At the hand over his hair Raju shudders, his own hand pausing. After a moment his head drops the inch separating it from Francis' skin. "Me too," he whispers, opens his mouth to say-- Well. There's always been something powerful to it, the sensation of it, a hand moving gentle over his hair, and matching that comfort and particular kind of powerful want to this kind is strange. He can't think of how to say so outside I like it. But of course he likes it.

So he only makes a wordless noise, a cross between a brief, happy moan and a hum and starts moving his hand again, just a little tighter and faster than before. He finds himself breathing harder, chest pressing against Francis' with each breath, and pleasure and need building in him needs some place to go, and without thinking about it he takes a little of Francis' skin between his teeth.