|| bono and the pope ||

//

It's not until Chris is halfway up the mountain- okay, so Lance assured him it was a hill, but from where he's positioned, it's most definitely a mountain-- that he realises this may have been a mistake. A huge, life-changing, plunge-to-his-painful-death kinda mistake. He looks up- don't look down, don't look down- and all he can see is Lance's ass, hovering a few feet above his line of vision. Normally this would please Chris, because- Lance's ass. Normally he'd be grinning so big his face would be in danger of splitting in half, but right now, he's halfway up a mountain, held in place by some seriously dodgy-looking ropes, and the only thing he can anticipate splitting anytime soon is his head, wide-open -during that whole plunging to his death scenario.

"Fucking Bass," he mutters, and decides right there and then that he's going to refuse to move any further. He's quite happy to stay where he is for now- some jutting ledge of reasonably solid-looking rock, with a view of even more rock as far as his eye can see. Which admittedly, isn't all that far due to the fact both of them are currently squinched tightly shut, but hey. The way Chris figures it, you see one rock, and you've pretty much seen 'em all. So yeah, this ledge seems like a good option. Maybe he can stay here until Lance gets to the top and uses his cellphone to call for a chopper to winch him to safety. Or a Saint Bernard with a barrel of brandy around it's neck. Chris thinks maybe they only do that where there's snow and avalanches involved, but maybe there are exceptions to the rules when it comes to rockstars on hiatus stuck halfway up huge mountains--

"It's a hill, Chris. A hill." And hello, Lance's voice is a lot closer than he expected it to be, and Chris jumps a little, cracking open one eye cautiously. Lance is beside him on the ledge- my ledge, Chris mentally amends- and he's grinning the shit-eating grin of the stalwart and fearless.

"I never-"

"You were muttering out loud." Lance does something to one of the ropes around his waist, a pull-twist-glide kinda movement, and he looks like he knows what he's doing, which is sorta hot in that whole outdoorsy-mountain man kinda way, but Chris' belly still flips uneasily. It's times like this he wonders just how evil Lance really is, because maybe he's lured Chris up here to kill him. To just push him off the mountain, and then laugh maniacally as Chris flies backwards through the air- in slow-mo, of course, because that's how it always happens in the movies- with an expression of evil glee on his face, until...until...

No. No, no, no. Chris can't even think about it. Why did he agree to this? Is he insane?

"I have a phobia, you know," he blurts out. "A phobia, Lance, and you of all people know this, and so why the hell didn't you stop me? Why did you even suggest this? Why did I say yes? Why, Lance? Why?" And okay, great, now he's babbling like a maniac, and if Lance wasn't already going to push him off the ledge, he more than likely will now, if for no other reason to shut him up. Yeah, Chris thinks, yeah, I'd probably push me off, too.

But Lance doesn't push him anywhere, just leans closer and rests his head on Chris' shoulder. "It's nice here," he says. "Peaceful. Y'know?"

Chris opens his mouth to counter that claim with one of his own, pointing out the distance between them and the nice, safe, solid ground, but something makes him swallow the words back down again. Something about the warmth of Lance's body, the way he's curled against Chris, humming a little under his breath. There's the hint of relaxation in the line of his limbs, and that's something Chris hasn't seen in far too long. So he says nothing, stays still and quiet, and just breathes. Breathes in the clear air, the smell of Lance, the little taste of freedom that surrounds them both.

And okay, maybe it's something to do with the weird atmosphere up here- Chris vaguely recalls reading something about the higher the elevation, the thinner the air-- but he's almost starting to feel relaxed. Or maybe it's got more to do with the fact that Lance is pressed close to him, tiny flashpoints of heat that flicker through him, along his skin. It's like being this close to Lance calms him, somehow.

Chris frowns and smacks himself in the head. Hard. When did he turn into such a freaking girl? He's coming over all Sound Of Music, and it's totally Lance's fault. Him and his ropes and boots and mountain-climbing and great spiels about health and fitness, and- well, Chris isn't sure what else he went on about, because he'd tuned him out after a while and concentrated instead on admiring the swell of his ass as Lance had crouched down, cramming a backpack full of supplies. Chris wonders idly if the supplies might possibly include condoms and lube, because sucking in lungfuls of this thin air is doing all kinds of interesting stuff to his nether regions.

"Stop thinking about your dick," Lance rumbles softly, and okay, Chris thinks, how does he do that? He starts to protest his innocence by pure reflex, but Lance silences him, holding up a hand, doing that whole eyebrow thing he's so good at. "Chris. You were muttering out loud again."

"I was? Right. I guess I was." Chris shrugs, and makes a mental note to work on that, because hell, a guy's got to have some secrets, or what's the point? Especially where Lance is concerned, because he seems to just know things. Chris thinks that sometimes maybe Lance knows him better than he knows himself. He smiles a little at that, because, well. That's actually kinda nice.

He kicks idly at a jut of rock and earth, and then watches in horror as a little piece breaks off and tumbles merrily down toward the ground. Oh, god. Now he's started some kind of huge avalanche thing, and they're both going to fall and be crushed and maimed and--

"It's not an avalanche." Lance peers at the tiny trickle of stone and soil, already tapering off. "So don't even say it."

Chris feigns a look of total innocence, which is harder than it sounds, what with his heart threatening to burst out of his chest any second. "I, uh. Not a word." He leans back and closes his eyes, and thinks of things he enjoys, like...being on the ground. And- well, mostly just that whole being on the ground thing. He's never really appreciated the ground all that much before, but now? Whole other story. Chris thinks he might even go so far as to fall to his knees and kiss it, just like the Pope does. And Bono-- Chris remembers seeing Bono do it once, too. "Bono for Pope," he mutters, and when he opens his eyes, Lance is looking at him like he's a more than a little insane. Chris smiles, because hey, maybe he is, thin air and all. "Can we go back soon?" he asks, trying not to sound too pathetic. "I kinda miss the ground. It makes me feel, y'know. Safe."

"Sure." Lance smiles too then, and his hand slides over Chris', fingers fitting into place, and it feels warm and familiar and just-- right, somehow. "Whenever you're ready."

Chris grins and it's not just the altitude that's making him light-headed. "One more thing before we go, though."

"What?"

"You." Chris smiles, then leans in, and kisses Lance. He tastes a little like the sky, and a lot like freedom. "You're my ground," he whispers, licking the words across Lance's lips. "And me-- I'm kinda like Bono and the Pope."

//

- mprovish thing using the words elevation, mistake, reflex, stalwart, crush.

[ feedback ] [ main fic index ] [ livejournal  ] [ randomness ]