cabel drabbles

watching

Nobody would deny the assertion that Cain is the jealous type.
Hell, Cain himself would tell you that if you ever dared to lay a finger on something that belonged to him, you wouldn't live to regret it.
Abel, of course, is no exception.

The poor boy just wants a night out every now and then, a chance to prance around at the club with Cain, dance a bit, drink a bit... But there are always the eyes. Abel himself never minds much. They watch the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he dances, everything. He feels them when his back is turned, the bold ones keeping eye contact when he turns around. Usually, they do nothing more than watch.
Cain, however, is not so passive about the watching. He always feels the need to prove a point when the eyes fall on Abel. Suddenly, he'll rest a hand on the boy's side or pull him in by the hips to dance against him, looking across the club as the music pounds around them to lock eyes with the onlookers. It's frustrating to Abel, not because he doesn't like dancing with Cain, but because Cain gets so aggressive when he has something to prove, like someone's capable of just coming over and tossing him over their shoulder before running out into the night. It's not like the eyes are going to hurt him.
The ones who try to get to him, anyway, are always introduced to Cain's fist. Abel gets tired of finding new hangouts, what with how many they've been banned from.
What many don't realize, though, is Abel's own possessive nature.
It doesn't come out often, the petite platinum blonde usually having a fair sense of control over his emotions. However, there are some nights when he's seated atop a bar stool, chattering blissfully with Cain, who stands before him, when he notices the other eyes. They're almost always female, standing a few feet behind, and they flicker anxiously around as their owners chatter with each other, motioning and pointing in Cain's direction.
Abel always waits until they notice him.
When he knows they're watching, he grabs Cain by the front of the shirt and pulls him forward, lips locking clumsily with the other's. Cain, of course, is confused but far from complaining. Abel waits a few moments, his teeth playing at the boy's lips, making sure he's firmly situated between his own legs, before letting his mouth drift to Cain's neck. Then, innocently as ever, as his lips ghost down the curve of Cain's throat, chin tucked into the boy's shoulder, he lets his gaze flicker up to the girls.
The looks of pure and utter hatred they give him only fuel his grin as Cain's hands rest on his hips.
He knows how to play the game just as well as the rest of them.