There's a hot trail over his skin where Francis' hand had moved over and away from him. He watches that hand touching his newly smooth cheek and makes a soft, amused noise, both at his own reactions and at Francis, clearly not quite used to his own face either. His smile deepens, fond, around his eyes.

"I have my aftershave, too," he notes. He'd half-intended to mention that earlier but, well. Other things had come up. "I hadn't used it for some time before I got here, either, so there's enough left to last you a while if you like the smell." He leans to pull it out from his grooming kit. Sandalwood, cedar, a hint of some sharp spice — he hasn't smelled it in a while and realises, unscrewing its top and tipping it toward Francis, that he wouldn't mind it, Francis smelling like what a part of Raju's mind still says smells like him.