Pairing: Lance and Chris
Words: blasphemous; faith; drizzle; indulge


"Faith isn't something you can indulge in when it suits you, James
Lance Bass!  I raised you better than that!  I did not raise you to
lead this... this *blasphemous* life!  You are a sinner, Lance, and
until you repent, you are not welcome in my house!"

Lance starts awake, sitting bolt upright in bed and gasping for
breath.  "Chris!  Chris!"  He fumbles desperately at the other side
of the bed.  A small hand slips the inhaler into his hand and he
huffs desperately.

"Nightmares again?" Chris asks quietly.

"Yeah," Lance says, voice hoarse with the bronchitis that just
won't release its hold on him.

Chris slips an arm behind him.  "Need anything?  Cough drops or the
menthol rub stuff maybe?"

Lance curls into Chris and shakes with the struggle to breathe and
the struggle to leave the nightmare behind.  "Just hold me."

"I can do that."  Chris wraps his arms around Lance, holding him
tight, hoping that'll help.

Lance's body stills eventually.  "Thank you."

"Hey, what am I here for if not for hugging?"

"Mmm.  Loving and keeping warm and sexing and cuddling and teasing
and laughing and making life liveable."

"Well, yeah.  That, too."  Chris kisses Lance's forehead.  "You
wanna tell me about it, or you wanna have sex?"

"I *want* to have sex, but I'd probably pass out from lack of
oxygen," Lance says ruefully.  "It was my mother.  Again."

"You think maybe you should just talk to her about it?"

Lance closes his eyes.  "I don't know anymore."

"*I* know," Chris says confidently.  "Anything's gotta be better
than this.  Even if it's as bad as the nightmare, at least we can
do something about it.  We can't do anything about the dreams."

Lance sighs.  "The only thing that keeps me from falling apart is
that it hasn't happened.  What do I do if it does?"

"Deal with it.  What else?"

"What if she yells at you?"

"I'll cry."

"I don't want you to cry," Lance croaks, his own eyes watering and
his nose prickling with coming tears.

"That was a joke, dummy."  Chris kisses Lance again.  "I wouldn't
cry.  I'd just get all macho and beat my chest and claim that I
never ever looked at you before you were legal."

"You did?"

"Well, duh.  You were sleeping in my room."

"You called me a girly twit."

"But see?  I had to be looking at you, or I wouldn't have noticed
your many fine qualities."

Lance laughs sleepily.  "We'll go next week, okay?"

"Okay.  I'll make sure to take lots of handkerchiefs.  Love you,
babe."

"L've you, too," Lance says.  He's starting to slur as sleep comes
over him.

Chris relaxes.  Rain's started to fall -- he can hear the drizzle
of it.  It's not as good as if it was raining hard, but maybe it
will.

It'll work out.  He's sure of it.  He hasn't fallen asleep to the
sound of Lance's breathing for this many years to give it up now.