Chapter Text
The very last day of February had finally arrived only to be swept away like any other date in the calendar. The orange light of the sun danced above the surface of the pond as dusk began settling, shrouding the park in slow-creeping shadows while lampposts lit one after the other, mechanically, sequentially. Less than an hour was left before night engulfed Stephen’s Green, the crowds had dwindled, birds chirped louder and a taste of spring hung in the stilted air.
The horizon was but a canvas of blue and yellow and orange, the colors smudged together and interspersed with fat clumps of white clouds. The view from the bench could’ve made a more than fitting postcard: the ducks bathing in the pond, the curated row of trees, and beyond, by the bridge, the unmistakable figure of a man kneeling, a ring too small for the eye to see, proffered in his hand, the Dublin skyline, a colorful vault painted above the couple.
The scene, though evidently heartwarming for many, cut too close.
The green-feathered ducks quacked in misery, or was it misery that had plugged his ears?
More and more lampposts lit up, illuminating the narrow paths that circuited the park as the moon climbed higher up in the sky. It was the same moon that stared down at Dingle, round and bright, the same moon that peeked at New York in the nighttime, distant and never bright enough.
But here in Dublin, on the late evening of the 29th, it was a companion of sorts. The friend that was aware of one’s misfortunes yet kept quiet for fear of saying the wrong thing. In a way, its silence was of greater consolation, a purer and plainer kind of comfort.
From somewhere, the clear notes of a cheerful melody drifted, adding the orotund voice of an accordion to the picture, a stark contrast to the feeling of not okay that had set deep roots within him. With the sun dipping lower and the ducks nipping at each other and the night air turning chiller and the damn accordion playing on as if the streets and the lovers belonged to Paris itself, he felt like the punchline of a bad joke.
Pathetic in every way, shape, and form.
There was a reason Elvis was told ‘only fools rush in’. Whoever graced him with that iconic phrase held the wisdom of the world inside their hand, and Elvis, fool that he was, had probably paid no heed to the wise man’s words. Too often good advices were overlooked. Too often he was guilty of that, and now Dublin was there to witness his demise.
Apparently this time of the year – this specific buy-none-get-one-free day of the year-- was like honey for bees in Stephen’s Green. Bees meaning happy couples.
Mindlessly wandering around the park he stopped to gape at another couple, and really what were the odds? This couple was swaying beneath the shelter of a cream-colored gazebo to a melody only they were able to hear, two figures pressed together waltzing at dusk, they almost looked like ghosts. The sight punched the breath out of his lungs and discombobulated his head. Suddenly he was disconnecting from his body, hearing everything as if murmured by a speaker, distant, unreal. Unlike the couple by the bridge this one wasn’t mid-proposal, they were simply dancing, unaware of being envied by a gazing stranger just meters away. They also differed from the other couple in the sense that they were both men.
Blind joy enveloped them in a bubble of warmth and bliss, a sensation that, like a gust of wind, wafted across their surroundings; a gleaming wake that managed to halt the turning gears inside his ribcage.
A chestnut fell into the murky waters of the pond, a plop sound that broke the spell of the view and pulled him back to reality. His reality.
Under darkened skies he turned on his heel, and made haste for the nearest entry gate, eyes fixed on the cracks in the pavement, the snap of fallen twigs beneath his feet imperceptible to his ears now that a hollow hum had wormed its way inside his brain, white noise filling him to the brim.
Somewhere out there, choices had been made. Someone was being kissed for the very first time, someone else was saying goodbye to a failed lover, a couple was tumbling over a bed ready to have sex or make love, somewhere someone was falling in love with their best friend, and here he was. Putting one foot in front of the other, lost in thought, disregarding the rest of the world as his pace gained speed, not quite a race but definitely not languid. Walk, go, faster, get home, get away.
Don’t think, don’t think, don’t see - him.
Him.
Him sitting on a lonely rock, staring ahead with vacant, unfocused eyes. Him looking so similar to the statues that ornamented every other cranny of the park, quiet and unmoving, a white puff of smoke escaping his lips.
“Credence?”
A sound - a name, his name. He turned to stone in a matter of seconds, were it not for the wild rattling of his heart he would’ve thought himself sure to be carved out of rock.
“Are you…? Is everything okay?” – how he’d missed that voice, the gentle drag and mesh of sounds. He was shattered glass awkwardly put together, his cracks buzzing and thrumming.
“Yes” – he said, the word came out soft, too soft.
Graves eyed him warily, suspicion written in the dainty crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Not knowing what the protocol was in cases like this, Credence shuffled his feet, stealing a couple of glances at the other man, not really caring if he was caught looking.
The black iron rail was cool in his hands, and yet under his collar the temperature was rapidly increasing, a shiver ran down his spine. There wasn’t a trace of the sun in the sky now, only artificial lights illuminated the late-winter evening, fireflies floating amidst the trees.
The accordion still believed them to be in a romantic Parisian rue.
“I expected you to be in Dingle by now.” – he looked at Graves then, straight into his almond-shaped eyes, and all his limbs locked as if on cue. He was fascinated by the burning tail of the cigarette held between the man’s elegant fingers, unable to tear his gaze.
There was a tingle at the top of his cheeks, no doubt he was blushing like a schoolboy, but in the dimness they were in he was sure the innkeeper wouldn’t notice. Ashamed, he realized, he wanted him to notice.
“Yeah, well. Figured there was no rush.”
Graves was different, not his usual bold self, not piercing Credence with dark, flirtatious eyes. It was as if he’d been scraped off, a certain rawness baring him only for Credence to see, and even if the shift within him was minimal, it rearranged whatever mask he’d been hiding behind. It was hard to tell where Graves started and where he ended, tangled like a rope of smirks and frowns and sugar-coated words and crisp bluntness, he’d become a mystery to Credence.
He wanted to shake the Irishman off. Wanted to throw him over the railing and into the pond, and board the first plane back to New York, forgetting a country named Ireland existed.
So maybe most of those thoughts were just too childish for him to even imagine, but only in a few hours he would be inside an airplane, thousands of feet above the ground, staring out of a small window, body weary and anxious to be back in his city.
“Right.” – Credence gulped, his throat clasping around nothing – “Well, I have to go. My flight leaves early tomorrow, so… “
The best course of action would’ve been not talking to Graves in the first place, but as he was too startled for the smartest option, Credence was left with attempting to escape despite the plea in his own voice that subtly screamed at Graves to please ask him to stay, just a little longer.
Once again, he was wrong, for feeling the way he felt. He should be in the hotel room, not in this poorly-lit park, not gripping the iron like a lifeline, not wanting anything to do with him, because honestly, this thing was doomed from the start. And now… now he was going to go back home, relearn what Graves had erased in him, etch on his skin what should be, what his life was supposed to look like.
Upper West Side seemed light years away.
I need to leave.
Debris from the cigarette fell to the ground, missing Graves’ foot by a couple of inches. The inaudible thud acted like a lever, setting the innkeeper back in motion, his demeanor as hesitant as before but bearing a touch of hastiness. Credence fancied himself a mouse slipping through the cat’s claws, the thought almost made him smile.
Graves tapped what remained of the cigarette on the rock without finesse, and promptly, comically got on his feet, assessing Credence with eyes veiled by darkness, a hand placed on the back of his neck.
“Let me buy you a drink. Let’s, uh… toast.” – and there it was again, that delightful grin perched on his lips, that sent a mob of feral butterflies right into Credence’s gut.
“I don’t drink.”
His answer was short, harsh and completely false for the most part. He didn’t drink with men he was infatuated with, he didn’t drink when there were large chances of him committing a stupid, unchangeable mistake, and he most definitely didn’t drink when said man was Graves. It would be like stabbing the knife in one’s own leg.
Drinking had led him to the almost kiss.
Credence was very appreciative of his life at the moment, he didn’t need to topple down his own priorities for a man like Graves, wonderful and charming as he was.
“Oh. Really?” – said Graves, an eyebrow arched high, clearly recalling the unmentionable night – “Alright. I guess this is it then... Have a safe flight.” – he was moving, his steps drawing him away from Credence, digging an ocean between them. He was leaving him, again, and this time it wasn’t because of an envelope full of money, it was just because. He was leaving and if he did then Credence wouldn’t see him again, perhaps never. It was dangerous to voice his thoughts, it was unwise and foolish too, but he couldn’t let Graves get away, the innkeeper had carved a niche inside Credence’s heart, and Credence… he’d be downright miserable if the regretful feeling of what if took roots inside his bones, always wondering if he’d made the right choice, and –
“Coffee!” – he squealed with liquefied confidence. Graves turned sideways to look at him, really look, and then he was smiling once more, but the gesture didn’t brighten up his face. In the shadows it resembled the grimace of a wounded person.
“Coffee?” – he echoed.
“Yes. I could do with a cup of coffee, if that’s okay with you.”
“It’d be my pleasure.” – he extended both palms, as if saying ‘after you’, and Credence hated himself for what that little gesture did to him.
They didn’t talk much, not until they reached a coffee vendor parked right outside the entry gate of the park. At Credence’s insistence they didn’t go to a coffeehouse, he’d do something stupid if enclosed with the man between four walls. So Graves ordered two cups of sizzling coffee, black for Credence and one cream with two sugars for him. The paper cup warmed Credence’s hands as they strolled down the sidewalk in amenable silence, and for the first time since arriving in Dublin Credence admired the city’s old charm. Every building seemed to be soaked in history even if it was only a hair salon, every corner held a secret, even the cobblestone laid at his feet retained an air of European allure. He was rediscovering Dublin, unearthing it from beneath dull resentment, seeing it as if through another pair of lenses, ones that made the colors stand out brighter and added a haze of comfort to the experience. It wasn’t New York, but it certainly emanated a wave of homeliness.
All it took was Graves.
Graves and a cup of strong black coffee were making him feel this way, planting once more the seed of doubt within him at the time he was being flooded by comfort.
His hotel was a short walk away, just crossing the street and then a five-minute ramble. Credence was starting to feel anxious, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Graves to address that; all the while his senses stayed on edge, keen at the man’s every gesture. If Graves raised the cup up to his mouth and sipped his coffee, Credence’s grip tightened around his own cup. If Graves glanced at him from the corner of his eye, Credence pretended not to notice, trying to suppress a smile and ducking his head.
There was a lively mood brewing in the atmosphere, everyone seemed happy, strangers in the street smiling with crookedly and wide, eyes glinting in the semi-lit evening. There was a jumbled mess of voices combined with the honking of cars, the sliding of wheels against the roadway, a catchy tune playing in the background. Dublin was alive. Alive and thrilling, and Graves’ shoulder brushed against his, a single point of contact yet the axis of his turning world.
Would it be possible to walk closer to him? Would it be incorrect to give in, lock up his conscience and just... indulge?
“So… how did it go?”
There. The question he’d been fearing since he first saw Graves sitting on that rock.
They walked over to a side, away from the crowd. Credence feigned interest at the passerby, biding his time while Graves looked at him with unreserved intensity.
Credence entertained the idea of running to the hotel, escaping Graves’ curiosity even at the expense of his own dignity. But no, it wouldn’t do. This was an issue that needed to be tackled, tackled and burned and buried.
Of course he was too much of a coward to actually do that.
“Fine.” – evasion, not always usable but certainly useful.
Graves’ brows rose up to his hairline, he was leaning on the brick wall, cup of coffee stalled halfway to his lips. He nodded then, several times, eyelids shutting Credence out, keeping him from seeing whatever emotions were gushing inside of him. If there were any that is.
Nevertheless, there was displeasure in his features, quiet but latent. Credence was aware of the danger he was in, a bit of an overstatement, true. But words were applicable to one’s circumstances and for Credence this was the closest to danger he’d had been in quite a long time, an unsuccessful real estate deal didn’t actually count.
“What did he say?” – asked Graves, lashes dark and thick obscuring his gaze.
Credence’s throat went dry, his tongue heavy. God had squeezed him and left him without a single puff of breath in his lungs, asphyxiation by nervousness, by pathos. A cold had started to extend from the tip of his fingers to his hands, his arms, freezing the cavity of his chest, crawling up to his neck and clenching, clasping, mangling. His vision became blurry, he could feel a dampness gathering at the corner of his eyes and Graves, damn Irishman, seemed… concerned. And Credence detested him all the more for it, except he didn’t.
He never could.
Please don’t say anything. Don’t ask. Please, don’t.
“Why isn’t he with you right now?” – Graves said softer, his voice a safety blanket – “Are you okay? Did he… did he say no?”
A heavy tear trickled down his cheek, his bottom lip was quivering, and through his congested mind thoughts of guilt and remorse and embarrassment mixed up in a self-pitying cocktail. Bottoms up.
He couldn’t look Graves straight in the eye. He was crying in a crowded street, he was cold and in dire need of human touch, and Graves was so maddeningly close. The man’s nose was reddened by the chill, his lips were a bit chapped, and then his hand was reaching out to him, thumb brushing away a fallen tear from his cheekbone, the touch so gentle Credence felt like melting in the winter night.
“No.” – he whispered after too long, finally having built up the courage to meet Graves’ stare.
He saw the swift bob of Graves’ Adam’s apple, the frown softening. Although he seemed out of his depth and shaken by his answer, he didn’t retract his hand from Credence’s face.
“No ‘you aren’t okay’, or no ‘he didn’t say no’?”
“Both.”
At that Graves’ hand did fall from his face, he recoiled from Credence as if he was a leper, as if touching him was forbidden and punishable by death.
“Then I don’t see why you wouldn’t be okay. You should be happy, darling.”
And just like that he was back to the Graves Credence had first met. Dazzling and handsome and confident, all packed together under a well-crafted façade. He could see it now, the ragged edges and slight cracks, he could see through it and into the Graves he’d come to know in such little time it seemed a lifetime away. He could see the hurt and the pain that still lingered even after fourteen years, the thin veil of solitude that shied him from others, the beauty of him, raw and caged. He was an overbearing man, yes, but he was absolutely beautiful. Credence never stood a chance.
Graves’ gaze was wandering, not landing on Credence for more than a ruptured second.
“Well, I better get going then. Wouldn’t want to ruin your engagement night.”
He bowed sarcastically, dismissing himself from Credence’s life in a much more light-hearted fashion than he’d sauntered in. He was still very much a mystery, and Credence ignored his true intentions, if he had any. Graves was still that innkeeper from Dingle who disliked Dublin and had been a breath away from kissing him silly in a guest room somewhere in Limerick, the same man that had carried him on his back under the cold rain, the one that had taken care of his sprained ankle, and actually listened to him. He was attentive and standoffish and caring and Credence wanted him more than anything in the world, damn the consequences.
“He didn’t say no.” – he repeated, before Graves had taken a single step, grin frozen in his lips.
“Yes, you already said that.” – replied Graves, his voice devoid from all warmth, empty.
Just say it.
“He didn’t say no because I never ask him.”
Tic toc, the imaginary ticking of a clock inside his head.
Tic toc, and then off it went.
“What?” – asked Graves, taking a step closer to Credence, invading his space with his viciously intoxicating presence.
“I didn’t propose.” – he whispered. The three words were a confession, carrying deeper meaning between their lines.
The night was growing colder and they’d been out in the street for what seemed like too long. Credence’s face was slowly turning to numbness as were his fingers, the tears on his cheeks dried by the breeze. A brief image of his warm, cozy suite flashed in his mind.
“Oh.”
Go big or home, that’s what everyone said, wasn’t it?
“Wanna go inside? It’s getting really cold out here.”
Truth be told, this was nothing compared to New York’s cruel wintertime, but the cold he was talking about wasn’t just the one biting at his skin. He was cold there where the eye could not see, he was feeling small and vulnerable, and frankly he wanted nothing more than be cradled in Graves’ warmth. Maybe this spare night was meant for impulsion and recklessness.
The ghost of Graves’ lips still hadn’t faded.
Graves hesitated only for an instant, and then he was nodding and following Credence into the fancy hotel, tension arising as they waited for the elevator to reach the fourth and last floor.
Once safely inside his suite a weight lifted off Credence’s shoulder, worry fading into the delicately patterned floors. He glanced at Graves then, who was taking in the refined elegance of the room with a glimmer in his gaze though no hint of smile on his lips. Credence noticed the brief moment in which the innkeeper’s eyes flickered towards the conjoined room where the bed was.
Sporting the same aloof expression Graves clicked his heels and said matter-of-factly – “Credence, I don’t think we’re in Dingle anymore.”
It wasn’t even funny, but the serious tone in which he said it, and the absurdity of the gesture made Credence giggle. He shook his head and narrowed his eyes in faux disapproval, the tension leaving his body and being replaced by a fuzzy feeling that was making him light in the head.
“Do you want to talk about it?” – asked Graves as he lowered his body to the plush cream couch.
No. He really, really didn’t want to.
It was humiliating enough to have Graves think he was an idiot for flying across the big blue ocean on a piteous quest to ensnare a man who, by the looks of it, didn’t give two flying fucks about him. Proposing on leap day, the belief behind the tradition, rang clear as daylight, irrational.
Credence scooped closer to Graves, their bodies didn’t touch, not by a single inch, but they might as well have. Credence felt Graves’ body, inadvertently, pulling him in. He stared at the man until his skin was blushing and blood throbbed furiously through his veins. Pheromones, Credence hoped, didn’t travel far.
The innkeeper had one arm draped over the back of the couch, and he didn’t retrieve it, not even when Credence dared move closer, if only a little bit, which… said nothing, really. Being a reserved person didn’t equate being a reserved lover, especially if one had the looks to get away with it. Credence kicked himself for having such thoughts, he was in no position to judge Graves for whatever minutiae his history of romantic entanglements entailed.
Was he not the one that had fallen in love with another man when he was planning to propose to his long-term boyfriend?
“Credence?” – his name echoed in the room as a hand came to rest above his knee, tentative, ready to pull back at the first negative.
“Uh… Right.” – it was better to get it over with. Credence cleared his throat and placed his hand atop Graves’, idly interlacing their fingers together, wishing the Earth would crack up and swallow him in one swift gulp. – “I realized Gellert wasn’t for me. And I wasn’t for him.”
Silence reigned in the suite, the loudest sounds were the heavy thumps inside his chest, the rapid flutter in his belly and the other-worldly ringing in his ear that seemed to dim the acuteness of his other senses. Even though he was touching Graves he couldn’t really feel him, he was his own puppet-master, dangling all sense of self-preservation by thin strings.
“He took it well enough, the breakup. He said a realtor didn’t really contribute to his status as a cardiologist, or something like that. And he’s keeping the apartment, the new one. ‘It was nice having you around, angelface’. Even tried to convince me to have sex one last time, but I said no. Not that you care about that, of course, but that’s probably too much information anyway. Sorry.” – He recoiled his hand from Graves’, tact rushing back into his limbs like electricity at the mention of sex.
At this rate there was only one way to get this feeling out of his system, this mad desire for Graves, this need to taste him and let him see how naïve and flawed and desperate he was.
The simple truth was Gellert’s easy dismissal hadn’t struck a single chord within Credence. Every word he uttered dully was a thankful relief, and the more Gellert talked the more he began siding with Tina, disgusted at himself for letting such an egotistical man put a leash on him. Perhaps Gellert had been gone from his life a long time ago, what remained was an empty carcass that slept in the same bed most nights. Holding on to the man had been a way of coping, perhaps, of dealing with his family’s rejection. He’d forcibly sliced a tiny space in the world where he belonged, or rather a place that didn’t turn him out for being who he was. But in the end, the smarter part of him, the one he seldom listened to, had scratched the vile man off his heart without his consent, leaching away the feelings as if they were poison itself. Wounded and mended, he had come to Dublin bearing false hopes of building his life around a lie he’d been telling himself for too long.
The loss of more than a thousand days spent by Gellert’s side were nothing compared to the gut-wrenching pain of having had said goodbye to Graves in the hotel foyer.
He didn’t want to lose him.
If only he could have him for himself just for a little longer, just for the rest of the night.
The innkeeper’s hand rose from his knee to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear and suddenly the heat inside him was reaching dangerous heights, brazing his insides. He couldn’t help the tingle in his neck as Graves’ digits came in contact with it.
Inebriating as undiluted liquor, the savior his Ma had raved about for many years had a name and a face, and he was sitting right next to Credence, caressing the curve of his neck, smelling of caffeine and cigarettes.
They were trapped inside the same craving bubble from that night in Limerick, but now the longing was enhanced, it wrapped their bodies in a deadly embrace, seeped into the flesh as if injected with needles. Dublin, the fair city, was consumed by passion.
“Touch me.” – said Credence without much thought, instinctively.
There was an edge of coarseness to his words, an unwavering conviction proper of spoiled children. And that was exactly what he was, Credence realized.
There would be plenty of time for remorse and cringing at the memories once he was floating somewhere in the stratosphere, right now only Graves mattered.
Reading the man was easy, what with his pitch-black pupils boring holes in him, and the way his gaze seemed especially fond of Credence’s lips, not able to stray for more than a handful of seconds. It was good, that his attraction for Credence hadn’t died, else it’d be a hell of an awkward situation.
Graves leaned forward, a perfectly imitated version of that other night. The same urgency permeated the air, the ear-splitting silence that settled between them was hauling them nearer. The weight of Graves’ hand in the side of neck was keeping him in place, keeping him from leaping at the man and placating to his own desires.
“Is this okay?” – Graves asked, looking at him as if he was the most beautiful thing in the world. It crushed his heart.
Credence closed his eyes when Graves’ lips finally grazed his. He felt wrung out from within, growing weaker under his spell. He could not think straight, though that was unnecessary. Soon, all too soon, he parted his lips granting Graves’ the liberty of freely roaming his mouth with his tongue, running the skilled muscle over the seams of his mouth. Graves was doing the most work while Credence simply allowed him to press harder, dig deeper.
And then he was being pushed back against the cushions, Graves’ heavier frame looming above him in a precarious position. Ever the gentleman, Credence mused, Graves didn’t want to take anything Credence wasn’t ready to give.
But this was the thing, he wanted to give Graves everything.
Unwise, foolish, stupid.
Credence didn’t care.
“Am I your rebound?” – asked Graves with a teasing smile, his breathing uneven and strained, and excited, could not conceal the trace of hesitation. Weighing his options, maybe. Considering if Credence was worth the trouble.
Credence rolled his eyes and mentally buried all sliver of hope that dared stir in his heart. If he was going to be a fool about this, at least he wouldn’t go in hoisting false expectations.
“No” – his hands went up to the back of Graves’ head, pulling him in, wanting to make him cave into another kiss. And Graves did kiss him. He kissed Credence eagerly and with fierceness, abandoning his mouth after some minutes to profess even more passionate attentions to the sharp edge of his jaw and then down his neck, leaving a faint trail of spit and kisses and sucks in his wake.
He could live forever like this, torn between sweet pleasure and the hunger for more skin, more lips, more teeth, more everything.
Graves slid downward, finally pressing their bodies together, and even if there were too many layers of fabric between them, it was as glorious as gospel. Even more so.
The man rolled his hips experimentally, his hardened cock pressing against Credence’s own erection, and Credence gasped. He was drowning too fast, his underwear was wet from pre-cum, his heart racing hundreds of miles a minute.
“Are you using me to get back at your ex, darling?” – tried Graves again, voice coiling around Credence’s arousal, feeding his lust more efficiently than any erotic video ever could. Fuck, he hadn’t felt like this in so, so long. Graves was driving him into insanity. And he was more than okay with it.
Credence shook his head rather vehemently as he tried undoing the man’s pants, starving to feel his naked skin, wanting to get as close to Graves as he could. His mind was as murky as his skin was feverish. If the same backwards logic of proposing on leap day applied to asking someone for sex, then Graves would grant him his last wish before leaving Irish soil.
But then again, that tradition had proved to be as fake as the Easter bunny.
And sure enough, his suspicions weren’t unfounded.
Graves caught his hand as he struggled to unzip his pants. Everything seemed to stop in a heartbeat, Graves was looking down intently at him waiting for an answer to his question.
“Is that why you’re doing this?”
Credence huffed and hated him for the slice of a second. Why did he have to be a good person, why couldn’t he just take the things that were offered to him without asking why?
That the man was willing to stop if Credence was hurting only made him resent the situation further. Begging for a pity fuck was way, way below Credence, but Graves made him reconsider, and that was why he was dangerous. He had Credence wrapped around his little finger without even being aware, believing Credence only wanted him to fuck away the memory of his ex-boyfriend, blissfully ignorant of the mayhem of emotions that had surged in Credence’s heart for him.
At least telling the truth, in this case, also meant giving him an easy way out, an alleviation for his conscience.
“No, it’s not.” – he took a deep breath and cupped Graves’ face in his hands, staring at his lust-blown eyes, thumb stroking the shadow of his stubble. He could pretend this was it, that the man staring back loved him, that this was something they did every evening. Lying on the couch, being cheesy as can be, falling in love a little more every day. - “You are not a rebound, and I’m not trying to get back at Gellert. I… I broke up with him, didn’t I? I didn’t love him. He wasn’t what I wanted. Guess I was lying to myself all those years. But I want you.”
He’d barely finished talking when Graves was pouncing back on him, kissing him with rekindled energy, desperate and fervent and sucking out the air from his lungs, twisting him inside out and making quick work of disposing from his clothes. Credence followed suit.
The couch --bless five star hotels-- was ample enough for them to maneuver without falling down the edge.
The moans, the grunts, the feeling of soft leather beneath his back, the rhythmic sway of their hips and the nerve-wracking sensation of their cocks rubbing against each other, all of it, Credence wished he could sear into his memory, etch the whole night in the forefront of his mind for when he had to leave. He wanted Graves to be more than a memory, but if a memory was all he could be, then he wanted to remember him well.
Graves flicked his tongue around the pearled nub that was his nipple, nipping at it when Credence let out a whine. His smile was predatory.
“You’re gorgeous, you know that, Credence?”
Open palms were roaming down his chest, across the expanse of his belly and settling on the delicate jut of his hipbones, grounding him to the couch while Graves kneeled in the V of his legs. Credence stared at him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth, impatient for Graves to make the next move.
Please.
“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, baby.” – groaned out the innkeeper with a raspy voice drenched in lust.
Credence’s toes couldn’t help but curling when Graves took him in his mouth. It was wet and warm and soft as velvet, and Credence couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on the receiving end. His mind was a gooey mess and he was burning, a thousand degrees hot.
He tried bucking up his hips but Graves had him fastened secure, pinned to the sofa by the strength of his hands. The man was putting his smart mouth to good use, teasing the shaft with gentle grip of his fist until Credence was shuddering, then sucking devotedly around the crown, making a panting and mewling mess out of him, and occasionally toying with his slit, only stopping when Credence tugged too hard at his hair.
“He didn’t deserve you, darling. You’re too good for him. Too good for anyone.” – his words were uttered with sheer devotion, like a creed.
Like he meant them.
A knot formed in Credence’s throat, choking him as desire and uneasiness coiled in his gut. Maybe he’d gotten it all wrong and Graves did like him, beyond physical attraction. Maybe, just maybe he felt the same way Credence did.
But nobody fell in love just like that. Love wasn’t a lightning strike.
He shut his eyes tight to avoid meeting Graves’ gaze lest he read the turmoil of emotions quarreling inside him.
Don’t expect anything from him. This can’t be love.
Credence felt the gentle prodding of a finger against his opening and his legs went limp like Jell-O on a hot summer day. It didn’t take much after that, Graves’ spit-slicked digit kept massaging his entrance in tiny circular motions until the first knuckle was snug inside, curling inwards at the rim while the man’s mouth suckled relentlessly, hand alternating between rapid jerks and slow strokes.
Breathless and trembling, Credence came while Graves licked a straight line from his sack and along the underside of his cock to the throbbing head. The white hot release spilled out in spurts that coated his lower belly.
Shame, he would’ve preferred for Graves to drink him in.
“As pretty as you look in white, I believe I’ve earned my keep. Allow me.” – said Graves, and honestly, he was the most ridiculous man Credence had ever met. Ridiculous and adorable and irresistible, as evidenced by him licking the semen off Credence’s taut skin, moaning at the taste and glancing up at him with lust still shining bright in his eyes.
Credence never wanted the night to end.
“You taste so fucking good too.”
Just as he’d kiss his way down, Graves was now trailing his way up, sucking and licking at his flustered skin. His hair was messy from Credence’s grip on it, and that made him unbelievably giddy inside. He liked being the reason for Graves’ dishevelment.
Credence knew he was looking at Graves as if the man was the sun incarnate, knew that there was a sparkle in his eyes and his cheeks were glowing pink, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. It was a cruel punishment to have this and then have to leave it behind in a matter of hours. He could miss his flight, he could persuade Graves to stay with him in the hotel, indefinitely, having sex whenever they pleased and reveling in each other’s company. The man liked him beyond his looks, Credence knew. Or at least he tolerated him.
However, he had only accepted to take him to Dublin because he needed the money.
It was easy money.
Don’t cry, it’ll only make you seem more pathetic. And needy. And dumb.
It wasn’t really the man’s fault. Credence was clingy by nature.
Graves was still hard. He propped himself with one hand while the other pumped his erection in quick, easy strokes, following an inconsistent pattern. His face was buried in the crook of Credence’s neck, and Credence could feel his breathing pulsing hot and heavy in the shell of his ear. He wrapped his hands around Graves’ torso, running his palms over his muscled back, fingers digging into the skin as reality hit him full-force and a familiar sting jabbed behind his eyes. He was prone to crying, but without doubt, this was the absolute worst time for his shameful habit to knock uninvited.
Either Graves was too immersed in his lust or he didn’t care, but Credence was letting out little whimpers that could easily be confused with sounds of pleasure, and in a way, they were. Except that they were polluted by dejection.
It’s not that he didn’t want to be alone, no.
It was that he wanted to be with Graves.
Graves groaned as he chased after his orgasm, hand pumping faster around his thick shaft, lips sucking sloppy kisses on Credence’s neck, face surrounded in the warmth of the angle. Credence felt pretty much useless, he wasn’t contributing to Graves’ pleasure and he was swallowing back pathetic sobs, eyes wet with unshed tears.
He would never be one for one night stands, not that he wanted to be.
“Please come for me.” – he whispered as he sensed the man’s climax creeping closer. He cradled the back of Graves’ head then, burying him in the hollow of his neck, running his fingers through the unkempt strands of hair.
Two more strokes and Graves was coming in long ropes, between their bodies, panting as he fell loose over Credence, kissing his cheek with exhausted enthusiasm. And Credence, he could only hug the him tighter, and pray he wouldn’t notice something was wrong with him.
“That was – good. Great.” – said Graves catching his breath, absentmindedly stroking the curve of Credence’s lips with his thumb.
“It was.”
It was.
Credence hated that it was an action described in past tense.
“Can I keep you?” – asked Graves, propping himself on one elbow. And of course he noticed, that was the reason Credence liked him so terribly much. He noticed because he cared. – “Hey, no. What’s wrong, Credence?”
His eyes, previously overflowed by lust, were now heavily tinged with worry.
Telling him the truth would be an act of selfishness, but oh, he wanted Graves to know. Risking his pride was well worth it because, after all, who would know if it all went to shit – which was the most likely route anyway?
He was alone in a strange city, in love with a man he’d met only a few days ago - there was no harm in being honest. Which wasn’t true at all.
Because Graves was a good man and Credence didn’t want to burden him with his feelings. People didn’t like carrying emotional toil, especially if it wasn’t theirs to carry. He’d been taught well.
“Was it something I did? Do you want me to go?”
“No, no. Please don’t go. Not yet.”
Not ever.
“Okay. I just - I need to clean this up.” – said Graves casually, gesturing at the sticky mess on both of them.
Credence was back to feeling too small and too goddamn young. He was breakable and Graves knew, but he didn’t seem to mind much.
“Come with me?” – asked Graves, extending a hand for Credence to take, possibly having sensed his distress at being left alone, if only for a minute.
If between the two of them there was one that was ‘too good’, it definitely wasn’t Credence, not by a long stretch.
They made for the bedroom, hands joined in an easy grip. Credence never wanted to let go, but the gesture was simply a pleasantry, and, most likely, not something Graves actually wanted. Friends with benefits didn’t hold hands, and they weren’t even friends.
He stayed perched on the side of the bed while Graves cleaned himself in the bathroom.
The running water from the sink helped him relax his breathing, and when Graves came out with a small wet towel in hand, Credence was mostly back to normal, though some wetness still clung to his lashes.
Silently Graves wiped away the mess from Credence’s skin, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the man with blunt adoration. He could easily lose himself in the graceful slant of his nose, the strong arch of his brows.
Once done Graves gestured for Credence to get beneath the covers as he did the same, and Credence obeyed without resisting. He’d do anything Graves asked of him.
Graves was staring down at him from his side of the bed, inspecting every little twitch with attentive eye.
“Come here.” – he said after a while.
Credence slid closer, breaching the gap between their bodies, and molded himself in Graves’ arms, both legs flanked by Graves’ own. The position was extremely intimate, all of him was engulfed in Graves’ musky scent and warmth, the smell of caffeine still lingered in his breath.
When he spoke his voice was gentle and soft –crooning--, a hand splayed over Credence’s cheek.
“Am I a horrible person if I say I’m glad you called off the engagement?”
Credence smiled even though hearing that made him hurt for many reasons he preferred pushing to the back of his mind. – “No.” – he breathed out.
Being embraced by Graves was the closest thing to paradise, he decided, as he wrapped his own arms around the man’s middle and pressed his ear to Graves’ chest, relishing in the beating of his heart.
“Don’t cry for him, darling. If he was stupid enough to let you go, then he’s not worth it.”
“I really don’t want to talk about him. Not right now.”
“Was my blowjob that lousy, then?” – Graves asked to lighten up the mood. Surely he was aware of his skills, and if not, then Credence’s multiple embarrassing whimpers should’ve been enough indicative. He continued seriously, - “You’re wonderful, Credence from New York, okay? You’re smart and sweet and so damn beautiful. God, I really wish you didn’t have to go so soon.”
In, out. In. Out.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” – Credence’s smile seemed to spur him – “I’d take you with me back to Dingle. Give you the very best suite of the Caoilfhionn --mine, of course—we’d have to share. Wouldn’t be that bad, would it? Running the inn? What with your real estate stager experience, we could put this place to shame. You’d even get to have sex with me on a daily basis. It’d be grand.”
At his arrogance, Credence scrunched up his nose and Graves pinched it lightly, causing him to chuckle softly, a warm vibration rattling in his chest. -- “Who says I want to?”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it.” – he started kissing Credence again, fingers cinching Credence’s waist, then dropping to cup his softened member. – “I’d take such good care of you, darling. Kiss you every morning, make love to you every night. Would you like that, Credence? Would you like being mine?”
Graves had been lazily massaging his length as he spoke, and the words, as well as his hand, had had a certain effect on Credence. For one, he didn’t know where he stood with Graves right now, his heart was practically leaping out of his chest with each renewed breath, hope flaming and soaring within him faster than wildfire. The pounding of blood was roiling loudly beneath his flesh as it headed downwards to pool at his gut, rising him again to full length in such short time, which wasn’t common for him, at all. Sex was usually a one-round thing for him, and many times he didn’t even get to come once, not to mention twice.
“Judy and Donald would come visit, and we wouldn’t even have to pretend, my dear. The banging of the headboard against the wall, your sweet moans, your screams of pleasure as I thrust inside you would be enough to convince anyone; don’t you think?” – Credence could feel Graves’ hardness flush against the small of his back, and a contented sigh slipped past his lips. Graves bucked forward, thumb dragging over the tip of Credence’s weeping cock - “Fuck, Credence. What the fuck did you do to me, baby? I want you so much.”
Credence gulped and intertwined their fingers together, the knot in his throat easing - “Do you mean it? All of it?”
“Yes, of course. I’m – I want you with me. I want you every day.” – his pace around Credence’s cock relented, giving him a chance to breathe, to think. – “Will you give me a chance to love you, Credence?”
Credence stared at Graves with parted lips, a whirlwind of confusion and pure delight wrestling against his ribs, a freaking tide of wild butterflies churning in his stomach. He was dizzy and lightheaded and the world was but a swirl of colors, Graves the only anchor keeping him from sinking in a sea of overwhelming emotions. He could be dreaming, but it all felt too real, and never in his remotest fantasies could he have come up with a more perfect moment.
“Could you do that? Love me, I mean?” – he was dumbstruck and dumbfounded, and was this really happening? He wasn’t used to having anyone, much less the man he was probably in love with, looking at him with such unashamed devotion.
Graves had adoration inscribed in his eyes. When they kissed the angle was awkward and not really comfortable, but the kiss was gentle and more meaningful than any of the others they’d shared. It felt definitive somehow, like a promise made under a rain of shooting stars, like whispering I love you in the afterglow on a rainy afternoon.
“I think I already do.”
Seven months later
Credence had been living in a studio for the past months, not because he couldn’t keep affording his old place, but because he didn’t like the ghost of Gellert staining his present from every corner like a shadow of doom. A studio had more than enough space for him anyway, and it was easier to take care of. Located on East Village it was a far cry from the more glamorous lifestyle of the Upper West Side, but he was happy. Besides he wouldn’t be living there for much longer.
From behind a pair of arms circled his waist, and light kisses were pecking at the back of his neck.
“You say you don’t like New York, but you’re always so excited when you come visit.” – said Credence, placing his hands on top of Graves’, who huffed at his words.
“It’s not New York I get excited about, Credence. You should know that by now.” – replied the man in a gruff voice.
He could keep lying through his teeth all he wanted, Credence knew the Big Apple had warmed up to the Irishman. Everyone fell in love with New York sooner or later.
The sun was beginning its descent behind the row of roofs, the last remaining rays of sunlight filtering through the white curtains and beaming across the hardwood floors.
He turned slightly in Graves’ arms to face him better, fingers reaching for his chin. Graves smiled, and oh, that smile would be the death of him. It boiled him to the core, it made his insides shiver and his heart jump to his throat.
“Tina likes you. Says you’re the closest to deserving anyone ever will be. Her words, not mine.”
“Is that so?” – asked Graves nipping at his ear, his voice sensuous, his hands resting over his hips, pressing Credence flush against himself.
“Yes. She’s very protective of me. Haven’t even told her I’ll be moving to Ireland; she’ll probably try to kill you.” – Graves laughed against his shoulder, the sound muffed by the fabric of Credence’s shirt.
“Queenie however, is awfully convinced you’re going to ask me to marry you. Soon. But she was wrong the last time so I don’t think it’d be wise to believe her.”
Graves exhaled profusely, the gust of breath hitting Credence’s nape. And then Graves was unwrapping himself from Credence’s torso, turning him around and taking him by the hand, a delicate frown in his face, his eyes soft and open, like windows.
“That woman knows too much.” – he said with a displeased quirk of his lips, then he added – “How soon?”
“What?” – blurted out Credence.
Graves lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, Credence was starting to think marriage wasn’t something they were allowed to discuss yet. Perhaps it was too soon to make such light remarks. But then Graves was smiling up at him, with heartbreaking sweetness in his gaze, there was a light flush to his skin, and a wave of joy washed over Credence.
How had he gotten so lucky?
“I was gonna wait until tonight --candlelit dinner and all that--, but someone let the cat out of the bag so I guess there’s no sense in waiting.”
And then Graves, that insufferably cocky, loving Irishman was getting down on one knee and producing a small red velvet box from the pocket of his jacket, and inside – inside was a ring, a real engagement ring, and Credence had forgotten what breathing was, mouth ajar, gaze flickering from the little gold band to Graves’ face, and then back again. Stunned and elated, he was truly as a loss for words.
Graves’ grinned at having rendered him speechless and shocked, but it was his turn to speak, and when he did, the words filled Credence with blistering, devastating joy,
“Credence… Baby, will you marry me?”
His voice broke around the single word – “Yes.”
It was the middle of October and the leaves were changing to hues of red and orange and brown, and it was an ordinary like any other. But it was perfect, because he was madly in love with the man knelt before him and he was loved back just as much, and he couldn’t really ask for a more perfect gift. The golden ring around his finger would just be a reminder of how lucky he already was.