In a job where your hours extended to "if your boss calls you, get your arse out of bed and your shoes on", one can't exactly keep normal sleeping hours. You get and hour here, and hour there where you can get them only because you have to sleep some time. Sebastian had laid down to catnap not more than an hour prior when his mobile goes off with some song he's pretty sure he didn't put on there himself. Groaning, he slings an arm over his eyes, pulling his other hand out from under the pillow where it rests atop one of his guns to blindly feel around on his side table until he finds the damned thing. He numbly drags his mobile down beside him to peer at it with one eye, checking the notifications and opening the text to see where he's going for the job. Name and address, one freshly made corpse needed, business as usual. Good enough for him. He starts to sit up before pausing.
There's a sudden jolt of familiarity. Odd. Something's off. Those blue eyes move back to the phone to reread the name again: Angeline Mercier. The address. He knows this girl. Oh, he knows her intimately, repeatedly, hands clawing across his back and shared panting breaths in dark rooms, slick skin sliding against skin. He had spent paychecks on her company, and some nights she wouldn't take them. Favorite customer, she said. The feeling was mutual although, perhaps, not the sentiment with it.
In complete silence, he stares at the phone until the display flicks off, bringing him to. There was absolutely no way Jim didn't know the significance of this woman and Moran doesn't even need to guess that's precisely why she's on the list. The young woman was as far into the criminal world as she was into law enforcement and that is to say: not at all. Even if she knew a thing about Sebastian outside the scars across his body or the size of his cock, which she didn't, whores had a way of often being surprisingly tight-lipped with secrets. No, this was entirely personal.
A hand slides down his face with a weary, agitated sigh. Of course the fucker is going to do this. He should have seen this coming. Certainly there's a twinge of disappointment but more than anything there's straight annoyance. Getting to his feet, Sebastian dials Jim back as he goes to find his shoes and run a comb through his hair.
There's a sudden jolt of familiarity. Odd. Something's off. Those blue eyes move back to the phone to reread the name again: Angeline Mercier. The address. He knows this girl. Oh, he knows her intimately, repeatedly, hands clawing across his back and shared panting breaths in dark rooms, slick skin sliding against skin. He had spent paychecks on her company, and some nights she wouldn't take them. Favorite customer, she said. The feeling was mutual although, perhaps, not the sentiment with it.
In complete silence, he stares at the phone until the display flicks off, bringing him to. There was absolutely no way Jim didn't know the significance of this woman and Moran doesn't even need to guess that's precisely why she's on the list. The young woman was as far into the criminal world as she was into law enforcement and that is to say: not at all. Even if she knew a thing about Sebastian outside the scars across his body or the size of his cock, which she didn't, whores had a way of often being surprisingly tight-lipped with secrets. No, this was entirely personal.
A hand slides down his face with a weary, agitated sigh. Of course the fucker is going to do this. He should have seen this coming. Certainly there's a twinge of disappointment but more than anything there's straight annoyance. Getting to his feet, Sebastian dials Jim back as he goes to find his shoes and run a comb through his hair.
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Date: 2013-01-28 08:28 pm (UTC)From:Much better, actually.
When the chime of his phone cuts through the early morning silence of his room, Jim doesn’t even have to look at the display to know who’s calling, an amused little smile lifting the corners of his mouth. ‘Oh, looks like the lady wants to protest…’ – a fair assumption given the amount of time (or the lack thereof) that has passed between him sending the message and Sebastian’s response, and so Jim waits – or makes Sebastian wait, rather. Annoyance and anger – they both grow exponentially, not linear, so why not grant Moran a couple of minutes to simmer before answering the phone?
Smile growing, mood brightening, Jim reaches for his mobile and doesn’t even have to feign the amusement coloring the tone of his voice. “My-my, this must be a new record—“ because you better not be calling to argue – an unspoken threat, but definitely there.
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