When Raju's hand is thrown down onto the floor again his composure slips, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. Then he breathes out, slow, relieved, and doesn't have time to relax into it, Francis' hips and his weight are grinding against Raju hard, slow enough to let this feeling build. Francis' hand had left Raju's nipples sensitive and his shirt rubs against them each time the movement of Francis' body presses their chests together, his lips haven't had time to recover from Francis' against them, and Francis is gasping into his hair.

It's that last, as much as any other part of it, that starts Raju shuddering on each inhale. His leg tries to wrap around Francis' again to press at Francis' upper thighs at every moment Francis rubs against him, pressing them together harder, tilting up his hips in those same moments, working with the rhythm Francis has set, breathing out against the side of Francis' face. The only thing keeping Raju from coming is the clothes between them; his rhythm stutters as his hips try to move faster, give himself more, and he pauses, agonisingly still, then forces himself to match Francis' pace again. The effort makes him even harder, puts pained noises behind each breath. His fingers clench, and can't go anywhere. Or don't. His head presses hard back against the floor, his mouth open. He wants to move faster desperately, and with Francis guiding them both to this instead, won't ask.