Raju’s frown deepens. “I could have…” he insists, then pauses as he searches for a way to end the sentence. It’s true anyway, even before he figures out the details of what exactly he could have done. “Done more of it. Made things easier for you. I know you’re still healing. I could have… I don’t know.”
He shakes his head, gaze drawn to Francis’ chest again, sounding frustrated. “Done something differently and spared you this. You’ve spent enough time in pain already.”
“It’s a sprain,” he argues, “I did too much too soon. Please, don’t blame yourself.”
He thinks about reaching for his hand again, but he wants Rama to know how much he means it: he’s not solely to blame for the state of Crozier’s body. It takes two, doesn’t it? So his hand finds Rama’s neck, holding him steady as he meets his gaze with something quietly stern in his own.
“I would have known if something was wrong in the moment, and I would have stopped.”
Francis is asking Raju to trust him, to trust his judgment; Raju nods automatically, then keeps meeting that stern gaze for a long moment, trying to work something out.
It’s a strain. Bruises and muscles. Things that heal. Things Raju himself has worked through. Francis is telling him it isn’t serious enough to worry over, and Francis is a man who Raju respects and trusts, and so Raju should accept it. If any other man told him the same Raju would accept it, and doing it wouldn’t be this hard.
But if Seetha said it to him, he wouldn’t take her at her word, would he? Not in the same way. Seetha is his responsibility. Keeping her safe is his responsibility. And Francis…
“I know,” he says belatedly. “I trust you. But it…” He sets his hand on Francis’ knee, frowning at it for a moment before looking into Francis’ eyes again, like looking into the river. “You’re my responsibility. I know you can fend for yourself, but I’ve never loved a man like this before, and I can’t do it any other way. I should have been looking out for you.”
Crozier frowns softly, though he does understand. This isn’t just one friend reassuring the other and promising to be more careful the next go around, it’s different now. Isn’t it? He has to think if things were reversed how he’d feel - if it were Sophia he’d beat himself up for failing to protect her. If were Rama…yes, he’d probably feel the same way there as well.
He nods softly. He doesn’t know any other way to love, and neither does Crozier. His fingers rub against the back of his neck sympathetically. “Don’t spend too much time beating yourself up over this,” he tells him quietly. “Let’s take it as something to be cautious about in the future.”
He hopes that says enough. He doesn’t want Rama to start treating him like he’s made of glass.
"Cautious?" Raju sounds a little doubtful, not certain how he feels about the word. He can't seem to stop studying Francis' body; he wishes it were for a more pleasant reason. "I thought I was."
He runs his hand down Francis' ribs again, very gently this time, barely brushing his shirt. "I just..."
He sighs. It doesn't matter. Francis is tired of being in pain, too. "Snow and warm rocks," he says in a stronger, more businesslike tone, fingertips lingering over Francis' side. "Those should help until this passes. Do you think you'll be able to eat?"
It’s just as he feared. They had been cautious, Rama had been so careful with him and yet this still happened. He’s going to blame himself, and Crozier can’t stop him.
He frowns and follows Rama’s line of sight down to his chest. No new bruises, nothing that wasn’t there the morning before. “I can eat, it’s just discomfort when I’m seated,” he says, finally relenting to the care he’s going to receive now. Worry worry worry, always the worry. What he wouldn’t give to be whole again.
He pulls his hand back from Rama’s neck with a fond little touch to his cheek.
At the touch to his cheek Raju looks up, sighs out just a little of his tension, finds his lips curling with just a little bit of a smile. Francis might not have touched him so freely this way just yesterday, and he realises all at once that he's been missing it. Or something like missing. Can he miss something Francis has barely even made a habit of doing yet?
It's something. It doesn't change the fact that Raju's hurt him, and Raju's expression doesn't lift very much. Then he smells—
He rushes over to the fire, grasps the rag wrapped around the pan, pulls it close and grimaces, wedging the corner of the spatula between the burnt bottom of the fish and the pan. "You can eat, but you might not want to," he complains, frustrated, and then starts muttering to himself. "Could cover it up with berries, but that might be a waste..."
Oh hell, the food! He grasps the armrest and leans himself forward slightly, looking through the smoke at Rama holding a very sorry-looking pan of fish. He sighs quietly.
“Keep it for bait,” he mutters, pressing his hand against his ribs and sitting back again. “We’ll eat from one of the tins tonight.”
His emergency-beyond-emergency stores, the things he’d found in some of the homes on the outskirts a while ago. He’s reluctant to eat from them only from his own poor history with canned food, but they’re modern and haven’t hurt anyone yet. He can push through the discomfort.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” he adds, offering Rama a soft smile. He’d distracted him away from the task at hand, it’s his fault their supper burned.
Francis' soft smile gets a hard breath and a firming of Raju's jaw as he looks back down at the food. He's pushed and pushed for excellence in everything and it's set him apart, set him to accomplish all manner of impossible things. Things impossible for anyone else but him. How to speak and stand and dress and run and fight and think—
But not this small, essential thing. Not feeding a man who's too sore now to even sit forward without pain, let alone cook for himself. Not making sure that Francis doesn't get so sore in the first place, that he heals well, that he doesn't have to shove down memories of being slowly poisoned to have his meal just because Raju couldn't manage a fish.
"There's enough here for you," he declares, stubborn, as he pokes the spatula at it. "Half of each are still edible on the top side. I have berries and the tea, and some of that dried fish if I'm hungry later. Or a tin if I need it. You can have fish."
Rama told him it would be this way - just a few moments ago, in fact. He is going to do everything in his power to take care of him, apparently including eating dried fish and tins so Crozier can have the fresh fish. Fighting it wouldn’t change his mind: this is how he loves.
Crozier nods softly in agreement. He’ll have the fish and Rama can find something else. He needs to learn to be cared for in this manner, at least until he can do the same himself.
“At least come sit with me whilst I eat.” A small but reasonable demand.
Raju looks up from the pan, for a second or two visibly surprised. For all Seetha's streak of stubborn insistence that she knew best had softened around its edges as she'd gotten older it had never gone away, particularly not in private. Raju only realises he'd been expecting to have to push to give Francis the meal that he should be able to provide when he doesn't.
It isn't as good as being able to cook this properly would have been, but this way at least Raju can give him something. Not tins. Not feeling the way that Francis does about them. So it's easier to smile at Francis a little now, knowing he can take care of Francis in this one way and that Francis is going to let him. Raju does smile for a moment, nods, then he turns his attention back to separating the worst parts of the fish and pushing the rest onto a plate, pouring the tea, bringing it all over. During those first days after, once Francis was well enough to eat but not well enough for too much more than that, it'd been easier to use a piece of wood as a tray to put the food on his lap, with a hole cut the right size to at least keep the cup from tipping too far in one direction or the other. Raju is glad for it now, and glad he hasn't bothered to move it from its spot against the wall so it's still close.
"I'll pay more attention to it next time," he says, setting the tray on Francis' lap and putting everything in place. There's something in being so close to Francis now; thinking more about just what that something is can wait until the more important things are done. "Or make something different. I found a book on foraging that looks promising but I haven't looked at it properly yet."
Ah, the plank of wood merges. He sighs a little to see it but says nothing, merely accepts his meal and the hot beverage with a grateful smile. Because for all of his complaining about being invalided all over again, he’s exceedingly grateful for Rama in everything he has done and will do.
“It’s a hot meal, I’ll never be upset when offered a hot meal,” he reassures him, reaching for the cup of tea first to let the fish cool off from being molten lava.
“You’ll surprise yourself yet, with all this foraging and hunting,” he adds after his first sip. It makes things feel oddly better, and he smiles a little more happily towards Rama. “Master this wilderness yet.”
Easier still to return Francis' smile, watching him drink, and Raju settles onto the arm of the chair as he does it. He could sit some place else, but this is closer. And Francis' hair is closer; it's less that Raju makes the decision to run his hand over Francis' forehead, pushing back his hair, and more that his hand is drawn to it and drifts that way on its own. Raju's sigh is slow and satisfied, hand lingering on Francis' head as Raju feels a little bit more of the tension running out from him. He himself wouldn't have touched Francis this way yesterday, either. Not so freely, anyway. Not for no reason. He wonders how he'd managed without it.
"But it's so slow, all of it," he complains, watching Francis. "At least the fishing you know where you're going and what you're going to be doing once you're there. But I never know where the greens are going to be. Looking always feels like wasting time."
Crozier only has the one hand to do anything with, but he has a second arm that easily leans on top of Rama’s lap. The vantage point is lovely too, he can turn his head and look up into his pretty eyes while he drinks his tea, wishing silently to have his hair touched once more.
“It only feels like it when you come home empty handed, but you’re mapping things out as you go. It’s just how things are.” He smiles sympathetically. “I know, you’d much prefer something a little more exciting. I appreciate your efforts, Rama.”
"It's not—" he starts automatically and then stops himself with a huff and a noise of faint amusement, hand on Francis' head sliding down to the chairback behind his head, looking down at the arm in his lap. He hasn't touched this one very often. There's something about this kind of injury that feels as if it should be left alone, out of... respect, maybe. Or maybe something else.
But then there'd been yesterday. Raju hadn't noticed this changing in him too, but maybe it had. And maybe the rest of it is the warmth that spreads out inside him in a burst whenever he hears Francis call him that. He reaches out to Francis' arm, turning it a little so the underside of Francis' wrist is facing up, the easier to run his thumb over the skin there, exploring it while he thinks of how to explain.
"I'm just not... used to being here, I suppose. Even now. I used to skip over foraging altogether unless I ran across something edible by accident." Odd to think about that, now. His meals had been nothing but the tins. Francis has been changing things for Raju for even longer than Raju's known enough of himself to think about it.
The urge to drop his head onto his lap as well is strong, but he's just as strong and can refrain. It just seems a shame to begin something and then have to maintain one's self-control the day after. But this level of affection is acceptable, a soft touch, the feeling of Rama's hand touching his ugly scar tissue, almost as though it's something to be loved and not reviled.
He nods softly. Rama feels as out of place as they first did on that fateful expedition - not knowing what to do, feeling like a fish out of water, like an intruder in this world. Rama is a capable man; not just capable, but he's the very best in all things, and he's struggling here.
"Does it help to know that's how I felt for a very long time?" He sets down his cup and eats a piece of the fish with his fingers. He doesn't bother with utensils now except for the occasional spoon for soup or a knife for cutting. "I was out of sorts, relying solely on the kindness of the men and women around me. I was like a child. The worst part was I couldn't do anything to help, I was still learning to us just my right hand.
"I know it's not the same, but...wanting to help, and just not knowing is exceptionally frustrating. But you've learned quicker than I ever did, and you know me, I'm not prone to idle flattery."
Raju looks up from Francis' arm to watch him closely, sharply interested as he always is in anything about Francis' life from before this place. He imagines it: losing his own hand, having to learn... well, everything, after. Francis has been learning for years, and he still couldn't take care of his own sleeve that once, when he'd been too angry to take care with it. Raju tries to imagine that kind of loss, the loss of assurance in himself, that he'll be able to take care of those things, and can't quite do it. And the way Francis says it, it seems like that'd happened when he'd been new with the people who'd taken him in and taught him so much of that knowledge and skill that Raju so admires in him now.
He lifts Francis' forearm and spends a moment studying it. The impulse, always, is to avoid the stump at the end, the part of a body that shouldn't ever see the open air. Raju pulls at Francis' arm and ducks his head to press a slow, lingering kiss to it. It's a marvel how much better, calmer and more stable, he feels afterward. He wonders if it's always going to be this way, touching Francis in all the ways he hadn't been able to before. Or simply hadn't thought to.
"You know so much about surviving here." But being calmer doesn't mean he isn't still going to complain: "But I haven't really learned anything. Not properly. Taste that fish; I didn't even get the herbs on it before it burned."
Cooking had been something he'd trusted others to take care of, before. The cook at the barracks, Seetha at home. But he needs to be the one to do it now, and that means doing it well. He grimaces a little.
Rama kisses his scar tissue, tenderly and sweetly, and for a moment Crozier's brain stops working. It's something to be ashamed of, a reminder of his greatest failure, something than makes him less capable and a figure of pity - but Rama holds it without disgust, kisses it without revulsion. His eyes grow wide and his mouth opens in slight awe; Rama must love him. He must, and it's just as much as a marvel now to see it was it was the night before.
"I've had decades to learn, Ram," he says quietly, voice a little lower with barely-restrained desire. God, he wants him now, ruined chest and all. He uses 'Ram' without thought, not knowing if it's taboo to shorten his name, but his very western habits aren't ignored so easily. "And you've kept us alive all this time. I couldn't do anything for myself, that was all you."
The change in Francis' voice is small, but significant; Raju's gaze sharpens again. He recognizes that tone. His gaze moves to Francis' arm, then back to Francis' face. Is that how it is, there? He was aware of Francis' body before but he's aware of it now, too, its proportions, the way that his skin looks around the edges of the bandage. His expression is intent, and fixed on Francis'.
"I want to do more than keep you alive." Francis' voice isn't the only one, now, that's gone lower. His fingers curl over near the skin that he's just kissed. It feels natural, as he does, to move his other hand, brushing its fingertips over the back of Francis' neck. "I want to do something you like. Cook something better. But everything needs sugar or vinegar or honey or flour."
His long hours with nothing to do but research haven't borne much fruit, nothing really useful, and even now Raju is frustrated about it.
“You do so many things that I like,” Crozier argues quietly, craning his neck ever-so-slightly. He wants to be kissed. He’s aching to be kissed by him, a sharper ache than anything in his chest. He refrains, because he must. Rama touches his neck and that should be enough. “You found me this little board, for instance. You make me tea before I even ask. You wash my hair. You wrap me up in furs when I’m cold.”
There are a thousand other things Rama does for him, and it just seems like such a shame he’s choosing to focus on cooking, of all things. He loves him in all these little ways, all of them heartfelt and thoughtful.
The frustration on Raju's face softens, looking down at him, hearing him say those things. Hearing the way that Francis feels when he does them. "All these compliments," he murmurs. "I'll listen to all of them and grow lazy, if you keep on that way." It's in Francis' tone, his arm in Raju's lap, the warmth of him so near and the way Francis is holding his head, as if he wants—
Raju's lips are only a few inches away from Francis' when he stops, thinking again about what he's doing and he looks at Francis this way, close, looking over his skin, his cheeks and lips, into his eyes. His hand is tighter around Francis' wrist and he feels the scars under his fingers, feels the warmth of Francis there. He can smell Francis, cooked fish and pine and the faint smell of soap when he breathes in. He can see every shade of colour in those remarkable eyes. He stays leaning this way, and doesn't move back yet. He doesn't want to.
“Does that mean you’ll listen to reason? Impossible.” He doesn’t think Rama even knows what lazy looks like, let alone how to let himself be lazy. He laughs softly, glad to see his eyes brimming with amusement - and perhaps something else - instead of that irritation at himself.
He can bridge that gap between them himself, but he would lose that indulgent look into his handsome face, the intensity of Rama’s stare on him, the indescribable feeling in his chest at the two of them existing this closely. But he wants, and he’s only a man, so he pulls himself up those last few inches to press their lips together, a contented little groan escaping at the contact.
Raju's satisfied noise comes from deep in his throat in response and he feels it, feels the noises they're making in their lips. But Francis is leaning forward, he'd put his hand on his ribs when he'd done it before, leaning forward is going to hurt him now so Raju pushes into the kiss, hand on the back of Francis' neck moving around to his shoulder and pushing on it, too, wanting to chase Francis as he leans back until Raju can kiss him knowing that Francis isn't moving at all to do it.
He feels Francis' lips against his for a moment more. Then he pulls back, only a little further away than he was before. His eyes flicker briefly down over Francis' chest, the wrapping over his ribs. He smiles, looking apologetic, regretful. "Francis..." The hand on Francis' shoulder drifts down, feather light over Francis' chest and then his ribs, stays there as if Raju could push this feeling into the injuries there and help, do something that actually feels like helping. As if he could push the pain out and fill Francis up with this instead only by willing it. He can't, but he leaves his hand there anyway. He sighs, apologetic smile faint and lingering.
He eases back against the chair, glad to be pushed but not pushed away from him. He sighs quietly, nearly chasing his lips again as Rama pulls away. He stays put at the rueful little smile, understanding as Rama's eyes land on his chest.
"A kiss won't hurt," he says, voice still rough. Kiss him again, Rama. Kiss him again. He takes his hand off of the plank on his lap and covers his, holding him gently over his chest. None of this hurts as badly as not being kissed by him.
Raju looks at him. He realises he's breathing harder. A kiss. A kiss won't hurt, will it?
Will it?
He feels the hand over his. He breathes. He leans forward again, free hand moving to support himself against the chair as he kisses Francis, slow and hungrily. But he realises he's pressing Francis back into the chair and his throat is tight, suddenly, and he pulls back, eyes wide and alarmed. He looks down over Francis and back up again, looking for any sign of pain. He sighs, looks away, and then looks into Francis' eyes again, regretful, lips parted like they weren't ready to stop yet. Won't it? he wants to ask, and doesn't want to, but needs to know it regardless.
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He shakes his head, gaze drawn to Francis’ chest again, sounding frustrated. “Done something differently and spared you this. You’ve spent enough time in pain already.”
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“It’s a sprain,” he argues, “I did too much too soon. Please, don’t blame yourself.”
He thinks about reaching for his hand again, but he wants Rama to know how much he means it: he’s not solely to blame for the state of Crozier’s body. It takes two, doesn’t it? So his hand finds Rama’s neck, holding him steady as he meets his gaze with something quietly stern in his own.
“I would have known if something was wrong in the moment, and I would have stopped.”
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It’s a strain. Bruises and muscles. Things that heal. Things Raju himself has worked through. Francis is telling him it isn’t serious enough to worry over, and Francis is a man who Raju respects and trusts, and so Raju should accept it. If any other man told him the same Raju would accept it, and doing it wouldn’t be this hard.
But if Seetha said it to him, he wouldn’t take her at her word, would he? Not in the same way. Seetha is his responsibility. Keeping her safe is his responsibility. And Francis…
“I know,” he says belatedly. “I trust you. But it…” He sets his hand on Francis’ knee, frowning at it for a moment before looking into Francis’ eyes again, like looking into the river. “You’re my responsibility. I know you can fend for yourself, but I’ve never loved a man like this before, and I can’t do it any other way. I should have been looking out for you.”
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Crozier frowns softly, though he does understand. This isn’t just one friend reassuring the other and promising to be more careful the next go around, it’s different now. Isn’t it? He has to think if things were reversed how he’d feel - if it were Sophia he’d beat himself up for failing to protect her. If were Rama…yes, he’d probably feel the same way there as well.
He nods softly. He doesn’t know any other way to love, and neither does Crozier. His fingers rub against the back of his neck sympathetically. “Don’t spend too much time beating yourself up over this,” he tells him quietly. “Let’s take it as something to be cautious about in the future.”
He hopes that says enough. He doesn’t want Rama to start treating him like he’s made of glass.
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He runs his hand down Francis' ribs again, very gently this time, barely brushing his shirt. "I just..."
He sighs. It doesn't matter. Francis is tired of being in pain, too. "Snow and warm rocks," he says in a stronger, more businesslike tone, fingertips lingering over Francis' side. "Those should help until this passes. Do you think you'll be able to eat?"
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It’s just as he feared. They had been cautious, Rama had been so careful with him and yet this still happened. He’s going to blame himself, and Crozier can’t stop him.
He frowns and follows Rama’s line of sight down to his chest. No new bruises, nothing that wasn’t there the morning before. “I can eat, it’s just discomfort when I’m seated,” he says, finally relenting to the care he’s going to receive now. Worry worry worry, always the worry. What he wouldn’t give to be whole again.
He pulls his hand back from Rama’s neck with a fond little touch to his cheek.
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It's something. It doesn't change the fact that Raju's hurt him, and Raju's expression doesn't lift very much. Then he smells—
He rushes over to the fire, grasps the rag wrapped around the pan, pulls it close and grimaces, wedging the corner of the spatula between the burnt bottom of the fish and the pan. "You can eat, but you might not want to," he complains, frustrated, and then starts muttering to himself. "Could cover it up with berries, but that might be a waste..."
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Oh hell, the food! He grasps the armrest and leans himself forward slightly, looking through the smoke at Rama holding a very sorry-looking pan of fish. He sighs quietly.
“Keep it for bait,” he mutters, pressing his hand against his ribs and sitting back again. “We’ll eat from one of the tins tonight.”
His emergency-beyond-emergency stores, the things he’d found in some of the homes on the outskirts a while ago. He’s reluctant to eat from them only from his own poor history with canned food, but they’re modern and haven’t hurt anyone yet. He can push through the discomfort.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” he adds, offering Rama a soft smile. He’d distracted him away from the task at hand, it’s his fault their supper burned.
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But not this small, essential thing. Not feeding a man who's too sore now to even sit forward without pain, let alone cook for himself. Not making sure that Francis doesn't get so sore in the first place, that he heals well, that he doesn't have to shove down memories of being slowly poisoned to have his meal just because Raju couldn't manage a fish.
"There's enough here for you," he declares, stubborn, as he pokes the spatula at it. "Half of each are still edible on the top side. I have berries and the tea, and some of that dried fish if I'm hungry later. Or a tin if I need it. You can have fish."
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Rama told him it would be this way - just a few moments ago, in fact. He is going to do everything in his power to take care of him, apparently including eating dried fish and tins so Crozier can have the fresh fish. Fighting it wouldn’t change his mind: this is how he loves.
Crozier nods softly in agreement. He’ll have the fish and Rama can find something else. He needs to learn to be cared for in this manner, at least until he can do the same himself.
“At least come sit with me whilst I eat.” A small but reasonable demand.
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It isn't as good as being able to cook this properly would have been, but this way at least Raju can give him something. Not tins. Not feeling the way that Francis does about them. So it's easier to smile at Francis a little now, knowing he can take care of Francis in this one way and that Francis is going to let him. Raju does smile for a moment, nods, then he turns his attention back to separating the worst parts of the fish and pushing the rest onto a plate, pouring the tea, bringing it all over. During those first days after, once Francis was well enough to eat but not well enough for too much more than that, it'd been easier to use a piece of wood as a tray to put the food on his lap, with a hole cut the right size to at least keep the cup from tipping too far in one direction or the other. Raju is glad for it now, and glad he hasn't bothered to move it from its spot against the wall so it's still close.
"I'll pay more attention to it next time," he says, setting the tray on Francis' lap and putting everything in place. There's something in being so close to Francis now; thinking more about just what that something is can wait until the more important things are done. "Or make something different. I found a book on foraging that looks promising but I haven't looked at it properly yet."
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Ah, the plank of wood merges. He sighs a little to see it but says nothing, merely accepts his meal and the hot beverage with a grateful smile. Because for all of his complaining about being invalided all over again, he’s exceedingly grateful for Rama in everything he has done and will do.
“It’s a hot meal, I’ll never be upset when offered a hot meal,” he reassures him, reaching for the cup of tea first to let the fish cool off from being molten lava.
“You’ll surprise yourself yet, with all this foraging and hunting,” he adds after his first sip. It makes things feel oddly better, and he smiles a little more happily towards Rama. “Master this wilderness yet.”
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"But it's so slow, all of it," he complains, watching Francis. "At least the fishing you know where you're going and what you're going to be doing once you're there. But I never know where the greens are going to be. Looking always feels like wasting time."
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Crozier only has the one hand to do anything with, but he has a second arm that easily leans on top of Rama’s lap. The vantage point is lovely too, he can turn his head and look up into his pretty eyes while he drinks his tea, wishing silently to have his hair touched once more.
“It only feels like it when you come home empty handed, but you’re mapping things out as you go. It’s just how things are.” He smiles sympathetically. “I know, you’d much prefer something a little more exciting. I appreciate your efforts, Rama.”
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But then there'd been yesterday. Raju hadn't noticed this changing in him too, but maybe it had. And maybe the rest of it is the warmth that spreads out inside him in a burst whenever he hears Francis call him that. He reaches out to Francis' arm, turning it a little so the underside of Francis' wrist is facing up, the easier to run his thumb over the skin there, exploring it while he thinks of how to explain.
"I'm just not... used to being here, I suppose. Even now. I used to skip over foraging altogether unless I ran across something edible by accident." Odd to think about that, now. His meals had been nothing but the tins. Francis has been changing things for Raju for even longer than Raju's known enough of himself to think about it.
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The urge to drop his head onto his lap as well is strong, but he's just as strong and can refrain. It just seems a shame to begin something and then have to maintain one's self-control the day after. But this level of affection is acceptable, a soft touch, the feeling of Rama's hand touching his ugly scar tissue, almost as though it's something to be loved and not reviled.
He nods softly. Rama feels as out of place as they first did on that fateful expedition - not knowing what to do, feeling like a fish out of water, like an intruder in this world. Rama is a capable man; not just capable, but he's the very best in all things, and he's struggling here.
"Does it help to know that's how I felt for a very long time?" He sets down his cup and eats a piece of the fish with his fingers. He doesn't bother with utensils now except for the occasional spoon for soup or a knife for cutting. "I was out of sorts, relying solely on the kindness of the men and women around me. I was like a child. The worst part was I couldn't do anything to help, I was still learning to us just my right hand.
"I know it's not the same, but...wanting to help, and just not knowing is exceptionally frustrating. But you've learned quicker than I ever did, and you know me, I'm not prone to idle flattery."
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He lifts Francis' forearm and spends a moment studying it. The impulse, always, is to avoid the stump at the end, the part of a body that shouldn't ever see the open air. Raju pulls at Francis' arm and ducks his head to press a slow, lingering kiss to it. It's a marvel how much better, calmer and more stable, he feels afterward. He wonders if it's always going to be this way, touching Francis in all the ways he hadn't been able to before. Or simply hadn't thought to.
"You know so much about surviving here." But being calmer doesn't mean he isn't still going to complain: "But I haven't really learned anything. Not properly. Taste that fish; I didn't even get the herbs on it before it burned."
Cooking had been something he'd trusted others to take care of, before. The cook at the barracks, Seetha at home. But he needs to be the one to do it now, and that means doing it well. He grimaces a little.
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Rama kisses his scar tissue, tenderly and sweetly, and for a moment Crozier's brain stops working. It's something to be ashamed of, a reminder of his greatest failure, something than makes him less capable and a figure of pity - but Rama holds it without disgust, kisses it without revulsion. His eyes grow wide and his mouth opens in slight awe; Rama must love him. He must, and it's just as much as a marvel now to see it was it was the night before.
"I've had decades to learn, Ram," he says quietly, voice a little lower with barely-restrained desire. God, he wants him now, ruined chest and all. He uses 'Ram' without thought, not knowing if it's taboo to shorten his name, but his very western habits aren't ignored so easily. "And you've kept us alive all this time. I couldn't do anything for myself, that was all you."
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"I want to do more than keep you alive." Francis' voice isn't the only one, now, that's gone lower. His fingers curl over near the skin that he's just kissed. It feels natural, as he does, to move his other hand, brushing its fingertips over the back of Francis' neck. "I want to do something you like. Cook something better. But everything needs sugar or vinegar or honey or flour."
His long hours with nothing to do but research haven't borne much fruit, nothing really useful, and even now Raju is frustrated about it.
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“You do so many things that I like,” Crozier argues quietly, craning his neck ever-so-slightly. He wants to be kissed. He’s aching to be kissed by him, a sharper ache than anything in his chest. He refrains, because he must. Rama touches his neck and that should be enough. “You found me this little board, for instance. You make me tea before I even ask. You wash my hair. You wrap me up in furs when I’m cold.”
There are a thousand other things Rama does for him, and it just seems like such a shame he’s choosing to focus on cooking, of all things. He loves him in all these little ways, all of them heartfelt and thoughtful.
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Raju's lips are only a few inches away from Francis' when he stops, thinking again about what he's doing and he looks at Francis this way, close, looking over his skin, his cheeks and lips, into his eyes. His hand is tighter around Francis' wrist and he feels the scars under his fingers, feels the warmth of Francis there. He can smell Francis, cooked fish and pine and the faint smell of soap when he breathes in. He can see every shade of colour in those remarkable eyes. He stays leaning this way, and doesn't move back yet. He doesn't want to.
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“Does that mean you’ll listen to reason? Impossible.” He doesn’t think Rama even knows what lazy looks like, let alone how to let himself be lazy. He laughs softly, glad to see his eyes brimming with amusement - and perhaps something else - instead of that irritation at himself.
He can bridge that gap between them himself, but he would lose that indulgent look into his handsome face, the intensity of Rama’s stare on him, the indescribable feeling in his chest at the two of them existing this closely. But he wants, and he’s only a man, so he pulls himself up those last few inches to press their lips together, a contented little groan escaping at the contact.
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He feels Francis' lips against his for a moment more. Then he pulls back, only a little further away than he was before. His eyes flicker briefly down over Francis' chest, the wrapping over his ribs. He smiles, looking apologetic, regretful. "Francis..." The hand on Francis' shoulder drifts down, feather light over Francis' chest and then his ribs, stays there as if Raju could push this feeling into the injuries there and help, do something that actually feels like helping. As if he could push the pain out and fill Francis up with this instead only by willing it. He can't, but he leaves his hand there anyway. He sighs, apologetic smile faint and lingering.
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He eases back against the chair, glad to be pushed but not pushed away from him. He sighs quietly, nearly chasing his lips again as Rama pulls away. He stays put at the rueful little smile, understanding as Rama's eyes land on his chest.
"A kiss won't hurt," he says, voice still rough. Kiss him again, Rama. Kiss him again. He takes his hand off of the plank on his lap and covers his, holding him gently over his chest. None of this hurts as badly as not being kissed by him.
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Will it?
He feels the hand over his. He breathes. He leans forward again, free hand moving to support himself against the chair as he kisses Francis, slow and hungrily. But he realises he's pressing Francis back into the chair and his throat is tight, suddenly, and he pulls back, eyes wide and alarmed. He looks down over Francis and back up again, looking for any sign of pain. He sighs, looks away, and then looks into Francis' eyes again, regretful, lips parted like they weren't ready to stop yet. Won't it? he wants to ask, and doesn't want to, but needs to know it regardless.
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