D.O.B 11/3/1975

A Tiger for ‘Tiger’




Jim took one of the pillows and threw it at the sniper. “It’s not mine; it’ll be yours,” he groused. He was only doing this because he was bored, and maybe a teeny, tiny part of him wanted Sebastian to show him India. Maybe. The prospect of the climate region of India is what really put him off on the whole ordeal, but it’d be better than letting Moran go gallivanting on holiday unsupervised again.

“Besides, if it causes too much trouble, I’ll hock it. Business as usual—so let’s hope we find a white one.” Those were the prettier ones, and maybe he could actually grow to like it if it was pretty.

Right. That was what it was, his, not their’s, not Jim’s, but just his. Sebastian should be lucky that Jim is just taking him on this trip and coming along with him. He’ll take what he can get. At least Jim puts in some input on the colour, which he hopes Jim understands that they have to travel a bit more to find a white tiger. “Guess that’s better than you turning it into a rug or a jacket or something.” He says, idly closing their suitcases. “And I’m sure I can train it, so y’know, it doesn’t piss on your westwoods or on your million dollar carpet.”  

He perked up, staring at the sniper at the mention of rugs and jackets, but then waves his hand as if attempting to brush the thought away. “I’d require more than one tiger for a jacket, and as for the rug—no. A skin for you to wear, maybe.” It was a twisted idea, make the man who wanted the damn thing wear its pelt if it came down to having to get rid of it. He jumped up from the bed, standing near Sebastian’s shoulder as he added with a cruel smile, “And you will wear it if it does destroy anything I deem valuable in this flat.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, of course that would be the thing that takes Jim’s attention. It’s his own fault on the count and he takes it, silently cursing himself. As much as he would love to put the thing on his wall, he actually was pretty keen on the idea of having his own little pet. One that he could train to not put there claws into his back. “Don’t even think about it, boss, you know I only where leather jackets, anyway.” He mutters, before the criminal stands and gives him a clear threat that isn’t to be taken lightly. Anyone who didn’t know Jim would think that it was a joke. 

The sniper knew better.

"Fine, and since I know what you deem valuable, it’ll be like we don’t even have a pet." He still says ‘we’, because be it as it may, that they are employer and employee, living together and sharing the same bed is on their way to being domestic. He just wonders if Jim notices that as well.