'Gods,' James breathes, almost wanting to laugh, the giddiness of his orgasm creeping up on him despite himself. 'Yes. Yes, I liked it very much.'

He pronounces the words carefully, though whether it's to stop laughter or that same tremor he heard in Sparrow's voice he's not sure. Of course it was good; it was more than good, it was... incredibly, indescribably fantastic, but there's still some level of unease hovering in his brain. He doesn't even know why, and that's possibly the worst thing about it. Just- surrendering himself so completely to this man; it frightens him in a way few things do. And having Jack Sparrow debase himself like that for the Commodore of the Caribbean fleet... it's strange. It could be those, it could be something else; he doesn't know. He hates not knowing.

But now is not the time for soul-searching; he stoops a little and grasps the hand that Sparrow isn't leaning on and heaves him up. He only wobbles a little as he does so.

'My turn, I think.'