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"I don't think I understand quite what you're getting at earl." Riff heard these words spoken by a gruff, unfamiliar voice as he entered the parlor. It was mid-morning, and thus business hours for both the Hargreaves' heir and his staff hidden away in the various corridors and chambers of the estate.

A flash of his eyes upward and the servant saw the man, his face speckled with pockmarks and upon his lips perched a furry strip of facial hair. Half a second later, his eyes locked on the ground, and he noiselessly closed the door behind him. Five years had given him much practice in being unseen, but of course, Cain knew he was there. In the next half-second, Riff looked over to his master, who met his gaze in an equally brief diversion. Afterward, his eyes returned to their previous dreamy state, and he knew that the young man was far from the room, floating in some scattered thoughts or memories.

The visitor seemed startled by Riff's offering of tea, but Cain seemed grateful for the momentary lapse in his boredom. As Riff's hands lowered, handing the teacup and saucer to his master, Cain allowed his hand to brush against Riff's. It would have appeared accidental to the mustachioed fit of circumlocution present, if he even noticed. But, with that one moment of contact, a thousand touches from the night before fell into both of their minds. Hands and lips and bodies and feet, entangled, touching on too many occasions to count.

Just a second, and Cain held back a smile as he watched Riff silently exit. The dull voice across from him became senseless against reveries of last night's splendor.

Description

"I don't think I understand quite what you're getting at earl." Riff heard these words spoken by a gruff, unfamiliar voice as he entered the parlor. It was mid-morning, and thus business hours for both the Hargreaves' heir and his staff hidden away in the various corridors and chambers of the estate.

A flash of his eyes upward and the servant saw the man, his face speckled with pockmarks and upon his lips perched a furry strip of facial hair. Half a second later, his eyes locked on the ground, and he noiselessly closed the door behind him. Five years had given him much practice in being unseen, but of course, Cain knew he was there. In the next half-second, Riff looked over to his master, who met his gaze in an equally brief diversion. Afterward, his eyes returned to their previous dreamy state, and he knew that the young man was far from the room, floating in some scattered thoughts or memories.

The visitor seemed startled by Riff's offering of tea, but Cain seemed grateful for the momentary lapse in his boredom. As Riff's hands lowered, handing the teacup and saucer to his master, Cain allowed his hand to brush against Riff's. It would have appeared accidental to the mustachioed fit of circumlocution present, if he even noticed. But, with that one moment of contact, a thousand touches from the night before fell into both of their minds. Hands and lips and bodies and feet, entangled, touching on too many occasions to count.

Just a second, and Cain held back a smile as he watched Riff silently exit. The dull voice across from him became senseless against reveries of last night's splendor.