goingtobeunwell

He can think of a few things.

Crozier brushes his hair back from his face, licking his lips in an impression of a man deep in thought. "What would you have to do..."

Well, those trousers are probably very uncomfortable. "You could let me see what I'm doing to you," he tells him, brow raising suggestively. "You look like you might need a little room in your trousers."

A smile spills over Raju's face and his hands hurry to the buttons of his trousers— and then stop there, as he realises he's just hurried himself away from the collected, controlled impression he'd been cultivating before. He ducks his head over a very quiet laugh, gaze quickly growing hungry again as he looks back up, his eyes raking over the parts of Francis that he can see.

His fingers move quickly again, undoing one fly and then the other, hooking his thumbs under his drawers and pushing the whole lot down a little on one side, a little on the other, groaning a little as he has to shift to make it happen and feels the material moving against him. Then he tugs up his shirts, moving their ends out of the way. Then his hips are bare, the very tops of his thighs are bare, the skin of his stomach just above his groin feels the air. It doesn't feel cold at all. He pauses a moment looking into Francis' eyes and smiles, pleased, reaching inside his drawers to tug his cock free.

"What about this? Can you see what you're doing now?"

He feels winded by the sight of him, clearly as thrilled and uncomfortable as he is from all this prolonged eye contact and unabashed flirting. Just a hint of his bare skin makes his mouth water like a goddamned animal, whatever remaining bit of blood that had been making its way to his brain automatically diverting downwards.

"I can see," he says, trying to swallow the hard lump caught in his throat. God. God. He wants to get down on his knees and worship him with his mouth. He can just imagine how he tastes, how he'd feel on his tongue...

He returns the smile, red now from head to toe. He's a man of his word though, and turns so Rama can get a good view of the front of him, flushed chest and need all on full display for this man. He keeps his chin up and his hand on the flannel despite the very strong urge to cower and cover himself, locking eyes with Rama and then taking a good long look at his body.

He wants to be closer. He wants to, it would be alright it would be easy...

Raju bites his lip over his smile, gaze moving up Francis very slowly, taking its time with every part of him. When he reaches Francis' groin he glances up to his face, smile growing, and his own hand moves just a little over sensitive skin. He lets out a hard breath and moves his gaze over the top half of Francis, head to neck, to chest, to stomach, to hips.

"I want to taste your skin," he says, voice rough. "Look how far down that blush goes. I want to mark the rest of your skin that colour, too."

He sways just a little, enchanted by him - his own hand on himself, the gravel in his voice, the intense stare, that dazzling smile. Even mostly dressed he's completely arresting.

"You'd be the only one who would ever see it," he says, hand moving to the table to keep himself steady. An idea starts to takes hold of him slowly, growing in intensity as he looks at him there on the floor. What would it be like if he belonged only to Rama? What would it be like to become devoted to his every whim and desire, letting him and only him to mark and have him as he wishes. To give up that control and place it in the hands of this man, this very lovely, loyal, fiery man with whom he trusts more than anything or anyone.

"You could have everything."

Everything could mean anything, now. It certainly means Francis' body, its shape and its softness, its strength and its vulnerability. It means Raju reddening all that skin however he likes, and holding Francis after. It means he'd be the one stepping in when Francis is unsteady to hold him up. Raju wants it. He can feel it in his chest, and in the blood rushing to his cock, how much he wants it.

"I will," he says, completely confident that it's true, no matter what else it means. "Do you turn that colour every time? Or is it showing yourself to me, now?"

“I honestly wouldn’t know,” he says with a quiet, somewhat strangled laugh. Maybe it’s standing here in his altogether, bare and hard, showing off for a man sculpted like a god who for whatever reason is looking at him with barely restrained desire. “Maybe it’s just you.”

Crozier sets the flannel back into the wash basin, leaving his hand free. “Do you turn pretty colors too? A reddening of that gorgeous skin of yours?”

He smiles and ducks his head for a moment, pleased at the compliment. But he isn't looking away for long; when he looks back his eyes move up and down over Francis again. The hand he's got on himself moves to his thigh and grips it. "Sometimes. I'm told I tend to flush during the middle of things. Why? You'd like to see it, would you?"

“I think I can’t live without seeing it for myself.” Only a slight exaggeration; he does feel like he might perish if he doesn’t see his skin darken as he kisses and bites him in those sensitive places.

He leans back against the table with his body, biting his lip with a quiet hiss. “What would you have me do now, Rama? You have me naked and wanting; what next?”

Raju huffs, smiles. "A dangerous question," he says, and lets his eyes linger on Francis while he considers the possibilities, purely to feel the strain of it. He shivers, then laughs a little under his breath.

He thinks on it for another moment, watching Francis leaning back against the table. A little of his cheer — just a little — replaces itself with concern. "You've been standing for a while. You should sit down."

But— "Without coming closer," he adds hurriedly. "I think I need you to stay where you are."

He wouldn’t have crossed the invisible line, but he heeds the warning when a nod. He wouldn’t dare come any closer - he wouldn’t trust himself, and apparently Rama feels the same.

Crozier lowers himself onto the chair with the armrests, sitting back with spread legs and his hand just barely resting on his thigh. From this vantage point he can look down at Rama, his body still good and flushed, cock heavy between his legs.

“A dangerous question for a dangerous game,” he hums, smiling softly at him. “I’m trying to decide what I’ll want most when we’re able to touch again. I want to bite the inside of your thighs.”

Francis sitting down is worse. How didn't he expect it to be worse? It's in the spread legs, of course, but there's something commanding about it, Francis sitting there that way, in spite of him having not a single piece of clothing on. Or maybe because of that. For a moment Raju only watches him, eyes wider. He takes a couple harsh, controlled breaths in through his nose, and his hand tightens over his thigh.

He smiles a second after, pleased with what's just occurred to him. He pulls one side of his trousers a little further down, and then the other side, and his fingertip finds the inside of a thigh and starts slowly moving down. He takes a sharp breath in, a part of him grateful when the path of his finger is stopped by the bunch of fabric high over his legs. "Where? Here? Higher, or lower?"

Crozier’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow shrewdly, his nostrils flailing in amusement. Oh, how clever. Frustratingly clever; he wishes his mouth was there instead of Rama’s own hand.

“Higher,” he says, voice deep and surprisingly rough. “Higher, and then higher still.”

He traces his own thigh, bringing his fingers up to the crease between his leg and pelvis, trailing it further down. “Right here. I’d leave marks on you.”

Before Francis, the only man's voice he'd heard while feeling this way was his own. It'd never occurred to him that it might sound like Francis' does, feel like Francis' does. He feels a chill over hot skin and shivers, grin sharp as his finger moves upward again, following the path Francis' hand is tracing. His own hand pauses there, and he feels himself breathing harder than he was.

"I don't have your mouth," he murmurs, gaze meeting Francis' eagerly. "What shall I do here instead?"

That is certainly a problem, but fortunately he has a perfectly fine substitution.

“A scratch of your fingernails,” he decides, hand moving back to rest upon his thigh. “No, a slow raking of your fingernails, gentle at first, then hard. That’s how I’d sink my teeth into you.”

He smiles wickedly.

Raju's smile spreads a moment after Francis' does, fixed and happy and fascinated. He positions his hand obediently, doing the best he can with his short, neat nails, fingertips gentle at first and then digging in. He lets out a hard breath at the sensation, fingertips in place of Francis' teeth just there. Impossible to do it here and now, looking at him, without imagining Francis' mouth.

"Like that?" Raju grins up at him, satisfied and panting a little.

“Like that,” he smiles, his own nails digging into his leg betraying his cool exterior.

“After I’d bitten and kissed there,” he starts, breath hitching in his throat. It’s amazing what a naturally guilty Irish man will say in the throes of desire. “I’d bury my mouth and nose in those short curls of yours and inhale until I was drunk off the scent of you.”

Raju pushes out a long breath, a pleased noise. He imagines Francis' body taking up the space between Raju's legs and spreads his knees a little, imagines the feeling of a nose against his skin just there, the heat of Francis' breath. He takes a moment to keep imagining it.

"Can't very well do that myself," he murmurs. It's more a comment than a complaint, and he isn't done. "And while you're down there? Would you let me take your hair in my hand? I don't pull."

They'll have to both just imagine these things, Crozier with his head between Rama's legs, Rama with his hand on Crozier's head. "I would," he answers, "but I can't imagine you not pulling."

Rama looks like he'd tug in between caresses. He doesn't hate the thought, Rama's hand guiding him with a pull here or there, Rama yanking hard when he's done something to please him. It's certainly new, not something he would have ever asked for.

"What should I do next? Are you an impatient lover?"

"I don't have to be," he says and then ducks his head over a laugh, smiling at Francis. "Sometimes," he corrects himself. "But I want to see what you'll do. You want to explore, don't you? Smell me? Feel everything?"

On 'everything' Raju reaches behind his cock to run a hand over his balls, very carefully in deference to how sensitive he is now, how magnified each touch feels with Francis' eyes moving over him that way. "Taste everything? What do you want?"

“Touch and taste, yes,” he says hoarsely, feeling himself throb in response. His imagination starts to run wild - he wants it all, and suddenly what ‘all’ is expands to include parts of his own anatomy. If he’s going to love a man he’s going to love him, all of him.

He bites his own lip as he finally allows himself to brush his own cock with his fingers. What noises would Rama make if he touched and kissed him on that sensitive place just below his balls, would he clench his jaw or ball his hands into fists, would he praise him or curse him in surprise? What if he cupped his stones while he used his mouth on him, how would he react if his moved his attention lower and even lower still?

“Right now,” he says, brow furrowed as he openly admires Rama, “I want to put my mouth on all of you. Not just your prick, though…god help me, I’d try to swallow every bit of you if I could, so that nothing would go to waste.” His head lolls back slightly, hips jerking. “I think I’d touch that spot underneath your stones, and massaged until you whined.”

The force inside him tightens as Francis bites his lip, as Francis' head lolls back and his hips jerk. It's a privilege to see him this way, naked, slowly losing himself to the pleasure of what they're creating together. The hand Raju has over his balls moves a little at a time, down to the spot Francis suggested. He takes in a sharp, quiet breath at the sensation they find there and then another deeper as his fingers press harder, relax and press harder again. His head tips back a little, eyes half-lidded, and he's panting again.

"Like this?" he breathes. "Would you touch yourself as you did it? Both of us at once?"

Exactly like that, except it would be his doing, all his doing. He grunts softly, imagining it was Rama’s hand on him as he reaches down to grasp himself at the base. “Maybe if I was using my mouth on you,” he laughs, “and had my hand free. If you looked that way I would have to. Christ, Rama, you’re so beautiful.”

He squeezes himself, his fingers working slowly back up his own length. “Together. I’d like the feeling of the both of us in my hand.”

You're so beautiful, Francis says and touches himself, fingers moving slowly, and Raju mirrors the motion with his free hand, his other pressing at the spot Francis wanted to touch and he shudders, an instant's surprised noise making it out of him and he laughs breathlessly, gaze fixed on Francis. "Together," he says, going on between harsh breaths. "I'd like that. I want to be touching you. My hand around yours."

He must have been correct in his assessment of that particular spot. How he wishes he could touch it for himself - he wants to be the one to draw those desperate breaths from him.

Together. He thinks about Rama’s hand on him that night and tries to imitate his touch, that slow exploration and the way his fingers circled the swollen head of his cock. He feels his stomach muscles tense and laughs quietly; just thinking about him, just remembering would be enough, and now he has this remarkable sight in front of him. He’s not strong enough to resist.

“I’d kiss you then, swallow up all those gasps of yours.”

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject