[A/N: A short one and I hope you don't mind it that I gave Credence more agency]
Credence hates the quarterly reports with a passion. He can taste Graves' precome at the back of his throat. It's been an hour since Graves last came, and not a small part of him wonders how much longer can Graves hold out.
He hears the rustling of paper against paper, the rhythmic scratch of quill on paper. Credence adjusts himself against the pins and needles in his legs, mouth jostling the cock in it. He hears a catch of breath above him, cursing the desk that obscures his view of Graves' face. Risking it, he exhales through his mouth, tongue worming around Graves, scraping his teeth barely against skin.
A hand snakes itself to the base of his skull, holding and squeezing. "Be good for me." Credence blinks up at the sliver of light that passes between Graves' body and the desk edge. Moving his palms to the shiny leather shoes that bracket his knees, he angles his head to take more of Graves.
A quiet hiss and he knows he has won. Graves tangles his hand in Credence's hair. "Naughty boy. Needs to be taught a lesson." Is all he gets before Graves uses him like Credence has been craving for all afternoon. Saliva and come make a garish mess all over the bottom of his face and his shirt front, but he can't care. The pleasure of the slip and slide, that sweet pressure and shape in his mouth is all he needs, and he has a moment of clarity that this must be the purest supplication one could offer a god, before the taste of Graves' orgasm washes out any coherency. All that is left is the bliss and weightlessness of his mind empty of thought.
Mini-Fill: Credence/Graves, cockwarming
Credence hates the quarterly reports with a passion. He can taste Graves' precome at the back of his throat. It's been an hour since Graves last came, and not a small part of him wonders how much longer can Graves hold out.
He hears the rustling of paper against paper, the rhythmic scratch of quill on paper. Credence adjusts himself against the pins and needles in his legs, mouth jostling the cock in it. He hears a catch of breath above him, cursing the desk that obscures his view of Graves' face. Risking it, he exhales through his mouth, tongue worming around Graves, scraping his teeth barely against skin.
A hand snakes itself to the base of his skull, holding and squeezing. "Be good for me." Credence blinks up at the sliver of light that passes between Graves' body and the desk edge. Moving his palms to the shiny leather shoes that bracket his knees, he angles his head to take more of Graves.
A quiet hiss and he knows he has won. Graves tangles his hand in Credence's hair. "Naughty boy. Needs to be taught a lesson." Is all he gets before Graves uses him like Credence has been craving for all afternoon. Saliva and come make a garish mess all over the bottom of his face and his shirt front, but he can't care. The pleasure of the slip and slide, that sweet pressure and shape in his mouth is all he needs, and he has a moment of clarity that this must be the purest supplication one could offer a god, before the taste of Graves' orgasm washes out any coherency. All that is left is the bliss and weightlessness of his mind empty of thought.