Raju’s shiver is as much from the sensation that flick to his nipple sends ringing through him as from the cold, although he’s feeling that too; Raju’s skin is pebbled with goosepimples where his shirts hang open, though it’s bearable under the blanket with Francis’ heat and his body to distract him. Bearable, and easy to think of what he wants instead.

“My layers?” he pants, frustration driving him to hold one part of Francis’ shirt with his teeth where his hand, occupied with holding him up, can’t reach, while his free hand undoes it. His protesting is muffled around the cloth in his mouth. “What about yours? Keep teasing me and I’ll tear this open. I want to see you.”