I want to be good to you, Francis. He believes him, dear god, he believes him. He's already so good to him, so sweet and tender and concerned in all things, but the thought that it could somehow be better-
His head swims. He wants to whimper. Maybe it's the touch too, that simple stroke of his thumb over the hint of bare skin there.
He hums again, wanting to be able to speak now. Hasn't he played this game well enough? Hasn't he been so terribly good and still throughout this whole endeavor? He tries to meet his eyes, tries get him to see that he agrees, but ends up going for that hand touch again. This time his hand brushes against Rama's, along his knuckles and down his thumb.
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I want to be good to you, Francis. He believes him, dear god, he believes him. He's already so good to him, so sweet and tender and concerned in all things, but the thought that it could somehow be better-
His head swims. He wants to whimper. Maybe it's the touch too, that simple stroke of his thumb over the hint of bare skin there.
He hums again, wanting to be able to speak now. Hasn't he played this game well enough? Hasn't he been so terribly good and still throughout this whole endeavor? He tries to meet his eyes, tries get him to see that he agrees, but ends up going for that hand touch again. This time his hand brushes against Rama's, along his knuckles and down his thumb.