Francis moves, and Raju frowns. Raju risks a glance down and his eyes widen, and he stares. Francis compliments him casually as if this were any other day, smiling, and Raju opens his mouth to say—

"...Sir," he manages, voice betraying only a little bit of surprise, a little bit of tension, and he looks forward again, bracing the back of his head against the door for a sensation to focus on. There's no room, here, for are you sure. In Francis' play at giving orders he wouldn't have knelt there in the first place if he wasn't, anyway, so Raju supposes that he must be.

Raju remembers it, suddenly: his feet hurting in a way they never had before, Francis kneeling in front of him to tend to them. To his shoes. He'd thought of this then, hadn't he? Has Francis thought of something like this too, before now? And how many times has he actually done it? What was it he'd said, when Raju had asked about his lovers an eternity ago?

There's nothing he's able to ask, within the outlines of their game, so there's nothing worth wondering about. The only question he needs to concern himself with is how to keep himself still.