He’s got to be honest: fact is he’s in such an odd mood he could probably be talked round to this bloke carrying out a re-enactment, or in other words, letting Jack fuck his mouth.

But.  A mutual re-enactment?  That, frankly, is taking things a little far.

“You should be so lucky,” he says, draining his rum.

“I should be indeed, and I frequently am,” says Jack Sparrow, with a wink.  “Have it your way, though; if you’re not in favour of reciprocation in kind, I’m sure you can find someone who’ll accept reciprocation in coin, instead.”

“Fuck that,” says Jack.  “Never pay for it, me.”  (This is down to the fact that he’s almost always entirely skint, but he likes the way Sparrow seems to interpret it, viz., as a proof of Jack’s pulling power.)

“Know what you mean, know what you mean,” says Sparrow, glintily.  “An’ yet: here you are with an offer on the table, an offer that’s entirely without monetary strings, an’ you’re saying no.”

“Not to you doin’ it to me,” says Jack, somewhat rashly, perhaps. “Just t’other way round.”

Sparrow rolls his eyes, and Jack shrugs.  Grins. 

“I’m deeply offended,” says the pirate.  “Don’t tell me you ain’t never obliged a lady that way?”

“Different,” says Jack.  “Mutually agreeable.”

Sparrow leans forward, and traces a swirl of spilled drink across the tabletop.  “So, let’s clarify: it’s not me you object to, per se, but rather my proposed course of action?”

Jack colours, but it’s true. He cocks an eyebrow and gives a small nod of confirmation.

“In that case,” murmurs Sparrow, “what if I were to suggest a form of congress more typical of that which you might habitually enjoy with your more feminine acquaintances?”

Jack’s mouth drops open when he finally reaches a conclusion as to what the fuck that means.  Leering Jack Sparrow gets up and sways round the table, then leans down close to whisper in Jack’s ear:

“Come on, Jack Shaftoe; come an’ fuck me.”

Should they go outside?  Or upstairs?

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