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The smell of Darjeeling tea fills the air as it is gently poured from the antique pot. The rich amber liquid fills the cup to the brim, leaving the professor with the perfect amount to drink.
Lithe hands carefully lift the teacup and accompanying platter, bringing it up to his face. Breathing in the tea’s scent was the first step to truly appreciating its flavour profile. It was sweet, floral, with a mix of spice to give it depth.
The professor holds the rim of the cup before his lips, enjoying the heat of the steam still rising from the liquid, before finally taking his first sip of the tea. Free from any milk or sugar and purely black as intended. He relishes in the rush of warmth he felt as the stream spills down his throat.
The flavour of the tea lingers pleasantly on his tastebuds long after he finishes his cup. The notes of sweetness and spice balance out each other perfectly, and the musky undertones of it help ground it to be not-so overwhelming.
He set the plate and cup down ever so gently, without even making a sound against the wooden surface. The professor folds his hands in his lap, and smiles pleasantly up at his server before him.
“Thank you again for the delicious cup of tea, Mister Sagishima. Truly it has been a long time since I’ve enjoyed such a refreshing cup of Darjeeling myself.”
Sagishima, for his part, remains composed under the shower of praise. He stands by the table, hands occupied with the porcelain pot that held the tea. His seat from across the professor remains empty, his own cup unfilled and untouched.
“You flatter me so, Sir Moriarty. It’s simply part of my job as a servant.”
He bows at the waist, posture and form the perfect image of elegance. His movements were graceful yet deliberate, never wasting any energy on unnecessary motions. Similar to a dancer whose each and every stride was made purposefully. When he arises, his back was straight tall, standing once again like a statue before his side
In contrast to the other’s proper posture, Moriarty crosses his legs and leans his head against laced fingers resting atop the table. It was quite an ill fitting image for a gentleman such as himself. And yet, he could feel himself become quiet lax. Or rather, not have to remain so point, as the prim and proper butler did so for the both of them.
“Is that so? Then I envy the young master who can freely indulge in your pleasantries any time he wishes. To be served your tea on the daily is a luxury in itself that I would kill to have, Mister Sagishima.”
“That truly is high praise for something as simple as tea. I am sure that an esteemed professor such as yourself can manage to boil a pot quite easily. And young master Shiki is quite the handful already, so I am afraid you cannot hold me all to yourself, my dear sir.”
Despite his underlying passes, Sagishima still refuses to express any reaction beyond his ever-present courteous smile. It seemed rather smug, his eyes matching in such mild yet mocking manner. To the professor, it felt infuriating.
However, it also made Moriarty want to see how far he could push him.
He could already tell how akin Sagishima’s soul was to his own. On the surface it was brilliant, reserved, pleasant to the standards of society. But beneath it all was a foolish man deprived of his own pleasures, covered and controlled by only a thinly-veiled sense of duty and obligation.
And so, Moriarty wanted to see how close he could get. He wanted to push the man over the edge, to watch him fall into chaos and depravity like him. And he wanted to observe it all up close by his side, to see what sort of ugly humane man he truly is.
He rises from his chair abruptly, and approaches Sagishima step by step. The metal heels of his shoes click against the wooden floor until he stops, standing face-to-face before the other.
Moriarty is mere inches away from him, so close that he can see he only barely towers the other. But the butler’s high-held stature makes him appear on equal ground, scarlet eyes looking straight ahead into his own steel blue.
Sagishima hasn’t made a move, still closely watching what the professor will do next. That was good. It was a sign that he still hasn’t figured his motives yet. Sagishima was a man who observed before reacting, processing each movement and calculating what to do next based on it. So as he thought, Moriarty was free to move one step ahead.
The porcelain pot was still held in between his grip. The professor feels the urge to break it right out of those gloved hands of his. To destroy the delicate object into pieces and have shards shattered across the floor. The still steaming liquid would seep into the wooden grains and perhaps splash onto their clothes as well, lightly scalding them with burns and inflicting a shared pain between them.
However, that wasn’t the correct move at this time, for the distance between them would once again grow. So Moriarty oh so gently takes it from his hands, and sets it down on the table beside them with a light thud against the surface.
And, whilst looking directly into his eyes, he grabs onto Sagishima’s now open hands. Scarlet eyes widen ever so slightly, but he doesn’t retract the motion.
“Then,” Moriarty says, allowing a small smirk to appear on his face, “what if I were to free them for you?”
Sagishima remains silent, neither approving nor disapproving of what he’s doing. So the professor takes this liberty and boldly acts. Using this chance chance he slips his fingers into the still worn glove on the other’s left hand. He feels for the rough palm of the butler’s bare hand, the lines and grooves and veins of it all.
“What would you do then? To be ridden of duties, formalities, and all that comes with society’s boundaries? Between rich and poor, right and wrong, morality and self-imposed justice.”
As he speaks, Moriarty leans closer and closer towards him, barely a breath’s distance apart. All the while the butler never breaks eye contact, staring intently and hanging onto every last syllable of his words.
“It’s all a matter of how you view it. And seeing as how restrained you have been with a certain noble filling your hands all the time, I thought I could possibly help you out.”
He moves to whisper that last bit in his ear, delighting in the barest shudder it elicits from the other.
If Moriarty wasn’t so close to him, he would have missed how Sagishima gulped his nerves. However his proximity allowed him to hear the last sounds of it, a quiet little notion indicative of his apprehension.
“I…” Sagishima’s rich voice is barely above a whisper. It echoes with a slight tremor in Moriarty’s ear.
His hand, still in Sagishima’s own, grips it ever so lightly. His thumb outside the casing of the glove begins to rub circles on the back of other’s hand, urging him to continue.
However, before the other got the chance to speak his part, the chime of a bell rings in the distance. Like a breath released, all the tension between them disappeared, leaving once more the still atmosphere of the parlor room.
Sagishima is immediately alerted, and he snaps back away from the professor. Once again, their distance is a respectable amount away from each other.
In the motion of moving back though, Moriarty’s hand, still together in the glove, slips it off from the butler’s hand, leaving the skin bare. He dangles it between his fingers, daring the other to come and get it back from him. Sagishima, for his part, ignores the provocation and instead straightens his suit jacket from any wrinkles that may have formed.
“It seems that I am being called for by the young master once more. If you’ll excuse me, Sir Moriarty.”
He bows once more in formality, before stepping away to the door in even strides. But before he fully leaves the room, Sagishima stops for a moment, turning back towards him for one final saying.
“And please feel free to help yourself to more tea, since you seem to be incredibly fond of it. I’ll bring back another pot with my return.”
The butler sends another one of his ever-pleasant smiles to Moriarty’s way, before exiting the door and shutting it with a loud click.
The professor waits for the sound of his steps to fully fade away before he moves himself. As Sagishima said he was free to, he takes a hold of the teapot standing on the table from where he placed it. It cooled down slightly, but was still warm enough to enjoy. He grabs it, and with a moment’s thought, also reaches for the untouched teacup on the opposite end of the table before returning to his seat.
Moriarty pours more tea into his emptied cup, and bothers to fill the second one too. He gently sips on his own tea, patiently for the butler’s return. Perhaps next time Sagishima can sit down and enjoy his own cup as well.