Chapter Text
Now he's watching Jim, because small things can mean very big things when so little is known but physical language. Jim stares at himself in an unreadable manner and Sebastian's eyes flick from the face to the reflection trying to see what he sees, but everything is clouded by his own view. Rose colored, some might call it.
The Irish boy turns to him and they meet gazes momentarily, with a suggestion he takes as an order before Jim departs the washroom and its moist environment. "Yes, boss."
He turns back to the mirror to glance over himself for another minute with scrutiny, because vanity doesn't end with his face. Before he leaves, he puts his bathroom back into order and abandons his towel in the hamper, making his way out into the bedroom for boxers and sleepers while simultaneously picking up any trail of other clothing and pausing to neatly fold the two suits in their respective separate piles to be properly cleaned later. He leaves those on the chair by the wardrobe and goes about pulling the record player on its small table out from the corner of the room. A small cabinet behind its usual placement shows a collection of vinyl recordings neatly and meticulously arranged like books, nearly all of them classical orchestra works, and on the bottommost shelf, an older collection of blues vocals and jazz that had belonged to his mother. He glances to see if Jim has crawled into the bed already or if he'd like to choose their first piece.
---
Jim has found a comfortable jumper of Sebastian's to climb into, the sleeves oversized and hanging over his fingers, and the hem reaching to his knobby knees. He's seated himself on the edge of the bed and rubs at his cheek with the cuff of the sweatshirt. The rainy weather and chill of the old house makes him feel sleepy and the desire to warm himself up again after the bath is great.
When Sebastian looks back at him, he shrugs, letting the blond choose as he pleases. Jim's more interested in crawling under the duvet and curling against the pillows. The frequent sleep has made his body desire to glut itself on it and he sees no reason to do anything otherwise.
Shifting around on the bed, he heads for the mound of cushions and pushes at them till he's made a comfortable Jim sized nest. With a yawn, he wriggles himself under the duvet and pulls it up to his nose, hoping to get rid of the frosty bite that has settled in.
"You promised me a fire." He reminds again, voice muffled by thick cotton and down.
---
"I haven't forgotten." Sebastian reassures that a fire is on the list as he glides fingertips over the thin spines of his records, their order memorized and listing off in his head until he doubles back and plucks one out. In the end, he really does choose a Tchaikovsky.
Moving back to the record player, he opens the glass case protecting it, very gentle in handling the vinyl as it’s set. He places the needle just as delicately and waits for the first note before he moves away. The room fills with music as he paces to the fireplace; there is still enough wood set aside from Jim lighting a fire the other day that he doesn't need to fetch more. Convenient, because he doesn't have to leave the room and be reacquainted with tension he's only just worked out.
In a few minutes’ fussing, the fireplace is set, lit by matches from the mantle and babied for another several minutes more until it's strong enough to leave burning. Warmth graces his skin but the reddish yellow light doesn't quite reach him, drowned out by the glow of daytime streaming through the window he'd uncovered earlier. Finally he's on his feet again, turning to fetch Jim's stack of books and deliver it to the bedside table not taken up by the tray of breakfast remnants.
"Better?" A question for the Jim shaped bird in its nest of bedding.
---
Jim shifts in the blankets and sniffs at the crackle of fireplace, the smell of ash and smoke wafting through the room. It adds a warmth to not only the room, but the master of lullabies that fills the atmosphere. Jim could easily fall asleep again in this comfort, but Sebastian is talking to him and the rumble of his voice draws Jim's attention.
He turns his head and peers up at the blond from over the edge of the duvet; at his obnoxiously perfectly coiffed hair, and the fresh scent of cedar and bergamot that must be from either the shampoo or the cologne Jim had swiped.
He shakes his head and lifts his hand up from under the cover, reaching out fingers that have already started to grow cold and skimming over Sebastian's jaw. Then they clench around his chin and jerk him forwards abruptly.
"Not yet. You still aren't in here with me."
It might have been malicious, if it wasn't delivered in such a lazy tone.
---
Jaw pulled forward, he stems the good hand into the bed as he leans down, huffing a soft laugh at Jim's lazy, demanding tone. Scooping up the edge of the duvet with the other arm, he pushes and then pulls it over him as he crawls back into the bed and nothing is quite as appealing as that at the moment.
Whether preemptive or habitual, he lays out on his back, settling his damp head on whatever pillows remain after Jim has made his nest of them. Music dances through the room and there's something seductively peaceful about the whole setting. He could almost, really pretend that they were alone in a little flat together, all theirs and nothing else mattered.
Jim is already chilled in his furthest extremities and Sebastian moves his arm to offer space against his body so that he might remedy the matter because in contrast, the blond may be even warmer now than usual, having sat in front of the fire, tending its health.
"And now?" He asks again.
---
Jim really hates becoming a predictable person, but the lull of Sebastian's body warmth is enough that he doesn't rightfully care at the moment. He rolls from his nest, tucking into the line of Sebastian's side, molding against it. He huffs and lays his head against the blond's shoulder and reaches up, pressing his fingers against the older boy's lips.
"Shhh." He demands, because if Sebastian keeps teasing he's going to shove him out of bed again. He throws a leg over the blond's and nuzzles into him until he's comfortable, then drags his hand down from Sebastian's mouth to curl over the side of his neck instead.
Jim could read, but nothing in the books he'd taken from the library were as fascinating as the pictures Sebastian painted with his mind.
"Tell me another story." Even though he's already ordered him to be quiet, and this contradicts; it doesn't matter. Jim changes his mind frequently, whether it's been a matter of minutes or days.
---
The order is rather amusing but he is obedient, if not expecting to fall asleep swiftly in the ongoing peace of music, warmth, and closeness. However, the other boy has a different idea when posing a request he must know Sebastian will not deny. Quietly he chuckles, the vibration in his throat and fluctuation in his chest where Jim's arm rests.
"You must have read most of my stories by now."
Considering he’s been going through Sebastian’s journals, but he is not without ideas and things unwritten in those pages. With a soft hum, fingers gently drawing over any part of Jim they touch, he considers for a few minutes through Tchaikovsky's symphony. It's like sifting through a catalogue of wild imagination and symbolic imagery. It isn't always easy to come up with a fully formed idea in such quickness but Sebastian's mind has its own library of stories, both his and history's.
He seems to find one, taking a deep breath, his voice getting that tone of storytelling almost naturally. Calm, low but clear.
"Somewhere East, there is an island where a village rests by great bluffs overlooking the water. The nights get dreadfully cold and the smell of the sea seeps into everything, but they live abundant because they need little.
“A beautiful woman lives alone, fair hair down to her knees, coiled by the salty air. Pale skin and eyes of water. She falls in love with a man who passes through their harbor on a ship of thieves and he promises her all the riches the sea can offer.
“When he sets sail again, bound to fetch a fortune and return to her so they may marry, she weaves him a necklace of clustered pearls and braided seaweed which he is never to take off. With faith in his words, she passes his time away by going down to the shore and searching for pearls within the great many oysters which wash up from the waters. She ties them into her long hair amongst satin ribbons and precious shells, like adornments for their wedding day.
“Illness strikes her beloved on the sea and his body is tied to weights which drag him to the ocean floor still breathing, so that his sickness will not spread. The years pass by, and he does not return.
“Silver begins to grow amongst pale gold and she tries to cover it with the pretty things she gathers. When she has found the last of a thousand pearls, she climbs the bluffs where she waits for his ship and ties it into her hair. Beneath the sun, she glitters bright enough to be a star, and throws herself from the cliffside like a diamond tossed into ocean.
“Yet her body does not wash away. The maiden becomes a spirit of the water, shimmering gold fins and iridescent skin, hair of silver and pearls and green ribbons of seaweed. She swims the oceans in search of ships, where she drags sailors from their decks. But every man she finds is not her beloved and in her anger, her adorned hair wraps around them like strangling weeds and she pulls them into the suffocating depths to drown.
“In her eternal time, she scours the ocean floors in search of trinkets to tie into her ever growing hair, when she happens upon the trapped bones of a sunken sailor. He wears a necklace of clustered pearls, tied with braided seaweed clinging to the indistinguishable vertebrae.
“In her grief of finally finding him, she ties the silver strands of her hair together with the necklace and curls up atop his remains, mourning for him ever more. Her anger and sadness swell, churning great storms on the surface of the seas until her body wastes away into nothing but raging waters. The pearls of her hair scatter the ocean floor and the great waves of her sorrow claim the lives of men and their ships, eternally restless.
“Unforgiving."
---
Jim smiles as Sebastian comments on his request, yet obliges and delves into his story. It's woven beautifully with its imagery, and yet tragic, as Sebastian's stories tend to be. It's evident Sebastian has had a lot of sadness in his life, the way it bleeds through into his storytelling. Jim is clever enough to spot similarities in the older boy's life, though it might be too subtle for anyone else to notice. The possibility of a love that may not be returned, and yet is strong enough change the world, irrevocably.
He rolls over onto Sebastian, reaching out to grab hold of his face. Small fingers move up and run over his cheekbones, examining those blue eyes. Would Sebastian cover himself in pearls and wait for Jim? Or is it Jim who would end up pining over the loss of his only companion?
He sighs softly and leans down, pressing their mouths together. Jim hums into the kiss and closes his eyes, letting the embrace linger, giving Sebastian the chance to take what he covets. He's earned it for his story.
---
Touching Sebastian's face appears to be a habit of Jim's. His hands gravitate there, whether softly or harshly, drawing his attention as if he did not command it naturally. He can't begin to guess what goes on behind those dark eyes but small fingers do not bite and Jim kisses him, so he must approve of the tale Sebastian has told.
Fingers splay themselves out on pale skin and press Jim just a fraction tighter against his frame. He's gorged himself on their closeness today and still he does not tire, nor waste the given opportunity to savor affection, even in their languid state.
He sighs comfortably, delicately around their kiss and stays settled. Maybe Sebastian does and maybe he does not realize the suggestion of his stories but his reward is sweet and wordless, and Jim's quiet understanding eases unsettled waters.
---
Jim ends the kiss with a little nip to Sebastian's bottom lip and then pulls away to lay his head on the other boy's shoulder, nestled in close to his warm neck. Jim pushes his cold nose right against the other's skin, warding away the chill.
"I never liked boats much."
He closes his eyes and listens to the symphony fill the room with wind and brass instruments, percussions and strings. He respects Tchaikovsky, always one of his favorite composers. His music was filled with the crushing despair of a man who could not properly express himself in a time where homosexual men were hunted down and stoned savagely. Tragedy always made music sound sweeter. All the greatest artists had troubled minds. Jim could relate in many ways, though he wasn't exactly going to be burned at the stake or stoned this day and age. With Sebastian in his life, would he still be able to make beautiful things? Would that sadness stay with him or eventually fade away?
Or would his last symphony prelude his death as well?
---
Sebastian hums softly as Jim settles against him, the smallest hint of upward turn at the corner of his mouth. It stretches and he breathes amusement at Jim's note. It has been a rather long while since he was on a boat- a ship more specifically- and he can't recall being particularly enamored or hateful of them.
"I don't really remember them."
There is curiosity in his thoughts and he isn't certain if the subject is out of the realm of permissions. They balance precariously in their peace and he is terribly aware of the complicated arrangement it takes for them to arrive at that point. A single knock on the door could shatter it all the same.
He isn't certain posing lines of questioning and testing the boundaries are worth interrupting their calm. Steadily, fingers trace nonsense on Jim's skin and Sebastian lets his eyes close what might be dangerously. Tchaikovsky plays melodiously for them and it could put him to sleep.
"Is it the water or the motion?" The usual suspects of someone not liking watercraft.
---
"Neither."
Jim says flatly as way of explanation. He rolls to his side a bit so he can speak properly, because surely Sebastian will pursue his line of questioning till he gets the answers to that which makes him curious.
"My parents were lost at sea."
In a sense. The ocean became their grave, but they weren't really lost. He knew exactly what had put them there. He lazily hums a line of the concerto. Jim doesn't fear the ocean, he respects it. But that doesn't mean he hasn't often dreamt of those black churning waves and the water logged corpses that dwell beneath.
---
Sebastian had opened his mouth and taken the breath that would have formed his words but Jim preempted his question directly. Instead, the blond just exhales it right back out like the words have jabbed him in the solar plexus. Blue eyes are open immediately.
It's not that you could really expect someone to tell you that both of their parents were dead, particularly with a casual tone that proceeded to hum the tragedy of someone's life work. But certainly, Sebastian is surprised, and it is hard to say if it's the blunt way Jim said it or the fact he told him at all. Mind you, he has never gotten the sense that Jim has lied to him. He trusts that. Only, he doesn't talk about himself. He doesn't like to, so much Sebastian isn't blind of.
And what is he supposed to say?
What did Sebastian do when Finley turned up crippled for life? When Aveline told him her daughter had died just before she came to work for the estate? What did he do when his friends were being picked off one by one? Oliver and his damn near sobbing.
Jim is none of those people. Jim does not cry or get choked up on sentimentality. They are alike that way. Jim did not coddle Sebastian when he told him about his mother and neither can Sebastian pour sympathies that may be undue. Neither of them want it.
He's staring at him and minutes have probably ticked by without Sebastian realizing. There are many things that both make sense and leave more questions. Jim has answered him, so Sebastian pursues.
"How old were you?"
---
Silence hovers between them, and Jim isn't so naive to think Sebastian has fallen asleep, or chosen to keep quiet. He knows the boy has been shocked, and that he's trying to be clever with how he poses his questions, because he is so worried of overstepping and causing Jim to leave. Because Jim has done it before and will do it again. He is not a loyal woman pining by the sea and collecting shells and pearls. Jim is the ocean, tumultuous and destructive.
"Fourteen. It happened last year, on the way to England from Ireland."
He huffs a sigh and taps his fingers against Sebastian's sternum, listening to the hollow thump it makes. It takes over thirty pounds of pressure to break the average human's sternum. Jim judges Sebastian would require forty. That’s nearly half Jim's weight. Not that he is planning to anytime soon. Just another thing to know.
---
Sebastian cannot tell what is going on in that unruly dark head but Jim is not looking at him either. Still, he indulges the older boy's questions despite that they are not cleverly posed at all, even revealing more than just the subject matter.
"Last year. Is that when you came to London? Where you with them?"
Last year. Shouldn't that be shocking? Traumatizing? Does that explain things? But this is James Moriarty, who hates his name so much he can't stand to hear it. Who tenses at the prospect of saying it. That's not mourning, is it? It's something more. Anger.
Jim trusts him, Sebastian knows that, but it has its boundaries. He tiptoes on the limits asking questions openly, trying not to press too much, too quickly. But Jim is a puzzle. A complicated math equation Sebastian has been trying to grasp and it's very likely impossible to solve because the variables are ever changing.
---
"I've been here before. But that's when I came over for good. I was on the boat they were, yes."
Jim would never consider himself with them. They were woefully neglectful at best. But that was another world, one Jim didn't care to revisit. He drags his hand down over Sebastian's chest, searching for softer spots, searching for weaknesses.
Just another thing to know.
He lifts his head and looks down at Sebastian because he can feel the boy straining to catch sight of him. Jim's expression is completely neutral, and that's dangerous in its own right. Sebastian is treading dangerous waters, but he hasn't sunk under the waves yet. Jim is a tepid sea at the moment.
---
Underneath Jim's hand, Sebastian's chest rises high and falls with weighted sigh. It's thoughtful; one that draws him back into his own head about the subject matter.
The questions are getting awfully close to talking about them and not just around them. Something about the way it was worded...well. There are only so many ways for a pair to get 'lost as sea' while the boat survives and what happened, exactly, isn't terribly important. Not about them. Jim is alive, that matters. It's all that really matters. What sort of tragedy do you have to experience not to be traumatized by losing parents from a boat you were on. There are so many questions.
Sebastian doesn't want to talk about dead parents anymore.
His fingers make idle shapes again. Turning his head on the pillows, he glances up at the high, tiered ceiling, inlaid with pointless frames painted gold to match the equally pointless embossed flourishes. That isn't the only thing Jim just told him. Fourteen a year ago. Not sixteen or a young looking seventeen whereabouts Finley is. But-
"Fifteen."
He exhales the number with amusement. It's young. Sebastian turns eighteen in a short month and Jim is a few months off from another birthday. Well, that probably wasn't going to stop Sebastian anyway, even if he had known it from the beginning.
Bloody hell. It's a scandal, if they weren't already. Which they were.
"You really are amazing, aren't you?" It isn't really a question because he knows it's true.
---
Jim looks up at the mention of his age. An eyebrow arches, because really, he's surprised when people even think he's that old. He's a tiny thing, and hasn't had his growth spurt yet, if he ever gets it. He slowly pushes up to sit on top of Sebastian's hips.
"Yes. And you really are a creep."
Though Jim is undoubtedly far past being a child, technically he is not legal. In the eyes of the government, Sebastian is an adult, but Jim is not. Their relationship is so very taboo on multiple levels and there is no doubt when Sebastian's father actually sees him, he will swear the relationship off. How Sebastian didn't put such things together in his own mind is obviously because he has been blinded by his own obsession.
He tilts his head to the side and stares down at the blond, tapping a hand over his stomach.
"You ask a lot of questions you already know the answer to. Seems you should be asking ones where the answers will actually enlighten you."
---
He huffs a laugh and not because it's absurd. He has already acknowledged the situation as dysfunctional. He's aware of who the predator is and Jim made it pretty clear once already what he called it. The difference in their ages did not change whose hands were around the other's neck. What was he supposed to do about it now? Suddenly shove Jim out of the house and never see him again? It wasn't possible.
With the smaller boy sitting up on him, his hands rest on slender thighs, slowly sliding from hips to knees and back again.
"I have been very enlightened by this conversation." Comes the interjection. He stares up at Jim, always trying to accomplish the impossible when he watches him.
"That's at least five new things I've just learned." More, if he considers below the surface of the information. He stays settled, paying no real mind to the tapping going on against his torso. Despite his somewhat playful response, the new question is serious.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
---
Enlightened? Jim gives an inelegant snort. How so? Sebastian already knows he is a creeper, he's assaulted and practically forced himself on Jim, but then Jim had certainly made him pay for it so many times over. And he will, constantly, for as long as they will be acquainted.
When Sebastian asks what happened and if Jim would like to share, the boy turns his head to the side, frowning slightly. It is a time he does not like to revisit, so of course he thinks of it often. But he's certainly never shared.
"Before I had you to protect me..." He starts, bringing his gaze back to Sebastian, to the only person who has ever made an attempt to understand him. "I had to protect myself from the things that hurt me." From the people.
He doesn't elaborate but does he need to? Sebastian knows him enough that he can piece it together. Knows what he is capable of when provoked. He leans down and lays against Sebastian, tucking up under his chin in his usual spot.
---
He had to protect himself. That's all Jim has really been doing since the day they met and... the possibility of his lifetime, leading up to the moment when Sebastian made it his personal job to put himself in between Jim and the rest of the world. This isn't a spoiled boy who is misunderstood by neglectful parents. Real hurt is under the surface, damage and scars that force Jim to fight back as if every person is the same level of threat. What monsters the world must seem. Him too.
When Jim returns flush against his chest, Sebastian's good arm moves around him as if it were a shield. He thought they asked for it before but now he's certain of how deserving every single one of them were. It's a flutter of distinct hatred in his chest that makes him sigh softly, swallowing it back down as it forms a knot of anger in his throat. He closes his eyes.
"You're stronger than I am."
No. Sebastian doesn't need elaboration.
---
Jim no longer tenses up when that strong arm wraps around him. He's quite used to it; he even finds comfort in it. Before, he'd think it was weak to find such safety and solace in another person. But Sebastian found much the same thing in Jim, so it was well worth it to rely on each other. He's long since become addicted to the warmth, that perhaps Sebastian has settled deep in his bones. And that’s what the blond has always wanted, isn't it?
For Jim to be his.
The boy hums with Sebastian's statement. It may be true in some aspects, but certainly not all. The chest he lays upon is a solid block of muscle and strength that Jim could never manage. It's a rather decent bed.
"Too bad I'm so dreadfully lazy." He pushes away the dark air that has settled around them and smirks softly, tilting his head up. "You'll just have to get stronger. For me."
---
As he feels Jim shift, Sebastian turns his head to look at him, catching that smirk on his mouth. When Jim wants to be- when he allows himself to be- he is so very expressive. It's contagious to Sebastian and makes him grin, brushing off the lingering digest of ugly truths.
"Absolutely." Because what use is a shield that bends. "I'll become the best. For you."
It's overconfidence maybe but he brims with it the same way Jim over spills with cunning. There is no other option but to aim for perfection if he seeks to protect Jim and his brilliant light from the rest of the world. And that's exactly what Sebastian intends to do.