Chapter Text
When Edward reaches his berth he feels like he’s panting for breath, and has to sit for a moment while he waits for it to slow. He’s not even sure what had just happened; feels almost as if he were outside of his own body for the entire conversation. He hasn’t had the time to rationalise it yet, and something uninvited like hope begins fluttering away in his chest.
A small part of him wonders whether Jopson might follow. Might come knocking softly at his door, or even slip inside without asking. He looks at it for a few moments, heart thumping, and then shakes his head. What should he expect? That the man might want to… hold his hand for a little longer?
Surely the steward just meant to comfort a superior officer.
Surely he had to go straight back to the Captain.
Edward sits listening to the sounds of the ship around him, both her own and her mens’, as he considers whether he can face climbing back into bed or not yet.
When he does, his thought aren’t of abstract dreams, intangible visions, but the memory of another man’s hands touching his own.
There’s a birthday party for one of the ship’s boys the next afternoon. Edward stands with his fingers brushing the bulkhead, watching on at the revelries.
Birthdays had become more subdued when they first realised they were stuck out here and yet the excuse for celebration had become all the more necessary. Now, they’d begun indulging them as much as they could. There was cake and ale, and they’d managed to drum up enough cheer to sing a few songs, men clapping and stomping along. Edward even finds himself mumbling along to the one’s he knows.
He stifles a smile as one of the younger boy’s trips his way over a part written for a soprano, voice cracking appallingly, much to the entertainment of the surrounding men.
It’s with a smile on his lips that he catches sight of Jopson in his periphery. A tingling sensation works it’s way up from his toes to his stomach. It teeters somewhere between apprehension and anticipation. The steward’s carrying a crate which appears empty, his face set seriously. Edward looks down for a moment, but when he looks back up his cheeks feel warm, despite the fact that Jopson hasn’t so much as cast him a glance as he disappears in the direction of the stores. He feels like a beacon, that his reaction must be clear to every man present.
He’d met with the Captain in the Great Cabin that morning and tried not to spend the entire time awaiting the steward’s possible arrival. (He’d never arrived).
Part of him was grateful, as he couldn’t trust his face to behave. He didn’t know what Jopson expected from him. His mind also reminded him that he would not be Jopson’s greatest focus when the Captain was also in the room and so this would be inconsequential to him. To think that not long ago Edward had felt the same way, thinking of the steward mainly in the context of the Captain alone.
If asked to recall the points of the meeting he could remember maybe half of them. The Captain didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, or that he was even less focused than usual, but that wasn’t exactly unusual.
There’s a sudden uproarous laugh from one of the Marines. Edward looks over to see two of them tussling. Nothing that seems serious enough that he’d need to involve himself.
One of the mates tries to start up a round of some bawdy old tune in exaggerated cockney.
He can feel eyes on him in return now. He chances a look to his left in time to see Gibson, quickly averting his gaze. He’s already turning to move behind the throng of men crowded around one of the tables before Edward can consider him in return. If he spared more than passing musings for his steward, he might have put more thought to to the way his behaviour had been odd as of late. Alas.
By the time he watches Jopson reemerge, the men are mainly talking amongst themselves and someone has handed Edward a cup which he sips from gingerly. This time Jopson walks the opposite way around the lower deck, so that he’ll pass right be where Edward is stood. His arms are loaded with two new crates, eyes trained on the floor, avoiding the revellers. Edward tries to recall if he’s ever seen the man join in with a celebration but he can’t. He he ever seen him even relaxed? Edward thinks he’s going to pass right by without even an acknowledgment, but as he gets closer his eyelashes suddenly flick upwards. Edward allows their eyes to meet for a moment, inclines his head in greeting and watches a small smile pass over the other man’s lips.
“Can I help you with those Jopson?” Edward tries, unsure.
“There’s no need Sir.” He makes a show of adjusting them in his arms to show how easily he manages their weight.
“Allow me. You’ll be giving me an excuse to get out of the lads’ hair.” Edward says already discarding his cup and reaching for the one sitting on top, which is heavier than he’d expected.
He watches the other man’s gaze linger on the way he lifts the crate, on his hands and arms. He doesn’t argue. “This way Sir.” He says unnecessarily, and Edward follows Jopson across the deck and into the steward’s pantry, the noise fading into the background.
Edward goes to speak as they enter through the doorway, before he notices they’re not alone. Gibson is placing cutlery into a drawer on the far side of the pantry.
He looks up at their entrance, bored, but the double takes when he notices Edward behind the other steward.
“Lieutenant?”
Edward nods at him quickly in greeting and then follows Jopson in placing the crate down on the sideboard.
“Thank you, Sir.” Jopson says, voice loud and flat.
“Is there anything more?”
“—No no,” Jopson’s already speaking before he’s finished. Expression trained downwards, still gripping the crate with white knuckles.
"Excuse me a moment.” Gibson suddenly speaks from behind them. He’s already left the room without waiting for a reply. Edward watches him go, listening as his footsteps disappear in to the indistinguishable din and then he turns back to Jopson. The man hasn’t moved and Edward allows himself to study the side of his serious face. His drawn lips and long eyelashes. He wants to brush away the piece of hair that Jopson usually brushes behind his own ear.
“I hope I’m not overstepping Jopson, but are you well?”
The man shoots a glance at Edward before realising how close he’s been standing and smiling weakly. His shoulders lower a little.
“Yes. You know,” He waves a hand toward the doorway Gibson had disappeared through. Edward doesn’t know though.
The man rests his hand back on the crate and then Edward finds himself reaching his own hand out, placing it on top of Jopson’s before he can change his mind. He feels like this small action is allowed, mirroring Jopson’s own last night, as he lets his fingers press between knuckles. This time his own hand is bare, but Jopson wears his white gloves.
He holds his breath slightly but then Jopson is turning his hand over so that he can take Edward’s in his own, intertwining their fingers so that their palms clasp together.
Edward can feel his own heart thudding, hopes the other man can’t hear it, where his upper arm hangs so close to Edward’s chest.
They both go to speak at once, Edward is stuttering over his words and Jopson is laughing softly.
“Thank you for asking.” He says then, speaking quietly, head tilting so that their eyes meet again. “In all honesty, I thought I might have… scared you away.”
Edward almost laughs in response, “You say this to me after I snatched a crate from you and followed you in here like a lost pup?”
“And to think I was going to allow you to continue in that false charade without comment Lieutenant!”
“I’m quite anxious not to appear false.”
“I’d have been more affronted had you not offered to help.”
“I didn’t know if it would be well received.”
“Oh I think you did.” He pauses, eyes soft.
“Did you speak truthfully? Last night.” Edward runs a cautious thumb over the back of Jopson’s hand.
“Yes.” He brings his other hand up to hold his neck self consciously, turning his head away. “I thought…”
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to say anything more.”
“I just wish we had— I mean, I wish we could—”
“We could. You can… If you wish it? When you’re…?” He’s scolding himself for saying it, and so nonsensically, as soon as the words have tumbled from his mouth.
But before he can think about it much more Jopson’s asking “When I..?”
“I shouldn’t presume—”
“You don’t presume, Lieutenant—”
“To ask you to… when I can’t even verbalise—”
“Should I visit your berth later tonight, Sir?” Jopson asks plainly then, trying to level their gazes again.
“Yes.” The word shoots out of Edward’s mouth.
“All right. After the party is over?”
“Yes, if it suits.”
Edward feels his cheeks warm. His mouth feels detached from his body and mind. Jopson smiles and Edward tries not to look at him too directly. The irony is not lost on him. That he finds it difficult to look at the man he cannot stop looking at in company when they are alone.
“You need not be coy with me Sir. Or embarrassed.”
“Easier said than done.”
And that makes Jopson laugh again and oh no, Edward tries not to delight at the noise, tries not to feel warmth deep in his gut.
“Tact is… advisable. Shame? Not as much.”
“You speak as if you have no regard for the law.”
“We’ve hardly behaved in a way that would need to involve the law.”
His gaze shifts to the door over Edward’s shoulder, his brow furrowed as he eyes it suspiciously, but when his eyes finally meet Edward’s again they soften. His hand slides out of Edward’s own, eye’s searching his face as he brings it tentatively to his temple, a thumb stroking along the hair at Edward’s jawline.
He means to kiss me Edward thinks faintly. But then he blinks and Jopson’s stepping away from him and turning back to his work. He sees that at his sign to leave and turns to go, finding Gibson has appeared in the doorway once again. He passes his steward quickly, hoping he hadn’t seen too much and that his blush isn’t too visible. But he feels eyes on him. He doesn’t look back.
Edward makes it back to his berth later then he’d have liked. He’d got caught up in a worrying conversation with Mr Blanky about the state of the ship’s movements in the ice, and his thoughts are muddled and melancholy. Even worse than that, he’d come across Lieutenant Irving who hadn’t seemed to be fairing any better than he.
“What ails you John?” Edward asks with a sigh upon finding the man muttering to himself on the upper deck.
“Edward.” He says, vaguely alarmed, as if he hadn’t even noticed anyone else was there. “I’d rather not burden you with these thoughts also.”
“I doubt it’s anything I’ve not considered at this point.”
“I sincerely hope you haven’t.” The man looked affronted as if Edward had any way of knowing what he was thinking about.
Before Edward can say anything in reply, John is speaking again: “I worry for these men. Too long stuck in this ice. I worry that they stray.”
“From command?”
“Yes, but from God even more so.” He answers his own question.
“I think it’s only natural to feel…” that God has abandoned us he muses.
“Be careful with your words Lieutenant.” John warns as if he knows what Edward had been thinking.
“—For the men to feel difficulty in… accessing God, in our current predicament.”
“But does that not make it all the more important? Do you not see! Alas, that, that is another problem entirely. I can no more control what the men are thinking during Sunday service than I control the ice, only insist that they are present. No this is… something else.” Edward watches the man flush before he can continue. “It’s a nasty business really but you do hear of men who are long at sea, not that one ever imagines he might find himself on a ship beside one — men who can simply not control themselves in the absence of the fairer sex.”
Once he’s realised what John is even talking about Edward tries not to react.
“If an article has been broken there’s a system of punishment, but until then it’s not for you to carry on your shoulders.”
John frowns and he knows he’s said the wrong thing. Edward tried desperately not to think of the invitation he’d granted Jopson to his berth that evening.
“Is it not for any good Christian’s duty to carry that on his shoulders?”
“I suppose. But why this now?”
“I have my… suspicions.” The sentence should be enough to set alarm bells off in Edwards head but the far off look and tone make it clear John does not mean him. “I’d rather save the sinner before the sinning. Or at least before it continues.”
“We have good men, trust in that.”
John shrugs slightly. “It remains to be seen.”
Back in his berth, Edward freezes.
Had he been too forward to invite Jopson to his berth? Despite the fact that he’d essentially invited himself? He was putting him in an awful position. And what exactly did he expect from this… visit?
Polite conversation required one to avoid their true meaning so severely that maybe they’d both come out of it assuming different things were said.
He hurries around tidying little things away anyway, shoving items in to his drawer. Straightening the books up on his shelf. He ends up taking his coat off, and his jumper too, folding it away neatly. (Was that too forward?) He brushes down his waistcoat, and then sits at his desk for a moment, deciding to light another candle so the room doesn’t appear too dark. Keeping himself busy so that he can’t dwell too much on what John had said. The man was always delivering sermons to whoever would listen, and it was similar to conversations they’d had before. Edward was simply giving the man someone to voice these thoughts to so he didn’t scare any more of the men. This instance shouldn’t hold any particular weight.
Just as the candle is lit, there’s a quiet tap, and before he can say anything in reply; Jopson is there.
His eyes are wide, even nervous perhaps.
“Lieutenant.” He steps inside and slides the door shut quickly but quietly. “I only have a moment.”
Edward stands abruptly from his chair. Nods a few times before he can speak. “Of course.”
“I wish I had longer but I got delayed.”
“As did I.”
The other man looks unsure as he takes stock of Edward’s half clothed state. Maybe that had been a mistake.
He takes a few paces into the room, hand flexing and relaxing by his side.
“I hope I haven’t interpreted this incorrectly, Sir.”
“I’d been hoping the same.” He admits.
“Your… tastes,” In men, he doesn’t say.
“Yes,” He says, eyes closing against the accusation.
“It’s all right.”
“Not if it’s so noticeable.”
“Only to me.”
Oh. Edward opens his eyes again to find other man standing right in front of him, just the corner of his desk between them.
“And you?” He asks, not really sure what he’s asking.
“I’m discreet.” Jopson says with a shrug. “I was the same on land. It’s not just being at sea for me.”
“Me neither.”
“It’s all right if it is, Sir.”
“It’s not.”
They eye each other a moment. Wary interest. The anticipation in Edward’s chest is almost too much to bear.
“I have no expectations of,” He doesn’t finish his sentence. “If you wish you to do as you please.”
“I’d much rather do as you please.” Edward says, hoping it sounds kind and not pathetic.
When Jopson comes to him, its to places a gentle hand on Edward’s shoulder, using it to press the man gently back down into his chair. Fingers trace up the back of his neck and in to his hair. Edward turns his face into Jopson’s forearm, closed lips bracing against clothed skin.
And then Jopson’s bringing Edward’s head to his abdomen, holding him close to his own body. Edward clears his throat to stop from whining as he crushes his cheek to the other man, hands reaching to brace on his forearms, afraid he may move away from the touch. But he just presses in closer, allowing Edward to cling to him. They stay like that for longer than is polite, both content to take in the other’s warmth. The ice creaks around them.
When Jopson moves back a fraction, Edward makes a noise of unhappiness, but he looks up to see that he has the other’s full attention.
Edward finds Jopson’s hands where they rest at the back of his head and brings them in front of his face. They are gloved; have been this entire time. Edward’s not sure he’s ever seen the man without them. He takes Jopsons left hand into his palms and feels down his middle finger to find any slack in the material. The man inhales sharply, but not unpleasantly, as he realises what he intends to do. And then Edward is prising the glove from his hand by the fingertips. His bare palm is warm, his fingers long and slender, nails perfectly trimmed. As he repeats it with his right hand, Jopson’s left hand wanders, soft fingers mapping over Edward’s cheek and forehead and jaw.
Jopson’s eyes are deep pools as he looks down at the Lieutenant, who can’t imagine what he’s mirroring back.
Before Edward can register it, Jopson is placing un-gloved hands on either side of his face, and leaning down to place a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth. The boldness nearly blinds Edward, who feels himself swaying forward and upwards into it, eyes on lips, a hand finding Jopson’s elbow. Jopson swipes a thumb over his bottom lip afterwards, eyelids heavy, and Edward’s heart is in his throat as he tightens his grip. He tries to speak, but all he manages is “Oh” before his lips are meeting Jopson’s own.
It’s surprisingly soft for the urgency of it, both men digging harsh fingers into the places their bodies touch as Edward nearly pushes himself out of the chair with the momentum. Edward muses that his lips do not feel completely dissimilar from his fingers, warm and soft. He tries to stand to meet the other man but he’s pushed back down again, Jopson placing his knee on the edge of the chair, his thigh resting over Edward’s so that he can gain better access. He opens his mouth a little more in the process and Edward feels his own mouth go after it hungrily, head tilting as his hands find waist. Jopson’s own hands brush downward, gripping the lapels of Edward’s waistcoat and pulling him in closer. Edward makes an involuntary noise in the back of his throat and Jopson swallows it with his warm mouth, stooping over Edward without putting any of his weight atop him like he wishes he would. He’s close in certain areas, but noticeably far in others. It’s polite, despite the heat of the kiss.
He has it in his mind to press the man back and against the desk, maybe seat him atop it, but he can’t let himself get too carried away. So he pulls away first, dragging nose over cheek with a light exhale.
Jopson’s hands finds the back of his neck. He tries not to sigh in relief at the sensation as a hand cards its way up through his hair again.
“I wanted to know how your hair might feel.”
“I… wanted,” The word gets caught in Edward’s throat, almost awestruck. His hands brush over Jopson’s coat to find his waist again, scrambling to bring the man in closer. To be touching more of him.
Jopson mumbles something.
“Pardon?”
“I have to go.” Jopson’s other hand grazes over his cheek softly before he extracts himself from Edward’s space. “To the Captain.”
“No.” Edward says plainly and Jopson laughs. That delightful sound again, enough to melt the ice.
“I did say I only had a moment.”
Edward finds himself standing, so that they’re closer again. “Sorry.”
“Find me tomorrow? So I cannot tell myself this was a dream?”
“I’m the one—” He stops himself. “I’m not entirely convinced this is not a dream.”
“Don’t say that,” Jopson adds quietly, and then he tucks his head into the crook of Edward’s shoulder. It winds him harder than the kiss had. He can feel closed lips on his exposed neck.
But Jopson steps back again, taking another look at Edward, who feels disheveled and defeated from a few minutes touch. He, on the other hand is practically glowing. Edward hands him his gloves wordlessly and watches as the steward draws them back on. He’d be lying if he said he was completely unaffected by the exercise.
“Good night Lieutenant.”
“Good night.” Their eyes linger on each other with new interest and curiosity.
Edward wants to reach out and touch him again, but he knows he won’t be able to let the man leave if he does. He tries not to think about him hurrying straight back to Crozier’s side.
Breakfast is a distracting affair.
The first time he allows their eyes to meet is while Jopson’s pouring Lieutenant Hodgson’s tea and the man nearly spills it. Edward isn’t pleased but he is thankful that he does not appear to be the only one affected by the events of the night before. When he leaves the room and then returns again, Edward nearly stands up out of his chair, the fool.
He always looks pleasant, and always presents pleasantly while he’s working, but he has a shy smile just waiting at the edge of his lips and it’s enough to make Edward feel vaguely giddy.
When Jopson serves him, he's overly aware of the sound of the other man’s breath. Doesn’t move out of the way when he leans down beside him, allowing their sleeves to brush by a hair’s width.
The entire situation could almost be humorous to Edward, if he wasn’t so caught up in it himself. He’d been no stranger to a fumble in the dark during his time in the service, but that usually meant a wordless and possibly anonymous encounter in which each man got his and went on his merry way with a certain level of plausible deniability. If there was any romance in it, it certainly wasn’t acknowledged. But this… shared more similarities with what Edward could only assume one did to secretly court a lady in polite society. Kind and cautious words, a certain level of regard for the other, a kiss when one’s chaperone’s back was turned. He was more flustered over a few touches and a kiss, albeit a lovely kiss, than he ever had been by another man going to his knees before him.
He tries to linger afterwards, but the Captain makes no indication of leaving the Great Cabin, and too many of the other men are hovering. So he resigns himself to leave for his morning duties.
But as he makes his way towards the ladder he hears footsteps behind him, a quiet “Excuse me, Sir,” and Jopson is passing right by him, an apprehensive look in his eyes.
Edward doesn’t know what to do, out here where anyone could see or overhear him. A broken noise escapes his lips and Jopson turns back to him.
“Good Morning.” He says belatedly, nonsensically. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
Jopson seems pleased that he’s spoken. “Are you well Lieutenant?”
“Quite. And you?”
“Quite.” He echoes.
“Where are you off to?”
“An errand for the Captain.”
“Oh.” They could be saying anything, gibberish, barely listening while they use the opportunity to stand near to each other. To look at one another.
“You look well.” Jopson says, his cheeks flushing and Edward darts a look around them before reaching a cautious hand to pat the man’s shoulder in what could appear as merely friendly.
"And you. Of course." He allows his palm to brush back and forth and then squeezes before he moves it away again, but by then Jopson is reaching his own hand out to finger at one of the buttons on Edward’s overcoat. Perhaps the one he’d re-affixed, Edward muses. “It was askew,” Jopson mumbles in all it's ridiculousness.
“To think I appeared at breakfast with my buttons askew.”
“It was quite dreadful, honestly. Can’t have been worse than the stain on Lieutenant Irving’s collar, however.” Jopson raises a judgmental eyebrow.
“I’ll have to tell him. Kindly.”
“Mm.”
“Ah that reminds me.” The words tumble from Edward’s lips half formed as he watches the way the other man’s lips part pleasantly, “I have a pesky stain on one of my shirtsleeves from the engine room a few days ago that Gibson can’t get out. Could you perhaps..?”
“Bring it this afternoon. I’ve got a few of the Captain’s garments to tackle.”
“Yes. Certainly. Excellent.”
This is completely false, of course. Jopson smirks at his eagerness as if he’d expected and planned for this outcome exactly.