“Certainly not.” Raju should pour another handful of water over the back of his head, be thorough, but he doesn’t want to look away from Francis’ face, his lips, Raju’s fingers that he’s just kissed. “But your beard needs a lot of work if you’re going to let me trim it, and I’ve tired you out enough.”

His smile sharpens again. Why not say it? “For now,” he adds, pointed and pleased about it. “I think…”

This hesitation isn’t because what’s coming is difficult to say. It’s only that he isn’t sure about it, and he’s imagining it so he can be more certain. He exhales roughly through parted lips, eyes lidding a little. “If you did ask, and we did kiss, I would want more than your body can give me right now.”

His fingers start slowly tracing over Francis’ lips again. The tension is gone from his body, only a faint memory lingering — but those memories are of all possibilities with this man closing themselves off forever. In the reality in front of him, they’re all opening up.

“What else wouldn’t you ask for, Francis?” he goes on, voice inching toward a low murmur. “Only a kiss?”