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[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane can't figure out Moriarty and that bothers him--bothers him a lot. It's the reason why he's up when he shouldn't be, sleep schedule messed, and it's the fourth or fifth time he's paced his own room that he fires a text off to one Jim Moriarty. ]

My place when you're available.

[ Nothing else. He's at least figured that no matter the circumstances Moriarty will come at his own leisure. The best he can do is wait. ]

Comments

[spider]

[The day rolls along as it should for average man, tucked away from the world to lie in ordinary pleasures. Sleeping. Eating. Television. Music.

But even now, in days that surrounding eyes are at their peak of attention, he is squirming in the skin of Richard Brook. As if sweating in it, eager to claw and peel away. Just dreadful, absolutely dreadful. It's moments like these he wants to go back to that moment. That laugh of Sherlock Holmes and their final problem—staying alive in this hell hole of disappointments.

Then he hears the chime; a message. Whether it be a gift from God or the Devil himself, he welcomed it. The glowing text is delivered as a blessing, smiling to himself before typing away:]

When am I not? Expect three knocks.

JM

[And by the prophecy of Jim Moriarty, there are three knocks. Tap. Tap. Tap. And if that door should open, Crane will be welcomed to a very peculiar appearance. Not the sharpness of a good suit, but Jim Moriarty in loose and comfortable fabric. That wasn't Jim Moriarty lurking through the halls, but Richard Brook. Just giving someone a friendly visit, that's all. Yet the reptilian movement of his neck is dead give away, tilting for better view. He's leaning against the wall by the door, patient and content.]

Hello.

[notmydiagnosis]

[ It's like Christmas, seeing him like this. Crane is still in his suit, simply because it's the only way he feels he can blend in--nice, earthy tones. Forgettable. Crane likes being forgettable. Moriarty, it seems, can't help but burn bright and loud and announce that yes, he is smart and he is the best there is.

Somehow, Crane isn't sure it's an ego thing. It's something else. ]

Mr. Moriarty.

[ He lets the other in, closing the door behind them. He dislikes lack of privacy. Now it's them. All alone.

"Don't flirt with me, Dr. Jonathan Crane."

A shiver moves through his spine, and to cover it he clears his throat. ]

Didn't think you'd actually come.

[spider]

[He can be such a rude sport, immediately brushing across to sit himself down. Simple actions like that were in his territorial nature. Sherlock Holmes received such behavior, now you are getting it too, Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Finding comfort in his place, he rolls his neck from tension aching his body. Finally, behind walls that do not call for Richard. He peeks up at the other man, absentmindedly tugging at the edge of his sleeve. Such an itchy guise.]

Oh, a schedule is clear when you're storyteller bound by space itself. And I should be the one who is surprised by the invitation, really.

[notmydiagnosis]

You're never surprised. [ A question in a statement and it's with some hesitation that Crane sits next to the other. He likes his personal space and it's quite a large step for him to sit next to someone, but here he is. He hesitates, and then leans in, gaze serious. ]

Just like you've never been scared.

[spider]

[His movement stops. That statement alone worms into his mind, invading the bit of uneasiness in his memory. Yes, he did admit wanting to return to that time, the grand premiere of The Fall of Sherlock Holmes. He remembers the slight breeze, but also the echoing laughter of a dying man. It chilled him to the core and choked every bit of composure he had. He needed to turn and ask "what did I miss?!"

But nothing, absolutely nothing. He's here with that mystery, something Jim Moriarty doesn't quite understand. Sherlock is another who laughed in his face and got away. The feeling swelled in his stomach, but he couldn't quite identify it. Was that fear? The fear that he was out smarted? Defeated? Ordinary?

If it weren't for that thought, he would take into account this distance Crane seems so comfortable with. But he doesn't move, narrowing his vision.]

Never been, never will.

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane catches it. And that's enough to have him move closer, inches apart. Examining the other's face, staring. Staring, trying to memorize every single bit of it even though the flash is gone. ]

I was right the first time. [ It's a whisper, but it's hushed and it's there, Crane looming over Moriarty. ]

It's being ordinary.

[spider]

[Another challenge. The feeling dissolves into feverish anger, ready and keen on distinguishing the threat. He could easily reach and snap his neck. Shove his glasses down his throat. Tear his goddamn flesh until he's the one screaming to stop.

But he doesn't, good god, he doesn't. It's a secret thrill that makes this life worth living, those few gleaming individuals that just push. The ultimate distraction.]

You would like that— [A huff of hot breath trapped between of them.] —wouldn't you?

[notmydiagnosis]

That's why you're hung up on other people. Different people. [ Both of them are close, so close, and Crane can only lean in more, thriving on this entire situation. ]

And I've figured you out, haven't I, Mr. Moriarty?

[spider]

[Now a cadaverous smile, very still. So still. There's a long, weighty pause, but the chilly silence shatters with a sharp inhale of excited breath.]

Tease.

[Possessive hands snake upwards starting at his chest, smoothing along until he feels flesh at the nape of Crane's neck. He leaves it there, lightly tapping as the snake suddenly mutates into a spider. But keep focused, that inch of space is closing with lips brushing against his.

So.

Still.

The spider's legs tap again. Three times.]

[notmydiagnosis]

[ The kiss catches him off guard but it's all he can do to keep himself from pulling back--and, alarmingly, he isn't quite sure he wants to. Because his mind is screaming at him to stop and he's having flashbacks of birds, birds everywhere but he's also leaning in, that tap-tap-tap on his neck somehow relaxing him despite how tense his shoulders are. When he draws away it's only to breathe. ]

You're the one that suggested I was flirting with you, Mr. Moriarty.

[ And just like that he has his lips against the other's, hand slowly snaking up the loose fabric of his shirt. ]

[spider]

[He makes a meaningless affirmative noise and breaks to speak. For clarification, of course.]

You were, but you didn't let me finish.

"Don't flirt with me, Dr. Jonathan Crane—"

[His kisses have soft pressure, but it's not long before he deepens it to the point their teeth might clatter. A tap suddenly digging in flesh like needles and a kiss nipping at his lower lip, craving for that warm trickle of blood.]

"—because I just might flirt back."

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane has never been kissed before. It's such a strange feeling, he thinks, but it's good, it's sinful, it's... Terrifying. In a strange way it scares Crane but that causes him to react accordingly--he lets slip a bit of a moan and pushes himself forward, nails scraping against the other's nipple, crossing over to just above his heart and raking downwards. His hand stops at the other's hip and while he doesn't do anything with it he holds it, pushing down in it. This isn't the gentle type, he already knows that. Crane can barely behave on his good days, anyway. ]

Good.

[ It's breathy and he uses his free hand to grab the other by his hair, however short, pulling it back so teeth can scrap at that beautiful, long neck before murmuring: ]

That's very good.

[spider]

[There is a slight twitch of his body as he eases into every sensation. Scraping, grating, grinding. The murmur is a feathered kiss of air, the sting that jerks his head to hush his cry. He won't allow such a sound to escape. Instead, his cry turns into an amused huff of laughter.]

Antsy man.

[He reaches for the hand at his hip, preparing for a struggle. Honestly, thinking he can be the one who tugs and dominates. As usual, it was all a game. A flirtatious game that he aimed to win.]

[notmydiagnosis]

[ For someone who's never done this before, Crane likes to think he's hiding that fact very well. The hand on his hip is reached at and it's hard for him not to pull away because he's been taught things like obedience and that's been drilled into his head.

The moment he realizes this, however, he pulls his hand back down to settle it on the other's hip, biting the other's lip. ]

[spider]

[Almoooooooost—and god damn it. The moment hitches at a lingering groan, quiet and hidden at the back of his throat. As much as he should reach and snap his wrists, the tips of his fingers glide over the flesh, feeling every bone and every curve that grips his hold. Silent warnings about this hold Crane has chosen, ghostly of a warning that may threaten while betraying for more. Less gentle. Bruising. Fiercer. He's eying him now, with a cold, calculating look. And he breathes, dripping in irritability.

Does he have to do everything himself?

The few buttons and film hold of Jonathan Crane's clothing keep temporary hold of his own attention. Button by button, stripping away the layer between them to reveal slick skin. He works his way down, grazing every inch, greedy and afraid for a lack of opportunities. But the tie, no, he leaves that there. Actually giving it a sharp tug while pressing his face into his collarbone, inhaling. See what you are making me do, asshole?]

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane's breath stops and all motion ceases, even if Moriarty is enjoying every moment of it. A part of Crane knows very well that the other will be pleased to know one of his hangups is getting completely naked. It comes from years of great-grandmother, years of teasing, years of fear and self-hatred. The tie is yanked and it brings him from reality, eyes wide, trying to shove the other off of him. ]

Stop.

[ But it's laced with lust--Crane doesn't want to stop, which is exactly why despite shoving him away hands are slowly moving to the other's pants, carefully, skittish. He's shaking, he realizes.

He's scared. ]

[spider]

[He could snap. He could let this situation take a turn for the worst and end up with something as dire as murder itself. All because of one simple word: 'Stop.' Dared to be uttered and really, who tells Jim Moriarty to stop? The dead, that's who.

But he doesn't react much upon it, not this time. Already quite worked up, he doesn't really see the point as he's shoved slightly back. If anything, the contradictory move back just indicates there's a bit of a power struggle here.

Like. Hell.]

Serious now? Are you a saint, you would much rather top than--

[And the slight movement in his tremble catches his eye. Something he didn't quite expect to ever see, Jonathan Crane in rare form, full of a strange fear layered in neediness. Pleasing, soooo pleasing that he can't help but giggle to himself, gently pressing his form closer into his. Shiftiness and friction that dares, complete with a voice that sings:]

You don't really get around, do you?~

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane licks his lips, trying to draw back. He's compelled to stay, compelled to watch. He wants Moriarty and Moriarty wants him but their entire relationship was based on mutual distrust and slinking in the shadows.

The giggling reminds him of Squires.

Crane closes his eyes, wondering why and how he's simultaneously terrified and yet leaning closer, grabbing Moriarty by the soft fabric of his hoodie and pulling him closer into a kiss. ]

[spider]

[He couldn't help but smile, pressing it into the kiss. Now he willed himself to invade further, a tongue slipping between Jim’s lips, twisting around and teasing the other man’s tongue, greedy for drawing out low moans. But their clothes—a barrier from what he apparently intended to claim. Just a layer that needed removal, as Richard Brook to Jim Moriarty and Dr. Jonathan Crane to his own. Another reason to pull back, much to his annoyance.]

Clothes. Off.

[A demand from a spoiled brat, matched with eyes that declared "you're mine now." The King has spoken and he's not one to let go. Otherwise, heads will roll. It would be disastrous to end this relationship in such a way, so why not comply?

A finger finds itself trailing up Crane's neck, smoothing over his chin and meeting at his plush lips.]

Pleeeeease, Jonathan?

[He's the one wearing the crown, so OBEY.]

[notmydiagnosis]

[ It takes a slight bit of prodding--only slight--and it's that sweet, sweet voice that startles him more than it should, making his mind move back, back, back--to his great grandmother, and how bad things would happen the moment that syrupy voice came to bear.

He slowly loosened his tie, and the blazer came off. The sweater vest as well and it was only until he was in his white button-down and slacks and he's already leaning in for another kiss, unable to take his hands off of one Jim Moriarty despite the glare. ]

rollssss SORRY BABY so much creepiness

[spider]

[His own meet to soothe into hollow of his cheeks, lingering with false tenderness. The tips of his fingers gingerly scrape by their own accord, uncared for, as his focus is a bit more thankful for the uncomposed motion of tonsil hockey. But it's like a knock, a thought without pith—similar cheekbones. Hell, he's multi-tasking in a performance that barely requires coherent thought. There's the soft sound of his breathing through parted lips, gestures that trick into caring. It's gentle as it is nearly enough to lullaby him into snoring. A quick fact, there is the odd phenomena of a spider eating another spider, but that would imply something more. Specificity in species, who is performing the mating dance, and well, what would happen if something goes wrong?

He likes to make that clear, first defined by the afflictive set of motions: A push and hands that intend to smother all sweet breath that struggles to enter; choking. He removes one to begin slipping off his own clothes, a set of motions that display a desperation to be fast, quick, and to the point. Weight on top of the other man, he leans in and breathes against his ear, now intending to tease his nerves.]

I.

[Those damned hands again, tracing along until it stops at his trousers. Oh, nice, that was kind of you to keep on. There's the hasty sound of pants unzipping without permission.]

Will tear you apart.

uh hello crane literally gets off on fear it is OH. KAY.

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane's breath hitches--not that he has a choice--and it's Moriarty's words, the way he's holding him--Crane's mind is jumbled nerves and odd connections and fear, pure fear, and he's never felt so elated, so turned on than this moment.

And still, all he can say is this: ]

Let go of me.

[ But don't, Moriarty, don't--Crane has never been so secretly thrilled in his entire life.

[spider]

[His response is a delighted chuckle into his clavicle, briefly sucking bruises into every manageable spot. They are little kisses that trace a map where he has claimed, tugging away fabric to expose inch after inch of warm flushed skin.

Eventually his interest shifts, now with distracting, sleazy eyes blinking up at him.]

Alright, if you say so.~

[Hush of words following in that Cheshire cat grin, plunging into a deeper insanity that calls for torment. Pressing himself up by the chest, he tauntingly causes his lower half to push forward, creating delicious friction. His voice is lilting, slightly raspy from a throat that hardly holds back a moan:]

If you change your mind, you could always beg.

[notmydiagnosis]

I'm not begging.

[ But he's simultaneously urging to get free, to buck his hips (which he does), and the lets out a grunt that's less of a moan and more of a growl, grabbing the other by the hair and pulling him upwards, eyes narrowed.

he wants nothing more than to smack that smirk off his face but he's never been so turned on in his entire life. ]

[spider]

[He would welcome that petty physical challenge, inwardly. Just as he tolerates a groan, missing his chance to deafen it while biting down on his own swollen, bloodied lower lip. Damn.

Meeting that look with a sniff of disdain, he lets his hands enthusiastically continue their process, tugging both thumbs under the waistband of trousers.]

Sweetheart, you're playing hard to get. [A beat. Ha. Ha.] Wellllll, we could always glare into each others' eyes? That's an entertaining way to get off.

[His voice drips with a sickly sweet tone. Hon-est-ly, he's looking a bit restless, squirming in this bullied hold to find contact.]

Oh wait, you prefer screamy, waily activity. That's intensely different.

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane's response is a buck of the hips, getting a little, tiny bit of leverage that makes him press up against Moriarty and actually sit up, both of them half-undressed, breathing. Panting. ]

You will scream for me, Jim.

[spider]

[Swallowing down a sound, he buries his face into Crane's shoulder. Sweat begins to bead his pale body, a drip streaming by a dark smirk. One swift movement and he's pulling him closer, moaning into his mouth, sucking on his tongue, drinking him in like a man lost in the desert. He pauses with a sharp inhale of excited breath, following in a chuckle.]

Kinky.

[Searching hands eventually find their way, ripping constraints to curl tapered fingers around his cock, running smooth strokes down its length. One withdraws to remove his boxers.]

We'll have to see. [—A smooth, entrancing voice—] I bet you ten quid you're screaming "Jimmy" first~