Despite the injustice of Francis' own clothes Raju helps, watching Francis' face fixedly, somehow not minding everything covering Francis up quite yet because the way Francis is looking at him...
There's even more left in him to set alight because the way Francis is looking at him lights something up, something Raju hadn't expected to feel quite the way it does, and after a moment he realises it's because the way Francis is staring is new.
Seetha had looked, of course. She'd looked, and she'd loved him. But she'd been familiar with his body, in one way or another, for all the life she could remember living. They'd both been, with the other. They'd treasured one another but, he realises, hadn't ever thought to marvel quite this way. Maybe it had never occurred to her, the way it had never occurred to him. Francis, now, is looking at him like he's a wonder, a revelation, and the pleasure of being looked at that way by this man overflows into another flush over Raju's skin, at his chest and neck, across his cheeks as he stands there, trousers pooled around his ankles, unmoving even as the hand on his hip flares into pinprick feeling in every little place Francis is touching. Raju's chin lifts as he breathes in slowly, expression awe and helpless pleasure. His hands curl into happy fists.
"Your face," Raju murmurs and then expectantly, hoping to hear some elaboration on the topic, maybe the same heat in Francis' words that Raju's feeling from his gaze now: "You do like it. As much as that?"
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There's even more left in him to set alight because the way Francis is looking at him lights something up, something Raju hadn't expected to feel quite the way it does, and after a moment he realises it's because the way Francis is staring is new.
Seetha had looked, of course. She'd looked, and she'd loved him. But she'd been familiar with his body, in one way or another, for all the life she could remember living. They'd both been, with the other. They'd treasured one another but, he realises, hadn't ever thought to marvel quite this way. Maybe it had never occurred to her, the way it had never occurred to him. Francis, now, is looking at him like he's a wonder, a revelation, and the pleasure of being looked at that way by this man overflows into another flush over Raju's skin, at his chest and neck, across his cheeks as he stands there, trousers pooled around his ankles, unmoving even as the hand on his hip flares into pinprick feeling in every little place Francis is touching. Raju's chin lifts as he breathes in slowly, expression awe and helpless pleasure. His hands curl into happy fists.
"Your face," Raju murmurs and then expectantly, hoping to hear some elaboration on the topic, maybe the same heat in Francis' words that Raju's feeling from his gaze now: "You do like it. As much as that?"