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Roses and Tequila for Santa Muerte

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The sound of the sea... waves crashing against the shore... wind rattling the windows...this is what brings me back to consciousness. I inhale deeply as I slowly become aware of lying in bed. Was I dreaming? It's so strange not to remember my dreams... there was something about slow dancing in a bedroom - no, that was real, Seb... I smile, and open my eyes.

You're still sleeping...murmuring, but not in distress.

I know I should leave you alone to sleep, but-
I pull you against me. There's no way I can wake up to a Kitten without engaging in cuddling.
You open one eye, smile and bury your face in your pillow.

"You're fucking adorable, Boss - you know that?"

"Shhh.." you whisper. "He's sleeping..."

"Who do you think you're fooling? I know you're not sleeping, because some selfish Tiger woke you up..."

"Why would he do that, Sebastian?" you mumble in mock sorrow.

"Maybe you were just too adorable for him to resist..." I say softly and then pounce on you, making you laugh and squirm.



“Leave the poor Kitten alone... he was up half the night staring at his Tiger...”

You stop, lift your head, look at me in surprise. “Were you?”

“Not half the night...” I mumble, “just... an hour or so... You’re so beautiful as you sleep...”

And then my speech is cut off by Tiger kisses, which are the best kisses, so I’m not complaining.

When I’m let up for air I stretch my arms, look at the sun outside our window - around eight I’d guess.

“You should sleep a bit more... you’re a recovering invalid...”

You raise an eyebrow at that and growl something about showing me how recovered you are as you are pinning me to the bed and kissing my neck, which makes me groan and arch my back.



"I didn't have nearly as much sex as I wanted the last couple of days..." I say hoarsely against your neck. "This is our honeymoon, for fuck's sake. You and I are making up for lost time now..."

I kiss you hungrily, feeling the heat rise between us as your hands lift to my face and you kiss me back. I pull back to look at you gazing at me with desire. "And if you want me to sleep in, babe... don't ask me to slow dance with you the night before, and then tell me you were awake for an hour watching me sleep..." I breathe, and claim your lips with mine.



Granted, I have been awfully cute.

But so have you. We’re soppier than two teenagers and I’m loving every minute of it.

I wrap around you, kissing, cuddling, stroking... purring in your ear, making you giggle and giving you gooseflesh.

“So, my brave strong Tiger... do you think you have recovered enough to be bent over and fucked hard?”



My mouth opens at the thought, and it takes me a moment to recover my voice. "I am so tough and strong, babe - just the way you like it..." I purr. "You can bend me over, if you promise to fuck me good and hard..."



How is it putting strain on your neck if you’re getting fucked? Juana didn’t know shit.

I kiss you deeply, feel your cock pressing against me, demonstrating that you may have lost blood, but it’s not suffering any shortage.

I move up, whisper in your ear “On your knees, Tiger,” and you sit upright on your knees. I hug you from behind, lick your neck, bite your earlobe... then push you forward, bending at the hips, until you’re on knees and elbows before me.

Truly the most entrancing sight in the world... My Tiger, bent over in submission, waiting for my cock... fuck, and have my cock he shall.

I grab the lube - we’re going through this at speed, good I bought a lavish supply - and prepare you for me, making you groan.



You haven't taken me from behind as much as you used to... it was always hot but now that I don't feel distance between us, it's even fucking hotter to submit to you. Your fingers are making me groan... Holy fuck, am I turned on right now... my cock is hard against my abdomen, and I'm already panting for you. Then I feel the head of your cock pressing into me hard and I close my eyes and suck in my breath.



*Fuck*... Zeus entering Ganymedes had no fucking clue what delights were hidden from him right here in my bed. And he can piss off - I’m not giving up my Tiger, god or no god.

Your back with the M on it, healing nicely - it’s a good thing your skin heals quickly, what with your job... and your lover.

When I’m fully inside I scratch the wound open, along the left upright... relishing the way it makes your muscles contract, the sounds you make...



You're inside me, and it's making my mind dissolve again... all there is is desire, pure sensation... and you. You're filling me, and the angle is different when you fuck me from behind - a different kind of intensity, all primal and animalistic. Especially when you're fucking clawing my wound, as you love to do - sadistic little fucker... oh, you have me so hot now, I'm moaning and writhing as you move deeper inside me. "Oh fuck, you feel good, baby..." I groan.



“You feel *fantastic*,” I growl, pulling back and pushing in again... dear Mother Nature, thank you for creating this fucking miracle on earth, this embodiment of pleasure, this man around my cock, who is *everything* to the man who believed in nothing...



“Oh god... fuck me... own me... Jim...” I moan, and push back against you to take you deeper. It works, and I gasp at the intense stretch, the grinding pleasure...



“I own you, my love... every delicious inch of you, every thought you have, everything you do... mine...”

I move back and forth slowly, scratch the other side of the M... I’m just a sucker for symmetry...



You claw the other side of the M and I breathe in sharply. Your slow movements are driving me wild... I moan gutturally, and continue to writhe against you.

"Oh god... you do... I fucking love being owned by you..." I groan. "Jim... please... fuck me hard, baby... fuck me hard..."



Of course, my love... anything you want.

I dig my fingers into your hips and start moving faster, harder... it’s heaven... you are heaven on earth and I’m your demon lost in paradise...

And I’m making paradise mine.

I move your hips as I’m moving into you, hard, fast, blissful - your body moving at my instructions, your entire body a vessel for my pleasure - fuck Seb... “My love... my Sebastian... so fucking hot...”



Oh my god, oh my god... I'm being driven hard, and it's fucking bestial, and it's fucking beautiful, oh god, Jim... I hear myself whimper and gasp as you pound into me. The way you move me, commanding my body... mastering my body... "Oh god, oh fuck, Jim..." I rant in total delirium. "You're so fucking hot, oh god, I love how you fuck me... my dark angel ... oh, my fuck god...YES..."



Fuck god, again, and yes I am, I am, I am a god, how else can I have subjected this demigod to my will...

I go hard, ride this high, ride my Tiger, mine mine mine, I groan and my nails dig into your hips, I think I should be nice and reach round but there’s no time for that, I’ll take care of you later, now I just want to be old-fashionedly selfish, take my pleasure from you, and you love it, so it’s fine...

I groan like an animal in heat, pounding you hard; your hand outstretched to the headboard pushing yourself against me, my Tiger, my love...

GOD this is the best orgasm ever.., it must be... surely nothing ever could have felt *so good*?



The sound of our bodies slamming against each other so hard as you ram into me over and over and over... our animal grunting and groaning... the bed frame knocking against the wall, the legs scraping the floor... it's a fucking symphony to me... I feel your hand twisting in my hair and pulling my head back... oh fuck, yes... my mouth falls open and I moan. Oh, my hot, dominant little fucker ... yes...



*Damn*, your sounds... god it’s hot –

and I come, come like I’ve never come before, surely; I know I think that every time, but how can such rapture be precedented?


I moan my ecstasy out into the world as I pour it into you, letting go of your hair - oh shit I was supposed to not put stress on your neck - you seem fine - I lean on you as I gasp my way from unfathomable delight into slightly more fathomable feeling, as my shudders slowly ease, and finally I let myself drop onto your back - spent - god, what a way to start the day...

“That was nice, we should do this more often...” I manage.



You come spectacularly long and hard, and collapse against me. I feel smugly satisfied that I inspire such desire and pleasure in you, and I revel in the feeling of your body resting against my back, damp with perspiration. "You mean fuck like animals? Oh, I agree..." I say, my voice thick with desire. I look back over my shoulder at you, hungrily. "Damn, baby - you've got mad skills in that department..."



I fall onto the bed. “Wow. That was... wow. You’re wow. Tiger.”

I slowly move over - time for you to come... hmmm...

“Show me, Sebastian... show me how hot being fucked by me makes you... stroke that beautiful cock for me, Tiger...”



I manage to keep from gaping at you; I only blink a couple of times before getting into a kneeling position on the bed. Fair's fair, you've done this for me twice now - and it was magnificent to behold. I have never been shy about my body or my sexuality - which has definitely been a good thing when it comes to being possessed by you - so if you ask me to show you how hot you make me feel, then that's what you're going to get, Kitten...

My cock is already erect when I take it in my hand. But the combination of being allowed to touch it after being forbidden from doing so, and your eyes, like deep obsidian pools, watching me... makes me harden even more.

Oh... I had felt a sense of loss when you first denied me touching my cock... but if this is how it feels when I'm given permission... I am not missing out...

I stroke it slowly... so slowly and firmly and rhythmically... sweeping lightly over the balls and the head... I see you look down from my face to my cock... observing... devouring with your eyes. An image of you stroking your own cock floats through my mind, and a low, purring sound reverberates in my throat. Your eyes return to mine, and I grin seductively and flick my tongue out over my lips. When your mouth slightly falls open, I feel like the cat who has swallowed the cream, and I hold your gaze as I stroke harder.



You look surprised - why? I’ve done it for you, why wouldn’t I ask it of you? But you recover quickly, sit in a position giving me a good view, and look so deep into my eyes as you start stroking... and fuck... that *does* look incredibly good... I lick my lips - I know I’ve just come, but this... is very, very, *very* hot.

You start purring, your Tiger purr, and lick your lips, and if I hadn’t just had an amazing orgasm that’s momentarily making my limbs feel like they’re molten lead, I’d be on that mouth like an attacking snake. As it is, I realize my own mouth is opening and I’m panting slightly. Wow.

I often have trouble getting over just how incredibly beautiful you are. I’m not sure if you realize - sure, you know you’re hot and can get any guy you want - but you really are a sight to behold, never more so than now, in the golden morning light, your muscles moving under your tanned skin, your mouth slightly open, your eyes half closed, hooded by your brows - and your hand, your strong muscular hand, that can be so hard and strong and so tender and precise, that hand, stroking the world’s most perfect cock... pleasuring yourself after I’ve fucked you... damn, this is the perfect morning...



I'm so enjoying touching myself for you, but I also feel myself straying towards that line, the point of no return... after that epic fuck I so want to come, and come hard.

"You want to know how hot it gets me, being fucked by you?" I ask in a low voice, not breaking my rhythm. "Ohhh... Jim... you get my blood boiling, baby... when I get horny, I want to hold you down and fuck you senseless, fuck you in that sweet arse... but you know the one thing that gets me even hotter? Anything you want... oh god," I moan, my head moving back as I stroke faster. "If you want to thrash me, cover me with your marks... if you want me on my knees blowing you... if you want to make me bleed... fuck my arse, come inside me... it's all for you... just tell me what you want... or don't even tell me... just do it..." I moan, feeling my eyes fill with fire... "Oh god, just do it to me... take your desires out on me, let me be the object of your lust... " my mouth opens and I let out a long breathy exhale as I get closer and closer. "Because you get me so fucking hot... just being around you - I'm in a perpetual state of horniness... you're so fucking hot... Jim..." I gasp, and my hand moves up and down, hard and fast. "Oh, baby - you're my fuck god - you are sex to me, you're all there fucking is - oh fuck, Jim..." I let out a long strangled groan, as my body jerks and I'm thrusting hard and I spill out over my hand and the sheets, gasping. I fall back into a sitting position and rest my head against the headboard, breathing hard. I look at you as I catch my breath. "Mmm... that was... " I smirk at you and close my eyes. "Mmm..."



I’m sitting here absolutely gobsmacked - that is... you are...

That has to be the hottest and - most amazing thing I’ve heard in - ever-

Hearing what you feel about our- sex life - I knew this, but hearing it, from you, hearing it confirmed, hearing how incredibly hot you are for me, for all I do - in those words...

I’m suddenly incredibly grateful for my eidetic memory, I’ll never lose this soliloquy - fuck Hamlet, these are the most beautiful words ever spoken. You and your insistence that you’re not a man of words. You’re the only man whose words I’ve ever genuinely wanted to hear, for their own sake, rather than as leverage to destroy him.

You notice me sitting open-mouthed and turn to me, amused. “Liked the performance, baby?”

I can only pounce you, kiss you passionately, hug you hard, say how amazing you are, how much I love you, how stunning how special how lucky I am how I never... never ever... thought I’d have anything like this... what a miracle you are... an absolute miracle...



I thought you'd enjoy my little show for you, but the look on your face... I don't think I've ever seen you look so stunned (except when you told me you loved me and I punched you and left, but... that was so last week... it may as well have been a century ago). Suddenly there's a Kitten pouncing on me, kissing me and rhapsodizing about how wonderful I am, and oh, I could get used to this...
I wrap an arm around you, kissing you back and surreptitiously cleaning off my hand with a tissue. The sheets will have to wait. I toss the tissue in the wastebasket, and pull you into my lap. Our arms slide around each other, and we're kissing and gazing at each other. Your hands are pressed against my face, and mine are caressing your hair, pushing it off your forehead.

"Oh," I breathe. "I guess you'll be requesting an encore sometime..."

You give me a look like Duh, and I laugh.

"I'm not going to lie, I'm a bit of an exhibitionist and it's possible I find it insanely hot when you're looking at me," I grin and kiss you. "God, Jim... the last few orgasms have been off the charts... stabbing and murders aside, it feels like we're finally in honeymoon mode. Maybe the stabbing and killing all those people actually helped... it's hard to be all introspective and brooding when you're shooting someone in the head..."



“Well we needed the introspection - we really did,” I murmur against your cheek. “I’ve never seen you so - unburdened, so free, so - happy. And it fills my heart to breaking point to see that. I’ll happily let you kill all of Mexico if you want, but - I do think the introspection had *something* to do with it.”

I pull back, look at your face in the golden morning light.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You really are the most astonishingly beautiful man I’ve ever seen... no wonder I was smitten the moment I saw you... and then I met you and you just got better and better... brains and skill and humour and... just everything. You’re perfect, Tiger... absolutely perfect.

Your words just now... that was just - hearing how you feel - I mean, I know there were times you were unhappy with things I did - don’t blame you, I was a dick - but hearing how much you enjoy what I do to you... man, that has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I shake my head at the memory. “And you say words are my thing... I’ve never met anyone whose words move me like yours.”

I nuzzle into your neck, your beard tickling my cheek. “There’s just this thing hiding your beauty... please shave it off today so I have an unobstructed view of your magnificent jawline...”



"Did you just say... please??"

I pull back and look at you in astonishment.

"Every day since you got back, I was expecting you to bark at me to get rid of it... and then shove me into the bathroom with a straight razor... and tie me to a chair if you had to... Please??"

I look at you, shaking my head. "The first few days I was going to outright refuse, you know... it felt representative of my own battle somehow... to choose my own life over grieving for you. And I thought, who were you to take that away from me? And it felt symbolic of my freedom to choose to do something I knew you wouldn't like. But then things got better between us, and I thought I would just fight you tooth and nail, and then give in eventually... but not before giving you a fucking hard time." I grin at you. "As only I can do and live to see another day. But then things got amazing between us... and you know what, Jim? If you like my face better without it, then that's all I really care about. Consider it gone, babe..." I press my lips to yours. "I'll shave it off right now. What beard?"



I’d kind of gathered that when I mentioned it before, the night of our orgy... and it didn’t seem worth bringing up again, not when we needed all our strength to fight our demons - the last thing I wanted was to fight you over a bit of facial hair.

I had still expected a struggle - it’s a pleasant surprise to hear you’re happy to shave it off - and a significant testament to how good things are between us now...

“I brought your trimmer - I like a bit of fuzz on your face, but not a full forest. You’re too gorgeous to be hiding behind all that hair, pretty and ginger as it may be...” I stroke my hand through your beard.

“What about you?” I ask, suddenly eager to do something back, “Do you have a preference about my facial hair? You’ve seen most possible permutations when I’ve done personas - what do you like best?”

If you say moustache I’m going to draw the line. But anything else - I’m happy to give it a go for you.



I smile at you. "You're gorgeous, whatever you do. I like you clean-shaven, and with stubble. Clean-shaven you look fey and otherworldly... it makes a scarier impression, even though you look younger. Facial hair makes you look less you're from another realm, and like it would be easier for me to get you into bed. Which obviously I like..." I touch your cheek with the back of my hand. "I love both, babe - they're both you."
I run my hand through my beard. "Pretty and ginger, huh? Well, get ready to say goodbye. Last chance to change your mind..."
You get up, go to the closet and return with my trimmer. I roll my eyes, kiss you and head to the washroom.

I stare at myself in the mirror, trimmer in hand. The man who grew this beard, who was determined to hold on to this unruly symbol of his resistance - I thought he'd survived, but it turns out he died sometime in the last week or so. I flip the switch and get to work.

By the time I'm done, I have only a little stubble left - but I feel like I've shed an entire layer of skin like a snake. I lean forward and marvel at how much things can change in such a short period of time... and then I open the door to show my husband.



I hear the sound of the trimmer in the bathroom, and smile at it - no argument, no me ordering you, no slammed doors or power games - I just asked nicely and you nicely said OK. Who’d have thought a relationship could work like that.

When you come out, smiling, I’m –

shocked –


I look at you wide-eyed. To my dismay, tears spring into them.


It’s him.

It’s you from before I left.

It’s the man I drove to despair over and over. The man I wouldn’t acknowledge I loved. The man I left behind without a second thought. The man who I drove to the edge, and over, again and again and again...

A thousand memories spring into my mind, unbidden, and *of course*, because my own mind bloody hates me, each one of them is worse than the other.

You look at me, startled, and your eyes - in that face - the shocked eyes - like so often –

“Sebastian...” I manage to choke out of my strangled throat.



Why- do you look horrified??

Did I fuck something up?? No...

You're choking out my name as I move towards you.

"Jim...? What's going on?" I demand. "What's wrong?"

Every moment you look at me you seem more tormented and...


Oh no...



“I’m... you ... I’m sorry Sebastian... you just... look like old you... I didn’t realize - I mean of course I knew you were you, but - you looked different - and now - god I’m sorry...”

*Not today!!!* We were going to have a fucking quiet day! You ruined it once already Moriarty and you will. *not*. ruin today.

With immense effort, I push down the worst of my guilt, clasping my arms around you, tears rolling down my face.

“I love you... I love you... I’m so sorry... I’ve always loved you, I really have... I’m so sorry...”



"It's - ok, Jim... I freaked out when I saw the old you, too. When you wanted me to beat you..." I swallow hard. "And then - I dreamed of him, remember?"

My heart is pounding in my chest, and I don't know why. I force myself to move, to put my arms around you.

But I feel... frozen.



You’re - not hugging me back - why not? Your heart is beating so hard - I pull back and look at you. Your eyes-

“Seb - what’s wrong?”



"I don't know..." I look at you, confused. "You looked like you were about to have a massive meltdown. And I started to panic..."



“I’m - not. This is something we will have to deal with at some point, and I don’t look forward to it, but for now I can... keep it down.”

I frown.

“I’m sorry my meltdowns have been inconveniencing you. It’s not like I have a lot of choice in the matter. We don’t all have a blissfully simple mind.”

What the fuck Moriarty?!



“A blissfully- what?" I stare at you, aghast. "Make that what the fuck? What is the matter with you?"



Oh come on Jim - that was completely uncalled for. Apologize this instant.

No. I’m upset.

You’re upset at yourself, you stupid psychopath - don’t take it out on Seb-

Shut up.

“Ever since we got here you’ve been trying to avoid talking - I practically had to force you. I *know* you don’t like dealing with stuff like this, but it’s fucking there! And it’s not making it any easier for me to deal with when my only support makes it clear on every occasion that he’d rather be doing anything else than be here dealing with our fucking issues! I’m sorry I can’t just go ‘Oh we’re together now and we’re happy and all is well, tralala, now let’s fuck’ - I don’t work that way! And I’ve got shit-tons of guilt here *already* and it doesn’t fucking help if every time I seem to even *think* about dealing with stuff my fucking husband clams up!

Yes, I’m a fucking snowflake who has to fucking *process* his *feelings* - sorry I’m not a big bad soldier who can just ignore them! I *could* ignore them very well before, but you didn’t like that much either, did you?!”

I’m shouting at you and part of me is desperately telling me to shut up, that there is no reason to this, but I’ve never been very good at listening to reason - let alone while I’m angry.



I gape at you. Where the fuck did all this come from? Well... besides a lifetime of psychopathy, not feeling emotions and massive wounds that you’re still reeling from...

Be the bigger man and just-

FUCK YOU, you little shit. I’m NOT being the bigger man ANYMORE.

“I don’t even know where to start with you.” I say coldly. “I don’t even know where to begin... I didn’t want to talk about my bloody feelings five seconds after we got married and you insisted... look how well that turned out...” I say in a vicious tone. “And then fucking days of processing our feelings on our honeymoon. Everything’s gotta be on your fucking timeline, doesn’t it - well don’t blame me for being exhausted by the whole thing!! You’re fucking exhausting!!!” I look at your shocked, angry face. I’m sick to death of walking on eggshells... “Is that something we need to process too now?? Add it to your fucking list!!”



You fucking-

“Oh I’m feckin exhaustin am I?! Well I’m *so sorry* I am! If it’s any consolation - it’s feckin exhaustin ta me too! Because I’m feckin livin it every feckin second - but if I try to share with my *feckin* husban Sir is too tired!

*Fuck* my timeline - if we’d wait until you were in the mood we’d be feckin eighty before we had a proper talk!

But sure - I’ll get meself a proper terapist an not bodder ye any more. Because it’s apparently too much feckin *hassle*.”



I blink at you slowly. “Wow. That’s hot, Jim. Why don’t you ever use your real accent? I like it,” I say in a lazy tone.



I stare at you - my mouth open –

you did *not* -

you did not just –


They call it a red mist. They’re wrong. It’s not a mist. Everything becomes very clear, very sharp.


Your gun is lying on the bedside table. I’m not going to kill you. Just punish you.


I grab for the gun.



Instincts are a beautiful thing. I deflect your arm, and throw you back against the bed. I snatch the gun and jump up. “What the fuck were you going to do with this??” I demand, glowering.



I kick at your legs, but you’re in full SAS mode and step aside easily. I’m fast but I’m not a par on you, and you have a gun - but you’re not going to use it, because you’re less insane than me. Madly frustrated I throw myself at you with a howl, launch myself full tilt without aim or design, fingers out to claw, mouth open to bite.



Jesus... I get you into a hold before you can do any damage. “Ok, ok!” I yell. “Enough!! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I was just- triggered by how you were acting. Can we stop this now and talk calmly? Jim...?” I say in a firm but soothing voice.



I struggle against your hold - how fucking dare you - I try to kick, scratch, bite, but you hold me tight and I can’t do anything and it’s so frustrating I scream...

And the screaming turns into sobs...

And I’m crying... crying my heart out...

And you let me go, and I cry and sob disconsolately...



“Oh, Jim... oh, no... oh fuck, baby - I’m so sorry!!” I say, horrified. I gather you in my arms and kiss you mournfully. “I’m such a beast, I don’t know why I said those awful things... I’m so sorry...” I croon, rocking you slowly.



“No... I...” I hiccup, and cry some more. I seem not able to speak and it’s a relief to realize that and not try, just to cry, but you are getting more upset the more I cry, and I need to explain it’s not your fault.

“Not.., hue...” I manage, but apparently that’s not clear enough, because you keep saying how sorry you are.

I swallow, you give me some water, I drink it, manage to get my sobs under control a bit.

“I... grabbed a gun... a fucking gun... I’m insane... I’m a fucking beast...”

And my sobs overwhelm me again. How *could* I?! How can anyone live in my vicinity? I’m a powder keg providing its own sparks... ready to blow your face off at the drop of a hat...



"Well, what were you going to do?" I soothe. "Were you really going to shoot me?"



“Yes...” I respond, my voice tiny, condemning myself.

I’m the scum of the earth - would shoot my husband for making fun of my accent.

“I wasn’t going to kill you - but I was going to shoot... just because you made me mad... I get mad so easily... how am I ever going to not hurt you? How long before I get a lucky shot? How am I going to not kill you?!”



"Well. Fuck..." I say mildly. "That should probably freak me out more, shouldn't it. What does that tell you?" I take your face in my hands and you try to pull away. "No- you were just about to shoot me, you little shit - you can sit there and fucking listen. Could it be that I intimately understand the temperament of a psychopath? And I know what you're going to say - I wouldn't shoot you. You're probably right." I hold up a finger and tap twice in between your eyes, making you wince. "Probably. But don't test me. You shouldn't push an upset psychopath without being ready to face some serious consequences... isn't that right, Jim? And I fucking did... Because it turns out I was sick to death of being sweet and loving and well-behaved all the time..." I snap, surprising myself. "Sometimes I want to act out... Say terrible, hurtful things... and unleash some of those dark, violent urges... don't you think I have the occasional impulse to just haul back and punch you? No, don't tell me to do it..." I growl. "The moment has to be right for me. And sometimes... I get sick of being told what to fucking do."



I cry even harder at that. “You have every right to be sick of being nice, and to be hurtful, and punch me... but... what has kept us alive so far is you being the responsible adult - you always managed me - you’re a fucking babysitter for a criminal psychopath...

You saw when I got dangerous, to you, to myself... and you managed it, let me blow off steam before I exploded, deflected my attention, soothed me... whatever was needed, you *knew*, and you did it.

I had no reason to ask or expect that, but you did.

And that was *before* I had feelings. It’s even worse now. Before I’d just be eating myself, or shoot a random stranger, or torture you just a bit too much - now I actually completely lost my mind.

Now - if you’re sick of babysitting - and I don’t blame you - how are we going to survive? What if next time I *do* want to kill you? How are we going to survive when I’m one poorly timed comment away from mariticide?”

I’m sinking into a black hole of despair – there’s no way… I’m impossible to live with. I’m a ticking fucking time bomb.



"I'm not a fucking babysitter, and you managed me too... I would have ended up dead a long time ago if it weren't for you. And I didn't say I was sick of managing you, I just had a bad moment..."

I start to pace. "Look at where we were in London - in a standoff with guns, beating each other, me holding broken glass against my throat... that was a little more than a week ago, and we've been under extreme emotional duress ever since. Look at who we were and what our relationship was before that! We felt better after killing people yesterday! And the day before! We can be sweet and lovely and affectionate to each other all we like, but the fact remains we're both fucked up, violent killers, and maybe it's not the kind of thing you shut on and off when going from one moment to another. How are we going to survive? The same way we've survived the rest of our violent fucked up lives... moment to moment. Day to day. I was in the hospital with a stab wound a couple of days ago... and yesterday we were giggling over Game of Thrones and slow dancing. And today? Epic sex, an epic fight, and apparently you wanted to shoot me, you little arsehole. But do I want out? FUCK, NO. My eyes are open when it comes to you, Jim. They always have been." I stalk back towards you and grasp your face in my hand. "I don't believe you would kill me. If I'm wrong, I'd still make the same choice because you're what I love above all things - insanity, violence and all. I love you, you mental little fucker. I always will."



I’m shivering when you pace - I want you to keep holding me - but your words are - true, and wise, and soothing to my raw soul.

You’re right, as usual, my sweet Tiger. There is no safety for us - there never has been, but I never really cared; and now I do. I want to keep you safe whatever the circumstances, and I can’t. It’s impossible, even if we were normal people - people die every day, it’s what people do. I can try my best to keep us safe, but my best isn’t great, I have to admit. However - I can work on it.

But - there’s also the simple fact that I’m a volatile psychopath and you’re an adrenaline addict. I could get us a nice retirement home in a ridiculously safe country - Sweden or something - and go on pills that make me less likely to randomly shoot you - and we’d be at each other’s throats in two days. We are not men to live a quiet life - look at how badly we managed trying to have one quiet fucking day here...

I sigh as you hold my face in your hands, close my eyes.

“I love you too, you mental big fucker. You’re absolutely right, as usual. I’ll try not to kill you, you try not to kill me, and we’ll both try to keep others from killing us. That’s all we can do. We’re dangerous men, we live dangerous lives - but it is what it is. I’m still extremely sorry, but... yeah, I’ll add it to the feckin list.”



"Thank you for the apology, and I'm sorry too." I pull you against me, and rest my head on yours. "Especially about the accent. I wasn't making fun, I promise you- I love it. I just knew it would get under your skin. I was being a total shit..."



“You were. But then so was I. I don’t know... I think it might be best to walk away when we’re like this, but then the thing I fear most is you walking away and I would have freaked out even more - yeah, no, on second thought, don’t walk away. You don’t know if I wouldn’t shoot you in the back.

Fuck... *one* quiet day, Moriartys... theoretically, it must be possible... practically, I think we might need to order a pound of Valium or something.”

I stretch, kiss you. “And it started so wonderful... with you saying the most beautiful things... let’s have breakfast and ignore the past half hour?”



"I think we should eat something, yeah. Maybe go in the water - don't worry, not past my neck. But as for ignoring the last half hour, I dunno... there was shit you wanted to talk about it, and I reacted, and then you really reacted, and... I don't know. Maybe we should talk..." I hear myself say with surprise. "Yeah. I think I have some shit to get into. You?"



I look at you flabbergasted for the second time today.

“You - you actually want to - talk?! What the fuck happened to being exhausted by the whole thing?!”



"Well, that was when I was still feeling the afterglow after our epic fuck. Of course I didn't want to talk then. But now we're already talking. And everything feels less daunting after you take a fucking gun away from your partner. You should try it sometime..." I smirk at you. You really can be a shit, Sebastian...



“Fuck off, Moriarty. Hm, has less of a ring to it...

I’m really not ready to dive into my quagmires of guilt without a few litres of coffee... and I guess I should eat something too. *And* deal with your neck. And have a swim. And then we’ll address... anything you want.

I love you, Tiger... always. Even when I’m trying to shoot you. I wasn’t going to kill you. So - that’s a start I suppose...”



"You're a real corker. Thanks." I smack the back of your head. "I love you and I'm not going to kill you either." I press my lips to your forehead for a long moment. “Litres of coffee sounds fucking amazing..."

Is it weird that I take these things in stride? Probably.

'My husband just tried to shoot me - oh well, we're both crazy. Time for coffee.'

Yup. You're right, I'm a total adrenaline junkie.

I grab you by the hand and pull you towards the door. "Onward and upward, babe. Kitchen. Breakfast. Coffee. Quiet fucking day, take two."



“Oi. You don’t get to smack me. I smack you. I’m pretty sure that was in the wedding contract.”

I get up, stretch. “Does it still count as a quiet day if we had a fight and I tried to shoot you? And I thought you wanted to talk later? Doesn’t bode well for quiet... but sure, we should be able to assemble one quiet day from all the peaceful bits and pieces we enjoy here and there.”

We head downstairs and have a reasonably quiet breakfast - both a bit wary of emotional explosions. I’m not sure how I’m feeling - not that strange, considering I have only been feeling for a week or so.

I’m feeling the need to be close to you, though... my love, my Tiger... I sit next to you as we eat, making sure we’re touching at all times.



In the kitchen, things feel ok but fragile - which makes sense under the circumstances. This morning was a bit fucked up, even for us. When breakfast is done, I stand up and extend my hand to you. You take it cautiously, and I pull you into a hug.

"Let's go outside. Being by the water has helped everything we've faced that has felt broken or fucked up beyond repair. Remember all the horrible moments that came before this? We got through them - together. I love you more than I can possibly express to you, even when you're being a shit. And I'm pretty sure there was a loophole in the wedding contract that allows me to smack you when you're being a shit. Or there should be, and I'll have to ask for an amendment. I'll be right back." I return to the bedroom, grab the gun and walk back to where you're waiting for me by the sliding doors. Your eyes swing to my hand, and you look at me.
"Relax, it's not payback. I just don't want to be without a weapon nearby after yesterday. C'mon - the beach awaits."



“No, makes perfect sense - you should really have brought it down to breakfast. You used to never be without... but I can understand.

Let me do your neck first...”

I remove the bandage, relieved to see that it’s healing well. I don’t really fancy going to explain to the hospital that we’ve lost our nurse and could they please give us another.

We walk onto the beach hand in hand. I find to my dismay that *I* am not too eager to talk. I’m still feeling quite raw and just want to bury myself in the sand and hibernate or something.



I observe you without trying to be too obvious. Hmm. Quiet Jim... you still seem fragile, so I'm not going to push talking until you can handle it.

You head towards a shot-up beach chair, and I shake my head.

"Nope. Not yet. Water."

You shrug and make a sound of assent, and I squeeze your hand as I lead us to the shore. I deposit the gun in the space between two boulders, and cover it with a smaller rock. "Now if you want us to work through this... let it go. As much as you can - leave it in the water. Then whatever's left is all we have to have to deal with - when the time is right. Can you do that, babe?" I take your hand again and pull you towards me.



“I hope so...” I murmur, and follow you into the sea. This poor body of water has had some massive shit dumped into it these past days; I’m surprised Greenpeace haven’t sent a ship over yet.

But as always, the water is soothing... it does feel cleansing in a way that a shower just can’t pull off. You hold my hand and walk with me until we’re submerged to our chests, and we wash each other, and we cuddle, and we kiss, and I ignore the tears that I taste on my lips - I think they’re mine - because this is apparently what a Moriarty honeymoon is like - water, tears, guns, murder, sex. Not so different from normal Moriarty times, just wetter.



I feel like I'm carrying a lot, trying to keep you from spiralling. I wish I could submerge myself so I can let this experience go, but I don't think you'll consider seawater to be hygienic enough.

Instead I reach down under your bottom and hoist you up - your legs automatically go around my waist, and your arms around my shoulders.

"What am I going to do with you?" I sigh, looking at you with tender exasperation. "Drown you? Take you out for boat ride and look for sharks? How long do you think I'd last without you, you ridiculous pain in my arse... you adorable little shit... you psychopathic love of my life... I never want to find out... ever, ever..." Tears spring to my eyes. "Oh..." I say softly. "Look, babe - I made it past breakfast..." Then I'm laughing and crying as I press against you, covering your face and neck with kisses. "Don't you get it yet, babe? Whatever mean, crazy things you'll do, I don't care... because I'll do them too, I know I will... I only care that we're together. Alive and well and... let's just aim for mostly well and in one piece, yeah?" I press my teary face against yours and close my eyes, feeling the water swirl around us and the sun shine down on us. I sigh, and a feeling of peace comes over me.



You are crying and that makes me cry and good grief, when will we ever stop? Is this the consequence of a lifetime spent not crying? Does it catch up with you when you start again?

I bury my face into the good side of your neck and kiss you softly.

“I don’t know how to keep us safe, my love... and it frightens me. I never used to care... but now I have someone to care about and I want nothing to ever happen to you. But it’s impossible... and I realize that, but it’s so fucking hard on me to not have complete control over everything...

And it was *really* frightening to see I didn’t even have control over myself.

I’m just feeling so lost in a sea of... feelings, and frightening things I don’t know and can’t control, and it’s so different from how the world used to be - it used to all be nice and clear and compartmentalized and... it’s all a mess now.”



"It's definitely a mess," I agree, kissing your neck. "A stupid, terrible mess. And I'm sorry I made things so messy for you, babe..." I kiss the spot by your ear. "If I hadn't been so bloody insistent on love... we could have had a nice clearly delineated non-relationship like we used to. We were so much better off then..." I kiss your earlobe, making you squirm. "I know, I know - fuck off, Moriarty. No, I think it has a great ring, babe... I like it!" I grin at you trying to maintain your glare. "Had enough of the water? You want to sit on the beach? We don't have to talk if you don't feel ready. We can read or watch more Game of Thrones or get drunk or get tattoos or do whatever the fuck we want. As long as I'm with you, that's all I care about."



“I’m not saying I want to get back to how things were! I am just - confused, and - not in control, and I don’t know how to deal with that.

I’ll never give this up again - it’s bloody hard, this love lark, but it’s... fucking amazing. I think it’s you though. If I see other people - they do stupid things when they’re in love; but I can’t imagine normal people feel stuff as intensely and violently as we do. No one would be able to function.

No, you’re special, Tiger...”

You carry us out of the water and onto the beach where clean towels have magically appeared on the chairs since yesterday. I am going to assume our cleaning staff actually are faeries - I have not seen them yet and only barely heard them. I will have to make sure they get paid well...

I lie down on the beach chair, suddenly quite tired. It might have been the meltdown - good grief, I was like a toddler having a tantrum...

I do want to talk about stuff - but maybe a small nap first... it’s nice here in the shade of the umbrella, with barely a breeze rustling the palm leaves... I’ll ask you if you mind... in a moment...



I feel so relieved when I see you close your eyes... and even more so when I see your breathing change. You need this downtime to recharge your batteries and hopefully clear the slate, as it were. I know it will take time to process and heal this wound (like we didn't have enough!!) and maybe it won't ever be fully resolved due to its royal fucked-up-ness. Your nap also means I can process it without worrying about you and your moods. I meant every goddamn word I said, but of course it can be exhausting to focus on somebody else's emotions so much... of course I don't want to fucking get shot (seriously, Jim??) And it even makes me question things, a little (Can I really handle this? Is our relationship really worth dealing with our compounded madness?) but the answer is always love and Jim and YES...
I still appreciate downtime to myself, though. I sneak down to the beach to get my gun, and walk back to where you're sleeping. I give myself the satisfaction of twirling it like a goddamn gunslinger... pointing it at you... pretending to shoot you (only in your shoulder! OK, now the other shoulder... aaand the foot, too)... blowing pretend smoke from the gun... and tipping my non-existent cowboy hat to your pretend-bleeding body. Feeling smug, I head to the villa.

Yeah - picture of perfect mental health. When you admitted you wanted to shoot me, the first thing that popped into my mind was worry about how well you'd handle it once I got the gun away from you ...and shot you back. Maybe I should tell you that - it might help your guilt.

I grab the iPad and headphones from the living room, a beer for me and a fizzy raspberry lemonade for you for when you wake up. Then I return to the beach chairs, settle in to watch another show I downloaded - Black Sails.

Soon I'm imagining life on board a pirate ship and what kind of swashbuckling adventures we'd have.

And then I'm resting my eyes and thinking of nothing at all.