Everything about this is intimate, there's not a single thing in or around him right now that's not, but Francis dropping his head onto Raju's chest is one more thing; there's a vulnerability and a trust in the gesture that clenches in his chest and throat, and he knows all this pressure inside him would be bursting into a fire some place around them if the feeling — the happiness — hadn't already been turning itself toward making him warm all over. Warm enough to go without anything covering him up at all in a place where he hasn't worn less than two layers even inside since the moment he found enough spare clothes to do it.

Any more and he'll be sweating. He thinks it absently as he watches Francis watching him, the fruitless squirming to escape Francis' fingers slowed to a stop.

The tone in Francis' voice signals a change in their game; Francis has got enough of the first thing that he'd wanted, then. The expression that spreads over Raju's face is hungry and wicked. One of his arms is propping him up by the elbow; the other reaches out and grasps the back of Francis' neck, wanting to pull him close enough to kiss him, close enough to feel his lips and anything else that might happen to press against him as Francis moves.