Before Francis, the only man's voice he'd heard while feeling this way was his own. It'd never occurred to him that it might sound like Francis' does, feel like Francis' does. He feels a chill over hot skin and shivers, grin sharp as his finger moves upward again, following the path Francis' hand is tracing. His own hand pauses there, and he feels himself breathing harder than he was.

"I don't have your mouth," he murmurs, gaze meeting Francis' eagerly. "What shall I do here instead?"