James stretches his neck against the touch of Sparrow's hand, returning the kiss lazily with slow, sure strokes of his tongue. He almost, almost finds it in himself to wonder about Sparrow's comment, but just as he's about to really start thinking about it, the thought slips from his grasp. Perhaps it's Sparrow's doing, perhaps it's his own- he can't really tell.

At some point during the proceedings, his foot had slipped down the trunk of the tree so that his knee is no-longer a barrier between their two bodies, and he finds Sparrow pressed hotly against him. James murmurs something contented into the kiss and felt Sparrow's chuckle in return as he pulls away, mouthing at James's lower lip.

James finds himself speaking.

'Not unaware?'

Why he chose those particular words he cannot say, and immediately he wishes he could take them back, because really, really he does not want to talk about Elizabeth, not when there are (and this thought sounds suspiciously like Sparrow) so many better things he could be doing. Could, of course, always do both.

He allows his hand to trace down Sparrow's back, stroking smoothly along the muscles of his back until he comes to the swell of a particularly fine, piratey arse. He doesn't go quite that far, however, contenting himself to rubbing small circles just above it, looking as curiously at Sparrow as the space between them permits.

'What did she do to you?'