It wasn’t that Chris was ‘afraid’ of heights ... he was petrified. Petrified like uncontrollable shaking and a heart that bounced around like a rubber ball, threatening to expel out  through his mouth. His palms danced with sweat and his mind became a vacant field where horrifying images of his body splattered on the pavement reigned. He was used to the taunts, to the little teases fans and friends threw at him. He was always more than happy and eager to laugh it off, or to nudge Justin with a sarcastic smile and remind him that it wasn’t a ‘fear’ per say. It was a ‘phobia’. Quote. Unquote. And there had been a long line of professionals called in year after year to help alleviate that ‘phobia’. It had been before the “Sailing” stint when Chris had been referred to a psychologist who delved into his childhood, explaining in nonsensical terms how his father leaving was directly related to his fear of heights. Chris had left immediately. Then before No Strings Attached, Justin had suggested an acupuncturist who had inadvertently hit the wrong nerves and caused a ferocious twitch to plague him for months. Only a regiment of special stretches had managed to heal that. For Pop Odyssey, it had been a Joey’s father who guided him to a hypnotist, and she had cured him of his penchant for impulse shopping,  but not of the dizzying feeling he got when up any higher than five feet. “It’s no big deal,” JC told him one afternoon before the tour. “If you don’t want to ...” “I can do it,” Chris replied through gritted teeth, his trademark smile no where to be found. “I’m not an infant. I can fucking do it.” But the way his fists were clenched and his knuckles turned white told everyone in the room that all was not well. That all would probably never be well. That Chris would always fear the “higher view“. “Chris, JC is right,” Justin tried. “We can do something else.” He scratched the back of his neck and looked around for support from the three other friends. “We can do ...” “I said no,” Chris snapped, grabbing his hat off the bed. “We fly. It’s cool.” Lance stood by quietly, tapping his fingers on the desk with vigilant eyes. Watching the way JC, Justin and Joey scrambled to come to Chris’ aid and relieve him of his panic. Watching as Chris fought against the coddling. Smiled inwardly with a tiny sigh because he had an idea. ************** “Chris get your jacket.” Chris looked up from the sketches before him, wire rimmed glasses covering his eyes and a cell phone clasped in his hand. “What?” Lance threw his denim jacket on with a grin. “Get your coat. We’re going out. Me and you.” “Lance, I don’t have time to go out, man. I got like three thousand things ...” “Get. Your. Coat.” Lance crossed the room and yanked Chris by his arm, tossing the cell phone to the side. “Come on. I gotta show you something.” Chris snarled up at Lance, annoyed to be bothered when he was faced with deadlines and important decisions. When the threat of dangling over an audience loomed large in the back of his head. When the child in him was being petulant. “Lance,” he warned, jerking out of his friend’s grasp. “I really don’t think this is a good time.” “Oh come *on*, Chris,” Lance smiled, cocking his head to one side. “I just thought if you could get out, it would clear your mind.” Chris pondered that. New York City was the city of life. There were a million things to see and do. A million ways to get his head in the game again. “Fine,” he relented, tossing his jacket on. “One hour. Then I really do have things to finish.” “Gimme two,” Lance bartered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Ninety minutes,” Chris compromised, “ And I don’t wanna go near MTV, hear me?” “No, no,” Lance chuckled. “No MTV. Promise.” They exited the hotel room and headed silently to the elevators where they were joined by Lonnie. No words were exchanged as Lance took the lead, down to the service floor and out the back into an unmarked black van. “What the hell?” Chris mumbled. “Just trust me, okay?” Chris stared into big eyes that he *wanted* to trust, truly. But there was something slightly devious in Lance’s expression, something a tad *off*. There was a vibe resonating off Lance that made Chris warm -- and self conscious. His mind spun, wondering suddenly if this was a bad idea, if he really *wanted* Lance’s help. After all, he’d flown before without any real assistance. He could do it again. But Lance was humming in a hushed and constant tone, staring directly at him with a glow -- tilting his head back and forth methodically, and it was making Chris crazed. “Can you stop doing that?” he asked, blinking his gaze away. “Stop doing what?” Lance asked slyly. “Nothing.” Chris turned and stared out the tinted windows as the city dragged by at an annoyingly slow pace. The van pulled up as dusk was settling, and Chris groaned when he saw the brightly lit building next to him. “Oh fuck no!” he exclaimed, his palms already leaking with fear. “Oh FUCK no! You did NOT do this Bass!”  He was beyond panicked, and threatened by the fact Lance would do this to him. Bring him to this place. The Empire State Building sat to his left and he recalled the horrors of the Observation Deck so many years ago when the wind had whipped severe fright into him. When his four friends laughed as they tried to peel him away from the wall where he felt a hint of safety. He remembered the nausea that had pooled in the back of his throat as he tried not to look over the edge, as his mind tried to convince his body that he was alright. Now, all these years later, those same feelings of shame and horror flooded him, and he felt the blood drain from his face. “You’re fucked, Lance. Do you know that?” Chris wanted to grimace, to grumble and lash out, but Lance reached over and rubbed the back of his hand softly, throwing him off guard. “I’m not going to laugh this time,” Lance promised, sliding past Chris to get out. “This time you’re going to walk away from this building and not be scared.” Chris was lost in the passing gaze. Lost in some kind of fucked up intensity Lance was throwing at him subtly. He was torn between letting himself be sucked in and shoving Lance face first away. He knew better. Chris knew Lance. And he knew the persona he possessed. He’d witnessed it first hand, second hand AND third hand. The touch had a purpose, of that Chris was sure. It was done to deliver the first in a series of unexpected things about to happen. Like a vampire or some shit, Chris thought as he climbed out after Lance. Lonnie trailed closely as they headed into the nearly empty lobby. It was a foolish thing, to follow Lance on his little adventure. Chris sighed repeatedly as he watched the back of Lance’s head. As he swallowed bile down over and over again. The elevator door slid open and Chris froze. Children’s laughter echoed through the hallway, and Chris flinched. “I ain’t going,” he said finally, pushing his fingers through his hair. Looking doggedly at Lance with a hint of ire deep in his brown eyes. “And I’m pissed that you even did this.” Lance just smiled and put his hand reassuringly on Chris’ arm. “Come on, Chris. Just go up with me. I swear to God, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” And there was some multi-layered manner about Lance in that moment, something Chris couldn’t seem to fight. It was as if his eyes grew hands and grabbed him in without warning or purpose. It was freaky to say the least. Soon, Chris found himself on the up rise, watching the little numbers zip by at an alarming pace. He grabbed onto Lance’s jacket instinctively, not meaning to, and was comforted when Lance covered his hands. Lance had really warm skin. “You okay?” Lance whispered. “Just breathe. You can hold my hand if you want.” It was possibly the most insane thing Chris had ever heard -- but even more insane was the thought he might actually DO it. He was tempted as the doors opened. Lonnie stepped out first, counting a beat of five before ushering them out. Soon it was a professional transaction handled by Lance to close the observation deck for thirty minutes, a quick hand over of money, and a temporary evacuation of the gift shop. And it was Lonnie all brawny arms and bad ass look standing guard to make sure it stayed that way. Chris felt the rush of adrenaline, and the bubble of panic surge through his chest. His field of vision  grew blurry as he stepped out, and he paused to hold onto the door frame. “I can’t,” he garbled, snapping his eyes shut as a brisk breeze fluttered around him. “Fuck, Lance, I can’t. Don’t make me.”  He hated the way he sounded, like some whiny kid. But it was daunting up there, so high he swore the first stars of night were close enough to touch. Like the moon really did have a face because it was near enough to laugh down at him. Lance turned and placed strong hands on his shoulders. “Look at me, Chris,” he said, ducking a bit to catch the terrified brown eyes that were darting randomly about. “Chris. Look at me.” It was a slow rise of his chin, and finally a hesitant stare that Chris forced himself to manage. It was the witness of eyes that seemed to glow with some kind of special knowledge or mystery -- one he wanted in on. One hand dropped slowly from Chris’ shoulder down his arm to his hand, clasping it firmly. “Come to the fence,” Lance said. “Right over here to where you can see the city.” Chris shook his head no. His insides were on high alert, and his feet were solidified to the ground. He could see the other skyscrapers peeking out at him, and he could feel the wind picking up strength. Still, Lance’s hand was warm. Really warm. Almost too warm. “I want to go,” Chris said, sticking his jaw out a bit. “No, you don’t,” Lance countered, guiding him out from his spot pressed to the wall. “Trust me, you don’t.” There was something in Lance’s face at that moment that Chris liked, a mystical vision perhaps, a hidden treasure that made his body tingle and his heart thump fiercely. Not just a trust, but the promise of more. So he moved, inch by inch, letting Lance’s hand lead him out into the night air. The focus was on Lance’s face, on the tiny dimple that flashed in the remaining glimpses of twilight, on the blonde hair that was flat without hair gel and whipping in the breeze, on the cunning twinkle that seemed to make his eyes darken. Chris felt his body twitch and jerk a bit under the trance. He watched as Lance pulled him smoothly to the fence -- to the edge of New York City. To the million dollar view. In one abrupt motion, Lance had him pinned, his stomach pressed unmercifully against the fence, his face forced to look out. The breath inside his body was gone, swept from his lungs forcibly. Chris couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Didn’t want to live. “I got you,” Lance licked at his ear. “Trust me.” But Chris had no words to speak back. They were jammed inside of him trying to get the hell out. They were lodged like a chicken bone, pulling at his windpipe and making him want to cry. It was then he accepted that what he had was a true fear. Moments ticked by and Chris felt Lance pressing up behind him roughly, holding him in place. It was like a nightmare, he thought, and suddenly he felt a hand between his legs rubbing. That warm hand. Rubbing at his crotch. It was surreal at best as his body tensed. There was too much alarm to object. Even if he wanted to. And as the strokes grew more firm, Chris wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore. “It’s okay, Chris,” Lance whispered. “Let it go.” What that meant, Chris was unsure, but he felt himself grow hard. His eyes fluttered shut, and soon he was a little less scared. When his jeans were unzipped, he gasped into the wind and his eyes flew open. When Lance’s hand dove in, he felt his body roll with desire. It was the most insane feeling he’d ever had -- terrified and excited at the same time. His fingers laced through the steel of the fence and he held on, not daring to move. The air lapped at him as Lance drew his cock out of it’s hiding place, and his hips rocked back a little to assist in the motion. Because he needed it so badly. Whatever Lance was connecting to. He didn’t want it to stop. “I gotcha,” Lance said gruffly, the bass in his voice rich with understanding. Chris was lost as he felt Lance’s hand wrap around him and begin to stroke. To feel Lance flush against his back, bracing him, was a comfort. Yet the hot breath in his ear and the firm tug at his erection incited him. Rocked him. Released a flood in him he never knew existed. “Are you scared?” Lance queried as his chin rested on Chris’ shoulder. “I’m not sure,” Chris muttered, pressing back into Lance harder. “Look out there, Chris. Look out and take a deep breath. Look down if you can. Feel what you can.” Chris did press his face against the enclosure, daring his eyes to glance at the street below. Letting his heart pound and his temples throb -- and his adrenaline course out of control. It was a rush as his body reacted in pleasure and pain. It was some kind of high he wanted to bottle as Lance moved his hand more rapidly, adding another hand to intensify and complete his job. It was a powerful abyss that curled in Chris’ gut, spreading rapidly though his veins, pulsating like tiny shockwaves through his nervous system. He was holding himself back, afraid to come. Ashamed to have Lance’s hand bring him to orgasm. Ashamed to have a phobia. “Stop,” he pleaded, gripping the screen tighter. “Please, Lance. Please.” His teeth mashed together and his jaw twitched with restraint. Lance increased the strength of his caresses, and the underlying squeeze. His tongue darted out and wrapped around Chris’ earlobe. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Take what I’m giving you.” The voice was gutturally cavernous, it sent shudders through Chris’ body, swaying him out of his body to a level he couldn’t deal with. He moaned and jerked his hips, pushing himself, keeping his hands gripped and his eyes wide open. Surrendering to the mind-blowing orgasm boiling in his body. Letting Lance’s fists pump him to it. The wind picked up, pushing at Chris, daring him to jump over. “Scream for it, Chris,” Lance urged, moving quicker, moving harder. And Chris did. He gave it all up as his voice drifted into the city noises -- a shattering bellow that started in his toes and emerged out of his mouth. An orgasmic groan that coincided with his knees buckling and a final feral thrust into Lance’s hand. A melding of the most pleasurable thing in his life with the most terrifying thing in his life. A co-existence that was finally reached. When it was over, Lance was kind, tucking him back in, and carefully zipping him up. When it was over, Lance wrapped his arms around him and held him tightly. When it was over, Chris discovered he had a rock to lean on in Lance, and a feeling that heights would elicit pleasure from now on in. BACK