"It would be rude to deny the Captain should he attend my berth, sir," he laughs, a little airy as Crozier's hands wander. "It could be very important indeed."
The press of a thumb makes stars burst behind his eyes, a brilliant shock of pain that makes the muscle of his thigh tense, flex. His breath catches at the back of his throat, hand still working himself over. The proximity of Crozier's hand to his aching and weeping prick is enough to speed his touch, to imagine the calluses on the older man's hands, remember how it felt in that frenzied first moment together. Or at Aether, an arm around his waist and hand round his cock.
No one warned him that life at sea could be this passionate and potent.
"How would you keep me quiet, sir?" Even now, flushed and beginning to feel the edge of desperation radiate through his veins, he finds a way to be cheeky. And perhaps cheekier still to bow his head and chase the man for another kiss.
Oh for shame, young Mr Jopson. Crozier teases him more with his fingers, drawing around the base of his cock, but not helping in holding him. The sight of his steward's hand on his own prick is too alluring, even though the wet pearling at the crown of it makes his teeth ache for want of taste.
"Keep my other fingers warm, then. And mind your teeth. Think you'll stay quiet then?"
More pressure at his thigh, though it's forceful teasing and not outright tissue damage. He could hurt him, but it's not about that. Never about that. Besides, if he's to give him another bruise, he wants to use his mouth.
"I always behave, sir, but you said you'd make me keep quiet. Would you deny my curiosity?"
A soft whine at the back of his throat and his prick twitches shamefully at the barest attention. He would do anything this man told him to do - if it was to sit over him like this and simply wait out his pleasure by sight alone, he would. Crozier can have him any way he wishes and he can't say no. (Doesn't want to).
Just at the press of the bruise again, he shifts his weight, just enough to keep himself upright when he moves his free hand to pluck at Crozier's wrist.
"Forgive me, I will need the practice to be certain I stay quiet for you, Captain."
And should the man allow, he draws his hand up and takes one finger into his mouth first while his other hand resumes its careful strokes.
Eyebrows quirk. Just his order wouldn't be enough to mask him? Tsk. But this is better. Much. Hearing that whine, being subject to the younger man's boldness, all of it is worth leagues of cheeky disobedience.
Thick fingers slide into his mouth, past that expressive, pretty mouth, to press gently onto the soft muscle of his tongue. His cock had been here not so long ago, and already the heat of it feels familiar. (Or so he thinks. Lurid nonsense.) Crozier wants to feel that whine.
"A shame you need to stay quiet at all." His other hand moves just a little more, encircling him at the root with thumb and forefinger, holding him while he pleases himself. "No doubt you sound as beautiful as you look. But save it all, for when only I get to hear it. Mm? Can you do that, Thomas?"
A wildly erotic thing being wanted like this - to conserve every noise he could make and save it all for the man later when they might find some privacy and solitude. It brings him embarrassingly close, thighs tensing, hips butting up against the circle of Crozier's fingers.
He hums around the Captain's thick fingers, makes certain that he tilts his head just enough so that when he makes a noise of agreement it rumbles against the slick skin. He hollows his cheeks after, sucking once but careful not to make too much noise. It's meant to keep him quiet, after all.
Jopson's hand moves erratically now between them, chasing the edge of something that's startled him with how quickly it's overcome him. He tips his head back enough so that Crozier's wet fingers slide on his lips, his chin.
"Yes, Francis," he murmurs, eyes heavy lidded and pupils blown with wanting, and though he tries his best to keep himself together, he reaches his climax hard and fast. He turns his head into Crozier's hand, parts his lips around his fingers again to quiet himself as he spills a mess on Crozier's belly and hips and his own hand.
Stunningly beautiful. It nearly takes his breath away, to get to play with him like this, to feel him respond so eagerly even though it's in such a haphazard configuration. Crozier looks up and nearly lets it all happen without considerate participation, staring at him like some addle-brained fool.
Come home with me, when it's done—
Oh, stop. What does that look like. He has so much to do, a life to shape into expected forms. They both do. And even if he had enough money to do the daftest possible thing, who wants to live in France?
"Good, good," is praise, his voice still rough despite his tension having been released. "Look at you, good boy."
In the shuddering aftermath, he slides his hand up along Jopson's cock, gently nudging fingers away to take him in hand himself, where he just holds him through all the extra shudders and flinches. The heat of him, sticky and messy, feels lovely.
Would they weren't on the sea kilometers and kilometers from home, and they were wrapped up together somewhere else where staying in bed like this all day wouldn't cost lives. Stars burst to life behind his eyelids as his hand is nudged away, finding purchase on Crozier's chest, smearing sticky mess into his skin as he tries to ground himself.
Head tipping, he pulls away from the press of Crozier's fingers and instead bullies in to kiss the man, nudging their noses together and letting it be something lingering and open-mouthed and wet. Funny, the thing squeezing in his chest in time with the electricity coursing through his veins, the man's hand bringing him to the bittersweet edge of over-sensitivity by touch alone.
Still feeling a little selfish and a protective need to keep the Captain bedbound a while longer, he slowly settles his weight back down, bringing their bodies flush as he nuzzles in to kiss him again.
"You did well, sir," he murmurs, low and a little hoarse. "I'll keep you warm until we need to clean up for the bell."
The praise isn't lost on him. Good. Good boy. Beautiful. Thomas.
"I'll applaud you for keeping quiet," he rasps, "and myself for facilitating it, is that right?"
Of doing well.
He pets Jopson for another moment, but removes his hand when it becomes inconvenient to keep it there between them; raises it to put his fingers in his own mouth this time. A sharp, technically unpleasant, but good taste, and especially satisfying after those kisses. He touches Jopson's lips after, then his nose, just enjoying him. Arms around him, then, and they settle.
A little breath of a laugh against Crozier's jaw, Jopson nuzzling into the warmth of him and the arms wrapped round him. He adjusts his weight to pull the thick blankets and furs up around them, goes still again with them settled, pressing a soft kiss against his chin.
"The day I don't is one you should worry," he snorts, speaking against the man's skin, unwilling to be far from him in the afterglow of their morning together. He pets Crozier's hair back from his brow, gently running fingers through it, carefully pressing fingertips against his scalp in slow, steady motions.
"You let me care for you, sir," he says quietly, nosing against his cheek. "I am grateful for that."
His company. His care. His patience, and all his excellent work. Right now, specifically aside from their present melting, Crozier is grateful that his most recent worry over him — the collision, Jopson so near to danger, on deck and all else — has come to nothing. Terror has taken a beating, and some of her men, but Jopson came away unscathed. Crozier rubs his back in idle motions, simply enjoying the feel of him, and the near-smothering weight of him draped over his body.
In a little while:
"I haven't forgotten about giving you another bruise," by the way, "if you'd like that."
Heat rushes into his face, his heart beats a little too quickly in his chest - something about the inflection, the statement, the honesty of it. It earns him a small, shy smile before he tucks his face into the crook of the man's neck to settle, breathe him in, listen to his heart beat.
If only they could sleep a few more hours like this, tangled and sticky. Only a low, thoughtful sound at first, Jopson coming up out of lazy, sleepy thoughts in the quiet. He likes their shared moments best - when words or actions aren't needed and they can enjoy the simplicity and safety of one another's company.
"I could never deny you, sir," he teases, cheeky thing that he is, tipping his head up from the man's neck to kiss him again, catching his bottom lip with a drag of his teeth before meeting his eyes. "Anywhere you'd like, of course."
Too much? Probably too much. Crozier can blame it on sentiment brought on by orgasm and exhaustion. His ship is wounded, they are listing to one side, they are going to have to find Jamie's ship a new mast, and he is grateful no one has died.
But there is shameless sexuality to take refuge in. Not too old for all that quite yet; hopefully it'll be some time before he is, hopefully he lingers in this span of time where being older is an attractive, exciting lure, before tipping over into being repulsive. He's not sure when that card is turned, precisely, despite having been a young man once as well, happy to fancy all sorts.
A quick kiss in response to that playful bite. A good boy, his sweet boy, and his relentless steward. Crozier drags one hand up Jopson's spine, and cradles the back of his skull. Handsome, clever, caring. What a life should be in store for him.
"Do you happen to undress anywhere with an audience?"
Reconnaissance work, here. If Jopson changes in view of any of the other men, it will not do to leave him one anywhere obvious.
A raise of a brow, though there's warmth in his eyes, his expression. It always comes back to the eye other men may have for him, when in fact all he can truly see is Francis Crozier. Relentless in his teasing now, it seems, relaxed by the high of their orgasms and the warmth of the haphazard bed he's made for them in the berth.
"But in seriousness, no - I'm grateful for the berth I am allowed as your steward. A privacy and privilege I do not take for granted."
Jopson pets soft lines down the side of Crozier's neck, mapping the skin there, pressing sweet little patterns into it. "The only one who will see it other than myself, Captain, is you. Put it where it pleases you most, sir."
A thrill that he may end up with a bruise somewhere even more curious than the soft flesh of his thigh. An easy thing to allow his mind to run with - and the yearning for a world where he could wear the mark proudly instead.
"And more I've yet to notice I'm sure," he teases him. "You'll have a raft of admirers wherever you go."
Aware by now that Jopson is less keen on hearing about other people, but he started it this time, and so to banter it goes. Crozier enjoys his touch, fingers along the places he might run a razor blade later (or more likely put it off until tomorrow, the boon of fair hair). He lets it be for a moment before shifting them— angling to put Thomas on his side, so that he can be the only, singular admirer for now, rucking up his borrowed shirt to expose him from throat down.
Beautiful. Even more so right now, a mess.
"Any number of places might please me."
Investigation time. He runs his hands over him, exploratory and sensual.
For the days that Crozier thought he might send him overboard in the beginning of it all. But the word relentless - the more time he spends tangled in the man's company, the more he better understands his Captain's meaning.
Jopson helps their movement, shifting to his side and finding his balance there, but also suddenly very aware of the older man's attention. A pain, being as pale as he is, the flush of their passion still hot under his skin and warming under Crozier's hands. He goes still so he can be touched and petted however the man pleases.
"Though if you send me off to a raft you might never see how long I've kept your gift, sir. I'm afraid you'd simply have to imagine it."
The occasional dip of his stomach, the flutter of his side tensing and relaxing, his body coming to life beneath Crozier's perfect hands.
Crozier touches him indulgently, in no hurry with their lusts sated, palms stroking over pale skin and dustings of dark hair. The stark contrasts of colors is lovely, a thing made more obvious by how bundled up they are even under the pole's perpetual sun. He familiarizes himself with every contour, traveling as low as he can reach without shifting his position, and occasionally leaning in to press kisses to his mouth.
He slides his fingers over his pectoral muscles, around darker peaks of his nipples, and to one side; a decision. Gently, he tips Jopson back enough to get them where they need to be. Kisses to his mouth, his jaw, down his throat, his chest. To the chosen spot, at the lowest edge of the muscle of his breast, edging towards his side. Not far enough to irritate him while moving his arm, but not front and center. He licks over it, and carefully bites down.
Jopson huffs softly, the only response to the idea of a command. He knows his place - a steward, a civilian, meant only to help with clothing and cleaning and cooking. A place he doesn't mind, truly, but he wonders if one day he will become obsolete, or if the next journey Crozier will ask for a different boy to attend him.
Difficult to imagine, what with the way the older man pets him and kisses him. It's enough to nearly lull him back into a light doze, eyes heavy and lashes a fan of dark contrasted against his cheeks. He lies where he's put, sighing at every place the man's mouth travels, not fully realizing what's to come next. It's the lack of anticipation, the surprise of it, that earns Francis a throaty moan. Maybe too loud, but with the way the ship groans as she lists to one side, it could be waved off.
His hand reaches to cradle the back of his skull, fingers scratching into the crop of hair there, grounding him so he doesn't arch up into the blunt press of teeth.
"Francis," again, another thing hissed between his teeth, though it's clear it's from the pleasure of it more than anything else.
He should reprimand him for that sound, but it's too lovely. It inspires a low hum of appreciation that's pulled from him unbidden. The both of them reacting purely on unfettered desire, if only for just a moment.
Little glamour in this, but it feels good. Soft skin beneath his mouth, and carefully, between his teeth. Like a deep kiss before it runs rougher, turning red from his attention, soon to bloom a lovely violet when it settles. Crozier (Francis, how he enjoys hearing it, disrespectful in most circumstances but cherished with a lover) keeps the mark contained and almost modest, not wanting to make Jopson genuinely uncomfortable when he next dresses, but wanting him to feel it as much as he likes throughout the coming days. Maybe a hair more than he'd like, too. Something lasting.
Silliness. He drags his tongue over it, presses his thumb in to admire the mark, and gives his nearest nipple a playful kiss.
A perfect mix between the bite of pain and the bloom of something warm and sensual, he'll look fondly at the bruise each morning when he dresses. It helps to know it's Crozier's mouth that brought it, this claiming little thing, makes warmth spread under his skin. He gently drags his nails along the man's scalp, up and down from the crown of his head to his nape, though there's the tiniest press harder when the kiss leaves one nipple peaked and cool.
"I will cherish it, sir," he says, voice a little airy, hand sliding from his hair to beckon him up to kiss him again. Thomas selfishly steals a series of small ones, tasting the remnants of them both on his tongue and lips. He'll feel guilty once the day begins and he sees all they have left in disarray beyond two locked doors, but for now he wants to savor this.
Terror is dangerous. The sea moreso. They're lucky they're just tired and worried and not frozen somewhere deep beneath the icy black. He rolls onto his back in the small space, gently nudging the older man to rest atop him now as they had been when they woke, regardless of the way their nightclothes are mussed and dirtied.
"A few more minutes and I'll be up to make your tea, sir," comes in a low voice, pleasantly warm and sated.
It looks incredibly charming on him. Crozier might like to see him fully dressed, but with his layers all split open, waistcoat perhaps half done, the bruise exposed; serving tea, leaning over his mending, with the display. His. His steward, his young lover, his confidant here on Terror, bearing his marks.
Alright, alright, that's enough nonsense.
Jopson is so easy to kiss, and hold, and he's more than happy to do that for those few more minutes. When it's time to get moving he gets up along with him— he'll leave him be for his steward duties, aware of how keen he is on them, but it'll be a joint effort to pack away their sordid nest and clean sticky skin.
Before they stitch themselves into being proper sailors again, Crozier catches him with one hand on his waist, and brings him in for a firm kiss. After, he shifts, and presses a chaste one to his forehead as well.
Thomas never fancied himself the kissing sort, certainly not with the hurried trysts and fumblings he's had with other men. Even as a boy, when doe-eyed girls would walk with him home from lessons and might try and cheekily catch him with a peck or two he'd wrinkled his nose at it. But here in the fading warmth of the berth he's happy to kiss and kiss and kiss if it means they can hold onto this moment a little longer.
But reality arrives and they're both up preparing for the day now in a different way. He's just finished up the last of his own buttons when he's pulled in. And fool that he is lingers in the kiss, allows his eyes to close to the one at his forehead, indulges in the strange patter of his heart before he tells himself to breathe.
He could be a kissing sort for this, definitely.
"My pleasure, sir," he murmurs, reaching to smooth his palms over the older man's shirt front, affectionate and caring. "The tea's ready - go have a cuppa, sir, and I'll return with breakfast and any reports made overnight."
Hands linger, pet over his captain's chest one more time before he tugs away and slips out into the great cabin, then out into the corridors, disappearing as he closes the door behind himself.
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The press of a thumb makes stars burst behind his eyes, a brilliant shock of pain that makes the muscle of his thigh tense, flex. His breath catches at the back of his throat, hand still working himself over. The proximity of Crozier's hand to his aching and weeping prick is enough to speed his touch, to imagine the calluses on the older man's hands, remember how it felt in that frenzied first moment together. Or at Aether, an arm around his waist and hand round his cock.
No one warned him that life at sea could be this passionate and potent.
"How would you keep me quiet, sir?" Even now, flushed and beginning to feel the edge of desperation radiate through his veins, he finds a way to be cheeky. And perhaps cheekier still to bow his head and chase the man for another kiss.
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Oh for shame, young Mr Jopson. Crozier teases him more with his fingers, drawing around the base of his cock, but not helping in holding him. The sight of his steward's hand on his own prick is too alluring, even though the wet pearling at the crown of it makes his teeth ache for want of taste.
"Keep my other fingers warm, then. And mind your teeth. Think you'll stay quiet then?"
More pressure at his thigh, though it's forceful teasing and not outright tissue damage. He could hurt him, but it's not about that. Never about that. Besides, if he's to give him another bruise, he wants to use his mouth.
rip this boomerang
A soft whine at the back of his throat and his prick twitches shamefully at the barest attention. He would do anything this man told him to do - if it was to sit over him like this and simply wait out his pleasure by sight alone, he would. Crozier can have him any way he wishes and he can't say no. (Doesn't want to).
Just at the press of the bruise again, he shifts his weight, just enough to keep himself upright when he moves his free hand to pluck at Crozier's wrist.
"Forgive me, I will need the practice to be certain I stay quiet for you, Captain."
And should the man allow, he draws his hand up and takes one finger into his mouth first while his other hand resumes its careful strokes.
bonerang
Thick fingers slide into his mouth, past that expressive, pretty mouth, to press gently onto the soft muscle of his tongue. His cock had been here not so long ago, and already the heat of it feels familiar. (Or so he thinks. Lurid nonsense.) Crozier wants to feel that whine.
"A shame you need to stay quiet at all." His other hand moves just a little more, encircling him at the root with thumb and forefinger, holding him while he pleases himself. "No doubt you sound as beautiful as you look. But save it all, for when only I get to hear it. Mm? Can you do that, Thomas?"
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He hums around the Captain's thick fingers, makes certain that he tilts his head just enough so that when he makes a noise of agreement it rumbles against the slick skin. He hollows his cheeks after, sucking once but careful not to make too much noise. It's meant to keep him quiet, after all.
Jopson's hand moves erratically now between them, chasing the edge of something that's startled him with how quickly it's overcome him. He tips his head back enough so that Crozier's wet fingers slide on his lips, his chin.
"Yes, Francis," he murmurs, eyes heavy lidded and pupils blown with wanting, and though he tries his best to keep himself together, he reaches his climax hard and fast. He turns his head into Crozier's hand, parts his lips around his fingers again to quiet himself as he spills a mess on Crozier's belly and hips and his own hand.
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Come home with me, when it's done—
Oh, stop. What does that look like. He has so much to do, a life to shape into expected forms. They both do. And even if he had enough money to do the daftest possible thing, who wants to live in France?
"Good, good," is praise, his voice still rough despite his tension having been released. "Look at you, good boy."
In the shuddering aftermath, he slides his hand up along Jopson's cock, gently nudging fingers away to take him in hand himself, where he just holds him through all the extra shudders and flinches. The heat of him, sticky and messy, feels lovely.
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Head tipping, he pulls away from the press of Crozier's fingers and instead bullies in to kiss the man, nudging their noses together and letting it be something lingering and open-mouthed and wet. Funny, the thing squeezing in his chest in time with the electricity coursing through his veins, the man's hand bringing him to the bittersweet edge of over-sensitivity by touch alone.
Still feeling a little selfish and a protective need to keep the Captain bedbound a while longer, he slowly settles his weight back down, bringing their bodies flush as he nuzzles in to kiss him again.
"You did well, sir," he murmurs, low and a little hoarse. "I'll keep you warm until we need to clean up for the bell."
The praise isn't lost on him. Good. Good boy. Beautiful. Thomas.
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Of doing well.
He pets Jopson for another moment, but removes his hand when it becomes inconvenient to keep it there between them; raises it to put his fingers in his own mouth this time. A sharp, technically unpleasant, but good taste, and especially satisfying after those kisses. He touches Jopson's lips after, then his nose, just enjoying him. Arms around him, then, and they settle.
"You run laps around the pan."
Of warming.
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A little breath of a laugh against Crozier's jaw, Jopson nuzzling into the warmth of him and the arms wrapped round him. He adjusts his weight to pull the thick blankets and furs up around them, goes still again with them settled, pressing a soft kiss against his chin.
"The day I don't is one you should worry," he snorts, speaking against the man's skin, unwilling to be far from him in the afterglow of their morning together. He pets Crozier's hair back from his brow, gently running fingers through it, carefully pressing fingertips against his scalp in slow, steady motions.
"You let me care for you, sir," he says quietly, nosing against his cheek. "I am grateful for that."
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His company. His care. His patience, and all his excellent work. Right now, specifically aside from their present melting, Crozier is grateful that his most recent worry over him — the collision, Jopson so near to danger, on deck and all else — has come to nothing. Terror has taken a beating, and some of her men, but Jopson came away unscathed. Crozier rubs his back in idle motions, simply enjoying the feel of him, and the near-smothering weight of him draped over his body.
In a little while:
"I haven't forgotten about giving you another bruise," by the way, "if you'd like that."
no subject
If only they could sleep a few more hours like this, tangled and sticky. Only a low, thoughtful sound at first, Jopson coming up out of lazy, sleepy thoughts in the quiet. He likes their shared moments best - when words or actions aren't needed and they can enjoy the simplicity and safety of one another's company.
"I could never deny you, sir," he teases, cheeky thing that he is, tipping his head up from the man's neck to kiss him again, catching his bottom lip with a drag of his teeth before meeting his eyes. "Anywhere you'd like, of course."
no subject
But there is shameless sexuality to take refuge in. Not too old for all that quite yet; hopefully it'll be some time before he is, hopefully he lingers in this span of time where being older is an attractive, exciting lure, before tipping over into being repulsive. He's not sure when that card is turned, precisely, despite having been a young man once as well, happy to fancy all sorts.
A quick kiss in response to that playful bite. A good boy, his sweet boy, and his relentless steward. Crozier drags one hand up Jopson's spine, and cradles the back of his skull. Handsome, clever, caring. What a life should be in store for him.
"Do you happen to undress anywhere with an audience?"
Reconnaissance work, here. If Jopson changes in view of any of the other men, it will not do to leave him one anywhere obvious.
no subject
A raise of a brow, though there's warmth in his eyes, his expression. It always comes back to the eye other men may have for him, when in fact all he can truly see is Francis Crozier. Relentless in his teasing now, it seems, relaxed by the high of their orgasms and the warmth of the haphazard bed he's made for them in the berth.
"But in seriousness, no - I'm grateful for the berth I am allowed as your steward. A privacy and privilege I do not take for granted."
Jopson pets soft lines down the side of Crozier's neck, mapping the skin there, pressing sweet little patterns into it. "The only one who will see it other than myself, Captain, is you. Put it where it pleases you most, sir."
A thrill that he may end up with a bruise somewhere even more curious than the soft flesh of his thigh. An easy thing to allow his mind to run with - and the yearning for a world where he could wear the mark proudly instead.
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Aware by now that Jopson is less keen on hearing about other people, but he started it this time, and so to banter it goes. Crozier enjoys his touch, fingers along the places he might run a razor blade later (or more likely put it off until tomorrow, the boon of fair hair). He lets it be for a moment before shifting them— angling to put Thomas on his side, so that he can be the only, singular admirer for now, rucking up his borrowed shirt to expose him from throat down.
Beautiful. Even more so right now, a mess.
"Any number of places might please me."
Investigation time. He runs his hands over him, exploratory and sensual.
no subject
For the days that Crozier thought he might send him overboard in the beginning of it all. But the word relentless - the more time he spends tangled in the man's company, the more he better understands his Captain's meaning.
Jopson helps their movement, shifting to his side and finding his balance there, but also suddenly very aware of the older man's attention. A pain, being as pale as he is, the flush of their passion still hot under his skin and warming under Crozier's hands. He goes still so he can be touched and petted however the man pleases.
"Though if you send me off to a raft you might never see how long I've kept your gift, sir. I'm afraid you'd simply have to imagine it."
The occasional dip of his stomach, the flutter of his side tensing and relaxing, his body coming to life beneath Crozier's perfect hands.
no subject
Not that Jopson is a seaman or an officer.
(Yet. :( )
Crozier touches him indulgently, in no hurry with their lusts sated, palms stroking over pale skin and dustings of dark hair. The stark contrasts of colors is lovely, a thing made more obvious by how bundled up they are even under the pole's perpetual sun. He familiarizes himself with every contour, traveling as low as he can reach without shifting his position, and occasionally leaning in to press kisses to his mouth.
He slides his fingers over his pectoral muscles, around darker peaks of his nipples, and to one side; a decision. Gently, he tips Jopson back enough to get them where they need to be. Kisses to his mouth, his jaw, down his throat, his chest. To the chosen spot, at the lowest edge of the muscle of his breast, edging towards his side. Not far enough to irritate him while moving his arm, but not front and center. He licks over it, and carefully bites down.
no subject
Difficult to imagine, what with the way the older man pets him and kisses him. It's enough to nearly lull him back into a light doze, eyes heavy and lashes a fan of dark contrasted against his cheeks. He lies where he's put, sighing at every place the man's mouth travels, not fully realizing what's to come next. It's the lack of anticipation, the surprise of it, that earns Francis a throaty moan. Maybe too loud, but with the way the ship groans as she lists to one side, it could be waved off.
His hand reaches to cradle the back of his skull, fingers scratching into the crop of hair there, grounding him so he doesn't arch up into the blunt press of teeth.
"Francis," again, another thing hissed between his teeth, though it's clear it's from the pleasure of it more than anything else.
no subject
Little glamour in this, but it feels good. Soft skin beneath his mouth, and carefully, between his teeth. Like a deep kiss before it runs rougher, turning red from his attention, soon to bloom a lovely violet when it settles. Crozier (Francis, how he enjoys hearing it, disrespectful in most circumstances but cherished with a lover) keeps the mark contained and almost modest, not wanting to make Jopson genuinely uncomfortable when he next dresses, but wanting him to feel it as much as he likes throughout the coming days. Maybe a hair more than he'd like, too. Something lasting.
Silliness. He drags his tongue over it, presses his thumb in to admire the mark, and gives his nearest nipple a playful kiss.
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"I will cherish it, sir," he says, voice a little airy, hand sliding from his hair to beckon him up to kiss him again. Thomas selfishly steals a series of small ones, tasting the remnants of them both on his tongue and lips. He'll feel guilty once the day begins and he sees all they have left in disarray beyond two locked doors, but for now he wants to savor this.
Terror is dangerous. The sea moreso. They're lucky they're just tired and worried and not frozen somewhere deep beneath the icy black. He rolls onto his back in the small space, gently nudging the older man to rest atop him now as they had been when they woke, regardless of the way their nightclothes are mussed and dirtied.
"A few more minutes and I'll be up to make your tea, sir," comes in a low voice, pleasantly warm and sated.
no subject
Alright, alright, that's enough nonsense.
Jopson is so easy to kiss, and hold, and he's more than happy to do that for those few more minutes. When it's time to get moving he gets up along with him— he'll leave him be for his steward duties, aware of how keen he is on them, but it'll be a joint effort to pack away their sordid nest and clean sticky skin.
Before they stitch themselves into being proper sailors again, Crozier catches him with one hand on his waist, and brings him in for a firm kiss. After, he shifts, and presses a chaste one to his forehead as well.
"Thank you, Thomas."
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But reality arrives and they're both up preparing for the day now in a different way. He's just finished up the last of his own buttons when he's pulled in. And fool that he is lingers in the kiss, allows his eyes to close to the one at his forehead, indulges in the strange patter of his heart before he tells himself to breathe.
He could be a kissing sort for this, definitely.
"My pleasure, sir," he murmurs, reaching to smooth his palms over the older man's shirt front, affectionate and caring. "The tea's ready - go have a cuppa, sir, and I'll return with breakfast and any reports made overnight."
Hands linger, pet over his captain's chest one more time before he tugs away and slips out into the great cabin, then out into the corridors, disappearing as he closes the door behind himself.