fic: standing up to the sky :: graves/credence
For @aw16st‘s request of Graves teaching Credence defense.
My first attempt at these two, so I hope it’s alright!
(Original) Percival Graves/Credence Barebone | T/M (Mild Sexual Content) | ~1500
{{{ ao3 }}}
Graves finds him.
The real Graves who Credence had once seen on the street long before Grindelwald had begun imitating him.
Credence doesn't know--not at first--that it's not the same man who had been seducing him, only that Graves is oddly gentle now compared to what he once was.
And this Graves is furious at the man who stole his life and his face.
After they return and the trial is postponed--they all assumed he was dead and the president is unwilling to risk another fall in public opinion--Credence is left with little but his role in Grindelwald-induced terrors.
“You need to defend yourself against this kind of thing,” Graves tells him, finger wagging in Credence’s face.
Tina pushes him aside. “You can’t be harsh with him like that. What he’s been through...”
Credence is reticent to trust that face again, but what comes out is, “You can help me?” It’s all he’s ever really wanted.
“Credence, you don’t have to--”
“Yes,” Graves tells him, firm and still so angry, just not at him.
So Credence, uncertain of what this might mean, agrees.
~
“No wand?” Graves asks, but then shakes his head, unsurprised. “Right.”
Credence thinks it’s going to end here, but instead Graves leads him down through tunnels.
MACUSA has wands, ones that had been abandoned or confiscated, and Graves warns him that it’s unlikely one of these will work as well as his own would, but given his situation, “It’ll do.”
“We’ll start with the basics.”
Credence looks around, curling in on himself as he holds the foreign object in his hand uncomfortably. “What does that mean?”
“Disarm me.”
Credence starts to move forward, as if he should try to grab the wand from Graves’s hand, but instead freezes as Graves points to the wand in Credence’s hand.
Graves sighs, but forces a supportive smile. “Point it at me and say ‘expelliarmus.’” He repeats, slowly then at a normal speed.
Expelliarmus,” Credence murmurs, testing the word. It feels strange and sinful and Credence feels a shiver go down his spine.
“Yes,” Graves tells him, “but with more intent behind it, like you’re scared of me. Like I’m--” His lip curls. “Him.”
Credence hesitates, his breath sticking in his throat.
“Hey.” Graves steps closer and goes in to touch Credence’s shoulder, but stops and Credence’s body sways ever-so-slightly toward his hand anyway. “I’m not him. But should you meet him or anyone like him again, you need to defend yourself.” He moves back into place.
“Exp--” Credence starts. He tries to calm himself. “Expelliarmus.”
Nothing happens.
“With the wand, Mr. Barebone.” And Grindelwald had never called him that.
Hand shaking, Credence points the wand at Graves. “Expelliarmus,” he says, with slightly more conviction.
Nothing happens.
“I don’t have any-- Maybe it’s all gone. I never had any real m-magic. Just…”
Graves doesn’t let him continue. “Again,” he orders.
Credence sucks in a breath. “Expelliarmus,” he says, louder, flicking the wand like he had seen the other Mr. Graves do.
Graves’s wand flies out of his hand and the older man smiles. “Good.” He picks his wand back up. “Again.”
Credence doesn’t get it every time, but he’s pretty consistent.
The next spell is more difficult for him.
“Won’t that hurt you?”
“I’ll be fine,” Graves assures.
Credence still can’t do it.
Graves moves around Credence, keeping a careful distance between them that Credence seems to unconsciously close, pressing his back into Graves’s chest.
Graves had noticed the sway, the way the Second Salem boy craves touch. His hand wraps around Credence’s wand hand. “Petrificus totalus,” he commands, although he is only helping to demonstrate.
Credence’s head turns slightly to look at him, to not look at him, and Graves watches the light flush rise to the boy’s cheeks.
“How did he get to you?” Graves whispers, letting his breath ghost over Credence’s ear. “Did he threaten you? Or was it something else?”
Credence looks very much away and Graves feels his hand shaking in his before Credence drops the wand and tries to bring himself to step forward. He stays glued in place.
“I see,” Graves says, and he removes himself from Credence.
“I’m so, so s-sorry, sir, I know that there’s something wrong with me. Ma said I had the devil in me. She would--”
“Stop.” Credence does. He used to be good at following orders. “You don’t have the devil in you, Mr. Barebone, just easily seduced.” He hums. “And it’s no wonder,” he says, more to himself.
“We never.” Credence blushes. “I never.”
“Mr. Barebone-- Or should I call you Credence?”
“Credence.”
“Credence,” Graves says with a smile that Credence can’t read. “Let’s work on that.”
~
It turns out what Mr. Graves meant was resisting seduction.
Unfortunately for Credence, this means a lot of touching and words sweeter than even the other one--Grindelwald--had told him.
“Aren’t you gorgeous,” Graves murmurs, offering a soft smile. “You’ve got so much power hidden in there,” he says, tapping Credence’s chest. They sit at Graves’s table in his New York apartment, chairs too close on one side.
Credence has heard things like this several times over now, but still he struggles. The first time, it had been just a simple compliment about the way he was picking up spells and Credence had nearly fallen over himself.
“Come with me,” Grave says, and perhaps his breath is coming quicker than he intends but it’s all for the show.
Credence looks away because he can’t, and Graves’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, to force him to look. “N-no,” he says, too quiet.
“What was that, darling boy?” Graves asks, as if concerned.
“No,” Credence repeats, with conviction, and Graves feels a pulse of power beneath it, warning him off.
Graves smirks. “Very good.” He tilts his head. “I wonder…” He trails off, and raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Credence, who still has his typical puzzlement.
“What--”
Gaze latched on Credence’s, Graves places a hand on Credence’s thigh.
The boy’s whole body shudders and Graves almost lets him go--knows what a warm hand on an inexperienced thigh feels like, but can only imagine what it might be like for someone who had endured a life like Credence had.
“Mr. Graves,” Credence warns, but his voice is far too breathy. His eyes are squeezed shut and Graves doesn’t dare look down.
“Yes, Credence?” Graves replies, but he leans in closer. His palm slides higher up Credence’s thigh.
Credence is trembling and Graves wouldn’t be surprised if the boy had spent himself in his trousers. Then, a hand is over his.
Graves inhales sharply. His own desire rising to the surface. He’s been in close proximity with Credence for weeks. It’s been hard not to notice how the boy really looks beneath that atrocious haircut, how the boy looks at him. “Do you want me to stop?”
For the first time in Graves’s memory, Credence lets out something like a laugh--squeaky and nervous as it is. The most he’s gotten before is a cautious smile.
“Credence?”
“Want?” Credence asks, and maybe he’s somewhat hysterical. “No, I--” His breathing is harsh. He tries to move, maybe to pull away, maybe stand up, but he stumbles and starts to slide off of his chair.
Graves’s actions are automatic, sliding in to catch him, hand sliding from thigh to hip as he presses Credence to the edge of the table and himself to Credence.
Their bodies slot together before either has the chance to hide his arousal.
“Mr. Graves, I--” He starts to shift and it’s Graves who lets out a groan.
“Fuck.”
Credence goes bright red, but then Graves is cupping the back of his skull and their foreheads meet as Graves ruts against him.
This is dirty and wrong and beyond what his Ma might even suggest to reprimand, but Credence finds his hips moving without his permission, with Graves’s direction. His mind is having enough trouble keeping up with all of this, but his head turns into the touch and his lips meet those of the real Percival Graves.
It’s better than he ever thought he’d get, even with all of Grindelwald’s tempting promises.
Graves kisses him with fervor, with passion and impatience and emotion close to what Credence has only experienced through violence.
Their bodies move in a way that is out of synch in all the right ways until Credence wants to grab the table, but Graves takes him by the wrist and shows him that it’s okay to clutch and twist at his shirt while he whimpers into the older man’s mouth.
Credence comes with a start and Graves can feel it in the way his body tenses, then the growing wetness between them. With another moment, he follows suit.
The kiss, messy as it had gotten, ends and Credence is all shyness and uncertainty again. “I guess I failed.”
Graves huffs. “No, no. I’m just not a good teacher.”
They’re still close and Credence can smell a hint of sweat and something different than Grindelwald, but he doesn’t get lost. He tries to catch his breath and sees the regret etching itself into Graves’s features.
Credence clears his throat. He thinks of his Ma and the teachings of the church and all that he had ever been told. His reply is honest.
“Best I’ve had.”