Psychopaths Can't Love

Sweet Smells

A/N: Hello again. Quick question: what do you think about this fanfic so far? I hope it's not too terrible. Anyways. You've got a lot of fluff coming your way. Although it won't be too long before the angst makes an appearance. I promise it's not about Reichenbach. I should stop making promises now. Anyways. Goodbye for now.

-Leah

Trigger warning: Mentions of war, murder.

"Sebastian!"

"I'm in trouble," Seb muttered under his breath.

"Sebastian!"

"Yeah?" Seb called from the bathroom, trying to finish shaving quickly but trying not to cut himself with his razor at the same time.

"Can you come here?"

Seb sighed with frustration.

"I'm a bit busy!" he called back.

"Yeah, well I am too."

Seb sighed. He knew he'd lose this argument, so he set his razor down, leaving his shaving job unfinished, and quickly tied a dressing gown around himself. He didn't even try to make his wet hair look somewhat presentable.

He walked out of the bathroom, steam coming out with him.

"What d'you want?" Seb asked, finding Jim standing by the front door in a Westwood. There was clearly a gun in his inside pocket.

Seb knew it was probably one of his, and it frustrated him, but he didn't comment on it, as Jim would definitely get it back to him in perfect condition. He knew how much Seb's guns meant to him.

"I just wanted to give you a kiss goodbye," Jim pouted, seeing Seb's tired expression.

"Okay," Seb sighed, letting a smile onto his face.

He walked closer to Jim, sliding his hands around Jim's waist and bending over slightly so Jim could kiss him. Jim slid his hands around Seb's neck and gave him a soft kiss.

Jim paused, his eyes falling on the scar on Seb's neck. He ran his thumb over it, and Seb involuntarily twitched at the touch. The scar didn't hurt him anymore, but it still bothered him on a psychological level.

"What's this, Bastian?" Jim asked, looking back into his eyes. "I've never seen it before."

"It was from a fight I got into a few years back with a pickpocket," Seb answered. "He had a knife and stabbed me twice. Not even well. Still scarred though. I always put concealer over it because it looks like..."

"A vampire bite," Jim finished for him, smiling. "It works for you though."

"I don't know," Seb sighed.

"Well, I'm convinced that everything works for you," Jim laughed. "If your face was blown up, I'd probably still think you're beautiful."

Seb blushed, looking down at the ground.

"Aw," Jim whispered. "My adorable tiger."

"My little kitten," Seb answered, deploying a nickname he'd been thinking about for a while.

"Little?" Jim scoffed. "I'm not that short! And why kitten? I don't look like one!"

"It's because you're small and adorable," Seb said, smiling and brushing Jim's cheek affectionately.

"I'm not small and adorable!"

"Yes you are."

"I'm only five eight, Moran, and the average height for a man of Irish descent is five nine, so no. I'm not short, just slightly under average height. So there."