I've been listening to Halsey's 'Control' on repeat for the last 2 days and it inspired a Destiel idea that y'all'll see part of on the 14th, but as I was constructing this idea, I realized that the song very much fits Credence. This drabble has not been influenced by the song in any way, it was just something I noticed and wanted to share. Also, sorry I keep posting behind schedule - I work weird hours...

Day 04: Bukakke | Knife Play | Begging

The pain was sharp, a stinging, burning sensation that somehow didn't even begin to compare to the belt and buckle Ma used to punish him. There was intent to cause pain behind both actions, but the emotions felt different. Credence wasn't sure how, he wasn't sure of a lot of things, but he was sure of that. He just didn't know if either Ma or Mr Graves had good intentions.

The 'knife' cut into him again and Credence whimpered as the skin on the inside of his thigh split under the tip of Mr. Graves' wand. The wood was glowing a dark gold at the very end, where it was working over Credence's skin in a clear but undecipherable pattern, like letters. Even with all the Mr Graves had explained to him about magic, the fact that a piece of wood could feel like the sharpest steel made not one bit of sense to him, but there were many things that didn't make a lot of sense to Credence. Such as why his penis was hard and leaking despite the pain being wrought on his fragile skin.

Mr Graves sank his teeth into Credence's opposite thigh, the unmarked one, and then sucked hard, making Credence's back arch up off the bed even as he fought to keep everything below the waist still as Mr Graves had instructed. "Please please please please please," he panted endlessly, head rolling back and forth on the sheets from the sensory overload as each suck from the mouth attached to the vulnerable inside of his leg made his too-hard erection pulse in time. "Please Mr Graves, please!" he pleaded, not knowing what he was pleading for.

"Hush, Credence," Mr Graves' low voice soothed when he lifted his head from the mark blooming on the fragile skin of Credence's inner thigh. Mr Graves' free hand pressed into Credence's bare belly and pushed him down with unyielding force, forcing him to comply. The edge of Mr Graves' sleeve brushed the sweaty, sensitive skin there and made Credence whimper again. Something in Credence longed for skin-on-skin contact every time Mr Graves called on him, but Mr Graves was still dressed. Mr Graves was always dressed. "Be silent, Credence. Be still," he murmured, voice patient and brokering no disobedience. "Be good."

Credence bit back on another whimper and ended up screaming into his teeth when the wand cut him again, making tears stream from his eyes. It hurt so much and yet he was so hard and he didn't understand anything. He didn't even know he was still begging until two fingers slid between his lips, calloused fingertips pressing against his tongue.

"I asked for your silence, Credence," Mr Graves murmured as he forced another cut into Credence. "If you cannot do the one thing I ask, then I will not reward you when I'm finished."

His first reaction was to plead for forgiveness, to cast about apologies as if his life depended on it. But when his lips parted from around Mr Graves' fingers, the fingertips pressed to his tongue curved and pinned the muscle down with two, sharp fingernails. The next cut was the hardest to deal with, because he wasn't allowed to scream, wasn't allowed release, couldn't even bite down because of the fingers in harm's way. All he could do was silently take it and cry, even as his hardness throbbed with every burning stroke until he was so caught between pleasure and pain that he didn't know what was up and what was down.

It seemed like the pain and the torment went on for hours, tempered only by his body's unwillingness to forget the pleasure, and yet, it seemed too soon by the time Mr Graves crawled up between his legs and kneeled there, forcing Credence's thighs wide. The fingers in his mouth pulled away slowly and he had to remind himself not to chase them, for Mr Graves didn't like when he begged for affection; he preferred that Credence wait patiently for whenever Mr Graves saw fit to bestow it. And as long as he was patient, he received it in abundance. He only had to endure first.

The stretch of his inner muscles around Mr Graves fingers was normally a slow burn, but with his thigh feeling like it was on fire, exacerbated by the press of a calloused palm against it, he barely noticed as one finger went to two went to three went to Mr Graves forcing his way inside. This part was by far not his favourite, was part of his shame and what he prayed to God for forgiveness for every night, but it didn't even come close to measuring up to what would come at the end.

Mr Graves clothes scraped over Credence's skin with every movement, with every shift, with every push, forcing Credence's body to take what he was giving it. The rough skin of Mr Graves' other hand never left the marks he'd just placed on Credence's thigh, and as the pleasure built in him like champagne stoppered by a cork, the unending burning pain of the cuts made it seem like he was flying outside of his body.

When Mr Graves touched him, for a moment, Credence thought he saw Heaven as his body was torn asunder. But soon the white light of God faded away and left Credence only with his human God, his saviour, smiling down at him as he pulled away. Despite the mess on and in Credence's body, the one he would need to scrub away before he returned home, in such a way that it would turn his skin pink and raw from his vigour and the harsh cloth and the freezing water, Mr Graves bent and pressed kisses to each of the marks he'd made.

"Do you know what these means, Credence?" he asked, breath warm against Credence's sensitive skin and making his legs tremble with the desire to press his thighs tight closed.

"It's an old spell, but it's power is not diminished by it's age," he said, holding up a hand mirror so Credence could glimpse the strange letters. "I have bound you to me, Credence." There's a levity to Mr Graves' voice that stills Credence, and he dares to meet the man's eyes. Mr Graves crawls back over him, slowly lowering his weight over Credence until Mr Graves is all that he can see, and a moment later, Mr Graves is all that he can taste. "It means," Mr Graves continues between kisses, "that you belong to me."

FIN

My first Gradence and yet probably my fave Kinktober so far?

Reblog the thing (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, tagged/Bound-to-You).