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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"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."
no subject
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.