"Yeah," he breathes, still working on getting his legs steadier. The short word encapsulates so much more, the sating and exhaustion and comfort.
One hand abandons her to brace against the wall. A moment after, he gives it a push to dislodge them with the goal of getting them back to the grass. He manages the task with only a bit of swagger, and he sets her down as carefully as he can manage before he eases back.
It's cool and warm and all he wants is to lay down. He promptly collapses on his back in the grass and pulls down a cigarette, prepared to light one for each of them. After the first blessed drag, something occurs to him, and he lolls his head towards her with a tired raise of his brow.
"Ya get what ya need?" He'd gotten lost along the way and was far past keeping count. He certainly doesn't want to leave her wanting, though he has no idea what he can really manage at this point.
"And then some." She leans against him, but keeps it a light pressure in case what he wants is some space to collect himself. She takes a deep drag and chuckles, "Don't care if it's a cliche, a smoke after sex is one of the best things you can have."
She feels she could sink right into the blades of the grass, like a character in a cartoon might sink into a cloud.
"Are you kidding, I don't think I could get up and run if there was a fire." She closes her eyes, taking it all in: the physical exhaustion, the coolness of the grass and the heat of his body beside her.
She only opens her eyes to look at him. "You never taught me what 'thank you' is."
Sweeney's glad she's not looking to out-pace him. The sensation is somewhere between pride and relief. It takes him a moment to catch up with the question, but he tips his head as he offers the answer.
This is usually the part where he buttons up, gets his shirt, walks her home. She doesn't want to stand, she doesn't want to go. She doesn't want him gone.
"You're Pack now. My Pack." In some ways more than the others are. "No regrets?"
He considers the question more seriously than his gut first sought to play off.
"Nah." Sweeney takes a drag and looks back at her, the smoke drifting between them. "You an' me," he answers with a touch of tenderness, but also a fair bit of clarification.
"Not even a little." And not even once since he first offered this as an option.
If she has fears it's only those she always has: that he'll change his mind. That the needs of a wolf run contrary to the needs of a leprechaun. But right now there are no such fears.
"You and me. The most wolf of the pack." She touches the Mark and smiles just for herself. "Will you stay until I fall asleep? Or sleep here, if- I know we've never done that. It's okay if you don't want to."
There's a moment of inhale as he looks back to the ceiling, briefly mulling the request. Something catches, and he rolls his eyes beneath his lids.
"Fuck me." Sweeney sighs.
"I got a daily meet up with my Warden, but yeah. I'll wait 'til ya sleep." He can't imagine it taking that long for her to. There's no big rush to leave, but he does have a promised obligation.
She shakes her head. "No, actually, let me catch my breath? And then walk me home."
She isn't upset. It's just the thought of waking up alone is worse than the risks of sleeping out on the common room couches, which she has done before. Godric will probably be home by now.
"A'right." There's no sense of guilt; she understands his need to fulfil his responsibilities. At the same time, it's easy enough to understand why she wouldn't want to wake up alone, even in the grass.
"No rush," he assures her. "It ain't 'til a lot later." Most folk seem to prefer after dinner drinks, which does him just fine.
"Ain't that the truth," she sighs, tucking his arm around her, stroking lazy fingers along his forearm. "But maybe you and me will just graduate together without wardens. I mean if I was paired tomorrow, and graduated next week? It wouldn't be because of that warden."
It's not just due to Sweeney either, but lying here with him there's no doubt he's a significant part of any progress she's made.
"If I graduate you're gonna be like, my guest of honor."
Sweeney cradles her enough to support her without crushing her against him.
"Damn well best be," he teases with a smirk. "That party best come with some grass." He nuzzles her head. "An' the after-party should be on this patch."
She dismisses that with a laugh. "That's the only good way to get worked up about it. I meant more like... the people who think it's just a distraction. Like nothing actually good comes from it."
And she'll acknowledge, "It's a really fun distraction. But I am worn the fuck out right now and I still feel like I can handle my life better than I could six months ago."
"Too easy ta get caught up in yer head," he offers simply, having been the master of that art for a very long time.
"Gotta put that shit somewhere ta cut through it. Drinkin', fightin', fuckin'. They're all ways outta that." Sweeney takes a slow breath.
"That ain't the only reason ta do so, course. Fuck, I fi'gured most folk do it 'round here 'cause they're in love." He rolls his eyes. "Feel like most folk got husbands an' boyfriends an' whate'er."
Then he remembers Dorian. "Or they're pretentious pricks that need ta fuck ta prove how much they don't need anythin' at all an' can have whoe'er they want." Sweeney is clearly not a fan.
"The first time I ever fucked it was for a cigarette." She shrugs a shoulder. "Not just for one. I had a crush on him, we got along pretty well. But I knew he was going to brag to all his friends and I knew I'd get known as a slut. So I made him give me his dad's pack of cigarettes first."
And that's how sex was for her for most of her life. "Now it's like...self-expression. I feel more like me. Is this weird? To talk about?" Because it threatens to turn stream-of-consciousness and that rarely leads anywhere good. At the same time, though, he's one of very few people she isn't terrified of thinking around.
"Nah," he assures her with a slight shake of his head. "Yer not anywhere close ta my bar fer weird." Sweeney arches a brow down at her playfully before he lets his tone go honest. He traces gentle lines over her arm encouragingly.
"This shit sounds like it's good fer me ta know." So you'll hear it out loud. "You go right ahead. I'll just be here listenin'."
"When I was human mostly I just fucked for things." She's mentioned it before. "When I was a wolf it was always for love. And now...I think it's for me. Like, claiming back all the times I just gave myself away. It feels like I matter right now."
Right now, she says, because that feeling never lasts long for her.
"I knew if I said I was done like, halfway through any of the times you were in me, you would've let me go. And I knew if I said I wanted something different, you wanted me to have it." She cranes her neck a bit to look up at him. "I'm real fucking glad we like the same things. But if I'm being totally honest? This is the first time I ever had to spend time thinking about what I want. Spent all month thinking about it."
Her look up is met by his headed down, and when she finds him, his lips are curling into the biggest shit-eating grin.
"Fuck," he purrs. "Can't tell you how fuckin' sexy that is."
Sweeney's hand lifts to tuck her hair behind her ear. His smile lessens, but only enough to take on a more tender affect.
"Can't really remember how long I've been fuckin' just 'cause I was fucked up an' it feels good," he admits. "Just wanna forget." His eyes roll up for a moment. "All the time." He looks back to her. "Chasin' that quiet. Didn't need names. Or fuckin' faces fer that matter." It's not his proudest moment, but it's honest.
"I think--well, fer me--what this is..." He points a finger from himself to her. "It's findin' a different way ta be. But--" He struggles for the words; they are not a strength.
"But like it's lettin' us be ourselves. Like ourselves that aren't caught up in the bullshit." He gives a small shrug as his gaze slips to the side.
"I ain't gonna say fuckin' is me expressin' myself. Or reclaimin' anythin'." His brow creases as he sorts out the idea. "More 'bout findin' myself." Sweeney's brow lifts.
"That make any fuckin' sense?" He has no idea at this point.
"I like you. And I liked you before we started fucking." She nestles her head on his chest. "But getting to see more of you, more of who you are, the past month or two months, is... I don't take it lightly."
She's fiercely protective of her people but especially the true pieces of them, the ones rarely seen or carefully shared.
"If you're finding yourself I'm glad you're letting me be part of it. It matters to me."
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But when they finish she's breathless and barely annoyed to hold onto him and beautifully, blessedly exhausted.
"Fuck," is all she manages to say through her smile.
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One hand abandons her to brace against the wall. A moment after, he gives it a push to dislodge them with the goal of getting them back to the grass. He manages the task with only a bit of swagger, and he sets her down as carefully as he can manage before he eases back.
It's cool and warm and all he wants is to lay down. He promptly collapses on his back in the grass and pulls down a cigarette, prepared to light one for each of them. After the first blessed drag, something occurs to him, and he lolls his head towards her with a tired raise of his brow.
"Ya get what ya need?" He'd gotten lost along the way and was far past keeping count. He certainly doesn't want to leave her wanting, though he has no idea what he can really manage at this point.
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She feels she could sink right into the blades of the grass, like a character in a cartoon might sink into a cloud.
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"Hopefully the rest will tide ya fer a bit. Ain't gonna lie 'bout me needin' a fuckin' break." He chuckles at himself. A break. From fucking.
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She only opens her eyes to look at him. "You never taught me what 'thank you' is."
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"Buíochas."
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This is usually the part where he buttons up, gets his shirt, walks her home. She doesn't want to stand, she doesn't want to go. She doesn't want him gone.
"You're Pack now. My Pack." In some ways more than the others are. "No regrets?"
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"Nah." Sweeney takes a drag and looks back at her, the smoke drifting between them. "You an' me," he answers with a touch of tenderness, but also a fair bit of clarification.
His head twists as he seeks the reciprocal.
"You?"
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If she has fears it's only those she always has: that he'll change his mind. That the needs of a wolf run contrary to the needs of a leprechaun. But right now there are no such fears.
"You and me. The most wolf of the pack." She touches the Mark and smiles just for herself. "Will you stay until I fall asleep? Or sleep here, if- I know we've never done that. It's okay if you don't want to."
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"Fuck me." Sweeney sighs.
"I got a daily meet up with my Warden, but yeah. I'll wait 'til ya sleep." He can't imagine it taking that long for her to. There's no big rush to leave, but he does have a promised obligation.
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She isn't upset. It's just the thought of waking up alone is worse than the risks of sleeping out on the common room couches, which she has done before. Godric will probably be home by now.
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"No rush," he assures her. "It ain't 'til a lot later." Most folk seem to prefer after dinner drinks, which does him just fine.
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"We get on well 'nough so far. He isn't nosy, has a low standard of good behavior, an' we meet in the Lounge 'cause he's a whiskey drinker."
Sweeney rolls his eyes beneath their lids.
"Which means the Adm'ral certainly inn't gonna pair us long-term."
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It's not just due to Sweeney either, but lying here with him there's no doubt he's a significant part of any progress she's made.
"If I graduate you're gonna be like, my guest of honor."
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"Damn well best be," he teases with a smirk. "That party best come with some grass." He nuzzles her head. "An' the after-party should be on this patch."
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"'Fraid I can't be castin' many stones there, luv. Feel like we've been pretty worked up 'bout it tonight too." Sweeney offers a cheeky smirk.
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And she'll acknowledge, "It's a really fun distraction. But I am worn the fuck out right now and I still feel like I can handle my life better than I could six months ago."
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"Gotta put that shit somewhere ta cut through it. Drinkin', fightin', fuckin'. They're all ways outta that." Sweeney takes a slow breath.
"That ain't the only reason ta do so, course. Fuck, I fi'gured most folk do it 'round here 'cause they're in love." He rolls his eyes. "Feel like most folk got husbands an' boyfriends an' whate'er."
Then he remembers Dorian. "Or they're pretentious pricks that need ta fuck ta prove how much they don't need anythin' at all an' can have whoe'er they want." Sweeney is clearly not a fan.
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And that's how sex was for her for most of her life. "Now it's like...self-expression. I feel more like me. Is this weird? To talk about?" Because it threatens to turn stream-of-consciousness and that rarely leads anywhere good. At the same time, though, he's one of very few people she isn't terrified of thinking around.
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"This shit sounds like it's good fer me ta know." So you'll hear it out loud. "You go right ahead. I'll just be here listenin'."
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Right now, she says, because that feeling never lasts long for her.
"I knew if I said I was done like, halfway through any of the times you were in me, you would've let me go. And I knew if I said I wanted something different, you wanted me to have it." She cranes her neck a bit to look up at him. "I'm real fucking glad we like the same things. But if I'm being totally honest? This is the first time I ever had to spend time thinking about what I want. Spent all month thinking about it."
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"Fuck," he purrs. "Can't tell you how fuckin' sexy that is."
Sweeney's hand lifts to tuck her hair behind her ear. His smile lessens, but only enough to take on a more tender affect.
"Can't really remember how long I've been fuckin' just 'cause I was fucked up an' it feels good," he admits. "Just wanna forget." His eyes roll up for a moment. "All the time." He looks back to her. "Chasin' that quiet. Didn't need names. Or fuckin' faces fer that matter." It's not his proudest moment, but it's honest.
"I think--well, fer me--what this is..." He points a finger from himself to her. "It's findin' a different way ta be. But--" He struggles for the words; they are not a strength.
"But like it's lettin' us be ourselves. Like ourselves that aren't caught up in the bullshit." He gives a small shrug as his gaze slips to the side.
"I ain't gonna say fuckin' is me expressin' myself. Or reclaimin' anythin'." His brow creases as he sorts out the idea. "More 'bout findin' myself." Sweeney's brow lifts.
"That make any fuckin' sense?" He has no idea at this point.
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She's fiercely protective of her people but especially the true pieces of them, the ones rarely seen or carefully shared.
"If you're finding yourself I'm glad you're letting me be part of it. It matters to me."
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