He shivers a little, his breath catching on a low gasp as his fingers drag over one of his cuts, smearing the blood on his skin. And Francis likes it when it's his blood too. He likes the compliment, twisted as it might be. And then he's kissing him, and Francis leans into the contact, the warmth and the pressure of the man's mouth against his own. He's eager, almost hungry for it, but there's experience in how he kisses him, one hand curling lightly against his jaw, slight nips of teeth. Francis is soft in small, quiet ways, but not like this.

He likes pushing lines, boundaries, and seeing where that ends up. Of course when his hand is sliding off his hip and into his pants, Francis shivers with how it spikes heat down his spine. The blonde moaning softly into his mouth as his fingers palm against the front of his pants, and he's already mostly hard because everything since they were shoved into that punishment room was like a tease, made his pulse skip.

Having Bullseye's hands on him is just that much better, though. Francis' free hand pushes to his waistband, considers undoing his pants and then settles on just squirming slender fingers underneath. The pads of his fingers are still a little slick as he touches, shameless as he gropes against him with a low hum of want between their mouths. His hips twitch a little into Bullseye's touch and fuck. It's not like he's never been touched or something, but there's something to it. The copper and ache and how their skin presses together.