"Lotta Irish names gotta deal with church shit that I rather not. But I'll certainly give it a think. The word would be 'glic' (pronounced glick) or 'cliste' (k'lishta)."
Sweeney closes his eyes to sort through more traditional names.
Sweeney doesn't assume that's a final answer. "Lotta names are 'bout who yer da is too. Lots'a 'son'a some prick'. But I ain't got one of those either."
Something catches in his mind and he laughs. It sharp and clear, but promptly truncated with a shake of his head.
Fathers, in her experience, aren't deserving of much besides perhaps a bitter thought or two on birthdays and holidays. And the idea of including his dad--if he'd had one--in this search for a name is a further discomfort.
Then he laughs and she sits up on an elbow. "What? What've you got for me?"
"Somethin' inappropriate," he assures her with another shake of his head. Sweeney' smile lingers though.
"ConrĂ." (KAWN-ree) He casts his smirk up and askew. "Means 'wolf king', 'king of the hounds'." His brow bounces in amusement, knowing damn well when too far is too far. Still funny though.
"We don't really have kings." And Godric is pretty tired of being in command. She knows this, which makes her all the more guilty for letting him run things. But either he runs it or it falls apart, so things are what they are.
"Sometimes I feel like I should explain how things work but...if it was a wolf pack I wouldn't have to explain. You know? So it feels weird talking about it."
Sweeney cups the other side of her head with his hand, pressing his lips against her.
"Ya don't hav'ta talk 'bout it," he says gently. "I just know yer the Wolf Queen." He nuzzles her softly without letting her go. "Not lookin' ta disrespect that or make light of it."
"Course," he replies, lowering his hand but keeping close.
"Ya can give me the name ya want," he assures her. "But ya know how they can mean shit. So I wanna make sure ya can decide b'fore ya decide." Sweeney's smile curls.
"That ain't ta say I don't enjoy the sound of it on yer lips."
"You never know," she smiles. If she chose to shrug on a sheepskin now she'd have a joke ready, she'd push for something that did give him more license over her.
It's impossible to do that with him looking at her, with them relaxing on a bed of grass surrounded by all the things he has done for her.
"What about names that start with S?" There's some tactical thinking here; it can help her stop thinking of him as Sweeney.
"I will offer ya S ones," he promises. "But I want ya ta have a couple others first." His lips press, the words clearly having more meaning than just explanation.
"Conmac, means hound-son." A name, a name that is his. Or was.
"Or Failinis." There's a moment where he shrugs in realization. "Though he's also áą alinnis. Or Shalinnis, if yer lookin' at S's."
"We'll try a couple on. See what sticks." They at least have a variety here, and some time to play with them. "Tonight, we're going with Senan."
The 'wisdom' angle in it feels right.
"So. While we're talking names, what was the moment you picked mine?" looking up at him, her tone very much of a 'tell me why I'm pretty' cheeky variety.
He chuckles. It's not like he'd actively thought about it at the time, but in hindsight it's easy enough.
"First inklin' was hittin' that button in the elevator." Sweeney gives a small shrug. "You standin' on my boots when I had ya from behind sealed the deal."
Basically, when we both decided we want each other and can have the other without guilt.
There's a moment longer before his eyes narrow a touch.
"That mean I gotta fuck ya so hard ya hav'ta use a name?" He arches a brow. "Or it gonna mercy thing where ya try it out where'er we end up on pacin'?"
That's something, at least. His body's getting back to thinkin', especially with all that Gaelic on her tongue, but for one that's normally into keeping quiet, that'd be a significant effort.
Sweeney cocks his head a touch. "Ya want me ta fuck ya in the snow?" It's less a proposal than honest question. He's not overly eager to be that cold, but he's willing to hear her out.
No matter the answer or what they end up doing the rest of the night, he'll keep delighting in watching her touch herself like that. Maybe even more than if her hand was lower down. It's far more intimate.
"We'd have to keep all our clothes on the whole time. I never spent that much time around snow but I don't want any frost bite on anything we like using," sliding her hand down his side, lingering on his hip. It's mostly a curiosity for her; snow seems dangerous because of how little time she's spent in it.
"But I was thinking if we hunt and I'm a wolf, you could just use Irish the whole time. So I could learn directions, y'know, left, right, flank, get ahead, cut 'em off. We could hunt reindeer." One real wolf her size is not strong enough to bring down a reindeer alone, but a lycanthrope is. And with a leprechaun at her back it's just enough challenge to be fun.
With the way she's touching him, he isn't expecting the rest of her answer. Sweeney's smile is soft. Not only is she thinking ahead (which is no small feat for someone so impulsive), she's eager to be the wolf. It makes his heart warm, and he cups her face so he can stroke her cheek with his thumb.
"Perfect." His smile slips into a smirk.
"I thought we were doin' buffalo," he teases. "S'ppose I might be convinced ta do reindeer instead." Sweeney rolls his eyes playfully. He's pretty sure there aren't any in Yellowstone, but that doesn't mean there can't be.
"Reindeer seem more snowy. But also... maybe I'm showing a little faith it'll be so fun we'll want to hunt again." Things with him tend to be that way: terrifying and then immediately things she desperately wants to do again.
"I still have a list of things to show you. And like I said: be ready for some water because I know exactly what we're doing next. But what're some things you want to do you don't get to do?"
"Huntin' will be a great change of pace. Ain't been in as long as I really recall. We should certainly start with reindeer," he offers with brief consideration. "More familiar with that sort of game."
Sweeney smiles and shakes his head down at her. "I'm not lookin' ta make too far a list." His eyes slide up beneath their lids, the curl of his lips not lessening.
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"A given name fer it, or just the word?"
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Sweeney closes his eyes to sort through more traditional names.
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Something catches in his mind and he laughs. It sharp and clear, but promptly truncated with a shake of his head.
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Then he laughs and she sits up on an elbow. "What? What've you got for me?"
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"ConrĂ." (KAWN-ree) He casts his smirk up and askew. "Means 'wolf king', 'king of the hounds'." His brow bounces in amusement, knowing damn well when too far is too far. Still funny though.
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Too far is too far, or rather just far enough to tease.
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"I ain't lookin' ta be. Ain't mine fer the takin'," he offers, almost assuring her. "F'gure that should be Godric's if anyone's."
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"Sometimes I feel like I should explain how things work but...if it was a wolf pack I wouldn't have to explain. You know? So it feels weird talking about it."
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"Ya don't hav'ta talk 'bout it," he says gently. "I just know yer the Wolf Queen." He nuzzles her softly without letting her go. "Not lookin' ta disrespect that or make light of it."
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"Thank you," she says softly, because knowing at least one person believes it's still in her keeps her trying.
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"Ya can give me the name ya want," he assures her. "But ya know how they can mean shit. So I wanna make sure ya can decide b'fore ya decide." Sweeney's smile curls.
"That ain't ta say I don't enjoy the sound of it on yer lips."
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It's impossible to do that with him looking at her, with them relaxing on a bed of grass surrounded by all the things he has done for her.
"What about names that start with S?" There's some tactical thinking here; it can help her stop thinking of him as Sweeney.
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"Conmac, means hound-son." A name, a name that is his. Or was.
"Or Failinis." There's a moment where he shrugs in realization. "Though he's also áą alinnis. Or Shalinnis, if yer lookin' at S's."
His mind starts to wander to other S names.
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"I think I like the ones that kind of tie you back to wolves, to hounds. Seems to fit for us. Don't...don't you think?"
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"OH." Another occurs to him.
"Senan (Sennin), he is 'wise' or 'ancient'. No hounds," he points out with a coy smile.
"But I cannot not choose it." There's another shrug. "That's just the way it works."
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The 'wisdom' angle in it feels right.
"So. While we're talking names, what was the moment you picked mine?" looking up at him, her tone very much of a 'tell me why I'm pretty' cheeky variety.
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"First inklin' was hittin' that button in the elevator." Sweeney gives a small shrug. "You standin' on my boots when I had ya from behind sealed the deal."
Basically, when we both decided we want each other and can have the other without guilt.
There's a moment longer before his eyes narrow a touch.
"That mean I gotta fuck ya so hard ya hav'ta use a name?" He arches a brow. "Or it gonna mercy thing where ya try it out where'er we end up on pacin'?"
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She strokes the welt on her neck with her thumb, perhaps unaware she's doing it for how soft her smile is.
"I'll try a new name out when we go hunting, too." A thought that makes her nervous; stroke the welt and she's calm again.
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Sweeney cocks his head a touch. "Ya want me ta fuck ya in the snow?" It's less a proposal than honest question. He's not overly eager to be that cold, but he's willing to hear her out.
No matter the answer or what they end up doing the rest of the night, he'll keep delighting in watching her touch herself like that. Maybe even more than if her hand was lower down. It's far more intimate.
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"But I was thinking if we hunt and I'm a wolf, you could just use Irish the whole time. So I could learn directions, y'know, left, right, flank, get ahead, cut 'em off. We could hunt reindeer." One real wolf her size is not strong enough to bring down a reindeer alone, but a lycanthrope is. And with a leprechaun at her back it's just enough challenge to be fun.
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"Perfect." His smile slips into a smirk.
"I thought we were doin' buffalo," he teases. "S'ppose I might be convinced ta do reindeer instead." Sweeney rolls his eyes playfully. He's pretty sure there aren't any in Yellowstone, but that doesn't mean there can't be.
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"I still have a list of things to show you. And like I said: be ready for some water because I know exactly what we're doing next. But what're some things you want to do you don't get to do?"
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"Huntin' will be a great change of pace. Ain't been in as long as I really recall. We should certainly start with reindeer," he offers with brief consideration. "More familiar with that sort of game."
Sweeney smiles and shakes his head down at her. "I'm not lookin' ta make too far a list." His eyes slide up beneath their lids, the curl of his lips not lessening.
"Ya know I'm shit at rememberin'."
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