allgotrabies | IC CONTACT

He listens and reflects on the idea.

"I don't think you hav'ta miss him," Sweeney answers honestly and with the faintest of shrugs.

"You already know yer tryin' ta scrape pieces together ta f'gure out what ya have ta work with." His brow lifts, silently asking if he's making any sense.

"Ya don't need a cat snake ta tell ya yer strugglin' with that. Maybe he wasn't pushin' you 'cause ya already know ya need the pushin'. An' it's takin' all ya got an' then some. Makes sense ya wouldn't have that much energy ta give him."

She nods. She wants that to be the case: a sign that she's exhausted, not that her worst suspicions are true.

Annie looks up and catches sight of one of the potted plants, and it makes her smile. Maybe her soul is half-dead. Maybe she'll never gather enough pieces of herself to make another whole person. But she sure as fuck felt alive when he brought her in here, and she can let herself imagine it would have pleased the mongoose, too.

"Tell me something fun you and Barrog got to do?"

Sweeney arches his brow down at her with a cautious smile.

"Ya mean durin' the week, or e'er?"

"I meant during the week, when you could carry her with you." When she was there to do hedgehog-y things, and there to keep him in line. "But if you've got a wicked story that's past that week I'm all ears."

He chuckles more freely at that.

"Most of those involve me waking up hungo'er with spines all up in me." Sweeney's hand gestures lower, implying his genitals. "Her doing her best ta save me from myself."

There's a slow sigh as he considers the week. It'd been tame overall. Maybe the thing with Tiffany, but that was more 'weird' than 'fun'. He shrugs.

"Not sure my Warden was 'xpectin' ta see her drinkin' whiskey from her dish on the bar." That's probably the closest, which seems disappointing in hindsight.

"Well he shoulda known. Whiskey is delicious."

She lays back a bit, letting him free aside from her hand on his hip. "I want to start making my own. I thought about, I don't know. Selling all the weed Tess gave me, but I don't want anything."

And she isn't the type to trade in IOU's. "But I actually like whiskey so I figure, might as well start making it myself. Then I don't have to bum off you."

Sweeney lets her draw back without protest, allowing himself to enjoy the grass and stare at the ceiling.

"It gotta be whiskey?" he queries idly. "Or any booze suit yer needs?"

"Not wine." She's never liked it anyway but grapes are finnicky things. "I know how to make whiskey 'cause of that breach. After we got back I kept studying it. Why? You got a request?"

He licks his lips with a bit of a mischievous shrug.

"Let's just say I make have picked some stuff up in port. Whiskey's more complicated, an' I'm not sure I have 'nough stuff ta build a still, but I got plenty of shit ta try makin' beer an' wild fruit wine."

Sweeney takes a slow, teasing breathing. "Know it ain't yer wheelhouse, but if yer lookin' fer a partner, I'd pay."

"You're Pack. I can't make you pay." Which brings her back onto her side to look at him. She knows it isn't as simple as that for him, which means at a minimum they have to find that middleground.

Sweeney remains on his back, but turns his head to smile at her playfully.

"That the case, then why ya worried 'bout bummin' from me?" He arches a brow, knowing how hard it is to not be able to have things both ways.

But he can see that mark, clear as day, and that doesn't mean nothing.

The rest of the Pack pays. But her...she's looking at that fucking soft underbelly.

She feels a twist of hope. "Is that okay with you? If you and me just...don't pay, don't keep score?"

She won't ask him to view the rest of the Pack any certain way. He is, as she's said, a special case. Things with him are more effortless and more natural, and the thought of keeping a tally system between them is jarring when what she wants is his happiness. (Of course this means if he's more comfortable with the old system, she'll abide by it. He is not a wolf even if she has to remind herself sometimes that he isn't.)

"Hmm..." He mulls it over, even though his dimples speak to the fact it's all for show.

"I get ta keep my trousers?" It's a joke, but rooted in honesty. What he's offering is huge thing for him, and he still needs some things that are comfortably familiar to anchor onto.

"Long as they open where and when you want 'em to, sure," she gives him a playfully magnanimous wave.

"You don't have to say yes. We're going at your pace too, right?"

"Aye." The word is simple, but carries the sincerity and weight of much more than that.

"We're both givin'. That's how this shit works." Sweeney rolls his eyes dramatically, all in good fun. "Little Miss No-Strings-Attached."

"Hey, hey, I said I wasn't going to try to make you into my boyfriend, I never said I didn't like you," leaning in to kiss him and nip at his lip. A touch more sober, "You're a very hard man not to get attached to."

Back at the beginning, there had been the promise of no feelings, just sex. And yet here they are.

"All evidence ta the contrary," he assures with some level of mock bluster.

There's a moment following where he thinks, then his gaze dips slowly down her, and then back up. His hands move to his waistband and he arches his hips up enough to get them back up over his hips before he wiggles his braces on. The buttons and the rest of him is in no way addressed.

He looks back to her with a devious grin.

"Just in case."

She laughs, "Oh I see how it is-" and gleefully tackles him back into the grass.

His laugh comes far more freely than normal. After a moment, Sweeney catches her by the shoulders, holding her above him as he stretches his head up to nip at her lip.

"I was hopin' fer a few more lessons, if yer open ta learnin' a bit more." He arches his brow with a hint of wickedness.

"Though if ya just wanna wrestle off a bit of energy, they'll wait just as easy. I ain't gonna complain."

"Teach me." She brings her knees up alongside his ribs so she's straddling him. Her expression is still playful but there's a set to her body that is all focus.

Fuck, just like she knew where he wanted her.

Sweeney crooks his finger, urging her face closer so he can speak lowly, as if in secret.

"Póg mé." He lifts his head a touch, but doesn't fully close the distance. "Kiss me."

She can't decide if it's a dirty move for how readily she's wrapped around his finger, or if it's the most effective teaching method ever. Either way she isn't just repeating the phrase when she says, "Póg mé," and doesn't let herself actually kiss him.

His smirk speaks to his thought. Trixy minx.

Sweeney's hand darts to catch her by the back of her head and yank her to him so he can kiss her hotly. It's brief, if hungry, and he pulls her back a few inches by a fistful of hair.

"Teagmháil liom," he requests with a lift of his brow, seeing if she recalls enough.

After a few moments, he makes an addition.

"Úsáid do theanga." Sweeney's lips curl wantonly. "Use yer tongue." His grip remains in her hair, but loosens enough for her to move.

She licks a line from collarbone to his jaw, then kisses him for good measure, flicking her tongue against his upper lip as she draws back. "Did I understand right?"

"Aye," he breathes, the sensation stirring warmth back into his skin.

"Greim dom." Sweeney tries to keep his hand from pulling, baring his neck as he turns his head a bit.

"Bite me."

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