Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11768130.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Fantastic_Beasts_and_Where_to_Find_Them_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Credence_Barebone/Original_Percival_Graves
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Ilvermorny, Teacher-Student_Relationship, Power_Play
  Collections:
      Anonymous
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-10 Words: 3132
****** Potion Instructor Graves ******
by Anonymous
Summary
     It certainly isn't high art, but my thirst for student/teacher was
     too great.
“Mr. Barebone, have a seat.”
On the Sunday before winter break, Credence’s fellow students were tucked away
in their respective common rooms of the Ilvermorny castle. The halls had been
quiet. The castle’s fireplaces were lit to keep out the mountain winter chill.
Credence lingered at the door to the potion instructor’s office. Professor
Graves peered over the circular glasses seated low on his nose with a look of
concern. Credence thought the expression only served to make him more handsome
if possible.
Credence caught himself and frowned. He tried to keep his attraction in check.
He hated looking the part of the moon-eyed, puppy dog fool in front of
Professor Graves. Credence attempted to fix his hair. He could feel Graves’
unhappiness creeping into his own gut, up through his fingers.
When Graves finally spoke, his eyes pinned Credence to his seat with their
typical intensity. “Did anyone see you come in? Did you tell anyone where you
were going?”
“No one, sir.” Credence relaxed somewhat in his seat. He stared down at his
school trousers, half an inch too short from his recent growth spurt, before
looking back up with color in his cheeks. Desire took hold again his chest. He
squirmed with impatience, body still too small to hold the enormity of all that
he wanted with Professor Graves.
“Good,” Graves sighed with a heaviness that seemed anything but. “I’ve been
meaning to have this conversation with you for some time.”
“Sir? Have I done something wrong?”
“I’m doing what’s best for you, Credence. For both of us. I have behaved
poorly. This cannot continue. You know that.”
Credence tried to focus on the silver measuring trinkets clinking softly on the
professor’s desk: weights, scales, a wide spoon that changed size. He swallowed
to keep down what threatened to overtake him. His throat felt thick and his
eyes too heavy.
“No,” he whispered. It sounded small and pathetic even to his own ears. His
mind spun trying to think of how this had happened. He had always known there
would be obstacles for them. Their entire affair had been almost nothing but
obstacles and secrets and awful lies. Except Credence wanted still. He pressed
his lips together, wet from crying, and tried to keep back any sound. He wanted
skin. He wanted to taste him one last time. Credence wanted to be angry or
distant, but his body wouldn’t allow it. All Credence could feel was self-
hatred for being foolish enough to think Professor Graves wanted to keep him.
“A young man your age should be going steady with pretty witches in your own
year.” Graves couldn’t seem to look him in the eye, instead adjusting his
cufflink.
“I can’t. Please,” Credence hiccuped. He curled his hand over his mouth as soon
as the words left his mouth. Even in front of a Graves - the man who had taken
him, bedded him - Credence’s shame won out. He had vowed to never let on how
much of an invert he actually was; that he was beyond curing, that he’d only
ever wanted a man.
Professor Graves’ face fell. For a moment he looked as heartbroken as Credence
felt. It gave Credence comfort the way Ma’s beatings ripped his mind away from
the pains of an empty stomach. “We can talk another day. You should get some
rest. Please Credence, do this for me.”
Credence stood and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Graves’ hand automatically
went to his back. Credence needed to remove himself. Graves’ body heat receded
as he moved to allow Credence space. Only the snap of the fire was left to fill
the silence.
Credence breathed through quick strides back to the Wampus dormitories. The
winds off of Mount Greylock seemed to echo against the stone, suddenly too
loud. Outside the dormitory, the jaws of the giant Wampus opened without
challenge for him to enter. Any other day, the students would be required to
perform the usual reflex challenge of pointing one’s wand when its amber eyes
turned green. Credence tried to muster gratitude for the stone guardian without
success. He ignored the other students gathered around in groups and took to
bed despite the January sun shining through the windows.
___
It had been three weeks. The school had just returned from their winter break,
and the seventh years didn’t have potions until that Friday. Credence had been
sick in the toilet twice that morning. He clung to his books as he ascended the
spiral stairs; First People’s Rune Reading II, Beyond Four: Alchemy in America,
and the Advanced Art of Potion-Making.
The potions volume still contained Credence’s enamored quill scribblings in the
margins. He’d made them when he’d first begun Professor Graves’ class. They
were tracings of his professor’s initials and silly symbols of his imagination;
tiny yearnings tucked under the prescribed number of Billywig stings for a
wideye brew. He dug his fingernails into the soft leather binding as he
approached the classroom. The sound of Professor Graves’ voice stopped him
cold. He wanted to run but stood rooted at the entrance.
He’d have remained there if it weren’t for the tide of students, alternately
shoving and moving him aside. Credence allowed himself to be taken with the
flow. Inside the classroom, the floor to ceiling windows were lined with
plants; soft greens and mysterious purples. Some spiked and some twisting. The
remainder of the potion ingredients were jarred up and kept on shelves. A
select few were locked up in a great cabinet behind Graves’ desk.
Credence rushed for the back of the room towards his desk. He’d been paired
with a young wizard from Michigan, a half-Native American and half-Dutch pure
blooded wizard. Kennet had strikingly pale eyes and quick reflexes. Credence
attributed the latter to Kennet’s fondness for lacrosse, of which Kennet often
tried to explain to Credence. Kennet had developed somewhat of a habit of vying
for Credence’s attention during lessons.
Today, Credence hunched over the table, body rigid with tension. When Professor
Graves called order, Credence couldn’t help but look up. He wore his glasses
and a new waistcoat that pulled in all the right places. Credence was
transfixed. Graves informed the class that they would be reviewing anti-
paralysis potions. He made a point to remind them of the practical
applications. Their professor never missed an opportunity to remind them of
what life threatening situations they could one day find themselves in.
Kennet volunteered to collect their ingredients. At the same time, Professor
Graves walked down the rows of tables to check on everyone’s cauldrons. He
brushed by Credence as if he wasn’t there and stopped to inquire about Phyllis
Carmichael and Eden LaMotte’s moldy burdock root. Kennet returned and cast a
hopeful smile as he arranged the ingredients in front of them. The two began to
divide them according to the order in which they’d be needed.
Credence had a reputation for being bookish, but he had a special proficiency
at potion-making as of late. It even looked as if Wampus was set to win
Excellence in Potions Cup this year. Today, Credence could hardly take his eyes
off of Graves’ back long enough to prepare the roots. Kennet cracked a joke.
When Credence didn’t respond, he stopped mid-slice.
“You ok?” Kennet set down his wand, “You can tell me, ya know, if something’s
wrong.”
Credence looked up to see Kennet staring with an almost comically serious
expression. “I’m fine. I just had a busy break is all.”
Eden caught his attention before he could try and elaborate. Credence paused to
listen as she addressed Graves a little too loudly. “Did you spend winter break
with your sweetheart, Professor Graves?” Their cauldron bubbled uneasily as
Phyllis elbowed her in the side with a whisper to shut her trap. The rest of
the class had already heard though. Credence’s stomach dropped as images of his
replacement bombarded him. He wished he could disappear, far, far away from
Mount Greylock.
“Ms. LaMotte, I’d advise you to focus on the task at hand.” Professor Graves
replied, smooth as ever. “This will be on the exam.” Graves snapped his
fingers. The fire under Eden’s cauldron fell to a reasonable simmer without him
having spoken a word.
“That isn’t a ‘no’,” Eden whispered to Phyllis once he was out of earshot. “You
owe me.”
Credence counted forwards and backwards, and yet the images wouldn’t stop
unfolding in his mind of Graves’ holiday without him. Men - older and more
established than Credence - offering Mister Graves a drink in their sitting
room, no fear of curfews or disguises, no one to answer to. They might even be
seen together under the lights of New York City. They would both have money,
unlike Credence who only had charity. He would be distinguished and well-
dressed, unlike Credence who fumbled over his own too-large feet. They had
probably laughed about the pitiful student who had become too attached.
Just as Kennet paused in the instructions, a bright shattering noise cut
through the din. Everyone turned to look at the broken jar glittering on
Professor Graves’ desk that had once contained a gallon of ox blood, now
dripping through the cracks. Credence knew it was his fault in one horrifying
instant. He still lacked control. Mister Graves had told him he had a great
deal of power inside of him which might prove a challenge to master. He cursed
ever having learned he was a wizard.
“Mr. Barebone. After class.”
___
 
Graves’ quarters were situated at to the South near the Wampus dormitories. The
other houses followed suit: Horned Serpent crowned the Northern tip, Pukwudgie
faced the East and Thunderbird stretched to the West. Credence kneaded his lip
outside his professor’s door, staring at the metal archway that suddenly seemed
menacing.
As Head of House, the discipline of the Wampus students often fell to Professor
Graves. He had spoken to Credence after the other students left while attending
to a chilling spell on one of his shelves. Graves murmured an order. Credence
was to come immediately from dinner. No dessert, no idle chatter, and no
dallying in the washroom. Graves continued his work without any sign that his
intentions were less than professional.
Credence lifted his fist to knock on the door. The door swung open on its own
to reveal Graves’ unbuttoned and pacing. Credence inhaled sharply when the door
shut behind him. Already he could feel the tension, from the yearning in his
gut to the tense curve of Graves shoulders. Graves turned to Credence with a
sigh. He was dressed down to his shirt and trousers with a smudge of ink on the
outer edge of his palm and an overabundance of parchment in front of him.
Graves surveyed his student standing in the middle of the room. Credence
thought - unbidden - of the first time Mister Graves had taken him in a
faculty-only parlor. Credence could almost smell their sweat on the leather as
Graves had pushed inside of him, muffling the boy’s noises with his hand on
Credence’s mouth.
“Since you insist on acting like a child,” Graves began to walk towards him,
“I’ll have to discipline you like one.”
“Sir?” Credence swallowed.
“Stand beside the bed.” He motioned with his head to the spot. Credence
positioned himself close to one side. He tried to steady his breathing to no
avail. Graves followed, pausing behind Credence so that his breath warmed
Credence’s neck, sliding the boy’s robe off to fall to the floor. He then sat
in front of Credence on the bed and motioned him forward.
“Pull down your pants,” Graves’ own breathing seemed to have gone shallow as
Credence situated himself between the v of Graves’ legs. “I’m going to spank
you ten times. Understood, Mr. Barebone?” Credence nodded. It was an effort not
to shiver with happiness as the air cooled his bare skin. Credence wanted to
beg and degrade himself. He wanted to kiss and rub his body into Graves’ thick
arms and chest.
He moaned when Graves’ finally struck his ass cheek. Skin on skin. Credence
continued to make small, stifled noises as each smack imbalanced him so that he
swayed into Graves. The tenth strike fell but Graves kept his hand in place.
Credence could see the older man had closed his eyes. He brought both hands up
with a growl and kneaded Credence’s cheeks, until the boy whimpered. The head
of Credence’s cock brushed the inseam of Graves’ leg. Credence’s mouth hung
open shamelessly, eyes hooded. His hands scrambled against Graves’ covered
shoulders. His skin stung with the absence of Graves’ hands. “Please,” he
sobbed into the silence.
After another second, the older man swore. Graves took a handful of each cheek
and Credence was pulled forward. Graves’ gaze went to where the head of
Credence’s cock nudged out from under his uniform shirt. “Mercy Lewis, look at
you.” Graves said in a voice Credence almost didn’t recognize. Graves spanked
him again without warning, harder this time. His hands traveled to Credence’s
thin waist to pull them flush together. Credence gasped, moisture forming at
the corner of his eyes.
“My boy needs discipline.” Graves’ hands slid upward to push away Credence’s
shirt. He dragged his lips across one pert, tiny nipple. “Isn’t that right?” He
looked up.
“Yes,” Credence rasped. “Yes, sir.” He babbled. Graves captured Credence’s
mouth in a kiss, hands clutching, seemingly encouraging his small thrusts. He
began to undo Credence’s school tie before working at his buttons. Credence
leaned closer to further ease Graves’ wet mouth traveling over his chest like a
starved man over a cleaned plate. The hot breath from his nose and lips was
laboured against his skin. As soon as Graves own shirt was gone, Credence ran
his hands over Graves’ chest and pecs, needing to feel his skin and chest hair;
the shape of his muscles. He couldn’t help taking another kiss, even though sir
hadn’t asked or given permission.
Suddenly the smooth, luxurious head of Graves’ cock prodded at Credence’s
entrance, causing him to gasp. After a small scramble onto the bed, he was
roughly pulled into Graves’ lap. One of the older man’s hands gripped
Credence’s hip while the other guided his cock. Credence groaned and tried to
catch the head before Graves had even murmured a lubricating spell. A sharp tug
on his hair broke him out of his haze.
“Three weeks without my cock and you’ve come undone.” Graves said in a mock
chiding tone. “Did you ask permission?” He asked before rubbing his precum
between Credence’s cheeks for good measure. The boy responded just as he’d
hoped. His beautiful features twisted in want and awe.
“Please, sir, can I have your cock,” Credence whined.
“That’s better.” Graves felt for the tiny pucker and began to insert himself.
Credence howled when Graves breached him even as he lowered himself further.
The hanging instruments and decoration above them stirred, chiming even though
no breeze had entered the room. Credence’s own mind blanked at the fullness of
having Graves inside him after weeks without. The boy stared down at him with
wide eyes, brimming with gratitude. At last, Credence was seated against fully
onto his cock, pressed into Graves’ pubic hair. Just a handful of months ago,
Credence had been a virgin and now he took Graves’ cock with reckless abandon.
Credence titled forward, long fingers spread out over the skin covering Graves’
hip bone for balance as his professor thrust his hips. Credence felt fear
creeping back up his throat at the thought of how close he was to losing this.
He lifted himself until only the head of Graves’ cock was inside him before
slamming back down. Credence no longer held back his noises, begging and
keeping up the ruthless pace, desperate to have as much of Mister Graves as he
could before it was taken away. He rolled his hips and arched his back to
better feel every inch of the other man.
“Sweetheart, I’m not going to last much longer,” Graves snapped his hips to
meet Credence’s needy motions. “Do you want my cum inside you?”
“Please. Please come inside me, sir.” Credence panted as Graves toyed with his
own hard cock. Credence’s orgasm wasn’t far off. He felt that heady tightness
he’d come to recognize, more eager for Graves’ release than his own. He’s
missed this so badly, the feeling of his professor’s come shooting up into him,
the closeness, the scent of him, the largeness of his mouth over Credence’s
own. Graves sat up properly to bounce Credence in his lap, with both arms
wrapped around him. His own voice rose in pitch as he called Credence his sweet
boy, his only one, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Credence’s head
rolled back as his thrust a final time into his body. He came against Graves’
chest, clutching his hair and begging for each pump of come that Graves could
give. Graves held onto Credence’s ass and groaned so loudly that it seemed to
echo off of the stone walls.
Slowly, their motions began to lose their urgency. Graves pressed his forehead
to Credence’s, sticky with sweat in the firelit room. Their lips met in a
possessive clash. They kissed and kissed with Graves still inside of Credence
until Graves couldn’t take it. He lowered Credence onto the bed as semen
dripped out onto the blanket. Suddenly and without warning, Credence felt as if
he might cry. Graves took his face in his hands without question, muttering
apologies. They stayed that way until the hand representing the Wampus house
struck curfew, cuing the three notes of a hagpipe to alert them.
Graves shifted uncomfortably. “I hadn’t realized the time. If your housemates
or the Wampus ask, you can tell them I supervised your cleaning cauldrons.”
“Yes, sir.” Credence began to slip out of bed and dress. He felt Graves
watching his movements. Credence summoned the courage to speak, his back to his
professor. “Will I see you again?” He asked the doorknob. Graves understood his
meaning.
“I suppose I could convince another pukwudgie to start another false project
for you in the cellars,” Graves ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.
“Greentoe does owe me after I discovered that over-regulation sized vat of
Bundimun ooze.”
The tension in Credence’s body faded away. “You won’t regret it, sir.” Credence
had made to leave when Graves caught him and pressed him back against the wall
with a maddening kiss. His naked body held Credence in place.
“We may very well be the ruin of each other, my boy,” Graves breathed against
the boy’s skin before releasing him. Both prayed no one would question the
besotted or well-fucked look on Credence's face.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!