I've never known you to be anything approaching 'understanding'. [He wriggles in muted distress at Jim's hold on him, pulling his coat tight around himself as though it would aid in protecting him.]
I don't have anything I want to try with you. [He added for good measure.]
Really now? Not even one little thing? You are being such a broken record. *He tears one of Sherlock's hand away from his coat and slips a hand inside.*
You mean you can't possibly imagine taking your frustrations out on the one you like the least and possibly detest? Too bad. Hate sex is the best thing ever. *Moriarty shrugs and then flicks Sherlock's chest with his pointer finger.*
No. [He replies, twitching when Jim's hand moves down his front. As much as he was denying it, an odd thrill shoots up his spine at the ideas Jim was implanting. He quashes it just as soon as it makes itself known.]
It's all just chemical reactions. Boring. Predictable. [He replies in an attempt to explain away his disinterest, even though his opinion wasn't exactly informed.]
And just how would you know? *Moriarty runs his palm up and down the material of Sherlock's shirt. Testing, probing, pushing the 'immovable' was like catnip to him.*
I know enough. [He replies, dropping his arms so Jim could continue, only because it was warming him up a bit. He retained that he could keep his composure, no matter what Jim tried.]
Tell me you aren't warming up more. I mean, it isn't like I am groping anything inappropriately now am I? *True enough, he hasn't touched Sherlock's genitals and he hasn't so much as tweaked a nipple. Not that it wasn't still on the table in his mind.*
The rocking is doing that. You know it's true. Warming you up? Say it. *snorts in amusement*
I doubt you've ever done anything considered appropriate in your life. [His hands move to grip Jim's hips in an attempt to halt his movement, hoping to clear his mind of the fog that had settled over him so suddenly. He had spent his life trying to keep from being a slave in his own body, but it was betraying him, enjoying the warmth and hardly appropriate contact too much for his liking.]
Well, I am now, so you better appreciate it dear Sherlock. *And score another victory. The crowd goes wild in Moriarty's mind as hands try stilling his hips. The palm on Sherlock's chest listens to the rapid heartbeat. He looks his nemesis in the eye with an 'I know your feeling something' expression.*
Hardly. [He replies, exhaling a held breath when he manages to still Jim's motions. He just glares at him when he gives him that look, wondering if this was how it felt for the people he deduced. He didn't like the role reversal one bit.]
I know what you're trying to do. It's not going to work. [He adds, trying to remain unaffected even as he heard the racing of his own heart in his ears and felt warmth start to flood throughout his body.]
Tsk. Such gratitude. *Moriarty continues rubbing chest everywhere but over the nipple area. He was mildly excited, as he had no such restrictions when it came to sexual proclivities. But he kept himself reigned in for awhile longer.
Oh of course not, because you're such a bastion of Vestal strength. *He laughs quietly.*
[He relaxes, just slightly, when Jim seems to actually be just trying to warm him up, noting that he was avoiding any comprimising areas. He narrows his eyes at his psuedo compliment, sure there was something he was missing in what Jim said.]
We should lie down. Better heat transference. [He mumurs, laying on his back and hoping against hope that he wouldn't regret this.]
Took you long enough. Mmph... *Annnd Moriarty goes pliable, allowing himself to bend forward and lay chest to chest. Good luck with not feeling anything now, he muses.*
[He gives a soft sigh when Jim moves on top of him, grateful for the extra heat provided in this position. He adjusts their blanket, wrapping it snugly around them and swearing inwardly that he would never admit that he was enjoying this closeness beyond the simple addition of heat. The feeling of another body pressed against his was something he had never considered he would want, but there was something strangely appealing about the fact that he could feel Jim's heartbeat and smell his cologne distinctly when they were this close.]
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I don't have anything I want to try with you. [He added for good measure.]
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You mean you can't possibly imagine taking your frustrations out on the one you like the least and possibly detest? Too bad. Hate sex is the best thing ever. *Moriarty shrugs and then flicks Sherlock's chest with his pointer finger.*
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It's all just chemical reactions. Boring. Predictable. [He replies in an attempt to explain away his disinterest, even though his opinion wasn't exactly informed.]
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And just how would you know? *Moriarty runs his palm up and down the material of Sherlock's shirt. Testing, probing, pushing the 'immovable' was like catnip to him.*
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All right then. Tell me exactly ...what you know.*He begins rocking , continuing the palm rub. *
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What are you doing? [He hissed, ignoring his query and wishing there was somewhere he could retreat to where he wouldn't freeze to death.]
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The rocking is doing that. You know it's true. Warming you up? Say it. *snorts in amusement*
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I know what you're trying to do. It's not going to work. [He adds, trying to remain unaffected even as he heard the racing of his own heart in his ears and felt warmth start to flood throughout his body.]
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Oh of course not, because you're such a bastion of Vestal strength. *He laughs quietly.*
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We should lie down. Better heat transference. [He mumurs, laying on his back and hoping against hope that he wouldn't regret this.]
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