Cerulean, Tangerine

He is bound and blindfolded, he realizes upon waking, and he struggles at first. The fingers that run the length of his naked body are gentle, however, and the quiet ‘Shhh…’ at his ear is familiar enough to have his struggling cease altogether. The next touch is met with compliance, if not curiosity. His other senses seem to be amplified with the loss of his sight, and Riff aches to touch back, to feel his master as he is feeling him, touching along all his body and spreading his thighs, daring to grasp the now-fully erect cock between them. The blindfold doesn’t block out quite everything, however, and Riff can tell through it that it is bright wherever they are, whether it be daylight or there be plenty of lamps lit around them, the colors filtered to him in blues and oranges. Either way, he knows he is completely exposed and feels that way, turning his head out of shame, the red drifting across the bridge of his nose obscured by the cloth tied over his eyes.



It starts quicker than Riff expects, or ever fantasized on those nights alone in the manor when everyone else had gone to bed and Riff felt it safe enough, though he admonished himself thoroughly after. His legs are spread as far as the binds will allow, and his lord’s slim body, complete with skin that rasps silkily against Riff’s, picking up the dampness of his fevered sweat and carrying it off, covers his own. Riff is thrust into without any preparation, and the pain makes him call out involuntarily, but it still feels like being close to God because it is Lord Cain’s voice that soothes him into quiet. Riff, again, longs to touch his earl—his, Riff always think of him so possessively, even if he isn’t allowed the right—as the sex continues, the thrusts deeper now that his body’s become more accommodating. It is still painful, however, but he is so aroused at the way each downstroke causes the tip of his cock to brush against a tight, flat stomach. It isn’t long before he is breathing out his pleasure, trying to stay muted as his lord commands but unable to stop himself from gasping into a mouth that seems perpetually above his own. It isn’t very long before he feels the thrusts quicken, the grip on his hips hardening, becoming painful but that helps, and Riff throws his head back as he feels the heat of the earl’s seed releasing deep in his bowels.



"Cain!" Riff dares to cry out, no title before it, no station between them as he comes in a violent burst of cerulean and tangerine behind his eyes, his back bowed, his toes curled. The hands relent and recede, becoming feathery again, traveling north on his body as Riff empties himself onto his stomach.



Just as he’s coming down he hears:



"If you only knew just how pathetic you look at this moment, calling out your master’s name as if he could hear you. As if he even cared."



And the blindfold is slid off with delicate, owning fingers as long, wavy silver tendrils brush across the heated skin of Riff’s heaving chest. Jezebel Disraeli smiles down in an almost loving manner as he runs the knuckles of one hand across Riff's cheek before leaning in, mouth-to-mouth, nearly a kiss. "I wasn’t lying when I told you unconditional love doesn’t exist," he says in thieving tones, sounding eerily alike a certain brother of his. "Cain. Soon enough, you’ll lose everything."