"An' what're we toastin'?" Jack leaned back in his seat, his own bottle swinging from his fingers.
"The won'erful ability of alcohol to make our problems go away," Sweeney muttered.
A smirk twisted Jack's lips. "Aye, I'll drink t' that." And they did.
A slight smile touched Sweeney's own lips, the first in a long time. Jack Sparrow had showed up at his shop less than an hour previous, a bottle of rum in one hand and a sack in the other, asking if he could sleep in the spare room for a few days. And that was just fine with Sweeney. Mrs. Lovett (Nellie, she had told him was her first name, Nellie, but he still called her Mrs. Lovett, god only knew why, and god wasn't interested anyway) had gone to the milliner's to have new dresses made, and had taken Tobi with her. Again, that was just fine with Sweeney. It had been entirely too long since he'd had decent conversation with another man, and Mrs. Lovett had a tendency to drive his urge to kill right up the wall.
And then Jack was across the table, hauling Sweeney toward him by the front of his shirt, kissing him roughly, lips and teeth colliding almost painfully.
There was an awkward silence when the two finally parted for air, then Sweeney gave a lopsided sort of grin and they were kissing again, stumbling toward the back room, away from the prying eyes of passerby, clawing at each other's clothing.
There was a moment's pause as they debated what to use for lubrication, then Jack took control again, shoving Sweeney down on the couch, the bottle of rum in his hand once more. Then he took him, hard and rough, moving with an urgency neither had expected. Sweeney's fingers dug into Jack's back, his teeth in the pirate's shoulder, growls of primal lust issuing from his parted lips.
White heat pooled in Jack's stomach, his hips pistoning forward rapidly, his fingers curled around Sweeney's flesh, stroking in time with his thrusts. Sweeney's nails - thankfully blunt - raked down his back when he came, muttering something incoherent, then his body was clenching, maddeningly tight, and Jack couldn't hold back any longer, his own climax wrenching from his body in a rush of white-hot pleasure that left him dizzy.
They cleaned up in silence, then went their seperate ways, Jack with his bottle of ever-present rum, Sweeney with more than a few marks on his collarbone, shoulders, and chest.
It was the last time Sweeney Todd drank rum.