allgotrabies | IC CONTACT

"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."

She nips his skin first, then bites one of the bruises she left earlier, intent on making it dark, making it last. When she lets go she soothes it with her tongue and murmurs, "Níos mó."

She doesn't know what the words are for 'tell me more' but she hopes he understands.

His sigh is echoed by a slight rock of his hips.

"Níos mó," he agrees, if to a different purpose. Sweeney's free hand takes a firm grip on her hip. The one in her hair encourages her to stay near where she is. His voice slides lower in growing want.

"Níos crua."

She bites down harder, knees drawing in tighter to encourage his hips to move against hers again. If he wants harder, she certainly has it in her to deliver. In contrast the touch of her fingers along the sharp, clean line of his newly shaved hair is gentle, caressing rather than desperate.

Sweeney winces, but the pleasure of the act ripples down and forces up a shove of his hips. To feel her legs so tight is inviting. Her touch on his scalp makes him shiver and attempt to lean into her hand.

"Arís." He purrs the word passed his clenched teeth. "Níos mó."

His hand presses more firmly against the back of her head, as if to nudge her without smashing her against him.

It's a new word or one she doesn't remember as well but she can intuit the meaning and will ask him when she isn't so distracted by the heat of his skin under her tongue.

She bites a new mark on the other side of his neck when his hips do move against hers, and she murmurs, "You want me from behind?"

"Yes--" The word starts as breath, and a flicker changes it. "--no." Sweeney presses his eyes shut as he tries to focus with his blood racing downward.

He leans his head up to press the words hotly into her ear. "Tarraing mo choileach." He roughly nuzzles his cheek against hers.

"Suck my prick," he growls in hunger without the essence of command. His fingers dig in her hip before shoving down, but the hand in her hair makes no such demands. As much as he's able, he wants it to be a request, not an order.

She grins, kisses him and then starts working her way down his body, alternating bites with licks. "Say it again."

His breath shallows and his eyes roll up to the ceiling as she continues her way downward. Sweeney licks his lips, trying to make sure he keeps the words clear.

"Tarraing mo choileach."

"Fuck I love you talking like this," she whispers, between his hips now, teasing him with her tongue before she does as he requested and wraps her mouth around him.

Sweeney wants to tell her he loves talking like this too, the intimacy of words aching in their disuse. He wants to tell her how hearing them offered off her tongue makes him yearn to fill her mind along with the rest of her. How all of it makes him burn in the memory of wanting.

But the moment her warmth finds him, all he can do is gasp and press his head back into the grass. His hand twists tightly in her hair, and the other catches her by the shoulder. It would be a lie to say they don't seek to encourage her, but he leaves the act for her to control. They're more an anchor than anything.

The acute sensation puts into stark light how much his body has already born tonight, how sensitive he's been left, even though it's all too apparent he's not going to be stopping anything until they both get what they want from this.

She's conscious of the fact they might only get so far with this, that they'd run straight to redlining it earlier thanks to having teased each other for a month. But she's enjoying this, just making him react, giving pleasure and seeing where it goes--if it goes anywhere at all.

"Níos mó?" Because she likes hearing him speak, and she loves knowing she can make the words catch in his throat if she's quick with her tongue on his skin.

"Sea, sea," he moans, fighting to not claw at her. He sure as fuck wants to. "Ba mhaith liom é." Sweeney tries not to choke on the words, not bothering to translate them right now. She's allowed him this tongue, and now he finds he can't stop it.

"Le do thoil...ná stad." His toes curl in his boots.

There's a moment where he's trying to remember something, a thought he'd had when she'd first asked her how he wanted her. Every time he thinks he's starting to catch it, her tongue rubs at him with the most welcome distraction.

Right now just the melody of the words is enough. He's always quiet when they fuck, and hearing him now feels like a victory--one of his own sheepskins shorn right off. She acknowledges that plea with a deliberately drawn out, hungry purr, meaning to let him have the low vibration of it against his prick more than the sound for his ears.

If it lets him be more himself, she's happy to do this, to do anything, for him.

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