[ Their paths cross in the strangest and most mundane of ways.
It happens one fine night, when Graves chooses to walk instead of having the chauffeur bring the car around. It's a nice night, and despite his position and influence not very many know his face -- and he prefers it that way; he doesn't need a battalion of agents crowding around him when he wants to be alone. Hands in the pockets of his greatcoat, he strolls downtown. It might be dangerous in this part of the neighborhood, but he's very sure that one or two of his agents are just beyond immediate reach, keeping a keen eye on him.
Helps, perhaps, for the Bureau not to have egg on its face if it turns out that their chief and fearless leader ended up dead at knifepoint by some mugger or something. They respond at impressive speed, too, when said mugger actually turns up, pale and scrappy and hungry, handsome in the way sad-eyed boys can be; his exquisite cheekbones and a sensuously generous mouth just about assuring him a fortune if he decided to spread his legs and turn a trick.
Then again, whores are statistically more likely to die violently at the hands of their misguided johns, and the boy before him looks too determined to roll the dice on that.
Credence Barebone tries to rob the Director at knifepoint and Graves allows him enough time to regret that decision at gunpoint of three very seasoned agents (who have no problems with pulling the trigger) before he dismisses them, and takes him to dinner.
Dinner becomes something else, an invitation to live with him when he discovers that Credence doesn't have a home. Call it a rare flash of compassion or an error in judgement -- surely his minders believe half and half of both -- Graves now has a housemate (or a stray, or a sugar baby without the perks) for better or worse. Credence turns out to be very good company, a sensible young man half his age who is as beautiful as he is stubborn, and while Graves is explicably attracted, while Credence makes increasing appearances in lewd fantasies in the shower, Graves makes no overtures.
He must not; any made would be from an unfair position, and he's silent when he comes into his fist under scalding hot showers.
Days turn to weeks to months, and Graves finds himself face to face with Credence in his study, where he's set aside his last report for the night. The study smells faintly of smoke and whiskey and so does Graves, who's setting his glasses carefully aside. ]
It's late. [ He murmurs, regarding him steadily. ] Can't sleep?
an easy one to make; by himself percival graves had looked like another mark, simple and easy. but nothing can be simple or easy and he'd almost been relieved when there were guns pointed at him. so end it, he'd thought, it's a better end than many.
the rest of him is far too stubborn for that, far too resilient and even though he'd been so suspicious when the older man had asked him to dinner, he'd accepted. if he's going to die anyway, it may as well be with a full stomach.
credence had been doubly suspicious of the invitation to live with him and he'd battled his demons for less time than he'd like to admit before deciding that he could accept being under the thumb of one man. graves hadn't seemed cruel, though it could be a lie. still, he's handsome and apparently does have money (and power, credence thinks, an unkind reminder to himself), and it's better than what he has.
he spends the next span of months expecting the other shoe to drop: he slowly gets used to having somewhere to stay, to having the kind of freedom that graves grants him without the worry of where he'll go next, and he wonders each night how long it will be before the truth comes out.
this isn't to say that credence isn't attracted to him - he's woken more than one night dreaming of him and feeling hot and shaking and hard - but that the thought of being indebted when the price is himself makes him feel ill. over time he comes to realize that perhaps graves is waiting for credence to come to him, an obedient puppy that knows what he must pay. he wonders if the older man will get too impatient if he waits much longer, and one night he decides to just be done with it, at least on his own terms.
when credence stands before graves it is late, very late, and he's wearing little more than the over-sized shirt he'd gone to bed in hours earlier. his hair is longer now, framing his face a little more kindly, and he looks less hollow, less sunken. still pale and lovely though, and credence spends a moment studying the lines of graves' face before he replies. there are worse men to be beholden to, he thinks.
at first he just shakes his head. then: ] No. It's late for you too, though. When do you sleep?
[ it's flighty, a little devil-may-care, but there's something a little strange about the way he says it. nervous. he presses forward though, a coy smile playing across his lips as he moves closer to the older man, surveying him. it's only when he's close enough for graves to smell his shampoo, to practically taste the saltiness of his skin from the sweat that wearing as many blankets as he does causes, that he speaks again. ] You've been very patient with me, I'm sorry for making you wait this long. I've only just realized. [ what is he talking about?
it becomes crystal clear when he climbs onto graves' lap, slinging a leg over him (shirt riding up to show one pale, bare thigh) and settling primly atop him. he's smiling but it's stilted and nervous, the set of his shoulders tense and tight while his eyes are shuttered away to hide any emotion.
he's hovering over him a moment and then he leans down to kiss him, equal parts urging against him and shaking with something that's almost fear. ]
[ War is an unpleasant imperative, the currency of profiteers and politicians, and Graves is but one of the many who are sent to fight the battles old men wage. There is no honor in something so horrific, and the men Graves leads into battle, all of them good and strong and who believe in some sort of higher power (he's denounced that long ago), have all been decimated in the field -- and his only comfort is that they've brought the enemy down with them. How Graves survived, he's not entirely sure -- but he wakes in a soft, warm bed instead of by the sprawling roots of an old oak tree and discovers the strange little family that lifted him from what has surely been death's door.
The Barebones, they are called. Confederates, and surely they must seen him as an enemy. Mary Lou especially, the matriarch who rules the household with a firm hand, who commands her son to attend to him; a young man no more than twenty, pale and a sight to behold, even if he is cowed by his mother. A strange young man, but one Graves quickly discovers is not quite like all the others -- not if the lingering looks are any indication of just where his guilty interest lies.
A sin, a deformity of the soul -- an aberration of God's creatures. He hears it whispered to Credence beyond the closed doors, and he wonders if any mother could truly address their offspring with such condemnation.
Perhaps this is her version of love.
But despite that, Graves knows his interest secretly persists, and he is more than willing to feed it. Soft touches, quietly reassuring words; it's no hardship seducing this boy when Graves finds himself desiring him, wondering what he looks like when he unbuttons that crisp white shirt and kisses over exposed skin, what he sounds like when he presses his mouth to the most erotic, secret parts of him and brings him pleasure beyond what his own hand can give him.
Credence fascinates and beguiles, his seeming innocence a precious, lovely thing that makes Graves ache for more. He wants to peel it from Credence, to take it for himself because he can, because Graves has been without another for so long and the young man's attentions cannot be ignored.
He rests, tonight, musing on these things when he hears the door open quietly, gently, as if unwilling to wake him.
[ as sheltered as credence is, he's not stupid. he's also not unkind: it's credence's influence, small as it may be, that reminds his mother of god's wish for his followers to help others. that gets mary lou to allow a yankee soldier asylum in her home.
he still gets beaten for his insolence but it's worth it. still, despite himself he finds that he's drawn in by this man's handsomeness and charm, urged to sin by dreaming of him at night and so much as letting himself look just a second too long with something longing in his eyes before he leaves the room.
he doesn't know how his mother suspects or knows, but perhaps it's just precautionary or she just thinks her lovely son to be predisposed but there isn't much to be done for it. she's right, isn't she? he's something unworthy, crafted by the devil with his sullied desires. knowing that doesn't stop it though, doesn't save him from imaginings of percival graves kissing him, touching him, dragging mewling cries out of him as though he's playing him like an instrument.
(he could, credence thinks, if only he would.)
he knows that graves is drawing him in, testing him, but he still wonders if it's genuine or some cruel trick - still, his heart aches with wanting affection and he finds himself unable to resist. he spends too much time with the older man, tending to him too dutifully. he looks at him through dark lashes and smiles with full lips, wondering if he has some sort of effect on him. he hopes so.
the night he slips through the door so quietly he's been thinking about it for too long: he'll sate himself with watching him and be done with it. it can't be remedied and his mother would...
for a long time after he shuts the door again he just stands at the side of the bed and watches him, assuming sleep because graves' eyes are closed. but watching him simply isn't enough. it never has been he thinks, wondering after the nights he's fisted over himself but not let himself come out of fear of consequences, leaving himself wanting and lost.
it should be enough, he should make it be enough. instead he hovers over him nervously before leaning down and he knows it's wrong, knows it's a sin, but this will surely be enough. surely he can comfort himself with this.
barely, just barely, he lets his lips brush against graves' mouth. ]
[ it's been so nice. credence doesn't remember ever being happy like this, not remotely so. secretive meetings at night with graves that leave credence coated in a sheen of sweat, exhausted, and sated; dutifully tending to him during the day with gentle kisses and affections granted him for his trouble.
he holds such a deep affection for the older man that as much as he wants him to be whole and healthy, credence is terrified of the moment that graves is finally well. it means he can leave, that he probably will - who would want to stay in this house with mary lou any longer than absolutely necessary? so he soaks in everything he can now, resigned to never feeling anything like this again so soon as he leaves.
for now though, even getting the belt isn't as bad as usual. his mother's suspicions have no hard evidence behind them but she still does her best to beat the sin out of him. he still cries out in pain at the sharp cracks as she does it and it aches, burns, for hours, days afterward, but at least he can curl up in bed with graves those nights and burrow close to him, doing nothing but hiding his face in the crook of his neck as he cries. he won't give her the satisfaction of seeing his tears.
comfort begets boldness though and after long enough with no one finding them deeper affections bleed into the daytime. it's a bright and sunny afternoon, warm but not hot, and the windows are open for a breeze, curtains fluttering. graves had pulled credence closer to him and he'd laughed, toppling onto the bed and kissing him. it's playful to start, credence settled atop graves' thighs and leaning forward to urge against his mouth, supporting himself with his hands on the older man's chest.
(he's different these days, at least in here. eyes brighter, happier, less shy. he feels like he belongs somewhere.)
sitting up slightly, credence pushes his hair out of his face before leaning down to kiss his jaw with a soft hum. ] I take it you're feeling well today? [ he's smiling. there's something prickling at the back of his neck, a warning, but he pushes it down. everything is fine. ]
[ that's the thing about bliss and contentment -- it makes one complacent. even graves, who had set out to seduce credence for significantly less altruistic reasons, finds himself seduced in turn by the boy's guileless charm, his kindness and that aching sincerity, the powerful desire to please. and underneath all that, a certain kind of backbone.
they've been fooling around behind mary lou's back for days, weeks, even months; all without her knowledge, and some part of graves is perversely pleased to have drawn his son down another path. but this, too, is another kind of strategy; as long as credence is on his side, he will be protected from the confederates, the men who are still out there looking for yankee soldiers even now. it is credence's protection -- mary lou's -- that assures his life.
he recovers more and more as each day passes, and now he can already move around by himself; his movements slower than usual but his health significantly better. but it's not all perfect. some nights, he can still feel the crack of a leather belt on scar-ridden skin, the soft cries credence makes that infuriates him, distresses him as he can only lie in bed and say nothing. with every successive night graves feels his distaste for his hostess grow -- even moreso when credence climbs into bed with him and sobs, tears hot as they stain his shirt.
those are nights when graves simply holds him tight and curses her silently, aching to protect him if only he's healed faster, better.
this morning, he's never felt better when he stretches his legs, happy to have this much progress -- and there's a twinkle in credence's eye, a smile on his mouth that makes graves recklessly tug him into his arms, in his bed. it's playful and passionate and graves knows without a doubt that he has fallen for this boy, and somehow during one of these nights, his heart had been stolen by him.
a complication that he finds he doesn't much mind, even if he doesn't have the slightest clue about loving someone -- but credence makes it easy. he runs his hands through his long, long dark hair, luxurious and silk-soft, remembering the nights he'd grabbed a firm hold of it, taught him how to suck cock, how to move, how to enjoy sex and all the pleasures it brings him. credence has blossomed; become happier, stronger, even if the scars on his hands take longer to heal.
graves has even taken to applying the ointment for him, too; credence takes care of people, but graves will take care of him. he leans up to nudge at him, angling for a kiss to his mouth -- and oh, how lovely that smile is. graves smiles right back, not expecting the worst. ]
Very much so. [ and maybe he can take credence away with him, away from this damned house. ] I want to ask you something, Credence. Answer me honestly.
[ credence hadn't been sure about the whole idea at first. he wasn't opposed but he was worried about embarrassing himself somehow. still, it hadn't taken much reassurance to ensure that he was more than willing to give it a try. it's not the clothes, either: it's the shoes. heels are intimidating things with thoughts of twisted ankles and falling ass over teakettle dominating his mind. you're the only one to ask me this before, he'd teased, eyes flashing bright.
with help he'd managed to get the hang of it, going from clutching at graves' arm and walking carefully before demanding that he be carried the rest of the way to being able to walk more confidently. so now here he is, a friday night, waiting for graves to get back from work so that they can go to dinner. a part of him feels shy about going out, but he still wants to.
sheer black stockings (with the proper garters holding them up, naturally), a sleek silvery grey dress, red heels - miss queenie has been kind enough to help him with hair, makeup, jewelry - thin silver chains, red lips and nails, black hair curled meticulously.
it's meant to be a surprise for the older man, who expects credence as he usually is to go out. sometimes he thinks he should do something special though, and this is it. it doesn't mean he's not nervous, sitting carefully on one of the stools at the counter with his legs crossed delicately at the knee.
he's never been quite so fully done up before, and when graves enters the penthouse the first thing he'll see is credence's back. ]
[ indeed, that's the first thing he sees. that lean back, the long dark hair that brushes his shoulders -- and something strange and silvery that he wears. graves is none the wiser, all things considered, when he returns from work and is about to take credence out for a rare night out on the town. he has one of the finest, most private restaurants booked just for him, and when he comes up behind his lover and presses a lazy, greeting kiss to his cheek, he pauses.
ah.
the stockings are what he sees next, delicate, sheer and expensive -- and he's sure that credence has had a field day with his credit card tonight. not that he minds, really; he can spend on whatever he damn well wants, and considering those red lips and nails, the thin silver chains, a lovely realization sets in. he circles around him, pleased and surprised. they've talked about this before at length, discussed what it is that they liked, and it turns out that credence somehow has taken to cross-dressing.
fuck, he's stunning at it, too. a carefully androgynous young woman with curled hair and lipstick, and his hand rests on a knee, resisting the temptation to push the skirt up to check for himself if there are garters fastened right there. no, it's unbecoming, especially for someone who wants to be a lady for the night.
a lazy smile crossing his lips, he murmurs, soft and wickedly playful. ]
My lover will be returning soon. I should take you out for the night. Show you a good time before he comes home.
[ when credence barebone leaves his mother's home he doesn't have many prospects for work. anything he qualifies for either won't support him or has openings that only go to people from higher social brackets than the one he occupies. there's no way that he'll concede and go back to his mother. he'd rather die on the street. he does odd jobs to pay for the cheapest temporary housing he can find as he looks for more permanent work endlessly. going door to door, following leads, trying to ask people where he can go. he goes to bed exhausted and often times hungry but he's too stubborn to back down. weeks pass into months and he's getting discouraged. credence just doesn't have the constitution to work hard labor every day for the rest of his life.
it's one day that he buys a newspaper and goes through it that he thinks he might have found something. a small advert asking after a tutor for the son of a widower that lives outside the city - outside any surrounding towns. it includes room and board along with further pay besides. credence is lucky - a scholar had stayed in the house his mother uses as a combination charity and boarding house for two years and had taken the time to teach credence things he would never have been able to learn otherwise.
when he questions some of his friends about it one of them tells him that the advert's been up for two months and no one's taken up on it because the house is haunted. credence decides that he doesn't care about ghosts, he cares about surviving. he sends a letter in response to the advert and receives a reply so soon that his head almost spins. he's hired, sight unseen. credence spends a number of days doing endless work and buys two neat suits, a grooming kit, several simple and soft ribbons, and gets a haircut. he can't afford new reading glasses, but he can make do with the ones he has for now. this is how he ends up before the manor on sprawling grounds with his small case in hand. it'd been a long carriage ride but it had given him time to think everything over.
he wears a simple dark blue suit that compliments his skin tone and dark eyes and a matching ribbon ties back gentle curls out of his face. once the door opens and he's ushered in, his life changes - forever, he thinks. his new employer is stern and exacting but not cruel and his new charge learns quickly and is well behaved. it's such a relief to have a place to sleep, to eat, to not have to worry. credence replaces his glasses after two months, slowly builds up his clothing sets as needed over the months afterward.
it's been six of those months now and he's comfortable in his station, taking care of his work carefully and meticulously. he's done for the day after having spent a number of hours sorting out lesson plans for the next two weeks. he'd dined on his own in the study he's been granted for this express purpose and now he's put it all away so that he can head up to sleep. credence is quiet as he moves; he has no wish to disturb anyone and simply wants to get to his room and rest. ]
[ the house is not actually haunted; but rumors abound and they have a way of churning out a life of their own, replacing truth just because it's more sensational to hear, because it's better than mundane facts. graves is no stranger to sensationalism, but he has no patience for it. he has a son to bring up, and somehow no amount of money can ever secure himself the services of a tutor, of which his son is bereft. tristan is young and impressionable, and graves has things to attend to that takes him out of the lavish, immense manor for days at a time, sometimes.
the butler, malory, does his best -- but in between running the household smoothly and minding the young master, his attentions are more towards keeping the maids, cooks and kitchen hands in line than. eventually, however, there is a response from a young man, clever and good with words but inexperienced. graves takes it immediately.
he just hadn't expected the tutor to be so... young. he is barely older than a boy, and with that youthful face he carries with him a beauty that graves can't help but notice, a keen, understated intelligence that captures his attention. tristan loves him, too; and the young man has such a way with his son that he finds himself impressed despite himself.
tristan can be difficult sometimes, precocious and curious, but with credence he behaves, perhaps cowed under that gentle but firm hand, and so credence becomes the latest fixture in the graves manor. it's not a bad addition at all, he supposes. as far as tutors are concerned, he can definitely do worse.
his payment is prompt and generous; graves sees no reason to withhold payment if an employee performs satisfactorily, and with tristan's glowing review of credence's teaching skills, perhaps a raise is on the horizon. not that he will bring it up until he's ready -- or perhaps at all. it would perhaps be easier to simply have the payment reflect that raise without pomp or circumstance.
tonight, graves is in the other study that credence quietly tries to pass -- it's rare that he will make his way here, this wing where credence is to make his home, but then again this is a rare occurrence. a welcome one, all the same.
he looks up from his book when he spots a fleeting shadow in the doorway; credence does always have a habit of trying to make himself as small as possible, he notes. it's endearing and polite, and for a young man who had been poor as a church mouse before this, his polished manners impress. ]
Credence? [ he asks quietly. ] Come in, please. [ graves has been doing a spot of reading, his outfit impeccable -- black vest and the crisp white shirt, still wholly put together despite the time. the only thing missing is the scarf and the greatcoat, neatly put away by another of the maids. the room smells faintly of cigarette smoke and whiskey, and graves is stubbing out the remnants of a cigarette in the ashtray. ] I hope I am not interrupting.
[ they aren't together when it happens. credence has a dedicated guard with him when he leaves the house now to make sure that nothing happens to him. he's a friendly man with credence's best interests at heart. today they're in a small bookstore, one of the few brick-and-mortar places left in the area. credence likes to go through them, look at antique books, talk about novels with the man with him. they get on well. after credence is done and they're walking back to the car, something feels wrong.
they make it to the vehicle and climb in but as his guard starts it, a bullet comes through the windshield and strikes him in the head, killing him instantly. credence doesn't even have time to panic before he's moving, unwilling to become a victim all over again. he does manage to set off the phone app alert that sends an alarm to graves' phone, audio records everything in the vicinity to send to him, and gives the older man's device the control to both turn on the gps and turn on the power as needed on credence's end. (hopefully graves CHARGED HIS PHONE recently.) i'm sorry, he mumbles as he climbs over the once-living man to get in the driver's seat, gingerly pushing him into the other side and slamming his foot on the gas. he'd learned to drive ages ago even though they take drivers everywhere and that's a plus now because he can drive without incident--
--except as he turns a corner, another car slams into him and puts him into a spin, coming to a stop heaped over the steering wheel. he's battered and feels like he's going to vomit but he seems mostly okay. he's only barely shoved his phone into his boot in case they check his pockets when the door opens and he's yanked out onto the street. he wonders how many people graves is going to kill this time, honestly, but it's not the time for that.
what do you think you're doing, he spits to the man dragging him by the collar, more angry than he is frightened. do you know who i am, he adds, which is something he's seen enough entitled rich people say in upscale restaurants that he almost laughs to hear himself say it. shut up, kid is the only reply he gets, before he's tossed into a third car's trunk and being plunged into darkness when they slam it shut. right. they seem to have forgotten safety latches in newer-model cars. credence almost immediately gets it open and rolls out of the trunk and onto the road, which almost gets him hit by another car and definitely bruises some ribs and organs with the impact onto the ground but he's free until someone grabs him again even though people are rushing to try and help.
this time he's in the backseat and he's almost smug for it until there's a gun pointed right at his forehead. you're lucky, kid. i'm feeling merciful. then he shoots credence in the leg. once. twice. three times. only the fact that credence is gasping and cursing will tell graves on the recording that credence is alive, because no one's talking any more. there's scuffling and scraping and car doors opening and the sound of someone being dragged bodily and then a rustling and a thunk. then a door slams and nothing.
somehow, while being dragged into the warehouse (why is it always a warehouse?), credence had managed to make sure that his boot got drawn off his foot and left outside. with his phone still inside it.
now he's just hoping these morons didn't shoot him somewhere important so that he bleeds out. he's in too much pain to think about it for long though, flexing his fingers and trying to stay awake. he's definitely going to vomit soon. ]
[ graves gets the notification almost immediately, as does the report that credence's bodyguard has been compromised in an ambush. it makes his blood run cold, the fact that this is once again happening because of him -- a small part of him is grimly pleased that the failsafes he has in place are at least of use; he mobilises a team quickly, cancels his appointments for the rest of the day, following after his phone.
he catches wind of the recording, the conversation, and graves is furious. it's a mess, and it's obvious credence is fighting them the best way he knows how -- the slamming of car doors, cursing and swearing, and a part of him is proud of the fact that the young man is causing them so much trouble even if the larger part of him knows he shouldn't. credence will make the situatio worse, and the last thing they need is him to get hurt.
graves almost breaks something when he hears gunshots and credence gasping and cursing. there's nothing after that, which is what worries him. it's quick enough for him and his team to get the gist of the situation -- he's picked his best to storm the warehouse, geared up and instructed to take no prisoners, and he makes short work of the operation.
they kill six individuals, all men who are wanted for drug smuggling and trafficking, men graves had personally arrested before years ago (perhaps they should review the whole capital punishment thing, just to prevent this from happening again), and while the others take care of the bodies, graves goes to where credence is tied down and bound. ]
Credence! [ he says sharply. there's a lot of blood, so much of them, and graves swallows down the primal fear that he'll bleed out. it's his leg, he'll be fine -- but he needs medical attention right now. over his shoulder, he barks. ] Call an ambulance! Get them here right now!
[ he doesn't waste time gathering him up gingerly, with graves on his knees and wrapping an arm around him. it doesn't escape his notice that his boot is missing, likely outside where his phone is as well. ] Credence, [ he says again, softer, forcing himself to stay calm. ] I'm here. Can you hear me?
to be fair, it dies quite often; because for all of graves' dedication to keeping the country safe using whatever means necessary -- these days, so much crime has been shifted to cyberspace -- there are times when he just forgets to charge his personal phone, thanks to the long hours he keeps and the non-stop meetings he's been to.
today is one of those days, a perfect storm of non-stop meetings, consultations and investigations; and while graves is still contactable via his tablet and laptop (and the secure line that ensures that the upper echelons can get to him whenever necessary), the director is unfortunately unreachable outside of the official arena.
this hasn't been a problem for him until six months ago, when credence actually decided that maybe a relationship with graves doesn't sound all that bad (the jury's still out on graves' end considering his track record with people, but he's only human and he's got nothing to lose and everything to gain with credence).
this hasn't been a real problem until now, although graves is blithely unaware of the storm currently brewing in his penthouse. he arrives late, the chauffeur dropping him off at his premises at one a.m. in the morning, fifteen minutes after the conclusion of his conversation with the current POTUS, which makes him almost physically ache for a strong drink between his hands and a good night's sleep.
he comes home, the doors sliding shut behind him. is credence asleep yet? he usually isn't. the young man is as much of a night owl as he is. ]
[ credence is, in fact, not asleep. credence is sitting on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, worried after graves because he'd tried to call him several times and it went straight to voicemail and as always, attempting to go through his work garnered profuse fake apologies but no information because naturally everything is classified. no one will even tell him if graves is alive, much less where he is. the last time he calls he hisses if he's there, tell him to charge his damn phone sometime to some poor receptionist and hangs up. he'll feel bad later, but he's worrysick and even if he logically knows it really is probably just the phone the fact remains: he has no idea.
he has no idea.
when the door opens credence holds his breath, only exhaling when he hears graves' voice. he buries his face in his knees briefly, breathing a few times in quick shaking succession before he finally tips his head back and sniffs once, climbing to his feet.
what a dick.
without a word, credence stomps past the entryway and into the kitchen before he returns with a phone charger in hand, stopping with his bare feet planted wide on the cool floor before he tosses the coiled wire down toward graves' feet - it slides until it taps the tip of his shoe and credence stands at his full height, upset and imperious and furious. ]
he gets stabbed in the side, and the strangest thing is that it's not even in the line of duty. the story goes: a mugging gone wrong for both parties, with the perpetrators unconscious in the dirt and a swift call made to local law enforcement, and graves, so close to home, naturally thinks to head there first.
the knife missed just about all the major organs, but it's still a pain in the ass, and graves, who sees no need to call 911 for something he knows how to fix on his own, simply keeps the pressure at his side on his way up the elevator, blood dripping and staining his fingers. he makes a call to the cleanup crew, annoyed with the mess it's making, and when he finally reaches the penthouse he's mustering himself, very aware that credence is not going to like this at all.
his partner and lover has always had an aversion to the work that he does -- chief of which concerns his well-being, which is quite touching, really, if not for the number of conflicts it sometimes inspires, new and old.
he supposes this is another one to add to the pile. ] Credence. Bring the first aid kit. I need you to do something for me.
[ credence does hate graves' line of work. he knows it's what pays for where he's living and figuring out how to survive properly and what he can do for his own career but he'd be content almost anywhere if it meant graves were safe. credence is reading when the door opens and he's about to get up to greet him when he hears the request and briefly tenses. he does what he's asked though, grabbing one of the first aid kits scattered about (there are several, after all) and moving to where the older man is.
he inhales sharply, moving close and looking him up and down with open worry. ] What happened? There's so much blood, you need a hospital, not a first aid kit. [ he looks at him imploringly, first aid kit still in hand. this is what he's constantly terrified of. ] Please? Let me call someone.
[ still, he's setting down the kit on one of the half-moon tables pressed against the wall in the entry, flipping the case open and looking at him. ] If you're going to be stubborn, what do you need?
[ credence doesn't think he wants to do this forever - or more like not even until his looks start to fail and interest in him wanes - but it's good for now. it means that people will know who he is, know his face, so when he does something else he'll have less trouble getting a footing even if some people think that models aren't worth much of anything outside their looks. but credence is wickedly sharp, intelligent beyond his years, and just shy enough to draw up a sense of mystery about him.
it's been a whirlwind since being recruited suddenly. credence accompanies graves to the mostly-boring events that he has to attend these days, the well-protected charge of the director. he's shy but kind and has a backbone where most people would assume he doesn't. whip-crack wit means people remember him for more than simply the face at the director's side. once, someone had called credence graves' ward and credence had laughed and said that's a little batman and robin, isn't it? we're not in gotham and, well. it had endeared him.
it's at one of these events that the plus-one of one of the attendees spends rather a lot of time talking to credence. a surprising amount. it becomes more clear though when it turns out she's a famous and well-recommended agent for models: she wants to add him to her roster. credence is skittish at first but graves can tell he's interested and encourages him, so he accepts.
it's not a lot of money as a beginner but credence's looks aren't traditionally attractive, placing him more along with something etherial and he does avant garde shoots for fashion magazines more than anything else, masculine, feminine, androgynous. as he does more work and gains more popularity he ends up having events of his own that he brings graves along on when he's able to get away - otherwise he attends at the arm of one of his rotation of guards. the director's charge is well-protected, after all. men in dark suits go to his shoots even, standing aside and at times making dressers, makeup artists, and photographers nervous.
it's strange - credence gets so much verbal affection heaped on him like this that he doesn't know what to do with it. compliments on his looks, his personality (what do they know?), on everything he does. it's different than what he has with graves, who so rarely verbalizes how he feels. this is not to say that credence doesn't love graves just the same - and he knows that graves loves him too, by now - but it's so easy to get flustered, to blush and look through his lashes and not know what to say. it's not on purpose by any means. he just gets overwhelmed and doesn't know how to respond.
today they're at some party that credence doesn't really want to be at and graves has been tugged away to discuss the state of the country (the poor man has a moment off work, let him be) by some man that thinks he has the answers to everything: marijuana. which credence wishes he had some of right now as he's still wracked with nerves and feels awkward even if graves is only eight feet away. of course, it's now that someone (another model - they've done a couple of shoots together) comes up to speak with him. he's vapid and annoying but he always piles affections on credence that make him owl-eyed and flushed and practically stammering. tonight he's in top form, hand on credence's arm and murmuring to him coyly.
at first sight, it's difficult to tell if credence is enjoying it or wishes he had an escape route. ]
[ at first sight, it's difficult for graves to tell as well -- he seems to be enjoying the company of a beautiful young man who can't seem to keep his hands to himself; and even caught in conversation, graves can see how the exchange is going, the blush on credence's cheeks at the attention, the wide eyes and how graves knows he laps it up. credence enjoys the attention, the praise, and graves thinks there's nothing wrong with that, although something about this exchange rubs him the wrong way.
the past few months have been good for credence, who has somehow found his calling in the fashion industry. graves has encouraged him ever since he'd been scouted, but had taken every precaution to keep him safe all the same -- fashion houses and runways are not known for their security. he doesn't give a shit what it looks like to the others, of course; but the bodyguards aren't so much of a problem when it's discovered that credence has a natural gift for the catwalk, a beauty that is ethereal and unforgettable.
it's the cheekbones, he thinks, the generous, sensuous mouth and the high cheekbones, the dark eyes that seem to speak to you. graves has long loved credence's face, his lean body and long limbs, and of course he's willing to share, just a little. credence is beautiful in ways that draw the attention. there is no value in being traditionally attractive, not when it's become some sort of staple now.
and so it's not surprising that rave reviews and compliments have started coming in for credence -- and for credence, who has never quite had something like this before; it must seem like a whole new world.
a few more moments, and graves excuses himself when he decides that enough is enough. credence has been fawned over and hogged for long enough, and a small flicker of possessiveness courses through graves when he comes up to the both of them pleasantly, a striking, handsome figure in a bespoke suit. ]
You both must have so much to talk about. [ he plucks a flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray, a hand in his pocket as he regards credence first, then the other. young, beautiful, the face on quite a few billboards. ] Would you like to introduce me to your friend, Credence?
[ when percival graves had first approached him, credence had been afraid of him. he knew tina goldstein - she'd saved him once, even if it made things worse later - and graves had quietly told credence that he worked with her. it had helped him calm down.
he's still not sure what an obscurial is, but he's helping graves find one among the children his mother feeds. it has to be one of them. it's just credence doesn't know how to tell. graves tells him that as soon as they find the obscurial they can save them and graves can take them both away. credence can learn magic - graves tells him he's a wizard, could be so much more than he's stuck being now.
it's so tempting and he wants nothing else more. he's not afraid of graves any more, even though he cuts an intimidating figure (despite being shorter than credence) and his low, rough voice is something that should make him tense. lately things have gotten worse, have become more strained. his mother is realizing that he's spending time out that he shouldn't and is punishing him for it. he tries to hide it but today is the worst yet: his hands are stinging and the only reason they're not bleeding is he's already treated them as best he could at home.
things are worse with the obscurial as well. there's been destruction but also a death, a... no-maj, graves had called them. someone without magic. he doesn't know what this death means but it's not good and credence is trying even harder to find the obscurial. he can't be sorry about the death, though. the newspaperman's son had called him and his family (his sisters, he doesn't care about his mother) freaks. so let him die, credence had thought, bitterly.
today they're meeting in daylight so that credence can get back before it's too late; he still shuffles nervously though, hunched slightly as he moves to the alley he's supposed to meet the older man in. ]
[ it must be one of them, at the very least. graves know that much -- he can sense it, even if he can't actually pinpoint who it is. there hasn't been an obscurial sighting in four centuries, and the idea of it is preposterous; or perhaps it would be if he hasn't actually witnessed the damage, hadn't caught a glimpse of it with his own eyes. his cheek is still bruised from the encounter earlier that morning, and graves is mulling over the odds of it incubating against its host, sapping life force from him or her with every day that passes.
it's a child, it must be, and he has to save him or her before it's too late.
graves finds a plausible ally in credence, a young squib who has the misfortune to be the adopted son of mary lou barebone, a known descendant of one of the most infamous scourers around -- and graves finds himself sympathetic despite the fact that he needs his help to narrow down the list of suspects. nothing can be done for credence, but the least that he can do is to tell him about wizards, the world that exists within the confines of the one he's grown up in.
magical, secret, and graves privately thinks it's a tragedy for credence to be caught somewhere in the middle -- neither a no-maj but not educated in wizarding ways, not like they are. but he's helpful, he has his uses, and once this is over and the obscurial found, he'll relocate them both into a home friendlier to wizards. graves feels guilty for lying to him, for telling him that he has potential when he doesn't; but time is of the essence and he knows that he'll have to apologise to him for the measures he'd taken later.
right now, right now they have to find who the obscurus is and help the child before things go to hell in a handbasket, so to speak. the death of the no-maj can potentially cause complications, and already graves is sensing a stirring in the no-maj community, the rumbling of suspicion that it's supernatural, which is an unfortunate development graves definitely doesn't need.
he comes to him promptly, apparating in the alley in a swirl of a coat and scarf -- intimidating despite his young age. graves is poised to be the youngest auror ever to ascend to the rank of director of magical security and chief of law enforcement both, and he's determined to ensure that war doesn't erupt on his watch. ]
Credence. [ he says quietly, urgently, by way of greeting. ] Have you found him? Or her?
[ credence doesn't want to leave but he doesn't know what else to do. he loves graves desperately and with his whole being and he says so often - or he did until he got so tired of not hearing it back that he avoids saying it as much to avoid giving himself that twinge of pain each time. even so he does still say it, soft murmurs against his lover's mouth or into his hair or burrowed in his neck. it just hurts too much to say it often.
he's been working internationally more often and he meets another model while doing work in germany. gellert is charming and magnetic and attractive and wants him.
credence doesn't love him. he has no intentions of sleeping with him, either: he's not like that. but gellert tells him that he deserves better, he deserves someone that can express his feelings, he needs to take hold of his own life instead of being a kept boy. (one not worth loving, is the implication behind gellert's words, and credence doesn't even realize that meaning until later.)
still, it's two months afterward, two months of gellert texting him that he should leave graves, that finally sets credence to working on it. he takes a week to prepare, putting a lease in on an apartment, making sure it's furnished, paying his bills two months in advance, and, one day while graves is at work, packing.
he doesn't take anything that graves has paid for: he only packs things that he's bought with his modeling money and packs it all away neatly. he gets everything situated in his new place and then goes back to the penthouse to wait. he's not going to do it over the phone or via text. graves deserves better than that. it's been two years since credence moved in and a year since credence first told graves that he loves him. he sits on the sofa stiff and quiet and he doesn't cry. his key and a card with his new address on it are on the kitchen counter.
[ they've been drifting apart lately -- credence has been taking more jobs overseas, and graves has been working harder; something's gone wrong between them, the inevitable strain of something graves can't quite put his finger on but recognises because it's happened so many times before with the people that he loves. eventually, the strain of being with him gets to them. graves is a good man, he's just not a good partner, and despite his love for credence, there is so much he still has to work through with himself.
but maybe his biggest mistake is assuming that credence will always be there for him. after all, what they have is something powerful, something real, something graves has never felt more strongly. even if the increased texting credence is doing since his return from germany's stuck in the back of his mind -- duly dismissed because credence has never been the cheating type.
graves comes home late tonight, and oblivious to what is to come. it's been a long day, and the sight of credence sitting ramrod straight on their sofa, quiet and tense, surprises him.
[ they try something new today, aware that this has been a long time coming. bondage, domination and submission is a more intense endeavor compared to what they've been doing together before, a big step up, and into unfamiliar territory for credence.
with credence's upbringing and history of intense repression that just about borders on cruel, this could be the key to providing him with a powerful catharsis; it can help to ease and smooth over the deep-seated issues credence still cannot find it in himself to let go of.
graves himself is exceptionally good at this, which shouldn't be surprising when so much of him is all about power and control: be it controlling others' perceptions, their image of him, all possible desirable outcomes and results of his endeavors. The man who masters himself can master the world, and graves doesn't intend to be left in the dust. now, he wants to give credence more of his own back, wants to show him that being the most powerful obscurial in the world is different from actual strength, and he's spent the last half hour or so carefully explaining the intricacies of bdsm, the fundamentals and essentials and how, beyond all the toys, the chains and ropes and whips, lie the issue of trust, the transfiguration of power from one state to another, and how it's never truly lost.
they come up with a safeword, and graves makes credence remember it, makes him understand that the use of a safeword does not mean that credence is letting graves down -- that it is there for him to use when he requires. graves takes care to gauge his boundaries, and nearly fifteen minutes in, he sees fit to push him past them, to take him deeper.
credence's hands are bound to the headboard with silk rope, the young man on his knees and spread open, a vibrator buried in his ass and a tight leather collar around his throat. graves finishes securing the cock ring around the base of his dick, tight and firm, and he lays kisses down his neck before his palm comes down hard cross his ass in a hard slap, leaving vivid red marks on fair skin. ]
[ the son of the family's head doesn't want to carry on the business. he has dreams, aspirations, and none of them involve crime. his father hopes he'll change his mind, though. credence will do what he's told either way - such is his lot in life - but that doesn't mean he's going to enjoy it. much like he doesn't enjoy having to have a bodyguard whenever he leaves his own home. he bucks against it every time, but it doesn't get him anywhere. mostly it just makes him take longer to get where he's going, bodyguard still in tow.
at least percival is attractive, he thinks - he's insisted on first-name familiarity from the start, stubborn and spoiled, but it goes both ways whereas most people wouldn't dare. he likes percival - of course he does - but the fact remains that he just wants to live his life like someone normal. normal in the face of being the tall, lanky son of a crime magnate. he does what he's supposed to; suits at events, a charming look, never besmirching the family name. it's so tiring and he would, at most points, love for it to end.
today he wants to go out. that's all he'd said. out. in reality he wants to go to a museum like everyone else, to not have his father buy out the entire building and post guards. he just wants to be a regular young man that doesn't have to worry about the day that an entire crime syndicate will answer to him. the mere thought of it is daunting and makes him feel nauseated.
anyway, about going out: the answer of course had been no unless he took percival with him, which had just put him in a sour mood and he'd stalked back to his room, sinking into a chair by the window and practically sulking. ] I'd be fine, you know. [ it's soft but pointed: he knows percival will be right there as always. ] Don't you get tired of being forced to follow some dumb asshole around? [ a beat. ] Be honest.
[ graves does this for a living. it's what he does best, and he's very handsomely rewarded for it. he kills for this family because he owes them a life debt -- and the head of the family is an impressive man, shrewd and cunning but with a moral code that graves comes to admire. he doesn't ask for much, not really; only for the leeway to do his job. after all, he's a specialist, and he's the only one credence's father has in mind to protect his son.
they meet in an official capacity one day; graves has watched him grow up, caught glimpses of him every few months or so when he's off to do his father's dirty work, and on occasion to negotiate on his behalf with otherwise hostile business partners -- but this here, this is an explicit show of trust. the scion of a powerful family, his life in his hands.
credence insists on a first name basis, something which secretly amuses graves but he capitulates all the same, and the longer he's his bodyguard, the more he's come to care for him beyond the confines of the job. here's a young man who has no interest in the family business, a lonely soul yearning to spread his wings and fly beyond the confines of expectations.
he's still young -- seventeen? -- and burning with the need to go beyond the vast reaches of his father's criminal empire. he stays with him, before tapping out a cigarette from a silver case and offering it to him. ]
That depends on which dumb asshole you're talking about.
[ it's at one of the parties. management has invited other models of course, but also had a strange sort of contest to allow small groups of fans to join the crowd. there's one man in particular that seems to be hyper-focused on credence: he's tall and broad, similar in stature to graves but taller and blond. he's staring at credence from across the room, even though the young man only gives him a glance and a tight smile other than the initial greetings.
(at that point the man had taken his hand and kissed it while credence had lofted his eyebrows so high that they'd almost disappeared into his hair despite not even having any bangs.)
now he's waiting for graves to arrive from a late work day, scanning the room for the older man periodically as though he can will him to appear. he's tired and frustrated when that same man corners him, chatting about his work insistently so much that credence doesn't even realize he's being led back toward a more secluded area practically hidden around a corner. i saw how you looked at me, he says suddenly and credence's polite smile drops, startled, as he's pressed back against the wall.
waif-like as he is, there's no way for credence to really get away so he just stares upward at him like a confused owl until he kisses him. credence bites down on the other man's lip instinctively as a defense mechanism so it just makes the stronger man hold him up against the wall, shoving a knee between his legs and nuzzling into his neck to trail his lips over the skin, biting and nipping below his ear.
credence is breathing hard but not from pleasure, hand losing fingers in blond hair so he can try and pull him off while his legs shift uselessly. help he thinks, but the word dies in a croak on his lips. ]
[ graves has to work late this evening -- it's an unfortunate consequence of dealing with his counterparts in other intelligence agencies, and he's almost forgotten that he's slated for an appearance at credence's event. he'd bowed out of it twice before, and he can't do it a third time, not if he doesn't want a fight on his hands when he gets home.
credence, it seems, has become more and more assertive in the past couple of months, and while graves appreciates that he can more or less go toe to toe with him where their relationship is concerned, it means that graves has to consciously, actually make compromises like any other couple.
strange, this whole couple thing. this time three years ago, he didn't even have to worry about a thing like this; look where he is now.
so he makes time, and he turns up fashionably, fashionably late, which is a thing they do, right? graves very much prefers to be punctual, but sometimes, he learns, there are just some things that you're better off turning up late to. and evidently, one of them is right here, right in front of him. graves can recognise the tell-tale luster of dark, curled hair anywhere, the glimpse of that pale, beautiful face pressed against some taller, broader blond man who seems to be enjoying him.
he stops short, surprise turning steadily to hot, molten anger. graves is not a jealous man, not really -- and while he does have his possessive moments he's too self-assured to be insecure, and thus usually trusts that credence has has stayed faithful.
at least, up until now, when the truth if it (and how ugly it is, this truth) is laid out shamelessly before his eyes. his credence, kissing some other man like his life depends on it, right here, paces where graves had just parked his car.
he makes sure he's heard, when he comes up to them; his rage making his jaw set, his shoulders taut and tense. ] Hey.
[ percival graves is in love with his underage charge, and he can never act on it -- not when it's exactly seventy six days to his birthday and all graves thinks about when he takes a shower is how that sinfully plush mouth would feel wrapped around his cock, what credence would look like with legs spread as he sprawls in his armchair and waits for graves to kneel between them. credence is already giving him plenty of fodder, providing temptation at every turn, as if he could read his fucking mind and is just making life miserable for him.
there are so many reasons why they shouldn't doing this -- chiefly the fact that graves is forty-one and is more than twice his age; secondly, he's the scion of one of the world's biggest crime families, and he is expected to provide an heir, and he damn well can't do that with graves.
but despite all the many reasons they shouldn't, graves finds himself stealing kisses from him every chance they get. in the limousine on the way to school, in bathrooms like these, when credence turns in for the night. he's sure no has suspected yet, but it's only a matter of time, and they cannot take chances.
it had nearly gone out of hand last week, when one kiss turned to two, three, eight, and credence had almost managed to get his lovely fingers wrapped around his dick before graves had recoiled, rejecting him because they can't, they shouldn't -- no matter how desperately he wanted him and how his eyes were still so dangerously ravenous as he refused his young charge, those kiss-swollen lips a promise that graves cannot afford to contemplate.
he had left his room then, a touch more disheveled than his usual impeccable self, and graves has staunchly not spoken about it since, forcing himself to keep a distance from the boy who has so shamelessly ensnared his attention.
he still jerks himself off to the memory of that night, allowing himself to wonder just what if.
he comes to pick credence up this afternoon -- the private school is a lavish affair only for the sons of the richest families in the country, exclusive and privileged, and today, it seems, he'd been held back for special lessons. the classroom was empty when he had arrived, and curious, graves had gone over to the set of washrooms not too far away, massive, sprawling bathrooms that are the very image of opulence.
empty, except for a soft sweet moan from a door that's carefully ajar. graves had been about to leave when he realizes that he recognizes that voice, the alluring lilt and the accompanying, lower groan.
credence.
he pauses, moving closer as dread curls in his stomach. he's not stupid, he knows what this sounds like -- and it's exactly what it looks like when he sees them.
[ credence is used to getting what he wants, and what he wants is percival graves. the older man isn't the only one stealing kisses whenever he can. in his room when he's meant to be studying, around a dark corner when they're alone, and most dangerously, out in the hall at home with an implied promise for more.
the problem is, graves isn't taking the bait quickly enough. the recent rejection had been hurtful and infuriating: he knows graves wants him but it's hurt his pride and the fact that graves is keeping such a distance from him does hurt his feelings. it's only partially a game for credence, after all - he wants graves no matter what, but pressing unkindly at all his buttons is simply to see how quickly he can lure in the object of his affections.
(credence thinks about that night too, bitter and needy, rocking down on two fingers even if he knows graves is bigger than that because he has to be able to concentrate enough to fist over his cock with his other hand. it's torture.)
he doesn't want to hurt him, but a little jealousy might do him good. it's what he thinks of when his teacher - how brazen, how idiotic - hits on him. he doesn't mind it though, draws him in over the course of a few days until they come to an accord. i'll let you fuck me if you suck me off first. he knows it's not going to happen - graves isn't going to wait that long to come find him.
and so he doesn't. he hears the older man in the bathroom, knows him by his footfalls alone, and lets out that little moan to draw him in, a sound like his chest is hitching in pleasure. (this man is very good - credence wonders how many students he's seduced over the years.) he waits until the door opens to turn his gaze up from the man below him to lock eyes with graves pointedly, refusing to look away as he breathes out a little moan.
he's using one hand to support himself against the wall of the stall, the other lost in dark hair and gripping tight. one leg is planted flat on the floor and similarly his other one is hooked over one of the man's shoulders, heel of one pristine shoe pressing hard between his shoulder blades. interestingly, his lips aren't kiss-bruised and there aren't any marks that would be hidden by his clothing, even. all business.
still, he doesn't look away when he moans again, eyes dark with want as he breathes out shaking-- ] Percival.
[ the young prince of the kingdom is well-loved. so too was his mother who died giving birth to his youngest sister, and his father who died when he was fifteen and left him with his stepmother who is very decidedly not-loved. credence cannot take the throne until she steps down or dies and she rules the kingdom with an iron fist so fierce that there isn't a person alive in the country that doesn't wish that the crown prince would just kill her and take it from her cold dead hands.
but no: credence is too sweet, too kind, to kill even her. mary lou does not wish to give up her power either and thus will not grant it to her stepson - she won't grant it to her stepdaughters either. she had cleared the whole castle of the old staff save three: the princesses' ladies in waiting and the prince's personal servant.
she had granted them their servants as a false show of kindness; something to keep them settled long enough for her to do as she pleases in the background. credence is bright enough to watch her from the shadows with sharp eyes. he knows her cruelty but still he carries on and lets her focus on him. whenever one of them "misbehaves" they get beaten within an inch of their life even though it's an openly cruel means of keeping peace within the castle.
credence bears her marks most often as he poses the most threat: lashes across his back or his palms, bruises in the shape of her ring on his cheek. it leaves him quiet and timid and distrustful. so much that he only trusts his sisters and the man at his side. percival graves has been with him since he was a child - since his real mother was still alive. sometimes he asks the older man for stories about her, but mostly he just uses graves' beholden duty to him as a surrogate for affection.
(he's more fond of him than he should be, but he doesn't let on about it. ever.)
tonight he's sporting new marks courtesy of the queen's rage and his movements are a little stiff when he gets back to his chambers, shutting the door quietly behind him. it's particularly bad tonight - he's in simple pants and a shirt but the fabric of the latter is stuck to his back with sweat and blood. there's no denying that she's gone too far, but it isn't as though anyone can actually say anything without risking their lives. sometimes credence wonders if she wouldn't kill them if she could.
he knows graves will be in here now that he is returning. he's not allowed to attend the punishments as it's well-known he'll do anything to protect his charge, even inspire the queen's wrath toward himself. credence sighs, moving toward the window so that he can glance outside. ] Percival, will you please help me get ready for bed?
[ and that's just it. he's so kind, and so polite, and why wouldn't anyone with half a heart love him? the young prince, unspoiled and sweet. ]
[ the young prince of the kingdom is a precious, beloved young man, fairer than even the most beautiful maidens within the kingdom, with his expressive dark eyes, high cheekbones, full mouth, and curls that brush his shoulders. he is lovingly and perfectly formed -- at least, that's what everyone says, and it's no surprise that he has no end of female suitors, ladies and princesses who wish to be with him.
but there is someone who keeps him under her thumb -- the stepmother and queen of the realm, regent until credence comes of age, but she is as power-hungry as they come, and if credence wants to survive her, graves knows that he has to step with care. graves, who has served him ever since he had been a child. he's exceptionally skilled in dueling and keeping princes safe, even if he carefully conceals that skill from the queen. she doesn't need to know that he is credence's protector, assigned to care for him by the late king himself.
he is here to protect credence, to make sure that he stays alive despite the tyrannical queen's rule, and he's not often away from her except when ordered to. and today, credence is ordered out of his scope of care as the queen demands an audience with him, and graves knows exactly what will happen. behind closed doors is a woman who is as cold-blooded as she is cruel, and it fills graves with rage every time credence comes from her and sports new bruises, new lacerations and cuts.
graves cares for him, giving him the affection and the care he's starved for even though he knows how credence thrives on it. this is the only place where he can feel safe, so how can graves deny him this?
tonight is particularly awful; credence comes back in worse shape than ever, and graves, who is drawing a bath for his young prince, looks up and realizes immediately what must have transpired. the water is warm and scattered with healing flowers; the beatings must be worse tonight because credence seems more downtrodden than usual, his sweet-natured, innocent little prince suffering the indignity of a stepmother's jealousy.
he feels his jaw clench, fiercely protective and fond of him (too fond, he thinks; his growing attraction to his young prince is becoming a problem). ]
Yes. [ he says nonetheless, going over to him to gesture him closer, so that he can remove credence's shirt. ] Today seems to be bad for you. What did the queen demand?
[ waking up from a very nice dream half-hard when it’s 3am and you’re groggy, half-asleep, and too tired to do much of anything is like some kind of cruel cosmic joke. credence is still curled against graves’ side with one leg hooked around his and an arm over his chest, meaning he’s pressed up against the outside of his thigh, the warmth of his body not helping much at all.
he can tell from the cadence of graves’ breathing that he’s still asleep and waking him seems like a waste, so he burrows in to try and go back to sleep. which, considering his luck, doesn’t work at all. he gives up on that too, carefully disentangling himself and rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling like it will contain the answers he seeks.
it doesn’t, of course, and all he can do is think back to his dream - which just serves to make his cock harden even more. sighing, he eventually gives in and scoots a couple of inches away so as not to disturb graves as he tugs his pajama pants down just enough to let his erection spring free. one hand moves to grip at the base, squeezing down with a low huff of breath before he begins to stroke in earnest.
his hand works over his cock slowly, thumb brushing over the slit, around the edge of the head, down the vein of the underside. It’s all well-practiced and he’s good enough at keeping himself quiet so that graves stays sound asleep. that makes him thoughtful though and he rolls onto his side, watching the older man sleep and taking in the sight of him. it’s been too hot for blankets so they’re both just in their pajama pants, a sheet kicked down to the bottom of the bed.
credence smiles despite himself, deciding to give himself a challenge. he slowly reaches out with his free hand to trail his fingers lightly over the outline of his cock through his pants. it’s a risky move but he figures if graves does wake up he won’t mind. his own pleasure forgotten, he looks furtively to make sure he’s still asleep before gently beginning to rub over him through his pants, licking his lips thoughtfully before dropping his gaze again.
the end goal is making him come without waking up, but credence doesn’t expect to get that far - he’s thinking that the journey is fun enough as he slides his hand downward to give the lightest squeeze to his balls. if graves doesn’t wake up he’ll continue; if he does then he’ll continue then too. ]
[ graves sleeps deeply, heavily when it's 3am -- as a man whose best is demanded of him at every minute of every damn day, he needs his rest wherever he can get it. now, however, he absently senses how credence starts to squirm in his arms, delicately disentangling himself even if he doesn't sense him getting out of the bed. no, it happens when credence stirs in his sleep, and nothing registers that leads him to wake.
but then something happens, something strange and new; someone's touching his cock through his pajama pants. in his sleep he doesn't register it at first, at least not consciousles, even if the pleasure makes his spine tingle, his cock slowly but surely filling out, stiffening under his lover's sensuous attentions. he shifts at the squeeze to his balls, moving over onto his back and inadvertently giving credence more leeway to play with him.
his cock is pressing up against the soft silk of the pajamas, and he makes a low, incoherent little sound, still swept up in sleep to truly register just what credence is doing. but it's obvious his body is enjoying it, a hand coming to rest over credence's. carry on, his body seems to say -- keep going. graves shifts under his attentions, head turned aside with a low groan. he'll wake soon, soon. ]
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→ what is love
It happens one fine night, when Graves chooses to walk instead of having the chauffeur bring the car around. It's a nice night, and despite his position and influence not very many know his face -- and he prefers it that way; he doesn't need a battalion of agents crowding around him when he wants to be alone. Hands in the pockets of his greatcoat, he strolls downtown. It might be dangerous in this part of the neighborhood, but he's very sure that one or two of his agents are just beyond immediate reach, keeping a keen eye on him.
Helps, perhaps, for the Bureau not to have egg on its face if it turns out that their chief and fearless leader ended up dead at knifepoint by some mugger or something. They respond at impressive speed, too, when said mugger actually turns up, pale and scrappy and hungry, handsome in the way sad-eyed boys can be; his exquisite cheekbones and a sensuously generous mouth just about assuring him a fortune if he decided to spread his legs and turn a trick.
Then again, whores are statistically more likely to die violently at the hands of their misguided johns, and the boy before him looks too determined to roll the dice on that.
Credence Barebone tries to rob the Director at knifepoint and Graves allows him enough time to regret that decision at gunpoint of three very seasoned agents (who have no problems with pulling the trigger) before he dismisses them, and takes him to dinner.
Dinner becomes something else, an invitation to live with him when he discovers that Credence doesn't have a home. Call it a rare flash of compassion or an error in judgement -- surely his minders believe half and half of both -- Graves now has a housemate (or a stray, or a sugar baby without the perks) for better or worse. Credence turns out to be very good company, a sensible young man half his age who is as beautiful as he is stubborn, and while Graves is explicably attracted, while Credence makes increasing appearances in lewd fantasies in the shower, Graves makes no overtures.
He must not; any made would be from an unfair position, and he's silent when he comes into his fist under scalding hot showers.
Days turn to weeks to months, and Graves finds himself face to face with Credence in his study, where he's set aside his last report for the night. The study smells faintly of smoke and whiskey and so does Graves, who's setting his glasses carefully aside. ]
It's late. [ He murmurs, regarding him steadily. ] Can't sleep?
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an easy one to make; by himself percival graves had looked like another mark, simple and easy. but nothing can be simple or easy and he'd almost been relieved when there were guns pointed at him. so end it, he'd thought, it's a better end than many.
the rest of him is far too stubborn for that, far too resilient and even though he'd been so suspicious when the older man had asked him to dinner, he'd accepted. if he's going to die anyway, it may as well be with a full stomach.
credence had been doubly suspicious of the invitation to live with him and he'd battled his demons for less time than he'd like to admit before deciding that he could accept being under the thumb of one man. graves hadn't seemed cruel, though it could be a lie. still, he's handsome and apparently does have money (and power, credence thinks, an unkind reminder to himself), and it's better than what he has.
he spends the next span of months expecting the other shoe to drop: he slowly gets used to having somewhere to stay, to having the kind of freedom that graves grants him without the worry of where he'll go next, and he wonders each night how long it will be before the truth comes out.
this isn't to say that credence isn't attracted to him - he's woken more than one night dreaming of him and feeling hot and shaking and hard - but that the thought of being indebted when the price is himself makes him feel ill. over time he comes to realize that perhaps graves is waiting for credence to come to him, an obedient puppy that knows what he must pay. he wonders if the older man will get too impatient if he waits much longer, and one night he decides to just be done with it, at least on his own terms.
when credence stands before graves it is late, very late, and he's wearing little more than the over-sized shirt he'd gone to bed in hours earlier. his hair is longer now, framing his face a little more kindly, and he looks less hollow, less sunken. still pale and lovely though, and credence spends a moment studying the lines of graves' face before he replies. there are worse men to be beholden to, he thinks.
at first he just shakes his head. then: ] No. It's late for you too, though. When do you sleep?
[ it's flighty, a little devil-may-care, but there's something a little strange about the way he says it. nervous. he presses forward though, a coy smile playing across his lips as he moves closer to the older man, surveying him. it's only when he's close enough for graves to smell his shampoo, to practically taste the saltiness of his skin from the sweat that wearing as many blankets as he does causes, that he speaks again. ] You've been very patient with me, I'm sorry for making you wait this long. I've only just realized. [ what is he talking about?
it becomes crystal clear when he climbs onto graves' lap, slinging a leg over him (shirt riding up to show one pale, bare thigh) and settling primly atop him. he's smiling but it's stilted and nervous, the set of his shoulders tense and tight while his eyes are shuttered away to hide any emotion.
he's hovering over him a moment and then he leans down to kiss him, equal parts urging against him and shaking with something that's almost fear. ]
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→ baby don't hurt me
The Barebones, they are called. Confederates, and surely they must seen him as an enemy. Mary Lou especially, the matriarch who rules the household with a firm hand, who commands her son to attend to him; a young man no more than twenty, pale and a sight to behold, even if he is cowed by his mother. A strange young man, but one Graves quickly discovers is not quite like all the others -- not if the lingering looks are any indication of just where his guilty interest lies.
A sin, a deformity of the soul -- an aberration of God's creatures. He hears it whispered to Credence beyond the closed doors, and he wonders if any mother could truly address their offspring with such condemnation.
Perhaps this is her version of love.
But despite that, Graves knows his interest secretly persists, and he is more than willing to feed it. Soft touches, quietly reassuring words; it's no hardship seducing this boy when Graves finds himself desiring him, wondering what he looks like when he unbuttons that crisp white shirt and kisses over exposed skin, what he sounds like when he presses his mouth to the most erotic, secret parts of him and brings him pleasure beyond what his own hand can give him.
Credence fascinates and beguiles, his seeming innocence a precious, lovely thing that makes Graves ache for more. He wants to peel it from Credence, to take it for himself because he can, because Graves has been without another for so long and the young man's attentions cannot be ignored.
He rests, tonight, musing on these things when he hears the door open quietly, gently, as if unwilling to wake him.
Credence. ]
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he still gets beaten for his insolence but it's worth it. still, despite himself he finds that he's drawn in by this man's handsomeness and charm, urged to sin by dreaming of him at night and so much as letting himself look just a second too long with something longing in his eyes before he leaves the room.
he doesn't know how his mother suspects or knows, but perhaps it's just precautionary or she just thinks her lovely son to be predisposed but there isn't much to be done for it. she's right, isn't she? he's something unworthy, crafted by the devil with his sullied desires. knowing that doesn't stop it though, doesn't save him from imaginings of percival graves kissing him, touching him, dragging mewling cries out of him as though he's playing him like an instrument.
(he could, credence thinks, if only he would.)
he knows that graves is drawing him in, testing him, but he still wonders if it's genuine or some cruel trick - still, his heart aches with wanting affection and he finds himself unable to resist. he spends too much time with the older man, tending to him too dutifully. he looks at him through dark lashes and smiles with full lips, wondering if he has some sort of effect on him. he hopes so.
the night he slips through the door so quietly he's been thinking about it for too long: he'll sate himself with watching him and be done with it. it can't be remedied and his mother would...
for a long time after he shuts the door again he just stands at the side of the bed and watches him, assuming sleep because graves' eyes are closed. but watching him simply isn't enough. it never has been he thinks, wondering after the nights he's fisted over himself but not let himself come out of fear of consequences, leaving himself wanting and lost.
it should be enough, he should make it be enough. instead he hovers over him nervously before leaning down and he knows it's wrong, knows it's a sin, but this will surely be enough. surely he can comfort himself with this.
barely, just barely, he lets his lips brush against graves' mouth. ]
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→ don't hurt me no more
he holds such a deep affection for the older man that as much as he wants him to be whole and healthy, credence is terrified of the moment that graves is finally well. it means he can leave, that he probably will - who would want to stay in this house with mary lou any longer than absolutely necessary? so he soaks in everything he can now, resigned to never feeling anything like this again so soon as he leaves.
for now though, even getting the belt isn't as bad as usual. his mother's suspicions have no hard evidence behind them but she still does her best to beat the sin out of him. he still cries out in pain at the sharp cracks as she does it and it aches, burns, for hours, days afterward, but at least he can curl up in bed with graves those nights and burrow close to him, doing nothing but hiding his face in the crook of his neck as he cries. he won't give her the satisfaction of seeing his tears.
comfort begets boldness though and after long enough with no one finding them deeper affections bleed into the daytime. it's a bright and sunny afternoon, warm but not hot, and the windows are open for a breeze, curtains fluttering. graves had pulled credence closer to him and he'd laughed, toppling onto the bed and kissing him. it's playful to start, credence settled atop graves' thighs and leaning forward to urge against his mouth, supporting himself with his hands on the older man's chest.
(he's different these days, at least in here. eyes brighter, happier, less shy. he feels like he belongs somewhere.)
sitting up slightly, credence pushes his hair out of his face before leaning down to kiss his jaw with a soft hum. ] I take it you're feeling well today? [ he's smiling. there's something prickling at the back of his neck, a warning, but he pushes it down. everything is fine. ]
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they've been fooling around behind mary lou's back for days, weeks, even months; all without her knowledge, and some part of graves is perversely pleased to have drawn his son down another path. but this, too, is another kind of strategy; as long as credence is on his side, he will be protected from the confederates, the men who are still out there looking for yankee soldiers even now. it is credence's protection -- mary lou's -- that assures his life.
he recovers more and more as each day passes, and now he can already move around by himself; his movements slower than usual but his health significantly better. but it's not all perfect. some nights, he can still feel the crack of a leather belt on scar-ridden skin, the soft cries credence makes that infuriates him, distresses him as he can only lie in bed and say nothing. with every successive night graves feels his distaste for his hostess grow -- even moreso when credence climbs into bed with him and sobs, tears hot as they stain his shirt.
those are nights when graves simply holds him tight and curses her silently, aching to protect him if only he's healed faster, better.
this morning, he's never felt better when he stretches his legs, happy to have this much progress -- and there's a twinkle in credence's eye, a smile on his mouth that makes graves recklessly tug him into his arms, in his bed. it's playful and passionate and graves knows without a doubt that he has fallen for this boy, and somehow during one of these nights, his heart had been stolen by him.
a complication that he finds he doesn't much mind, even if he doesn't have the slightest clue about loving someone -- but credence makes it easy. he runs his hands through his long, long dark hair, luxurious and silk-soft, remembering the nights he'd grabbed a firm hold of it, taught him how to suck cock, how to move, how to enjoy sex and all the pleasures it brings him. credence has blossomed; become happier, stronger, even if the scars on his hands take longer to heal.
graves has even taken to applying the ointment for him, too; credence takes care of people, but graves will take care of him. he leans up to nudge at him, angling for a kiss to his mouth -- and oh, how lovely that smile is. graves smiles right back, not expecting the worst. ]
Very much so. [ and maybe he can take credence away with him, away from this damned house. ] I want to ask you something, Credence. Answer me honestly.
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→ i don't know why you're not fair
with help he'd managed to get the hang of it, going from clutching at graves' arm and walking carefully before demanding that he be carried the rest of the way to being able to walk more confidently. so now here he is, a friday night, waiting for graves to get back from work so that they can go to dinner. a part of him feels shy about going out, but he still wants to.
sheer black stockings (with the proper garters holding them up, naturally), a sleek silvery grey dress, red heels - miss queenie has been kind enough to help him with hair, makeup, jewelry - thin silver chains, red lips and nails, black hair curled meticulously.
it's meant to be a surprise for the older man, who expects credence as he usually is to go out. sometimes he thinks he should do something special though, and this is it. it doesn't mean he's not nervous, sitting carefully on one of the stools at the counter with his legs crossed delicately at the knee.
he's never been quite so fully done up before, and when graves enters the penthouse the first thing he'll see is credence's back. ]
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ah.
the stockings are what he sees next, delicate, sheer and expensive -- and he's sure that credence has had a field day with his credit card tonight. not that he minds, really; he can spend on whatever he damn well wants, and considering those red lips and nails, the thin silver chains, a lovely realization sets in. he circles around him, pleased and surprised. they've talked about this before at length, discussed what it is that they liked, and it turns out that credence somehow has taken to cross-dressing.
fuck, he's stunning at it, too. a carefully androgynous young woman with curled hair and lipstick, and his hand rests on a knee, resisting the temptation to push the skirt up to check for himself if there are garters fastened right there. no, it's unbecoming, especially for someone who wants to be a lady for the night.
a lazy smile crossing his lips, he murmurs, soft and wickedly playful. ]
My lover will be returning soon. I should take you out for the night. Show you a good time before he comes home.
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→ i give you my love
it's one day that he buys a newspaper and goes through it that he thinks he might have found something. a small advert asking after a tutor for the son of a widower that lives outside the city - outside any surrounding towns. it includes room and board along with further pay besides. credence is lucky - a scholar had stayed in the house his mother uses as a combination charity and boarding house for two years and had taken the time to teach credence things he would never have been able to learn otherwise.
when he questions some of his friends about it one of them tells him that the advert's been up for two months and no one's taken up on it because the house is haunted. credence decides that he doesn't care about ghosts, he cares about surviving. he sends a letter in response to the advert and receives a reply so soon that his head almost spins. he's hired, sight unseen. credence spends a number of days doing endless work and buys two neat suits, a grooming kit, several simple and soft ribbons, and gets a haircut. he can't afford new reading glasses, but he can make do with the ones he has for now. this is how he ends up before the manor on sprawling grounds with his small case in hand. it'd been a long carriage ride but it had given him time to think everything over.
he wears a simple dark blue suit that compliments his skin tone and dark eyes and a matching ribbon ties back gentle curls out of his face. once the door opens and he's ushered in, his life changes - forever, he thinks. his new employer is stern and exacting but not cruel and his new charge learns quickly and is well behaved. it's such a relief to have a place to sleep, to eat, to not have to worry. credence replaces his glasses after two months, slowly builds up his clothing sets as needed over the months afterward.
it's been six of those months now and he's comfortable in his station, taking care of his work carefully and meticulously. he's done for the day after having spent a number of hours sorting out lesson plans for the next two weeks. he'd dined on his own in the study he's been granted for this express purpose and now he's put it all away so that he can head up to sleep. credence is quiet as he moves; he has no wish to disturb anyone and simply wants to get to his room and rest. ]
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the butler, malory, does his best -- but in between running the household smoothly and minding the young master, his attentions are more towards keeping the maids, cooks and kitchen hands in line than. eventually, however, there is a response from a young man, clever and good with words but inexperienced. graves takes it immediately.
he just hadn't expected the tutor to be so... young. he is barely older than a boy, and with that youthful face he carries with him a beauty that graves can't help but notice, a keen, understated intelligence that captures his attention. tristan loves him, too; and the young man has such a way with his son that he finds himself impressed despite himself.
tristan can be difficult sometimes, precocious and curious, but with credence he behaves, perhaps cowed under that gentle but firm hand, and so credence becomes the latest fixture in the graves manor. it's not a bad addition at all, he supposes. as far as tutors are concerned, he can definitely do worse.
his payment is prompt and generous; graves sees no reason to withhold payment if an employee performs satisfactorily, and with tristan's glowing review of credence's teaching skills, perhaps a raise is on the horizon. not that he will bring it up until he's ready -- or perhaps at all. it would perhaps be easier to simply have the payment reflect that raise without pomp or circumstance.
tonight, graves is in the other study that credence quietly tries to pass -- it's rare that he will make his way here, this wing where credence is to make his home, but then again this is a rare occurrence. a welcome one, all the same.
he looks up from his book when he spots a fleeting shadow in the doorway; credence does always have a habit of trying to make himself as small as possible, he notes. it's endearing and polite, and for a young man who had been poor as a church mouse before this, his polished manners impress. ]
Credence? [ he asks quietly. ] Come in, please. [ graves has been doing a spot of reading, his outfit impeccable -- black vest and the crisp white shirt, still wholly put together despite the time. the only thing missing is the scarf and the greatcoat, neatly put away by another of the maids. the room smells faintly of cigarette smoke and whiskey, and graves is stubbing out the remnants of a cigarette in the ashtray. ] I hope I am not interrupting.
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→ but you don't care
they make it to the vehicle and climb in but as his guard starts it, a bullet comes through the windshield and strikes him in the head, killing him instantly. credence doesn't even have time to panic before he's moving, unwilling to become a victim all over again. he does manage to set off the phone app alert that sends an alarm to graves' phone, audio records everything in the vicinity to send to him, and gives the older man's device the control to both turn on the gps and turn on the power as needed on credence's end. (hopefully graves CHARGED HIS PHONE recently.) i'm sorry, he mumbles as he climbs over the once-living man to get in the driver's seat, gingerly pushing him into the other side and slamming his foot on the gas. he'd learned to drive ages ago even though they take drivers everywhere and that's a plus now because he can drive without incident--
--except as he turns a corner, another car slams into him and puts him into a spin, coming to a stop heaped over the steering wheel. he's battered and feels like he's going to vomit but he seems mostly okay. he's only barely shoved his phone into his boot in case they check his pockets when the door opens and he's yanked out onto the street. he wonders how many people graves is going to kill this time, honestly, but it's not the time for that.
what do you think you're doing, he spits to the man dragging him by the collar, more angry than he is frightened. do you know who i am, he adds, which is something he's seen enough entitled rich people say in upscale restaurants that he almost laughs to hear himself say it. shut up, kid is the only reply he gets, before he's tossed into a third car's trunk and being plunged into darkness when they slam it shut. right. they seem to have forgotten safety latches in newer-model cars. credence almost immediately gets it open and rolls out of the trunk and onto the road, which almost gets him hit by another car and definitely bruises some ribs and organs with the impact onto the ground but he's free until someone grabs him again even though people are rushing to try and help.
this time he's in the backseat and he's almost smug for it until there's a gun pointed right at his forehead. you're lucky, kid. i'm feeling merciful. then he shoots credence in the leg. once. twice. three times. only the fact that credence is gasping and cursing will tell graves on the recording that credence is alive, because no one's talking any more. there's scuffling and scraping and car doors opening and the sound of someone being dragged bodily and then a rustling and a thunk. then a door slams and nothing.
somehow, while being dragged into the warehouse (why is it always a warehouse?), credence had managed to make sure that his boot got drawn off his foot and left outside. with his phone still inside it.
now he's just hoping these morons didn't shoot him somewhere important so that he bleeds out. he's in too much pain to think about it for long though, flexing his fingers and trying to stay awake. he's definitely going to vomit soon. ]
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he catches wind of the recording, the conversation, and graves is furious. it's a mess, and it's obvious credence is fighting them the best way he knows how -- the slamming of car doors, cursing and swearing, and a part of him is proud of the fact that the young man is causing them so much trouble even if the larger part of him knows he shouldn't. credence will make the situatio worse, and the last thing they need is him to get hurt.
graves almost breaks something when he hears gunshots and credence gasping and cursing. there's nothing after that, which is what worries him. it's quick enough for him and his team to get the gist of the situation -- he's picked his best to storm the warehouse, geared up and instructed to take no prisoners, and he makes short work of the operation.
they kill six individuals, all men who are wanted for drug smuggling and trafficking, men graves had personally arrested before years ago (perhaps they should review the whole capital punishment thing, just to prevent this from happening again), and while the others take care of the bodies, graves goes to where credence is tied down and bound. ]
Credence! [ he says sharply. there's a lot of blood, so much of them, and graves swallows down the primal fear that he'll bleed out. it's his leg, he'll be fine -- but he needs medical attention right now. over his shoulder, he barks. ] Call an ambulance! Get them here right now!
[ he doesn't waste time gathering him up gingerly, with graves on his knees and wrapping an arm around him. it doesn't escape his notice that his boot is missing, likely outside where his phone is as well. ] Credence, [ he says again, softer, forcing himself to stay calm. ] I'm here. Can you hear me?
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→ so what is right
to be fair, it dies quite often; because for all of graves' dedication to keeping the country safe using whatever means necessary -- these days, so much crime has been shifted to cyberspace -- there are times when he just forgets to charge his personal phone, thanks to the long hours he keeps and the non-stop meetings he's been to.
today is one of those days, a perfect storm of non-stop meetings, consultations and investigations; and while graves is still contactable via his tablet and laptop (and the secure line that ensures that the upper echelons can get to him whenever necessary), the director is unfortunately unreachable outside of the official arena.
this hasn't been a problem for him until six months ago, when credence actually decided that maybe a relationship with graves doesn't sound all that bad (the jury's still out on graves' end considering his track record with people, but he's only human and he's got nothing to lose and everything to gain with credence).
this hasn't been a real problem until now, although graves is blithely unaware of the storm currently brewing in his penthouse. he arrives late, the chauffeur dropping him off at his premises at one a.m. in the morning, fifteen minutes after the conclusion of his conversation with the current POTUS, which makes him almost physically ache for a strong drink between his hands and a good night's sleep.
he comes home, the doors sliding shut behind him. is credence asleep yet? he usually isn't. the young man is as much of a night owl as he is. ]
Credence?
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he has no idea.
when the door opens credence holds his breath, only exhaling when he hears graves' voice. he buries his face in his knees briefly, breathing a few times in quick shaking succession before he finally tips his head back and sniffs once, climbing to his feet.
what a dick.
without a word, credence stomps past the entryway and into the kitchen before he returns with a phone charger in hand, stopping with his bare feet planted wide on the cool floor before he tosses the coiled wire down toward graves' feet - it slides until it taps the tip of his shoe and credence stands at his full height, upset and imperious and furious. ]
How hard is it to keep a phone charged, asshole?
[ oh. so he's mad. ]
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→ what is wrong
he gets stabbed in the side, and the strangest thing is that it's not even in the line of duty. the story goes: a mugging gone wrong for both parties, with the perpetrators unconscious in the dirt and a swift call made to local law enforcement, and graves, so close to home, naturally thinks to head there first.
the knife missed just about all the major organs, but it's still a pain in the ass, and graves, who sees no need to call 911 for something he knows how to fix on his own, simply keeps the pressure at his side on his way up the elevator, blood dripping and staining his fingers. he makes a call to the cleanup crew, annoyed with the mess it's making, and when he finally reaches the penthouse he's mustering himself, very aware that credence is not going to like this at all.
his partner and lover has always had an aversion to the work that he does -- chief of which concerns his well-being, which is quite touching, really, if not for the number of conflicts it sometimes inspires, new and old.
he supposes this is another one to add to the pile. ] Credence. Bring the first aid kit. I need you to do something for me.
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he inhales sharply, moving close and looking him up and down with open worry. ] What happened? There's so much blood, you need a hospital, not a first aid kit. [ he looks at him imploringly, first aid kit still in hand. this is what he's constantly terrified of. ] Please? Let me call someone.
[ still, he's setting down the kit on one of the half-moon tables pressed against the wall in the entry, flipping the case open and looking at him. ] If you're going to be stubborn, what do you need?
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→ gimme a sign
it's been a whirlwind since being recruited suddenly. credence accompanies graves to the mostly-boring events that he has to attend these days, the well-protected charge of the director. he's shy but kind and has a backbone where most people would assume he doesn't. whip-crack wit means people remember him for more than simply the face at the director's side. once, someone had called credence graves' ward and credence had laughed and said that's a little batman and robin, isn't it? we're not in gotham and, well. it had endeared him.
it's at one of these events that the plus-one of one of the attendees spends rather a lot of time talking to credence. a surprising amount. it becomes more clear though when it turns out she's a famous and well-recommended agent for models: she wants to add him to her roster. credence is skittish at first but graves can tell he's interested and encourages him, so he accepts.
it's not a lot of money as a beginner but credence's looks aren't traditionally attractive, placing him more along with something etherial and he does avant garde shoots for fashion magazines more than anything else, masculine, feminine, androgynous. as he does more work and gains more popularity he ends up having events of his own that he brings graves along on when he's able to get away - otherwise he attends at the arm of one of his rotation of guards. the director's charge is well-protected, after all. men in dark suits go to his shoots even, standing aside and at times making dressers, makeup artists, and photographers nervous.
it's strange - credence gets so much verbal affection heaped on him like this that he doesn't know what to do with it. compliments on his looks, his personality (what do they know?), on everything he does. it's different than what he has with graves, who so rarely verbalizes how he feels. this is not to say that credence doesn't love graves just the same - and he knows that graves loves him too, by now - but it's so easy to get flustered, to blush and look through his lashes and not know what to say. it's not on purpose by any means. he just gets overwhelmed and doesn't know how to respond.
today they're at some party that credence doesn't really want to be at and graves has been tugged away to discuss the state of the country (the poor man has a moment off work, let him be) by some man that thinks he has the answers to everything: marijuana. which credence wishes he had some of right now as he's still wracked with nerves and feels awkward even if graves is only eight feet away. of course, it's now that someone (another model - they've done a couple of shoots together) comes up to speak with him. he's vapid and annoying but he always piles affections on credence that make him owl-eyed and flushed and practically stammering. tonight he's in top form, hand on credence's arm and murmuring to him coyly.
at first sight, it's difficult to tell if credence is enjoying it or wishes he had an escape route. ]
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the past few months have been good for credence, who has somehow found his calling in the fashion industry. graves has encouraged him ever since he'd been scouted, but had taken every precaution to keep him safe all the same -- fashion houses and runways are not known for their security. he doesn't give a shit what it looks like to the others, of course; but the bodyguards aren't so much of a problem when it's discovered that credence has a natural gift for the catwalk, a beauty that is ethereal and unforgettable.
it's the cheekbones, he thinks, the generous, sensuous mouth and the high cheekbones, the dark eyes that seem to speak to you. graves has long loved credence's face, his lean body and long limbs, and of course he's willing to share, just a little. credence is beautiful in ways that draw the attention. there is no value in being traditionally attractive, not when it's become some sort of staple now.
and so it's not surprising that rave reviews and compliments have started coming in for credence -- and for credence, who has never quite had something like this before; it must seem like a whole new world.
a few more moments, and graves excuses himself when he decides that enough is enough. credence has been fawned over and hogged for long enough, and a small flicker of possessiveness courses through graves when he comes up to the both of them pleasantly, a striking, handsome figure in a bespoke suit. ]
You both must have so much to talk about. [ he plucks a flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray, a hand in his pocket as he regards credence first, then the other. young, beautiful, the face on quite a few billboards. ] Would you like to introduce me to your friend, Credence?
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→ oh i don't know
he's still not sure what an obscurial is, but he's helping graves find one among the children his mother feeds. it has to be one of them. it's just credence doesn't know how to tell. graves tells him that as soon as they find the obscurial they can save them and graves can take them both away. credence can learn magic - graves tells him he's a wizard, could be so much more than he's stuck being now.
it's so tempting and he wants nothing else more. he's not afraid of graves any more, even though he cuts an intimidating figure (despite being shorter than credence) and his low, rough voice is something that should make him tense. lately things have gotten worse, have become more strained. his mother is realizing that he's spending time out that he shouldn't and is punishing him for it. he tries to hide it but today is the worst yet: his hands are stinging and the only reason they're not bleeding is he's already treated them as best he could at home.
things are worse with the obscurial as well. there's been destruction but also a death, a... no-maj, graves had called them. someone without magic. he doesn't know what this death means but it's not good and credence is trying even harder to find the obscurial. he can't be sorry about the death, though. the newspaperman's son had called him and his family (his sisters, he doesn't care about his mother) freaks. so let him die, credence had thought, bitterly.
today they're meeting in daylight so that credence can get back before it's too late; he still shuffles nervously though, hunched slightly as he moves to the alley he's supposed to meet the older man in. ]
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it's a child, it must be, and he has to save him or her before it's too late.
graves finds a plausible ally in credence, a young squib who has the misfortune to be the adopted son of mary lou barebone, a known descendant of one of the most infamous scourers around -- and graves finds himself sympathetic despite the fact that he needs his help to narrow down the list of suspects. nothing can be done for credence, but the least that he can do is to tell him about wizards, the world that exists within the confines of the one he's grown up in.
magical, secret, and graves privately thinks it's a tragedy for credence to be caught somewhere in the middle -- neither a no-maj but not educated in wizarding ways, not like they are. but he's helpful, he has his uses, and once this is over and the obscurial found, he'll relocate them both into a home friendlier to wizards. graves feels guilty for lying to him, for telling him that he has potential when he doesn't; but time is of the essence and he knows that he'll have to apologise to him for the measures he'd taken later.
right now, right now they have to find who the obscurus is and help the child before things go to hell in a handbasket, so to speak. the death of the no-maj can potentially cause complications, and already graves is sensing a stirring in the no-maj community, the rumbling of suspicion that it's supernatural, which is an unfortunate development graves definitely doesn't need.
he comes to him promptly, apparating in the alley in a swirl of a coat and scarf -- intimidating despite his young age. graves is poised to be the youngest auror ever to ascend to the rank of director of magical security and chief of law enforcement both, and he's determined to ensure that war doesn't erupt on his watch. ]
Credence. [ he says quietly, urgently, by way of greeting. ] Have you found him? Or her?
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→ what can i do?
he's been working internationally more often and he meets another model while doing work in germany. gellert is charming and magnetic and attractive and wants him.
credence doesn't love him. he has no intentions of sleeping with him, either: he's not like that. but gellert tells him that he deserves better, he deserves someone that can express his feelings, he needs to take hold of his own life instead of being a kept boy. (one not worth loving, is the implication behind gellert's words, and credence doesn't even realize that meaning until later.)
still, it's two months afterward, two months of gellert texting him that he should leave graves, that finally sets credence to working on it. he takes a week to prepare, putting a lease in on an apartment, making sure it's furnished, paying his bills two months in advance, and, one day while graves is at work, packing.
he doesn't take anything that graves has paid for: he only packs things that he's bought with his modeling money and packs it all away neatly. he gets everything situated in his new place and then goes back to the penthouse to wait. he's not going to do it over the phone or via text. graves deserves better than that. it's been two years since credence moved in and a year since credence first told graves that he loves him. he sits on the sofa stiff and quiet and he doesn't cry. his key and a card with his new address on it are on the kitchen counter.
he doesn't know how he's going to say it. ]
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but maybe his biggest mistake is assuming that credence will always be there for him. after all, what they have is something powerful, something real, something graves has never felt more strongly. even if the increased texting credence is doing since his return from germany's stuck in the back of his mind -- duly dismissed because credence has never been the cheating type.
graves comes home late tonight, and oblivious to what is to come. it's been a long day, and the sight of credence sitting ramrod straight on their sofa, quiet and tense, surprises him.
did someone die? ]
Credence, what's wrong?
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→ what else can i say
and it's an old scar trying to bleach it out
and it's my whole heart deemed and delivered a crime
and i'm on trial waiting 'til the beat comes out
→ it's up to you
with credence's upbringing and history of intense repression that just about borders on cruel, this could be the key to providing him with a powerful catharsis; it can help to ease and smooth over the deep-seated issues credence still cannot find it in himself to let go of.
graves himself is exceptionally good at this, which shouldn't be surprising when so much of him is all about power and control: be it controlling others' perceptions, their image of him, all possible desirable outcomes and results of his endeavors. The man who masters himself can master the world, and graves doesn't intend to be left in the dust. now, he wants to give credence more of his own back, wants to show him that being the most powerful obscurial in the world is different from actual strength, and he's spent the last half hour or so carefully explaining the intricacies of bdsm, the fundamentals and essentials and how, beyond all the toys, the chains and ropes and whips, lie the issue of trust, the transfiguration of power from one state to another, and how it's never truly lost.
they come up with a safeword, and graves makes credence remember it, makes him understand that the use of a safeword does not mean that credence is letting graves down -- that it is there for him to use when he requires. graves takes care to gauge his boundaries, and nearly fifteen minutes in, he sees fit to push him past them, to take him deeper.
credence's hands are bound to the headboard with silk rope, the young man on his knees and spread open, a vibrator buried in his ass and a tight leather collar around his throat. graves finishes securing the cock ring around the base of his dick, tight and firm, and he lays kisses down his neck before his palm comes down hard cross his ass in a hard slap, leaving vivid red marks on fair skin. ]
Tell me what a bad boy you've been.
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→ i know we're right
at least percival is attractive, he thinks - he's insisted on first-name familiarity from the start, stubborn and spoiled, but it goes both ways whereas most people wouldn't dare. he likes percival - of course he does - but the fact remains that he just wants to live his life like someone normal. normal in the face of being the tall, lanky son of a crime magnate. he does what he's supposed to; suits at events, a charming look, never besmirching the family name. it's so tiring and he would, at most points, love for it to end.
today he wants to go out. that's all he'd said. out. in reality he wants to go to a museum like everyone else, to not have his father buy out the entire building and post guards. he just wants to be a regular young man that doesn't have to worry about the day that an entire crime syndicate will answer to him. the mere thought of it is daunting and makes him feel nauseated.
anyway, about going out: the answer of course had been no unless he took percival with him, which had just put him in a sour mood and he'd stalked back to his room, sinking into a chair by the window and practically sulking. ] I'd be fine, you know. [ it's soft but pointed: he knows percival will be right there as always. ] Don't you get tired of being forced to follow some dumb asshole around? [ a beat. ] Be honest.
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they meet in an official capacity one day; graves has watched him grow up, caught glimpses of him every few months or so when he's off to do his father's dirty work, and on occasion to negotiate on his behalf with otherwise hostile business partners -- but this here, this is an explicit show of trust. the scion of a powerful family, his life in his hands.
credence insists on a first name basis, something which secretly amuses graves but he capitulates all the same, and the longer he's his bodyguard, the more he's come to care for him beyond the confines of the job. here's a young man who has no interest in the family business, a lonely soul yearning to spread his wings and fly beyond the confines of expectations.
he's still young -- seventeen? -- and burning with the need to go beyond the vast reaches of his father's criminal empire. he stays with him, before tapping out a cigarette from a silver case and offering it to him. ]
That depends on which dumb asshole you're talking about.
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→ just me and you
(at that point the man had taken his hand and kissed it while credence had lofted his eyebrows so high that they'd almost disappeared into his hair despite not even having any bangs.)
now he's waiting for graves to arrive from a late work day, scanning the room for the older man periodically as though he can will him to appear. he's tired and frustrated when that same man corners him, chatting about his work insistently so much that credence doesn't even realize he's being led back toward a more secluded area practically hidden around a corner. i saw how you looked at me, he says suddenly and credence's polite smile drops, startled, as he's pressed back against the wall.
waif-like as he is, there's no way for credence to really get away so he just stares upward at him like a confused owl until he kisses him. credence bites down on the other man's lip instinctively as a defense mechanism so it just makes the stronger man hold him up against the wall, shoving a knee between his legs and nuzzling into his neck to trail his lips over the skin, biting and nipping below his ear.
credence is breathing hard but not from pleasure, hand losing fingers in blond hair so he can try and pull him off while his legs shift uselessly. help he thinks, but the word dies in a croak on his lips. ]
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credence, it seems, has become more and more assertive in the past couple of months, and while graves appreciates that he can more or less go toe to toe with him where their relationship is concerned, it means that graves has to consciously, actually make compromises like any other couple.
strange, this whole couple thing. this time three years ago, he didn't even have to worry about a thing like this; look where he is now.
so he makes time, and he turns up fashionably, fashionably late, which is a thing they do, right? graves very much prefers to be punctual, but sometimes, he learns, there are just some things that you're better off turning up late to. and evidently, one of them is right here, right in front of him. graves can recognise the tell-tale luster of dark, curled hair anywhere, the glimpse of that pale, beautiful face pressed against some taller, broader blond man who seems to be enjoying him.
he stops short, surprise turning steadily to hot, molten anger. graves is not a jealous man, not really -- and while he does have his possessive moments he's too self-assured to be insecure, and thus usually trusts that credence has has stayed faithful.
at least, up until now, when the truth if it (and how ugly it is, this truth) is laid out shamelessly before his eyes. his credence, kissing some other man like his life depends on it, right here, paces where graves had just parked his car.
he makes sure he's heard, when he comes up to them; his rage making his jaw set, his shoulders taut and tense. ] Hey.
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→ i can't go on
there are so many reasons why they shouldn't doing this -- chiefly the fact that graves is forty-one and is more than twice his age; secondly, he's the scion of one of the world's biggest crime families, and he is expected to provide an heir, and he damn well can't do that with graves.
but despite all the many reasons they shouldn't, graves finds himself stealing kisses from him every chance they get. in the limousine on the way to school, in bathrooms like these, when credence turns in for the night. he's sure no has suspected yet, but it's only a matter of time, and they cannot take chances.
it had nearly gone out of hand last week, when one kiss turned to two, three, eight, and credence had almost managed to get his lovely fingers wrapped around his dick before graves had recoiled, rejecting him because they can't, they shouldn't -- no matter how desperately he wanted him and how his eyes were still so dangerously ravenous as he refused his young charge, those kiss-swollen lips a promise that graves cannot afford to contemplate.
he had left his room then, a touch more disheveled than his usual impeccable self, and graves has staunchly not spoken about it since, forcing himself to keep a distance from the boy who has so shamelessly ensnared his attention.
he still jerks himself off to the memory of that night, allowing himself to wonder just what if.
he comes to pick credence up this afternoon -- the private school is a lavish affair only for the sons of the richest families in the country, exclusive and privileged, and today, it seems, he'd been held back for special lessons. the classroom was empty when he had arrived, and curious, graves had gone over to the set of washrooms not too far away, massive, sprawling bathrooms that are the very image of opulence.
empty, except for a soft sweet moan from a door that's carefully ajar. graves had been about to leave when he realizes that he recognizes that voice, the alluring lilt and the accompanying, lower groan.
credence.
he pauses, moving closer as dread curls in his stomach. he's not stupid, he knows what this sounds like -- and it's exactly what it looks like when he sees them.
him.
he freezes in the doorway. ]
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the problem is, graves isn't taking the bait quickly enough. the recent rejection had been hurtful and infuriating: he knows graves wants him but it's hurt his pride and the fact that graves is keeping such a distance from him does hurt his feelings. it's only partially a game for credence, after all - he wants graves no matter what, but pressing unkindly at all his buttons is simply to see how quickly he can lure in the object of his affections.
(credence thinks about that night too, bitter and needy, rocking down on two fingers even if he knows graves is bigger than that because he has to be able to concentrate enough to fist over his cock with his other hand. it's torture.)
he doesn't want to hurt him, but a little jealousy might do him good. it's what he thinks of when his teacher - how brazen, how idiotic - hits on him. he doesn't mind it though, draws him in over the course of a few days until they come to an accord. i'll let you fuck me if you suck me off first. he knows it's not going to happen - graves isn't going to wait that long to come find him.
and so he doesn't. he hears the older man in the bathroom, knows him by his footfalls alone, and lets out that little moan to draw him in, a sound like his chest is hitching in pleasure. (this man is very good - credence wonders how many students he's seduced over the years.) he waits until the door opens to turn his gaze up from the man below him to lock eyes with graves pointedly, refusing to look away as he breathes out a little moan.
he's using one hand to support himself against the wall of the stall, the other lost in dark hair and gripping tight. one leg is planted flat on the floor and similarly his other one is hooked over one of the man's shoulders, heel of one pristine shoe pressing hard between his shoulder blades. interestingly, his lips aren't kiss-bruised and there aren't any marks that would be hidden by his clothing, even. all business.
still, he doesn't look away when he moans again, eyes dark with want as he breathes out shaking-- ] Percival.
[ oops. :) ]
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→ i want no other
but no: credence is too sweet, too kind, to kill even her. mary lou does not wish to give up her power either and thus will not grant it to her stepson - she won't grant it to her stepdaughters either. she had cleared the whole castle of the old staff save three: the princesses' ladies in waiting and the prince's personal servant.
she had granted them their servants as a false show of kindness; something to keep them settled long enough for her to do as she pleases in the background. credence is bright enough to watch her from the shadows with sharp eyes. he knows her cruelty but still he carries on and lets her focus on him. whenever one of them "misbehaves" they get beaten within an inch of their life even though it's an openly cruel means of keeping peace within the castle.
credence bears her marks most often as he poses the most threat: lashes across his back or his palms, bruises in the shape of her ring on his cheek. it leaves him quiet and timid and distrustful. so much that he only trusts his sisters and the man at his side. percival graves has been with him since he was a child - since his real mother was still alive. sometimes he asks the older man for stories about her, but mostly he just uses graves' beholden duty to him as a surrogate for affection.
(he's more fond of him than he should be, but he doesn't let on about it. ever.)
tonight he's sporting new marks courtesy of the queen's rage and his movements are a little stiff when he gets back to his chambers, shutting the door quietly behind him. it's particularly bad tonight - he's in simple pants and a shirt but the fabric of the latter is stuck to his back with sweat and blood. there's no denying that she's gone too far, but it isn't as though anyone can actually say anything without risking their lives. sometimes credence wonders if she wouldn't kill them if she could.
he knows graves will be in here now that he is returning. he's not allowed to attend the punishments as it's well-known he'll do anything to protect his charge, even inspire the queen's wrath toward himself. credence sighs, moving toward the window so that he can glance outside. ] Percival, will you please help me get ready for bed?
[ and that's just it. he's so kind, and so polite, and why wouldn't anyone with half a heart love him? the young prince, unspoiled and sweet. ]
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but there is someone who keeps him under her thumb -- the stepmother and queen of the realm, regent until credence comes of age, but she is as power-hungry as they come, and if credence wants to survive her, graves knows that he has to step with care. graves, who has served him ever since he had been a child. he's exceptionally skilled in dueling and keeping princes safe, even if he carefully conceals that skill from the queen. she doesn't need to know that he is credence's protector, assigned to care for him by the late king himself.
he is here to protect credence, to make sure that he stays alive despite the tyrannical queen's rule, and he's not often away from her except when ordered to. and today, credence is ordered out of his scope of care as the queen demands an audience with him, and graves knows exactly what will happen. behind closed doors is a woman who is as cold-blooded as she is cruel, and it fills graves with rage every time credence comes from her and sports new bruises, new lacerations and cuts.
graves cares for him, giving him the affection and the care he's starved for even though he knows how credence thrives on it. this is the only place where he can feel safe, so how can graves deny him this?
tonight is particularly awful; credence comes back in worse shape than ever, and graves, who is drawing a bath for his young prince, looks up and realizes immediately what must have transpired. the water is warm and scattered with healing flowers; the beatings must be worse tonight because credence seems more downtrodden than usual, his sweet-natured, innocent little prince suffering the indignity of a stepmother's jealousy.
he feels his jaw clench, fiercely protective and fond of him (too fond, he thinks; his growing attraction to his young prince is becoming a problem). ]
Yes. [ he says nonetheless, going over to him to gesture him closer, so that he can remove credence's shirt. ] Today seems to be bad for you. What did the queen demand?
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→ no other lover
he can tell from the cadence of graves’ breathing that he’s still asleep and waking him seems like a waste, so he burrows in to try and go back to sleep. which, considering his luck, doesn’t work at all. he gives up on that too, carefully disentangling himself and rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling like it will contain the answers he seeks.
it doesn’t, of course, and all he can do is think back to his dream - which just serves to make his cock harden even more. sighing, he eventually gives in and scoots a couple of inches away so as not to disturb graves as he tugs his pajama pants down just enough to let his erection spring free. one hand moves to grip at the base, squeezing down with a low huff of breath before he begins to stroke in earnest.
his hand works over his cock slowly, thumb brushing over the slit, around the edge of the head, down the vein of the underside. It’s all well-practiced and he’s good enough at keeping himself quiet so that graves stays sound asleep. that makes him thoughtful though and he rolls onto his side, watching the older man sleep and taking in the sight of him. it’s been too hot for blankets so they’re both just in their pajama pants, a sheet kicked down to the bottom of the bed.
credence smiles despite himself, deciding to give himself a challenge. he slowly reaches out with his free hand to trail his fingers lightly over the outline of his cock through his pants. it’s a risky move but he figures if graves does wake up he won’t mind. his own pleasure forgotten, he looks furtively to make sure he’s still asleep before gently beginning to rub over him through his pants, licking his lips thoughtfully before dropping his gaze again.
the end goal is making him come without waking up, but credence doesn’t expect to get that far - he’s thinking that the journey is fun enough as he slides his hand downward to give the lightest squeeze to his balls. if graves doesn’t wake up he’ll continue; if he does then he’ll continue then too. ]
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but then something happens, something strange and new; someone's touching his cock through his pajama pants. in his sleep he doesn't register it at first, at least not consciousles, even if the pleasure makes his spine tingle, his cock slowly but surely filling out, stiffening under his lover's sensuous attentions. he shifts at the squeeze to his balls, moving over onto his back and inadvertently giving credence more leeway to play with him.
his cock is pressing up against the soft silk of the pajamas, and he makes a low, incoherent little sound, still swept up in sleep to truly register just what credence is doing. but it's obvious his body is enjoying it, a hand coming to rest over credence's. carry on, his body seems to say -- keep going. graves shifts under his attentions, head turned aside with a low groan. he'll wake soon, soon. ]
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