// Hit me with your best kiss. //
Credence’s eyes flutter shut, dark eyelashes fanning across high cheekbones, and he holds his breath. Their lips are so close he can almost taste him, his sweet promises, his strength. The young preacher’s son shivers where he stands, his soul aching for his savior. This dark haired stranger with warm eyes and tender hands, powerful hands. Credence wants to surrender his life to him – to crash and break and fall and die in his arms. All it had taken was a slight tilt of his head, and Credence had changed the comforting embrace of Mr. Graves into something else entirely. If Credence had dared to breathe, they would have shared the same air. His heart skips a beat at that. “Mr. Graves,” he murmurs, and their lips touch when he forms the words. He thinks he might lose his mind in that moment. Perhaps he did. Credence is not himself. He doesn’t allow himself this – never – but oh, he wants. He is sick with desire, and presses forwards, hesitant, uncertain, fearful. Mr. Graves’ lips are soft and warm and Credence doesn’t want to breathe or speak or live any more, he wants to die here. Like this. “Please love me,” he whispers into his mouth, and his cheeks are wet with tears and his hands are trembling against Mr. Graves’ chest. “Please, please.” And Credence can not stop begging. His nose brushes against the other man’s cheek, and his kisses are artless and clumsy, but they are earnest and they are desperate. “Please. You’re all I want.” His knuckles are white with strain, refusing to release the only man who saw his potential, and not his shortcomings. Please stay, Credence’s eyes are squeezed shut, and his eyelashes are wet. Love me. Love me. Love me. “You’re all I want.”
Credence’s eyes flutter shut, dark eyelashes fanning across high cheekbones, and he holds his breath. Their lips are so close he can almost taste him, his sweet promises, his strength. The young preacher’s son shivers where he stands, his soul aching for his savior. This dark haired stranger with warm eyes and tender hands, powerful hands. Credence wants to surrender his life to him – to crash and break and fall and die in his arms. All it had taken was a slight tilt of his head, and Credence had changed the comforting embrace of Mr. Graves into something else entirely. If Credence had dared to breathe, they would have shared the same air. His heart skips a beat at that. “Mr. Graves,” he murmurs, and their lips touch as he forms the words. He thinks he might lose his mind in that moment. Perhaps he did. Credence is not himself. He doesn’t allow himself this – never – but oh, he wants and wants and wants. He is sick with desire, and presses forwards, hesitant, uncertain, fearful. Mr. Graves’ lips are soft and warm and Credence doesn’t want to breathe or speak or live any more, he wants to die here. Like this. “Please love me,” he whispers into his mouth, and his cheeks are wet with tears and his hands are trembling against Mr. Graves’ chest. “Please, please.” And Credence can not stop begging. His nose brushes against the other man’s cheek, and his kisses are artless and clumsy, but they are earnest and they are desperate. “Please. You’re all I want.” His knuckles are white with strain, refusing to release the only man who saw his potential, and not his shortcomings. “You’re all I want.”
Percival is very happy with this and I apologize for taking so long to post it!
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