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Then Francis begins walking him back but once he gets close enough there's nothing to do with it but move, and so that at least hardly counts as a response. But he keeps his gaze carefully unfocused and carefully off Francis while he does it, so there's no doubt he isn't giving in, only responding.
"Sir," he says again, determinedly neutral. Of all the conversations he's had with any officer before there isn't exactly a script for this one.
“And then all that time after that,” he says, unconvinced. A few days is still more time than anyone should have to live with that kind of uncertainly. “When I wasn’t strong enough to even wash my own hair.”
It takes a toll on a person, having to be a caregiver. He has that awareness now, having sat by so many bedsides and mopped sweat and blood and tears from dying brows.
His hand lifts its pressure again and skates carefully down Francis' side, settling at his hip. He shakes his head and gives Francis a tight smile that's supposed to be cheerful. "I'm being ridiculous. It's good to see you this way. It really is."
“Sentimental.” He smiles quietly. “You’re being sentimental, over me. I’m very flattered, by the way.”
He lets out a soft laugh through his nose, hopefully to break Rama out of spiral. He’s clearly annoyed with himself, and though Crozier doesn’t mind a little sentiment now and again, he doesn’t want Ram to end the night on that forced smile.
“Sir,” he repeats with a touch of a snarl. He takes his hand off of him only to press it, palm outstretched flat, against the chest of his chest. He pushes hard, making sure Ram is nice and boxed in against the door, and then kisses him hard.
It’s less about catching Rama off guard and having him break, and more the overwhelming need to possess him and have him all for himself. This very beautiful man with self-control that would intimidate a Royal Marine is his and no one else’s, and he both wants the world to know and to keep him for himself like a precious secret. He kisses him with all that hunger, consuming him utterly with his hand still pressed against that blood red coat.
"You're flattered? When you make love to someone and get cried on for it? No wonder you don't care for compliments. I think I've been doing them the wrong way this whole time."
He’d hoped Rama would kiss him back, but as he ends the kiss with a sharp bite to his lower lip he sees those stiff limbs and that disciplined stare. It’s hard not to be impressed by that level of determination, but he can work with it.
Crozier laughs quietly and takes the helmet out from under from Rama’s arm, setting it onto the nearby hook by the door. “You won’t be needing that,” he tells him. “Arms up over your head, and bring those hands together. Now.”
“I suppose there’s always room for improvement,” he replies, glad to see that smile loosen up. He has a knack for breaking tension, but sometimes Ram is a tough nut to crack. “But you’d be surprised how often my romantic escapades ended in tears.”
He grins, clearly joking. He doesn’t think he’s made anyone cry - his trysts were never that emotional to begin with.
Easier to stop thinking about how any of it feels, and only do. Only follow Francis' orders, and nevermind the what or why.
Raju's gaze fixes itself back to the wall in the distance ahead of him, holding his wrists next to one another and raising his arms, his knuckles hitting the door above his head. "The handcuffs on my belt are new, sir," he says, tone very neutral, apropos of nothing. Certainly not because a navy captain who hardly used his weapon might not know the things were there, heavy in the pouch at his waist and ready to be used. "I haven't had time to prepare them for inspection."
"Any woman you've kissed would have cried after seeing you that way." Seetha would have cried. Raju would have been able to comfort her. It had always been easy, with her, to act in the ways that he needed to. The ways the she'd needed him to. She would have been sentimental, for him; he would have been strong and steady, for her. "But there are easier ways to get someone into bed, you know. Easier on your ribs, at least."
He’d been planning on pinning his wrists above his head with his hand, but cuffs are so much more efficient, and it’s a ringing endorsement from Rama himself to proceed. He looks through the bag at his waist and finds the handcuffs, as shiny and pristine as the buttons on his coat or medals pinned to his chest, and ‘inspects’ them closely to understand the locking mechanism. They’re different than what he’s used to, more intricate but clearly easier to operate.
“A practical inspection then,” he nods, snapping them around both wrists easily. “Keep your hands up. If they drop…”
He has to think of a threat, but when one doesn’t come to mind he settles for a stern Look. His hand goes to Rama’s trousers again, this time the buttons and then his drawers, stepping close to him as he pushes both pieces down his hips. He growls low in his throat and kisses along that bare jaw.
Any woman - would Sophia have cried? Did she ever weep for him when he was lost, spare a few tears for him in between mourning for her uncle? Did she ever regret…?
Of course he’s thought about it before, briefly, when looking back on that old life. But he never desired to return, never saw anything worth going back for, even when he did think of Sophia. Maybe she did weep for him, but years later he would hopefully just be a footnote for her.
“I’d forgot,” he says, covering Ram’s hand with his own. “You only started finding me attractive when I broke myself. It’s not been a tried and true method; you’re the first I’ve ever seduced with broken ribs.”
His heart is beating harder — as much, he realises, from ruining the uniform leaving the trousers on the floor as from Francis' lips. After a moment, he turns his head; he didn't get an order to but it gives Francis more room, and he likes feeling his teeth there.
It doesn't matter. He's done crying now, at least. Francis doesn't have to comfort him now.
"Mm," he says, glancing up at Francis' face. "I don't recommend trying it a second time. It already worked on me, and the recovery time is hardly worthwhile."
“Oh, no need to beat a dead horse,” he agrees whole-heartedly. “I don’t have to seduce you twice. You’re stuck with me now.”
As though Ram would ever consider leaving now after putting up with him through all of that, not when he’s finally able to pull his weight again. He’s a lucky man that Ram stayed, he knows this, but he also knows this man’s heart. He would have never considered leaving.
Ram willingly presenting his neck is something Crozier won’t pass up. His lips move along that strong jawline and up to the spot just under Rama’s ear, where he sucks and bites as his hand finds Ram’s prick underneath his jacket. His fingers wrap around him and begin to stroke along his length from base to tip; he wants him hard and aching, there’ll be no mercy.
Wrists cuffed, neck assaulted by teeth and tongue, cock being stroked by fingers that have been quick to learn him, Crozier knows he’s performing an all-out attack on Rama’s resolve. But it’s a game, and he knows he can take it. He’d say otherwise.
“I promise.” He won’t let himself get that hurt ever again, so long as he can help it.
“Come here. I want to hold you.”
All those nights sleeping near each other, and then all that time sleeping in close proximity with the very frustrating inability to touch - all Crozier wants is to have this man in his arms.
“Maybe another trip to the hot springs is in order.”
"Hm, I thought you were saying how warm it's been. Wanting to warm up?"
There’s no internal struggle for Crozier, although he’ll be embarrassed in the morning that he fell asleep in his own spend like a damn adolescent. He wants him near and will only be content when he feels his body close to his own.
“You’re always so cold, Rama my love,” he mutters, eyes closing as he slips his arm underneath Ram’s head. “…and I want to see you naked.”
Rama, my love. And laying here finally close enough to feel the heat of him, to see his eyelashes, pale like his hair, against his cheek as Francis closes his eyes. This is what he'd wanted for. This, now. Raju feels something he hadn't known had locked up loosening itself inside him, and his muscles lose tension he hadn't known was there, and he breathes out slowly.
"And give everyone else there a show as well?" he murmurs, relaxing, thumb rubbing back and forth over Francis' stomach. "I'd think you'd have had enough of only getting to look."
"Why not share?" he mutters, starting to unwind. The muscles in his face relax, shoulders slump as his free hand comes to rest in the very small space between them, curling against Rama's outer shirt. He'd probably murder anyone who stared at his Rama in the same way he did, but he's a pretty man and people should stare.
He waits a beat before adding quietly, "I won't only be looking this time."
He presses his arms a little harder back against the door, watching the ceiling with his head tipped to the side, feeling everything.
The fire won't burn either of them. It hasn't come close to Francis since Francis was hurt. So there's no point in mentioning it until the burn marks become obvious, come morning.
"In the water, Francis?" Raju says in a warm, completely ineffective tone for scolding. "That would be a show."
He studies Francis' face, its closed eyes, the relaxation on it, and everything behind the relaxation. He wants to kiss some part of it, and he will. He can. The knowledge that he can is delicious enough; for a moment Raju only holds onto it.
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