There’s a fire in the cabin, a small rise of flame moving in a slow circle around their chair. The heat doesn’t touch Crozier, not the heat of the flames at least. Rama is the fire, and he burns against him.
He brings his hand down, makes a loose fist, and applies a soft pressure as he works his way along his length. Slow, careful, aware that Rama is sensitive and anything more might hurt him. He shudders as he strokes along back to the head; by touch alone he can tell Ram is as perfect as he’d imagined in his daydreaming.
The fire roars and Rama holds on, muscles so rigid Crozier thinks he could bounce a coin off of them. “Let go,” he urges him, gentle yet just a touch of sternness behind it. He quickly brings his hand up to his lips and sucks his thumb and forefinger, then pushes back into his drawers to use the added slick to massage and trace the tip while his palm squeezes and draws upwards.
Raju's breath comes in fits and starts and little gasps as Francis' hand moves, throat too locked down to make noise so he can hold on through the first time in this long that any hand has touched him this way. His forearm takes his weight against the chair so that hand can curl into a fist as tightly as he can hold it and let go that wonderful voice says, orders him, and Francis' hand is gone and just as quickly it's back and over him, moving, and it's too much, the hitched gasping of his breath tenses and tightens—
But let go Francis had said and with a stuttering, pained noise Raju does, and the noise sounds like a sob as Raju shakes against him. He wants to be touching the man who loves him, who was stern with him, let go, wants to be touching him more than he is, and his one hand moves toward Francis' side again, knows he can't be gentle enough now and moves down, trying to grab hard onto something that feels like a stomach, a hip, a thigh. His panting sounds like moaning and his breaths slow, and he feels wetness between his face and Francis' neck. He feels the heat of his own breath. The crackling of the flames is quieter. Raju still wants to be closer, to touch Francis more, and kisses his neck, then up to kiss his jaw, and then the side of his face, and then his mouth. Then he leans his forehead against Francis', panting, realises that his heart is beating fast when he feels it starting to slow.
"Francis," he says, voice raw. There's nothing in his head to follow it up with. He only wants to say the name, to feel the man and the love of him inside of his mouth.
He's shaking a little. That's alright. That's alright. Francis won't mind.
Rama tastes salty-sweet, Crozier meeting the kisses with reverence and soft awe. Each shuddering gasp answered with a quiet exhale of his own; he sighs as Rama presses their foreheads together.
He leans forward slightly, nose brushing against his cheek. His hand slides out from Rama’s drawers, mindful of how sensitive he must be because he feels the same, hand wrapping tightly around his back to hold him close. To keep him close. He’d hate for him to leave now, for this to end too soon, for them to go back to not being completely tangled up in each other.
“Rama.” He holds him, trembling and sore ribs and all, wanting him more and again (though his body says absolutely not, not for some time). He feels intoxicated by him, wanting every part for himself, strength and vulnerability and joy and pain, all the parts that make him the wonderful man he adores. He wants it for himself, selfishly, forever if possible.
He tips his head up and kisses him softly. “You’re a beautiful man when you fall apart, Rama,” he says quietly, slightly slurring his words as the adrenaline begins to fade.
Francis withdrawing his hand makes Raju whine quietly and squirm a little, and the arm around him, keeping him in place, gets a relieved sigh. Francis says his name — that's not the right way to think of it, that isn't enough, Francis says his name — and Raju's trembling is stronger for a moment, he shivers. What Francis says next after that next kiss, soft, easing him into the lassitude his body wants, makes less sense; the noise that Raju makes on hearing it is wordless and confused. He feels Francis' skin against his as he shakes his head, and he shifts onto one side, trying to lean half of himself against the armrest. It's a small space and most of it is space that Francis needs, but Raju's muscles are loose and weak just now and he won't risk leaning any of his weight on Francis and hurting him.
"You're not making any sense," he manages in a murmur, slurring a little bit himself in the fight against the pull to be too relaxed just now to speak. He breathes against Francis' face. His hand moves from Francis' thigh, feeling its way blindly and very carefully up him, up hip and stomach and over chest, neck, up to the side of Francis' head. His thumb rubs back and forth over Francis' temple and the arm that'd been holding Raju up moves idly down and up again under Francis' shirt and Raju lets out a long, slow sigh, satisfied.
“Yes, I do,” Crozier replies, shivering as Rama’s hand eventually finds its way up into his soft shirt. “Beautiful how you are now.”
Maybe he doesn’t make sense. God knows he feels more wrung out (in the best way) than he ever has before. That’s fine, it makes sense in his mind. He’s beautiful when all that tension floods out of him, beautiful now all boneless and seeking warmth and comfort. He’s beautiful this way, vulnerable only for him. He’s just…he’s beautiful, inside and out, and Crozier is overcome with love for him.
Crozier lays his head against the back of the chair with a low sigh of his own, hand smoothing up and down Rama’s spine, flirting with the very top of his very enticing arse. He smirks a little, snaking his hand back under his waistband to give that perfectly round rump a good pinch.
Raju wants to protest again, even if he can't figure out just how — the loss of control is part of it, has to be part of this sometimes, but Raju needs to keep Francis clean and dry, has to get up to get a new rag and the water, find them both new trousers, clean both of them off, finally dry Francis' hair, and the way that he is now is between him and getting any of those necessary things done, but those are a lot of words for a mouth that has to be coaxed into moving — but Francis moves his hand over Raju's spine and Raju shivers, and then he—
—he's pinched Raju's arse. That's what that feeling was. Raju's so unprepared for it that his whole body twitches and he takes a sharp, shocked breath and looks at Francis with parted lips and wide, surprised eyes. Then he begins to laugh. His body is too relaxed for a proper laugh so it comes out half breath and Raju curls forward with it, laugh progressing into almost a giggle as the hand on Francis' temple slides down to cup his head, and the hand underneath Francis' shirt curls fondly over his chest. "Who does that?" he manages. "Is that how you'll be winning arguments now?"
He’s tempted to ‘shoe’s on the other foot’ him, but dear god, the look in Rama’s eyes. First as they stare up at him, undoubtedly in shock that Crozier would deign stoop to such a level, then they crinkle in delight and amusement and he’s absolutely swooning from the sight of it.
“Next time I’ll just give you a nice slap on the arse, would that be better?” he teases, sweetly rubbing the spot he’d just abused. “But if it gets you to laugh like that, absolutely.”
Anything to make him laugh.
They should move; he’s sore and wants to fall asleep in Rama’s arms, but he also wants to stay like this for as long as possible. Freeze the moment, as it were.
It's strange to feel a hand rubbing him that way, to have anyone in his life who'd touch him there so casually. Strange to have anyone in his life who would do any of the things Francis has done tonight, strange that someone's made it a goal to make him laugh. Maybe when he isn't so relaxed, when this feeling isn't humming through him any more and leaving him tingling and light even as his limbs feel too heavy to lift without work, maybe then he'll puzzle over it. For now he's only happy, is touching him every place that he can while Francis is too injured to plaster their bodies against one another, and he loves Francis, who has his hand on Raju's arse, who wants to make him laugh again. Raju leans forward to kiss him, as passionate as he can be when Raju's hand is on one side of Francis' injured skull and his lips are on the other and it's more important than anything in this world to be gentle. Raju exchanges the idea of pressure for biting and sucking on Francis' lips instead, laughing low and breathless into his mouth.
"It's only going to surprise me the first time," he murmurs. "You'll have to work harder."
“I’ve got the rest of my life to work on my approach,” he murmurs back, pressing his slightly kiss-bitten smile against Rama’s mouth. “You’ll allow for missteps now and again, mn?”
Of the many ideas that cross a man’s mind when suddenly trapped in a world that wants them dead, ‘the rest of one’s life’ seems a bleak concept. Not so for Crozier. There’s a far different life to be had here for him, where the dead have risen and there’s companionship and love. And if his life is only extended for mere months or a few years, he knows his purpose. He will make Rama happy, and he won’t fear or despair, but live a life that has some spark of joy in it.
He presses forward to kiss him back, slow and deep, sighing quietly into his mouth before he pulls back once more. They really need to get off this chair.
Raju turns his head away from the kiss to press his face into Francis' neck. This isn't the way he'd usually hide his expression when he needed to, but the impulse to hide it comes easily, and he's glad. The rest of Francis' life. Once he'd had the calluses built up to endure it, the need to keep disappointing the people who love him. Those calluses must have worn away when he wasn't looking, because it hurts.
A moment later Francis is pulling away, and Raju's smile at him is a little less relaxed and a little more polite, but it's still there; Francis is in front of him and happy, he's happy now, and Raju is trapped in this place anyway. It's like having Francis' arm around him, when he couldn't have pulled back if he'd tried to. He takes a breath deep enough to pull at his chest and holds it, lets it slowly out, studies the way Francis is sitting as he pulls back from him. The hand over Francis' head starts running itself down over it, smoothing down his hair, and the feeling soothes the tension inside Raju's chest a little. His other hand runs fondly down over Francis' chest. Raju can do that now, as much as he likes, and the new possibilities there are enough, nearly, to distract him the way he wanted them to.
He doesn’t see the change in Rama’s smile; the touch feels the same, the affection just as genuine as it was before. “A little,” he admits quietly, hand moving to Rama’s waist. “As much as I’d hate to move, we can’t stay like this.”
They need to settle in for the night, prepare for the chill that will set in by changing clothes and fixing their bed. He needs his bandages put back on before he sleeps, or else he’ll actually do some damage rather than merely risking it.
Crozier reaches for the hand on his chest and brings it up to his lips, brushing a kiss to his knuckles. “But maybe worry about my hair at a later date, mn? Save something for tomorrow.”
Raju's eyes widen a little as Francis kisses his knuckles, expression shifting into quiet surprise. What he has with Francis, what they've started building — started now, or maybe a long time ago — every moment of it should remind him of Seetha and choices that he has to make, pain and other inevitable things. But he's never been kissed the way that Francis, sometimes, has been kissing him: like he's doing as much of the wooing as Raju is, like Raju isn't leading Francis into heartbreak so much as the two of them are taking turns leading each other.
And there's something about the thing itself, the obvious romance in the gesture. He's never once thought about how it would feel to be on this end of it before.
"I have to worry about your hair," he says, unwilling to move his one hand from Francis' just now but flipping the towel behind Francis over the top of his head with the other and rubbing it at his head gently. "We can't leave it damp all night. Besides, if we're moving, that means I get to clean you up now. I might as well worry about your hair while I do the rest of it."
The more time passes, after all, the more aware he becomes of that wet spot inside his trousers. Moving isn't necessarily going to be a bad thing, even if Raju didn't need something to do to stop himself from thinking. "You'll feel better once you're clean and dry, you'll see. I won't even take very long to find you new trousers, I've already looked through everything once."
Crozier squints up through the folds of the towel as Rama rubs the rest of the water out of his hair. He’s endeared by the finickiness, even if a little exasperated that everything should be done and done efficiently right then and now. There’s always a little room for things to be done later, or fall away entirely.
“I won’t argue with you on that point,” he says, “I’m sure I will.” Although if he was really being honest he’s more looking forward to their very new tradition of awkwardly sleeping upright together. It has been good for his injuries, and he can unabashedly lean into him as long as he wishes. He’s not eager to let him go just yet, but if they must….
Raju huffs out an amused breath, small smile creeping its way onto his face. "Like a boy," he teases, and if he's lucky the teasing will wash his misgivings to the back of his mind again, where they might find themselves shoved behind something else and forgotten there. The rest of my life hangs inside him like a weight, and he wishes it wouldn't. "A minute now and you won't catch a chill later."
Then he finishes, shifts to stand, and hesitates. He studies Francis' face, studying that pull that he's always felt in looking at him. He doesn't know about anything else, about the future, or duty, or pain, or anything. But he knows he can give in to that pull now, in ways he hadn't even considered for most of the time that he's felt it. He knows giving in to the want will make Francis happy. He brushes the towel back over Francis' hair one more time slowly, sets it back behind his head, and cups the side of Francis' face, leaning forward to ease his way into a kiss gentle enough to say everything with it he doesn't quite have words for, or maybe has said to Francis already. I love you isn't as dangerous for Francis as it feels. The danger is already done.
You touch me like you love me. Raju tries to kiss Francis like he loves him, too. It's the least he can do.
Behind the kiss is sentiment and warmth, Crozier can feel in his hand just resting on the side of his face and in his lips as they brush against his. He meets the kiss, very carefully tilting his head back a breadth, but doesn’t try to control or deepen. He understands this, he’s here to receive. If it’s a parting gift upon separating or a swell of affection is not for him to understand.
His hand raises from where it had settled against the arm of the chair, reaching far enough to just brush against Rama’s outer sleeve before he drops it back down again. He just wants Rama to know that he’s here, right here with him.
Crozier waits for Rama to pull his head back, utilizing whatever self control remains to keep his arms down and his body relaxed against the chair. He has nothing queued up to say when they do part - no quip or silly joke or compliment. He just has this, himself. Nothing more.
His gaze moves over Francis' face when he pulls back. He smiles a little, then stands. Easier to feel the wet spot in his trousers this way and he lets out a rough, amused breath, looking down at it and then at Francis. "I'll only be a moment," he says and brushes his hand against Francis' arm as he goes. When he comes back it's with a bundle of clothes for himself and another pair of soft pyjama bottoms for Francis, and he hands them over as he starts to strip.
"You'll need your bandages wrapped again too, won't you?" he sighs as he starts, reaching for the bundle of rags with one hand as the other lets go of his waistband. That's enough to start with, everything unbuttoned as it is. "Are you ready for that yet, or do you want to wait?"
He’d quite like to keep watching Rama take off his clothes, but he knows the time for indulging is over. He needs to change and get wrapped, so he starts stripping himself down to get prepared, starting with the impossibly soft jumper.
Taking off his trousers is more of a process than the shirt, and he pauses with them hitched around his hips to catch his breath. “Trousers first,” he tells him, wriggling out leg by by leg, handless arm pressed to his chest out of habit.
"Mhm." Raju, hale and two-handed, finishes taking his trousers and drawers off first, sets them aside and pauses after. It's odd to pause this way, he's getting goosepimples already, but the impulse to check on Francis took over before he'd thought about it and the realisation that it doesn't matter how little he wears around Francis any more, doesn't matter in a very different way from how it wouldn't have mattered before, stops him longer.
But shivering gets him back on task and he wipes himself down with a rag, tosses it with his trousers, and holds another one out to Francis. "Alright?" he murmurs, not wanting to charge in to do the thing for him — taking care for Francis' dignity is nearly as difficult, sometimes, as watching him in pain has been — but wanting to offer, at least, even if that stretches his time half-exposed to the open air out a little longer. He shivers again, and with his shirts still on, looks ridiculous, but solving both those problems can wait for a second or two.
Crozier takes the rag from Rama’s hands after his trousers are completely down and off, and he stands with a firm grip to the handle of the chair to wash without looking like a complete invalid. It’s an interesting mix of emotions - bashfulness and embarrassment, intrigue, curiosity…and yes, attraction.
He’s just so goddamned beautiful, it’s unfair. He knows he’s been unable to follow whatever routine he curated at home, so this isn’t even Rama at his peak, a loss of muscle and food taken whatever toll it had on him. But his body is still impressive and downright picturesque, and Crozier turns himself away in order to focus on cleaning and not staring like a goddamned love sick fool.
Francis turns away, and it gives Raju something more to stare at. It's thoughtful staring as much as it's anything else; the urge to stare at all is... new? Is it new?
Raju shivers again, grimaces, and focuses on pulling on his drawers over his socks, the first pair of trousers, the second pair. Once they're on it's a little easier to focus, not warm yet, but not quite as cold. And that happiness is still humming through him even now with rest of my life shifting its way into the back of his mind. Even now he feels the tired weight in his limbs, the hint of warmth. If the new burn marks on the floor weren't enough to prove what's just happened, if his new knowledge of Francis' body wasn't enough, Raju would feel different, even still. He glances over at Francis again and his gaze sticks there, contemplative.
"I get to stare all I want to now," he realises, pleased, and huffs in amusement at himself. "Thank goodness. I didn't know what to do with myself before."
He's mid-step back into a pair of clean pair of trousers when Rama gives that little huff. He jerks the waistband up, getting it mostly back into place as he feels the blood rush to his neck and face. They've kissed and touched and made each other...well, they'd been intimate, for God's sake, and here he is still getting flustered over such a little comment.
But there's so much behind it, isn't there? Rama is amused as he seems to realize there aren't any constraints on looking anymore. He's seemingly just plain happy with the revelation, being able to stare at him without limitations or having to hide himself. And he wants to look at him! He has been looking at him! Not that Crozier hasn't been staring right back; Rama just lends himself to being watched closely.
Crozier coughs quietly and sits back down on the bench, waiting for Rama to finish dressing so he can bandage his chest. "I...hadn't guessed that's what you were doing. You nearly always an intense stare when you're thinking."
"There's been a lot to think about." On the bench there's room to sit next to him so Raju does, grabbing for the bandage on the way. A hint at a frown moves over his face as he looks at it in his hands. He won't miss seeing the way it hurts Francis when he wraps it, even if it helps. He'd burn it once Francis was done with it, if there wasn't too much chance they'd need it later for something else.
Doing something else important with his hands gives Raju the reason, at least for a moment, to put the damned thing aside; he'd seen Francis' blood rushing to his skin when he'd first said it and makes as if to pinch that pink cheek now, then instead of pinching runs his thumb over the skin. "And plenty to look at."
It's nothing he'd say to a man, but so much of what he's done today could be described that way, so after a second of watching his thumb over Francis' cheek Raju goes on, smiling knowingly: "Blushing suits you, you know. I knew it would. You should do it more often."
He's rarely been on the receiving end of compliments, and he frowns in confusion as Raju sits close and touches his face. It's a quiet fire that burns in him now, his body too exhausted for anything but that magnificent little leap his heart gives at Rama's smile. He has dimples in his cheeks. Darling little dimples that makes the wear and strain fall from his handsome face.
"Blushing suits me," he repeats incredulously. Rama hasn't seen him with a full head of copper hair and too many freckles to count; the blushing would have looked like heat stroke or a sunburn.
"Do you honestly..." Crozier trails off, unsure of his question. Unsure of anything but his very deep desire for this incredible man, who looks at him and touches and kisses him with more tenderness and passion than he's had in -
What a sad thought. He can't remember if he's ever been touched with this kind of admiration. Maybe once or twice, with Ross, but that was James, dear.
"I'm certain I will," he finds, hand steadying himself in between their legs on the bench. "If you keep saying those things to me."
"Then I'll have to do it again," he says, moving a little closer to Francis on the bench, hand resting near Francis' as Raju leans toward him. His gaze moves over Francis' face. But Francis had been confused when Raju had said it, and of course he had; if he'd ever heard words like that before, he'd have been the one saying them. Not that that seems much like Francis either— not unless murmured very low into a waiting ear, that Raju can imagine very...
Focus.
"I know you said there isn't a usual for this. For men. But I... you don't mind it, do you? When I speak to you that way? I can see you aren't used to it, I'd hate for you to feel I'm treating you like... unlike a man. But you are beautiful. I don't know how else to say it."
Perhaps there is something usual between two men, but it isn't as though either of them would know about it. They'll have to make their own typical, navigate around what's awkward and what feels right. It feels an insurmountable challenge, one that Crozier wouldn't even know where to begin -
Except Rama's called him beautiful. He's called him beautiful, and he doesn't hate it. He doesn't hate it at all.
His neck feels a little hotter, ears burning now. "No...I don't feel...lesser," he tells him, choosing his words carefully. "Being admired isn't a familiar sensation, and I feel no more a man than I had yesterday. My initial balking...is due to unfamiliarity."
It's strange, and in that strangeness is where he feels turned upside down. "Do you...would you mind it? I confess I look at you with the same admiration, but I fear missteps."
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There’s a fire in the cabin, a small rise of flame moving in a slow circle around their chair. The heat doesn’t touch Crozier, not the heat of the flames at least. Rama is the fire, and he burns against him.
He brings his hand down, makes a loose fist, and applies a soft pressure as he works his way along his length. Slow, careful, aware that Rama is sensitive and anything more might hurt him. He shudders as he strokes along back to the head; by touch alone he can tell Ram is as perfect as he’d imagined in his daydreaming.
The fire roars and Rama holds on, muscles so rigid Crozier thinks he could bounce a coin off of them. “Let go,” he urges him, gentle yet just a touch of sternness behind it. He quickly brings his hand up to his lips and sucks his thumb and forefinger, then pushes back into his drawers to use the added slick to massage and trace the tip while his palm squeezes and draws upwards.
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But let go Francis had said and with a stuttering, pained noise Raju does, and the noise sounds like a sob as Raju shakes against him. He wants to be touching the man who loves him, who was stern with him, let go, wants to be touching him more than he is, and his one hand moves toward Francis' side again, knows he can't be gentle enough now and moves down, trying to grab hard onto something that feels like a stomach, a hip, a thigh. His panting sounds like moaning and his breaths slow, and he feels wetness between his face and Francis' neck. He feels the heat of his own breath. The crackling of the flames is quieter. Raju still wants to be closer, to touch Francis more, and kisses his neck, then up to kiss his jaw, and then the side of his face, and then his mouth. Then he leans his forehead against Francis', panting, realises that his heart is beating fast when he feels it starting to slow.
"Francis," he says, voice raw. There's nothing in his head to follow it up with. He only wants to say the name, to feel the man and the love of him inside of his mouth.
He's shaking a little. That's alright. That's alright. Francis won't mind.
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Rama tastes salty-sweet, Crozier meeting the kisses with reverence and soft awe. Each shuddering gasp answered with a quiet exhale of his own; he sighs as Rama presses their foreheads together.
He leans forward slightly, nose brushing against his cheek. His hand slides out from Rama’s drawers, mindful of how sensitive he must be because he feels the same, hand wrapping tightly around his back to hold him close. To keep him close. He’d hate for him to leave now, for this to end too soon, for them to go back to not being completely tangled up in each other.
“Rama.” He holds him, trembling and sore ribs and all, wanting him more and again (though his body says absolutely not, not for some time). He feels intoxicated by him, wanting every part for himself, strength and vulnerability and joy and pain, all the parts that make him the wonderful man he adores. He wants it for himself, selfishly, forever if possible.
He tips his head up and kisses him softly. “You’re a beautiful man when you fall apart, Rama,” he says quietly, slightly slurring his words as the adrenaline begins to fade.
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"You're not making any sense," he manages in a murmur, slurring a little bit himself in the fight against the pull to be too relaxed just now to speak. He breathes against Francis' face. His hand moves from Francis' thigh, feeling its way blindly and very carefully up him, up hip and stomach and over chest, neck, up to the side of Francis' head. His thumb rubs back and forth over Francis' temple and the arm that'd been holding Raju up moves idly down and up again under Francis' shirt and Raju lets out a long, slow sigh, satisfied.
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“Yes, I do,” Crozier replies, shivering as Rama’s hand eventually finds its way up into his soft shirt. “Beautiful how you are now.”
Maybe he doesn’t make sense. God knows he feels more wrung out (in the best way) than he ever has before. That’s fine, it makes sense in his mind. He’s beautiful when all that tension floods out of him, beautiful now all boneless and seeking warmth and comfort. He’s beautiful this way, vulnerable only for him. He’s just…he’s beautiful, inside and out, and Crozier is overcome with love for him.
Crozier lays his head against the back of the chair with a low sigh of his own, hand smoothing up and down Rama’s spine, flirting with the very top of his very enticing arse. He smirks a little, snaking his hand back under his waistband to give that perfectly round rump a good pinch.
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—he's pinched Raju's arse. That's what that feeling was. Raju's so unprepared for it that his whole body twitches and he takes a sharp, shocked breath and looks at Francis with parted lips and wide, surprised eyes. Then he begins to laugh. His body is too relaxed for a proper laugh so it comes out half breath and Raju curls forward with it, laugh progressing into almost a giggle as the hand on Francis' temple slides down to cup his head, and the hand underneath Francis' shirt curls fondly over his chest. "Who does that?" he manages. "Is that how you'll be winning arguments now?"
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He’s tempted to ‘shoe’s on the other foot’ him, but dear god, the look in Rama’s eyes. First as they stare up at him, undoubtedly in shock that Crozier would deign stoop to such a level, then they crinkle in delight and amusement and he’s absolutely swooning from the sight of it.
“Next time I’ll just give you a nice slap on the arse, would that be better?” he teases, sweetly rubbing the spot he’d just abused. “But if it gets you to laugh like that, absolutely.”
Anything to make him laugh.
They should move; he’s sore and wants to fall asleep in Rama’s arms, but he also wants to stay like this for as long as possible. Freeze the moment, as it were.
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"It's only going to surprise me the first time," he murmurs. "You'll have to work harder."
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“I’ve got the rest of my life to work on my approach,” he murmurs back, pressing his slightly kiss-bitten smile against Rama’s mouth. “You’ll allow for missteps now and again, mn?”
Of the many ideas that cross a man’s mind when suddenly trapped in a world that wants them dead, ‘the rest of one’s life’ seems a bleak concept. Not so for Crozier. There’s a far different life to be had here for him, where the dead have risen and there’s companionship and love. And if his life is only extended for mere months or a few years, he knows his purpose. He will make Rama happy, and he won’t fear or despair, but live a life that has some spark of joy in it.
He presses forward to kiss him back, slow and deep, sighing quietly into his mouth before he pulls back once more. They really need to get off this chair.
He hates that they need to get off this chair.
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A moment later Francis is pulling away, and Raju's smile at him is a little less relaxed and a little more polite, but it's still there; Francis is in front of him and happy, he's happy now, and Raju is trapped in this place anyway. It's like having Francis' arm around him, when he couldn't have pulled back if he'd tried to. He takes a breath deep enough to pull at his chest and holds it, lets it slowly out, studies the way Francis is sitting as he pulls back from him. The hand over Francis' head starts running itself down over it, smoothing down his hair, and the feeling soothes the tension inside Raju's chest a little. His other hand runs fondly down over Francis' chest. Raju can do that now, as much as he likes, and the new possibilities there are enough, nearly, to distract him the way he wanted them to.
"What is it?" he murmurs. "Uncomfortable?"
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He doesn’t see the change in Rama’s smile; the touch feels the same, the affection just as genuine as it was before. “A little,” he admits quietly, hand moving to Rama’s waist. “As much as I’d hate to move, we can’t stay like this.”
They need to settle in for the night, prepare for the chill that will set in by changing clothes and fixing their bed. He needs his bandages put back on before he sleeps, or else he’ll actually do some damage rather than merely risking it.
Crozier reaches for the hand on his chest and brings it up to his lips, brushing a kiss to his knuckles. “But maybe worry about my hair at a later date, mn? Save something for tomorrow.”
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And there's something about the thing itself, the obvious romance in the gesture. He's never once thought about how it would feel to be on this end of it before.
"I have to worry about your hair," he says, unwilling to move his one hand from Francis' just now but flipping the towel behind Francis over the top of his head with the other and rubbing it at his head gently. "We can't leave it damp all night. Besides, if we're moving, that means I get to clean you up now. I might as well worry about your hair while I do the rest of it."
The more time passes, after all, the more aware he becomes of that wet spot inside his trousers. Moving isn't necessarily going to be a bad thing, even if Raju didn't need something to do to stop himself from thinking. "You'll feel better once you're clean and dry, you'll see. I won't even take very long to find you new trousers, I've already looked through everything once."
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Crozier squints up through the folds of the towel as Rama rubs the rest of the water out of his hair. He’s endeared by the finickiness, even if a little exasperated that everything should be done and done efficiently right then and now. There’s always a little room for things to be done later, or fall away entirely.
“I won’t argue with you on that point,” he says, “I’m sure I will.” Although if he was really being honest he’s more looking forward to their very new tradition of awkwardly sleeping upright together. It has been good for his injuries, and he can unabashedly lean into him as long as he wishes. He’s not eager to let him go just yet, but if they must….
“My hair must be dry now,” he grumbles.
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Then he finishes, shifts to stand, and hesitates. He studies Francis' face, studying that pull that he's always felt in looking at him. He doesn't know about anything else, about the future, or duty, or pain, or anything. But he knows he can give in to that pull now, in ways he hadn't even considered for most of the time that he's felt it. He knows giving in to the want will make Francis happy. He brushes the towel back over Francis' hair one more time slowly, sets it back behind his head, and cups the side of Francis' face, leaning forward to ease his way into a kiss gentle enough to say everything with it he doesn't quite have words for, or maybe has said to Francis already. I love you isn't as dangerous for Francis as it feels. The danger is already done.
You touch me like you love me. Raju tries to kiss Francis like he loves him, too. It's the least he can do.
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Behind the kiss is sentiment and warmth, Crozier can feel in his hand just resting on the side of his face and in his lips as they brush against his. He meets the kiss, very carefully tilting his head back a breadth, but doesn’t try to control or deepen. He understands this, he’s here to receive. If it’s a parting gift upon separating or a swell of affection is not for him to understand.
His hand raises from where it had settled against the arm of the chair, reaching far enough to just brush against Rama’s outer sleeve before he drops it back down again. He just wants Rama to know that he’s here, right here with him.
Crozier waits for Rama to pull his head back, utilizing whatever self control remains to keep his arms down and his body relaxed against the chair. He has nothing queued up to say when they do part - no quip or silly joke or compliment. He just has this, himself. Nothing more.
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"You'll need your bandages wrapped again too, won't you?" he sighs as he starts, reaching for the bundle of rags with one hand as the other lets go of his waistband. That's enough to start with, everything unbuttoned as it is. "Are you ready for that yet, or do you want to wait?"
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He’d quite like to keep watching Rama take off his clothes, but he knows the time for indulging is over. He needs to change and get wrapped, so he starts stripping himself down to get prepared, starting with the impossibly soft jumper.
Taking off his trousers is more of a process than the shirt, and he pauses with them hitched around his hips to catch his breath. “Trousers first,” he tells him, wriggling out leg by by leg, handless arm pressed to his chest out of habit.
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But shivering gets him back on task and he wipes himself down with a rag, tosses it with his trousers, and holds another one out to Francis. "Alright?" he murmurs, not wanting to charge in to do the thing for him — taking care for Francis' dignity is nearly as difficult, sometimes, as watching him in pain has been — but wanting to offer, at least, even if that stretches his time half-exposed to the open air out a little longer. He shivers again, and with his shirts still on, looks ridiculous, but solving both those problems can wait for a second or two.
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Oh. He’s completely…oh.
Crozier takes the rag from Rama’s hands after his trousers are completely down and off, and he stands with a firm grip to the handle of the chair to wash without looking like a complete invalid. It’s an interesting mix of emotions - bashfulness and embarrassment, intrigue, curiosity…and yes, attraction.
He’s just so goddamned beautiful, it’s unfair. He knows he’s been unable to follow whatever routine he curated at home, so this isn’t even Rama at his peak, a loss of muscle and food taken whatever toll it had on him. But his body is still impressive and downright picturesque, and Crozier turns himself away in order to focus on cleaning and not staring like a goddamned love sick fool.
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Raju shivers again, grimaces, and focuses on pulling on his drawers over his socks, the first pair of trousers, the second pair. Once they're on it's a little easier to focus, not warm yet, but not quite as cold. And that happiness is still humming through him even now with rest of my life shifting its way into the back of his mind. Even now he feels the tired weight in his limbs, the hint of warmth. If the new burn marks on the floor weren't enough to prove what's just happened, if his new knowledge of Francis' body wasn't enough, Raju would feel different, even still. He glances over at Francis again and his gaze sticks there, contemplative.
"I get to stare all I want to now," he realises, pleased, and huffs in amusement at himself. "Thank goodness. I didn't know what to do with myself before."
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He's mid-step back into a pair of clean pair of trousers when Rama gives that little huff. He jerks the waistband up, getting it mostly back into place as he feels the blood rush to his neck and face. They've kissed and touched and made each other...well, they'd been intimate, for God's sake, and here he is still getting flustered over such a little comment.
But there's so much behind it, isn't there? Rama is amused as he seems to realize there aren't any constraints on looking anymore. He's seemingly just plain happy with the revelation, being able to stare at him without limitations or having to hide himself. And he wants to look at him! He has been looking at him! Not that Crozier hasn't been staring right back; Rama just lends himself to being watched closely.
Crozier coughs quietly and sits back down on the bench, waiting for Rama to finish dressing so he can bandage his chest. "I...hadn't guessed that's what you were doing. You nearly always an intense stare when you're thinking."
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Doing something else important with his hands gives Raju the reason, at least for a moment, to put the damned thing aside; he'd seen Francis' blood rushing to his skin when he'd first said it and makes as if to pinch that pink cheek now, then instead of pinching runs his thumb over the skin. "And plenty to look at."
It's nothing he'd say to a man, but so much of what he's done today could be described that way, so after a second of watching his thumb over Francis' cheek Raju goes on, smiling knowingly: "Blushing suits you, you know. I knew it would. You should do it more often."
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He's rarely been on the receiving end of compliments, and he frowns in confusion as Raju sits close and touches his face. It's a quiet fire that burns in him now, his body too exhausted for anything but that magnificent little leap his heart gives at Rama's smile. He has dimples in his cheeks. Darling little dimples that makes the wear and strain fall from his handsome face.
"Blushing suits me," he repeats incredulously. Rama hasn't seen him with a full head of copper hair and too many freckles to count; the blushing would have looked like heat stroke or a sunburn.
"Do you honestly..." Crozier trails off, unsure of his question. Unsure of anything but his very deep desire for this incredible man, who looks at him and touches and kisses him with more tenderness and passion than he's had in -
What a sad thought. He can't remember if he's ever been touched with this kind of admiration. Maybe once or twice, with Ross, but that was James, dear.
"I'm certain I will," he finds, hand steadying himself in between their legs on the bench. "If you keep saying those things to me."
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Focus.
"I know you said there isn't a usual for this. For men. But I... you don't mind it, do you? When I speak to you that way? I can see you aren't used to it, I'd hate for you to feel I'm treating you like... unlike a man. But you are beautiful. I don't know how else to say it."
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Perhaps there is something usual between two men, but it isn't as though either of them would know about it. They'll have to make their own typical, navigate around what's awkward and what feels right. It feels an insurmountable challenge, one that Crozier wouldn't even know where to begin -
Except Rama's called him beautiful. He's called him beautiful, and he doesn't hate it. He doesn't hate it at all.
His neck feels a little hotter, ears burning now. "No...I don't feel...lesser," he tells him, choosing his words carefully. "Being admired isn't a familiar sensation, and I feel no more a man than I had yesterday. My initial balking...is due to unfamiliarity."
It's strange, and in that strangeness is where he feels turned upside down. "Do you...would you mind it? I confess I look at you with the same admiration, but I fear missteps."
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