The sound of Crozier's voice puts something deep in him at ease, so when he steps in his expression goes warm, fond. There's a brightness and clarity to him today that the Captain likely saw very little of yesterday, a healthy glow to his cheeks and a renewed energy in his movements.
He brings him a steaming cup of tea as he enters, offering it out to him.
"I slept very well, thank you, sir. Did you rest comfortably last night, sir?"
Once he's relieved of the teacup he kneels at the man's feel, bending to get the man's feet tucked into woolen slippers (yes, he made this some months ago) until it's time to get him dressed properly in his uniform. He's careful with each foot, pressing his thumb into the sole, then along the Achilles tendon, a pressure around the ankle, then onto the next. All made to seem as though any steward should do this for their assigned officer.
"I apologize if the pan warmers had gone cold by the time you returned to your quarters, Captain."
You'll get used to it, old man, Jamie had told him about having a steward. But he doesn't think even Jamie's own longtime seaman valet does things like this. Doesn't sit at his feet, or craft slippers for him. (Maybe getting boots on and off with a horn, but not this.) Jopson has such a want for it. Why him? A thing to wonder over. They get on, there is chemistry between them. He's had chemistry with people before, though.
Crozier lets the tea cup warm his hands, and after a moment, reaches out to tuck Jopson's hair behind his ear.
"Comfortably enough," is agreeable. "You know you don't have to apologize for the rate at which heat dissipates in a ship floating through polar waters."
Colder in a bed than in a hammock, really. Wooden frames and cloth mattresses love to retain a chill, just like they love to retain bloody mold if they aren't careful. If the temperature dips further he might hang up the sling again, and this time not because a steward's in the bunk.
Jopson looks up as hair is tucked behind his ear, huffing a soft sound that is nearly a laugh. There are a thousand reasons he should absolutely apologize for the bed going cold but he bites his tongue and takes the playful jab for what it is. Of course he isn't responsible, but all the same.
"I'm well, Captain," he nods his head, watching Crozier's expression. "Half a measure in a pleasant way, nothing that will inhibit my work. I feel better today than I have in some time on Terror, sir."
He turns his attention back to his task, adjusting one of the man's socks, the hem of his night shirt.
"But how are you, sir? You were very kind to me yesterday when I was not myself, and I'd like to be sure you're given the same care, sir."
Eyebrows raise a little, for the implication that he might have been feeling less than his best for a prolonged amount of time due to a lack of having been bent over his commander's knees. But he understands, too, the value of relief in a sudden rush. It seems as though previously invisible weights have been scoured away from Thomas, as though he's experienced weeks of leave compressed into the course of an evening.
Francis gives his chin an affectionate touch before he returns to the teacup. One foot flexes, something near playful.
"Oh, you were still yourself." Recognizable and familiar, even if he was functioning without inhibition at all. He would not have liked it near as much if Jopson had transformed into some other person. No— this was him, just bared down to a particular part, he thinks. "And as for me, I enjoyed myself plenty. It's not every day I get to be the one looking after you. You trusted me."
Being the one to be trusted, being the one to have put Jopson in that state, had been very satisfying. Still is. There is the animal aspect of it too, something more base and depraved, taking erotic enjoyment out of such wanton submission. He can't deny it. But the inciting act was only that. The inciting act. The whole of it was something more.
Serious and sudden, an intensity behind his eyes when he meets the man’s gaze again. Crozier is the one man on this ship that he would not doubt nor second guess even once, and that trust did not come easily but something that snuck up over many, many days and nights however tiring.
“I enjoyed it. How I felt, being cared for by you, sir.”
He reaches for the playful foot, begins to gently massage again, up to his shin, his calf. Keeping his hands busy but also acknowledging this soft moment they have together until duty calls once again.
“But I wish to know if you’re well now, Captain. If you woke with a clear head, or if something still lingers, sir. I was in no state to care for you yesterday, and for that I wanted to check on you before we begin our morning routine, sir.”
Next, thumbs pressing into the connective tissue on either side of his tibia, in slow circles.
He can't help the soft sound he makes when Jopson pushes his thumbs in. It feels nice.
"You were in just the right state, as you needed to be."
Crozier knows by now that it's pointless to argue with him about being required to put so much focus on care for him. Relentless. He might as well just let Jopson have his way with him (and what a funny thought that is, here and now, after his phrasing the evening before).
But he confirms: "My head's clear. I'm very content."
Doesn't mean he isn't happy to see him, or that the searing affection brought on by their closeness has vanished. He reaches out again, just to touch his hair. Clever, and diligent, and a bit strange, and beautiful. Jopson is fascinating.
Jopson smiles to himself as he works, hands working up one leg, fingers pressing into calf muscle, to the knee, to the top of his thigh. Back down then to the other leg, diligent and tender.
"I'm glad to hear it, sir."
That Crozier is content, clear-headed, happy. As strange a setup as yesterday and he still feels the thrum of warmth and affection between them, resonating in time with the sway of Terror herself. He makes it to the top of Crozier's thigh on the other leg, smooths hands back over it, then looks up at him.
"I feel very much the same - clear and content, sir. I am glad I did not wake you too soon ahead of the first bell, sir, but I wanted to see to it you had a gentle start to your morning. I could serve your breakfast here in your bunk, if you'd like, Captain."
Tempting him to arousal so early and still blurry and warm from sleep, touching up to his thighs, sitting there so appealing and open. But if he indulges — and Jopson would oblige, of that he's certain — then he'll just want to go right back to sleep, which is unacceptable. Dozy morning copulation is simply not in the cards for a sailor.
So, unfortunately—
"You make a strong case for it just by being here," he admits, "but if I take you up on it I won't want to leave. And, Jopson, crumbs in the bunk?"
Lad. pls.
He gives him another touch to his hair (perhaps too lingering, too aching, betraying the wants and the hooks still in him for it all), and nods. Up. Time for him to get dressed and get to work.
"You've still your wits then, Captain, very good. Breakfast at the great table, then, of course."
Jopson laughs softly, rising to his feet. Too early for anything other than work after yesterday - they've had their time to ignore the day in favor of one another. Today is for work, and just as he means to, that's what he's here for.
"I would have had Doctor Roberston on standby for your wellbeing had you agreed with me, sir," he muses, turning to snatch up the man's coat and offer it to him, in turn reaching to take the steaming tea cup from him to hold. Breakfast before the real dressing and washing up and the shave.
"There are a few additional papers from Erebus on your desk - I understand they were sent over an hour or ago, sir. I'm certain they will be completely unserious. I know Captain Ross' penmanship well after working beneath you both on this expedition, sir."
"You just wait until I send the lot of you to take navigation lessons from him," he threatens playfully. "See how unserious it is."
Sailing. A big deal.
(The lot of you, junior officers, stewards, the assistant surgeon, the young men he trains who Jopson has been lumped in with now, even though he has no desire to use this as a social climbing opportunity. Still. It is good to know, in this line of work.)
Into the day they go, bit by bit. Crozier spares another kiss to his forehead, a proper one this time, before breakfast, and chatter over it. Quiet for shaving, which he's come to enjoy, one hand resting against his steward's chest. (A touch he'd never bestow on a barber.) Back to work after, though it nearly feels like a new world. A slightly different shade to the light, like the whole of everything after the volcano in the oriental seas clouded the skies for months; Jopson, born in a year without summer, granting a long one now for Crozier, warm and satisfied.
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He brings him a steaming cup of tea as he enters, offering it out to him.
"I slept very well, thank you, sir. Did you rest comfortably last night, sir?"
Once he's relieved of the teacup he kneels at the man's feel, bending to get the man's feet tucked into woolen slippers (yes, he made this some months ago) until it's time to get him dressed properly in his uniform. He's careful with each foot, pressing his thumb into the sole, then along the Achilles tendon, a pressure around the ankle, then onto the next. All made to seem as though any steward should do this for their assigned officer.
"I apologize if the pan warmers had gone cold by the time you returned to your quarters, Captain."
no subject
Crozier lets the tea cup warm his hands, and after a moment, reaches out to tuck Jopson's hair behind his ear.
"Comfortably enough," is agreeable. "You know you don't have to apologize for the rate at which heat dissipates in a ship floating through polar waters."
Colder in a bed than in a hammock, really. Wooden frames and cloth mattresses love to retain a chill, just like they love to retain bloody mold if they aren't careful. If the temperature dips further he might hang up the sling again, and this time not because a steward's in the bunk.
"How are you today? Speak plainly."
No dancing around why he's asking, if he pleases.
no subject
"I'm well, Captain," he nods his head, watching Crozier's expression. "Half a measure in a pleasant way, nothing that will inhibit my work. I feel better today than I have in some time on Terror, sir."
He turns his attention back to his task, adjusting one of the man's socks, the hem of his night shirt.
"But how are you, sir? You were very kind to me yesterday when I was not myself, and I'd like to be sure you're given the same care, sir."
no subject
Francis gives his chin an affectionate touch before he returns to the teacup. One foot flexes, something near playful.
"Oh, you were still yourself." Recognizable and familiar, even if he was functioning without inhibition at all. He would not have liked it near as much if Jopson had transformed into some other person. No— this was him, just bared down to a particular part, he thinks. "And as for me, I enjoyed myself plenty. It's not every day I get to be the one looking after you. You trusted me."
Being the one to be trusted, being the one to have put Jopson in that state, had been very satisfying. Still is. There is the animal aspect of it too, something more base and depraved, taking erotic enjoyment out of such wanton submission. He can't deny it. But the inciting act was only that. The inciting act. The whole of it was something more.
no subject
Serious and sudden, an intensity behind his eyes when he meets the man’s gaze again. Crozier is the one man on this ship that he would not doubt nor second guess even once, and that trust did not come easily but something that snuck up over many, many days and nights however tiring.
“I enjoyed it. How I felt, being cared for by you, sir.”
He reaches for the playful foot, begins to gently massage again, up to his shin, his calf. Keeping his hands busy but also acknowledging this soft moment they have together until duty calls once again.
“But I wish to know if you’re well now, Captain. If you woke with a clear head, or if something still lingers, sir. I was in no state to care for you yesterday, and for that I wanted to check on you before we begin our morning routine, sir.”
Next, thumbs pressing into the connective tissue on either side of his tibia, in slow circles.
no subject
"You were in just the right state, as you needed to be."
Crozier knows by now that it's pointless to argue with him about being required to put so much focus on care for him. Relentless. He might as well just let Jopson have his way with him (and what a funny thought that is, here and now, after his phrasing the evening before).
But he confirms: "My head's clear. I'm very content."
Doesn't mean he isn't happy to see him, or that the searing affection brought on by their closeness has vanished. He reaches out again, just to touch his hair. Clever, and diligent, and a bit strange, and beautiful. Jopson is fascinating.
no subject
"I'm glad to hear it, sir."
That Crozier is content, clear-headed, happy. As strange a setup as yesterday and he still feels the thrum of warmth and affection between them, resonating in time with the sway of Terror herself. He makes it to the top of Crozier's thigh on the other leg, smooths hands back over it, then looks up at him.
"I feel very much the same - clear and content, sir. I am glad I did not wake you too soon ahead of the first bell, sir, but I wanted to see to it you had a gentle start to your morning. I could serve your breakfast here in your bunk, if you'd like, Captain."
no subject
So, unfortunately—
"You make a strong case for it just by being here," he admits, "but if I take you up on it I won't want to leave. And, Jopson, crumbs in the bunk?"
Lad. pls.
He gives him another touch to his hair (perhaps too lingering, too aching, betraying the wants and the hooks still in him for it all), and nods. Up. Time for him to get dressed and get to work.
no subject
Jopson laughs softly, rising to his feet. Too early for anything other than work after yesterday - they've had their time to ignore the day in favor of one another. Today is for work, and just as he means to, that's what he's here for.
"I would have had Doctor Roberston on standby for your wellbeing had you agreed with me, sir," he muses, turning to snatch up the man's coat and offer it to him, in turn reaching to take the steaming tea cup from him to hold. Breakfast before the real dressing and washing up and the shave.
"There are a few additional papers from Erebus on your desk - I understand they were sent over an hour or ago, sir. I'm certain they will be completely unserious. I know Captain Ross' penmanship well after working beneath you both on this expedition, sir."
no subject
Sailing. A big deal.
(The lot of you, junior officers, stewards, the assistant surgeon, the young men he trains who Jopson has been lumped in with now, even though he has no desire to use this as a social climbing opportunity. Still. It is good to know, in this line of work.)
Into the day they go, bit by bit. Crozier spares another kiss to his forehead, a proper one this time, before breakfast, and chatter over it. Quiet for shaving, which he's come to enjoy, one hand resting against his steward's chest. (A touch he'd never bestow on a barber.) Back to work after, though it nearly feels like a new world. A slightly different shade to the light, like the whole of everything after the volcano in the oriental seas clouded the skies for months; Jopson, born in a year without summer, granting a long one now for Crozier, warm and satisfied.