Did he just get...carried? As in lifted and...gods, it was practically bridal style. How utterly romantic - perhaps worthy of those sacred romance pages after all. "Going to make me swoon, darling," he laughed, but it turned into a groan, neck exposed helpfully as he was sufficiently marked, leaving a nice and probably very purple bruise plus teeth marks in its wake.
In the actual bedroom, he'd pounce. A literal coil and spring, yanking at the trousers of his partner in all things debauchery - he'd get them off come hell or high water. Then his own, kicked off, this mattress would do just nicely for an initial round - but oh, he wasn't kidding, he'd go for others in every room. Likely every spare surface. What the fuck else was there to do for entertainment, anyway? No offense to the ghouls who worked in the strip club, but he was fine with the show here.
"I hope you have plans for what to do with a naked man in your bed, Garrett Hawke," the pirate leered, beckoning. "I've got a few myself." Oh yes, did he ever.