kitten gloves - short story/part three

[iteatsblood]

Title: Kitten-gloves

Author: Nihilism

Rating: Mild. More angst, some fluff.

Summary: Now that that's decided, Leech goes all out with the reminiscing. Let's talk about feelings. I hate summaries right now. Part 3 of the Warehouse series.

Notes: Dialogue-heavy. All characters depicted are original.. And this was written in dedication to my pricess, my kittenface, my eternal lovah, Abi Oozi. Please, feedback. Previous installments: Eine: Stray Kitten & Zwei: Undomesticated Animals



Leech has nudged his boots off, pushed them to the side and is staring at the dirty steel floor. He licks at the broken skin on his lower lip, resenting the way Ruckus lays next to him as comfortable as if this were a five-star hotel instead of a dingy condemned warehouse. Yeah, they'd talked, maybe worked things out. Leech doesn't feel any better for it, though, he still feels small and naive and stupid; he still doesn't feel like he should be here.

His attention is focused on a chipped fingernail when he sees Ruckus' hand move in his peripheral vision. It comes to rest on his lower back, exhuding warmth that seems contradictory to Ruckus' nature.

"Talk to me, tell me somethin ya want me to know."

The request comes from nowhere, but it does not surprise Leech. Little surprises Leech about this man, but the second he starts acting normal all bets are off. The boy narrows his eyes, thoughtfully, not angry. He tries not to think too hard on the request and let the first thing that comes to his mind spill from his lips.

"I saw you...about four months ago. I was on my way home from school, you were across the street, in front of some coffee shop...you had on one'a those wifebeater shirts and you were sorta facing away from me, so I could kinda see part of that tattoo on yer back, couldn't figure out what it was though, jus the colors, how bright it was...I dunno who was with you, but you were talkin' to someone really animated-like, an' I could see the butt of yer gun stickin' outta yer pants. I didn' even realize I'd stopped walkin' til the kid I was with, Kevin, he yelled at me to stop starin' and hurry the fuck up. He wasn' really a friend, jus someone I talked to sometimes, walked home with most days. When I caught up with him, he shook his head an looked over at ya, an called me a fag."

He pauses here, reorganizing his thoughts when he realizes how much he's rambling. Ruckus seems overall unaffected by the tale, though he does remove his hand from Leech's back in favor of sitting up.

"I'da killed him, sounds like a bitch," it's one of those idle comments Ruckus makes that reminds Leech just how careless Ruckus really is about human life.

The man turns away from him, tugging his shirt up to his shoulders to display the bright ink covering the skin. Leech's pale blue eyes are invariably drawn to the artwork, the huge butterfly spreading its wings from shoulder to shoulder, flames rising up beneath it. It makes no sense.

"If this don't get enough fag comments...," Ruckus adds, peering over his shoulder at Leech. "I dunno, blame Duster, 's his work."

Leech inches around to face that impressive back without bothering to stand up. Here he has the opportunity to inspect closely, where he's only allowed himself brief glances before. He doesn't really think, lifting a hand to trace over the lines of the design and continuing his story.

"It was jus, ya know, insult of the month, everyone was callin' everyone else fag, no one really gave any thought to it. Dunno if he really meant it. But I couldn' help...wonderin, what it's like to be the sorta person that can make someone stop what they're doin, lose track of it completely, jus so they can watch ya from across the street..."

Normally, the story might make him feel bashful, embarassed, creepy-stalker. But right now he feels about as low as he can get, and so he keeps talking; it can't get much worse.

"Wasn' sure why you caught my interest, then, didn't think it was cuz I was attracted to ya. The way ya moved, mebbe, made people who didn' know ya watch ya without meanin to or caring if ya did. I went home that night an' my aunt was out, I gave myself a mohawk an' used some'a her bleach to dye it. I..." He hesitates again, letting his fingertips skip lower, over the inked flames, voice softening. "I was tired of being someone who watched. Wanted to draw attention, mebbe even attention from other people who drew attention. Mebbe from you. But I didn' see ya there again."

Ruckus smirks to himself, amused by the story. It's as if he's sitting here, the embodiment of everything Leech looked up to. And what a horrible way to live. Ruckus doesn't do well staying quiet, and he feels the need to add his bit of input again.

"Alotta deals go down there, I mighta still been on the stuff. Did it work? Are ya what ya wanted?" It's not meant to be a deep, thoughtful question, but it is when he says it.

Leech tilts his head, soft fingertips sliding over softer skin repetatively, not daring to move his gaze from that back. He thinks back to how he was then, how he is now, and he isn't sure if he likes himself more or less. But at least it was a change, maybe a step in the right direction.

"No," he answers at length. "No one pays attention to me. Not, ya know, in the emo way, jus...I dunno...I guess I don' let em. Like ya said, I jus sit on the sidelines. No one at school was convinced, anyway, I was still jus Lee, with different hair an a few homemade tattoos, quiet an polite an withdrawn as ever. Pissed me off. The day 'fore I dropped out, my art teacher told us to sketch someone really important to us, er someone who influenced us a lot. Kids drew the president, actors, musicians, their parents...I drew you. I hadn' even really thought about ya again til that day. When she asked me who it was I couldn' tell her...next day I jus didn' go back."

"School pretty much wins at makin ya feel like shit, I didn' stick around long," another unneeded retort from Ruckus, just something to keep his mouth busy. He tries not to think about the contrast between Leech's tiny hands on his back and the way hands usually there are grabbing at the skin, scraping it with fingernails and sliding over sweat.

The drawing should seem freakish and obsessive, but oddly, it brings a smile to Ruckus' face and something warm spreads through his stomach pleasantly. "Well.... if I had a fridge, I'd hang that on it. Ya got family or... anything?"

Leech shrugs faintly as he moves onto his knees, pushes his legs apart to move closer to the back displayed in front of him. He brings both hands to rest along Ruckus' spine, only hovering there for now, no longer skimming over the tattoo. "Jus my aunt. I left her place not long after. Slept in a Greyhound bus station the first night. Park the next. Couple weeks went by, I wasn' thinkin' about anything anymore. There was that show...I was hangin' out under the stairs, the band sucked, but the club was warm. An' ya came outta the bar, with Ivan and Duster an' a few other kids...I coulda jus kept watching. Ya wouldn' have noticed me, I knew that, an' it was...closer, this time."

The kid's voice has fallen quieter, more gravelly, and Ruckus smiles for the memory. He remembers how Lee had approached him that night, looking like a typical unseasoned street punk, but he wasn't nervous like he is now. He didn't have the wide, adoring eyes that he wears from time to time when he thinks Ruckus doesn't notice, either. Leech starts talking again, cutting into the memory and emphasizing it.

"I could see ya better, see the way yer grin was like poison, hear you talking, knew yer voice sounded like ether an' rubbing alcohol, the way it evaporates off yer skin and leaves goosebumps. I couldn' stop watchin, again, an there was no Kevin to tell me to stop staring; if I had jus been there for the show, if I knew where I was goin after, I prolly woulda jus kept watching. But I...wanted more. Wanted to know what yer voice sounded like sayin my name. Wanted to touch yer skin to see if it felt as bright as the colors make it...taste you...don' even know if it was, sexual, really...I jus...had to."

Ruckus almost feels like he should stop Leech from recalling his tale. His voice has started shaking, barely noticable, like it's under the surface. And the last thing he wants to deal with is another anxiety attack like the one before. But Ruckus doesn't know how to communicate concern, never has, so he responds instead, trying to keep the conversation neutral. "You're...somethin'. In the way that cereal boxes with toys in 'em are good."

Reassuringly, there's a laugh in response, though it is a bit shakey and breathless. It doesn't seem like Leech is too far gone to reach now. But his next words contradict that thought.

"Jus'...don't turn around, okay? I think I'd panic again." He doesn't mean to keep talking, but staring at the skin between his hands, hearing his own breath and heartbeat too loud in his ears, it's better to speak. "I wanted you to notice me, ya know, all that time ago, the first time I saw ya. But you scare me. Not jus, when you get mad and put holes in the walls, or when you got a gun in yer hand. When ya look at me fer too long, when ya call me from across the room, I'm scared. Scared by how important it is to mewhen ya do that. Then last night..."

Ruckus hears him stop, swallowing harshly. He's pretty aware that even the thought of what happened last night makes Leech anxious. He almost feels bad for it, and maybe if he'd known the full extent of Leech's naivety, things would have gone differently. Probably not, but just maybe.

"Last night, when yer arm went around me, when I felt yer mouth on my neck, everything made sense. Well, not everything, that'll never happen, but ya know...ya know that's the first time I ever realized I was gay?"

Leech stops talking again. His hands take up movement, drifting up to Ruckus' shoulders in a shy request for his shirt to be removed.

"Helluva way to find out," Ruckus answers, echoing sarcastic, giving in and reaching behind himself to tug his shirt off. He throws the shirt somewhere in the general vicinity of his pillows, where Leech's pants are tucked safely away. Though he'd like to turn around, he was asked not to, so he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees instead. "Ya never did nothin? I mean, geez, thought everyone got one free grope in a public bathroom an at least a makeout session in the back'a someone's car."

Leech shakes his head, even if Ruckus can't see it, probably thinking the question was serious. His hands slide back down the exposed skin carefully and his voice falls monotone, almost too easily. "When I was fourteen, I got drunk, and my aunt's neighbor shoved his cock down my throat. It was a costume party and I was dressed in drag, he was gay, he thought it meant I was gay, too. So he decided to see if I could handle a 'real man.' I was too drunk and too confused to realize what was going on, or say no." He says all of this bluntly, like it wasn't really a traumatizing experience, but it definitely wasn't anything memorable just for the fact that he didn't want to remember it. "I puked the rest of the night, I don't know if it was from the liquor or the come. But he never did kiss me. I avoided him like the ebola after that."

Even though he should be brushing it off as another tragic adolescent experience and moving on, Ruckus sneers and shakes his head. "Now that's goddamn fucked up. Now that guy, I really would hunt down an' fuckin' waste."

He forgets his promise to look over his shoulder, like he's waiting for Leech to give the word and he'll get up and do it. Right now. But Leech drops his head and his hands, avoiding his gaze, so he goes on instead. Maybe offering to kill people was not the way to every little boy's heart. "Don't remember my first... whatever it was. Like I said, fucked up for a while."

Leech nibbles on his lip again, worrying the torn skin. He doesn't answer for a long time. He stares at the hands folded in his lap, unaware of how Ruckus is practically twitching for his touch to come back. When he finally does speak, his voice is barely audible with shame and injury.

"Last night, I thought it would be different. The way you approached me, it seemed like it would be. Like you've known me long enough to know how...inexperienced I am, maybe you'd be a little more careful. But...you weren't. It was arrite, I mean, wasn't as bad as that time, but when you started laughing, after I came..." he pauses, giving a soft sigh, shaking his head at himself. "It fucking hurt. I know it's stupid and naive but it really did, I jus wanted to run away and spend all night puking again, I felt awful for letting it happen. I shouldn't have expected different, I know you're loud and hard in everything ya do, but I just thought that, maybe...I jus...I dunno, it's hard, after all this time, realizing I don' deserve a little more caution than that."

Breathing a sigh as well, Ruckus reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. "In retrospect, I coulda been...better, to ya. Guess I've jus never been any less rough, ya know?"

There's no response from the boy behind him, Ruckus doesn't know if he actually expected one or not.

"An ya do deserve better than that, ya really do. I'm sorry Leech..." the apology weighs heavily on his tongue. Ruckus dislikes the feel of it, but not because he doesn't mean it. He hates how wrapped up he is in all of this, though he knows Leech deserves the apology, at the very least.

Leech's small hands fidget in his lap pointlessly, then come up to grasp either side of his stomach and hold himself.

"You don' gotta apologize because I'm naive. I should be the one sayin' I'm sorry. You don' gotta change, jus cuz I dunno what I'm doin," his voice is still weak, and defeated, making Ruckus' insides squirm all the more uncomfortably. "Yer, jus, so charismatic, an rough, an you do things yer way all the time an I guess that's why I liked ya in the first place. But then there's times like, late at night, when there's jus a few of us up, and ya aren't so loud, yer voice gets quieter and lots rougher an' it's almost intimate, and I jus thought...maybe that was more like, you, when yer bein personal. But maybe I looked too deep into it, even if I wasn' jus a conquest and ya really do want me to stick around, maybe that's not a side of ya I'll ever see, if it even exists. But I jus...ya know, I...wonder if I'll ever be able to touch ya the way I've always wanted to, instead of the ways you'll let me?"

It sounds like one of those questions that was meant to be a statement, but it didn't come out that way. Ruckus shakes his head for the assumed apology, pondering a moment over his response as he looks up at the wall opposite him.

"Gotta be yerself times a hundred when it's like that, then the lower times actually seem differn't. People get ya alone an don' appreciate levels. I only got one character, I jus' play him at different volumes," he remembers Leech saying he makes no sense, and wonders if this is one of those instances. It probably is.

"But ya already know about not bein' appreciated, don't ya," and that definitely isn't a question, he can see it in those wet blue eyes and the skittery nature Leech has. His tendency to find the smallest space possible and only occupy half of it to make himself less noticable. Finishing by answering the boy's question, Ruckus lightens his tone some. "Depends, can I turn around?"

"Depends," Leech throws back at him softly. "Are ya gunna laugh at me again?"

The older man gives a smirk, since it isn't a laugh and Leech can't see it anyway, rolling an inked shoulder and making the butterfly at the corner of Leech's vision dance over his back.

"Depends on what yer doin back there. Coulda lost more clothes fer all I know," he retorts, waiting a beat before continuing. "Tha's a joke. I ain't gunna laugh at ya, kid."

Leech furrows his eyebrows in painedly, wondering if Ruckus will ever stop with the sarcasm. Or if it's even possible. After waiting another moment for Leech to rebuff him, or maybe storm downstairs again, Ruckus shifts around to face him. He glances at the boy out of the corner of his eyes, as if either of them seeing each other directly will cause them to spontaneously combust. And then he grins, that crooked, poisonous half-grin that Leech was so intrigued with in the first place. Now, he can't decide if he likes it or hates it, while Ruckus can't decide if this is awkward or more comfortable than he's ever been in his life.

"Told ya."

Leech's pale blue eyes are focused somewhere in the vicinity of Ruckus' bare chest, but there's no ink there so that makes no sense. "Not yet, anyway..."

"Ya want me to pinky swear or somethin?," Ruckus asks with a small, almost-serious frown. He leans back, flattening his palms against the floor and watching Leech pick at the blankets nervously with his fingernails.

Finally, those eyes lift cautiously to look at him. Leech swipes his small, pink tongue over his lips, swallowing harshly, and Ruckus can feel his 'oh shit serious stuff' mechanism going off, all flashing lights and sirens.

"My first...you said you fucked it up," the boy starts, haltingly. "Do...do it right, this time?"

Meeting those eyes peering out from under the messy, unkempt blonde mohawk, Ruckus realizes that was no cause for alarm. He also realizes he has no reason to be angry, right now, which is fucked because it nullifies one of his two default moods. But right now, Leech is adorable, looking at him like they're two kids who've built a fort out of chairs and blankets, and now they've gotten bored and curious. Ruckus lets his mouth quirk into something that he thinks is like a smile, though he can't remember for certain.

"Sure," he responds, pushing off his hands to move closer.

Leech is surprised by how easily the response comes, since nothing gets done by Ruckus without a fight. One rough hand moves up to rest alongside his cheek as Ruckus leans towards him, and he finds himself leaning back easily. He watches Ruckus' tongue slide over his lip ring once before the man presses their mouths together, softer than air. It takes Leech a second to respond, even after his eyelids flicker closed, but then he lifts his chin to nudge his jaw back against Ruckus'. The mouth over his opens minutely, before Ruckus pulls back, only to move his mouth back against Leech's a millisecond later.

Following that lead, Leech methodically eases and increases the pressure of his jaw against Ruckus' and lets his own mouth part naturally to breathe in his air. It escapes a moment later in a quiet sigh. He inches forward on his knees, crawling closer to the man. That tongue finally slips out of Ruckus' mouth, only to brush over the curve of Leech's lower lip and he feels the boy's jaw slacken more for the movement, but he doesn't take advantage of it. Somehow, even he the ever unemotional knows he can't screw this up; it has to go right, maybe because he owes the kid that much. So even though that lip tastes strongly enough of copper to make him want to throw Leech back against the ground and ravage that small mouth, he doesn't.

Leech gives a whimpering, soft sigh that's nothing if not innocent and he raises one hand to rest it absently against the side of Ruckus' neck. Ruckus' hands have found their way around his back, holding him loosely as if he'll restrain him if he dares to move away, but that's the last thing on Leech's mind. Because this kiss, having been going on for ten second or ten hours, is unbelievably perfect. If he had the extra brain capacity to think about it, this is likely how he would have imagined being kissed by that man he saw across the street four months ago, but right now all he knows for certain is this, this is what he was born to do.

One way or another he has ended up in Ruckus' lap, his own bent knees shifted apart to straddle him lightly, those rough hands petting down his spine and through his hair gently. His tongue has become more adventurous, snaking into Ruckus' mouth cautiously and drifting over the curves and daggers of teeth, Ruckus' own touching gingerly against it here and there but mostly letting him lead the dance. Leech drifts one hand up from the side of Ruckus' neck to curve under his jaw, feeling it move as they kiss, purring in the back of his throat for it. For everything. It takes him a moment to realize that Ruckus has been tugging at the hem of his shirt, so he belatedly breaks away from his mouth to allow it to be discarded. After pressing another soft kiss to that mouth. And a few more.

Throwing the shirt towards the steadily growing cache of clothes, Ruckus looks back at the boy in his lap, smirking amusedly. Leech's eyes are still closed, and he's running one thumb over his own lower lip, mouth parted slightly, breath shallow. He looks completely captivated, and Ruckus ignores whatever about the expression makes his ribcage feel smaller in favor of brushing a kiss over one of the boy's defined cheekbones.

"'s how it's supposed to be," he murmurs, and his voice is lower, more gravelly. He never noticed that change until Leech mentioned it.

Leech gives a slow nod in response, dropping the hand from his mouth as his eyes open liquidly. And then he's staring at Ruckus with the most bizarre mix of emotions, some that Ruckus doesn't even bother to decipher. He hopes this made up for it, though, made up for what he did, what he didn't do, what he might do in the future. Maybe it's at least enough for one of those. That hand lifts again, touching at Ruckus' earlobe, the hinge of his jaw, the hollow of his cheek and his slick bottom lip.

That strange expression returns to Ruckus' face, the one he has to remind himself denotes happiness, and he tightens his hold on the boy minutely. He's realizing that he can't handle Leech like he does everyone else. That hand on his skin is by far softer than his own, and this creature in his lap definitely requires kitten gloves. Perhaps not always, but when it counts, which is a lot of the time. Oddly, Ruckus doesn't have to even stop and think whether the extra effort is worth it.

"What?," he finally queries, that rougher voice again.

Leech's normally skittering, fidgetty hand slips fluidly down the line of his throat and chest before the boy finally meets his gaze, blushing, running his tongue over his lower lip again and imagining he can still taste Ruckus there. "'s perfect."

Ruckus wants to shake his head, tell him 'not from me it ain't,' but the trusting, adoring look in Leech's bashful eyes stop him. Instead he stays quiet, just shifting back and laying against the pillows, more propped up for all the clothes that have been littered around them over the course of the evening. Ruckus is certain he's never been this surrounded by clothes and not had his dick in something, before. The little parasite follows the movement easily, knees sliding further up to keep his legs folded by either side of his ribcage and his hands crawling under Ruckus' shoulderblades. He presses his ear to Ruckus' sternum, all tucked up against him like an Anne Gedes baby on a pile of fluffy towels, listening to the rhythmic tattoo of the man's heart and being reassured that he has one, even if he forgets it most of the time.

"Guess this means yer stayin?," Ruckus breaks the silence, already knowing the answer. Leech will stay, and he'll be as clingy as his name, and Ruckus can't find he's all that bothered by the idea.

"Well," Leech starts, craning his head back to peer up at the man. And he's still blushing. "...ya named me, figures that means ya get to keep me?"

To be continued...eventually.

Please, critique me. I want to know if I ought to give up all together, because I'm currently working on what should be a novel-length, original fiction piece that has very questionable subjects such as incest and pedophilia.