James very nearly chokes when Sparrow flicks his tongue across the head of his prick, his eyelids flickering weakly shut. How long has it been since he's had someone's mouth on him? God, he doesn't even know, but it's been long enough that his vision tunnels inward for a moment, hazing over with pleasure, heat spiking in his abdomen.

'God,' he manages, his voice more a croak than anything else, 'Yes. Very good.'

James' fingers in Sparrow's hair tighten with the strain of keeping himself under control, and entirely without his say-so, pull towards himself, pushing Sparrow closer to his aching arousal. He can feel puffs of wet breath against the fevered skin and very nearly groans again.

'Get on with it...'

The words are muttered so that he's not even entirely sure whether Sparrow can hear them or not, but James is quite sure he'll get the message, whether he does or no.