[ he says sharply, a little too quickly than he likes. the idea of credence doing this with someone else makes something dark twist in his chest, a kind of anger that he recognises. it's possessiveness, fierce and unyielding. credence is his, and the thought of anyone touching him, kissing him like he has makes him want to punch things.
preferably the perpetrator in question. but graves composes himself, and he brushes credence's hair back from his face, kissing him again, lips trailing over his jaw. ] None of them will know what they're doing. You deserve better.
no subject
[ he says sharply, a little too quickly than he likes. the idea of credence doing this with someone else makes something dark twist in his chest, a kind of anger that he recognises. it's possessiveness, fierce and unyielding. credence is his, and the thought of anyone touching him, kissing him like he has makes him want to punch things.
preferably the perpetrator in question. but graves composes himself, and he brushes credence's hair back from his face, kissing him again, lips trailing over his jaw. ] None of them will know what they're doing. You deserve better.