It stirs something deep and twisted within him to see Sparrow's obvious reaction to his teasing; the breathing suddenly shallow, those eyes fixed on his fingers, his mouth. His. Now that is satisfying beyond all imagining, and it suddenly occurs to him that he has more control over Sparrow this way than he ever would gain merely by clapping the pirate in irons. And this way is mutually beneficial as well. How terribly convenient.
The thoughts are driven from his head, however, when Sparrow folds his boots upon the arm of his chair, moving just so so that the back of his knee brushes against James's thigh, and the heat in his belly flares and moves lower, tightening with a delicious sort of discomfort. He's on the edge of ease here, threatening to tip over, but the knowledge of his previous epiphany soothes him, and he looks over to meet Sparrow's eyes. Ohh, yes, he can definitely deal with this.
His lips twitch in a laugh at Sparrow's all-too-obvious innuendo, and he tilts his head to the side, a look of mock-consternation on his face.
'I am afraid, Sparrow, that I am not the sort of man whose mind is... easily changed.' Now that's a dare if ever there was one. 'And as for what I should refer to you as...' He captures his bottom lip in between his teeth as if thinking, and allows his gaze to become heated, 'Would you like me to call you Captain?' His voice is a rumbling purr, and it is with infinite smugness (and not a little arousal) that he waits for Sparrow's reaction, lazily reaching out a hand to draw random patterns on the well-worn leather of the pirate's boot.
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The thoughts are driven from his head, however, when Sparrow folds his boots upon the arm of his chair, moving just so so that the back of his knee brushes against James's thigh, and the heat in his belly flares and moves lower, tightening with a delicious sort of discomfort. He's on the edge of ease here, threatening to tip over, but the knowledge of his previous epiphany soothes him, and he looks over to meet Sparrow's eyes. Ohh, yes, he can definitely deal with this.
His lips twitch in a laugh at Sparrow's all-too-obvious innuendo, and he tilts his head to the side, a look of mock-consternation on his face.
'I am afraid, Sparrow, that I am not the sort of man whose mind is... easily changed.' Now that's a dare if ever there was one. 'And as for what I should refer to you as...' He captures his bottom lip in between his teeth as if thinking, and allows his gaze to become heated, 'Would you like me to call you Captain?' His voice is a rumbling purr, and it is with infinite smugness (and not a little arousal) that he waits for Sparrow's reaction, lazily reaching out a hand to draw random patterns on the well-worn leather of the pirate's boot.