Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/11390058. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: M/M Fandom: Fantastic_Beasts_and_Where_to_Find_Them_(Movies) Relationship: Credence_Barebone/Original_Percival_Graves, Queenie_Goldstein/Jacob Kowalski, implied Character: Credence_Barebone, Original_Percival_Graves, Queenie_Goldstein, Modesty Barebone Additional Tags: Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Vampires, Original_Percival_Graves is_a_Softie, also_a_vampire, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Loss_of Virginity, Credence_Barebone_Gets_a_Hug, Not_Canon_Compliant, lol, Somnophilia, sort_of, Multiple_Orgasms, minor_nosebleeds, Vampire_Sex, kind_of, Sex_Toys, Cock_Cages, unrealistic_use, whatever, Rimming, First Time_Blow_Jobs, Age_Difference, like_duh, Original_Percival_Graves_& Theseus_Scamander_Friendship, Friendship_my_ass Collections: Anonymous Stats: Published: 2017-07-03 Words: 7278 ****** looking after his own business ****** by Anonymous Summary "It might have been annoying if he didn’t now have something more interesting to think about than faceless guys and muscly arms. The ‘hot broody neighbor guy’ will do nicely. Picturing him washing his car proper out in his driveway, maybe getting himself so wet he’d need to take off his shirt, and then catch Credence looking only to aim the hose at him, and pull him in for a kiss, like they’d been caught in a rainstorm and-" Notes heres some more vamp!graves and human!cree b/c i have no talent lately for anything but pwp The smell. The taste. It’s unparalleled. Virgins always taste sweeter, always fall fastest, and when dreaming, why, they could lureeven the most practiced vampire in with nary a sigh. Graves finds himself hopping up the nearest tree, and staring into the window a leap away, watching the creature inside who’s fast asleep, and smells like heaven. He’s about sixteen, and nervous about something, school, a test, or maybe he’s planning to ask some pretty young thing like himself out to prom. It takes little effort to pick the lock on the window sill, and slip inside, melting into the wall like a shadow. Next he’s breathing deep, expanding lungs he doesn’t need to use, merely to filter out the notes, the elements of the possible tastes. Oh. Up close, he’s got skin like roses and cream, with the potency of liquor, if Graves could even still enjoy such a drink. Instead, he creeps nearer, and watches the pulse pounding steadily on the side of the boy’s neck, the ever flowing nectar just below the surface of his pale skin, and he finds his hand stretching out, fingers itching to touch, to possess, to consume. He can’t. But he could drift into the boy’s dream, and see what that pretty face uses such a quick mind to imagine. Graves has seen the boy in and around the neighborhood before, wanted to approach, curiosity getting the better of century old vigilance, but he’s also been scared off by the boy’s hours he keeps. Many times he’ll catch a glimpse of him before he leaves for school, catching a ride with a friend, and the sun will already be up, creeping tendrils of light that threaten to scorch, to burn, to wound him. So he hangs back. He waits. He watches. Graves leans in closer, and gets a more potent dose of perfume, sweat and gentle soap from the boy’s shower before bed, and consequent jerking off before passing out. It makes his own cock thicken, stirring in his jeans and grazing the zip, imagining just how the boy looks when he comes, petal pink lips parted, back arched and pale column of his throat exposed, begging for a nip. Graves gives himself a moment, dragging a hand over the boy’s shoulder and down his chest, barely resisting the urge to flick a fingertip against a peach colored nipple, and instead, gently tugs the sheet down, revealing more and more creamy skin. Oh. He’s young alright. or perhaps he’s behind, delayed a bit, so soft and delicate, he hasn’t yet tried growing a beard or maybe been able to, if the downy tufts of hair trailing past his navel are any indication. His cock is supine, against one slender thigh, but the same shade of blush as his lips. Graves of course, still doesn’t need to breathe, but the urge to fight for air overtakes him, and his hand moves of its own accord, a fingertip stroking down over the length, watching in fascination as it moves, twitching slightly, before hardening, and dew appears at the tip. The size doesn’t change, but the feel of it would be velvet covering steel now, he knows. He wants to taste the boy there before drinking from his neck, but still, he endures. All he does is touch. Barely. Two fingers now dragging up against the boy’s inner thigh, and Graves absentmindedly palms against himself, biting back a groan, wanting little more than to bury himself between those thighs just before letting his fangs emerge to pierce so much tender flesh, or to push them open, wide enough to reveal the pink pucker he knows is hidden under the swell of the boy’s sack, in the cleft of plush cheeks. “Fuck.” The boy shifts on the bed, and Graves almost hisses in warning, at nothing, like a spooked cat. But the boy is merely adjusting to the dream, he’s rolling his hips gently, lazily, unconsciously chasing after whatever and whoever is fucking him in his mind. Mad as it is, for a split second Graves dares to hope it’s himself the boy thinks of. He instantly pictures bending him over a kitchen counter, shoving him into the fence, or worse, cornering him at school in some overcrowded gym during the pathetic excuse for a dance they call prom, purring at him and dragging him to a bathroom stall for a hasty hand job or a half hearted mouth fuck. He wants. Oh he wants.   As he waits, lingering, although he should have left ages ago, the boy mewls, whimpering slightly he still sleeps, hands moving, one to his pillow, grasping desperately, and the other sinks to his stomach, to his cock, he strokes himself before sweetly sighing, spilling onto the sheet folded just below his thighs. Graves inhales sharply. Before he can think better of it, he reaches out again, but not with the intent to molest, no, to taste. The boy’s release is shimmering in the moonlight, sticky and paler than even his skin, but he’s dipped three fingers in it and shoved them onto his tongue. Painfully sweet, and intoxicating. Nothing so dizzying like the delicious satisfaction blood brings, but it’s enough. Graves staggers back from the bed, and ruts against his palm, halfway to the window and out of it, still licking at his fingertips as he crests himself, painting the inside of his jeans, and making another load of laundry to be done in the morning. He gets bored enough to do it almost once a day. Ruin something or other in the house he occupies. Tomorrow, he decides, he’ll actually approach the boy. He’ll figure something out. He climbs down from the window, and sprints home, ripping his clothing off as he goes, headed right for a cold shower. ===============================================================================   Credence can’t remember waking up so refreshed, or kicking off his sheets so far down, just to make a mess of them thanks to a wet dream. How the fuck did that happen? He’s been jerking off twice before bed every night for almost a year. This shouldn’t have even been an issue. Dimly, he thinks he remembers something about dark hair, piercing eyes, and a steady touch that made goosebumps rise across his arms. But that wasn’t much. It didn’t really help. Before he could angrily tug off the top sheet, he finds himself staring out the window, across the way, inside the garage, where the weird neighbor guy is working under his car. It’s a big black hulk of a thing, probably gets shit for gas milage, and Credence knows the guy is always working on it. He never seems to leave his house during the day. Credence suspects, with Modesty’s chiming in, that the man is a bouncer at some fancy nightclub. Or works security for a rich person’s private parties. The city itself is only a few miles off whether driving or by bus. Either way, the guy is intimidating, cool bleeds from every pore, and Credence is just… staring like a creep. He shakes himself and turns away from the window to throw the sheet in his laundry hamper, before pulling on a fresh pair of boxers, a shirt and jeans then walking out to the kitchen. Ma is already up, cooking what smells like a spinach omelette. He barely resists making a face and instead bee lines for the coffeepot, with his favorite mug in hand. “Why do you drink that stuff?” Modesty is asking him, nose wrinkling, and he shoots back, “Why do you eat that stuff?” Her breakfast of choice is bran flakes with no sugar, no raisins, no nothing except her two percent milk. It’s strange, but hey, if she wants to be a bodybuilder when she grows up, he won’t stop her. “Okay guys, none of that.” Ma smiles over at them, before ruffling his hair like she always does, trying to defuse the situation. In the morning light, he thinks she looks rather like an angel, or maybe a greek goddess, with her golden curls and blue eyes. Modesty looks a little like her, but he knows the truth, he knows they’re both adopted. He found out on his sixteenth birthday, and dad was apologetic, but had made him a great cake, so he really could only say thank you and be grateful to have such great parents, blood related or not. “Dad’s gone in early, so I’ll be driving your sister to school. Are you friends still coming by to give you a ride?” Credence nods, and shoves a piece of toast halfway into his mouth, ignoring when Modesty’s makes another face at him. By the time he goes out to stand by the curb to wait for Newt, he notices that his neighbor guy seems to be done working on his truck, and is now power washing the driveway, from inside the garage. He didn’t look away in time, and gets caught staring, so for some reason, his first thought is to wave, and smile. Like a weirdo. “Hi.” The guy frowns, and looks about to reply or react, but a purr of an engine distracts him, and Newt is shouting at him to get in, so Credence takes the out. “Who was that?” They were halfway down the block, and Credence busies himself with his cell phone so he won’t have to answer directly. “Hmm? Who was what?” “The hot broody guy who you were waving at?” Credence can feel his cheeks getting warm, and he scrolls faster, as he felt them turning into the school parking lot. “Uh…” “You’re avoiding the question Cree.” “Gotta go to the bathroom.” He didn’t run, but almost. Once safely inside a stall, he presses his forehead against the cool metal wall and tries not to think about how germy it might be, after all, he never goes in there to do what he is ‘supposed’ to be doing. He has a tradition, if he didn’t get time to jerk off in the shower at home before leaving for school, he did it at school. He sighs, and puts his phone away to undo his zip fly and thumb open the button, palming himself through his boxers. It might have been annoying if he didn’t now have something more interesting to think about than faceless guys and muscly arms. The ‘hot broody neighbor guy’ will do nicely. Picturing him washing his car proper out in his driveway, maybe getting himself so wet he’d need to take off his shirt, and then catch Credence looking only to aim the hose at him, and pull him in for a kiss, like they’d been caught in a rainstorm and- Credence moves his hand faster and grunts against his other hand, pushing it against his mouth to keep himself quiet as he comes, doing his best to aim into the toilet, failing miserably when he accidentally imagines the neighbor guy touching him instead, and his hips jerk involuntarily. “Fuck.” ===============================================================================     Graves is a weary 700 years old. He knows better at this point than to get interested or involved with a human, a mortal. He’s fucked up once, after getting tired and to the breaking point, and it hadn’t gone well. Well, as long as it had lasted, it hadn’t been terrible, in fact, he’d been in a collective mourning state for Theseus since about the 40’s. But the man had been so goddamned stubborn, insisting on fighting another war, after barely surviving the first, thanks to Graves’ help. Nothing he had said would have made him stay, except maybe the truth, and no one could know that, so he’d left, and never come back. Graves has tried to kill himself about every which way, but at that point he was too old to make much of a dent. He’d gone outside, gotten wicked sunburns and smoking skin, lasted about five minutes, before turning back around and huddling in the dark until he’d healed back up. He is a vain son of a bitch even if he is pissed off and constantly carrying the grudge of a death wish. Eventually he gave up and just kept existing. He’s migrated from New York around the world, settled for a while in the west, and then made it back to New York just in time to get a great deal on a small duplex outside the city, in what could be called a sprawling suburb. Across the street from some fucking gorgeous creature who is barely a decade and a half old. Why? Why is he so dumb? He shuffles through the packs of blood and the vials in his fridge and jerks his head back at the sound of footsteps, the scent of the familiar, and the knock on the door is only stopped by how quickly he runs to open it, finding the kid, the boy, the one smiling nervously at him, holding out a small box. Oh. He knows what that is. If he still had blood in his veins he might have blushed, but instead, he reaches out and snatches it out of the boy’s arms, then prepares to slam the door shut. “Hey wait Mister-” The boy’s hand makes contact with his own, over the door, and Graves’ nostrils flare, too much, too quick, get away- “What?” He didn’t mean to bark or shout, but then again, yeah, he kind of did. “Is your name really Percival Graves? Or is that like a package for your great uncle or something? It’s uh, cool, just like, medieval.” Pretty, too sweet, and fucking fuck Graves can smell how recently the boy has touched himself, climaxing somewhere around five hours ago, definitely while at school, the naughty thing. Before that, and after he’s jerked off at home twice more. He’s about to start drooling or casting lure and either way, it’s bound to end badly. “Uh… yeah, that’s me. Thanks for bringing this to me. Hopefully no more things get misdelivered to you. Wouldn’t want your little sister getting a fright.” The boy blinks rapidly, and then drops his gaze to the box, curiosity making his eyes sparkle. “Why’s that?” It is a bad idea. The worst. Graves opens his mouth and the words spill out against his will, “Come on inside and I’ll show you. Are you hungry? Long day at school?” God he is the worst. He should have been a better vamp, more of an apex predator and less the part of the lovesick fool. It isn’t even that! It’s just pure fascination. Why is the boy so… just, ridiculous. He follows Graves like a newborn puppy, padding into the kitchen and halting politely at the bar top counter, so that he can shield the shelves full of blood bags and bottles, snagging the one non-blood item, a quart of lemonade, which he didn’t even remember buying. “Here. I’m afraid I’m a hopeless cook but if you want to stick around... I could order pizza?” “You’re too nice. I just meant to return your mail. Surely you have better things to do than host me. I bet you have lots of cool adult friends.” Graves shrugs, and pours the boy a glass of the juice before handing it over, slow, careful, letting their fingers meet again. He fumbles the glass on purpose, he thinks, just so Graves can reach out lightning fast and catch it. “Whoa.” Fuck, shit, it’s time for the lure after all. “You didn’t see that.” He waves his hand in front of the boy’s eyes and watches them darken, as he blinks, and then shakes his head, licking his lips. “Sorry, what happened?” Graves tries not to sag in relief against the counter, and sets the glass off to the side. The boy isn’t actually hungry or thirsty anyway, he’s just curious still, and mildly aroused from tactile feedback. “You were asking about my package.” That didn’t come out right. The boy glances down about five seconds before self correcting and looking to the box marked from the post office, now he is blushing. “Oh yeah. Right. What is it that Modesty wouldn’t like?” The sister. The little blonde girl. Graves is such an idiot he knows the boy’s siblings name, but not his own. Good fucking job. “It’s for sex.” He blurts it out before he can think better of it, and the boy’s eyebrows lift up to graze his bangs. “Oh.” These perfect pink plush kissable lips are so damn close, all it will take… maybe just a pinch more lure and Graves can have anything and everything he’s ever wanted. His hands shake as he shoves them into his pockets, and fights against the very fiber of his being, waiting to see what the boy will do. “Like… a toy, or is it something bad, like really crazy, zip ties, or duct tape?” Graves chokes on his own venom, which has been pooling under his tongue, at the nearness of such ripe blood. Like saliva for hungry humans will do, until he swallows, and the boy turns a brighter shade of red. All that blood, inches away, smells so damn good. “Tell me your name, and maybe I’ll use it on you.” Graves is crowding him now, he didn’t even remember moving, but he’s half pounced, and the boy melts into the side of the kitchen, his pulse rocketing, while his eyes slide closed. Fuck. Virgins shouldn’t be left alone with old and tired and high strung vamps like him, well, ever. “Credence, Mister Graves. M’name is Credence.” He lets out a sigh that might have normally been from relief or exhaustion, but is only music to Graves’ ears, as he shifts even nearer, and puts a hand flat on the wall beside the boy, Credence, right next to his face, he leans in to close the gap, nuzzling against the side of his neck, “Do you want to stay?” It won’t really matter what Credence wants, the lure will hold even the most reluctant of victims, but Graves didn’t even drink freshies anymore. It has been decades. He’s been pretending not to be the bad guy by robbing blood banks and hospitals. Good fucking job.   ===============================================================================     ‘Did he want to what?’ What is he even doing there? Credence wracks his brain and tries to remember, but the last clear thought he can find is how handsome the man looks, standing in his doorway at a quarter to four, wearing just a white tank top and grey sweats. He’s half hard right now, being shoved against a wall and whispered to. “You want me to like… be part of your harem?” He squeaks, wildly guessing and probably falling short of reality in any way whatsoever. But hell, look at him! He’s like, the dream guy and half the neighborhood slobbers over him. He thinks, if Ma wasn’t so happy, and in love with Dad, she’d be right there, with him, asking if he wants a casserole or something, while Credence waits patiently for the awkwardness to stop. Instead, he’d been the one urged over, he’d been the one carrying a sex toy ? For hot neighbor guy who is still sniffing him? “‘Harem?’ Kid I’ve been single for half a century.” What a ridiculous exaggeration! The guy, Mister Graves, he’s like, thirty five at the most, maybe forty, and Credence shouldn’t be nearly as turned on as he is, and yet, and yet… The single press of a hand to his hip, and his cock fully hardens and drips, a wet spot starts forming in his boxers, and he needs to get away, to excuse himself to the guy’s bathroom, or there’s gonna be a bigger problem than his raging hormones. “Mister Graves? Can I use your-” “Anything you want. God, you smell so good.” Credence bites back a moan, and it comes out like a whimper, while words spring up his throat and crawl off his tongue unbidden, “Pin me against the wall.” “You got it.” He already kind of is, but now, Credence feels a firm roll of Mister Graves’ hips into his groin, and a shiver runs down his spine, as his own body jerks, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard, much less had such a hot guy like, threatening to blow his mind? “I should have known, after one taste, I’d become fucking addicted.” Credence is lost, mindless, riding a wave of bliss that starts and crashes within sixty seconds, when the guy nuzzles his face against his neck, weird , and then cups his ass through his jeans, great, and ruts against his cock, friction just enough. He dimly notes that he can feel the guy’s erection too, right up against his stomach, thanks to lack of underwear, he suspects, and then he’s shooting off, coming into his boxers, and babbling something about ‘oh please, oh please, don’t stop.’ God he sounds pathetic, and the aftershocks make every inch of his body tingle, still trapped against the wall by Mister Graves’ strong arms and legs. “You smell even better, dripping wet, high as a fucking kite.” The hand on his ass moves around and cups him through his jeans, even though he’s just come, he twitches, wishing he could go again right fucking now. Then the guy is opening the snap, tugging down the zipper and dropping to his knees, Credence barely catches himself before tipping over. Mister Graves is rubbing his face against his damp boxers, and this is all a dream, must be, it’s way too good to be true. He reaches out and pinches the closest thing he can reach, his own arm, and the pain sizzles up his nerves. He blinks, nope, the guy is still there, now licking over him, mouthing him through the wet fabric, and his knees give out. Luckily, Mister Graves’ hands are suddenly grasping at the back of his thighs, out of nowhere, holding him up, and close, so much so that Credence can feel the warmth and further wetness from the guy’s saliva soaking through to his cock, making it easier and easier to get hard again. But it’s too much after a while, and he needs to breathe, to take a break, to sit down. He reaches down to pet the guy’s hair, which is short and dark and messy. It’s silky soft to the touch, and when Mister Graves looks up at him, his eyes are completely black. That should be a little freaky, but he’s too out of it to care. “Stop. Please. You’re hurting me.” Not exactly, but there’s little else to say. If he doesn’t, then Credence is going to sucker punch him and run. “I’m so sorry. I got a little… distracted.” The guy pulls away, and then gets up, yanking his jeans up as he goes, and Credence is unmoored, his knees still jelly. “Whoa there.” Mister Graves is cradling him to his chest, and why are his eyelids so heavy? “Sorry. Why are you so-” Nice? Hot? “Do you want a kiss? Would that uh, re-energize you?” He can’t answer yes faster than nodding and leaning in, accidentally bumping his nose into the guy’s chin, and instead of just a little ‘oops’ he heard a crack and pain exploded over his face. “Ow?” Something starts to trickle down his nose, drip onto his chin, and Credence touches his mouth only for his fingertips to come away red with blood. “Fuck!” He doesn’t feel the ground fall out from his feet but he ends up dropped onto a bed, soft and plush under him, and Mister Graves is nowhere to be seen. So he sits there, and holds his hand against his nose, wincing every so often. Minutes tick by and he wonders if one can bleed to death like this, slowly, and from a stupid accident.   ===============================================================================     Graves about comes in his pants again at the sight of shed blood and the scent being nearly shoved into his nose. He puts Credence down the gentlest he can and then bolts. Locking himself in the downstairs bathroom, he frantically pushes down his sweatpants and tugs on his cock until he’s coming into the palm of his other hand in quick easy spurts, shuddering on a breath, a lungful of that sweet perfect virginal aroma. He frowns at himself when he’s done, especially his traitorous cock which refuses to go down, even though he couldn’t come again if he wanted to, and then washes his hands, makes himself decent, and snags the first aid kit on the way back upstairs. Oh good job. He put Credence in his bed and he’s bleeding all over himself. Now he’ll need to get rid of his clothing and throw him into a shower. He can’t send him home like that, covered in his own blood. What the fuck is he doing? He stops short in the doorway, and Credence looks up at him, lure having worn off, he’s just a frightened kid who’s in pain, and shaky from blood loss. “Hey. Can you walk?” Credence nods but he seems unsure, so Graves eases as close as he can, holding his breath, until the boy sort of falls into him, and he’s forced to focus, to carry him a little against his side, and he inhales for barely two seconds. He’s obviously hard, now painfully so, and it would be so easy to just lick the droplets drying on the boy’s hand, his wrist is so delicate, the skin’s probably sensitive, he’d like it too… “What happened? I didn’t even hit you…” Graves sighs, and lets go of him, propping him on the closed toilet seat, eyeing the shower. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’m pretty tough, and you’re so damn fragile, you humans…” Fuck now he’s going to have to dose the boy to get him in the shower and home without spilling the beans. He gives Credence barely a nudge, and sees his eyes glaze over, and his lips part, sticky with red. “Mister Graves?” Its without a shred of irony that he says it, but he still feels his own cock twitch, “Take off your clothes and get in the shower. I’ll bandage you once you’re clean.” He didn’t think very far ahead, he didn’t consider that now matter how tempting of a morsel Credence presents in his clothing, he is much more so once out of them, and dripping wet. When Graves returns from starting the boy’s bloodied things in a wash cycle he finds him shivering and eyeing the pristine white towels on the rack. Clearly he’s torn between drying off and risking further mess, even while lost in the grips of the lure. Graves yanks one away without a thought and averts his eyes as he approaches, folding the boy into his arms and summarily wrapping him up in a towel. “Thank you.” He’s still bleeding. Right. “Of course. Here.” He applies gauze first, until most of the blood falling has been soaked up and wiped away again, then he puts a smaller piece over the wound along with a big enough bandage, that covers his nose, and a bit of his cheek. Removing it will be tricky, but going slow and soaking the adhesive will help. For now, the boy blushes, and ducks his head, thanking Graves for basic kindness. He wants to eat him alive and also never let go of him. Panic wars with lust and thirst all at once, before Credence nudges in, and just barely brushes their mouths together. The lure, it’s just- “Mister Graves? Will you show me that toy now?” It’s not even a toy per se. It’s a tool to keep him from being tempted to visit the boy himself while he sleeps. God, what time is it even? Should he be worried about the parents? He sets the boy back onto his bed, just in the towel now, and the clock is just reading five past five. All this has occurred in so little time? It feels like his whole world has rearranged itself to curve around Credence, and Graves tries to ignore the itch in his bones, the craving in his marrow, to claim, mark, and most of all possess. Lithe fingers trace the line of his cock, and Graves’ own knees weaken. “You’re so hard. Can I help?” If he was stronger, or just a better person, he would say no, and shove the boy away, insist he didn’t want, or need to do a thing, but Graves isn’t. So he just nods, and watches as Credence gently pulls at the waistband of his sweats, until they slide down his thighs and fall to a grey puddle at his feet, before the boy’s hand makes contact with the bare skin of his cock. To say nothing of the heat of his touch and the caress of his exhale in shock, Graves wants to die right then and there, as Credence eyes him with trepidation before putting those pretty lips on the head, licking the tip like he’s testing a hot drink, afraid to be burned. He’s the one burning instead, putting a hand to those dark curls, still damp from the shower, and his eyes close, right before his hips roll forward, forcing himself deeper, making Credence cough. “Sorry about that.” “The toy, Mister Graves. What is it?” Something he suspects he’ll break in ten seconds if he were to put it on, but on the boy, why, he’d look delightful, flushed and squirming and eager. Oh. He comes like that, picturing Credence naked on his bed, unable to touch himself because of the cage, and his come drips down the boy’s face, onto his chest and stomach. “Stay here. I’ll get it.” Credence smiles dreamily and nods, barely aware how debauched he looks, covered in Graves’ spend and wearing only it and a towel. He’s so painfully lovely. Too young. Too sweet. He wants so badly to just be able to keep him.   Credence doesn’t question him, he just watches as Graves slits open the box with a nail and pulls out the plastic wrapped toy. Toy cage that’s like, made for a bird or something. At first, he worries the boy is too gifted to fit into it, but he’s soft, so soft and pliable, it works. “How does it feel?” Graves gnaws on his bottom lip, watching Credence’s face for any signs of pain or discomfort, but he’s silent, only to whisper that he would like another kiss please . The lure is affecting him very strangely, he’s almost… suggestible in that state. He shucks off his tank, and crawls onto the bed, bracketing the boy into his arms, trapping him under his body, and those pale legs open instantly, as he bares his neck, Graves feels tears threatening to sting his long dry eyes. It’s a ghost of the sensation. He can’t cry, or breathe, or eat or sleep, but he can fuck and wring every drop of pleasure from this creature, if it’s the last thing he does. His redemption is in the hands of Credence, and he gratefully kisses the boy, waiting and watching for him to come, or at least try. Youth is on his side, and even through the cage, Graves can see his cock dribbling semi clear fluid onto his stomach, as his whole body trembles. “Mister Graves… it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt.” He hums against Credence’s neck, and teases himself with the idea of just a bite, just a little taste, and then he’d lick it, and seal the wound, and the boy would never have to know. But instead, he resists a bit longer, and he grinds down onto the mattress, so very tempted to get onto his side and draw the boy close, so he could rut between his thighs, the creamy pale expanse of skin beggingto be marked. He’s happy, he’s ecstatic, his blood has never smelled more potent, not even a stolen climax in his sleep was so delicious as he is now, lying beneath Graves, melting into the bed, and still hyper aroused, shivering at the slightest touch to his bare hip. Graves leaves the place he’s worried a mark into the boy’s neck, and shifts down, lower, barely licking over the buds of his nipples, so that he can growl into the curve of his stomach, and then breathe in the scent of life, his blood pumping so fast, just under the surface. God didn’t give him nearly enough patience or self restraint.   ===============================================================================   Credence can’t really think straight beyond all the sensations overwhelming him, the fact that the guy is yet again nuzzling his cheek into his groin is forefront, along with how good it feels to be unable to touch himself, yet he’s come nearly twice in the span of twenty minutes, and now, if Mister Graves keeps this up, he may finish again from just a teasing touch on his thigh, and oh, he’s putting his mouth there, right at the usually not sensitive at all swell of his balls, he’s touching between Credence’s legs, why, why doesn’t he want the guy to stop? “You’re so quiet. I want to hear you. Please?” Credence blinks, unaware that he’s been involuntarily biting his lip, his cheek, clamping his lips tightly closed so every squeak and whimper and moan and scream doesn’t accidentally slip out. That is, all before Mister Graves puts his thumb against the edge of his rim and drags his tongue down Credence’s taint. “A-ah-h, please!” “Please what?” His voice is more of a grumble than a growl, but Credence’s legs are shaking, his hands fisting in the sheets lest he hurt Mister Graves by tugging on his hair, “Don’t stop.” The thumb stops massaging over him only so he can put his mouth there, and Credence’s back arches, shoving himself closer, so that Mister Graves’ hands now brace against his thighs, pressing him back and keeping him spread open. He didn’t even know he’s making a sound until he starts wondering where the strange whine is coming from, and the pleading, the tears dripping down his cheeks. A finger rubs over his hole as the guy’s tongue circles around the rim, and Credence can feel his cock twitching in the cage, desperate to come again, to be able to properly fill and release, but he couldn’t. He can only lay there, and writhe underneath Mister Graves’ hands and mouth, until finally the coil snaps and he comes, dry but powerful enough to make him scream for real. The guy purrs at him, and nips at his inner thigh, pulling back and taking a breath, while Credence tries to catch his own, as his heartbeat thunders in his ears. “You haven’t-” “It’s not about me. I want to show you how wonderful you are. We only really have tonight.” “Why?” Credence can’t help asking, even though it should be more puzzling of a statement than it ends up being. Is Mister Graves leaving soon? Vacation? Work transfer? What does he even do? “Because I can’t see you again. After this. After what I’ve done.” Credence didn’t understand, and when he tried to ask, to think, his throat closes up, and his mind goes pleasantly blank. “Mister Graves can you-” “What is it, what would you like?” Dozens of things, all more insane than the next filter through his mind, and somehow it all ends with him under the guy’s body, or pressed up against a wall. “You… in me? Please…” Mister Graves shudders over him, and shifts up to kiss his bare shoulder, before humming into his skin, vibrating through his entire body. “You can’t mean that, sweetheart.” Yes? Yes he does? He’s never wanted something more in his entire life? “Please? I don’t want to end the summer still a virgin.” He nearly swallows his tongue at that, the words escaping in a strangled gasp like a confession at church. Mister Graves looks down at him with something in his eyes that might be awe. He’s never been closer to being unworthy of salvation, but he’d like to stay in the guy’s arms if he could, forever. He doesn’t know why he feels like this. They’ve been strangers for weeks, and barely spoken, but still, as he insists, he begs, the guy sighs and then nods, before reaching up and past him, grabbing something wet, cold and slippery to rub on his fingers, and press against his hole, a finger sliding in so quick it takes him by surprise. “Oh!” His own cock valiantly twitches again, while Mister Graves kisses him so gently, and rubs a hand against his cock, long ignored and hard as could be, dripping over Credence’s hole, making him shiver, and he lets go of the sheets to wind his arms around the guy’s neck, clinging to him while he pushes in, achingly, teasing inch by inch. Credence can’t feel pain, only bliss, he’s vibrating apart into multiple shards of his fractured self, while his handsome neighbor who he wishes he’d spoken to foolishly sooner fucks him. The guy takes his gladly offered virginity with a sweet kiss, and a tender caress of his hip which turns into a gentle squeeze of his ass, then somehow he comes again when Mister Graves’ cock brushes against something inside of him that makes stars burst behind his eyelids. “Beautiful, you just might fucking destroy me.” Mister Graves buries his face into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, and there’s a slight sting, a nip, he’s marking Credence, he’s leaving behind what he’s heard Modesty giggle about. A hickey. Newt says they’re pointless shows of affection just to irritate other people, but Credence… why… he loves it. He wants to leave one back, but he’s too weak, weary from so many orgasms, he can only lay still, and feel the way Mister Graves groans over him, and stops rolling his hips, pausing in his fucking, to actually come inside him. Something about it makes him tingle, riding out his aftershocks, in the afterglow, he wonders, could he ever go back to just jerking himself off? Compared to this, it’s nothing. It’s a crude moment in time, stolen and hidden away. Finally Mister Graves shifts off of Credence, and a hand reaches down to free his cock from the cage that it’s been trapped in, and another wave of pleasure rolls over him against his will. “Rest. I’ll get something for you to eat.” He can feel the stickiness of lube and the wetness of come oozing out between his legs, but he doesn’t move except to fall onto his side, to press his cheek into the pillow, and watch Mister Graves tug on his sweatpants, smile at him, somewhat sadly, and go out of the room and down the stairs. ===============================================================================   Every second he’s in the kitchen delaying he expects pitchforks and torches to be thrown at his door, but across the street, the family is eating dinner, and Credence isn’t missed. He’s thought to be with his friends, or something. Graves is definitely that something alright. The boy’s upstairs, in his bed, recovering from half a dozen orgasms and being fucked out of his mind. Graves is angry, but also relieved. He can send the boy home once he comes down off the lure and no one will be the wiser. He’s going to sleep so well that night he may not even dream, but Graves is going to go visit him, to kiss him goodbye all the same. The boy’s clothes are done, tumbling in the dryer, and it’s time. Enough waiting around. He already did the worst thing he could, beyond taking the boy’s virginity, he drank from him. He told himself again and again not to do it, but he’d been unable to resist, and doing so had pushed him over, and he’d spilled so pathetically eager inside the tight warm wet grip of the boy’s ass, all those years of celibacy and staying away, not falling for humans, out the fucking window. But he could leave, and he would. He had money, and places he’d yet to re- visit. So he let Credence get dressed, and nudged him out the door, smiling as polite as could be, a proper story curled in the back of his brain, for when people asked him where he’d been and while he looked so thoroughly fucked. The story was, he’s been busy playing basketball in the park and then the ball had conked him in the face, he went back to Graves’ house for some patching up, and lost track of the time. When night falls, Graves can breathe again, and he goes across the street as soon as he works up the nerve, and gives in. His bags are packed, and the truck is topped off, the house will be fine for a year, or two. He’s itching to leave now, with more than his usual cargo in tow. He is halfway through Credence’s window, when he realizes the boy smells of worry, like a fresh tart apple, he’s concerned about something, yet again, but it can’t be school, he knows better. It’s almost out. The boy will be graduating and going off to find his place in the world soon enough, like Theseus would have been, if he hadn’t been so busy chasing death and saving the world. He stands at the end of Credence’s bed, and stretches out his hand, before shifting closer, fingers drifting over his leg, up his stomach, and palming over his steady beating heart. “I wish things were different, my angel. But I cannot afford to let you haunt me a moment longer. I will miss you.” They were linked, forever now, by the one taste he should not have had. Even if Credence didn’t want to see Graves in his dreams, in his mind, he would never escape it. He will be forced to chase after people with dark hair, kind eyes, and sad smiles. But it will only be an echo of what they shared. He leans down, and kisses the boy’s forehead, before dipping lower, and giving in to a final brush of lips against his own. His skin is soft, so much like silk it makes him regret not keeping the boy overnight. Worshiping his entire body for as long as he could. But he’d indulged himself enough, it was time to go. Graves didn’t think he could still cry, nor could his heart beat, but as he turns, and escapes out the window, something stings at his eyes, and his chest aches. He’s not thirsty or fatigued, he’s just full of regret. He climbs into his truck, starts up the engine, and drives away, the rumble of the garage closing behind him a final sort of clunk. The open road is all he’s ever known to be a constant companion, along with the passing of time. He shouldn’t think about it, shouldn’t wonder, but he does. He hopes Credence has a long and happy life, and that someone who deserves him finds him, and takes care of him, even on into his old age, which Graves prays for. He doesn’t even believe in that. It’s a selfish thought. Halfway across the country, he throws it out to the endless horizon. ‘Let me see him again. Just once more.’ That’ll be the day. The time he tries once more. To end it. He doesn’t sleep, but if he did, he knows he’d only see Credence.       ===============================================================================   END Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!