Raju's body twitches when Francis touches his hip, so focused is he on the sensation from only the one area, but he hardly has time to focus on his hip before Francis is back at it, switching techniques so that Raju can't get too used to any one thing. His tongue, his lips, make it impossible to ignore the pleasure and, oddly, the pain too; the growing ache in his arms and shoulders is harder to ignore somehow while he's feeling so much from Francis' industrious efforts down below. At the same time, that ache makes it that much harder for the pleasure to reach the zenith that he needs it to; each makes it that much more difficult to endure the other.

After a time he finds himself starting to squirm, moving his hips to try and— he isn't sure. He stops them before he can get out of the movement whatever it is he's looking for, stops the shifting of his shoulders and its clinking of the handcuffs against the wood, aware how hard he's breathing only after renewed efforts to hold himself still. He hears his own harsh breaths and presses his head back against the door, keeps his body still again and his gaze straight ahead.