Sebastian's legs felt wobbly long after he fell into the seat of the car, but that didn't stop him from glaring boldly at Jim the entire ride home. The car was posh, incredibly so, but Sebastian wasn't all that surprised. The man had just spent £25,000 on a human being and another small fortune on…sex toys.

A lump came to Sebastian's throat as he eyed the heaps of shopping bags between him and Jim Moriarty.

"You're awfully quiet," Jim noted, not looking at his glare, but instead out the window. "I imagine it's been a while since you've been in London, am I right? Such a different place than Afghanistan…or India."

He was about to retort when he realized that he'd never told Jim his name. "How did you—"

Jim rolled his eyes and finally bothered to roll his head toward Sebastian. "Oh, please, honey. As if your dog tags weren't a plain giveaway." He leaned toward Sebastian and pulled the chain from underneath Sebastian's shirt.

Fuck, if Sebastian's hands weren't bound behind him he would've punched the man. Those were his! His one true possession, and now this soulless, dark-haired freak was rubbing his fingers all over them.

"See here?"

"It just says my name and rank," Sebastian growled. "Stop fucking touching that!" He yanked back, trying to pull the tag from Jim's grasp, but Jim only tsked and grabbed Sebastian's jaw in his hand, squeezing it painfully.

"Unless you don't fancy your teeth, sweetheart, keep talking. Or you can shut up, guard those pearly whites—" He forced Sebastian's mouth open and ran his thumb along Sebastian's teeth. Sebastian grunted and tried to yank free. "—And you might even learn something."

The man's smug little smile was infuriating, but Sebastian clenched his jaw shut. "The make of this dog tag shows it was made in the British Empire, which Afghanistan isn't a part of, but you can tell by the dated typeface that it wasn't made in England. That means you likely did your training and a few years of service in India…correct?"

"Ten years in India," Sebastian said tersely. He didn't know why, but it bothered him that this man knew about India. His time in India was his. The last thing he wanted was this asshole butting into his past.

"Ten years?" Jim let out a low whistle, his thin eyebrows rising. Despite his rage, Sebastian stared at him in fascination. The man had one of the most expressive faces he'd ever seen. It made a jarring contrast with that slithery, bored voice. "My, my, Sebby, just how long have you been in the military for? No, no, shhh, don't answer that. Let Daddy guess." He pressed a couple fingers over Sebastian's lips as he let his dark eyes bore into him.

Daddy? Oh, fuck.

Jim sighed finally. "Mm. Dull. Left at 18, couldn't wait to join…lifelong dream, right? Hated school, had a knack for athletics…going by your build I'd say…you played football in school? No…rugby." His mouth twisted into a smile. "You don't get scars like that from football." His pale fingers moved to trace a scar across Sebastian's nose, making him flinch.

"How the fuck do you know that's not from the army?" Sebastian spat, furious that Jim was astonishingly and impossibly right. He had gotten the scar from rugby, when he was 15. He was still bitter that Jacob Lewis had gotten away with that foul.

"Too old. You've had it for ages. Your face grew up with it," Jim said. "So, if you went to India for ten years—hm. I'm guessing 15 years of service total at least, correct?"

"17," Sebastian amended, then felt immediately ashamed that he had voluntarily supplied Jim with any information about his past. "What the hell does it matter how long I served for?" He expected a reprimand, but Jim just smiled, then cheekily began to whistle "Getting To Know You" from the The King and I.

Sebastian leaned back in his seat, heaving a sigh. This had to be some kind of sick nightmare.

Jim's home was as posh as his car. Sebastian stepped into the chandeliered foyer, his hands still bound behind his back. "There must be some good money in being a consulting criminal, huh, Jim Moriarty?" he said, and immediately received a hard smack to his face as an answer.

Jim turned on his heel in front of him, looking up at him disdainfully. "From here on out you will address me as 'master.' Your life is mine, Seb. Disobey me and there will be consequences."

Sebastian stared down at him, his gray eyes hard and cold. His nails dug into his palms behind his back. He refused to reiterate his phrase with the correct term, so Jim led him through the foyer into a large living room, the most noticeable feature being an enormous fireplace big enough for a child to stand in. Nearby was a polished grand piano with Italian leather furniture arranged in front of it.

"Kitchen's through there. I won't be making you cook anything, unless it's for yourself, since I prefer to prepare my food myself. Molly generally does the clean-up, so I doubt you'll need the kitchen much."

"Who's Molly?"

Jim shot Sebastian a warning look, and so Sebastian tacked on, furious, "Master."

"Another slave of mine," Jim drawled. "She's likely in the mortuary right now. The little thing's got a surprising talent for handling corpses. Then again, from her past history, it's hardly surprising."

"Sorry, the mortuary? Your slave has a job?" Sebastian frowned. He couldn't see why Moriarty would want one of his slaves to work at a morgue.

"My mortuary. In the cellar." Jim smiled tightly. "I'm sure you'll see it soon, Sebby."

Sebastian cringed again at the nickname. "Why in fuck's name do you have a mortuary in your cellar?"

"Language, Sebastian," Jim smirked, circling him. He casually plucked a few of Sebastian's arm hairs, making him twitch. "I find corpses endlessly fascinating. Empty shells, great mysteries in and of themselves. You can learn a lot about life and death just by looking at them. When I'm bored I always like a new specimen to dissect. Molly keeps the bodies and the parts in stock and looks after them for little old me."

"Why bother with me, then, when you already have a slave who can provide you with all your creepy corpse needs…master?"

Jim strode over to the piano and caressed his fingertips over the keys before walking back toward Sebastian. "You're just leaping into the questions, aren't you?" He grinned, then frowned, wrinkling his nose. "Speaking of corpses, you smell like one. When was the last time you bathed?"

"In Afghanistan, three days ago," Sebastian said. He hadn't realized it until he said it. He couldn't decide which had more appeal, the thought of a long hot shower, or the fact that his current smell was annoying Jim.

"What a dirty boy," Jim smirked, grabbing Sebastian's shirt sleeve and leading him up a wide staircase and down a hall to a bathroom bigger than Sebastian's old flat's living room. As Jim circled around Sebastian to uncuff him, he murmured, "Don't forget to be a good tiger. Know that if you try anything when I set you loose, I will have you drugged, restrained and isolated for weeks. Your muscles might atrophy and you might go insane, but such is the price of insolence. He leaned closer to whisper in Sebastian's ear, "And I'm much quicker than you think."

Sebastian really hated this man. When his wrists were free he resisted the urge to put the smaller man in a choke hold—his Adam's apple was prominent, as if inviting Sebastian to strangle him. Instead, he rubbed the raw, numb skin and stared at Jim stonily. "Are you planning on watching me shower, master?"

Jim's eyes danced. Well, thank God he was amusing him. Sebastian grit his teeth and Jim finally shrugged and said, "Nah. Not much point. I already saw what you look like." He winked cheekily at Sebastian and slapped his arse. "And what your face looks like when you climax. Actually, that was a bit obstructed by the gag and the blindfold. Hm…" Jim trailed off, thinking, and Sebastian felt his face growing hot. The last thing he needed was a reminder the mortifying yet undeniably intense encounter at the sex shop.

"Scrub yourself down, and be thorough. Behind the ears, between the toes, all of it. When you're done, report back downstairs and we'll go over my expectations. Is that clear?"

Sebastian nodded stiffly. "Yes…master," he said.

"Good boy. You learn quickly." Jim stepped back and out the door. "Oh, and put your clothes outside the door before you hop in. Ta."

It would only a matter of time before Sebastian punched Jim in the face. And it would be so, so satisfying, no matter what the consequences ended up being. He smiled, imagining the smaller man clutching a bloody nose as he peeled out of his filthy military fatigues, casting them on a heap outside the door.

The bathtub was enormous and ornate, and the water heated up in an instant, a far cry from the unreliable water heating at his old post in Kabul. He stepped under the hot spray and closed his eyes, enjoying the luxury of it as best as he could. He finally snapped to and scrubbed his body with military precision, trying to rid himself of the last remnants of Afghan dust as well as any trace from the sex shop.

Once he'd stepped out, thoroughly warmed and scrubbed, he toweled off, then popped his hand out the door to grab his pile of clothes. They were gone. What the hell? Filthy they might be, but they were his. Sebastian opened the door wider, looking for a replacement set of clothes. The hall was empty.

Furious, he wrapped his towel around his waist and headed downstairs. He could hear soft notes from the piano. At first he thought it was a recording, but when he entered, he saw Jim at the piano, playing with ease. A large fire was roaring in the hearth.

"Where the fuck are my clothes?"

Jim didn't look up from the keys, swaying slightly with the music. "Tyger! Tyger! burning bright, in the forests of the night…" he muttered over the music.

"Yeah, it's really funny and all that, but what do you expect me to wear?" Sebastian said, hating how invisible he felt.

"What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?" Jim finally looked over at Sebastian. He ended his song abruptly and stood up, looking Sebastian over. He cocked his head and then pointed to the fireplace. "Your clothes are in there, where they belong. Why do you need clothes, Sebastian Moran?"

Sebastian looked down at him, furious. "Because they're clothes! I'm not a fucking nudist."

"Well, you're not going anywhere. And you've nothing to hide from me…" Jim's hand trailed down Sebastian's muscled stomach to grab at the corner of his towel. He slowly unwrapped it from Sebastian's waist, holding the edges as he admired the sight of Sebastian's nakedness, then let the towel drop to the floor. Sebastian stood stiffly, staring ahead, as if he were in the drill line. His back was warm from the fire, but his front was chilled and goosepimpled from being naked and fresh from the shower.

Jim let his fingers brush over Sebastian's skin as he circled behind him. Sebastian felt him trace over his tiger tattoo. "Where did you get this?" Jim asked, tracing the curve of the tiger tail that curled down the side of Sebastian's back.

"India," Sebastian said tersely. He couldn't bear this tension. If Jim wanted to fuck him, he'd rather have it over with. He hated how impossible it was to read Jim, how everything he did put him on edge in fear of what would happen next.

"Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?" Jim quoted.

"Very clever, that, William Blake," Sebastian growled.

"Sebby, I'm shocked! You know 'Tyger Tyger'?"

"Yes, and you were playing Chopin on the piano. I'm not an animal." Even if he was being treated like one.

"Cultured, gorgeous, and talented…allegedly. That's what I was promised when I bought you, anyway. Military skill sets. Any other skill sets that might come in handy?" Jim asked lowly, and Sebastian could feel Jim's breath, hot against his skin. His spine tingled as Jim stroked his fingers down it, then he flinched as Jim's fingers brushed against his bum crack, slipping between his cheeks. He jolted away, whirling around and automatically hitting Jim in the stomach.

Jim doubled over, catching his breath, then looked up in shock. Sebastian was trying to plan a next move—he couldn't very well run out into the street stark naked without drawing some attention—but he didn't have time to think about it when Jim kept himself lowered and rammed himself into Sebastian, knocking him to the floor. Jim immediately grabbed a fire poker from the stand by the fireplace, holding either end and pinning Sebastian's throat with it. "Bad move, sweetheart. Looks like I have some taming to do, Tiger."

Sebastian yanked his hands up, trying to pry the bar off his windpipe, but Jim was pressing down so hard that he could hardly breathe. He twitched underneath Jim, seeing spots before his eyes. The last thing he saw was Jim's grinning face swimming above him, and a sickening, fading croon of, "Good boooyyy…"