The feeling of Francis' hand is a hard shock that punches a strange noise out of Raju, one that starts life as a gasp, then grows into a low groan that keeps trading space with the whine it can't decide whether to turn into. The reality of wanting was one thing: stray thoughts, sensitive skin, accidental friction and tension hot inside him, cravings unmet, Francis' body lax and trusting against him, those are all manageable. Manageable and, in a way, familiar, the wanting only valuable in the chance it gives him to hold himself back. The reality of getting is something else, something Raju is completely unprepared for, hadn't known how unprepared until he couldn't not know it, until he's having to lock his hips to keep them from twitching again as he locks down the rest of his body, holding himself tense in every muscle but still, holding his breath for a moment before he speaks.

"I..." he starts, as much a drawn out, shaking noise as a word. He realises he's hiding his face against Francis' shoulder, that the hand that'd been unbuttoning his trousers is gripping Francis' thigh. He tries to loosen his grip, and manages it just a little. He realises he can't quiet his gasping breath. That noise he's hearing is the fire somewhere, now louder. He can barely manage his body, suddenly; there's nothing he can do about it. "I won't... It won't be... long. I can't..."