[ no, no. credence is not cheating on him -- that is the look of a young man terrified, his young man in tears and afraid, and when graves looks closer, the scene becomes much clearer to him. credence isn't trying to hold on to his shoulders to draw in more of his attentions, his affections -- he's trying to push him away. the strain of those knuckles, the way he's tense, the strange way he seems to be resisting instead of doing anything else.
his lover's eyes is filled with tears and it's not guilt, and graves snaps. he knows credence down to his bones, his soul, and if he wouldn't give gellert grindelwald the time of day, he wouldn't this fellow too, who easily has so much more weight and muscle on him. a flicker of guilt curls deep in his gut, and he shoves it away -- it's useless to him right now, not when his anger is turned towards a more deserving culprit: the one who pinned credence there in the first place.
he snarls at that smug, smug smile, and he yanks the man away from credence, his rage lending him more strength -- and a speed that is deadly coming from the director of the country's foremost law enforcement bureau. graves has more than a few tricks up his sleeve, all of which he employs for credence's sake, unable to wipe the image of that tear-filled, fearful face from his memory.
he understands it now, understands it completely when he punches the fucker in the face, the nose, knocking his teeth into his head as he rips into him without mercy. the advantage of being in a secluded place like this means no one gets to break up the fight as quickly.
but they don't have to -- it's over in under three minutes, and the fight had been brutal and largely one-sided. the man might have the height advantage, but graves is a man who sets the standards for not getting fucked with, and he's sure the culprit is scampering and limping off on his way with a bloodied face and more than a few cracked ribs. graves thinks it's just poetic how he'd wiped that smug, insufferable smile off the man's face with one hell of a lot of pavement.
credence, in the meantime --
-- graves goes over to him, frowning, looking him over before he takes him into his arms. ]
no subject
his lover's eyes is filled with tears and it's not guilt, and graves snaps. he knows credence down to his bones, his soul, and if he wouldn't give gellert grindelwald the time of day, he wouldn't this fellow too, who easily has so much more weight and muscle on him. a flicker of guilt curls deep in his gut, and he shoves it away -- it's useless to him right now, not when his anger is turned towards a more deserving culprit: the one who pinned credence there in the first place.
he snarls at that smug, smug smile, and he yanks the man away from credence, his rage lending him more strength -- and a speed that is deadly coming from the director of the country's foremost law enforcement bureau. graves has more than a few tricks up his sleeve, all of which he employs for credence's sake, unable to wipe the image of that tear-filled, fearful face from his memory.
he understands it now, understands it completely when he punches the fucker in the face, the nose, knocking his teeth into his head as he rips into him without mercy. the advantage of being in a secluded place like this means no one gets to break up the fight as quickly.
but they don't have to -- it's over in under three minutes, and the fight had been brutal and largely one-sided. the man might have the height advantage, but graves is a man who sets the standards for not getting fucked with, and he's sure the culprit is scampering and limping off on his way with a bloodied face and more than a few cracked ribs. graves thinks it's just poetic how he'd wiped that smug, insufferable smile off the man's face with one hell of a lot of pavement.
credence, in the meantime --
-- graves goes over to him, frowning, looking him over before he takes him into his arms. ]
Are you hurt? What the hell happened?