goingtobeunwell

He’s good, but then again, he would have to be, wouldn’t he? Crozier smiles even wider, impressed but not relenting. It’s already too much fun.

“You are,” he declares, forefinger and thumb searching for the outline of his cock. “You’ve got a nice, fat prick between your legs.”

As though he hasn’t touched him before.

He keeps his hand exactly where it is, cupping between his legs and then pushes forward, forcefully walking Rama backwards until his back hits the door.

Francis' fingers search, and find, and the outline they trace begins to stir as soon as he feels that much-loved hand moving there. His breath in, feeling it, is a little deeper than normal, but very quiet. His nostrils flare a little.

Then Francis begins walking him back but once he gets close enough there's nothing to do with it but move, and so that at least hardly counts as a response. But he keeps his gaze carefully unfocused and carefully off Francis while he does it, so there's no doubt he isn't giving in, only responding.

"Sir," he says again, determinedly neutral. Of all the conversations he's had with any officer before there isn't exactly a script for this one.

“Sir,” he repeats with a touch of a snarl. He takes his hand off of him only to press it, palm outstretched flat, against the chest of his chest. He pushes hard, making sure Ram is nice and boxed in against the door, and then kisses him hard.

It’s less about catching Rama off guard and having him break, and more the overwhelming need to possess him and have him all for himself. This very beautiful man with self-control that would intimidate a Royal Marine is his and no one else’s, and he both wants the world to know and to keep him for himself like a precious secret. He kisses him with all that hunger, consuming him utterly with his hand still pressed against that blood red coat.

Francis kisses him hard and Raju's eyes snap closed. He finds himself kissing back, breathing hard through his nose and moving his lips against Francis', and one hand lifts, and then snaps down to his side again, clenching itself into a fist. The hand holding his helmet curls its fingers tightly around its edge. His chest heaves harder rhythmically against the force of Francis' hand with his breathing, and won't stop even after the kiss is done, while Raju's staring straight ahead again with the muscles of his jaw tight.

He’d hoped Rama would kiss him back, but as he ends the kiss with a sharp bite to his lower lip he sees those stiff limbs and that disciplined stare. It’s hard not to be impressed by that level of determination, but he can work with it.

Crozier laughs quietly and takes the helmet out from under from Rama’s arm, setting it onto the nearby hook by the door. “You won’t be needing that,” he tells him. “Arms up over your head, and bring those hands together. Now.”

He does look to Francis' eyes then, studying him again, thoughtful and confused and frowning. It'd taken his hand an instant to make itself relax its grip when Francis had started taking his helmet and that — or something like it, for some more likely reason — might have been a disaster at home, seeming to refuse a ranking officer anything, even by pure reaction, even for a fraction of a second. But that, and the order, and the threat in the order, sits starkly against everything he feels whenever he thinks of Francis, or looks at him, like bright sun rising in him behind deep shadow. And all that sits oddly next to being told something like this without it being a fight, trusting the other man to make this something good, because that man is Francis.

Easier to stop thinking about how any of it feels, and only do. Only follow Francis' orders, and nevermind the what or why.

Raju's gaze fixes itself back to the wall in the distance ahead of him, holding his wrists next to one another and raising his arms, his knuckles hitting the door above his head. "The handcuffs on my belt are new, sir," he says, tone very neutral, apropos of nothing. Certainly not because a navy captain who hardly used his weapon might not know the things were there, heavy in the pouch at his waist and ready to be used. "I haven't had time to prepare them for inspection."

He’d been planning on pinning his wrists above his head with his hand, but cuffs are so much more efficient, and it’s a ringing endorsement from Rama himself to proceed. He looks through the bag at his waist and finds the handcuffs, as shiny and pristine as the buttons on his coat or medals pinned to his chest, and ‘inspects’ them closely to understand the locking mechanism. They’re different than what he’s used to, more intricate but clearly easier to operate.

“A practical inspection then,” he nods, snapping them around both wrists easily. “Keep your hands up. If they drop…”

He has to think of a threat, but when one doesn’t come to mind he settles for a stern Look. His hand goes to Rama’s trousers again, this time the buttons and then his drawers, stepping close to him as he pushes both pieces down his hips. He growls low in his throat and kisses along that bare jaw.

Keep his arms up. An order, and a challenge. It's a relief, the one certain goal in the middle of everything else. He keeps them up when the chill air hits his thighs, and when Francis' lips start moving over his jaw. The metal is cold over his skin and heavy on his arms, and presses into his wrists where they press against the door. It's a bit of a surprise, that something like this would be the first time he feels them put around his wrists, instead of putting them around someone else's. It doesn't feel the way he'd thought it would. But of course it doesn't, considering.

His heart is beating harder — as much, he realises, from ruining the uniform leaving the trousers on the floor as from Francis' lips. After a moment, he turns his head; he didn't get an order to but it gives Francis more room, and he likes feeling his teeth there.

Ram willingly presenting his neck is something Crozier won’t pass up. His lips move along that strong jawline and up to the spot just under Rama’s ear, where he sucks and bites as his hand finds Ram’s prick underneath his jacket. His fingers wrap around him and begin to stroke along his length from base to tip; he wants him hard and aching, there’ll be no mercy.

Wrists cuffed, neck assaulted by teeth and tongue, cock being stroked by fingers that have been quick to learn him, Crozier knows he’s performing an all-out attack on Rama’s resolve. But it’s a game, and he knows he can take it. He’d say otherwise.

Raju doesn't quite keep his breathing steady. Quite becomes more of a generous description as the moments go on: his arms grow heavier, Francis' mouth is warm, and his blood is rapidly rushing south. The lowered trousers trap him just as surely as the handcuffs do, making it impossible for him to move away gracefully if he'd wanted to, and keeping his arms this way means he can't touch Francis back.

He presses his arms a little harder back against the door, watching the ceiling with his head tipped to the side, feeling everything.

As he sucks a deep, purple spot into Ram’s skin he starts to think about other things he might want to touch with his mouth. He’s almost certain he can get Rama to groan if he goes a certain route, even if he hasn’t exactly done anything like it before. He’s a clever man though, not above trying something new and facing potential embarrassment. He can probably figure it out as he goes.

With that willingness to endeavor he places one more bite to his neck and then lets himself drop down to his knees in front of Rama. He has to pluck open a few of the golden buttons on Ram’s glorious coat for easier access, pushing and then tucking aside the half draped under the impossibly big belt so that it doesn’t look like he’s ducking underneath a skirt. He wants to see Rama while he’s doing this - and Rama to see him.

He’s eye-level with Ram’s prick now, and he takes him back into his hand with a soft smile, appreciative and fond despite the game. “Much more impressive from this angle,” he remarks casually.

Francis moves, and Raju frowns. Raju risks a glance down and his eyes widen, and he stares. Francis compliments him casually as if this were any other day, smiling, and Raju opens his mouth to say—

"...Sir," he manages, voice betraying only a little bit of surprise, a little bit of tension, and he looks forward again, bracing the back of his head against the door for a sensation to focus on. There's no room, here, for are you sure. In Francis' play at giving orders he wouldn't have knelt there in the first place if he wasn't, anyway, so Raju supposes that he must be.

Raju remembers it, suddenly: his feet hurting in a way they never had before, Francis kneeling in front of him to tend to them. To his shoes. He'd thought of this then, hadn't he? Has Francis thought of something like this too, before now? And how many times has he actually done it? What was it he'd said, when Raju had asked about his lovers an eternity ago?

There's nothing he's able to ask, within the outlines of their game, so there's nothing worth wondering about. The only question he needs to concern himself with is how to keep himself still.

There’s just a hint of uncertainty in Rama’s voice; he’s caught him off guard and it’s like music to Crozier’s ears. He slides his fingers down and then through the wiry hair between his legs, marveling to himself at how delicate the curls actually are but how masculine and alluring the whole picture is before him. It’s something he didn’t know about himself, how much he’d be attracted to the coarse hair at the bed of a hardened prick. But it Ram, he reminds himself, it’s all Ram. He might love everything there is to find about him, simply by virtue of being him.

“Captain,” he reminds him, happy to be contrary for the sake of the game. Appreciation still ongoing, he takes him back into his hand and finally leans his head forward to touches his mouth to velvety, sensitive skin. He groans very softly; it’s new, it’s so new, and the taste is heady and slightly salty and intimate and Ram, and he can’t imagine there’s anyone besides his fiancé would have even dreamed of having it on their tongues.

By the time he takes him properly into his mouth his stomach is twisted up by possessive and greedy thoughts of him. He’s asking a lot of him, keeping his arms up and body still; he doesn’t want him in pain, but he thoroughly enjoys the idea of getting him out of his own head.

Francis' mouth touches him and Raju takes a sharp breath, but keeps it mostly quiet. It seems impossible somehow that Francis would do this, that Raju would feel warm wetness around himself and know it's the inside of Francis that he's feeling, Francis who he's inside that way. It's the last thing Raju had expected at all, let alone now.

Then Francis' mouth slips over Raju's cock and Raju finds himself holding his breath, jaw clenched. His hands, still above, him, clench into fists. He's going to have to take a breath in a moment; he'll wait until he knows he'll be able to make it a quiet one.

The learning curve is steep, almost straight up into the air, but Crozier is less concerned than doing this perfectly the first time around than he is just making sure Rama doesn't hate it. He doesn't seem to be in distress, at least from what Crozier can ascertain from this angle, and he pulls his mouth off with a soft noise to kiss and suck along his length again.

This is not how this usually goes, he knows from limited experience that there's generally a lot more contact than he's making, but Ram must realize he's figuring this out as he goes along. Hopefully he'll give him a little grace as he explores - not that he's given him much of an option otherwise.

Crozier shifts his weight from knee to knee, hand finding purchase on Rama's hip as he tries again. Maybe he's too old to be doing this, inexperience making him look silly, but he doesn't feel foolish as he watches the way Rama's breath seems to hitch in his chest.

Francis gives him brief, teasing little touches, almost more distracting than taking all of him into his mouth would have been. Raju thinks, anyway. Like everything with Seetha it feels like a lifetime ago, and even then taking him inside her mouth all at once had been the smallest part of all they'd done. Then he feels Francis' lips again against sensitive skin and any urge to compare, not so strong in the first place, collapses, and what he's thinking about are the sensations. Francis' lips, and the growing ache in his arms, and the growing ache in his cock. Francis has beautiful lips but Raju can only feel them, in this play at rank and orders should at least try to keep looking ahead. He has to imagine instead, what they must look like pursed against him.

At least Francis focusing so much lower gives Raju room to loosen his grip on his expression. He blinks more, allows himself to look... surprised, maybe. Maybe surprise is what's over his face now. Raju allows himself to breathe in brief, intermittent breaths between the moments when Francis is touching him, feeling his cock hardening as everything he's feeling now keeps pushing out the things he'd been feeling then, when he'd walked inside feeling so unsettled and strange. There's less and less room for that now with Francis' piecemeal attention, the tension it sharpens inside him.

Edited (had second thoughts about what i'd established about raju and seetha's sex life) 2024-08-06 13:46 (UTC)

His eyes flick up briefly towards Ram’s face, looking for discomfort but finding wide eyes and raised brows instead. He inhales a sharp laugh through his nose and takes him into his mouth again, concentrating this time on what it feels like to have the heft of Ram on his tongue and the scent of him filling his head.

It’s dizzying, bordering on being just a little too much but not overwhelming enough to stop. He doesn’t want to stop, he wants to experience this, wants to learn this side, and all aspects, of pleasing the man he loves. If he takes his need to overthink things and nitpick at himself away from the equation he can just enjoy it, the way he tastes and feels and the sound of his breaths beginning to stutter in his chest.

Crozier caresses his hip fondly as he begins to suck, thinking back on all the things that used to drive him absolutely mad. He laps at him with his tongue attempts to move his head so that the sensitive head brushes across his lips as it moves in and out of his mouth. He tries one thing for a while, then another, eager now just to see what will earn a response from the man in the officer’s uniform above him.

Raju's body twitches when Francis touches his hip, so focused is he on the sensation from only the one area, but he hardly has time to focus on his hip before Francis is back at it, switching techniques so that Raju can't get too used to any one thing. His tongue, his lips, make it impossible to ignore the pleasure and, oddly, the pain too; the growing ache in his arms and shoulders is harder to ignore somehow while he's feeling so much from Francis' industrious efforts down below. At the same time, that ache makes it that much harder for the pleasure to reach the zenith that he needs it to; each makes it that much more difficult to endure the other.

After a time he finds himself starting to squirm, moving his hips to try and— he isn't sure. He stops them before he can get out of the movement whatever it is he's looking for, stops the shifting of his shoulders and its clinking of the handcuffs against the wood, aware how hard he's breathing only after renewed efforts to hold himself still. He hears his own harsh breaths and presses his head back against the door, keeps his body still again and his gaze straight ahead.

Rama’s determination is admirable, it always has been, and Crozier is beginning to realize he needs to throw or change the game, or else he’ll be on his knees all night. Very desirable in theory, being on his knees with Rama’s cock halfway down his throat, but absolutely a fantasy better suited to men who aren’t middle aged or named Francis Crozier.

He pulls his head back again, calloused pads of his fingers slowly tracing down the hard line of Rama’s iliac crest and through that tuft of coarse hair. “If you want to hold my head I’d let you,” he all but purrs. “All you need to do is look at me and smile.”

Raju's fingers twitch, feeling Francis' hands on him. Raju's eyebrows furrow. He very carefully doesn't look down. He breathes through his open mouth, thinking.

He and Francis haven't played any games like this before, so he doesn't know what Francis might do. But the man Francis is pretending to be, so far as any of this could parallel anything Raju knows at all, would he be offering something like that in earnest?

It must be a trick. There's a catch. Something he's too unfocused with the lust stirred by Francis' warm, soft mouth to realise. But of course if there is, he won't be allowed to ask outright.

"...Sir?" he manages after a moment, then hurriedly corrects himself. "Captain?"

Of course he wants to look at Francis, of course he wants to smile. But the officer wouldn't. Maybe that's the trick. It's hard to think, just now, exactly what it is that he's supposed to do.

Oh, he doesn’t want to lose. Of course he doesn’t want to lose, so very typical of him. Crozier laughs softly and takes him back into his hand, still watching Rama’s face as he fights to keep his composure. “Look at me, Rama,” he says, voice low and silky. He’s speaking as Francis, not as an officer. “Look at me.”

He strokes him slowly, thumb circling the head of his cock with a luxuriously little swipe. “Smile at me and you can lower your arms.”

Raju hesitates. But Francis repeats himself, look at me, and Raju risks it. His jaw tightens, breath heavy and irregular as he works to keep his expression neutral. Seeing Francis’ fingers moving is more of a shock than he’d expected it to be, and he tries to focus past the way the electric sensation matches up with the sight of them well enough to think.

Smile. He’d sounded like Francis when he’d said it, not much like an officer or a captain, and his laugh had sounded soft and kind. Raju’s shoulders ache, and a man who loves Raju wants Raju to smile at him.

Smiling on purpose. It isn’t happening just by thinking about it. Maybe he’s too used to looking at Francis and feeling it happen on its own, or maybe it’s the uniform and the uniform’s leftover habits. In any case, Raju’s two brief twitching attempts at it feel as odd and unnatural as they must look and he stops quickly, eyebrows pulling into a frown. His mouth opens, then closes again. His lips twist into something wry and amused, which he’s sure doesn’t count in the way that a real smile would.

“And if I don’t?” he murmurs as if it’s a challenge, one he’d fully intended to issue in the first place. Don’t, can’t— well, he might as well have.

And if he doesn’t. Crozier laughs again, annoyed but endeared horribly by him. Of course he’s not going to take the out offered to him; he wouldn’t be Rama otherwise!

“If you don’t I’ll leave you with those cuffed wrists,” he threatens, “or maybe I won’t let you spend. That would be a fitting challenge.” He shakes his head and brushes his fingertips over the inside of his thighs, not meaning anything by it but a light touch.

Not finishing after everything Francis has done for and to him here would be endurable. If that’s the best threat that Francis has, he should know that.

“Whatever y—“ The word is cut off by a gasp, a real gasp, that’s come out of Raju’s mouth all on its own. His thighs joined the rebellion of his body too, spreading wider to avoid the sudden sensation of… whatever that had been, and his hips had squirmed, trying to find some escape that isn’t there. His upper body had begun to curl forward, and the handcuffs hit the wood above him again as he straightens with a too loud thunk. It’d happened too quickly for Raju to put a stop to it.

He raises his chin, looking ahead of himself again. He finds himself clearing his throat once, quietly.

“Whatever you like,” he tells the wall, neutrally. “Captain.”

At first he thinks that Rama's mid-sneeze, his body leaning forward like it's being propelled forward, but then he sees the wriggle in his hips and hears the hard ka-thunk of the metal cuffs hitting the door. He looks up at him and guesses what happened, but of course he has to be certain, and the only way to be certain about anything is through rigorous data collection.

"Whatever I like," he hums quietly in response.

He's a little impressed that Rama's decided to act like nothing's happened. That same sort of monotone reply only fuels his desire of making it happen again, but this time he tries with the other thigh, caressing his sensitive skin with a light touch of his fingertips.

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