Actions

Work Header

Shooting Stars, Falling Objects

Chapter Text

 

 

 

 

i have forgotten your love, yet I seem to
glimpse you in every window

because of you, the heady perfumes of
summer pain me; because of you, I again
seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
shooting stars, falling objects

Pablo Neruda, Love

 


 

It took place over one of the hottest summers in recent memory, starting on the day he moved in.

His new home stood in the middle of the tree-lined block, with a wide green yard out front and an adjacent driveway. Neighborhood kids were out chasing each other in the empty streets, squirting water guns and shrieking. It was a bit of a culture shock for Graves, who had just left his post at NYU to teach here, at the local liberal arts college.

But this was what he wanted, wasn’t it? A change of scenery. Somewhere that didn’t have ghosts lurking around every corner. A place where people rang your doorbell offering housewarming cookies.

“Oh, uh,” Graves frowned at the older couple standing on his front porch. They wore matching smiles, unbothered by his awkwardness. He accepted the proffered plate. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” The woman gushed. “Just return the plate whenever. We’re right next door.” She gestured to the near identical house to their right, separated by the driveway and a strip of grass.

“Margie likes to be the first to welcome new neighbors,” the man added with a laugh. “Sorry to bombard you like this, you’re probably still unpacking.”

As if the tower of cardboard boxes behind him wasn’t indicative enough, Graves agreed, “Yeah, actually I--”

“Oh, look,” the woman -Margie- was glancing over her shoulder. “It’s Credence. Credence, honey! Come here!”

Fantastic, of course there was another member of this flock. He watched as a tall, lanky teenaged boy loped his way across the lawn. His skin appeared unnaturally pale against the bright afternoon sun.

“This is our son, Credence,” Margie was saying. “He’s starting college in the fall. Say hello to, um--”

“Percival Graves,” he supplied.

Credence smirked, giving Graves a once-over that left him with the back of his neck tingling. “Hello, Mr. Graves.”

The boy’s parents chattered on for another few minutes, small talk about his job, about New York, about his wife. “Divorced, actually,” he clarified.

Luckily they refrained from making any sympathetic noises, simply nodding in understanding. The entire time Graves could feel the kid’s eyes on him, pinpricks of heat that made him oddly self-conscious. When he darted a glance over, Credence met his gaze head on, unabashed. The tip of a tongue swiped across his plush lower lip and Graves quickly looked away, clearing his throat.

“I better get back to, uh,” Graves motioned to the general mess in the house. “But it was nice meeting all of you.”

“Pleasure was all ours, wasn’t it, Credence?” Margie beamed at her son.

“Sure was,” Credence drawled.

“Come visit us when you’re settled in,” the man -Robert, was it?- chimed in. “Or if you ever need anything.”

Graves thanked them for their hospitality, raising the plate of cookies in emphasis as they left his front porch. The kid hung back, leaning against the doorjamb like it was some kind of photoshoot, raking his eyes from Graves’ forearms, exposed by rolled-up shirt sleeves, to his chest, peeking out over four undone buttons.

“Forget something, kid?” Graves asked, a second away from covering up his bosom like some flustered handmaiden.

“Not at all, Mr. Graves .”

And the way the kid said his name, like it was something filthy. Someone had been watching too much porn, Graves just wasn’t sure was it Credence or himself.

With a lazy push, Credence slinked out of his doorway, crossing the lawn back to his own house, but not before throwing a wink over his shoulder. “See you around.”

Back in the cool, relative darkness of his foyer, Graves bit into a cookie and thought, what the fuck was that?

 


 

Another adjustment Graves had to make was managing his own maintenance. A life of city dwelling had left certain concepts rather foreign to him, such as the operation of a lawn mower.

It took him several tries and an embarrassing number of google searches, but finally he got the motor revved up and ready to go. Now all he had to do was push this little mechanical monster up and down his front yard. In ninety-degree weather. With the sun directly overhead.

Graves held in a groan. No wonder his students believed in getting an “A” for effort. Graves felt like awarding himself a medal for even attempting to do this on his own, as opposed to just paying some neighborhood kid.

Like the one hanging over his white picket fence (and Graves couldn’t believe he had one of those either), studying him with open amusement.

“See something funny?” Graves straightened, pulling up the bottom of his wifebeater to dab the sweat off his forehead.

“Yeah, you,” Credence answered, words slightly muffled around the lollipop in his mouth. He pulled it out with a pop. “Looks like you could use some help.”

Graves dragged his eyes away from spit-slicked lips, stained an artificial cherry red. “Are you offering, kid?”

Credence laughed. Even his tongue was bright red. “No way in hell.”

Brat. “Aren’t you a bit old for lollipops?”

“You’re the one who keeps calling me ‘kid’, and now I’m too old?” Credence rolled the candy sphere along the flat of his tongue, before catching it between sharp, white teeth. It crunched loudly as he bit down. “Make up your mind.”

“Well, if you’re not gonna help, then get outta here.” Graves turned back to the mower, intent on ignoring whatever game the boy was trying to rope him into. Nothing good will come of it, that was for sure.

His wifebeater was plastered against his back, soaked through with sweat. He was in danger of heatstroke if he didn’t finish this soon, and the last thing he needed was a distraction.

“Maybe I just like the view.”

Graves whipped around, but the boy was already gone, walking away with a skip in his step as if he’d won something by getting the last word in.

 


 

Out of the many regrets in his life, Graves never thought homeownership would be one of them. His knees were already growing sore as he pried another rotting floorboard out from his front porch. No wonder that realtor of his was so eager to let this one go. That lady is going to get the most sternly worded email of her goddamn career, as soon as he was done fixing up this place.

Technically, he could just call up a handyman, or several, and let them take care of everything. But then that would leave Graves with over two months to sit around the under-furnished house, twiddling his thumbs until the semester started. That was way too much time to contemplate on what a sad sack of shit he’d become.  

So, handiwork it was.

“Lemonade?”

It was Credence. Again. This time, thankfully, with nothing phallic in his mouth, but the loose threadbare tank top he was wearing wasn’t much better. The armholes stretched down to his narrow waist, the fabric hanging onto his chest by sheer force of will alone. He leaned a shoulder against the support column of the porch, holding out a tall glass.

Graves took it. “Thanks.” He downed it in two long pulls, handing the empty cup back as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s the fourth one today. Your neighborhood’s big on staying hydrated, huh?”

Credence, who’d been staring at his mouth since he started drinking, snapped his eyes up. “What?”

“I mean, someone’s brought over refreshments like, every hour since this morning.” Graves quirked his lip. “It’s like you guys are taking turns.”

Understanding dawned on Credence’s face and he threw his head back in a laugh. God, he was a gorgeous little shit. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re a big hit with the soccer moms.”

“Not just the soccer moms.”

Credence tilted his head, a knowing smirk on face. “This your way of telling me I have competition?”

Slowly, Graves got to his feet, pulling off one work glove, then the other, and tossing them both to the ground. He stepped towards Credence, intentions clear as he rested one sweaty palm on the porch railing, casually bracketing the boy against the support beam. “You don’t have competition, kid.”

Credence swallowed, probably unused to someone calling out his bluff. Yet he stayed frozen, gaze jumping between Graves’ mouth and his eyes.

Graves leaned an inch closer. Although they were the same height, he had about twenty pounds of muscle on the kid, easy, and his shadow loomed. “Because you’re not even in the running.”

Now it was Graves’ turn to laugh as Credence pouted, indignant for all the wrong reasons.

“Now scram, I got work to do.” Graves returned to the floorboards as the sound of Credence stomping down the steps turned into the sound of trampled grass.

Maybe it was petty of Graves, but someone had to take the kid down a peg. Besides, it wasn’t going to deter Credence for long.

 


 

A muggy June crawled into a sweltering July. Graves had some new furniture delivered, even bought a few paintings to spruce up the place. But in the end it didn’t help much, expanding from a two bedroom condo into a cookie cutter suburban house didn’t happen overnight.

All the windows and even the front door were thrown open as Graves attempted to paint an accent wall. It was something Seraphina had always wanted, but neither of them found the time nor the inclination to put the effort into actually doing it.

Well, take that, Phina, Graves thought as he dropped the roller back into the tray. He took a step back and was nearly blinded by the hideous yellow of his freshly painted wall. Dear lord, it was reminiscent of the time he stopped by a hot dog cart on his way home from the bar, drowned the hot dog in mustard in his overzealous drunken state, which then returned with a vengeance later that night in the form of vomit.

“Wow, that is fugly.”

Graves didn’t turn around. “Why are in my house, Credence?”

“The door was opened,” Credence explained, innocent as a choirboy.

When Graves finally looked at him, he wish he hadn’t. Credence was wearing a white t-shirt at least two sizes too small, baring a sliver of midriff. And he was completely soaked. “You’re dripping on my floor.”

“Oh yeah, I was playing with my sisters.” Credence gestured to outside the bay windows where two little girls were indeed running through the sprinklers.

“That wasn’t an apology.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graves,” Credence looked far from contrite. “How can I make it up to you?”

“You could stop wetting my floors.”

Credence considered it, and then decided to peel off his t-shirt which landed with a plop on the hardwood. He swiped it around with the toe of one sneaker in the worst facsimile of mopping Graves had ever seen.

“You are unbelievable.”

Credence smirked. “Thanks.”

“No, you little--that’s not--” A lot of blood was rushing to the wrong place as Graves tried not to look directly at the pale chest, dusky nipples that were already perking due to the cool interior of the house. “I’m going to get a mop.”

“I can get it.”

“How do you know where it is?”

“I dunno, Sherlock, maybe because our houses are built exactly the same?” Credence disappeared for a second, pulling open the cupboard under the stairs where Graves stored all his cleaning supplies. He returned, mop in hand. “Besides, I told my mom I’ll be helping you out today.”

“You told her what?” Graves watched, a little dry mouthed as Credence kicked his wet t-shirt into a corner, dabbing the mop around haphazardly, back muscles flexing with the effort.

“I said you wanted me to ask her if I could help you around the house today.” Credence turned around, resting his chin on the tip of the handle. “Oh, and you’ll pay me, of course.”

“Of course.” Graves pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you’re gonna be hanging around, you need to actually help. And go put on a shirt.”

Credence shrugged, about to head towards the front door when Graves realized what it would look like, to have this kid walk shirtless out of his house.

“Hold on, on second thought,” Graves jogged to to the stacks of boxes in the back of the house, riffling through them until he found the one labeled ‘summer clothes’.

He threw a garish purple t-shirt at Credence, who pulled it on without argument. The letters ‘NYU’ took up much of the front, in the same shade of yellow as his wall, Graves noted.

“I like it,” Credence studied the school name on his chest. He was swimming in the t-shirt, sleeves nearly down to his elbows. And then, because he was an insufferable twink, he knotted the front of it until his stomach was showing again. “That’s better, though.”

They worked in blissful silence for the next hour, Graves extending the roller near the ceiling while Credence filled in the space above the floor trims. The peace didn’t last long.

“So, why’d you move here?” Credence was on his knees, peering up at him through dark lashes.

“I wanted a lifestyle change.”

Credence’s mouth twisted. “Why would anyone leave New York City for this ?”

“It’s not like the movies, kid.” Graves focused on the spot at the end of his roller. “It’s...different. I didn’t really know my neighbors, for example.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Credence had his head down, absentmindedly running his brush over an already painted section.

Graves paused. Between the move, playing handyman, and wrapping up the loose ends of his divorce, Graves’ thoughts had been turned inward for much of the past year. He hadn’t stopped to consider why Credence might act the way he did, but a host of cliches swam to the top of his mind.

Stuck in a whitebread community, looking for an outlet. Rebelling against conformist parents. Seeking approval from an authority figure, perhaps. Or maybe the kid was just lonely. Come to think of it, Graves had never seen Credence hanging around with the other teenagers, who roamed the streets in boisterous packs. He stuck close to home, usually babysitting his sisters or reading under the oak tree that divided their houses.

Propping the roller against a corner, Graves crouched down to eye-level. “Listen, Credence.”

The boy picked his head up, bangs falling over his eyes.

Against his better judgment, Graves swept the fringe of hair to one side. “You seem like a smart kid. Probably had your choice of colleges. I assume you picked one far away from here?”

Credence hesitated, then nodded.

“Good. So you’re gonna get out of here, and when you do, you’re gonna have all the time in the world to explore who you are.” Graves smiled. “Everything’s temporary. So focus on that. That and the little things that make you happy. Okay?”

Credence stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching his. And then he surged forward, slotting his lips over Graves’, bowling him over with surprising strength until they were both toppled to the floor, Credence straddling him.

It was all happening so fast, fingers tugging his hair, tongue in his mouth, Credence moaning, pulling away to say, “God, you’re so hot when you’re trying to give advice.”

“Fuck, you little--” Graves threw him off to one side, panting at the ceiling. “See if I ever try to be nice to you again.”

There was giggling, and then Credence rolled into sight, propped up on his elbows as he looked down into Graves’ face. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so nice to me, Mr. Graves.”

Graves groaned. “And stop calling me that. I’m not your teacher.”

“Alright,” Credence pressed his lips against the shell of Graves’ ear. “Percival.”

“That’s it,” Graves jumped to his feet with the kind of dexterity he hadn’t shown in years. That was how much this kid riled him up. “Out, out!”

“You’re shooing me out? What am I, a rabid raccoon?” Credence continued to chill on the floor, hands now behind his head.

“You might as well be. Now get out before I kick your jailbait ass to the curb.”

With a roll of his eyes, Credence rolled to a standing position with far more grace than Graves did, sauntering to the foyer. He paused on the threshold, glancing back. “Thanks for the shirt, Percival .”

Graves might have slammed the door shut afterwards. He didn’t recall.

 


 

A sweltering July ticked over into a scorching August not unlike the climate found in the depths of hell.

The kid had been over nearly every day he wasn’t actively babysitting. Sometimes even when he was, sneaking away for a so-called break while his second youngest sister looked after the napping ten-year old.

For the most part, Credence had been keeping his hands to himself, which was suspicious enough on its own. Graves had wondered what sort of scheme was brewing, but then put it out of his mind, deciding it was better he didn’t know.

The house was coming together and even Graves had to admit, two pairs of hands were better than one. They repainted the unfortunate mustard accent wall with a rich crimson. The front porch got a final coat of waterproof sealant. He even sprinkled some flower seeds around the edge of the yard, but hell if he knew whether or not anything will come of them.

His belongings were another story. Only around half of the boxes was unpacked, mostly just the essentials when he needed them. Kitchen utensils and toiletries, some towels. His suits hung in their tall wardrobe boxes in the hallway, unopened.

With all the maintenance work, his uniform nowadays consisted of wifebeaters or shirts he didn’t mind getting stained, sleeves wrinkled beyond hope from being pushed up. The same couple pairs of old jeans with the worn out knees, slung low around his hips because he couldn’t be bothered to dig out a belt.

It was dusk and the cool breeze was a welcomed respite from the unrelenting sun, which was dipping behind the homes across the street. It made his front porch a prime spot to watch the play of orange and red across the sky. Not as much purple as in the city, Graves noted.

There was still enough light to see the slim figure strolling towards his mailbox.

“What are you doing, Credence?”

The kid paused, looking over at him. He soon joined Graves on his front porch, leaning against the railing besides him. “Didn’t know if you were having dinner. Didn’t want to bother you.” He held out a small card in between two fingers.

“That’s unusually considerate of you.” Graves took the card. He tilted it towards the porch light, the words ‘You’re Invited!’ reflecting back in a shimmering gold font. “Don’t tell me you’re inviting me to your birthday party?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. The whole neighborhood’s invited.” Credence leaned against him, skin cool in the night air, gazing out towards the middle distance. “But I think you might be interested in this one.”

Graves flipped open the card. Inside, it read: Credence’s 18th birthday!

It started as a chuckle, bubbling up from somewhere deep in Graves’ chest. Soon his shoulders were shaking with the effort to suppress it. Finally, he threw back his head and laughed, wiping tears away with the back of his hand that held the invitation.

Graves took a deep, shuddering breath, the chirping of crickets and the buzz of cicadas the only noise once again. He hadn’t laughed that hard since Seraphina handed him the divorce papers.

After he’d settled down, Credence leaned his head against Graves’ shoulder. His hair was soft against Graves’ cheek and for a moment, Graves could pretend that this was another life, where they were just another couple enjoying a nice summer night.

After a minute, Graves gently pushed Credence off with a nudge. Prying neighbors were a dime a dozen in a place like this, and even with the cover of darkness, Graves didn’t feel comfortable. And that was the whole issue, wasn’t it?

He could try to distract himself with a million things but in the end, he was wearing somebody else’s skin. It was ill-fitting and left him with an itch he couldn’t scratch. The only time he felt at ease was with Credence, who didn’t bother to wear a syrupy sweet smile, who never sugarcoated the trivialities that seemed to plague upscale communities such as this one.

Maybe that was what made Credence so appealing. The same essence of being lost , adrift in a world where he didn’t belong. At least Graves had the luxury of thinking he had it all figured out at one point, Credence had probably never experienced it. But then again, that whole better to have loved and lost, blah blah blah thing, was bullshit. Falling from grace was so much worse.

“You’re wallowing again.” Credence murmured.

“Am not.”

A soft rush of air, like a chuckle through his nose. “What was it that you told me?” Credence placed a hand on Graves’ forearm, stroking it with his thumb, eyes never leaving the houses across the street. “Everything’s temporary?”

“Yeah,” Graves studied Credence’s profile, softened in the dim, orange glow of the porch light. An aristocratic nose, soaring cheekbones. Short hairs curling around his ear, tickling his brows. “Everything’s temporary.”

 


 

Some things were like in the movies. Except if he were in one, Graves wondered if he was the protagonist or the antagonist.

The whole neighborhood showed up to celebrate Credence’s crowning achievement of turning eighteen. It was more an excuse to drink one too many light beers (ew) while the housewives refilled their glasses with spiked punch (urgh).

Too bad Credence wasn’t turning twenty-one, then he could’ve shown up with a fine bottle of aged scotch, which he would insist on opening at the party and consuming immediately, while it was “fresh”.  

Credence was doing better than Graves, but that was because Credence had years of practice. He smiled indulgently as his parents paraded him around, thanking everyone for coming, acting pleasantly surprised by every gift he was handed. Kid was a pro.

“Smile, you look like you’re at a funeral.” Credence sidled up to him, speaking from the corner of his mouth.

“I thought we were mourning the death of your innocence, or whatever.” Graves lifted a hand in greeting to someone who waved at him from across the backyard. No idea who the fuck that was.

“That’s long dead.” Credence leaned in. “Although I’m sure you could still teach me a thing or two, Prof.”

Then Credence was gone, off to shake hands or kiss babies. Whatever it was sarcastic little shits like him did.

The time passed slowly, Graves dragged from one small talk to another,

ready for the new semester? It’s around the corner!

you’re gonna love it, it’s a great school!

how ya settling in?

Great, great, great.

Maybe it was his fault, for being too snooty to indulge in their choice of alcoholic beverages, because the whole ordeal would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if he weren’t sober. After another hour, he decided he’d put in his time and sought out the host of the bbq.

“Oh, Professor Graves, leaving so soon?” Margie asked, placing a hand on his arm.

“Please, call me Percival. I’ll hear enough of that soon enough.”

She laughed. “Of course. Well, we’re so glad you could make it. Credence, come say goodbye to Mr. Graves.”

Credence stepped forward obediently, wholesome smile plastered on. “Thanks for coming.” He tilted his head. “Could I call you Percival, too?”

Graves held in a snort, reaching out to ruffle the already messy mop of dark hair. “Of course, kiddo. It’s your birthday.”

“Aw, gee, thanks, Percival.”

Margie beamed at the both of them and Graves couldn’t help but find the situation painfully hysterical.

 


 

Later that night, after a desperate search in the various unopened boxes littered around his living room, Graves settled onto the couch with a groan, tumbler of whiskey in hand. In front of him was where his big screen TV would’ve been, if he had bothered to hang it.

But staring at a blank wall in silence suited him just fine. He was about to raise his glass to his lips when a knock sounded on the back door. A glance at the clock told him it was just past midnight.

It was Credence, of course.

“Little past your curfew, isn’t it?” Graves drawled.

Credence leaned his forearm on the doorjamb, which seemed to be supporting the entirety of his weight as he nearly pitched forward. “I…am an adult.”

“Oh my god, you’re drunk.” As Credence all but fell into his chest, the smell of booze hit him like a ton of bricks. “What’d you do? Sneak into your father’s liquor cabinet?”

“Mmmmmmaybe,” Credence mumbled into Graves’ collar.

With a heavy sigh, Graves scooped him up, bridal-style. He would’ve use the fireman’s carry if he weren’t sure that would’ve resulted in puke all over his floors. He kicked the back door shut, Credence a negligible weight in his arms as he walked back into his living room.

Credence looked small and pale against the dark leather of the couch, still dressed in the same button-down shirt from earlier today. It was the first article of clothing Graves had seen that didn’t look like it belonged in a twink bar in Chelsea. Credence shivered.

Graves went back to the boxes, digging around until he found a throw blanket. As he wrapped it around Credence’s slumbering form, Graves wondered what was the next step. He knew what a responsible adult would do - he’d tell Credence’s parents. They’d come right over, whisk Credence away, and the boy will probably be out of his hair forever.

“Percival?” came a weak voice from within the bundle.

Graves perched on the edge of the couch, tucking the blanket under Credence’s chin so it wasn’t suffocating him. “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.”

With yet another sigh, Graves gave in and brushed a thumb over heated cheeks, pushing bangs off a sweat-soaked forehead. “Bit early to be having your quarter-life crisis. But you can still form words so, already got a leg up on me.”

Credence smiled, loose and easy, without purpose or a hint of arrogance. It looked good on him. “You got wasted?”

“Oh yeah, nearly drank myself blind,” Graves chuckled at the memory. “Acted like turning twenty-five was the end of the world.”

“Was it?”

“In a way. But a good way,” Graves clarified. “I...made a lot of mistakes as a young man. Believe it or not, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I wish I could say the same for me when I was your age.”

“Yeah,” Credence giggled. “You’re kinda slow on the uptake.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

Credence nuzzled into the palm against his face, expression sobering, if not his overall state. “I am sorry, though, for everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

“For bothering you all the time. You probably have better things to do. Like finding a new wife.”

“You’re not-- I don’t--” Graves huffed out a breath, his familiar frustration with the inadequacy of words rearing its head again. “Come here.”

He pulled Credence into his arms, rubbing soothing palms over the bony back. He felt more than heard Credence sigh, chest pressed against his, a warm exhale in the crook of his neck.

“You’re not a bother to me. You’re not a bother to anyone,” Graves muttered, and he wasn’t sure if he were speaking to Credence or his younger self. “I feel so lucky you came into my life. Like god’s giving me a break, for once.”

Credence snorted. “Not the devil?”

“Fallen angels are still angels, right?”

Credence pulled back to look at him, eyes half-lidded but clearer than when he first stumbled onto his doorstep. With the languid movements of someone still half-drunk, Credence clambered into Graves’ lap, pulling the throw around them both, arms looping around Graves’ neck. “You never gave me a birthday present.”

“Yes, I did. I left it on the gifts table.”

Credence frowned. “What’d you get me?”

“A card. It had cash in it,” when Credence rolled his eyes, he insisted, “I was short on time.”

“Whatever. That’s a shitty gift, so it doesn’t count.”

“So what does count?”

Credence smirked and he almost looked like his normal self. “You know what.”

“You’re in no state for that, legal or not.”

Credence rolled his hips. “Please?”

God, it’d been a while but. “No.” Graves clamped his hands down on Credence’s thighs, halting them. He tried not to notice how well they fit in his palms.

“Fine. How ‘bout a kiss?”

“You smell like a distillery.”

“But it’s my birthday.”

“It’s past midnight so technically, no.”

Credence pouted, crossing his arms. He glared off to the side.

Graves found his hands rubbing over Credence’s thighs, like smoothing the flank of an irritated horse. “Alright, just one,” he placated.  

Immediately, Credence was on him, hands in his hair, licking into his mouth. Credence tasted bitter, like hard liquor, tongue warm and wet against his own. With a sharp nip to Graves’ bottom lip, one kiss turned into two, then three.

The hands in his hair tightened as Credence moaned and spread his thighs so he could press closer, grinding his hard length into Graves’ stomach.

With what little blood left in his brain, Graves knew he should put a stop to this. “Wait, wait,” he panted, voice rough.

“No, no, please,” Credence begged, high and needy. He pressed his forehead to Graves’, eyes squeezed shut, hips moving jerkily. “Just stay still, let me--”

“God, Credence,” Graves dropped his head onto the back of the couch, his own eyes slipping shut. His hands moved around to grip Credence’s ass, which was flexing with each thrust. “Fuck, you’re drunk, we can’t--”

“I promise you,” Credence pushed out between gritted teeth. “I wanted this before, and I will want this again after. Me having a few - ah, fuck - drinks won’t change that.”

Graves wanted to argue, he really did, but his cock was aching and each time Credence shifted, his ass grounded down into Graves’ lap, torturous and not enough. And Credence started making these noises, breathless mewls right in his ear, yes, please, I’m so close .

With a stutter of his hips, Credence stilled, nails digging into Graves’ shoulders before his entire body relaxed, all at once, slumping over, chest still heaving. Not even a minute later he was sliding to his knees between Graves’ legs.

“Oh, thank god,” Graves whispered as Credence undid his belt, pulling out his hard dick. “Have you...done this before?”

Credence nodded but he was eyeing it strangely, wrapping both hands around it, one on top of the other. “Nothing this big before.”

His first thought was to be flattered. His second was to reassure Credence that he didn’t have to do anything he was uncomfortable with, but before he could get the words out Credence took the head in his mouth, sucking on it like a lollipop, and Graves dropped his head back onto the couch.

Exploratory licks all over, tonguing the slit. Graves picked his head up just enough to watch Credence work, dark lashes fanned out with his eyes closed in concentration, cheeks hollowing as he bobbed along the length, taking a bit more each time.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Graves mumbled, cupping one large hand around a delicate cheek.

Credence’s lashes fluttered, moaning around the mouthful. He had one hand stroking what he couldn’t fit, the other below the couch, moving in time with his head. Fuck, to have that kind of refractory period again.

Graves trailed his hand from Credence’s cheek to his hair, the perfect length to grab onto. He wanted to take it slow, let Credence set his own pace, but the tight, wet heat of that mouth was too good, and it was almost teasing at this point.

He pushed Credence a little further down and Credence took it like a champ, quickly adjusting as his lips stretched wide around the girth. Spit was dribbling down his chin and his moans were more insistent, the hand on his own cock speeding up.

At this point, Graves was fucking into Credence’s mouth, balls tightening as he reached the peak. “Credence, I’m gonna--”

Credence pulled off with a pop, sitting back on his haunches with his mouth still opened, eyes closed. “Come on my face.”

Graves groaned, hand falling to give his cock the couple of pulls it needed. Long strings of cum landed on Credence’s cheeks, his lashes, his waiting tongue.

Head back, eyes still closed, Credence came with a whimper, fucking into his own fist. After a couple of breaths, Credence peeked out at him from the eye not covered in release.


Graves exhaled. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”