Francis is relaxed against him, still leaning forward into him and softening in Raju’s hand. Raju shifts on the arm he’s leaning against to put more of the weight on the forearm and twist it around, spreading his hand across Francis’ upper back and the base of his neck, helping to hold him up. Raju himself is still breathing hard, his drawers absurdly soft like everything else in this place but too tight, and part of him wants to squirm and grind down onto anything that might find him pressure and friction and relief. But as that kind of urge has started waking up more and more often Raju’s gotten better at ignoring it, and there’s a deep satisfaction in ignoring it now. If Raju ignores it now he can keep holding himself still and steady, he can keep holding Francis relaxed and secure against him and know that he’s strong enough to keep him here, safe. That Francis trusts him with himself in a moment like this one, and that Francis is right to.
He feels Francis’ back against one hand, sturdy and solid, and in the other he feels Francis soft and vulnerable, and that hand lays him down gently, moves fond fingertips over the length of the soft skin, runs his hand in a trail over Francis’ skin up to his hip. Raju’s breaths are deep and fast, but steady. The fire banked inside him isn’t burning, only warming itself there, and its heat pushes him to kiss the side of Francis’ head once, then again, then a third time. His hair tastes a little, still, like soap, and it couldn’t matter less; Raju turns his face against Francis’ hair and breathes him in.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-07-03 06:57 pm (UTC)He feels Francis’ back against one hand, sturdy and solid, and in the other he feels Francis soft and vulnerable, and that hand lays him down gently, moves fond fingertips over the length of the soft skin, runs his hand in a trail over Francis’ skin up to his hip. Raju’s breaths are deep and fast, but steady. The fire banked inside him isn’t burning, only warming itself there, and its heat pushes him to kiss the side of Francis’ head once, then again, then a third time. His hair tastes a little, still, like soap, and it couldn’t matter less; Raju turns his face against Francis’ hair and breathes him in.