[A part of Credence is insanely, absurdly, jealous at the idea that someone else had taken from Graves what he took from Credence. It's absurd, if only because they've been married a day and he shouldn't be feeling so much so quickly. It's dangerous, wearing his heart so out in the open, letting his husband take it without any thought as to what he might do with it.

His back tightens, chest pressing forward when a hand finds its way to his ass, squeezing. There's a dull ache between, but it only makes him want more.]

I like it when you touch me.

[He doesn't know how to ask for what he needs, doesn't really know what that is. Credence wants to feel the way he did last night, to be full and to hurt and to be something beyond just himself. He doesn't know how to say that.]

I like what we did before. [He kisses Graves' cheek, leans back and meets his eyes, silently asking if that was okay - if he's allowed to kiss and touch anyway he wants, if he has the same permission.] Can we do more of that?

Will you make me feel that way again?