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| They slip out the back door, and Jack’s pulse is loud in his ears. He’s glad Sparrow followed his lead and kept their exit slick and quick and unremarked by any save a tall, handsome bloke in an eye-watering shirt, who seems to be Sparrow’s lookout, and who at least has the grace to keep mum. The alleyway’s dark and noisome. Sparrow wrinkles his nose. “Surely you’ve got a better plan than this,” he says. By way of reply, Jack beckons him down the flight of steps that lead to the underground cellar, where he dispatches of the large padlock with a skeleton key and admirable rapidity. “Show-off,” murmurs Jack Sparrow with due admiration, standing close enough behind Jack that the heat of his body leaches through their clothing. “You’ve done this before.” “Well,” says Jack, closing the door behind them and blinking in the extreme dark, “not all of this, no.” Emboldened by blindness, he reaches for his companion, and slips his hands under the man’s gaudy coat to grip his waist. It feels muscular, hard, hot. Jack swallows. “Never fucked another fellow?” whispers Sparrow against Jack’s ear. Jack grunts, and wonders briefly whether this is the stupidest thing he’s ever done, and what his chances are of suddenly being knifed in the guts and left, penniless, to die. But the fear’s only spicing all the other things he’s feeling: the joy of novelty, and a definite attraction – a fierce one, if he’s honest with himself – to this strangely appealing man. “Well, don’t fret. ‘S’easy.” “I don’t fret.” Sparrow laughs, low, and presses close. “The other good thing about not paying for it,” he says, hieing back to their earlier conversation, “is that whores don’t much care for kissing; but I do. If you’re int’rested.” “I’m-mmmm,” says Jack, given no choice in the matter; and fact is he doesn’t regret having this choice taken from him, because his curiosity is burning so bright, and kissing Jack Sparrow is strange and new and fills a great heavy balloon in his chest even as it tightens his belly and warms his groin. The tickle of moustache, the scrape of beard against Jack’s chin; the eager lick of a strong tongue, bringing with it the savour of rum. And— |
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