mund | open post.

[Credence, through circumstances he's long since accepted as fact, has less than no say in what happens in his life. As the oldest son, a prince, he's always known that there would come a time when he'd be more valuable in the form of an exchange. Either through marriage or something less fortunate - a pretty bauble for a foreign royal's court. His eyes were never shrouded and reality never painted in unrealistic coloring. He didn't, however, expect to be handed off to the family who his own has fought with for longer than he's been alive. Prince Consort to a man who he's never met and he's heard stories of, terrible and frightening tales spun of a warrior, a king, a leader.

He's offered up to gain peace and this King gives his family gold, joining there two houses and making it impossible for either side to enact any kind of fight without being labeled treacherous. His mother, the Queen, will behave, acting the part peacefully because she's had a taste of what this marriage could give her and she'd bleed it dry before doing anything reckless to ruin it.

It's a progression, a show. A parade of their entire family in their best clothes, but no gifts, no belongings. Nothing to be given to this King except for Credence's hand in marriage and his body. The proceedings are awkward, uncomfortable, but over more quickly than he could have anticipated. Everything is signed and sealed and stored away - then, and only then, is he finally left alone. The solitude is brief. Short-lived.

They take his robes, everything, bathe and change him, help him settle into the middle of the bed, then they wait beside the door. Credence assumes it's so that they can attend their king when he comes, which he will, he'll have to. He shifts to the edge of the bed out of nerves, feet hanging off the edge, hands clasped in his lap. The knock at the door startles him, but the servants don't acknowledge his action, a kindness he doesn't deserve but one he appreciates all the same. He licks his lips, unable to look up at the handsome, dark, powerful man that's come into the room for one thing - to consummate their union. To make it official, binding.

His mother explained the process. How the King would push into him and take what he wanted. That he'd feel no pleasure, only pain. That it was his duty to bear it, not seek enjoyment.]

Yes, thank you.

[A wave of nerves crash over him. He's heard stories of Graves in battle, how he fights and how he wins. He's formidable, strong, and it doesn't matter if he's the most beautiful man Credence has ever seen - he's here out of duty and he'll have to endure it. The servants continue to flit around the King and as he comes towards him, steps light on the stone floor, Credence's hands twist in his lap and a flood of words spill out.]

Don't let them stay. Please. I couldn't bear it if they stayed. [An unsteady breath.] If they heard - if they saw.

[His mouth falls open, eyes wide, but he forces himself to carry through. Credence pushes the blankets aside, lays back on the bed with his legs sprawled apart, the thin fabric nightgown covering him settling just above his thighs.]

You can do whatever you want. I won't complain. Just make them go.

[ If Credence is faking nerves, he'll easily be considered the most exceptional actor of his generation. It's all right there, from the most minute tremors in his hands to the plaintive words couched in necessary courtesy. The young prince looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, and the king supposes he can't blame him for it. He has, after all, just been traded like particularly expensive chattel (permission unsought, if Graves' assessment of his mother is accurate).

One does not bear the weight of this indignity easily. Credence, after all, is of the bloodline of kings, and even if his mother considers him a valuable pawn in whatever game she's playing, Credence is now Prince Consort of this land.

The briefest moment of calculation is spared -- all the ways an assassination might be carried out in the marital bed before summarily set aside. Mary Lou is cunning and greedy, but not foolish; she is suited to manipulations in the shadows, not prosaic machinations that can be so easily foiled.

(That thought does not reassure.)

He nods to the servants and dismisses them as asked, his gaze caught on the way the nightgown rides just barely up his thighs, pale-white and smooth, untouched. Mary Lou has whispered that he is pristine, a virgin to man and woman -- and Graves has only half-believed that up until now. Surely someone as exquisite as he is would have had his fair share of suitors. Credence is stunning, with long lashes and high cheekbones and a wide, sultry mouth made for kissing and for many, many other things, and yet somehow it seems inappropriate to ask if his mother speaks truth as to his inexperience.

When they're finally alone, he steps forward, fingers brushing lightly over a knee. His easy capitulation is troubling, strange -- what has his mother actually told him about the act of consummation? ]

Sit up, Credence. [ His words are firm but gentle, belying his fierce, unforgiving reputation. He is speaking to a spouse, not an enemy (although knowing his mother he's not sure if it's entirely true). ] In my bed, I only claim the willing; pleasure is to be both mine, and yours. If you feel that it's beyond you tonight, there is always the next night.

[ He'd be lying if he says that he doesn't want him, that he doesn't desire sinking into the tightness of Credence's lovely body, to push inside of him and take him as his own, to hear him cry out sweetly when he comes, but to start off a marriage (however arranged) by taking what Credence doesn't willingly give is distasteful. Mary Lou might consider his kingdom a heathen, moral-less bed of sorcerers and sorceresses, but there is powerful magic here even her most advanced technology cannot hope to replicate. ]

Edited 2017-03-15 00:46 (UTC)

[Credence doesn't move, not as Graves gets closer, not when fingers brush across his knee.

His whole body shakes at the touch, a strange and previously un-felt desire to lean into those fingers washing over him. He flushes at the attention, at being spoken to so clearly, so directly as if it's the first time anyone has paid him that kind of care - he thinks this might actually be the first time. There's a moment where he considers that his Ma lied to him, she's done it before, and of course she'd be dishonest to insure that Credence would be on his best behavior, but..

Then the King is saying those words, telling him to sit up.]

No.

[The word slips out and he bristles, tension rippling through his body visibly. The King has to share his bed, has to consummate their union. He might hate the life he lives here, his husband might be a horrible and cruel man, but he doesn't want to go home, he can't. It's not an option. His Ma would punish him to the point he'd seek permanent release. This is his life now and he's messing it up.

He's breathing heavily, panting. His legs shift, sprawl open even farther, far enough to bump into his husband's thigh.]

It has to be tonight, you understand. Please. They'll all know if we don't.

[He swallows, hikes his gown up a little more. Credence licks his lower lip, reaches out to grip his wrist. He doesn't pull him closer, doesn't demand anything. He can be a good husband, submissive and attentive. Quiet or vocal. Whatever the King asks of him, he'll give it.]

I'm just nervous. I want to be here. I don't want to be anywhere else. I beg you.

[ 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.

[Credence raises his arms to help the nightgown slip off, arms curling around himself in modesty and nerves.

His lip trembles as the King approaches, captivating and commanding, in complete control of himself as he invades Credence's space, leaving him nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. His breath catches in his throat - he's being looked at, head to toe, and there's no disgust or hatred. There are soft fingers touching his jaw, his clavicle, even softer words muttered out, and if Credence hadn't been told differently, he might think his new King were a kind man. Generous and loving, capable of giving Credence what he's always wanted.

He knows better, knows that can't possibly be true. Credence wants it, though, if only for tonight. If he's good enough, he could possibly have it.

Never having been kissed, Credence isn't prepared for the rush of feeling it perpetuates throughout his entire body. It's unusual, the little jolt in his belly, the sudden way his cock twitches, how his mouth tingles and aches from the simplest touch.]

I'm trying not to be.

[His husband is still leaning over him, but there's space enough for Credence to slip a hand between them. He runs his fingers over his lower lip, over the warm skin that his husband had just kissed. His eyes flick up to meet Graves' then down to his mouth, back up again. Confusion crinkles his brows. It's not supposed to feel good. It's not and he's confused, panic edging in at the corners.]

How did you do that?

How did I do what?

[ Graves asks, curious, before realisation dawns in his eyes. Credence is wide-eyed and shocked by the kiss, and it's easy to put two and two together: his prince has never been kissed before, and he obviously enjoys it, judging from the way his cock twitches. The knowledge of Credence's innocence fills him with a sense of possessive pleasure. ]

You've never been touched this way. [ He answers for him a heartbeat later, and this time Graves is the one that is captivated. Credence, not so much -- he senses the panic on the edges, and he knows that if he doesn't keep that under control, this night will go very differently. ] Easy. [ He soothes him, as if he's settling a skittish foal, his words belying a fearsome exterior. He's comforting a fearful husband, not vanquishing a hated foe. Graves smiles, just a touch, gently taking his hand and winding his fingers through it.

He kisses him again, more purposefully this time, the flicker of a tongue against his lips. Mary Lou was right -- he's a virgin, untouched in all the ways that matter. ] Let me show you. Make you feel good.

[He's heard stories of King Graves' magic, his power. That his kingdom not only accepts it, but practices it too.

His fingers continue to trace his own mouth, eyelids heavy as his breathing evens back out. If that was magic, if kissing always felt that way, Credence worried that he'd become addicted to it. That he'd want his husband to always kiss him. He was still too frightened to understand that it wasn't wrong to want that.

Credence looks down at their linked fingers in a daze. The kiss, he's not prepared for it, no, but it feels just as good, sends sparks through his body. This time his tongue darts out to chase the now absent pressure and warmth, licking and tasting without thought as to what he's doing.]

You're not supposed to.

[He dips his head to the side, swallowing roughly as he pulls his hand free. Credence puts both between them, pressed to Graves' chest to keep him from leaning in again. He closes his eyes tight, counts in his head to calm down, reminding himself of the most important things he needs to remember.

Percival Graves is a King. He could have anyone he wanted, even now that they're married. He can do whatever he wants. It's been almost ten minutes that they've been together and he still hasn't taken him. He could have pushed in, quick and rough, fucked him hard and left him already. But he hasn't. He goes slow. Makes his lips tingle and his body ache. He could be anywhere else, doing whatever else, but he's offering Credence patience and pleasure. He slides one hand up Graves chest, fingers light, dancing softly up his neck. Credence traces an eyebrow, thumb rolling down the length of his nose. The tip of his finger marks out the shape of Graves' upper lip.] Okay.

Why am I not supposed to?

[ Credence's sentiments are curious, as elusive as shifting sands, and Graves's curiosity is surely piqued. He allows Credence his willfulness, fascinated by how different he is when he's not an obedient shadow, pinned under his mother's thumb. He kisses his fingertip when Credence traces it over his lip, gentle but unwavering. Graves is still under his explorations, sensuously enjoying his touch, unashamed and open.

He can have anyone he wants, he can do whatever he wants -- and all that he wants now is Credence, this consummation and deflowering. He wants to take him and make him want more, and he catches his wrist then, drawing it down between his legs, urging Credence to touch him through the silk of his robe. Graves is already half-hard for him, his cock pressing against his hand. His young husband has given his permission, and Graves will not hesitate.

He offers him a world of carnal pleasure and intimacy in their bed, he will give him everything that he wants. His lips press against the exquisite line of his jaw, nipping gently at his chin. ]

I would press my lips to every inch of you. Make your body sing for me before you take me deep inside of you. [ He spreads Credence's legs further, his own desire mounting. He wants so badly to fuck him, to take, but Credence's first foray into sex shouldn't be one that terrifies him. Graves takes control, easily, smoothly. ] I want you to tell me when it pleases you. When you want more. Can you feel how hard I am?

[Credence doesn't know how to answer. If he admits that it's his mother's voice he hears, her words that make him fear what tonight could be, he doesn't know if he can bear the shame of what he'll surely see in his husband's eyes. Disgust, then. He'll finally understand that Credence is malleable and weak, inexperienced, not something to be treasured or delighted in, but a creature to hide away unless it's necessary to bring him out. A bauble but only in title and circumstance. He's nothing, less than, and nobody could ever convince him otherwise.

But just as he's convinced of the awful being he is - the king is everything he's not. If he's half-hard under Credence's fingers, if he's gentle and wants to show him what this could be like between them, Credence is selfish enough to take it all. He's struggling to accept his mother's lies, but he knows that his king is telling him the truth. His jaw tingles where teeth and lips brush across it, the words make him shiver, small sounds slipping out as his legs are nudged apart.

He squeezes his fingers, eyes widening at how hard he is.. because of Credence?]

Do you want me?

[He moves his hand, just a little. Not out of confidence or to insight a reaction, but out of curiosity and astonishment. Credence's other hand shakes as it slides from Graves' chest to his shoulder. His legs move, thighs pressing in, and he groans at the feel of the older man's legs caught between his own. Credence has always been tactile but has never had the opportunity to show it to anyone else until now.]

I want you to do all of those things. Please.

I've wanted you ever since I first saw you.

[ Graves murmurs, his gaze intense when he meets his eyes. He's aroused, and there is no shame as he regards his young, inexperienced husband. There is everything to cherish in his uncertainty, so much to show him -- and he takes pleasure in the fact that he'll be the first. He makes a soft, approving noise when he feels Credence move, and his hand comes between them, drawing his cock along with his own, pressing them together as he rolls his hips, introducing a velvet friction that sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine.

He's rubbing them together, hand closing around Credence's and their dicks, sensuous and deliberate. He can see potential in his lover, the buds of an awakening sexuality that he plans to cultivate. He guides both of Credence's legs around his waist, rocking against him in slow thrusts and thrumming with anticipation. Credence asks for these things so sweetly, and Graves relishes the innocence, the deflowering. ]

Touch me. [ He instructs quietly, urging him on. He has plans for him, for tonight, and every one of them involve his beautiful young consort writhing with pleasure in the sheets. ] My body is yours to explore.

[Pain flickers across his face, disbelief and confusion, but he can't look away, doesn't break eye contact. Nobody has ever 'wanted' him before, not like this. If they had, surely he would have known. His lip trembles and he's overwhelmed by the mere thought of his husband wanting to be with him. He'd hoped, more than anything, that his husband would at least use him and then leave him alone. That he could just live here, in peace, even if his Ma told tales of horror that had kept him up at night.

This, though, this reality is more overwhelming. His husband is attracted to him, his body is responding to Credence's, and he doesn't want to use and toss him aside.]

Oh-h.

[Soft sounds, a mix of surprised moans and aborted whining noises, slip through his lips, head falling back as Graves' hand circles their cocks, lining them up and giving him friction. Credence has never felt anything like that, wraps his legs tightly around his husband's waist, heels digging into the small of his back.

Credence doesn't know how to move his body the way his husband does, rolling his hips in fluid and arousing patterns, so he doesn't try. His hands find their way to his shoulders, nails biting, back arching up to get more, to feel more. He tries to do as he's told, he wants to be good, drags a hand down Graves' back.] Like this?

Just like this.

[ Graves murmurs approvingly, making a soft noise of pleasure for Credence's benefit. The look of pain in his eyes is surprising -- has he said something wrong, or was something different relayed to him?

Chances are it's the latter, Graves decides. Credence is a skittish foal under his attentions, and Graves is determined to uncover more of him, to encourage and nurture -- he wants to worship and ravish, to overwhelm and share. His young consort's tentative touch is more than welcome, and he shifts under his touch, quietly wanting more. ] That's good. You can do better.

[ He smiles faintly as he continues to rock into him, loosening Credence's hold on him as he kisses his way down his chest, his stomach, to the base of his cock. He nuzzles warmly against the soft dark curls, before kissing his way down his shaft, appreciating the sleek heat of him as he spreads him open. Credence's noises are lovely, delightful, and sure to be heard beyond the chamber's walls. Let them hear, he decides -- let them all know that marital bliss is found in their bed. ]

Look at you. [ He says, kissing the head of his cock, sucking gently. His gaze is dark, fixed on him and full of appreciation. ]You're so beautiful.

[Credence's eyes flash - he can do better.

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.

[ There.

Credence loosens his hold on his shoulder, ostensibly discovering that Graves can do whatever he damn well pleases, and is clearly exercising that right when it comes to ravishing his young man's lovely, lean body. He can spend hours like this, he decides, witnessing his awakening, leading him into pleasure and showing him just what he can have. Graves has no doubt that Mary Lou has poisoned the well -- with what, however, he has no idea, but he's beginning to find out.

His Credence is still painfully shy, so very innocently new to carnal debauchery, and Graves is slowly, methodically taking it away from him layer by layer.

It starts, of course, with the king sucking his consort's cock, taking him deeper into his mouth, his head bobbing as he sucks and licks, laving the underside of his dick as he worships between his legs, appreciating the way he's gripping his shoulder. He registers Credence's words and only smiles faintly, before he takes him all inside, his lips tight against the base of his dick, his nosy buried in his curls and the head of his cock pressing down his throat.

He stays like that for a moment before he starts moving again, his hand coming to curve over his balls, playing with him absently. He doesn't look away, fixated on Credence's pleasure. ]

Do you like it? [ He asks when he releases his saliva-slick cock from his mouth with a wet 'pop', curious. ]

[Credence can't breathe.

Not in the way when he's run too much or when the weather gets cold and his chest gets tight, but the way it feels when he's startled. Abrupt, throat closed up and heart beating fast, faster, so fast it's almost in his throat. His eyes water because he can't remember how to suck air into his lungs, back arching, feet pressing down and lifting him up on the bed, hips bucking in a stuttered rhythm that's not his fault.. it's all the King's fault, it is.

His eyes roll back into his head when the head of his cock is enveloped in tight heat, too warm and too tight and too much.

He grabs at Graves' shoulders, the only thing keeping him from exploding, floating away.]

It's true, isn't it?

[Credence takes the break to suck in sharply, hands scrambling against the mattress as he pushes himself up on the bed, pillows falling behind him haphazardly. He's not quite sitting but he can see Graves better this way, see what he's doing between his legs.]

My Ma said your kingdom was cursed because it was full of magic. [His eyes are wide, awe marring his expression.] You're magic, aren't you?

[His fingers gently rub the same two inches across Graves' shoulder, tentatively, almost affectionately. Surprised.]

This is not magic, Credence. Not really.

[ Graves smiles faintly, indulgent and endeared by how new he is to all of this, how Graves will be the one to show him the secrets of intimacy, to unlock this world and let him have a taste of all that he has to offer. He watches him sit up, amusement and warmth in his dark eyes. He's sucking on the flared head of his cock gently, kissing and licking leisurely, more to show him how good it feels than it is to make him come as quickly as he can.

No, he wants him to enjoy this, and he feels Credence becoming braver, touching him back -- he's more than happy to let him do what he wants, interested in seeing what Credence chooses to do. But oh, look at him, look how reactive he is, and Graves meets his eyes as he takes him wholly into his mouth once more, the head of his cock pressing against the back of Graves' throat. It takes skill, patience, and he does it again, again and again, drawing out the pleasure, firm and unyielding.

He's kissing and sucking lightly on the head of his cock again, palming his balls and fondling him affectionately, laying kisses over his flat abdomen. Credence is made to be worshiped and ravished, and he murmurs, his voice like velvet. ]

You're going to beg me to fuck you, Credence. [ He thumbs over the slit of his dick, leaning in to kiss and lap up the beads of pre-come that's formed. ] Tell me you don't like seeing me with your cock in my mouth.

[Credence doesn't understand, but he gets the feeling that Graves will help him to over time. If not tonight, then soon - eventually. He doesn't know how he knows this, but he does. They've only just met, only just been married, but Credence already understands that this is different. He can have a life here, be treated well, have a husband that is gentle at least sometimes during sex. He isn't so swayed that he believes it will last forever or be in all situations, but he wants it to be.]

I am?

[He already wants to and he doesn't really know what all that entails.]

No one has done that before. It's.. obscene. [Credence gasps.] I like it so much.

[He's not sure what words to say. The way Graves talks makes him feel filthy, makes his cock ache, pulse in the warm grip surrounding it. He feels desperate, all of the sudden, as if he needs to beg and he wants to beg. He has to. He doesn't want this to last the whole night. He wants it right now.]

Can you.. please. I don't want to wait. I want to know what that feels like right now. Please don't make me wait. [He shifts on the bed, squeezes his thighs, digs his fingernails in.] F-fuck me. Please. I want you to.

Tell me what to say and I'll say it.

[ Credence's impatience is endearing, and something Graves doesn't look to curb, not when they're doing this. He can have a life here, and be treated the way he's always deserved to be treated. Graves doesn't know much about what things were like when Credence had been under his mother's thumb, but he knows enough to have a distaste for it. ]

Shh. [ He soothes, his hand moving to the lubricant nearby, unscrewing the lid and smearing it on his fingers, slicking it up smoothly. ] Patience. [ His words are soft velvet, and he keeps his thighs parted with a soft tut of disapproval. He continues to suck his cock before his mouth finds his balls, taking them into his mouth and laving at them, lube-slick fingers slipping underneath him, one pressing lightly up into the tight pucker of his hole, rubbing gently over the rim before he slowly, slowly pushes it in. To think that he will be the one to claim him, to sweep up his innocence and make it his own; Graves is hungry for it, himself already so hard and eager to simply fuck him, to rut into him as is his right.

But no. He might have Credence, but he wants his heart, too. He wants his loyalty, he wants him to burn for him, to need him when they're apart. ]

I need you to relax. Tensing up will make it hurt more.

[Credence frowns at the lubricant, brows furrowed and mouth pinched in confusion.

He doesn't know what he'll need that for, nobody had ever mentioned that. The conversations he'd been allowed to have about sex were few, but this hadn't been concluded. He wants to ask, he would have, but that small sound, that disapproval, it hurts. All the way to his core. More than he can understand in this moment with everything else that's going on.]

I'm trying, I want to be good for you.

[His lower lip trembles and he smooths his hand down his back, trying not to be overwhelmed by the dual sensations of having his cock sucked and fingers pressed against his hole. It burns, at first, feels strange in an unexpected way, but it gives way as he breathes through it.]

I don't know how.

[Relaxing, usually, isn't something someone has to tell him to do. He can, if he wants, but right now it seems impossible. He makes a sound, grunts as he pushes his hips down impatiently, thinking that'll make the pressure ease into pleasure.] Help me, please.

Easy. [ Graves breathes, low and immediately concerned when he realizes that Credence is extremely sensitive to his cues -- he's so very new at this and so eager to please that Graves has to remember patience despite his own mounting lust. He moves up from his cock to kiss him softly, urging him to kiss him back. to distract him from what he's doing.

Credence is new to this, untouched and pristine, and Graves is aware that his young husband's first time with sex should be as pleasurable as possible, trauma to a bare minimum. Unfortunately, discomfort is part of the game even if Graves knows how to negate it, and his hand comes to keep him at bay, drawing his finger back so he doesn't sink down on him quicker than is comfortable. ] Easy, I've got you.

[ As if he's taming a skittish mare, he thinks, and he smiles against his lips. His slick finger comes back to tease at his hole, gently nudging into him again, slow and deliberate. ] Kiss me. I want you to enjoy this, and for that to happen, you must be patient. Can you do that for me?

[Credence dips his tongue into Graves' mouth, tasting the fine wine that he must have had earlier, the warmth almost as intoxicating - and it does distract him, from the pressure and burn, from the way his body fights it at first. It lets him relax, helps him keep his hips from moving so much.]

I do enjoy i-it. Feels really good.

[When he allows himself to relax long enough for it, anyway.]

I can. [He almost promises, vows that he can and will be patient, but he doesn't. They are newly wed and he doesn't want to commit to something that he fears he won't be able to hold steady to. His body is already impatient for more, for sensation and pleasure, now that he's felt it.] I'll try.

[Parting his lips, he kisses Graves again, hard and open mouthed, sloppy.]

[ Credence is so sweetly honest, earnest that Graves cannot help but feel a ferocious possessiveness over him -- especially when he's obedient and stills under his instruction, knowing that he's consciously trying to make himself relax. It's endearing when he's as passionate as he is impatient, and Graves kisses back with equal ardor, fervent and ravenous, as if he's starved himself for too long and Credence is the only thing that can sate.

He continues to fingerfuck him, slick digit moving in and out in long, smooth strokes, getting him ready as he tries to ignore just how tight and snug he is, how much better it would feel clamped around Graves' cock, how everything in him is roaring to simply turn him over and give him a good, thorough fucking, make him cry out into the night.

No, Credence is not ready for that yet (Graves is not that cruel), and he pushes his second finger on with a soft murmur of approval, tongue slipping against his, snagging a hold of Credence's hand to guide it to his own painfully hard cock, wanting him to know just how much he wants him. Against his mouth, he whispers, hot and fierce. ]

Can you feel how much I want you?

[He can feel a steady ache, tight and shaky, forming at the center of his stomach, getting tighter and tighter and spreading out until it tingles down his legs, making the muscles twitch.

Not having expected it to feel this way, Credence struggles to catch his breath, to keep his eyes open. His back arches and he falls back to the bed, only to arch again, hips trying to rock, move and twist. It's strange having Percival's fingers inside of him, blood-hot and thrusting in and out, a rhythmic pattern that his breathing begins to mimic. He wants to fight against the arm holding him steady, the body pressing him down and the command to maintain control. He wants to roll down on those fingers, he wants more and he's so desperate he wants to beg for it, but he can't convince himself to say it.]

Y-yes. I can feel you.

[His fingers curl, gentle in a way that his body can't seem to manage right then. Credence strokes Graves' cock, carefully, as if he's never done it before and he hasn't, hardly even his own, but he wants it to feel good.]

[ There it is, those sweet words. He knows Credence is getting used to the idea of getting fucked, that he's acquainting himself with Graves, and how they are meant to be intimate. He moves against him, falling into a rhythm that he gently coaxes Credence into, showing him how to move and where, getting him comfortable.

Getting him comfortable is the most important thing; and Graves knows that he's learning. He knows he has to be patient with him, and he gently pushes him while he lightly spreads his fingers inside of him, urging him to relax, to loosen up, because if he doesn't, this is going to hurt. ]

Easy now, my love. [ He whispers heatedly, hips thrusting into his light grip, and Graves' free hand comes to close around Credence's in silent instruction. Firmer. More. ] A little while longer, and I'm going to fuck you.

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