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.
Raju’s leg jitters away from the sensation all on its own. His jaw is clenched against another gasp, but his sudden breath in through his nose is audible and sharp. The noise and the movement is a loss in their game, Raju so obviously unable to repair the crack in his composure, but admitting it would be a worse one.
His fingers curl tightly against his hands for a moment as he forces his leg straight again, closer to Francis’ hand as if nothing had happened. The muscle of his thigh tenses as he does it,, twitching as he tries to convince it to relax against the touch that he knows now is coming. Coming somewhere. Of course Francis is going to use this, and if he hasn’t made any part of this predictable yet he certainly isn’t going to start now.
It shouldn’t be getting to Raju at all, certainly not more than those earlier efforts of Francis’ mouth. He hasn’t been ticklish this way in so long he barely remembers it. But there’s no room to question it just now; what he needs to focus on keeping himself still so it doesn’t show. He’s better at that now than he was, so hiding the sensation now surely isn’t as difficult as it feels. He only has to get used to it.
Crozier knows when his focus is about to shift, and it does so immediately when Rama gives him another reaction to the light touch. Sucking his prick apparently won’t do it, but something as simple as tickling might bring him to finally cave.
He leaves more delicate and sensitive areas, at least for the moment, and lets his hand travel up towards the part of the thigh just below the crease between pelvis and leg. This has its charms too, the ability to appreciate him in these slow and careful ways, and he waits just a beat before finally running his fingers up and down the soft skin, touch barely ghosting over his thigh.
Raju feels Francis’ hand moving away from his cock and further up his thigh, the grip — at least in this instant — firm enough to avoid the bizarre problem that’s already so derailed the direction of Francis’ attentions. Up Raju’s thigh and then he feels Francis’ hand stop, and then—
Raju’s leg tries in a sudden twitching way to move out again, and again his hips squirm. His mouth is open, he realizes when a huffing breath stutters out of it. He presses his lips hard together in a doomed effort to press the smile out of the corners of his lips.
“Francis,” he says, warm and exasperated, and tries to focus more on his shoulders and arms, the burning feeling of holding them up more familiar, and miles easier to deal with.
“I didn’t realize you were so sensitive…” he hums, pleased that he’s seeing those cracks in the facade. It’s well worth it to hear his name spoken like that.
And there it is, that sweet little break in the act. He chuckles softly but doesn’t relent, because why would he? His hand pauses, waiting an impossibly long moment before he starts back up again, hoping to catch him by surprise. He’s going to be merciless.
The words are confirmation, as if Raju needed it, that his weakness has been noted and that this isn’t the last time that Raju is going to see it used against him.
Raju waits, and realizes Francis is waiting too, to keep Raju off balance. He finds himself biting at the inside of his lip.
“I’m not—“ he tries, but sudden sharp, gentle sensation over skin no one but Francis has touched in years interrupts, and stuttering gasps are what make it out before he closes his mouth tight over another smile. His head thunks back against the wood in his hurried look up at the ceiling, to try and hide the break in his composure at least here, if not in his squirming hips and twitching muscles.
God, he’s still fighting so hard. It’s impressive, and a little frustrating, but mostly it just pushes Crozier to keep going. He leans his handless arm against Rama’s leg, pinning him back against the door while he levels a full-out attack on his inner thighs, all light touches and caresses in the name of tickling the living daylights out of this man.
If he gets him to laugh, to really laugh, he’ll take those cuffs away and bring him off properly, in whatever method he chooses.
It starts as hitching movement in Raju’s chest that his clenched jaw and held breath behind it doesn’t allow to turn into real laughter. He rolls his lips between his teeth to pin them there. But the first gasp that sneaks in cracks the shell open and a laugh that’s more breath than noise is still laughter, even stifled behind lips pressed tightly together. So far as Raju is concerned, anyway, compared to what Raju is used to and what he’s trying for. Especially as those lips begin to curve despite all Raju’s attempts to stop them and impulsively Raju grasps at the excuse to take that as a loss if losing might mean relief from the glut of sensation underneath Francis’ fingertips.
“Stop!” he says, finally looking down at Francis. Laughter sneaks around the edges of the word whenever he opens his mouth, but it might as well, he’s as good as admitting defeat anyway. “Stopstopstop. Stop.”
He pants openmouthed, feeling his smile, aware of the still half-hard feeling of his cock, realising his arms are bent with linked hands pulling at the back of his head. He hadn’t thought about doing it, had needed to grab something and had needed something outside his focus itself keeping them there. At least they’re still above his head, and against the door. He doesn’t have to lose at everything.
At the third or fourth ‘stop’ Crozier pulls his hand away, the very pleased look on his face remaining on his face. As far as he’s concerned they both won the game, though if Rama needs it spelled out he’ll let him have it. He braces himself with his hand against the door and stands, mouth brushing against Rama’s cheek as he reaches for the hands above his head to bring them back down.
He can’t quite unlock the cuffs yet, but the idea is to provide as much relief as possible. Just letting his arms rest ought to do wonders for Ram.
“You did so well,” he says, pressing his mouth against his jaw again. He kisses along his smooth skin, lips tickled by his mustache as he finally brings their mouths together again for a hungry kiss.
When Francis' mouth first brushes against his cheek Raju chases it, but he's distracted an instant later by the movement of his arms. The pain of it shows in little grimaces and quiet grunts of effort as his muscles and joints are guided down and away from that now-familiar angle, and then Francis' mouth is against his jaw, and his head is moving back to give Francis room without Raju once thinking about it. Then their lips are together and Raju moans into it, leaning into Francis' weight, hands grasping at whatever they can reach from where they're cuffed together between their bodies.
The crotch, incidentally. That's the thing that he can reach. It's plenty close enough to the place his hands rest. Bending his arms takes more effort than it should just now with his muscles trying to insist on doing no more of anything at all, but if the gesture effects Francis even a little then it's worth the work.
Rama’s hands brush against the tightness in the front of his trousers and he gasps into his mouth. He hadn’t been expecting him to push back, which in hindsight is a very silly move considering this is Rama so of course he’s going to give as good as he got. He laughs slightly with his lips pressed to his chin, thrusting his pelvis into his hands in approval.
“Your arms must ache,” he murmurs, massaging each upper arm playfully. He starts to drift, moving down lower and lower, and then finally drops back down to Ram’s neglected cock. He doesn’t intend on tickling him again, but he also doesn’t immediately take him back into his hand.
Francis' response is a satisfying one, a gasp and a laugh — for some reason Raju hadn't been expecting the laugh — and he gives Francis another squeeze as Francis thrusts into his hands, but then Francis is moving downward again. Raju doesn't quite expect more tickling but Francis doesn't do anything else either, and for a moment Raju only watches him. He's doing it on purpose. Making Raju wait again. Raju tries to make a face, but it comes out smiling.
"Are you waiting for me?" he asks, innocently. "Maybe I should..." In front of him as they are now, after all, his arms are bound at the right level. Watching Francis' face, Raju reaches out to — well, to take matters into his own hands.
Crozier gives a playful little growl as Rama’s hands start pawing at him again. “You’ve been so patient all this time, what’s the hurry?” he teases, knowing full-well that their game is over and Rama is just Rama again. But all this touching gives him another idea, and he picks up Ram’s hands and guides them to the front of his trousers.
“Help me with these,” he smiles, leaning forward to kiss him again.
Raju's smile is quick and wicked, and stays wide and pleased over his face as Francis leans in to kiss him. As they kiss Raju's hands work, his fingers not tired and lazy in the way his arms are trying to be, and soon Francis' fly, simple with its single button and only a zipper underneath, is open and Raju's hands are making their way inside. His fingers brush Francis' length, a little greeting before he moves to push Francis' trousers down, one side of his waistband at a time.
"You know damn well what the hurry is," he mutters against Francis' face, grinning. "You're the one who's been teasing all this time."
He can’t very well argue with something that’s absolutely true, but he does grin right back against his lips as Rama attacks the front of his trousers. He shivers; that cool air suddenly on a very sensitive, very warm part of him hits sharply, making him very aware of how needy he’s actually feeling.
Well, he can fix this frustration for them both. He pushes his hips against Ram’s and takes them both into his calloused hand. “Is this better?” he breathes, letting them slide together, hot and firm in his palm.
“Mm. Much,” Raju says, feeling those calluses against one side and Francis’ length against the other, rough and soft skin both stirring what had been at half mast toward full hardness again.
“But you’ve kept my hands away from you for so long.” He leans forward, breaking up complaint and request with a nip at Francis’ jaw. It’s still a bit of a thrill to be able do that; it isn’t quite the same act, he’s realising, when a kiss there mostly gets you a mouthful of hair. “And taken yourself in hand already. What should I do to you now?”
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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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.
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“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.”
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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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His fingers curl tightly against his hands for a moment as he forces his leg straight again, closer to Francis’ hand as if nothing had happened. The muscle of his thigh tenses as he does it,, twitching as he tries to convince it to relax against the touch that he knows now is coming. Coming somewhere. Of course Francis is going to use this, and if he hasn’t made any part of this predictable yet he certainly isn’t going to start now.
It shouldn’t be getting to Raju at all, certainly not more than those earlier efforts of Francis’ mouth. He hasn’t been ticklish this way in so long he barely remembers it. But there’s no room to question it just now; what he needs to focus on keeping himself still so it doesn’t show. He’s better at that now than he was, so hiding the sensation now surely isn’t as difficult as it feels. He only has to get used to it.
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Crozier knows when his focus is about to shift, and it does so immediately when Rama gives him another reaction to the light touch. Sucking his prick apparently won’t do it, but something as simple as tickling might bring him to finally cave.
He leaves more delicate and sensitive areas, at least for the moment, and lets his hand travel up towards the part of the thigh just below the crease between pelvis and leg. This has its charms too, the ability to appreciate him in these slow and careful ways, and he waits just a beat before finally running his fingers up and down the soft skin, touch barely ghosting over his thigh.
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Raju’s leg tries in a sudden twitching way to move out again, and again his hips squirm. His mouth is open, he realizes when a huffing breath stutters out of it. He presses his lips hard together in a doomed effort to press the smile out of the corners of his lips.
“Francis,” he says, warm and exasperated, and tries to focus more on his shoulders and arms, the burning feeling of holding them up more familiar, and miles easier to deal with.
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“I didn’t realize you were so sensitive…” he hums, pleased that he’s seeing those cracks in the facade. It’s well worth it to hear his name spoken like that.
And there it is, that sweet little break in the act. He chuckles softly but doesn’t relent, because why would he? His hand pauses, waiting an impossibly long moment before he starts back up again, hoping to catch him by surprise. He’s going to be merciless.
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Raju waits, and realizes Francis is waiting too, to keep Raju off balance. He finds himself biting at the inside of his lip.
“I’m not—“ he tries, but sudden sharp, gentle sensation over skin no one but Francis has touched in years interrupts, and stuttering gasps are what make it out before he closes his mouth tight over another smile. His head thunks back against the wood in his hurried look up at the ceiling, to try and hide the break in his composure at least here, if not in his squirming hips and twitching muscles.
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God, he’s still fighting so hard. It’s impressive, and a little frustrating, but mostly it just pushes Crozier to keep going. He leans his handless arm against Rama’s leg, pinning him back against the door while he levels a full-out attack on his inner thighs, all light touches and caresses in the name of tickling the living daylights out of this man.
If he gets him to laugh, to really laugh, he’ll take those cuffs away and bring him off properly, in whatever method he chooses.
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“Stop!” he says, finally looking down at Francis. Laughter sneaks around the edges of the word whenever he opens his mouth, but it might as well, he’s as good as admitting defeat anyway. “Stopstopstop. Stop.”
He pants openmouthed, feeling his smile, aware of the still half-hard feeling of his cock, realising his arms are bent with linked hands pulling at the back of his head. He hadn’t thought about doing it, had needed to grab something and had needed something outside his focus itself keeping them there. At least they’re still above his head, and against the door. He doesn’t have to lose at everything.
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At the third or fourth ‘stop’ Crozier pulls his hand away, the very pleased look on his face remaining on his face. As far as he’s concerned they both won the game, though if Rama needs it spelled out he’ll let him have it. He braces himself with his hand against the door and stands, mouth brushing against Rama’s cheek as he reaches for the hands above his head to bring them back down.
He can’t quite unlock the cuffs yet, but the idea is to provide as much relief as possible. Just letting his arms rest ought to do wonders for Ram.
“You did so well,” he says, pressing his mouth against his jaw again. He kisses along his smooth skin, lips tickled by his mustache as he finally brings their mouths together again for a hungry kiss.
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The crotch, incidentally. That's the thing that he can reach. It's plenty close enough to the place his hands rest. Bending his arms takes more effort than it should just now with his muscles trying to insist on doing no more of anything at all, but if the gesture effects Francis even a little then it's worth the work.
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Rama’s hands brush against the tightness in the front of his trousers and he gasps into his mouth. He hadn’t been expecting him to push back, which in hindsight is a very silly move considering this is Rama so of course he’s going to give as good as he got. He laughs slightly with his lips pressed to his chin, thrusting his pelvis into his hands in approval.
“Your arms must ache,” he murmurs, massaging each upper arm playfully. He starts to drift, moving down lower and lower, and then finally drops back down to Ram’s neglected cock. He doesn’t intend on tickling him again, but he also doesn’t immediately take him back into his hand.
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"Are you waiting for me?" he asks, innocently. "Maybe I should..." In front of him as they are now, after all, his arms are bound at the right level. Watching Francis' face, Raju reaches out to — well, to take matters into his own hands.
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Crozier gives a playful little growl as Rama’s hands start pawing at him again. “You’ve been so patient all this time, what’s the hurry?” he teases, knowing full-well that their game is over and Rama is just Rama again. But all this touching gives him another idea, and he picks up Ram’s hands and guides them to the front of his trousers.
“Help me with these,” he smiles, leaning forward to kiss him again.
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"You know damn well what the hurry is," he mutters against Francis' face, grinning. "You're the one who's been teasing all this time."
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He can’t very well argue with something that’s absolutely true, but he does grin right back against his lips as Rama attacks the front of his trousers. He shivers; that cool air suddenly on a very sensitive, very warm part of him hits sharply, making him very aware of how needy he’s actually feeling.
Well, he can fix this frustration for them both. He pushes his hips against Ram’s and takes them both into his calloused hand. “Is this better?” he breathes, letting them slide together, hot and firm in his palm.
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“But you’ve kept my hands away from you for so long.” He leans forward, breaking up complaint and request with a nip at Francis’ jaw. It’s still a bit of a thrill to be able do that; it isn’t quite the same act, he’s realising, when a kiss there mostly gets you a mouthful of hair. “And taken yourself in hand already. What should I do to you now?”
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