When Sparrow presses his hips up against James's, a deep rumble of appreciation makes its way up out of his throat. There's that warmth again, that heaviness, and he fights the urge to press back. Instead, he looks at Sparrow curiously as the pirate strokes a line up and down his backbone. It sounded almost as if... he was asking for something. Reassurance. Trust. But that was ridiculous, that Sparrow should want his trust. Or perhaps not. Given the offer he had made him, the events that had transpired- indeed, what was currently transpiring- it made sense.

And that was what was frightening. He narrows his eyes, wishing only to understand, hating that he can't. 'What do you want, Jack?' He murmurs absently, catching himself too late, after the name 'Jack' has already escaped. He tenses for a moment, his body reacting automatically, before he forces himself to relax.

Then a thought hits him, sudden and alien: perhaps that's what Sparrow wants. Not merely the use of his first name, but what is implied therein, the trust that comes with being on first-name terms with someone. He pulls back slightly, not enough to sever the contact between their two bodies, but enough to be able to study Sparrow's face. Jack's face, he thinks, though it feels strange to do so.

He repeats himself. 'What do you want?'