#memories of rope climbing in 6th grade p.e... kms.

[reapersmarch]

i don't know. don't look at me.

“Careful, old man, don’t want you throwing your back out on the way up.”

Ricardo shoots Bel the dirtiest look he’s ever seen over his shoulder, and it fills him with a kind of glee. Standing there, arms crossed and head craned up, grinning beneath his mask, he watches him dangle freely in his harness, one hand holding on to the wall, the other raised to give him the finger. It makes him laugh, full and genuine. This had started as a bit of practice—Bel liked to stay sharp where he could, and being able to scale a wall in an emergency wasn’t a bad skill to have on hand.

Doing it while suited up was an even better one to have.

Normally, however, Ricardo wasn’t there, too. Normally, Bel had the entire gym to himself.

When he’d learned what Bel was up to, the Marshal insisted upon joining him; said it was a great idea, and that he should probably do the same, even though Bel was fairly certain that Ricardo had prior commitments he’d made forever ago.

He couldn’t complain, though. Even if he generally liked the solitude more—it afforded him time to unwind and decompress—he didn’t mind the company, either. It very quickly, however, devolved into a competition: who can climb the highest? Who can ring the bell the fastest? Loser pays for drinks afterwards.

Bel didn’t mind that, either. It was a fun little way to make the time pass, and he’d been doing this so long, he was confident he would win. He neglected to mention that part.

“I think calling me names is cheating,” Ricardo calls down, turning back around to focus on climbing higher. “So. I think you lose by default.”

“Mm… no. That’s not how that works,” Bel laughs. “I’m hardly responsible for your inability to remain focused.”

“What are you talking about? That’s exactly how cheating works! And—no, you’re totally responsible for it, actually.”

Ricardo reaches up; the bell rings. He starts his descent.

Bel checks the stopwatch in his hand and clicks it off once he’s back on solid ground. “A little under a minute and a half. Not bad, all things considered.”

“Not bad? That’s pretty damn good!” Ricardo huffs.

“Sure it is. If you’re old,” Bel snorts. He tosses the stopwatch at him, then trades places. “Your joints still function after that climb?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’d love to see you do better.”

“You’re about to.”

He checks his gear, then walks briskly up to the wall. There was no way he was going to lose.

“Ready?”

“Yup.”

“Okay… go.”

Very casually, Bel begins to climb, moving from one handhold to the next, periodically moving sideways, doing little hops to reach ones that are further out. He knows which colours to grab, which to not. Which ones have an odd grip and where your foot might get caught. No contest. It wasn’t really fair, in Bel’s opinion, that he was so obviously going to win, so he needed to find ways to stall—just enough to keep things even, but not enough to make Ricardo think that he was throwing the competition.

“Ready to call it, Ricardo?”

“Cocky doesn’t look good on you, Bel,” he teases. “You’re being a show off.”

“Hubris generally is the fall of most men, yes,” Bel agrees with an amused chuckle. “Most men.”

When he’s done messing about, he scales the rest of the wall with a practiced ease, and gives the bell a quick little tap before beginning his descent.

“What time am I at so far?” he asks.

Ricardo checks the timer and frowns. “…‘Bout a minute.”

“Accurate time.”

“Forty-five.”

“Uh-huh.”

Midway down, Bel kicks off the wall to turn himself upside down, wrapping his leg around the rope cord to maintain his hold. “See?” he says, one hand extended nonchalantly, and even though Ricardo can’t see it, Bel puts on the biggest shit-eating grin. “Told you I’d win.”

“You haven’t touched the ground yet, timer’s still ticking,” Ricardo tells him. He stands about eye level with where Bel is dangling from, eyes half-lidded in a placid expression of amusement. “Sure you want to push your luck?”

“Eh. I’ve got time to play with.”

Ricardo hums. He pauses thoughtfully for a moment, then reaches up, fingertips finding the seam of Bel’s mask and tugging gently. He pulls until it slips past his mouth, and Bel can’t stop the confused little noise of surprise that escapes him.

“What are y—” 

The gap between them closes. Ricardo holds Bel’s head steady, face between his hands as he kisses him, thrilled with just how much of his skin turns maroon. It’s brief, but it lingers. Then he does it again. Then once more, for good measure.

He makes sure Bel doesn’t fall from his legs giving out, and sets him back on his feet, speechless, then takes a look at the stopwatch.

“Ooh, two minutes. Rough!” Ricardo grins crookedly as Bel pulls his mask up the rest of the way, gawking at him. “Guess you’re buying.”

“That… No!” He splutters “That’s cheating!”

“Is it?” Ricardo asks innocently. “Huh. Nnnno. No, I don’t think it is. I’m hardly responsible for your inability to remain focused. So I win.”

Hubris. The downfall of most men—including Bel.

Well, there are worse ways to go out.