[ Jack watches this little outburst perched up against the wall, spread out with one leg up so that he can lay his wrist against his knee, watching Irving with a narrowed look in his eyes somewhere between irritation and pity. He sighs, a wee overemphasized, grabbing the rings he'd taken off from the table and putting them back in their places. His wrist twists, proving everything secure and in place, and then he smirks back at Irving. ]

Funny, I seem to recall just moments ago, you were choking yourself to hold back His name in some far more unholy circumstances, so you'll forgive me, if I take your lecture with a grain of salt.

[ It's no skin off his back if Irving doesn't want the towel, but it's a lot more effective than that pillow would be. He shrugs, suddenly wishing he had a cigaratte, or a stiff drink, or whatever it is one reaches for when they realize they are dealing with someone who is deeply unwell in the head. Jack, being normal, isn't in the mood to rant and rave back at him after a good roll in the hay, but the cluelessness, the hypocrisy of it all provokes him anyway. ]

Oh, and which men are those? Jopson? [ He spits the name out as if it's poison, some acid in danger of searing through his tongue. With a huff, he leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs. ] His respect is no prize, it comes and goes with the fucking tide.

[ And, well, Jack has good reason to believe he's sleeping with men too, but he's not here to reassure him. He wants to see him squirm. After a deep, fortifying breath, he's on his feet again, slinging the belt over his shoulders to sort through the clothes scattered about the floor. ]

You say that now, but we'll be seeing each other again soon.