A chuckle catches him and he coughs it out with a roll his eyes, a dimple deep in each cheek.
"Oh, of that I have no doubt." It's cheeky but light. He's not trying to urge her that way by any means. At this point, he's confident something like that will not push him in the most positive of directions. That's not to say part of him doesn't want to yank her up and toss her down in the grass, losing himself deep in the welcoming warmth of her and scent of wildflowers.
A part that's growing more pressing even as he's trying to banish the thought away. Sweeney swallows and takes the last puff of his cigarette before flicking the embers off away from them. He grips the neck of the bottle, but doesn't lift it.
It doesn't take him long to mull the question; it's a principle he understands, but isn't sure it actually matters all that much. The answer comes as he pulls a fresh cigarette.
"I ain't a warden." He shrugs and flicks open his lighter. "So I don't give a fuck." Light, drag, snap shut. An intuitive and well-practiced flow that leaves him renewed in his contentment.
"I just don't like the idea of being treated like I can't make up my own mind," letting the grass run between her fingers. "This place isn't the worst place I've been. But I get treated like an idiot enough without some warden telling me what to do with my body."
"Fuck that shit." What's the fucking point of being a warden if you don't get to make some of your own rules? Especially if it isn't your superior making the ones of issue.
"Admiral ain't made a rule about it, has he?" The smoke slips from his lips as he holds his inhale.
"Nah," she shakes her head and takes a long swig of liquor. "My ex-boyfriend was a warden. We moved in together. People might've bitched about it behind our backs but we didn't get cursed with any Admiral magic shit."
He finally releases his breath and rubs his other hand briskly over the crest of his hair. "If it ain't breakin' a rule with a capital R, why should it matter?"
Sweeney glances back to her, his gaze dipping in brief assessment. "'sides, why do you give a fuck what other people think?" She's always carried herself as a wild card, and those don't tend to give much mind to what else is in the deck.
"Only if they can fuck up my life," she clarifies. "And if I can get around them even trying? I'll fuck 'em over right back on my way out." She's quick to forgive but it doesn't mean there's no savage side to her.
Her gaze lingers on him, and a coy smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth. Oh but she likes the effect she's having on him. "But speaking of capital-R rules... is it breaking one if, instead of fucking, I just suck you off sometimes? Maybe while you're trying to get tired enough to sleep. Maybe to wake you up while you smoke your first cigarette of the day."
He's onboard until she makes that sharp turn, and his attention darts to her with an arched eyebrow. Sweeney's never actually considered their arrangement a rule, much less one with a capital R. He completely understands the risk he has of failing, perhaps not so occasionally, and as such wouldn't bind himself to that level of commitment to it.
He swallows, watching her for a moment while he takes takes a casual drag. His gaze doesn't leave her.
"Do ya think that's a good idea?" There's no right answer, he just wants to know her opinion.
"For me? Yeah." And she means it. "I'm following your lead here, though. We could have some fun. Have a break from all..." A glance up, around. The Barge. Their minds. "This."
"It would be for me," she chuckles. "When you fucked me, I cut my own lip trying to keep myself quiet," because she'd heard Archer hesitate at the door. "And I'm not a real noisy person. So me going down on you some quiet morning, then taking all my pent up wanting for you to the shower where I can think of all the things you could have done to me... I don't know, that just sounds like a real good time to me. How often do you get head from a girl who wants you enough she'd jump on you right now if you said 'go'?"
A shrug, another sly smile. "But like I said, it's up to what you're comfortable with. If it comes down to just me, alone and thinking about you sometimes, it's worked okay so far."
Sweeney's lips tighten along with his trousers. He sucks his tongue roughly as his focus is forced from her face, but it does very little to distract him from her words. He swallows and takes a drag.
Realistically, when a woman's mouth's on him, it doesn't stay there. The idea of just being passive the whole time is so strange. He does know one thing.
Another drag as he takes the time to find the words for it.
"I think...fuckin' yer throat's just gonna drive me ta have ta have the rest of you." There are worse thing to have to admit. His lashes flutter, and he looks to his cigarette before he takes another drag. "An' if it comes ta havin' you in the shower, I rather ya have the cold tile on yer back." He takes a slow breath to steady his resolve.
"I won't be able ta stop if I have you so often." It's a simple truth, but also implies his answer.
"I like that you want me like I want you," she says, meaning in the same way if not the same scale. She has no idea how that measures when put alongside each other, but looking him over slowly she can guess. "But I can respect that."
Even if, as she said, she'll carry the image of him with her when she's alone and wishing she wasn't.
Her acceptance of his answer allows him some ease, though not relief. Sweeney swallows to manage his resolve before glancing her way.
"It's ne'er that I don't want ya. Easy ta do when we're together. 'nough that I sought ya when I'd lost myself." Ok, so that is both true and slightly misleading. He had gone looking for her, though it had been for a fight. He may have had anyone willing in his moment of weakness. Still, he doesn't regret that it was her.
"Now." It's a statement of the somewhat obvious, and he tries to deliver it as casually as possible, accompanied by a drag.
"I would say you make me something I’m not, but in truth, you make me too much of what I am."
Sweeney's head falls to one side as he studies his cigarette and taps his ash. He searches for the words, and when he finds them, they're given easily enough.
"Wantin' ta get lost in burnin' whiskey and sweet warmth of you wrapped around me. Cravin' too many moments of selfish bliss and sweat and welted skin."
"I definitely get that way with you." There's no surprise there, she knows. Even in lapses in conversation, her attention tends to drift back to him, curious and with no small amount of desire.
"But...I wouldn't say that's all you are with me? It doesn't seem like it from where I'm at."
"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.
Turnabout is fairplay and all that but the images he's painting make her breath catch and come low, make her eyes darken with the effort of staying right where she is. Her hand drifts over her stomach, fingers trailing just under one breast, in revenge.
"Well no one said every time... just now and then."
Sweeney's onto her this time, and he's able to remain unmoved by her caress. He blinks slowly, his attention remaining on her face, and he shakes his head just a touch.
"We were talkin' 'bout wantin', not negotiatin' when now is 'nough ta indulge."
"You're right," she'll admit, but with a little bit of regret. "It doesn't really stop the wanting, but you are right. I like being able to just sit and smoke. Or sit and talk. I wouldn't want to lose that."
There's relief in her acceptance, though it's certainly take a bit to banish all the images in his mind. He shuts his eyes for a moment, just savoring the quiet. But it's not too long before he looks back to her.
"I'm not tryin' ta tell you who ta be in all this," he offers gently. "I just want ya ta understand why I'm...tryin' ta be better. It isn't about me not wantin' ta be wicked."
And when it comes down to it, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he'll lose the battle again at some point and beg for her in longing. Or he'll just fucking take her.
"You say 'better' but I really don't blame you for anything. I don't feel bad about anything we did. I didn't feel used because I knew you needed something. I've been there, too." More than once. More than a dozen times just since being on the ship.
He can't resist a low chuckle. Sweeney pulls the last drag before sending the remnants off the same direction as the previous, their embers bouncing along the path.
"Oh, I don't think ya feel bad about the doing things." He doesn't either, really. There'd been fair warning when they first discussed things that sometimes he can't help himself.
"Just might not be too fond of the 'not doin'' them." Wrapping his hand back around the neck of his bottle he takes a moderate swig. One out of habit more than desperation.
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"Oh, of that I have no doubt." It's cheeky but light. He's not trying to urge her that way by any means. At this point, he's confident something like that will not push him in the most positive of directions. That's not to say part of him doesn't want to yank her up and toss her down in the grass, losing himself deep in the welcoming warmth of her and scent of wildflowers.
A part that's growing more pressing even as he's trying to banish the thought away. Sweeney swallows and takes the last puff of his cigarette before flicking the embers off away from them. He grips the neck of the bottle, but doesn't lift it.
"Yer inmate best keep hydrated."
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She sure as hell doesn't.
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"I ain't a warden." He shrugs and flicks open his lighter. "So I don't give a fuck." Light, drag, snap shut. An intuitive and well-practiced flow that leaves him renewed in his contentment.
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"Admiral ain't made a rule about it, has he?" The smoke slips from his lips as he holds his inhale.
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He finally releases his breath and rubs his other hand briskly over the crest of his hair. "If it ain't breakin' a rule with a capital R, why should it matter?"
Sweeney glances back to her, his gaze dipping in brief assessment. "'sides, why do you give a fuck what other people think?" She's always carried herself as a wild card, and those don't tend to give much mind to what else is in the deck.
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Her gaze lingers on him, and a coy smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth. Oh but she likes the effect she's having on him. "But speaking of capital-R rules... is it breaking one if, instead of fucking, I just suck you off sometimes? Maybe while you're trying to get tired enough to sleep. Maybe to wake you up while you smoke your first cigarette of the day."
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He swallows, watching her for a moment while he takes takes a casual drag. His gaze doesn't leave her.
"Do ya think that's a good idea?" There's no right answer, he just wants to know her opinion.
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"You think it's different 'nough from me just fuckin' ya?" Again, honest curiosity.
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A shrug, another sly smile. "But like I said, it's up to what you're comfortable with. If it comes down to just me, alone and thinking about you sometimes, it's worked okay so far."
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Sweeney's lips tighten along with his trousers. He sucks his tongue roughly as his focus is forced from her face, but it does very little to distract him from her words. He swallows and takes a drag.
Realistically, when a woman's mouth's on him, it doesn't stay there. The idea of just being passive the whole time is so strange. He does know one thing.
Another drag as he takes the time to find the words for it.
"I think...fuckin' yer throat's just gonna drive me ta have ta have the rest of you." There are worse thing to have to admit. His lashes flutter, and he looks to his cigarette before he takes another drag. "An' if it comes ta havin' you in the shower, I rather ya have the cold tile on yer back." He takes a slow breath to steady his resolve.
"I won't be able ta stop if I have you so often." It's a simple truth, but also implies his answer.
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Even if, as she said, she'll carry the image of him with her when she's alone and wishing she wasn't.
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"It's ne'er that I don't want ya. Easy ta do when we're together. 'nough that I sought ya when I'd lost myself." Ok, so that is both true and slightly misleading. He had gone looking for her, though it had been for a fight. He may have had anyone willing in his moment of weakness. Still, he doesn't regret that it was her.
"Now." It's a statement of the somewhat obvious, and he tries to deliver it as casually as possible, accompanied by a drag.
"I would say you make me something I’m not, but in truth, you make me too much of what I am."
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"Wantin' ta get lost in burnin' whiskey and sweet warmth of you wrapped around me. Cravin' too many moments of selfish bliss and sweat and welted skin."
Like wanting to not be the rest of what I am.
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"But...I wouldn't say that's all you are with me? It doesn't seem like it from where I'm at."
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"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.
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"Well no one said every time... just now and then."
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"We were talkin' 'bout wantin', not negotiatin' when now is 'nough ta indulge."
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"I'm not tryin' ta tell you who ta be in all this," he offers gently. "I just want ya ta understand why I'm...tryin' ta be better. It isn't about me not wantin' ta be wicked."
And when it comes down to it, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he'll lose the battle again at some point and beg for her in longing. Or he'll just fucking take her.
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"Oh, I don't think ya feel bad about the doing things." He doesn't either, really. There'd been fair warning when they first discussed things that sometimes he can't help himself.
"Just might not be too fond of the 'not doin'' them." Wrapping his hand back around the neck of his bottle he takes a moderate swig. One out of habit more than desperation.
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