[ Rooms upstairs. A closed door and a bed. Almost no different from much of the experience Irving's had already, quiet frankly, the vast majority having been efficient transactions that would usually occur in a brothel; usually while drunk; nearly always brought along by fellows from his ship all eager to make most of their (often brief) time back on land.
Whether this familiarity makes Irving feel any more comfortable or self-possessed within the situation is... unclear, although very unlikely.
He follows close, though does pull his hand back away from Jack's, the spectacle of it so much more apparent once they're standing. The last thing Irving wants is to call any more attention to them than already has been, even though surely if anyone was watching them right now it would be clear enough what their intentions upstairs were.
Once inside the room, he says nothing, simply looks at Jack for guidance. Should he... undress? Irving's fingers begin to fumble at his shirt buttons for lack of knowing where else to start. ]
no subject
Whether this familiarity makes Irving feel any more comfortable or self-possessed within the situation is... unclear, although very unlikely.
He follows close, though does pull his hand back away from Jack's, the spectacle of it so much more apparent once they're standing. The last thing Irving wants is to call any more attention to them than already has been, even though surely if anyone was watching them right now it would be clear enough what their intentions upstairs were.
Once inside the room, he says nothing, simply looks at Jack for guidance. Should he... undress? Irving's fingers begin to fumble at his shirt buttons for lack of knowing where else to start. ]