A strong hand grips the front of his pyjama shirt and Credence opens his eyes, startled. Mr Graves stares straight at him, the firelight reflected in his dark eyes. “Credence,” he says, quietly.
And Credence can’t help it – he rushes forward with a terrible sob, a hot desperate press of lips and teeth and tears. He’s ruined it, he’s ruined it. Mr Graves will surely shove him away, use his magic to bind him and cast him out to the street, refuse to ever even look at him ever again –
Only his mouth opens with a gasp, and he’s licking up into Credence’s mouth, kissing him back with just as much unrestrained passion. Credence pushes back hungrily, greedily, revelling in the plush press of his lips made softer by the rasp of his stubble against Credence’s cheek. His hands move from gripping the front of his shirt to slide around to his back, cradling the sharp wings of his shoulder blades, fingers curling into the hollow spaces between each rib. He’s drawing Credence in to him, into the circle of his arms and his embrace, mouth hot on his. Credence wails, overwhelmed, and then Mr Graves is pulling away; but only to press another soft kiss to his lips, soft now, gentle.
“I’m – I’m sorry,” Credence says, chest still heaving. Tears spill from his eyes, running down his face, and he’s so full of foreign emotion it hurts to breathe.
“No, no,” Mr Graves murmurs against his cheek. “Don’t apologise, sweet boy, darling, please, I thought – I thought I was dreaming, but I could never dream this. I could never dream you.”
And then they’re kissing again, consumed. Credence gasps into his mouth, he can’t stop, he can’t stop the words from spilling out, the well of emotion in his chest overflowing, “I love you, I love you, I love you – “