goingtobeunwell

That is certainly a problem, but fortunately he has a perfectly fine substitution.

“A scratch of your fingernails,” he decides, hand moving back to rest upon his thigh. “No, a slow raking of your fingernails, gentle at first, then hard. That’s how I’d sink my teeth into you.”

He smiles wickedly.

Raju's smile spreads a moment after Francis' does, fixed and happy and fascinated. He positions his hand obediently, doing the best he can with his short, neat nails, fingertips gentle at first and then digging in. He lets out a hard breath at the sensation, fingertips in place of Francis' teeth just there. Impossible to do it here and now, looking at him, without imagining Francis' mouth.

"Like that?" Raju grins up at him, satisfied and panting a little.

“Like that,” he smiles, his own nails digging into his leg betraying his cool exterior.

“After I’d bitten and kissed there,” he starts, breath hitching in his throat. It’s amazing what a naturally guilty Irish man will say in the throes of desire. “I’d bury my mouth and nose in those short curls of yours and inhale until I was drunk off the scent of you.”

Raju pushes out a long breath, a pleased noise. He imagines Francis' body taking up the space between Raju's legs and spreads his knees a little, imagines the feeling of a nose against his skin just there, the heat of Francis' breath. He takes a moment to keep imagining it.

"Can't very well do that myself," he murmurs. It's more a comment than a complaint, and he isn't done. "And while you're down there? Would you let me take your hair in my hand? I don't pull."

They'll have to both just imagine these things, Crozier with his head between Rama's legs, Rama with his hand on Crozier's head. "I would," he answers, "but I can't imagine you not pulling."

Rama looks like he'd tug in between caresses. He doesn't hate the thought, Rama's hand guiding him with a pull here or there, Rama yanking hard when he's done something to please him. It's certainly new, not something he would have ever asked for.

"What should I do next? Are you an impatient lover?"

"I don't have to be," he says and then ducks his head over a laugh, smiling at Francis. "Sometimes," he corrects himself. "But I want to see what you'll do. You want to explore, don't you? Smell me? Feel everything?"

On 'everything' Raju reaches behind his cock to run a hand over his balls, very carefully in deference to how sensitive he is now, how magnified each touch feels with Francis' eyes moving over him that way. "Taste everything? What do you want?"

“Touch and taste, yes,” he says hoarsely, feeling himself throb in response. His imagination starts to run wild - he wants it all, and suddenly what ‘all’ is expands to include parts of his own anatomy. If he’s going to love a man he’s going to love him, all of him.

He bites his own lip as he finally allows himself to brush his own cock with his fingers. What noises would Rama make if he touched and kissed him on that sensitive place just below his balls, would he clench his jaw or ball his hands into fists, would he praise him or curse him in surprise? What if he cupped his stones while he used his mouth on him, how would he react if his moved his attention lower and even lower still?

“Right now,” he says, brow furrowed as he openly admires Rama, “I want to put my mouth on all of you. Not just your prick, though…god help me, I’d try to swallow every bit of you if I could, so that nothing would go to waste.” His head lolls back slightly, hips jerking. “I think I’d touch that spot underneath your stones, and massaged until you whined.”

The force inside him tightens as Francis bites his lip, as Francis' head lolls back and his hips jerk. It's a privilege to see him this way, naked, slowly losing himself to the pleasure of what they're creating together. The hand Raju has over his balls moves a little at a time, down to the spot Francis suggested. He takes in a sharp, quiet breath at the sensation they find there and then another deeper as his fingers press harder, relax and press harder again. His head tips back a little, eyes half-lidded, and he's panting again.

"Like this?" he breathes. "Would you touch yourself as you did it? Both of us at once?"

Exactly like that, except it would be his doing, all his doing. He grunts softly, imagining it was Rama’s hand on him as he reaches down to grasp himself at the base. “Maybe if I was using my mouth on you,” he laughs, “and had my hand free. If you looked that way I would have to. Christ, Rama, you’re so beautiful.”

He squeezes himself, his fingers working slowly back up his own length. “Together. I’d like the feeling of the both of us in my hand.”

You're so beautiful, Francis says and touches himself, fingers moving slowly, and Raju mirrors the motion with his free hand, his other pressing at the spot Francis wanted to touch and he shudders, an instant's surprised noise making it out of him and he laughs breathlessly, gaze fixed on Francis. "Together," he says, going on between harsh breaths. "I'd like that. I want to be touching you. My hand around yours."

He must have been correct in his assessment of that particular spot. How he wishes he could touch it for himself - he wants to be the one to draw those desperate breaths from him.

Together. He thinks about Rama’s hand on him that night and tries to imitate his touch, that slow exploration and the way his fingers circled the swollen head of his cock. He feels his stomach muscles tense and laughs quietly; just thinking about him, just remembering would be enough, and now he has this remarkable sight in front of him. He’s not strong enough to resist.

“I’d kiss you then, swallow up all those gasps of yours.”

Raju nods, loose and hurriedly. "I want that. I want to feel you in my mouth." Francis' hand is moving slowly and so Raju's hand is too and it's awful, awful in a way that winds everything waiting in him up more tightly, more powerful for it. A smile trembles at the edges of his parted lips as he watches Francis and moves their hands in time. "I want to be kissing you while we come."

He wants to be kissing him now.

“Yes,” he agrees, voice starting to sound as wrecked as he feels. “Yes.”

He sees Rama mirroring his movements, and with a breathless laugh he starts to move his hand just a little faster, just a little more deliberately. He circles the leaking head of his cock with his thumb, hips jerking again, desperation building.

“Come with me now, Rama,” he says, caught between a plea and an order.

Raju's hand moves faster with Francis' as Francis laughs and Raju is gasping now, mouth open. Francis' order, his plea, calling Raju by the name he always calls him now sees Raju shuddering and his other hand presses at that spot behind his balls in the way Francis had wanted, hard, fingertips pulling in just the right way and so he comes, both hands tightening, realising he's ducking his head and looking up again, wanting to catch Francis' eyes, see his face through it.

Crozier doesn’t know at what point he started closing his eyes; he has to force himself to open them again, wanting to keep watching Rama, needing to see his whole body shudder as he spends himself. After all the first time they’d touched each other he’d been distracted, too busy with other racing thoughts and chasing his own pleasure to really take in how gorgeous Ram is in the moment.

And god, but he is. He’s exceptionally gorgeous, his hair falling in his face and eyes burning as they look at him. Crozier doesn’t have to move his hand any quicker, it’s the sight that does it for him, the way that Rama comes because of him. He comes with a very quiet gasp, brows knitting and his head falling back as he pushes into his own hand.

His breathing is heavy and desperate in the moments directly after, but healthy. Not struggling or pained.

Raju notices it too, the breathing. It plays into the picture he makes: Head back and neck exposed, legs spread, hand still around himself and chest moving — moving easily for all the bruises, breath desperate with pleasure and with nothing else. Francis is healing, and he's well. He's happy. Raju's gaze is fixed on him even as Francis' head falls back and Raju's own panting begins to slow. His hands start to slide away from himself.

He's hot, he realises. Strange to feel that way in this place, and he's sure that it won't last, but he feels hot. Flushed, maybe, and he wants all these clothes shed so Francis can look on it, can look on on all of him as he's been allowed to look on all of Francis now. In these moments after he feels like he could do it, cold or not. Maybe it's for the best he'll have to wait, that they're already done. He'll decide again on a warm day.

Francis is beautiful. Raju wants to touch him, still; maybe he's always going to. Now that the temptation to perform something more athletic is done, maybe he can. "Could you stay still?" he asks, still a little breathless. "If I kissed you? Right now?"

Could he stay still? What a question! He came so hard he doesn’t think he has any bones left, but then Rama follows it up with the prospect of kissing and he growls low in his throat.

“Yes.” He takes his hand off of himself, placing it back over his thigh, looking down at him with his head still leaning back against the chair. “Yes.”

He could stay still for a kiss.

Raju's smile breaks over his face and he stands, finding his balance as he pulls his drawers and trousers up, tucks himself in, lets them stay unzipped with the ends of his shirts bunched up behind him as he makes his way over. His legs are weak, still; once he's close enough he lets himself stumble so he can catch himself on Francis' chair with a grin, one hand on each armrest. It's tantalizing being this close to all that bared skin even now, and since Francis is watching him Raju lets himself look, eyes moving over Francis slowly. Then he smiles into Francis' eyes, lowering himself just enough to press their lips together.

His head swims as Rama approaches, soft and rumpled and looking as delicious as he had just moments prior when he still had a hand on himself. His body couldn’t possibly respond a second time - maybe if allowed to rest in between, but he’s a realistic man - but he could see how that alone would be enough for him.

But he stays still, as he said he would, the only movement being his head as he gently tips it forward to press back against Rama’s very soft and kissable lips.

Raju takes his time, smiling against Francis' lips, letting the kiss go on until he's nearly satisfied — as close as he's going to get before they're able to lay together afterward, until Francis is healed enough that Raju wouldn't worry about one or both of them moving too much in their sleep. Then he pulls back and smiles at Francis for a moment from here, the distance the he likes most, where he can see very clearly the colour of those eyes.

Then he sinks down onto one armrest, not sure if he should keep his distance any more, but wanting to be close. And he can lean against the chair himself this way, if only a little. That's probably for the best, with how relaxed he feels.

"I think I could fall asleep," he murmurs. "We weren't doing anything important before, were we?"

Falling asleep in Rama's arms sounds wonderful. He can't have it now, so he'll have to add it to the very long list of things that he Wants when he's fully healed, but he can dream about it. Imagine what it might be like to have Rama and then fall asleep in his arms.

"You were reading," he says, leaning forward with a grunt. "And I was bathing. Which I need to do again now."

He huff out a soft laugh. "Had I known that's all you needed to exhaust yourself...well."

"Mm." Raju's gaze sharpens a little as Francis starts making moves to stand, pushing enough of his lethargy aside to watch and see whether he can do it without pain. He might be feeling a little better than he was, and they might not have touched at all until afterward, but last time...

Well, he'll see. It's hard to focus on worrying just now with Francis laughing softly and joking with him. "Have you been wanting to exhaust me?" he grins, eyes still tired and half lidded. "Once you're well I could suggest some more techniques."

“Maybe I have.” He turns his head slightly and puts his hand on Rama’s thigh, laughing again to himself. It’s a runaway locomotive now, this thing between them, barreling off with no easy way of stopping. “I look forward to hearing your ideas. In the meantime I’ll just imagine them for myself, mn?”

Best if Rama doesn’t try to list out all little notions, so he can focus on getting himself out of the chair. He’s starting to chill now, and the evidence of their exertions beginning to grow uncomfortable. His hand lowers to the arm, knuckles turning white from clutching it hard as he starts to rise.

He’s still moving slowly, but he does so without a wince or grimace. The thoughtful planning of each movement has served him well so far, and once he’s standing on his feet there doesn’t seem to be anything pulled or knocked out of place. He stretches slightly, then picks up the flannel to unceremoniously wash himself again in the cold water of the basin.

Raju watches him, appreciative even without Francis making it a show, watchful of any of the signs of pain he's become too familiar with. But Raju, at least, can leave and do other things when he needs to escape the reminder of what'd almost happened. Francis can't.

Time passes, and Francis continues to handle the whole thing fairly well, considering. Maybe because things do change, even if too slowly - The bruises change colour and continue to fade. Francis moves a little more quickly, a little more easily. Raju finds himself imagining what Francis looks like under his clothes, and remembers the way he'd disregarded those kinds of thoughts before without so much as a decision about what they were, and doesn't know what that says about him, or whether he needs to do something about it.

But Francis is here, and Raju knows now how he feels about the man and what he wants with him, more or less. Not all of it has to do with sex.

Francis' hair gleams in the sunlight coming from the window. The sight of it is beautiful, in the way it's always beautiful, and picks out every individual uneven strand in a bright halo of light. It's been growing untamed long enough that the texture is starting to change, frizzy and dry in a way that might suit other men perfectly well but the man who in all other ways Raju looks at with desire stirring inside him...

"You said I could trim your beard a couple weeks ago," Raju says after a minute or two of steady staring, from his place leaning against the wall. "Do you remember? Do you still mean it?"

Crozier’s been deep in thought, mostly pondering the finer points of possibly constructing a fish weir in the thawing river. If successful they wouldn’t have to worry about food - if successful no one in Milton would have to worry about food. He’s still troubled by the thought of putting effort into a community that would turn against them as quickly as they had during the town hall, but if he was being honest with himself, not helping at all doesn’t sit right with his conscience.

He’s so wrapped up in his own head that he doesn’t realize Rama is in the same room as him. He lifts his head when he speaks, smiling softly as he lays eyes on him. Rama stares quite frequently; he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it, that softness behind his eyes that he’s helping to create.

He laughs quietly and brings his hand to his beard, patting down some of the wayward hairs. “Is it that bad?” It probably is. “I meant it, yes. I still do.”

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