Notes – This was a really short drabble written to go in the description of the picture I did for "058. Ashamed" of the Layton 100 Themes. But then I ended up not liking the picture very much and didn't put the drabble with it. However, since it was lying around anyway, I decided to post it on its own. Short and lame, really. Set a few years after the third game, with vague spoilers for said game.
A gentleman does not utter curse words. That's pretty basic and probably doesn't even make it into the Unwritten Code of Gentlemen, even if it had been written, because everyone is expected to know it without being told.
But it wasn't as if a gentleman did not know of the existence of these words, even if he chose not to use them. Because he'd lived in London all his life and there are certainly many in the city that weren't gentleman and didn't think twice about swearing where every Tom, Dick and Harry could hear them.
As Layton stirred awake, it suddenly seemed like an appropriate time for all of these words that a gentleman should never say to come flooding through his head.
Shit.
Crap.
Bollocks.
Oh please, let this all be in my imagination.
Why are there so many swear words that deal with bodily waste?
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
That seemed like an appropriate note to end it on.
He shuffled a bit where he lay; not bringing himself to look to the other side of him, because he already knew what was there. Who was there, rather. And if a gentleman should never utter any of the words that had just ran through his head, then it goes without saying that one should not engage in the sort of activities he had done with Clive the previous evening.
He instantly regretted it, for more reasons than just the way society viewed two men acting in such a way together, but for what sort of effect it would undoubtedly have on Clive. The young man was under his protection, only even out of prison so long as Layton kept an eye on him, and he was… far too easily influenced, for someone so jaded. Layton could only worry about what Clive would read into last night.
Quite frankly, it was hard to read anything else into last night.
But… he knew he was not attracted to Clive. Or at least, he was pretty certain that he wasn't. He wished that he had the excuse of alcohol to justify his behaviour, but sadly he did not.
Sighing, he sat up, swinging himself around to get out of the bed while, hopefully, not disturbing the sleeping figure. In that, at least, he was successful, as Clive didn't stir at all.
There would be consequences for his actions, he knew. He'd known that yesterday too, but yesterday was too caught up in the act to be all that concerned about what tomorrow would have to deal with.
Tea. That was what he needed. When all else fails, a moment of sipping down a nice cup of Earl Grey and letting yourself forget your troubles is exactly what you need.
And like all good gentlemen, Layton decided that the problem would be best dealt with after breakfast.