James shifts slightly on the spot, his eyes flickering from Sparrow up to the coconuts he seems to be so intent on. They are utterly unremarkable, really quite the same as every other coconut James has ever laid eyes on. Not that he expects them to be anything otherwise; it's quite obvious that, now he's actually dragged James out here, Sparrow hasn't a clue what he ought to say. When he finally does speak, James nods grudgingly.

'I should imagine so,' he says lightly, keeping out of his voice all the horror he actually feels at the knowledge. 'After all,' he continues, feeling the need to fill the horribly, horribly awkward silence hanging between them, 'I hardly imagine it's... usual for the first mate to spend that long in the captain's cabin and finally emerge in a state of... deshabille.'

His face, he is quite sure, is burning red. To contemplate anyone, anyone knowing about his... sexual activities, much less those concerning men, is a desperately shaming thought. Furthermore, these are not the people he would choose to know, were he to have to choose anyone. Why though, he wonders suddenly, should Sparrow care? Surely, if he's the wanton he acts like, his whole crew is aware of his conquests. His eyebrows knit together and he cocks his head to one side, regarding the pirate curiously.

'Why... do you care?' He asks. The rest he cannot bring himself to explain, but he supposes that Sparrow ought to know what he means. And if he doesn't, well... they'll deal with that in a moment.