Dealing with Moriarty has never been easy. The man had a way about him that brewed the purest aggression in me. Not necessarily anger, understand, just the desire to smack him about. Bruise him up. He'd have been better off on a leash with a muzzle most days, but he was the boss after all. Even when he would throw plates at me and stalk around like a maniac looking for someone to strangle, he was the boss. At least by contractual obligation. Technicality, that. Especially when he expected me to keep him in good health.

The first day that I'd smacked him was the day I figured my time was up. He'd been snarling and destroying everything he could get his hands on. A regular whirlwind he was in that state. I was sitting out of the way, trying to enjoy my tea without getting shards of glass in it for once. The sounds of chaos behind me had stopped. Even his heavy breathing was silent now. Dangerous. I had no doubt he'd turned his attention to me now that he'd trashed everything else. I was the only thing remaining untouched by his outburst.

I made to look around, not that I managed to get that far with the sudden presence of something sharp scraping against the side of my neck. I could hear his breathing now as well as feel it puffing against the back of my head. I cleared my throat. "You gonna kill me now, boss?" I'd meant to sound neutral, but my sarcasm rang through the words. He gave a little giggle, the kind that sounds pointy.

I was not about to die with that little fuck laughing at me. It took only a fraction of a second for me to elbow him in the stomach and face him before I shoved him backwards. He dropped whatever he was holding¬ probably a piece of one of the Ming vases that he went through like paper cups. He scrambled to his feet, spittle flying from his lips as he littered me with expletives, hands clawed as he tried to rip my face off. I cranked back my arm and my palm hit him like it was a wooden club and he was the defenseless baby seal.

He looked the part too as his whole visage trembled from the impact. It was easy to forget he was fragile while he was in a fit. I saw him stumble and fall as though in slow motion, probably from my own disbelief that I'd finally...disciplined him. Oh, but the feeling in my chest was fiery satisfaction. There's no denying, it felt so good. The heat of my victory seemed to radiate into the air around me. I hadn't felt this in a long time.

I made my eyes focus on him again, taking in the way he was half splayed and half trying to sit up. The hot pink aura on his face in the shape of my hand only made him seem smaller. His eyes were large and glassy as he looked at me, quiet breaths moving him. It was like I'd flipped his off switch, every ounce of his vitriolic mood having fled. And then just as viciously as I'd hit him, what I'd just done struck me.

I'd just fucking knocked Moriarty flat. Moriarty. The Moriarty. I might as well have said my goodbyes then and there, if I'd actually had anyone I'd wanted to know I was about to die a horrible death. I stood there. He sat there. We were quiet. There was nothing that could possibly happen that could break this silence. And then he moaned. Moaned the most debauched sound I'd ever heard.

The sound struck a cord in my center that seemed directly tethered to my cock. God no, I thought to myself. I would not be tempted into anything more. I'd always known Moriarty was a bottom. Just sensed it. Say what you will about Tops being coercive, but you're lying if you say bottoms can't manipulate just as effectively. I turned away from him and went back to my tea.

I heard the shuffling behind me, praying that he'd just stalk off to sulk somewhere else. Luck had never been a friend of mine. The sound had made it's way until he was right next to me on his hands and knees. I wasn't going look at him. I was not. I w- I looked. I looked down at him, at his damn face with it's huge eyes and slightly open mouth. He stared up at me, rising to sit back on his heels, the hand print swelling. He had a way of begging without actually begging. He presented himself in a way that indicated what he wanted. What he expected me to do. What he wanted me to do. What I wanted me to do.

I grabbed his chin roughly, smacking him again on the other side of his face. My grip prevented him from falling. His hand curled around my leg prevented him from falling. I was fucked now. Now that he'd drawn my urges to the surface, mixed us up together. I thought maybe if I stopped it now I could cease the demand:supply chain that was already solidifying in the heat in my chest. This was just one more way that he was trying to use me. One more way for him to exert his power by forcing me to use mine.

This pissed me off. I wasn't that easy. I roughly tossed off his touch, fingers gripping into his hair. He moaned again. God fucking damn him. I lead him on his knees across the floor, through the sharp bits of debris that he'd strewn there. He whimpered and pouted at the treatment, having tried to encourage me to strike him again. I pushed his face down within inches of the ruined vase next to the armchair. "You're going to clean this mess up, aren't you?"

He looked up at me, eyes defiant again. This wasn't what he wanted from me. Fuck, I was livid. I could have growled. Instead I fetched the handbroom and dustpan, tossing them into his lap. Moriarty glared and shrugged them off. My hand struck out at his face again before returning to his hair. "You will clean up your mess," I hissed down by his ear. Guided by my grip he swept up the shards and bits before him. This also felt good. I shouldn't have let it.

I lead him around like this until everything was straightened up as much as possible. By now he was sniveling, eyes bloodshot. I sat myself on the sofa, tilting his head back so that he would have to glare at me face to face. "This is how it's gonna go. You fuck the place up, you clean it. I'm a bodyguard, not a nanny Dom to coo over your tantrums. You're going to shape up, or I'm going to make you." When he failed to acknowledge my words, I nodded his head for him. "Yes, sir. I will not act like a bloody toddler. Will you?"

He sniffed and blinked back some tears before nodding his head on his own. I let my grip relax, petting his head to wind him down a bit. He closed his eyes again, looking like an attention starved puppy. "Good. Up," I said, sitting him on the sofa beside me. He waited for me to dictate the next move. Already an improvement. "Lay down across my lap."

I administered a good volley of swats to his behind while he buried his head against the sofa. More a reward than a punishment, making sure the message hit home. With each impact I knew that I was sealing a bond. Yet another contract, this one underlying every other we had. My anger curbed and his mood mended, there was a quiet sense of completion. A quiet sense of the depth of this whole fiasco. Once again, Moriarty got exactly what he fucking wanted out of me.