Crozier’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow shrewdly, his nostrils flailing in amusement. Oh, how clever. Frustratingly clever; he wishes his mouth was there instead of Rama’s own hand.

“Higher,” he says, voice deep and surprisingly rough. “Higher, and then higher still.”

He traces his own thigh, bringing his fingers up to the crease between his leg and pelvis, trailing it further down. “Right here. I’d leave marks on you.”