[ He sounds afraid. Poisoned, perhaps, by his mother's demands and expectations, and Graves can't help but feel a spark of instinctive protectiveness towards him. He will never be able to understand what it's like to be in a position like Credence's, beholden to a woman like Mary Lou, but the prince belongs to him now, cleaved to him in holy matrimony, and Graves will fulfill the vows of their people.
His wrist is gripped by Credence, and he steps closer at the response, silently troubled by his apprehension. How he must have been coached, commanded, his own sense of self bent under his mother's will. ]
All right. [ He says finally, moving to nudge him back against the bed, fingers catching on the hem of the raised nightgown to pull it up and off. Graves has thought of this all evening, of finally unwrapping this beautiful young man, barely older than a boy himself, and so achingly captivating in his innocence that he knows it cannot possibly be an act.
Innocence. This is what Mary Lou trades for power, for the gold his kingdom possesses in abundance. He comes closer still, caging him onto the bed as he discards the nightgown, leaving Credence entirely naked. He spares a few moments to honestly, truly admire him, the lean lines of his body, the smooth, flawless skin that begs worship, ravishment, the touch of lips and tongue and teeth. His cock, not-hard but just as lovely, nestled in dark curls. He is a man made for pleasure, for this bed
Graves softens, a hand coming up to curve over his jaw, tracing over his clavicle. ]
Your beauty could launch a thousand ships.
[ He murmurs. Graves is no poet, he has no patience and affinity for it -- but Credence is his own brand of inspiration, and his lips brush over his new husband's, more reassuring than anything else. The barest taste of him is intoxicating, and Graves wants more. ] You don't have to be afraid.
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His wrist is gripped by Credence, and he steps closer at the response, silently troubled by his apprehension. How he must have been coached, commanded, his own sense of self bent under his mother's will. ]
All right. [ He says finally, moving to nudge him back against the bed, fingers catching on the hem of the raised nightgown to pull it up and off. Graves has thought of this all evening, of finally unwrapping this beautiful young man, barely older than a boy himself, and so achingly captivating in his innocence that he knows it cannot possibly be an act.
Innocence. This is what Mary Lou trades for power, for the gold his kingdom possesses in abundance. He comes closer still, caging him onto the bed as he discards the nightgown, leaving Credence entirely naked. He spares a few moments to honestly, truly admire him, the lean lines of his body, the smooth, flawless skin that begs worship, ravishment, the touch of lips and tongue and teeth. His cock, not-hard but just as lovely, nestled in dark curls. He is a man made for pleasure, for this bed
Graves softens, a hand coming up to curve over his jaw, tracing over his clavicle. ]
Your beauty could launch a thousand ships.
[ He murmurs. Graves is no poet, he has no patience and affinity for it -- but Credence is his own brand of inspiration, and his lips brush over his new husband's, more reassuring than anything else. The barest taste of him is intoxicating, and Graves wants more. ] You don't have to be afraid.