Thanks again to DancingGrimm for the fantastic beta and Brit-pick! I couldn't have done it without you! And thanks to everyone for your kind words and encouragement. I can't tell you what it means to me.
Greg was walking through a long, twisting corridor. Around him, stone walls arched heavy and dark and damp, glistening with moisture and slime. The air was cold and wet, sitting heavy in his lungs and reeking of decay. He paused, confused, and the sound of muffled footsteps echoed softly through the hall behind him, barely loud enough for him to hear. The sound filled him with terror, although he could not say why. Without thought or consideration, he ran.
The corridor was dim and winding and narrow. Greg sprinted forward, dodging through the twists and turns. Where his shoulders collided with the cold walls, thick wet slime clung to him, making him heavy and slow. The sound of his own panting breath rasped harshly in his ears. And beneath it, those footsteps still rang.
Greg kept running, but the corridor seemed to stretch out infinitely in front of him with no doors, no openings, only curves and sharp corners and a pervasive smell of rot. With each frantic step his feet felt heavier, and each step seemed infinitesimally shorter than the one before. The chasing footsteps sounded closer now.
"Gregory, this way!"
Greg jerked his head up. Mycroft! That was Mycroft, calling him from somewhere up ahead. Greg forced his legs to keep pumping, though each step now felt as if he had lead weights attached to his feet.
"Gregory, hurry!"
Greg rounded another bend in the corridor and saw it, a door directly ahead opening into a round stone chamber. He lurched forward, throwing his entire body into the effort of lifting his feet, which now felt as if they were made of stone themselves. He took a few stumbling steps closer to the door and then dropped to his knees, his feet simply too heavy to lift.
"Gregory, please!"
The footsteps echoing through the corridor behind him were much closer now. As Greg crawled forward on his hands and knees, dragging his heavy useless feet behind him, he heard a wet, ripping snarl reverberate through the hall. With an anguished cry, he crawled faster.
Suddenly he was there, inside the chamber. Instantly the weight left his feet and he stood easily. As he forced himself up he looked around, but the room was empty.
The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding clang, and Greg jumped. Just as he started to whirl around, the room went black. Greg stumbled in the pitch darkness, his arms flailing out wildly as he fought for balance, disoriented.
"Ahh, Gregory," Mycroft's voice purred from just behind him. "Right on time."
Greg felt a cold, dry hand encircle his neck. It should be Mycroft's, had to be his, but as they scraped along his flesh Greg could feel that each finger was tipped with a long, pointed talon.
His mouth fell open. He wanted to scream, to call for help, to beg, but his breath was frozen in his lungs and he could not speak. He just stood, helpless and motionless as the hand wrapped tightly around his throat. Then moist breath was gusting across his cheek, and when Mycroft spoke again, his voice was right in Greg's ear.
"Thank you so much for coming."
Greg shuddered as a wave of heat shot down his spine. This was wrong, so wrong; he was frightened and confused, and there was something truly terrifyingly off about Mycroft, but Greg could not stop the pulse of arousal that throbbed in him when Mycroft spoke.
He felt another hand settle on his chest and slide across the front of his shirt. Sharp points of pressure dragged up the planes of his chest, scratching softly across one of his nipples on the way past, and came to rest at his collar. There was a pulling sensation and then his top button popped off with a little snapping sound, letting his collar come open and exposing more of his throat. The next button followed it, and Greg sucked in a sharp breath as the cool air of the room brushed against his exposed flesh, sending a shiver down his back. He tipped his head back further, baring more of his throat. Behind him, Mycroft chuckled, voice rich and velvety in the darkness.
"Delightful."
Then the hand tightened hard on his neck, cutting off his breath, squeezing his throat. He felt a sharp burst of pain in the side of his neck, and then-
Greg woke with a start, lurching into a sitting position and clawing wildly at his throat before he realized where he was. He looked around, eyes wide, and saw that he was surrounded by the same rough stone walls as before, still trapped in this little room with Mycroft. Unconsciously, his hand continued to grope across the skin of his neck, but only smooth, unbroken skin met his searching fingertips.
The dream clung to him, details drifting away like mist in the sun but the emotional effects still lingering. Fear, even terror, throbbing in his veins and making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. But also present and equally strong was a dark, desperate lust. His pulse was hammering in his ears, his breath harsh and rapid, and he was achingly hard. The combination made him feel alive and aware in a way that he had not experienced in a long time, possibly ever.
But this was not the time to explore that feeling.
Greg took in a long slow breath and held it for a count of four before exhaling, willing his heart to slow down as he forced his breathing into a calmer pattern. His broken nose was throbbing, and he focused on the sensation of the pain in his face in an attempt to dispel any lingering arousal. Once he felt he had better control of himself, he rotated until his back was against the wall and then looked at Mycroft.
Only after his eyes fell on Mycroft, who was watching him with an expression of concern from where he was still chained securely to the wall, did Greg realize that he could see again.
"Hey, the light's back on!" he said, and then almost immediately felt like an idiot for stating the obvious.
"Yes. It came on a short time ago. By my estimate, it was off for eight hours. I believe your theory about bed time now has some empirical support."
Greg smiled. "Nice to know I can contribute." Mycroft smiled back, but the expression quickly turned into a grimace. Immediately, Greg moved over to Mycroft's side. "What's wrong? Is it your wrists? Let me see them."
Greg gently took Mycroft's arm and moved it as best he could, and Mycroft let him. The skin visible around the strips of Greg's vest on both of Mycroft's wrists was red and raw, with blisters beginning to rise on the surface. It looked much worse than it had yesterday. Greg knew better than to attempt to move the makeshift bandages he had applied the day before to look beneath them. "God, these look awful."
"They are fairly painful, I must admit." Mycroft hissed in a gasp as Greg rotated the arm he held, but his voice did not waver.
"I've never seen anything like this. Why is it so much worse? Is it some kind of chemical burn?"
"That is a possibility."
"Is there anything I can do?" Greg wanted to help, but he could not think of a single thing that might be useful with the limited resources at his disposal.
"I would quite like some more water, if you would not mind."
"Oh, yeah, right! More water, coming up."
Greg turned to the stream and scooped up a handful of water, carrying it carefully to Mycroft. As before, most of the water managed to drip through his fingers before he made it back to the other man, but Greg delivered what he could. He repeated the act several times, until Mycroft told him to stop, before getting some water for himself. He did not seem to be suffering any ill effects from drinking the water before, so he drank his fill without hesitation. It helped fill the emptiness in his belly.
"Do you suppose they might feed us today?" Greg asked once his thirst was quenched.
Mycroft's head snapped up at the question, his whole body filling with tension, and he stared intently at Greg with narrowed eyes. Greg froze, his head cocked slightly to the side as Mycroft's gaze roamed over him. He had no idea what he had done to provoke another Holmes stare-down.
"Mycroft?"
Abruptly, Mycroft jerked his gaze away and shook his head just slightly. Greg watched, still confused, as Mycroft squeezed his eyes tightly shut and shook his head again. His lips moved, almost as if he was talking to himself. Then he drew in a slow breath and looked back up at Greg, his expression bland.
"I'm sorry Gregory, I was distracted for a moment. What were you saying?"
"Uh… nothing important. I was just wondering if you thought we might get to eat today."
"It's hard to say without knowing more about our captors. I must say I am somewhat surprised that we have been left undisturbed for so long. I expected them to make contact before now. It is slightly worrying."
"Well, I can't imagine they brought us here just to let us starve to death, right?"
Mycroft shuddered visibly, but did not reply.
With nothing better to do, Greg sat back down along the rough wall, near enough to Mycroft to watch him but not quite near enough to touch. He felt a powerful urge to sit closer to the other man, to reach out and lay a hand on his knee, feel the texture of his expensive trousers and the shape of the limb beneath the cloth. But at the same time, something held him back; something other than just his wish to respect Mycroft's personal space. In the back of his mind, he feared the man, feared him in a way that he did not before their incarceration, and he did not know why. And somehow, the feeling sharpened his desire.
Mycroft, for his part, settled back into his customary sitting position, his hands held at shoulder height in deference to his chains, in a position that should have been awkward but instead looked deliberate and graceful. His eyes were closed, but Greg could tell by the tension in his body that he was not sleeping. His bruises stood out in lurid shades of purple and yellow and brown, his face even more hollow and pinched than yesterday.
Time passed. Greg did not know how long. He considered pulling out his phone and checking, but in the end he decided it was not important enough to use even that small an amount of battery life. It might be important later to have as much juice as possible.
Greg was hungry, his stomach growling loud enough that Mycroft opened his eyes and arched an eyebrow at him after a particularly strong grumble. He tried to fill the void with more water, but it only did so much, so after a while he just sat down and focused on ignoring it. And somehow, despite the terrifying and unsure nature of their situation, despite the fear of what might happen to them, as the minutes crawled past with no change and no interruption Greg found himself starting to get bored.
For lack of anything else to do, Greg tried to climb the walls. He kept silent and carefully did not look at Mycroft as he did it, in an attempt to avoid seeing the amused expression he was sure must be gracing Mycroft's aristocratic face. The roughness of the walls worked in his favor, and Greg was able to get good enough purchase to scale them up to about five feet off the ground before the curvature of the ceiling made it impossible to climb further. Being up that high did not afford him any new information about their cell, but he was grateful to have something to do to keep himself occupied and his mind off his stomach, at least for a bit.
Finally, he dropped back onto the dirt floor with a little huff, dusting off his hands.
"Well, I'm literally climbing the walls out of boredom. It's a good thing Sherlock isn't here, right? Who knows what he'd be doing by now." Greg turned to face Mycroft as he spoke, bracing himself for a snarky comment. Instead, he saw that Mycroft was slumped over against the wall with his arms out at strange angles in the manacles.
"Oh hell." Greg rushed to Mycroft's side and knelt, bringing one hand up to rest gently on his shoulder. Mycroft might just be sleeping, but the suddenness of it scared him. Softly, Greg shook Mycroft by the shoulder while quietly calling his name. Mycroft did not react.
Greg cursed and shook harder. Mycroft gave a soft groan and his head rolled to one side, eyes fluttering. Greg released the breath he was holding, relief rushing through him, as Mycroft opened his eyes.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked, unable to help it even though he knew the answer to that question already.
Mycroft did not respond. His eyes were clouded, dazed, focusing on nothing as he blinked against the harsh light. His head flopped backward as if his neck was not strong enough to support its weight, and as Greg watched his eyes started to slide closed again.
"Mycroft, hey!" Greg shook him again, harder. Mycroft's eyes flew open and snapped to Greg's with startling suddenness. His gaze cleared instantly and became sharp and hard, his narrowed eyes roving across Greg's face until they locked on his mouth.
"Mycroft?" Greg's voice sounded hesitant now, and he felt the muscles around his spine tighten. There was something disturbing about Mycroft's expression, something almost predatory. He pulled his hand off of Mycroft's shoulder and leaned back, suddenly needing to put some space between them.
At the sound of his name, Mycroft blinked again and shook his head just slightly. His gaze softened and he looked around the room again, blinking in confusion.
"Gregory?" Mycroft looked at him then, eyes soft with puzzlement.
"There you are." Greg smiled, feeling something in his chest loosen. "I think you passed out for a minute. Seemed kind of confused at first when you woke up."
"I passed out? God, I need to f… uh, eat."
"Oh shit, are you… what is it? Hypoglycemic? I had a cousin who had that. He would pass out sometimes. Always needed to drink juice when he woke up."
Mycroft hesitated. "Something similar, yes, although juice would not help me."
Greg grimaced as he looked around their cell, his worry for Mycroft gnawing away at his thoughts. "It's not as if we have any here anyway, is it? Is there anything I can do?"
"I don't believe so, thank you Gregory. But you have been incredibly helpful and generous already. Without your assistance, this whole experience would be significantly less pleasant." And Mycroft shook his wrists just a bit.
Greg felt himself blushing at Mycroft's praise, and dropped his eyes. "Would you like some more water, then? Might make you feel a little better."
"That would be nice, thank you."
Greg stood and moved toward the stream, but the sound of Mycroft pointedly clearing his throat stopped him. "If I may make a suggestion, Gregory."
"What? Oh, sure. Of course." Greg suddenly felt like an idiot, stumbling over his words. He could still feel the pressure in his palms from where he rested them on Mycroft's shoulders.
"I have a wallet that our captors did not find. It is leather, and may serve as an adequate drinking vessel for us. I cannot reach it," and he jangled his chains softly, "but if you could pull it out we can test the theory."
"Oh, yeah, good idea!" Greg regarded Mycroft for a moment. "Where is it?"
"It is hidden in a location where it is unlikely to be found during a casual search." Mycroft looked down, seeming almost shy. "I am sorry I didn't mention it before, but its contents are extremely sensitive and I did not want to risk them falling into the hands of our captors. However, I believe that it has now become worth the risk. This long silence leads me to believe that they are interested in something other than the minor information I might carry."
"Don't worry about it, I understand," Greg said easily. "I know the little water I've been able to scoop up in my hands can't be very satisfying for you. So where is it?"
Mycroft did not raise his eyes, but his voice was steady as he spoke. "It is in a pouch strapped to my inner thigh."
Greg felt his eyes widen and he sucked in a short, sharp breath before he could stop himself. His heart was suddenly hammering in his chest and he had to will himself to continue breathing at the same slow rate.
"Oh. I see," Greg managed to say after a moment. His voice sounded shaky to his own ears.
"Yes," Mycroft answered, finally lifting his eyes to meet Greg's. "Quite high up, in fact. It will be some effort to remove, given our… situation." Here he shook his arms slightly, making his chains rattle with a dull clink. "It is positioned so that you will need to push my trousers to my ankles in order to access it. And of course, the contents of the wallet are, as I mentioned, quite sensitive, so I will need you to carefully empty it and put everything you find back in the pouch. So you can see that getting to it might be somewhat uncomfortable for both of us."
"I… yes, I see what you mean." Greg swallowed, fighting the sudden flush of arousal that was rising in him. God, he hoped Mycroft could not see it. "But it will be worth it to have something besides my hands to hold water, right? So I'm game if you are." He tried hard to ignore the way that the muscles around his spine tightened in anticipation as he waited for Mycroft's response.
Mycroft hesitated, looking him over carefully before nodding. "Yes, I think so as well, which is why I suggested it."
"Right. Well then, let's get on with it."
Mycroft shifted, inching out from the wall and then reclining back until his shoulders rested against it, his hands held up beside his head to give himself some slack in the chains. He made a slight motion with one hand, a sort of "carry on" gesture that looked relaxed and languid despite the heavy shackles binding his wrists, the gesture of a king on his throne. Greg suppressed a sudden grin at the action, thinking that if anyone could appear regal in a situation like this one, it was Mycroft Holmes.
Silently, Greg scooted closer to Mycroft until he was kneeling just beside the man. He hesitated briefly, swallowing again, and then brought his hands to Mycroft's flies and started working the button.
It was awkward, not only socially but physically as well, to try to unfasten someone else's trousers from such an angle, and Greg fumbled for a bit before he managed to work the button free. Then he tried to pull the top open, but it would not move. Greg realized there must be another fastening, a button or a hook, inside the trousers. Carefully avoiding looking at Mycroft, he moved his fingers to the inside of the waistband and wiggled them around until his fingertips found a flat metal hook. Mycroft had a bit of a paunch at this angle, and his trousers were stretched fairly tight across his belly, which did not give Greg much room to maneuver.
As he wriggled his fingers further under the waistband to unlatch the little hook, Mycroft suddenly squirmed and released a choked sound. Greg froze and looked swiftly at Mycroft, who had turned his face away.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry, I…" Greg trailed off, looking carefully at Mycroft, who was blushing slightly and resolutely not looking back at him. "Mycroft, are you ticklish?"
Mycroft remained silent, and did not turn his head.
Greg could not stop the smile that burst onto his face. "Okay, I promise to be gentle then," he said, just slightly wiggling his fingers where they were trapped under Mycroft's waistband. Mycroft quivered with the effort of remaining still. "But I have to get this unhooked, so try to hold still and I'll make it quick."
Greg waited until Mycroft gave a tight nod, face still averted. Then he continued twisting and working his fingers under the tight waistband of Mycroft's trousers, moving just a little bit more than strictly necessary as he worked to unfasten the little hook.
Mycroft managed to keep still for several seconds before he let out a trilling, surprisingly high-pitched giggle and started squirming in earnest, trying to move away from Greg's fingers despite the heavy cuffs anchoring him in place on the wall. Greg shifted, giggling himself as he moved with Mycroft, still trying to get the trousers unfastened.
"Hold still or I won't be able to get it," he gasped out between laughs.
"No, just… I can't… please…," Mycroft answered, his words broken by continuing giggles. He kept writhing around, unable to hold still in the face of Greg's tickling.
"Just… oh, damn it!" Greg rose up on his knees and threw one leg over both of Mycroft's, coming to rest with his knees straddling Mycroft, pinning him in place. From that angle and with Mycroft trapped and relatively still, Greg was able to get a much better grip on the waistband and managed to free the hook after only a few seconds. As soon as he had the trousers unfastened he pulled his hands away, and Mycroft immediately fell still.
Both men were breathing heavily, Greg kneeling over Mycroft's legs with his hands held up as if in surrender. Looking down, he was struck hard by the sight of Mycroft Holmes, panting, red-faced, and disheveled, with the top of his trousers undone, waistcoat rucked up, and normally immaculate shirt pulled loose, leaning back with his hands chained to the wall. The image was shockingly, viscerally erotic, and it sent a jolt of arousal slamming through Greg's body.
Immediately, Greg lifted one leg and threw himself off Mycroft, flopping down on the dirt floor beside him and staring up at the ceiling. Mycroft did not move for a long moment, still panting, and Greg had no idea whether the other man had noticed his reaction to the tickling. He sincerely hoped not.
And after all that, he still had not managed to get Mycroft's trousers down, either. Fuck.
After a few minutes spent catching his breath, Mycroft cleared his throat. He was still flushed, but his voice was perfectly composed as he looked down at himself. "And after all that, you still haven't managed to get my trousers down."
Greg could not help himself. He threw back his head and laughed, a full deep belly laugh that echoed around the stark stone room. The situation was so absurd that he just could not stop himself. Teasing and tickling and sudden arousal while taking off Mycroft's trousers right in the middle of the most terrifying experience of Greg's life. So he laughed, and kept on laughing until his stomach hurt and his bruised face ached, until Mycroft started calling his name in a tone of concern.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just…" Greg wiped at the moisture from one eye with his thumb, "this is so crazy, you know? If anyone was watching us, they would probably think we're insane, rolling around the floor laughing and undoing each other's trousers while kidnapped."
Mycroft offered a fleeting smile. "I highly doubt that we are being observed right now."
For some reason, Mycroft's sober tone immediately quashed Greg's budding hysteria. "Well, that's good then. Now, I suppose I should go ahead and finish getting that wallet."
"Yes." Mycroft shifted his hips a bit, drawing Greg's attention down to his unbuttoned trousers.
"Right. Good." Greg moved back to Mycroft's side and knelt. He unzipped the trousers quickly and with no further incidents, and then gripped them on either side of Mycroft's hips. His eyes flicked up to meet Mycroft's for a brief second, and what he saw there made him swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat as a wave of heat passed through him.
Mycroft was watching him intently, biting softly on his lower lip. When Greg's eyes met his, he saw a flare of something like heat in the usually cool blue gaze. And somehow, despite the bruises on his face, despite the gaunt, unhealthy stretch of his skin, or perhaps because of these things, Mycroft suddenly looked dangerous. Predatory. Hungry.
Greg swallowed as a tremor of arousal shuddered down his spine, and Mycroft's gaze jumped to his throat to watch the bob of his Adam's apple.
Greg dropped his eyes to his hands and gave Mycroft's trousers a tug as Mycroft helpfully arched his hips up off the ground, and his trousers slid down smoothly, revealing dark blue silk boxers. Greg paused, swallowed again, and pulled the trousers down to Mycroft's knees.
"The pouch is inside the leg of my boxer shorts. Right leg."
"Oh," Greg answered, suddenly breathless. Mycroft had been correct about the need to pull his trousers all the way down, certainly. There was no way Greg could get to something hidden there without Mycroft spreading his legs.
Greg worked Mycroft's trousers further down his legs, aided by Mycroft's shifting and adjusting to lift various limbs as needed, until they were bunched up at his feet, just above his shoes.
Mycroft immediately spread his legs, drawing his knees up and letting them fall open. Greg could not help but watch, his dry mouth suddenly flooding with saliva at the sight of Mycroft's bulge so clearly outlined beneath the taut fabric of his shorts stretched across his spread thighs. He felt his face heat and quickly averted his gaze, looking instead at the pale beige band of fabric just visible beneath one leg of Mycroft's boxers.
"Is that it?" Greg asked unnecessarily, pointing at the band. He was proud that his voice was steady. Then he made the mistake of looking up to meet Mycroft's eyes.
Mycroft was still staring at him, intense and direct as he breathed heavily through his nose. His expression was part challenge, part desire, and part hunger, and every bit of it hit Greg hard with a wave of lust. Then Mycroft dropped his eyes, and the moment was broken. Greg took a deep breath before moving forward to get the wallet.
The band was strapped high on Mycroft's thigh beneath the leg of his boxers, with the actual pouch containing the wallet tucked even further up, resting almost at the crease where Mycroft's leg met his groin. Greg tried to be careful not to touch skin as he slid his fingers up under the silky fabric of Mycroft's underwear, but the space was small and tight and he could not help it. His fingertips brushed soft cool skin and sparse hair, and no matter how carefully he moved, his knuckles still bumped softly against the bulge of Mycroft's cock.
Greg managed to grip the tiny zip tab in his blunt fingers and pulled open the pouch, trying and failing to ignore the way Mycroft's breath quickened in reaction to his fumbling. He reminded himself that it was just a physical response to stimulation and probably also a certain amount of adrenaline, and meant nothing. His own reaction to the feel of Mycroft's skin, the sight of him, the musky smell of his sweat, was completely inappropriate and no doubt influenced by his own adrenaline rush, and needed to be forced down before he said or did something really embarrassing.
Greg worked his fingers into the pouch and gripped a slim leather object. He had to turn it and tug it a bit to get it out of the tight space, the motion causing him to drag his knuckles once more across what was, he could not help but notice, becoming a slightly larger bulge, and Mycroft sucked in a hissing breath. Greg felt his face heat at the sound and he carefully kept his eyes averted as a shiver ran down his spine.
With one good, hard tug, the wallet finally came free, and Greg sat back on his heels, making some space between Mycroft and himself. He was breathing harder than the level of exertion involved in extracting a wallet should require, and he could hear that Mycroft was as well. He did not look up.
"Now Gregory," Mycroft said after a moment, his voice steady and smooth, "you need to remove any cards and documents you find inside and return them to the pouch. Do not read anything, please, and make sure that nothing gets overlooked. It is important that the contents of that wallet remain hidden."
Greg nodded without making eye contact. He was sure that if he tried to speak, his voice would not come out as unaffected as Mycroft's, and he could not stand the humiliation of that. It was an unintentional physical response, and he needed to get a grip on himself!
The wallet was very slim, a flat fold of shiny black leather. Greg flicked it open and set to work pulling out everything he could find. He made an effort to avoid really seeing any of the things he was touching, Mycroft's warning still ringing in his ears, but he had to look to make sure nothing got missed, and it was impossible to completely ignore the things in his hands. In fact, thinking about Mycroft's admonition almost felt like it made him pay even more attention, no matter how hard he tried not to.
There was an ID card bearing a symbol that Greg did not recognize, identifying Mycroft Holmes and marked with a series of letters and numbers that, Greg imagined, allowed him access to some kind of top secret something. There was a tightly folded piece of paper covered in handwritten lines using an alphabet Greg had never seen before. There were several scraps of paper that looked to have been torn from a larger piece, each with several markings that may have been some kind of secret code or just random doodles. There was a little stub of plastic and metal that looked to Greg like an extremely tiny version of a USB drive. There was paper money in four different currencies and a credit card with someone else's name on it.
Moving quickly, Greg extracted all the odds and ends from the wallet. He wound up with a surprisingly thick stack of loose papers given the slimness of the wallet, the one ID card, two credit cards, the money, and the little USB thing. Once he was done, Greg felt like he had calmed down enough to make eye contact with Mycroft again.
When he looked up, Mycroft was looking at Greg's hands. He seemed totally calm, no evidence of a blush or any other kind of lingering discomfort. Greg swallowed against a little twist of disappointment.
"That appears to be everything," Mycroft said as he watched Greg close the wallet and set it aside. "Please be careful to put it all back in the pouch. The storage device especially."
"Right." Greg swallowed again and brought his hands back to Mycroft's thigh. He shoved the leg of the shorts up in order to see the pouch better, and then started stuffing things back inside. The opening was small, and it was not easy for him to get everything through. Yet again, he found his fingers touching parts of Mycroft unintentionally. And despite his coolness, Mycroft was clearly affected, wiggling slightly and breathing heavily.
The last thing Greg pushed into the pouch was the tiny USB drive, and then he carefully pulled the zip closed. He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding and scooted backward away from Mycroft.
"Okay, done. Your stuff is safe, and we have a cup." Greg held up the empty leather wallet in triumph, offering an only slightly forced smile to Mycroft, who responded with a small tired grin of his own.
"All that for a drinking vessel."
"No kidding. On the other hand, now seems like a good time to try it out. I know I could use a drink."
"Could you perhaps take a moment to pull my trousers back up before you test it out?" Mycroft asked in his calm tone. Greg felt like slapping himself in the forehead.
"Shit, I'm sorry. Yes, of course." Greg grabbed the trousers from where they were bunched at Mycroft's feet and pulled them up quickly until they were back around Mycroft's waist, more or less. He hesitated before moving to refasten them, and Mycroft cleared his throat.
"Please only fasten the button and the zip. You can leave the internal hook undone."
Greg hesitated before replying. "But that's the part I was most looking forward to," he said before he could lose his nerve. He was rewarded with the sight of Mycroft's eyes jumping to meet his before darting away again just as quickly, a tiny smile gracing his thin lips.
"It's always nice to have something to anticipate, isn't it?"
Greg grinned and flourished the wallet. "May I offer you a drink, Mister Holmes?"
Mycroft smiled. "You may. And I though kidnappings were a 'first names' situation?"
Greg returned his smile before bending over the little stream and scooping some water into the open wallet. It held quite a bit more than he was able to cup in his hands, and he was pleased to see that it did not run out when he raised it to return to Mycroft.
As he approached, Mycroft extended his hand. Greg handed it over, and the chains were just long enough to allow Mycroft to bring the makeshift cup to his lips and drink without assistance. He swallowed down the cool water with apparent relish before offering the wallet back to Greg.
Greg got himself a drink next. The water tasted just slightly of leather as he drank from the wallet, but it was barely noticeable, and Greg was grateful to get more than a swallow at a time.
"Another?" he asked, once he had finished his own drink.
"Not right now, thank you. I think I would like to rest again." Mycroft was leaning against the wall behind him, eyes already closed. He looked exhausted, and even more ill than he had before. Greg suddenly felt guilty for the physical strain involved in getting the wallet.
"Of course." Greg moved back to Mycroft's side and squeezed one of his shoulders briefly before he could stop himself. Mycroft looked up at him in surprise for a moment before closing his eyes once more.
