"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.
"Oh I'd totally love doing it again. But like I said if it'd mean that you'd stop wanting to just hang out with me like this," there's a small flinch; that exact scenario has played out over and over in her life. "I'd miss it. A lot. I like sex. I liked sex with you. But I like you more."
"Then let's focus on this." Sweeney tips the bottle to her, more meaning the socializing than purely drinking, but it could be taken either way.
He can't imagine not wanting her. And she's the only woman he knows that fucking wouldn't immediately be complicated with. It's not to say he doesn't think of being with others, he's just usually able to dismiss the thought before it goes too far into wanting. He's still wary that the indulgence of the act could become too familiar with Annie, and complications would follow at some point, but he doesn't have to concern himself about it yet.
Sweeney offers a small smile and tips the bottle back.
He can feel things settling back down, in his chest and elsewhere, and he's grateful for a bit of silence to drink, before he pulls yet another cigarette. It helps him calm, and that's for the best. He's content to linger in it, if she so desires.
She's learning to sit in quiet with certain people. She stretches out, smoking her last cigarette and then slowly dozing off to the sound of him breathing.
He sits and smokes with occasional breaks to drink while she sleeps. But that thing starts scratching in the back of his mind, as it so often does when he's too quiet and too sober.
Sweeney makes a sincere effort to be silent as he rises and brushes himself off. He pulls the cigarette from behind his ear and leaves it on the grass by her hand, before he shoves his hands in his pockets and moves to leave.
She hasn't been sleeping well since Godric left, but she rouses slightly when he moves. Her fingers curl lightly over the cigarette and she manages to open her eyes, to offer him a light smile. She won't stop him; she can hear his disquiet in the way he moves. "Thanks," she murmurs instead.
Sweeney pauses enough to turn back and give a tip of his head in answer to her thanks. His smile is soft, and though it remains unspoken, there's the echo of Stay. Rest.
He pulls a cigarette for himself, but he doesn't light it before he starts off along the path.
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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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He can't imagine not wanting her. And she's the only woman he knows that fucking wouldn't immediately be complicated with. It's not to say he doesn't think of being with others, he's just usually able to dismiss the thought before it goes too far into wanting. He's still wary that the indulgence of the act could become too familiar with Annie, and complications would follow at some point, but he doesn't have to concern himself about it yet.
"Worry 'bout the rest later."
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He can feel things settling back down, in his chest and elsewhere, and he's grateful for a bit of silence to drink, before he pulls yet another cigarette. It helps him calm, and that's for the best. He's content to linger in it, if she so desires.
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Sweeney makes a sincere effort to be silent as he rises and brushes himself off. He pulls the cigarette from behind his ear and leaves it on the grass by her hand, before he shoves his hands in his pockets and moves to leave.
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He pulls a cigarette for himself, but he doesn't light it before he starts off along the path.