He's not sure exactly how, but if his husband knows he can, is so convinced, then he can. He immediately, intensely, hates the sudden emptiness and lack of warmth he feels when Graves pushes his legs apart and untangles himself. He wants to beg him to come back, to spread out over him again, but then he's pressing his mouth down his chest and he chokes on a breath.
His feet push to the mattress, whimpering at each brush across his cock. He can feel himself hardening, so quickly, but he's not embarrassed because he doesn't know that sex can be drawn out, that the waiting enhances the pleasure. Credence is surprised, again, when the King kisses the head of his cock, sucking. His thighs shake, body trembling, a hand like a vice on his shoulder trying to stop him.]
What are you doing? Are you supposed to be doing that?
[He shouldn't question his husband, he knows it's a form of disobedience, but he can't believe Graves would do this to him. That he'd go so slow and be so patient, breaking apart all of Credence's preconceived notions of what sex is and isn't. He shakes his head, but he lightens his grip, smooths shaky fingers over the prints he'd left on Graves' shoulder.]
no subject
He's not sure exactly how, but if his husband knows he can, is so convinced, then he can. He immediately, intensely, hates the sudden emptiness and lack of warmth he feels when Graves pushes his legs apart and untangles himself. He wants to beg him to come back, to spread out over him again, but then he's pressing his mouth down his chest and he chokes on a breath.
His feet push to the mattress, whimpering at each brush across his cock. He can feel himself hardening, so quickly, but he's not embarrassed because he doesn't know that sex can be drawn out, that the waiting enhances the pleasure. Credence is surprised, again, when the King kisses the head of his cock, sucking. His thighs shake, body trembling, a hand like a vice on his shoulder trying to stop him.]
What are you doing? Are you supposed to be doing that?
[He shouldn't question his husband, he knows it's a form of disobedience, but he can't believe Graves would do this to him. That he'd go so slow and be so patient, breaking apart all of Credence's preconceived notions of what sex is and isn't. He shakes his head, but he lightens his grip, smooths shaky fingers over the prints he'd left on Graves' shoulder.]
I'm not, but you are so kind for saying that.