Until You Are Truly Mine

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.

Warning(s): brackets abuse, odd metaphors, comparisons to the moon (blame Shakespeare), a lot of talk about wanting + possessing, suggestive lines?

Notes: Oddly, not smutty. I somehow find their relationship more interesting when it's not acted out on? And I'm sorry for posting so much on one day D:

...

Riff's hands were tentatively gentle as he tied Cain's shoelaces.

Watching his every move, Cain licked his lips and imagined what it would be like to have those hands touch his body; he knew that Riff's hands were cool - soothingly cool in comparison to the scorching strokes of a whip, knew it because - every now and then - Riff's hands would linger a little longer than necessary when in direct contact with Cain's skin. Oh yes, he'd always remove his hand at the right moment - wouldn't dare to hold on any longer than was rendered proper.

But Cain noticed and, hence, knew.

(You want me as desperately as I want you - you want me to be yours so badly that it's making you tremble).

Riff's fingers were long and thin; his skin was pale - not as pale as Cain's, but still the sort of whiteness that one associated with sickness, death and decay. His hair too - silver-grey - was like that of the moon -

(always changing its shape, inconstant, never bright and sparkling like the sun but, having reaching its full glory, growing fainter and fainter) .

For others, Riff might have been inconspicuous, dull even. But for Cain, he was beautiful - his hands, his face, everything about him.

Those hands, Cain thought, belonged to him; they were only his and Riff was only allowed to touch him, to tie his shoelaces only. Everything about Riff was Cain's: he'd never allow anyone else to play with Riff.

(I'll kill anyone who dares to interfere).

Riff was the one toy in his collection he wouldn't have traded for anything in the world.

And, unlike the moon, Riff was always there when Cain needed him - always at his beck and call. Riff, Cain was certain, would walk through fire for him if ordered to do so.

(A doll that - even if it moves and talks and walks - will still belong to its Master, never defying his commands).

Yet, as Cain watched Riff tie his second shoe, his fingers so adapt at pulling the laces and making a perfect knot, he knew that their bond wasn't just about his possessing Riff.

(Because possession is just like being the owner of a slave. Once you lose power, the slave will run away).

Yes, he wanted to have Riff - wanted to clasp his arms around Riff and, clutching on to him tightly, never let go. Even if the world around them crumbled to bits and pieces.

(I want to stay by your side forever).

No, Cain wanted Riff to want him as much as he wanted him; he wanted Riff to obey him, not because he'd been ordered to do so, but out of his free volition. Because, only then, would their bond be real -

(and not twisted and false like so many other things in my life).

He already knew that Riff wanted him. Because, yet again, Riff's hand was holding his ankle - his clasp loving, possessive even.

Cain, who couldn't restrain himself any longer, ran his fingers through Riff's hair. For now it was enough, but Cain knew he wouldn't be satisfied until Riff truly became his.

(If you only said something, I'd become yours in a heartbeat. I'd never let go of you).

...