Raju's breathing is rougher, and when Francis licks around one of his nipples Raju shivers, starting to roll onto his side and stopping himself before he can get far at all, not wanting to move Francis' mouth. His legs bend as he resists the urge to curl up. Ridiculous that he should feel ticklish at this, too, that last time he'd felt that way in a moment almost like this hadn't been an odd fluke. But it's wonderful, too, Francis touches him in ways no one has in years, in a lifetime, and it's wonderful.
"Careful," Raju rasps, a hand reaching for Francis' shoulder and scrabbling at it for a moment before grasping it. "I may not last long this time either. You're too..."
He thinks over it for a second, panting a little, but can't think of a single word, or even a few. Too everything. He's too happy just now to pinpoint the feeling's source.
Crozier lifts his head with a playful little smack of his lips. “If you come before I’m able to fuck you, I’m going to be very cross with you,” he teases, brushing his fingers along his side.
He squirmed like he was feeling ticklish again - as though he’s not going to explore that further, especially as it means getting to put his hands all over him. He’s been dying to do exactly this, and he grins wickedly and moves his fingers up to underneath his arms, then down to his sides, then on the inside of his thighs, searching for those sensitive areas as he basks in how gorgeous Ram is like this, how lucky he feels to get to feast in this way. Eyes and mouth and fingers, everything is devouring him like he might not get a second chance to drink him in.
That sounds like a challenge, to last as long as he can, and he feels himself rising — well — to meet it, but can't figure out whether the wonderful feeling of Francis' fingertips tracing their terrible path over Raju's skin makes that challenge easier to meet or that much harder. At the touch under his arms Raju takes a sharp breath, arms spreading in a sudden movement and then going still, muscles tense and fingers curling into the blanket. The muscles of his stomach and his thighs and calves clench as Francis brushes over them but at the touch to his thighs his legs twitch too, trying to close against themselves before he lets out a hard breath and opens them wider, pressing his head back against the mattress.
"Francis" he warns, tense and happily. "I'm not going to kick you. But—" But he might. He won't. He might. He wonders if he should warn Francis to be careful again.
On one hand, he doesn’t fancy getting kicked, but he doeswants to see him laugh. “It would serve me right, wouldn’t it?”
He moves to one side of Ram and continues to search for a ticklish spot, all the while continuing to admire every part of him. He’s under no illusions that this good thing will last, but for the moment he just wants to lose himself and pretend. Nothing else exists but the two of them.
Francis' comment gets a breathless, amused noise, shaky with the ghost of laughter either from Francis' joke or Francis' damned fingers. Raju twitches away as Francis explores and then moves back, breathing unsteadily through his mouth. "You said it, not me," he agrees, fingers clenching in the blanket under him before he forces them to straighten again. "I thought you wanted to fuck me, notAah—"
That protest, it turns out, was badly timed, and a particular movement of Francis' fingers pushes a startled, urgent noise out of him, something that might have become laughter if he hadn't clamped down on it so fast. He does it without deciding to, without thinking about it; the muscles of his throat tighten over it as his muscles elsewhere twitch and tense. The noise he lets out after is another breathless one, at himself more than the tickling.
"Than drive me..." he pauses, more careful this time, to see whether Francis is going to continue, and once it's safe finishes, "crazy, Francis," in a gasp, grinning up at the ceiling.
He isn’t sure why Rama fights so hard not to laugh - a habit repeated now as Crozier searches for that spot that’ll send him straight through the roof. It’s stubbornness, something about self-discipline or control, or winning, though the why doesn’t matter as much as how he’s going to get him to break.
“Why can’t I do both?” he says with a smirk, letting up the touch only to attack him again in a different spot. “It’s more fun to drive you mad. Everything else can wait until I get a laugh out of you.”
Preferably with an adorable little wheeze and wriggle, maybe a tiny plea to have mercy. A man can dream, can’t he? And right now this is very much what he wants from Ram.
It isn’t so much the places Francis is tickling that eat at his resolve but the unrelenting nature of it. But certain places do get more of a stifled, choked-off reaction than others: His nipples, of course. His armpits, the insides of his elbows, his sides, the skin between his hips. The tops of his thighs. If Francis risks lower, behind his knees, the sensitive skin there and Francis’ persistence, and the smirk in Francis’ voice will win him a burst of laughter, sharp and delighted, before Raju wrests his voice under control again. His legs twitch hard and then still, and fall open wider.
“Everything else?” he wheezes, feet scrabbling at the blanket more to ease the part of him that wants to squirm away from Francis’ fingers than to try and get any real distance. “It’s not that important.”
Then, mostly to add another protest and a little just for the pleasure of feeling it inside his mouth: “Francis!” he says again.
He drops his head down onto Rama's chest at that laugh, joining him with his own little pleased chuckle. His whole body thrums with desire for him, the elation on his face and that beautiful laugh making his heart twist almost painfully in his chest. The joy is so large it feels overwhelming, like he couldn't possibly contain all that he feels for this man.
"Rama!" he laughs, finally pulling himself up. He pushes the hair back from his face and looks down at him, grin slowly fading from his face as the heat in him takes over fully. Rama on his back like this, fully naked, legs spread and chest heaving - he's going to remember this moment for the rest of his life. He needs to, every single little detail needs to be remembered, from the way his body hair looks in the faint light to the twitching of the muscles as he laughs and flexes and moves.
Everything about this is intimate, there's not a single thing in or around him right now that's not, but Francis dropping his head onto Raju's chest is one more thing; there's a vulnerability and a trust in the gesture that clenches in his chest and throat, and he knows all this pressure inside him would be bursting into a fire some place around them if the feeling — the happiness — hadn't already been turning itself toward making him warm all over. Warm enough to go without anything covering him up at all in a place where he hasn't worn less than two layers even inside since the moment he found enough spare clothes to do it.
Any more and he'll be sweating. He thinks it absently as he watches Francis watching him, the fruitless squirming to escape Francis' fingers slowed to a stop.
The tone in Francis' voice signals a change in their game; Francis has got enough of the first thing that he'd wanted, then. The expression that spreads over Raju's face is hungry and wicked. One of his arms is propping him up by the elbow; the other reaches out and grasps the back of Francis' neck, wanting to pull him close enough to kiss him, close enough to feel his lips and anything else that might happen to press against him as Francis moves.
He meets the kiss and swears he can taste the heat on his tongue. It swirls in his mouth and burns all the way down into his belly, lighting him up with like it’s a bonfire.
Now he has to figure out logistics. Goddamn it. But he wants what he wants, in his kisses and touches and that glint of mischief in his eyes that Rama wants it just as badly, and so he needs to follow through. His body is never going to be more ready to please and keep up with Rama than it is now. He pulls himself away, his swollen lips beckoning and inviting him for another quick kiss against his better judgement.
But he finally does move away, having considered what they might need. Some kind of oil? Or grease? Christ, that doesn’t sound pleasant at all, but he needs to be confident here. He’d asked for this, after all.
Well. Does he? Does he really have to be confident and self-assured?
“I’ve never done this,” he laughs quietly, brushing his fingers across Ram’s abdomen fondly. “I think we’ll need oil to ease things. Something from the kitchen or washroom?”
Raju opens his mouth, his first instinct, too, to make some decision about it, authoritatively. He lets out a brief, amused noise instead, reaching out to capture Francis' hand before it can make Raju's stomach twitch again, skin no less sensitive just because Francis has stopped actively trying to tickle him. Francis admitting he doesn't know much about this makes it easier, for Raju to admit it too. Surely it should have the opposite effect but somehow it doesn't. Somehow Francis not knowing doesn't mean that Raju has to guide him anywhere.
"Ah..." He thinks over it, shakes his head. "Or soap, maybe?" he suggests and laughs a little, feeling ridiculous and tightening his grasp on Francis' hand to compensate. "We have enough of that too. Unless we'll need a lot of it."
He can do all these things with Francis, both clothed and completely bare, he can say all manner of filthy things, but for some reason this is the thing that sends a flush into his cheeks. There's something about mixing the everyday with the erotic, feeling this way and talking about the practicalities of the proper material and their supply of it. He almost can't tell it from all the other warmth in him, he feels the colour gather under his cheeks with a different kind of heat.
It's a show of vulnerability, the two of them so usually self-assured admitting they don't know what in the hell to do in this horribly intimate moment, and something Crozier knows he would never show another soul save for this man here. But he doesn't feel embarrassed or like the moment's been sufficiently ruined, it's just...a part of them. A part of this, the experience, being together. They laugh more than any two people ought to, at least from prior experience, but Crozier can't imagine any other way.
"Soap would work," he considers, and of course it's with another laugh. He shakes his head and brings Rama's hand up to his lips for a quick kiss to his knuckles. "Lord, I guess I'll go have a look. Stark naked. You stay right where you are though. I want to come back to this sight."
He has to follow through on this promise and do it quickly, or else Rama would become too tempting as he continues to lie there on the bed looking like a full feast. Crozier stands and hurries to the other room, and is filled with immediate regret. It's goddamned cold. All the more reason to hurry though.
Francis saying he wants to come back to just this sight sends pleasure curling over Raju's face. Raju's body is what it is, he's worked too hard on it to have any doubt about that. But all the work he's put in has been for work, has been for a purpose, and seeing it admired this way, now...
He's happy. He realises it again as he watches Francis walk away, appreciating the way his arse moves with his stride. Even if they weren't both stark naked and about to do something Raju's never done before he'd be happy this way, continuously feeling the enormous revelation again of that same unbelievable fact. But all the same, it is a shame Francis can't walk around that way more often. He wonders, again, how different it had looked before, when Francis had always kept all of his clothes on and looked the way that Raju's used to.
But Francis wants to find him the way he left him, so Raju has himself to attend to; it isn't going to be a chore. Raju keeps his legs spread, watching the doorway as he takes himself in hand, not really grasping, just holding himself there, his hand making small, lazy movements, as much to tease Francis with all he isn't able to do yet as to keep himself half-hard.
Soap winds up being the method chosen, after almost every other option is rejected for being potentially unpleasant - grease or cooking oil, or downright disgusting - lard or some other congealed substance. They’re not animals, and this is Rama and Rama’s body, and the last thing he wants to do is disrespect or somehow desecrate that beautiful man who’s given him so damn much. The soap smells pleasant and is clean - it’ll serve their purpose just fine.
He returns expecting either Ram to have responded to the light command with cheek or with strict sincerity, but he hadn’t anticipated him to take a little imitative. He pauses in the doorway and sucks in his breath, eyes raking over his disciplined hand and sprawled legs on their shared bed. Dear god. As though he hadn’t wanted him badly before, he feels a surge of possession and craving as he walks to him, all those other far away thoughts of other obsessive habits completely forgotten.
Crozier kneels between spread legs, mirroring their position from earlier against the tree, and watches him with utter fascination on his face. His hand touches his knee and then idly slips further up his thigh, fingers brushing against curved muscle leading to coarse, curled hair and sensitive skin. He just touches for now, exploring all the spaces of Rama that he’s only imagined before. He listens for his breath and soft noises, pauses for movements in his hands and on his face when his fingers brush behind his balls and down towards his shapely arse.
Raju watches Francis stop in the doorway, watches him come over and kneel, and Raju's hand keeps idly moving. For all his body stays still, though, he can't stop his smile growing wide over his face. Seeing Francis affected this way, seeing him this way at all— it's good. Francis' hand explores again, making Raju's leg twitch, his thighs tensing, locking his throat thoughtlessly over any urge yet to make a noise. Francis' fingers keep exploring and slip past his balls, behind them and over the sensitive skin there and Raju takes a sudden breath in through his nose. His eyes are fixed, eager and fascinated, on Francis', and he feels the ring of muscle around twitch, tighten and relax, knowing where those searching fingers are going.
For all that he lacks in experience, for all of the thrill in touching him like this for the first time, Rama’s body feels familiar to him, even now. He smiles at that sharp inhale, fingers massaging carefully and he bends forward to kiss Rama’s solid stomach. He moves his mouth along to his navel, dragging his tongue along the rim as he gently prods.
Does he use the soap now? Probably, yes? He doesn’t want this to be uncomfortable for Rama, though he could feel that hard cock of his pressing against his chest as he leaned over him. He sits back up and picks the container up from the bedspread, inspecting it one more time before he opens it up and spreads it over his fingers.
“You’ll tell me if it’s too strange to continue, yes?” he tells him, soap-slicked fingers brushing against his arse again.
The kiss to his stomach makes the muscles there twitch too. Every time Francis touches him anywhere in this way it’s a shock, his body still unused to being exposed, to being looked at like a priceless work of art, to being touched like something holy. With no clothes in the way, Francis can touch him anywhere; it’s effecting Raju in a way he hadn’t expected.
Francis kisses his stomach, and Raju wants always to be touched like this. Francis licks around the rim of Raju’s navel and Raju’s next breath shakes a little, his hand that’d gone still against his cock drifting down to lay against his thigh.
“Yes,” Raju agrees faintly, gaze still fixed, not thinking much on what it is that he’s agreeing to. Once he does he shifts his attention to Francis’ eyes, smiling at him. “It won’t be strange. Not from you.”
He finds himself letting out a giddy, amused breath, almost laughing, and adds: “Not too strange, anyway.”
“Strange enough for a first time,” he agrees, laughing under his breath. His nose brushes against the trail of hair leading from his navel and down his pelvis, just a moment in time that should be so significant but somehow is. He gets to be intimate with this man, this man that he’s fallen in love with; he gets to kiss his stomach and feel the brush of hair against his cheek and chin. If he had the words he’d write poetry about how alive the heat of his skin against his lips makes him feel.
He circles his fingers again, then just finger, feeling the resistance but breaching it gently. He’s care, oh-so-careful, as though holding a very expensive, very precious instrument.
First time. What an odd thought. Whatever was odd about it is washed away, though, as Francis' nose brushes the trail of hair in a place that, like most other places Francis touches him, it feels like a lifetime since he's felt anything human there, skin and warmth and sensation against his skin. It tickles, of course, and Raju's breath hitches. His fingers twitch, uncurl from the blankets, then curl into them again, his other hand joining the first, needing something to grab to keep his grip away from Francis while Francis focuses on... whatever it is he's planning.
The plan is fingers first, apparently. It surprises Raju how tight he is around only one. At the same time Raju feels the impact of that particular feeling of release, of intimacy tinged with something thrilling, that comes of breaching what's expected, of doing it together. At home it had been there every time he and Seetha lay together, with the pretence of Seetha as an unmarried woman to keep up, even if everyone knew. Here with Francis those pretences don't exist but this, the act itself, brings it back again. It's anything but what anyone who knew him at home would think, in this room with this man who puts his finger up Raju's arse the same way he's touched Raju this whole time, like the act is something sacred.
Raju's actually doing this, now. He wants to know more about it, feel more about it. There's the soap slick on the outside of him and Francis' finger, inside but not quite inside, careful. Raju wiggles his hips around Francis' finger, trying for more sensation. "You can do more," he suggests, not sure what he's suggesting exactly but wanting something. "It doesn't hurt, just... tight, I think."
Not hurting is optimal, and at this point more important than seeking his pleasure - though that second point is certainly something he keeps at the forefront of his mind. He wants so much for himself - to touch and taste and look until he’s had his fill of him, a difficult if not impossible task - but he especially wants Ram to feel good.
“Tight,” he repeats quietly, brow furrowing. He can feel for himself that he’s tight, but pushing too much could hurt him. Still, Ram knows his body, so Crozier nods softly and pushes his finger inside, past his first knuckle and on towards the second. He holds his hand still, hearing his own heartbeat echoing in his head, then moves it very slowly, in and out of that tight heat with a shudder traveling from the base of his own spine to his shoulders.
He can't see what Francis is doing but his gaze is fixed there anyway, past his own erection, on the movement of Francis' arm. He breathes through parted lips, feels the muscles around Francis' finger beginning to relax and then relaxing more with the help of Raju's hips, moving in tiny circles to feel Francis' finger sliding against the edge of him. He feels himself pushing back against Francis' finger, opening up to it. Francis asks if it still doesn't hurt and Raju shakes his head, the movement quick and distracted, no, it doesn't hurt—
—except, he's starting to feel something, isn't he? Something that can't be from Francis' very careful finger. Raju's eyebrows twitch, almost frowning. The squirming of his hips slows as he tries to focus on the inside of him. His gaze moves from between his legs to Francis' face and he huffs out an amused puff of air, brow still wrinkled and the edges of his lips starting to curve up. It's a moment of watching Francis' face that way before he answers because it doesn't hurt, and he doesn't mind...
Francis is going to think the answer to his question is yes by now, though. "It doesn't hurt. But..."
He breathes out a half-laugh, shaking his head. There is a sensation there, but it's hardly strong enough to be worth saying anything. The muscle around Francis' finger tightens just for a moment, experimentally. "Circle your finger around more. I want to be sure. It's not... what you're doing, exactly..."
Well, there’s bound to be some strange feelings, but strange isn’t painful and the demand for more experimentation a fairly encouraging start. “That’s…probably expected,” he supplies, not knowing what’s normal and what’s not. But having someone finger you for the first time is bound to be a usual sensation, and he lets out another laugh through his nose.
“All-right, let’s try…” He trails off with a nod and tries to do exactly that, circling his finger inside of him and watching his face for any wince or twitch of pain.
Maybe if he touched him it would help…couldn’t hurt, at least? He sits up, still mindful not to jerk his hand away or make sudden movements that might hurt him, and takes his cock into his hand to give him a few long strokes.
There's not pain on his face as Francis' finger circles but there is something, something the half-frown and absent gaze says he's paying attention to. The crease between his brows eases as the motion goes on — it does feel good, over top of that odd background sensation that's starting to creep more toward the foreground, now.
And then Francis puts his hand around Raju's cock and Raju gasps quietly, not expecting it, holds the breath and feels the movement of Francis' hand, wiggles his hips and tips his head back at the sensation of both of Francis' hands working on him at once. It occurs to him that Francis wouldn't have been able to do this before, not both things at the same time— not unless he was willing to use his mouth—
Raju closes his eyes, realising he's panting a little as he cuts the thought off there. He has enough to focus on already. And he's supposed to be telling Francis something.
"The... soap," he remembers as he opens his eyes to look up at the ceiling, voice a little more breathless than before. "Don't distract me before I can tell you. Um..."
It is a little embarrassing still, even as distracted as Raju is. "Maybe the oil instead. Or..."
Oil is harder to find though, isn't it? Do they have enough of it to... He can't tell. He's too... well. He's very distracted. "I don't know," he says with a little half-laugh, and lifts his head to smile at Francis, too warm and pleased with all of this to mind anything, even Francis knowing Raju was wrong about something.
The soap? Is it not…doing what it’s meant to do? It all feels fairly well-lubricated to him, and both his hands still while Raju finally gets out the cause of the ‘strangeness’. Oil, not soap, the soap is…?
He pulls his fingers out with a deeply furrowed brow. What’s wrong with the soap?
And then he realizes, and his head drops in exasperation. “Jesus Christ, we’re idiots,” he mutters. Soap is scented and likely made with things one wouldn’t want inside their body, and he’d just gone ahead and pushed a fair amount into Rama.
He starts to laugh softly as he wipes his hand on a shirt on the floor. “Do you need to…ah, are you…”
Oh, this is ridiculous. He starts to laugh again, louder this time, at himself and at Rama’s choice of words and just at the two of them, really, and shakes his head quickly. “Let me get something to wash it off, Ram,” he tells him, leaning forward to press a fond kiss to his lips.
Francis' laughter coaxes more out of Raju too, his half-laugh turning into a giggle, and he leans forward into it when Francis kisses him. Maybe the embarrassment of making the wrong decision doesn't have to be that terrible, this one time. "I don't need to, no," he answers what they're both talking around, grinning. "It burns a little, that's all."
But he doesn't mind letting Francis go to get something to wash some of it off with, either. He leans back onto the bed again to wait, allows himself to squirm a little, bites his lip. It should feel ridiculous, shouldn't it, being tended to like this? But what he's thinking is mostly that all this is already more fun than he'd have expected, if he'd thought to expect anything at all; that particular feeling of the soap where it is, in other circumstances... Well.
While Francis goes wherever he's going Raju cups a hand around his cock again. Coming back to that won't surprise Francis this time but Raju likes doing it, likes Francis watching him doing it. And it distracts him from the fact of laying here waiting.
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"Careful," Raju rasps, a hand reaching for Francis' shoulder and scrabbling at it for a moment before grasping it. "I may not last long this time either. You're too..."
He thinks over it for a second, panting a little, but can't think of a single word, or even a few. Too everything. He's too happy just now to pinpoint the feeling's source.
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Crozier lifts his head with a playful little smack of his lips. “If you come before I’m able to fuck you, I’m going to be very cross with you,” he teases, brushing his fingers along his side.
He squirmed like he was feeling ticklish again - as though he’s not going to explore that further, especially as it means getting to put his hands all over him. He’s been dying to do exactly this, and he grins wickedly and moves his fingers up to underneath his arms, then down to his sides, then on the inside of his thighs, searching for those sensitive areas as he basks in how gorgeous Ram is like this, how lucky he feels to get to feast in this way. Eyes and mouth and fingers, everything is devouring him like he might not get a second chance to drink him in.
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"Francis" he warns, tense and happily. "I'm not going to kick you. But—" But he might. He won't. He might. He wonders if he should warn Francis to be careful again.
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On one hand, he doesn’t fancy getting kicked, but he doeswants to see him laugh. “It would serve me right, wouldn’t it?”
He moves to one side of Ram and continues to search for a ticklish spot, all the while continuing to admire every part of him. He’s under no illusions that this good thing will last, but for the moment he just wants to lose himself and pretend. Nothing else exists but the two of them.
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That protest, it turns out, was badly timed, and a particular movement of Francis' fingers pushes a startled, urgent noise out of him, something that might have become laughter if he hadn't clamped down on it so fast. He does it without deciding to, without thinking about it; the muscles of his throat tighten over it as his muscles elsewhere twitch and tense. The noise he lets out after is another breathless one, at himself more than the tickling.
"Than drive me..." he pauses, more careful this time, to see whether Francis is going to continue, and once it's safe finishes, "crazy, Francis," in a gasp, grinning up at the ceiling.
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He isn’t sure why Rama fights so hard not to laugh - a habit repeated now as Crozier searches for that spot that’ll send him straight through the roof. It’s stubbornness, something about self-discipline or control, or winning, though the why doesn’t matter as much as how he’s going to get him to break.
“Why can’t I do both?” he says with a smirk, letting up the touch only to attack him again in a different spot. “It’s more fun to drive you mad. Everything else can wait until I get a laugh out of you.”
Preferably with an adorable little wheeze and wriggle, maybe a tiny plea to have mercy. A man can dream, can’t he? And right now this is very much what he wants from Ram.
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“Everything else?” he wheezes, feet scrabbling at the blanket more to ease the part of him that wants to squirm away from Francis’ fingers than to try and get any real distance. “It’s not that important.”
Then, mostly to add another protest and a little just for the pleasure of feeling it inside his mouth: “Francis!” he says again.
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He drops his head down onto Rama's chest at that laugh, joining him with his own little pleased chuckle. His whole body thrums with desire for him, the elation on his face and that beautiful laugh making his heart twist almost painfully in his chest. The joy is so large it feels overwhelming, like he couldn't possibly contain all that he feels for this man.
"Rama!" he laughs, finally pulling himself up. He pushes the hair back from his face and looks down at him, grin slowly fading from his face as the heat in him takes over fully. Rama on his back like this, fully naked, legs spread and chest heaving - he's going to remember this moment for the rest of his life. He needs to, every single little detail needs to be remembered, from the way his body hair looks in the faint light to the twitching of the muscles as he laughs and flexes and moves.
"Rama." His voice is low now, want apparent.
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Any more and he'll be sweating. He thinks it absently as he watches Francis watching him, the fruitless squirming to escape Francis' fingers slowed to a stop.
The tone in Francis' voice signals a change in their game; Francis has got enough of the first thing that he'd wanted, then. The expression that spreads over Raju's face is hungry and wicked. One of his arms is propping him up by the elbow; the other reaches out and grasps the back of Francis' neck, wanting to pull him close enough to kiss him, close enough to feel his lips and anything else that might happen to press against him as Francis moves.
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He meets the kiss and swears he can taste the heat on his tongue. It swirls in his mouth and burns all the way down into his belly, lighting him up with like it’s a bonfire.
Now he has to figure out logistics. Goddamn it. But he wants what he wants, in his kisses and touches and that glint of mischief in his eyes that Rama wants it just as badly, and so he needs to follow through. His body is never going to be more ready to please and keep up with Rama than it is now. He pulls himself away, his swollen lips beckoning and inviting him for another quick kiss against his better judgement.
But he finally does move away, having considered what they might need. Some kind of oil? Or grease? Christ, that doesn’t sound pleasant at all, but he needs to be confident here. He’d asked for this, after all.
Well. Does he? Does he really have to be confident and self-assured?
“I’ve never done this,” he laughs quietly, brushing his fingers across Ram’s abdomen fondly. “I think we’ll need oil to ease things. Something from the kitchen or washroom?”
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"Ah..." He thinks over it, shakes his head. "Or soap, maybe?" he suggests and laughs a little, feeling ridiculous and tightening his grasp on Francis' hand to compensate. "We have enough of that too. Unless we'll need a lot of it."
He can do all these things with Francis, both clothed and completely bare, he can say all manner of filthy things, but for some reason this is the thing that sends a flush into his cheeks. There's something about mixing the everyday with the erotic, feeling this way and talking about the practicalities of the proper material and their supply of it. He almost can't tell it from all the other warmth in him, he feels the colour gather under his cheeks with a different kind of heat.
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It's a show of vulnerability, the two of them so usually self-assured admitting they don't know what in the hell to do in this horribly intimate moment, and something Crozier knows he would never show another soul save for this man here. But he doesn't feel embarrassed or like the moment's been sufficiently ruined, it's just...a part of them. A part of this, the experience, being together. They laugh more than any two people ought to, at least from prior experience, but Crozier can't imagine any other way.
"Soap would work," he considers, and of course it's with another laugh. He shakes his head and brings Rama's hand up to his lips for a quick kiss to his knuckles. "Lord, I guess I'll go have a look. Stark naked. You stay right where you are though. I want to come back to this sight."
He has to follow through on this promise and do it quickly, or else Rama would become too tempting as he continues to lie there on the bed looking like a full feast. Crozier stands and hurries to the other room, and is filled with immediate regret. It's goddamned cold. All the more reason to hurry though.
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He's happy. He realises it again as he watches Francis walk away, appreciating the way his arse moves with his stride. Even if they weren't both stark naked and about to do something Raju's never done before he'd be happy this way, continuously feeling the enormous revelation again of that same unbelievable fact. But all the same, it is a shame Francis can't walk around that way more often. He wonders, again, how different it had looked before, when Francis had always kept all of his clothes on and looked the way that Raju's used to.
But Francis wants to find him the way he left him, so Raju has himself to attend to; it isn't going to be a chore. Raju keeps his legs spread, watching the doorway as he takes himself in hand, not really grasping, just holding himself there, his hand making small, lazy movements, as much to tease Francis with all he isn't able to do yet as to keep himself half-hard.
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Soap winds up being the method chosen, after almost every other option is rejected for being potentially unpleasant - grease or cooking oil, or downright disgusting - lard or some other congealed substance. They’re not animals, and this is Rama and Rama’s body, and the last thing he wants to do is disrespect or somehow desecrate that beautiful man who’s given him so damn much. The soap smells pleasant and is clean - it’ll serve their purpose just fine.
He returns expecting either Ram to have responded to the light command with cheek or with strict sincerity, but he hadn’t anticipated him to take a little imitative. He pauses in the doorway and sucks in his breath, eyes raking over his disciplined hand and sprawled legs on their shared bed. Dear god. As though he hadn’t wanted him badly before, he feels a surge of possession and craving as he walks to him, all those other far away thoughts of other obsessive habits completely forgotten.
Crozier kneels between spread legs, mirroring their position from earlier against the tree, and watches him with utter fascination on his face. His hand touches his knee and then idly slips further up his thigh, fingers brushing against curved muscle leading to coarse, curled hair and sensitive skin. He just touches for now, exploring all the spaces of Rama that he’s only imagined before. He listens for his breath and soft noises, pauses for movements in his hands and on his face when his fingers brush behind his balls and down towards his shapely arse.
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For all that he lacks in experience, for all of the thrill in touching him like this for the first time, Rama’s body feels familiar to him, even now. He smiles at that sharp inhale, fingers massaging carefully and he bends forward to kiss Rama’s solid stomach. He moves his mouth along to his navel, dragging his tongue along the rim as he gently prods.
Does he use the soap now? Probably, yes? He doesn’t want this to be uncomfortable for Rama, though he could feel that hard cock of his pressing against his chest as he leaned over him. He sits back up and picks the container up from the bedspread, inspecting it one more time before he opens it up and spreads it over his fingers.
“You’ll tell me if it’s too strange to continue, yes?” he tells him, soap-slicked fingers brushing against his arse again.
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Francis kisses his stomach, and Raju wants always to be touched like this. Francis licks around the rim of Raju’s navel and Raju’s next breath shakes a little, his hand that’d gone still against his cock drifting down to lay against his thigh.
“Yes,” Raju agrees faintly, gaze still fixed, not thinking much on what it is that he’s agreeing to. Once he does he shifts his attention to Francis’ eyes, smiling at him. “It won’t be strange. Not from you.”
He finds himself letting out a giddy, amused breath, almost laughing, and adds: “Not too strange, anyway.”
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“Strange enough for a first time,” he agrees, laughing under his breath. His nose brushes against the trail of hair leading from his navel and down his pelvis, just a moment in time that should be so significant but somehow is. He gets to be intimate with this man, this man that he’s fallen in love with; he gets to kiss his stomach and feel the brush of hair against his cheek and chin. If he had the words he’d write poetry about how alive the heat of his skin against his lips makes him feel.
He circles his fingers again, then just finger, feeling the resistance but breaching it gently. He’s care, oh-so-careful, as though holding a very expensive, very precious instrument.
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The plan is fingers first, apparently. It surprises Raju how tight he is around only one. At the same time Raju feels the impact of that particular feeling of release, of intimacy tinged with something thrilling, that comes of breaching what's expected, of doing it together. At home it had been there every time he and Seetha lay together, with the pretence of Seetha as an unmarried woman to keep up, even if everyone knew. Here with Francis those pretences don't exist but this, the act itself, brings it back again. It's anything but what anyone who knew him at home would think, in this room with this man who puts his finger up Raju's arse the same way he's touched Raju this whole time, like the act is something sacred.
Raju's actually doing this, now. He wants to know more about it, feel more about it. There's the soap slick on the outside of him and Francis' finger, inside but not quite inside, careful. Raju wiggles his hips around Francis' finger, trying for more sensation. "You can do more," he suggests, not sure what he's suggesting exactly but wanting something. "It doesn't hurt, just... tight, I think."
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Not hurting is optimal, and at this point more important than seeking his pleasure - though that second point is certainly something he keeps at the forefront of his mind. He wants so much for himself - to touch and taste and look until he’s had his fill of him, a difficult if not impossible task - but he especially wants Ram to feel good.
“Tight,” he repeats quietly, brow furrowing. He can feel for himself that he’s tight, but pushing too much could hurt him. Still, Ram knows his body, so Crozier nods softly and pushes his finger inside, past his first knuckle and on towards the second. He holds his hand still, hearing his own heartbeat echoing in his head, then moves it very slowly, in and out of that tight heat with a shudder traveling from the base of his own spine to his shoulders.
“Still doesn’t hurt?”
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—except, he's starting to feel something, isn't he? Something that can't be from Francis' very careful finger. Raju's eyebrows twitch, almost frowning. The squirming of his hips slows as he tries to focus on the inside of him. His gaze moves from between his legs to Francis' face and he huffs out an amused puff of air, brow still wrinkled and the edges of his lips starting to curve up. It's a moment of watching Francis' face that way before he answers because it doesn't hurt, and he doesn't mind...
Francis is going to think the answer to his question is yes by now, though. "It doesn't hurt. But..."
He breathes out a half-laugh, shaking his head. There is a sensation there, but it's hardly strong enough to be worth saying anything. The muscle around Francis' finger tightens just for a moment, experimentally. "Circle your finger around more. I want to be sure. It's not... what you're doing, exactly..."
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Well, there’s bound to be some strange feelings, but strange isn’t painful and the demand for more experimentation a fairly encouraging start. “That’s…probably expected,” he supplies, not knowing what’s normal and what’s not. But having someone finger you for the first time is bound to be a usual sensation, and he lets out another laugh through his nose.
“All-right, let’s try…” He trails off with a nod and tries to do exactly that, circling his finger inside of him and watching his face for any wince or twitch of pain.
Maybe if he touched him it would help…couldn’t hurt, at least? He sits up, still mindful not to jerk his hand away or make sudden movements that might hurt him, and takes his cock into his hand to give him a few long strokes.
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And then Francis puts his hand around Raju's cock and Raju gasps quietly, not expecting it, holds the breath and feels the movement of Francis' hand, wiggles his hips and tips his head back at the sensation of both of Francis' hands working on him at once. It occurs to him that Francis wouldn't have been able to do this before, not both things at the same time— not unless he was willing to use his mouth—
Raju closes his eyes, realising he's panting a little as he cuts the thought off there. He has enough to focus on already. And he's supposed to be telling Francis something.
"The... soap," he remembers as he opens his eyes to look up at the ceiling, voice a little more breathless than before. "Don't distract me before I can tell you. Um..."
It is a little embarrassing still, even as distracted as Raju is. "Maybe the oil instead. Or..."
Oil is harder to find though, isn't it? Do they have enough of it to... He can't tell. He's too... well. He's very distracted. "I don't know," he says with a little half-laugh, and lifts his head to smile at Francis, too warm and pleased with all of this to mind anything, even Francis knowing Raju was wrong about something.
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The soap? Is it not…doing what it’s meant to do? It all feels fairly well-lubricated to him, and both his hands still while Raju finally gets out the cause of the ‘strangeness’. Oil, not soap, the soap is…?
He pulls his fingers out with a deeply furrowed brow. What’s wrong with the soap?
And then he realizes, and his head drops in exasperation. “Jesus Christ, we’re idiots,” he mutters. Soap is scented and likely made with things one wouldn’t want inside their body, and he’d just gone ahead and pushed a fair amount into Rama.
He starts to laugh softly as he wipes his hand on a shirt on the floor. “Do you need to…ah, are you…”
Oh, this is ridiculous. He starts to laugh again, louder this time, at himself and at Rama’s choice of words and just at the two of them, really, and shakes his head quickly. “Let me get something to wash it off, Ram,” he tells him, leaning forward to press a fond kiss to his lips.
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But he doesn't mind letting Francis go to get something to wash some of it off with, either. He leans back onto the bed again to wait, allows himself to squirm a little, bites his lip. It should feel ridiculous, shouldn't it, being tended to like this? But what he's thinking is mostly that all this is already more fun than he'd have expected, if he'd thought to expect anything at all; that particular feeling of the soap where it is, in other circumstances... Well.
While Francis goes wherever he's going Raju cups a hand around his cock again. Coming back to that won't surprise Francis this time but Raju likes doing it, likes Francis watching him doing it. And it distracts him from the fact of laying here waiting.
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