*
Credence wants to be a good boy.
As soon as he leads Grindelwald, or rather the facade of Percival Graves, to the Obscurial… Credence will find peace. Strangled by magic, until he's blue and choking on nothing, left face-down in an unlit cobblestone alleyway.
Grindelwald has imagined Credence's death so many times, by his own hands or a permanent curse. It's repulsive how much Credence loves him, obsesses over him, leaving sloppy, moaning kisses over the scuff of hair darkening Percival Graves's jaw, or allowing Grindlewald to release his masochistic tendencies in bed by roughly fisting open a naked, red-chested Credence up to the wrist, until he's sobbing for it, or simply requesting Credence gorge his own eye.
We need this spell to work. It's for us.
He only needed to know how far Credence would go for him, for his loyalty to be tested.
During an important banquet, Grindelwald shushes him and pulls him into a darkened but public corridor with two servants observing between a cigarette, running his fingers over Credence's blood-soaked dressings, pretending to fuss.
With quick, expert work, Grindelwald undoes their trousers, pushing Credence against the wall, ignoring his low cries and protests, thrusting himself over those pale, round buttocks. Before he can enter his already copiously-oiled hole, Credence summons an unworldly strength Grindelwald has never seen, flipping their positions, attempting to push into Grindelwald's dry hole through his clothes, grunting and shouting. Shock roots him in place before Grindelwald wallops him across the face, knocking out the youth.
The servants vanish before he glances around for witnesses, shaking their heads in disapproval.
Grindelwald ignores the obvious tremble in his own hands, pushing Percival Graves's fringe out of his eyes. No one. No one could ever accost him like that. And no one ever will again.
*