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Sebastian couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious walking into Jim’s flat with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder (don’t bother with anything other than your personal possessions, Moran, I’ll get the furniture in your bedroom moved, and that’ll be it, Jim had said, with a disgusted expression directed towards Sebastian’s flat). He had been there before countless times, and was already acquainted with it, but still he felt like walking in now was different. He felt like a possession of Jim’s, like he was only being added up to his collection of luxurious, self-indulgent things.
They fucked (like they always did) on Jim’s enormous bed, and then Jim dragged him into the bathroom with him. Sebastian hummed contentedly when he joined Jim on the bathtub, the warm water soothing his sore muscles, and threw his head back on the brim of the tub. Smirking, Jim nudged him underwater with his foot and poured a bit of product in the water, producing a few of bubbles. “Are you comfortable?” he teased, and Sebastian opened his eyes, smirked and moved, settling by his side.
“You sure as fuck know how to treat yourself,” he admitted, snaking his arms around Jim’s waist and pulling Jim to him.
“Well,” Jim chuckled, settling comfortably against the sniper. “I am bloody sure I deserve it, don’t I? Most dangerous and powerful man in London and all.” He shrugged with faux-modesty and laughed, and Sebastian laughed along with him, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” he agreed, kissing his way down Jim’s neck. “I suppose you’re right.”