Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/871472.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sebastian_Moran/Jim_Moriarty, Richard_Brook/Jim_Moriarty, Severin_Moran/
      Richard_Brook
  Character:
      Sebastian_Moran, Jim_Moriarty, Richard_Brook, Severin_Moran
  Additional Tags:
      Size_Kink, Size_Difference, Anal_Sex, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Emotional
      Manipulation, Conditioning, Breathplay, Choking
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-06 Chapters: 3/? Words: 3528
****** Unhappy Endings: A Collection of Mormor Drabbles (and their brothers)
******
by MarbleAide
Summary
     Just a collection of all my drabbles that involve Sebastian, Severin,
     Jim, and Richard. All of them vary in length, rating, and plot
     (though, naturally with the four of them it's mostly Explicit stuff).
***** Second Best. *****
Richard doesn’t talk much anymore since his twin shot himself in the head.
Since they had a funeral without a body that they couldn’t go claim. Since he
had lain in Jim’s bed until the smell of him disappeared with time. Since his
eyes stopped being bright and went dark. Severin thinks of them like Jim’s
were; dead and he tries to lie and say Richard’s are different but they’re not.
He knows that Richard thinks about Jim quite a bit. About him with a gun in his
mouth and sometimes Severin catches him touching at the back of his skull,
fingers ruffling through hair and applying pressure. At night, when Richard’s
asleep next to him, he’ll gently push aside strands of hair at that place he
always touches. He can feel little cuts, scabs, little wounds that were made by
the cut of finger nails and scratches and silently wishes that Richard wouldn’t
think he should have been the one to die.
Sebastian’s not around much either. He’s broken in his own way that means an
extra pack of cigarettes every other day and late nights not sleeping in an
attempt to keep the empire from crumbling. He never mentions it to his brother,
but Severin can see even with all the effort put forth Sebastian is failing.
But Sebastian can never fail Jim, even when he’s dead, so he still tries and
Severin can only stand by to watch his brother crumble too.
It hurts to see the two people he cares about most fall apart.
Hurts to see Sebastian once or twice within a week to find old blood on his
hands while he has to go home to Richard and find it new and still dripping to
the floor.
It hurts even more when he’s got Richard on top of him, both of them naked and
the smaller male setting the pace. Severin’s okay with it until Richard reaches
down to grab his hands from around his hips and presses them to his throat.
“Please,” He’ll say and it’ll be the first words Severin has heard from him in
days. “Please, just like Jim used to. Make me hurt.”
It leaves a heavy ache in his chest that is dulling over time. Because it’s
becoming routine and no matter how long Severin holds out, he always gives in
at the end and chokes him. Squeezes the lean throat under his hands, feeling
the breathe catch and can visibly see that spark of life return to Richard’s
eyes, if only for a moment, because he’s blissed out and buzzed from the lack
of oxygen to his brain and only thinking of Jim.
Severin thinks if he applied just a little more pressure he could kill him.
Crush his windpipe or just hold him there until he went limb and never moved
again. He wonders if that’s what Richard would want, but it’s still not what he
wants, could never bare the guilt or the heart ache, so he lets up.
Richard comes all over Severin with a gasp on his lips right as he’s about to
black out. He falls to the side, tired and dizzy with a wide smile on his face
and that distant look returning to his eyes. Severin’s not even hard anymore,
it doesn’t matter and Richard doesn’t notice.
He moves Richard’s limp body around, positioning him under the covers where he
easily falls asleep with Jim’s name muttered on his lips in a rough whisper.
While Severin gets up to clean himself and check his phone incase Sebastian
called at all.
Nothing’s new, so Severin is left going to bed with a sense of emptiness and
trying to not think of how he can’t fix the people he loves most, and even
worse how he’ll always be second best to a dead man.
***** Tiny. *****
Getting Jim naked is a challenge, as everything is when it comes to Jim, and
all Sebastian can think about is Finally, finally, finally! as he slips Jim’s
pants from over his hips, nipping at the skin of his stomach just to hear him
let out that little huff of air once more from his lungs. It’s not quite a
gasp, but it’s not a sigh either. It’s a mix of inhale and exhale and all
Sebastian can do is be pleased with how confused his actions have left Jim;
body not even knowing what he wants to do.
 He tosses the pants over the edge of the bed with all their other clothes,
finishing up the bite with a hard suck to the patch of skin, which leaves a
nice mark to match all the other ones that travel down Jim’s front. Sebastian
glances up to see them all trailing down, smiles at the way Jim looks at him
all breathless and panting.
 “Get on with it.” He hears the hiss and chuckles in reply, but follows the
order none the less, not wanting Jim to start getting impatient. So he does
what he’s told, shifts down, keeps his hands on Jim’s hips to keep him still,
grounded, and let’s his eyes travel to—
 Oh, oh, and here Sebastian would have never expected this to greet him.
It’s so cute, he thinks, but apparently the last word fell from his tongue
instead of staying in his head, because Jim kicks him, wriggles under his hands
and curses.
“Sebastian, I swear to god if—“
 “It’s not bad.” Sebastian tries to correct himself, though his eyes never
leave Jim’s crotch because he’s still too caught up in looking. “It’s
just…cute.” He finishes again with the same word, hears Jim growl because of
it.
“My dick is not cu—“
The word never gets completed as Jim’s voice cuts off with a low groan.
Sebastian leaned down, licks a strip from the root of Jim’s dick to the tip,
still amazed at how short the distance is in between. It’s adorable, because he
never would have really thought Jim would be, well, small. It seems appropriate
now, seeing as Jim is small too—at least when being compared to the sniper—and
maybe Sebastian’s just so used to fucking  men with the same body mass, all
muscles and big, that now Jim just seems so tiny. It’s not bad. Just…new.
Exciting.
It makes it easier to lick. He keeps using his tongue to make sure Jim can’t
speak anymore, leaves him to moan and thread his fingers through Sebastian’s
hair as he allows his right-hand to simply devour his cock, because that’s
exactly what Sebastian is doing. Devouring. It’s so easy, lapping at every
little part, section, running his tongue into foreskin and sucking at the head,
licking up every drop of pre-come that dribbles from the slit and soon Jim’s
little dick is covered in saliva, dripping, and only then does Sebastian
finally suck him down. It’s easy. So easy to just take him, sink down onto
Jim’s cock until his nose is nestled into the black curls and jesus, it’s so
easy, the head doesn’t even reach back far enough to properly gag him.
Sebastian thinks he could sit like this all day. Just kneel underneath Jim’s
desk with his cock taken in his mouth all the way to the root and just suckle
on it like a babe until Jim came or got bored and pushed him away.
There’s a moment when he thinks he wants to feel Jim’s cock spasm in his mouth
when he comes, taste him, but that’s not how he wants this to end. So, instead,
he pulls off with a finally suck, hollows out cheeks, and Jim pulls at his
hair, tries to shove him back down, but Sebastian will have none of it and bats
Jim’s hands away.
He moves back up, meets Jim’s eyes with his own as he puts his arms on either
side of Jim’s head, his knees at either side of Jim’s thighs. He kisses Jim for
a moment, desperate to make sure he doesn’t get his breathe back, before taking
both their cocks into his hand and god.
It’s perfect when he looks down. His hands wraps around both their cocks
beautifully, because Jim’s is just so small and it looks even better in
comparison. It makes Sebastian think of how tiny his boss really is. How
brittle he must be. How it would be so easy to throw him over his shoulder,
carry him around all day. He wants to break him, just because he knows he can.
Because he’s so tiny, small, vulnerable…
The slide is easy, slick with Sebastian’s spit, and soon they’re both moaning
with the movement of his hand. Jim keeps grinding up, thrusting his hips with
little gasps each time Sebastian thrusts into his hand, slides right against
Jim’s tiny dick and it leaves him looking so wanton. Sebastian can’t take his
eyes off Jim’s cock, because it looks even better when pressed against his own.
It’s short and slim and even a decent shade lighter then Sebastian’s prick.
It makes Sebastian feel like, for just a moment, he’s fucking a teenager.
Someone so soft and new and tiny. He knows Jim’s not. He knows he’d a grown man
who kills people for a living, but all Sebastian can think of as he stares down
at him, thighs trembling and his cock twitching against his own, is just how
wonderfully wrong this would be if Jim was a little bit younger.
Sebastian grips harder because of this and because Jim then arches his back,
groans loud, and after a few more harder thrusts of his own he’s coming in
Sebastian’s hand, over his own stomach, and Sebastian has to gasp at the
feeling, the sight.
Even Jim’s load is small, he thinks, watching the last bits drip from Jim’s
cock as he spasms on the bed, breathing hard for lungfuls of air and moaning
softly with every movement of Sebastian as he continues.
He’s not far off. He can’t take the sigh of Jim’s cum on his skin, the feeling
of Jim’s cock softening in his hand, against his own, or how tiny he looks
shrinking back into the bed, sleep desperately trying to claim him as his eyes
droop low.
He comes then, quietly, with a low moan and a very loudly thought Fuck! As he
thinks about the word ‘Daddy’ and wonders if Jim would like lace and the color
pink, or more so how he would look in them.
They’re both a mess, sticky, but Sebastian can’t help not caring. He falls on
top of Jim, heavy, if only to feel the small body below him, listen to his
racing heart, feel the movement of pressing lungs, think of broken bones,
before Jim is cursing again, struggling, shoving him off and telling him to
Move you heavy prick!
He does, of course, but still wraps his arms around Jim, pulling him close
right against his chest. After a while and more cursing, Jim finally settles
and Sebastian is glad for it. Like holding a child.
All he can think of is the word adorable as he falls asleep, knowing Jim would
kick him out if he ever said a word.
***** A Knot in Your Throat *****
He heard a story once—it’s a weird memory to cling on to, especially when there
wasn’t much to remember—that his mother told them before she left. Left-left
like the bad way of leaving. Like the I-don’t-care disappearing leaving. The
kind that you don’t know if she’s still alive or not, but it still means she
didn’t love you enough to stay. It was the kind that hurt most, because at
least if she died Richard wouldn’t think so much about how his mother must have
hated them so much enough to leave.
But that’s not the point. Or the story. The story is about when they were
babies, because one time he remembers, or at least he thinks he remembers, she
told them both once how they came into the world. Jim had been first, like all
older brother’s have to, and their mother said that he screamed so loud he was
all red in the face. His mother mentioned what a horrible sound it was, but the
doctors were happy because it meant Jim was alive in a way that only screaming
could prove.
Richard came in seven minutes later, but he didn’t scream or cry or anything.
His eyes were opened, he blinked a lot, but he didn’t cry. The nurse had to
slap his bum to get him to cry, to make sure he was breathing right like Jim
clearly was.
Their mother had said it was the most beautiful thing, because he wasn’t
crying.
That changed, of course, because then they grew up and switched spots so
Richard was always the crying one and Jim was always the quiet one. Richard
remembers his mother saying how she didn’t like that very much, but it’s okay
now because their mother is gone and Jim’s said her opinion doesn’t matter.
Richard still wished he could have stayed the quiet one. Maybe she would have
stayed with them then.
—-
When they grow up a little bit more, enough that their size isn’t too much to
fit under the bed without only a few head bumps, Jim has to always put a hand
over his mouth to stop from crying too loudly. Or else their father would find
their hiding spot.
It’s easy to hide under the bed, because their dad stumbles around so much Jim
thinks if he fell he wouldn’t get back up. Richard knows he doesn’t clean up
any of his clothes or toys because of this, but Richard doesn’t say anything
about it, too scared to mention that he doesn’t want to be an orphan.
He cries and cries and cries, everything catching in his throat and bouncing
off Jim’s hand. It’s too hot and too sweaty against his mouth, Jim’s palm, and
Richard doesn’t like it, but he knows it means they can hide better that way.
So their father won’t find out where they are and leaving their bodies aching
in places Richard doesn’t understand very well. He doesn’t like bruises.
Doesn’t like hurt.
The idea of it makes him cry even more, little choked gasps and big fat tears
and drool that leaves Jim’s hand sloppy afterwards. But Jim makes it so his
sobs aren’t heard and afterwards Richard cries some more to thank him while
they huddle together under the blankets, safe for now.
Jim says it’s okay, that it’s not his fault, but Richard knows they would be
safer if he didn’t cry so much.
And somewhere in Jim’s mind he knows that and Richard can see it in his eyes;
that resentment.
—-
Later on, Jim teaches Richard how to cry quietly.
He says it’s so Richard is good. Says it’s so they don’t get caught and Jim can
keep him safe still.
It’s in a different way than before, when they were hiding from their father,
because now they’re not under the bed, they’re on top of it, and their father
isn’t home, but Richard still knows if anyone knew they’d get hit because of
it.
But Jim always promises they’ll be okay, so Richard listens because older
brothers can’t lie about something like that.
Jim calls it ‘fucking’ for the first time when they’re thirteen. It’s the first
time Jim hasn’t just used his hands or Richard’s mouth or his thighs. He props
Richard up on his hands and knees, which isn’t new at all, until he started to
touch at his hole and Richard squirms away. It doesn’t last long, his moving,
because Jim has him by the waist and fucks him open with his fingers.
By the time he’s done with those, he’s whispering about how pretty Richard
looks, which only confuses Richard even more because Jim isn’t looking at his
face. He’s all wet and open and feels utterly raw, tears pricking at the corner
of his eyes, but they don’t fall until Jim decides to use his dick instead of
his fingers.
This is proper fucking, Jim says.
It makes Richard scream out in pain, cry, but the sound doesn’t last long as
his brother falls across his back and shoves four fingers into his mouth,
muffling the sounds. He hisses in Richards ears about being quiet, crying
silently, and licks the shell of one ear when the words only make Richard cry
harder, because he’s still being thrust into, stretched out and filled and
fucked. It hurts in a way Richard has never hurt before, but all Jim tells him
is that it’s okay, it gets better, he’ll teach him to cry better, don’t worry.
Richard always listens to Jim and this is no different, so he does.
—-
He learns over time, how to cry silently. Quietly. So no one really notices or
hears until they look really hard and can see the tears and how puffy red his
eyes are. Jim has taught him to be perfect, because that’s what Jim wants, so
Richard is utterly silent now whenever Jim fucks him or hits him or forces him
to his knees. He only makes noise when Jim tells him to, orders, and as a
result Jim always smiles at him, even when Richard’s heart hurts too much to do
the same.
—-
“Rich, what’s wrong?”
It’s a movie.
It’s stupid.
But Severin is always the one who notices things with Richard. Or at least,
he’s always the one who asks. Richard is still not used to it at all, people
asking or noticing, but he’s learning like he does with everything else and
turns away from the TV screen long enough to address Severin.
“It’s just sad, isn’t it?” He replies, which sounds right to Richard. He cries
when things are sad, and this is sad. Right?
“Yes, but…you’re quiet.”
Richard sees it in the concerned look in the blonde’s eyes, which makes it
click in his head. He hasn’t made a sound since the movie started, and Richard
sometimes forgets that’s not normal. To not make any sounds when you cry or are
upset.
“Oh,” He says, as calmly as he can and still he refused to let any sort of
hiccup or sob leave his throat. His lungs are quiet and the falling apart is
private. “I’m sorry.”
It’s the only thing he says for the rest of the movie, the only thing that he
thinks to say, because he’s so used to saying it, so he does. It’s normally
right. It’s what Jim would have wanted. And, for now, it seems like it’s enough
for Severin, because he doesn’t ask again and lets the movie play on and
Richard cry his quiet tears. He does, however, move closer to wrap an arm
around Richard’s shoulder.
—-
The first time they fuck, Richard cries.
He cries because he didn’t know this couldn’t hurt.
He cries because Severin says it isn’t ‘fucking’.
He cries because Severin kisses him and says he loves him.
And afterward, Richard almost slips. He has to shove his own fist into his
mouth to make the little whimper and gasp subsides. His heart aches, clenches,
and it’s just too much when Severin pulls him close to his chest and nuzzles
against his neck and whispers,
“It’s okay to cry with me, Richard. It’s okay.”
—-
A year later he does.
There’s a body laid out on a table top. A limp arm slide off the side and
dangles there. Blood is still drying in the fabric of his shirt. Sebastian is
standing on the opposite side, but Richard can’t look at him, because his eyes
are open and he’s terrified the color of Sebastian’s will replace the color of
Severin’s in his mind. He doesn’t want that.
Jim’s not there, which is good, because Richard falls to his knees and cries.
It takes him a minute to feel like he’s drowning. To realize he hasn’t breathed
in a long while, but he’s terrified when he does. Terrified because there is no
control left. Terrified of what comes out.
But he can’t help it.
Because he needs to.
And Severin once said it would be okay.
So, Richard does.
He sobs. He screams. He lets out everything that he has bottled up and kept
deep inside his stomach to fester and ferment over the past twenty years of his
life. He beats his fists into the floor and begs with words he doesn’t realize
he’s saying until they catch in his throat, chokes on a gasp, and starts all
over again.
Sebastian’s there to hear it all, but he makes no move to help the hurt. He
knows Richard has to do this and Richard wonders why Sebastian isn’t. It’s his
brother, after all, but Richard thinks it’s because Sebastian is always so
strong, or at least tries to be. But Richard is weak, he always has been, and
without Severin now he has nothing to keep him standing.
So he cries.
And cries.
And cries.
While Severin’s blood drips on the floor. 
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