Pairing: Chris and Lance
Words: dawn; microphone; bandage; abject 


"Chris, wake up! You're going to miss it!" Lance bounces up and
down on top of Chris. He's got to wake Chris up -- but he's still
careful not to knock into Chris's bandaged knee. 

Chris shoves him off, grumbling. "Lemme die in peace. Or pieces. I
don't care which."

Lance gently leans over and kisses Chris thoroughly. "Wake up,
baby. It's almost dawn!" 

"All the more reason to sleep," Chris grumbles, but he reaches up
and grabs Lance, pulling him down.

Lance smiles against Chris's stubbly cheek. "You promised to watch
it with me. I'll get you a painkiller," he says in a wheedling
tone. 

"Did not," Chris says. "I'll pay you a million billion dollars if
you go away right now." But his lips are curving in a smile.

Lance laughs happily and kisses Chris again. "Right. I'll be right
back. You stay still." He skips off to get Chris milk and a pill.
They're going to watch the dawn. It's only fitting. This *is*
Lance's anniversary after all. Chris's is in two weeks. They have
different ideas of what counts as a first date. 

Chris sighs and starts getting up. "Youngsters these days. No idea
of proper respect for creaky bones. Time was they'd cower in abject
terror if you growled at them. Now they just laugh. Where's the
respect?"

Lance comes back in just as Chris is sitting up. His knee is still
heavily wrapped in bandages. "Here," Lance says, handing the pill
and the glass to Chris. He kneels down and gently starts
straightening the stupid-ass stockings Chris has to wear. 

Chris makes a face at the milk, but takes the pill and drinks it
anyway. "Thanks."

"Not a problem, Chris, babe. After all, I'm dragging your ancient
ass out of bed to watch the sun rise." Lance grins up at Chris.
"How's this feel," he asks, gently touching Chris's knee. 

"It's right about, 'stop touching it or I'll rip your fucking head
off'. How's that?"

Lance looks worried. "You want another pill?" 

"Nah, it'll be fine. Give the pill time to kick in."

"Okay." Lance smiles up at Chris. "You wanna just sit here a
second? I'm gonna put some blankets outside for us, okay?" 

"I'm injured, not elderly. Geez, Bass."

"Yeah, well, it's January. I'm cold." Lance sticks out his tongue
and quickly distributes thick comforters on the loungers on their
balcony. Then he comes back and hugs Chris from behind. "Ready?" 

"Who picks January for an anniversary?" Chris grumps and gets up.
"Yep. Lay it on me."

Lance carefully supports Chris as they hobble outside and wrap up
tight in the blanket. "I can't understand why you're willing to get
behind a microphone in front of a million teenies -- at any time of
the day. Yet you have such an abject horror of dawn." He curls up
against Chris, using his legs to prop up Chris's knee. 

"It's different when there's hordes of deluded children in pink
chanting my name. You have to give into the worship. Because if
they stop worshipping you, how do you know you're real?"

"*I* worship you!" 

"Do not."

"Yes, I do," Lance says stubbornly. 

"Do not." Chris reaches for Lance's hand. "You love me. There's a
difference. A very nice difference, which I appreciate. But there
is a difference."

"I do both." Lance lays his head against Chris's and laces their
fingers. "Lots and lots. Dork." 

"I seriously hope not."

"Why not?" Lance asks, eyes on the horizon. 

"Because worship is what you do when you think someone's so much
better than you that they're out of your reach. And I'm not. I'm
right here."

"It's only sometimes. When you do something perfect," Lance
murmurs. 

Chris snorts. "Me? I'm the most imperfect guy on the planet."

"Not always." 

Chris squeezes his hand. "Fine. You do whatever makes you happy.
Just don't expect me to ever go all self-perfected Buddha on you,
'cause I'm not."

"Nope. That's why I like you." 

Chris laughs.

Lance just smiles and watches the sun come up.