[ credence doesn't want to leave but he doesn't know what else to do. he loves graves desperately and with his whole being and he says so often - or he did until he got so tired of not hearing it back that he avoids saying it as much to avoid giving himself that twinge of pain each time. even so he does still say it, soft murmurs against his lover's mouth or into his hair or burrowed in his neck. it just hurts too much to say it often.
he's been working internationally more often and he meets another model while doing work in germany. gellert is charming and magnetic and attractive and wants him.
credence doesn't love him. he has no intentions of sleeping with him, either: he's not like that. but gellert tells him that he deserves better, he deserves someone that can express his feelings, he needs to take hold of his own life instead of being a kept boy. (one not worth loving, is the implication behind gellert's words, and credence doesn't even realize that meaning until later.)
still, it's two months afterward, two months of gellert texting him that he should leave graves, that finally sets credence to working on it. he takes a week to prepare, putting a lease in on an apartment, making sure it's furnished, paying his bills two months in advance, and, one day while graves is at work, packing.
he doesn't take anything that graves has paid for: he only packs things that he's bought with his modeling money and packs it all away neatly. he gets everything situated in his new place and then goes back to the penthouse to wait. he's not going to do it over the phone or via text. graves deserves better than that. it's been two years since credence moved in and a year since credence first told graves that he loves him. he sits on the sofa stiff and quiet and he doesn't cry. his key and a card with his new address on it are on the kitchen counter.
[ they've been drifting apart lately -- credence has been taking more jobs overseas, and graves has been working harder; something's gone wrong between them, the inevitable strain of something graves can't quite put his finger on but recognises because it's happened so many times before with the people that he loves. eventually, the strain of being with him gets to them. graves is a good man, he's just not a good partner, and despite his love for credence, there is so much he still has to work through with himself.
but maybe his biggest mistake is assuming that credence will always be there for him. after all, what they have is something powerful, something real, something graves has never felt more strongly. even if the increased texting credence is doing since his return from germany's stuck in the back of his mind -- duly dismissed because credence has never been the cheating type.
graves comes home late tonight, and oblivious to what is to come. it's been a long day, and the sight of credence sitting ramrod straight on their sofa, quiet and tense, surprises him.
[ a year ago, credence would have folded without even telling graves what was wrong. he would have smiled, said he had a bad day, then kissed him and swanned into the kitchen to snatch up the key and notecard before graves saw them. eat the cost on the apartment. now though, he looks at graves quietly a moment, searching his face.
it's still a struggle.
he stands, doesn't smile, and moves over to graves. when he looks at him it's very quiet and he places his hands on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing slowly through fabric. then he takes a deep breath and forces himself to say it. ] I have to go.
[ that's... not going to tell him anything. ] I need time by myself to think. I got an apartment nearby, and... [ his fingers flex down once before he drops his arms to his sides again, head down. ] It's been a year, Percival. A year since I told you that I love you. A year, and I know you care, but you've never... [ and so his hands clench at his sides-- ]
You've never said it. I know actions speak louder, but I need to hear it to even make that comparison.
[ he takes a deep, shuddering breath. when he speaks he sounds desperate. ] Say it, Percival. Tell me you love me. Make me believe it and I won't go anywhere until the day I die.
a year before, graves wouldn't be as deeply in love with him as he is now -- he's not a man predisposed to much sentiment, but somehow the younger man has made his way under his skin, given him incredible contentment and happiness like he'd never actually known. still, he's never shaken the idea that this will not last. his very nature and his commitment to his job excludes just about every kind of conventional social and family life -- and that credence has lasted this long speaks so much of his strength and devotion.
even so.
he looks back at him, a coldness gripping and tightening around his heart. this is clearly something he's been planning for awhile; from the apartment to this meeting, to the fact that despite what he does, credence still doesn't know how much he loves him.
he forces his expression into something neutral; the flicker of something resembling surprise and hurt disappearing. credence has been nursing this for so long; clawing for meaning in the unspoken -- things graves has thought he'd made so very clear.
he fights not to clench his fists, leaving them loose at his sides. ]
If you don't believe that I love you until I say it -- even after everything; how will these three words change things?
[ credence notices the flicker in graves' expression and he feels guilt and nausea sinking down on him. but he's always let guilt control him and they both need this to be something cleansing. he just hopes that graves will realize that too before it's too late. i love you, i love you, his mind screams, why is that so hard? ]
How will they change things? [ credence's brows furrow and he looks at him, a little hurt expression trailing over his face as well. ] You don't get it. Why can't you say it? What are you so afraid of that makes it so you can't say it? You can do things but it's like you're pretending you don't and not saying it protects you from... what? Being more vulnerable?
[ he sounds frustrated because he is. his head tips forward, hands scrubbing through his hair. ] I've been vulnerable since the minute I stepped through the front door, Percival.
[ if he says it -- a part of him thinks it'll be more real than what it is now; and that means he has so much more to lose. it's irrational, it doesn't make the faintest lick of sense. graves has almost lost credence on so many occasions that the thought of it makes his stomach clench.
he dreads moments like these, when all his careful constructed walls and defenses are discovered -- and even when he loves credence he's hiding from him, from that open vulnerability that begs graves to love him. and he does, he does. it's just that the words are caught in his throat.
it protects him, credence is right. it doesn't make him vulnerable, doesn't strip him down and before this, what graves gave credence had been enough, hadn't it? credence has been vulnerable the minute he stepped through the front door, and graves still desperately clings to the last vestiges of his pride.
how did love become something like this, that to say it would mean conceding a kind of defeat. he can see the hurt written so clearly across that handsome, lovely face, he can see the frustration, the helplessness, and he is only sorry that he is the cause of them -- the last thing graves wants to cause credence is distress.
and here they are, at a crossroads and he takes a breath. ]
And why do you want me to say it, Credence? So that you can see me as vulnerable as you are, is that it? Because all this -- everything that I give you, is somehow not enough.
Because I deserve to hear it. [ something trembles in credence's face then, when graves says that. it's difficult to say whether it's fury or a deep and desperate hurt or both. but something flashes across his face before it shutters away entirely, jaw set and tight. he can't get out any more than those few words for a moment.
to have graves say that, to assume that he wants it out of something cruel or selfish, hurts him to the core. it feels a little like his heart's been ripped out of his chest and he wants to just--sob, to throw something, to coil the pain around himself until that's all he is. everything that i give you rings in his ears over and over and he tips his chin up to turn and walk stiffly into the kitchen and grab the key and notecard off the counter to bring back to graves so that he can hold them out to him, eyes sharp but blank. ] If you're worried about everything you give me, don't worry. I'll pay you back.
[ he pushes his hand with the key and address out further, urging graves to take it. ] Here. Your key and my new address. My number is going to stay the same. If you ever decide that saying three words to me isn't going to kill you or let me cut off your hair like Samson, you'll know where I am.
[ graves knows he's made a terrible mistake when he sees the pain in credence's eyes, genuine and so very obvious before he closes himself off. this is worse than credence crying, when he shuts down and graves is very aware of the fact that he's hiding himself from him in turn.
he knows how it sounds, what he's said and what credence hears, and something in his chest twists. he loves him, more than anything else he's ever loved before, but he'd always assumed that giving him whatever he wants, whenever he wants it is enough.
no, he's asking more of him, something graves has consistently, constantly avoided. love is giving someone a gun and trusting them not to shoot you; it's giving them your heart and trusting that they won't, and here graves is, hurting his young lover all over again.
his heart sinks when he gives him the key and the card, and it's more than a slap in the face -- if he doesn't say it, one day he'll lose him, and the outcome will be the same. even so, something in him stops his words short.
no, if he says it now, there won't be any meaning in it, will there? he wordlessly takes the card and key, looking down at the address he'd written in neat little letters, and he swallows hard. ]
I don't care about the money. [ and he doesn't. what he cares about is credence, and the young man is walking out on him. ] ...You don't have to do this.
[ credence would be happier without any of the gifts if only graves would say it, would confirm it and just let himself love credence properly. that's all he wants. to have graves resist it so stubbornly makes him ache, something cold and hollow within him that needs to be filled but can't be.
his expression softens after a moment, just barely. it's a little sad that graves genuinely doesn't understand the problem. ] No, Percival. You don't care about the money. The problem is, neither do I and you think that presents are the way to show someone you love them. [ he takes a step closer and the way he looks at him isn't closed off so much as it's impossibly sad now - distraught, like he's barely holding it together.
one hand lifts to brush his fingertip over graves' jaw slowly, lovingly. ] I don't know what else I can do to make you see. I don't think you ever will if I stay right now. [ he just barely presses a kiss to graves' mouth and when he moves away his lashes brush the older man's cheek, damp.
there's a hesitation before he plucks the key back out of his hand and then it's gone - an old pickpocket's trick, making it instantly disappear. a reminder of where he came from. ] I'll be keeping the key after all. Just... Just think about what I said. I don't want money, I don't want gifts, I want you. That's all I've ever wanted.
[ there's another hesitation before he has to leave before he loses his nerve so he moves past him on the way to the door. ] I'll still love you no matter what. [ murmured, barely audible, as he passes. ]
[ graves lets him go, of course. he can't hold him here, he can't insist on keeping him because deep down, he knows that credence is right. he lets him go, and that's the most difficult thing in the world to do, when credence steps out of his apartment after telling him he loves him, the heartache in his wake echoing in the empty penthouse.
graves does not sleep that night; the bed is colder than it's ever been, the penthouse having lost its other occupant. he hasn't realized how accustomed he is to his presence up until now, when it feels like there's a hole in the world here now, an emptiness that graves cannot fill. he had been fine with this, once upon a time. he had been used to it; and now, things are wholly different.
days pass, and graves goes to work, goes back to his daily routine, but he doesn't stop missing credence. he attends the events that credence invites him to because that's what he does, but things are awkward and strained between them, and graves know that credence is waiting for it, giving him chance after chance -- but he also doesn't miss another new presence at his side, a handsome german model who seems quite fixated on credence himself; charismatic and charming and everything that graves instinctively doesn't like.
but he doesn't deny that they have good chemistry, and the revelation of that makes a certain sort of jealousy stir in his chest, a possessiveness he struggles to keep in check because it's not his place anymore. credence might love him, but he's stepped out of his life -- and perhaps this is a trial sort of separation, graves doesn't know. he's never been this attached to someone else before.
he thinks of credence time and time again, of how he genuinely only wants him, the hurt and pain in his eyes when he walks away, and he thinks maybe he deserves better, maybe grindelwald would see fit to treat him well and give him what he needs. graves harbors no illusions of being the perfect partner -- or even someone even remotely adequate, and he had been about to approach credence to tell him that before he'd overheard a heated conversation the young man had with gellert concerning relationships, and a flat rejection of the man's advances.
graves hears his own name in passing and credence's steadfast loyalty to him, and in this he sees the truth -- that credence means what he says, after all. that even after all that graves has done, credence still waits, faithful and unwavering. he leaves after that.
it's that evening that he lets himself into credence's new apartment, having made his decision, and with steaks cooking on the pan and vegetables, potatoes hot on the neatly laid out plates, graves waits for him to return. ]
he goes alone to his new apartment, sits down on the floor in the entryway, and cries. he feels gutted and empty and crying isn't even cathartic like it should be. he wants to be back home, to curl up in graves' arms, to be comforted by him like he always would. but he also has to stay strong and not give in - he's drawn a line in the sand and he needs to be steadfast about it. graves has told him that he has agency, and he's using it.
all he has now is work, and people liked gellert and him together in past shoots so much that they become a hot item for more: gellert coming from germany is a rarity, but he stays in the states to work with credence and fawns over him to get closer. credence likes the attention and it makes him feel bashful and wanted, but he still doesn't waver.
every so often gellert will make an advance on him and credence will refuse gently but firmly. the time that graves sees them is the most heated it's ever gotten: gellert is telling him he hasn't said it by now, he's not going to and credence simply replies no, he's going to. i love percival and i trust him. he'll do it. i'm not giving up.
it's very clear he has no idea that graves is actually there: which is more points in his favor, likely.
all the same he has no idea what to think when he gets home to the smell of food (of potatoes?? something he is not generally allowed to eat but often sneaks) and it startles him into stillness before he goes into the kitchen to see ... graves.
something twists tight and painful in his chest and he holds onto the edge of one of the granite counters, staring at him. ] What-- [ he swallows, still awed and confused. ] What are you doing here? [ a beat. ] How did you even get in?
[ graves turns the stove off to let the steaks sit, the sleeves of his well-pressed tailored dress shirt folded up to his elbows, black vest still neatly buttoned. he has been thinking of what he'd say ever since he left credence's show and made his way here, churning through all the possible openings, and now in the face of credence's surprise graves discards all of them.
they seem inappropriate, all of them, because he thinks of credence's heated response, his declaration of love for him to another, and he understands that this is how credence loves him; with patience, with loyalty, with everything graves does not deserve but is given anyway. all credence has done is trust him, and it's graves' obligation as a lover, as a partner, to honor that trust as best he can. ]
I pulled some strings. [ graves says at length, setting the spatula aside and turning to face him. ] I had to see you. I heard what you said to that German model earlier.
[ more points in his favor: credence hadn't seen him at all. ]
[ credence watches graves for a moment, trying to gauge what's happening and why - but when graves speaks credence exhales a shaky breath, looking at him and trying to not appear too startled or hopeful either one. ]
I--I didn't know you were there. I'm sorry, he tries it every so often but I always say no. [ he's flushed slightly, though he's tentatively moving around the kitchen island so that he can be closer to him, studying his face up close for the first time in ages.
finally, he speaks again. ] But you know that now, don't you? That I tell him no. If you heard what I said, I mean. [ he wants his trust, his faithfulness, to mean something. he's pushing slightly to see what graves will pull out of it, what he will say.
he's close, maybe too close, but he can't help it. he's always been like a flower toward the sun with graves.
(something in his eyes begs please.) ]
I tell him no because there's no one else I want but you.
[ he knows. oh, he knows. he knows what credence means and why, he knows that this love is something that comes only once in a long, long while -- because credence proves him wrong, and after failed relationships with so many lovers here's one that bucks the trend, one who insists on putting his faith in him even when graves had given him no reason to do so.
he's close, so close to him now that graves can smell the cologne on him, the one he wears after a show, faint but there, and it means the world to him. he reaches out and tugs him close, wrapping his arms around his lover to hold him tight, to breathe him in as he presses his face into the crook of his shoulder.
there is only so much work he can drown himself in, there is so long he can fool himself. ] I know. I know. I heard all of it. [ something in credence tugs at him, how he pleads, asks graves for what he should have given him so long ago. guilt curls in his chest, as does the relief after a terrible fear that he will lose him after all -- and he murmurs, muffled into his neck the one thing credence has sought all along. ]
[ credence breathes. oh, but he breathes and it's like a drowning man coming up for air, like the world has bursts of color again, like anything can possibly be all right any more - and things are. things are perfect suddenly even as he buries his face in graves' hair and lets out a low sob, clutching so tightly to him that it's as though they are one person instead of two.
i love you.
one of his breaths chokes and he clutches at the back of graves' clothing before he straightens and takes a step back - but it's only to seek out graves' mouth to kiss him deeply, fervently, to pour everything overwhelming he feels into it.
i love you.
he presses their foreheads together and smiles and everything slots right back into place where it's meant to be. ]
I love you too. So much.
[ this is all he'd ever wanted. he kisses him again, backing graves up against the edge of the counter, lips curving up against his mouth. when he speaks again, it's soft - his cheeks are still wet from crying, but he looks happy. ]
[ there it is, there is what he's missed -- credence's relief and delight, the way he clings to him and kisses him; graves kisses back just as fiercely, desperate and eager. he's missed him, he's missed him so much he aches with the passion of it, and now they're slotting back together the way they've always done.
graves huffs a soft sound of amusement and allows himself to be backed against the counter, reveling in credence's desire, in the well of his emotions. this is what he's owed for so long, and graves finds himself saying it again, whispered against his mouth.
this is not defeat, this is the extension of trust -- of faith that is promised. credence has loved him despite everything, and graves is moved, and he's kissing his cheeks, tasting the salt of his happy tears, wiping them away with with a tenderness reserved only for him. ]
Yes, of course. Or we can spend the night here and you can show me around. Break in your new bed before we leave.
[ credence carving out his own independence is fascinating, and while this apartment is an unwelcome reminder of their separation, he's intrigued by what he's made for himself -- and possessive, too; he will claim credence in his own place, to remind him that they belong together. ]
[ he says it again. god, credence feels like he could die happy. maybe he will. but instead he smiles into the kiss, returning the affection just as fervently as he kisses him. it's so much all at once but it's all he wants. his hands lift to cup graves' face and he looks at him for a long moment before he just smiles. ] Just the bed?
[ ... well. after a moment credence shifts, moving away so that he can hop onto a clean spot on the counter. ] You know, I appreciate your cooking for me, but I'm a little hungry for something else.
[ as ridiculous as it sounds, he's canting his head aside and crooking a finger toward graves to lure him closer. ] What do you think?
[ graves is watching him hoist himself up onto the counter, warmed by how easily they fall back together with each other again, each finding the other's rhythms, and graves is reluctant to release him from his hold. his hands come to slide up his thighs, resting on his hips, and he feels the warmth of his lips lingering on his mouth.
he loves how credence has never looked happier, the shadow in his eyes finally, finally dispelled. stepping between his thighs, leaning up to kiss his chin, his bottom lip, graves' words are a low purr. ]
I've been starved of you, Credence. Am I what you're hungry for?
And I've missed you like ripping out my own heart and leaving it behind.
[ it's true - he's felt so hollow these weeks past like he's an empty shell and nothing more. perhaps he was, but now he needn't worry about that. he's as receptive and reactive as ever, an appreciative little rumble dying in his throat in response to the hands at his thighs, his hips.
credence tips down into those little kisses, kissing him softly and almost teasingly. he runs his fingers through graves' hair before tucking it back into place.
then he nods. ] You, always. Like a man starving, it's true.
[ then he grins, something that almost never, ever happen, and hooks a leg over one of graves' shoulders. ] Is that how much you've missed me? As though starving? Tell me about it.
graves is too distracted by that wicked little grin to catch most of what he's saying -- he hasn't seen it in a long time, hasn't felt like every word isn't loaded for so many, many months, when he'd deliberately ignored the weight of credence's most intimate desires.
those three little words have unlocked something in the both of them, lifted a weight that had pressed between the both of them almost to breaking point. he's leaning into his touch, accepting the way credence seems to love his hair, and he shakes his head as a hand comes to rest on his thigh, nuzzling against it. ]
Almost like starving. [ graves still has a long way to go where expressing himself in ways that don't involve anger / disappointment is concerned. he leans down to nose against his crotch, pushing credence's shirt up as he looks into smoky dark eyes. ] You belong with me, Credence. You've always known that. Your place is by my side.
[ perhaps he does have a long way to go, but the show of possession is enough for now. he feels so much lighter, brighter, pleased. all he wants is this, the man before him. what else could he possibly want? other than moments like these, of course.
he licks his lips in response to those little nuzzles, to graves being so close to where he wants him. he hums softly, sitting up and looking down at him. ] And you belong with me. Nowhere else. You need me as much as I need you, wanting you like you want me. [ he wants this so badly, wants to lift his hips--but he shakes his head, moving so that he can rest one pristine dress shoe against graves' shoulder and press down, so reminiscent of their first time together - though he'd been bare-footed that time. he looks thoughtful, contemplative. ] I have plans for you. Down.
[ graves remembers this, the way his foot presses against his shoulder -- his shoe, now; the silent command in that gesture. credence will not be denied, and there is everything exhilarating in how he demands obedience from him, and graves is more than willing to give it to him. why not, when his words hold so much promise?
graves moves down, mouthing against his crotch, warm and wanting. the most powerful man in america, his mouth pressed to his lover's cock, isn't that something?
his eyes are dark, feral and full of promise. how has he even thought that giving this up would be in any way an acceptable option? how could he have let credence slip from his grasp for so long? credence's words curl around him, tighten around his chest like a welcome leash, and graves claiming him as his own in turn.
this is how they love each other, like wolves, like lions, and graves unzips his young lover smoothly, meeting his eyes. ] Tell me your plans. Tell me what you want me to do to you.
[ credence sucks in a breath and then lets it out slowly - it's a lot, to feel him so close after so long. this time when his fingers trail through graves' hair they grip slightly, tug, instead of fixing it again afterward. he licks his lips and smiles, dark eyes raking down his body appreciatively. he doesn't say anything for a few moments, just watching him. when he speaks his voice is low and a little rough. ] It's been too long since I've felt your mouth on me.
[ he cants his head and smiles, bright-- ] But I don't want to come until you're fucking me and we get a noise complaint from the neighbors.
[ how... oddly specific. still: a young man wants what he wants. he looks coy and sly all at once, lids low over his eyes. ] Up to the challenge of making me scream?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
→ what can i do?
he's been working internationally more often and he meets another model while doing work in germany. gellert is charming and magnetic and attractive and wants him.
credence doesn't love him. he has no intentions of sleeping with him, either: he's not like that. but gellert tells him that he deserves better, he deserves someone that can express his feelings, he needs to take hold of his own life instead of being a kept boy. (one not worth loving, is the implication behind gellert's words, and credence doesn't even realize that meaning until later.)
still, it's two months afterward, two months of gellert texting him that he should leave graves, that finally sets credence to working on it. he takes a week to prepare, putting a lease in on an apartment, making sure it's furnished, paying his bills two months in advance, and, one day while graves is at work, packing.
he doesn't take anything that graves has paid for: he only packs things that he's bought with his modeling money and packs it all away neatly. he gets everything situated in his new place and then goes back to the penthouse to wait. he's not going to do it over the phone or via text. graves deserves better than that. it's been two years since credence moved in and a year since credence first told graves that he loves him. he sits on the sofa stiff and quiet and he doesn't cry. his key and a card with his new address on it are on the kitchen counter.
he doesn't know how he's going to say it. ]
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but maybe his biggest mistake is assuming that credence will always be there for him. after all, what they have is something powerful, something real, something graves has never felt more strongly. even if the increased texting credence is doing since his return from germany's stuck in the back of his mind -- duly dismissed because credence has never been the cheating type.
graves comes home late tonight, and oblivious to what is to come. it's been a long day, and the sight of credence sitting ramrod straight on their sofa, quiet and tense, surprises him.
did someone die? ]
Credence, what's wrong?
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it's still a struggle.
he stands, doesn't smile, and moves over to graves. when he looks at him it's very quiet and he places his hands on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing slowly through fabric. then he takes a deep breath and forces himself to say it. ] I have to go.
[ that's... not going to tell him anything. ] I need time by myself to think. I got an apartment nearby, and... [ his fingers flex down once before he drops his arms to his sides again, head down. ] It's been a year, Percival. A year since I told you that I love you. A year, and I know you care, but you've never... [ and so his hands clench at his sides-- ]
You've never said it. I know actions speak louder, but I need to hear it to even make that comparison.
[ he takes a deep, shuddering breath. when he speaks he sounds desperate. ] Say it, Percival. Tell me you love me. Make me believe it and I won't go anywhere until the day I die.
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a year before, graves wouldn't be as deeply in love with him as he is now -- he's not a man predisposed to much sentiment, but somehow the younger man has made his way under his skin, given him incredible contentment and happiness like he'd never actually known. still, he's never shaken the idea that this will not last. his very nature and his commitment to his job excludes just about every kind of conventional social and family life -- and that credence has lasted this long speaks so much of his strength and devotion.
even so.
he looks back at him, a coldness gripping and tightening around his heart. this is clearly something he's been planning for awhile; from the apartment to this meeting, to the fact that despite what he does, credence still doesn't know how much he loves him.
he forces his expression into something neutral; the flicker of something resembling surprise and hurt disappearing. credence has been nursing this for so long; clawing for meaning in the unspoken -- things graves has thought he'd made so very clear.
he fights not to clench his fists, leaving them loose at his sides. ]
If you don't believe that I love you until I say it -- even after everything; how will these three words change things?
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How will they change things? [ credence's brows furrow and he looks at him, a little hurt expression trailing over his face as well. ] You don't get it. Why can't you say it? What are you so afraid of that makes it so you can't say it? You can do things but it's like you're pretending you don't and not saying it protects you from... what? Being more vulnerable?
[ he sounds frustrated because he is. his head tips forward, hands scrubbing through his hair. ] I've been vulnerable since the minute I stepped through the front door, Percival.
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he dreads moments like these, when all his careful constructed walls and defenses are discovered -- and even when he loves credence he's hiding from him, from that open vulnerability that begs graves to love him. and he does, he does. it's just that the words are caught in his throat.
it protects him, credence is right. it doesn't make him vulnerable, doesn't strip him down and before this, what graves gave credence had been enough, hadn't it? credence has been vulnerable the minute he stepped through the front door, and graves still desperately clings to the last vestiges of his pride.
how did love become something like this, that to say it would mean conceding a kind of defeat. he can see the hurt written so clearly across that handsome, lovely face, he can see the frustration, the helplessness, and he is only sorry that he is the cause of them -- the last thing graves wants to cause credence is distress.
and here they are, at a crossroads and he takes a breath. ]
And why do you want me to say it, Credence? So that you can see me as vulnerable as you are, is that it? Because all this -- everything that I give you, is somehow not enough.
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to have graves say that, to assume that he wants it out of something cruel or selfish, hurts him to the core. it feels a little like his heart's been ripped out of his chest and he wants to just--sob, to throw something, to coil the pain around himself until that's all he is. everything that i give you rings in his ears over and over and he tips his chin up to turn and walk stiffly into the kitchen and grab the key and notecard off the counter to bring back to graves so that he can hold them out to him, eyes sharp but blank. ] If you're worried about everything you give me, don't worry. I'll pay you back.
[ he pushes his hand with the key and address out further, urging graves to take it. ] Here. Your key and my new address. My number is going to stay the same. If you ever decide that saying three words to me isn't going to kill you or let me cut off your hair like Samson, you'll know where I am.
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he knows how it sounds, what he's said and what credence hears, and something in his chest twists. he loves him, more than anything else he's ever loved before, but he'd always assumed that giving him whatever he wants, whenever he wants it is enough.
no, he's asking more of him, something graves has consistently, constantly avoided. love is giving someone a gun and trusting them not to shoot you; it's giving them your heart and trusting that they won't, and here graves is, hurting his young lover all over again.
his heart sinks when he gives him the key and the card, and it's more than a slap in the face -- if he doesn't say it, one day he'll lose him, and the outcome will be the same. even so, something in him stops his words short.
no, if he says it now, there won't be any meaning in it, will there? he wordlessly takes the card and key, looking down at the address he'd written in neat little letters, and he swallows hard. ]
I don't care about the money. [ and he doesn't. what he cares about is credence, and the young man is walking out on him. ] ...You don't have to do this.
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his expression softens after a moment, just barely. it's a little sad that graves genuinely doesn't understand the problem. ] No, Percival. You don't care about the money. The problem is, neither do I and you think that presents are the way to show someone you love them. [ he takes a step closer and the way he looks at him isn't closed off so much as it's impossibly sad now - distraught, like he's barely holding it together.
one hand lifts to brush his fingertip over graves' jaw slowly, lovingly. ] I don't know what else I can do to make you see. I don't think you ever will if I stay right now. [ he just barely presses a kiss to graves' mouth and when he moves away his lashes brush the older man's cheek, damp.
there's a hesitation before he plucks the key back out of his hand and then it's gone - an old pickpocket's trick, making it instantly disappear. a reminder of where he came from. ] I'll be keeping the key after all. Just... Just think about what I said. I don't want money, I don't want gifts, I want you. That's all I've ever wanted.
[ there's another hesitation before he has to leave before he loses his nerve so he moves past him on the way to the door. ] I'll still love you no matter what. [ murmured, barely audible, as he passes. ]
timeskip.
graves does not sleep that night; the bed is colder than it's ever been, the penthouse having lost its other occupant. he hasn't realized how accustomed he is to his presence up until now, when it feels like there's a hole in the world here now, an emptiness that graves cannot fill. he had been fine with this, once upon a time. he had been used to it; and now, things are wholly different.
days pass, and graves goes to work, goes back to his daily routine, but he doesn't stop missing credence. he attends the events that credence invites him to because that's what he does, but things are awkward and strained between them, and graves know that credence is waiting for it, giving him chance after chance -- but he also doesn't miss another new presence at his side, a handsome german model who seems quite fixated on credence himself; charismatic and charming and everything that graves instinctively doesn't like.
but he doesn't deny that they have good chemistry, and the revelation of that makes a certain sort of jealousy stir in his chest, a possessiveness he struggles to keep in check because it's not his place anymore. credence might love him, but he's stepped out of his life -- and perhaps this is a trial sort of separation, graves doesn't know. he's never been this attached to someone else before.
he thinks of credence time and time again, of how he genuinely only wants him, the hurt and pain in his eyes when he walks away, and he thinks maybe he deserves better, maybe grindelwald would see fit to treat him well and give him what he needs. graves harbors no illusions of being the perfect partner -- or even someone even remotely adequate, and he had been about to approach credence to tell him that before he'd overheard a heated conversation the young man had with gellert concerning relationships, and a flat rejection of the man's advances.
graves hears his own name in passing and credence's steadfast loyalty to him, and in this he sees the truth -- that credence means what he says, after all. that even after all that graves has done, credence still waits, faithful and unwavering. he leaves after that.
it's that evening that he lets himself into credence's new apartment, having made his decision, and with steaks cooking on the pan and vegetables, potatoes hot on the neatly laid out plates, graves waits for him to return. ]
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he goes alone to his new apartment, sits down on the floor in the entryway, and cries. he feels gutted and empty and crying isn't even cathartic like it should be. he wants to be back home, to curl up in graves' arms, to be comforted by him like he always would. but he also has to stay strong and not give in - he's drawn a line in the sand and he needs to be steadfast about it. graves has told him that he has agency, and he's using it.
all he has now is work, and people liked gellert and him together in past shoots so much that they become a hot item for more: gellert coming from germany is a rarity, but he stays in the states to work with credence and fawns over him to get closer. credence likes the attention and it makes him feel bashful and wanted, but he still doesn't waver.
every so often gellert will make an advance on him and credence will refuse gently but firmly. the time that graves sees them is the most heated it's ever gotten: gellert is telling him he hasn't said it by now, he's not going to and credence simply replies no, he's going to. i love percival and i trust him. he'll do it. i'm not giving up.
it's very clear he has no idea that graves is actually there: which is more points in his favor, likely.
all the same he has no idea what to think when he gets home to the smell of food (of potatoes?? something he is not generally allowed to eat but often sneaks) and it startles him into stillness before he goes into the kitchen to see ... graves.
something twists tight and painful in his chest and he holds onto the edge of one of the granite counters, staring at him. ] What-- [ he swallows, still awed and confused. ] What are you doing here? [ a beat. ] How did you even get in?
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they seem inappropriate, all of them, because he thinks of credence's heated response, his declaration of love for him to another, and he understands that this is how credence loves him; with patience, with loyalty, with everything graves does not deserve but is given anyway. all credence has done is trust him, and it's graves' obligation as a lover, as a partner, to honor that trust as best he can. ]
I pulled some strings. [ graves says at length, setting the spatula aside and turning to face him. ] I had to see you. I heard what you said to that German model earlier.
[ more points in his favor: credence hadn't seen him at all. ]
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I--I didn't know you were there. I'm sorry, he tries it every so often but I always say no. [ he's flushed slightly, though he's tentatively moving around the kitchen island so that he can be closer to him, studying his face up close for the first time in ages.
finally, he speaks again. ] But you know that now, don't you? That I tell him no. If you heard what I said, I mean. [ he wants his trust, his faithfulness, to mean something. he's pushing slightly to see what graves will pull out of it, what he will say.
he's close, maybe too close, but he can't help it. he's always been like a flower toward the sun with graves.
(something in his eyes begs please.) ]
I tell him no because there's no one else I want but you.
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he's close, so close to him now that graves can smell the cologne on him, the one he wears after a show, faint but there, and it means the world to him. he reaches out and tugs him close, wrapping his arms around his lover to hold him tight, to breathe him in as he presses his face into the crook of his shoulder.
there is only so much work he can drown himself in, there is so long he can fool himself. ] I know. I know. I heard all of it. [ something in credence tugs at him, how he pleads, asks graves for what he should have given him so long ago. guilt curls in his chest, as does the relief after a terrible fear that he will lose him after all -- and he murmurs, muffled into his neck the one thing credence has sought all along. ]
I love you.
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i love you.
one of his breaths chokes and he clutches at the back of graves' clothing before he straightens and takes a step back - but it's only to seek out graves' mouth to kiss him deeply, fervently, to pour everything overwhelming he feels into it.
i love you.
he presses their foreheads together and smiles and everything slots right back into place where it's meant to be. ]
I love you too. So much.
[ this is all he'd ever wanted. he kisses him again, backing graves up against the edge of the counter, lips curving up against his mouth. when he speaks again, it's soft - his cheeks are still wet from crying, but he looks happy. ]
Can we go home tonight? Please?
[ home. together. ]
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graves huffs a soft sound of amusement and allows himself to be backed against the counter, reveling in credence's desire, in the well of his emotions. this is what he's owed for so long, and graves finds himself saying it again, whispered against his mouth.
this is not defeat, this is the extension of trust -- of faith that is promised. credence has loved him despite everything, and graves is moved, and he's kissing his cheeks, tasting the salt of his happy tears, wiping them away with with a tenderness reserved only for him. ]
Yes, of course. Or we can spend the night here and you can show me around. Break in your new bed before we leave.
[ credence carving out his own independence is fascinating, and while this apartment is an unwelcome reminder of their separation, he's intrigued by what he's made for himself -- and possessive, too; he will claim credence in his own place, to remind him that they belong together. ]
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[ ... well. after a moment credence shifts, moving away so that he can hop onto a clean spot on the counter. ] You know, I appreciate your cooking for me, but I'm a little hungry for something else.
[ as ridiculous as it sounds, he's canting his head aside and crooking a finger toward graves to lure him closer. ] What do you think?
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[ graves is watching him hoist himself up onto the counter, warmed by how easily they fall back together with each other again, each finding the other's rhythms, and graves is reluctant to release him from his hold. his hands come to slide up his thighs, resting on his hips, and he feels the warmth of his lips lingering on his mouth.
he loves how credence has never looked happier, the shadow in his eyes finally, finally dispelled. stepping between his thighs, leaning up to kiss his chin, his bottom lip, graves' words are a low purr. ]
I've been starved of you, Credence. Am I what you're hungry for?
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[ it's true - he's felt so hollow these weeks past like he's an empty shell and nothing more. perhaps he was, but now he needn't worry about that. he's as receptive and reactive as ever, an appreciative little rumble dying in his throat in response to the hands at his thighs, his hips.
credence tips down into those little kisses, kissing him softly and almost teasingly. he runs his fingers through graves' hair before tucking it back into place.
then he nods. ] You, always. Like a man starving, it's true.
[ then he grins, something that almost never, ever happen, and hooks a leg over one of graves' shoulders. ] Is that how much you've missed me? As though starving? Tell me about it.
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graves is too distracted by that wicked little grin to catch most of what he's saying -- he hasn't seen it in a long time, hasn't felt like every word isn't loaded for so many, many months, when he'd deliberately ignored the weight of credence's most intimate desires.
those three little words have unlocked something in the both of them, lifted a weight that had pressed between the both of them almost to breaking point. he's leaning into his touch, accepting the way credence seems to love his hair, and he shakes his head as a hand comes to rest on his thigh, nuzzling against it. ]
Almost like starving. [ graves still has a long way to go where expressing himself in ways that don't involve anger / disappointment is concerned. he leans down to nose against his crotch, pushing credence's shirt up as he looks into smoky dark eyes. ] You belong with me, Credence. You've always known that. Your place is by my side.
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he licks his lips in response to those little nuzzles, to graves being so close to where he wants him. he hums softly, sitting up and looking down at him. ] And you belong with me. Nowhere else. You need me as much as I need you, wanting you like you want me. [ he wants this so badly, wants to lift his hips--but he shakes his head, moving so that he can rest one pristine dress shoe against graves' shoulder and press down, so reminiscent of their first time together - though he'd been bare-footed that time. he looks thoughtful, contemplative. ] I have plans for you. Down.
[ it's not a request. ]
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graves moves down, mouthing against his crotch, warm and wanting. the most powerful man in america, his mouth pressed to his lover's cock, isn't that something?
his eyes are dark, feral and full of promise. how has he even thought that giving this up would be in any way an acceptable option? how could he have let credence slip from his grasp for so long? credence's words curl around him, tighten around his chest like a welcome leash, and graves claiming him as his own in turn.
this is how they love each other, like wolves, like lions, and graves unzips his young lover smoothly, meeting his eyes. ] Tell me your plans. Tell me what you want me to do to you.
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[ he cants his head and smiles, bright-- ] But I don't want to come until you're fucking me and we get a noise complaint from the neighbors.
[ how... oddly specific. still: a young man wants what he wants. he looks coy and sly all at once, lids low over his eyes. ] Up to the challenge of making me scream?