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Morfin had assumed this far down in the ship, he would not encounter a single soul. Things had never been busier on Erebus, what with all the Terror's here now. He'd been hoping for a very rare piece of quiet, having assumed it late enough no one else would be this far down and with a small amount of time on his hands. So it surprised him to find lamplight, to hear someone moving in the hold. Slowly, Morfin crept forward, peered down. He could not see anyone until the figure of Commander Fiztjames stepped into view.
He held up to him a dress, swigging from what Morfin believed to be a bottle of wine and observing himself in what Morfin assumed to be a mirror. The AB's breath caught, if only for a moment. Fitzjames disappeared from view, Morfin feeling a pull to lean forward. He wished to chase the sight of the Commander, thinking he would linger only a moment.
But as he shifted his weight forward, well, Morfin really could not be sure what exactly happened or caused it but somehow he found himself pitching forward. Air whooshed past his face in quick succession, the floor meeting him well before he knew it and the pain zipping through every inch of him.
Over the loud thud he'd made, he overheard Fitzjames swear, clearly heard him turn around and exclaim, "Seaman Morfin?"
Despite the dazed feeling in his head and the ache settling into his body, Morfin was already forcing himself to scramble to his feet and shuffle backward, to go back up the ladder as quickly as possible and scurry far, far away.
"Mr. Morfin, halt!" he heard his Commander order and so Morfin froze.
He privately cursed himself. The Commander would think him shirking duties or, worse yet, believe him to have been secretly observing him for more sinful purposes. Either could have him flogged. The commander didn't even rightly need a reason.
Fitzjames closed the distance between them easily in the small space they occupied, reaching out and turning Morfin to face him. His hands cupped his chin, tipping his head up and inspecting his face with a discerning eye. Letting go, he produced a handkerchief and started wiping at Morfin's nose. It smarted but Morfin still felt a little shocked to see the cloth come away bloody. He'd fallen hard and sure his face hurt, but so did the rest of him. Not enough to signal to his brain either that anything was terribly amiss. Bringing his hand up to press against his nose, Morfin didn't feel it broken.
He found Fitzjames handing him the handkerchief again, letting him keep it held to his face as the Commander shuffled him over towards an open costume chest which he shut with a thump and sat Morfin down on.
"You should rest a moment, Mr. Morfin. However did you fall?" Fitzjames asked and Morfin watched his eyes slid to where he'd abandoned the dress he'd been holding up to himself.
Morfin didn’t look away from the Commander, merely saw the fabric out of the corner of his eye and knew what the scene had been before he'd so unceremoniously interrupted. Inwardly, Morfin once again kicked himself. How'd he even fallen down?
“Sorry, sir. Tripped turning ‘round. Thought I’d come down for a bit of quiet. Didn’t think no one would be here. Saw the light, thought I'd try my hammock like I should've in the first place. I'm sorry, sir,” Morfin carefully replied.
Too far away from the truth and Morfin felt it would do him no favors, but certainly he could not admit to the full truth. Already he could feel Fitzjames studying him, perhaps already aware of everything Morfin would be mortified for him to know.
“I should go, sir,” he added, when the Commander didn’t seem to do much but look at him.
Yet even as he spoke and stood to leave, he found Fitzjames pushing him back down.
“Rest a moment more. Does your nose feel like it’s broken? I expect Dr. Stanley has gone to bed,” he hummed, slender and almost delicate fingers once more brushing his cheeks.
Morfin lowered the handkerchief, relieved to see no new stains of red. Although he would be sore, especially tomorrow, the tumble could have been much worse.
“Really, sir, I shouldn't even have been this far down in the ship," Morfin insisted, even as he stayed seated, watching as the Commander reached down and picked up the abandoned wine bottle.
"Well, if no bones are broken and you need the moment to let your head settle, would you like a drink?" Fitzjames asked him.
The AB pressed his lips together, unsure if his yes would be taken well. Or if this would be a mistake. But he'd already done the damage of falling down here. What would be one drink?
"If it's no trouble, sir," Morfin finally replied.
Fitzjames smirked at him, taking a swig from the bottle before handing it to him.
"If it's no trouble," Fitzjames repeated.
Morfin took a long gulp of the wine, curiously watching as Fitzjames turned and picked up the dress he'd been admiring. The fabric was brought once more to his chest, letting the thing drape him and Morfin could picture Fitzjames filling it out as if it were made for him. At least in his mind.
"What do you think about this? If it's no trouble," the commander asked him.
The second sip of wine he'd so boldly been taking nearly choked him.
"Think about what, sir?" Morfin coughed.
"The dress, seaman. Don't play dumb, if you're going to stay," Fitzjames rolled his eyes.
"Thought I was staying because of my fall," Morfin countered.
Fitzjames shifted the dress into only one arm and took the wine from Morfin, tipping his head back. Morfin watched the his lips wrap around the bottle, watched his throat constrict as he swallowed.
"If I tried it on would you tell me what you think?" the Commander wondered, breezing past Morfin's previous comment.
Even though Morfin could not be drunk from even two big gulps of wine, his head spun at Fitzjames' words.
"Oh, aye, sir, believe I could," Morfin said before he could even stop himself.
The urgency of his response had Fitzjames laugh. The wine was put out of the way, Fitzjames handing him the dress to hold on to while he undressed. Morfin held it in his lap, furiously trying to ignore how the sight of Commander Fitzjames undressing was making his prick harden. Maybe it was the wine or head injury or perhaps the fact he did not stop at just his clothes. When he stood in just his smalls, Fitzjames also slipped these off so Morfin's eyes fell upon the slender piece the man possessed. Curiously, the AB observed the commander at least felt similarly to him, if his yard was anything to go by.
All of his clothes were carefully placed next to Morfin on the chest, Morfin's eyes unable to wrest themselves away from the body of his Commander even as he said something to him and took from his hands the dress that hid his own excitement at the situation.
Fitzjames stepped back, lifting the dress up and pulling it over his head. Perhaps his nose had leaked upon the dress, for Morfin spied a spot of blood upon the Commander's hairline, just a smidge, when he reemerged from the depths of the garment.
"Well? Hmm?" Fitzjames prompted, smoothing out the folds and fiddling with the shoulders.
"Beautiful," Morfin breathed, feeling blood rush to his growing stand.
Fitzjames smiled, hand absently rubbing at that drop of blood already forgotten about by the seaman. The Commander hardly noticed. Morfin had unintentionally whined. He just had not seen something so beautiful in some time, stuck out here in this cold and dark and deadly place. To think of sharing this moment with another soul warmed him so that for a moment, Morfin could forget where he was.
"Really, Mr. Morfin, control yourself," Fitzjames chastised, giving a little twirl. "After all, I am a lady."
"Sorry, sir, er, ma'am," Morfin stammered, shifting uncomfortably now that the blood rush from head to crotch had left him dizzy.
"That's alright. So. Do you like the dress?" Fitzjames asked, nudging Morfin's legs apart and clearly staring at the bulge in his pants.
He brought his hands into his lap to hide some of it, the same moment a raucous laugh shook the Commander.
"Beautiful and now this," he chuckled, or she. "Excellent."
Morfin found Fitzjames bending down and pushing away at Morfin's hands, working at the fastenings his trousers.
"M-ma'am, what is it-," Morfin began but Fitzjames pulled back and took Morfin into her arms so that he was pulled to his feet by his armpits.
"We haven't the time, it needn't be anything we talk about," Fitzjames interrupted him, pulling down his trousers and freeing his erection.
It bobbed in front of her, Fitzjames taking it in hand the moment she could and making Morfin gasp, hips chasing that feeling. But Fitzjames let him go, got Morfin out of his trousers and deposited them on the floor before pushing Morfin back down onto the chest. Fitzjames' weight settled onto him then, the dress covering both of them as Morfin felt the sensation of Fitzjames' cock nestle up against his. His hands flew to Fitzjames back, pulling her closer as she wrapped her hands around their cocks so they were pressed up against each other, those fingers acting as a cage for the slick and leaking members.
"Oh, oh, mm, yes," Fitzjames thrusted forwards, rocking herself upon Morfin's lap and Morfin nearly yelping himself at the feeling of Fitzjames on him, against him, moaning practically into his ear.
But she was far too loud. Morfin's brain could not focus, the feeling of his crisis building quickly with the pace already set. He dragged his hand forward, pushed on Fitzjames' chest and put a finger to her lips to shush her. She opened that mouth and gently took this finger between her teeth before Morfin could truly register this until his eyes saw it. His hips bucked up, the hand still on Fitzjames' back pressing her forward enough their cocks were trapped between their stomachs.
They rocked together, every twitch and leak felt between them, Fitzjames fixedly looking upon Morfin as Morfin watched her take that finger into her mouth. He moved it, feeling the suction as she closed her lips around it. Her tongue poked at him, swirled around the tip of his finger. She pulled back, encouraged him somehow to slip another in. She sucked for a moment more, but Morfin found his two fingers resting just at the corner of her mouth, too distracted as she bore down upon him. They rutted against each other, Morfin's back bending and thighs pressing hard into this chest he sat on.
Drool dripped down Fitzjames' chin, trickling out between Morfin's fingers, her eyes falling closed as her throat worked silently. Morfin felt her balls draw up, felt himself almost spilling and then Fitzjames' jerked wildly, hot spend flooding between them, ruining Morfin's shirt and surely staining the very dress that might have been half the reason the AB had been driven to such a poor decision. He couldn't regret it, knew he wouldn't even after, but if Fitzjames so decided to ever cross him, well…
Morfin's hips canted up, following Fitzjames in her end, furthering his own shirt's ruin and joining whatever stains would be left on the poor dress. She swallowed several times around Morfin's fingers before she pulled away from him, shuffling off his lap on shaky legs. A brief frown crossed her face, Morfin's chest heaving and his brain trying hard to catch up so that he could form words. The handkerchief with his blood caught his attention and Morfin used it to clean himself up, Fitzjames clearly using the ruined dress to do the same.
They dressed silently, the lamplight flickering. Morfin opened the chest and watched Fitzjames bury this at the very bottom of all the other dresses and costumes and props inside.
"Perhaps if you need someone with a skilled hand to help you with another dress, miss. My mother knew how to handle a needle and thread and taught me quite a few tricks," Morfin finally murmured as the two of them naturally locked eyes once all was said and done.
Fitzjames looked just as he had before and Morfin hoped his own person appeared to look much the same. At first Morfin thought he looked hesitant, reluctant perhaps, but then he offered Morfin a smile after he finished speaking.
"I might need a helping hand another night," Fitzjames admitted, eyes sparkling.