goingtobeunwell

“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.”

Raju nods, loose and hurriedly. "I want that. I want to feel you in my mouth." Francis' hand is moving slowly and so Raju's hand is too and it's awful, awful in a way that winds everything waiting in him up more tightly, more powerful for it. A smile trembles at the edges of his parted lips as he watches Francis and moves their hands in time. "I want to be kissing you while we come."

He wants to be kissing him now.

“Yes,” he agrees, voice starting to sound as wrecked as he feels. “Yes.”

He sees Rama mirroring his movements, and with a breathless laugh he starts to move his hand just a little faster, just a little more deliberately. He circles the leaking head of his cock with his thumb, hips jerking again, desperation building.

“Come with me now, Rama,” he says, caught between a plea and an order.

Raju's hand moves faster with Francis' as Francis laughs and Raju is gasping now, mouth open. Francis' order, his plea, calling Raju by the name he always calls him now sees Raju shuddering and his other hand presses at that spot behind his balls in the way Francis had wanted, hard, fingertips pulling in just the right way and so he comes, both hands tightening, realising he's ducking his head and looking up again, wanting to catch Francis' eyes, see his face through it.

Crozier doesn’t know at what point he started closing his eyes; he has to force himself to open them again, wanting to keep watching Rama, needing to see his whole body shudder as he spends himself. After all the first time they’d touched each other he’d been distracted, too busy with other racing thoughts and chasing his own pleasure to really take in how gorgeous Ram is in the moment.

And god, but he is. He’s exceptionally gorgeous, his hair falling in his face and eyes burning as they look at him. Crozier doesn’t have to move his hand any quicker, it’s the sight that does it for him, the way that Rama comes because of him. He comes with a very quiet gasp, brows knitting and his head falling back as he pushes into his own hand.

His breathing is heavy and desperate in the moments directly after, but healthy. Not struggling or pained.

Raju notices it too, the breathing. It plays into the picture he makes: Head back and neck exposed, legs spread, hand still around himself and chest moving — moving easily for all the bruises, breath desperate with pleasure and with nothing else. Francis is healing, and he's well. He's happy. Raju's gaze is fixed on him even as Francis' head falls back and Raju's own panting begins to slow. His hands start to slide away from himself.

He's hot, he realises. Strange to feel that way in this place, and he's sure that it won't last, but he feels hot. Flushed, maybe, and he wants all these clothes shed so Francis can look on it, can look on on all of him as he's been allowed to look on all of Francis now. In these moments after he feels like he could do it, cold or not. Maybe it's for the best he'll have to wait, that they're already done. He'll decide again on a warm day.

Francis is beautiful. Raju wants to touch him, still; maybe he's always going to. Now that the temptation to perform something more athletic is done, maybe he can. "Could you stay still?" he asks, still a little breathless. "If I kissed you? Right now?"

Could he stay still? What a question! He came so hard he doesn’t think he has any bones left, but then Rama follows it up with the prospect of kissing and he growls low in his throat.

“Yes.” He takes his hand off of himself, placing it back over his thigh, looking down at him with his head still leaning back against the chair. “Yes.”

He could stay still for a kiss.

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