Raju’s pupils are wide, his breathing a little shaky and intense. Crozier pauses almost imperceptibly as he appraises his expression, looking for discomfort or any sign that he should stop and finding none. The exact opposite, in fact, every little twitch of his lips, flair of his nostrils, and quick exhale tells him to keep going.

He smiles softly, left wrist coming to rest in the nape of his neck. He’d hold him just there if he could. “All right,” he repeats again, a little disappointed that he’s turned away. He likes looking into his eyes, those pretty honey-brown eyes, the way they lift and crinkle when he’s smiling and how they glitter when he’s cooking up some plan.

He could wax poetic for hours, but should probably do so while he’s actually washing his hair. His hand pulls away just long enough to pick up the soap and lather up his hair, pushing his fingers back into his hair to massage it through. He works methodically, humming an Irish drinking song to himself while he gets every inch of his hair - and pauses to wipe some of the suds away from his forehead.