The hand on his thigh feels as though it burns, the same intensity as an iron in the fires in the belly of the ship. Spreads heat under his skin, making it all the more apparent that he, too, has come away from dancing a little flushed. It's a happy, giddy feeling, and whatever time they have left he plans to spend in the perfect hum of it all.

Sweet boy, Crozier says and he likes the way it sounds on his tongue, much like the way he says his name in the throes of something more passionate. It feels personal, intimate, and he nods a little dumbly when beckoned.

Likely the man only meant for him to lean in so he'd be nearer to kiss, but there's room and time for something different. He takes the hand from his thigh, lacing their fingers and stands just enough that he can bully himself between Crozier's knees, and carefully set his weight down on one leg.

Last time he crawled into the man's lap it was for something different altogether, which does spark something low in his belly, but he doesn't indulge in that. Instead, he leans in to kiss the man again, deep and slow, all the while tugging the man's arm round his waist.

"I'm not hurting you, am I, sir?" His weight on one leg, even if Jopson still has his feet on the floor, pressing into the boards with socked feet to take some of the pressure. What would it be like to sit here, press the man back on the bench and simply stretch out alongside him, as close as he can get without slipping beneath his skin.