Open RP

[goingtobeunwell]

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

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[goingtobeunwell]

“That could be dangerous, my love,” he says, voice a bit of a low purr in his throat. He rubs at his neck and then picks up the flannel to rub himself down a final time, slow and with a lot more attention to detail. A spot on his wrist here, the hollow of his neck, his collarbones.

“Is that really something you want?”

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Raju looks surprised and then his hand curls into a fist, he leans even further forward, then lets out a hard breath through parted lips. My love was the last weight on a scale Raju didn't know was there, and he knows for certain now that he can't allow himself to move at all. If he did, it'd be to do something he can't allow himself. It'd been a matter of course at home, sometimes more or less often but never a surprise, the affectionate words. He realises, vaguely, that he can't remember the first time he and Seetha said something like that to each other. Whenever it was, it surely wasn't a surprise then either. But Francis is an adult whose life could have taken him anywhere else, and that he'd want to call Raju my love now wasn't ever guaranteed. It's an odd feeling. Not surprise, exactly.

"I want everything." The serious, intent way that it comes out wasn't something Raju planned, but it's true, and there's no reason for Francis not to know he means it. His gaze moves over Francis' body, down and then back up again. He starts to smile. "And I like danger. I like a challenge. Show me."

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He realizes the moment it’s said that he’d just leveled a challenge to Rama. He pauses to look back over to him, unsurprised to see the want in his face but taken aback by the other emotion there. He isn’t certain what it is exactly, he’s hard to read.

But he wants everything, and there’s no joking or teasing to detect in his words. Crozier inhales sharply. He feels a bit like prey walking straight into trap, but there’s an obvious thrill to be admired and have the command of someone like Rama.

“If you insist,” he says, thumb in his waistband. He pulls at his trousers, revealing small clothes first (that sealskin pair hasn’t been worn in quite some time) as he steps out of each leg. He locks eyes with him again - Rama wants to see his arse - and then turns around to strip off the last piece of clothing.

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The tight, powerful feeling inside him tells him that he could he could right now, that he should, that Francis is so close and there, there is all of him, and Raju could just get up and have it. There's no chance that feeling is going to win, not now with Francis' injuries healing but all the more obvious with the bandage off, but Raju likes the fight. Both hands are curling their fingers against the floor.

"You were washing, weren't you?" he asks, voice just as sharp as his gaze. "Go on."

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He shivers, a little from the cold, but mostly from the fire burning in Rama’s eyes. This game is as delightful as it is agonizing. They can tease each other all they want, but they both know Crozier isn’t fully healed yet. They’ll tease and laugh and then ultimately have to calm themselves down again before it goes too far.

Hasn’t it already gone too far?

He smiles wickedly and picks up the flannel again, letting it wander lower and lower, his body angled away from Rama so his actions are slightly veiled from him. The flannel gets dipped back into the basin, Crozier bending slightly as he wrings it out, then lets the water drip back down his chest and back.

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Raju catches himself leaning to try and see what Francis has hidden by turning away from him, and laughs under his breath as he stops himself. He waits until Francis has bent down, admiring the view, and until he's straightened up again.

"Not going to let me see the rest?" He isn't really complaining about it, even as part of him wants to. It's a game of restriction, after all, and Francis' teasing is restricting just enough. But he wouldn't be complaining if he did see more, either.

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“You only said arse,” replies Crozier, moving slowly as he bends to wash his thighs.

It’s strategic as well - the less Rama sees the more fun the game is, of course. It has nothing to do with the heavy rush of blood between his legs, the red blush creeping from neck right down his stomach and rapidly swelling cock.

He never took himself as an exhibitionist, but when the voyeur is as striking as Rama…well.

He allows for the slightest of peeks as he twists to wash the back of his thighs and down to his calves.

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Raju's still sitting, still leaning toward Francis. His hands are half-clenched on the floor and his head is cocked, and his gaze is between Francis' legs. He catches Francis' peek at him and the gaze moves to Francis' face and he grins, knowing and pleased. He might be able to see a blush there, angle of Francis' stance permitting, and knows in a rush that Francis might be able to see Raju's interest even better now if he looks at the same spot in return. Or maybe Raju will have to shed a layer to make it as obvious as it feels. Maybe if Francis asks.

"I did," he confirms, gaze admiring. "And if I said something else?"

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He thinks Rama knows he'd give him whatever he wanted, all he would need to do is ask. In fact, he'd probably give without needing to be asked, but Rama's voice is low and silky, and it wraps around the part of is brain that craves more.

"I'd consider it," he replies, looking outright at his clenched hands, the rigidity of his posture that seems wound up like a gear. He could leap forward now, pounce and just take what he wanted, but that remarkable self-control is keeping him in stasis.

Well. Not all of him. He can plainly see the tugging of his trousers, the dozen layers or so that Rama wears be damned. He smirks softly, trying to keep himself under control despite the very real burning in his belly. If he asked Rama to wash his back right now - no, that isn't part of the game. He can't. But he can shift his weight and turn, just barely letting Rama catch a glimpse of his hidden front.

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A noise makes it out from the back of Raju's throat, low and appreciative. He shifts his weight to shift his position in his drawers and lets out a hard, slow breath through parted lips. "What would I have to do?" he murmurs. "To get you to do more than consider?"

[goingtobeunwell]

He can think of a few things.

Crozier brushes his hair back from his face, licking his lips in an impression of a man deep in thought. "What would you have to do..."

Well, those trousers are probably very uncomfortable. "You could let me see what I'm doing to you," he tells him, brow raising suggestively. "You look like you might need a little room in your trousers."

[load_aim_shoot]

A smile spills over Raju's face and his hands hurry to the buttons of his trousers— and then stop there, as he realises he's just hurried himself away from the collected, controlled impression he'd been cultivating before. He ducks his head over a very quiet laugh, gaze quickly growing hungry again as he looks back up, his eyes raking over the parts of Francis that he can see.

His fingers move quickly again, undoing one fly and then the other, hooking his thumbs under his drawers and pushing the whole lot down a little on one side, a little on the other, groaning a little as he has to shift to make it happen and feels the material moving against him. Then he tugs up his shirts, moving their ends out of the way. Then his hips are bare, the very tops of his thighs are bare, the skin of his stomach just above his groin feels the air. It doesn't feel cold at all. He pauses a moment looking into Francis' eyes and smiles, pleased, reaching inside his drawers to tug his cock free.

"What about this? Can you see what you're doing now?"

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He feels winded by the sight of him, clearly as thrilled and uncomfortable as he is from all this prolonged eye contact and unabashed flirting. Just a hint of his bare skin makes his mouth water like a goddamned animal, whatever remaining bit of blood that had been making its way to his brain automatically diverting downwards.

"I can see," he says, trying to swallow the hard lump caught in his throat. God. God. He wants to get down on his knees and worship him with his mouth. He can just imagine how he tastes, how he'd feel on his tongue...

He returns the smile, red now from head to toe. He's a man of his word though, and turns so Rama can get a good view of the front of him, flushed chest and need all on full display for this man. He keeps his chin up and his hand on the flannel despite the very strong urge to cower and cover himself, locking eyes with Rama and then taking a good long look at his body.

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He wants to be closer. He wants to, it would be alright it would be easy...

Raju bites his lip over his smile, gaze moving up Francis very slowly, taking its time with every part of him. When he reaches Francis' groin he glances up to his face, smile growing, and his own hand moves just a little over sensitive skin. He lets out a hard breath and moves his gaze over the top half of Francis, head to neck, to chest, to stomach, to hips.

"I want to taste your skin," he says, voice rough. "Look how far down that blush goes. I want to mark the rest of your skin that colour, too."

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He sways just a little, enchanted by him - his own hand on himself, the gravel in his voice, the intense stare, that dazzling smile. Even mostly dressed he's completely arresting.

"You'd be the only one who would ever see it," he says, hand moving to the table to keep himself steady. An idea starts to takes hold of him slowly, growing in intensity as he looks at him there on the floor. What would it be like if he belonged only to Rama? What would it be like to become devoted to his every whim and desire, letting him and only him to mark and have him as he wishes. To give up that control and place it in the hands of this man, this very lovely, loyal, fiery man with whom he trusts more than anything or anyone.

"You could have everything."

[load_aim_shoot]

Everything could mean anything, now. It certainly means Francis' body, its shape and its softness, its strength and its vulnerability. It means Raju reddening all that skin however he likes, and holding Francis after. It means he'd be the one stepping in when Francis is unsteady to hold him up. Raju wants it. He can feel it in his chest, and in the blood rushing to his cock, how much he wants it.

"I will," he says, completely confident that it's true, no matter what else it means. "Do you turn that colour every time? Or is it showing yourself to me, now?"

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“I honestly wouldn’t know,” he says with a quiet, somewhat strangled laugh. Maybe it’s standing here in his altogether, bare and hard, showing off for a man sculpted like a god who for whatever reason is looking at him with barely restrained desire. “Maybe it’s just you.”

Crozier sets the flannel back into the wash basin, leaving his hand free. “Do you turn pretty colors too? A reddening of that gorgeous skin of yours?”

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He smiles and ducks his head for a moment, pleased at the compliment. But he isn't looking away for long; when he looks back his eyes move up and down over Francis again. The hand he's got on himself moves to his thigh and grips it. "Sometimes. I'm told I tend to flush during the middle of things. Why? You'd like to see it, would you?"

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“I think I can’t live without seeing it for myself.” Only a slight exaggeration; he does feel like he might perish if he doesn’t see his skin darken as he kisses and bites him in those sensitive places.

He leans back against the table with his body, biting his lip with a quiet hiss. “What would you have me do now, Rama? You have me naked and wanting; what next?”

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Raju huffs, smiles. "A dangerous question," he says, and lets his eyes linger on Francis while he considers the possibilities, purely to feel the strain of it. He shivers, then laughs a little under his breath.

He thinks on it for another moment, watching Francis leaning back against the table. A little of his cheer — just a little — replaces itself with concern. "You've been standing for a while. You should sit down."

But— "Without coming closer," he adds hurriedly. "I think I need you to stay where you are."

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He wouldn’t have crossed the invisible line, but he heeds the warning when a nod. He wouldn’t dare come any closer - he wouldn’t trust himself, and apparently Rama feels the same.

Crozier lowers himself onto the chair with the armrests, sitting back with spread legs and his hand just barely resting on his thigh. From this vantage point he can look down at Rama, his body still good and flushed, cock heavy between his legs.

“A dangerous question for a dangerous game,” he hums, smiling softly at him. “I’m trying to decide what I’ll want most when we’re able to touch again. I want to bite the inside of your thighs.”

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Francis sitting down is worse. How didn't he expect it to be worse? It's in the spread legs, of course, but there's something commanding about it, Francis sitting there that way, in spite of him having not a single piece of clothing on. Or maybe because of that. For a moment Raju only watches him, eyes wider. He takes a couple harsh, controlled breaths in through his nose, and his hand tightens over his thigh.

He smiles a second after, pleased with what's just occurred to him. He pulls one side of his trousers a little further down, and then the other side, and his fingertip finds the inside of a thigh and starts slowly moving down. He takes a sharp breath in, a part of him grateful when the path of his finger is stopped by the bunch of fabric high over his legs. "Where? Here? Higher, or lower?"

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Crozier’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow shrewdly, his nostrils flailing in amusement. Oh, how clever. Frustratingly clever; he wishes his mouth was there instead of Rama’s own hand.

“Higher,” he says, voice deep and surprisingly rough. “Higher, and then higher still.”

He traces his own thigh, bringing his fingers up to the crease between his leg and pelvis, trailing it further down. “Right here. I’d leave marks on you.”

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Before Francis, the only man's voice he'd heard while feeling this way was his own. It'd never occurred to him that it might sound like Francis' does, feel like Francis' does. He feels a chill over hot skin and shivers, grin sharp as his finger moves upward again, following the path Francis' hand is tracing. His own hand pauses there, and he feels himself breathing harder than he was.

"I don't have your mouth," he murmurs, gaze meeting Francis' eagerly. "What shall I do here instead?"

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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.