Clearly, Sparrow has recognised this for what it is, and James curses mentally even as the pirate's hand snakes around his waist, drumming a broken tattoo on the small of his back. It tickles a bit, and his back arches of its own accord, away from the touch.

But then- and he had not expected this- Sparrow leaning close, nuzzling against him like a damned cat, then his voice in his ear, murmuring James, and that's near enough to drive him to distraction. So few people call him by his Christian name, and though he knows it's merely a return of his own calculated use of Sparrow's name, hearing his name spoken rough in that voice... no. He's doing this for a reason, and Sparrow is attempting to sway him from that again.

'What,' he murmurs, keeping his voice low as Sparrow's, 'on my knees here, in front of you?' He's never said anything like this, and he feels almost whorish doing so, but it's teasing, mocking- not an offer, no-matter how Sparrow might take it. 'That's why you want me for first mate? Doesn't seem a very good reason to me- if that's your motive, you'd be better off with a wench from Tortuga, or some other filthy pirate port.'

He pulls back, looks at Sparrow for a moment, gauging his reaction, before leaning in again, breathing hot and wet against his ear and neck, his body pressed flush against the pirate's. 'It's certainly an offer I'd consider,' he says conversationally, 'A mutually beneficial eventuality, to be sure. But I must know why.' His voice is still quiet, but intense, forceful, as he knows he can make it. Sparrow may be a born trickster, but James Norrington is a born commander, a leader of men, and his voice reflects it.

'And surely,' he says, almost an afterthought, 'If the idea is to get me to trust you... this would be a good place to start, would it not?'