Title: Regretfully Yours
Series: Count Cain/ Godchild
Type: Slightly shounen ai.
Challenge: Losing It
Disclaimer: Kaori Yuki, the Almighty, hath created these characters and situations from her brilliant head. I, a lowly admirer, hath abused the concepts. Don't you love people who try to speak in Old English?
Notes: Don't kill me for the ending...
"Cain was drunk. Oh. My. Gee!"
Cain stumbled back into the manor with his shoes dripping from mud and his suit wrinkled and damp from the early morning rain. The white marble floor was a complete mess, his head hurt, and he could barely make it up the stairs. Of course, since it was two in the morning, Mary and Riff must have already been asleep, so he had to somehow make his way up to his room without making a disturbance of any kind.
It was nearly impossible. His head was throbbing from the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning that had deafened his ears and paralyzed his eyes, then after stumbling around in the streets of London, he tripped and fell head first into a puddle before he realized that he had been stumbling in the wrong direction.
The manor was west of the rose park, so why was he walking east?
After pausing by the various lamp posts, glowing with their flickering candlelight, and vomiting in the abandoned alley a few miles away, Cain made it home. But he was drunk, his head hurt, his clothes soiled, and he smelled like a dying cat, with it's rotted flesh baked by the sun's hot burning rays.
That chance meeting with that damned doctor sent him into another one of those confused and depressed moments, and what better way to relieve himself of the misery than to drink to his heart's content? Of course, if Riff found out, he'd be so angry, his head would explode. Then again, Riff had never caught Cain being drunk, so he had never had to lose his head.
Quietly, Cain placed his cane and soaked hat onto the dark "thing" that he assumed was table, then slowly, he began to make his way upstairs. He hit the rail of the grand stairway, and when he finally made it up all fifty steps, he crashed into a side table and heard the violent clash of porcelain as it hit the floor.
Cain cursed and resumed the long trek to his room, opening to the door then finally letting himself collapse onto the bed, regardless of the fact that he smelled or that his clothes were going to spoil his white silk bed sheets.
From a hidden corner in the room, Cain heard a shallow grunt as a shadow made it's way towards him and (with those familiar hands) peeled the slimy wet coat off of him, and then his shirt, then his shoes, socks, and trousers. Cain sighed; Riff had been awake after all.
"Cain, sir, the next time you decide to sneak back into the house at two in the morning, don't make such a wreak. Miss Mary could hear you all the way from the second floor." Patiently, Riff put away the soiled clothes and guided Cain's tired body over to the bathroom, where a tub of hot water and warm towels were waiting for him. Cain eased into the water, feeling it's warmth wash over him and the water swallowing his heavy body.
Riff lathered the washcloth with a fragrant soap, then handed it to Cain, who took it by surprise.
"Sir, please wash yourself throughly. The bucket of clean water is over there for you to rinse yourself with and when you're ready, I have placed the towels right here so that you may dry yourself. Goodnight."
Riff stood up, his tall figure towering over Cain as he made his way over to the door. By the candle's dim light, Cain could see that Riff was still in his work clothes. His tie was loosened and his shirt nearly undone. Riffs eyes seemed blood shot and his movements jaded. So Riff had been waiting for him this entire time, no wonder he was acting so distant.
"Riff, come here." Cain called out from the small tub.
Reluctantly, Riff returned to Cain's side, his face expressionless but his movements tense. "Yes, sir?"
Cain stood up, the water dripping from his body as he wrapped his arms over Riff's broad shoulders, "I'm sorry for staying out so late."
Sighing, Riff took the washcloth and started scrubbing at Cain's skin. He furiously washed away at Cain, cleansing away the dirt in jagged movements, brushing back and forth with such a force that Cain felt his skin growing raw. "Isn't that ... a bit too hard?"
"Sir, would you like to wash yourself then?"
Cain was silent as he let Riff finish. But Riff's face still remained emotionless. And when he was finished, Riff doused the bucket of (rather cold) water onto Cain and handed him a towel before he started to walk away again.
The young count frowned; he couldn't figure out why Riff was so angry with him. Hurriedly, he wrapped the towel around himself and ran after Riff, stopping him before he walked out the door and into the hallway.
"Wait, Riff! I'm sorry! Stop acting like this." Cain wrapped his arms around Riff's waist, feeling the body relax before tensing up again. Riff tried to walk away, but Cain wouldn't let go. Eventually Riff gave up. He let out a long, heavy sigh as he picked Cain up, like when Cain was just a little child, and brought him back into his bed. Cain kept his arm around Riff's neck as he pulled him onto the large bed. Unwillingly, Riff followed.
The embrace Cain had around Riff lessened as his eyelids grew heavy and his headache slowly faded. "Riff, I'm sorry for staying out so late. I'm sorry for hitting on girls so late at night. And," He let out a loud yawn, "I'm sorry for worrying you."
"And what about getting drunk?"
"Oh, and that too." Cain's eyes closed as he buried his head into the crane of Riff's neck. "I'm sorry for all of that."
Once more, Riff sighed as he pulled himself out of the tangle of Cain's arms, and made his way back into his own room to retire for the night.
Notes Continued: I just didn't want them to be together in that corny cliche sort of way. This won't be continued. Thanks for reading! By the way, you're reading an edited version.