[ it's close, and graves delights in it, smiling at how credence's soft moan is muffled into the pillow, and it makes him wonder just what he will feel like on his hands and knees, when graves is inside him and he has to keep him quiet.
he goes deep, then -- relentless, deepthroating him and drawing him deep inside, stifling a soft answering groan, coaxing him along. he can feel it when he comes, and he takes in everything, swallowing every thick, warm spurt of come, lapping and laving to drag out his orgasm, his finger brushing lightly against that tight, tight hole.
it's approving, how he hums softly, a fierce, masculine sense of pride rising in the face of credence's first ejaculation -- such a curious thing, such a lovely thing, to know that credence has this much self-control over himself. and so he continues, swallowing down every drop, tasting the bittersalty thickness of him and breathing him in before he eventually pulls his mouth away from him, kissing and lapping at his saliva and come-slick cock. he cleans him up, laying a soft, lingering kiss to the head. ]
[ at some point his fingers tighten in graves' hair, body twisting like he's trying to escape the over-stimulation of it, the unfamiliar levels of pleasure overwhelming and eye-opening. he whimpers softly, sitting up to watch him, eyes dark and lids lowered.
(the approving hum feels nice both literally and figuratively.)
he doesn't know what to say. he feels like he's blushing from the top of his head to the tips of his toes and he's sure he is, licking his lips and trying to piece back together his orgasm-shattered mind.
eventually he settles on an answer non-verbal and shifts, practically contorting there on the bed so that he can crush his lips against the older man's eagerly, hungrily, fervently, tasting himself on grave's lips and deciding to coyly try and coax his tongue out so that he can taste more--it's sinful, it's filthy, but he's not thinking about that.
perhaps his eagerness is surprising, but hopefully it's pleasing. very slightly shaking hands rest at graves' shoulders after a moment, fingertips pressing in before he whispers, almost comically shy. ]
[ his shyness even in the wake of his first orgasm is most endearing, a lovely thing that graves finds himself charmed by. they kiss hard, and graves affords him a taste of himself, thick on his tongue. he can feel it, that mischievous flicker of his tongue against his own -- it's sinful and filthy and everything he chooses to indulge credence with. he gives him what he seeks, tangling their limbs together.
he's taken this first time, he thinks, and this is a prize he will always remember. his beautiful pale boy writhing in pleasure and delight, given over to sensual exploits and blushing so sweetly -- credence is magnificent in his innocence, and his hand moves to curve over his ass, lazily possessive. ]
[ it almost makes credence feel proud to know that graves is so pleased with him and he wonders if that's how he's meant to feel - wanted, whole, adored. sin is supposed to be tempting but something that makes him this happy (not even just pleasured - genuinely happy to be so intimately entwined with someone he's utterly smitten with) can't possibly be as bad as his mother has always painted.
he's still somewhat unsure how to kiss properly but his attempts are earnest and he moans softly against his mouth despite himself.
when credence ends up coiled against graves, nuzzling under his ear with the older man's hand on his ass--the question takes him a moment to process but then he nods blearily, gesturing toward his long-ago discarded pants. ] I always carry some with me, [ murmured and barely audible, ] in case one of your wounds needs tending when I see you. [ and his own hands of course, when his mother is in a mood - but he doesn't say that part because it doesn't matter. what matters is there's a small container of the healing ointment there in one of his pockets.
(he feels more shy and almost apprehensive suddenly because he's sure he knows exactly what it's for right now.) ]
[ graves teaches him, patient and teasing, gently angling his head to show him how to kiss, soft murmuring under his breath to praise, to enjoy the innocence of his inexperience, the sweetness of his lips on his. he is wanted, adored -- and how can this be sin when it feels so good? graves is fascinated by his every reaction, how he manages to draw out the sweetest sounds, the most endearing expressions.
he gently pats his ass when credence gestures to the pants, and he kisses his forehead, still so painfully hard that it's very nearly driving him to distraction. credence is shy and graves half-suspects that he already knows what it's for; it's written all over that lovely pale face. ]
Get it for me. [ a gentle order, but an order nonetheless. ] Do you know what I want to do with you, Credence? You inspire in me the most sinful things.
[ every time he's praised is incredibly encouraging - credence is a quick study, learning well what's pleasant and what's more so. even so he's often distracted by the pleasure, pausing to gasp out softly or have to catch his breath.
the pat to his ass doesn't make him jump but it does make him flush hotter, leaning into that gentle kiss before he nods and slowly gets up, moving to go get the small jar from his pocket and bring it back--he's not hesitant when he settles back on the bed, but he is a little nervous. still, at the question he nods. ] Yes... [ there's a pause and he looks away, clearly embarrassed-- ] I've thought about it, before.
[ graves is very quickly discovering how credence loves being praised, how he lavishes it on him -- good boy, such a good boy -- and he enjoys the blush on his pale skin when he watches him getting the jar. graves is admiring everything, the bounce of his cock when he walks back to him and climbs back in, the nervousness that tingles on his skin.
his embarrassment is cute, too, and graves can't help but smile as he pulls him under the covers and tangles his limbs with his, taking the ointment from him and smearing some onto his fingers. ]
Tell me, what do you think of? Who fucks you, Credence? Who spreads you open and presses their fingers inside you?
[ he hasn't heard the phrase good boy in his entire life. it's new and startling and he craves it so deeply that he'd do almost anything - but he does still trust graves to not hurt him. he watches the older man curiously, curled in against him, tangled up with him, almost owlish again but not quite.
graves won't hurt him, but it's clear he'll embarrass him relentlessly. his mouth pulls into a delicate pout and he squirms a little, fussily, but he's not trying to get away, just express mild restlessness. he's practically flushed from head to toe. ]
You... [ he bites his lip, glancing away. ] It's you. Every time.
[ graves smiles, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. credence is pouting and he enjoys every moment of it, relishing the way he's not trying to escape him -- only to signal an indignant shyness that he appreciates. he wraps himself close, gently pressing a slicked up finger against his entrance -- circling around the puckered little rosebud of a hole first.
it's his first time, and he knows to be careful, he knows not to hurt him, but fuck if he doesn't want to rut into him, to fuck him so good and so thoroughly that credence wouldn't be able to think of him without getting hard. it's dangerous, what they're doing now, but graves pushes the boundaries because he can. ]
Be a good boy for me. [ he whispers huskily, kissing his earlobe. ] Relax. I'm going to open you up a little.
[ even that first touch has credence clutching at graves' shoulders, not from nervousness (okay, a little nervousness) or fear but from breathless anticipation, from trying to keep himself from tensing up. be a good boy pulls a quiet breath from him and he nods, pressing his fingertips in just a little more against the skin. ]
Okay... [ he tries to settle the tension in his body, breathing slowly and burrowing against his shoulder. ] I'm trying.
[ he's trying, and that's enough. credence is new at this and graves is forgiving, patient, leaning in to kiss him softly again and again, wanting to take his mind off things. ]
You're being so good right now. Can you feel it, how tight you are? [ his words are almost a purr. he's pushing his slick finger inside now, slowly, surely -- paying careful attention to credence's reactions. ] Touch me. Let me show you how much I want you.
[ he really is trying his best. it's so difficult though - it's only the kisses and murmurs that keep him focused, nosing against graves' cheek. as for the query, well: ] ... Yes. [ it's barely breathed out on a whine because he's trying to stay relaxed, but the way the older man is going slow (just for him, he thinks, and it makes him feel warm) helps. reminders to keep his breathing slow too.
his eyes flutter back open (he doesn't remember closing them this time) and he looks up at graves through his lashes before he nods, shifting his positioning just enough so that he can curl his fingers around graves' cock, touch feather-light at first before he begins to stroke him slowly. he's feeling the size of him, the weight of him, all over again, and suddenly feels mildly skeptical that he's going to be able to--he swallows, gaze flicking back up to him again. it already feels strange, though with one finger it doesn't really hurt so long as he's relaxed, but-- ] How much does it hurt?
credence with his calloused fingers, rough from the work that he does around the house, closing around his cock -- he cannot help a pleased shiver, curling around the young man and stifling a soft groan of approval. he's thick and long in his hand, heavy with arousal and aching to have more of him. eyes lidding, graves finds himself lost in the sensation of the other's intimate touch and almost loses the thread of the question.
his finger pushes fully inside of him, slow and slick, before pulling out. he repeats the movement -- twice, three times, four, getting him acquainted with him before gently introducing the second finger, spreading him open a little more. he doesn't want to scare him off, but he doesn't want to give him a false sense of security either.
credence is new to this, so hopelessly tight that he's driving graves out of his mind with the knowledge that he's deflowering a virgin, a beautiful boy who wants him just as much. breath catching, he presses his forehead to his. ] A little. But I'll make sure you're comfortable, Credence. [ he kisses him softly, sweetly, two fingers pushing slowly inside of him now, waiting for him to open up. ] I'll make sure you can take all of me inside you. Would you like that, snug all around me, keeping me inside you?
[ credence doesn't stop stroking him then, fascinated by the reactions he's getting. it's almost enough to distract him from graves' finger working to relax him. almost. his breathing isn't ragged but it's not even either and at one point his thumb brushes over the head of graves' cock but his focus is too scattered to do much more than that.
the addition of a second finger has his body tensing, tightening around the intrusion briefly before his free hand digs nails into the older man's shoulder and he takes a moment to breathe through it, to relax, to allow him to continue spreading him open. (if you tense up the whip-crack of leather belting hurts more. if you manage to relax it's not as bad. this is different but credence has had a lot of practice.) he returns the kiss, leaning up into it like a flower craving the sun.
he is just that.
finally he gathers himself enough to answer the question even if at first all he manages is a tiny nod. when he speaks his voice is very soft and only minutely strained. he's trying so hard. ] Yes... And it feels good after that, doesn't it? After it hurts. [ of course it does. this part, perhaps surprisingly, sounds less like a question. ] I want to feel you once I'm ready, please.
[ a part of graves wonders just where credence has learned it -- if he's learned it from somewhere else at all and not merely making an educated guess. the young man is bright, clever, and very well versed in the art of surviving a mother like mary lou. he knows that he's formed quite a few defense mechanisms to continue such an existence, and graves, well, he's the unknown variable thrown into the mix, isn't he?
credence kisses him back so greedily that graves can feel his breath catch. credence is trying so hard and graves knows it, even if the knowledge that he's his first time snags and churns and fills a possessive, masculine part of him that he doesn't deny. ]
I'll make sure it won't hurt very much. [ he promises, and he's gentler now, giving him time to adjust to his second finger and trying very hard not to think about the other members of credence's family slumbering on the other side of that door. no, he doesn't need to think about that, the consequences if they're caught. what matters is credence right here, allowing him to do this with him, working to relax so that he won't let him down.
credence yields even when those fingers dig into his shoulder, and graves is enthralled when he begins to fingerfuck him, in and out and again, again -- slow and slick inside of him to get him accustomed. pushing inside of him with his cock is another story entirely, but at least he'll be more ready. ] Ever done this before on your own?
[ it's something a little sadly funny, isn't it? that things he'd learned over the years to protect himself from the pain his mother inflicts on him in her cruelty would help him here too, with the way graves is carefully trying to prepare him for what comes next, for something pleasurable that he's suddenly desperate to feel even though he knows it will definitely hurt at first--this time the pain will wane, turn into something he enjoys, and even any soreness later (that he's not thinking about at the moment) will just be a reminder of something pleasant.
it's no wonder that his heart cries out to graves for this, for anything he can get from him.
it's a combination of forcing himself to relax and the continued gentleness of graves' fingers thrusting into him, pulling back, and pressing in again that slowly eases him into it, allows him to feel better, to feel something good and he lets out a soft oh of surprise that's almost a gasp, back arching just enough to be noticeable. another sound is more like a barely-there mm before he can gather his thoughts enough to answer. ] No... [ a shaking inhale. ] No, never. I was... going to try, once, but I was afraid so I didn't. [ he sounds almost breathless as he speaks, licking his lips. ]
[ there is clearly no love lost between graves and the woman who had taken him in -- even if graves is courteous and polite, unwilling to put credence in a more difficult spot than he already is. credence has gotten himself hurt arguing for him, and graves owes him his life, not mary lou's. not that credence has ever said it; after all, he's capable of putting two and two together.
so graves takes care with him, wanting to show him the pleasures of the flesh, the wonders of sex and intimacy; and maybe, just maybe, credence will help him escape this house. he realizes, after a few moments, that it's starting to feel good for the young man, how the discomfort shifts to become something else more sublime. graves continues, unwilling to cut it short and fascinated by his reaction.
he leans forward to kiss him now, tongue sliding against his sensuously, slowly. ] Keep touching me, Credence. Show me what you've fantasized about. [ he wants him to reciprocate, to respond, to reach for him in turn. He smiles faintly. ] This is not a one man show.
[ it's quiet but trusting - credence could so easily be taken in by someone whose only goal is to harm him, pulled in with a few kind words and assurances. it's everything his heartache has wanted for so long, to be taken care of, to be safe. he needs someone's attentions and care almost more than he needs the air he breathes.
he's trying not to writhe beneath graves' touch but it's difficult. another moment or so has his hips rocking back against his hand of their own accord, but he hears and heeds the words graves says, shifting enough so that he can carefully run his hands over graves' chest, feeling how solid it is before he moves on - ginger touches down his abdomen until he reaches his cock again, long fingers curling around it so that he can stroke him more insistently than before. from root to tip he strokes him firmly, carefully running his thumb over the head, along the ridge. he feels the older man out carefully, touch feather-light only long enough to trail his fingertips along the underside. ] Like this? [ surprisingly, it's not a general question - he's asking what graves likes, specifically. then, after a silence and a breathy noise that might be a moan: ] This is better than those. [ the fantasies. ]
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he goes deep, then -- relentless, deepthroating him and drawing him deep inside, stifling a soft answering groan, coaxing him along. he can feel it when he comes, and he takes in everything, swallowing every thick, warm spurt of come, lapping and laving to drag out his orgasm, his finger brushing lightly against that tight, tight hole.
it's approving, how he hums softly, a fierce, masculine sense of pride rising in the face of credence's first ejaculation -- such a curious thing, such a lovely thing, to know that credence has this much self-control over himself. and so he continues, swallowing down every drop, tasting the bittersalty thickness of him and breathing him in before he eventually pulls his mouth away from him, kissing and lapping at his saliva and come-slick cock. he cleans him up, laying a soft, lingering kiss to the head. ]
How did that feel, Credence?
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(the approving hum feels nice both literally and figuratively.)
he doesn't know what to say. he feels like he's blushing from the top of his head to the tips of his toes and he's sure he is, licking his lips and trying to piece back together his orgasm-shattered mind.
eventually he settles on an answer non-verbal and shifts, practically contorting there on the bed so that he can crush his lips against the older man's eagerly, hungrily, fervently, tasting himself on grave's lips and deciding to coyly try and coax his tongue out so that he can taste more--it's sinful, it's filthy, but he's not thinking about that.
perhaps his eagerness is surprising, but hopefully it's pleasing. very slightly shaking hands rest at graves' shoulders after a moment, fingertips pressing in before he whispers, almost comically shy. ]
It felt like I want more.
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[ his shyness even in the wake of his first orgasm is most endearing, a lovely thing that graves finds himself charmed by. they kiss hard, and graves affords him a taste of himself, thick on his tongue. he can feel it, that mischievous flicker of his tongue against his own -- it's sinful and filthy and everything he chooses to indulge credence with. he gives him what he seeks, tangling their limbs together.
he's taken this first time, he thinks, and this is a prize he will always remember. his beautiful pale boy writhing in pleasure and delight, given over to sensual exploits and blushing so sweetly -- credence is magnificent in his innocence, and his hand moves to curve over his ass, lazily possessive. ]
Ointment. Do you have any with you?
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he's still somewhat unsure how to kiss properly but his attempts are earnest and he moans softly against his mouth despite himself.
when credence ends up coiled against graves, nuzzling under his ear with the older man's hand on his ass--the question takes him a moment to process but then he nods blearily, gesturing toward his long-ago discarded pants. ] I always carry some with me, [ murmured and barely audible, ] in case one of your wounds needs tending when I see you. [ and his own hands of course, when his mother is in a mood - but he doesn't say that part because it doesn't matter. what matters is there's a small container of the healing ointment there in one of his pockets.
(he feels more shy and almost apprehensive suddenly because he's sure he knows exactly what it's for right now.) ]
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he gently pats his ass when credence gestures to the pants, and he kisses his forehead, still so painfully hard that it's very nearly driving him to distraction. credence is shy and graves half-suspects that he already knows what it's for; it's written all over that lovely pale face. ]
Get it for me. [ a gentle order, but an order nonetheless. ] Do you know what I want to do with you, Credence? You inspire in me the most sinful things.
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the pat to his ass doesn't make him jump but it does make him flush hotter, leaning into that gentle kiss before he nods and slowly gets up, moving to go get the small jar from his pocket and bring it back--he's not hesitant when he settles back on the bed, but he is a little nervous. still, at the question he nods. ] Yes... [ there's a pause and he looks away, clearly embarrassed-- ] I've thought about it, before.
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his embarrassment is cute, too, and graves can't help but smile as he pulls him under the covers and tangles his limbs with his, taking the ointment from him and smearing some onto his fingers. ]
Tell me, what do you think of? Who fucks you, Credence? Who spreads you open and presses their fingers inside you?
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graves won't hurt him, but it's clear he'll embarrass him relentlessly. his mouth pulls into a delicate pout and he squirms a little, fussily, but he's not trying to get away, just express mild restlessness. he's practically flushed from head to toe. ]
You... [ he bites his lip, glancing away. ] It's you. Every time.
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[ graves smiles, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. credence is pouting and he enjoys every moment of it, relishing the way he's not trying to escape him -- only to signal an indignant shyness that he appreciates. he wraps himself close, gently pressing a slicked up finger against his entrance -- circling around the puckered little rosebud of a hole first.
it's his first time, and he knows to be careful, he knows not to hurt him, but fuck if he doesn't want to rut into him, to fuck him so good and so thoroughly that credence wouldn't be able to think of him without getting hard. it's dangerous, what they're doing now, but graves pushes the boundaries because he can. ]
Be a good boy for me. [ he whispers huskily, kissing his earlobe. ] Relax. I'm going to open you up a little.
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Okay... [ he tries to settle the tension in his body, breathing slowly and burrowing against his shoulder. ] I'm trying.
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You're being so good right now. Can you feel it, how tight you are? [ his words are almost a purr. he's pushing his slick finger inside now, slowly, surely -- paying careful attention to credence's reactions. ] Touch me. Let me show you how much I want you.
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his eyes flutter back open (he doesn't remember closing them this time) and he looks up at graves through his lashes before he nods, shifting his positioning just enough so that he can curl his fingers around graves' cock, touch feather-light at first before he begins to stroke him slowly. he's feeling the size of him, the weight of him, all over again, and suddenly feels mildly skeptical that he's going to be able to--he swallows, gaze flicking back up to him again. it already feels strange, though with one finger it doesn't really hurt so long as he's relaxed, but-- ] How much does it hurt?
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credence with his calloused fingers, rough from the work that he does around the house, closing around his cock -- he cannot help a pleased shiver, curling around the young man and stifling a soft groan of approval. he's thick and long in his hand, heavy with arousal and aching to have more of him. eyes lidding, graves finds himself lost in the sensation of the other's intimate touch and almost loses the thread of the question.
his finger pushes fully inside of him, slow and slick, before pulling out. he repeats the movement -- twice, three times, four, getting him acquainted with him before gently introducing the second finger, spreading him open a little more. he doesn't want to scare him off, but he doesn't want to give him a false sense of security either.
credence is new to this, so hopelessly tight that he's driving graves out of his mind with the knowledge that he's deflowering a virgin, a beautiful boy who wants him just as much. breath catching, he presses his forehead to his. ] A little. But I'll make sure you're comfortable, Credence. [ he kisses him softly, sweetly, two fingers pushing slowly inside of him now, waiting for him to open up. ] I'll make sure you can take all of me inside you. Would you like that, snug all around me, keeping me inside you?
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the addition of a second finger has his body tensing, tightening around the intrusion briefly before his free hand digs nails into the older man's shoulder and he takes a moment to breathe through it, to relax, to allow him to continue spreading him open. (if you tense up the whip-crack of leather belting hurts more. if you manage to relax it's not as bad. this is different but credence has had a lot of practice.) he returns the kiss, leaning up into it like a flower craving the sun.
he is just that.
finally he gathers himself enough to answer the question even if at first all he manages is a tiny nod. when he speaks his voice is very soft and only minutely strained. he's trying so hard. ] Yes... And it feels good after that, doesn't it? After it hurts. [ of course it does. this part, perhaps surprisingly, sounds less like a question. ] I want to feel you once I'm ready, please.
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credence kisses him back so greedily that graves can feel his breath catch. credence is trying so hard and graves knows it, even if the knowledge that he's his first time snags and churns and fills a possessive, masculine part of him that he doesn't deny. ]
I'll make sure it won't hurt very much. [ he promises, and he's gentler now, giving him time to adjust to his second finger and trying very hard not to think about the other members of credence's family slumbering on the other side of that door. no, he doesn't need to think about that, the consequences if they're caught. what matters is credence right here, allowing him to do this with him, working to relax so that he won't let him down.
credence yields even when those fingers dig into his shoulder, and graves is enthralled when he begins to fingerfuck him, in and out and again, again -- slow and slick inside of him to get him accustomed. pushing inside of him with his cock is another story entirely, but at least he'll be more ready. ] Ever done this before on your own?
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it's no wonder that his heart cries out to graves for this, for anything he can get from him.
it's a combination of forcing himself to relax and the continued gentleness of graves' fingers thrusting into him, pulling back, and pressing in again that slowly eases him into it, allows him to feel better, to feel something good and he lets out a soft oh of surprise that's almost a gasp, back arching just enough to be noticeable. another sound is more like a barely-there mm before he can gather his thoughts enough to answer. ] No... [ a shaking inhale. ] No, never. I was... going to try, once, but I was afraid so I didn't. [ he sounds almost breathless as he speaks, licking his lips. ]
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[ there is clearly no love lost between graves and the woman who had taken him in -- even if graves is courteous and polite, unwilling to put credence in a more difficult spot than he already is. credence has gotten himself hurt arguing for him, and graves owes him his life, not mary lou's. not that credence has ever said it; after all, he's capable of putting two and two together.
so graves takes care with him, wanting to show him the pleasures of the flesh, the wonders of sex and intimacy; and maybe, just maybe, credence will help him escape this house. he realizes, after a few moments, that it's starting to feel good for the young man, how the discomfort shifts to become something else more sublime. graves continues, unwilling to cut it short and fascinated by his reaction.
he leans forward to kiss him now, tongue sliding against his sensuously, slowly. ] Keep touching me, Credence. Show me what you've fantasized about. [ he wants him to reciprocate, to respond, to reach for him in turn. He smiles faintly. ] This is not a one man show.
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[ it's quiet but trusting - credence could so easily be taken in by someone whose only goal is to harm him, pulled in with a few kind words and assurances. it's everything his heartache has wanted for so long, to be taken care of, to be safe. he needs someone's attentions and care almost more than he needs the air he breathes.
he's trying not to writhe beneath graves' touch but it's difficult. another moment or so has his hips rocking back against his hand of their own accord, but he hears and heeds the words graves says, shifting enough so that he can carefully run his hands over graves' chest, feeling how solid it is before he moves on - ginger touches down his abdomen until he reaches his cock again, long fingers curling around it so that he can stroke him more insistently than before. from root to tip he strokes him firmly, carefully running his thumb over the head, along the ridge. he feels the older man out carefully, touch feather-light only long enough to trail his fingertips along the underside. ] Like this? [ surprisingly, it's not a general question - he's asking what graves likes, specifically. then, after a silence and a breathy noise that might be a moan: ] This is better than those. [ the fantasies. ]