A soft snort against Crozier's skin that morphs into a soft bout of laughter, a turn of his head to kiss just along his sternum. The idea of leaving makes something squeeze in his chest and it's foolish - he knows best how these sort of affairs work, but equally there is an entire ship with eyes only half turned toward the great cabin at all times. Crozier is the Captain, after all.
"A feather bed and chandelier... you would make a very generous pirate then, sir."
But it's a nice thought, a little funny, that he should be some grand prize. Hardly. The air begins to cool around them but his blood runs hot enough still to keep for a little while longer. That, and Crozier is warm in a way that he could burrow against him and find comfort for a while yet. The bitter cold will never do him in so long as this man keeps him in company.
He closes his eyes, sitting in silence with the man, listening to his heart beat. It feels like a thousand years have passed when he finally tips his head up, shifts in his place with aching thighs, just enough to kiss the man. It's slow, languid, yearning to hold onto the moment for just a little while longer. Easy to feel like he's floating, like the rock of the ship and the turn of the sky couldn't touch them here. So it's just soft, deep kisses for a moment, until he finally sighs against the man's mouth.
"A pirate that needs cleaning up," a resignation, a reluctant acknowledgement of the outside world. But still their moment - still something that can be intimate and delicate and theirs.
Eminently enjoyable to lay with someone after, to hold and be held. Not a luxury often afforded at sea, even at this rank, even with these quarters. He knows it's womanly of him to like it so, but he's never been troubled by such implications— especially not when his lover seems to like it just as much. And maybe Jopson does, at least a little, with the way he kisses his chest and stays where he is until they can't stay any longer.
Crozier takes his face in his hands for the kiss, returning it with just as much affection. He thumbs over Thomas' nose, a teasing little thing, rubs his cheek. Still somewhat kiss-bruised and hair all askew, his steward is, and it's painfully attractive. Just as much as how rigorously neat he keeps himself day to day.
A grunt that sounds like a laugh. Yes, yes, alright. He drops a kiss on the younger man's forehead, then he gets an elbow under himself, and so begins the awkward, fumbling process of getting two nude men up out of one wedged berth without agitating Thomas' back too much. No helping the way the water in the basin is stinging cold by now, but at least they're both suffering through the use of it and can have an exasperated laugh about it all. Francis remains affectionate through it, looking after him, leaving a hand on his side or his elbow as they go about cleaning off and collecting their garments.
Time feels as though it stills while they fumble around the berth, climbing from the man's lap and helping him clean up. The water's cold, something that he tries to subvert when it comes time for him to assist the captain in washing up, keeping the cloth pressed between his palms to eat up some of the chill before he wipes him down.
Wild to think that the mess he cleans is his own, spread and smeared on their skin. But thinking too long will get his blood going hot again just as he's beginning to feel it fade away from a simmer. He swipes his trousers up from the floor, stepping into them with reddened knees, fumbles for the shirtsleeves even if it makes him wince as the fabric grazes down his back.
"Let me get your night shirt, sir," he murmurs, gently prying the man's hand from his side and turning to fetch the thing. He returns quickly and efficiently as ever, and though he's playing the part of put-together steward, he certainly doesn't look it, all kiss-swollen and debauched.
"Here you are," he offers it out, already situated over his arms in such a way he can help Crozier slip into it. "I've chosen the warmer one since the bed coals have gone out by now."
Almost a little sheepish - a little embarrassed but equally knowing. The coals went out as they stoked different fires altogether. "Stands to reason you may get a few hours sleep before the first bell, sir."
It's unfair that Jopson gets to get him tucked away for bed, and Crozier can't return the favor; his steward has to put on his entire kit and walk back to his own berth. Completely unacceptable for him to do so in any kind of disarray for numerous reasons— even if nothing untoward was going on, to look so disheveled isn't becoming of anyone in the service, seaman or civilian. But he pulls the nightshirt on, allows Jopson to aid him, and then settles both hands against the younger man's chest. Just to touch him.
"The coals always go out," he says, wry. "Alas, physics. But I've survived each time."
A warm treat when bedding down, but it fades. No need to worry, especially when the tradeoff is so good. His turn, then, to help get him into his uniform coat, slow and careful.
"Wait for a moment."
His hair. Crozier fetches his comb and reaches up, still careful. Not as practiced as Jopson is — which is sometimes curious, he suspects such degree of grooming isn't actually standard and he's just a certain way about it all — but getting him in reasonable order is only fair.
Quiet, almost awed at the way the captain still wants to touch him now after their little tryst has ended. The weight of them there, the heat - it's all pleasant in a way that only adds to the sort of dream-like hue everything has now, even with the sharp point of reality at the edge.
Crozier reaches up and it's absent the way he reaches for his sides, fingers pressing up along his ribs as though steadying him, but truthfully just to touch him while the moment still lingers between them. It will be broken soon enough.
"I've to be up an hour or so before the bell, sir, but I will of course do my best."
A pause, fingers hesitating, and he reaches one last time for the man's wrist, plucking hand from its work so he may press a faint kiss to the inside pulse. Also so he may steal the comb away should the man let him.
"But you need far more rest than I do. You've a crew to command at first light and it is my duty above all else to see you are ready to meet the day come morning."
Putting the comb away, adjusting his own coat, even raising a hand to gently brush his own hair from his forehead as he always does. Awkward, to have to part after the nearness and intimacy of it all.
"Thank you, sir," seems adequate enough to say everything he can't truly put words to.
Impossibly sweet, that touch to his pulse. Crozier lets him have his way, because of course he's right, and he has to admit to himself that he likes how professional Jopson is. Despite how wildly unprofessional they've been for the past hour.
Near the door, he touches Jopson's chin. Again, in that way he did when he first tipped his head up. He looks at him for a moment, and then kisses him.
A wonderfully good boy. An unbelievably stubborn steward. And very patient, to be putting up with these frivolous extra touches and wasted minutes when they should be having things quick and rough and scurrying apart after. It means something to him, and he's grateful, even if the younger man is just indulging him. He seems to have enjoyed himself at least, and that makes Francis feel content with it all.
The touch under his chin will always be the thing he thinks most fondly of - the way he's kept his eyes off the floor, drawn him in, refocused him. What better to focus on than the captain himself. The kiss, however, takes him aback. His eyes flutter closed and he leans into it just enough before they part.
He's slow to open his eyes after, to take in the man's face, to even think about taming the heat in his own cheeks. But in the end he smiles, all the warmth flooding into the pale blue of his eyes. A little nod of his head.
"Of course. Sleep well, Captain."
With another little nod he slips out, shutting the door behind him, and disappearing back to his berth.
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"A feather bed and chandelier... you would make a very generous pirate then, sir."
But it's a nice thought, a little funny, that he should be some grand prize. Hardly. The air begins to cool around them but his blood runs hot enough still to keep for a little while longer. That, and Crozier is warm in a way that he could burrow against him and find comfort for a while yet. The bitter cold will never do him in so long as this man keeps him in company.
He closes his eyes, sitting in silence with the man, listening to his heart beat. It feels like a thousand years have passed when he finally tips his head up, shifts in his place with aching thighs, just enough to kiss the man. It's slow, languid, yearning to hold onto the moment for just a little while longer. Easy to feel like he's floating, like the rock of the ship and the turn of the sky couldn't touch them here. So it's just soft, deep kisses for a moment, until he finally sighs against the man's mouth.
"A pirate that needs cleaning up," a resignation, a reluctant acknowledgement of the outside world. But still their moment - still something that can be intimate and delicate and theirs.
no subject
Crozier takes his face in his hands for the kiss, returning it with just as much affection. He thumbs over Thomas' nose, a teasing little thing, rubs his cheek. Still somewhat kiss-bruised and hair all askew, his steward is, and it's painfully attractive. Just as much as how rigorously neat he keeps himself day to day.
A grunt that sounds like a laugh. Yes, yes, alright. He drops a kiss on the younger man's forehead, then he gets an elbow under himself, and so begins the awkward, fumbling process of getting two nude men up out of one wedged berth without agitating Thomas' back too much. No helping the way the water in the basin is stinging cold by now, but at least they're both suffering through the use of it and can have an exasperated laugh about it all. Francis remains affectionate through it, looking after him, leaving a hand on his side or his elbow as they go about cleaning off and collecting their garments.
no subject
Wild to think that the mess he cleans is his own, spread and smeared on their skin. But thinking too long will get his blood going hot again just as he's beginning to feel it fade away from a simmer. He swipes his trousers up from the floor, stepping into them with reddened knees, fumbles for the shirtsleeves even if it makes him wince as the fabric grazes down his back.
"Let me get your night shirt, sir," he murmurs, gently prying the man's hand from his side and turning to fetch the thing. He returns quickly and efficiently as ever, and though he's playing the part of put-together steward, he certainly doesn't look it, all kiss-swollen and debauched.
"Here you are," he offers it out, already situated over his arms in such a way he can help Crozier slip into it. "I've chosen the warmer one since the bed coals have gone out by now."
Almost a little sheepish - a little embarrassed but equally knowing. The coals went out as they stoked different fires altogether. "Stands to reason you may get a few hours sleep before the first bell, sir."
no subject
"The coals always go out," he says, wry. "Alas, physics. But I've survived each time."
A warm treat when bedding down, but it fades. No need to worry, especially when the tradeoff is so good. His turn, then, to help get him into his uniform coat, slow and careful.
"Wait for a moment."
His hair. Crozier fetches his comb and reaches up, still careful. Not as practiced as Jopson is — which is sometimes curious, he suspects such degree of grooming isn't actually standard and he's just a certain way about it all — but getting him in reasonable order is only fair.
"You're to catch a few hours, too, lad."
no subject
Quiet, almost awed at the way the captain still wants to touch him now after their little tryst has ended. The weight of them there, the heat - it's all pleasant in a way that only adds to the sort of dream-like hue everything has now, even with the sharp point of reality at the edge.
Crozier reaches up and it's absent the way he reaches for his sides, fingers pressing up along his ribs as though steadying him, but truthfully just to touch him while the moment still lingers between them. It will be broken soon enough.
"I've to be up an hour or so before the bell, sir, but I will of course do my best."
A pause, fingers hesitating, and he reaches one last time for the man's wrist, plucking hand from its work so he may press a faint kiss to the inside pulse. Also so he may steal the comb away should the man let him.
"But you need far more rest than I do. You've a crew to command at first light and it is my duty above all else to see you are ready to meet the day come morning."
Putting the comb away, adjusting his own coat, even raising a hand to gently brush his own hair from his forehead as he always does. Awkward, to have to part after the nearness and intimacy of it all.
"Thank you, sir," seems adequate enough to say everything he can't truly put words to.
no subject
Near the door, he touches Jopson's chin. Again, in that way he did when he first tipped his head up. He looks at him for a moment, and then kisses him.
A wonderfully good boy. An unbelievably stubborn steward. And very patient, to be putting up with these frivolous extra touches and wasted minutes when they should be having things quick and rough and scurrying apart after. It means something to him, and he's grateful, even if the younger man is just indulging him. He seems to have enjoyed himself at least, and that makes Francis feel content with it all.
"Goodnight, Tomás."
no subject
He's slow to open his eyes after, to take in the man's face, to even think about taming the heat in his own cheeks. But in the end he smiles, all the warmth flooding into the pale blue of his eyes. A little nod of his head.
"Of course. Sleep well, Captain."
With another little nod he slips out, shutting the door behind him, and disappearing back to his berth.