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[centurybaby]

seven minutes in heaven meme!

❤ post as your characters. ❤ ❤ other characters OR anon reply with another character's name! ❤ ❤ your character makes out with that character for at least 7 comments! ❤ ❤ underage characters can awkwardly hold hands. ❤

Comments

[waiting]

Great. Don't suppose you have any suspects in mind? [ On Bradbury's end, it's debatable. He clearly presents masculinity, but it's less of a deliberate show and more what he is, as natural as breathing. He grunts at Sherlock's assessment, chest heaving with every breath.

He'd started out panicking, but now that he has something to do -- a task to focus on -- his pulse is evening out, as is the draw of his breath. ]

[deductives]

Unless the thieves we've been tailing were more perceptive than I realized, none as of yet.

[He can tell this thinking aloud is helping keep Bradbury focused on the task at hand and not the fact that Sherlock is sitting on his lap in a dark room.]

How bloody thick are those, anyway?

[waiting]

[ Bradbury rolled his eyes, a gesture largely lost when his face was pressed against Sherlock. ]

Thick enough. It'll go faster if you don't bitch about it.

[ Pointedly, but it's not actually telling him to stop talking. And Sherlock's right: it does keep him from thinking too hard about it. He can make the bondage jokes when their dicks aren't less than a foot away from each other.

He finally saws through, the grunt of triumph more felt than heard as he gingerly undoes the bindings on his wrists. ] There we go. Your turn.

[deductives]

[Luckily Bradbury can't see the sour look on Sherlock's face, and the expression quickly changes once he's cut through the ropes. Sherlock lifts his tied hands over Bradbury's head and takes the knife between them.]

If you can move your legs, I'd check the door. Quietly. It doesn't look like there's a guard, but it's hard to tell.

[He starts to cut away at his own ropes with a deft hand, as if he's had to do this before. Many times, in fact.]

[waiting]

My ankles are tied too. It'll be easier to get to 'em once you get off.

[ There were better ways he could have phrased that, but Bradbury ignores it in favor of shifting to work some feeling back into his fingertips. By the sliver of light, he can tell where the direction of the door is, but when he nudges it with his feet, it doesn't budge. It also doesn't budge when he shoves it harder, thighs tensing under Sherlock with the effort he's putting into it. Finally, he gasps: ]

No dice.

[deductives]

[Can we not. That's the thought Sherlock forces himself not to speak as Bradbury tries to extricate himself from their awkward tangle of limbs.

While the door is being attended to, Sherlock finally gets through the ropes on his wrists. The return of the blood flow sends pins beneath his skin and he seethes a bit.]

Nor any for "quietly."

[Things just got more complicated. His powers don't seem to be working here, so he doubts Rick's would either. As for moving his own legs, his ankles are tied too, he finds, behind Bradbury's back.]

Bring your feet back. It'll be easier for me to do it.

[waiting]

Sorry. [ He doesn't really sound it, but he brings his legs around closer for Sherlock to reach, his thighs an awkward backrest for the other man until it occurs to him -- ]

Uh, is it gonna be easier if I keep my legs together, or...?

[deductives]

[Sherlock isn't sure Bradbury is clever enough to be doing that on purpose, but he does give him a pointed glare anyway.]

Doesn't make much of a difference.

[He twists around and leans back, keeping his balance by rooting his tied feet on Bradbury's waist. It's uncomfortable, but it's the only way he can reach the other man's feet.]

Your head was bleeding. How is it? [Better than talking about the current situation.]

[waiting]

[ It's not that Bradbury isn't clever so much as sexual innuendo is the last thing he wants to be thinking about , and he's blocked it out so securely he doesn't even realize how it could be taken. ]

I'm not seeing double or anything, so I probably don't have much of a concussion. Nothing a couple of aspiring won't fix.

[deductives]

[A smirk flickers across Sherlock's face. Much of one. It sounds like something he'd say. At least they both have the necessary cavalier attitude for this.

He glances between the door and the progress he's making. The ropes finally give way, and he awkwardly lifts himself with his hands so Bradbury can slip his legs free.]

Our powers are blocked here, but there's nothing unusual about that door. If we can't open it normally, there must be a trick to it.

[Not that kicking down a door is the normal way to leave a room, but never mind that.]

[waiting]

[ Bradbury kicks his legs free of the cut ties, relief visible in his face before he holds his out for the knife, expectantly. He may not be able to see Sherlock's legs behind his back, but he has a good guess they're also tied together, and it'll be easier for him to return the favor rather than Sherlock crawling further onto his lap. ]

What, like a password we're supposed to guess? Open sesame?

[deductives]

Something less obvious, yes.

[Just a hint of exasperation as he hands Bradbury the knife and lets his torso hit the ground again. Sherlock takes his flashlight out at last, and uses it to look around the room for any clues. No indentations on the walls, no vents, nothing. At least it meant they weren't being watched, either.]

A coded action, maybe.

[waiting]

[ There really isn't any way for him to comfortably get at legs tied behind his back, but Bradbury's giving a good go at it. It's easier, now that he's got both hands free, moving along quicker while he listens to Sherlock speak. ]

Like what?

[ Even in the darkness, the dubiousness in his voice comes through loud and clear. ]

[deductives]

[Sherlock reclines on the floor, assuming his typical thinking position. It was hardly as comfortable as the furniture back home, but it would have to do. He isn't typically tied to a hulking American either, but let it be said that little affects his focus.

He's silent for a while, mind bubbling with the possibilities as the only sound in the room is Bradbury cutting the ropes. The ropes. Sherlock frowns behind his steepled fingers.]

The way we were tied may play into it.

[waiting]

Yeah? [ If they could see each other, he'd be raising a brow, but that's largely out of the question, so he lets the question carry into the tone of his voice instead. ]

So what, this really is a fucked-up version of seven minutes in heaven or something?

[ Look, unlike some people, Bradbury had a healthy and robust teenagerhood. ]

[deductives]

[Sherlock pauses. Sometimes Bradbury, while being incredibly thick, was able to actually pick up on the heart of matters with disturbing accuracy. For once, he almost wishes someone isn't following his train of thought.]

It does seem to be more of a prank than something malicious. Aside from knocking us on the heads, anyway.

[waiting]

[ Don't be rude, Sherlock!! Bradbury can be perceptive when he isn't being willfully ignorant... which is most of the time.

He frowns, but he doesn't answer until he's finished cutting the ropes and Sherlock's ankles are free, and he pulls the ties loose before easing the other man's legs away. If they're going to have to talk about this, it would be nice with some space between them. ]

Then why not just tell us what they want? What's the point?

[deductives]

[It's with no small bit of urgency that Sherlock scoots away from Bradbury and leans up against the adjacent wall. Both of their sizes are making inhabiting the room a problem now that he isn't on Rick's lap. Too bad, that.

Sherlock tucks his legs up and wraps his arms around his knees, another favored thinking position.]

Well, Bradbury, if someone asked you to kiss me without forcing us into it, I doubt you'd do it, would you?

[waiting]

I'd probably think they were fucking high. [ Bradbury admits, easily, and his eyes narrow as he draws his own legs up, resting his hands on his knees and sprawling as best as he's able in the tight space.

He can think of faster ways someone could force him to kiss someone else, but he's not going to say them out loud. He has the uneasy feeling they might be observed-- no need to give anyone listening in any bright ideas. ]

So you think that's it? That's our shot at getting out?

[deductives]

[Sherlock wants it to be something different, even though in the long run it's not much of a consequence. Pride, however, doesn't forsake him so easily. He stands carefully and tries the door for himself, but the knob won't even turn.

He slumps back to his seat on the floor and avoids Bradbury's eyes.]

It's the most logical conclusion.

[waiting]

[ Bradbury won't insult Sherlock by asking him if he's sure, but he's glad for the darkness making it easier to hide his expression, not that Sherlock's looking. He's not sure what the look on his face would say.

He shifts carefully in the darkness, moving to kneel in front of Sherlock, but there's an element of cautiousness to the motion now -- not unlike someone trying not to spook an already-startled animal. ]

It's not the worst thing we've ever done.

[ It's not the worst thing they'll ever do. ]

[deductives]

[Sherlock tries not to have a reaction when Bradbury gets closer, but he feels embarrassment already creeping up his neck. His hands, no longer wrapped around his legs, rest on the floor where he drums his fingers quickly. Somehow, Bradbury's walking on eggshells just annoys him. Really, anything at this point would annoy him.

However, when Bradbury cuts right through the veil again, Sherlock's eyes snap back onto him at last. After that, he just snorts. He has no idea how right he is, and Sherlock can imagine that he isn't sure how right Bradbury is about himself. If there was something more pressing going on outside of the closet, they'd probably have been all over each other and done by now.]

No. It isn't. [After that moment of clarity, though, Sherlock raises a brow.] You're worse at setting a mood, at least.

[waiting]

[ Bradbury echoes Sherlock's snort, the amusement breaking the tension -- for him, at least -- and his shoulders relax, the tightness in them easing. ]

Pretty sure trying to set the mood would end up with your fist in my kidneys, so I'd rather not. [ And his breath rushes from him in an amused huff. ] Don't make this any weirder than it already is.

[ And that's all the warning Sherlock gets before Bradbury's hand finds his face in the darkness, thumb resting on his chin and tipping it up so he can plant a firm, close-mouthed his on his lips. ]

[deductives]

[Sherlock, about to reply that it really can't get much stranger, only manages a muffled syllable against Bradbury's mouth. Instinctively, his hands ball into fists against the floor. Bradbury was right about the punch, though kidneys may have been too forgiving a place. Now, he keeps his eyes off Rick's. as difficult as that is with them only inches away. He doesn't want to close them. That seemed a bit much. However, his lips do move, even if not enough to open his mouth.]

[waiting]

[ Even if Sherlock isn't closing his eyes, Bradbury is, partly because he doesn't want to go cross-eyed trying to look at someone so close, mostly because it just doesn't feel right to keep them open. Of course, nothing is right about this situation in the first place, so it's too little, too late.

But is this enough? The niggling worry lurks at the back of his mind. He certainly wouldn't classify this as making out. Hell, he thinks kissing a wall would be more sexual than this. So after a few heartbeats where he hesitates, turning the question over in his mind, he finally gives up and does what comes naturally.

Which is to say, he rudely and without warning sticks his tongue in. ]