[ 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.
→ 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. ]