. “Who
are you so interested in, Toby?”
Barnes blushed from his neck up to his ears. “Sylvia Wool,” he said finally.
“Oh, right. She’s fit, yeah,” Sebastian said.
“Yeah, she is. And she’s nice, and I made her laugh...I just don’t get how it’s
so easy for you, mate. If I’m being honest, it’s really bloody frustrating,” he
muttered, sitting next to Sebastian, but keeping a healthy distance between
them.
Sebastian wished he had any sort of advice, but honestly, he’d never really
faced rejection before. “Well...you made her laugh, right? Seems a good sign to
me. Just don’t try too hard, yeah? It comes off as desperate. Even if you’re
not,” he hurriedly added.
“Hah,” Barnes said with a frustrated little laugh. “Right. I’m going to be
single till I’m forty.”
Sebastian laughed. “Bit early days to be predicting that, don’t you think?
Besides, relationships are overrated.”
Barnes, the virgin, blushed, and was silent a bit longer. “Have you ever been
in love, Sebastian?”
“No,” Sebastian said. “At least, I don’t think so.”
Barnes laughed somewhat hollowly and grabbed his sports bag. “Is it sad that
that sort of comforts me?”
Sebastian only shrugged, his hand slipping into his pocket to curl over the
note.
“You hungry? Sundarum and I talked about getting kebabs.”
Sebastian’s thumb brushed the folded note’s corner, working a dent into his
flesh with the folded paper. “I would, but I have to get home,” he said.
“Right. Oh, and Basher? Could you...not mention this to the other blokes?”
“No worries, mate. Take care.”
It wasn’t until Sebastian was safely on the bus home and settled into the
backseat, headphones in, that he opened the note. It was definitely Jim’s
handwriting- that mad, spider scrawl. The text filled the entire notebook
sheet. At first it looked like gibberish, but as Sebastian read, he saw it was
a painstakingly-researched rugby match strategy. On the right-hand side were
hand-drawn columns with statistics for seemingly every Birchwood rugby player.
Not just numbers, but bullet lists of strengths and weaknesses, going as far in
as psychological profiles.
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Sebastian muttered to himself, earning a scornful look
from the kerchief-wearing nanna across the aisle.
If this was real, then this was the result of a staggering amount of research.
It would also be insurmountably valuable. The lefthand side of the page laid
out a detailed strategy, taking every player from both team into account.
Sebastian’s heart sped up as he flipped the page over. Holy fucking hell. Jim
had scribbled out every St. Cuthbert player’s statistics as well, including
Sebastian’s.
On one piece of notebook paper, Jim Moriarty, who sneered at sports and
regarded Sebastian with disdain, had laid out a perfectly logical and brilliant
playbook that would ensure St. Cuthbert a victory on Friday.
___
In biology, they were nearly done with the dissections. Along with observing
the entire digestive system, they had done detailed examinations of the lungs,
liver, and brain, and were now on to the final lab assignment, the heart. At
their next lab, Sebastian leaned towards Jim and murmured in Italian, “Thank
you for the strategy. It’s incredible.”
Jim looked up from the heart and stared at him with a flat, unimpressed
expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said stonily in
English.
Sebastian had the strategy in his pocket, and he slipped it out just enough for
Jim to see. “This is your handwriting,” he insisted. “Don’t tell me it’s not.
Who else would do it?”
“I didn’t write whatever the hell that is, Moran,” Jim said icily. “Do you
really think I would waste my valuable time on a sport strategy? I think you
wrote it yourself. And I think it would be smart to hide it away and stop
blathering on about it. Now take a look at this aorta. Does it look deformed to
you?”
Ah. So Jim was purposefully not claiming ownership. His glance slid to Jim’s
lab worksheet. Jim hadn’t even tried to disguise his handwriting on the
strategy notes. Still, there must be a reason why. Did he really want Sebastian
to take credit for it all?
“Nobody would believe you anyway, Sebastian, and it would only cause trouble if
they did,” Jim murmured under his breath, carefully slicing open the left
ventricle.
Sebastian opened and closed his mouth, unnerved by how Jim seemed to read his
mind. He leaned in toward the heart, his forehead almost brushing against Jim’s
hair as he muttered, “Why are you helping me?”
Jim didn’t pull back. “Why does anyone do anything? ” Jim said in Italian. “
Because I’m bored.”
And that ended the conversation. They worked the rest of the lab in easy
silence. Sebastian was finding it easier to be in Jim’s company. He was
beginning to anticipate when Jim wanted to be left alone to observe for
himself, and when he wanted Sebastian’s help. He began fetching tools for Jim
before Jim even asked, and the marginal extra effort it took was worth the tiny
smiles that would twitch at Jim’s lips.
He realised, with some discomfort, that ever since that day in the art room, he
had been aching to make Jim smile- a genuine one, not the mocking grimaces he
threw out on a regular basis. Sebastian didn’t want to think too hard about
what that could mean, so the two worked the rest of the lab in efficient
silence, and finished their heart segment before any other group.
“I’ll write the final report tonight,” Jim said.
“Oh- we can share responsibility on that,” Sebastian said, uneasy about letting
Jim take on all the work. “And anyway, it’s not due till next week.”
Jim only rolled his eyes. “Please. It will take me five seconds and we’ll get a
perfect score. Besides, don’t you have an important game to worry about?”
___
At the beginning of their final practice before the game, Sebastian gathered up
the team, ready to share the new plan.
In between classes, Sebastian had run to the library to type out Jim’s notes on
a computer, printing out a copy for everyone. He was in such a rush that he had
been late for Latin class, sprinting down the hall while juggling notes and
print-outs.
It was all worth it, though, to see his teammates’ faces.
“Holy shit,” Sundarum muttered, looking over the printed strategy. “Moran,
where’d you get this? Statistics...personal profiles?”
“You’d be amazed what you can learn from Hull’s local papers,” Sebastian
grinned.
Everyone was looking over the notes, nodding and chattering to each other. Only
Carl Powers was looking upwards at Sebastian, staring him square in the eye
with an unsettling expression.

“So- let’s give the new strategy a go!” Sebastian said.
“Why are we changing it last minute?” Powers said, too loudly.
All heads turned to look at him.
Sebastian blinked, keeping his voice mild, though his hands balled into fists.
“Because I found new data,” he said. “We need to use what we know to our
advantage. And we know more now.”
“Right. Enough talk, let’s do this!” Barnes said, getting off the bench and
rallying the others out.
“Well, done, Moran!” Coach Turnow agreed. “Thinking on your feet - that’s what
I like to see! Everyone out, let’s start with speed drills!”
Powers lingered behind, cornering Sebastian before he could join his teammates.
“Isn’t is just so convenient that you just happened to ‘research’ a day before
the match,” he sneered.
“I suppose so, Powers. Now let’s get out there. We have work to do,” Sebastian
said, but Carl grabbed his arm, forcing him back against the lockers. “What the
fuck- GET OFF ME.” Sebastian was strong, but Carl was stronger, and Sebastian
could barely budge under his grip.
“Only I know that you didn’t write those plans, did you?” Carl said.
Carl’s fingers dug into his wrist painfully. How could he possibly know about
the strategy? “Powers, I swear to God-”
“What are you going to do? Tell coach that I hurt your little arm? Do that, and
I’ll tell the whole team that you’re a fake, that you’re using Jim Moriarty’s
strategy to make yourself look good. Fucking pathetic.”
“Jim Moriarty? Where the fuck did you get that idea?” Sebastian snarled.
“‘Open when alone,’” Powers grinned mirthlessly. “That’s so cute...Moriarty
trying to be all covert, folding up some sports data as if it were love
poetry.”
“How did you-?”
Carl’s fingers closed on Sebastian’s wrist so hard that Sebastian’s knees
buckled from the pain. “You dropped a little something in the library when you
were busy typing.” His free hand pulled out Jim’s note. Fuck.Sebastian must
have dropped it somewhere in the shuffle of printing pages and darting off to
Latin.
“Isn’t it nice that I rescued it for you? I know exactlywhat Moriarty’s
handwriting looks like. I bet you fucked him in exchange, hm?” Carl’s voice had
dropped to an intimate purr. He seemed to relish the ragged, pained breaths
Sebastian was taking. “Is that right? You got him off in exchange for looking
like the wise, undefeatable captain?”
“What the fuck is your problem?” Sebastian snarled, beginning to panic. He
began to push back with all of his remaining strength, and when Carl’s foot
slipped, he took his opportunity and had enough space to kick at his shin and
shove him off.
Carl swore, grabbing his shin. He rounded on Sebastian, who was backing
hurriedly toward the door.
“They’re for the good of the team, and he gave them to me because he feltlike
it,” Sebastian snarled. “So fall in or get the hell off the team.”
Carl swore, grabbing his shin, but when he looked up, he was laughing
mockingly. “Of course. It’s all for the good of the team,” he smirked. “Well,
good luck with that.”
He shoved past Sebastian and went out onto the pitch. Sebastian shook out his
wrist, coming out after him. He was so pissed he couldn’t even think straight.
Powers was already joking around with Barnes and Sundarum. Nobody seemed to see
the truth - that Carl Powers was a fucking monster.
 
***** Betrayal *****
Chapter Notes
     TW for rape, abuse, mention of animal death
Sebastian was beginning to bend, and he didn’t even realise it. Jim smiled to
himself as he lay in bed that night.
He thought back to class. Sebastian had been pleased with his little notes.
Well, of course he had been. They were impressive. During his outdoor reading
stints, he would do more than admire the athletic bodies when he bothered to
look up from his book on astronomy or economics or history, or whatever
interesting kernel he’d managed to find amongst the teenage-gear pap in the
school library. He would study the game, and the players.
Rugby was a brutish sport, an outlet for teenage boys who had dangerous levels
of testosterone. Better than actual fights, adults would say when people
criticized the sport’s violence. Jim knew the truth, though. It would be better
to let the boys fight with guns or knives. The stupid ones would be killed
faster, and it would be so much more entertaining to watch. All of humanity
would thank him, in the end.
Still. The game did have its values; it scratched some primal itch. For a
while, Sebastian Moran was just another pretty body on the field, all muscle
and reflexes and animal grunts. Something to store away for later, on nights
when it was too loud or too cold in the council flat to sleep. Like tonight.
Since becoming his lab partner, Sebastian Moran had taken on a whole new
flavor. A piece of muscle that knew how to kneel. Now that was something truly
desirable.
Jim closed his eyes, blocking out the shouting from downstairs. He imagined
Sebastian with a gun in his hand. He imagined Sebastian with a knife pressed to
his throat. He imagined Sebastian naked, and it was surprisingly easy to
conjure up what his body might be like.
Jim swallowed, his hand drifting over his stomach, and then lower, under his
pants and around his cock. It was funny, he thought. Until Sebastian had come
along, Jim had never fantasized about a real person before.
In his mind, Jim had a room all to himself, where he could do whatever he
liked. He could strip Sebastian and pin him down or chain him up to learn his
body. He could make him plead and beg, make him scream from pain, make him feel
so good that he fell in love with him. And Jim would always have the upper hand
and a loyal guard dog. God. Yes. His hand worked faster. “‘Bastian-” The name
tumbled loosely from his lips, and Jim came harder than he had a right to,
panting against his thin pillow. He could feel his heart drum. Sebastian bloody
Moran.
“Don’t lose yourself,” Jim whispered to yourself. Having carnal feelings was
one thing, but when emotions got attached to them… well, Jim had to keep
feelings out of the way entirely. It was already getting out of hand. He and
Sebastian were dangerously close to becoming “friends.”
And Powers was already becoming suspicious. Jim knew he would have to see
Powers after practice the next day.
It was no coincidence that the strategy used Powers as little as possible. Jim
was sick of Powers prattling on about how the team would be “nothing” without
him. Jim wanted to put that theory to the test. And with his calculations, he
had proven Carl wrong already - if the team used the strategy and put in
effort, they would trounce the other team, and with minimal help from Powers.
He anticipated that Sebastian would take some heat for that little move, but he
was sure Sebastian could hold his own. And anyway, Carl couldn’t ever do to
Sebastian what he did to Jim. Moran had too much social collateral.
Jim knew that Sebastian had shared the plan as soon as Carl met him at their
usual spot in the darkened locker rooms.
“You little son of a whore,” he snarled, grabbing Jim and throwing him to the
ground. Jim had developed a technique for catching himself on the concrete to
prevent breaks and minimize bruising.
“Hello to you too, Carl, dear,” Jim sing-songed, his eyes dull.
Carl wasn’t wasting any time tonight. He was already dragging Jim’s trousers
down, which hung loosely on his hips anyway. He pressed Jim’s knees up to his
chest. “I hope you prepped yourself today, because I’m not fucking waiting.” He
yanked his own fly open.
Of course Jim had prepped himself. He always did when he knew that Carl would
be demanding his time...he was almost considering doing it every day, since
Carl had caught him off-guard one night, and the pain had been worse than
anything Jim had ever experienced. He  loved  pain. It made him feel alive. But
that had been beyond what he could possibly enjoy, and it had been incredibly
inconvenient, having to staunch the bleeding over the next week to avoid
staining his trousers.
Jim’s love of pain did come in handy- he was delighted at Carl’s frustration
when Carl first tried to hurt Jim and got a positive response from him. Carl
had now learned to reserve slaps across the face and hair-pulling for rewards
instead of punishments, but sometimes he got so frustrated he hurt Jim anyway,
and Jim would give a theatrical moan that would only have fit in the most over-
the-top porno, or he would laugh in Carl’s face. He always payed, but it was
always worth it.
Now, though, Jim knew enough to keep from mocking Carl or pushing stubbornly
against him. Carl’s touch was rough and furious. He laughed in Jim’s face as he
pushed into him, mirthless. That was the very worst- when Carl laughed at him.
Even when Jim  knew  he was better than him, when he  knew  that Carl was
pathetic and would pay, that grating, mocking laugh dug under his skin and made
Jim furious.  
“Look at you, prepped and lubed like a little slut,” he said viciously,
starting up his thrusting rhythm almost immediately. Jim’s body couldn’t remain
unresponsive to the movements, but he did his best to stay still, holding on to
his thighs and staring up at Carl as steadily as he could, his mouth drawn into
a tight line.
“I saw you lurking by the pitch today,” Powers said, and it was almost
conversational, if not for the heavy puffs of air as he drove into Jim.
Jim said nothing. He would not respond. He would be a statue.
“Mooning after Basher?” Carl sneered, giving a hard thrust that made Jim bite
down on his lip.
Weak , Jim chided himself. He was being weak.
He forced a manic grin. “You just- can’t let that one go, can you?” Jim laughed
a bit breathlessly. “Well - get stuffed. He’s just another idiotic- athlete-”
Carl’s large hand pushed down on Jim’s face, forcing it against the floor.
“Liar,” he snarled. “I saw the strategies you wrote. It’s cute, how much-
effort you put into them- You must be in love with the boy.”
Jim’s eyes widened. After everything...Sebastian had shown them to him? Why?
Why would he do that? His mind whirred frantically. Everything he thought of as
a conceivable answer was too elaborate for either of the two imbeciles to
concoct.
“Ah, silence! I must be right, then.” He grabbed a fistful of Jim’s hair,
wrenching his head back. Jim grunted and cried out, the pain eclipsed by the
rage for Sebastian he felt. Everyone always fucking betrayed him, in the end.
“But know this,” Carl hissed. “Don’t pretend like it’s possible to be friends
with someone like him. You’re not normal, you’re not good. You are  nothing !”
He picked up his pace, hammering Jim into the floor, finally coming with one of
his stupid, ugly grunts.
Jim didn’t finish. He curled against the tile when it was over, his flushed
cheek pressed against the cold. But Carl was soon yanking Jim to his feet. He
grabbed paper towels to hurriedly clean up the mess. He never left Jim alone in
the locker rooms, afraid of what Jim might do.
Jim thought of how it had felt to slip into the locker room during their
practice and twist Sebastian’s locker combination. It hadn’t been hard to
snatch a full list of locker combinations from the administration office. Jim
had made a handy Xerox of the lockers of interest, stowed in his locker. He had
Carl’s and Sebastian’s locker room combinations memorized.
“Ugh. Moran. Why him? Why  him ? What a fucking prick. He told everyone the
plans as if he had written them, when we both knew that wasn’t true!”
Jim closed his eyes. Yes. He did as he was supposed to. Except he had told Carl
Powers and had ruined the entire plan. Idiot.
“He’ll fucking pay,” Powers said.
Yes, Jim thought. He would.
__
Sebastian greeted Jim warmly at their next class, but Jim said nothing. He
stared straight ahead, then quickly moved away from Sebastian to grab the
specimen.
“Everything okay?” Sebastian asked.
Jim refused to even look at him. He wordlessly pushed the finished final report
to Sebastian to hand in, then began scribbling on the day’s lab sheet, not even
looking at the pig.
“Don't you want to look at the real thing? Here-”
“I know what I'm doing, Moran, so why don't you shut your useless maw,” Jim
snarled under his breath, in a voice so vicious that it raised the hair on
Sebastian's arms. He didn't dare say anything more, so he sat uselessly on his
lab stool, examining his wrist. A light bruise was beginning to form where Carl
had grabbed him, and he flushed, tugging his sleeve down. He stared at the
marks, fingerprints.
His eyes widened. The marks were like Jim’s. He glanced over at Jim, horrified.
Was it possible…? Sebastian thought back to Jim’s vicious reaction to
Sebastian’s rugby mates, to Powers in particular. He thought of what Jim had
said- “I know things about them that would make you throw up.” And how Carl had
recognized Jim’s handwriting. How Carl was so fixated on hating him, even
though Sebastian had never seen them interact.
Sebastian didn’t even acknowledge Miranda when she moved past him and gave his
shoulder a warm squeeze.
When the bell rang, Jim leapt from his stool as of it was spring-loaded, but
Sebastian wasn't going to let him go that easily.
“Jim, WAIT.” He bolted down the hall after him, and he could see the smaller
teen all but flinging people out of the way as he tried to put more space in
between them. Sebastian dodged a group of girls all clustering around a locker
and grabbed Jim by the arm, just as he was entering the art room. “Wait!” he
said breathlessly.
Jim turned to him, baring his teeth and yanking viciously. “Let GO of me!” he
snarled.
Sebastian dragged Jim into the art room. “Did Powers hurt you?” Sebastian
demanded once the door was closed.
Jim blinked at him, tugging his arm from Sebastian’s grasp. He frowned, his
shoulders hunching. “What do you care if he did?” Jim snarled, his voice low.
He turned back toward his painting. It was nearly done now, and as Sebastian
looked it over, he thought more and more that it looked as if the dark side was
winning over the light. The dark strands were overtaking the exposed body in
the middle, and the light strands were fleeing.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Moran,” Jim muttered.
“What?” Sebastian asked.
“Here I thought you were interesting. But all along, you were palling around
with  Carl Powers... and for what? Because he’s a good athlete? Because
everyone else tolerates him?”
Sebastian blinked. “What are you talking about? I hate Powers.”
Jim rounded on him. “Then why did you show him the plans?” he burst out,
furious.
Oh. Sebastian’s stomach turned. “I dropped them,” he admitted. “It was a
complete accident. Powers must have found them in the library or the
hallway...he said he recognized your handwriting…”
A muscle in Jim’s jaw tightened. “Yes, he would,” he muttered. “You bloody
idiot, Moran…”
“Jim, I would never give him ammunition on purpose. Believe me.” Sebastian
stepped toward Jim, and slid his sleeve up, showing the bruises on his wrist.
Jim looked at Sebastian’s wrist, then back up at him. He frowned, as if doing
some quick calculations.
“It must be nice,” Jim said finally, quietly. “To get away with pretending to
be good. When we both know that you’re not.”
“I’m sorry?” Sebastian dropped his arm.
“To be so handsome, so athletic. People always want to assume the best from
people like you. People like you can get away with  anything. ” Those dark eyes
held Sebastian hostage. Jim’s dark gaze stripped Sebastian naked, past flesh
and muscle and bone to his core.
“I haven’t gotten away with anything,” he murmured. “I’ve never tried
anything.”
“No,” Jim agreed thoughtfully after a moment. “No, you haven’t. Not yet.” His
hand slid out to brush down Sebastian’s arm, pale fingers closing on his wrist,
and he pulled Sebastian’s hand up once more to examine the bruising. His thumb
drew over the mark on the underside of Sebastian’s wrist, so lightly that it
sent a shivering tickle down Sebastian’s spine. Jim drew his arm closer, and
for a moment Sebastian thought he was going to kiss his wrist. He could feel
Jim’s warm breath on the delicate skin there. His mouth fell open slightly.
“Why didn’t you fight back?” Jim asked, his eyes meeting Sebastian’s instead.
Sebastian was pinned under his gaze. “I- are you kidding? I would be kicked off
the rugby team, maybe even kicked out of school,” Sebastian said after a
minute. “It wouldn’t be worth it, not with the fuss that Powers would put up.”
Jim’s face flickered with annoyance, then he grabbed Sebastian’s jaw, yanking
his face close. Sebastian gasped- Jim’s grip was surprisingly strong, and he
tried to yank his jaw away. They were almost nose to nose, Sebastian having to
bend down slightly.
“What’s the real reason, Sebastian?” Jim’s voice was low, intense. “Don’t lie
to me, it’s so very  dull  when people lie to me all the time.”
“If I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I would have...I probably would have
killed him-” Sebastian sputtered out, not realising it was true until the words
were out of his mouth.
Jim’s thumb stroked the side of Sebastian’s cheek, and Sebastian was
spellbound. “That’s right,” he said soothingly. He hummed. “Is that poor boy
still in a coma, back in France?” he asked almost conversationally.
Sebastian froze. How could Jim possibly know about that? There had been an
article, but it was in a tiny local paper, and in French besides. His name
hadn’t even been published.
Jim smiled with unabashed delight. “Yes, Moran, I know all about what
happened,” he said softly. “So is he still in a coma, or do you not bother to
stay in touch?”
It had all been a mistake. Sebastian had gotten in a fight with Frances DePaul,
who had entirely deserved a beating. He’d insulted Sebastian, and then Emile.
Apparently what had been a shock to Sebastian had been common knowledge to
DePaul, who said the most ignorant, hateful things, right to Emile’s face.
Sebastian had attacked him first, yes, but DePaul had held his own. For a
while. Sebastian came away from the fight with a broken nose, a black eye, and
two loose teeth. DePaul hadn’t walked at all. He was comatose, probably still.
And no, Sebastian hadn’t stayed in touch. Even when DePaul had blacked out,
Sebastian had kept hitting and kicking him, in an animalistic frenzy, only
stopping when his schoolmates and two teachers forced him back. He had wanted
to rip DePaul apart.
August Moran had been furious. Sebastian spent virtually the rest of time in
France locked in his room, being taught by a private tutor. If it wasn’t for
the hush money and reparation fees August had paid, he always reminded
Sebastian, Sebastian might very well be in a French prison right now.
Along with his private, strict tutor, there had been anger management
counseling. Sebastian had learned how to keep his fury and violent tendencies
at bay. They had wanted to medicate him, but he had demonstrated through
careful wording and monitored behavior that he had developed healthy coping
mechanisms. The violence remained, of course, but it was caged, and Sebastian
wasn’t about to let it out again. He was in control.
“He’s not a poor boy,” Sebastian told Jim. “He was an arrogant prick. I
shouldn’t have gone so far- but I can’t say he didn’t deserve it.”
Jim smiled slowly, and began to circle Sebastian. “You see, Moran? You’re just
like me...with a prettier, more palatable cover..”
Sebastian shivered. “I’ve never fucking tortured animals,” he spat.
This wasn’t true. Not that day in Germany, when Sebastian and been 13. On rare
occasions, his father would take him on hunting trips, and taught Sebastian how
to make clean kill shots, ever seeking to improve his marksmanship. Sebastian
was forever trying to prove himself the best.
But on that day, the day he felled his first stag, it wasn’t a clean shot. The
stag was down, but before Sebastian could celebrate, August told him that the
kill wasn’t over. He had to finish it.
Sebastian had walked carefully toward the deer, worried he would leap back on
his feet and charge at Sebastian, gore him through with his antlers in
retaliation for wounding him.
The bullet pierced just below his neck, and Sebastian was surprised at how
little blood there was. The stag’s flank rose up and down irregularly, taking
ragged breaths. He whuffed in pain, and Sebastian could see the fear in his
eyes as he stepped closer, shotgun in hand. He’d stopped in front of it, stared
at it, fascinated. He didn’t kill the beast when it raised its head and issued
a pained noise. He hadn’t killed the stag until August had called after him.
Sebastian had snapped back to reality then. He was taking too long. He finally
lifted his gun and killed him neatly between the eyes. Sebastian enjoyed the
killing part, too. He knew he could talk about felling his first stag with
pride, but part of him instinctively knew that he shouldn’t revel in how he
hurt the fallen stag, how he’d enjoyed watching the life leave his eye. It
moved the hunting from a sport that was understood and accepted to something
dark and wrong.
“Now, now, Sebastian,” Jim purred, pulling him back to the present. “Is that
really true?”
 “I’m not like you,” Sebastian said, and then Jim actually slapped him across
the face, hard enough to sting.
Sebastian clapped his hand over his cheek. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
he demanded, grabbing Jim by the collar.
Jim’s eyes widened as Sebastian yanked him close, but he kept his hands at his
sides, and only laughed. “The same thing that’s wrong with you, Basher, only I
have more brains. Mm, Basher. Basher...Isn’t that what your teammates call you?
When you’re bashing others to the ground...the bloodlust in your eyes…It suits
you…”
Jim cocked his head, and Sebastian let him go, pacing away before he punched
Jim in the face, before he lashed out in an attack that wouldn’t end until...
“The problem, Basher, is that you’ve been told your instincts are  wrong.  They
took a wild tiger and forced him into a rugby uniform, taught him to stand up
straight and get good grades and fuck pretty girls like a gentleman, and all
this time, your claws are still under your skin, your tail is still twitching.”
Jim’s words made Sebastian’s stomach churn. He couldn’t be right. Jim didn’t
know  him. He spun smart-sounding lies to fill Sebastian with doubt. That was
all.
Before Sebastian could retort, Jim continued calmly, “But don’t worry, Moran.
Your instincts won’t go punished. If you just follow my lead, you can be who
you really are.”
Sebastian came back to himself, whirling to face him. “Look, Moriarty, I don’t
know what the fuck you think, but I’m not some...repressed fucking...animal!”
He all but shouted. “And if this is you coming on to me, just bloody  stop.
I’m not a killer, and I’m definitely not a fucking  poof! ”
He regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth. Now Jim looked as if
he had been slapped, and his mouth parted slightly before he intoned lowly,
“Get out.”
“I didn’t mean it- it’s fine that you are, but I’m not-”
“Moran, get out,  now.  I don’t have time for liars and I certainly don’t have
time for drooling, incompetent ones like you who ignore the truth when it’s
slapping them in the face,” Jim said, vitriol in his voice.
Sebastian whirled toward the door. “Oh, so when you slapped me in the face, you
were playing the part of ‘truth’? You fucking brat!”
Jim just laughed in his face, harsh and humorless. Sebastian wanted to slam the
door, but the school doors all closed on their own, with a careful slowness
that made Sebastian want to scream. He kicked it the rest of the way closed,
but not before hearing Jim say, “Don’t bother coming to the art reception,
Sebastian. I don’t think they let wild beasts in, no matter how good of a mask
they put on.”
Sebastian fumed, starting down the hall. Wild beasts...and a goddamn tiger
analogy? He was a complete nutter. Insane. And wrong, so very wrong on every
single fucking count. What the hell had he meant, that if Sebastian stuck with
him, he could act on his “instincts” without getting caught? Did Jim really
mean to insinuate that he would let Sebastian get away with murder?
Well, Sebastian wasn’t a fucking murderer, and he never would be. He hurried
his pace to the canteen. By this point, he’d already missed half of lunch. He
raced through the lunch line.  Miranda was at her usual table, but it was full.
He stopped and brushed her shoulder. “Hey,” he said, a note of apology in his
voice.
Her expression was slightly frosty, eyebrow raising. “Hey yourself,” she said.
“Is this because I was late to lunch today?” he snapped. “I had to sort out
something, if that’s bloody all right with you.”
Miranda glared at him. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“Miranda...look, I don’t expect you to go to the game, I know you probably have
rehearsal or something. But there’s a party afterwards, if you’re keen to go.”
Miranda’s expression softened slightly, but she shook her head. “A bunch of
sloshed rugby blokes? Just my idea of a good time.”
“Forget it,” Sebastian snapped. “I’m sorry I was late. I didn’t mean to
neglect  you.” It came out far more sarcastic than he’d intended, and Miranda
glared once more, spinning away to sit with her friends, her back to him.
He swore under his breath, looking back at the rugby table. He could sit over
there...but he especially didn’t want to see Powers right now. He looked down
at the bruise forming on his wrist, then remembered the bruises on Jim’s. Had
Powers really abused Jim? The thought made him sick. He left the canteen
without eating.
***** The Match *****
Chapter Notes
     TW for gay slurs, sexual assault, and violence
Sebastian couldn’t believe it. The match was going perfectly. Jim’s plan worked
like magic. He had never seen his team gel so well, had never seen them throw
the other team off balance so consistently.
The crowd was going wild as they neared the end of the first half. Sebastian
threw to Powers, who was supposed to pass it on to Barnes, and then defend him
as he went for a point. Except Powers kept the ball- he was going for the
points himself, and he clobbered anyone in his way, including elbowing a
Birchwood player in the face.
The ref blew his whistle. “That’s a penalty!” he shouted, breaking them off.
“Stick to the plan, Powers, and stop showing off! Let US bloody tackle!”
Sebastian bellowed.
Carl didn’t seem to even hear him. He certainly didn’t act like it when he came
back on the field a bit later and left Sebastian wide open, leading Sebastian
to get brutally piled on and making him look like a fool.
By the time the first half ended, Birchwood and St. Cuthbert were tied, and
Sebastian was livid. As soon as the break was called, he shoved past the others
teammates and grabbed Carl by his shirt. “What the FUCK are you playing at? You
are deliberately sabotaging the team’s efforts!”
“Easy, Sebastian, mate, come on,” Barnes muttered, grabbing his arm, but
Sebastian flung him off.
Carl just laughed - that infuriating, callous laugh. “Don’t get your knickers
in a twist, Moran. We can gain it back in the second half,” he sneered. “I was
acting on instinct. Any athlete knows that instinct can beat a plan any time.”
“You modify when you need to, but you fucking COMMUNICATE. Were you thinking
about anyone else when you went with your ‘instinct’? You left Sundarum wide
open when you went for that shot, and Yurichev let a shot in because he was
looking out for your arse instead of the other team!”
“Come on, Moran, let’s go get some water and pep talk it out, yeah?” Barnes
said, looking nervously over at the coach, but Sebastian barely heard him.
“Awww, is your perfect plan not going as you wanted it to? Upset because I
deflected some of the glory away from you for two fucking seconds?” Powers
snapped back.
“That’s not what this is about, and you know it,” Sebastian snarled. They were
practically chest to chest now, and Sebastian could see Coach Turnow running
over to intervene. “So either fall in or get the fuck off my pitch!”
“YOUR pitch? It’s not yours, Moran. And I’ll play however. The fuck. I like.”
Maybe it was the laugh in Powers’ voice, or the way he licked his lips, or
maybe it was just that Sebastian had had bloody enough, but he decked Carl
across the face, shoving him to the ground to punch him again.
Carl immediately retaliated with a blow to Sebastian’s stomach that knocked the
breath out of him. The rest was a blur- Barnes’s and the coach’s hands prying
them off each other, and then they were benched, Powers with a bloody towel and
a pack of ice to his nose, Sebastian icing his bruised knee and holding his
aching ribs.
“Disgraceful, absolutely disgraceful, the both of you,” Coach Turnow was
saying. The rest of the team had shuffled uneasily into the locker rooms to
prepare for the second half.
Sebastian couldn’t even look at Carl, but from the corner of his eye, Carl
didn’t look ashamed at all.
“And Moran, I expected better from you. As team captain, it is your job to
ensure everyone’s a team player. What sort of model are you setting when you
attack a fellow teammate, unprovoked?”
“Oh, there was provocation, sir, believe me,” Sebastian muttered.
“I don’t want to bloody hear it, Moran! You should have saved your aggression
for the other team. I’ll admit, it’s tempting to let you keep on just to beat
Birchwood’s arse, but if you two can’t play on a team, then I won’t allow it.
You’re benched for the rest of the game.”
“ WHAT ?” Sebastian gasped. His ribs screamed in pain.
“You heard me. Get your bloody acts together and support your team from the
sidelines. Shameful, utterly shameful…” The coach turned and left for the
locker rooms.
Sebastian was shaking in fury. And Powers just laughed quietly, almost gently.
“Oh, Basher,” he breathed in delight. “You really fucked yourself over, know
that?”
“Oh, is that what happened? Because I think this would have gone a whole lot
differently if you hadn’t been in the picture at all,” Sebastian seethed. “Now
keep your trap shut, or you’ll have a lot more to worry about than a broken
nose.”
“I don’t even think you broke it,” Carl said, pulling the ice back to prod it
lightly. “You’re sweet when you try to hurt people, Moran.”
Sebastian closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose. He wished he
lived in Jim’s world, a world where he could kill who he wanted and get away
with it. If he attacked Carl again, he wouldn’t stop, not until Carl was dead.
And then he would spend the rest of his life in prison.  He’s not worth it,  he
told himself.  He’s not worth your entire fucking life. Be the bigger person.
Let it go.
He repeated every anger management adage and mantra during the remainder of the
game, but even so, it was all he could do to cheer on his team and ignore
Carl’s snide little comments.
When they won, Sebastian stood up and cheered loudly, despite the pain in his
ribs. He hoped it was just a bruise and not a break. He felt a swell of pride
for his team, especially Barnes, who had made the winning point. He grinned as
Barnes roared his victory, the rugby team lifting Barnes onto their shoulders.
And the best part was, they’d stuck to Sebastian’s - or Jim’s strategy. They
had all trusted in it, and it had played out in their favor.
Mixed with Sebastian’s pride was a crushing disappointment that he hadn’t been
able to be on the pitch. It was the most frustrating feeling in the world,
watching from the sidelines, unable to run in when Sundarum needed backup, or
Bailey had to pass too far for his range. Still. They had done it. They had
won.
Sebastian and Powers were allowed back to the locker rooms, and they were both
lost in the frenzy of victory, pulling into the giant mass of arms and shouts.
“Did you see that fucking pass?”
“Barnes, that was INCREDIBLE!”
“Hah, their defense weaknesses were completely what we’d planned for!”
“Congratulations, Barnes,” Sebastian said, when he could work through the
throng enough to grab his friend’s shoulder.
“Cheers- all just following your plan, mate-” he grinned. “But, Basher-” Barnes
leaned in closer. “What the fuck happened with you and Powers? What’s been
going on?”
Sebastian sighed, shaking his head. “Clash of personalities. It’s fine.”
“You’re coming to the party, though, right?”
Sebastian winced. That’s right...there was a party tonight. With Powers. He
forced a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Still, he lingered inside the locker rooms, waiting for Powers to leave,
waiting for them all to leave.
“You coming, Moran?” Barnes asked. He, Sundarum, and Bailey were the last
cluster to leave.
“I’ll catch up,” Sebastian promised. “I want to stretch out. I think I pulled
something, and it only cramped up worse on the bench.”
“Well, don’t take too long, or all of the beer will be gone,” Barnes quipped,
then at the last the locker room was empty. Only when Sebastian knew he was
truly alone did he strip off his sweaty, dirt-stained uniform. He hadn’t wanted
to be in the showers around Carl, hadn’t wanted his prying eyes. He looked
himself over in the mirror for a moment, sliding his hands down his torso. No
bruising on his ribs yet- how did one tell if they were broken just from
looking? He tried bending to one side, and almost collapsed in pain.
“Ow...fuck-” he breathed through his teeth, moving to sit down shakily. What
did one do for broken ribs, anyway?
Sebastian stood back up, finally turning on the showers and closing his eyes in
the hot water. He gave a little sigh in relief, turning to rest his forearm
against the tile and let the water massage over his back.
“You didn’t think I’d just let this end, did you, Moran?” Powers’ voice came
from the doorway.
Sebastian felt like ice, and he turned to face Powers.
“Fuck off, Powers,” Sebastian said, hastily turning off the water and grabbing
his towel, throwing it around his waist before Carl could leer any more at his
body. “If I told the coach everything you’ve done, you’d be kicked off the
team. And if today proved anything, it’s that they function just as well- if
not better- without you.” His heart was pounding as Powers advanced on him,
fully clothed while Sebastian shivered, dripping wet.
“You look sexy when you’re all wet, Moran,” Powers murmured, biting his lower
lip.
Sebastian was taken aback. This was a direct come-on, a provocation he couldn’t
stand by idly for. He wound back to punch Powers, but Carl gave Sebastian such
a tremendous shove that he hit the tile wall hard. “And you can’t just have me
thrown off the team, Moran. I’m not an idiot.” Before Sebastian could
retaliate, Powers quickly pinned him against the wall, a hand clamping over his
mouth.
Sebastian was so taken aback that his reflexes were all thrown off, and he gave
a muffled shout of protest against Carl’s large hand. Carl was close, too
close.
“If you try to kick me off the team, everyone would know how  weak  you are.”
Carl’s other hand slid down Sebastian’s chest, then lower. Sebastian’s heart
sped up as he felt Carl’s hand squeezing him through his towel. He shouted
against Carl’s hand and struggled, managing to throw Carl off at last, but not
before Carl had ripped Sebastian’s towel off and tossed it to the wet floor.
Now naked, Sebastian bolted for the exit, but Carl was on him again, wrestling
him back against the wall. Carl was enormous, and so strong- Sebastian shoved
at him, but it was like pushing against a wall.
“GET OFF OF ME!” Sebastian shouted, but Carl’s hand closed over his mouth
again, his other hand pinning Sebastian’s wrists above his head.
“Oh, shove it, Moran. We both know I could punch you into next week, and isn’t
it so generous of me that I’m giving you what you want?”
 Sebastian shook his head as violently as he could manage, shouting through his
hand. Carl’s fingers dug bruisingly into his jaw. Sebastian’s furious gaze met
Carl’s eyes, but he had to look away as he felt Carl’s hips pressing lewdly
against his own.
“I know what you want, Moran. So stop pretending.” He could feel Carl’s
erection against his hips, and he was furious when his own body began to
respond, heat spooling low in his gut. He didn’t care what Carl said, what his
body said. He didn’t want this.
He shouted, wrenching his head free from Carl’s hand to gasp out, “Get the the
fuck OFF me!”
Carl snarled and grabbed a fistful of Sebastian’s hair, bashing his head back
against the tile until Sebastian saw stars. “Nobody can hear you, Moran,” he
said intimately. One hand kept Sebastian’s wrists pinned while the other closed
round his cock. “And even if they could...would you really want them to find
you like this?”
Sebastian’s head spun. His knees buckled from the pain, and he felt Carl’s arm
slither around his waist to keep him upright. Carl’s every movement was
invasive, pawing. He gave Sebastian a few slow strokes, and Sebastian panicked.
Carl was right. What if Barnes or Sundarum walked in? Even if they accused
Carl, Sebastian would be accused too. He had an erection, and he was
naked...and it would be so easy, he thought, to spin all of his anger at Carl
as sexual frustration. Not to mention his friendship...if that’s what it
was...with Moriarty.
“So just keep you pretty mouth shut, Moran, or I’ll let everyone know you
pulled out your prick and tried to fuck me with it.” Carl’s cruel laugh was
soft, shared between them. He wet his lips. “You were hard before I even
touched you.”
Sebastian’s head throbbed, so much so that he barely noticed his ribs anymore.
He wanted to kill Powers, but right now he was in so much pain that he couldn’t
fight back. What if Carl slammed his head against the tile one more time? He’d
probably get knocked out and then...he didn’t want to think about what Powers
could do to him then.
The pain was mixing with pleasure though, and Carl’s large hand knew exactly
what it was doing, twisting expertly in a way that made Sebastian’s breath come
short. “You look so good like this, when you’re not prattling on, pretending to
be the greatest thing that ever happened to this school,” he breathed against
his mouth. “Because we both know what you really are, don’t we?”
He bit down on Sebastian’s lip with nauseating slowness, then his tongue traced
along the inner edge. “Just a gay slut.”
Sebastian shuddered. “F-fuck- you-”
“Oh, keep talking, Moran,” he said, stroking faster. “It’s only going to end up
worse for you if you do. Or for your girlfriend. Or for Moriarty. Another gay
slut.”
Sebastian hissed in a sharp breath, his head falling back against the tile, if
only to move away from Carl’s cruel face. He realised with a sickening swoop of
his stomach that Carl might have done more than just hurt Moriarty physically.
Had he done this to him, too? Attacked him….raped him?
It wouldn’t be rape, though...it couldn’t be, because he was erect, so some
sick part of him must want this… And fuck, he’d never gotten a handjob from a
man before, and he wanted it to be  anyone  but Carl Powers…
Was his head bleeding? He couldn’t tell if that was water or blood he felt
trickling on his scalp.
“Shhh, let it happen…” Carl said, grabbing Sebastian jaw and squeezing it
again. He paused to slide his thumb along the sensitive head of Sebastian’s
cock, and Sebastian shuddered, his toes curling against the tile. “The sooner
you come, the sooner I’ll leave you alone,” he soothed.
It was all a trick, a cruel trick, but Sebastian was so worked up that now all
he wanted was to get off and have it be done with. This had to be an awful
dream. If he just got it over with, maybe he’d wake up. He bit down on his lip
as Carl picked up a steady pace, the strokes swift, full and satisfying.
Sebastian huffed out a noise through his nose. Carl was at least shutting up
now, seemingly intent on getting Sebastian to come. Sebastian’s eyes slid open,
if only just to check over Carl’s shoulder and make sure that he hadn’t
gathered the whole team to watch.
“That’s it…” he said, and fingers were pressing up behind Sebastian’s balls,
finding some spot that made Sebastian quake and swallow a full-throated moan.
“I bet you’d look gorgeous on my cock, Basher,” he said devilishly, and he
picked up the pace. Sebastian’s hips met his rhythm against his mind’s will.
“No...I  know  you would,” Carl amended.
Sebastian shook his head against Carl’s hand, afraid to speak up. He was so
ashamed that he was so fucking  scared  and  powerless  against this piece of
shit.
“Oh, stop, Sebastian, you’re so close, look at you. You love it. You’re going
to come for me, Moran. Then you’re going to keep your mouth shut, or I’ll ruin
you.”
His grip on his cock was perfect, and Sebastian wanted to hold out, but then
Carl was purring in his ear, drawing his tongue along the shell of it, and his
thumb was on the head, then -
“ Ah- ” Sebastian had been so tensed, so shaky, that the release almost made
him slide down the wall. There were perhaps five seconds of blissful relief,
when all the pain was replaced by pleasure flooding his system. But when the
sensation passed, everything was a thousand times worse. His entire body ached,
and he hadn’t woken up in bed after a shit dream, and he was overcome with
shame and dread.
He used his remaining strength to give Carl a vicious shove. “Touch me again,
and I’ll break your neck,” he whispered.
“I count on it,” Powers mocked, then he smeared his messied hand across
Sebastian’s cheek. He spun away from him. “See you at the party,” he said, then
disappeared.
Sebastian spat, hurriedly turning on the shower and scrubbing off his face. He
scrubbed at his whole body with his bare hands, almost feverishly trying to
erase Carl’s touch from his skin. He eventually staggered and slid to sit under
the water, drawing his knees up close. He had never felt so disgusting, or so
scared.
His head was throbbing so badly that his entire skull felt like it was
expanding and collapsing with each breath. He finally pulled himself to his
feet, breathing raggedly, and turned off the water with a shaking hand.
Sebastian’s towel was soaked through, utterly useless. He padded to the sinks,
dripping water and looking over his shoulder nervously. He looked at himself in
the mirror, and that’s when it sunk in what had just been done to him. What he
had  allowed  to happen to him. His hand slid over his mouth and squeezed his
eyes shut. No. No. “Pull yourself together, Moran,” he growled at himself,
almost in his father’s voice. “Man up and fucking take care of it.”
He opened his eyes, blinking several times as he examined his pupils. No
concussion, as far as he could self-diagnose. Well, that was a bloody miracle,
if it was true…
He gingerly touched the back of his head, his side screaming in protest. His
fingers came away with some watered-down blood. Nothing gushing, then.
Sebastian grabbed paper towels and began to dab at his head.
He dried himself with the rest of the paper towels, and was still damp as he
clumsily put on his dry clothes, which clung to him. He had to go to this
party. If he stayed away, then Powers won.
It was tempting, though, so tempting to just go home, to say he’d felt sick and
couldn’t make it. His stomach lurched, however, when he thought of what sort of
lies Powers might concoct about his absence.
He had to go.
 
***** Party *****
It was funny, Jim thought as he watched the mid-match fight from high up on the
bleachers, how easily Moran and Powers came to blows. Men and their fists,
thinking they could solve something with them. It should have been fun to
watch, his two pawns losing control in front of a crowd, and it was certainly
delicious to watch Powers get benched. But he couldn’t feel the same joy about
Moran.
Moran’s broad back was towards Jim, but even from afar, Jim could see his
entire body tense as Powers leaned in to mutter to him during the game. What
would Powers to do Moran after the game was done?
Jim shook his head minutely. Powers wouldn’t get away with that sort of thing.
He understood brute strength, and Moran had enough of that to put up a good
fight. Jim realised at some point that he was watching the two players on the
bench more than he was actually watching the game. Then again, what did it
matter? Every detail of his strategy worked as he knew it would, yet when St.
Cuthbert’s came away victorious, every onlooker around him had the gall to look
surprised. People, Jim had realised years and years ago, were idiots.
Moran didn’t look pleased, as far as Jim could see. Oh, he plastered on a fake
smile, but the boy was an awful liar - no poker face at all. It was rather
endearing, actually. He would never be able to deceive Jim, which was rather
comforting.
Jim waited for Powers outside of Powers’ car, as he always did after a match,
but Powers didn’t show up. He had likely caught a cab to wherever their victory
party was, and thank god for that. Jim had more important things to do than to
bend over for a soon-to-be-dead man.
__
Sebastian hesitated before he rapped on the door of the shabby flat. He’d found
a stocking cap in his satchel and had thrown it on to hide his head wound.
Sundarum flung open the door, a wave of noise crashing into the hallway. “OI,
we wondered when you’d get here, mate! Come in!”
Sebastian bit back a pained noise as Sundarum’s hand crashed down on his neck,
dragging him inside. He pushed the six pack of beer he’d bought from the corner
shop into Sundarum’s hands. Was it too late to turn and flee and complain of a
splitting headache? Probably so.  He tried not to wince as the bodies of
revelers threatened to crush him and the throbbing music made his teeth rattle.
“WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?” Sundarum was yelling over the music.
“LONG QUEUE AT THE SHOP,” Sebastian lied. A wave of nausea passed over him as
he caught sight of Powers, laughing on a sagging couch. Laughing and grinning
as if he hadn’t nearly given Sebastian a concussion, as if he hadn’t, an hour
ago, told Sebastian that he’d look “gorgeous on his cock.” As if Sebastian
hadn’t gotten off in the end, after all. That part horrified Sebastian the
most. How could his body have betrayed him like that? How could he ever
convince someone that he hadn’t wanted it when he’d had an orgasm?
The music wasn’t quite so unbearably loud in the kitchen, although it was
teeming with bodies, grabbing beers and pouring shots.
“So, you did turn up to the party you invited me to!” Miranda’s voice was
slightly accusatory. Sebastian turned around, shocked.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said faintly.
“I had a lapse in judgment. ...Sebastian, are you all right?” Her face
softened, leaning closer to inspect him.
Fuck, did he look that bad? “Can we talk? Alone?” he leaned in to ask over the
din of the party.
Finding a quiet place proved almost impossible. They ended up finding an unused
guest room upstairs that was largely dominated with boxes. There wasn’t even a
place to sit.
“I can’t believe you came to the party,” Sebastian said, closing the door
behind them. “I was a complete dick.”
Miranda sighed, her hands sliding to Sebastian’s waist. “I was at the game,
too,” she murmured. “I saw the fight.”
“Fuck, really?” Miranda’s touch was warm and gentle, but Sebastian winced as
her thumb pressed against his rib.
“What happened? I looked for you after the game, but nobody knew where you
were.”
How could he possibly explain? “I called him out on his bullshit, that’s all.
He wouldn’t back down. He’s had it in for me for weeks now.”
Miranda’s hands slid up his chest, light and gentle this time, and her touch
felt so good, so soft. Her hands slid to his shoulders, kneading his muscles
gently. “Sebastian…” She leaned in and kissed him gently, carefully, as if he’d
break. He kissed her back just as gently. Could she feel the spot where Carl
had bit down on his lip? He felt like Carl’s imprints were seared all over his
skin, marking him.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. How would Miranda react if she knew
what had really happened?
“You did what you thought was right,” she said. “I just don’t want you to get
hurt.”
Sebastian cautiously lowered himself down to the floor to sit. “Too late,” he
grimaced.
Miranda sat next to him. “Is this why you’ve been distant? I thought maybe
something was going on with you and Moriarty, but if it was Carl this whole
time-”
“Moriarty? What do you mean?”
“You two seemed tense around each other, and all those days you were late for
lunch…” She shrugged.
“It was just project-related stuff,” Sebastian said hurriedly, too hurriedly,
because Miranda leaned away from him slightly, pulling at a strand of carpet.
“Right.”
“What?” Sebastian snapped, irked.
“It’s fine,” Miranda said to the carpet. There was an uncomfortable silence. “I
just wish you trusted me enough to tell me the truth. There’s so much I don’t
know about you. Like, it’ll be so easy to talk to you, for while…” Her hand
reached for his, their fingers twining. “But then you go...far off somewhere. I
don’t know.”
Sebastian swallowed. Was he really so bad at faking it? Being normal? Jim’s
words swam in his head, that bored, knowing tone, telling him that he wasn’t
normal, and that he should stop trying to be. “What do you want to know?”
She looked up at him, then took a deep breath. “Like...what’s going on with you
and Carl? Why is he so furious at you? And why have you ditched me more than
once to go chase after Moriarty?”
“I told you! I called Carl out on his bullshit and he didn’t like it, and
Moriarty is a tetchy little bastard and a difficult lab partner.”
Miranda looked at him quizzically. “You’re a really shitty liar, you know
that?”
Sebastian bristled, and moved to stand, but Miranda caught his arm. “Wait-
Sebastian, I didn’t mean it to be an accusation or anything. I wish you’d
just...open up. It’s so frustrating.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t like me if I opened up,” Sebastian snarled, tugging his arm
away. “Ever think about that?”
Miranda just stared at him, her moudth slightly agape, then she gave a harsh,
huff of a laugh. “God, Moran, could you just stop being a cliche for two
seconds?”
So she thought he was fake. Just like everyone else, apparently. He stood up,
wincing as his ribs protested in pain. “A cliche? That’s just how I fucking
feel.  I’m sorry if that comes off as too  trite  to you, but you have no
fucking CLUE what I dealt with today-”
“Then TELL ME what you dealt with!” Miranda shouted.
“As if that would help,” Sebastian spat. “Just leave it, yeah? Can’t we just go
back to how things were? We can just-”
“Are you gay?” Miranda asked sharply, interrupting him. She was still sitting,
her knees drawn up to her chest.
Sebastian took a step back. “W-what? Who the fuck told you that? Was it Carl?
Because you know he lies about everything.”
Miranda looked embarrassed, scared even. “Nobody told me. Are you, though?”
“No!” Sebastian snapped. “Why would you even ask that?”
“I wouldn’t be mad,” Miranda said quickly. “I just need to know. I don’t want
to keep...doing this if you’re….”
“I’m not,” Sebastian snapped, feeling betrayed. “I like girls. Jesus, if I’m
such a bad liar, how do you think I’d fake my way through sex? Did you think
that was all fake? Do you think that I hated it?”
Miranda winced. “Are you bisexual?”
Was he?  
"No,” he said firmly. “Can you please believe me on this? Please.”
Miranda stood, keeping her back against the wall.
“I’m sorry that I’ve been distant. Carl brings out the worst in me. And
Moriarty…” He frowned, and shook his head. Carl had hurt Moriarty, maybe in
worse ways than he cared to think about.
Miranda reached out and took Sebastian’s hand, slowly pulling him toward her.
Her hands settled at his hips, more carefully this time.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning in toward her.
They kissed again, a gentle kiss that slowly deepened until Sebastian’s stomach
twisted in disgust at the memory of Carl’s breath against his face. He pulled
back. He could hear the team chanting over the music downstairs, drunkenly
celebrating their victory.  “And you even came to the game for me?” he
whispered. Miranda nodded. “I really didn’t deserve that,” he smiled softly
against her lips.
“No, you really don’t,” Miranda laughed softly. Her hand twined up into his hat
and into his hair. Sebastian hissed.
“Jesus, Sebastian, do you have a head wound?” She pulled back and turned on the
main lights, peeling back Sebastian’s hat to look.
“It’s not all that bad…” he said quickly.
Miranda sucked in a breath at the sight. “This didn’t happen on the field, did
it?” she said quietly.
Sebastian turned to give her a pained look. “Miranda, please. Just...drop it.
I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. He was failing at everything. “Please, I’ll be a
better boyfriend, I’ll be a better  friend , I just can’t tonight. I don’t even
want to go back to the party.”
Miranda’s brow furrowed, considering. “You need to rest, anyway. Let’s make an
escape route.”
“I don’t want to come off as weak,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear.
Powers would notice, Sebastian was sure. Powers would call him out as a
weakling for not even having one beer after their “little fight.
“You’re not weak, Sebastian,” she promised. “Make the rounds really quickly,
then we can slip out. They’re all so blind drunk at this point that they’ll
hardly care. I want to leave anyway. Dress rehearsal starts at eight tomorrow
morning.”
“Your play’s next weekend,” he remembered aloud. “I’ll be there. With flowers.”
They slipped downstairs, hand in hand. Sundarum all but crashed into them,
looking Miranda up and down. “Nice, Basher. You two do it?”
“Fuck off, Sundarum,” Sebastian muttered, wondering if Sundarum would even
remember this interaction in the morning.
“Right, go letch over someone else,” Miranda smirked, elbowing him lightly.
“Wow, Basher, you trust slutty Velasquez at a party with a bunch of rugby boys?
I’m impressed with your faith in her,” Powers’ voice rose above the music as he
stepped in. “You two aren’t leaving  yet,  are you?”
Sebastian tried his best to keep his face immobile. His arm slid around
Miranda’s shoulders protectively; he could feel how tense they were. Miranda
responded by letting her hand slide up Sebastian’s chest. “‘Bas and I have more
interesting things to do tonight,’’ she said blithely, and Sebastian was amazed
at how cool her voice sounded. “Come on, Sebastian.’’
She steered him toward the door, and Sebastian felt a wave of gratitude at her
quick thinking. He didn’t miss Carl’s sneering comment as they left, though.
“Well, isn’t that typical. Moran doesn’t care about the team. All he cares
about is his cock.”
“Keep walking, Sebastian, just keep walking,” Miranda muttered, not turning
around as she guided him swiftly towards the door.
It was all Sebastian could do to obey. He grit his teeth until they were out of
the block of flats completely. “I  hate  him,” he snarled, once they were out
in the cold night.
“Sebastian, it’s okay. He’s just trying to rile you up,” Miranda murmured,
squeezing his hand.
“It’s working,” he muttered, kicking a crumpled beer can down the sidewalk. But
he squeezed her hand back.
“He’s not worth it. Come on.” Sebastian followed Miranda down the street,
resolving to be a better boyfriend, a better teammate, a better person. And, he
vowed, he would never,  ever  let Powers get to him again.
__
Sebastian, exhausted though he was, couldn’t sleep that night. He kept seeing
Carl’s face, kept hearing Carl’s laugh. He was furious that he was letting
someone like  Carl Powers  get to him like this. He kept playing out the scene
in the locker room, replaying different versions, everything he should have
done. In his mind, he punched Carl Powers into a coma, knocked out every last
one of his teeth, dislocated his shoulder.
In some versions, Jim Moriarty was there, grinning and coaxing Sebastian on. Of
course he would be...he thought Sebastian was a murderer lying in wait. A
tiger.  Perhaps Sebastian could be, for he could imagine nothing more
satisfying than splitting Carl Powers’ skull open with his bare hands. If only
such things were possible.
__
On Monday, Sebastian avoided Powers fastidiously. When he arrived at the
biology classroom, he didn’t know what to expect from Moriarty. After their
last interaction, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Jim entirely ignored him.
He wasn’t prepared for the sight of Jim with ugly bruises across his throat,
clear imprints of someone’s fingers.
Jim did an odd thing. He looked up at Sebastian and scanned him head to toe,
assessing. Then he stared blatantly into Sebastian’s eyes, as if daring
Sebastian to ask about the bruises.
Sebastian kept quiet, giving only a short nod in greeting and taking his seat.
Jim was stiff, but he didn’t seem angry. He shared his lab notes and passed the
tongs and pincers when required, but he didn’t utter a word.
In the silence, Sebastian assessed Jim as well. When Jim hunched over their
work, as he was now, he looked compact, but powerful, energy shifting
underneath his shoulder blades. Sebastian liked his expressive eyebrows,
especially when he was locked in thought, tuning the rest of the world out.
Sebastian recalled the gorgeous, sprawling, dark webs of color and image in his
painting. Was that what it was like inside Moriarty’s head? His gaze drifted to
Jim’s ugly bruises. Had Carl done that?
With five minutes left of lab, Jim still hadn’t breathed a word to him.
Finally, Sebastian couldn’t take it anymore and growled under his breath, in
German, “ I need to talk to you. About Carl.”
At first he thought Jim hadn’t heard him, or was continuing to steadfastly
ignore him. Nearly two minutes passed before Jim said back, also in German, “
Is this about the fight during the game? That was a rather sordid display. ”
His voice sounded husky and weak.
“You were there?” Sebastian murmured in English. The way Jim talked about rugby
so disdainfully...but perhaps he had wanted to see his machinations come to
life.
“ In German ,” Jim said patiently, like a professor.
“ After, ” Sebastian finally said.
Jim spared him the first glance since the start of class, and cleared his
throat, wincing in pain. “ In the art room. Stay well behind me. ”
Sebastian was beginning to associate the scent of the art room - the strong
smells of tempera and oil paints, India ink and clay - with Jim. He felt his
shoulders loosen as he closed the door behind him. Jim had turned on his music,
quieter than last time.
“What happened?” he rasped out, wasting no time.
Sebastian sat down, trying to hang onto the initial calm he’d felt. He couldn’t
look at Jim as he told it, and he felt increasingly nauseous as he recounted
it. As much as it sickened him to relive it, he felt he mustn’t leave anything
out.
“I should have fought back. I was too weak- and he almost fucking knocked me
unconscious- I should have fought harder,” Sebastian said, rubbing his eyes
with the heels of his hands.
“Yes, you should have,” Jim said simply.
Sebastian stared up at him in shock, and was only rewarded with a disdainful
eyebrow. “If you came looking for pity, Moran, then you came to the wrong
person.” Jim stepped toward him. “Powers feeds off the weakness of others. It
was clever of him to realise your insecurity with your sexuality. I wouldn’t
have pegged him for that.” Jim’s eyes slid over him.
“Piss off. I’m not-” Sebastian started, but Jim cut him off with his hand.
“Moran, what did I say? No boring, boring lies, or I’m DONE listening to you,”
he said.
Sebastian shut his mouth. “You said he feeds off insecurities.”
Jim just raised an eyebrow.
“Then why is he targeting you? You don’t seem at all insecure.”
Jim looked at him for a moment. “You finally figured it out, did you? That Carl
likes to use me like a stupid little wind-up toy? All it took was a blatant
attempt at strangulation for you to figure that one out! He was  sooo  careless
this weekend.” Jim paused to cough.
“H-how long has this- has he-” Sebastian stumbled, scarcely able to breathe. He
thought he had been angry at Powers before, but now, a white hot fury was
rising up in him, unparalleled to anything before. He couldn’t shut out the
image of Carl’s broad hands wrapping around Jim’s pale throat, threatening to
squeeze the life out of him.
“Seven months, more or less. He found me an easy target. No friends and a weak
body. This is the first time he was so  careless  with his blows,” Jim groused,
far too casually, Sebastian thought. He couldn’t believe Jim would allow
himself to be used like that.
“But-” Sebastian protested, “You knew everything about me at first glance, shit
that nobody else knows about me. Surely you could dig up some dirt on Powers,
expose him for what an arse he really is-”
“Yes, very good, Moran,” Jim said, but his sarcasm was edged with something
like admiration. “I’m working on it.” He closed his eyes for a moment, giving a
little hum. “I want it to be big. Humiliating. Humiliation would be nice in
person, of course...but bastards like him deserve to die, don’t you think?”
“What are you saying?” Sebastian asked carefully.
“Have you ever noticed, Sebastian, how people suddenly become  saints  when
they die young? Take your precious Kurt Cobain-” He smirked at the Nirvana pins
on Sebastian’s knapsack.
“Oi, lay off him,” Sebastian growled.
“See? Exactly what I mean,” Jim said merrily. “He was just a mediocre musician,
or at least one of little note, until he died too young. Now, doesn’t it piss
you off, Sebastian, that everyone thinks he’s the  greatest  when they didn’t
give a shit about him when he was alive?”
“What’s your point?” Sebastian asked, cross.
“If Carl were to die young, I want to make sure that he wouldn’t have any
chance of sainthood,” Jim said, grinning widely. It was a scary grin, bordering
on unhinged.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Jim, a dog is one thing but you can’t-”
“Moran! I would never,” Jim said, and his indignance was so believable that it
took Sebastian back for a half a second. “Don’t be silly, murder is  bad.
There are  consequences, ” he said ironically. “I only mean that...well, the
world deserves to see a person’s true colors, dead or alive.”
“I- I suppose. But Jim, how can you let him...hurt you like that?” Sebastian
asked.
Jim’s face grew cold. “Oh, one gets used to it, I suppose.” He stepped toward
Sebastian. “You learn how to avoid breaks, you know when to push someone and
when to give in to avoid maximum damage. You learn to keep yourself stretched
open and ready- just in case-”
“JESUS, stop!” Sebastian shouted, horrified.
“Is the truth too much, Moran?” Jim asked blandly.
It was. Sebastian trembled with fury. “I’ll murder him, I’ll fucking MURDER
him.”
“Easy, Moran. He won’t touch me again. I’ve made sure of that. Every
relationship has its tipping point after all,” he said. “As for the permanent
solution...remember what I said about saints. All in good time.” His silky,
lulling tone almost pulled Sebastian off the edge of his unbearable rage. Jim
paused for a moment, as if waiting for Sebastian to calm, then finally said,
“The art reception is Wednesday, remember. If you wanted to come.”
“I didn’t realise I was still invited,” Sebastian said.
“Leave your rage and denial at the door, darling,” Jim said. “Now, I think
that’s rather settled, don’t you? You only have five minutes for lunch. Off you
pop.” He waved vaguely toward the door, then returned his attentions to his
painting, turning his back to Sebastian as if the entire conversation hadn’t
happened.
***** Defaced *****
Chapter Notes
     TW for gay slurs
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jim hadn’t calculated nearly dying that weekend. He also hadn’t calculated that
Powers would attack Sebastian like that. But of course, Powers, the oaf, had
admitted to it all on Sunday. He’d demanded Jim meet him on Sunday, and he was
all swagger and grins, laughing and laughing about how he’d cornered Sebastian
and given him exactly what he wanted.
It had made Jim’s stomach curl unpleasantly, the idea of Moran being coerced,
just has Jim had been. It was stupid that he would care at all. Not just
stupid, but illogical. Why should he care how someone else felt, when it would
only cost him unnecessary mental energy? But as much as he tried not to care,
Powers had kept gloating, kept describing in lurid detail, until Jim had
finally snapped and kicked Powers off of him. “Enough,” he spat darkly. “I
don’t have time for this.”
Jim had hastily zipped up his trousers and grabbed his rucksack, his tape
recorder catching every word. He would edit out Sebastian’s name, but he at
least had yet another confession he could use against Carl.
Powers was still riding on such a high from Friday’s match and the ensuing
assault that Jim had assumed he would be able to slip away this time without
too many ramifications.
Instead, Powers had grabbed the shoulder of his rucksack and yanked Jim back.
“You don’t have time?” he sneered. “You think I care about that?”
“Let go, Powers, you can have me tomorrow at our usual time,” Jim snarled,
trying to rip his rucksack back. “I’m not in the mood today-”
Carl grabbed Jim’s arm bruisingly, his grip also tightening on Jim’s rucksack.
“Aw, Moriarty, are you jealous that I showed Moran some loving and left you
alone all night?” Jim noticed, with horror, that his bag wasn’t properly
closed, textbooks and papers threatening to spill out, along with-
“Don’t be dull, Carl, now give it-” Jim tugged at his rucksack again, but at
the same time, Carl wrenched it from Jim’s grip, tossing it to the floor.
Pencils, astronomy books, and papers scattered out across the floor, along with
an unmistakable, clunky tape recorder, red light still shining steadily.
There was a horrified silence. “What the fuck is this?” Powers finally growled,
and swept to pick up the recorder.
“It’s for lectures so I can relisten to them for studying,” Jim said steadily,
not daring to blink as he looked Carl in the eye. “It must have started
recording when you knocked it to the floor. Cheers for that.”
Carl’s hand flew to Jim’s throat, slamming him against the wall and squeezing
his windpipe. “Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Jim had never seen him so furious.
Jim was also struggling for air, and clawed at Carl’s throat, drawing in reedy,
desperate breaths. Powers’ thumb pressed the rewind button for a few seconds,
then pressed play.
“You should have seen him, Jim. I made that pretty, arrogant mouth shut up all
right. That thick cock of his-”
“Enough! I don’t have time for this.”
“You don’t have time? You think I care ab-”
Carl punched the recording off, his hand tightening on Jim’s throat. “You’ve
been recording me?” he hissed. “Was that your plan, Moriarty?”
Jim began to see black spots. His throat was going to be crushed. He dug his
nails into Carl’s wrists, gasping like a drowning fish. The only benefit to
dying like this was that Powers would never, ever get away with it. He would
spend the rest of his life in prison for murder, and wasn’t that nearly as good
as the permanence of death?
A wild, manic grin spread over Jim’s face, even as his vision began to
completely blur. He didn’t want to die, but if Carl thought that he was winning
here, he was dead wrong. He just wished he had the breath to tell him so-
Just before Jim passed out completely, Carl dropped him to the floor. Air
rushed into his lungs, and he choked and coughed, his throat aching. “My god,
I’ve never seen someone with such a fucking death wish,” Carl spat. “Not that I
blame you. I’d kill you if I could get away with it, Moriarty.” His voice was
now deathly quiet, sincere. “And who knows? Maybe I could.” He kicked Jim in
the ribs, then grabbed Jim’s head up by a fistful of his hair. “How many of
those tapes did you make?”
Every breath hurt. Jim grinned anyway. “Dozens. Nearly every meeting. But, Carl
darling-” he paused to cough, doubled over. “-Where did I hide them? So- I
think we need to make a little agreement, you and I…” He cleared his throat,
his voice strained and raspy. “I can be very reasonable. You don’t touch me
again. Or I send a nice little compilation to the headmaster’s office.”
“I don’t touch you, and you won’t share,” Powers repeated.
“Right,” Jim nodded. “So long as you live, I won’t ever release them. I’m a man
of my word, Powers. I think we both know that, don’t we?” He smiled
humorlessly.
“So long as I live? Are you planning on trying to kill me, Moriarty?” Powers
barked out a disdainful laugh.
“If you don’t touch me, I won’t ever lay a finger on you again, rest assured,”
Jim said bitterly. “Just leave me alone.”
The wounded victim front seemed to work. Powers took a step back, then stomped
on the tape recorder until it was well and truly destroyed. He glanced down at
one of the scattered papers, and picked it up. “Oh, and look at this. Are these
locker combinations, Jim?”
Jim’s eyes closed, his head hung. Fuck. He should have destroyed that a long
time ago. After all, he had Carl’s locker combination memorised now.
“I’ll be taking them, then,” Carl said, and Jim hated the smugness in his
voice. “And I’m going to be looking at my locker contents very carefully. Oh,
and...if I keep to that agreement and the tapes still get out...I will kill
you, regardless of the consequences.”
“Oh-” Jim cleared his throat and hoarsely muttered, “I’m sure you would.”
__
If there had been rugby practice that day, Sebastian would have murdered Carl
where he stood. As it was, he was able to avoid Powers all day, once again
sitting with Miranda and her friends in the canteen, his back to the athlete.
To make things up with Miranda, he’d invited her over for dinner that night.
His father was off at some conference in Geneva, but having company over meant
his mother had held off on her 4:30 double martini, so she wasn’t a complete
embarrassment, although she did make a vaguely passive-aggressive comment about
Miranda’s long, dark hair, and how she could recommend some product that would
make it less frizzy.
Thank God Sana was there. She’d served up an incredible lamb korma, and she and
Miranda had chattered away about their favorite recipes, and the differences in
Spanish and Pakistani cooking.
They excused themselves from dinner to go “study.” Mother hadn’t batted an eye,
but Sana had raised an critical eyebrow. When Miranda excused herself to the
loo and Mother had drifted into the living room with a tall glass of wine, Sana
pulled Sebastian aside. “She’s a very lovely girl. I do hope you are serious
with her. And careful. A girl like that doesn’t need to get her life ruined by
someone like you,” she said in Urdu, and raised her eyebrows meaningfully.
Sebastian blushed and shifted uncomfortably. Somehow, Sana always knew about
his sex life, and she was always uncompromisingly frank about it. “I’m always
careful. Can we not have this conversation?”
His ustani clucked her tongue. “Always careful, hah! How often have I heard
that one before? For a man, it’s a mistake he can walk away from. For a woman,
she must make a decision she will live with for the rest of her life, whether
or not she brings the child into the world,” she said in English.
“I understand,” Sebastian said more seriously, meeting her eyes as long as he
could without feeling completely embarrassed.
Sana kissed his forehead and stroked his hair affectionately. “You look tired,
albelaa.”
“I didn’t sleep well this weekend,” he admitted, but didn’t meet Sana’s eyes.
Her simple affections made him want to cry, to fold into her arms and be
comforted.
Instead, he stepped back and forced a smile. “Don’t worry, rugby season ends
soon, then I can focus my free time on sleeping and eating.”
When Miranda returned, they excused themselves and spent a sweaty hour in
Sebastian’s bed. It helped - her soft curves were so different from Carl’s hard
body and rough hands, and when she kissed him while she was on top, her loose,
dark hair fell around him like a curtain, blocking the rest of the world out.
It felt amazing like that, her riding him, controlling the pace and the angle.
“Mmm, that’s fantastic-” she breathed, sitting up and tipping her head back.
“Yes-” Sebastian breathed, one broad hand squeezing her thigh, the other
massaging her clit. He bucked up into her, eager for release.
You’d look gorgeous on my cock, Moran. It was as if Carl was in the room with
him, sneering against his ear.
Sebastian squeezed his eyes closed, shaking his head. “No-” he whispered,
almost inaudible.
Miranda slowed, panting. “Are you okay?” she asked, stroking back his hair. “Do
you want me to stop?”
“N-no, you feel great-” he promised, and she did, so why did he want to be
sick? Why couldn’t he shut out the image of Carl in the showers, hurting him,
forcing him to come?
Miranda was close, too, it seemed, her body rigid as she bucked down on him
frantically. “More-” she begged, her head tipping back. She looked beautiful
like that, letting go- and then Sebastian felt her pulse around him, which
should have been more than enough to make him come as well, but...he didn’t.
“Oh, God, Sebastian- that was incredible-” she panted, leaning down to kiss
him. He could feel her heart hammering wildly as their chests pressed together.
“Yeah-” he agreed. When Miranda had regained some of her composure, she moved
back onto his cock, grinding slowly.
“What do you need, Seb? Let me give it to you,” she murred.
You’re nothing but a gay slut.
“Actually, I’m okay,” he said, hands sliding to her hips, stilling her.
“Oh… are you sure? I can use my mouth, if you want,” she said, and grinned
shyly. “You are absolutely incredible. Please let me return the favor.”
Sebastian felt awful. He pulled her down for a slow kiss. “I’m just tired,” he
assured her. “I still had fun, I promise.”
His cock was already falling limp as she withdrew and moved to lie next to him.
“Okay..” she said, trailing a finger over his chest, then looked up at him. “I
really like you, Sebastian.”
He stroked her cheek. “I really like you too,” he whispered. Was Carl Powers
going to ruin his sex drive on top of everything else? The fucking bastard.
“I should actually sleep, though,” he said.
“It’s only half past eight,” Miranda said in surprise.
“Yeah...I know, I’m a disgrace.” He kissed her again. “Thank you for coming
over.”
“Of course.” Miranda’s touch was so kind, so warm. He didn’t deserve her. And
she deserved someone who could fully reciprocate.
After she left, Sebastian tried to get off by himself, just to prove that he
could. He had never, ever had a problem before. But he kept thinking of Carl,
and worse, of Carl hurting Jim. How had Jim put up with that for seven months?
How could Jim sleep after being hurt like that?
An unwilling image of Jim, naked and bent over, popped into Sebastian’s head,
and he tried quickly to get rid of it, but his cock twitched and responded in
his hand.
He arched his back and closed his eyes, not wanting to think of the fact that
the idea of Jim naked was arousing. He grunted and turned, trying hard to
imagine large-breasted women, all curves and lush lips, blonde or red hair-
everything that Jim wasn’t.
But Jim popped back into his mind. Instead of being bent over, Sebastian was on
his knees in front of Jim’s feet, touching himself as Jim’s pale fingers
threaded through his hair.
There’s a good boy, Moran. It was Jim’s voice in his head, vivid enough that
Sebastian’s eyes snapped open in absolute horror.
He was on the brink, and he buried his face in his pillow, the thought of Jim
watching in detached approval finally sending him over the edge.
“Fuck-” he breathed into his pillow, sagging from the release. “Fuck…”
What the actual hell was wrong with him? He wanted to blame Carl for this, and
part of him did. But the other, more honest part of him, knew that he couldn’t.
These vivid thoughts had nothing at all to do with Carl Powers, and everything
to do with Jim Moriarty.
__
Jim was absent the next day from lab. In his stead was a folded up note tucked
into Sebastian’s textbook.
Sebastian opened it under his desk. There was just one line, written in Jim’s
cramped, spidery hand:
Art show is off. Don’t come.
What did Jim mean? His first instinct was to check the art room, to see if Jim
was there. Was he feeling insecure about his painting? No….insecurity was never
Jim’s problem. So what was it?
After class, Miranda caught him before he could run off. “Lunch is this way,
remember?” she said teasingly, but there was an edge in her voice, almost a
plea. Please don’t run off from me again.
Sebastian chewed his lip. Powers never missed lunch, which meant Jim was safe.
He could investigate after Latin class. “Right, silly me,” he joked, and slid
his arm around Miranda’s waist as they walked. “Are you nervous about the
play?”
After Latin, Sebastian all but ran to the art room. He had checked his locker
after lunch for other notes, other clues, but there was nothing, at least
nothing he could see in the scant few seconds before class started.
The art room was empty. Jim’s painting was covered for the first time. Perhaps
he always kept it covered when he wasn’t working on it. But wouldn’t it smudge?
Sebastian stepped toward it and pulled the cloth up. He sucked in his breath,
then yanked the cloth all the way to the floor.
Painted across the gorgeous masterpiece, in large, dripping yellow letters from
a spray paint can, were the words “GAY FAG.”
Sebastian could only look at the words for a moment before he slung the cloth
over the painting, his stomach rolling in disgust. Blind hatred flew through
him. Powers would fucking pay. He didn’t care if Jim told him to wait. He
wasn’t going to just fucking WAIT.
Sebastian knew where Powers would be at this time of day. Swimming season was
just beginning, and he was in the middle of that busy transitional time of
balancing both rugby and swim practice.
He was probably headed for the locker rooms now. Sebastian was barely aware of
himself as he walked down the hall. He had only one thought in his mind, and
that was to make Carl hurt, make him bleed.
He saw his large, square head down the hall, and he walked faster, bellowing an
unearthly “HEY.”
That got Carl’s attention. He turned, and smirked as Sebastian came toward him,
fists bared.
“Easy, Moran, no need to get-”
But he didn’t finish his sentence before Sebastian punched him full in the jaw
with a sickening crunch. The rest came in flashes- hot, glorious rage, Carl’s
blood on his hands…
When hands upon hands finally yanked Sebastian away, he had blood on his shirt,
he vaguely realised. Carl was being helped up too. There was blood on the
floor. Carl was handed an ice pack for his nose, which was where all the blood
was coming from.
“You-broke my fucking nose-” Carl said thickly.
Good.
Like the last fight, it ended with them being sat down next to each other, only
this time it was in front of the headmistress.
“Mr. Powers, your father is on the way in,” she said, then looked at Moran.
“Your parents were unavailable, Mr. Moran.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised, Ms. Hancher,” Sebastian said dryly.
“That will be quite enough from you,” she said. “What on earth provoked such an
attack?”
Carl shrugged, and gave a little sigh. “I-I don’t know. First he attacked me on
the rugby pitch, then he just walked up to me in the hallway and decked me-”
“Bullshit,” Sebastian snarled. “Ms. Hancher, do you allow students to get away
with hate crimes? Powers defaced a student’s art with slurs!”
“What are you talking about, Moran?” Carl said, shocked. “What art? What
student? I have no idea what he means, Ms. Hancher, really!”
“Yes, Mr. Moran, tell me precisely what you mean,” she said impatiently.
Sebastian swallowed. “Jim Moriarty has been working on a painting in the art
room. It was to be displayed tomorrow at a gallery. I came in looking for him,
and it had been...defaced.”
“How exactly was it defaced, Mr. Moran?”
“It- it said ‘gay fag’ on it in huge letters,” Sebastian said, choking on the
words. He couldn’t even look at Carl, worried that he would punch him again.
“Oh, please, you’re going to pin that on me?” Carl snorted. “I’m never in the
art rooms. Ms. Hancher, I’ve barely even talked to Moriarty! How would I ever
know that he’s working on some painting? Meanwhile, Moran here spends all
science lab with him.”
“Enough. I want to see this piece of art before we sort through accusations,”
the headmistress said. She rose from her desk and motioned for the boys to
follow. “Stacy, show Mr. Anthony Powers into my office when he arrives, please.
I will return shortly,” she told the office clerk, then turned to Sebastian.
“Let’s see the painting, then.”
Sebastian’s stomach knotted as he led Carl and Ms. Hancher to the art wing, and
into the classroom where he had confided in Jim, where Jim had seemed the most
relaxed and happy. He pointed to the covered painting, unable to bear lifting
it up himself, not wanting to see those words again.
Ms. Hancher lifted up the scrap sheet, her mouth drawn into a severe line as
she looked over the graffiti. “I see,” she said at last, rather briskly. “Tell
me, Mr. Moran, who can you think of that would have a motivation for doing
this?”
Sebastian looked at Carl, whose expression was murderous, but also dangerously
amused. Go on. I dare you. I have arsenal against you.
“Well, Powers is the obvious culprit,” Sebastian said calmly, staring him down.
“He’s forever saying homophobic things, especially about Moriarty.”
“Please! Ms. Hancher, Sebastian bloody attacked me on the pitch at the last
game. He can’t reign himself in. Clearly he has some problem with me. So he
must have a problem with Moriarty. But I have nothing whatsoever to do with
this!”
“Back to my office, the both of you,” she said, her expression unreadable.
Carl’s father was waiting when they returned. He was even more imposing than
his son, although over the years he’d put on some weight around his middle. He
stood, giving Sebastian a steady glare before his attention turned to the
headmistress. “I’ll be frank, Ms. Hancher. I don’t know why you continue to let
Sebastian Moran bully my son and others in your school. I enrolled my Carl here
because this school had a reputation for discipline and a high priority on
education.”
“I am very sorry, Mr. Powers, Moran’s insubordination was disciplined during
the game. He was taken from the game, as you likely saw-”
“As was my son!” he snarled. “My son was punished for being targeted and
victimised-”
Sebastian had to reign in a scoff out loud.
“I know all about this Moran’s reputation. He hasn’t stayed at a school for
long, and he’s constantly picking on Carl.”
“That may well be, Mr. Powers, and I assure you, he will be disciplined
accordingly, but the reason for this fight was that Moran has accused your son
of defacing another student’s artwork with spray-painted homophobic slurs. I am
taking this matter very seriously.”
“You have no proof that my Carl was in any way involved!” the senior Powers
snarled. “He’s a star pupil and athlete, and this Moran boy is dragging him
through the mud!”
Sebastian wanted to murder him. How would you like a broken nose to match your
son’s? He thought viciously.
“My aim is to sort out the facts, Mr. Powers,” she said, with a calmness that
Sebastian couldn’t help but admire. “I want to question each of the boys
separately, and I wish to talk to James Moriarty as well.”
Sebastian swallowed. Moriarty wasn’t in school today at all, at least as far as
he could tell. How had Carl known about the painting? And he wouldn’t tell Ms.
Hancher anyway. But why not? So much for his “sainthood.”
“I’m not sitting around for that. Search his locker, or I’m withdrawing my son
from this institution, and all of my money with it!” Mr. Powers demanded.
Ms. Hancher glared at him, rising. “Very well. If that’s what it takes to make
progress, we’ll take a look, although I think there are more productive courses
of action than this sort of invasive search.”
Sebastian felt a small bit of relief. There was nothing incriminating in his
locker, anyway. Still, he didn’t relish the thought of Mr. Powers peering into
his personal items.
“Go on and open it, Moran,” Ms. Hancher said when they reached his locker.
Sebastian sighed and began on the combination. Then he remembered, with a
sickly twinge in his stomach, that the flyer for the art gala was still in his
locker. He could see it perfectly- it was sitting on top of his biology
textbook, innocuous. Except the headmistress wouldn’t see it that way.
He turned the dial to the final number, thinking quickly. Could he grab it out
before they saw? That would look even more suspicious. He would just have to
pray that they somehow, miraculously, didn’t notice it-
When he opened his locker, he realised that the flyer wouldn’t be of any
consequence after all. A can of yellow spray paint was tossed next to his rugby
cleats, a dried trail of paint seeping from the lid.
“He planted it!” Sebastian said as Mr. Powers grabbed the can triumphantly.
“Oh my god, give it up, Moran!” Carl sneered. “Do you honestly expect anyone to
believe that I somehow slipped a can of paint into your locker?”
Sebastian was speechless. How had he known his locker combination? It was the
sort of thing that wouldn’t have surprised him at all if Jim had known, but
awful, brick-headed Powers… except he wasn’t brick-headed...he was just good at
acting like it.
“Mr. Moran, in my office, now,” Ms. Hancher said. “Mr. Powers, I would ask you
to stay until I can speak with you and your son separately.”
“By all means,” Mr. Powers said. The venom in his voice had been replaced by
oily charm.
Sebastian followed after Ms. Hancher, and even though Carl was silent, he could
hear Carl’s horrible laugh echoing in his head.I win, Moran. I always win.
 
Chapter End Notes
     *albelaa means “charming one” in Urdu
***** Pool *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
This was a bad dream. It had to be. The door to the office closed, and
Sebastian sank into the chair on the opposite side of Ms. Hancher’s desk. Her
face was grave.
“How do you explain this can of paint, Mr. Moran?” she asked.
Sebastian couldn’t. “Powers...he must have planted it.”
“How would he have your locker combination? Did you share it with him? Did you
share it with anyone?”
Sebastian stared down at his knees. It didn’t make sense. “No- but he must have
somehow found it- I never touched that paint can-”
“Mr. Moran, think about what you are saying. Does it make sense that someone
like Carl Powers would go to the trouble of finding your locker combination,
planting fake evidence, and letting himself get pummeled in the hallway, just
to shame you?”
What could Sebastian say? When she said it like that, of course it sounded
ludicrous. But what else could have happened?
The receptionist, Stacy, popped her head in. “Lord Moran said he would be here
shortly,” she said, then flitted out.
Sebastian sank lower in his chair. He knew exactly what his father would do -
He would murder him. On the spot.
“Mr. Moran, I really don’t know what to say,” Ms. Hancher snapped. “To write
such a crass thing on a fellow student’s art. It’s absolutely deplorable, and
we don’t tolerate hatred and unjust behaviour at this school.”
Sebastian couldn’t believe it. “So, Carl gets off the hook because his fucking
dad funded the bloody auditorium?  And that’s not unjust?”
“There is no evidence against Carl Powers,” she said. “Frankly, Mr. Moran, your
anger issues are alarming. You have attacked Powers with no understandable
cause twice now, and hurt him quite seriously.”
“He’s a fucking BULLY. He’s abusive! He-”
“That will be quite enough, Sebastian,” she snapped. “You’re banned from the
rugby team forthwith, and will have a one-week suspension. Be grateful that I
am giving you such a light sentence.”
“ What? ” Sebastian rose, gripping the back of his chair. “Ms. Hancher, he
threatened me! Me, and my girlfriend, and Jim-”
He swallowed, realising how Jim’s name had tumbled from his mouth, with
such...concern attached to it. “Is that so?” Ms. Hancher’s eyebrows shot up.
“And if I brought in your girlfriend and Moriarty for questioning, they would
corroborate this claim?”
He was saying too much. He didn’t want to implicate Jim in all of this any
further, let alone bring Miranda into it. He hastily changed the subject. “I
know  Carl Powers did this. I know he did. And if you can’t see it, then you
can go fuck yourself,” he spat, then he whirled toward the door and stalked
out, hurrying as he heard her shout after him, for him to come back.
He ran to the darkened outside, past the school grounds toward the bus stop. He
was only adding days onto his suspension, only tacking on further ire from his
father.
It was a cold, wet November afternoon, the sky dim. By the time Sebastian
finally stopped inside the bus stop shelter, he was dripping and shivering from
the rain. He didn’t have a plan - maybe he would just get on a bus and go
somewhere. And never come back.
“So, you finally snapped, did you?” It was Jim’s voice, stepping in from the
rain to face Sebastian. He had dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t
slept, but his eyes twinkled. “What finally did it, Moran?”
“I saw what Carl did to your painting,” Sebastian said hoarsely, and for a
moment Jim’s confident expression flickered. Sebastian couldn’t begin to fathom
how Jim’s mind worked, but he could only imagine how awful it must have felt to
Jim to see his efforts destroyed with such disgusting hatred.
The expression only wavered for an instant, though, before Jim’s smirk
returned. “Defending my honor? I’m touched.”
“As if you have any honor,” Sebastian shot back. “Not just for that. It was for
everything. He deserved it all. He deserves worse.”
“Yes, he does,” Jim said complacently. “All in good time, Sebastian.”
It was rare that Jim said his first name, and when he did, Sebastian savored
the way it dripped from Jim’s Irish tongue.
“I can’t believe he did that,” Sebastian said after a moment. “It was
unforgivable. You spent so long on that painting.”
A muscle in Jim’s jaw tightened. “The only way he can make me fear him is to
find a weakness in me. Destroying my art won’t change my resolve. Art can be
remade. Ideas reconceptualised.”
Sebastian wanted to crawl into his words and take comfort there.
Jim opened his mouth, about to say something else, when the bus pulled up. “Is
this you?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t have anywhere specific to go.”
“Well, where do you want to go?” Jim drawled.
“Anywhere but home,” Sebastian said dryly.
“Let’s go, then.” Jim marched his way onto the bus, waiting for Sebastian to
pay the fare for them both. They both automatically headed for the very back
seat, the one facing the opposite way.
They kicked their dripping shoes on the railing and watched the street begin to
move in front of them. The wet pavement looked like a river in the streetlamps,
cars floating in it. Sebastian’s shoulder pressed against Jim’s, but Jim didn’t
pull away, and neither did he.
“So, what happened?” Jim finally asked.
“I saw the painting, and then battered Carl until someone ripped us apart.
Hancher got involved. I told her about the painting-”
“Why? You shouldn’t have done that,” Jim snapped.
“I’m sorry- I couldn’t stand it, the shit he wrote...Anyway, his father showed
up, fucking  Anthony Powers,  with all of his donated money and his entire,
yell-until-you-get-your-way shit...”
Jim snorted.
“Anyway, he insisted they check my locker, and Carl must have...he must have
gotten my fucking locker combination, God knows how the idiotic lug did  that ,
but when they searched my locker there was yellow spray paint inside.”
“Oh,” Jim said, and his voice actually sounded surprised for once. He fell into
silence again.
“Anyway,” Sebastian continued wearily. “I’ve been kicked off the rugby team and
I’m suspended for a week. Probably expelled, after I told Ms. Hancher to go
fuck herself and walked out.”
“Oo!” Jim laughed, and Sebastian couldn’t help laughing too, feeling rather
unhinged.
“Right- I’ve just fucked over my life! And he walks away scot-free!” Sebastian
laughed, maniacal now. “I’m a fucking IDIOT!”
“I wouldn’t say you were a  complete  idiot, Sebastian,” Jim said, the corner
of his mouth quirking up. “Oh, I  do  wish I could have been there to see you
deck him in the hallway.” He hummed approvingly. “I’ll just have to watch it
later.”
“Get stuffed. How?”
“Security cameras,” Jim all but yawned. “The school has them in all of the
hallways, you know. And really, Sebastian, no more questions. Now, how long are
we going to ride this bus? With your mad little outbursts, I don’t know if
they’ll let us ride it on a continuous loop,” he said, amusement creeping into
his voice.
Fuck, where  were  they going? Sebastian peered out the window, trying to see
their whereabouts. They were headed south, and they were already quite far from
the well-to-do neighborhoods. Then Sebastian recognized a sporting gear shop
where he’d been one weekend with some mates. “Oh!” He realised aloud. “We’re
close to a pub I went to a while back. They don’t card.” The pub, he recalled,
had pool tables and cheap beer. They could do worse.
 __
The Silver Footman was even more dingy than Sebastian had remembered. To be
fair, the last time he’d been here, he and his friends had already been quite
tipsy from cheap lager. The pub hadn’t been updated from the 1980s, including,
seemingly, its muisc. The tacky carpet, sticky wooden tables, one pool table,
some crooked dart boards, and its few lone drunks hardly made it a cheery
place, but Sebastian simply felt relieved to be somewhere that didn’t in any
way resemble school.
It was quiet, and the bartender was only half-paying attention as Sebastian
ordered two beers, drawing himself to his full height and ordering with a lower
voice and a swaggering confidence. He felt a wave of victory as the bartender
handed over two pints.
Jim was looking around with mild curiosity as Sebastian turned to hand him his
beer. “I feel like we should be complaining about Thatcher or something,” he
said with distant amusement.
Sebastian felt stupidly happy, taking a big sip of beer and finding a booth to
sit in. His life was basically over, but for the moment, the recklessness had
him feeling invincible.
Jim took a tiny sip of beer, watching Sebastian with those round, dark eyes.
“You see what’s possible when you stop playing by  their  rules and start
listening to your own?” he said quietly.
Sebastian laughed, though his stomach turned nervously. “Now we really are in
the eighties. Shouldn’t you have a safety pin through your nose? Say
disparaging things about the queen, or something?”
Jim rolled his eyes. “I’m not a punk. I don’t belong in a social group.”
“Right, you’re  special, ” Sebastian sneered affectionately.
“Yes, I am,” Jim said, with an austere confidence that wiped the smirk from
Sebastian’s face.
“How do you do that?” Sebastian asked, and Jim looked at him blankly. “How do
you...how are you so powerful?”
Jim’s gaze was intense, hungry, and proud once more, but this time the pride
seemed to be shared for Sebastian, and Sebastian felt like a cat being petted.
“You know, you’re more clever than you look, Sebastian. But don’t worry your
pretty head about the  how.  Simply be grateful for being one of the few who
recognises raw power when they see it.” Jim sipped his beer once more, looking
around, then changed the subject. “Do you play pool?”
Sebastian looked back at the table. “Yeah. I like pool, actually.”
“Of course you do, competitive thing like you,” Jim smirked. “I bet you have a
bloody table in your house, mm?”
Sebastian colored. How did Jim  know  things like that? “Maybe,” he muttered.
He had already drank half his beer. What he really wanted, he realised, was a
cigarette.
Sebastian had never been one to carry a pack with him in his rucksack like many
of his friends. He smoked when the mood struck him - and today was a day for
cigarettes.
He excused himself, strode up to the bar, and bought a pack of cigarettes and
another pint. He felt like a true adult now, a fully-grown man. He unwrapped
the cellophane from the box and slid out a new cigarette, perfect and white. He
swiped a packet of matches from the counter and returned to the booth.
“Let’s play a round,” Jim said lightly. “Twenty pounds says I trounce you.”
Sebastian couldn’t help but grin. “Pool shark, are you?”
“I’ve never played a game in my life.” Jim’s eyes were innocent. “How do you
play?”
Sebastian considered him for a minute. “You want to bet me twenty quid that
you’ll beat me in a game you’ve never played before?”
Jim’s grin was devilish. “Did I say twenty? Let’s make it fifty.”
“That’s an awful lot in a game between friends.” Sebastian put the cigarette
between his lips and lit up, taking a slow drag. It felt good, putting
something deadly into his lungs, breathing it out toward the smoke-stained
ceiling. Dangerous. “Besides, you’ll win, won’t you? It’s all angles and maths,
isn’t it?”
Jim was watching him with a strange look. It made Sebastian’s heart beat
faster, the way Jim was devouring him with his eyes, tearing him apart,
disseminating every inch.
“Friends. Is that what we are, Sebastian?” Jim asked. It wasn’t a question that
Sebastian could answer, or was expected to answer. Jim got up from the table,
abandoning his pint and sing-songing mockingly, “Friends, friends, friends!”
He grabbed a cue, examining it end to end, weighing it in his hand. He didn’t
approach it like someone who had never played a game before. “Of course...if
you’re scared, then the bet’s off.” His dark eyes flicked up to meet
Sebastian’s. A challenge. Now there was no way that Sebastian could say no.
“I’m not scared,” Sebastian said automatically. “Fifty it is, then.”
“Tell me the rules,” Jim said, and his eyes were dark, large. Hungry. The way
he always looked when he was absorbing new information.
Sebastian set up the balls in the triangle, lining them up. “We’ll play stripes
and solids. Rules are simple enough. I’ll break, and then if any of the balls
go into a pocket, that will determine whether I’m stripes or solids. When you
sink a ball, you get another turn.”
Jim was circling the table, seemingly measuring up Sebastian. He sank down,
looking at the felt at eye level, apparently looking for any bumps or divots.
There were plenty. “If you sink the cue ball, it’s a scratch, and the other
player gets to place the cue anywhere here,” Sebastian continued, drawing a
line down the table with his finger. “Eight ball has to go in last, or the
player loses. You also have to call which pocket the eight ball will go into
before you sink it, otherwise it doesn’t count.”
Jim didn’t even seem to be paying attention, now seemingly fascinated by the
eight ball itself, which he had picked up from its place in the triangle and
weighed in his hand. “It rather looks like an inverse eye, don’t you think,
Sebastian?” he mused quietly. He spun the ball between his pale, nimble
fingers.
Sebastian was thrown for a loop. The bartender didn’t even glance their way.
Some old Blur song played from the low-quality speakers. “Yeah, you loon. Put
the ball back, or I’ll take that 50 now.” He realigned the balls and moved into
place, bending over the table to make a clean break, the balls scattering
across the felt. He didn’t sink any balls on the first go, but he wasn’t too
concerned. “Right. Your go,” he said lightly, and moved back to sip his beer.
Jim circled the table, strategising. He finally set his sights on one ball in
particular and bent over, fumbling with his cue a bit. “Be a lamb and help a
bit?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Sebastian.
“You want me to help you in a game that we’re playing for money? Get stuffed,”
he grinned.
Jim’s gaze grew serious. “Helping me properly hold a pool cue is a trivial
detail,” he said. “Are you really so scared? I thought we were  friends ,” he
spat out the word with such disdainful mockery that Sebastian was tempted to
forget the whole thing altogether. What was he doing here, anyway? What was he
doing, trying to enjoy his time with Jim Moriarty, as if the odd boy really
wanted anything to do with him?
Instead, he tucked his cigarette back into the corner of his mouth, taking his
place behind Jim and covering Jim’s hand with his own. “You want your grip to
be loose enough that the cue slides easily, but firm enough that you still have
control,” he muttered, aware of how Jim’s body had arched back to meet his ever
so slightly, a warm contact against his chest, his hips. It made his breath
catch, and pulled every sensation to the forefront of his brain. He pulled back
slightly, showing how to angle the cue. “Well, you get the idea,” he muttered,
then stepped aside. His face felt hot as he retreated to his beer, taking a
large swig, which only seemed to make his face grow warmer.
By the time he turned around, Jim had sank the eleven. “Right. Good,” Sebastian
said, suppressing his surprise. He watched Jim’s slight shoulders bunch and
then relax before he straightened, surveying the table. “You get another turn,
remember,” Sebastian said.
Jim didn’t acknowledge him. He took his time, prowling around the table and
surveying his options. He was stone-faced, all of his attention focused on the
game. Nobody else in the pub was paying attention to the two teenage boys at
the pool table, but Sebastian couldn’t understand how. Jim was magnetic, the
way he focused, the way he became fully absorbed in his thoughts. Sebastian
stared in astonishment as Jim sank another stripe with ease, then another, and
another. He didn’t look back at Sebastian once as he rounded the table to bank
two stripes in a tricky shock that made Sebastian swear under his breath.
Sebastian had only just finished his cigarette by the time Jim had zeroed in on
the eight ball. “Left corner pocket,” Jim drawled quietly, boredly, bending to
line up his shot. He was perfectly in line, and Sebastian knew with a mixture
of shock, horror and...pride that Jim was about to play a perfect game of pool.
Except that Jim paused and looked over his shoulder at Sebastian, licking his
lips. “Help a fellow out, won’t you, Moran?”
Sebastian was speechless, staring at Jim. Jim Moriarty didn’t need his help. He
didn’t need anyone’s help to win. He swallowed thickly. “There’s no fucking
way.”
“I’m going to win either way,” Jim said, confirming what Sebastian already
knew. His eyes glinted, and he bent over the table just a degree further. The
implication was clear.  I’ll either win by myself, or win with you draped over
my body like a fucking victory cape.
Sebastian shouldn’t have been even tempted by this idea. He was straight, he
had a girlfriend, and this was Jim Moriarty, for God’s sake.
And yet he found his body walking toward Jim as if pulled by an external force.
He bent over him, his hand covering Jim’s on the cue as he lined up the shot.
His other hand braced against the table, and he felt Jim’s back arch up to
press against his chest. Their bodies were flush. The bartender was glaring at
them, and Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to care, because Jim’s hips were
pressed up against his-
“Make the shot,” Sebastian murmured, and Jim pressed back against Sebastian
even more firmly, sinking the eight as his hips ground back-
Sebastian had to bite back a gasp, pulling back as he felt heat pooling- well,
it didn’t matter where, because it was just a game of pool, and he wasn’t
supposed  to feel this way- especially not after-
Jim straightened and turned to look at him, that same wide-eyed innocence in
his eyes. It was so genuine that it took Sebastian by surprise. “Like that?” he
asked, gesturing to the table of untouched solids.
Sebastian was lost for words. The song had ended and switched to “Don’t You
Forget About Me.”  
“Best two out of three?” Sebastian stammered at last.
Jim wasn’t paying attention. He was, infuriatingly, humming along to the song,
in a quiet little mutter:
Tell me your troubles and doubts
Giving me everything inside and out and
Love’s strange so real in the dark-
“Jim-” Sebastian snapped.
Jim stopped humming, chuckling mildly and brushing past him. “Did you ever see
The Breakfast Club , Moran? So funny, all those ‘troubled’ teens, coming
together and talking about their feelings…” He flicked open Sebastian’s box of
cigarettes and helped himself.
“Can’t say I have,” Sebastian said blankly. “I asked you if you wanted to try
best two out of three.”
“I heard you.” Jim didn’t light the cigarette, just held it in his mouth,
rolling it this way and that. “A rematch wouldn’t change the outcome,
Sebastian.”
“I didn’t even get a  turn ,” Sebastian said in disbelief, then huffed and
began to put the remaining balls away. “I’ll have to find a cash machine to pay
you,” He muttered.
Jim, however, was setting up another game, the unlit cigarette dangling from
the corner of his mouth. “I’ll break this time,” he said. “If we tie, the bet’s
off.” He looked Sebastian over, an appraising glance from head to foot. Sizing
him up. And suddenly, Sebastian had everything to prove.
He felt his palm grow sweaty as he watched Jim break expertly, cleanly, and
breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t sink any balls on his first go.
Sebastian was up, and despite his nerves, he sank a solid and lined up for
another shot. This was idiotic- he had never played a perfect run before. There
were so many factors to consider, and that was with a perfect table. This table
was  shit,  the felt all gouged. He felt Jim’s eyes on him as he sank a second
ball, then, miraculously, a third. Sebastian had never felt such pressure. All
of his concentration went into the game, his whole body tensed, each shot a
test.
And so far, he was passing. He could scarcely breathe when he sank the final
solid, moving to line up for the eight ball. He would have to bank it. He shook
out his hands, wiping sweat on his trousers. He felt Jim slide up next to him,
a warm hand on the small of his back. “Go on, Sebastian,” Jim drawled. “ Make
the shot. ”
A hot jolt of undeniable arousal ran down Sebastian’s spine, settling
underneath that warm hand and blooming lower. He could barely focus on what he
was doing, and he couldn’t explain it, how the eight ball went in, how he had
just played a perfect game of pool on the shittiest table in London, how
despite all of this, the only thing he could focus on was the feeling of Jim’s
hand on the small of his back.
He straightened and stared at the table. It was taking every ounce of control
not to press against Jim’s warm touch. “I’ve never done that before,” he
admitted softly. He could feel Jim’s eyes on him, even with his back turned.
“Yes, I know. And you did it for me,” Jim said. And fuck, he was right.
Sebastian’s eyes closed. Jim wasn’t touching him, but he could feel Jim’s
entire body regardless. He had punched Carl in the face for Jim. Had gotten
suspended for Jim. Had played the best game of pool in his life to prove
himself worthy of Jim. Sebastian was shaking, unable to process what this all
meant.
“I should go home-” he said finally, hoarsely. When he turned back to Jim, he
could barely meet Jim’s eyes, afraid of what would happen if he did. The entire
pub must already be staring at them, wondering when the two homos were going to
leave.
“The bet-” Sebastian said, but Jim’s mouth flickered.
“Save your cash, Moran. You’ll need it long before I do. We’ll call it a tie.”
The flat disappointment in Jim’s voice was obvious, and fell like a dull weight
to the ground.
Sebastian realised with horror that now, because of whatever had just happened
at that pool table, there was a new awkwardness between them.
"I got a bit caught up in the game back there,” he said, forcing a laugh as
they moved outside. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and Sebastian
headed for the bus stop.
Jim followed him mutely until they were in the bus shelter. He didn’t say
anything for a moment, turning to look out at the traffic. “Don’t you dare try
to tell me that what happened back there was a mistake because you’re too
afraid to admit who you really are. I was there. I  felt  you,” he said
vehemently.
Sebastian felt the wind knocked out of him. “Powers was- I didn’t want what
Powers...did to me, and I still got…” He winced. “It’s not always so simple.”
“Bullshit,” Jim whirled to face Sebastian. He looked as if he wanted to destroy
Sebastian, his gaze burning a hole straight through him. “I didn’t  force  you
into anything. So don’t you  ever  compare me to that piece of shit-”
“Jim, I didn’t mean-”
But Jim kept going. “If you’re using  him  as an excuse for what just happened,
then I really don’t know why I wasted any time on you at all.”
The bus pulled up to the kerb, but Sebastian wasn’t going to get on. Not yet.
“I don’t know what happened,” he said quietly. “I’m not blaming you.”
“Really? Because that would be so convenient, wouldn’t it? Blame anything that
happened on crazy, slutty Jim, so you can go back to your macho, false, lying-”
Sebastian shook his head, staring Jim square in the eye. “I don’t want to be- I
can’t  be that anymore,” he said. It was the closest he’d come to admitting
that, yes, there had been something there. Not just the moment when Jim’s hand
had slid over his back, but in the art room, kneeling in supplication at Jim’s
feet, and in the classroom, watching the nape of Jim’s neck. There had always
been something. Sebastian felt free. He also felt a bit dizzy.
Jim still looked angry, but he wasn’t leaving, and he wasn’t shutting Sebastian
out just yet. “Look, Jim, I owe you...big time. I owe you for the rugby
strategies, and for the pig dissection, and now I owe you fifty quid-”
“Oh, you’ll repay me, Sebastian Moran. Don’t you worry a second about that,”
Jim purred, a slow smile on his face. “Although...I may have one more favor for
you. It’s not about you, of course, but I think you’ll like it.”
“Whatever you’re planning with Powers?” Sebastian asked.
Jim shrugged. “Perhaps.”
Sebastian licked his lips. Then tension had dissipated somewhat, but it was
still there, a kettle over low heat, not quite ready to whistle. “Can I ask you
for one more favor, Jim?” he asked.
Jim tsked impatiently. “You can always ask, Moran, but it doesn’t mean the
favor will be granted. What is it?”
“Can I have your phone number?” It was worth mustering up the courage to ask,
just to see the rare astonishment on Jim’s face. “It’s only...I’m suspended
from school for the week. And it would be nice to...it would be nice to talk to
you,” Sebastian said.
Jim sauntered up to him, slowly, until their chests were nearly brushing.
Sebastian couldn’t breathe. What would happen, if he just leaned forward and-?
Jim pulled away and grabbed a notebook and pencil from his rucksack, scribbling
a row of numbers and ripping off the scrap. “I don’t usually give my number
away for free,” Jim said.
“I’ll try not to make you regret it,” Sebastian said. His blood boiled at the
thought of Powers taking this, of having something so precious and bruising it.
“I won’t. Because I’m not giving it away for free,” Jim said, his eyes sliding
up Sebastian’s chest, resting on his throat, then his mouth. Sebastian opened
his mouth to ask what he meant, but the next bus was pulling up, and Jim’s eyes
flicked up to Sebastian’s. “Go,” he ordered. And Sebastian did.
Chapter End Notes
     This was one of my favorite chapters to write, so I'm excited to post
     it!! I hope you enjoyed it, too. :)
***** Phone Calls *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 Jim walked home, even though it was over two miles, even though the cold night
air blew through his threadbare coat. He didn’t even notice. His
Moran...working so hard for him. Jim indulged himself on his walk, imagining if
Moran had been there for him before all of this...if he’d had him as his guard
dog before Powers had become an issue, before he’d sworn off the notion of
friends entirely.
Even now, he was being foolish. The cloud he’d been floating on dissipated, and
Jim was walking on cold concrete again, and fury at his own weakness flooded
him. He had been so bloody eager, pressing back against Sebastian when his
delicious weight had draped over him.  Like the whore you are,  Powers would
say. Jim hissed. Powers had no right to be in his head. Moran, though...he
could find a place for him. Tuck him into a little space, where he could pace
back and forth, all feral energy and barely-closeted fury.
His mouth twitched up as he imagined Sebastian whaling on Powers, splitting his
stupid, brickish face in half with his fists. His pretty beast.
__
Lord August Moran was waiting in the foyer, drawn up to his full six-foot-two-
inch stature. His pale eyes flashed dangerously, strong jaw clenched, mouth a
thin line.
Sebastian’s wet trainers squeaked on the perfect tile floor when he came in the
door. “Evening, father,” he muttered.
“What the HELL is wrong with you?” August rumbled, grabbing Sebastian’s arm.
“Have you come COMPLETELY unhinged? After all that we’ve done for you- you
repay it with defiance and the most idiotic decisions imaginable!”  He drew
closer, and fury split his face apart. “You smell like  cigarettes and alcohol
!”
“If this is about Carl Powers-”
“You’re bloody well right, it’s about Powers-” he hissed. “I come home to news
that you’ve been suspended  and  kicked off the rugby team! It’s bloody France
all over again-”
“I didn’t put anyone in a coma, for fuck’s sake. And he started it-” Sebastian
snapped, growing hot with rage. If his father only knew- not that he would
ever, ever tell him-
“I don’t care if he did! You’re not supposed to lose your  bloody temper! ”
August barked.
“Sort of like what you’re doing now, you mean?” Sebastian snapped back.
August’s hand flew out so quickly that Sebastian didn’t know what was happening
until the sound of the smack reverberated in the foyer. The force of it cracked
Sebastian’s face to the side.
August looked surprised as well, pulling his hands back to his sides.  “You’re
not to leave the house during your suspension,” he said in a low growl that was
far worse than his shouting. “I’ve given Sana a list of rules, and there will
be no bending them. You will keep up with all of your coursework. You will
finish your term with top marks. And when you’re done, you’re going to
correctional school to finish out your schooling.”
Sebastian clutched his aching face and swallowed, refusing to look at August.
“What do you mean, finish out?” he whispered fearfully. “What about
university?” He hadn’t exactly had a field of study in mind, but he’d always
dreamed of studying a language, joining a uni society, living in a dorm or a
shit apartment, having his own freedom-
“You need discipline,” August said sharply. “Discipline I can’t provide you on
my own. You will serve a term in the military. After that, if you still want to
go to uni, maybe we can talk.”
“I’ll be eighteen in May,” Sebastian said, astonished at how calm he was. “I’ll
be a legal adult. You can’t mandate me into the military.”
August’s stare was icy. “See how you get by with no funds. Now enough talking,
it makes me sick to even look at you. Go upstairs.”
Sebastian couldn’t move, he was so furious. How dare he. How fucking  dare  he
plot out the course of his life!  
“GO,” August barked.
Sebastian kicked off his shoes and stalked upstairs to his room. He slammed the
door, coming face to face with Kurt Cobain. An actual dead man. His fist closed
on the scrap of paper holding Jim’s phone number. Thank God he’d asked for it
when he did, because he wouldn’t be seeing Jim anytime soon.
__
It was so odd, not going to school the next day.  At least I get to sleep in,
Sebastian thought when his usual alarm went off, but he only got ten extra
minutes before Sana came in, pulling up his shades. “Time to get up, mister.
There’s work to be done.”
“Sana, I don’t know if you heard, but I’ve been suspended,” Sebastian groaned,
covering his head with the pillow. He’d slept fitfully all night, images of Jim
and Carl and his father’s livid face all blurring together until he was unable
to distinguish between waking thoughts and dreams.
“Oh, I heard, all right,” Sana said, ire in her voice as she ripped the
blankets back. “How could I not have heard? You told the headmistress off? You
punched a boy in the hallway?”
“He was committing a hate crime,” Sebastian muttered.
“You have an odd way of showing nobility, g aandu ,” Sana spat.
Sebastian winced at the insult. She only called him such names when she was
really and truly upset. That made him infinitely more sad and ashamed than his
father’s wrath.
“Now up. You are to help me wash the windows today, and your father wants you
to keep with your exercise schedule. Come. Work out that anger on some window
smudges, then you can run the rest out.”
The entire day was like that, and in other circumstances it might have been
nice, having the whole day with Sana, but she was so furious at him that
Sebastian spent most of it in stony silence; scrubbing windows, then working
out, then picking up sticks and stones in the back garden.
Sebastian got a phone call right after school. He was almost hoping it was Jim,
but it was Miranda. He ran upstairs to answer the hallway phone, then walked
into his room for privacy.
“‘Bastian?” she asked.
Sebastian felt a bigger distance between them than just the phone. He didn’t
want to talk to her. There was no way to explain… “What the hell happened?” she
continued.
“Miranda…” he sighed, sinking onto his bed. “Just forget it. Okay? My father’s
pulling me out of school at the end of the term.”
“ What ? But your suspension is only for a few days.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve hurt someone,” Sebastian mumbled.
“Oh, please, Sebastian, Powers was hardly hurt-”
But Sebastian barreled on. “When I was in France, I put a boy in a coma,”  he
burst out.
There was silence on the other end of the line, and Sebastian felt a sick
satisfaction from it.  That’s right, your boyfriend is a freak. Your boyfriend
went hunting and shot a deer and watched it suffer and enjoyed it. Your
boyfriend is no better than that psychopath Moriarty who disturbs you. Oh, and
your boyfriend might have been flirting with that very same psychopath.
“Well, sometimes you don’t know your own strength,” she said after a moment.
“Or sometimes people are just monsters,” he said, and there was no bitterness
in his voice now. It was matter-of-fact.
Miranda paused for just a second too long. “You’re not a monster, Sebastian,”
she said quietly.
“I am. I loved punching Carl in the face. I could have killed him. The only
reason I didn’t was because-”
Was because Jim had told me not to. Jim has dibs.
Aloud, though, he said, “-because of the consequences.”
“I hate him too, Seb,” Miranda sighed. “But we have to rise above him.”
“You sound like my fucking dad,” he growled.
“I’m not trying to criticise. I just....I don’t want you getting into any more
trouble.”
Sebastian stood up and began to pace. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m being pulled out
of school next month! It’s over! Even if I keep my head down now, even if I do
a good job and get everything right, it’s still over.” His fingers trailed over
his large CD collection. He certainly wouldn’t be able to haul all of his CDs
to reformatory school.
Miranda was silent for a bit. “You could come over here a bit. We could...talk.
Take your mind off things.”
“We could fuck, you mean?” Sebastian said harshly. “I can’t. I’m under house
arrest all week.”
Miranda scoffed, offended. “Will they let you out to come see the play, at
least?” she asked.
“I doubt it. And really, to be honest, your play is the last of my worries
right now.”
“Well, apologies for even asking,” she said, and Sebastian could hear emotion
thickening her voice. “I really don’t know what’s gotten into you.”
“Bye, Miranda,” he said flatly.
“See you next week,” she replied, her voice cold, then slammed the receiver
down. That was the last time they spoke on the phone that week.
Sana had to go in and pick up Sebastian’s coursework each day. For Sebastian,
each day felt longer than the last. Nobody from the rugby team called him. Not
even Barnes. Sebastian wondered what Carl had told him.
Sebastian’s days were dull, and gloomy. Every day was a litany of yard work,
homework, and exercise. He practiced his Urdu with Sana, he watched TV, he
blared music in his bedroom. And at night, he curled in on himself, his mind
drifting from his usual fantasies or simple images into bolder ideas. It was
his own head...nobody needed to know that he fantasized about Jim Moriarty now
when he wanked off.
He didn’t know what it would feel like, to have sex with a man. In his
fantasies, though, Jim showed him exactly what to do- barked commands, praised
him. And God, just the thought of that- of giving in to that grinning, devious
boy- made him come with embarrassing speed.
He didn’t work up the nerve to call Jim Moriarty until three days after their
game of pool. When he finally did, he curled against the windowsill in his
bedroom, his palms sweaty.
A woman answered the phone, sounding irritated. When Sebastian asked for Jim,
she sounded puzzled, and Sebastian began to worry that he’d gotten the number
wrong. Then there was a rustle, and Sebastian heard her yell “JAMES!
Telephone’s for you!” She had an unmistakable Londoner accent- not Irish at
all.
There was the sound of a baby crying, a TV blaring, and then- “Hullo,
Sebastian,” Jim said in a soft sing-song. Sebastian could hear him breathing
down the crackling receiver. “Enjoying your holiday?”
“It’s not a bloody holiday, and you know it,” Sebastian snarled. “What’s Carl
been like?”
“His usual arrogant self,” Jim replied, sounding bored.
“Jim, has he hurt you?” Sebastian demanded.
“He hasn’t touched me,” Jim promised. “And he will be dealt with. Don’t worry
your pretty head about that, Moran. You’ll be allowed back at school for the
next swim meet, yes?”
“As far as I know.”
“I think you should go. Powers is an incredible athlete to watch. So majestic,
if the newspapers from the last swimming season are to be believed.”
There was more rustling and the background noise faded slightly. “Hang on.” Jim
must have trailed into another room, taking the phone with him. Sure enough,
the sound of a door closing followed after. “You’ve been thinking about me,”
Jim said.
Sebastian’s face reddened. “Yes,” he said, his voice quiet, guilty. “You’re
right. As always.”
Jim’s soft, intimate laugh made the hairs at the nape of Sebastian’s neck stand
up straight. “What, precisely, were you thinking about?”
Sebastian swallowed, leaned his forehead against the glass. He idly rolled the
phone cord around his finger. “About our game of pool,” he managed out. “About
how…”
“About your scary gay feelings,” Jim snickered.
When Jim said it aloud, it made it so much more real. And, ironically, far less
scary. But still… “I have a girlfriend, Jim,” he said.
“Yes, and you’re not on the phone with her right now,” Jim said lightly. “And
you weren’t thinking of her, you were thinking of me. I was thinking of you
too, Sebastian.”
Sebastian’s heart hammered, his stomach twisting pleasantly. “You were?”
“The thing about Carl is, he likes to gossip. And he seems to have a bit of an
obsession with you.” Sebastian could almost hear the smirk in Jim’s voice. “And
the size of your cock.”
Sebastian reddened. He didn’t want Jim’s ideas about him coming from Carl.
“Jim-” he muttered.
“Has anyone ever sucked you off before, Sebastian?”
Sebastian’s hand shook. What if someone was listening on the other line? He bit
his lip, shifting as he felt blood rush to his cock. “Yes,” he said quietly.
“Has anyone ever been able to swallow you whole, given you that deep kind of
suck that made your eyes roll back?” Jim asked wickedly.
Jesus fucking Christ. Sebastian had to shift the receiver away from his mouth
so that he didn’t audibly moan into the phone. He could feel his face growing
hot. “Jim- I should really-”
“You’re not going to hang up on me, Sebastian,” Jim snarled. “Don’t even think
about it.”
Sebastian knew his heavy breathing carried to the other line anyway.
“There’s a good boy,” Jim purred, and Sebastian’s legs widened minutely on the
windowsill. “Now, give me your phone number.”
Sebastian recited it off breathlessly.
“Now, as much as I would love to stay on the phone and listen to the noise you
make when you come, Sebastian, I’m not going to do that. But I want you to
imagine me sucking you off when you get off this phone call. Will you do that?”
“Yes-” Sebastian said, in a strangled voice.
“Great! Let’s chat again sometime! It’s been so lovely catching up,” Jim said
in a perky voice, and the background noise grew louder once more.
“Uh-” Sebastian could only gasp, before Jim hung up.
Sebastian was unbearably hard. He drew down his window shade, made sure the
door was locked, and masturbated. He pictured Jim on his knees, his dark eyes
looking up and demanding Sebastian’s full attention as he sucked around him. He
imagined that quick tongue over the head of his cock- maybe his hand would
fondle Sebastian’s balls, or squeeze his thighs. He imagined Jim’s noises,
small moans of arousal - Jim’s body between his thighs, wet heat on his cock-
He had to bury his face in his arm as he came, to swallow the desperate, choked
noise he made. The effort left him spent and trembling, leaning uncomfortably
back against the wall as his head tipped back.
__
Sebastian was quiet that night at dinner. Jim Moriarty had been thinking of
him. Sexually. Imagining his cock. Imagining sucking his cock. The thought was
almost too much to handle, and Sebastian had to hurriedly excuse himself from
the table for another quick wank. His body was insatiable now, filled with a
heat that wouldn’t go away.
The next few days were torture. Sana actually asked if he was ill the following
morning, because he looked so flushed and tired. He just hurriedly shook his
head and ran several extra miles during his workout time.
On Friday evening, Sana found Sebastian. “There’s a boy on the phone for you,”
she said. “He had some questions for you about a biology project.”
Sebastian’s stomach did a backflip. “Yeah, that must be my lab partner. Lab’s
finishing up, and there’s the final paper. My books are in my room. I’ll get
the phone up there,” he babbled, then all but ran upstairs to answer the phone.
Jim’s breath was heavy. His home, wherever he lived, seemed to be quiet. “Are
you alone?”
Sebastian lay on his bed, phone in hand. “Yeah.”
“Would you kill someone if I asked you to, Sebastian?”
Sebastian rolled onto his side. “That’s a hell of a question, Jim,” he said
lowly. Jim’s breath was heavy with...desire? “Hang on...Jim, are you...wanking
off right now?” he asked, equal parts shocked and aroused.
“What do you think, Moran? It’s not often I get the flat to myself…”
He pictured Jim on his back, on a bed like Sebastian was, slender body arching
off the bed, hand fisting his cock, face flushed - God. “Where’s your flat?”
Sebastian asked, his mouth dry, asking the question in a desperate attempt to
keep himself sane.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m only here for now. Hard to get attached to foster
families,” Jim said distantly. “Anyway, I didn’t call for small talk. Life’s
too short. Answer the question, Basher.”
Sebastian bit his lip at his rugby nickname. It sounded so different coming
from Jim’s mouth. “God, Jim, this is fucking...weird.”
Jim huffed impatiently, his breath crackling into the receiver like a crashing
wave. “If you want normalcy, stop associating with me  now.  I’ll hang up-”
“No!” Sebastian said, hand tightening on the phone. “I- if I was guaranteed not
to get caught...yeah. Yeah, I think I would. But please fucking tell me that’s
a rhetorical question, Jim.”
“For now,” Jim said, and then he swore softly, under his breath. “Sebastian-”
“Yes?” Sebastian asked, closing his eyes, listening to Jim’s breath.
“Touch yourself for me,” Jim murmured.
“Yes-” Sebastian’s hands were already sliding to unzip his jeans, and he was
stroking himself into hardness. It only took a second- and he doubted it would
take very much longer before he came. “Jim, I can’t stop thinking about you,”
he admitted breathlessly.
“I know,” Jim laughed softly, intimately, and for a moment it was like he was
there with him, and Sebastian didn’t know if it was his isolation or just being
so ungodly horny, but he could feel Jim’s breath against his neck, his pale
fingers sliding around his torso. “You know, Sebastian, I had a dream about
you,” Jim snickered.
God. Sebastian kept his eyes closed, imagining having Jim on the bed with him.
“It was such an  ordinary  dream, really. I don’t have sex dreams, usually. Not
ones where someone like you comes along, bends me over a desk, and fucks me
into next week.”
“Jesus Christ-” Sebastian choked out.
“But that’s exactly what happened.” Jim’s voice was so casual, conversational,
except for his labored breathing. He laughed, an edge of mania there. “Would it
be as good in real life, Sebastian? Would your cock split me open? Would you
make me see stars?”
“I don’t- I’ve never-”
“Isn’t it funny, how they always say you see stars when you’re in pain? And
stars are my favorite things to see. I’m absolutely mad for astronomy,” Jim
said, panting. “I’ve always been on the receiving end, Sebastian, but I can
tell you how deliciously tight it would be. Once you’re inside- it would be the
best feeling in the world.”
Sebastian bit his lip. Jim’s back arching, Jim’s muscles tightening-
“God, Jim, I’m close-” Sebastian gasped, squirming against the bed.
“Not yet, pet,” Jim breathed quietly. “You know, people always think that if
you’re getting fucked, you’re the weak one. It’s not true. You would be mine,
you know?” Jim’s voice was a low purr, slow, consonants feeling close and
intimate. His voice dripped sex. Sebastian’s toes curled, and he had to stop
for a moment, squeezing the base of his cock to keep from coming.
“F-fuck-”
“Maybe I’d just tie you down and fuck myself down on your cock, take what I
want, and leave you begging to finish…”
A small whimper escaped through Sebastian’s nose, which resulted in a low laugh
from Jim’s end. “I want to see you come undone, Moran. I want to push you to
your limits until you’re in tears. Slap you until you’re red and aching, make
you scream my name-”
“Jim, please-” Sebastian begged, barely able to stand it.
Jim paused his monologue for a moment, and it was just shared breath over the
phone line. “Come for me, Sebastian,” he finally said, his voice choked too,
and just  hearing  Jim in that state had Sebastian coming hard into his hand,
mouth open and hot against the bed, groaning against the phone. He could hear
the crash of Jim’s breath on the phone as well, then a small, contained noise,
something brief and intimate. Then a soft sigh of relief. It was like that for
a few more minutes - shared, heavy breath that slowly quieted.
“Mmm... there’s a good boy,” Jim murmured at last. “It’s a shame, really, that
you’re confined to the house. No chance of sneaking out?”
“No. Housekeeper has her eyes on me. All the time,” Sebastian said, his head
feeling pleasantly light. “God, Jim, I can’t believe we just-”
“Had phone sex?” Jim laughed. “First time for everything, Sebastian. Even for
me, I suppose,” he mused.
“I wish I could sneak out- maybe later, I could-”
“No need to add years onto your sentence, Moran,” Jim said, his bored tone
edging slowly back into his voice. “I need you back at school at your scheduled
return. You can have a bit of fortitude until then. Oh, and by the by, we did
get top marks on our pig dissection project.”
Sebastian laughed, grinning wide. “Good. Clearly that’s my top priority right
now.”
“Lovely, isn’t it, how a large part of our grade depends on a dead animal?” Jim
hummed, then his voice changed, business-like. “When you return to school, keep
it reigned in. Whatever Carl does, don’t retaliate.  Whatever  he does,
Sebastian. I can guarantee that he won’t touch me. Can you keep from bashing
his head in for a few days?”
“God, I hope so,” Sebastian muttered.
“Don’t get me wrong, it would be so fun to watch. I’m tempted, Sebastian, I’m
very tempted. But leave it in my hands. That’s all I ask.”
“Right...what are you going to do?”
“Getting greedy, Moran. Patience,” he sang tauntingly. “Now, I really must
fly.”
“Jim, wait-” Sebastian said, zipping up his trousers and sitting up on the bed.
Jim said nothing, but he didn’t hang up either.
“How...how do I..?” What was he trying to say?  How do I continue now that I
know exactly how much I want you? How do I live my life with this new
discovery?
But he didn’t need to finish his sentence. “You keep ignoring me at school. Try
to resist putting your hands all over me,” Jim snickered.
Sebastian scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“And you leave yourself open to possibility, and stop putting yourself in the
square little box that everyone has tried to stuff you in,” Jim added simply.
“Now, ta-ta!” He said cheerily, then slammed the phone down.
Sebastian sat listening to the dialtone, unable to move for a bit. He felt a
wave of exhilaration, but it was immediately followed by guilt. He’d had a
chance to really patch things up with Miranda...then he’d done this. He’d
cheated on her. Should he tell her? Could he, even if he wanted to? Did it even
matter, if he was leaving in a few weeks anyway?
A rap at the door made him jolt to his feet, doing up his jeans.
“Sebastian, are you quite done on the phone? There’s still work to be done,”
Sana called through the wood.
“Y-yeah. Be right down,” Sebastian said.
Chapter End Notes
     Gaandu is Hindi for “born from an ass.” Sana only ever swears in
     Hindi. ;)
***** Swim Meet *****
As restless as he was from staying at home, Sebastian was dreading going back
to school. And even though he’d run over every scenario in his head, stepping
back into those corridors was just as bad as he’d feared.
Everyone was staring at him. Fucking everyone, including younger students he’d
never even seen before. He kept his head down and his hands in his jacket
pockets, hunching his shoulders as much as possible.
He spotted Barnes and tried to give him a smile, but Barnes looked straight
past him. Sebastian glared daggers at Barnes’ back once he’d passed. If it
wasn’t for Jim, he wouldn’t have anything left at this fucking school to care
about. If it wasn’t for Jim, he wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.
He cringed as he neared his locker, half-expecting it to be defaced with gay
slurs, but Carl wouldn’t be that idiotic. It looked the same as ever. A note
was pushed into the one of the vents. He unwrapped it hastily, and felt
disappointed when he saw it was Miranda’s loping cursive, not Jim’s cramped
spider scrawl.
Can we talk? Let’s meet after school, at the cafe across the street. After all
the craziness, I don’t know what to think. -M
Was she referring to Sebastian’s craziness, or had further things happened?
God, what had people been saying about him? It must have been awful, because
nobody was talking to him. People must know that he’d told the headmistresses
to go fuck herself, they must know about the graffiti, about getting kicked off
the rugby team...
He was in such a fog that he hadn’t even thought about what it would be like to
see Jim after their strange hiatus until he walked into the biology classroom.
Jim was sitting innocently at their lab table, shirt tail peeking out from the
hem of his jumper, dark hair mussed against pale skin. How the actual fuck was
Sebastian supposed to sit next to him as if everything was normal? As if he
wanted to do anything other than touch him?
Jim, however, just looked up mildly as Sebastian came in, his gaze lingering on
him for a brief second. “Welcome back,” he murmured.
Ms. Beauchamp, bless her, didn’t make a big fuss over Sebastian being back,
other than a quiet, “Thank you for keeping up with your coursework during your
absence, Mr. Moran. Moriarty can catch you up. We’re on to the nervous system
unit. Chapter eight.”
The class was a lecture, so Sebastian and Jim had to sit straight forward,
taking notes. Sebastian’s notes weren’t very coherent. Every time his forearm
brushed against Jim or he heard Jim make a slight exhale, he would think of
their phone conversations, and he would squirm in his chair. It was rather
pathetic, as if he was twelve again and sex was beginning to sound interesting
for the first time. Toward the end of class he scribbled on the edge of his
notebook, “What have people been saying about me?” He slid it over to Jim.
Jim’s mouth quirked up and he wrote back, “Vanity, Sebastian, will get you
nowhere.”
Sebastian ribbed him with his elbow lightly, then he saw that Miranda had
turned in her chair and was looking back at him. It wasn’t an affectionate
look. It was peculiar. Anxious.
After class, he dutifully caught her in the hallway. “Hi,” she said, somewhat
stiffly.
“Hey. I missed you,” he said, moving in to kiss her. She turned her face so he
caught her cheek instead.
“Did you?” she asked.
Sebastian was lost for words.
Miranda looked past him and blew out a long sigh. “Are we on for after school?”
“Yes. Of course,” he promised. “Miranda, I’m sorry I was distant while I was
home. I didn’t...I didn’t know what to say.”
She shifted her rucksack from one shoulder to the other. “You weren’t distant.
You were rude. But we’ll talk after school,” she said, then turned and left.
Sebastian didn’t follow her to the canteen. He obviously wasn’t going to be
welcome at her table. She and her drama friends would all be sharing stories
about Frankenstein, anyway- the show that he’d promised to attend with flowers.
And he wasn’t about to go in and face Carl. Whatever Jim had commanded him,
Sebastian would march up to him and punch him again if he got half a chance.
Instead, he spent his lunch hour in the library, staring at a book without
reading it, his headphones on full blast. His mind kept drifting back to
Miranda. She’d looked so uncomfortable outside of biology. What had she heard?
Some illogical, panicked part of Sebastian wondered if she knew. If somehow,
she knew what he and Jim had done. What would he tell her if she did? He had
cheated on her, and there was no getting around that. But, a dark voice in his
head said, it had been worth it. Jim hadn’t even touched him, and Sebastian had
felt something undeniably intense. Even now, racked with guilt, he only wanted
more.
He was just as distracted in his afternoon classes. His stomach rumbled loudly
by mid-afternoon, protesting the absence of lunch to digest. Sebastian sped to
the cafe after classes were over, ordering two sandwiches and wolfing one of
them down before Miranda arrived. He had ordered coffee for them both, and he
slid one towards her when she came in. She was smiling nervously. Was she
afraid? Or simply disgusted with him?
She sat down, unsmiling. Sebastian vaguely wondered if this was her “I’m-about-
to-break-up-with-you-face.” He wouldn’t be surprised. He deserved it.
“Sebastian…”
He slid her coffee toward her. “Miranda, I want to say that I’m sorry. I know I
treated you like shit this week. And I missed your play...how did it go?”
She smiled weakly into her cup, fingernails tapping against the ceramic
lightly. She didn’t answer for a while, but finally said, “Are you really
leaving at the end of term?” Her brown eyes met Sebastian’s.
“Well, yeah. My father never lies,” Sebastian murmured.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Sebastian sipped his coffee. Miranda stared
into hers, not drinking. “Are you okay?” Sebastian asked.
“Yeah. No. ...I really liked you Sebastian,” she whispered, looking down.
“Liked? As in, used to like?”
She shook her head, hurriedly wiping her face. Oh God, she was actually crying.
“Oh, umm…” He handed her a fistful of paper napkins. “Do you want to leave?”
“No, I’m fine,” she muttered, blotting under her eyes carefully.
“Miranda, what did you mean, all this craziness? What happened while I was
gone?”
She sighed, gulping down some coffee. “I don’t know, Sebastian. Rumors.”
“What are people saying?” Sebastian’s heart hammered. “Please, don’t try to
spare my feelings. Just tell me.”
Miranda winced. “That you’re...a self-hating gay man. That you probably got
kicked out of your old school because you...raped all the boys there. Just
complete rubbish.”
“Exactly, rubbish,” Sebastian snarled. “I didn’t touch Carl Powers, I would
never dream of touching him.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. But...why did you have that spray paint in your
locker?”
Sebastian was so sick of defending himself. “I don’t know it got there, but I
didn’t put it there,” he said wearily.
Miranda didn’t say anything.
“Is that all? That I’m a gay rapist and wrote hate slander on Moriarty’s art
project?”

She paused, then said, “Well...people say you and Moriarty were in on it
together. That you defaced his art on purpose so you two could frame Powers.”
Sebastian scoffed. People wouldn’t believe that Powers had done all that, but
they believed that Jim would let his own artwork be defaced? “Jim worked for
ages on that painting. Everyone should have seen it. It was fucking incredible.
He acted like he didn’t care when it was destroyed, but I knew it had to feel
awful. You think I would want to do something like that to him?”
Miranda was looking at him curiously. “You really care about him, then?”
Sebastian rubbed at a smudge on his coffee mug. “I’m not a shitty person. That
doesn’t mean we’re gay lovers, if that’s what everyone thinks,” he said. “We’re
friends. Yeah, he’s weird, but he’s not as bad as everyone says.”
“So, you don’t feel anything for him?” Miranda asked, looking him in the eye.
“No-” Sebastian said, and it was amazing, how such a tiny word could carry such
an enormous lie. He could hear it in his own voice, and he knew Miranda could
too, because she slumped back into her chair, looking away.
“Miranda,” he said softly. “I think you’re amazing. I meant it when I said I
didn’t deserve you.” He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it.
She wiped her eyes again, her hand slack in his. “Are you breaking up with me?”
she asked.
Sebastian was startled. “I wasn’t...I didn’t come in here to…”
“Because maybe we should just do it. Break it off, I mean,” she sniffed loudly,
snatching up a napkin and wiping her nose.
“If that’s what you want,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “I didn’t expect things to go like this.”
“Me neither.” What else could he say? He stroked her hand, and she finally
squeezed back.
“You know, it’s stupid, because I’ll miss you, and at first I didn’t even think
you wanted me for anything other than sex. But you were really...you were
really sweet, and I don’t want to miss you, I want to tell you to fuck off and-
”
“You can tell me to fuck off if you want,” Sebastian murmured.
She laughed wetly and shook her head, then her face crumpled.“I should probably
go.”
Miranda withdrew her hand and Sebastian let his own slide back into his lap.
“Oh. Yeah. I’ll pay for the coffee,” he said, idiotically.
It wasn’t until Miranda had gathered her things and reached the door that
Sebastian stopped her. “Miranda?”
She turned to look at him, and he wished that she could feel the right things
for her, because she looked so pretty right now, so good. He thought of her
bent over Philip Channing when he fainted in biology, making sure he was okay.
She was so very good. “It’s really over, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Miranda’s hand fell slack against the door handle. “It’s over.”
__
Sebastian stayed to finish his sandwich and coffee. He felt bad, but not as bad
as he should. How long could he have kept up the charade with Miranda, that he
was a stable person, a good person?
After he paid, he stepped into the chill air and lit up a cigarette. He wasn’t
a good person. He wasn’t the type of person who deserved the Miranda
Velasquezes of the world. No, it wasn’t that he didn’t deserve it, he realised.
He didn’t want it. He leaned his head back against the wall. He felt a weight
lift from his shoulders. He only wanted one person. One fucked-up, commanding,
know-it-all.
Sebastian blew a plume of smoke toward the white-grey sky. God, he was so
fucked. All he could do was laugh about it. He took another puff of cigarette.
He laughed and laughed.
__
On the day of the swim meet, Sebastian lingered outside of the canteen at
lunchtime, looking for Powers. “Coming to the swim meet tonight, Moran?”
Powers’ voice was behind him, and Sebastian tried not to jump. He turned
around, looking up at the solid wall of muscle.
“Oh, is that tonight?” Sebastian asked mildly. They were in the middle of the
corridor, and Sebastian could feel every pair of eyes fixed on them. Carl
wouldn’t try anything here, out in the open.
“I’d love to see you there. I’d love to know you were there, watching me win,”
Carl laughed.
“I’m sure you would. Don’t worry, Carl, I’ll be there,” Sebastian said, as
evenly as he could manage. He strode away, enjoying the look of disappointment
on Carl’s face. If he’d been trying to start a fight, he’d failed miserably.
Sebastian hadn’t seen Jim all day. He loitered by the art room for as long as
he could without looking suspicious, and popped his head into the library. He
would look for him at the swim meet, then, since Jim was so keen to go.
__
Sebastian had no one to sit with at the meet. Jim was nowhere in sight, but it
would be easy to miss him in the din of parents, teachers, and students
crowding the bleachers. Many of the students - and even some teachers - cast
Sebastian scathing glances as he walked past.
He spotted Miranda, sitting in a cluster of her girlfriends, and he looked away
quickly, avoiding eye contact. He went halfway up the bleacher steps before he
spotted Barnes. Maybe it had been a fluke that Barnes had ignored him before.
Barnes wouldn’t believe that sort of rubbish that Powers spread, would he?
“Hey, mate. Is this spot taken?” Sebastian asked. Barnes looked up at Sebastian
with complete, startled horror on his face.
“Oh- um. Yeah...yeah, sorry,” he muttered, looking away.
Oh. Sebastian backed up, a small bubble of fury rising in him. He opened his
mouth to spit something back at Barnes, when Sundarum bumped past him
viciously.
“Do us all a favor and sit far away from us, you fucking bummer,” Sundarum
snarled. “I’m sure if Moriarty’s unavailable, that gay teacher Mr. Atkins will
let you sit in his lap.”
Sebastian barked out a laugh. It was all so petty, so idiotic, that his fury
melted into complete indifference. He was astonished at how little he cared
about these people’s opinions of him. “Oh, is that what Carl told you? That I’m
gay?”
“He told us everything, mate,” Sundarum sneered. “About how you attacked him in
the showers, forced him to give you a handjob. You’re fucking sick.”
These weren’t his friends, Sebastian realised. They never had been. He laughed,
madly, dangerously. “I’m sick, am I? You’re a bunch of bell-ends, and you can
go fuck yourselves.” He turned and walked down to the bleachers, finding an
open space between some parents and a group of 11th years.
He was allegedly gay, violent, and unstable. It was perfect. Sebastian grinned
threateningly at anyone who dared cast him a hateful glance. Was this what Jim
felt like? Untouchable? Fed up with everyone on the whole fucking planet?
The meet began, women’s teams competing first, then men’s. When the men’s swim
team stepped out, Sebastian tried to ignore Carl’s arrogant walk, the way he
licked his lips lasciviously or threw smirks to his teammates. And how on earth
did his awful, grating, mocking laugh carry through the shouts and echoes,
directly to Sebastian’s ears?
Sebastian kept waiting for Jim to turn up. A flair of drama would be his style,
perhaps flinging open the pool doors at the last minute. But everything was
going as it should.
Swimming had never been a sport Sebastian had much interest in playing or
watching, but he could understand why Carl stole the show. His speed and
agility were breathtaking, and when he got in the water, he became an entirely
new creature. Every aspect of Powers’s physique that seemed awkward or blocky
out of the water transformed into fluid power when he was swimming. The entire
room was adoring Powers - Sebastian could feel it. Carl won his first race of
the night in the butterfly stroke. He came out, muscles gleaming with droplets
of water. He looked like an untouchable god. Sebastian’s heart sank. How the
hell was anyone, even Jim Moriarty, going to put this fucker in his place?
The second race was an eight-lap freestyle. Carl was ahead immediately- it was
almost dull watching, knowing that he was going to win with several fat seconds
to spare.
Except, midway through lap three, there was a thrashing in the water, from
Powers’ lane. The announcer’s voice grew frantic, and people from the crowds
stood up to see. Sebastian rose as well, his heart stopping as he heard
whistles being blown, saw one of Carl’s teammates dive in the water after him.
Everything had become very surreal. There was a strange moment in the crowd,
when the general excitement from the game turned into a shared, animal panic.
Carl was hauled with great difficulty from the water, his body a dead weight on
the concrete.
Carl Powers was unconscious. Sebastian watched with everyone else as Carl’s
chest was pumped by the swim coach, as air was blown into his slack mouth, as
Carl’s neck and wrist were checked for a pulse.
There was a brief moment that hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity,
when time seemed to stop and the entire crowd was frozen, but then the silence
erupted into worried mutters, and whispers. If this was a movie, Sebastian
thought vaguely, now would be the part where Carl coughed up water in a
disgusting gurgle and the crowd cheered its relief.
Instead, the coach stopped pounding Carl’s chest and murmured something to the
teammate standing nearby. Sebastian could see it on their faces. The entire
crowd could see this new, horrible fact - Carl Powers was dead.
The room exploded with panicked shouts. Sebastian saw Powers’s father racing
over. People ran out the doors, people ran towards Carl’s body in disbelief.
Sebastian felt numb. His eyes swept over the chaos, feeling oddly separate.
Then, near the double doors towards the back of the bleachers, he spotted Jim
Moriarty, pale and quiet, his eyes fixed on the scene, a quiet smile of
absolute triumph on his face.
Then he was slipping out the door. Sebastian jostled to the bleacher stairs,
elbowing his way through the pandemonium to run after him.
Jim didn’t turn around in the corridor, and Sebastian was afraid, for whatever
reason, to shout after him. He could tell, somehow, that Jim knew Sebastian was
following him, even though he only picked up his pace, never once turning
around to look at him.
It was drizzling outside. Freezing. Sebastian had left his coat inside, he
realised. He didn’t care. He could barely feel the rain. He followed Jim
through the darkness to the illuminated bus stop.
“Jim-” he finally said, and when Jim turned around, his eyebrows were raised
high, as if he was fucking surprised.
“What’s wrong, Sebastian? You look like you’ve seen a-”
“You killed him. Jim, you actually killed him,” Sebastian breathed, stepping
closer to Jim.
Jim was the very picture of innocent shock, his eyes wide, his mouth falling
softly open. “Killed who? I don’t even know what you’re talking about-”
It only took a breath to close the gap between them, Sebastian tugging Jim
against his chest. He lifted his chin. Jim was so close now, Sebastian could
see the flecks of color in his brown eyes. They were brown, after all, but the
pupils were so dark, so hungry.
“Liar,” Sebastian growled, and then before he could think or stop himself, his
lips were on Jim’s.
For a moment it felt all wrong, a horrible mistake - Jim was stiff, his lips
immobile. Sebastian was about to pull away when some internal switch flipped
and everything changed, and Jim was grabbing a fistful of Sebastian’s hair and
kissing him back with a frantic passion that left every doubt and reservation
in the dust.
Sebastian had had more artful kisses- Jim’s mouth was harsh and biting- but
he’d never had one like this, so full of need and electricity. Sebastian had
never had a kiss that made him wobbly at the knees and made his heart want to
leap out of his chest. He gripped Jim’s narrow hips tightly, needing their
bodies as close as possible. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else made sense,
but this right here. Jim, in his arms. Jim - the weirdo, the psychopath, the
murderer - kissing him.
 
***** Convergence *****
The only thing that pulled Sebastian back to his senses was the increasingly
loud wail of an ambulance. He pulled away from Jim as the siren became
deafening. The vehicle tore past and turned into the parking lot of the school.
A police car followed right behind, red and blue lights flashing in the
darkness.
The reality of the situation hit Sebastian all at once like a cold brick. Jim
had murdered Carl Powers. Somehow. Right? And he had kissed Jim. He had kissed
a murderer.
“We need to get you out of here,” Sebastian murmured. His heart felt like it
would fly out of his chest as he looked at Jim in alarm. “Come back to mine,”
he said not even thinking about the words. “My parents are out tonight. My
ustani  is out, too. You can...lie low.”
Jim mutely raised an eyebrow at Sebastian, his mouth silently repeating
ustani,  trying to decode it.
“She’s sort of our...housekeeper. She was also my tutor and my babysitter when
I was growing up,” Sebastian explained.
“Oo, your  governess,  you mean,” Jim smirked delightedly. “How posh.” His face
immediately fell neutral again, and he continued dispassionately, “I have no
reason to lie low. If I had bothered to murder anyone, I would have undertaken
every precaution. What happened to Powers was a freak accident, a terrible
tragedy that nobody could have prevented.” The siren lights casting blue and
red on his face.
Still, he leaned against Sebastian lightly, the corner of his mouth flickering
upward for a second as he stared straight ahead. “Did you see how they
panicked? Everyone realizing it all together. It was magnificent. A chorus
responding in perfect time to the conductor’s wave.”
The bus stopped in front of them, but Jim didn’t move. “This bus doesn’t go to
your neighborhood. Be a lamb and call a cab?” He looked at Sebastian as if this
was a prearranged plan, as if he knew that Sebastian had money on him, as if
Sebastian would obey.
Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He dug in his pockets for coins for the pay phone,
and called the cab number listed on the bus stop shelter. He swallowed. He was
at Jim’s beck and call….aiding and abetting a known murderer. Not that Jim had
admitted it, but...it wasn’t some fluke that Carl had had a fit in the pool and
died after all of Jim’s ominous talk.
Once the call was made, Sebastian pulled out a cigarette, his hand shaky as he
lit it. Jim was so bloody calm. “How’d you do it?” Sebastian murmured.
The rain had picked up, and he had to shield his cigarette so it wouldn’t be
extinguished. Jim didn’t mind the rain, it seemed, but Sebastian wrapped an arm
over his shoulder anyway. The overwhelming urge to protect Jim had only
increased, it seemed.
“Our dear friend Carl takes medicine to control his rather unfortunate eczema,”
Jim said softly, so softly that Sebastian had to lean in to hear him. “He keeps
his pills in his locker. It was so simple to make the switch. The poison won’t
be recognized as such. That’s the rather beautiful thing about the botulinum
toxin. It can be found in foods, it can be caused by wounds…if they check for
it at all, they’ll come to the rightful conclusion that he must have gotten
botulism, had a fit, and drowned. What poor timing, they’ll say. So sad, he was
so young, so good, etc, etc.” Jim grinned eerily.
Sebastian gawped at him. “Are you fucking kidding me? You  poisoned  him?”
Jim gave him a death stare. “Not so loud, Sebastian. And if you go with this
information to anyone, you’ll be the next body they find.” He said this so
casually, yet Sebastian knew he was serious. It raised the hairs on his arms.
Jim leaned against Sebastian’s body, his head brushing Sebastian’s shoulder. “I
only tell you this because...God, it feels so good to  brag ...and I trust you
to keep your mouth shut. Besides, even if you told people, you rather have a
reputation for spreading lies now, so who would believe you?”
Sebastian should have been furious. He should have been offended, or horrified.
Instead, all he wanted to do was push Jim into his bed and rip off his clothes.
He breathed out through his nose, a heavy noise.
Jim turned to face him, plucking Sebastian’s cigarette from his mouth. He took
a slow drag, the small ember illuminating his face. He was beautiful. Sebastian
was reaching up to touch his cheek when the cab pulled up. He drew away
quickly, letting Jim climb in first.
The cab ride was quiet, Sebastian and Jim’s bodies a good foot apart. If
Sebastian had moved any closer, he might not have been able to restrain
himself. As it was, his heart was still beating with adrenaline, and he wasn’t
sure if it was from Carl’s death or Jim’s kiss.  His whole body felt wired,
humming with an electric charge between them. Did Jim feel it too?
“You boys just beat the worst of the rain. Lucky,” the cab driver said, looking
back at them. The rain was indeed now drumming heavily on the windows. Neither
boy responded, though Sebastian spared a glance over at Jim, who had never
looked so pleased, a vague smile on his face as he stared out at the foul
weather.
By the time they reached Sebastian’s house, the rain was deafening. Sebastian
muttered his thanks and paid the driver, running from the car to press the
keycode to his townhouse gate. Jim sauntered over to join him, not seeming to
mind or even notice the buckets of rain. Sebastian tugged his jacket off and
over their heads, and closed the gate behind them and ran up the steps.
“My parents are out of the country,” he said breathlessly as he unlocked the
door. “They won’t be back until Sunday evening.” He pushed the door open and
ushered Jim inside, flicking on the foyer lights.
Jim looked around, and Sebastian felt that wave of discomfort about his wealth
more acutely than ever. The Moran residence wasn’t showy by any means, but a
trained eye could see the wealth in every corner of the foyer, from the
original Dutch master painting near the foot of the stairs to the generations-
old secretary desk, these old pieces displayed amidst tasteful, modern
furnishings.
Sebastian locked the door and kicked off his wet shoes, then shucked off his
sopping jacket and let it drop to the polished wood floor. Jim made no move to
get warm, his threadbare jumper dripping on the floor as he looked around. His
wet trainers squeaked as he drifted over toward the staircase.
“Old money is so obvious, isn’t it?” Jim said, a strange note in his voice as
he idly traced a finger down the simple frame containing the Dutch master -
Sebastian couldn’t be arsed to remember who the painter was. “Do you and your
parents just  love  to sneer at the garish, tasteless ‘new money’ types that
swan into your upper crust neighborhood?”
Sebastian swallowed. “My parents do. Actually, my mother says they aren’t worth
thinking about. ‘They might as well be chavs,’ she said once.” He shivered, the
cold clothes settling on his skin. “Charming, I know.” He shifted uncomfortably
as Jim examined the antique secretary desk with pursed lips. “My bedroom’s
upstairs. If you wanted dry clothes,” he said quickly. “You can take off your
shoes here.”
Jim wordlessly toed them off, placing them neatly on the mat. Something about
seeing Jim’s smaller, shabbier shoes lined up on his rug stoked something warm
inside of Sebastian. Jim’s wet hair clung to the nape of his neck. There was a
hole in the toe of his sock.
Jim straightened and caught Sebastian staring, and he met his gaze
challengingly. “Give me the grand tour, then,” he commanded, and followed
Sebastian upstairs. On Jim’s insistence, Sebastian showed him both toilets, the
guest bedroom, and his parents’ bedroom door, which his father always kept
locked.
“He’s a bloody narcissist,” Sebastian explained. “As if I’d want to go snooping
in my parents’ room. I think the most shocking thing I’d find in there is two
separate beds.”
Jim smirked, examining the lock idly. “Perhaps they have a sex swing,” he said,
looking at Sebastian archly.
Sebastian tossed his head back and cackled. “Believe me, they would be masters
of deception if they were keeping a passionate love life a secret,” he said.
“Who said it was passionate? Couples do all kinds of things to stave off
boredom.” He ran his fingers over the door handle. “Isn’t it amazing? The
things people do just so they aren’t  bored? ”
Sebastian shivered; Jim’s voice had turned dark and flat, with a biting menace
underneath it that would have better fit a remorseless death row prisoner. He
slid his arm around Jim’s shoulders. “You must be freezing. My bedroom’s this
way.”
Jim allowed himself to be ushered over the plush carpet to the opposite end of
the hall. Sebastian had never thought of his room as decadent, but he could
tell by the way that Jim’s eyes widened that Jim thought it so. Two large
dormer windows looked out into the wet night, the walls covered in posters from
Sebastian’s favorite bands. It was embarrassingly untidy, books and flannel
shirts and jeans and trainers flung this way and that.
Jim’s wide eyes seemed to swallow every detail, from his untidy desk to the
little-used armchair by the window, piled with laundry. He drifted to his large
stereo and his wall of CDs, trailing his fingers over the music. “Play me
something,” he said, his hips already drifting back and forth.
Sebastian paced slowly toward him. “What do you like?” The only thing he knew
about Jim’s tastes was that he had a rather unsettling amount of knowledge on
disco music, and classical.
“Spare me any grunge, if you can,” Jim said, rolling his eyes. “Play something
for a rainy night,” he murmured, eyebrows furrowing at all of the CDs. He
pulled out one after the other, studying each one.
“Mm. This is sort of weird...but…” Sebastian reached past him to grab a
Portishead CD. He hadn’t liked them at first, all slow and strange, but the
singer’s haunting voice had grabbed his attention. He popped the CD in.
Jim stood entranced, listening as the soft beats begin. Sebastian finally
stepped in front of Jim, hands sliding down his damp shoulders. “Aren’t you
cold?” he murmured.
“No,” Jim said, looking up at Sebastian. “Is this how you get all the girls
into your bed?”
Sebastian’s breaths were shallow, his hands drifting and settling on the frayed
edge of Jim’s jumper. He had permission to touch Jim, finally. There were no
prying eyes in his bedroom. Yet he felt at a loss for how to proceed. It had
always been so easy. But, he realised, it had been easy because nothing had
been at stake. “I don’t have a script, if you can believe it…”
Jim’s hands covered Sebastian’s, and for a moment Sebastian thought Jim was
going to shove his hands away, to laugh in his face and tell him that this had
all been a game, all part of the plan - mass humiliation. Instead, Jim tugged
his jumper up and off, casting it to the floor, then he was kissing Sebastian
once more, eager and hungry, bordering on painful. Sebastian kissed back
deeply, groaning as Jim’s tongue pressed between his lips. Jim all but shoved
Sebastian into his armchair, and Sebastian blindly shoved a heap of laundry off
the chair to accommodate them both. He tugged Jim into his lap, kissing him
frantically.
Jim’s mouth was a new language to learn. Sebastian savored it on his tongue,
trying to decode his patterns. Jim was an aggressive kisser, kissing as if it
were a fight, and he seemed determined to win against all odds.
Sebastian moaned as Jim bit down on his tongue, and pulled back. He was panting
now. “Are you trying to maul my mouth, you little vampire?” he laughed.
Jim frowned at him darkly. “Am I a bad kisser?”
“No. Very, erm, competitive, is all,” Sebastian murmured, his hand sliding into
Jim’s hair.
“Aw, it’s no fun if there’s not a winner-” Jim snickered, but Sebastian cut him
off with another kiss, tender and slow. His lips were closed at first, but then
he slowly plied them part, his lips and tongue gentle and probing.
Jim gave a startled little noise at Sebastian’s kiss. His back arched, and
Sebastian’s hand splayed over his back, heavy and warm. Jim pressed closer, and
finally let his arms encircle Sebastian’s neck, fingers sliding up the bristle
of hair, gripping a fistful at the crown and giving it a sharp tug.
Sebastian hissed at the pain, but he moaned, head tipping back. Jim gave him a
dark little smile, twisting his hair even harder, which made Sebastian’s toes
curl in his shoes. Jim had spread his legs further apart, straddling Sebastian
until his arse was rubbing directly over Sebastian’s cock.
“Jesus Christ, Jim-” Sebastian breathed, and then kissed him with more force
this time, all hunger. He couldn’t stop touching Jim - no matter how close he
pressed against his body, it wasn’t close enough. Jim didn’t seem to mind being
taken so greedily, though. Sebastian wanted them to take from each other until
there was nothing left to be had.
When Jim pressed deeper into his lap and Sebastian’s cock strained against his
arse- he nearly jolted at how much he wanted him. Jim drew away, his eyes
locked on Sebastian. He thought he might explode from the intensity in Jim’s
gaze, at how much he needed him. “Jim, please-” he begged, unsure what he was
begging for. He wanted everything, and all at once.  
Jim slid off Sebastian’s lap, pressing his knees apart and settling between
them, hands on his thighs. “Mind undoing your trousers for me, Moran?” he
chuckled, his dark eyes lifting.
When Jim laughed, it was nothing like Carl’s, even though it was laced with a
dark humor. Sebastian shivered, dutifully unzipping his trousers. His cock,
heavy and hard, pushed free.
“I’m going to suck your cock, Sebastian Moran. Come down my throat, and I’ll
shove a knife down your own,” Jim promised in a purr that sounded almost
loving.
He stared down at Jim in disbelief. God, this was actually happening. “I- you
don’t have to-” he said. He didn’t want to be anything like Carl.
Jim’s brow raised with a touch of dissatisfaction. “If you act like you don’t
want it, I won’t give it to you.”
“I want it,” Sebastian said quickly, his legs spreading.
“Eyes closed,” Jim snapped. It was only when Sebastian obeyed that Jim moved
closer, nosing slightly at his cock. “You want  what , Moran?”
“I want you. I want your mouth on my cock,” Sebastian breathed, and fuck, it
was so hard to keep his eyes closed.
“There’s a good boy,” Jim’s voice lilted from somewhere below him, and hearing
that in person was so much better than on the phone. Sebastian’s hands clenched
the arms of the chair. He could feel Jim’s breath against his straining cock as
Jim said, “But you have to ask nicely.”
“Please, Jim-” he panted.
“Better.” Fingers closed around Sebastian’s cock, giving it a few firm pumps,
and then a hot, broad tongue was lathing the head, and Sebastian’s mouth fell
open in a long groan. He’d had blowjobs before, eager and sloppy, but this was
something so completely different. This was the best thing he’d ever felt. It
was, in other words, exactly what Jim had promised him.
Sebastian panted, lost in the feeling - that is, until Jim’s nails dug
painfully into his thigh and he pulled back far enough to hiss, “Look at me.”
Sebastian’s eyes snapped open. Jim looked absolutely pornographic, eyes
blazing, mouth red and shiny with saliva, hair mussed. “Eyes on me, Moran. Tell
me when you’re close.”
He could only nod, his cock achingly hard. How did it feel even better than the
first time when Jim’s mouth covered him again, sucking in and out. He took
Sebastian so deep, to the point where he could feel Jim’s throat against the
head of his cock, and it was too much-
“F-fuck, Jim, I’m so close-” he shuddered.
And with that, Jim pulled away, leaving him aching. “Don’t move. Don’t you dare
touch yourself,” he said. “Now. Close your eyes again.”
It was all Sebastian could do to keep his hands clenched on the chair’s arms,
breathing heavily through his nose. He hated not being able to see what was
going on. He could hear a rustle of clothes, a zipper going down. “You’re very
obedient, Sebastian,” Jim observed, sounding pleased.
“Only to those worthy of my time.”
Jim rewarded his answer with a soft hum of approval. His fingertips traced
Sebastian’s jaw, then tilted it up. “Very good, Sebastian. You know real
authority when you see it.”
Sebastian’s eyelids fluttered but stayed closed as Jim’s thumb traced over his
lower lip. How was such a small touch so maddeningly erotic?
Then Jim’s weight shifted, and Sebastian felt Jim straddle him once more. “Eyes
closed, hands to yourself,” Jim reminded him. More shifting, a small grunt. Jim
seemed to be balancing on his knees to do something. He reached back and
grasped Sebastian’s cock - Sebastian couldn’t suppress a small, begging moan -
then Sebastian felt a condom being rolled on. He felt the head press against
something, bunched and hot, and his eyes did fly open.
Jim’s face was just an inch for his own, but Jim quickly pulled back and
slapped him sharply across the face.
“Tsk, Moran. What did I tell you?” Jim said, but then he was lowering himself
until the head of Sebastian’s cock breached, and then sat down on Sebastian’s
cock, shuddering. “Shouldn’t - shouldn’t even be giving this to you - so -
disobedient.”
Sebastian couldn’t understand a word Jim was saying. His mouth fell open,
breathing shakily. “O-Oh- oh my God-”
He couldn’t have kept his eyes closed if he’d tried, couldn’t have followed a
single order. It was, as Jim had promised him, so much different than a girl.
So tight, so hot- Jim must have lubricated and stretched himself beforehand,
because there was no way that he would just be able to sink into him like this.
Then Jim began moving, just a slight motion at first, but enough that Sebastian
could feel the shift of skin. It was incredible, and the only thing that was
keeping him from coming was the subtle movements and the slow pace.
“I know this is your first time, Sebastian, but please reign it in for a few
minutes,” Jim said dryly. How the fuck was he so calm when he had Sebastian’s
cock deep inside of him? “I would like to enjoy myself, too, you know.”
Sebastian couldn’t form words to utter any sort of sensible reply. Jim grabbed
his jaw, forcing him to look at him, his other hand gripping the chair for
balance as he began to move up and down.
Sebastian had enough sense to remember to ask Jim for permission before his
hands found Jim’s hips for support, gripping his arse as Jim began bearing down
on his cock with deeper thrusts. Sebastian was lost in Jim, the feeling of him
was-
“I-incredible-” he breathed, which earned a low laugh in his ear, a laugh that
made the hair on his neck stand at attention.
Jim was panting something in his ear, humming a tune. “Don’t you- forget about
me-” he sang through his exertions.
Sebastian laughed breathlessly, incredulously. How was he ever, ever going to
forget this? Then Jim was moving at a new angle, and, oh, fuck, it was so
perfect. Sebastian’s toes curled, and he let out a small keen. The chair
creaked as Jim sped up.
“Please- Jim, I’m so close-”
“Hold on-” Jim panted, his nails digging into Sebastian’s neck, then he yanked
his hair, hard enough to make Sebastian whimper in pain, but it did little to
curb his arousal. In fact, he felt like he was bound to ricochet and lose
control completely.
Jim was stroking himself now, too, Sebastian vaguely realized, and some part of
him wanted to offer to help, but he was struggling to hold on, panting through
his teeth, needing it-
And then suddenly, Jim stopped. He carefully sat up and pulled off of
Sebastian, making Sebastian almost cry out in frustration. “Jim, please-” he
panted, squirming.
Jim dismounted, careful not to unroll Sebastian’s condom, and placed a light
peck on his trembling mouth. “Patience.”
Sebastian watched in agony from the chair as Jim crawled onto the bed, bracing
himself on all fours and spreading his legs. He looked over his shoulder to
lock eyes with Sebastian. “Undress completely. Then come and get me.”
Sebastian flew out of his chair and immediately began tearing off his clothes.
His trousers were already half-down, and he kicked them and his pants the rest
of the way off. He was glad to be rid of his sweaty t-shirt and damp socks. He
clambered onto the bed, standing up on his knees and seizing Jim’s hips. It
only took one shaky moment to align himself before he thrust in fully. It was a
different angle, a new sensation, and now he had control over the thrusts. He
didn’t waste any time in beginning to move, and realised he was practically
toppling Jim over, making the bed shake violently. He let up to ask if Jim was
okay, but Jim just gasped out, “D-don’t you dare fucking- stop-”
That was all Sebastian needed. Something feral  took over, and Sebastian
snarled, clutching Jim’s hips and pounding into him with a reckless abandon
that made the very core of him sing. He was riding towards something immense,
something that was threatening to rip him to shreds.
“J-Jim!” Jim was reaching down to stroke himself, Sebastian realized, and if
he’d had any sort of ability to think straight, he would have done the job
himself, but as of now, all he could do was clutch Jim’s hips and thrust like
mad.
“Come for me, Sebastian,” Jim gasped, meeting the press of his hips eagerly.
It was the same phrase on the phone, but now it really was Jim in the flesh-
Jim’s voice husky, Jim’s thighs trembling, Jim’s muscles clenching around him,
so tight and hot it was practically driving every coherent thought out of
Sebastian’s head. And Jim was coming now, he could hear his hoarse grunt, could
feel his muscles contracting and relaxing.
When Sebastian came, he wasn’t aware of his death grip on Jim’s hips or the
hoarse, begging noise he made- he was only aware of intense, incredible bliss,
pushing him over the edge in several long pulses. He stayed buried in Jim
through the entire free fall, and when he pulled out, he collapsed on the bed,
gasping like a nearly-drowned swimmer. His ears rang. He couldn’t move his
limbs.
“I- I came so hard, I can’t move,” he mumbled when his mouth could form words
again.
Jim shifted, pulling Sebastian’s head up to rest against his chest. “ You
didn’t do too terribly, for a straight boy ,” he said in French.
Sebastian smiled sheepishly, turning his face up to look at Jim, who looked
deliciously debauched- his dark hair mussed, eyes shining, pale skin flushed,
lips wet. Sebastian couldn’t resist moving up to kiss Jim once more, lazily and
uncoordinated this time.
Everything about this was wrong. He had just had sex with a murderer, with a
boy. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t know what this feeling
was. Obsession? All he knew was that he wanted Jim to stay here, naked in his
bed, for all time. His arms slid around Jim’s sweaty skin, and he kissed his
shoulder gently.
“Don’t you dare get sentimental, Moran,” Jim droned, though he didn’t push him
away.
“‘M not,” Sebastian promised. How the hell was Jim so cavalier about something
that had blown all of Sebastian’s conceptions of sex completely out the window?
They had fit together so perfectly...even now, resting chest to chest, they
just fit.
Jim cracked his neck from side to side, letting a relaxed sigh out through his
nose. Then he was leveraging Sebastian’s hips over with his thighs, turning
them over, and then he withdrew to sit on Sebastian’s hips. He frowned and
studied Sebastian, hands resting on his chest as he cocked his head.
Sebastian felt a mixture of discomfort and entrancement as Jim’s eyes peeled
him apart. Jim placed his forefinger on Sebastian’s chin, forcing his head back
to stare at the headboard, and then Jim’s fingernail was tracing a clean line
down the center of Sebastian’s throat, down his clavicle, his sternum, his
belly, ending just above his pubic bone; a slow, scratchy tickle. Sebastian was
frozen under Jim’s touch, realizing with a chilly sensation that Jim was
tracing the precise incision of their lab pig. He was splayed out, naked and
vulnerable, in front of a murderer.
“Now, don’t be like that,” Jim said, flicking one of his nipples.
Sebastian flinched and looked down at him. “Like what?”
“You’re wondering if you should trust me,” Jim said. “It’s terribly dull. There
are so many ways I could have killed you by now, Sebastian. You gave me at
least 19 different openings, and I wasn’t even tempted.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Sebastian gave him a lopsided grin, unsure if Jim was
joking or not.
“Yet,” Jim finished his sentence mildly, his fingernail digging into
Sebastian’s hipbone. That was the moment when Sebastian could have pulled away,
could have overpowered Jim in an instant. but instead he just hissed, his back
arching slightly. He met Jim’s gaze. Jim had him. Sebastian was, in a word,
fucked. Jim stared back at him, raising an eyebrow, wordlessly saying,  Yeah,
you are.
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Sebastian breathed at last,
fingertips tracing over Jim’s thighs.
Jim was giving him a strange look. “Do you regret it?” he asked.
“No,” Sebastian said truthfully. He paused. “I can’t believe Powers is dead.”
Jim chuckled, pressing up against Sebastian, and tipped his face up to be
kissed again. Sebastian happily obliged; he couldn’t seem to stop kissing Jim.
He felt like a new person.
“You’re not afraid of the police, then?” Jim asked against his mouth.
“You said you were careful,” Sebastian rumbled slowly. “But...won’t they get
suspicious, seeing as how I rather publicly beat him up several times?”
Jim shrugged lightly. “They won’t piece it together. His autopsy will show
botulinum poisoning. I was very careful.” He paused and grinned slowly. “I took
his shoes, though.”
Sebastian sat up a bit. “You  what ?”
Jim looked utterly pleased with himself. “A trophy of sorts, Sebastian. Don’t
fret, nobody will notice they’re missing. He did so  love  those trainers,
though.”
Sebastian knew the ones Jim was talking about- designer trainers that had to be
at least ten years old.  “You’re mental. Someone will notice.”
“Mmm, they really won’t,” Jim sighed blissfully.
Sebastian let his fingers trace over Jim’s skin, studying each freckle and
scar. There were several scars, actually. Some clearly from burns and
deliberate cuts. He drew in a breath, his thumb brushing over a crescent scar
on Jim’s collarbone. “Who did these to you?”
Jim followed his hand. “Some were self-inflicted, some accidental. The
others...it doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”
“Scars aren’t in the past,” Sebastian muttered. “They force the past into the
present. They mark you. Forever.”
“How dramatic,” Jim said, but he seemed pleased with the words. “But you know,
death is forever, too. And Carl Powers is very much dead.”
Just then, Jim’s stomach growled loudly, making Sebastian’s own chest rumble.
“Right.” Sebastian sat up further. “You really do need to eat, or  you’ll  be
dead. So do I, actually. I’m ravenous.”
Jim sat up reluctantly, looking so small and pale against Sebastian’s sheets.
It made Sebastian reluctant to leave, but he rose anyway, rolling off his
condom and tying it off, chucking it in the bin before grabbing a clean t-shirt
and some sweatpants from his pile of laundry. He tossed similar items to Jim,
making sure to give him some drawstring trousers so Jim could adjust them to
his smaller waist.
“Sorry for the size...but they’re clean and dry,” he said. Jim practically
drowned in his t-shirt, his shoulders about half the width of Sebastian’s, so
the sleeves pooled down his shoulders and arms. He had to roll up the hems of
the sweats so he didn’t trip.
“Say the word ‘adorable’ and I’ll end you,” Jim said casually, straightening.
Sebastian barked a laugh. “Come on, you mad thing. Food.”
“Food is beneath me,” Jim actually muttered. Unbelievable.
 
***** Memorial *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The Moran fridge was loaded with leftovers from Lady Moran’s philanthropists
club meeting earlier that week. Sebastian set out plates of tiny bruschetta
topped with olive tapenade; pink, cold prawns; lobster dip; liver pate, cheese
from Switzerland and France; and a large, three-tiered chocolate and raspberry
gateau, complete with delicate chocolate flowers.
“What would you like? Have anything you fancy,” Sebastian said, pulling out two
delicate china plates and some cutlery.
Jim was staring with round, faintly astonished eyes at the food, and Sebastian
wondered guiltily if Jim thought he was only doing this to flaunt his luxuries.
“Our leftovers aren’t usually so posh. Mother hired catering for a meeting,” he
explained, shifting uncomfortably.
Jim raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, I’m  sure ,” he purred, slinking forward.
“You know, Sebastian, it’s rather adorable how fussed you get about your
wealth.” His mouth flicked up into a brief smile. “Always good to figure out
weak spots…and honey, you have a  dreadful  poker face.”
His hand slid to Sebastian’s hip, a fingernail digging painfully into the bone,
and Sebastian hissed, chin tipping up a bit. He felt bewitched again, unable to
move under Jim’s commanding touch. Jim chuckled darkly, then his stomach
rumbled once again.
God, sometimes he forgot that Jim was human. He looked down at him sternly.
“Eat. Something.”
Jim didn’t seem the least bit interested in any of the food, but finally
pointed to the chocolate cake, then wordlessly turned and sauntered into the
parlor.
The parlor was more for show than for comfort. Jim had apparently taken one
look at the straight-backed, hard silk chairs and sofas, covered in their many
small pillows, and bypassed them completely, settling on the rug in front of
the enormous marble fireplace.
He was looking around at the tall bookshelves on either side of the fireplace,
his eyes swallowing up each travel artifact and family heirloom when Sebastian
walked in with the plates.
Sebastian’s own plate was heaped with leftovers of all kinds, looking a
monstrous mess next to the tidy if generous slice of cake on Jim’s plate. He
handed the cake to Jim, along with a fork, and settled beside him.
Sebastian was starting on his second bruschetta when he noticed that Jim hadn’t
started eating, but was instead staring curiously at the plate.
“Do you know what sort of china this is?” Jim asked, tapping the plate so that
it made a gentle clink with his fork.
Sebastian shrugged. The plate was part of an enormous set his family had, all
of the pieces white with a delicate blue flower pattern. “No.”
“It’s Royal Copenhagen. Probably cost about one hundred pounds for this plate.
Maybe more.”
“Oh.” Sebastian grew uncomfortable once more. “Jesus, are you trying to guilt-
trip me again?”
“It’s ever so fun. And easy,” Jim said with a sly grin, and Sebastian couldn’t
stop himself from putting his plate down and leaning in somewhat clumsily to
kiss Jim once more.
“Build us a fire, won’t you?” Jim asked against his mouth.
Sebastian hesitated. The fireplace was hardly ever used- Sana would ask
questions about it, even if his parents never noticed. But still, the thought
of spending the evening next to Jim by a warm fire was too attractive to pass
up.
There was a stack of chopped firewood out back, though where it had come from,
Sebastian had never thought to ask. Probably imported, he smirked, bringing it
inside. Soon he had a crackling blaze going, and settled in next to Jim,
sliding an arm around his shoulders.
Jim had picked away at half of the cake, but had seemingly lost interest,
pushing it aside. The chocolate flowers softened from the flames, and began to
droop.
“What’s going to happen when we go back to school on Monday?” Sebastian
whispered, pulling Jim closer. Jim shifted so that his back was against
Sebastian’s chest, lounging easily against Sebastian as if he were a throne.
His head fit perfectly under Sebastian’s chin.
“There will be the usual moaning on about how sad it is to lose someone so
young and so full of promise...for a little while, at least,” Jim said calmly.
Sebastian grit his teeth. “That’s hardly fair, though, is it? All your talk
about people turning into angels when they die young? What about all the shit
he did to you? Where’s the comeuppance in that? He didn’t even have a painful
death!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Jim said, and Sebastian could hear the
smile in his voice. “When people are underwater and can’t breathe, they’ll hold
their breath, even past the point of complete agony.” He shifted back against
Sebastian’s chest. “Carl’s vision would start to blur after a minute or so, but
he likely had all of his wits about him. There would have been time for him to
panic, time for him to realise that he was dying, time for regrets to flash
before his eyes. All of my studies of drowning confirm that death by drowning
is absolute torture. Don’t fret, Sebastian. Powers had a very painful death
indeed.”
Sebastian shivered. Jim sighed blissfully. “As for the rest, have a bit of
faith, Sebastian,” Jim said quietly, and then fell silent.
Despite Jim’s chilling descriptions of drowning, the crackle of the fire and
the drumming rain outside were incredibly relaxing. Sebastian’s hands had taken
to slowly trailing over Jim’s legs and arms, a mesmerised caress. Eventually
Sebastian shifted to lie on the rug, pulling Jim next to him to spoon against
him. The boy stiffened for a moment, then relaxed in Sebastian’s warm, heavy
hold. Sebastian allowed himself to stroke over Jim’s ribcage, and down along
his hip. His lips found Jim’s warm neck, and Jim emitted something akin to a
purr.
It was perfect, until Jim stiffened again and sat up suddenly. “What time is
it?” he demanded.
“Mmm...dunno,” Sebastian looked lazily back at the antique grandfather clock.
“Jesus. Apparently it’s nearly ten,” he said, but Jim only frowned, hastily
standing. “Will you get in trouble if you’re not home?”
“No. But. I should go. I’ve stayed too long.” Jim was shaking his head back and
forth, seemingly at himself. “This wasn’t part of the plan,” Sebastian heard
him mumble.
“Jim, you’re free to stay here. We have the whole place to ourselves,”
Sebastian said, moving to catch Jim before he bolted from the room.
Jim looked up at him curiously. “I should go. This was a mistake, getting
attached,” he said dully.
“What?” Sebastian faltered, then grabbed Jim’s waist with a new resolve. They
made sense together. How could Jim deny that? “Jim- if I did something wrong,
let me know. But can’t you stay a bit longer?”
Jim paused, then looked up at him blankly. “I have to go,” he said again.
“Why?” Sebastian asked.
For a moment Jim said nothing, then he finally looked at the curtain-covered
window beyond Sebastian’s shoulder. “Sometimes I enjoyed sex with Carl, you
know. He gave me what I wanted. Pain. A complete distraction from all…” He
gestured vaguely to his forehead. “This  thinking . But even when the sex was
good, he was still using me..”
“I’m not Carl. For fuck’s sake, Jim...”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Trust me, Moran, you’ll tire of me. You’re only
interested right now because nobody has ever treated you like I do. Don’t
worry. You’ll find someone else to slap you around and give you orders. I have
more important things to do.”
Sebastian stared at him, dumbfounded. How could Jim think that Sebastian would
ever tire of him? How could Sebastian explain how  right  everything felt when
he and Jim were together? In desperation, he sank to his knees in front of Jim.
“Jim, I’m not using you. God, didn’t you feel it back there? I could never use
you. Please, just stay a bit longer. Let me prove it to you.”
Sebastian had no more words than this, and neither did Jim. Jim looked down at
him, a slow bond of trust beginning to unfurl around them. Jim’s fingers
cautiously pressed into Sebastian’s hair, as if checking to make sure he was
real.
Sebastian kept his gaze locked on Jim’s. “I’m yours.” He hadn’t planned on
saying it, but it was undeniably, painfully, true. He was in the palm of Jim’s
hand, split open by him like a specimen.
“Mine…” Jim considered the word. He mouthed it again, seeming to love it on his
tongue. He cocked his head, then slid his hand down to trail his thumb slowly
along Sebastian’s brow. Sebastian’s eyes closed slowly, enraptured. “Yes, I
suppose you are, aren’t you?”
Jim stayed. They snogged again on the rug in front of the fire, Jim making
snide comments about what a cliche it was, if only they had swapped out the
Persian rug for a bearskin, until Sebastian shut him up by pressing his mouth
over his cock. He was shocked by how much he loved it- Jim’s reaction was the
best part, of course, watching his back arch in the flickering light and his
mouth hang out. Hearing him pant as Sebastian tasted him slowly, feeling his
balls and back to his arse.
Sebastian had always heard of blowjobs as a degrading act. He himself had
muttered “cocksucker” at an opposing team member, and jokes about giving head
always got such a cheap laugh in the locker rooms. This felt completely
different. Sacred. Jim’s cock in his mouth was velvety, vulnerable, a new
universe to explore and understand. His brow furrowed as he thought about how
the people at school would treat him if they knew what he did, if they knew
that he  loved  this so much, but he threw the thought out. It was irrelevant.
They were nothing, and they weren’t here. This was just him and Jim. No one
else.
When he made Jim come with just his mouth and tongue, it felt like a miracle,
and the way Jim twitched and lost himself for a moment was like seeing a whole
new facet of him.
It was now nearing one in the morning, the fire reduced to pulsing red embers.
Jim at last seemed tired as well. “Come to bed with me,” Sebastian whispered,
kissing up Jim’s throat.
“I should go,” Jim mumbled, but all resolve had seeped from his voice. He even
allowed Sebastian to hoist him up in his arms, mute as Sebastian carried him up
the staircase and into bed. Sebastian pulled the covers around them both, Jim
making some distant comment about the audacious size and softness of his bed,
but Sebastian was soon covering him with his own body, their sleepy limbs
tangling together. Sleep found Sebastian in seconds and he succumbed, weary,
warm, and blissful.
__
Sebastian woke up to cold light streaming through his bedroom window. The space
next to him in bed was empty and cold. He sat up, feeling almost hungover.
Yesterday came back to him in pieces. Had it all really happened? He could
still smell Jim’s skin on his pillow. Sebastian sat up. “Jim?” On his armchair,
the t-shirt and sweats he’d loaned to Jim were folded up neatly. Jim’s own
clothes were gone.
Sebastian swore quietly. Why had Jim fled without even so much as a goodbye? He
would let him have it in biology on Monday.
When he shifted, he felt a crinkle of paper. A folded-up page, torn from a
notebook. He unfolded it.
Don’t you forget about me, Moran. I’ll be seeing you. xox  JM
Sebastian swallowed. It sounded like a goodbye.
Hurt, he reluctantly got up, showering and dressing. He wasn’t able to banish
Jim from his mind,and there were remnants of Jim everywhere - a tied-off condom
on his bedroom floor, ashes in the fireplace, a Royal Amsterdam china plate
with hardened cake crumbs.
He cleaned it all up hastily, erasing all evidence of Jim’s visit before Sana
or his parents returned home.
__
On Monday, the hallways were buzzing with rumors about Carl’s death.
“I heard it was some sort of fit. A seizure?”
“Yeah, he drowned!”
“Did you see it happen?”
“Were you there?”
“I was out buying popcorn and I came back in-”
“I know the paramedic who tried to save him-”
It was endless. Sebastian spoke to no one, until Sundarum clipped him on the
shoulder in the hallway between classes. “I bet you were excited to hear that
Powers kicked it, huh, Moran?” he said, acid in his voice.
“That’s a pretty fucked-up thing to say,” Sebastian growled. God, he hoped he
wouldn’t be implicated in all of this.
He kept waiting for a call to the principal’s office, for a police officer to
show up in his classroom door.
In biology, Jim was nowhere to be seen. Miranda kept her back turned to him the
entire lecture, but he could see her shoulders tense when Ms. Beauchamp
mentioned Powers’s death.
In the days following, Sebastian took to packing his lunch, not wanting to be
around anyone. Nobody held any sort of friendliness toward him. And worse, Jim
was nowhere to be found. Sebastian had kept the two scraps of paper, the
goodbye note and Jim’s phone number. He called Jim’s flat on Wednesday, and the
same impatient-sounding woman picked up.
“Is Jim around?” he asked.
“He doesn’t live here anymore,” she said.
“Oh...do you have a number where I might reach him?”
“I can’t give that information out to random strangers. Who is this?”
“I’m Sebastian Moran. I knew Jim from school. ...We were lab partners.” Lab
partners, and then friends, and then lovers. How quickly their relationship had
changed in a few short months.
“Well, he’s transferred schools, so it’s not your concern.”
“But-”
She hung up before Sebastian could think of a new excuse to ask for Jim’s phone
number. A new foster family. Had he been planning this along with Carl’s death?
If so, couldn’t he have bothered to write a new number or address on his stupid
goodbye note?
Sebastian slammed the phone down and lit a cigarette. Typical Moriarty. Wanting
to be in control. Leaving Sebastian dangling. Didn’t Jim care at all?
__
The very next day, on the eve of Carl Powers’ school memorial service, three
identical, thick envelopes were delivered to the local TV news station, the
newspaper, and to St. Crispin’s headmistress. The contents of each were the
same: A videotape of carefully edited school security footage, a cassette tape
of incriminating conversations and non-consensual sexual encounters, and
explicit, threatening notes in Carl Powers’ handwriting. The contents of each
were filthy, lurid, and abominable, yet none of the sources revealed the
precise identity of Carl’s victim; only that he was another male student.
It was too juicy a story not to be picked up. It was all over the evening news,
and in the next morning’s paper.
The corridors of St. Crispin were in utter pandemonium. The school memorial
service was postponed. Many doubted they would have one at all. Camera crews
and journalists waited outside the school like scavengers, looking for students
to interview.
Most of the teachers told students to keep to themselves and to let this all
blow over. It was a tragic, confusing time for them all.
It didn’t blow over, though. The following week’s headlines were dominated by
Carl Powers’s name, and it seemed each day, there was a new story of another
student coming forward with confessions of abuse from Powers. It hadn’t been
just Sebastian and Jim who had suffered under Powers’s hands, and Sebastian
supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.
All told, five boys stepped forward with stories of abuse from Powers, most
wishing to remain anonymous.  
The more sensational news outlets circled back to Carl’s death with questions
of murder motivations, which had worried Sebastian sick. However, the
speculation quickly died - there was no evidence, and the autopsy reports had
been conclusive.
It would have been so much more satisfying, Sebastian thought, if Carl had been
alive to see his downfall...but his father’s reaction almost made up for that.
Mr. Powers tried to accuse the newspapers and the victims of libel, but he was
shut down with the glaring evidence, both video and audio, of his son, clearly
raping someone.
Jim, that bloody little genius. Now everyone spoke of Carl Powers with
revulsion. Powers’s memorial page was left absent from the school yearbook
after massive protests, the cabinet of his swimming trophies in the front
corridor was emptied. There were no posthumous honors for him, no fond memories
shared at an assembly. The most generous teachers called Powers “complicated”,
but most refused to talk about him altogether.
Jim had crushed Powers, destroying his name, his reputation, and ending his
life. Sebastian only wished Jim was around to enjoy the results. Where was he
now? During classes, Sebastian would daydream about Jim off somewhere,
collecting newspaper clippings like a little magpie. Perhaps he framed them
around Carl’s shoes, a mad little shrine. It would be just like Jim to do.
But did Jim ever think of him? Had that rainy night at Sebastian’s been a mere
diversion for him? The thought that it had all meant nothing tore Sebastian up
inside. He would come home with a stomach ache from missing him so much. And
not a night in bed went by that he didn’t think of Jim.
Sana even noticed. She had even called him “lovesick”, wrongly thinking he was
upset over his breakup with Miranda. He let her believe it.
Sebastian had far too much free time now that he had no friends or sports
practices to occupy himself with. He used his free time to excel at his
coursework and study firearms intensively. He also started target practice; if
he was to go into the military, he thought, he might as well become a better
shot.
Target practice began as a weekend hobby, but turned into a daily passion, one
that his father approved of. “That aggression has to go somewhere,” he said,
and even arranged Sebastian a personal trainer and a pass for the shooting
range at the correctional school.
Sebastian moved to the dreary boarding school in Hull in January. He kept to
himself there. It was easier that way, and it was shockingly liberating, not
worrying about being liked. Popularity was a game he was done playing, and he
openly sneered at those who fretted over how many and which friends they had.
The school emphasized discipline, and Sebastian became an exemplary pupil. He
was top of his class for drill exercises, and the best marksman of any of his
peers. He had never seen his father look so proud, or seen Sana look so
disappointed, when he had announced that he planned to join the military
immediately after finishing his term. He tried to convince Sana that he would
have plenty of opportunities to practice his languages if he joined, but she
wouldn’t hear of it, and barely spoke to him when he was home for the mid-term
spring holiday.
“You’ve hardened, Sebastian,” Sana had remarked. “Too much like your father, I
think.”
Sebastian felt hardened. It was a good thing, he decided. Safer that way.
Softness led to caring, and caring led to loss, to fury. He didn’t lash out at
his fellow students, because he didn’t care enough about any of them. If there
was any weakness left in him, any emotional pulp inside, it was for the boy who
had infuriated him, entranced him, changed him, and left him forever.
But where had caring for Jim gotten him? He'd been carelessly tossed aside with
a vague promise of seeing him in the future. And it fucking hurt, caring for
him. Missing him. Because despite his best efforts, he still did.
Chapter End Notes
     Holy cow, just one more chapter to go!!! Thank you so so much for
     reading, all. This is was so fun to write.
***** Call Me *****
Chapter Notes
     Hot damn, the last chapter!!! Thank thank you for reading!! <3
October 2008
Sebastian put himself into position, one hand steadying the scope, the other
adjusting the rifle’s tripod. He put in his earpiece, a new purchase as of last
week. It was already paying for itself - his neck had gotten unbearably stiff
from pinning a mobile phone between his ear and his shoulder during jobs. He
was only 30, but he seemed to get achy so much faster than he had in the line
of duty just a few years ago. They said drinking, smoking, and stress aged you
- Sebastian was living proof.
The earpiece had been a big investment, considering that he lived paycheck to
paycheck, but this hit paid big - five thousand quid. That would be enough to
pay off almost half of his gambling debts, and maybe he could put a little bit
aside for a nice bottle of whiskey and some good cigarettes, instead of the
cheap shit he got by on.
His hand-rolled cigarette hung loosely between his lips as he peered through
the scope, searching for his target. He’d gotten the description, but no name.
He didn’t need to know the names of the people he was killing. It was a busy
area; hence the high reward, Sebastian wagered. Either that, or somebody really
didn’t like this man.
He scratched his stubble, scanning for his target in the crowd. “Is he the one
in the grey suit?” He asked his current employer through the earpiece.
“Yeah. Light grey. Dove.”
“That’s pretty fucking specific,” Sebastian smirked, adjusting his scope.
“I used to work in a suit shop,” the employer said defensively. “You learn a
lot of fucking shades. I never knew there were so many variations of grey.
Dove, gainsboro, charcoal, Davy’s Grey, Spanish Grey-”
“Got him.” Sebastian zeroed in on his target, a man with slicked-back dark
hair. His dove grey suit was impeccably tailored, and his shoes shone brightly.
Sebastian could smell the money oozing off him, even from five storeys up. The
soon-to-be-dead man was on his mobile, chatting. He turned in Sebastian’s
direction...then Sebastian swore he gazed directly up at him, and fucking
waved.
Spooked, Sebastian pulled back for a second. He was about to ask if his
employer was  positive  they hadn’t been followed, when an arm grabbed him
around the neck from behind. Caught off-guard, Sebastian wrestled to get free,
every muscle in his body primed for fighting.
If it had been a one-man ambush, Sebastian would have been back into position
in minutes, but there were three of them. He scuffled, punched, and kicked, but
there were six hands on him now - two on his neck, two grabbing his wrists, and
two around his waist. Then a pair of hands retreated and Sebastian felt a
needle pierce his neck.
Sebastian yanked a wrist free, managing to strike backwards. He heard the
satisfying crunch of breaking bone - he’d hit the bridge of the man’s noses -
and he hit again, lower, aiming for his other captor’s gut. He swung wide,
feeling uncoordinated. His fist felt heavy, clumsy. His vision blurred, and his
knees buckled. Shit- what had they injected him with?
He sagged to the ground, a doubled image of a large man standing above him, on
his mobile.
“Target acquired, boss. Where do you want him?”
His words muddled and greyed, and Sebastian couldn’t understand anything else
he said, falling prey to darkness.
__
Sebastian woke in a chair, very much alive. His head hammered. He tried to open
his eyes, but his lashes pushed against cloth. A blindfold. Jesus Christ.
He tugged on his wrists, firmly bound with rope. Rope was better than
handcuffs...sometimes. This was a thorough job, though, and he felt more ropes
digging into his thighs and his ankles.
He tried to even his breathing. He was to be interrogated, then. What
information did they want from him? He didn’t know anything worth all of this
trouble.
Before he could weigh his options any further, footsteps approached, then a
fist collided with his gut, making him gasp hoarsely and squirm in the chair.
It was quickly followed by a harsh blow to his face. The pain only felt more
intense with his sight stolen from him.
“That’s for my nose, you bloody prick,” a stuffed-up voice growled.
Sebastian forced a grin, his own face throbbing. “I think the order usually is,
questions first, blows later. Or is this all part of your intimidation game?”
That earned him another punch to the nose. Sebastian felt his nose crack,
breaking. Blood pooled from his nostrils- he could feel it trickle against his
lips. He spat, breathing through his mouth now. What did they  want  from him?
No questions came, though, and Sebastian couldn’t get a word out, and the blows
kept coming until he was battered and aching.
They weren’t breaking bones, he thought faintly. At least not serious ones.
Yet.
Then, as quickly as the blows had begun, they stopped. Sebastian heard new
footsteps approach, and he twisted his wrists in the ropes, breathing raggedly.
The figure was directly in front of him now, and Sebastian spat blood blindly,
bracing himself for another blow.
Instead of a punch, though, a gentle hand slid along Sebastian’s jaw, and
tipped his face up. “ You’ve let yourself go, Mr. Moran. ”
The man spoke French. Unexpected...yet the voice seemed familiar. Sebastian
racked his brain, trying to think of who this could be. He had known a few
French people in the army, but nobody who sounded quite like this. It was a
curious sort of French, with a bit of a sing-song lilt to it, soft as the man’s
hand.
“ Is that right?”  Sebastian grit out. Every inch of him fucking  hurt . “ How
very flattering to have a stalker. ”
The hand withdrew and slapped him sharply across the cheek, making Sebastian
grunt. When the man seized his chin again, his grip was harsher, vice-like. “ A
dishonorable discharge from the military, and then nothing but boozing,
gambling, and some rather sloppy bar fights in the meantime. What’s wrong,
Mummy and Daddy’s money burnt out? Or did they cut you off? I certainly
wouldn’t blame them. If it wasn’t for the quality of your hits, Mr. Moran, I
wouldn’t find you worth my time at all.”
Sebastian bristled. Who the fuck was this, and how did he know about his
parents? Sebastian didn’t divulge his family history to anyone. Especially
after his father had disowned him. Sebastian squirmed again, wanting him to get
to the point. “ What’s it to you? It’s my life, isn’t it?”
“And what a waste of a life,”  the voice spat furiously.
Sebastian opened his mouth to retort, but lost his words as he felt weight on
his lap- the stranger was straddling him, sitting in his lap. Sebastian grit
his teeth, struggling, but then the unmistakable cold end of a gun was pressing
underneath his jaw, and the stranger had a fistful of Sebastian’s hair, tugging
his head back. Sebastian could make out faint light through his blindfold,
enough to tell his face was pointed directly up toward the ceiling lamp.
“Tsk, Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian…” the voice said, in English this time,
and the way the man pronounced his name sent a long-dormant shiver down his
spine. “Really, drunken insubordination and gambling? I  am  disappointed,” he
sighed, then the gun was being forced between Sebastian’s teeth, and he gave a
muffled protest around the barrel, eyes widening behind the blindfold.
“Oh, make that noise again. That was simply delicious…” the man breathed, this
time against his ear. He didn’t let up on his cruel grip in Sebastian’s hair.
Sebastian’s eyes watered, and he breathed raggedly through his nose. There was
something especially intimate about this- he was used to interrogators trying
to get under his skin, but this man was actually managing to burrow his way in.
“All those petty little hits, all those wasted hours tracking nobodies for a
few hundred pounds...when really, we both know you’re built for such better
work…” To Sebastian’s shock, the man was rocking against his lap, just the
slightest movement, but one that made Sebastian shift uncomfortably, the
pleasurable friction cutting through the pain and begging for his attention.
"Nng-” Sebastian could only reply, which only resulted in the gun being pushed
further into his mouth. He gagged slightly, his jaw aching.
“Oh, pet...don’t pretend like you don’t  enjoy  this just a tiny bit. When was
the last time you had a truly life or death thrill? Sebastian Moran, the danger
junkie…” The man laughed again, rocking more decidedly against him, and
Sebastian  knew  that voice. The accent...it was  almost  Irish, but just when
he thought he had a grip on it, the vowels would skitter to a different region.
Welsh? Scottish? South London? Fuck, it was impossible to tell, and it was so
very disarming.
“I followed you in the military. Exemplary work,” the man continued. “The
finest rifleman on this little island, I’d dare say. Now look at you. What the
hell is your excuse?”
He withdrew the gun from Sebastian’s mouth and cuffed him across the face. He
was clearly waiting for an actual answer, but Sebastian instead whispered, “Who
are you?”
The man clucked his tongue, and again his breath was hot against Sebastian’s
ear. “Don’t you forget about me,” he sang quietly.
The voice...it clicked into place, and a face snapped into his mind’s eye - a
pale, serious face.Wide, hungry eyes, dark hair, a soft, dangerous voice. The
smell of formaldehyde. The smell of the art room. Jim’s hands in his hair. Jim
saying his name, three velvet syllables.
“Jim Moriarty-” he breathed. Could it really be him? Had he gone completely
mental? “Jim?”
The man snickered against his ear. “Jim? Jim!” He gasped, as if coming to a
revelation himself. If it was Moriarty, that bewitching boy from school, he was
far less serious, and perhaps even more unhinged. He ground down on Sebastian’s
lap in a slow, rocking way that made Sebastian hiss. God. Jim Moriarty. He’d
never forgotten him, but he’d long since given up hope of ever seeing him
again. How could he had ever forgotten the first boy he’d ever bedded, the
first boy he’d...well, been in love with wasn’t the right word...he’d been
obsessed with him. The only person he would ever kneel in front of and beg for.
And the only person he’d allowed to break his heart.
A long-dormant ache bloomed in Sebastian’s heart, and he opened his mouth to
say something else when he felt the tip of the gun drift from his throat to his
temple. It pressed against an already-sore bit of skull, making Sebastian hiss
in pain. The man’s- Jim’s?- fingers pressed to his lips before he could speak.
“I find it most audacious that you tried to kill me, Moran. Then again, you
always were an audacious one.”
This couldn’t be real. He had to be hallucinating this. If he could just take
the damn blindfold off-
“-Need to see you-” he mumbled against the man’s fingers.
“Tsk, as I said.  Audacious. ” His hand withdrew and slapped Sebastian hard,
then before his head had stopped whipping to the side, Sebastian heard him
click his fingers twice. There were footsteps approaching behind him, then
another needle in his neck, making him sag in the chair, numbing him to the
pain.
He felt like he was floating out of his chair, weightless, a hot breath in his
ear whispering, “Call me if you want a real job.”
__
Jim was still as a stone as he waited for Sebastian to slip into complete
unconsciousness.
Grimsby was cleaning off the syringe and stowing it back in its case. “Where do
you want him, boss?” he grunted.
Jim’s eyes flickered up to his hitman’s face, his bloodied nose. God, it made
him giddy to see his own roughed up by the felled beast underneath him. “Step
out for five minutes, and close the door. Instructions after that.”
Grimsby left without question. The very first thing Jim did was to grasp
Sebastian’s broken nose and push it back into place.
Only then did he slide off the blindfold and stare at Sebastian Moran full in
the face for the first time in thirteen years. Oh, he had seen him before
today, in blurry surveillance photos, in newspaper clippings, in prison
mugshots. His boy was too bloody conspicuous. He would need to fix that.
Still...what a good show he put on. Jim allowed his thumb to trail over
Sebastian’s lower lip. And nothing compared to seeing someone again in person,
up close.
As a teenager, he’d been so  handsome , bordering on pretty, bordering on
dreadfully generic, all wholesome and athletic. A boy girls fantasized about
introducing their mothers to. Good breeding and lucky genetics made a
sickeningly attractive combination.
But now, combat, bar brawls, and smoking had rendered him into something
roughly hewn and wild, the creature he was always meant to be. Scars flecked
his face and neck. His nose had been broken at least twice before today. His
stubble only emphasized his chiseled jaw, and a crease was forming between his
brows. He had been pretty before. Now he was gorgeous.
“Nice to see you’ve only appreciated in value, pet,” Jim murmured.
He leaned in and licked a bloody smear from Sebastian’s cheek. His Sebastian.
His lips grazed to Sebastian’s slack mouth, and he stole a kiss from those
lips. Jim generally found kissing distasteful; there was little point to it.
But this...it was all blood, metal, and cigarettes, and he wanted to wrap
himself in that taste forever. He gave himself one minute to indulge himself.
Sixty seconds of being that skinny, scrappy fifteen year old again, high from
his first kill. High from the utter devotion in Sebastian’s silver gaze as the
older boy looked up at him from his knees.
When the minute was up, Jim straightened, clearing his mind and cracking his
neck from side to side. He slid from Sebastian’s lap and returned to the door,
where Grimsby was waiting. “Take him to his flat. There are a few things to do
when you get there…” He scribbled down a list, then lingered in the doorway for
a moment to watch as Sebastian was untied and dragged down the corridor.
The last time he’d said goodbye to Sebastian, it had been in Sebastian’s sleep.
That night, as the rain drummed on the large windows and the sloped roof of the
Moran residence, Jim hadn’t slept a wink. He had watched as Sebastian quickly
drifted off, and then he was free to admire him, to skim light fingertips along
his pulse points, across the breadth of his shoulders and down his gorgeous
back. Jim had been surprised at how calm he’d felt. He’d never had such a
lasting effect after sex before. Usually he got a minute of peace in his mind,
maybe two, before the thoughts came crashing back in, fighting for attention.
In Sebastian’s arms, listening to the larger boy’s steady, slow breath, Jim had
felt miraculously calm. He had been reluctant to leave, but the hours passed
and the rain died down, and Jim knew he couldn’t afford to stay any longer.
Sebastian, the dear tiger, slept soundly as Jim had slipped from his arm and
quietly dressed in the dark. He’d left the note by his pillow, then lingered at
his bedroom door, watching his sleeping form. “See you later, Sebastian Moran,”
he’d murmured. He hadn’t known how long it would be until he did see him again,
at least face to face. He knew it might be a while.
How fitting. He’d said goodbye to Sebastian while he was unconscious, and now
he’d properly greeted him while he was unconscious as well.
It was interesting to note, Jim thought, as he’d combed through surveillance
photos of Sebastian in his flat, that Sebastian had ended up getting a tiger
tattoo. And it wasn’t a half-hearted commitment, either, not some one-sitting
job on the arm that could be done on a whim. The tiger leapt across the breadth
of his back in full color. Had others called Sebastian a tiger, as Jim had? His
mouth twitched in displeasure at that thought. He would grill Sebastian over
that in their next meeting. For this time, they would be meeting much sooner
than before.
__
Sebastian twitched to life, brain scrambled, head splitting open in pain. He
moved his neck to the side and felt more pain. Every limb that he called into
action screamed in murderous protest. He swore, spitting blood onto the floor.
Which floor?
He groggily opened one eye, the only one that would cooperate. The other was
swollen shut. He was on his stomach on the floor of his studio flat. Thank fuck
for that, at least.
The first thing he did was scan with his limited vision for empty booze
bottles, or other signs that he’d blacked out. None to be found.
Like a bad dream, pre-blackout moments swam back to him. He’d been tied up,
beaten up. Blindfolded. He looked at his wrists to confirm. Rope burns. He
mustered his courage and sat up, crying out at the pain. If his rib wasn’t
broken, it was at least cracked, and the pain was tear-inducing. Well, there
was the beating confirmed.
“F-fuck-” And through all of this pain, he had the fucking eighties song “Don’t
You Forget About Me” stuck in his head.
He staggered to his feet, legs wobbly. His head was going to split open. He
stumbled blindly to his toilet. Thank fuck it was a tiny flat- any direction he
went, he wouldn’t have to go further than twenty paces. He grabbed his bottle
of ibuprofen and swallowed three dry.
When he closed the mirrored cabinet, he inspected his face. A bloody horror
show. He forced his lips apart in a grisly smile. No missing teeth. A fucking
miracle.
His smile relaxed into a frown. There was something he was missing.  Why  had
he been tied to a chair and beaten? There must have been a reason.
Love's strange, so real in the dark
Think of the tender things that we were working on...
That fucking song. 6th form. Jim Moriarty. That boy…
He shook his head, then immediately winced at the throbbing pain the slight
movement had caused. That couldn’t be right.
Slow change may pull us apart
When the light gets into your heart, baby…
Yes. Jim Moriarty. He hadn’t seen him. But that voice. Moriarty’s warm breath
against his ear. Hips bearing down on him. A red thread of arousal winding
through the black cords of pain.
He huffed. That would be just about right, he thought, his old teenage flame
coming back to tell Sebastian exactly what sort of loser he’d become.
He staggered back into the room. His studio was spartan and wholly depressing,
a shrine to empty cans and bottles and rotting takeaway boxes. He’d been much
tidier before he’d started drinking.
He stumbled, knocking an empty whiskey bottle to the floor. He flinched, but it
didn’t shatter, only making a loud thunk that sent a twinge through his head.
“Shit…” he breathed, staring at the intact bottle. He hadn’t completed the hit.
This meant he wasn’t getting his five grand. Peters would be pounding on his
door, looking for his dues, and Sebastian was in no shape to tell him off.
But...it also meant that Sebastian hadn’t inadvertently killed Jim Moriarty.
That gave him pause. The thought of doing such a thing made him actually feel
something. It was an interesting idea. Killing someone hadn’t made him feel
anything in a very long time, other than the short-lived adrenaline rush that
was beginning to feel more shallow with every hit.
He immediately lurched for the cabinet where he stored his liquor. He knew he
had at least a fifth of vodka in there. The cabinet was empty. He checked the
other cabinets. Had he misplaced the bottle?
Beer. There was beer in the fridge. He flung it open. Takeaway boxes, brown
sauce and mustard bottles, packets of soy sauce, a half-eaten tin of beans. Not
a single can of beer.
He swore, spinning to grab his wallet from his pocket. He had to at least have
a fiver that would get him a few 40s.
His wallet was also missing.
“What the FUCK!” he snarled, about to storm over to paw through his coat.
That’s when he noticed the china plate sitting on the tiny kitchen island,
comically pristine amidst the crumpled receipts and grubby wooden chopsticks
and bottle caps and loose change.
A familiar plate, one that had no business being in this hovel. The plate was a
pure white, painted with a lacy blue flower design - the exact pattern that had
adorned his family’s china set when he was growing up. Royal Copenhagen.
On the plate was an immaculate slice of chocolate cake. The delicate curls of
dark chocolate were mocking, the ganache on top smoothed to a mirror finish.
The cake was deliciously moist, looking better than anything Sebastian had
eaten in a very long time.
There were three impossible things on his kitchen counter. The plate and the
cake were two. The third was the blaring yellow sticky note and its permanent
marker scribble:  Call me. :) x JM.  Followed by a phone number.
Sebastian didn’t know how long he stared at the note. It wasn’t until his face
started aching that he realized that he was smiling.  Grinning.  Like a madman.
“Jim Fucking Moriarty,” he laughed, shaking his head. Jim Moriarty, that
bastard. The boy who had abandoned him after a night of murder and bliss. The
man who had kidnapped him and insulted him, who had practically forced a gun
down his throat.
Sebastian’s booze and wallet might have been missing, but his phone had been
carefully placed right next to the slice of cake on the kitchen island.
Call me. :) xJM
Sebastian did.
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