Raju's smile grows a little when Francis' hips jerk. At the movement or the words, or probably both. It fills something deep inside him, knowing his love can effect someone that way. Francis isn't crying or waiting or hoping and desperate without any word at all. Raju loves him and that love isn't something to be endured. It adds to Francis' life, it makes Francis feel like this, and doesn't take anything away.

Whatever Raju's love makes Francis feel, Francis wants to give the feeling back. Or so Raju gathers by the hand against his trousers. Raju's hips roll, trying to grind into it. "Use your fingernails," he orders, half-breathless, then remembers to move his own hand again. "Trousers are too thick. I'll feel you better." Over the head, feeling the shape of it. The foreskin is just there; he runs the side of his thumb over its edge.