It's not often that he meets someone who can make an eight inch height difference seem insubstantial, and even less often someone who uses invading someone's personal space as a means to intimidate as efficiently as he himself does. It's not an easy feat when you're shorter, but Moriarty well and truly succeeds. Even when the grip on his hand tightens painfully, Sebastian makes no attempt to tighten his own or straighten up, though any discomfort stays stoically out of that impassive expression.

Despite the non-reaction to the ... graphic ... threat, his eyes betray a sharp, wild hunger, combative and amused and completely devoid of fear. There's a sharp comeback on his tongue but Moran doesn't know his limits and figures it better to play the good soldier and earn himself some time to observe first. He has no doubt that this man is every inch as dangerous as he says he is, holding his gaze like he is. It's like being on the battlefield again, knowing you're facing down potential death every second... and Sebastian loves it; he's drawn to it like a moth to an open flame, wings beating against its own potential incineration. It's something he craves, no, needs. The risk.

That fearlessness certainly doesn't seem to be a farce; he's as every inch composed and confident as he was when he first walked in, and that remains unchanged when Sebastian offers a smile that does nothing to change that unaffected, hollow expression he's wearing.

"Completely, sir."