[ fuck, credence is so fucking beautiful. graves sees him in little more than an oversized shirt -- credence had bought that with graves' card; he thinks, he doesn't actually remember. but what he does know now is the fact that he can imagine credence just like that in his bed, fresh from sleep and artfully disheveled, the sun in his dark hair and the light in his eyes.
he thinks of lifting that shirt to see if he's wearing anything underneath, and he swallows hard and tries to think of something else, alarmed by his own lust and desire, how he would hitch him up onto one of his leather couches and get between his knees, to make him mewl and whimper as his mouth closes around his cock --
-- ah, fuck. graves is thinking of fucking him and he's sure credence knows, he's sure he does because the next thing he knows, the young man's sitting on his lap, casual and flirty as you please, but then there's something in his words, the nervous flutter of that smile that makes him tense. there is nothing relaxed about the way he sits in his lap just so, perfectly arranged like he thinks this is what he wants
(credence is not wrong but)
but this is not how he wants it. the tremor of nerves and the strange expectation that graves has never put on him hits home when the boy leans forward to kiss him, that sensuously full, wonderful mouth moving to brush over his and
and he's afraid. credence is afraid and graves has spent his entire life reading people not to figure that one out, and he pulls back. it falls into place now, pieces of a little puzzle that comes together to form a plausible narrative. ]
I didn't take you in to fuck you. [ graves says bluntly, his hands loose by his sides; not touching him. he will return him the dignity that he'd set aside because he thought this is what graves wants. it's cute, almost, but it's also a sobering look into how credence is wired, how he seems so convinced that the toll is due when there is none to be made. ]
Credence. [ he starts again gently, seeking him out. he's so much older than he is, he has so many years on this pretty young thing, and there's no mistaking how much he wants him, but not like this. ] Look at me. Not like this, do you understand?
[ to say that this isn't the reaction that credence anticipated is... a vast understatement. he's so ready for whatever's meant to come next, whatever graves wants from him - he's not a virgin, it's not like he doesn't know what happens - but the older man is pulling away instead and credence startles, suddenly terrified he's done something wrong.
i didn't take you in to fuck you makes his brow furrow in confusion and he stares down at graves both questioning and skittish. ]
No, [ it's soft, almost inaudible. he's definitely not looking at him any more, despite the request. ] I don't understand. No one does anything for free. No one. I don't--what do you want from me, if not this? [ he sounds a little like he's about to cry and he can feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes so he turns his head away, ashamed. this isn't how it was supposed to go.
suddenly his hands are fisting at the front of graves' shirt, his head tipped forward to hide his expression as he takes a choked breath. he feels so stupid, and young, and he'd been so sure. not like this resonates though, somewhat, and he tries another tactic. ] I'll be better. I don't mind, I promise.
[ graves says again, but he makes no move to push him off because even if graves is gently rebuffing the boy, he's still very much a man who desires, more than anything, to lift that shirt and put his hands on him, to touch and kiss and show him just how good it will be to be fucked by him.
he feels like a dirty old pervert, and he doesn't give a shit. credence looks at him like he's ruined something, like this isn't an answer he expects and he's desperately trying to right the ship. to what end, graves is still unclear, but he reaches out to cup his face in his, aching to comfort despite himself. graves is not one who is predisposed to tender emotions, but credence looks and sounds like he's about to cry and graves is not the kind to be unmoved (at least not where credence is concerned, this boy who has captured so much of his attention). ]
I want you. [ he tells him at length, after a moment's thoughtful silence. ] But not like this. You're doing this because you think you owe me something. Look at you, you're nervous. Afraid. You have no debt with me.
[ to be frank, the answer he receives is astounding - it shocks him into a moment's silence. he's too busy leaning into the way graves is cradling his face anyway, exhaling slow and shaking in a manner that practically screams of being so affection-starved that this is something he's desperate to maintain. this doesn't frighten him. this makes his heart pound in his ears.
finally he looks at him again, peeking through his lashes. he's tentative when he speaks, questioning. ] And you'd be okay with it if I never wanted to? Really okay with it? [ he's not saying this is the case - it's likely clear it's not, in fact, seeing how he's already relaxed a little in his lap - but aching for some kind of confirmation.
he's had agency so far but to have it so fully is almost frightening. this time when he leans forward and brushes a kiss across graves' mouth it's not nervous. there's no way he's going to be ready for anything more than that tonight; he's too emotionally drained and has a lot to think about. still, it's something, a soft affection and appreciation that he genuinely feels. ] I don't know why you're so kind to me, but thank you.
[ graves says simply, only because it needs no lengthy explanation. graves is not kind -- he is exacting, disciplined, and a man who knows exactly what to do with power and leverage. in this case, no leverage is needed; the boy is safe from him and the work he does, the boy deserves more than the bleak prospect of dying on the streets in search of a next hot meal. ]
I only detest meaningless exploitation. [ graves barely kisses him back, careful to check, to make sure that it's what he wants. his hands rest on his waist, and the relief he sees on that handsome face is almost heartbreaking. how long has he been brooding over this? how long has he thought that graves will demand sexual favors from him? has it been asked of him before? he is so very young, and the idea of another exploiting credence makes his stomach clench. ] Has there been someone else who's done this to you?
What you're doing is kind. You're not going to change my mind.
[ it's soft but firm: he means it, clearly, and he won't listen to any argument about it. most people wouldn't have done any of this. wouldn't have taken him in, wouldn't have so much as bought him a meal - he would have ended up in prison, that's that. but graves acted differently. is still acting differently. the weight of graves' hands at his waist doesn't make him anxious somehow. it's soothing and he's not sure why.
the question makes him tense again and his gaze skitters away ashamed. he swallows before carefully arranging his face into something less expressive and shrugging like it doesn't mean anything at all. ] I left my ma a long time ago and it's not easy to support yourself. No one gives you anything for free, Mister Graves, and when you don't have anything else people want what they want.
[ he doesn't say if he's ever actually done it, though. ]
[ graves doesn't need an answer when credence's words are telling enough. he doesn't need it explicitly explained to him because what will it solve? the world is a cruel place for people who have little to nothing -- and they are the ones who must learn to survive it or be swallowed up by those who are stronger, bigger.
it's the way of the world and graves has done so much of that himself. he is no saint, and his hands are bloody from the work that he does for his country, but he doesn't belabor the point. credence is an exception in so many, many ways, and he keeps his hands there, acutely aware that the boy probably isn't wearing any underwear under the shirt (you tend to dispense with that kind of formality when you know it's going to end up on the ground anyway). he learns to read credence like a book, sees the shame in his eyes and the way that defense mechanism comes up -- and he thinks of credence on his knees blowing some fucker, bent over a table or another with his legs spread for another, and he knows he definitely isn't going to be one of them.
not unless credence genuinely, truly wants it. ]
You're entitled to all your rights and your space with me. [ he tells him quietly, reaching up to brush light fingers just barely over the line of his jaw. ] I won't pursue unless you genuinely want me to, Credence. And all of this here is still yours to use, and have.
[ credence doesn't know how to respond for a long time. graves isn't anything like he's used to and that makes him feel strange; he's not used to feeling positive emotions about people and while he's liked the older man since nearly the beginning but this is different, better, easier. he doesn't think about the past anymore, doesn't think about any of the assholes he's had to deal with before.
(okay, graves can be an asshole, but not like that.)
he looks at him for a very long time, dark eyes searching his face. he exhales a shaking breath and leans into the touch again, eyes lidding almost shut. it's so nice, gentle, not what he's used to. he licks his lips and it's a little nervous again but for a different reason. ] I... like you.
[ he winces - it sounds like such a stupid thing to say, like he's a child. he knows he's young, but... ] You're different. [ he turns his head, hands grasping for graves' wrist so he can nuzzle against his palm, press his lips there just barely. ] But you'll be patient with me? I don't... want it to be like that. I want it to be like this. [ gentler, slower, better. he makes credence feel like he might actually be worth something.
(this is not to say he won't feel more comfortable later.) ]
[ graves can be every kind of asshole, but definitely not like that. his assholery has limits and they extend to credence in most things. he's looking back at him steadily, because he means what he says and if credence is looking for proof he will find it right here, right where he lets credence take the lead (which is actually new for graves in just about every way). he licks his lips and graves fights not to be drawn to it, even if he's already half-hard under him.
fuck.
but then credence says the most ridiculously innocent things and graves is reminded of how young he is despite the fact that he has to grow up far too quickly, he's reminded that he's barely an adult, and his gaze is drawn to how credence presses a kiss to his palm, warm and soft and all he thinks of is how he wants that mouth on his cock, how he wants him on his knees, and he swallows.
no, not now. ] Yes. [ he promises, because credence is worth it. he has to be; graves wanted him since the moment he sat down with him at dinner. ] You have all the time in the world, and I'm in no hurry.
[ although as a hot-blooded, virile male a part of him hopes credence doesn't take years. ]
[ credence does find what he's looking for in graves' face, at least for now. he still has more questions but he's satisfied for the moment. and of course: there's no way he doesn't feel the way the way the older man has started to harden beneath him but the fact that he's not pushing him, not trying to get him to "take care of it for me, just this once" like so many other men might.
he knows that graves wants him. it's obvious now, the way he looks at him, the way he holds him. credence shifts where he sits, not trying to make things worse but just getting a little more comfortable for the moment. ] Thank you.
[ after a series of long moments he moves to slide off of graves' lap, standing before him thoughtful and quiet. then he leans forward, one hand resting on the arm of the chair. he presses a slow and lingering kiss to the older man's mouth, his other hand moving up to run his fingers through his dark hair, nails scraping once over the silvered bits at the sides. is it a test? he's not saying.
he pulls back afterward, smiling faintly. it's genuine this time, even. ] I'm happy here.
[ he's happy here, and the simplicity of such a statement brings with it something heart-warming, compelling, and he can't help but smile faintly at that. what a strange thing for credence to say, but all in keeping with his nature, he's realised. underneath the brittle exterior is someone softer, someone who only needs a chance.
graves makes no indication that he intends to act on his arousal, and he kisses him back as he lets him go, leaning into his touch. if this is a test, he knows he's just passed with flying colors. ]
Good. I would hope you continue to be so. [ he responds simply. it's more and more easy to acknowledge credence as a staple in his penthouse, to have another person in this massive space, and he's getting used to having him around; especially after his comprehensive background checks turned up on the second day and assured graves that he's clean (one can't be too careful). he grabs a hold of his hand, before brushing a kiss to his knuckles, his eyes dark and full of promise. ]
[ graves has in fact passed with flying colors. it makes credence's smile widen a little despite himself, eyes a little brighter maybe. just a little.
credence honestly can't believe he's being treated so gently and he stares into the older man's eyes as his hand is kissed and it drags a flush from the tips of his ears all the way down to where it disappears under the collar of his shirt. which is a little funny, considering he's just been sitting in his lap in nothing but said shirt and had been willing to sleep with him if pressed--
--still, he rubs at his face with the back of his arm, kind of embarrassed about it. ] I think I will be.
[ it's soft, and before he leaves he actually leans in to kiss his cheek like he can't help himself. ] Goodnight. [ it's definitely time for him to flee, before he embarrasses himself more. he disappears back into the corridor with little fanfare. ]
[ it's months later when it happens, when a syndicate takes credence away and holds him hostage for information on a weapon locked away in graves' most confidential files, and graves discovers what he's had under his nose all along, the son of a long-deceased politician who -- has had several clandestine dealings -- but the long and short of it is that credence has absolutely nothing to do with any of it; the boy had been an infant when his mother had been assassinated, and graves takes the abduction very personally.
it's because credence is his adopted son, is the rumor mill going around in the bureau -- which thankfully didn't reach the person he answers to -- and graves makes the sindicate regret ever laying a hand on credence within three long, sleepless days. the raid had been ruthlessly executed, put together in record time when graves personally decided to enter the field against strong advice to do otherwise.
they kill just about all of them save one or two in that raid, seizing every scrap of information on their operations. the two survivors are apprehended and taken to a black site, where graves knows there's no coming back from (he'll make personally sure of it, too). credence, after having been reviewed by a physician and cleared as safe to return, is finally back in the privacy of graves' penthouse.
he takes extra precautions this time around, even if credence hadn't been abducted from this apartment. one can never be too careful, and graves isn't in the mood to risk another abduction. he's still smarting from the fact that they hadn't managed to uncover this in the background checks -- although to be fair there's no background check in the world that can uncover something like that.
he pours him a glass of water, sleeves folded up to his elbows. he's carefully watching credence, observing him for any signs of abnormal trauma, or any kind of shock that will require immediate medical attention. in some cases, shock can present belatedly, or even repeatedly. ]
Do you want to sleep with me tonight? [ he asks finally. ] In the literal sense.
[ it immediately shatters every sense of security that credence had slowly built up over the months he'd been living with graves. not when it comes to the older man - no, that won't change any time soon - but in general, the feeling of quiet malaise that had finally (blissfully) left him some time ago returning in full force.
still, a part of him somehow manages to keep from being frightened. as terrifying as the experience is he knows it will have to end soon and he clings to that thought. he's kept in a locked room until they catch him trying to climb out the previously barred window. it seems they haven't looked into him enough to know of his past; they've only seen him with graves and decided to take a chance.
so then he's kept bound instead, hands behind his back uncomfortably with the thick zip ties tight enough to bruise. it's not the only mark he gets. he's sitting across from one of the men when he tips his head aside before tossing his hair back out of his face. he's going to kill you, he says, soft and certain, and it earns him a backhand that splits his lip and bruises his cheek and makes him bite his tongue. credence just smiles in response, just a little bloody, and whispers now he'll do it slow.
a lot of it is bravado because he feels so small and lost here, but he also knows it's not far from the truth. it's another day before he sees the older man and the bruises have blossomed dark on his face. he looks at him with wide eyes before they narrow and he hisses a vindictive kill them all.
and, well, here they are.
being in graves' apartment again makes him a little anxious but not being alone in it helps. he has his arms resting on the counter he's sitting at, both hands on the glass of water but not drinking any of it. it's almost as though it takes him a moment to process the question properly but then he looks up and over at him, quietly observing graves' face before he nods. his shoulders are hunched and he's leaning forward, reminiscent of when he'd first moved in. ] Please. I don't want to be alone.
[ graves had been enraged when he saw the bruises, the physical evidence of what's been done to credence -- and what would have been done if graves had been slower in getting to him, the consequences of which he's not prepared to see come to fruition. credence hisses, knows graves is here for him, and graves doesn't hesitate to do as he says.
agents like them have free rein when it comes to ops like these (they would be a lot less effective otherwise) and here they are, back in his apartment, together again, and graves feels the weight of the sleepless nights, the constant pressure and the fear he keeps at bay, refusing to consider the worst possibility.
and now it's credence, safe and sound, looking up and him and telling him he doesn't want to be alone. he nods, a hand lightly resting on the back of his neck, careful and gentle. ]
All right. Come to me when you're done with your shower. [ he'll take a quick one, himself -- and see where the rest of the night takes them. ]
[ at first the hand at his neck makes him tense - it's not graves at all, more a conditioned response to any touch after the past few days - but that drains out of him quickly and he practically leans into it, breathing out and letting his eyes flutter shut. when he pulls himself off of the stool reluctantly he nods, eyes flicking over to look at him. he manages a tiny smile. ] All right. I shouldn't be long.
[ he drinks some of the water before he disappears to take his shower, but he does take a little longer than strictly necessary. the reason why is immediately apparent when he comes into graves' room, looking exhausted. his skin is red and almost raw, a mix of nearly-scalding water and scrubbing himself relentlessly. even his face, where the split on his lip looks almost fresh because he's opened it again in his vigorous washing. he's in pajamas and his hair is very slightly damp but he sits at the edge of the bed, chewing on his lip even though that just makes it hurt more.
he's still not sure he feels clean, but it's a start. it's strange to be here and to sit on this bed, even if he knows he could have whenever he liked. ] Thank you.
[ graves looks up from his place in an armchair near the bed; he had taken a shower of his own, making some calls while he hears the water running in credence's room, and a preliminary scan of the reports he's just been sent. credence is a mess, he can see it, his skin rubbed raw and his lip almost bleeding again. graves frowns, rising from it and setting his phone aside. he's in a simple white shirt and pants, evidently preparing to go to sleep as well.
credence is the one who needs him tonight, and he moves forward, his fingers gentle as they grasp his chin, easing his bottom lip free. ]
Don't do that. You'll open it up again. [ if it hasn't already. it'll close up on its own, but only if credence allows it. ] Do you need anything?
[ credence watches graves move, eyes following him ceaselessly. he tips his head up into the touch almost despite himself but he relents, licking his lips once before leaving it alone. ] Sorry. [ it's automatic and very quiet. his hands are balled into fists and resting on his knees and he doesn't know what to do with himself.
do you need anything?
credence shakes his head, tipping it forward again. that's only brief before he stands suddenly, both hands grasping at the front of graves' shirt as he tucks his face in against his neck. it probably looks ridiculous - credence is a little taller than him after all - but he doesn't care, eyes clenched shut. for a long moment he just breathes, not crying but sounding oddly hitched.
then, muffled: ] I knew you'd come for me. [ such a blatant show of trust and faith: it's important, from someone like him. ]
[ always. it's a promise he'll keep to the end of his days, whenever that is. his arms winding around credence's lean frame, his hand comes to rest on the back of his head, cradling him there like a lover. credence fits nicely against him, and he can only imagine the fear and the trauma he'd been through all the same. three days of it can fuck anyone up -- and not for the first time he thinks the dead have gotten off too easy.
he buries his face in his damp hair, breathing in the smell of his shampoo, fresh and clean, a reminder of how credence has made a life with him here, getting back on his feet and exploring his options -- the things you can do with your life when you don't have to worry about where your next meal is coming from.
he doesn't miss the show of trust, of faith; it's humbling, and he closes his eyes. ]
[ the promise makes him suck in a breath but he doesn't move, just stays coiled against him like that and soaking in every bit of affection he can get. credence's hands finally smooth out flat instead of clutching at fabric quite so tightly. he feels like he can truly breathe for the first time in days. at those last words though, he shakes his head. just a little. ]
I'd wait as long as it took.
[ simple, quiet. finally, he straightens enough to look at him, dark eyes searching his face. he does this often these days, slightly owlish expression taking in the sight of him. it seems different now though, somehow. he brushes his lips across graves' cheek, his jaw, then kisses him on the mouth - very softly, barely there. ]
[ there are bruises on that beautiful face -- his anger still simmering despite the fact that he has paid the perpetrators their due. they looked upon his face and hurt him, those lovely dark eyes and his lips -- they took him from graves and tortured him, and he has to swallow to fight down that anger.
he can feel it, the heat of his hands against his shirt, a desire stirring to life even if he knows he will do nothing against credence's will, not even to ask. he kisses him back, just as soft, just as tender, mindful of his cut lip. ]
[ somehow, credence hadn't expected to actually be questioned about the quiet thought. it's stupid to have thought that though, and he hesitates before he says anything. he seems shy again suddenly but he doesn't look away. ]
You.
[ soft, barely audible. his hand comes up to touch the side of his face, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. ] I don't know how else to say it. I want to stay with you. Always.
[ one day, graves thinks, credence will find someone his age -- he'll find someone new and maybe this won't last. graves is not naive; he's left a string of failed relationships in his wake, and perhaps this would be the same, or this would surprise him, but he's leaning into credence's touch nonetheless, softly seeking him out, lips brushing over the pads of his fingertips.
he's smitten with him, drawn to credence in ways he knows is wrong -- he's twice his age, for one, but the infatuation has barely faded, deepened into something else he's constantly aware of. ]
You're welcome to stay as long as you like. [ he says in turn, eyes lidding as he wraps his arms around his waist. ] How do I make you feel better?
[ credence doesn't think about that: why would he, when the man before him has all of his attention, all of his affection? the idle kisses to his fingers send a tingling feeling through him, a pleasant thing that credence doesn't have much context for.
he shakes his head, leaning into graves' chest, enjoying the way he's holding on to him. ] You already do. All the time. [ he tips his head aside, this time trailing his lips across the path his fingers took last. then he settles at the pulse point below the older man's ear, lips and then teeth barely grazing it. ] You make me feel safe, and real, and wanted.
[ his attentions change then, just a little. he presses a heated kiss to where he'd just been barely touching, teeth scraping a little harder before he sucks lightly at the spot with a hum.
he wants to taste his skin, assure himself graves is really here, even if he has to pull away later. ]
[ graves tenses very minutely for only a few moments when he feels the kiss below his ear, the titillating graze of teeth and the heated press of lips and more -- as if credence is marking him for himself somehow, settling back into his territory and assuring himself that everywhere is where he's left it.
graves understands the feeling very well, and he leans into it after, curious and just a little turned on. he knows he won't push the matter, but the yearning for credence, for more, is curling in the pit of his stomach, a fire that simmers under his skin like a powerful, undeniable thing. the only reason why this is easier to quell is because of his awareness that credence has only just experienced something harrowing. he makes a soft, inaudible noise at his attentions, his hand coming to cradle the back of his head, tangling in his dark hair. ]
Credence. [ he breathes, soft and private. is he telling him to stop or continue? for the first time in a long while, he's not too clear on that. ] You must be tired.
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he thinks of lifting that shirt to see if he's wearing anything underneath, and he swallows hard and tries to think of something else, alarmed by his own lust and desire, how he would hitch him up onto one of his leather couches and get between his knees, to make him mewl and whimper as his mouth closes around his cock --
-- ah, fuck. graves is thinking of fucking him and he's sure credence knows, he's sure he does because the next thing he knows, the young man's sitting on his lap, casual and flirty as you please, but then there's something in his words, the nervous flutter of that smile that makes him tense. there is nothing relaxed about the way he sits in his lap just so, perfectly arranged like he thinks this is what he wants
(credence is not wrong but)
but this is not how he wants it. the tremor of nerves and the strange expectation that graves has never put on him hits home when the boy leans forward to kiss him, that sensuously full, wonderful mouth moving to brush over his and
and he's afraid. credence is afraid and graves has spent his entire life reading people not to figure that one out, and he pulls back. it falls into place now, pieces of a little puzzle that comes together to form a plausible narrative. ]
I didn't take you in to fuck you. [ graves says bluntly, his hands loose by his sides; not touching him. he will return him the dignity that he'd set aside because he thought this is what graves wants. it's cute, almost, but it's also a sobering look into how credence is wired, how he seems so convinced that the toll is due when there is none to be made. ]
Credence. [ he starts again gently, seeking him out. he's so much older than he is, he has so many years on this pretty young thing, and there's no mistaking how much he wants him, but not like this. ] Look at me. Not like this, do you understand?
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i didn't take you in to fuck you makes his brow furrow in confusion and he stares down at graves both questioning and skittish. ]
No, [ it's soft, almost inaudible. he's definitely not looking at him any more, despite the request. ] I don't understand. No one does anything for free. No one. I don't--what do you want from me, if not this? [ he sounds a little like he's about to cry and he can feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes so he turns his head away, ashamed. this isn't how it was supposed to go.
suddenly his hands are fisting at the front of graves' shirt, his head tipped forward to hide his expression as he takes a choked breath. he feels so stupid, and young, and he'd been so sure. not like this resonates though, somewhat, and he tries another tactic. ] I'll be better. I don't mind, I promise.
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[ graves says again, but he makes no move to push him off because even if graves is gently rebuffing the boy, he's still very much a man who desires, more than anything, to lift that shirt and put his hands on him, to touch and kiss and show him just how good it will be to be fucked by him.
he feels like a dirty old pervert, and he doesn't give a shit. credence looks at him like he's ruined something, like this isn't an answer he expects and he's desperately trying to right the ship. to what end, graves is still unclear, but he reaches out to cup his face in his, aching to comfort despite himself. graves is not one who is predisposed to tender emotions, but credence looks and sounds like he's about to cry and graves is not the kind to be unmoved (at least not where credence is concerned, this boy who has captured so much of his attention). ]
I want you. [ he tells him at length, after a moment's thoughtful silence. ] But not like this. You're doing this because you think you owe me something. Look at you, you're nervous. Afraid. You have no debt with me.
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finally he looks at him again, peeking through his lashes. he's tentative when he speaks, questioning. ] And you'd be okay with it if I never wanted to? Really okay with it? [ he's not saying this is the case - it's likely clear it's not, in fact, seeing how he's already relaxed a little in his lap - but aching for some kind of confirmation.
he's had agency so far but to have it so fully is almost frightening. this time when he leans forward and brushes a kiss across graves' mouth it's not nervous. there's no way he's going to be ready for anything more than that tonight; he's too emotionally drained and has a lot to think about. still, it's something, a soft affection and appreciation that he genuinely feels. ] I don't know why you're so kind to me, but thank you.
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[ graves says simply, only because it needs no lengthy explanation. graves is not kind -- he is exacting, disciplined, and a man who knows exactly what to do with power and leverage. in this case, no leverage is needed; the boy is safe from him and the work he does, the boy deserves more than the bleak prospect of dying on the streets in search of a next hot meal. ]
I only detest meaningless exploitation. [ graves barely kisses him back, careful to check, to make sure that it's what he wants. his hands rest on his waist, and the relief he sees on that handsome face is almost heartbreaking. how long has he been brooding over this? how long has he thought that graves will demand sexual favors from him? has it been asked of him before? he is so very young, and the idea of another exploiting credence makes his stomach clench. ] Has there been someone else who's done this to you?
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[ it's soft but firm: he means it, clearly, and he won't listen to any argument about it. most people wouldn't have done any of this. wouldn't have taken him in, wouldn't have so much as bought him a meal - he would have ended up in prison, that's that. but graves acted differently. is still acting differently. the weight of graves' hands at his waist doesn't make him anxious somehow. it's soothing and he's not sure why.
the question makes him tense again and his gaze skitters away ashamed. he swallows before carefully arranging his face into something less expressive and shrugging like it doesn't mean anything at all. ] I left my ma a long time ago and it's not easy to support yourself. No one gives you anything for free, Mister Graves, and when you don't have anything else people want what they want.
[ he doesn't say if he's ever actually done it, though. ]
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it's the way of the world and graves has done so much of that himself. he is no saint, and his hands are bloody from the work that he does for his country, but he doesn't belabor the point. credence is an exception in so many, many ways, and he keeps his hands there, acutely aware that the boy probably isn't wearing any underwear under the shirt (you tend to dispense with that kind of formality when you know it's going to end up on the ground anyway). he learns to read credence like a book, sees the shame in his eyes and the way that defense mechanism comes up -- and he thinks of credence on his knees blowing some fucker, bent over a table or another with his legs spread for another, and he knows he definitely isn't going to be one of them.
not unless credence genuinely, truly wants it. ]
You're entitled to all your rights and your space with me. [ he tells him quietly, reaching up to brush light fingers just barely over the line of his jaw. ] I won't pursue unless you genuinely want me to, Credence. And all of this here is still yours to use, and have.
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(okay, graves can be an asshole, but not like that.)
he looks at him for a very long time, dark eyes searching his face. he exhales a shaking breath and leans into the touch again, eyes lidding almost shut. it's so nice, gentle, not what he's used to. he licks his lips and it's a little nervous again but for a different reason. ] I... like you.
[ he winces - it sounds like such a stupid thing to say, like he's a child. he knows he's young, but... ] You're different. [ he turns his head, hands grasping for graves' wrist so he can nuzzle against his palm, press his lips there just barely. ] But you'll be patient with me? I don't... want it to be like that. I want it to be like this. [ gentler, slower, better. he makes credence feel like he might actually be worth something.
(this is not to say he won't feel more comfortable later.) ]
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fuck.
but then credence says the most ridiculously innocent things and graves is reminded of how young he is despite the fact that he has to grow up far too quickly, he's reminded that he's barely an adult, and his gaze is drawn to how credence presses a kiss to his palm, warm and soft and all he thinks of is how he wants that mouth on his cock, how he wants him on his knees, and he swallows.
no, not now. ] Yes. [ he promises, because credence is worth it. he has to be; graves wanted him since the moment he sat down with him at dinner. ] You have all the time in the world, and I'm in no hurry.
[ although as a hot-blooded, virile male a part of him hopes credence doesn't take years. ]
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he knows that graves wants him. it's obvious now, the way he looks at him, the way he holds him. credence shifts where he sits, not trying to make things worse but just getting a little more comfortable for the moment. ] Thank you.
[ after a series of long moments he moves to slide off of graves' lap, standing before him thoughtful and quiet. then he leans forward, one hand resting on the arm of the chair. he presses a slow and lingering kiss to the older man's mouth, his other hand moving up to run his fingers through his dark hair, nails scraping once over the silvered bits at the sides. is it a test? he's not saying.
he pulls back afterward, smiling faintly. it's genuine this time, even. ] I'm happy here.
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graves makes no indication that he intends to act on his arousal, and he kisses him back as he lets him go, leaning into his touch. if this is a test, he knows he's just passed with flying colors. ]
Good. I would hope you continue to be so. [ he responds simply. it's more and more easy to acknowledge credence as a staple in his penthouse, to have another person in this massive space, and he's getting used to having him around; especially after his comprehensive background checks turned up on the second day and assured graves that he's clean (one can't be too careful). he grabs a hold of his hand, before brushing a kiss to his knuckles, his eyes dark and full of promise. ]
Goodnight, Credence.
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credence honestly can't believe he's being treated so gently and he stares into the older man's eyes as his hand is kissed and it drags a flush from the tips of his ears all the way down to where it disappears under the collar of his shirt. which is a little funny, considering he's just been sitting in his lap in nothing but said shirt and had been willing to sleep with him if pressed--
--still, he rubs at his face with the back of his arm, kind of embarrassed about it. ] I think I will be.
[ it's soft, and before he leaves he actually leans in to kiss his cheek like he can't help himself. ] Goodnight. [ it's definitely time for him to flee, before he embarrasses himself more. he disappears back into the corridor with little fanfare. ]
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it's because credence is his adopted son, is the rumor mill going around in the bureau -- which thankfully didn't reach the person he answers to -- and graves makes the sindicate regret ever laying a hand on credence within three long, sleepless days. the raid had been ruthlessly executed, put together in record time when graves personally decided to enter the field against strong advice to do otherwise.
they kill just about all of them save one or two in that raid, seizing every scrap of information on their operations. the two survivors are apprehended and taken to a black site, where graves knows there's no coming back from (he'll make personally sure of it, too). credence, after having been reviewed by a physician and cleared as safe to return, is finally back in the privacy of graves' penthouse.
he takes extra precautions this time around, even if credence hadn't been abducted from this apartment. one can never be too careful, and graves isn't in the mood to risk another abduction. he's still smarting from the fact that they hadn't managed to uncover this in the background checks -- although to be fair there's no background check in the world that can uncover something like that.
he pours him a glass of water, sleeves folded up to his elbows. he's carefully watching credence, observing him for any signs of abnormal trauma, or any kind of shock that will require immediate medical attention. in some cases, shock can present belatedly, or even repeatedly. ]
Do you want to sleep with me tonight? [ he asks finally. ] In the literal sense.
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still, a part of him somehow manages to keep from being frightened. as terrifying as the experience is he knows it will have to end soon and he clings to that thought. he's kept in a locked room until they catch him trying to climb out the previously barred window. it seems they haven't looked into him enough to know of his past; they've only seen him with graves and decided to take a chance.
so then he's kept bound instead, hands behind his back uncomfortably with the thick zip ties tight enough to bruise. it's not the only mark he gets. he's sitting across from one of the men when he tips his head aside before tossing his hair back out of his face. he's going to kill you, he says, soft and certain, and it earns him a backhand that splits his lip and bruises his cheek and makes him bite his tongue. credence just smiles in response, just a little bloody, and whispers now he'll do it slow.
a lot of it is bravado because he feels so small and lost here, but he also knows it's not far from the truth. it's another day before he sees the older man and the bruises have blossomed dark on his face. he looks at him with wide eyes before they narrow and he hisses a vindictive kill them all.
and, well, here they are.
being in graves' apartment again makes him a little anxious but not being alone in it helps. he has his arms resting on the counter he's sitting at, both hands on the glass of water but not drinking any of it. it's almost as though it takes him a moment to process the question properly but then he looks up and over at him, quietly observing graves' face before he nods. his shoulders are hunched and he's leaning forward, reminiscent of when he'd first moved in. ] Please. I don't want to be alone.
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agents like them have free rein when it comes to ops like these (they would be a lot less effective otherwise) and here they are, back in his apartment, together again, and graves feels the weight of the sleepless nights, the constant pressure and the fear he keeps at bay, refusing to consider the worst possibility.
and now it's credence, safe and sound, looking up and him and telling him he doesn't want to be alone. he nods, a hand lightly resting on the back of his neck, careful and gentle. ]
All right. Come to me when you're done with your shower. [ he'll take a quick one, himself -- and see where the rest of the night takes them. ]
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[ he drinks some of the water before he disappears to take his shower, but he does take a little longer than strictly necessary. the reason why is immediately apparent when he comes into graves' room, looking exhausted. his skin is red and almost raw, a mix of nearly-scalding water and scrubbing himself relentlessly. even his face, where the split on his lip looks almost fresh because he's opened it again in his vigorous washing. he's in pajamas and his hair is very slightly damp but he sits at the edge of the bed, chewing on his lip even though that just makes it hurt more.
he's still not sure he feels clean, but it's a start. it's strange to be here and to sit on this bed, even if he knows he could have whenever he liked. ] Thank you.
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credence is the one who needs him tonight, and he moves forward, his fingers gentle as they grasp his chin, easing his bottom lip free. ]
Don't do that. You'll open it up again. [ if it hasn't already. it'll close up on its own, but only if credence allows it. ] Do you need anything?
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do you need anything?
credence shakes his head, tipping it forward again. that's only brief before he stands suddenly, both hands grasping at the front of graves' shirt as he tucks his face in against his neck. it probably looks ridiculous - credence is a little taller than him after all - but he doesn't care, eyes clenched shut. for a long moment he just breathes, not crying but sounding oddly hitched.
then, muffled: ] I knew you'd come for me. [ such a blatant show of trust and faith: it's important, from someone like him. ]
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[ always. it's a promise he'll keep to the end of his days, whenever that is. his arms winding around credence's lean frame, his hand comes to rest on the back of his head, cradling him there like a lover. credence fits nicely against him, and he can only imagine the fear and the trauma he'd been through all the same. three days of it can fuck anyone up -- and not for the first time he thinks the dead have gotten off too easy.
he buries his face in his damp hair, breathing in the smell of his shampoo, fresh and clean, a reminder of how credence has made a life with him here, getting back on his feet and exploring his options -- the things you can do with your life when you don't have to worry about where your next meal is coming from.
he doesn't miss the show of trust, of faith; it's humbling, and he closes his eyes. ]
I've kept you waiting.
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I'd wait as long as it took.
[ simple, quiet. finally, he straightens enough to look at him, dark eyes searching his face. he does this often these days, slightly owlish expression taking in the sight of him. it seems different now though, somehow. he brushes his lips across graves' cheek, his jaw, then kisses him on the mouth - very softly, barely there. ]
Sometimes I'm scared of how much I feel.
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he can feel it, the heat of his hands against his shirt, a desire stirring to life even if he knows he will do nothing against credence's will, not even to ask. he kisses him back, just as soft, just as tender, mindful of his cut lip. ]
How much you feel about what?
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You.
[ soft, barely audible. his hand comes up to touch the side of his face, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. ] I don't know how else to say it. I want to stay with you. Always.
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he's smitten with him, drawn to credence in ways he knows is wrong -- he's twice his age, for one, but the infatuation has barely faded, deepened into something else he's constantly aware of. ]
You're welcome to stay as long as you like. [ he says in turn, eyes lidding as he wraps his arms around his waist. ] How do I make you feel better?
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he shakes his head, leaning into graves' chest, enjoying the way he's holding on to him. ] You already do. All the time. [ he tips his head aside, this time trailing his lips across the path his fingers took last. then he settles at the pulse point below the older man's ear, lips and then teeth barely grazing it. ] You make me feel safe, and real, and wanted.
[ his attentions change then, just a little. he presses a heated kiss to where he'd just been barely touching, teeth scraping a little harder before he sucks lightly at the spot with a hum.
he wants to taste his skin, assure himself graves is really here, even if he has to pull away later. ]
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graves understands the feeling very well, and he leans into it after, curious and just a little turned on. he knows he won't push the matter, but the yearning for credence, for more, is curling in the pit of his stomach, a fire that simmers under his skin like a powerful, undeniable thing. the only reason why this is easier to quell is because of his awareness that credence has only just experienced something harrowing. he makes a soft, inaudible noise at his attentions, his hand coming to cradle the back of his head, tangling in his dark hair. ]
Credence. [ he breathes, soft and private. is he telling him to stop or continue? for the first time in a long while, he's not too clear on that. ] You must be tired.
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