A/N: I had a craving for a very specific brand of vampire!Original Graves, and I could not find it. So I decided to be the change I wanted to see. (You'd think after spending as much time as I have on my original vampire fiction that I'd be sick of it but eggs and bacon, you're mistaken!)
This started out as just a self-indulgent little thing fluffy thing that accidentally grew a plot. All of the vampire lore is just recycled from my original fiction because that's what I've been neck-deep in for the past while and I like it. :P
Title taken from the song "Salvation" by Editors, which is frankly the most Gradence song I've ever heard.
Warnings for depictions of PTSD and minor OC death.
If Graves had been honest with himself, he would have recognized it for what it was: a foregone conclusion. How he could have ever thought otherwise was a bit of a mystery, though it hardly mattered now. All his self control had been undone in an instant by the flash of pale skin mostly hidden by a high collar, by the hitch of breath, by the shy insistence: it's all right, Mister Graves. Gods take him, how could he resist that?
He should have resisted. The boy was his ward (not a child). He had little working knowledge of the world of magic, let alone monsters (But weren't they both monsters? Was that not why they had been given into each other's care?). He was nearly eighty years Graves's junior, and a mortal besides (but not quite human). And, above all else, Graves had sworn to keep him safe.
Even this multitude of reasons could not stay Graves's hunger. Not when it had been ages since his last feeding. Not when he could hear the rabbit-fast pulse that thrummed just beneath Credence's skin. Not when faced with those dark, trusting eyes.
Already, Credence's fingers were working at the top few buttons of his shirt. Graves caught them up in his own hands, tugged them away, and chastely pressed his lips to Credence's fingertips. The jolt of his living spark—warm and smoky and dark—played across Graves's skin where they touched.
"You don't have to do this, Credence," he said. "You aren't responsible for my well-being. I am the one who is responsible for you. You owe me nothing." He meant every word, but a tiny and vicious part of him keened at the idea of coming so close but not being able to taste. (Don't think about it.)
Credence pulled his hands from Graves's grasp, and for a terrifying moment, Graves felt like the world had fallen out from under him. He closed his eyes, tried to steel himself against the idea of finding a stranger to feed from, but he felt the barest brush of warmth against his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see Credence slip both arms around his neck and lean forward until their foreheads touched.
Just that point of contact alone was enough to set every nerve in his body ablaze with hunger. He felt Credence's heartbeat singing through him almost as if it were his own. When Credence spoke, his voice was so soft that Graves only heard it by virtue of his heightened senses. "I want to. For you, I mean. Please. Let me."
He could nearly taste the anxiety underneath the words, but there was a hesitant kind of hope to them, too. Gods. Graves was a fool who couldn't deny this boy (this young man, this monster) anything.
"This will be easier if we're sitting," Graves said. His voice came out steady, somehow, even as his entire being vibrated with anticipation. "Here." He laid his hands on Credence's hips and guided them both to sit on the rug near his hearth. At Credence's quizzical expression, Graves just shook his head. "Some people lose their balance. I'd rather not risk you falling and hurting yourself."
The surge of Credence's anxiety was almost electric, but the boy nodded and arranged his legs underneath himself so that he knelt next to Graves. "All right."
They stayed like that for a moment, frozen on the precipice of… something that Graves was not sure he wanted to examine more closely. Not now. Not with Credence right there, waiting.
Before Graves had stopped him, Credence had managed to undo his collar, leaving a hint of his throat bare. Gods above, he should just push one of Credence's sleeves up, should just take only the barest bit of blood from the wrist, from the elbow. Somewhere less intimate (don't think). But he could feel the weight of Credence's mounting anxiety, could see the way his throat moved when he started to ask, "Mister Graves?"
"You're doing just fine," Graves murmured. He leaned forward until they were nearly nose-to-nose and worked the top buttons of Credence's shirt open. He could feel the fine trembling, couldn't keep himself from from tugging the boy closer and whispering soothing noises. "It's all right, I've got you, I've got you."
Credence nodded again, though Graves had not asked a question. He tilted his head to one side, hooked a finger in his collar to pull it out of the way. Left the flesh of his neck exposed.
Graves found himself absently murmuring things, "I'm so grateful, I won't let anything happen to you, I won't hurt you, I swear." By the final words, his lips were brushing Credence's skin. "Just hold on to me. I've got you."
He felt Credence wrap his arms around him, felt the tremor cease as Credence steeled himself. Graves spared a moment to breathe "oh, my boy" before letting his fangs slide into Credence's flesh.
The only indication that Credence felt anything was a tiny gasp, followed by his fingers tightening where they gripped Graves's waistcoat. Graves couldn't speak, couldn't utter reassurances, so he satisfied himself with rubbing soothing circles over Credence's back.
After a moment, as if it were reluctant to rise to the surface, Graves tasted Credence's blood. It hit his tongue, thick and heavy like tar, but sweet like molasses. His tongue felt slick with it, and it burned like a fine whiskey when his throat could finally work to swallow. It curled in his stomach, hot and dark and electric and so alive that Graves could have wept.
Credence's fingers dug into his back, clutching convulsively as a single broken gasp escaped his throat. It colored the blood, made the second mouthful warm with Credence's pleasure. Graves traced his fingers along the boy's spine in a gesture half meant to soothe and half meant to coax. Credence shuddered against him.
A third mouthful followed, then a fourth. Credence's breath grew ragged, he clung to Graves as he shook like a leaf in a storm. Graves could taste the magic in his veins and knew it to be what made the blood so rich and dark and heavy in his gut. He pulled Credence into his lap, used one hand to smooth hair away from a sweat-slicked brow, held him close as he indelicately worked the twin punctures in the boy's neck.
Time stretched, and the only way Graves could reckon it was the flutter of Credence's pulse. It was still fast, but hardly panicked. The bitter tang of anxiety had been replaced by something more electric. One of the boy's hands had found the nape of Graves's neck and gripped it with enough strength that it might have been uncomfortable, had Graves been a human.
Still, that point of contact was enough. Graves swallowed his last mouthful and pulled away. Two beads of blood welled to the surface, blacker than night and oozing a subtle smoke (the obscurus's power sublimating into the air now that it was no longer contained in its host's veins). Graves couldn't help staring for a long moment, watching in wonder. But Credence shifted in his embrace, dragged him back to himself, and he leaned forward to run his tongue over the wounds to close them. Credence shivered but made no sound other than his ragged breathing.
"It's all right, you did very well, my boy," Graves whispered into his ear. He kept one hand braced against Credence's lower back to make sure the boy— his boy—would not tip backwards, while his other hand busied itself rubbing up and down the line of Credence's spine. "You're all right, I've got you. It can be overwhelming."
Credence made a noise that might have been agreement or might have been interrogative, but it was muffled by the fabric where he'd pressed his face into Graves's shoulder. "It's all right, just breathe and you'll be fine."
It was true; as the blood worked its way into his system, it made his senses even keener. He could hear the boy's lungs working to supply him with enough air, his heart beating quickly but not particularly strained. Under Graves's palms, through the fabric of Credence's clothes, he could feel the warmth of him, feel the life that animated him, feel the magic that flowed just beneath the surface. There wasn't any danger.
Graves ran his hand up Credence's back, reveling in the feel of the fabric of his shirt. Long gone were the threadbare hand-me-downs of his life before; Graves had made sure that Credence would never have to wear anything like that again. His fingers caught on the fold of the collar, and he tugged it aside with a frustrated huff. Credence responded with an incoherent murmur and shifted to press himself closer.
Since all traces of tension were gone, Graves settled his palm against Credence's exposed neck. The skin almost burned under his hand, half with actual heat and half with the barely leashed magic of the obscurus. His fingertips found Credence's hair next and paused to soak up the way the strands slid, soft and silky, between them. Gods, what he wouldn't do to stay like this forever: warm, sated, and with his most precious treasure resting bonelessly in his arms.
He must have let some of his train of thought slip past his lips, because Credence burrowed closer and rubbed his cheek against Graves's. "'d like that," he slurred.
The sleepy agreement sent a thrill of happiness thundering through Graves's ribcage, and even he was surprised by the chuckle that followed. His fingers continued their exploration of Credence's hair, following the curve of his skull until he found himself carding his fingers through the boy's hair. He closed his eyes so he could focus on the sensations: the warmth of Credence pressed against him, the softness of his hair, the texture of his shirt contrasting with the coarser fabric of his trousers, and the sweet press of their cheeks.
While Graves would have been content to stay just like this (oh, how his boy's blood had made him lazy), Credence was less so. While he showed no interest in regaining his feet, he quickly grew restless. "Is something the matter?" Graves asked after a few moments. "You—you don't need to stay like this on my account." Though he would certainly feel bereft without Credence as a reassuring weight in his arms.
Credence shook his head once, which has the added effect of tugging his hair out of Graves's fingers and leaving Graves's palm resting against his cheek. His skin was warm and smooth, and he nuzzled at Graves's hand with a sigh. "Don't want to get up," he mumbled. Graves fought down a shiver in feeling Credence's breath ghosting across his wrist.
Still, Credence did not settle. "Are you uncomfortable, my boy?" He ran a thumb over Credence's temple.
"Mmph," Credence responded unhelpfully. He shifted again, then added somewhat more helpfully, "Floor."
"Ah," said Graves, catching his meaning immediately, "yes. Of course." Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away (Gods, it hurt to watch Credence try to follow the contact) and shifted until he had a gentle but firm grip on Credence's thighs. "Hold on to me. I'll move us somewhere more comfortable." Credence made another unhelpful grumble but did as he was instructed. Once Graves felt certain there was no chance of Credence slipping out of his arms, he pushed himself to his feet.
For a tense moment, the room swam. Graves was far too graceful to so much as stumble, but he swayed just a little, enough for Credence to tighten his grip and mumble something Graves didn't catch. Absently, Graves made a soothing noise.
Even when he steadied himself, Graves still felt as if the world wobbled under his feet. Sweet Lord and Lady, had the obscurus's magic made him drunk? It had been decades since he'd been able to properly imbibe, and he'd thought he had forgotten the feeling. And yet…
Credence mumbled something into his shoulder, and Graves weighed his options. The obvious and most comfortable choice was to shuffle them both to Credence's bed, but he couldn't guarantee the walk would be uneventful. Not in this state. He glanced at the sofa, only a few paces away. It was smaller, likely to be less comfortable and certainly more cramped, but it would only take a few strides to reach.
The world listed vaguely sideways. Sofa it was, then. He managed to navigate to it with little difficulty, and some careful adjustment of his grip let him stretch out on it without jostling his charge overmuch. Once he'd arranged himself with his head propped against one arm and feet kicked up over the other, Credence sighed and wedged himself between the back of the sofa and Graves's side.
Credence slung an arm and leg across Graves, then stilled. "Better," he declared.
Graves chuckled again and brushed a lock of Credence's hair away from his face. This… this was nice. Warm affection coiled in his chest, making his unbeating heart ache with its intensity.
Not all of the affection was his, he realized. Of course he was fond of the boy, how could he not be? But the idea that his fondness might be shared… He had never considered that possibility. And yet, here Credence was, pulse slow and steady, contentment so deep that Graves could almost feel it in his own bones.
Gods, when was the last time he'd fed like this? He—
His fangs in his own arm; a vice-like grip keeping his head steady. Blood that tasted like salt and iron.
Graves stilled, fingers hovering near Credence's temple, as he tried to blink the image away.
Credence tilted his face up to study Graves's profile. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing, Credence. Don't worry." He affected what he hoped was a lazy, reassuring smile.
He must have missed his mark, because Credence frowned. "Please. Don't." He swallowed, closed his eyes as he gathered his thoughts. "Don't lie to me. Not after that."
A fleeting question fluttered through his mind; did Credence understand that Graves could hardly deny him anything right now? Graves shook his head. "I apologize. You're right. I'm… troubled. I worry that I've maybe overstepped myself."
"You haven't," Credence insisted with such swiftness and ferocity that it would have stolen Graves's breath, if he'd still needed to breathe. "I volunteered. You've done so much. For me, I mean. I wanted—want to do something for you."
Graves shook his head. "I shouldn't have accepted the offer. I'm supposed to protect you. Keep you safe. Keep people from trying to use you again."
"You do that," Credence insisted. All of the languid bonelessness had bled out of him, and he pushed himself up on one elbow to look Graves in the eye. Something fierce and implacable made his gaze almost hard. "I'm not a child. I'm not weak anymore. No one will ever use me again."
Graves flinched, but did his best not to drop his gaze. Very quietly, he said, "You were never weak, Credence."
"Then why are you acting like I am?"
Because you're young. Because you deserve better than what you've been given. Because I can't do this to you. But he couldn't bring himself to say that. Instead, he sighed. "Because you're human. And I haven't been in a very long time."
This, it seemed, had been the wrong thing to say. "I'm not human either, Mister Graves." His words held a subtle edge of something that might have been a threat.
With his senses still heightened, Graves could make out the way that Credence's edges seemed to blur, even in the dim light. Then, the young man was gone, replaced with a seething cloud of black dust shot through with the smallest crackle of red lightning, barely contained. The next moment, Credence coalesced again, this time straddling Graves's hips and holding both of his arms against his side.
His grip wasn't that firm—Graves was certain he could break it with the barest flex of his vampiric strength—but his edges still bled off into curls of inky black. The smoke rolled off of Credence and around Graves, encircling his arms, his wrists, his knees. Some of it drifted up to touch his cheek, leaving a trail of cold that was like the light of a lonely star in the dead of night.
Certainly Graves could break free of Credence's fingers, but he was less certain he could break free of his obscurus. He was less certain that he wanted to. Finally, he said, "I don't want to hurt you, Credence."
His gaze drifted back to the young man's face, saw the way that his eyes were white as bleached bone. His expression was still hard, but there wasn't anger to it, Graves thought. Only determination. When Credence spoke again, his words were distorted by magic and chased with licks of more inky darkness. "You can't hurt me. Ma—Mary Lou hurt me. He hurt me. You won't… won't do what they did."
"There are other ways to hurt someone," Graves said. So many more. (But he could not, would not name them, not here.)
Credence closed his eyes and bent forward until their foreheads touched, an echo of an earlier moment. Where his skin had previously felt so warm before, it now burned with icy chill. Graves felt the obscurus rolling over him, no longer holding, simply touching. Credence's lips moved, and Graves strained to hear it: "You can't hurt me. You won't."
And then he collapsed back in on himself, no longer a being of magic and danger; instead he was a boy (a young man; a terrified and terrifying and beautiful monster) shivering against him.
Graves wrapped his arms around Credence and whispered a quick warming charm and tried to ignore the way their lips nearly brushed. He ran his hands over Credence's back in a vain attempt to bring some semblance of warmth to him. He shifted so that Credence could rest his head against Graves's chest, right over where his heart would have beaten when he was still human.
"You're right," Graves confided as he pressed his lips to the top of Credence's head. "I don't want to hurt you."
"I know." No magic garbled his voice now. Instead, it was muffled by the fabric of Graves's shirt as he buried his face against his chest. "Please, let me have this. Let yourself have this."
Graves couldn't bring himself to lie to this boy (his boy), so he said nothing. Just made soothing sounds until the shivering stopped and he knew Credence was asleep.