#iammoriarty

“Oh? For some reason, I doubt that.” Jim shifted where he stood, head tilted, tongue running over the back of his teeth. He couldn’t care less about what the other thought he knew - he didn’t - although the fact that he’d been watching him without being caught was worrying. Keeping his eyes fixed on Sebastian’s and his voice measured, he continued. “I highly doubt it. Go on. Tell me what you know, if you’re so confident. For every thing you get wrong, I’ll take a finger.”

Send “Pin!” for your muse to pin mine on the floor.

It was late, and Blaine was on his own, walking back from a more distasteful job farther up the street. This was more of an alley than a road, barely wide enough for a single car to fit through. The air was thick with the smell of garbage and another, muskier scent, most likely produced by the several pairs of men rutting together against the wall. It was what one would usually find when they walked through the back exit of one of London’s less classy gay bars. It was also Blaine’s workplace.

This occupation was far from ideal, but Blaine planned to stick with it. He’d had other plans for himself, back when he was happier and naive and with a complete, living family, but right now those seemed hopelessly out of his reach. Whoring himself out put food on the table and a roof over his head; more than that, Blaine was good at it. If only it could actually get him somewhere higher in life.

As he approached the end of the road, where it branched off onto a much louder, much brighter road, Blaine stopped in his tracks. A man’s silhouette had appeared in front of him, blocking the way. He couldn’t make out a face, only that the man was about Blaine’s own height and build. The hairs on the back of Blaine’s neck stood on end, and every nerve in his body was itching to get away. He kept his cool, though, and when he spoke, he managed to sound calm.