goingtobeunwell

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.

It won’t. It won’t. He says it like a prayer in his own head, Rama’s lips finally on his, giving him what he wants so terribly, his breath in his mouth filling him up slowly. He runs his tongue over his briefly, just barely stopping a groan, which morphs into one of slight disappointment as Rama ends the kiss.

He pulls back and looks frightened, and Crozier just wants to cry in frustration. He shakes his head; he’s fine, he’s perfectly fine, Rama couldn’t possibly have hurt him. He tips his head back and silently asks, pleads with a single look, brow knit in confusion and lips very much not being kissed.

A kiss won’t hurt. He doesn’t hurt. He’s fine. He can’t deny him a kiss, not now, not when he’d waited so long and so patiently just to have him.

Raju looks at him, the knit brow, the pleading look on his face. Raju's chest heaves with his breath. He leans in for a kiss, more careful than the last, then pulls away, and his next kiss is shorter, and the one after shorter than that. When he pulls back a third time Francis' face is still close, and dear, and his body is healing and delicate, and regret steals over the devotion on Raju's face.

"I... I won't... let you down. You don't have to look at me that way." The way he'd looked when Raju had stopped kissing him. Like it will hurt if Raju doesn't. His hand moves to the side of Francis' face, fingers curling as if resisting the urge to grip, and brushing instead against Francis' skin. "But I can't— I won't... hurt you. You're hurting enough already because of something I..."

But it's true, isn't it? The fact that it's hard to say doesn't change that. He has to push the rest of the sentence through, and his throat half-strangles it on the way out. "...something I did. You need to heal."

“Something I wanted,” he argues, voice catching. Something he wanted that had hurt him, and then hurt Rama by proxy. Whatever argument he wanted to deliver dies quickly; Ram felt awful, and no amount of logic would change that.

He exhales softly and looks down at the cooling plate and cup on his lap. He’d beaten himself up about this too - he needs to be able to care for him. It’s easy for Crozier to forget that Rama watched him nearly die.

“You won’t let me down,” he agrees, adamant. Rama could never. “If…we need to refrain entirely…”

Not just from lying together, but all else - it’s agony just to even think about it.

"I think..." Raju's breath is warm over his lips. His gaze is hot over Francis' body. "I want all of you," he says, quiet and hungry. "If I do anything I'll do everything. It'll be hard, I know, but..."

His thumb moves over Francis' lips. It moves slowly, exploring, as if the other times he's mapped the territory there can't be trusted and he needs to learn all of it again. "It'll get easier. You'll see. You're too important to take the risk. Your health is too important. And I couldn't—"

Raju's gaze fixes on his thumb, away from Francis' eyes. His lips thin, and he takes a harsh breath in through his nose. He shakes his head, looks away for a moment, and meets Francis' gaze again once his own can be confident, steadier. "We'll grow used to it. It'll be alright."

He wants Rama to devour him - judging by that look in his eyes, all fire and yearning, he wants to. He’s barely holding himself back.

Crozier’s a grown man, a sailor, in fact; he knows how to live a life of denial and celibacy, but he’s never had someone look at him like that. He’s never had someone want him to the point of not being able to control themselves - he’s never met a man like that, bubbling passion and need. To not even be able to kiss him is like a punishment for a crime he didn’t commit.

He can’t answer verbally yet, but he locks eyes with his and nods in resignation. He won’t grow used to it, and he’ll hate every moment he can’t have him, but he’ll wait. He’ll live like a monk again if he must. He kisses the pad of Rama’s thumb softly and pulls his head back.

Raju watches, gaze fixed as Francis pulls his head back, knowing that he can't follow. His hand lowers itself slowly, as if it doesn't know where to go. He needs to pull back too, sit up straight, maybe lean back. He tries, and it doesn't happen. Or maybe he isn't trying very hard.

His hand settles tentatively near the edges of Francis' beard, longer than it was, and as untrimmed as ever. He rubs the very tips of it between fingers which still need to be feeling something. "Your beard is terrible now, you know," he murmurs, voice low and, in the moments before he manages to wrestle it into something approaching casual, very rough. "You look more like a hermit than ever."

Easier to keep touching and easier too, maybe, to focus on that. Not that he's ever minded the beard, but anything which doesn't make Raju need to kiss him when he looks at it is a relief.

It looks terrible because they were horribly distracted the night before. He was lucky to have gotten his hair finished by the end of things! He sighs quietly, just managing to stop himself from turning his head into Rama’s hand. He’s still so close. He can just push forward and demand another kiss -

“You’ll have to wait a while longer to trim it,” he says with a smile. “When the soreness goes away some.”

He can’t stand having Rama this close and not able to have anything more than this. He picks up his cup of tea and drinks a little more of it, trying not to seem so bothered.

Raju wants to stay this close. He wants to keep leaning in this way to watch Francis eating the meal that Raju made. Such as it is. It's a sorry, simple thing as meals go, but it's keeping him alive. Helping him heal. He wants to move his hand from the edges of Francis' beard deep into it, and touch his jaw underneath and feel the shape of him.

Francis seems to be focusing only on his tea. He's doing it for a reason. Raju leans backward in small and stilted increments, his gaze at least able to stay exactly where it is.

"And until then?" His thumb rubs over the hair at Francis' chin one more time, slowly, before it sinks down to the armrest, gripping it. "I'll just have to look at it?"

"You'll just have to look at it," he repeats, setting his cup down as he chuckles. It hurts, goddamn it all, but at least he doesn't need to hide the grimace on his face. "You'll be just fine."

He picks at the fish again with his hand, not wanting it to go stone cold. Rama made the effort to cook it for him, even if his appetite isn't there he's still going to eat. He's never going to be one to waste food or someone's work.

And it takes his mind off of wanting Rama to kiss and hold him, knowing he won't even gt that much until he's completely healed. This is going to be hell.

Time passes, and Raju doesn't quite get used to it. Not that there isn't still time to, but he'd expected it to be easier. He hadn't wanted anything at all for years and even before that, after he'd started the work but before moving it to Delhi, sometimes he'd come home and... well.

It isn't easier now, in any case. But Francis does, eventually, seem less sore. In less pain. It's easier for him to stand, and to move. The relief of it is powerful, but the urge to touch, the thing inside him that's still convinced that he could help if only he could put his hands just there keeps rearing its head, which doesn't do a thing to help the rest of it. The need. There's as much relief in leaving to forage or hunt, now, as there is tension in needing to finish it quickly and come back to keep an eye on things.

There's no reason to leave right now. They have plenty of food.

"You aren't cold?" he asks, not looking up from the book on one half of his lap or the notebook on the other. He doesn't need to to know what Francis is doing, and what exactly that looks like. "You're sure?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject