[ credence is spoiled and needy and has driven away almost more bodyguards than you can count - but this one stays, the one he wants, the one he desires so wholly. he's always known where he stands in life and that includes not being denied. it's too normal, to get everything.

perhaps there's a bit of masochism buried beneath, not sexual but being startled and intrigued by being told no.

having graves so tightly wound is heady though and he thinks about it often - thinks about it now as he returns the kiss, leaning against the wood easily as he pulls the older man closer and lets out the tiniest moan against his mouth. yes: this, this, this. he wants more of this, burning against his mouth, vicious and needy and a little (a lot) wrong.

he can feel how hard graves is and credence aches to touch him, just barely refrains. the same way he just barely refrains from bucking toward graves' hand at that barely-there brush against his cock. he does let out a tiny whine though, sulky, something very familiar.

credence kisses graves again before he answers but this time it's softer, gentler. ] I don't want to be the death of you. I want you to need me always.

[ there's a hesitance in him suddenly and he slumps back against the door, looking up at him and pushing some hair out of his own face. ] Can we ever actually be together, Percival? It hurts.