Captain Crozier

The hand over his cheek, on his side and looking at one another, brings it home that they can do this now. Lay this way, this close, together. It's been forever. Francis kisses him and the space between them is as small as the time between now and the last time they'd lain close this way, not kissing then, but close. He needs to know the time between truly is as small as it feels, that it's over, needs to feel that Francis is well and not on the verge of death, or recovering in pain. He can see it, and the doctor had said it, but he works a hand up under Francis' clothes anyway, onto his ribs while he breathes carefully through his nose, kisses Francis in return, skates his fingers over the area he's spent so long watching and trying not to touch. Laying the way they are his hand can rest over Francis' side, fingers spread, as if he could... protect it, or feel something there he doesn't already know about, or... anything. His other hand clutches at Francis' shirt as the one on his ribs tightens and then loosens again, shying away from grabbing it too tight, reflexively.