Fluffy, fluffy, RiffxCain drabble...and right in the middle of when I SHOULD be working on a much more important project, but oh well. Rated PG for cussing butlers, bad table manners, and smugness on Cains part. Oh, and there is most likely a great deal of OOC-ness. Deal with it. I wanted fluff.
Comments and criticisms are always appreciated and much adored!
And again, doesn't like my formatting, so please do your best to ignore omitted quote marks, strange symbols weird spacing, etc. if such things should occur.
Disclaimer: I still own nothing. And my soul is still up for auction.
Afternoon Tea And Tarts
"Damn it, Riff."
"Damn what, Master Cain?"
Cain huffed in response and thudded an elbow on the table, making the tea tray and its accoutrements jump. Propping his chin against the heel of his hand, he rolled his eyes towards Riff, who stood beside his table. "Don't we English DO anything besides sit around and drink tea all the time?"
"Is the tea not to your liking, sir?" Riff inquired, making a move to remove the tea tray if it had indeed offended.
"No, no. Nothing like that." Cain waved his butler's hands away with impatience, his eyebrows knitting themselves into a snit. "It's fan-bloody- tastic. Just how you always make it. The Queen Mother probably doesn't have tea this well-made." He slumped his shoulders.
"I am glad you find your tea, erm, fan-bloody-tastic, sir," Riff said, trying not to sound self-conscious about repeating the term. "But are you sure I couldn't fetch something else more to your liking?"
"Riff, don't cuss. You sound too self-conscious."
Riff winced. "Of course, sir."
Staring off into space, Cain allowed a fleeting smile at the expense of his butler's dignity and then began stirring his tea with a fingertip. The clock above the library mantelpiece chimed a merry half-past-four and the young master heaved a sigh. He ceased his stirring and hooked his finger over the edge of his teacup, appearing to be in deep contemplation of the wallpaper on the other side of the library.
Riff watched the proceedings, tempted to make some comment about proper etiquette at teatime, or at the very least caution his master against the inconveniences of sticky fingers. He settled for neatening the napkins.
The wallpaper proving to be as uninteresting as ever, Cain began transferring drops of tea into the bowl of sugar cubes with his fingertip.
"Riff." Drip. Drip.
"Yes, sir?" Riff's fingers twitched towards the napkins.
"Drinking tea is boring." Drip. Drip.
"Well, then, we should be glad you aren't being forced to endure anything so tedious, sir," Riff said, bemused.
Cain regarded his butler with a droll look before returning to his task of transforming the sugar cubes into half-dissolved, misshapen lumps.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Riff cleared his throat and looked out the open window, determined not to voice his opinion on Cain's breach of table manners. He focused as best he could on the dust motes caught in the sunlight that streamed through the glass. He thought, with chagrin, of how Cook would complain later about having to scrape out a solid lump of sugar cemented to the inside of one of the best china bowls. Riff cast a covert, agitated glance towards the slender fingertip that was now stabbing its way down into the center of the sugar cubes...or what was left of them.
Drip. Smush. Smush.
"Master Cain?"
"Mm?" Cain did not look up, instead dropping his attention to the sugar bowl. "Damn. Now I'm sticky," he muttered to himself, as though he'd just become aware of his actions. Cain lifted his finger out of the mess, examining the grains of sweet stuck to his skin. After a moment of contemplation, he popped his finger into his mouth and turned his eyes to the butler. "Yeth, Wiff?" Cain spoke around his finger.
Riff blinked owlishly. "I...nothing, sir." He cleared his throat and glared at the napkins, finding it rather difficult to look Cain in the face while the young master was sucking on his own finger. "I thought to caution you against, ah, sticky fingers, but you seem to have the problem in mouth—err, hand."
Cain pulled his finger out of his mouth with a little wet sound and grinned. "Ah, I see," he said, dabbling in his tea and then the sugar bowl again.
Riff wasn't exactly sure what it was that Cain was referring to, but he did have a feeling that Cain licking his finger and winking at him had a great deal to do with it. He shook himself and steeled his nerve. He would not rise to the bait, no matter how badly his master teased his sensibilities for propriety and decorum.
Oh, look, the napkins needed straightening again.
Cain narrowed his eyes at Riff before closing them completely and leaning back in his chair, finger still in his mouth, making a sound of unmistakable...
"Mmmm..."
...indulgence.
Riff ignored his left knee, which felt suddenly, inexplicably weak. He turned and coughed into his shoulder.
Releasing his finger, Cain smirked. "Riff, quit fiddling with the napkins and sit down. You look positively faint. In fact..." Cain reached up and hooked his butler by the collar, tugging him downwards. "This would probably do you some good..."
Riff felt himself flush as Cain's face loomed close. He was being drawn in, nearer...nearer...and goodness, but Cain's eyelashes were long...and then...oh...
He was released?
"There. That's much better," Cain said, moving back with a smug look, and Riff realized that his collar felt rather...loose.
Cain twirled Riff's tie in one hand and smiled with large, golden eyes. "It looked like you were having a bit of trouble breathing, my dear Riff," he said, by way of innocent explanation. "And please, do sit down. Tart?"
Riff's eyes widened and he sat down hard, almost missing the empty chair behind him. It took him a moment to comprehend that he was being offered a pastry from the tea tray and not—
"—Riff?" Cain was holding up a raspberry dainty and looking concerned.
"I—uh...yes?" Riff was very grateful for the chair beneath him and for the open window, as he found himself feeling both weak and overheated all of a sudden. He leaned an elbow on the table, bracing himself.
Cain's hand and the pastry moved closer, and as Riff struggled to gain his bearings (and his dignity), he realized that it was almost as though Cain intended to feed him the tart...by hand...and smiling...fingers...tart...manners...MANNERS...!
"Thank you, Master Cain!" Riff caught Cain's wrist and snatched the dainty away, placing it on a napkin. Cain blinked in surprise, caught off guard by Riff's sudden movement. The clock chimed a happy quarter-til, and the young master scowled.
But then Riff didn't release his wrist.
"I...I have something I must tell you, sir," Riff said, his voice soft and his hand trailing to Cain's palm.
The corner of Cain's mouth twitched upwards. "What is it, my dear Riff?"he asked, his tone equally hushed, though he had to fight to keep from sounding smug. Perhaps the tie maneuver had done it...
Riff met his master's gaze, his eyes serious. "Before...before I say this, sir...please know that I have pledged you my undying loyalty, and that I have no desire to displease you..." he said, his tone sincere and hesitant.
Cain did his damndest to repress a grin. He clasped Riff's fingers. "Nothing you say ever truly displeases me, Riff." Mustering what he hoped was an encouraging smile, he leaned in, just for effect.
Riff closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of measured relief. "Then, I must tell you, Master Cain..." He paused.
"...Yes?" Cain urged. Gods this was like pulling teeth!
"Your table manners are horrible," Riff announced in a grave voice.
"WHAT?"
Riff released Cain's hand abruptly. "I'm sorry, sir. I know it must come as shock, hearing an admonishment from your butler..."
"Riff...you..." Cain scowled. This was ridiculous! Admonishment from the butler indeed!
"Yes, sir?" Riff was looking at him, quite puzzled.
"Oh, shut up and eat your tart."
"Very good, sir." Riff lifted the pastry to his mouth quickly, but not before Cain caught him with the beginnings of a vague grin. The count glared and crossed his arms. Admonishment from the butler. Pah!
Riff chewed in private contentment, glad in the knowledge that his master's teatime was no longer boring. At least for this particular afternoon.
Comments and criticisms are always appreciated and much adored!
And again, doesn't like my formatting, so please do your best to ignore omitted quote marks, strange symbols weird spacing, etc. if such things should occur.
Disclaimer: I still own nothing. And my soul is still up for auction.
"Damn it, Riff."
"Damn what, Master Cain?"
Cain huffed in response and thudded an elbow on the table, making the tea tray and its accoutrements jump. Propping his chin against the heel of his hand, he rolled his eyes towards Riff, who stood beside his table. "Don't we English DO anything besides sit around and drink tea all the time?"
"Is the tea not to your liking, sir?" Riff inquired, making a move to remove the tea tray if it had indeed offended.
"No, no. Nothing like that." Cain waved his butler's hands away with impatience, his eyebrows knitting themselves into a snit. "It's fan-bloody- tastic. Just how you always make it. The Queen Mother probably doesn't have tea this well-made." He slumped his shoulders.
"I am glad you find your tea, erm, fan-bloody-tastic, sir," Riff said, trying not to sound self-conscious about repeating the term. "But are you sure I couldn't fetch something else more to your liking?"
"Riff, don't cuss. You sound too self-conscious."
Riff winced. "Of course, sir."
Staring off into space, Cain allowed a fleeting smile at the expense of his butler's dignity and then began stirring his tea with a fingertip. The clock above the library mantelpiece chimed a merry half-past-four and the young master heaved a sigh. He ceased his stirring and hooked his finger over the edge of his teacup, appearing to be in deep contemplation of the wallpaper on the other side of the library.
Riff watched the proceedings, tempted to make some comment about proper etiquette at teatime, or at the very least caution his master against the inconveniences of sticky fingers. He settled for neatening the napkins.
The wallpaper proving to be as uninteresting as ever, Cain began transferring drops of tea into the bowl of sugar cubes with his fingertip.
"Riff." Drip. Drip.
"Yes, sir?" Riff's fingers twitched towards the napkins.
"Drinking tea is boring." Drip. Drip.
"Well, then, we should be glad you aren't being forced to endure anything so tedious, sir," Riff said, bemused.
Cain regarded his butler with a droll look before returning to his task of transforming the sugar cubes into half-dissolved, misshapen lumps.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Riff cleared his throat and looked out the open window, determined not to voice his opinion on Cain's breach of table manners. He focused as best he could on the dust motes caught in the sunlight that streamed through the glass. He thought, with chagrin, of how Cook would complain later about having to scrape out a solid lump of sugar cemented to the inside of one of the best china bowls. Riff cast a covert, agitated glance towards the slender fingertip that was now stabbing its way down into the center of the sugar cubes...or what was left of them.
Drip. Smush. Smush.
"Master Cain?"
"Mm?" Cain did not look up, instead dropping his attention to the sugar bowl. "Damn. Now I'm sticky," he muttered to himself, as though he'd just become aware of his actions. Cain lifted his finger out of the mess, examining the grains of sweet stuck to his skin. After a moment of contemplation, he popped his finger into his mouth and turned his eyes to the butler. "Yeth, Wiff?" Cain spoke around his finger.
Riff blinked owlishly. "I...nothing, sir." He cleared his throat and glared at the napkins, finding it rather difficult to look Cain in the face while the young master was sucking on his own finger. "I thought to caution you against, ah, sticky fingers, but you seem to have the problem in mouth—err, hand."
Cain pulled his finger out of his mouth with a little wet sound and grinned. "Ah, I see," he said, dabbling in his tea and then the sugar bowl again.
Riff wasn't exactly sure what it was that Cain was referring to, but he did have a feeling that Cain licking his finger and winking at him had a great deal to do with it. He shook himself and steeled his nerve. He would not rise to the bait, no matter how badly his master teased his sensibilities for propriety and decorum.
Oh, look, the napkins needed straightening again.
Cain narrowed his eyes at Riff before closing them completely and leaning back in his chair, finger still in his mouth, making a sound of unmistakable...
"Mmmm..."
...indulgence.
Riff ignored his left knee, which felt suddenly, inexplicably weak. He turned and coughed into his shoulder.
Releasing his finger, Cain smirked. "Riff, quit fiddling with the napkins and sit down. You look positively faint. In fact..." Cain reached up and hooked his butler by the collar, tugging him downwards. "This would probably do you some good..."
Riff felt himself flush as Cain's face loomed close. He was being drawn in, nearer...nearer...and goodness, but Cain's eyelashes were long...and then...oh...
He was released?
"There. That's much better," Cain said, moving back with a smug look, and Riff realized that his collar felt rather...loose.
Cain twirled Riff's tie in one hand and smiled with large, golden eyes. "It looked like you were having a bit of trouble breathing, my dear Riff," he said, by way of innocent explanation. "And please, do sit down. Tart?"
Riff's eyes widened and he sat down hard, almost missing the empty chair behind him. It took him a moment to comprehend that he was being offered a pastry from the tea tray and not—
"—Riff?" Cain was holding up a raspberry dainty and looking concerned.
"I—uh...yes?" Riff was very grateful for the chair beneath him and for the open window, as he found himself feeling both weak and overheated all of a sudden. He leaned an elbow on the table, bracing himself.
Cain's hand and the pastry moved closer, and as Riff struggled to gain his bearings (and his dignity), he realized that it was almost as though Cain intended to feed him the tart...by hand...and smiling...fingers...tart...manners...MANNERS...!
"Thank you, Master Cain!" Riff caught Cain's wrist and snatched the dainty away, placing it on a napkin. Cain blinked in surprise, caught off guard by Riff's sudden movement. The clock chimed a happy quarter-til, and the young master scowled.
But then Riff didn't release his wrist.
"I...I have something I must tell you, sir," Riff said, his voice soft and his hand trailing to Cain's palm.
The corner of Cain's mouth twitched upwards. "What is it, my dear Riff?"he asked, his tone equally hushed, though he had to fight to keep from sounding smug. Perhaps the tie maneuver had done it...
Riff met his master's gaze, his eyes serious. "Before...before I say this, sir...please know that I have pledged you my undying loyalty, and that I have no desire to displease you..." he said, his tone sincere and hesitant.
Cain did his damndest to repress a grin. He clasped Riff's fingers. "Nothing you say ever truly displeases me, Riff." Mustering what he hoped was an encouraging smile, he leaned in, just for effect.
Riff closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of measured relief. "Then, I must tell you, Master Cain..." He paused.
"...Yes?" Cain urged. Gods this was like pulling teeth!
"Your table manners are horrible," Riff announced in a grave voice.
"WHAT?"
Riff released Cain's hand abruptly. "I'm sorry, sir. I know it must come as shock, hearing an admonishment from your butler..."
"Riff...you..." Cain scowled. This was ridiculous! Admonishment from the butler indeed!
"Yes, sir?" Riff was looking at him, quite puzzled.
"Oh, shut up and eat your tart."
"Very good, sir." Riff lifted the pastry to his mouth quickly, but not before Cain caught him with the beginnings of a vague grin. The count glared and crossed his arms. Admonishment from the butler. Pah!
Riff chewed in private contentment, glad in the knowledge that his master's teatime was no longer boring. At least for this particular afternoon.