awesome_binomial_theorems | [OOM] Oswin, Moriarty and Delicious Cake.

[OOM] Oswin, Moriarty and Delicious Cake.

"You know where the kitchen is," Moriarty says as they enter, setting down the basket, and the violin next to it. "I'll be with you momentarily.

The moment in question, it seems, is being mostly devoted to finding a change of clothes from his wardrobe. Victorian clothes are all good and well, but they're stiff, and a lot of layers, and they tend to pick up the smell of London like nothing else.

(Moriarty rather hates the smell of London.)

The kitchen is, at least, in the same place. It would be inconvenient if it was somewhere totally different.

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"And suddenly he's interested in fairness." She grins at him in that horridly wicked way, but once she has the bowls soaking she really cannot find a reason to say no. Today isn't one of the few bad days, the ones that sneak up and vividly remind her of the body-horror of realizing what a full conversion entails. It's easy to shrug off her top, though she momentarily regrets not picking something more fancy than a simple black satin bra. She could have been so much more creative.

"I've always been interested in fairness. Very fair fellow, I am," Moriarty chirps.

- He also stares a little, when she shrugs off her top, before determinedly finding something else to look at. Bubbles. He'll look at the bubbles in the sink.

"Hey." Her hand is warm, where she catches his arm to get his attention. "You alright? We don't have to do... any of this, if it makes you uncomfortable."

Moriarty turns a little, catching her eye with a shy smile.

"I am - good. Comfortable. But I did not wish to be discourteous by staring," he says.

"If I was worried about you staring, I wouldn't have taken my shirt off." Oswin points out, giving him a reassuring grin.

Moriarty grins back, ducking his head.

"Well, most of my, er, previous dalliances have been - relatively straightforward, contained within a fairly uncomplicated social structure."

Beat. "Which is to say, usually the young wives of wealthy men, who hold their ear and might then talk them into providing patronage and funding for my research and study. It's a lot more - prescribed. Less complicated. Everything is a known quantity."

Another beat. Moriarty rubs the back of his neck absently. "Which is to say that I don't really know how to proceed with a - thing where there is both an emotional involvement and ... er ..." He waves a hand vaguely. "Dalliance-ing."

The blush has spread even further.

The blush is precious and Oswin believes she is being a very good person for not saying so. At minimum, it's earned her an extra slice of cake. Assuming it's edible.

"Being honest helps. Being open to ask for what you want, and also knowing you're allowed to say no." She replies, "Emotional involvement?"

It saves her from somewhat snarky comments about how boring knowing all variables in a dalliance must be.

"I'm just - well enough at ease with the physical act. Sufficiently practised for purpose. Less comfortable with navigating the social interaction around it," Moriarty says, rubbing his chin. "Unless that social interaction involves not asking too many questions beforehand and leaving immediately afterwards."

He peers at her. "Um, yes. Or attachment, might be a better word. I'm unaccustomed to having any kind of particular affection for my, er, partners."

"Leaving immediately afterwards is not an option, mister." Oswin emphasizes, because if there's going to be requests, that's definitely going to be one. "And you can call it attachments or emotional involvement or whatever, doesn't mean a girl doesn't like hearing about it."

Subtract love, add anger. She likes reversing that equation.

"I, er, duly noted," Moriarty says, ducking his head.

She pokes his shoulder - even shirtless, this works as a method of Moriarty-wrangling.

"Strong implication also works. I've been told I'm fairly bright."

This is a lie. She declares she's a genius frequently - no needing to be told or false modesty here.

Moriarty bends to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Only fairly bright?"

"He couldn't pronounce 'total screaming genius'." She grins cheekily in response.

Moriarty grins back, sliding an arm around her.

"Shame on him. He could've at least written it down instead."

"Some people are just overly intimidated by my awesomeness." Oswin sighs, smoothing her hands up the planes of his chest.

Solemnly: "You're a very intimidating person."

"Terrifying, to some." To one planet of Daleks, the worst thing ever. Yeah, she can smirk about that.

"Who would that be, then?"

"Well, whichever rat is responsible for scrubbing out the oven, for one." She grins wryly, "Aaaand possibly the one responsible for cleaning the ceiling."

Look, she thought the lid was securely on that food processor. And she had no idea it could shoot food particles that high.

...

It was actually a lot of fun. And rather impressive.

Dryly: "I'm starting to get the impression you might be the natural predator of waitrats."

It's harder to hide a flinch when you aren't wearing a shirt, but she makes a very game attempt at it anyway, giving him a pout to hide her brain's awkward stumble.

(Not here, not now, shut up)

"I don't know about that - just making sure their jobs are sufficiently varied."

Moriarty ducks his head, trying - so long as they're not acknowledging that not-quite-a-flinch - not to look too apologetic.

"I'm sure they're grateful."

She sees that attempt, and is thankful for it.

And she hates herself for causing it. He shouldn't have to wonder which seemingly random word or phrase will catch her blindsided. It's wrong.

"James. You should know, what happened. I can't... make you keep guessing, that's... I shouldn't have made you to begin with. I'm sorry."

Moriarty's first, slightly treacherous thought, is wondering whether he should point out that this is a conversation which maybe calls for more clothes.

He doesn't say that.

Firmly: "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Clearly he hasn't spent enough time with Oswin yet - there's never a situation that requires more clothes. But that's neither here nor there, because he's given her an out, and while she can be terribly brave, hat kind of temptation is stronger than her will to keep going.

Because there's worlds of difference between ought to and want to.

"Keep saying things like that, and I'll never work up the nerve." She offers a feeble grin.

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