RL with notjackkerouac

[fortiter_in_re]

Jack Sparrow, James decides at some point over the next month, is clearly trying to drive him mad.  Completely bloody insane.  After their date that month ago- because yes, it was a date, no point denying that- James had expected, maybe hoped for a call in a week or so, after Jack had served his three days in prison.  But nothing.  And then nothing

Comments

[notjackkerouac]

Jack has to twist away from Elizabeth to place the order, smacking his palm on the bar a few times to draw the bartender's attention. He passes a crumpled note over for Will's cider, and then orders another two pints for James and himself, placing it on a tab under Lysander. He purposefully does not order Elizabeth's martini. He quiets her when she pouts by lifting Will's cider and placing it in her hands. "Share Will's," he whispers, voice pitched to stay just between them, and Elizabeth seems pleased to accept that as an alternative. She takes a large sip, really more like a gulp, immediately.

Well. At least she's relatively easy to please.

He collects the last two drinks, catching James' question in amid the background conversation of other patrons. Jack snatches up the answer to override Will's terse "family friend." "Mates with his father from way back when," Jack clarifies, meeting James' eyes as he slides over his fresh drink. "Good man. Good guitarist. Took me in when Will were just a lad." He glances at the boy in question. "I used to tell you bedtime stories by flashlight, hm, remember that? Hiding under the blanket at the scary parts." Jack smiles at the memory, and watches Will's face harden almost immediately.

Oh. Right. On reflection, that's probably not the greatest thing to mention when the lad's on a date with a girl he fancies.

"I remember you hid under the covers when you were drunk and tried to convince me you were some sort of ghost." It should sound petulant, Will's words, a young boy nursing his pride, but rather he manages to come off as unimpressed and a little distainful.

Jack has only vague memories of that time, when he pretended to be Will's mum to cheer him up. He hadn't meant any harm by it, seeing it as a good idea after a few rounds with Bill and watching Will mope about for weeks after Anne had died. He's surprised Will even remembered.

He's not quite sure when exactly he fell from Will's favour but he did, even if Will is too much his mother's son to admit it. Jack always supposed it had something to do with the nature of growing up and growing apart, not the fault of any but time. Still, the camraderie has changed, and Jack isn't always sure how to adjust from being idolised older brother to distant family friend.

The drink looks about the safest place Jack will find, and he retreats into it, chastised and a little sore over the cold rebuff. It doesn't help that James is here, can hear the uneasy history between Jack and Will. Jack supposes it makes them even, himself with both Will and James. Together, they've managed to make Jack nearly want to search for the door outside.

The songs change over and Elizabeth breaks the awkward pause, swaying her hips back and forth to the liquid, ethereal beat. "Mm, I love this song." She thumps down the cider and wiggles her fingers in a request. "One of you handsome gentlemen come dance with me?"

Jack breathes out relief at the reprieve and answers before anyone can steal his chance to flee. "Couldn't have picked a better tune myself." He graps Elizabeth's fingers and doesn't look back as Elizabeth leads them to a small clearing in one corner of the pub.

[fortiter_in_re]

It's a strange image, Jack as some kind of elder brother or uncle to Will, the lad standing there looking so stiff and awkward and looking at Jack with something that tries very hard to be icy disdain. There's clearly a past there, some warmth that they used to have which Jack still seems to hold on to. It's the sort of thing people don't talk about in public, because of the awkward silences such things inevitably engender.

That silence, though, that gives James a little time to reflect. Because there was a lot unsaid in those words, a lot to learn about Jack. Will's father is a guitarist, apparently; Jack, he supposes, could have some musical inclination- or had, anyway- he hasn't told James what it is he does, after all. And telling a young Will stories; Jack hadn't seemed a terribly familial type when James met him, but then, one never knows. And then the use of the American "flashlight"- Jack's accent is decidedly English, but James knows from his records that he was born under American citizenship.

Perversely, the awkwardness now between him and Will just makes James more curious to find out who Jack Sparrow is. Jack apparently has been hearing tales about his past from all and sundry; James rather thinks it's his turn now.

He's not going to say anything, though, not now, with Will so stiff, irritable and awkward, and Jack buried in his drink. Some other time.

(If he ever sees Jack after this. The way things have been going, who knows?)

He watches as Will's glower intensifies, watching Elizabeth drag Jack onto the dancefloor. Elizabeth, the dear girl, seems to be utterly oblivious to it; James wouldn't be surprised. She's a good girl, but there's an unconscious selfishness to her occasionally that means she forgets just how her actions might impact others. Now seems to be one such time. James himself feels a bit of a glower coming on as well; a combination of brotherly annoyance at Jack and perhaps just a tiny, tiny bit of jealousy.

After all, he's the one who Jack's been stalking for two months.

He clears his throat a touch awkwardly, picking up his fresh beer and leaning back. It's not his intention to watch Jack and Elizabeth as they dance, but he wants to keep an eye on Jack, just to make sure his hands don't wander.

[notjackkerouac]

Elizabeth is already dancing mostly by the time they land on the floor. It's a cramped space and they're the only two out here, which leads Jack to believe that dancing isn't really what this spot was designed for. But the song, albeit not Jack's personal taste, is a seductive one, begging for movement, and he draws around to face Elizabeth and get a decent side view of the bar.

He doesn't move like she does, slithering, curved movement with all the freedom of someone too young to ever believe that they might look silly. Jack's hardly worried about that, despite having little usual interest in dancing, and steps close to her to fit against the way she moves. She places her palms flat to Jack's breast, one over his heart and one over the tattoo he has of the Pearl, but Jack doesn't touch her apart from the silky brush of her satin shirt against his forearms. Both Will and James are watching them.

"Your boyfriend will be none too impressed," he murmurs into Elizabeth's ear, a delicate warning if she cares to take it but not a rebuff.

"He's not my boyfriend," Elizabeth says, and there's something about her tone -- purposefully, willfully detatched, Jack thinks -- that makes him glance at her face, concerned.

"Didn't ask you?" Elizabeth shakes her head shallowly, her hair falling to frame her face, and gives a fantastic, sharp twist to her hips that would make Jack reconsider his position regarding Elizabeth if James and Will weren't in the picture. Standing ten feet away, in the picture. Jack looks at them, at James. "Daft," he mutters, and doesn't know which of them he's referring to. He places a protective hand on the small of Elizabeth's back.

The music slows so they slow, Elizabeth coming very close to resting in the crook of Jack's neck. She asks very quietly, "Are they watching?" and Jack grunts an affirmative, which just makes Elizabeth grind into him slowly, hand slipping around his ribs, petite breasts pressed to his chest.

Jack swallows, the shift in mood flooding his veins with heat, but he doesn't push Elizabeth away. Stays close, instead, eyes tracing James' form in the distance. Will stands next to him, not touching his sorry excuse for a drink, and Jack thinks he can detect the hint of a scowl on his face. James, and Jack is surprised that he finds it surprising, doesn't look much more pleased with the situation. A bit of a smile spreads across Jack's face and he rolls his hips in time with Elizabeth, committing further to the dance, to the warmth pooling in his stomach.

James looks rather good tonight. Looks rather good, Jack would quickly wager, most nights. Even probably straight awake, hair mussed from sleep (or other activitie), and falling into his eyes. Jack wonders if he sleeps naked, if the muscles in his shoulders are actually as broad and well-developed as his clothes make him look. He hums in the back of his throat approvingly at the thought of trailing his fingers over that bare skin.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Elizabeth asks, and now she has a hand cupping Jack's neck, making him look at her. "That you knew James?"

"Knew James" having a very specific meaning here and Jack answers both questions, explicit and implicit with a cock of his head. "You never asked."

Elizabeth scoffs because it really isn't an answer Jack knows, but he doesn't care. His eyes go back to James, watching as he sips from his glass.

"He'll come around. You'll see," Elizabeth murmurs into Jack's neck, almost sleepily, breath warm and wet against his skin. Her fingers now play with the soft hairs at the base of his skull and Jack's eyes slip shut for a moment. He doesn't know which of them she's talking about, hers or his, but he doesn't ask for clarification. He just dances.

[fortiter_in_re]

The song changes, and so does the dance. Something flares in James's gut, some heat that wavers in between pleasure and jealousy and a desire to march up to the pair of them and pull them apart so there's at least some airspace between them. Jack's eyes are wicked as he stares over Elizabeth's shoulder, gaze unabashedly on James. Could be you, this, they seem to be saying, as one hand creeps over Elizabeth's lower back, fingers brushing obscenely over the silk of her top. Perhaps James hadn't expected it, given his swaggering, swaying gait that makes him look like he's fighting a constant battle with gravity, but Jack knows how to move. He's lithe, and far more sensual than James really appreciates at the moment.

James humphs into his drink. Regardless of anything else, later tonight, Jack is getting a strict talking to about how he treats Elizabeth.

Next to him, Will is all but grinding his teeth. 'I don't like him with Elizabeth,' he mutters, as if to the pub at large, but James turns to him anyway. It's difficult to keep his eyes from straying back to the two dancing figures. The way Jack keeps rolling his hips. Christ.

'Go over and tell him as much, then,' he offers mildly. God, he's a hypocrite.

Will's look tells him he isn't much impressed by James's attempt to play at being the wise, older one. 'If she wants to go and dance with him like that... that's her business,' he says stiffly, still staring at the pair of them.

'Elizabeth... forgets about things like that sometimes,' James says. He doesn't say what exactly that is, but he assumes they both know. 'It wouldn't hurt to remind her.'

'Thanks, James,' Will glowers out at the dancefloor, not sounding particularly grateful at all, 'But I think I'm alright.'

James shrugs. Can't say better than that, he supposes. Turning back to the dancefloor, Jack's eyes happen to catch his, and the heat in his stomach takes a sharp turn towards pleasurable end of things. No man should be able to move his hips like that. Seriously. He clears his throat, returning to his drink with perhaps a slight flush to his cheeks.

[notjackkerouac]

Elizabeth smells like floral, spicy something, soap or perfume or Jack doesn't know. She smells like a girl, like his favourite kind of girl: warm and fresh with the hint of something dangerous underneath it all, tempting him. Jack spreads his fingers along her spine, where it arches to curve into her arse. Her fingers feel like bloody heaven in his hair, tugging light at the strands and scraping her fingernails over his scalp. That combined with the way he manages to lock James' eyes and Jack can only contain his groan to a low growl deep in his throat. Next to his ear, Elizabeth laughs softly.

"Tease," he grumbles and pushes his groin against her hip, wishing James would come closer.

The song peters out, ending on an echoing, chiming note, and the next one starts, thumping bass kicking in to signal a a change in tempo. Elizabeth tilts her head to block Jack's hungry view of James, and he focuses on her face blearily. "I like you, Jack," she says, and catches her full bottom lip with white teeth, splitting it into something that really might be --

And oh. Oh bugger, no no bloody fuck no. Elizabeth's smile borders on wicked. The places this is going are bad, awful, delicious places and Jack knows himself. Knows when running away is the best thing.

He strokes the backs of his fingers over Elizabeth's cheek, playing into her little act -- because that's all it is; Jack saw her with Will -- and matches her smile, soft and sensual. Then pointedly flicks his eyes over to James. (And tsk, ooh, Mt. Vesuvius reenactment there.) He leans close to Elizabeth, breath floating over her face. Her eyes close -- in anticipation maybe. "Too much honey," Jack purrs, "and you'll kill the flies instead of catching them."

Elizabeth's eyes snap open as Jack takes one, poignant step back. A burn is in them, but one of a child being denied a treat rather than a woman being rebuked by a bloke she wants. Good, then. Jack guessed right. And he feels it safe to whisper to Elizabeth as he passes, "Always next time, love," a little teasing promise that judging from Elizebeth's flash of a grin goes over as it should.

Jack wanders back to Will and James, swaggering slightly from drink in his veins (and the burgeoning erection in his trousers), coming to an unstable halt in front of them and blinking blanky at the at the stony greeting. Well, he did warn Elizabeth. Taking a much needed sip of his beer (now decidedly warm), Jack sidesteps around Will (who looks like he would like nothing better to run Jack through with something sharp and pointy) and siddles up next to James. He opens his mouth to say something -- possibly nothing better than "How opposed are you to at least a snog in the loo?" -- when he feels (feels, which just proves how sensitized his body has become) Elizabeth sneak up behind him.

"James? Come dance?"

Jack doesn't know why she just can't ask Will but he cares less about what Elizabeth can and can't bring herself to do and more about keeping James to himself. He gives Elizabeth a bluntly dirty glare over his shoulder. She knows what state she's put him in and taking his only (best) recourse is just cruel.

[fortiter_in_re]

The dancing swiftly progresses from sensual to downright pornographic, and James joins Will in glaring out at the dance floor. Elizabeth is seventeen bloody years old, for Christ's sake; she's still practically a kid; she should not be able to dance like that with a man (or a woman, James supposes). And as for Jack; the bastard's playing right into her, pressing up against her, leaning so close they might well be kissing. Jack is- well, he's not his, that is ridiculous, presumptuous, and untrue, but whatever he is, he's certainly not Elizabeth's.

His pint glass thumps on the counter as he puts it down, realising after a moment that he may be liable to break the thing with the amount of force he's gripping it with.

This is, frankly, ridiculous. He's not going to sit here and watch the man who's spent the entire time he's known James (which, granted, not long, but still) flirting with him feel up Elizabeth Swann. Will beside him is without a doubt in a similar state, but right now, James can't bring himself to really care about poor Will. He's about to stomp onto the dancefloor and forcibly shove them apart when Jack finally pulls back, putting a space between him and Elizabeth.

A tight breath of something like relief goes out of James, but his face turns no less icy. Jack, when he swaggers back (and no, James, don't you dare look at the state of his trousers; you have no business finding him attractive right now) is met by a frosty glare. James is about to launch into a stinging diatribe when Elizabeth's voice comes from behind Jack, and he sighs.

Well. Might as well take the opportunity to talk to the girl.

So he shoulders his way past Jack, following Elizabeth out onto the dancefloor. Her hands go up around his shoulders, and his come to rest on her delicate hips, but (thankfully, God) she doesn't try to make it anything more than a platonic touch. Looking down at her, he lifts an eyebrow, swaying distractedly on the spot.

'Dare I ask what the hell that was?'

She just laughs, letting her forehead dip down onto James's shoulder. 'We were just playing, James; no need to take it all so seriously.'

But James has a tendency to take things seriously, and Elizabeth knows that. He eyes her dubiously, and she rolls her eyes a little, before perking up slightly. 'How did Will look?'

James sighs. 'Afire with jealousy. Am I to presume that was your intention?'

Elizabeth pouts, looking up over James's shoulder. 'He's so... ugh. I mean, I hope I'm being obvious enough about it, but he can't take a clue. He acts like he's my boyfriend, but-'

She's so childish and petulant in that moment that James almost forgets his ire, laying two fingers over her lips to shut her up. 'Really,' he says, 'There are better ways of getting him to ask you out than by... molesting my-' His breath cuts off in an instant as he realises his mistake, and he quickly corrects himself. 'Molesting Jack Sparrow. There's no need to be cruel.'

His swift correction is to no avail, though, and Elizabeth's eyes sparkle wickedly. 'Your?' She asks, voice laden with the promise of intrigue. 'Your what? You never told me you knew Jack, James? Why not?'

'Not my anything,' James says sternly, fixing her with a serious gaze. He's not even going to bother answering her question. 'Now go console that poor boy. And next time, Elizabeth? Think, please.'

She's seventeen, he doubts she'll listen, but he hopes she might.

[notjackkerouac]

As James brushes past to Jack to follow Elizabeth, Jack turns to stare at their backs. His look has trouble deciding whether it wants to be an indignant pout or miserable scowl. He settles for disgruntled and lowers himself into a chair, all the better to watch James. His jeans pull tight over his groin and Jack must shift slightly, leaning forward on his elbows, so as to not drive himself any more up the wall than he already is.

James isn't a bad dancer, which takes Jack by surprise. Someone that tall, it seems fitting that their limbs should be more awkward, less prone to obeying the whims of the body. But James has himself under control, moving a tad slower than the music maybe, but not unpleasant to watch. Very much not unpleasant to watch. Jack doesn't know how the dance manages to be sensual, clearly little more than platonic, but it is. James is. Towering over Elizabeth, with his head ducked in conversation, muscles working in his shoulders and back.

The bass beat somehow manages to echo the pulse of Jack's heart in the hollow of his throat. Jack swallows around it and lights his forgotton cigarette. The cold buzz of nicotine hopefully will help clear his head.

Will stands next to the table, shoulders tense and angrily silent. Jack glances at him, blowing smoke from his nostrils, and even in the state he's in, he can't help but want to say something.

"It's only a game." He waves the cigarette around as if to help illustrate that point. "That she's playing with you. Go over and ask her to dance with you next song."

Will pushes air from his noise in a huffy, noisy exhale. "Why should I take advice about Elizabeth from you?" His knuckles blanche around the glass.

Jack's fairly sure that if Will was drinking something other than cider, he might very well hit Jack at this point. All he can do is shrug about it, though, placing his eyes firmly back on James. "Because she's like me. And likes me. I know how she thinks."

"Bastard," Will snorts, and yeah, definitely would get a bloody mouth if the cider weren't there to curb Will's violent streak. He rounds on Jack. "Is that the only reason you came over here? To rub it in my face that -- "

"You have your own dealings, son," Jack smoothly interrupts, voice dipping dangerously low. "And I have mine. They overlap only a little." He pointedly shifts his eyes to James, gesturing with the cigarette in case Will doesn't pick up physical clues as well as Elizabeth. James manages to glance over right at that moment and Jack outright, unabashedly leers, somewhat for Will's benefit but mostly for Jack's own pleasure.

Will makes a sound and Jack rolls his eyes. The lad is a lost cause sometimes. He wiggles his fingers for Will to lean close and then grabs at his shirt to finish the job for him. "If you want my advice, which I know you don't but that's besides the point, the whole thing would be solved with one very. Simple. Question." Jack waits for Will to prompt him before continuing. He shoves Will away as quickly as he pulled him close. "Ask her the fuck bloody out."

Will scowls and Jack scowls exaggeratdly, mocking him for it, until something in Will's face breaks. "It's not... I can't, Jack. She's perfect and I -- "

"Could never be worthy of something that brilliant," Jack finishes. "Aye." It's not a feeling Jack has any personal experience with, being far more eager to take what he can get when he can get it and nevermind whether he should or shouldn't. But he does know a distant cousin of that particular problem: the taking of pretty things usually works better in theory than in practice. "Bugger," Jack sighs under his breath, tracking James briefly on the dance floor, then looks back at Will. "Tell you what, I'll do you a deal. I'll arrange some alone time with dear Bess -- with you -- and all you need do in return is ask to the flicks later this week. I'll even pay."

Will looks like he's considering it for a moment -- either that, or the cider's sitting bad in his stomach -- before finally give a firm, single nod. "Fine."

"Good!" Jack forces a wide smile and lifts his drink. Now he just need to work up the courage to drop his own game and steal James away from Elizabeth for a bit.

[fortiter_in_re]

The rest of the dance passes without much in the way of talk, and when it's finished, James lifts Elizabeth's hand to his lips, perfectly gentlemanly, and only a touch mocking. She laughs at him and calls him old fashioned, and James offers her a wry little smile.

'Probably right. Now go on.' He ushers them both back towards the bar where Jack and Will are sitting with a faint brush of fingers against the small of her back. 'I think,' he murmurs under his breath as they near, 'your William could do with an assurance that you're not going to be running off to shag Jack Sparrow after he leaves.'

'No, that'll be your job, won't it?' She shoots back, calm as if she was commenting on the weather, and James shakes his head.

'That, Miss Swann, is none of your business.'

Elizabeth turns a dazzling grin on him, an expression that says she knows he's going to be shagging Jack Sparrow once the night is up (patently not true), and what's more, she likes the visual. James sighs a little, but it's indulgent. She's utterly incorrigible, but it's part of what makes her sweet.

Will looks like he's steeling himself to say something of vital importance when they return, but Elizabeth grabs him by both hands and drags him off his stool before he can get it out. James tracks their movement through the crowd, into a darker, further off spot on the dance floor where he and Jack aren't able to see them as well, before shaking his head and resuming his seat himself. He nabs his beer and downs the rest of it without so much as looking at Jack. Now, he rather thinks, is time he got that talking to.

'I do not,' he says frostily, after a moment, 'appreciate you dancing with Elizabeth like that.'

[notjackkerouac]

Jack is not chickening out. He is simply -- taking his time, making sure not to rush into anything, pondering. The early bird gets the worm but the second mouse gets the cheese, et cetera et cetera and so forth. The niggling little voice in Jack's head can take its pick of excuses for why he's not interrupting James and Elizabeth's dance to drag James off to the loo for a shag. Or really a discussion. And then a shag. Hopefully.

It's that hopefully part that keeps Jack rooted to his seat, balancing on the balls of his feet as he watches James kiss Elizabeth's hand. That could be Jack's hand right now. That could be Jack's smile on Elizabeth's face.

She bites her tongue at him as she approaches and Jack bares his teeth, not as ready to fogive her for stealing James as she was him for resisting her come-on. But she doesn't say anything to him, turning instead to Will -- who looks like he's going to suffocate if he doesn't starting breathing soon.

"Elizabeth," he says, so painfully earnest that Jack has to wince.

Elizabeth washes right over him, halting whatever he was about to ask. "Come on. I have something to show you." The glint in her eye seems to tell that what she wants to show Will is that same thing she offered to show Jack earlier.

Jack rolls his eyes and takes the final drag of his cigarette, stubbing it out in an ashtray. Young love. It's a funny thing.

Adult love, however, is a miserable, gut-wrenching affair. Jack sucks in a sharp, too-telling breath when James marches flat into Jack's personal space and gives tonality to the way frostbite feels. Jack stares a bit dumbly in response, distracted by the tiny bead of sweat on James' temple. It would be a really brilliant, expert idea right now to lick it off.

"Mrn," Jack goes. "Mmm." He curls his fingers around James' wrist, standing simultaneously from the chair. It has the effect of putting not much more than two inches between their chests. "I thought not," he says drowsily, twisting the words to give James a completely different reason to be displeased about the way Jack was dancing, or really who he was not dancing with, and tugs at James' arm. "Conversation not here though."

And he does exactly the same as Elizabeth did, dragging James off to a more secluded corner. The loos seem a poor solution to the heat flushing up Jack's neck and he heads for the backdoor instead, banging it open with a shoulder and stumbling into the alley.

"As you were, then," he continues and only unwillfully detatches himself from James.

[fortiter_in_re]

The sudden lack of distance between him and Jack is jarring, and entirely not suited to maintaining a proper disapproving elder brother attitude. Still, James has always been a man of strong will, and he steels that will now, forcing himself to be utterly unimpressed with the inviting little slur to Jack's voice, the way he's looking at James as though he wants nothing more than to pin him against a wall and lick him all over.

Well. Mostly unimpressed.

He doesn't resist perhaps as much as he feels he ought to when Jack drags him through the crowd of people and out a back door. The relative quiet of the outside is better for talking anyway, and it's talking that James wants now. He doesn't need an explanation for what Jack and Elizabeth were doing- Elizabeth had all but told him, after all- he just needs silence enough to enforce on Jack that he is never going to do that again, unless he wants to come out slightly worse for the wear.

'She's seventeen, Jack.' He repeats his words from earlier, picking up right from where he left off at the bar. 'You... well, I don't know how old you are, but it is far from seventeen. I understand that she likes you, but please, do try to control yourself.'

[notjackkerouac]

"Thirty-four," Jack supplies becase he's not really listening. The bead of sweat is killing him, physically causing him pain from not being able to deal with it in the manner Jack most sees fit. Or manners. Jack can think up a few alternative measures, though most still involve his mouth in some form or another.

That bit about controlling himself crashes hard into his line of thought, though, completely derailing it. Jack gives a very put-upon sounding groan (it is definitely not a whimper) and balls his hands into fists to refrain from touching James.

James doesn't get it, which is the issue, or does get it but is purposefully ignoring it in favour of discussing what's-her-face. Jack really needs it paid attention to before it sucks all the blood from his brain and he dies from cerebral hemmoraging.

"In regards to Miss Elizabeth or to you?" he asks pointedly, the smile he attaches to it coming out hungry rather than cheeky. "Because I make no promises about you."

And he proves it by swiping his thumb -- finally -- along James' temple, catching that drop of sweat and sucking it off the pad of his finger in one smooth act. He actually does manage a proper, playful grin this time.

[fortiter_in_re]

'Thirty four?' James's voice, much to his chagrin, nearly comes out as an indignant squeak. 'Twice her age! In no way is that at all appropriate. And please, be under no misconception about-'

James is about to detail what precisely he'll do to Jack if he sees him encouraging that kind of behaviour in Elizabeth again, when Jack darts close and dragging his thumb along James's temple. Sweat, it must be, from the heat of the club, because he then follows the movement by sucking the tip of his thumb into his mouth. James catches a faint flicker of tongue in the half-darkness, and then the way Jack's cheek's hollow slightly around the digit. It is far too enticing, and he scowls. It would be easy to lose his train of thought now, with Jack standing there looking like that.

'If you're under the impression that this is a clever to get me into bed, Jack, you are highly mistaken.'

He's pleased to hear that his voice contains nothing but cool disdain, despite the fact that the heat that had lit itself under his skin whilst watching Jack and Elizabeth dance seems to have returned.

[notjackkerouac]

James' indignation might be amusing -- or actually a bit terrifying -- if Jack were in his right mind. Luckily for him that he isn't and all matter of attention that he pays that squeak is to raise his eyebrows. It's cute.

He bites at his thumb nail and then releases the finger with an audible pop from his lips. He takes two wobbling steps towards James, edging him closer to the wall. The wavering balance has far less to do with the few beers Jack drank and far more to do with being close to James.

"Not under that impression at all, James L." He catches his tongue between his teeth on the elongated l, more shameless than Elizabeth was on the dance floor. Though, apparently, Jack should have twice the experience as her. He hovers a hand over James' chest but does not touch, wanting James to come to him.

It's not clever, this, not by a long shot. Which Jack knows. He just can't care. If he did, he wouldn't be out here. He would be nodding and grimacing along to James' lecture in the pub, defending himself and Elizabeth and Will most likely, and trying at every chance possible to distract James back to their original conversation about Kensington Park.

"I have," Jack speaks very slowly, "no intention of getting you into bed. Right here works just fine for me." He brushes his fingers along the bared line of skin at James' collar, feeling burning heat radiate back to him. "Never did get to ask you dance."

[fortiter_in_re]

The way Jack holds his tongue behind his upper lip there, his head tipped back to look up at James- it should look cheap and sluttish, probably would on anybody else, but somehow Jack manages to make it look enticing. James swallows. He feels like he ought to be holding himself firm, but somehow he finds himself backed up, the warm brick of the wall only a few paces behind him. There's not much of anywhere to go, and he twitches slightly away from the touch when wandering fingers trace the lines of skin bared by his shirt.

'You stalk me for two months,' he says, his tone exaggeratedly reasonable, 'Somehow find out who all my friends are without once contacting me, practically molest the girl I consider to be my younger sister, and then expect me to leap at the chance for a shag up against a back alley wall?'

James snorts a little, taking those few steps backwards to lean against the wall, one knee propped up, thumbs tucked in his belt loops. 'And here I thought we'd talked about presumptuousness. Though, granted, that was two months ago.' He gives Jack a tight little smile. 'You may have forgotten.'

[notjackkerouac]

"And I thought we decided it was more a matter of persuassion."

Jack's mind flash back to that conversation, lying on the hill top with James, the grass wet with due, running his fingers tips over James' face as Jack waited to kiss him. He can't recall now why there was waiting involved, why he didn't just pull James across the table at the restaurant and molest -- if that's going to be James' word for it -- him right then and there. Or, topping that, why Jack didn't for once, in hours now he's spent chatting with James in the pub, actually invite him in the loo. Jack's own internal logic has busted as soon as he set foot on that dance floor.

"Though I grant you," he says, affecting neutrality, "two months now seems like a bloody bad idea."

He advances on James, running a hand along his raised thigh, fingers dancing over the fabric. James has nice thighs, given this specimin, muscles held tight in flex. Jack spends a moment appreciating it while slowly turning inward to lean his arse against James' inner thigh, hand smoothing behind him to James' knee.

"I'll do you a deal, how about? You convince me you didn't once think about that night -- " Jack ducks close for a moment -- "in the dark, in bed, and I'll do a full-stop. Never hear from me again. Elizabeth can stay on her merry way dancing with only you and Will. What you say? Persuade me."

It's a challenge that Jack feels he will come out winning no matter what.

[fortiter_in_re]

In theory, Jack's deal is a fair proposition. Easy enough thing, surely.

Except with that hand smoothing along his thigh, Jack's arse pressing back against him, he's sure to be able to feel the way James's blood flow very suddenly decides that it would be a good idea to divert southwards. And even were that not the case, it would be a damn lie to try and claim that he'd never thought about that night. For one thing, it was practically impossible, given the frequency Jack's name was mentioned to him, for another... Well, the southerly blood flow illustrates that one well enough.

So he avoids answering the question altogether. 'I seem to recall you attempting to strike a deal with me before,' he says mildly, 'And I believe we decided that it would be for the better if you forwent it.'

He doesn't push Jack away, though. He's tempted to let the leg he's got propped up fall open further so that Jack would be leaning against him, instead of just his leg, but he resists. He does have some pride, after all, though the further the evening progresses, the more that is being called into question.