Oh, my lovely Anon – a gift, for me? Thank you! ^_^
Tag: Thank you!
Aenonnymoose
For: Lady-Karasu
IMPORTANT NOTE: First go look at This Post and see the GIF, then notice the comment; and then read the following:
Sebastian Moran entered the refitted hunting lodge with duffel-bag and rifle-case over one shoulder, handgun in his free hand. The perimeter had been secure, as was the gate at the bottom of the little hill upon which the lodge had been built. Instead of coming in the front door, however, Seb entered from the back, coming around from the garage.
The reason Seb was stealthily sneaking into what was, to all appearances, a secured location, was that Jim hadn’t answered his phone in the last thirty-two minutes, which was highly unlike him. James Moriarty was borderline obsessive about staying in touch with the goings on of his organisation, as well as his right-hand man, favourite assassin, and lover.
Once inside, finding nothing obviously out of place, Seb checked the few rooms on the ground floor—no one and nothing unusual to be found—then crept upstairs, expecting trouble, cat-footed and nearly silent.
In the outer room of the upstairs bedroom suite, Seb found Jim’s mobile next to the universal remote on the plush sofa, text and missed call notification icons showing on its screen; it had been set for vibrate. Even as he stood there, frowning down at it, the mobile buzzed softly, screen lighting up to show a received-text reminder. The reminder was for a text from Seb, himself, as a matter of fact.Hearing a soft sound of movement in the bedroom beyond an only slightly-ajar door, Seb moved toward it, half expecting to find Jim taking a perfectly innocent nap and half expecting to find him in danger; the one would lead to some grumbling from Seb about ‘security and practicing what you bloody preach, Jim’ and the other would lead to someone being dead.
What Seb didn’t expect to find was Jim sitting on his heels at the edge of their huge bed, just then pulling a ribbed cotton undershirt off while still wearing a too-large pair of camouflage fatigue trousers. In fact, Sebastian’s own fatigues, as was the undershirt, the camouflage fatigue jacket discarded on the far edge of the bed, and the ball-chain with dog-tags still dangling at the end that swung against Jim’s sternum as he turned with raised brows and wide brown eyes.
It was exceedingly rare that Jim allowed himself to be surprised; he was usually the one who did the surprising, and rarely in a way that was very fun for the surprisee. But this time, Jim’s lips fell open slightly, teeth then coming together to almost form what Seb was certain might have been the beginning sibilant of his own name. With Jim’s upper body turned toward him, Seb could see the way the trousers rode low on his slim hips, making it fairly certain that Jim wore nothing underneath.
Seb let the duffel and case slide to the floor, then flicked the safety catch on his gun to ‘on’ and tossed it onto the bed beyond Jim as he approached, saying nothing, looking him over thoroughly; whatever showed on Seb’s face, it brought the merest hint of colour to Jim’s face, made the pulse flutter at his neck, and caused his smooth chest to rise and fall with a sudden inhalation.
Where words, meanings, double entendrés, clever witticisms, and subtle threats were Jim’s usual province, Seb wasn’t really the talkative sort—it wasn’t that he was stupid, on the contrary, he just wasn’t one for idle chit-chat—and to have startled Jim into silence was, indeed, a very rare thing. Seb didn’t ruin it, he let his face show his intention, and let his actions show his opinion on this unexpected discovery. Whether Jim was embarrassed at being caught or had planned this whole ‘scene’ was immaterial to Seb at that moment; he’d find out the truth later, or not.
As Seb stepped right up to the side of the bed, his hands fell to Jim’s hips, gripping handfuls of the loose trousers and using that to lift Jim up onto his knees, pulling him forward to the very edge of the mattress. Simultaneously, Jim’s hands came up to meet Seb, one on his left bicep, the other on his chest, not stopping him or pushing him away, just touching as he tilted his head back slightly to keep Seb’s gaze as the taller man moved in close. Jim’s lips quirked just a little, pulling to the side in something close to amusement and closer to arousal, but he still remained silent as Seb’s own lips took on a cockily-aroused tilt just before he brought them down on Jim’s.
Seb didn’t dick around with soft buildup kisses or nibbles this time, he urged Jim’s lips open straight away, wanting in now; he met with absolutely no resistance, the response was eager as Jim made the tiniest hungry sound deep in his throat. Answering with a lower, just as hungry, sound of his own, Seb’s hands slid further around Jim, grabbing his arse and pulling him closer, still. It was obvious Jim was excited as their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, and in moments it was just as obvious Seb felt the same.
The lack of discussion continued for a good long while, though there wasn’t any lack of communication, even if it was in the form of sighs, moans, growls, and maybe a couple of enthusiastic shouts at one point.
Much later, Jim put on his own, usual clothing, but kept the dog-tags. Sebastian had no complaints, and his smug expression lingered for quite a while.
END
~Moose
(This wouldn’t work in an askbox due to there being a link involved, hence it being posted here instead of slipped into Lady-Karasu’s askbox directly.)
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay~! o/ Thank you so much, I adore it. ❤ I am far too tired to properly articulate my Joy at the moment, but let me flail at you over this lovely, lovely piece of work. *FLAILS*
No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die.: OOC: PSP – a Public Service Plea/Rant
I’ve seen posts like this before but it bears repeating.
People do not know who Jim Moriarty is. They can’t be fans of his work, they can’t know him by name. The name Moriarty is whispered in circles when it becomes apparent that there is a situation there for him to take advantage of. He offers…
No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die.: OOC: PSP – a Public Service Plea/Rant
Minutes (Beeblock Fic)
Title: Minutes
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Characters/Pairings: James Moriarty/Sebastian Moran, Misc Short-lived OCs
Word Count: 2,294
Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t claim they are, not making money at this, no offense meant, promise to return them when I’m through with them.
Spoilers: Nope.
Warnings: This time, yeah. Somewhat graphic descriptions of violence, Strangulation, Male homosexuality, Men having sex.
Summary: Sebastian Moran on a job,the events of and following, all broken down in rough increments by minutes.
Author’s Notes: So, I had this mental image and shared it with Lady-Karasu, of Jim and Seb sexin’ it up and Jim being evil and a bit rough and Seb being all sarcastic afterward. She, not surprisingly – she ships them like woah – flailed and did many things to convince me I should write that up. So I was going to make it a little ask-box ficlet thing for her on Tumblr or something. Yeah. About that. *sigh* Do I even need to say it anymore? So, Lady-Karasu, this is for you, my dear. Founding member of the Professional Enabler’s Club, that you are, I shouldn’t even be surprised for an instant that you got me to do this. *grin* Try to use your powers for good… or at least good porn, yeah? ;D
Aww, you shouldn’t have— I LIE, OH YES YOU SHOULD! o/ I fully support this behavior; what do I need to do to get more? Baking? I can do that – I can have double-chocolate brownies to you in – well, I’d say in a few days, but the post office does not apparently like to deliver to you so maybe more like a week. XD
Hehe – I see I have leveled up in my enabling powers if it gets me this lovely, lovely thing (I told you ‘it’ll be short’ – famous last words XD) Seriously hun, thank you so much – the amount of flailing I did while reading was completely unseemly *snicker* I adore it, and it just makes me want to work on the other two mormor storylines we’re working on. *grins suggestively* Thank you~!
playing violin
I absolutely adore this.
I was informed that this needed ficcery and that some fluff was required, stat. This is the first thing the Muse offered up, hope it’ll do?
~~~
The sounds of the traffic outside fade, along with his awareness of the room in general, as Sherlock adjusts the violin under John’s chin, moves his fingers to a more proper hold on the bow, and lays one each of his fingers over John’s on the strings.
Breath just brushing his ear and cheek, Sherlock speaks in a low murmur. “Now, no slouching, but don’t tense up. Yes, John, just like that.”
Almost surprised into following orders, John lets himself be guided, posed. “I just asked -“
Sherlock cuts him off, a quiet baritone rumble to which he has somehow trained himself to listen, “It’s pointless to explain if you have no basis for understanding. Now, feel the strings, each one’s tension. Touch the bow to them, move it…yes, very smooth for a novice, John… feel the vibrations?”
John nods the tiny increment he is allowed, violin under his chin, Sherlock’s cheek against the side of his head, and the realisation that he has no wish to dislodge either. Nor does he mind the warm presence of Sherlock’s body, all along his back, or those longer arms curved over and around his upper arms, or having the graceful and sure touch of those long-fingered hands atop his own.
“Now, press this finger hardest, then this… here… yes, now draw the bow steadily across those strings… no, firm enough to engage the strings properly.” When has Sherlock ever sounded so patient? Rarely, to be sure, and the few times John can recall were often when walking him through some convoluted deduction.
“I’m sure to be rubbish at this, Sherlock,” John protests, aware his voice has dropped to a soft tone, too.
A breath of a chuckle, nearly silent, tickles the hair at his temple and his ear. “Everyone’s rubbish to start,” Sherlock retorts.
John draws the bow across the string, a multiple tone sounds from the contact, weak and uneven, and John presses slightly more firmly, keeps his fingers tight where Sherlock’s holding them, and the tone solidifies into one long smooth note that is resonant and sweet in the quiet room. A grin flashes across John’s mouth and he feels another soft laugh from Sherlock, this time the movement of his chest and diaphragm press against John’s back.
“Perfect,” Sherlock says, guiding John’s fingers into another configuration. “Now, this will be—”
This time John interrupts Sherlock, “You’re not going to actually teach me how to play, are you?”
“Not this afternoon, no.” From the drag of Sherlock’s hair against his own and the feeling of the other man’s breath against his cheek, John is sure Sherlock’s head has turned and he’s studying John, but John doesn’t return the gaze, feeling strangely unnerved.
“I mean,” he says almost reluctantly, not even sure why he’s arguing, “this sort of thing takes years.”
Sherlock’s head moves again, and John lets his fingers be guided once more, and he is only mildly surprised when Sherlock speaks, a little more humour infusing the deep, quiet voice. “Well, it’ll be something to fill the time between cases, won’t it?”
A smile pulls at John’s lips, accompanied by a bright, buoyant feeling in his middle. Years. Of cases and excitement, of squabbling over the shopping and messy experiments, of violin in the wee hours and the flickers of genius in changeable eyes that see everything.
They bring another pure note out of Sherlock’s violin, with only a tiny hint of scratchy off-tone at the end, and John glances at Sherlock, who’s also smiling, and he gives a tiny tilt of his head. “Better than bullet holes in the wall, yeah?”
Sherlock’s answering chuckle is low and rich, like dark chocolate and honey, and John joins in, his own lighter while being just as warm, and yet they blend almost perfectly.
~~~
(For Lady-Karasu)
Well this made my night. ^_^ I just had to sit in awe of that for a few minutes – and when did you find time to do this, I only mentioned it maybe a half hour ago! – good lord, woman, I adore you. *tackle hug* Seriously, Random, you’re amazing, thank you. ❤ *smooches head*
(‘I hope this’ll do’, she says… *shakes head* What am I going to do with you? Clearly, talk you into writing more pretty things for me. :D)
