Grindelwald kissed him. Hard and deep. Held his chin steady and forced his thick, wet tongue between Percival's lips.
Percival wished he could pretend his hands were tied. That he hadn't used one to hold onto the edge of the desk and the other to grab the more powerful wizard's collar. That he hadn't pulled Grindelwald closer. That he hadn't enjoyed it.
Attention from Grindelwald was intoxicating. The man said too much, too early. Words of praise. Words of love. Yet, the attention felt genuine because Graves often saw other sycophants coldly dismissed. Witnessed terse fire calls. Realized, over and over again, that he was different than the rest. That Grindelwald was putting genuine effort into making him feel important. Like a general in the upcoming war instead of just a grunt.
Graves thought the powerful wizard looked sickly in his real form. Attractive, but somehow unwell. One pupil blown out, likely from some errant spell. His hair pale, straight, and sometimes even lifeless. Skin filmed with the sheen of ever-present sweat.
Grindelwald seemed tired and too energetic all at once. Like a man who's magical core was too big for his body. Who's power was threatening to literally burst out of him. Graves could vividly imagine said magic ripping through bone and sinew. He cringed.
Grindelwald was already wearing Percival's clothing.
The garments fit too tight in all the wrong places.
And yet, Merlin help him, Percival couldn't help but react to the touch. Confident and demanding. His chin ached where Grindelwald gripped him and from the ache he derived pleasure. There was a sharp pain in his lower back from the desk Grindelwald had pushed him into.
He knew what this was.
Grindelwald claiming him. Trying to trap him with affection and snare him by his own lust. It was an open gamble. Too obvious and too direct. Despite that, it was far too effective. Graves was nothing but a ball of repressed desires. Credence had began to loosen the knot and here this terrible man was, loosening every thing else Graves had held onto for so long.
His cock ached. Throbbed beneath his trousers and made an embarrassing spot where precum had leaked through both his pants and his smallclothes.
Graves moaned as the kiss broke into a series of stinging bites along his jawline. Grindelwald's teeth were sharp as if filed into points. The tiny pricks of them pressing into his skin were thrilling in their own right. Though, he figured he should have been disgusted. Graves wondered if dark magic transformed people. Did certain spells make men into monsters, over time? Was this a conscious decision on Grindelwald's part? After all, he'd always used glamours and potions to go unnoticed.
Graves wondered just how often the man had to look at his own face? Did he avoid the reality of his own corruption?
"Grinde..." Graves began as Grindelwald slid a hand up the back of his neck. The nails sharp but the touch light. A grazing drag that made Percival shiver.
"Call me Gellert, Percival. We're partners in this, after all," Grindelwald responded. His words whispered softly over Graves's jaw.
With his stance wide and domineering, he kept Graves pressed against the furniture while he began carding fingers through Graves's hair. Gentle, he searched for loose strands to use in polyjuice. He'd promised to never hurt Graves. Not even to pluck a hair from his head.
Because Graves was still useful. His trust still necessary for Grindelwald's plan. The boy needed Graves and the obscurus needed the boy.
Graves didn't push Gellert away as the man opened his collar with a wandless spell and tucked his lips against his throat. High enough where the collar would never hide a mark, anyway.
"A promise, for later," Grindelwald murmured just under Percival's ear. And then he sunk his teeth into the flesh, there. Sucked the skin between his lips until it started to redden and bruise. Still biting down to leave the obvious imprint of vaguely human teeth on Graves's flesh. His free arm went around Percival's waist and only then did Percival try to pull away. He didn't want the man to know how hard this made him. How much his lust could penetrate his disgust. Percival was especially humiliated when he realized the hips pressed to his front only framed a flaccid cock he could feel his own erection pulsing against.
"I'll be good to you if you stay out of sight, Percival," Grindelwald promised. "I'll find the obscurus after I meet the boy. Once our war has truly begun, I will bring him to you."
The war. Graves fought not to cringe, again. No-maj people needed to be humbled. Shown their lack of power. ...but was war the way?
"You've made me promises, Master Grin... Gellert."
Grindelwald smiled slyly, pulling away from Graves to approach the potion that lie waiting across the room. With his back turned, he shrugged at Percival's reminder.
"My dear Percy," he cooed while pouring something into a goblet from the small table. "Your list perplexes me. Spare The Goldstein sisters? The Scamander boy? A colleague's family and the younger brother of an old friend? The rest of your request seems practical. Yet, I can't at all fathom what reasons you have beyond sentiment, for these."
It was sentiment. Pure and simple. Tina had been nice to him at work. Believed him in moments where nobody else would. Been supportive. Queenie intimidated him to no end, but she was kind. She always looked at him with sad eyes and told him things would get better. What exactly she meant, Graves had no idea, but the support, again that word, was something he craved.
Theseus... Graves didn't want to think about him. Didn't want to care what happened to the man's brother but couldn't help it. He couldn't be an accomplice in their deaths. To hell with the rest of New York, but not the handful of people that had taken the time to show him that life wouldn't always be monotony and misery. He was even grateful for Tina's bumbling. For Theseus's callousness. After all, he never would have met Credence, without both.
"Tina is..." Percival tried to think in terms Gellert would understand. Appreciate. "Pretty. ...as is the younger Scamander."
Gallery turned, slowly. The statement obviously piquing his interest. His head tilting as he dropped a hair into his goblet. The perplexed look on his face melted into recognition. "Trophies, then. Honestly, I see it in the blonde girl. Perhaps even the older Scamander, whom I've met, briefly. The wiry one, though. Newt? He looks sickly. Much too thin."
His eyes closed as he gulped down the polyjuice. Graves closed his own eyes to avoid seeing the horrifying stretching and dimpling of transformation.
"Hmmm, I suppose you have a type," Grindelwald observed. He had an absentminded habit of talking to himself in front of others. Speculating out loud. Announcing his thoughts. "Emaciated, little things that are far too young for you."
Graves tried not to grimace at Grindelwald's reference to Credence. Opened his eyes and watched Grindelwald take a seat to put on his only pair of work shoes.
Graves glanced down to his own, bare feet. Wiggling his toes, he had the uncomfortable sensation of losing everything he loved and had ever cared about to Grindelwald's tricks. The thought made him feel frantic and, while he managed to quickly tamp the emotion down, he wondered if he would be able to follow Grindelwald's simple instruction to stay put.
There were no reasons to leave the basement hideout in upstate New York. It was a nicely appointed room with everything Graves would need for the days leading up to the war. Grindelwald had also promised to return, periodically, to allow Graves to continue his work. No point getting fired when his job afforded them so much access to power and information.
He was still useful. Would be for quite a long time, if he played his cards right. Grindelwald would keep his promises until the day Percival proved useless.
As he left, Grindelwald slammed wards shut around the building. Graves felt the sudden weight of trapping magic pressing down on him. Dampening his powers, even. Graves had assumed, from earlier conversations, that he had a choice about whether or not he stayed there. That Gellert trusted him to be loyal.
It was the first of many promises broken.
Graves wondered when and in what way Gellert would break "I won't hurt you. Not even a hair on your head."
Credence struggled beneath the press of Graves's body. The sharp texture of the brick wall at his back poked through his vest and shirt. Graves had already pulled his blazer off. Tossed it into nonexistence with a wandless spell. The boy, so awed by the casual display of power didn't care if he ever got it back. That was a beating he'd gladly take from his mother.
Credence noted that it was the first time Mister Graves had been so consumed with desire that he simply dragged the boy into the alley right across from Barebone House.
"Mister Graves, what if my mother saw us?"
"Fuck your idiot mother, boy," Graves growled against Credence's ear. His voice dripping with smiling lust. A tone that was far too jubilant. Far too confident to be the Mister Graves that Credence knew. Something had changed. But what? He was already holding Credence's hair and hip. Already licking and biting him to pieces. Disdain and domination curling around his vocal cords, Graves continued. "I'd fuck you right in front of her if I had the time."
"You.." Credence licked his lips. Quivering from the touches as well as the words. His hate for Mary Lou made him want to beg for this. Want to offend the wretched woman to her very core. To show her the depth of his sins. That her beatings and harsh words had taught him nothing. Gained her NOTHING. Not just the son of a witch, but a witch, himself. Would Graves cast spells to hold her in place? To force her eyes open so that she couldn't look away?
Credence let his hate unfurl. Let it course through him and thrum like the beat of his heart. The throb of his cock. Yet, he wouldn't ask that of Graves. The man who's job depended on him staying away from people like Mary Lou. He couldn't let the older man know the idea thrilled him. After all, Graves had yet to resist his earnest begging.
Credence knew what not to beg for. How not to push his lover, too far. Yet, he was interested in a certain part of what the man had said... "You would f... fu... fuck me?"
Credence grimaced at how he stumbled over the word. How was he to look like a man? A sturdy man worthy of and willing to engulf his lover's cock when he couldn't even say the word for the act? He straightened out his face as Graves pulled back to look at him. Worry washing away from his own features, Credence nearly melted at the gaze that met his attempt at a determined stare. The usual concerned furrow of Graves's brow was gone. He looked alive and self-assured. Like, for the first time, he knew what he wanted.
Was it the idea of fucking Credence that had inspired such a look?
"You've... never...?" Graves murmured as if only just realizing he'd never fucked the boy. His eyes were widening. Lips slightly open in a crazed, half-smile.
Credence had never seen the man smile at anything but his own shoes. Graves had a habit of tucking his chin down. Becoming silently flustered at the smallest hint of Credence's amusement or affection. The direct, smirking stare was the most arousing thing Credence had ever known. He reached up and touched Graves's face. Was shocked when the man grabbed his hand and pulled it down. Forced Credence to grab his crotch.
He'd never been invited, so openly, to touch Mister Graves. He let his fingers measure the man's girth. Graves was large even while flaccid and the man was starting to grow under Credence's grip.
"Credence, have you been preparing yourself for me, at all?"
Deep and sultry, Graves's voice rumbled out of him. Just as Credence opened his lips to answer, the man's fingers slid down his torso, landed on his cock, and settled into a claiming hold. Credence, hard, sensitive, and already smearing lust into his smallclothes, squirmed under the harsh touch. He wanted to answer but his parted lips wouldn't move for him to speak. He sucked in a breath as his legs began to shake. He managed a nod as his own fingers continued to massage his lover's impressively large length through his trousers.
"With fingers?" Graves whispered. He pressed a light kiss to Credence's top lip. Licked at it in the most frustratingly teasing way.
"Yes," Credence managed a sob.
A kiss to Credence's bottom lip. Another flirty lick where Graves's tongue fluttered against the sensitive skin. Credence sighed into the man's mouth.
"How many?" Graves asked. His hand working at Credence's hard cock. Slow, kneading strokes through the fabric.
"Two," Credence sobbed, again. Credence swallowed, then. Whined. He was shivering with pleasure. He wanted to look at Graves's face and commit those seductive eyes to memory but couldn't manage to move any part of his body voluntarily. All he knew was the sensation his lover rubbed and licked into him.
He felt Graves's hot breath on the side of his neck. Felt it travel up to his ear. Warm and wet, the man's words puffed into Credence's eardrum.
"Only two? For a kidney-cracker like this?" Graves pressed his hips forward for emphasis. Bit the boy's earlobe and chewed with his sharp, little teeth.
Credence whimpered at the violence in the words. At the violence on his earlobe and tugging at his hair. He'd never heard the phrase, but considering nobody ever talked to him, he wasn't surprised. What did surprise him was hearing something so colloquial from Mister Graves. After all, the man could barely make himself say anything about certain acts and certain parts. Slang seemed far beyond both of them.
Thankfully, Credence was in no state to question his lover's turn of phrase. His legs were already wanting to crumple beneath him and he hadn't even cum. How had this man that had always overwhelmed and relieved him learned to do it faster? This was the first time Credence felt almost embarrassed by his lack of control.
"Mister," Credence whimpered against Graves. He couldn't hold his trembling hand over the older man's cock. Instead, he curled all his fingers into the hem of the man's vest. Almost ripping it off. Graves, usually so quick to save his clothing from Credence's tugging, didn't seem to mind that his vest was even untucked. He continued to fondle Credence's throbbing arousal. To nibble at his ear. To yank at his hair. "Mister Graves, I... I'm going to..."
"So soon?" Graves chuckled. His laughter was almost cruel as he started to jerk Credence harder and faster. "Like some pathetic little boy? Right into your trousers?"
Credence felt the warmth in his balls start to surge up his shaft, threatening to bubble over. Trembled at the slick friction of wet fabric repeatedly pulled against the head of his leaking cock. Mister Graves had never pretended to be surprised by his sensitivity. Had only ever given him praise. Told him that it was sexy how quickly he got hard, came, and got hard, again. But it was truly enthralling to imagine that they were starting some game of crime and punishment.
"Are you going to punish me for making a mess, daddy?" Credence panted. As always, there were tears running down his cheeks and, as his orgasm approached, he leaned all his weight into Graves's sturdy body.
Graves paused in his fondling. Pulled Credence back by his hair to stare at the boy's reddened face. All the young man could do in return was tug on Percival's clothes and beg him to continue. Ignoring his cries, Graves let go of Credence. Moved both his hands to smack against wet cheeks before pulling the boy forward for a firm kiss on Credence's bitten lips.
"He calls him, 'Daddy', what a treat..." Graves murmured absently. Delightedly. Still holding Credence's cheeks, he gazed at the face in front of him with a satisfied smile. "Credence, I do believe I have a bit of time for you, today. Hold on, tight."
Credence managed to squirm only slightly closer before the sickening tug of apparation slithered through his senses. Trembling from what was suddenly threatening to be a spontaneous orgasm, he let go of Graves's shirt once they landed. Though lust still shuddered through him, Credence managed to open his eyes just a crack.
The room was at least as large as the chapel he prayed in every Sunday but seemed furnished for only one or two people to sleep in.
Bed, desk, table for two, ornate basin in the corner, wardrobes, trunks, curtains, a couch with matching chairs, rugs across polished floors... Credence's eyes darted around the room, quickly. He felt no magic in the building itself but could sense the residue of magical repairs on some objects. At least, now, he recognized the energy he felt resonating around him as magic. It had, often, terrified him as a child.
Credence had never imagined Mister Graves was rich and it baffled him to see sumptuous fabrics on every soft surface as well as painted wood and bare marble throughout. There seemed to be no hard surface in the room that wasn't at least partially gilded. He whispered a question about where the were. Though Graves usually caught his shy murmurs, the man didn't seem to notice and Credence felt too overwhelmed to repeat himself. New places were always exciting and terrifying. His neck sank into his shoulders as he shrank away from the room's imposing and regal decor. This wasn't a place made for people like him. Were he and Graves really so different?
Graves set about righting his disheveled clothing with magic and shot a wandless spell into the fireplace to knock the chill from the room. Credence realized he hadn't seen the man's wand at all, that day, and he wasn't wearing the dramatic coat that usually housed it.
"I'm going downstairs to get us checked in," Graves explained as he approached the cream and gold door. The phrasing indicating that this was, at least, not his own home. Credence relaxed marginally. It didn't seem like Graves to want to show off, but The Rainforest hadn't exactly been a dive or diner. Perhaps their alley disappearances would only get more gaudy and more lavish as time progressed. Credence wondered if the man would ever take him to a castle.
As Credence took a seat on the nearest surface, a trunk near the foot of the bed, Graves clicked his tongue at him. Gave him an annoyed glare. Credence immediately shot up from his seat. It was the first time he'd seen Mister Graves look annoyed and it made him want to beat himself for his foolishness. His fingers twitched at the impulse to remove and present his belt for punishment. Graves had promised not to hurt him in any way he didn't ask for. That was the one thing Credence would never request. A hand was one thing... a strip of leather, quite another.
"There's a shower through that door. Get cleaned up and wait on the bed. Do not finish what we started. I don't care if it hurts and you stay hard for hours. I'll decide when you cum, Credence."
Credence nodded dumbly at Graves's retreating form. Wondering if not being allowed to touch himself was some punishment for sitting down before instructed to. His cock still ached and he knew Graves could see the erection poking into the buttons at his fly. Some small part of him thrilled at the idea of Graves trading places with him. Would he make Graves cum over and over again while his own cock ached with need? Was he finally being taught how to hold back the way his lover did?
It felt odd to be surrounded by warmth and opulence and not have Graves's shy smile peeking over at him. It felt good to be told what to do instead of asked what he wanted. After all, until very recently, Credence hadn't really known what his options were. He was used to being commanded. Comforted by it.
Yet, he couldn't help but marvel at the lack of romance. He'd imagined this quite differently in the dozens of dreams where Graves had whisked him away from their alleys to enjoy a bit of privacy. Even in the few dreams where they'd landed in a place at least half as luxurious, Credence had pictures Graves making him king. Yet, this day, he knew it was up to him to finally do all the worshipping.