cabel drabbles

translation

*nsfw*

     Cain had a habit of murmuring things under his breath.
     Abel noticed early on, with his eternal attentiveness, but the odd words and phrases were eventually determined to be Russian. That, of course, was where the problem arose, because even if he could decipher the words with his ears, there was no way in hell he could ever possibly figure out the proper way to spell them in order to look up their meaning.
     Determined, he'd searched for a list of common Russian words and phrases. He had an odd feeling that swears would be right up Cain's alley, so that list was definitely a priority. It took ages to familiarize himself with it but, after some time and with immense pride, he could make out bits and pieces of the things Cain murmured to himself after he spoke.
     As anticipated, much of it was comprised of swears; "'suka" and "b'lyad'" and "derr'mo" and all of those laughably vulgar things. Abel could've figured that out himself.
     It was the others that were so perplexing.
     If he had to guess, Abel might've figured that "detka" was some kind of slang term, a swear word that couldn't be defined by a book because it just sort of developed. After all, it seemed to be one of Cain's favorite words, growled in frustation whenever Abel went back and forth with him for too long or got on his nerves or ignored his sly advances. The gravelly phrase had to have some kind of harsh meaning.
     He was dumbstruck and confused when the translator told him that "detka" did indeed mean "baby". He must've had some phonetic error. He was probably spelling the word incorrectly.
     But no, his heart was telling him that this was definitely the word he'd meant to search for. There was a sort of slow clarity as the pieces fell into place, remembering the look on Cain's face when Abel teased or pouted or played around just a bit too much. His suspicions were confirmed when he began to hunt for the meanings of some of Cain's other favorite phrases.
     Knowledge, however, proved to be his downfall.
     It was an average night at the bar, nothing out of the ordinary. They'd been bickering about something or other - Abel would be damned if he could remember - when Cain ran a hand roughly through his hair, sitting back with a groan.
     "Upryamyy malen'kiy angel," he'd grumbled, scoffing and downing his drink. His brows furrowed when he noticed Abel's expression, likely wondering why the boy looked so stiff.
     His eyes widened in realization as he saw the bright red blush creeping over Abel's features.
     Abel felt a sense of dread spreadig through him as Cain's awe shifted into a smug smirk.
      "Well, well, well, myshka," the boy breathed as he leaned forward, his elbows perched atop the small, round table. "Color me impressed."
Myshka. Myshka... Abel racked his brain for the meaning of the word, fingers digging into his thigh as his eyes met with Cain's. The dark pupils flashed with amusement.
     Mouse.
Myshka meant mouse.
     Abel jumped a bit as Cain rested his hand on his knee, his chair sliding just slightly closer to Abel's own. The blonde stared at a distant spot on the wall as Cain's breath ghosted over his neck, lips just brushing his ear.
     "That makes things interesting, huh?"
     A shiver rolled through the smaller male's form, making Cain chuckle as he swept his lips absently over Abel's throat. The boy curled his fingers into the table, shifting a bit as the other's slim fingers danced up his inner thigh.
     "Cain," he said softly, hating how breathy and nervous his own voice sounded. Cain's careless purr offered an anticipated and aloof reply: a quiet "zatk'nis" and a nip under Abel's jaw. Nervously, Abel gripped Cain's wrist, yanking himself away to look up at him.
     "Cain, there are people here."
     Cain blinked a few times as he took in Abel's flushed face and paranoid expression before letting out a long-winded sigh. Much to Abel's surprise, he shoved his chair out and climbed to his feet, grabbing the boy by his thin wrist.
     "Prokl'yatyy... Okay, come."
     Abel was left stumbling along as Cain weaved between tables, murmuring to himself in incomprehensible Russian, too quick and senseless for Abel to comprehend. He wasn't all too sure where they were headed until Cain ducked under a sign that read "Restroom", yanked the door open and shoved Abel inside.
     "Cain," the platinum blonde began to protest, crossing his arms. "This is gross. What if someone has to-"
     His words were quickly cut off as the other, taller boy tugged the door shut and promptly slammed Abel up against it.
     The breath was knocked from his lungs as Cain's body flattened against his, hard and harsh and shockingly arousing. Abel's head tilted back as Cain grazed his teeth over the column of his throat, hissing in his ear.
     "You knew all along," he chuckled. "Like a little zmeya. Thought I wouldn't catch on? Thought you could just listen to me forever, myshonok?"
     "No, n-no, I-" Abel's words were choked off in his throat with a gasp as Cain shoved his hand between his legs. He bucked his hips forward with a throaty sound, throwing his head back against the door. Cain laughed again, biting down on the curve of Abel's shoulder as he roughly tugged his shirt out of the way.
     "Oh, printsessa," he crooned, curling his fingers to give Abel a better platform to rock his hips against. "Give me more credit than that."
     Abel was feeling awfully lightheaded in the stuffy bar bathroom, like every hot breath against his skin was draining even more air from the room. His fingers scratched uselessly at Cain's shoulders through his leather jacket as the boy painted a crooked trail of dark bruises down his neck, palm sliding against the front of his jeans. He couldn't find words, knowing that Cain was revelling in the thought of being able to fluster him in a brand new way, without anyone else knowing what was going on. He bit at his lip as Cain's mouth pressed to the shell of his ear once more, fingers wandering inside of Abel's waistband.
     "Stonat' dlya menya."
     Abel gripped Cain's shoulders tightly as the boy's calloused fingers wrapped around him, making him thrust his hips forward. Another breathless sound tore its way out of him, followed by a low whine. The boy seemed satisfied, kissing at his jaw and murmurig encouraging strings of foreign words to him. God, if only Abel could understand... He cursed his minimal knowledge and unreliable internet searches.
     Either way, though, the way Cain's voice changed when he spoke the other language was hypnotizing. The only thing stopping Abel from moaning like a cheap whore right then and there was the fact that he might drown out Cain's quiet growling against his skin. The boy writhed against the door, fisting his fingers in Cain's hair and rising up on his toes, trying to regain some sense of control. Cain hushed him softly, running his free hand down the center of the whimpering boy's chest.
     "Sladkiy," he purred, pinching Abel's chin between his thumb and pointer finger. "Budet po-prezhnemu." Though he didn't understand, he got the message from the way Cain pinned his hips more firmly against the door before slipping his hand inside of Abel's jeans once more. Reluctantly, the boy held himself as still as possible as one of Cain's hands worked at him while the other wandered up into his shirt. It wasn't long before he was a shaking mess under the other's touch, built up by the painfully sweet words and the rough hands wandering his body.
     "Cain," he breathed, tossing his head uselessly back and forth. "I-I'm..."
     Cain pulled his face back to look at Abel with a sly, easy grin, tilting his head just slightly. He watched his face as he jerked his hand upwards, making Abel cry out again. "You're...?"
     Abel did his best to bite it back, but it was too late, too much. He was mewling like a cat in Cain's arms as he pressed himself back against the door, body rocked by what felt like waves of electricity, running from his core to every inch of him. It took him in waves, drowning out his self-control as he cried the other's name, met with harsh nails raking down his stomach.
     By the time he came down from his high, his legs felt like gelatin. It was hard to stand, leaning back against the door and struggling to catch his breath.
     He did, however, have the energy to whack Cain in the chest when he started to laugh.
     "Shut up."
     "Jesus. Little myshonok has some fire in him."
     "I said shut up."
     "I like it. Goryachiy."
     "Oh my god, stop already."