He could argue the point about being good for her, but he lets her have it. Maybe he is to her. And he can accept that. He takes her lip between his teeth, a bit firmer but quickly releases it.
"Don't think I'd mind watchin' ya do that," Sweeney offers with a with a bit of a lecherous glance downward, even though the angle doesn't leave much for him to see.
After a beat, he looks back up to her, more serious.
"I know ya don't need me to. An' I know I prob'bly shouldn't. But I ain't gonna lie 'bout wantin' ta break Dorian's face fer makin' you feel like that."
Here is where she realizes that because Sweeney is nominally friendly with Dorian, she had assumed her discomfort wouldn't matter all that much. Not enough, certainly, for Sweeney to feel any particular way about it.
"Fuck that's sexy," she breathes, and it is but it's more than that. It's just so much harder to put into words what it's like to have someone protective of her feelings instead of simply her body. "Kiss me."
Sweeney's lips curl wide and wolfish at that, and he cradles the back of her head, lifting it only a touch off the grass, but enough to secure when he honors her request.
It starts warm, not delicate, but it promptly urges stronger. Just because his body isn't ready to claim her again doesn't mean he doesn't long to have her.
She brings her knees up along his hips and realizes they both need a little more time to recharge. When she breaks the kiss she's in a brighter mood, reassured again.
"If I show you like, the first minute of my talk with him, would you tell me if I was just being oversensitive? Because I could be. I get that way sometimes, all the people here who went to Harvard when they were in diapers or whatever."
Oh, this piece of shit. If Sweeney wasn't already feeling ire at Dorian, he sure as fuck is now.
Sweeney draws back with her lip trapped between his teeth, firm enough to stretch it, but not so rough as to hurt her. He arches a brow and releases it.
"If ya like." He offers a small roll of his eyes. "Though I already know that ya had a right ta be pissed. That cunt lives ta rub folk the wrong way." He pauses, then tips his head in concession.
"Though I s'ppose fer Godric, it's just the right way."
He glances down unnecessarily as his hand lowers and twists to run up the inside of her thigh. It stops short of the prize, obviously, given he's in the way, but nevertheless, his intent is genuinely wicked.
"I really honestly go for free love, people should fuck people, friends should hook up with friends, whatever. But," hooking her heels against his back. "I am so glad you're into me and not him. So I don't have to pretend with you."
Of all the things she loves about this, the fact he embraces the serrated edges of who she really is has to be the thing she would fight hardest to keep.
"It's just... Every guy he's into treats me like that. Archer doesn't anymore, I'm cool with Archer. But every other guy he fucks thinks I'm a goddamn idiot. And whatever. I'm not winning any prizes, I know. But they all let me know they think I'm a moron and I don't..." Goddamn it. "I don't know why."
"Well." The word is sharp, accented by a firm grab of her hip, his fingers sinking roughly into her flesh pressed against the grass. His gaze is devious as it lingers on her face, and he gives a playful tug towards him.
"E'en if I were a fuckin' pillow-biter, he wouldn't be my type. Neither of 'em. But 'specially not any cunt that'd treat ya like that." Sweeney nips at her lip.
"Guessin' they just wanna show ya that Godric was wrong in choosin' you. That he shouldn't be bound ta you. Which is fuckin' bollocks." Even Sweeney wouldn't say that in opposite, and he has plenty of valid reason to hate Godric.
"Just wantin' ya ta give him up so they can have what he's givin' ta you."
That, that soothes her. Well, the words and the way he looks at her. Someday, she thinks, maybe she'll feel this strong and this capable without needing the reassurance. In the meantime she soaks it in like she's parched.
She trails her fingers up and down his back, gliding over where her nails cut him earlier. "Fuck, I'm glad I have you." A note of wonder in it, because she still doesn't fully understand how she managed to end up here in this perfect space with him.
"Oh you'd better," grinding up against him. "You had me thinking about you last thing before I fell asleep, first thing in the shower, every day this month. We have," kissing him between words. "So much time to make up for."
It feels remarkably similar to having a broken bone snapped back together, to finding that she might be a little more whole than she'd realized. She feels like herself right now: wanted, and not for the fan dance she presents.
Fuck, she feels so good when she wriggles like that. Of course, those images she's painting don't hurt either. He's pretty confident he's ready to start heading towards where they're looking to go.
Sweeney's breath begins to deepen, and his hand lifts to cup her face. His gaze dips to her lips and back to her eyes with hints of yearning.
"Know we ain't got that chair." He traces his thumb slowly across her lip, his attention slipping to it as it does. His eyes finds hers again with an arch of his brow.
"But ya wanna give it a go anyways?" He's not talking about dancing.
She turns her head ever so slightly into his hand, touches the tip of her tongue to his thumb as it traces her lip.
"Hell yeah I do." She's so used to having to hold herself back the second she gets to this point, thinking about riding him, craving the sounds she can draw out of him. But it's a new year and she can have him as many times as they want and oh, God, does she want this.
He offers the faintest of nods and a quick flick of the tip of tongue up over her lips, before he pushes up and off her. As Sweeney settles on his back, he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers and shoves them down over his hips. The grass is cool on his freshly-bared skin.
His eyes are keen on her, savoring each movement, even when she's not yet on him.
Again she thinks of him naked, and again contents herself with what he's willing to share. She straddles him, running her fingers along his hips, the tops of his thighs.
"How's this?" She hasn't settled her weight on him. Instead she's teasing him, rolling her hips and brushing against him.
Sweeney shivers and his breath catches. Even in asking for something, one can't really prepare for getting it.
"Very convincin'," he offers, one dimple sinking.
His hands lift, ready to take her hips, but suddenly he isn't sure which game they're looking to play. So they hover a couple of inches away from her skin, and his brow lifts in question as to if he's supposed to not be touching her.
Sweeney's sure he's going to end up winning either way.
"Hands off," she purrs, but she makes full use of being able to touch him with her hands, raking them through his hair and along his shoulder where her teethmarks show.
This would be easier if his trousers were all the way off, but she's worked with less.
He accepts the terms, moving his hands away, but then there's the dilemma of where the fuck he's supposed to put them. Sweeney rests them in the grass at his sides, but at the tingling sensation she's already nudging through his skin, her quickly realizes that grabbing it isn't going to stop him from doing shit.
Sweeney lifts his hands again, not to her, but perpendicular to the ground where his elbows are resting. He swallows as his focus dances anywhere but her while he does his best to calculate a solution. He considers resting his head on them, but has another spark of inspiration.
The movement is slow and deliberate, far from natural, but he manages to rest his hands back slightly above his head. Not nearly close enough to cross or press both with one hand, but nevertheless, a very new and somewhat uncomfortably vulnerable position.
Try things that are unfamiliar.
He doubts this was on the list when the advice was given, but it is no less apt.
She likes this, likes having him laid out so well for her. There's no music but her movements are fluid enough she doesn't really need it. She stretches, rolling her hips again but this time to settle into a dance she's done for him before. But that was months ago, well before he ever kissed her, back when she had felt accomplished just by having him look at her.
So...maybe this was going to be harder than anticipated. At least it wasn't what they started the night with; that would have been utterly unbearable.
As it is, at least it's making things harder. So that's welcome.
Sweeney's fingers flex as he fights to keep the backs of his hands on the grass, his eyes unblinking and never straying from her. He remembers this one, but he'd only ever seen it from feet away. Certainly not on top of him, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.
He swallows and does his best to focus his breath.
"The first time I did this one," she can't remember if it was the first or second time she danced for him but she remembers this routine. "I wanted you to touch me so much my skin tingled. And I went home and I went to bed and I dreamed about you."
The aching in him forces his shoulders to press up to prevent his hips from doing so, his core coiled tightly. He can't seem to will it to relax. Sweeney's elbows start to slide down, leaving his hands next to his shoulders. His neck strains up as he lifts his chin with a suggestion of something between an invitation and a challenge.
"I've got a hammock in the living room," he's seen it but might not remember it, given the last time he was in that cabin. "And in the dream we were trying to figure out how to fuck in it. And we couldn't and it was the most frustrating dream."
To pacify herself she allows herself a moment to grind against him.
Well, maybe not something he can oblige her in right now.
He doesn't have a moment to consider it before he has to bite back a whimper. Fuck, she's so warm. Sweeney's hands instinctively lift from the grass, getting nearly a foot up before he pushes them back down. His head tilts back as he wills himself to focus, pulling a sharp breath in. It doesn't come back out.
He tries again, but the words keep catching.
"Think--think ya might. Might want one. In here?" He forces himself to swallow.
"A hammock, a chair," another slow grind, working to get him hard enough for her to take in. "What else are we missing? What have you pictured doing to me?"
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He could argue the point about being good for her, but he lets her have it. Maybe he is to her. And he can accept that. He takes her lip between his teeth, a bit firmer but quickly releases it.
"Don't think I'd mind watchin' ya do that," Sweeney offers with a with a bit of a lecherous glance downward, even though the angle doesn't leave much for him to see.
After a beat, he looks back up to her, more serious.
"I know ya don't need me to. An' I know I prob'bly shouldn't. But I ain't gonna lie 'bout wantin' ta break Dorian's face fer makin' you feel like that."
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"Fuck that's sexy," she breathes, and it is but it's more than that. It's just so much harder to put into words what it's like to have someone protective of her feelings instead of simply her body. "Kiss me."
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It starts warm, not delicate, but it promptly urges stronger. Just because his body isn't ready to claim her again doesn't mean he doesn't long to have her.
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"If I show you like, the first minute of my talk with him, would you tell me if I was just being oversensitive? Because I could be. I get that way sometimes, all the people here who went to Harvard when they were in diapers or whatever."
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Sweeney draws back with her lip trapped between his teeth, firm enough to stretch it, but not so rough as to hurt her. He arches a brow and releases it.
"If ya like." He offers a small roll of his eyes. "Though I already know that ya had a right ta be pissed. That cunt lives ta rub folk the wrong way." He pauses, then tips his head in concession.
"Though I s'ppose fer Godric, it's just the right way."
He glances down unnecessarily as his hand lowers and twists to run up the inside of her thigh. It stops short of the prize, obviously, given he's in the way, but nevertheless, his intent is genuinely wicked.
"Too bad fer him I ain't interested in his knob."
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Of all the things she loves about this, the fact he embraces the serrated edges of who she really is has to be the thing she would fight hardest to keep.
"It's just... Every guy he's into treats me like that. Archer doesn't anymore, I'm cool with Archer. But every other guy he fucks thinks I'm a goddamn idiot. And whatever. I'm not winning any prizes, I know. But they all let me know they think I'm a moron and I don't..." Goddamn it. "I don't know why."
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"E'en if I were a fuckin' pillow-biter, he wouldn't be my type. Neither of 'em. But 'specially not any cunt that'd treat ya like that." Sweeney nips at her lip.
"Guessin' they just wanna show ya that Godric was wrong in choosin' you. That he shouldn't be bound ta you. Which is fuckin' bollocks." Even Sweeney wouldn't say that in opposite, and he has plenty of valid reason to hate Godric.
"Just wantin' ya ta give him up so they can have what he's givin' ta you."
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She trails her fingers up and down his back, gliding over where her nails cut him earlier. "Fuck, I'm glad I have you." A note of wonder in it, because she still doesn't fully understand how she managed to end up here in this perfect space with him.
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"Good." He gives a curt grind of his hips against hers, his fingertips digging deeper the second go round.
"'Cause I'm plannin' fer ya to at least a few more times b'fore ya leave."
His body is already considering it, his bristling about Dorian not hurting its case for why he should take her again. She's craved. Needed. Worthy.
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It feels remarkably similar to having a broken bone snapped back together, to finding that she might be a little more whole than she'd realized. She feels like herself right now: wanted, and not for the fan dance she presents.
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Sweeney's breath begins to deepen, and his hand lifts to cup her face. His gaze dips to her lips and back to her eyes with hints of yearning.
"Know we ain't got that chair." He traces his thumb slowly across her lip, his attention slipping to it as it does. His eyes finds hers again with an arch of his brow.
"But ya wanna give it a go anyways?" He's not talking about dancing.
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"Hell yeah I do." She's so used to having to hold herself back the second she gets to this point, thinking about riding him, craving the sounds she can draw out of him. But it's a new year and she can have him as many times as they want and oh, God, does she want this.
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His eyes are keen on her, savoring each movement, even when she's not yet on him.
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"How's this?" She hasn't settled her weight on him. Instead she's teasing him, rolling her hips and brushing against him.
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"Very convincin'," he offers, one dimple sinking.
His hands lift, ready to take her hips, but suddenly he isn't sure which game they're looking to play. So they hover a couple of inches away from her skin, and his brow lifts in question as to if he's supposed to not be touching her.
Sweeney's sure he's going to end up winning either way.
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This would be easier if his trousers were all the way off, but she's worked with less.
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Sweeney lifts his hands again, not to her, but perpendicular to the ground where his elbows are resting. He swallows as his focus dances anywhere but her while he does his best to calculate a solution. He considers resting his head on them, but has another spark of inspiration.
The movement is slow and deliberate, far from natural, but he manages to rest his hands back slightly above his head. Not nearly close enough to cross or press both with one hand, but nevertheless, a very new and somewhat uncomfortably vulnerable position.
Try things that are unfamiliar.
He doubts this was on the list when the advice was given, but it is no less apt.
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As it is, at least it's making things harder. So that's welcome.
Sweeney's fingers flex as he fights to keep the backs of his hands on the grass, his eyes unblinking and never straying from her. He remembers this one, but he'd only ever seen it from feet away. Certainly not on top of him, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.
He swallows and does his best to focus his breath.
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"Yeah?" Fuck, he wants to taste her.
"I do anythin' in particular?"
'Cause odds are good, he's happy to oblige her.
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To pacify herself she allows herself a moment to grind against him.
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He doesn't have a moment to consider it before he has to bite back a whimper. Fuck, she's so warm. Sweeney's hands instinctively lift from the grass, getting nearly a foot up before he pushes them back down. His head tilts back as he wills himself to focus, pulling a sharp breath in. It doesn't come back out.
He tries again, but the words keep catching.
"Think--think ya might. Might want one. In here?" He forces himself to swallow.
"Could always try."
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"Fuck, woman." Sweeney blinks, trying to focus.
"Truth told, I don't get ta thinkin' much 'bout the where." He swallows carefully.
"I'd be happy ta take ya on the fuckin' floor." Or in the grass. This is definitely better. Though he'd still welcome the variety.
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