[ graves's words are honest, but not sharp -- he's standing so closely to him now, so acutely aware of his body heat as he finally gives in to the powerful temptation to hold him close, an arm coming to wrap around that slender waist because oh, he's wanted to do this for so long.
the kiss ends too quickly, tasting like smoke and something else so unmistakably credence that he cannot help but move to capture his mouth again. the son of his boss, just a few months' shy of his eighteenth birthday, is locked in graves' arms in his own room and with no one the wiser. credence asks him questions graves cannot answer, not if he wants to keep his job and all his limbs. ]
I can't answer that.
[ he mustn't. still, his lips haunt him, the softness of his mouth and the passion in his kiss, and he seeks him out again instead of answering, pushing him up against the immense window before taking another kiss for himself, more heated and passionate, aching to kiss the smugness off that exquisitely, boyishly handsome face.
this is what he wants. this is what he can never have; credence's heart, his desire, his full, unwavering attention. he knows how he yearns to spend hours with him like this, to know every inch of him intimately, to feel that nubile young body open up under him like a flower to the sun.
he pours all of that into the deep, sensuous, unyielding kiss, his tongue slipping into credence's mouth, sliding against his again, again and again, as if he cannot have enough. ]
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[ graves's words are honest, but not sharp -- he's standing so closely to him now, so acutely aware of his body heat as he finally gives in to the powerful temptation to hold him close, an arm coming to wrap around that slender waist because oh, he's wanted to do this for so long.
the kiss ends too quickly, tasting like smoke and something else so unmistakably credence that he cannot help but move to capture his mouth again. the son of his boss, just a few months' shy of his eighteenth birthday, is locked in graves' arms in his own room and with no one the wiser. credence asks him questions graves cannot answer, not if he wants to keep his job and all his limbs. ]
I can't answer that.
[ he mustn't. still, his lips haunt him, the softness of his mouth and the passion in his kiss, and he seeks him out again instead of answering, pushing him up against the immense window before taking another kiss for himself, more heated and passionate, aching to kiss the smugness off that exquisitely, boyishly handsome face.
this is what he wants. this is what he can never have; credence's heart, his desire, his full, unwavering attention. he knows how he yearns to spend hours with him like this, to know every inch of him intimately, to feel that nubile young body open up under him like a flower to the sun.
he pours all of that into the deep, sensuous, unyielding kiss, his tongue slipping into credence's mouth, sliding against his again, again and again, as if he cannot have enough. ]