"Aye," he agrees with small nod and a drag. Sweeney holds it in his asking.

"An' how much of that would there be if e'ery time I wanted ya, I shoved ya up against a wall or pulled ya down on me or bent ta or the bar so I could drink my whiskey off yer sweet skin?"

He knows damn well, if it were up to him. He understands why he put the guidline in place.