[Fanfiction] - Cain/Riff - Secret
Aren't I a busy little bee? Something random again. The huge irony being after resolving to write for the 52 prompts I should be working my way through, I'm writing totally unrelated stuff. Go me. :p
Title: Secret
Fandom: Godchild
Word Count: 515
Beta: butterflygirl_3
Genre: Romance, Angst
Characters/Pairing: CainxRiff
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: SPOILERS for the ending of the manga, character death, implied shounen-ai.
Author's Notes: The result of too much tragically beautiful classical music and the fact I've had this idea rattling around in my head for aaaaages now.
Summary: At the end of the world, I'll be here in your arms.
He can hear the building crumbling around him, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. He’s warm. He’s safe. Riff’s arms close around his body, cradling him close. Riff’s breath is in his hair, warm and reassuring. Riff's scent fills his nostrils, familiar and soothing.
Glass shatters around them, shards falling like diamond rain-drops, spraying across the ground. He smiles softly, gently, because this is his Elysian Field. He needs nothing else. Was this end written from the beginning? It feels a little like fate. He can taste the tang of destiny on his tongue.
‘Riff?’
Something shudders beneath them. It won’t be long now. The last act is over and for this there can be no curtain call. The knives were keen, the poisons real. They spun and whirled in hot-iron shoes until their stage was their world and their world a stage. They played to the crowd, but their lines were their lives.
‘Sir?’
He’s said it a thousand times. Laced a thousand shoes. Poured a thousand cups of tea. Buttered a thousand scones. This is their sum and total. Portraits of the mundane. Snippets of sunshine and daisies in a monochrome world. The scent of blackberry jam and the warmth of comforting hands holding him close.
‘Say my name.’
Riff doesn’t ask. Riff has never asked. Never asked about the tears. Never asked about the scars. Never asked about the covert touches. Never asked about the intensity burning behind his eyes. Never asked, because he already knew.
‘Cain.’
It is a promise, and a benediction. It’s goodbye, but it sounds like a beginning. He can hear the bells tolling in the distance, a fitting dirge. How much time has passed? It could have been seconds. It could have been a lifetime.
He closes his eyes. They are safe. He has won. And now all he wants to do is rest, to curl up in the arms of his beloved and sleep for a thousand years. But there is no spindle here. Instead he has pricked his soul, and his lifeblood is trickling away.
There are a thousand words he wants to say, but he finds that here they are meaningless. He doesn’t have to speak. His fingers find Riff’s and he twines them together, letting them warm him, pressing them to his heart.
Something above them snaps, falls.
He breathes in, breathes out.
The glass in Riff’s back looks like wings.
He doesn’t feel it. Neither of them do. The glass plunges through Riff’s skin, sliding through his ribs and finally coming to rest in Cain’s heart.
He would appreciate the irony if he had breath too, but that whispers from his lips as his life flees his body.
Crehador finds them like that, Death’s newest disciples. His eyes find the glass buried in Riff, but they cannot see the piece in Cain’s heart. It’s not for his eyes. Their deaths, like their lives, are their secret.
Secret as whispered endearments, secret as furtive kisses and fumbling touches.
Secret as their dreams and their nightmares.
Secret as the words they never said.
Secret as the words they never had too.
*~*
Not my best ever, but I don't know...maybe someone will like it?
Title: Secret
Fandom: Godchild
Word Count: 515
Beta: butterflygirl_3
Genre: Romance, Angst
Characters/Pairing: CainxRiff
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: SPOILERS for the ending of the manga, character death, implied shounen-ai.
Author's Notes: The result of too much tragically beautiful classical music and the fact I've had this idea rattling around in my head for aaaaages now.
Summary: At the end of the world, I'll be here in your arms.
He can hear the building crumbling around him, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. He’s warm. He’s safe. Riff’s arms close around his body, cradling him close. Riff’s breath is in his hair, warm and reassuring. Riff's scent fills his nostrils, familiar and soothing.
Glass shatters around them, shards falling like diamond rain-drops, spraying across the ground. He smiles softly, gently, because this is his Elysian Field. He needs nothing else. Was this end written from the beginning? It feels a little like fate. He can taste the tang of destiny on his tongue.
‘Riff?’
Something shudders beneath them. It won’t be long now. The last act is over and for this there can be no curtain call. The knives were keen, the poisons real. They spun and whirled in hot-iron shoes until their stage was their world and their world a stage. They played to the crowd, but their lines were their lives.
‘Sir?’
He’s said it a thousand times. Laced a thousand shoes. Poured a thousand cups of tea. Buttered a thousand scones. This is their sum and total. Portraits of the mundane. Snippets of sunshine and daisies in a monochrome world. The scent of blackberry jam and the warmth of comforting hands holding him close.
‘Say my name.’
Riff doesn’t ask. Riff has never asked. Never asked about the tears. Never asked about the scars. Never asked about the covert touches. Never asked about the intensity burning behind his eyes. Never asked, because he already knew.
‘Cain.’
It is a promise, and a benediction. It’s goodbye, but it sounds like a beginning. He can hear the bells tolling in the distance, a fitting dirge. How much time has passed? It could have been seconds. It could have been a lifetime.
He closes his eyes. They are safe. He has won. And now all he wants to do is rest, to curl up in the arms of his beloved and sleep for a thousand years. But there is no spindle here. Instead he has pricked his soul, and his lifeblood is trickling away.
There are a thousand words he wants to say, but he finds that here they are meaningless. He doesn’t have to speak. His fingers find Riff’s and he twines them together, letting them warm him, pressing them to his heart.
Something above them snaps, falls.
He breathes in, breathes out.
The glass in Riff’s back looks like wings.
He doesn’t feel it. Neither of them do. The glass plunges through Riff’s skin, sliding through his ribs and finally coming to rest in Cain’s heart.
He would appreciate the irony if he had breath too, but that whispers from his lips as his life flees his body.
Crehador finds them like that, Death’s newest disciples. His eyes find the glass buried in Riff, but they cannot see the piece in Cain’s heart. It’s not for his eyes. Their deaths, like their lives, are their secret.
Secret as whispered endearments, secret as furtive kisses and fumbling touches.
Secret as their dreams and their nightmares.
Secret as the words they never said.
Secret as the words they never had too.
*~*
Not my best ever, but I don't know...maybe someone will like it?