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| “Pleased to meet you, an’ all,” says Jack; and he holds out his hand. Jamie takes it, and shakes; holds just a little too long. There are ideas leaping and fizzing in Jack’s head. Maybe it’s Tom as put ‘em there, with the flush on his cheek and the funny way he’s looking at this sailor-boy; maybe it’s Jamie as screwed ‘em into place, with his lip-licking tongue and the slow sweep of his blinking lashes. Damn, he’s pretty. And really... could there be a better piece of distraction in the whole world, than trying something so plainly unreasonable? Jack accepts his beer from the serving-girl and raises his tankard. “Cheers, gents; to new acquaintances, however they’ve been made.” The other two join in his toast, and Tom says, “Well, it ain’t any great secret how I made this acquaintance; Jamie here just wandered over and struck up a conversation.” As he says this he gives Jack a sideways look, and Jack reads the message clear enough: He came to talk to me, so fuck off. If there’s one thing Jack doesn’t need right at this point, it’s the added appeal of a challenge. He curls his toes inside his boots at the warmth and weight growing at his groin. “Did you just?” he says to Jamie. “And are you so very desp’rate for new... acquaintances, then? Dangerous thing to do, in a Southwark stew. Never know who you might meet.” “Oh... I c’n hold my own,” claims the stripling, slathering the simple statement with lashings of double entendre. “An’ if I can’t... there’s always my mates over there.” He nods over at the fireside settle, and when Jack looks over, the odd staring creature grins back at him. A grin that’s ever so slightly feral, and more than a little warning. Jack swallows. “Don’t worry about me an’ Tom,” he avers, letting his knee nudge Jamie’s thigh. “We ain’t anything to be frightened of. Best intentions, us.” “Jack,” says Tom blandly. “A word with you, mate?” Is Jack willing to talk to Tom? Or not? |
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