[ it's quiet but trusting - credence could so easily be taken in by someone whose only goal is to harm him, pulled in with a few kind words and assurances. it's everything his heartache has wanted for so long, to be taken care of, to be safe. he needs someone's attentions and care almost more than he needs the air he breathes.
he's trying not to writhe beneath graves' touch but it's difficult. another moment or so has his hips rocking back against his hand of their own accord, but he hears and heeds the words graves says, shifting enough so that he can carefully run his hands over graves' chest, feeling how solid it is before he moves on - ginger touches down his abdomen until he reaches his cock again, long fingers curling around it so that he can stroke him more insistently than before. from root to tip he strokes him firmly, carefully running his thumb over the head, along the ridge. he feels the older man out carefully, touch feather-light only long enough to trail his fingertips along the underside. ] Like this? [ surprisingly, it's not a general question - he's asking what graves likes, specifically. then, after a silence and a breathy noise that might be a moan: ] This is better than those. [ the fantasies. ]
no subject
[ it's quiet but trusting - credence could so easily be taken in by someone whose only goal is to harm him, pulled in with a few kind words and assurances. it's everything his heartache has wanted for so long, to be taken care of, to be safe. he needs someone's attentions and care almost more than he needs the air he breathes.
he's trying not to writhe beneath graves' touch but it's difficult. another moment or so has his hips rocking back against his hand of their own accord, but he hears and heeds the words graves says, shifting enough so that he can carefully run his hands over graves' chest, feeling how solid it is before he moves on - ginger touches down his abdomen until he reaches his cock again, long fingers curling around it so that he can stroke him more insistently than before. from root to tip he strokes him firmly, carefully running his thumb over the head, along the ridge. he feels the older man out carefully, touch feather-light only long enough to trail his fingertips along the underside. ] Like this? [ surprisingly, it's not a general question - he's asking what graves likes, specifically. then, after a silence and a breathy noise that might be a moan: ] This is better than those. [ the fantasies. ]