Captain sounds so different on Jopson's mouth than anyone else's. Captain and Sir. They sound like affectionate pet names, so different than how he says it for anyone else. Perhaps this is some imagining of his, addled on the high of a new entanglement— but surely he'd noticed it before, too. It's not new, the way his ears are primed to hear Jopson's voice on an entirely individual frequency when he calls to him.

On the bench with him, Crozier sits angled towards the other man. He smiles, lopsided and honest, at that request. There was no exertion in their slow-paced dance, but he nevertheless feels flushed from it. Not too cheeky, and to match it, he slides his hand over Jopson's thigh as he leans in.

"Come here, sweet boy."

Whatever they have left of the hour, they can spend trading kisses. Not so much that it becomes obvious what they've been doing, but perhaps enough that it can take the edge off the desire to crawl into his skin and taste something deeper.