TITLE: Night and Day
AUTHOR: sekushiineko
RATING: R, I guess, for suicide and implied sexual stuff.
WARNING: Well, it's slash, with suicide and some very mild, not explicit sex in it, as well as what may be seen as some VERY screwed views of the afterlife. *shrug* (It isn't actually what I believe tho…the ideas just came to me…*hides*) Maybe a little disturbing.
PAIRING: Gene/Phineas
FEEDBACK: Um….yes please? This is my first fic and I would love feedback.
DISCLAIMER: Uh…I didn't write A Separate Peace, and I was forced to read it by my English teacher. Somehow, this fic resulted. *shrug*
NOTES: This is *my first completed fanfic* EVER!! I'm actually quite proud of myself. So be gentle in your reviews and uh…yeah. This fic was inspired by the book A Separate Peace.
It was weeks after Phineas's death. Weeks--and still, Gene could not get the boy--or the event--out of his mind. It was maddening; when Phineas had first passed away, Gene felt nothing weigh on his consciousness.... in fact, he felt no emotion beyond a twinge of 'Oh, gee, I suppose I'll miss the boy.' Nothing. He was numb for the first day; it was as if the death of his best friend meant nothing to him. The fact that everyone treated him as though he was hurting and fragile made it worse. Was he supposed to feel sorrow or grief or….remorse? That…that should be what he felt, of course; but he was somehow desensitized, or perhaps anesthetized, by the event.
The next day, it had hit him with the unforgiving force of a wrecking ball…. Grief crept slowly and viciously into his heart and seized him. He was immobilized by it; all he could do was lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling as tears leaked from his eyes, blinded by pain. Only when his eyes had spent all his tears could he think again, and think he did.
It was painful; actual thought was more painful than his initial grief. His mind was twisted and tired from emotion, and it picked and worried at the situation as though it were a fresh scab. The more he analyzed, the more he bled…Phineas was his best friend; they had shared a sort of deep bond, an uncommon bond, something unexplainable and unimaginable to anyone who had not experienced something like it. It was almost like Phineas was a part of him, a part of his heart; knowing that the boy was now gone forever felt as though one of his limbs had been severed.
Sometimes, when a serious wound is first inflicted, it goes numb in a way—perhaps from nerves being damaged, or perhaps because the pain inflicted is too intense to fully register. The wound inflicted by Phineas's death was numb, at first, too...Was this because his emotions were too damaged to process it—or was the pain too intense to be processed, at first? At any rate, when the emotional burn had cooled slightly, he was able to feel and process and understand the reality of it all. The reality of it all smarted, and, like some caustic fluid, ate at him from the inside out.
He had loved Phineas….It was a deep love—friendly love, maybe? Gene wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was love, and as is all love, it was beautiful—beautiful like the soul it had been directed at. In his lifetime, Phineas had been a nearly perfect being, too good to be true; and Gene had told him so. Phineas had been startlingly and unusually atheletic, loyal beyond reason, clever and innocent, handsomely beautiful, sparklingly charismatic and yet humble; it was an admirable set of gifts that the boy had been given. The gifts were admirable enough to produce jealousy—crazy jealousy. Murderous jealousy.
Phineas had never wanted to hurt Gene and would do anything for the boy; but as the two grew, Gene began to read too far between the lines. Now he regretted it. He had made Phineas into his enemy, through his jealousy at the near perfect specimen of human flesh that Phineas was. He had read too far into Phineas's intentions, looked too hard to find the boy's faults, and in the end, ended up hurting him. The incident where Phineas had fallen out of the tree and broken his leg WAS Gene's fault, and it ultimately cost him his life..breaking his leg broke his spirit; and Phineas, after finding out the truth of Gene's intentions, broke his leg a second time. When the doctor had attempted to set the leg, marrow leaked from the fractured bone and stopped his heart. Gene's intentions had stopped his heart; Gene had killed him. Even though the murder was indirect, it hurt more than any other aspect of the boy's death…
Part of Gene had vanished when Phineas had, part of him had been sent to rest; it was apparent in everything he did. His glances were devoid of substance. Even when he spoke to people there was little behind his words. His speech lacked spirit, commitment, passion, life. All about him Gene saw the anxious stares and worried looks of his peers and elders and it began to cut through his exterior and penetrate the depths of him. He didn't want pity, he didn't want people; all he wanted was to turn back time. All he wanted was to be able to go back, knowing that Phineas never intended to hurt him, so that he never ended up hurting Phineas…it was too difficult for his mind to handle. He became obsessive and withdrawn, mind reduced to a pounding darkness focused on his actions and their consequences. Madness, or perhaps depression, was gradually setting in and clouding Gene's mind.
It all came to a bitter end one night. It was a night as black as Gene's heart, the sky hanging in an apathic, starless way over the quiet world. Emotion hung in the air in dense palpable clouds…Gene's mind was sickening and coming to strange conclusions…or, perhaps, not so strange or hard to understand. He couldn't live anymore…he couldn't live with the stares and patronizing words anymore. He couldn't live with himself…he needed relief. The pressure and turmoil in his head needed to be ended…the only solution to him seemed to be to drift into the vast nothingness of death, and cease to exist...
Sitting atop his sagging bunk, Gene trembled, half in fear and half in anticipation. He lifted up his mattress slightly and reached under it, to pull out a four-inch long, gleamingly silver knife. He stroked the sides of it, up and down, as though it were an old friend or lover; which in ways, it was…before slipping it inside his jacket and slipping out the door in a brown-red haze.
As he walked out of his dorm towards the Devonshire river, towards the tree that had been the center point of the Secret Suicide Society, he was barely aware of more than his terrible emotions and the rhythmic pounding of his heartbeat. His heart…soon enough, he would be able to leave it behind. The thought comforted him and he clung to it…his heart was his mortality and the mother of all his turmoil, both of which would be ended soon…and he stumbled on in a nearly hypnotized state, focused on the tree and the darkness before him.
Finally he did reach the tree; it thrust upward from the ground, thick, bare branches reaching for the sky. He sat down upon it's brown roots, caressing it's trunk, leaning his head against it. Soon, he would leave this reminder behind, too.
He pulled his knife out of his coat pocket and hesitated. He had been so sure that this was what he wanted until it had come down to the actual moment. Abruptly he was clutched by certainty; he positioned the knife, and plunged it into the tender skin of his pale left wrist. Pain shot up through his arm, but for once, Gene didn't care; it was pain of comfort and promise and an ending to everything, and he found it pleasurable, exciting. Soon enough, pain and breathing and life would be below him, and he'd be free to be without anyone or anything. His skin wasn't giving way as easily as he had hoped, but still, he cut on, blood pulsing out of the ragged crimson slit that reached down his wrists. Pain arced through his arm. All he could see ahead of him was a sort of black peace and solace. He moved on to his other wrist and began his work. He was soon enough satisfied.
Red streams and tributaries curled down his arms. Gene stared at them, smiling, unfazed by the terrible pain he was in. All his pain would be gone soon. Every mistake he made wouldn't matter anymore….minutes oozed into one another and time became meaningless. Gene became aware of tingling in his hands and feet and an overall feeling of needing to sleep. But before he gave into death, there was one more thing he needed to do..
He struggled to his feet, dizziness washing over him, blood dripping from his arms like rain. For a moment he thought he would pass out but gained control of himself before he did so. He trembled and placed one foot on the ladder going up the side of the tree. Upwards he climbed; he had done this so many times that it was now second nature to pull himself up the creaking makeshift ladder. Drops of his own deep red blood soaked into the wood and Gene left bits of his own death upon the tree.
He reached the limb that swung out towards the Devonshire and somehow crawled along it, despite the weakness and dizziness that was overcoming him. He looked at the ground from his position and laughed. He jiggled the limb with what strength he had before letting his tired body fall from the tree.
Air hissed past him as he made his flight toward the ground. Gene, as a little boy, had always wanted to fly.
And it was so perfectly ironic…
Slamming into the ground, more pain spun through Gene's body but he was much too far gone for it to mean anything anymore. Grey and black were pulling Gene into death…or perhaps Death was pulling Gene into greyness and blackness. Gene's heart slowed into near silence and finally Gene felt nothing.
It was dark, and yet Gene was aware of himself. He was blind. He had no eyes, but he knew he existed. He wasn't gone; but somehow, he felt better. He wasn't in pain, either.. not in emotional pain, nor physical pain. He was very alone.
Out of nothing pulsed a trace of something light and nearly alive. Gene, to his amazment, was able to see it. Had he eyes? No? Yes? Had he a voice?
Suddenly he was dimly illuminated and Gene saw that he was pale and naked.
"…Where am I?" Gene's voice escaped from barely-existing lips.
"Gene."
Electricity shot through Gene and he shook. He recognized the voice all too well, yet he saw nothing and no one beyond the dim patch of yellow light surrounding him. The light around him pulsed comfortingly and felt like home and friendship. Gene recognized, with a mixture of elation and sorrow that Phineas was somewhere near. His new skin tingled and without realizing it he called his friend's name. "Phineas?!" The word rang through the warm world of shadow and light that he existed in now. Out of the folds of barely-lit navy blue a figure clothed in sunlight emerged, several yards away from Gene. He had smooth carmel-colored skin that seemed dusted by gold leaf, glinting in the light that emanated from the creature's figure. Powerful, large wings thrust from the creature's shoulders, bright and white yet dusted with the yellow glare of sunlight and summer, shimmering with barely imaginable beauty. A head of purely golden hair and chiseled features smiled at Gene. Tears streamed down Gene's face, and all he could manage to say was 'Phineas.' Phineas was too beautiful for words, shining like noon, jewels, precious metal…it was all Gene could do to meet his gaze, because he himself was not beautiful like that. He was not an angel; his skin was still bathed in nothing but shadow, life, and death. He wasn't worthy. He found himself kneeling at Phineas's feet, unable to look into his transfixing blue eyes.
"I'm…Phineas…I'm so sorry, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I just…I was just so stupid, that's all, thinking crazy things and taking you for granted and ruining your life." Gene's naked human body was wracked with heavy sobs. "I wish I could take it all back, Finny, and make things the way they were before all of this happened, before the war. If I could turn back time…" he was becoming hysterical now. "But I can't, it's over and done; you're an angel, and I'm just dead; but I'm not an angel, and that means that I can't stay here with you and reconcile my wrongs anyway. And I know why. It's because I don't deserve you, it's because I killed you. I could never be an angel." His sobs and voice grew quieter as he withdrew. "But Phineas…I love you. I loved you than, and I still love you now." The last statement was said no louder than a whisper. "So I'm sorry that we have to part like this…I suppose I'm going to Hell, than? Because I certainly don't seem to be going to heaven.." Gene smiled sadly up at his friend, tears staining his cheeks.
"Gene, I…I forgive you. Actually I forgave you a long time ago, even before I died. Believe me, I don't care anymore. Gene, you're an incredible person and I think I'm the one who needs to apologize for causing you so much pain. I've been stupid and blind…and…god, you're still my best friend, even after death, right? I mean…God, Gene. I'm so glad to see you again, you're gonna be fine, stop crying…I…I love you too."
Gene paused and looked at Phineas, confused and utterly filled with a mixture of love and sorrow so potent he could taste it. Seeing his friend after so long was incredible; and Phineas was just so beautiful…his love for the boy was inexplicably manifesting itself in physical desire, desire which scared Gene deeply. He was dead, and it wasn't right to feel the way he was . Not with Phineas, not with something so beautiful and heavenly and ethereal….it would even be unheard of in his own world. Almost. Not quite. But it certainly, certainly wasn't acceptable, the way he was feeling…
"Let go, Gene." Phineas's smooth voice penetrated Gene's confused stream of thought.
Gene stared up at Phineas like a deer caught in headlights before stammering, "I'm afraid…I'm afraid I don't know what you mean…"
Phineas took Gene by the hand and drew him to his feet before drawing him into an embrace. It felt, to Gene, as though he was being caressed by intense summer sunlight. Gene shivered into the angel's body, crying; he was crying because of relief, regret, joy, sorrow, confusion. Somehow, in Phineas's warm embrace, everything seemed promising. "It's alright, Gene. You can just go ahead and cry, man…I understand. I'm here, and we don't have to be separated again. Not if you don't want to."
Gene pulled back for a moment to stare into Phineas's deep blue eyes, his sobs growing gentler as his emotional turmoil was slowly eased. "I don't think you understand. You can't understand how good it feels to be near you again. You can't understand what I'm feeling…or…"
"I can't? Do I really not understand?" Phineas leered at Gene.
"I…"
Phineas leaned forward, tremblingly, hesitantly, his lips softly brushing against Gene's. Gene melted under his midas touch, giving into his emotions and leaning into Phineas's gentle, sunlit caresses. Slowly and lovingly they kissed, over and over, until dizzingly They were all that mattered; Phineas and Gene. It was as though no one else existed…and Phineas was everything; he was all love and summer breezes and gold, breathing life-after-death into Gene with a sort of chaste eroticism neither had before experienced or imagined. Wherever Phineas touched him, Gene's skin began gaining a silvery glow; he began to take on the form of an angel…
But at one point Gene pulled away…his skin was mottled with patches of bright moonlight silver, spots of sweet nighttime becoming his own clothing, feathers beginning to dot his shoulderblades. "When you died…did you go straight up to heaven?"
Phineas nodded.
"Why didn't I?"
Phineas looked at him for a second, thinking. "You had unfinished business. You know, like a ghost."
"I…what was it?"
Phineas laughed musically. "I guess it was me," he said, and smiling, leaning into kiss the boy's supple mouth, over and over with a light- hearted, joyful passion. They touched one another in complete bliss. After several more minutes they had become like one creature, connected and ecstatic, calling one another's names with adoration and laughter; and afterword, once they were separate again Gene had his own set of glowing, moonlit wings. They were both complete than; a yin-yang, the Sun and the Moon, and they both agreed that they didn't want to be separated ever again.
[A/N: I wasn't gonna write a full-on lemon. *heart* I mean, gah, this is my first fic ever. Sorry to dissapoint. ]
AUTHOR: sekushiineko
RATING: R, I guess, for suicide and implied sexual stuff.
WARNING: Well, it's slash, with suicide and some very mild, not explicit sex in it, as well as what may be seen as some VERY screwed views of the afterlife. *shrug* (It isn't actually what I believe tho…the ideas just came to me…*hides*) Maybe a little disturbing.
PAIRING: Gene/Phineas
FEEDBACK: Um….yes please? This is my first fic and I would love feedback.
DISCLAIMER: Uh…I didn't write A Separate Peace, and I was forced to read it by my English teacher. Somehow, this fic resulted. *shrug*
NOTES: This is *my first completed fanfic* EVER!! I'm actually quite proud of myself. So be gentle in your reviews and uh…yeah. This fic was inspired by the book A Separate Peace.
It was weeks after Phineas's death. Weeks--and still, Gene could not get the boy--or the event--out of his mind. It was maddening; when Phineas had first passed away, Gene felt nothing weigh on his consciousness.... in fact, he felt no emotion beyond a twinge of 'Oh, gee, I suppose I'll miss the boy.' Nothing. He was numb for the first day; it was as if the death of his best friend meant nothing to him. The fact that everyone treated him as though he was hurting and fragile made it worse. Was he supposed to feel sorrow or grief or….remorse? That…that should be what he felt, of course; but he was somehow desensitized, or perhaps anesthetized, by the event.
The next day, it had hit him with the unforgiving force of a wrecking ball…. Grief crept slowly and viciously into his heart and seized him. He was immobilized by it; all he could do was lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling as tears leaked from his eyes, blinded by pain. Only when his eyes had spent all his tears could he think again, and think he did.
It was painful; actual thought was more painful than his initial grief. His mind was twisted and tired from emotion, and it picked and worried at the situation as though it were a fresh scab. The more he analyzed, the more he bled…Phineas was his best friend; they had shared a sort of deep bond, an uncommon bond, something unexplainable and unimaginable to anyone who had not experienced something like it. It was almost like Phineas was a part of him, a part of his heart; knowing that the boy was now gone forever felt as though one of his limbs had been severed.
Sometimes, when a serious wound is first inflicted, it goes numb in a way—perhaps from nerves being damaged, or perhaps because the pain inflicted is too intense to fully register. The wound inflicted by Phineas's death was numb, at first, too...Was this because his emotions were too damaged to process it—or was the pain too intense to be processed, at first? At any rate, when the emotional burn had cooled slightly, he was able to feel and process and understand the reality of it all. The reality of it all smarted, and, like some caustic fluid, ate at him from the inside out.
He had loved Phineas….It was a deep love—friendly love, maybe? Gene wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was love, and as is all love, it was beautiful—beautiful like the soul it had been directed at. In his lifetime, Phineas had been a nearly perfect being, too good to be true; and Gene had told him so. Phineas had been startlingly and unusually atheletic, loyal beyond reason, clever and innocent, handsomely beautiful, sparklingly charismatic and yet humble; it was an admirable set of gifts that the boy had been given. The gifts were admirable enough to produce jealousy—crazy jealousy. Murderous jealousy.
Phineas had never wanted to hurt Gene and would do anything for the boy; but as the two grew, Gene began to read too far between the lines. Now he regretted it. He had made Phineas into his enemy, through his jealousy at the near perfect specimen of human flesh that Phineas was. He had read too far into Phineas's intentions, looked too hard to find the boy's faults, and in the end, ended up hurting him. The incident where Phineas had fallen out of the tree and broken his leg WAS Gene's fault, and it ultimately cost him his life..breaking his leg broke his spirit; and Phineas, after finding out the truth of Gene's intentions, broke his leg a second time. When the doctor had attempted to set the leg, marrow leaked from the fractured bone and stopped his heart. Gene's intentions had stopped his heart; Gene had killed him. Even though the murder was indirect, it hurt more than any other aspect of the boy's death…
Part of Gene had vanished when Phineas had, part of him had been sent to rest; it was apparent in everything he did. His glances were devoid of substance. Even when he spoke to people there was little behind his words. His speech lacked spirit, commitment, passion, life. All about him Gene saw the anxious stares and worried looks of his peers and elders and it began to cut through his exterior and penetrate the depths of him. He didn't want pity, he didn't want people; all he wanted was to turn back time. All he wanted was to be able to go back, knowing that Phineas never intended to hurt him, so that he never ended up hurting Phineas…it was too difficult for his mind to handle. He became obsessive and withdrawn, mind reduced to a pounding darkness focused on his actions and their consequences. Madness, or perhaps depression, was gradually setting in and clouding Gene's mind.
It all came to a bitter end one night. It was a night as black as Gene's heart, the sky hanging in an apathic, starless way over the quiet world. Emotion hung in the air in dense palpable clouds…Gene's mind was sickening and coming to strange conclusions…or, perhaps, not so strange or hard to understand. He couldn't live anymore…he couldn't live with the stares and patronizing words anymore. He couldn't live with himself…he needed relief. The pressure and turmoil in his head needed to be ended…the only solution to him seemed to be to drift into the vast nothingness of death, and cease to exist...
Sitting atop his sagging bunk, Gene trembled, half in fear and half in anticipation. He lifted up his mattress slightly and reached under it, to pull out a four-inch long, gleamingly silver knife. He stroked the sides of it, up and down, as though it were an old friend or lover; which in ways, it was…before slipping it inside his jacket and slipping out the door in a brown-red haze.
As he walked out of his dorm towards the Devonshire river, towards the tree that had been the center point of the Secret Suicide Society, he was barely aware of more than his terrible emotions and the rhythmic pounding of his heartbeat. His heart…soon enough, he would be able to leave it behind. The thought comforted him and he clung to it…his heart was his mortality and the mother of all his turmoil, both of which would be ended soon…and he stumbled on in a nearly hypnotized state, focused on the tree and the darkness before him.
Finally he did reach the tree; it thrust upward from the ground, thick, bare branches reaching for the sky. He sat down upon it's brown roots, caressing it's trunk, leaning his head against it. Soon, he would leave this reminder behind, too.
He pulled his knife out of his coat pocket and hesitated. He had been so sure that this was what he wanted until it had come down to the actual moment. Abruptly he was clutched by certainty; he positioned the knife, and plunged it into the tender skin of his pale left wrist. Pain shot up through his arm, but for once, Gene didn't care; it was pain of comfort and promise and an ending to everything, and he found it pleasurable, exciting. Soon enough, pain and breathing and life would be below him, and he'd be free to be without anyone or anything. His skin wasn't giving way as easily as he had hoped, but still, he cut on, blood pulsing out of the ragged crimson slit that reached down his wrists. Pain arced through his arm. All he could see ahead of him was a sort of black peace and solace. He moved on to his other wrist and began his work. He was soon enough satisfied.
Red streams and tributaries curled down his arms. Gene stared at them, smiling, unfazed by the terrible pain he was in. All his pain would be gone soon. Every mistake he made wouldn't matter anymore….minutes oozed into one another and time became meaningless. Gene became aware of tingling in his hands and feet and an overall feeling of needing to sleep. But before he gave into death, there was one more thing he needed to do..
He struggled to his feet, dizziness washing over him, blood dripping from his arms like rain. For a moment he thought he would pass out but gained control of himself before he did so. He trembled and placed one foot on the ladder going up the side of the tree. Upwards he climbed; he had done this so many times that it was now second nature to pull himself up the creaking makeshift ladder. Drops of his own deep red blood soaked into the wood and Gene left bits of his own death upon the tree.
He reached the limb that swung out towards the Devonshire and somehow crawled along it, despite the weakness and dizziness that was overcoming him. He looked at the ground from his position and laughed. He jiggled the limb with what strength he had before letting his tired body fall from the tree.
Air hissed past him as he made his flight toward the ground. Gene, as a little boy, had always wanted to fly.
And it was so perfectly ironic…
Slamming into the ground, more pain spun through Gene's body but he was much too far gone for it to mean anything anymore. Grey and black were pulling Gene into death…or perhaps Death was pulling Gene into greyness and blackness. Gene's heart slowed into near silence and finally Gene felt nothing.
It was dark, and yet Gene was aware of himself. He was blind. He had no eyes, but he knew he existed. He wasn't gone; but somehow, he felt better. He wasn't in pain, either.. not in emotional pain, nor physical pain. He was very alone.
Out of nothing pulsed a trace of something light and nearly alive. Gene, to his amazment, was able to see it. Had he eyes? No? Yes? Had he a voice?
Suddenly he was dimly illuminated and Gene saw that he was pale and naked.
"…Where am I?" Gene's voice escaped from barely-existing lips.
"Gene."
Electricity shot through Gene and he shook. He recognized the voice all too well, yet he saw nothing and no one beyond the dim patch of yellow light surrounding him. The light around him pulsed comfortingly and felt like home and friendship. Gene recognized, with a mixture of elation and sorrow that Phineas was somewhere near. His new skin tingled and without realizing it he called his friend's name. "Phineas?!" The word rang through the warm world of shadow and light that he existed in now. Out of the folds of barely-lit navy blue a figure clothed in sunlight emerged, several yards away from Gene. He had smooth carmel-colored skin that seemed dusted by gold leaf, glinting in the light that emanated from the creature's figure. Powerful, large wings thrust from the creature's shoulders, bright and white yet dusted with the yellow glare of sunlight and summer, shimmering with barely imaginable beauty. A head of purely golden hair and chiseled features smiled at Gene. Tears streamed down Gene's face, and all he could manage to say was 'Phineas.' Phineas was too beautiful for words, shining like noon, jewels, precious metal…it was all Gene could do to meet his gaze, because he himself was not beautiful like that. He was not an angel; his skin was still bathed in nothing but shadow, life, and death. He wasn't worthy. He found himself kneeling at Phineas's feet, unable to look into his transfixing blue eyes.
"I'm…Phineas…I'm so sorry, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I just…I was just so stupid, that's all, thinking crazy things and taking you for granted and ruining your life." Gene's naked human body was wracked with heavy sobs. "I wish I could take it all back, Finny, and make things the way they were before all of this happened, before the war. If I could turn back time…" he was becoming hysterical now. "But I can't, it's over and done; you're an angel, and I'm just dead; but I'm not an angel, and that means that I can't stay here with you and reconcile my wrongs anyway. And I know why. It's because I don't deserve you, it's because I killed you. I could never be an angel." His sobs and voice grew quieter as he withdrew. "But Phineas…I love you. I loved you than, and I still love you now." The last statement was said no louder than a whisper. "So I'm sorry that we have to part like this…I suppose I'm going to Hell, than? Because I certainly don't seem to be going to heaven.." Gene smiled sadly up at his friend, tears staining his cheeks.
"Gene, I…I forgive you. Actually I forgave you a long time ago, even before I died. Believe me, I don't care anymore. Gene, you're an incredible person and I think I'm the one who needs to apologize for causing you so much pain. I've been stupid and blind…and…god, you're still my best friend, even after death, right? I mean…God, Gene. I'm so glad to see you again, you're gonna be fine, stop crying…I…I love you too."
Gene paused and looked at Phineas, confused and utterly filled with a mixture of love and sorrow so potent he could taste it. Seeing his friend after so long was incredible; and Phineas was just so beautiful…his love for the boy was inexplicably manifesting itself in physical desire, desire which scared Gene deeply. He was dead, and it wasn't right to feel the way he was . Not with Phineas, not with something so beautiful and heavenly and ethereal….it would even be unheard of in his own world. Almost. Not quite. But it certainly, certainly wasn't acceptable, the way he was feeling…
"Let go, Gene." Phineas's smooth voice penetrated Gene's confused stream of thought.
Gene stared up at Phineas like a deer caught in headlights before stammering, "I'm afraid…I'm afraid I don't know what you mean…"
Phineas took Gene by the hand and drew him to his feet before drawing him into an embrace. It felt, to Gene, as though he was being caressed by intense summer sunlight. Gene shivered into the angel's body, crying; he was crying because of relief, regret, joy, sorrow, confusion. Somehow, in Phineas's warm embrace, everything seemed promising. "It's alright, Gene. You can just go ahead and cry, man…I understand. I'm here, and we don't have to be separated again. Not if you don't want to."
Gene pulled back for a moment to stare into Phineas's deep blue eyes, his sobs growing gentler as his emotional turmoil was slowly eased. "I don't think you understand. You can't understand how good it feels to be near you again. You can't understand what I'm feeling…or…"
"I can't? Do I really not understand?" Phineas leered at Gene.
"I…"
Phineas leaned forward, tremblingly, hesitantly, his lips softly brushing against Gene's. Gene melted under his midas touch, giving into his emotions and leaning into Phineas's gentle, sunlit caresses. Slowly and lovingly they kissed, over and over, until dizzingly They were all that mattered; Phineas and Gene. It was as though no one else existed…and Phineas was everything; he was all love and summer breezes and gold, breathing life-after-death into Gene with a sort of chaste eroticism neither had before experienced or imagined. Wherever Phineas touched him, Gene's skin began gaining a silvery glow; he began to take on the form of an angel…
But at one point Gene pulled away…his skin was mottled with patches of bright moonlight silver, spots of sweet nighttime becoming his own clothing, feathers beginning to dot his shoulderblades. "When you died…did you go straight up to heaven?"
Phineas nodded.
"Why didn't I?"
Phineas looked at him for a second, thinking. "You had unfinished business. You know, like a ghost."
"I…what was it?"
Phineas laughed musically. "I guess it was me," he said, and smiling, leaning into kiss the boy's supple mouth, over and over with a light- hearted, joyful passion. They touched one another in complete bliss. After several more minutes they had become like one creature, connected and ecstatic, calling one another's names with adoration and laughter; and afterword, once they were separate again Gene had his own set of glowing, moonlit wings. They were both complete than; a yin-yang, the Sun and the Moon, and they both agreed that they didn't want to be separated ever again.
[A/N: I wasn't gonna write a full-on lemon. *heart* I mean, gah, this is my first fic ever. Sorry to dissapoint. ]