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Moriarty was away.
He told Moran early that morning he'd probably be gone until late evening. "Some particularly annoying clients I have to manage," he said with a heavy sigh attached just before exiting the flat, leaving Sebastian alone for the duration of the day.
He is reminded that James told him to go out for groceries and to do an assortment of other chores. When he steps outside around noon, the weather is mild, enough to dress in layers and not get sweaty. He is en route to the market when a ladies' clothing store grabs his attention. Soft lighting illuminates the merchandise inside, adverts plastered on the windows. The displays catch his eye, but he continues about his business, tucking it into the back of his mind to be forgotten.
A while later, walking down the same street with his arms full of groceries, he stops in front of the open doors, weighing his options. He throws a few quick glances around, fearing how others may perceive him and his intent. He can feel the sweat on the palms of his hands as he enters, ducking behind a bedazzled mannequin. He notices the women milling about with their friends or partners discussing the clothes, giggling amongst themselves without a care in the world. Sebastian lets his gaze linger on them, a pang of jealousy squeezing his heart. He stalks through the aisles, trying to act normal, as if he belongs here. He absentmindedly paws through the individual items and set pieces before spotting a black silk bra with lace on the cups and around the edges, with slip-style panties to match. He glances at the tag; expensive, yes, but it is high quality silk and finely sewn. He goes up to the register, shooting the cashier a nervous smile as he fumbles with his hands, almost dropping his chosen garments on the ground as he places them on the counter.
"For my girlfriend," Moran says with a nervous, breathy laugh. The cashier only gives him a polite smile in return, and panic sets in. Did he say something wrong? Did he come off as a pervert? Should he try and soften the blow? "Do you think it would look nice on her?"
"I'm sure she'll love it," she says, slipping the receipt into his bag and wishing him a good day.
He gives a shaky "thanks, you too," before stumbling away from the register and making haste for the door. Without looking, he knocks into the shoulder of a young woman, who yelps in surprise. He has done a good job of remaining out of sight thus far, but now he can feel the gaze of the customers around them, and he can feel their eyes hot on his skin. Sebastian rushes past her, muttering an apology, and hurriedly leaves, hailing the nearest cab.
He sinks into the seat of the cab, looking at the black bag standing out amongst his groceries. He groans softly, staring at the storefront as it disappear from sight. The weight of what he's done settles into his body, his stomach churning with apprehension. The driver's eyes linger on him for a moment in the mirror. Sebastian repeats what he said to the cashier; "just shopping for my girlfriend," he says, and the driver nods in recognition and turns back to the road. In hindsight, he probably didn't care what his passenger brought with him.
After he gets home to the flat and puts the groceries on the counter, he makes his way into the bedroom he shares with James. He tosses the small bag on the bed before staring at himself in the mirror that leans against the back wall, contemplating his decisions. He glances at the bag and then back at himself a few times, tugging at his collar. His clothes feel confining as his hands find the bottom hem. He feels constricted, hot too, and he tugs the shirt over his head, balling it up and throwing it on the floor. Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath and hooking his thumbs under his waistband. He makes a mental note to clean up after himself later and continues ridding himself of his clothes.
Once he is fully nude, he kneels in front of the mirror, so close his nose is nearly touching it, and just stares at himself. He doesn't hate himself, but the scrutiny comes easy still. He knows the women in adverts and on magazines aren't real; he knows they are always edited to some extent, but he can't help but want to look like them. He wishes he had bigger hips and a smaller waist or that stubble didn't pepper his jaw a day after shaving or that he didn't have such a pronounced Adam's apple. He leans away from the mirror to look at his abdomen, huffing a bit at the reminder of how masculine of a form he has. He doesn't have a problem with his muscles, which aren't very obvious if he isn't making a show of them. When he does notice, he thinks back to the girls he sees at the gym and hopes he looks like them, somewhat. He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging it down at the ends to make it appear longer, even for just a moment. His hair is already noticeably grown out; earlier, in passing, Moriarty asked him about getting a haircut, but he's always wanted to keep it long. Nothing too unusual, but just enough that it barely brushes his shoulder; just enough for it to be styled and played with. Simple pleasures, really. All the nitpicking of his body did make him feel bad, of course, but made him wonder if in a world parallel to this one, there was a girl who sat in front of her mirror wishing she looked like him, and if she'd be willing to trade bodies.
He slowly rises from the floor, stretching his back, and his eyes land on the discarded bag. His head snaps forward, and he slams his forearm into the wall, paralyzed by his choices. He wants to get this over with, but he doesn't want to open his Pandora's Box, the emotions and desires he's kept locked away for so long. He grabs the bag and dumps it out on the bed, abandoning it on the floor when it is empty. He allows himself a small smile as he surveys the contents; while he's pleased with his choice, a nagging feeling of shame still lingers, dampening his joy.
The panties are straightforward enough to put on, but the hard part is clipping the bra by himself and making it sit in a way that flatters him. The position he settles on still looks a bit strange when he stares at it for too long, but it is comfortable and hides what it is supposed to. Clipping it is still a struggle, but after a few attempts, he figures it out. He looks at himself in the mirror again, this time with the silky undergarments adorning his body, and he feels something like pride rise in his throat. He beams at himself, turning around and enjoying how soft the clothing feels, how easy it is to move and how beautiful he looks. The bra sits comfortably and sturdily against his chest, despite there not really being breasts to be held by the cups. It looks royal, something a very rich lady would wear for her very rich husband. He inches closer to the mirror, running his hands up and down his body, letting his fingers catch on the panties when he gets to his hips. He likes how they feel, as opposed to his usual boxers. They are probably a size too small, considering that perhaps his anatomy wasn't what the designers had in mind. Nonetheless, he loves how they cradle his body, even if they fit tightly against his frame. He drags his hand up to his chest again, squeezing over the cup of the bra and wishing he had more to fill it out with.
Sebastian had put thought to buying such items before, but never enough to go out and purchase anything. When he was a young boy, he'd play around in his mother's wardrobe and her (albeit, very limited) makeup selection. He was always quite drawn to the eye and lip products, the things that made his features pop. One night in particular he remembers; he had made an outfit from one of his mother's blouses and a blanket fashioned into a dress. His face was decorated with eyeliner and brown mascara with a pink lip gloss accompanying it. He watched himself twirl and pose in the mirror for a while before heading downstairs to the kitchen to heat up what his parents had left him for dinner. He was about to put the food in the oven when his father walked through the door, slamming it hard behind himself and mumbling about "having to drive all the way back for some fucking bag". With bright eyes, Sebastian went after his father to say hello. Augustus looked him up and down and sneered in disgust, grabbing the purse he came back for with such might Sebastian thought it was going to hit him.
"What is this? What are you doing?" He grabbed Sebastian's shirt and dragged him by collar, their faces so close together he could feel his father's hot breath on his face. "If you even think about dressing up like this under my roof again, you'll be out on the streets. Do you fucking understand me?" His eyes drifted about his son's face, who now sported watery eyes and a quivering lip. He let Sebastian go, shoving him away with enough force to knock him down to the floor. Augustus grumbled under his breath and stomped back towards the door."So help me God, the Devil is in my son," and other related insults could be heard by Sebastian's young ears as he went away. Being yelled at was nothing new to him, but this would be the first time Augustus Moran ever verbalised his disappointment in his son's existence. His father left him with a final, "I'll deal with you later," and a slam of the front door. With that, Sebastian was left alone in the big house again, this time on the living room floor with mascara streaks running down his cheeks.
He twists his left side toward the mirror to see how he looks from another angle. The underwear makes his ass look nice, flattering his figure better than most men's clothing does, and he likes the illusion of a bigger chest that the bra gives him. Sebastian's body is muscular in certain areas but overall lean, scars from various incidents littering his back and left shoulder like a tiger's stripes. He thinks for a moment about how nice it would look if his skin were still pristine, if it was soft and silky like a woman's, but quickly shoves the thought aside to not cause himself further issues with his appearance. While he is lost in his own reflection, his eyes wander in the mirror and catch the open door behind him. Dread washes over him for a moment at the thought that Moriarty almost always gets home early from whatever chore he dedicates himself to for the day. It echoes in his mind as something of a warning. What would he say if he were to walk in now? He doesn't have any real excuse if he is 'caught', only that perhaps he is cross-dressing, but the thought of reducing it to simply wearing women's clothing for the sake of it makes his heart hurt.
He sits on the end of the bed, still facing the mirror. He is more or less lost in thought, staring at himself and imagining what it would feel like to wear other things of a similar manner now that he is an adult who has the freedom to. As much freedom as being alone in your bedroom while your partner is away entails. Trapped is too mean a description for how he feels. Constricted, perhaps, but that's not anybody's fault but his own, and certainly not Moriarty's.
"Sebastian." Moriarty's voice came from behind him. Moran spins around, wide-eyed and horrified. He feels tears prick at his eyes, and his before falling back onto the bed.
"I didn't expect you to be home so soon," Sebastian chuckles, hoping if he laughs about it, the situation will feel less world-ending.
"My meetings always end early. Easy business, you know that," Moriarty crosses the room and leans over Moran. And he does know this. He knows Moriarty's habits. He just thought about this, and yet he still feels like a deer caught in headlights. Sebastian whines a bit and puts his hands over his face, squirming under Moriarty's intense stare. "I didn't know you were into cross-dressing."
"I'm not, I'm not…" Sebastian whimpers, his voice muffled by his hands. It feels like admitting guilt, like he has gotten caught doing something wrong. He feels hot with embarrassment, hot with shame, and a pit forms deep in his stomach, threatening to make him vomit. At first, he tries to tear the bra up and over his head and get himself out of this situation of his own creation. "I'm not cross-dressing." He feels Moriarty's eyes bore into him while he struggles, continuing to make him more nervous and frantic. The sweat accumulating on his back only serves to worsen his plight as the bra remains firmly adhered to his bust. "Please, stop looking at me." His voice is like a child's, shaky and unsure. Just like with his father, so long ago.
Moriarty climbs on the bed behind Sebastian and hugs him tight, burying his nose under Moran's hairline. Sebastian stiffens and tries to wriggle out of his grasp, batting at his arms. Moriarty grabs his partner's wrists and forces them down to his thighs. With Moran's pathetic attempts to fight back all but thwarted, he goes limp in Moriarty's embrace, slowly sinking into his warmth, allowing himself to be held. His panicked breathing evens out, steadying the longer the pair stays there. They sit in silence for a while, only the sound of their breaths filling the air. Moriarty lets go of him and sinks onto his haunches, kneeling behind him and tracing his fingers over the bra's clasps.
"Stop worrying so much. Let me do it for you." Moriarty kisses the back of Moran's neck while he unclips the bra and slides it down Moran's now still arms. He hands it to Moran, who tosses it on the floor off to the side. "Is there something you're not telling me?" Sebastian blinks hard and shakes his head. He stands up and strips the underwear off, pitching them towards where the bra landed. Goosebumps rise along his skin, Moran is suddenly acutely aware of the chill of the room, being as exposed as he is, and the lack of Moriarty's warmth to compensate. Sebastian shudders, crawling back into bed and into his lap, the back of his head nestling into Moriarty's thighs.
"I don't want you to stop loving me, or think differently of me," His voice wavers, drawing a chuckle of embarrassment out of him. He places his hands, one on top of the other, on his stomach, as he tries his best to avoid Moriarty's gaze. "You… I know you don't love women how you love men. And… I'm not a woman, I'm not a girl… but–"
"Stop." Moriarty lifts his hand and runs his fingers across Moran's hairline, tracing his lips with his thumb. "Sebastian, it would take a lot for me to stop feeling the way I do about you. Your sex, your expression, it all hardly matters to me. It's superficial." He slipped his thumb between Sebastian's lips, the man under him shutting his eyes and licking gently at the pad of his finger. "Even if you did 'transition', fully accepted a new identity, little would change. I assume there's a reason you believe I'd shun you?" When Moriarty didn't receive a reply, he removed his thumb gently and Moran's eyes opened slowly.
"Yeah," He chuckled. "Yeah. Well, you know my father and the things he'd drill into me. And the boys I went to school with, you know. All sorts of reasons I think you'd think badly of me."
Moriarty tilts his head and narrows his eyes a little. "I'd never think badly of you. My Sebastian, my tigress."
Tigress. Sebastian grinned and felt his cheeks flush. Moriarty brushed his knuckles against Moran's face before removing his hand entirely. Subconsciously, Sebastian whimpers, and his arm shoots up, grabbing for Moriarty's retreating wrist. Shame washes over him at his pitiful behavior, but Moriarty simply smiles and offers his hand again, shifting to sit next to him.
"I know. I know that now. I've never… come out. Or whatever. Because I hardly understand what I feel." He sits up on the edge of the bed, taking Moriarty's outstretched hand and squeezing it before continuing, "I always wanted to be a girl, even when I was young. The older I got, the more I realised that most of that feeling was wanting to like boys and not be wrong for it. You know, if I was a girl, I'd be allowed to love men. But, even as I got more comfortable with who I am, that feeling never went away." He shakes his head and swipes his hand down his face. "I'm just scratching an itch, that's all." He looks at the discarded undergarments on the floor. "I want to wear big, frilly dresses and pretty lingerie. I want to be somebody's girlfriend, or somebody's daughter. I don't know what I feel."
Another memory flashes briefly in Sebastian's head, one where he is much older and more aware of his emotions and feelings, though not enough to put a label on it. He was young for the army, and a young colonel, both to his advantage and disadvantage. Some respected his rank, but others didn't, and picked on him for his age. A certain lieutenant had gotten quite familiar with Sebastian due to his ineffable reputation. The two became something like friends, and during quiet nights, they'd frequently drink together or engage in scandalous activities Moran thinks the other soldier would look back on in shame. One such night, the two lay in the grass in a clearing a short distance from camp, perhaps too much liquor in their blood, giggly and warm and hardly understanding what was coming out of their mouths.
"You ever want to be a girl?" Moran asks, a big smile plastered on his face.
"Mmm, what? No," The soldier responds, his face twisted in confusion.
"Never? Oh, well I do. I'd love to 'ave been born a girl. Feel like I was meant to be one."
"That's ridiculous, Colonel." He laughs.
"Come on, I'd 'ave been a wonderful girl. Prob'ly happier, too." Moran takes another swig of the bottle they shared.
"You're fucking ridiculous. There's no way." The lieutenant playfully smacks Moran on the shoulder. "You? Of all people?" The pair went quiet as he looked at Moran. The other man held a certain sadness in his eyes.
"Well, yeah. I think I was s'posed to be a girl, but God messed up. Made me a boy instead. You never feel like that?"
"No, Sebastian." He sits up and looks down at Moran. "I think you've had too much to drink. And you're so young you hardly know who you are."
Moran gets up on his elbows. "You think I'm too young to know how I feel?"
"A little. Come on, you're being shot at constantly. I'd wish I was at home too." He shrugs.
"'S not the war. I thought the same thing when I was a little boy." He narrows his eyes. "And I don't think my age has anything to do with it." He's flustered, embarrassed. The man shakes his head.
"You can be whoever you think you are, 'Bastian. But don't say I didn't tell you so if this passes." He stands up and offers Moran his hand, helping him get up and steady himself. "I think it's time for you to go to bed."
"It's more than scratching an itch, though, isn't it ? You want me to see you differently," James says. "It's more than undergarments and lingerie, it's something inside you." He kisses Moran's cheek and pulls him down onto the bed so they're both on their backs. "If you want me to refer to you in a way that isn't… so masculine, you can tell me." He tilts his head over to Moran, who seems lost in thought staring at the ceiling.
"Sebastian." Moriarty prompts, shaking his partner's arm.
"Hm? Oh. I don't know. Maybe some language changes. Like, er, when you praise me. But it doesn't matter the most. Getting it off my chest is all I really wanted." He sighs and rolls over. "If you want to call me your girlfriend, I won't stop you. But you don't have to. Just… thank you… for letting me talk." Moriarty runs his fingers lightly up and down Moran's bare back. They stay in stasis for a while, Sebastian dozing off while Moriarty massages his back and shoulders. The sun is warm on the bed beaming in from the open window across the room, the likely culprit for Moran's sudden sleepiness.
"Mm. I'll let you nap, pretty girl. We'll talk in the morning, yes?"
"Mhm," Moran muttered, sleepily. Moriarty couldn't see, but Sebastian does smile at the name. Her heart beats a little faster, a gentle flutter of recognition. She feels Moriarty shuffle and mess with the blanket before throwing one gently over her.
"You don't have to do that, I can put on blankets myself." She opens one eye to look at her partner, who is leaning over her. He smiles and chuckles a bit before kissing her on the temple.
"I know. I like servicing you as much as you do me."
When he is sure Moran is at least a little asleep, he stands up from the bed and closed the curtains. He thinks her position looks wholly uncomfortable and quietly walks over to the side of the bed her legs were hanging off of and lifted the rest of her onto the bed. Moran's eyes briefly blink open, and she stretches out, yawning into the pillow before settling into a more natural sleeping position.
When her breathing starts to slow, he ruffles her hair before moving towards the door, giving Moran a wave when he's through the doorframe even though she has long since fallen asleep. "Goodnight, Lady Moran. I'll see you when you wake."