This is my first try at writing anything for the Godchild/Count Cain fandom, so please don't skewer me and sacrifice my work to the God of Bad Fanfiction.

Disclaimer--If I owned Godchild, it would have had an infinitely happier ending. (Riff wouldn't be a zombie, for one thing.)

Claimer--My OC's are mine.

Warning--May be OOC. Contains shonen-ai.

Lord Abercrombie's birthday party was a gala event, with women in their best silks and diamonds, and men in finely tailored coats. Cain moved through the crowd like a ghost, heedless of the admiring whispers of a group of young ladies.

Lady Maria Abercrombie, daughter of the host, sighed after Cain. "He's so handsome!"

Her friend Rachel Hollister added, "And such lovely golden green eyes…"

"That hair--black as a raven's wing!"

"His face--positively angelic!"

"And he's an earl—my father's only a baron!" This last came from a mutual friend, Catherine Wilkes-Kennedy.

"Shame, then, that he's not interested in marriage." The girls turned to confront the one who had interrupted them. She curtsied. "I'm sorry. I'm a friend of Rachel's—my name is Yolanda Fitch."

Maria got right to the point. "What do you mean, he's not interested?" She herself was young, rich, and beautiful, and could not fathom anyone not wanting to marry.

Yolanda smiled slyly. "You didn't hear? The word among the servants is…" and here her voice dropped to a whisper, "he's in a relationship with his butler."

"WHAAAT!" Several people turned and gazed at them disapprovingly.

"It's true!"

"Where did you hear this?"

"From Marietta, my maid. Her sister's best friend has a brother whose fiancée works in the Hargreaves manor."

"Servants gossip so; what makes you think she was telling the truth?"

"She was polishing the doorknob one day a few weeks ago when she overheard them." There were blushes all around.

Boldly, Catherine asked, "What were they doing, then?", ignoring the gasps from her friends.

"Just talking, apparently—in a very familiar manner."

Rachel demanded, "Where is this…butler, then?"

"Over there, see? Against the wall."

Riff was indeed standing against the far wall, watching the party—and Cain—with a superficially interested air.

"That's him?"

"He's handsome!...for a servant, I suppose."

"Do you suppose—no, it can't be true! Servant's gossip, that's all. Right, Yolanda—where did she go?"

She was nowhere to be found.

Later, at the Hargreaves manor

Cain was getting ready for bed—with Riff in attendance, of course.

"What did you think of the party, Ma—" Cain stopped him with a kiss. "I told you to call me Cain when we're alone, remember?"

Riff smiled. "Sorry, force of habit." He was unceremoniously pulled down into the bed by his lover's side, where they kissed passionately. When they finally stopped for some much-needed air, Cain informed him,

"I love you, you know."

"Yes, I know. By the way, I heard some interesting gossip today."

"Let me guess—that lecherous old man who was hosting the party is dying? You, know, he wanted me to (Cain shuddered) marry his daughter."

Riff laughed. "Sadly, that's not what I heard. Apparently, some of the young ladies at the party were under the impression that you are sleeping with me."

The reaction to this was both typical and predictable. Cain turned several previously undiscovered shades of red and choked out, "We haven't done that yet! They didn't believe that, did they?"

Riff smirked. "What's wrong, Cain? I thought you didn't care what society thinks."

"I don't! It's just…" His voice trailed off, and he stared at his hands, embarrassed. Riff sighed, before reaching out and taking hold of Cain's chin, tilting his head up to face him. In that moment, with his cheeks stained red, his eyes glittering, and his dark hair falling in his face, it struck him just how young, fragile, and incredibly beautiful his darling was.

"Cain?"

"…Yes, Riff?"

"I love you."

And with that, the candle flickered out.

What they did next is up to your imagination. They didn't have sex, though.

Cain was embarrassed because he has not, in fact, had sex with anyone. (Do you really think he would have let anyone but Riff see his scars?) The implication that he has is a bit upsetting.

Abercrombie and Fitch is a clothing company. XD.