He’s well aware it’s a man he’s sleeping with. He knows the solid weight of Francis, the breadth of him, knows the sound of his voice. But that growling noise reminds him anyway, spreads satisfaction deep in him — tearing that shirt, even with the two tries it’d took, was enough and Francis is impressed.— with want overtop and through it.

The gasp he gets a moment later, fitting his teeth around Francis’ nipple, is encouraging, and so are the hips raised against his own, the fingers in his hair. Maybe his nipples are more sensitive than Raju’d thought; in any case Francis likes feeling him here, which means there’s no reason not to stay this way and do this more. He rolls his hips against Francis’ and feels the friction of his own drawers sliding under the movement of Francis’ hips and cock against his. His lips move around his teeth over the puckered skin under his mouth, sucking gently at Francis there while his fingers find the warm, soft skin at Francis’ side and dig in, then loosen, a thumb running back and forth in wordless apology at the brief grip.