“I was told I’d get sick of the sight. No horizon, only water for days on end. I didn’t, sir. Even here on Terror I try to find some time above decks outside of my duties, though I doubt I was ever glowing. Certainly not in these temperatures.”
Though he can picture it and slot Crozier’s description alongside the feeling of wonder and awe that struck him every time he looked out over the deck. So very different from London and it’s maddening noise.
“Perhaps I did before I realized how trying life at sea could be.”
The kiss draws his eyes to their linked fingers, pulls with it a wistful and dreamy sort of smile. Relaxed, comfortable, warm. Again it would be so easy to stay like this for the rest of their days.
He tugs their joined hands up, just enough that he can mirror the kiss, but to Crozier’s knuckles instead, lingering.
“I’ll try to tell you more stories, sir. At least until you’re utterly sick of me.”
In some other realm, he tells him: he does glow, like a painting from antiquity, the colors packed in with old pigments and dyes like his favored indigo. But it's too saccharine and will sound the worst kind of sentimental. Crozier should spare them at least a little, as already they'll be pretending this wasn't happening in the morning. It's a wonderful game to be playing, though.
"You're relentless in everything to date," he tells him, a compliment. "But in that you'll fail, Mr Jopson."
Crozier's just not going to be sick of him, see.
Oh and he was supposed to go easy on it, spare them anything that sounded too serious. He'll blame the drink. A safe haven, alcohol is. Instead of letting his mouth run on further, he puts it to better use, and kisses him.
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Though he can picture it and slot Crozier’s description alongside the feeling of wonder and awe that struck him every time he looked out over the deck. So very different from London and it’s maddening noise.
“Perhaps I did before I realized how trying life at sea could be.”
The kiss draws his eyes to their linked fingers, pulls with it a wistful and dreamy sort of smile. Relaxed, comfortable, warm. Again it would be so easy to stay like this for the rest of their days.
He tugs their joined hands up, just enough that he can mirror the kiss, but to Crozier’s knuckles instead, lingering.
“I’ll try to tell you more stories, sir. At least until you’re utterly sick of me.”
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"You're relentless in everything to date," he tells him, a compliment. "But in that you'll fail, Mr Jopson."
Crozier's just not going to be sick of him, see.
Oh and he was supposed to go easy on it, spare them anything that sounded too serious. He'll blame the drink. A safe haven, alcohol is. Instead of letting his mouth run on further, he puts it to better use, and kisses him.