Well, if Sparrow doesn't want to answer his question, he supposes he'll find out in time; patience has paid off for him more than once in the past, and he is well used to waiting. The suggestion of returning to England, though... oh, how he would leap at it, given the chance, but he doesn't trust Sparrow, and it feels more like a bribe than anything else, so he merely smiles wanly.
'Many times have I wished I could return,' he says, 'but my duty forbids it, as I'm sure you know. I'd make a poor Commodore of the Caribbean Fleet indeed were I in England.'
His fingers twitch when Sparrow takes hold of his wrist, and he forces the muscles there to relax as the pirate begins to beat a lazy tattoo on the skin there. And then... freedom, again, and Sparrow leans in- not close enough to invade his space, yes, but enough so that their faces are on a level. Why must the vexatious bastard keep bringing up the subject of freedom? Is he trying to glean some sort of confession from James, trying to make him turn pirate, or does he merely enjoy niggling at what he imagines to be (and what is, truth be told) a sore spot? Or perhaps, like James himself, is he desperately curious to find out what drives him, to try and understand him.
Though of course the words carry a flirtation with them that James cannot ignore as well, and he lifts an eyebrow at Sparrow. 'Many things, Mister Sparrow,' he murmurs lowly, 'As all men have myriad desires.'
It's not coy or teasing, and he does not return the heat of the gaze Sparrow is currently directing at him, but it's ambiguous enough that the other man may read it as he will. And, James is sure, he will read it many ways indeed. Now, though, he'd like to study the chart of their apparent location, if he can get away with it, and see if he can glean any more information from it. If he cannot work up on deck, then he will do work below. He cocks his head at the half-rolled map, gesturing lazily with one hand.
no subject
'Many times have I wished I could return,' he says, 'but my duty forbids it, as I'm sure you know. I'd make a poor Commodore of the Caribbean Fleet indeed were I in England.'
His fingers twitch when Sparrow takes hold of his wrist, and he forces the muscles there to relax as the pirate begins to beat a lazy tattoo on the skin there. And then... freedom, again, and Sparrow leans in- not close enough to invade his space, yes, but enough so that their faces are on a level. Why must the vexatious bastard keep bringing up the subject of freedom? Is he trying to glean some sort of confession from James, trying to make him turn pirate, or does he merely enjoy niggling at what he imagines to be (and what is, truth be told) a sore spot? Or perhaps, like James himself, is he desperately curious to find out what drives him, to try and understand him.
Though of course the words carry a flirtation with them that James cannot ignore as well, and he lifts an eyebrow at Sparrow. 'Many things, Mister Sparrow,' he murmurs lowly, 'As all men have myriad desires.'
It's not coy or teasing, and he does not return the heat of the gaze Sparrow is currently directing at him, but it's ambiguous enough that the other man may read it as he will. And, James is sure, he will read it many ways indeed. Now, though, he'd like to study the chart of their apparent location, if he can get away with it, and see if he can glean any more information from it. If he cannot work up on deck, then he will do work below. He cocks his head at the half-rolled map, gesturing lazily with one hand.
'May I?'