Open RP

[goingtobeunwell]

[Open post for RP - games, one-off threads, etc.]

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[goingtobeunwell]

“You do so many things that I like,” Crozier argues quietly, craning his neck ever-so-slightly. He wants to be kissed. He’s aching to be kissed by him, a sharper ache than anything in his chest. He refrains, because he must. Rama touches his neck and that should be enough. “You found me this little board, for instance. You make me tea before I even ask. You wash my hair. You wrap me up in furs when I’m cold.”

There are a thousand other things Rama does for him, and it just seems like such a shame he’s choosing to focus on cooking, of all things. He loves him in all these little ways, all of them heartfelt and thoughtful.

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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.

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“Does that mean you’ll listen to reason? Impossible.” He doesn’t think Rama even knows what lazy looks like, let alone how to let himself be lazy. He laughs softly, glad to see his eyes brimming with amusement - and perhaps something else - instead of that irritation at himself.

He can bridge that gap between them himself, but he would lose that indulgent look into his handsome face, the intensity of Rama’s stare on him, the indescribable feeling in his chest at the two of them existing this closely. But he wants, and he’s only a man, so he pulls himself up those last few inches to press their lips together, a contented little groan escaping at the contact.

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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.

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He eases back against the chair, glad to be pushed but not pushed away from him. He sighs quietly, nearly chasing his lips again as Rama pulls away. He stays put at the rueful little smile, understanding as Rama's eyes land on his chest.

"A kiss won't hurt," he says, voice still rough. Kiss him again, Rama. Kiss him again. He takes his hand off of the plank on his lap and covers his, holding him gently over his chest. None of this hurts as badly as not being kissed by him.

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Raju looks at him. He realises he's breathing harder. A kiss. A kiss won't hurt, will it?

Will it?

He feels the hand over his. He breathes. He leans forward again, free hand moving to support himself against the chair as he kisses Francis, slow and hungrily. But he realises he's pressing Francis back into the chair and his throat is tight, suddenly, and he pulls back, eyes wide and alarmed. He looks down over Francis and back up again, looking for any sign of pain. He sighs, looks away, and then looks into Francis' eyes again, regretful, lips parted like they weren't ready to stop yet. Won't it? he wants to ask, and doesn't want to, but needs to know it regardless.

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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.

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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."

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“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.

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"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."

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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.

[load_aim_shoot]

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.

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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.

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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?"

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"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.

[load_aim_shoot]

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?"

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“I’ve been sitting in front of the fire sweating,” argues Crozier from his place at the basin.

He’s been more and more independent as of late, but still cautious, still afraid of a setback. If he does the wrong thing and inadvertently puts more time into this very long recovery period he might just go mad. He has been going mad, in fact, a silent stream of self-abusing thought running through his mind every time he even so much as looks at Rama with less-than-pure intentions.

But his mind is focused as he starts to strip his top layers away - he’s in desperate need of a scrub up after spending all day drying out fish and hanging herbs; he can smell the smoke lingering on his skin now, in his hair. No, he needs this little bath, it’s all about practicality at the moment.

“Besides, you know I don’t get as cold as you do,” he adds, lathering up a flannel with a a sliver of soap. He’s bare from the waist up, the lower half he’ll less concerned with today.

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"Mm." The sound of clothes being taken off was unmistakable. He hears Francis moving, hears the wet sound of the flannel being rubbed against itself. He keeps looking down at the book. Bark looks like this, the leaves look like that...

He glances up, and the tight thing inside his chest sends a shock through the rest of him again. He's seen plenty of men without their shirts before and it's never felt this way. But he'd seen Francis without it too, more than once, and never known...

It's hard to hold on to the thought. He looks down again, rolling his lips between his teeth, curling one hand into a fist and then loosening it again. Two rows of flat, dark green needles. Red berries...

He realises his thumb is tapping fast against the notebook paper. "But you don't even smell bad," he tries. "Just like herbs. And fish, but I'm well used to that by now. Aren't you?"

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Unaware that he has an audience, Crozier unceremoniously starts washing himself with the flannel and the cooled water. He sighs quietly to himself; it feels good to be able to do this much on his own again.

He's hearing concern for the chill in Rama's protests, nothing else. "I'll be fine," he says, running the flannel over his shoulders and across the back of his neck. God, but that feels good, and he knows he's getting the thin film of grime off of his skin. "It won't take long at all."

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"Mm," he says again, and the idea of it not taking long compels him to look back up, and then not make himself look away. If Francis does this, Raju will have to just sit here knowing that he's doing it— but if he finishes, Raju won't get to see at all. Terrible either way. But, well, it feels good doesn't it? Raju finds that he wants that, the feeling, even if he can't match it to the kind of action that he'd like.

His eyes track the flannel moving over Francis' skin. He wants to be the one doing that. That hand should be his hand. When he thinks it, briefly, it's as if he can feel it there.

For a moment Raju the thought both sit where they are, quietly. "I should do that for you," he decides to say, voice lower and gaze now fixed, the decision too close to when he's actually said it to bother holding himself back. "Later. Once you're well."

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Crozier picks up his head and glances over his shoulder, finally feeling Rama's stare burning into his back. That was the trouble to begin with, wasn't it? Rama had insisted on bathing him, washing his hair, dressing him - they couldn't keep their hands off of each other.

"You can do as you please," he replies, moving the cloth a little more slowly. He dips it back into the water, forgetting to ring it out as he draws it down his chest, rivulets of water running down to his navel. "Once I'm well."

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Raju leans onto one leg, the book sliding down over the notebook as he shifts and crinkling its pages. He doesn't look down at them. The water drips over Francis' skin.

"Francis," he says, a sharp sort of really? in his tone. Nonsense, to think he hadn't felt this way before, or hadn't noticed it. Maybe it's sharpened now by the idea that he could. He could stand and walk over there. He won't, but he hadn't even known to decide not to, before.

Nonsense to think Francis doesn't realise what he's doing, either. Raju can't tell yet. It's hard to think past the effect it's having now.

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Crozier absolutely knows what he’s doing. There’s been a fair share of moments when Crozier’s been in Rama’s place, staring at him hungrily as he hauls firewood or stretches after he wakes for the day. All lean muscle and beautiful eyelashes and dark hair - he’d pin him down and devour him whole if he could. He wants him desperately…so yes, admittedly this might be a little revenge.

“What, Ram?” he smiles, flannel running over each nipple, leaving them pert and hard, and then down lower and lower to catch the water. If somebody’s going to stare he should give them a show, that’s just having good manners.

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Francis is smiling. Raju catches the smile before his gaze moves down again over Francis' hard nipples, following the path of the cloth. His body feels tense in every place that it can be, and he's very aware of the hard beating of his heart. He huffs something that's nearly a laugh, ducking his head before it rises again, gaze pulled back. He's leaning onto his arm, hand pressed flat onto the floor, and it's as far forward as he's permitting himself to go. "You're an ass, has anyone ever told you? Have I ever told you?"

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“What about my arse?” he asks innocently, gesturing to his waistband. “Did you want to see it?”

He grins briefly, gap in his teeth peeking out before he turns back to the basin. The flannel’s set aside in favor of splashing water over his face and head, running his fingers through half-copper, half-graying hair.

He’s having a grand old time here, especially knowing he has his full attention. He can sympathize with Rama’s plight, but he has full faith in his continued good health.