Raju feels Francis’ hand moving away from his cock and further up his thigh, the grip — at least in this instant — firm enough to avoid the bizarre problem that’s already so derailed the direction of Francis’ attentions. Up Raju’s thigh and then he feels Francis’ hand stop, and then—

Raju’s leg tries in a sudden twitching way to move out again, and again his hips squirm. His mouth is open, he realizes when a huffing breath stutters out of it. He presses his lips hard together in a doomed effort to press the smile out of the corners of his lips.

“Francis,” he says, warm and exasperated, and tries to focus more on his shoulders and arms, the burning feeling of holding them up more familiar, and miles easier to deal with.