Punishment

It was nearly eleven by the time a knock sounded from the door of Jay’s flat. They’d arranged for Moran to come back here once the job was done; best not to discuss anything over the phone, especially now that a third party was involved. Jay disentangled himself from his desk and hurried to the door.

Moran stood in the corridor outside, bristling with frustrated energy.

Jay stepped aside to let him into the flat. “What’s wrong?”

“Couldn’t get the sample,” Moran replied, clipped and sullen. He quickly strode across Jay’s flat to the balcony, shouldering the door open.

“What?” Jay followed him out. “You couldn’t get into the lab?”

Moran shook his head and fished a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, placing one between his lips. “I got in,” he said around the cigarette. “Couldn’t get the sample out. Holmes was looking over my shoulder the whole fucking time.” He flicked his lighter open and lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply.

Jay mulled it over. “You got in, so there are definitely gaps in their security. Could you neglect to report one or two?”

“Not if Holmes is checking the report.” Moran leaned heavily against the railing of the balcony, head low between his shoulders. “It was right there.”

Jay raked a hand through his hair. “All right, fine.”

Moran stiffened, turning to glare at him. “‘Fine’?”

“Yes, ‘fine.’” Jay could sense this was becoming a fight, but had no idea why. “Just … give me a minute.”

Moran shoved two fingers in Jay’s face, cigarette still held between them. “You were the one telling me Harry Nolan doesn’t forgive fuck-ups,” he snarled.

“Fuck’s sake, Moran—we don’t have time for this.” Jay snatched the cigarette from Moran’s hand and stubbed it out on the rail.

Moran made a low, breathless sound, staring down at Jay’s hand. Jay followed his gaze; the smouldering tip of the cigarette had landed just a hair’s breadth from the skin between Moran’s thumb and forefinger.

“Oh,” Jay said, the word little more than a guilt-laden exhale—but any further apology died in his throat when he saw Sebastian’s face.

He looked disappointed—as if he wished Jay hadn’t missed.

Sebastian was furious, but only with himself. And he was afraid, but not for himself—for Jay. Of what might happen to Jay because he’d failed. And there was nowhere for all of that rage and terror to go.

Jay steeled himself and flicked the cigarette over the edge of the balcony. Stepping forward, he took Sebastian’s wrist. “Come with me.”

Sebastian only nodded, quiet and docile as Jay led him back inside and into the bedroom.

“Take off your clothes,” Jay told him, “and get on the bed.”

A shiver went through Sebastian at the order; his fingers went to his shirt-front, quickly unbuttoning it.

Jay turned to his dresser, crouching to open the bottom drawer. As things with Sebastian grew more adventurous, Jay had started thinking ahead—trawling through online sex shops, collecting whatever gave him ideas. Most of it had gone unused, until now.

His fingers brushed the long, thin wooden box he’d stashed at the back of the drawer. Jay lingered over it, considering—then pulled back. The box wasn’t a punishment; it was a gift.

Ultimately, he settled on a pair of cuffs and a blindfold. When he stood and turned back to the bed, Sebastian was lying on his back, waiting.

Jay perched at the edge of the mattress and held up the cuffs: black leather, padded on the inside with sheepskin and connected by a short chain. They hadn’t actually done any bondage before—usually, a word from Jay was enough to keep Sebastian in whatever he wanted him—but this was a situation that called for at least the illusion of helplessness.

And an illusion it was: the cuffs didn’t even lock. The chain between them was attached with snap hooks.

But the moment Sebastian laid eyes on the cuffs, he nodded—quick and jerky and wanting.

“Hands above your head,” Jay said.

Sebastian did as he was told, lifting his arms so Jay could buckle the cuffs around his wrists and loop the chain through the bed frame. His eyes never left Jay’s face, gazing up at him with nervous anticipation and utter trust.

When Jay showed him the blindfold, Sebastian took longer to consider; eventually, though, he nodded again. Jay tied it in place, then stood. Sebastian inhaled sharply as the mattress shifted beneath him, but said nothing as Jay stepped out of the room. As soon as he was out of immediate earshot, Jay took a steadying breath and doubled over, hands on his knees.

He could do anything. Sebastian Moran was spread out on Jay’s bed, naked and blind and restrained. Jay’s mouth had gone dry, heart pounding as though he’d sprinted up five flights of stairs.

They were still on the job. Anything Jay did had to leave Sebastian in working condition. Corporal punishment was likely to echo Sebastian’s experiences at school, and those were waters Jay didn’t care to dredge. The image of that smouldering cigarette, so close to the delicate skin of Sebastian’s hand, came to mind—but burns were slow to heal and prone to complications at the best of times. A burn full of cigarette ash was a horrific infection in the making.

But Sebastian was blindfolded.

Jay straightened and made for the kitchen. His mum had always insisted on keeping emergency candles in the house, and it was a habit Jay inherited—although she definitely wouldn’t approve of the purpose Jay now intended for them. He grabbed a fresh candle from the box in the cupboard, taking a mug down from the cabinets as well.

As he carried both back into the bedroom, he paused over the pile of clothes on the floor and retrieved Sebastian’s lighter and cigarettes from his pockets.

Sebastian made a low noise of relief as Jay’s weight settled back onto the bed. Jay set his small collection aside, straddling Sebastian’s waist; he was solid and warm between Jay’s thighs, his body shifting a little with every breath. He flinched a little as Jay flicked the lighter open, the distinctive click of its trigger briefly filling the silence of the room.

Jay lit the candle first and set it upright in the mug on the bedside table. Then he knocked a cigarette loose from the packet and lit it, taking a quick drag to get the ember at the end glowing. Sebastian couldn’t see his face, so Jay allowed himself a brief grimace at the taste.

Sebastian’s breathing quickened as he caught the smell of smoke.

Jay shifted forward to stroke his free hand up the centre of Sebastian’s chest. “Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s throat bobbed in a nervous swallow. “Yeah?”

Keeping his tone quiet and level, Jay said, “What did I ask you to do for me tonight?”

“You—” Sebastian’s voice had gone hoarse; he licked his lips. “You asked me to get that sample from the BasePairing lab.”

Jay took the candle out of the mug, holding it in his other hand as he lowered the cigarette to Sebastian’s chest. It hovered just below Sebastian’s collarbone, close enough for him to feel the warmth.

Sebastian bit his lip, swallowing the whine building in his throat—but it wasn’t fear wringing that sound out of him. Not entirely.

Jay leaned closer. “And did you do what I asked?”

A shudder rolled through Sebastian’s body. “No.”

“No,” Jay repeated. “You didn’t.”

He edged the cigarette toward Sebastian’s skin. The ember had started to fade; he blew gently, coaxing it back to a dull red glow, fanning its heat across Sebastian’s chest.

Sebastian was panting fast and harsh now; his wrists twisted in the cuffs, hands clenched into fists. It would be a trivial effort to reach up and free himself, but he didn’t.

He’d let Jay do it. God, he was really going to let Jay do it. Something dark and vicious and excited squirmed low in Jay’s belly.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian gasped out.

“I know,” Jay replied, soft and fond.

He pulled the cigarette away from Sebastian’s chest and tipped a splash of melted candle wax onto the very same spot.

Sebastian’s head snapped back, all the air leaving his lungs in a sharp, hoarse shout. The chain between the cuffs pulled taut as his whole body flinched, heaving under Jay’s as it struggled to curl in on itself. Jay scrambled to keep hold of the cigarette and candle—

—and just as quickly Sebastian collapsed against the bed, limp between Jay’s thighs as he breathed in slow, rough drags, groaning on every exhale.

Jay ground the cigarette against the inner wall of the mug and blew the candle out, setting it aside. Then he leaned forward again, bracing himself over Sebastian.

“There.” Jay kissed him, deep and slow and forgiving. “It’s done. It’s all done.”

Sebastian moaned raggedly into his mouth, melting into the kiss. His breathing evened out, and his brows drew together beneath the blindfold as he realized how little that had actually hurt.

Jay untied the blindfold and sat back. Sebastian blinked up at him, adjusting to the sudden brightness, then looked down at the splash of hardening wax on his chest. A glance at the bedside table confirmed his suspicions.

He huffed a short, harsh laugh of disbelief. “You utter bastard.”

Jay smirked and shuffled up the bed to undo the cuffs. Sebastian pushed up onto his elbows, shifting out from beneath Jay, and leaned back against the headboard as he peeled the wax off his chest. It took a few hairs with it, and Sebastian hissed. Jay rolled his eyes, bending to inspect the damage.

The wax’s melting point was too low to actually burn Sebastian, and it had cooled more or less the instant it hit his skin. The heat from the cigarette, however, had left a small red patch that probably stung a bit.

“I’ll be right back.” Jay clambered off the bed and made for the bathroom.

He managed to stay composed until he was out of the room, but he’d barely passed through the bathroom door before he staggered and caught himself on the edge of the sink. There should have been something alien and horrible in the mirror, but it was just him—pale and looking faintly sick. He could imagine that cigarette digging into Sebastian’s skin, scorching and blistering, so vividly it was like it had actually happened. It would’ve been so easy.

God, what was wrong with him?

Jay dug through the cabinet for a bottle of aloe gel, hurried back to the bedroom, and climbed onto the bed. He smoothed a dollop of gel onto Sebastian’s skin over the red patch, focused intently on the movement of his fingers and the flesh beneath. Sebastian covered Jay’s hand with his own, and Jay finally dared to look up.

Sebastian’s expression was pure, naked adoration. “Thank you,” he murmured, and leaned in to kiss him. “Thank you,” he said again, against Jay’s lips, and caught his face between his hands so he could kiss him over and over. “Thank you.”

Jay sighed his relief into the kiss, fingers tracing gently over the red spot on Sebastian’s chest. They fell back into bed together, Sebastian tugging Jay close, nuzzling into his hair.

“Better?” Jay asked, slightly muffled against Sebastian’s shoulder.

Sebastian took a second or two to answer. “… Yeah.”

“Good.” Jay propped himself up on one elbow. “Tell me everything that happened tonight.”

---

“So what you’re saying,” Max said slowly, as if to be sure of all the details, “is that you don’t have the sample.”

They’d reconvened at the townhouse where Clay was staying, although this time they were in the parlour. It seemed to be the house’s centre of gravity, packed to the rafters with the bulk of the owner’s possessions; there was just enough room for an upholstered Victorian sofa, two matching chairs, and a glass coffee table set atop a giant brass frog. Clay sat stiffly in one of the chairs, wound tight with tension even as Max remained patient and calm.

Without conscious thought, Sebastian’s fingertips brushed the burn beneath his shirt. It barely hurt—he’d had worse sunburns—but the light sting when he touched it was … comforting. Like he was still in bed, with Jay wrapped around him.

“The detective got involved.” Jay was sitting next to Sebastian on the sofa, phone in hand. “And before you start planning to have us dumped in the Thames, you should know we have this.”

He tapped at his phone, sending Max the photo Sebastian had taken of the sample bin last night. The case at the back was just in frame, as was the name on the label.

Max looked at his phone and went very still.

“It wasn’t somebody’s mum who sent in the sample,” Jay said, largely for Clay’s benefit. “It was Harry Nolan. Your boss.”

“Jesus Christ,” Clay muttered.

“He wasn’t thinking,” Max said, his voice a low growl.

“Of course not,” Jay shot back. “He’s got you to do that for him, because he’s eighty years old and barely knows how to work a smartphone. Nolan’s a fucking dinosaur, and everyone knows it.”

Fury flashed across Max’s face. Sebastian tensed, ready to move if things got violent.

Then, with a creak, the parlour door opened. A familiar, decrepit Jack Russell nosed its way into the room, followed in short order by Clay’s elderly host. She was carrying a tea tray.

“Oh, god.” Clay leapt out of the chair. “Lydia, you really shouldn’t—”

“It’s no trouble,” Lydia replied cheerfully, setting the tray down on the coffee table. There was an antique blue china teapot with four delicate, mismatched cups, as well as a slightly-melted selection from the patisserie down the street. “I was already making a little something for myself, and you’ve got friends over …”

Sebastian offered her his most disarming smile. “Does John live here, then?”

“Oh, he comes to stay every once in a while,” Lydia explained. “I don’t see my own son much these days, so it’s nice to have a young man about the house.”

“I’m sure.” Jay shot a judgemental glare in Clay’s direction.

“Just bring the tray down to the kitchen when you’re done.” Lydia retreated from the room, little dog trotting stiffly at her heels.

Silence fell over the parlour as the door closed.

“So,” Max finally said. “What now?”

“Depends,” Jay replied. “How determined are you to bail out your idiot boss?”

Max had a determined look. “Harry Nolan watched out for me my whole life,” he said. “He gave me a job. He gave me something to belong to. So anything he needs me to do, I’ll fucking do it.”

Sebastian’s fingers brushed the burn on his chest again.

“Now …” Max crossed his arms. “How do we get that sample out of the building?”

“Oh, that part’s easy,” Jay said. “BasePairing’s going to do it for us.”

---

Moran’s report arrived the day after the penetration test. BasePairing’s security was, in short, not secure.

Within the hour, Leach’s assistant called to bring Sherlock in for another meeting. When he and John arrived, Moran was already there.

“I’ve included a list of recommendations.” There was a copy of the report on Leach’s desk, and Moran flipped to the relevant page. “Along with a cost estimate for all the necessary upgrades.”

Leach glanced up, noting Sherlock’s arrival. “Mr. Holmes!” he said, in the tones of a drowning man clawing at what he hoped was a rope. “Would you concur with Captain Moran’s findings?”

Sherlock had been in something approaching a manic state when he got home the previous night, and had kept John up until the small hours describing everything he’d observed. “Completely,” he said, and Leach’s face fell.

“If budget is an issue,” Moran offered, “there is a cheaper option.”

Leach latched on immediately. “What’s that?”

“You could move your most sensitive assets off-site,” Moran explained. “Rent a facility that meets your needs from a third party, and send your samples and testing equipment there.”

“And that’d be less expensive?”

Moran shrugged. “So long as it’s somewhere out of town. If you’re paying London rent, the cost is about the same—or more.”

Sherlock didn’t seem entirely on board with the idea. “The samples will be vulnerable in transit.”

“That’s a risk we can manage,” Moran was quick to point out. “I’d recommend running three different trucks across three different routes. Only one would be carrying the actual cargo—the other two are decoys. Anyone watching the building won’t know which truck to target and wouldn’t have the resources to chase all three.”

Leach nodded and decisively flipped the report shut. “Let’s do that, then.”

---

“My flat smells like an ashtray,” Jay grumbled through Sebastian’s earpiece.

Sebastian suppressed a laugh. “Whose fault is that?”

“Yours!”

At Sebastian’s side, Clay made a face and brought a hand to his ear. “If you’re going to make me wear one of these, the least you can do is cut the flirting.”

They were approaching the high-security fence surrounding a vast, largely empty industrial property out in Slough. The past hour’s surveillance had established there was only one guard patrolling the perimeter—a guard contracted through Holdhurst, a security company with a history of overcharging and understaffing that went all the way back to World War II. Said guard was, at present, circling the opposite end of the property.

The fence was separated into sections, with an electrical current flowing from one to the next. Any attempt to climb over or cut through would set off the alarm for that section, delivering a nasty shock in the process. Sebastian preferred to deal with fences like these by deliberately setting off one section’s alarm, over and over again, until the annoyed security staff switched it off. When Clay found out this method usually involved a sack of rabbits, he’d immediately vetoed it.

Instead, Clay had brought a length of electric cable. He handed Sebastian the other end, and they took up positions flanking a single section of the fence. Clay held an electrometer up to the wires, monitoring the pulses of electricity that passed through; so long as they worked between pulses, the alarm wouldn’t sound.

After a second or two, he said, “Now.”

Sebastian cut the electric line at his end of the fence and hooked the cable in its place; Clay did the same, leaving the flow of electricity intact. One section, however, was now isolated from the rest of the circuit.

With no power coming through the fence, it was easy enough to climb over and make their way toward the warehouse at the centre of the property. The name of the company that owned this place was nowhere to be found on any of the surrounding signs, and the address wasn’t listed online—an appropriate level of caution, considering they supplied explosive materials to the British military.

“Camera over the door,” Sebastian observed as they approached the warehouse.

“Wireless?”

Sebastian eyed the thick cable running from the back of the camera and up the side of the building. “Afraid not.”

“Cable’s exposed, though,” Clay added. “We can tap it.”

The cable was only remotely within reach where it connected to the camera, and there was no way to get to that point without passing through its field of view. The only safe spot to attempt a tap was four or five metres up a featureless brick wall.

But Clay was already rummaging in Sebastian’s bag for the network tap Jay had provided, which was little more than a small, single-board computer with two network cables attached. He pocketed the device, backed up a few steps, and leapt into a short sprint towards—and then up—the wall.

Sheer momentum carried Clay to a truly impressive height, at which point he managed to hook his fingers into a tiny handhold between two layers of brick. He levered his body up from there, fingertips seeking and somehow finding purchase all the way up the wall until he stood on the warehouse’s roof.

The whole process had taken less than ten seconds.

Clay answered Sebastian’s dumbfounded expression with a smirk, then drew a pocket knife and leaned over the edge of the roof to cut the camera’s signal cable open. Extracting the wires inside, he clipped the tap’s connectors in place and said, through the earpiece, “Line’s tapped.”

“Got it.” The faint sound of typing came down the line, and after a few seconds Jay said, “I’ve looped some old footage into the live feed. You’re clear.”

Sebastian approached the door; access to the interior of the warehouse was restricted to company employees and required a key-card. He flipped his knife open and set the blade against the edge of the reader to pry the faceplate off.

The door opened; Clay stood on the other side. “I climbed in through a window,” he said, looking quite pleased with himself.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and pushed past him into the warehouse.