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He shifts to put the hand on Francis' thigh under his jaw, too, propping his head up, and smiles up at Francis, admires him. "It's... good. I know that. You're a good man. You do know it too, don't you?"
He smiles warmly, albeit a touch bashfully at being looked at so closely. Truly looked at, seen like he’d seen others, like he’d seen Raju.
“It takes some reminding,” he tells him honestly. “And work. No man is innately good, or wakes knowing they’re good or decent.”
"But what makes a man choose to do that work?" Or, agreeing was his first thought, anyway. It isn't what comes out of his mouth. Maybe pushing is too much of a habit by now. He doesn't sound like he's pushing, at least, his voice relaxed and agreeable even if the words aren't. "Where does that come from? Plenty don't. Most never even wonder if they should."
“Lord, that’s an even more difficult question, Raju. No easy answers today, mn?” He laughs and sits back briefly, looking up at the ceiling.
For him it had been a series of choices. He always thought he was a decent man; certainly before the fated expedition he wasn’t a bad man. But he was a sad man, a pathetic man, and he knew he needed to do better.
“I hurt a friend through my actions; that was my turning point. From that day on I knew I had to do better, but it was difficult and I faltered. I still do. But what it takes for each person, I couldn’t possibly say.”
It helps that the nature of the injury was traumatic. Hearing Thomas scream through the leather strap between his teeth as his leg was sawed off would have haunted the dreams of a stranger, let alone a dear friend.
He shakes his head. This conversation feels so casual, Raju sprawled out in his lap, the two of them laughing and joking. It feels good, even if the conversation's taken on a more philosophical nature now.
"Plenty of men are pricks," he says with a snort. "I've had my fair share of moments, don't mistake me, but I'd like to think my baser instincts are to be civil, if not kind."
"Oh, yes?" That also sounds so strange to him, only ever being known as this creature. "All you need to do is have a frank conversation with Little or Irving. Gibson will probably tell you, Jopson if he's pressed."
But before that. Before those months in the ice when he'd gotten too ill to think straight.
"I was envious, and bitter," he admits, just a little more quietly than before. "I saw what others had and I wanted it for myself, and it was humiliating to feel that way. I loathed myself for it."
Crozier shakes his head a little. "And then of course there's the melancholy, quieter in my youth but unchecked after Antarctica. As the years ticked by it made me...difficult to be around. So I imagine. Then when I let the whiskey take full hold over me, I was cruel and jaded, and worst of all, indifferent. I'm certain you would have loathed me."
He's still surprised that Blanky and Jopson had stayed so loyal when he'd been nothing but abusive to them both during the worst of it.
In this Raju is very certain, too. Of course he would have. Maybe things would have been different, but he would have seen the kind of man Francis is underneath the rest, even if it was deep underneath. Raju isn’t blind.
He laughs quietly; Raju is so adamant, how can he not trust him? He admires his judge of character; perhaps if they’d known each other all those years ago he would count Raju among his closest friends, even when he was the worst version of himself.
“If you had known me then you could have knocked some sense into me.”
“I would have tried to punch you.” His gaze falls back onto his face, his lovely eyes, and he laughs. He’d tried to punch Fitzjames and he’d loved those eyes too.
“But it might have helped. Lord knows I needed a rude awakening.”
It's easy to talk about fighting with Francis lightly now, with Francis' hand in his hair and his legs under Raju's hand and head, and the contentment glowing inside him makes it easy to grin as he goes on. "Maybe we can try it next time, see if a punch or two clears things up at all."
"That fight was hardly cathartic," he agrees. That brawl wasn't satisfying in any way; it wasn't as though they needed to get that all off their chests. Thankfully it had seemed to lead to something positive - this moment between them, a casual conversation about important things.
"Next time I start acting like a twat go ahead and knock me on my arse. I give you full permission." He doesn't think he'll need the second punch - he's seen Raju without his shirt, he knows those muscles could fully knock him the hell out if he's allowed to let loose.
He gives Francis' leg a couple fond pats, smiling again. "We'll save it for the right moment. You can let me know."
Crozier wants very much to take the pad of his thumb and smooth those wrinkles away.
"This time surely wouldn't count. It it came to blows it wouldn't have been very sporting." But he's almost certain his theory is correct now, just by the way they'd fallen back into their typical easy exchange. The source of his anger hadn't been Raju - and it hadn't really been anger to begin with, but a slow, lingering feeling that the world was closing in and control was slipping away from him.
"I will, I will." He chuckles again and finally pulls his hand back from Raju's hair. He's done all he could with it; it's washed and dried and fixed up, and Raju looks once more perfectly coifed. He thinks quietly that it's a bit of a shame, that. It's a strange thing to want a friend to be dirty again, but here Francis Crozier is, wishing for more goddamned mud.
He twists to look toward the table and the goods still waiting to be put away. “Nothing on there that won’t keep, though.”
Minding is different from liking things exactly where you’re at. They could stay here a while more and Raju wouldn’t complain.
“Nothing that won’t keep,” Crozier smiles, happy to not be the only one reluctant to move.
They can get up and around later, the chores will still be there, that awful green fog that lights up the parts of their brains itching for a fight. For now this just seems a better use of their time.
He decides to tell a story about his time with Parry and the sick Netsilik, and how his trekking back and forth across the island with the elderly and children in tow had earned him an Inuit nickname. He hopes for a story in return, real or imagined, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the continued smile on Raju’s face and the lightness behind his eyes.
He can feel Raju’s hand moving places that aren’t his body and huffs slightly, pulling back to inspect what manner of nonsense Raju is getting himself up to now. But he catches the sight of his strong fingers on the buttons of his own shirt, and it sends a shockwave down his spine that settles in the pit of his stomach.
Oh. Oh, oh yes. Oh yes, the quick movement of nimble fingers over his buttons, slowly revealing more and more of that golden skin -
It does something to him. The buttons and his fingers - Christ, he’s obsessed with his hands - and the way Raju moves without consideration, just casually undressing so he can attack more and more of his skin.
He feels a surge of possession over him, and growls in the back of his throat as leans forward again, this time taking teeth to his skin, his lips and tongue to soothe the reddening marks after. “Stop being so damned distracting then.”
"I didn't know we were going to be biting," he says, a little breathlessly. "Do I get to do that next?"
To be fair the biting wasn’t planned, but how could he possibly resist that supple neck?
“I didn’t anticipate wanting to leave my mark on you,” he murmurs, sucking a spot onto his skin with a soft, pleased groan. All he could do for so long was look, and now he has a feast laid out before him.
He’s never bedded a man. He never imagined getting the opportunity - he’d only ever wanted James, dear, and that was out of the question. But all those fancies, all the lonely nights on the night when all he had were his thoughts to keep him company, when he let his mind just wander, could never compare to what he has in his lap. “You can do whatever pleases you.”
His free hand moves slowly down Francis' unhurt side over the bizarrely soft sweater, the form underneath it, and slips his hand under the hem. There's something about doing things this way, sneaking his hand underneath, that wouldn't be there if Francis was still naked. Something good, or maybe only familiar. Raju doesn't think about what that something is, not for longer than a second, because Francis' skin is warm. It's warm and soft, and Raju can't resist the urge to pinch a tiny fold of skin between his fingers and twist, just for a second.
He yelps into the place just under Raju’s left ear when he feels one of those strong hands caressing him suddenly pinch and twist. He sits back with his mouth open in the mildest of bewilderment, then starts to laugh.
Crozier leans forward again to kiss him, still laughing quietly against his lips and into his mouth, delighted utterly by the surprise. It’s playful and possessive and just different, and it makes his body thrum with excitement. He thought Sophia was exciting, but it was never like this. He couldn’t remember ever being surprised.
“You’re the only thing allowed to leave marks on me. You’ll have to leave a note on the message board.”
Then Francis says what he says and Raju takes a sharp breath in through his nose, lets it out heavily through his open mouth. "Maybe I will," he breathes against Francis' lips, voice abruptly lower. Hearing that now, when Francis' body is so fragile still, when he'd been dying— The idea of standing between Francis and that kind of ruin and pain not only because he wants to but because Francis is his to protect that way sends a jolt through every part of Raju's body, a jolt that afterward leaves a little of itself behind. His hand on Francis' skin moves over to his other side, fingers stretched out wide to cover as much area as it can, barely touching, only covering the damage there.
"You should have told me that later." He lets his head dip lower, resting the sides of their faces together. "I can't leave my marks over this until it's all healed. Now I have to wait."
He isn’t certain what part of the suggestion struck a chord with Raju, but clearly it did judging by the low voice and the gentle pressing of their faces together. He allows himself to close his eyes, to imagine what will be when he’s finally healed. He’s always wanted to be wanted, but he hadn’t the foggiest what that might look like.
Rough, calloused fingers stroke along Raju’s neck. “Now you have to wait,” he says, still chuckling softly. “You can wait. You’re patient. In the meantime, I can mark you up as I’d like, mn?”
He pulls his head back to find his way back to Raju’s neck, demonstrating with a sucking kiss to his Adam’s apple. He wants very much to be healed properly so he can feel the full press of Raju’s body against his; it doesn’t seem fair that he can only partially be wrapped in his embrace. But he’s waited this long; he can wait a little longer.
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