Actions

Work Header

Good Enough to Eat

Work Text:

Credence wasn’t upset that they’d told him to go see a psychiatrist, he was upset that they even knew him well enough to order him.

“It’s for work as much as for your well being. We need his help, he could provide insight on the chesapeake murders, and you need to relax a little. Talk to someone highly qualified. I know you haven’t been sleeping well Credence. Don’t argue with me. You’ve only been here three months, but you’re damned good at what you do. I won’t have you getting burned out on my watch.”

Picquery’s gaze bore right through him, and Credence barely hid a wince.

“Yes ma’am. Thank you. He’s outside Boston?”

“You could drive or take the train, whatever. Just bill it to the department, travel times better be accurate.”

“Okay. Got it.”

All in the name of work, supposedly. Grumbling wouldn’t change it, so he knew he should just buck up, and get on with it. Credence sighed to himself, and pushed out of his car, slamming the door shut none too gently, and striding up to the building, which read in slightly peeling letters the Doctor’s full name, purpose of practice, and a handful of other names. Walking into the waiting room, he was surprised to find himself alone.

Was he the only ‘patient’ with an appointment? Or was he a client?

A consultant?

Picquery hadn’t said exactly what capacity the Doctor expected him to be in exactly-

“Detective Barebone?”

Credence glanced over to an open door, which hadn’t been a handful of seconds before, and he blinked,

“Oh. No it’s just Mister now. I’m done with that. Just profiling.”

“Ah, I see. Well, come on in. You’re early.”

That was Doctor Graves?

He looked more like some kind of politician in his nicely cut suit, and pomade styled hair, with shoes that gleamed like they’d just been polished. Everything inside his office was anything but the cold and clinical atmosphere Credence had been imagining from the waiting room. It was more like the heart of a library, with a desk plopped in the middle, seeming more out of place than even Credence felt. A ladder with guide rails led up to the second story walkway of shelves, and he had to crane his neck to get even a glimpse of the top one.

“Mister Barebone?”

He coughed, realizing he’d been gawking, and not even introduced himself properly, so he looked back to the Doctor, and tried to smile.

“Nice to meet you Doctor Graves. Sorry, I just… this wasn’t what I was expecting. Where do I go? There’s no couch.”

The Doctor grinned, and shrugged, accepting the hand Credence extended easily, shaking it firmly, and with a warmth that suggested maybe he’d been holding something hot just before.

“I think that’s a rather outdated view on therapy, don’t you? So impersonal. Besides, I love to read, I collect rare books. My hobby and my work simply go hand in hand.”

“So where can I sit?”

Credence dropped his hand, after he held on for a few seconds too long, and he noticed the Doctor flexing his own fingers before crossing behind his desk, straightening a handful of pens set out along with a small notebook.

“Anywhere you like. You’re welcome to explore. I can talk to you if you’re not right in front of me.”

“I don’t want you to have to be shouting if I’m… up there.”

Credence jerked a thumb towards the ladder, and the Doctor smiled again,

“It’s quite alright. I think you’ll find I’m an excellent listener, despite distance.”


 

 

Percival did indeed watch the former detective as he moved about the room, and made certain his gaze didn’t linger when the younger man was actually paying him attention. Every time a book made him pause, Percival observed. By the time Mister Barebone had circled the upper level once, Percival had deduced a few things about him that hadn’t been in his profile and case notes that Agent Picquery had sent over.

Along with the fact that Mister Barebone had not been sleeping well, going off of just the dark shadows under his eyes, he appeared to have a mild case of anxiety, as he continuously could be seen ringing his hands together in front of his chest, even when not standing still, when he noticed that he was doing it, he hugged his arms tightly around his middle, and fidgeted by biting his bottom lip. He didn’t appear to consume regular meals either, going off the tremors in his hands, and his foot tapping suggested a high consumption of caffeine with little to absorb it. Lucky thing Percival had packed more than enough lunch for two.

“Mister Barebone, would you care to join me for an early dinner? I suspect you won’t make it home in time for a decent meal, with rush hour traffic starting up just as you leave.”

The profiler turned away from the book he’d been studying to meet Percival’s concerned gaze, and he worried his bottom lip so hard it appeared to be in danger of bleeding.

“Are you sure? I didn’t bring anything… I don’t know if that’s acceptable practice… dining together?”

Percival chuckled softly,

“I think it’s perfectly fine. We’re more colleagues than doctor and patient, are we not?”

He quirked a brow at the younger man, whose cheeks went pink before he shrugged.

“Okay.”

The way he had packed up his food was highly organized, and perhaps overly so, and he could see that Mister Barebone was fidgeting even more as he watched Percival arrange everything over his desk, atop where he’d first set out a makeshift tablecloth to protect the wood, and he looked up to catch him frowning.

“Something the matter?”

“I uh, you’re planning on more than just me joining you… right?”

Percival smirked,

“Not at all. Whatever you would like to eat you’re welcome to. I’m used to leftovers. Wine or water?”

He’d brought a nice white that had been chilling for the better part of the day, and he only hesitated when Mister Barebone blinked, and remained silent a moment.

“You want to drink now, before it’s even five?”

“Highly unprofessional of me, I know. But nothing compliments the pâté like a nice chardonnay.”

He wasn’t about to beg, but he considered, for the slender pale man before him, he’d probably do it in different circumstances. He was like a wraith, a dark angel, and Percival had never been one to break rules, maybe he did occasionally just bend them for certain clients, but for Mister Barebone? Why, he was intriguing enough to toss the rulebook into the fire for.

“Alright. Just one glass. Half a glass.”

“Certainly.”

Mister Barebone was just awkward enough not to keep eye contact, and he actually started pacing while Percival finished setting out the dishes, utensils and poured the wine. He swirled his own glass and inhaled slowly, savoring the crisp apple and soft grass notes, before taking a sip, ensuring it had breathed long enough. It would have to do. The chill would distract from the bitterness of the powder coating the glass in the younger man’s.

While it might have been dust on a distracted first glance, anyone who knew Percival should have never thought badly of him enough to serve a dirty glass. It was a mild dose of something to allow suggestions, to better probe the young man’s mind, and if he didn’t happen to remember much of the meeting beyond the shared meal, so be it.

When Percival clapped his hands, and smiled broadly, causing Mister Barebone to halt mid-step and spin on his heel,

“All ready now?”

“Sit, please.”

The food was consumed in silence, but for the occasional chewing and swallowing. Percival found himself observing how the profiler alternated between a couple bites and then a sip, or rather, gulp of wine, far too busy eating to actually savor anything. Poor thing.

Next time, he’d serve the man a meaningless appetizer so he could better appreciate Percival’s culinary skills.

He set his fork down with a fairly loud clank against the wood of the table, through the tablecloth. Percival didn’t stop to observe him, he knew that the drugs were kicking in, and the profiler probably thought it was just the wine.

“Is it hot in here? Sorry, maybe it’s me, I’m a chronic sweater. I mean. Is that even a thing? Oh my god, sorry.”

Percival glanced up upon the shattering of glass, when Mister Barebone knocked over his empty wine glass, staring down at the ground with horror evident on his lovely face, his other hand halfway to shrugging off his jacket, sweat indeed glistening at the side of his neck, visible beneath a dark curtain of hair as it shifted away from his skin.

“Fuck. Shit. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

He leaned down, about to start trying to pick it up and Percival found himself on the verge of shouting,

“Stop! You’ll hurt yourself. Don’t touch it.”

He got up from his seat and crossed over to the door behind his desk, a spare closet, filled with a handful of helpful objects, including a broom and dustpan. He returned to where Mister Barebone was sitting, still appearing rather frightened with a touch of color in his cheeks, though it appeared he’d been successful in removing his outer layer.

“I’m so sorry Doctor Graves. I didn’t mean to-”

Percival put a hand to the younger man’s shoulder, halting his rambling,

“It’s quite alright. It was just an accident.”

Once the broken glass fragments were safely out of the way, tossed in the trash, Percival began to pack up the remaining food, and left to return it to the fridge in the other room beside the closet. He emerged back out into his office to find Mister Barebone pacing the room, stopping at the ladder, seeming to be considering if he could climb it, somewhat buzzed as he was.

“Did you have any questions for me? Or would you prefer to spend the rest of our session exploring my library?”

A smile colored his words as he approached silently as he possibly could, so that the profiler might be unaware of his close observation, until he was right behind him. It worked perfectly, and upon Mister Barebone’s realization, Percival saw his eyes darken, while his lips parted to wet them with his tongue, revealing a quick flicker of pink, and then he swallowed.

“Uh, what, just how much alcohol content was in that wine, Doctor Graves?”

“Please, such formalities are unnecessary. Call me Percival, if you’ll allow me the same indulgence… Credence.”

His hand drifted up the side of the profiler’s wrist, tracing his fingertips over the bare skin there, exposed by the rolled up fabric of his sleeves. His pulse was racing overtime, and Percival could only hope he’d be just as receptive to his next move, whether due to the drug or otherwise.

“Doctor-”

“Percival.”

He corrected smoothly, and was half tempted to put his other hand to Credence’s mouth, but not yet, he was still playing, teasing, wanting desperately for the younger man to make the first move. The profiler was crowded against the side of the ladder, so that he could easily escape, by climbing or stepping aside if he wanted, but he didn’t. He remained very still, and when Percival’s hand reached his collar, fingers curling underneath, behind to grasp around the nape of his neck, Credence melted into the touch. His skin was warm, too warm to the touch, but Percival thought he could smell something darker, sharper beyond the spicy notes of his cheap aftershave and deodorant, he was aroused too, even if it wasn’t visible anywhere beyond the black eclipsing the brown of his irises. At least, until Percival glanced down, tempted to smirk at the sight of the younger man’s jeans appearing more than a little tight over his groin.

Credence’s long lashes fluttered as his eyes closed, and Percival leaned in only to stop at the final inch parting their mouths from making contact.

 


 

Credence hardly knew what the fuck he was doing, letting the Doctor pin him against the ladder, which was digging painfully into the base of his spine, while the man’s hot and heavy hand braced against the back of his neck, he almost seemed like he was about to- to- to kiss him? Was that even allowed? Was he just as drunk as Credence felt?

Blinking rapidly, he tried to swallow, to form words, to summon the strength and shove the man away, but when he lifted a hand, all he did was grip fervently at Doctor Graves’ arm, pulling him closer. Oh god. His thigh was now slotted between Credence’s legs, when had that happened? He was hard, trembling, cock throbbing in his pants, and goddamn sweating near to death, his hair was tickling against the back of his neck, along with the Doctor’s fingers.

“Alright there, little one?”

Credence gulped, and shook himself, fighting to grasp for the coherence needed to do anything but just stand there and lean in to press back, push away, though it was rather pointless to do all that with just his lips over the man’s. Oh well.

Doctor Graves tasted like the smooth savory flavor from the pâté , and something sweeter, the wine, Credence guessed, but god, why couldn’t he stop clinging to the man, rutting against his leg like one of his damned dogs had done before being fixed? He wanted to reach down, to fumble a hand against the Doctor’s groin too, see if he wasn’t the only one being driven mad with want.

“I can’t… breathe.”

“Let’s get you out of this, shall we?”

Doctor Graves’ voice was smooth, low, a mild suggestion, but Credence couldn’t argue with his tone, he merely watched, dazedly, as the man’s hands left his neck and moved to his shirt hem, untucking it from his pants and lifting slightly, urging it away and off him. What was he doing?

“Much better, yes?”

He nodded before he could think to stop himself, and Doctor Graves returned to being flush against him, dipping down to put his mouth to the side of his neck, and Credence fairly squirmed, a gasp escaping his throat.

“Mmm, you like that?”

No... it just felt good.

“Yes.”

He moved his hands, endeavoring to do something other than just fucking stand there like a statue, and ended up putting them to the Doctor’s shoulders, bracing himself against them, staring directly across the room, focusing on a row of books that blurred to a reddish gold in his vision, only returning to himself when the man moved, lower, while his strong sure hands went to Credence’s pants, undoing the zip and button, tugging halfway down his thighs, along with his briefs, before he’d even noticed the touch against his bare hip.

“What-”

“Christ. You’re gifted, aren’t you?”

Credence’s clever quip in reply vanished as soon as it had manifested, when Doctor Graves summarily took the length of him between calloused fingers and put his mouth to the head of his cock.

“Fuck.”
He didn’t mean to curse, but how could he help it? That was the first time anything besides his own hand had touched his cock in months, maybe a year. Credence’s hips jolted forward of their own accord when the Doctor parted his lips and licked down the side of his length, while his hand dipped lower, caressing past his balls and fingers circled at the base.

“I wonder, how you might look spread open atop my desk.”

A whimper left his mouth, and he felt his knees weaken, threatening to give out beneath him, but the Doctor’s hand was firm, splayed over his bare stomach, then curling against the side of his waist.

“Why…?”

The man’s dark eyes met his in a moment that made his heartbeat thunder in his ears. God, when had anyone ever looked at him like that? Certainly no one as handsome as the Doctor… ever.

“You don’t believe you’re beautiful, do you? You think you’re just another patient. Client. Whatever. You’re not. You’re going to be my greatest creation.”

Credence’s confused frown had to be real, it felt like he was scrunching his forehead, but the Doctor just laughed at him, and leaned back in to swallow down halfway around his cock, shattering his concentration, and making his head fall back, only to wince after he’d banged it into the closest ladder rung.

“Oh sweet boy. Forgive me. Here.”

Doctor Graves was easing off his shoes and socks, then helping him out of his pants and underwear, before leading him by the wrist over to his desk, now cleared but for the tablecloth. Credence’s eyes widened as he felt the man stop right behind him, then wrap his arms around him, while hands caressed over his chest, his waist, one then diverged down to stroke over his aching cock again, and the other rose up to thumb over a nipple, forcing him to thrust into the palm curling around his length. All the while the Doctor chuckled low, lips pressed into the nape of his neck.

“Come whenever you’re ready. Don’t be afraid to make a mess.”

‘That’s what the cover is for.’ Credence realized dimly. The man had known he was going to molest him after they ate, had planned to fuck him over his goddamned desk.

Why the fuck was he going along with it?

Now, when he became overwhelmed, from tactile sensation driving his arousal closer and closer to cresting, he could rest his head back against the Doctor’s shoulder, while the man worried Credence’s neck so much that he feared he’d need to resort to a scarf tomorrow, not wanting to answer the awkward questions the marks would lead to.

He moaned low and long as the Doctor grasped gently over his neck, and continued to tug firmly over his cock, thumb rubbing over the dripping head, teasing the sensitive underside until Credence thought he’d go mad if he held back a second longer.

He’d been intimate with exactly one other person and made it to orgasm, never again since.

Now, he spilled over the cream colored fabric on the Doctor’s desk with a pounding heart, and shaky hands braced over the soft surface, which was only marred by streaks of wetness as his release began to soak into it.

“Perfect. Now, bend over.”

Credence was too weak to do anything less but obey, and he shivered when he felt a puff of warm breath against the base of his spine, while a hand was firm, stroking down the length of his bare back.

“I’m not going to fuck you. Don’t worry so much, little lamb.”

He closed his eyes, and tried not to tense up at the first graze of fingers between the cleft of his asscheeks, but to his surprise, the Doctor didn’t press in, didn’t try to penetrate him, instead, he was merely holding him open, staring, until a wet touch made contact with his hole, and his eyes snapped open.

“What-”

“Shh-hh.”

 


 

Percival had changed his mind about sucking off his lovely patient, deciding he’d indulge in a taste once he’d made him come a second time from just his lips and tongue over his pretty little hole, so tight and sensitive that he almost wondered if no one had ever touched Credence there. He thought so, for the profiler jumped and cried out at the barest hint of his thumb circling the rim, Percival didn’t even bother daring to nudge inside.

Credence was by far the most delectable creature Percival had ever had on his palate, and it was fairly amusing to watch as he squirmed and writhed about, pretending he wasn’t getting aroused all over again from just those few touches.

He trailed wet sloppy kisses against the silky skin of Credence’s sack, then moved back up to swirl his tongue around the tight clench of muscle, then finally, he pushed in a finger, slicked well with spit, and a hint of lube from the bottle which he’d kept tucked away in his back pocket.

Clearly Credence hadn’t done a very good job of checking him out in return, or he’d have questioned it. Easing one whole digit into the younger man resulted in a breathy moan, and Percival smiled against his skin, kissing the nearest plush cheek before getting back up to stand directly behind him, undoing his button fly with his free hand, and assuring Credence verbally once more that nothing would happen like he seemed to expect.

He stroked over his cock and barely held back a shudder of his own. It had been entirely too torturous holding the young man against the ladder, and then dragging him to the edge without demanding any sort of reciprocation, but their first session was not about him, it was about learning about Credence through observation.

He could see for instance, how well his cock would fit between the profiler’s thighs, and by extension, when the day came that he could press inside fully, he knew once Credence had accepted three fingers with ease, the head of his cock would seem like almost nothing, unless he was fully sober, fully aware and much less relaxed. That would be an experiment for another time.

He continued to pump the one finger in and out of Credence, savoring each tremor and gasp that escaped him, before withdrawing, spreading slick over his cock, then he guided it right over the pink twitching muscle, grazing the glistening rim, and watching how the profiler’s back arched. He was silently asking for it, wanting more, yet afraid to speak the words.

“Keep your legs together, tight now.”

He pointedly avoided thrusting against Credence’s own cock, that was resting soft, hanging off the desk, just barely nudging the drape of the tablecloth with every move of Percival’s hips. It wouldn’t take long to get him off again, he knew by how tightly wound he’d been from the merest hint of a finger. Percival would happily use two and make the younger man come without a single touch to his cock, but that time, he endeavored to catch some of his release, let it linger on his tongue, and commit the taste to memory.

In the meantime, he leaned down to put his lips to the nape of Credence’s neck, sweaty dark waves pushed aside by a careless hand, before grasping at the slender shoulder, gaining more leverage to better fuck between the slim legs. The slow drag of friction, with minimal slip and slide from lubrication was agonizingly sensual, forcing Percival closer with every passing second, as he knew the profiler was likely drowning in his own lust, heightened by the drug coursing through his system.

“Are you close-?”

Credence managed to pant out, making Percival smile far too fondly against the line of his sharp jawline, before groaning his reply, stilling his hips, as his cock spilled hot and wet down the profiler’s inner thighs, dripping a little onto the floor, he thanked small mercies for the plastic mat beneath his desk.

“Quite. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you wanting.”

Another kiss, a nip to his skin, and Percival retreated, catching his breath for a moment while just petting a hand down the knobs of Credence’s spine, before easily grasping his hips, and manhandling him onto his back, ignoring his gasp.

Like that, oh, he was indeed gorgeous, with his full body flush, chest heaving with exertion, cock hard and dripping onto his stomach, dark curls scattered around his head on the tablecloth, a fitting halo, for Percival’s angel of death.

“Doctor Graves… please…”

He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, and couldn’t hide the warmth from his voice if he tried,

“Yes?”

“I need to-”

“Oh, yes, I know.”

He smirked, and then fell to his knees again, gladly, relishing the chance to rest the aching in his muscles, before hooking a hand behind each of Credence’s knees, bracing his legs over his shoulders, so he could lean in and properly swallow down the profiler’s cock. It took little effort to get him off that time, barely a hint of two fingers nudging inside the slick and welcoming grip of his ass, curling just right, to make a high whimper fill the air, and bittersalt from his release spurted over Percival’s tongue, down his throat.

“Oh god…”

Credence laid upon his desk for a good few moments, looking thoroughly ravished, to Percival’s satisfaction, before regretfully, he moved back and away, going to retrieve a warm cloth with which to clean the profiler up properly. He redressed himself, tucking away his softened cock and wiping his hands carefully from the excess lubrication, then returning to Credence’s side.

His pupils were still highly dilated, no longer from lust, but merely the after effects of the drug, and he’d likely forget everything that had occurred, except for what might linger, coming to him in dreams, flights of fancy. It would only help build the obsession.

Percival smiled gently as he finished washing him, urging Credence up to his wobbly legged stance, letting him feel free to brace himself against his shoulders, while he folded up the tablecloth, and tossed it over to land in his chair.

“Let’s get you dressed, again, shall we? Rush hour should be cleared up by now. You’ll have smooth sailing home.”

By the time Credence was put to rights, and Percival walked him out to his car, it was cloudy outside, the hint of a thunderstorm on the way, and the profiler was already walking easier.

“That was a rather productive meeting, wasn’t it?” He asked, sounding a bit dazed, disconnected, and Percival nodded, humming to himself.

“Perhaps we should have another one, same time next week?”

Credence blinked, black fading into brown, before he locked eyes with Percival,

“Yes, let’s.”

 


 

 

END