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Jump
By forest
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The sun was nearly past the horizon, all the confectionary dawn hues sliding to a uniform pale blue, before Keith roused from his reverie enough to realize that the others would be waking up soon, and he was still in his clothes from yesterday. The rush of nicotine after a sleepless night and on an empty stomach left him feeling a little ill, the stale flavor left on his tongue not helping matters much. He glanced at the rising sun, deciding he had time to stop by the kitchen for something to settle his stomach before going to his room for a quick shower and change, and some cold water to hide the exhaustion sure to show around his eyes -- though he'd passed enough sleepless nights that he no longer felt it.

He made his way down from the battlements, crossing the gardens to the kitchen entrance, the dew-covered grounds reminding him of wet, sparkling lashes trembling slightly in uneasy sleep. He wanted another cigarette. He smiled grimly at how readily, how eagerly, his body had fallen into the trap of another easy addiction, and wondered if it was because he was denied what he truly craved. What would happen if he found the strength to give up the painful ecstasy of wanting, if he took the promised pleasure of Lance's lithe body, if they found between them what Keith, in tremulous moments of fearful hope, knew there could be-- the possibility was too overwhelming, too dazzling and terrifying to consider.

It was like standing on the edge of a precipice and feeling a wind arise so strong that you knew you could throw yourself over the edge and be borne aloft; at the same time knowing that that didn't really happen, it wasn't possible. It was cruel to have the possibility presented. Better by far to back away from the edge, to forget the glittering vista placed before you and the seductive tug of gusts of air bearing promises they could never deliver. Better, even, to jump and prove that you were right to disbelieve. But how thrilling and hurtful to do neither, how much perverse pleasure there was to be gained in allowing yourself to wonder.

Feet from the kitchen door he stopped, his attention arrested by the rain barrel just outside. Memory returned to him, not in fragments, nor in an abrupt flash; rather, as if he had never forgotten. The cool, metallic-tanged water, his senses cut off from the outside world and drawn instead to the dark moss and his own hair drifting in front of his eyes, and then the water filling his lungs. It hadn't hurt -- it hadn't been anything, really, except sort of interesting in a detached, calm way -- until Lance pulled him away and his body rebelled. Then there had been pain, but with it came comfort. Lance's hands soothing his back, the fading warmth of the setting sun, its glow softening his friend's sharp features, pulling amber highlights from the hazel eyes and making him almost irresistible. Keith recalled how much he'd wanted to taste that golden skin, knowing it would be warmed by the sun, knowing exactly how Lance would feel under his lips still chilled from the water...

"Gonna try to drown yourself again?" Keith jerked his eyes away from the barrel at the sound of the voice, the familiar tone of humor against something darker, something angry that always lurked just behind the surface but was closer now and sent thrills through his body. "'Cuz I've gotta warn you, after yesterday, I may be tempted to not pull you out this time."

Keith couldn't help but think that would be frightfully just, if not entirely for the reasons Lance meant. "I'm really sorry," he said with honest contrition "We shouldn't've done that to you."

Lance waved a hand carelessly. "S'okay. You raided Gorma's stash for me, so I'll live." His eyes narrowed suddenly. "You didn't sleep at all, did you? What's up?"

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't very well do that. Not standing there in yesterday's clothes. But he couldn't exactly say he'd been up all night watching Lance sleep, either. "Just... had some thinking to do, I guess."

Lance suddenly looked very tense, and very uncomfortable. "About me?"

Keith jerked. "Wha-"

With a slightly bitter smile, Lance explained. "I don't suffer from your amnesiac tendencies when I've been drinking. Damn inconvenient, really. Means I'm stuck remembering all the stupid things I've done, like dancing on tables-- and all the things I've said that should've been kept to myself."

Oh gods. Oh godsohgodsohgodsohgods. Keith's mouth felt dry and unpleasant; his heart thudded in his chest. This wasn't supposed to come out in the open, not like this. How could he hold onto it now? The line he'd been walking so carefully, so recklessly, for so long, was about to be obliterated one way or the other and he wasn't ready. "Lance..."

"Don't worry about it. It's no big deal." The way he wouldn't meet Keith's eyes gave lie to his cavalier words as he threw them out to make Keith's perceived rejection easier, not for himself, but for Keith. He even managed a laugh. "It's not the first time I've gotten drunk and made an ass of myself. You know that better than anyone."

"That's not it." Keith found himself saying. Inwardly he trembled, terrified of what he was about to say but knowing he had to. It had gone too far; he could live with himself using his best friend as a personal scourge, even if he hated himself for it, but he couldn't put his needs ahead of the pain in Lance's eyes, no matter the cost. The decision made, he trembled with the sudden thrill of throwing himself headlong into certain annihilation. "I'm not drunk now."

For a moment Lance stood there, confusion warring with the battle to not draw assumptions, no matter how obvious they may be, and a wary sort of anticipation. It was irresistible. Keith drew closer, feeling predatory and not bothering to quell, as he usually did, the lust that flared in him at Lance's expression and his closeness, the smell of leather and shower-damp hair. "It's not just when I'm drunk that I want you."

He was close enough to kiss, close enough to feel the warmth rising off his body, close enough that his eyes filled Keith's vision as a dozen emotions chased their way across the surface before settling on something close to hurt but closer to anger as Lance stepped away from him. "No."

Air rushed past Keith's ears as he plummeted, the roaring filling his head. Distantly he recalled his own whispered words, "how could I ever look you in the face again if I was sober and you said no?" but it didn't matter, because he was falling from the precipice and it was over, and he didn't have to face Lance, because Lance had turned away.

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