"I can do that," he grins. "Would it have done you any good? Your pride must have been more fragile then than it is now, I can't imagine you'd have thanked me for it."
“I would have tried to punch you.” His gaze falls back onto his face, his lovely eyes, and he laughs. He’d tried to punch Fitzjames and he’d loved those eyes too.
“But it might have helped. Lord knows I needed a rude awakening.”
"Mm. Sometimes a good brawl does help." He pauses, reconsidering. "Not for us, I suppose. Or maybe just not about this, or with that odd fog in the air."
It's easy to talk about fighting with Francis lightly now, with Francis' hand in his hair and his legs under Raju's hand and head, and the contentment glowing inside him makes it easy to grin as he goes on. "Maybe we can try it next time, see if a punch or two clears things up at all."
"That fight was hardly cathartic," he agrees. That brawl wasn't satisfying in any way; it wasn't as though they needed to get that all off their chests. Thankfully it had seemed to lead to something positive - this moment between them, a casual conversation about important things.
"Next time I start acting like a twat go ahead and knock me on my arse. I give you full permission." He doesn't think he'll need the second punch - he's seen Raju without his shirt, he knows those muscles could fully knock him the hell out if he's allowed to let loose.
"Mm." This time the noise is a displeased one, wrinkles pulling between Raju's brow. He considers it, shifts against Francis' lap, rubs his thumb back and forth over Francis' leg. "Tell me that again when we're arguing. I'm sure I'll like it better then. Don't think I would have this time either, anyway. You were... concerned, that's all. And not yourself, if your theory's right."
He gives Francis' leg a couple fond pats, smiling again. "We'll save it for the right moment. You can let me know."
Crozier wants very much to take the pad of his thumb and smooth those wrinkles away.
"This time surely wouldn't count. It it came to blows it wouldn't have been very sporting." But he's almost certain his theory is correct now, just by the way they'd fallen back into their typical easy exchange. The source of his anger hadn't been Raju - and it hadn't really been anger to begin with, but a slow, lingering feeling that the world was closing in and control was slipping away from him.
"I will, I will." He chuckles again and finally pulls his hand back from Raju's hair. He's done all he could with it; it's washed and dried and fixed up, and Raju looks once more perfectly coifed. He thinks quietly that it's a bit of a shame, that. It's a strange thing to want a friend to be dirty again, but here Francis Crozier is, wishing for more goddamned mud.
Raju heaves a breath, smiling upward. Francis’ hand is gone, which means maybe they’re done; Raju is so full with contentment now, and still lying here with his friend’s strong thighs and bodyheat beneath him besides, that the idea is hard to mind. It’s hard to really mind anything. “Back to it, hm?”
He twists to look toward the table and the goods still waiting to be put away. “Nothing on there that won’t keep, though.”
Minding is different from liking things exactly where you’re at. They could stay here a while more and Raju wouldn’t complain.
“Nothing that won’t keep,” Crozier smiles, happy to not be the only one reluctant to move.
They can get up and around later, the chores will still be there, that awful green fog that lights up the parts of their brains itching for a fight. For now this just seems a better use of their time.
He decides to tell a story about his time with Parry and the sick Netsilik, and how his trekking back and forth across the island with the elderly and children in tow had earned him an Inuit nickname. He hopes for a story in return, real or imagined, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the continued smile on Raju’s face and the lightness behind his eyes.
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“I would have tried to punch you.” His gaze falls back onto his face, his lovely eyes, and he laughs. He’d tried to punch Fitzjames and he’d loved those eyes too.
“But it might have helped. Lord knows I needed a rude awakening.”
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It's easy to talk about fighting with Francis lightly now, with Francis' hand in his hair and his legs under Raju's hand and head, and the contentment glowing inside him makes it easy to grin as he goes on. "Maybe we can try it next time, see if a punch or two clears things up at all."
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"That fight was hardly cathartic," he agrees. That brawl wasn't satisfying in any way; it wasn't as though they needed to get that all off their chests. Thankfully it had seemed to lead to something positive - this moment between them, a casual conversation about important things.
"Next time I start acting like a twat go ahead and knock me on my arse. I give you full permission." He doesn't think he'll need the second punch - he's seen Raju without his shirt, he knows those muscles could fully knock him the hell out if he's allowed to let loose.
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He gives Francis' leg a couple fond pats, smiling again. "We'll save it for the right moment. You can let me know."
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Crozier wants very much to take the pad of his thumb and smooth those wrinkles away.
"This time surely wouldn't count. It it came to blows it wouldn't have been very sporting." But he's almost certain his theory is correct now, just by the way they'd fallen back into their typical easy exchange. The source of his anger hadn't been Raju - and it hadn't really been anger to begin with, but a slow, lingering feeling that the world was closing in and control was slipping away from him.
"I will, I will." He chuckles again and finally pulls his hand back from Raju's hair. He's done all he could with it; it's washed and dried and fixed up, and Raju looks once more perfectly coifed. He thinks quietly that it's a bit of a shame, that. It's a strange thing to want a friend to be dirty again, but here Francis Crozier is, wishing for more goddamned mud.
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He twists to look toward the table and the goods still waiting to be put away. “Nothing on there that won’t keep, though.”
Minding is different from liking things exactly where you’re at. They could stay here a while more and Raju wouldn’t complain.
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“Nothing that won’t keep,” Crozier smiles, happy to not be the only one reluctant to move.
They can get up and around later, the chores will still be there, that awful green fog that lights up the parts of their brains itching for a fight. For now this just seems a better use of their time.
He decides to tell a story about his time with Parry and the sick Netsilik, and how his trekking back and forth across the island with the elderly and children in tow had earned him an Inuit nickname. He hopes for a story in return, real or imagined, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the continued smile on Raju’s face and the lightness behind his eyes.