This is why I don't write drabbles. For Nobodys_Captain
The others, he turned to praying. Some he turned to sleeping, but most he turned to crying. It wasn’t as if he would tell any of the people he met along the way how shattered he was, it wasn’t like he was about to randomly fill the void, (or voids), with a random body. He wasn’t sure if it would be easier with or without James; after talking to a lady for a night and bringing her back to his hotel room for a drink, she had referred to James as “dead weight” and she was out the door so quickly one could have sworn Leonard threw her out.
He didn’t understand it. But he didn’t argue.
Jocelyn had the house, had most of the credits, had the reputation, had Joanna, had the family, and had the friends. If James had stayed with her, he would have been able to finish out his education, would have never had to worry about having enough food, would have never had to deal with an inebriate of an adoptive father. Leonard was never abusive, but he was aware there were some, not, honestly, a lot of nights where he came back much less than coherent. And James needed someone strong, not this pathetic excuse for a creature that Leonard had become. Running with his tail tucked between his legs.
James was an adult. He was twenty-three years old, and Leonard was still treating him like that broken and bruised teen that had wandered onto his doorstep seven years earlier. He needed to rid himself of that mindset; James could fight his own battles.
But Leonard loved the kid fiercely. He would have probably knocked that lady’s lights out had she stayed a moment more, Southern gentleman or not. There were nights where he’d come home, miserable and intoxicated beyond what a human being should have been able to handle, and James would just curl around him like a kitten and stroke Leonard’s hair. He’d cling to him and ground the doctor, give Leonard another reason to live, when he thought he had none left. James made this misery livable, James made him hold on until tomorrow. And for that, Leonard couldn’t have been more grateful for this gift God had given him, for this love he was so undeserving of. For the son he never had, for the little brother he was never granted.
But sometimes, the boy’s touches wandered. Leonard could swear it was accidental, when light fingers danced lightly down the line between his chest, over his ribs and across the back of his neck. He could swear that James meant none of the implied words when those careful fingers ran down Leonard’s spine, he could swear that he was still holding onto that curious, scared sixteen year old boy who just wanted to get closer to his adoptive father.
But James wasn’t a boy anymore. And Leonard wanted to return the touches, only from his side, he would have clear intentions.
Leonard had tried to distance himself, tried to stay at the bars more so he didn’t think blasphemous thoughts. Tried to keep James’ so-called innocence from being tainted by his own disgusting desires. He would return to the hotel later and later, leave James to his own devices during the day and well into the night. He thought he was doing the right thing.
It all fell to pieces one night.
Probably could have blown a .27, had he been tested. When nearly thirty-percent of one’s blood is composed of ethanol, a toxic substance to humans, that one person isn’t going to be all right in the head. So when he returned, and James jumped on him like a puppy, he staggered to the bed with him and curled around him. It was innocent for all of one minute before Leonard (hadn’t) thought it would be a good idea to press his lips to James’. To test the contours of his lips, the slopes of his skin and the softness of his breath. He wasn’t surprised when James kissed him back, he wasn’t anything, just warm and happy and laughing against his mouth. He felt no regrets, no twinge of sadness as the boy moved down his neck, whispering things he couldn’t hear over his own babbling down the expanse of his skin.
In that moment, he didn’t even remember the name of the woman who broke his heart.
He didn’t understand it. But he didn’t argue.
Jocelyn had the house, had most of the credits, had the reputation, had Joanna, had the family, and had the friends. If James had stayed with her, he would have been able to finish out his education, would have never had to worry about having enough food, would have never had to deal with an inebriate of an adoptive father. Leonard was never abusive, but he was aware there were some, not, honestly, a lot of nights where he came back much less than coherent. And James needed someone strong, not this pathetic excuse for a creature that Leonard had become. Running with his tail tucked between his legs.
James was an adult. He was twenty-three years old, and Leonard was still treating him like that broken and bruised teen that had wandered onto his doorstep seven years earlier. He needed to rid himself of that mindset; James could fight his own battles.
But Leonard loved the kid fiercely. He would have probably knocked that lady’s lights out had she stayed a moment more, Southern gentleman or not. There were nights where he’d come home, miserable and intoxicated beyond what a human being should have been able to handle, and James would just curl around him like a kitten and stroke Leonard’s hair. He’d cling to him and ground the doctor, give Leonard another reason to live, when he thought he had none left. James made this misery livable, James made him hold on until tomorrow. And for that, Leonard couldn’t have been more grateful for this gift God had given him, for this love he was so undeserving of. For the son he never had, for the little brother he was never granted.
But sometimes, the boy’s touches wandered. Leonard could swear it was accidental, when light fingers danced lightly down the line between his chest, over his ribs and across the back of his neck. He could swear that James meant none of the implied words when those careful fingers ran down Leonard’s spine, he could swear that he was still holding onto that curious, scared sixteen year old boy who just wanted to get closer to his adoptive father.
But James wasn’t a boy anymore. And Leonard wanted to return the touches, only from his side, he would have clear intentions.
Leonard had tried to distance himself, tried to stay at the bars more so he didn’t think blasphemous thoughts. Tried to keep James’ so-called innocence from being tainted by his own disgusting desires. He would return to the hotel later and later, leave James to his own devices during the day and well into the night. He thought he was doing the right thing.
It all fell to pieces one night.
Probably could have blown a .27, had he been tested. When nearly thirty-percent of one’s blood is composed of ethanol, a toxic substance to humans, that one person isn’t going to be all right in the head. So when he returned, and James jumped on him like a puppy, he staggered to the bed with him and curled around him. It was innocent for all of one minute before Leonard (hadn’t) thought it would be a good idea to press his lips to James’. To test the contours of his lips, the slopes of his skin and the softness of his breath. He wasn’t surprised when James kissed him back, he wasn’t anything, just warm and happy and laughing against his mouth. He felt no regrets, no twinge of sadness as the boy moved down his neck, whispering things he couldn’t hear over his own babbling down the expanse of his skin.
In that moment, he didn’t even remember the name of the woman who broke his heart.