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Summary
Perhaps, Francis will think later, it would have been kinder to say no— to steer him to the door of his cabin, see him safely into bed, then return to Terror to bring in the first minutes of 1842 alone with a glass of whiskey and the blank pages of his captain’s log the way he’d intended to before James had ever put on that damn dress and pulled him onto their cobbled-together dancefloor out on the ice— but James turns his face into Francis’ throat, and his nose is cold as ice against the pulse point there, and Francis wonders if there’s ever been a person on Earth capable of saying no to James Clark Ross.
Francis and James, New Year's Eve, 1842.
Series
- Part 1 of seafoam and lace