This is the disclaimer. I wrote this for fun. That is really the ONLY reason. It was inspired by the antics of me and my friend at college as we made cookies for a bake sale. I wrote it because I have a strange fascination with Moriarty as of late, and because I really wanted some Seb/Jim fics that were not slash. I like to think of them like I think of Sherlock and John, just a really close, really strange platonic relationship. Only Seb and Jim are evil. Yeah.
SO this is probably OOC, but it's mostly for the giggles so yeah. Enjoy XD.
"What smells so good?"
"Finally out of your coma are you?" Sebastian Moran said nonchalantly, not turning to face his boss, who was standing in the doorway, looking much more ruffled than his normal Westwood look. He was wearing a pair of loose sweatpants and a wife-beater, a purple silk dressing gown half hanging off of him.
"Yes mum, I'm fine thank you." Jim said mockingly, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a carton of orange juice, drinking straight from the container. He leaned against the counter, watching the sniper as he continued to work with a creamy substance in the bowl in front of him. He stared at it, as though it was some foreign substance that was going to come to life and attack them both.
Seb noticed Jim's eyes on him and glanced over, not stopping his use of the metal whisk he'd been employing. He snorted. "It's not going to bite you you know."
"Ha ha." Jim sneered. "What is it?"
"Yes Jim, it's the sugary paste that people put on baked things."
Jim stood there for a moment, seemingly transfixed by the thick substance that was now oozing down the sides of the mixing bowl. "Why would anyone want to eat that? And more to the point, why are you making it?"
"Because sugar cookies are boring without frosting, and I didn't have anything to do. Seriously, have you never noticed how much more gets done when you wake up from your binge induced comas?"
"What coma? It takes a much lower level of brain wave to constitute a coma, and I can assure you, my brain has never reached those levels. Besides, name one time when I got up and you were actually doing something useful." Jim set the carton down, using his hands to push himself up to sit on the counter, elbows resting on his knees and his attention fixed on Moran. Sebastian was still working on the frosting, putting it aside only long enough to take the cookies out of the oven.
"Just because you don't consider it useful doesn't mean it's not." Seb pointed out. "If I didn't clean my equipment properly it wouldn't be ready to go when you get the whim to shoot someone. Or when someone catches a whim to shoot you. Which-" He said, setting the cookies down on top of the stove and taking of the oven mitt. "Has been happening a LOT more often." Moran gave Jim a meaningful look.
Jim shrugged, stealing one of the cooling cookies off of the rack and eating it, waving his hand to dismiss the sniper's implications. The temperature didn't seem to bother him. "You loove it." He drawled. "Gives you something to do."
"Well, maybe once in a while I like to do things like this."
Jim wrinkled his nose, looking down on Moran in disdain as the other man continued to work with the frosting.
"But it's so painfully...normal." Jim said, dragging out the last word like it was something slimy. "Domestic even. You're supposed to be the best sniper in Europe, things like this aren't supposed to entertain you. I thought you had slightly more brain power than that, Sebbie. I'm disappointed."
Sebastian snorted, yanking the cookie tray away from Moriarty right as the man went to take another one. "You don't seem that disgusted with the arrangement. Besides," he pointed out, "Snipers have to be calm and focused. Baking calms me down."
"Booooring." Jim sang, sliding off of the counter to wander back over to the fridge, dissappearing behind the door as he searched for something that would suit him. "I can't understand how people like you could be any more relaxed. There's nothing going on in there to begin with. If you were any more relaxed you'd be dead."
"Keep thinking that Jim." Seb mumbled, now using a spoon to dribble and smooth the frosting over the cookies, one after another.
Jim pulled his head out of the fridge and frowned, unhappy with the lack of attention he was receiving. He disliked how passive this new hobby was making his sniper. This was why he didn't watch telly. He couldn't get a rise out of the TV. "What? No snappy comment? No 'Jim, if you keep this up you won't survive to go after Sherlock again'?" Moriarty said, not bothering to close the fridge. He came up behind Seb, hooking two fingers under the corner of the other man's jaw. He looked at an invisible watch on his wrist, shaking his head sadly, his lip pouting just a little. "Just as I thought. No pulse."
Sebastian looked down at Jim, rolling his eyes. Moriarty took his fingers off of Moran's throat and circled around him, now focused on the frosting bowl. He dipped two fingers into the bowl and stared at the white glop as it oozed over them. Moran just ignored Jim's behavior, he was so used to it it was unnatural.
Jim sniffed at the substance experimentally, making a face. "This is not frosting." He announced, still staring at it as though it had personally offended him. "Frosting doesn't...ooze.."
"It's a glaze frosting." Seb replied, long-suffering to the end. "Are you seriously telling me that you've never had a glaze frosting on anything? Never had a frosted sugar cookie or a cinnamon roll?"
Moriarty shrugged. "Don't concern myself much with food, and when I do I don't tend to keep a log of what I eat."
Seb snorted. "That's a lie. What about the time when we went out to eat and you kept ordering something different because you didn't like the taste of the first five hundred things you ordered?"
"Not my fault they don't know the meaning of the word 'food'. Just because I don't think much about what I eat doesn't mean I won't notice when they try and feed me something that isn't physically edible."
"It was prime steak!"
"Nooot my problem." Jim said, wiping his frosting covered hand on Moran's sleeve. Sebastian looked down at the smear in annoyance as his boss went to flop down on the couch in the nearby living room.
All was quiet for another five minutes before Seb heard an enormous sigh from the living room.
"If you start throwing darts at the Mona Lisa again, I swear..."
"Aww, Sebbie that's adorable! I didn't know you had the brain cells to appreciate high art."
"I couldn't care less. What I do care about is the fact that YOU decided to plant a bomb right behind the painting. Who knows what could set it off!"
"Your concern is touching."
"Hey, if you go up, so do I. The world may revolve around you in your brain, but not so much in here."
"Hmm. Not surprised. There's not so much of anything in your brain."
"Never. Though if you bring me something to eat I may be quiet for a few minutes."
Sebastian finished dribbling the cookies with frosting and walked into the living room, dropping the bowl onto Jim's lap.
"There. Eat that."
Jim scowled at it, not bothering to move. He just glared at it, as though it would move on its own by sheer force of hatred.
"This ISN'T food." He complained loudly.
"Well, if you want real food, get off your super intelligent arse and get it yourself." Sebastian said, heading back into the kitchen.
Sebastian ignored the grumbling that followed him into the next room.
Jim stared at the bowl which was currently occupying the space on top of his stomach. He tipped it forward with one finger, scowling again when the gooey substance slimed towards him in slow motion.
"Seeeeb!" He whined, knowing full well that the other man was ignoring him completely. Well, he would just have to see what would come of that later. He turned his attention back on the bowl. The frosting was close to dripping onto his shirt now. He grimaced, catching a falling drip with his finger. Letting the bowl sit back upright again, he stared at the milky white drop of sugar that clung to the pad of his finger. Experimentally, he licked it.
Sebastian had cleaned the entire kitchen up by the time Jim showed up again. Moran smirked. "Finally decide that starving to death is worse than being lazy?"
"Not hungry anymore." Jim said nonchalantly, dropping the frosting bowl into the sink in front of the sniper.
Moran stared at it in shock, pausing half-way through drying his hands on a dish towel. The bowl had been licked clean.