The hand over his cheek, on his side and looking at one another, brings it home that they can do this now. Lay this way, this close, together. It's been forever. Francis kisses him and the space between them is as small as the time between now and the last time they'd lain close this way, not kissing then, but close. He needs to know the time between truly is as small as it feels, that it's over, needs to feel that Francis is well and not on the verge of death, or recovering in pain. He can see it, and the doctor had said it, but he works a hand up under Francis' clothes anyway, onto his ribs while he breathes carefully through his nose, kisses Francis in return, skates his fingers over the area he's spent so long watching and trying not to touch. Laying the way they are his hand can rest over Francis' side, fingers spread, as if he could... protect it, or feel something there he doesn't already know about, or... anything. His other hand clutches at Francis' shirt as the one on his ribs tightens and then loosens again, shying away from grabbing it too tight, reflexively.
He used to imagine this moment, the two of them becoming impossibly close in their shared bed, their hands on each other sliding slowly into something more romantic than comforting, a soft touch of lips in the dark, a breath on the nose and a scrape of facial hair on a cheek. But those had been daydreams, not anything he’d imagine coming true, and there’s so much he couldn’t have possibly have anticipated in those silly daydreams. Nearly dying, for one, but the look in Ram’s eyes, the way he kisses him back and holds him; it’s all more than his paltry imagination could have conjured.
He exhales against his lips and nods slightly. He’s okay, he’s fine. Touch him and see.
Raju takes a bracing breath in through his nose, drawing back inches, just far enough to look at him, close-up. He nods and leans forward again to touch their foreheads together, still nodding, and in a sudden movement pressing down on Francis' ribs harder. Not so hard as it feels like he is; harder than he should dare without being absolutely certain that it's safe. He takes in a sharp breath as he does it and his look into Francis' expression is urgent, worried. That would have hurt Francis very badly, once. Raju remembers exactly the way that it would sound.
His eyes are stinging, suddenly. He knows the way it looks; caught it in a mirror once and studied how easy it would be to hide. Not as difficult as he'd have thought, unless the other person is paying special attention, or is very close. He knows the way his eyes shine when they feel this way. His breaths are faster, feeling the pressure of his fingers there. His lips press too tightly together. But he has to know. Has to be sure.
It doesn't hurt, not even a twinge. Rama is gentle with the touch but still a strong man, but there's nothing. No pain, not even a little tenderness in the areas that had been most affected. He'd been so thoroughly beat that it felt like he'd be forever broken and fragile, and he knows it must have seems like that for Rama more than anything else.
He nods softly, nose brushing against Rama's as he refuses to pull himself away or put any real distance between them. See? Just like he said, he's healthy and hale once more. The relief must be overwhelming for Ram, because it certainly feels that way for him too, but he wasn't the one who had to watch him nearly die. He wasn't the one who bore the burden of these injuries, who felt the weight of life and death almost constantly.
It doesn't do to imagine what life would have been like for Rama had he actually died that night, or never really recovered. What kind of choices he would have made, knowing Hickey had done what was promised, living with the fact that his friend had died in front of him like so many others in his life. They skirted that awful future; it's worth celebrating, or at least letting oneself feel that happiness, if only briefly.
His throat is tight. Ridiculous to feel this way, with the joy and lassitude all through him, as close to someone he loves as they can get without crawling into each other's bodies; to feel on the razor's edge of tears grieving something that never happened with come still drying on his drawers. But he feels Francis nodding against him, and remembers what were the last words of the man in front of him until they weren't, and still expects the way he's pressing against the side of Francis' chest now to be careless, breaking through a boundary he hadn't realised he'd built between himself and this man.
The move to get close enough to Francis that Francis won't see the tears is instinctive the moment they start to spill over. Raju doesn't know where he'd intended to put his face: the side of Francis', with the odd angle and the plains of the side of his head not the shape his face needs to press itself against, the curve between the softness of Francis' jaw and his neck that needs an odd angle to get to, and Raju's hand against his side stops its pressure to spread out over all the space that it can cover instead, feeling the heat and softness of the skin there and the bones deceptively solid beneath it. He takes a hard breath, lets it out openmouthed.
That’s a very wet-sounds breath. Crozier sighs quietly, his lips finding Rama’s cheeks and the salty tears that he begins to gently kiss away.
Joy and grief are sometimes intertwined; he understands that better than anyone. He doesn’t try to stop Ram from feeling as he does, his arms finding their way around him to hold his body tightly to his own. He wishes he could have protected him from all this - but could he have stopped what they became to each other? The worry will never truly go away so long as they live in this place.
Francis is caring for him. Holding him tightly, kissing his cheeks where the tears, despite Raju, flowed over. Raju feels cared for. But—
He tries to bring his breathing under more control but it slips through his fingers, and what he gets is less. "I'm alright," he tries, over unsteady breaths. He moves his head to make the angle too difficult for Francis's lips to reach his cheek without work and feels a wrench of guilt at it and moves his head back, eyes closed, and tries again. "I'm alright. It's—"
He's the one who should be doing those things, making the gentle, soothing gestures, and he's the one who should be caring for Francis, as he has been. And he's had time to realise Francis isn't going to die, plenty of time, he'd gotten used to it long ago, and there's no reason to be doing any of this now. He can't explain. He shakes his head, but couldn't bring himself to move away from Francis' affection if he'd been trying to.
If Rama kept his head away he would have broken Crozier’s heart, not that he would ever say so. The gesture is enough to tell him to back off though, and he lays his head against the furs with a thoughtful licking of his lips.
“It’s fine,” he reassures him, voice hushed. “All’s well.” Sometimes everything’s just a little too much.
“You spent a long time walking the razor’s edge when it came to my health.” Best to just name it.
Raju feels his lips tremble, and presses them more firmly together. He's quiet for a moment. He swallows. He turns his face away from the blankets and draws just far enough back to look at Francis, hands still on him, control over himself retaken by the skin of his teeth. His eyelids tremble as he focuses on Francis past the blurring in his view, drawing in a breath and holding it for a moment before he answers, not allowing himself to think in it in too much detail to say it honestly.
"Only a few days." He keeps the words quick enough that his voice, at least, is steady. "That doctor even told us, after that. We knew you were probably going to live."
“And then all that time after that,” he says, unconvinced. A few days is still more time than anyone should have to live with that kind of uncertainly. “When I wasn’t strong enough to even wash my own hair.”
It takes a toll on a person, having to be a caregiver. He has that awareness now, having sat by so many bedsides and mopped sweat and blood and tears from dying brows.
"I knew," he insists, shaking his head. "You were going to be fine. And you have been." He looks to Francis' side again, expression firming up unhappily as he braces himself, then curls his fingers and presses his knuckles down against Francis' side. "I could have done this yesterday. I've known you're alright for long enough, I'm just being..."
His hand lifts its pressure again and skates carefully down Francis' side, settling at his hip. He shakes his head and gives Francis a tight smile that's supposed to be cheerful. "I'm being ridiculous. It's good to see you this way. It really is."
“Sentimental.” He smiles quietly. “You’re being sentimental, over me. I’m very flattered, by the way.”
He lets out a soft laugh through his nose, hopefully to break Rama out of spiral. He’s clearly annoyed with himself, and though Crozier doesn’t mind a little sentiment now and again, he doesn’t want Ram to end the night on that forced smile.
Raju's smile fades into surprise, looking up at Francis' face again. Then his gaze goes distant, confused and thoughtful, brow furrowing just a little. He sighs, gaze flickering back to Francis' eyes and then to the front of his chest, where he watches himself loosen his grip on Francis' clothes and smooth over a crease there with his thumb. When he blinks his eyelashes still feel wet, an inescapable reminder of that loss of control. His faded smile is more wry now, and more genuine.
"You're flattered? When you make love to someone and get cried on for it? No wonder you don't care for compliments. I think I've been doing them the wrong way this whole time."
“I suppose there’s always room for improvement,” he replies, glad to see that smile loosen up. He has a knack for breaking tension, but sometimes Ram is a tough nut to crack. “But you’d be surprised how often my romantic escapades ended in tears.”
He grins, clearly joking. He doesn’t think he’s made anyone cry - his trysts were never that emotional to begin with.
"No wonder, if this is the way you always do it." He watches his hand smooth its palm over Francis' chest and then keep moving, trying to find a spot where he can feel Francis' heart beating. His wry smile stays over his lips, trying to make a joke of this, but it's easier to watch his hand than Francis' face as he says it:
"Any woman you've kissed would have cried after seeing you that way." Seetha would have cried. Raju would have been able to comfort her. It had always been easy, with her, to act in the ways that he needed to. The ways the she'd needed him to. She would have been sentimental, for him; he would have been strong and steady, for her. "But there are easier ways to get someone into bed, you know. Easier on your ribs, at least."
Any woman - would Sophia have cried? Did she ever weep for him when he was lost, spare a few tears for him in between mourning for her uncle? Did she ever regret…?
Of course he’s thought about it before, briefly, when looking back on that old life. But he never desired to return, never saw anything worth going back for, even when he did think of Sophia. Maybe she did weep for him, but years later he would hopefully just be a footnote for her.
“I’d forgot,” he says, covering Ram’s hand with his own. “You only started finding me attractive when I broke myself. It’s not been a tried and true method; you’re the first I’ve ever seduced with broken ribs.”
He feels for Francis' heartbeat a second longer, then turns his hand and wraps it around Francis'. Sentimental.
It doesn't matter. He's done crying now, at least. Francis doesn't have to comfort him now.
"Mm," he says, glancing up at Francis' face. "I don't recommend trying it a second time. It already worked on me, and the recovery time is hardly worthwhile."
“Oh, no need to beat a dead horse,” he agrees whole-heartedly. “I don’t have to seduce you twice. You’re stuck with me now.”
As though Ram would ever consider leaving now after putting up with him through all of that, not when he’s finally able to pull his weight again. He’s a lucky man that Ram stayed, he knows this, but he also knows this man’s heart. He would have never considered leaving.
“I promise.” He won’t let himself get that hurt ever again, so long as he can help it.
“Come here. I want to hold you.”
All those nights sleeping near each other, and then all that time sleeping in close proximity with the very frustrating inability to touch - all Crozier wants is to have this man in his arms.
“Maybe another trip to the hot springs is in order.”
Raju's smile grows, this time more happiness than anything else. There's a part of him, the part that'd railed against being too sentimental and comforted, that almost tries to rail at this — but he can hold Francis, too, and he's wanted it long enough to drown the rest out. So Raju moves closer, smiling, and drapes his arm over the straight, steady line of Francis' side. His drawers and trousers are uncomfortable now with the stains there drying, and won't be any less so by morning, but it's warm in here, and Francis is finally close, and Raju doesn't want to go anywhere.
"Hm, I thought you were saying how warm it's been. Wanting to warm up?"
There’s no internal struggle for Crozier, although he’ll be embarrassed in the morning that he fell asleep in his own spend like a damn adolescent. He wants him near and will only be content when he feels his body close to his own.
“You’re always so cold, Rama my love,” he mutters, eyes closing as he slips his arm underneath Ram’s head. “…and I want to see you naked.”
Raju breathes out a quiet laugh, settling his head on Francis' arm and moving even closer, curling his arm over Francis' back.
Rama, my love. And laying here finally close enough to feel the heat of him, to see his eyelashes, pale like his hair, against his cheek as Francis closes his eyes. This is what he'd wanted for. This, now. Raju feels something he hadn't known had locked up loosening itself inside him, and his muscles lose tension he hadn't known was there, and he breathes out slowly.
"And give everyone else there a show as well?" he murmurs, relaxing, thumb rubbing back and forth over Francis' stomach. "I'd think you'd have had enough of only getting to look."
"Why not share?" he mutters, starting to unwind. The muscles in his face relax, shoulders slump as his free hand comes to rest in the very small space between them, curling against Rama's outer shirt. He'd probably murder anyone who stared at his Rama in the same way he did, but he's a pretty man and people should stare.
He waits a beat before adding quietly, "I won't only be looking this time."
Raju watches Francis' hand curling against his shirt. There's something vulnerable in the gesture somehow, with Francis close, relaxed, on the way to sleep and content, and trusting him, and something blooms inside his chest, something that feels too large to fit inside it. Behind Francis, a tiny flame blooms into view and spreads in a familiar line outside the boundary of the blanket and Raju watches it, huffs quietly. There would be more burned marks on the floor than that one, if he stood up and looked.
The fire won't burn either of them. It hasn't come close to Francis since Francis was hurt. So there's no point in mentioning it until the burn marks become obvious, come morning.
"In the water, Francis?" Raju says in a warm, completely ineffective tone for scolding. "That would be a show."
He studies Francis' face, its closed eyes, the relaxation on it, and everything behind the relaxation. He wants to kiss some part of it, and he will. He can. The knowledge that he can is delicious enough; for a moment Raju only holds onto it.
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He used to imagine this moment, the two of them becoming impossibly close in their shared bed, their hands on each other sliding slowly into something more romantic than comforting, a soft touch of lips in the dark, a breath on the nose and a scrape of facial hair on a cheek. But those had been daydreams, not anything he’d imagine coming true, and there’s so much he couldn’t have possibly have anticipated in those silly daydreams. Nearly dying, for one, but the look in Ram’s eyes, the way he kisses him back and holds him; it’s all more than his paltry imagination could have conjured.
He exhales against his lips and nods slightly. He’s okay, he’s fine. Touch him and see.
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His eyes are stinging, suddenly. He knows the way it looks; caught it in a mirror once and studied how easy it would be to hide. Not as difficult as he'd have thought, unless the other person is paying special attention, or is very close. He knows the way his eyes shine when they feel this way. His breaths are faster, feeling the pressure of his fingers there. His lips press too tightly together. But he has to know. Has to be sure.
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It doesn't hurt, not even a twinge. Rama is gentle with the touch but still a strong man, but there's nothing. No pain, not even a little tenderness in the areas that had been most affected. He'd been so thoroughly beat that it felt like he'd be forever broken and fragile, and he knows it must have seems like that for Rama more than anything else.
He nods softly, nose brushing against Rama's as he refuses to pull himself away or put any real distance between them. See? Just like he said, he's healthy and hale once more. The relief must be overwhelming for Ram, because it certainly feels that way for him too, but he wasn't the one who had to watch him nearly die. He wasn't the one who bore the burden of these injuries, who felt the weight of life and death almost constantly.
It doesn't do to imagine what life would have been like for Rama had he actually died that night, or never really recovered. What kind of choices he would have made, knowing Hickey had done what was promised, living with the fact that his friend had died in front of him like so many others in his life. They skirted that awful future; it's worth celebrating, or at least letting oneself feel that happiness, if only briefly.
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The move to get close enough to Francis that Francis won't see the tears is instinctive the moment they start to spill over. Raju doesn't know where he'd intended to put his face: the side of Francis', with the odd angle and the plains of the side of his head not the shape his face needs to press itself against, the curve between the softness of Francis' jaw and his neck that needs an odd angle to get to, and Raju's hand against his side stops its pressure to spread out over all the space that it can cover instead, feeling the heat and softness of the skin there and the bones deceptively solid beneath it. He takes a hard breath, lets it out openmouthed.
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That’s a very wet-sounds breath. Crozier sighs quietly, his lips finding Rama’s cheeks and the salty tears that he begins to gently kiss away.
Joy and grief are sometimes intertwined; he understands that better than anyone. He doesn’t try to stop Ram from feeling as he does, his arms finding their way around him to hold his body tightly to his own. He wishes he could have protected him from all this - but could he have stopped what they became to each other? The worry will never truly go away so long as they live in this place.
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He tries to bring his breathing under more control but it slips through his fingers, and what he gets is less. "I'm alright," he tries, over unsteady breaths. He moves his head to make the angle too difficult for Francis's lips to reach his cheek without work and feels a wrench of guilt at it and moves his head back, eyes closed, and tries again. "I'm alright. It's—"
He's the one who should be doing those things, making the gentle, soothing gestures, and he's the one who should be caring for Francis, as he has been. And he's had time to realise Francis isn't going to die, plenty of time, he'd gotten used to it long ago, and there's no reason to be doing any of this now. He can't explain. He shakes his head, but couldn't bring himself to move away from Francis' affection if he'd been trying to.
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If Rama kept his head away he would have broken Crozier’s heart, not that he would ever say so. The gesture is enough to tell him to back off though, and he lays his head against the furs with a thoughtful licking of his lips.
“It’s fine,” he reassures him, voice hushed. “All’s well.” Sometimes everything’s just a little too much.
“You spent a long time walking the razor’s edge when it came to my health.” Best to just name it.
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"Only a few days." He keeps the words quick enough that his voice, at least, is steady. "That doctor even told us, after that. We knew you were probably going to live."
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“And then all that time after that,” he says, unconvinced. A few days is still more time than anyone should have to live with that kind of uncertainly. “When I wasn’t strong enough to even wash my own hair.”
It takes a toll on a person, having to be a caregiver. He has that awareness now, having sat by so many bedsides and mopped sweat and blood and tears from dying brows.
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His hand lifts its pressure again and skates carefully down Francis' side, settling at his hip. He shakes his head and gives Francis a tight smile that's supposed to be cheerful. "I'm being ridiculous. It's good to see you this way. It really is."
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“Sentimental.” He smiles quietly. “You’re being sentimental, over me. I’m very flattered, by the way.”
He lets out a soft laugh through his nose, hopefully to break Rama out of spiral. He’s clearly annoyed with himself, and though Crozier doesn’t mind a little sentiment now and again, he doesn’t want Ram to end the night on that forced smile.
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"You're flattered? When you make love to someone and get cried on for it? No wonder you don't care for compliments. I think I've been doing them the wrong way this whole time."
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“I suppose there’s always room for improvement,” he replies, glad to see that smile loosen up. He has a knack for breaking tension, but sometimes Ram is a tough nut to crack. “But you’d be surprised how often my romantic escapades ended in tears.”
He grins, clearly joking. He doesn’t think he’s made anyone cry - his trysts were never that emotional to begin with.
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"Any woman you've kissed would have cried after seeing you that way." Seetha would have cried. Raju would have been able to comfort her. It had always been easy, with her, to act in the ways that he needed to. The ways the she'd needed him to. She would have been sentimental, for him; he would have been strong and steady, for her. "But there are easier ways to get someone into bed, you know. Easier on your ribs, at least."
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Any woman - would Sophia have cried? Did she ever weep for him when he was lost, spare a few tears for him in between mourning for her uncle? Did she ever regret…?
Of course he’s thought about it before, briefly, when looking back on that old life. But he never desired to return, never saw anything worth going back for, even when he did think of Sophia. Maybe she did weep for him, but years later he would hopefully just be a footnote for her.
“I’d forgot,” he says, covering Ram’s hand with his own. “You only started finding me attractive when I broke myself. It’s not been a tried and true method; you’re the first I’ve ever seduced with broken ribs.”
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It doesn't matter. He's done crying now, at least. Francis doesn't have to comfort him now.
"Mm," he says, glancing up at Francis' face. "I don't recommend trying it a second time. It already worked on me, and the recovery time is hardly worthwhile."
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“Oh, no need to beat a dead horse,” he agrees whole-heartedly. “I don’t have to seduce you twice. You’re stuck with me now.”
As though Ram would ever consider leaving now after putting up with him through all of that, not when he’s finally able to pull his weight again. He’s a lucky man that Ram stayed, he knows this, but he also knows this man’s heart. He would have never considered leaving.
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“I promise.” He won’t let himself get that hurt ever again, so long as he can help it.
“Come here. I want to hold you.”
All those nights sleeping near each other, and then all that time sleeping in close proximity with the very frustrating inability to touch - all Crozier wants is to have this man in his arms.
“Maybe another trip to the hot springs is in order.”
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"Hm, I thought you were saying how warm it's been. Wanting to warm up?"
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There’s no internal struggle for Crozier, although he’ll be embarrassed in the morning that he fell asleep in his own spend like a damn adolescent. He wants him near and will only be content when he feels his body close to his own.
“You’re always so cold, Rama my love,” he mutters, eyes closing as he slips his arm underneath Ram’s head. “…and I want to see you naked.”
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Rama, my love. And laying here finally close enough to feel the heat of him, to see his eyelashes, pale like his hair, against his cheek as Francis closes his eyes. This is what he'd wanted for. This, now. Raju feels something he hadn't known had locked up loosening itself inside him, and his muscles lose tension he hadn't known was there, and he breathes out slowly.
"And give everyone else there a show as well?" he murmurs, relaxing, thumb rubbing back and forth over Francis' stomach. "I'd think you'd have had enough of only getting to look."
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"Why not share?" he mutters, starting to unwind. The muscles in his face relax, shoulders slump as his free hand comes to rest in the very small space between them, curling against Rama's outer shirt. He'd probably murder anyone who stared at his Rama in the same way he did, but he's a pretty man and people should stare.
He waits a beat before adding quietly, "I won't only be looking this time."
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The fire won't burn either of them. It hasn't come close to Francis since Francis was hurt. So there's no point in mentioning it until the burn marks become obvious, come morning.
"In the water, Francis?" Raju says in a warm, completely ineffective tone for scolding. "That would be a show."
He studies Francis' face, its closed eyes, the relaxation on it, and everything behind the relaxation. He wants to kiss some part of it, and he will. He can. The knowledge that he can is delicious enough; for a moment Raju only holds onto it.
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