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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"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.