Godchild/Cain Saga, Riff/Cain, Against a Wall
By day, he is my master. I wash his hair and bring him breakfast, lay his clothes out on the bed for him. I write his appointments down in the ledger beside my bed, and make sure he keeps them. I am the only one he trusts to make his tea, to keep him safe. By day, he rules me.
But at night I pin my beautiful master to the wall, as a storm rages outside, wind savagely sending the heavy curtains into chaos. The smell of the rain and lighting makes me feel wild and unchained.
Cain begs, pleads, "Please, please, Riff..." I sink my teeth into the narrow dip where neck and shoulder meet. He writhes against the wall, fingers scrabbling back to grip my hips, to force my body tighter against his. I give him what he wants and grind myself into his backside, a rough growl escaping from my throat.
"Riff..." He's panting now, looking back over his shoulders, eyes wild. "Riff..."
I smile, though the expression is not kind. Buttons ping against the wall as I tear his waistcoat from his body. He makes a startled sound, but helps me to get his undershirt off, revealing the patchwork of scars, deep, angry marks that will never fade, laid there by a father who will never love him. I slide to my knees, attacking the scars with my tongue, tracing the deepest along his spine. Cain's breathing quicken, body arching away from the wall.
I know he will already be slicked and stretched, and the thought of him lying on his bed, body framed by blood-red sheets, plunging eager fingers into his own body has my own breathing quickening, cock jerking in my trousers.
I climb back to my feet, hands trailing up Cain's thighs, kneading the taut flesh of his backside, making him moan out, low and trembling. He helps me unfasten his belt and slide his trousers down his hips. When I finally force him around, his face is a raw, pain-filled mask, all the fabled control of the Hargreaves family gone in a shining moment of perfect need.
“Fuck me,” he whispers, and his eyes burn.
The exchange between us is not of servant and master, it is primal and beyond such conventions. Cain throws his head back as I enter him, one arm hooked under his knee, pulling him up, forcing his legs around my waist. His hands scrabble at my chest, eyes squeezed shut, body pulsing hot around me. His insides seize and tremble as I slide deep.
Lighting flashes, turning the room for an instant to a monochrome of black and white, before thunder crashes, so loud it drowns out Cain’s cries. The storm is almost upon us.
“Riff…Riff…” All he can do is gasp my name, rock his hips against mine. It’s quick and hard to describe, everything a blur of sensation and sound, Cain’s gasps in my ear, my throat vibrating with my own growls of selfish pleasure.
I come first, as I always do, hips snapping, burying my face in Cain’s neck, biting down to drown out my yell.
For a moment our breath mingles, before I work up the strength to toss Cain onto his bed. He whimpers, stretching out on his back, hand wrapping round his cock. He fists himself brutally, hips lifting up from the bed. I lie next to him, pinching the hard, tight buds of his nipples. The sounds drawn from him are barely human.
I lick the salt from his neck and watch him come, legs trembling, painting his chest in stripes of cloudy white.
His eyes slide shut, and I finally kiss him, twining my fingers in his hair, sighing at the touch of his tongue. Cain is relaxed and boneless, body melting into me, arms wrapping around my neck. “I won’t be able to sit down tomorrow,” he tells me when we break apart. “Or walk, for that matter.”
I kiss his forehead, let him rest his head on my shoulder. “Then I’ll carry you,” I say. “That’s what I’m here for. To serve you.”
Cain laughs softly. “And you do your duty so admirably.”
He falls asleep after than. I will leave before the night is over, go back to my room, in the servant’s wing where I belong. But until then, I let myself drift into darkness and warmth.