trees on the slope (sun) (ASP; Leper/Brinker; PG)
Hey! Some more A Separate Peace fic, because the world can't have enough of it. For firstday_icthus: I know it's been a while! ♥ Happy Easter!
trees on the slope (sun) - Leper/Brinker - PG - Romance - 565 words
at least I got to see some trees on the way down.
trees on the slope (sun)
"You're, you're leaving." And Brinker is unsure how he says it, even as he does; whether he's only imagining the emphasis on you're or whether there really is a question mark at the end of it. But he's stuttering, and he knows that. He also knows that Brinker Hadley never stutters.
"Tomorrow, yes. I'm leaving tomorrow." Leper sounds like an incredulous child, and Brinker doesn't even hear the rest of what he's saying except for such nonsense as that of trees and slopes. It is all too irelevent, too unimportant, to Brinker, but it is Leper. And when he finally pauses, thoughtfully, Brinker fills the silent air with fear and doubt. For someone else beside himself to enlist first in their class at Devon, and particularly not just anyone else but Leper - he feels like a fish out of water for a moment, struggling for air.
But finally Leper gives him the most serious of looks and says, "If, if I don't make it to the bottom of the slope," and he surprises Brinker further by leaning forward, grabbing onto his father's honorable necktie as if for balance, and kissing him. Brinker's only ever kissed a girl before, just one, when he was ten, and he hardly remembers it, but Leper is so different - he's a boy - but it never once passes through his mind what he's doing, what it could mean. And more especially, Leper tastes different, he tastes like snow, crisp and fresh, the first of the winter. And finally he pulls away, eyes shining, and says almost as if nothing happened at all: "at least I got to see some trees on the way down."
-
Brinker never once thought about Leper when he was away; or, he told himself this. He insisted to his raging thoughts that he never thought about Leper: not when he mentioned his name to the boys in the Butt Room, not when he was in his bed with Brownie asleep not so far away and dreaming something to make his father red; he especially did not think of Leper whenever he walked out into the crisp winter air so like that kiss.
-
It was a lie; Brinker never enlists. He leaves his father with no explanation and finds Leper, whose eyes still shine as bright as the day he said good-bye, and Brinker says hello. He says, in a wobbly sort of way, I think I want to be with you. And Leper smiles because he doesn't know what that means except that the trees on the slope are greener now. They buy a cabin atop Mount Katahdin and the sun wakes them before it does anyone else in the United States. And one night something slips into Leper's mind - something haunting and sinister - and he finds his way to Brinker's bedroom, to his bed, and without asking, he just lies there and looks him in the eye and feels his muscles, his shoulder's ball-and-socket joints connecting, and Brinker knows that it is alright then.
-
Every morning, like clockwork, the sun rolls over the horizon and Leper's eyes open wide, and reflexively, he feels Brinker's knuckles, the tendons in his hands, his elbow and shoulder. And then Brinker awakens with the grumbling of an automobile engine turning, and Leper knows that this is where he is meant to be.
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trees on the slope (sun) - Leper/Brinker - PG - Romance - 565 words
at least I got to see some trees on the way down.
trees on the slope (sun)
"You're, you're leaving." And Brinker is unsure how he says it, even as he does; whether he's only imagining the emphasis on you're or whether there really is a question mark at the end of it. But he's stuttering, and he knows that. He also knows that Brinker Hadley never stutters.
"Tomorrow, yes. I'm leaving tomorrow." Leper sounds like an incredulous child, and Brinker doesn't even hear the rest of what he's saying except for such nonsense as that of trees and slopes. It is all too irelevent, too unimportant, to Brinker, but it is Leper. And when he finally pauses, thoughtfully, Brinker fills the silent air with fear and doubt. For someone else beside himself to enlist first in their class at Devon, and particularly not just anyone else but Leper - he feels like a fish out of water for a moment, struggling for air.
But finally Leper gives him the most serious of looks and says, "If, if I don't make it to the bottom of the slope," and he surprises Brinker further by leaning forward, grabbing onto his father's honorable necktie as if for balance, and kissing him. Brinker's only ever kissed a girl before, just one, when he was ten, and he hardly remembers it, but Leper is so different - he's a boy - but it never once passes through his mind what he's doing, what it could mean. And more especially, Leper tastes different, he tastes like snow, crisp and fresh, the first of the winter. And finally he pulls away, eyes shining, and says almost as if nothing happened at all: "at least I got to see some trees on the way down."
-
Brinker never once thought about Leper when he was away; or, he told himself this. He insisted to his raging thoughts that he never thought about Leper: not when he mentioned his name to the boys in the Butt Room, not when he was in his bed with Brownie asleep not so far away and dreaming something to make his father red; he especially did not think of Leper whenever he walked out into the crisp winter air so like that kiss.
-
It was a lie; Brinker never enlists. He leaves his father with no explanation and finds Leper, whose eyes still shine as bright as the day he said good-bye, and Brinker says hello. He says, in a wobbly sort of way, I think I want to be with you. And Leper smiles because he doesn't know what that means except that the trees on the slope are greener now. They buy a cabin atop Mount Katahdin and the sun wakes them before it does anyone else in the United States. And one night something slips into Leper's mind - something haunting and sinister - and he finds his way to Brinker's bedroom, to his bed, and without asking, he just lies there and looks him in the eye and feels his muscles, his shoulder's ball-and-socket joints connecting, and Brinker knows that it is alright then.
-
Every morning, like clockwork, the sun rolls over the horizon and Leper's eyes open wide, and reflexively, he feels Brinker's knuckles, the tendons in his hands, his elbow and shoulder. And then Brinker awakens with the grumbling of an automobile engine turning, and Leper knows that this is where he is meant to be.
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