momebie

Alright, this is for

marilla82 who is clamoring for the Cain/Riff, and who also wanted a mixture of smut and angst. I apologize, they're not on the Death Star, they're not orbiting the Holy Land Experience, and the Brandon Flowers boy isn't involved. Some weird things should just stay in my head, yeah?

Title: Will Weary
Fandom: Count Cain
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Cain/Riff
Summary: Riff tries to reconcile who he was, who he is, and who Cain makes him.
Warnings: Um...naked boys parts next to other naked boy parts and frottage? Though, if you're here I can't imagine that's much of a turn off for you.
A/N: Because you can’t deny that Cain’s not at least a little bit manipulative. ;) And to clarify, Riff still thinks of Cain as the boy he’s protecting, but he’s 17 here. No crazy pedophilia, ok!? This is also partially for

remeciel, who incites my Kaori Yuki love, and whose art makes me happy and jealous all at the same time. :p

ETA- Now with proper beta. Wooo! *colapses*
I am so tired and afraid that I might regret this tomorrow, but fuck it. Posting fic written in a half asleep state won't be the most embarassing thing I've ever done. Beta'd just enough to make sure the tenses don't make Jess' eyes bleed. At laest, I hope they won't. I have to be up at 6:30. Irg.

“Are you quite certain you’ll find what you’re looking for here sir?” Riff followed after Cain as he made his way down the narrow staircase to the bookshop’s cellar. Cain reached the floor and walked toward the center of the room. He took the candlelight with him and Riff quickened his pace to chase after it.

“Yes, the book I’m looking for is quite obscure and not at all sought after. I know it will be here. Probably accompanied by no shortage of dust though.” He sniffed disdainfully and looked back at Riff over his shoulder. His eyebrow was cocked and his gaze followed Riff as he moved along the wall. Riff edged in and out of the light and finally came to a rest in front of a book case. “Perhaps I should lend you to them.”

Of all the thoughtless gestures and careless words that Cain was capable of, that single raised eyebrow had the most effect on Riff. It made Cain’s face look arrogant and unattainable. It made Riff want him more. “Perhaps you should sir,” he said quietly.

It had taken Riff time to make the transition from wealthy student with his own free will to manservant. At times he still chafed under the demands laid on him, but not much, and never outwardly. He had learned to put his will aside. Riff did love Cain after all, in his own way, and he had sworn to protect him. His own struggle with will was nothing more than a mere annoyance at most. At least, that’s what he had himself convinced of most of the time.

Cain stopped and turned around. He squinted his eyes and tried to see Riff more clearly in the dim light. “Riff,” he said, his voice rose and cracked. He was no longer the confident and competent Earl Hargreaves; he was the frightened little boy once again. “You know I’d never let anyone else have you, right?”

Riff knew that his former self, the self that had a choice, would have resented the word let. As if this child was in control of his life. But then, he was, wasn’t he? Riff lowered his head in obsequience and sighed. “Yes, sir.”

When he looked up Cain had changed again. His face was adorned with a smirk now, golden eyes crinkled in the victory of a sure thing. He reached out. The thin white fingers reflected the light as they came towards Riff. The thumb and forefinger wrapped themselves around Riff’s tie. He let his eyes travel past the fingers, up the arm, over the shoulder, and to the perfect bow of his master’s lips.

Cain leaned in so that those lips were centimeters from Riff’s face. “You’re mine, and mine alone, right Riff?” Riff nodded his head ever so slightly and then Cain was against him. He leaned into him and weighed him down.

Riff stumbled backwards and fell into the book case. His back was in pain from the thin piece of wood that bit into his spine, but his mouth was numb from the heat and contact of Cain’s lips.

“Sfr,” he gasped into Cain’s mouth. The affection was not unwelcome; it had just taken him by surprise. It was also in horrendous decorum for a man of Cain’s status, even a young one widely known as an eccentric. Cain stopped and pulled away. Riff took a deep, shaking breath.

Cain pouted. “Riff, do you not love me?”

“Yes sir, you know I do. But sir needs to consider the circumstances and his repu-“

“My reputation Riff?” Cain smirked again. “I wasn’t aware I had one to save.”

“But the shopkeeper sir, and the customers.”

Cain eyed Riff calmly for a moment. It was the same silent, intense study that Riff was used to seeing. It had never been trained on him before. Cain sighed and nodded. “Of course, you are only looking out for my best intentions, as you should be. I’ve found what I came for anyway.” He leaned into Riff again, but this time reached past him and pulled an ancient looking, thick book from the shelf behind Riff’s head. Dust flaked off the cover and onto the shoulder of Riff’s jacket. “You’ll want to remove that,” Cain said. He turned away and started up the staircase back to the main shop room. “It would be unbecoming for my manservant to look unkempt.”

Riff stepped away from the bookshelf and made a show of fastidiously fixing his attire and removing the dust. He had stopped Cain out of duty, not altruism. And even without the other body pressed against his, he felt heavy. He had indeed given up his free will, and now he was held down by the expectations of others.

…

That evening after Riff had bathed Cain and put him to bed, he was still unsettled. He had to find a balance between freedom and servitude or the war that raged in his dreams would eat him alive. He bathed deliberately and slipped into his pyjamas and night robe. Then, in what he knew was a grievous break of protocol, he padded barefoot down to the mansion’s library, the way lit by a single candle in his trembling hands.

After he had checked for other servants, he slipped into the room and wandered about, and looked at titles he didn’t really see. He wasn’t on a search for anything in particular. He just wanted something to make him forget about Cain for a short while. He settled for one of Alexis’ old medical books out of familiarity and carried it to the chaise in the middle of the room.

Riff leaned back and sprawled over the piece furniture as if he owned it, he propped the book open against his knee and stared at a page. He wasn’t reading it, he couldn’t even take his mind off the young master long enough to comprehend the first sentence. Darkness fought at the outside of the circle of light cast by the candle and he taunted it in his head. He begged it to swallow him and end the weary war that played out in silence within him. Riff couldn’t protect master Cain dead, but if he did die then he’d cease to be Riff, right? And if he was no longer attached to the silly notion of loyalty to Cain, would he really care?

A hand settled on his shoulder and startled him. The book spilled out of his lap and onto the floor. “I dare say,” came the familiar voice from behind him. “That this isn’t helping your reputation as my manservant at all.”

“Lord Cain!” Riff tilted his head back over the arm of the furniture and looked up into Cain’s face. It was upside down and melting into the shadows, but he could see just enough to tell that Cain wasn’t angered. It was more than a small comfort to Riff that no matter what he did, Cain was never cross with him.

Riff let out the breath he had been holding. “I’m very sorry sir. Couldn’t sleep is all. I’ll return to my quarters,” he said, as he sat up and bent over and retreived the book from the ground. When he sat up Cain’s naked chest was all he could see. The boy had come down in only his pyjama bottoms. “Sir please, you’ll catch cold like that.” He started to work at the knot on his robe with his free hand so he could drape it over Cain’s shoulders.

“There will be no need for that Riff.” He pulled the book out of Riff’s hand and tossed it back into the darkness. He then moved forward and sat in Riff’s lap and straddled him. Cain wrapped an arm around Riff’s shoulders and pulled him closer by the back of the neck. “How about now,” he whispered. “Is my reputation safe now?”

Cain leaned in slowly and gave Riff ample time to say something or pull away. Riff realized that he was being given a choice, being allowed to let his will reign. He raised his arms and tangled all of his fingers through Cain’s hair. He pulled the boy forward hungrily and let their lips and teeth collide with force. Riff’s tongue found Cain’s and pinned it for a moment before Cain started to answer the kiss just as hungrily.

Cain slipped deft hands into the neck of Riff’s robe and slid it off his shoulders. Riff disentangled his fingers from Cain’s hair long enough to slide his arms out of the sleeves and let the robe fall so that it bunched around his waist. Cain worked at the buttons on Riff’s sleep shirt until it hung limp and open around the curved waist that strained as it tried to move closer to Cain’s body. Riff needed to feel the touch of skin on skin.

Cain broke away and bunched the fabric of the robe in his hands before he lobbed it over the back of the chaise. Riff hooked a finger around the neck of his shirt and slipped it off. He dropped it onto the robe. Cain watched the skin and muscle move in the candlelight. The shadows gave them an added dimension.

Riff pulled away from Cain and rested his head against back of the chaise. He eyed the small Earl in his lap and his hands came to rest on Cain’s knees. A draft blew through the room and both boys shivered. Cain looked into Riff’s eyes and Riff opened his mouth to breathe in deeply. Now, his will cried inside of him, he wanted it now.

Cain leaned forward so that his chest rested against Riff’s and wrapped his arms around the thin waist beneath him. Riff burned everywhere that Cain’s skin touched his. He captured Cain’s mouth again and gave it a series of small kisses before he started to lightly suck on the bottom lip. Cain shifted his hips forward and Riff bit down on the lip and arched his back. His erection strained against the thin cloth of his pyjama bottoms and he could feel the wetness Cain’s left against his stomach.

As he shifted his hips backward and forward Cain built a rhythm that Riff tried to follow. He couldn’t move much though, pinned beneath his master as he was, so he wrapped his arms around Cain’s shoulders and leaned forward. He held the boy tight and shifted sideways. Riff laid Cain out on the chaise, his knees between Cain’s legs.

He stretched out across Cain and let his lips trail down the smooth chin and dip into the hollows of Cain’s neck. Cain groaned and let his hands wander. He hooked his thumbs into the waist band of Riff’s bottoms and slid them down his hips. Riff rested his forehead against Cain’s chest as he kicked out of them and pulled down Cain’s own bottoms.

Cain let his hands slide up to Riff’s chest and placed both open palms onto the skin. He started to circle the small, hard nipples with long, cold fingers. Riff licked at the underside of Cain’s jaw. Riff shuddered when their cocks touched each other and Cain let one thin finger graze over the top of Riff’s nipple. He felt the need to be closer and dropped onto the boy.

Cain ran his hands around Riff’s back and down to his ass before he let one trail over the pale, jutting hip bone. He slipped his hand between them. He ran a finger around the head of Riff’s penis. Riff moaned into Cain’s neck, water from the hot air condensed on Cain’s skin and cooled instantly. His body tingled. Cain slid his fingers to the base and wrapped them around Riff’s cock. He began to slowly stroke back towards himself. Riff moaned again and lay even flatter against Cain, trying to get as much contact as possible.

Cain bucked at Riff in the same rhythm with which he pulled at Riff’s cock and Riff began to buck back. Riff balanced himself on one elbow and reached down to stroke Cain’s cock. He matched the speed and pressure being used on his own. Cain turned his head and left more neckline free for Riff to explore with his tongue. “Nnngghhhhooood,” he cried into the silken back of the chaise.

“Oh, holy fuck,” Riff gasped into Cain’s collarbone, spurred on by the sound of something other than breath. They moved in unison, flesh and flesh, hand and hand, breath for breath. They rocked like a leaf in a waterfall, white waves foaming over the blue green expanse of the chaise. Riff came over Cain’s stomach and stopped stroking. He looked between them, down Cain’s body to the dark erection framed by pale thighs. Cain let out a guttural noise of disapproval from the back of his throat and started to buck his hips harder. He tried to force the friction and heat out of Riff’s body.

Riff panted and continued to work quickly at Cain’s cock. When Cain finished it got onto both of their stomachs, one set of semen mixed with the other and commingled in a way that their bodies couldn’t. Riff wished that he was viscous like that, that he could be absorbed into Cain and that they would become inseparable.

He shifted sideways so that not all of his weight was against his young master and Cain pushed him onto his back so that he could stretch out and drape himself over Riff’s body. Another draft moved through the room and they shivered in unison as the air cleared away the sweat and saliva. Cain wrapped an arm around Riff’s neck and laid his head on Riff’s shoulder. Riff draped an arm lazily Cain’s back and let his hand rest at the shoulder blade. He stroked at the indentation with his finger.

Riff realized, as he lay in the afterglow, that even the giving of himself over to this pleasure hadn’t been out of free will. Perhaps he just had to accept the fact that Cain ruled everything around him, that he would never be who he was before. Riff idly trailed his fingers from Cain’s shoulder to his tailbone. He could feel the tracks of scars along the way. Cain exhaled a shaky breath into Riff’s shoulder. No, he thought, he was still Riff, and this was his will at the moment. He still felt heavy, still pulled down by Cain’s weight, but it was because he wanted to be. That knowledge and the hair that tickled at his collarbone were enough for him.

...

And speaking of pretty, angsty boys.

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