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."
"You matter ta me," he counters with a nudge. There's a moment before he continues.
"So...aside from me markin' ya up, was there anythin' else ya got thinkin' 'bout wantin'?" Sweeney quirks a grin down to her.
"'Cause I ain't gonna lie 'bout it bein' hot as fuck ta see ya wantin' stuff fer yerself. Knowin' ya've spent so long pleasin' others...I love the idea of ya wantin' ta get pleased."
He tilts his head a touch. "I hope ya can keep at it." His eyes slip skyward. "I'm happy ta listen."
She wants more of this: more of him talking about himself, more of him telling her plainly what he feels so all of her doubts don't even have a chance to nip at her. Asking for that seems like a big ask, though.
"Adventures," she says, because she has plenty of other things she wants, too, and saying them lets her ease into those other requests. "I want to see places you like, I want to eat--to feast--whenever we're at a port that has some decent food. It's a big thing for wolves, y'know? Just doing things together. Eating and fighting and fucking and laughing. I want to listen to you talk and I want to watch you watch me dance. I want to let you hear that Irish band one of my old pack liked so much. See what you think of it."
It's easy to pretend she knows what she wants when she's draped in her brightest sheepskin, and she had started to slip it back on--but then he says that, and he looks at her, and it's gone. It's only Annie, again. Just Annie, just herself, warm in his arms.
"I know you don't have a birthday, exactly. But. You have a day that's like it, right?"
"I want to do something like this for you, for it." Step off the ledge, she thinks, because that's what this feels like.
It's not the same as her other wants. Yes, it's ultimately for another person; but it means thinking about the future. It means planning for something when she's terrified of planning a week in advance. It means sacrificing things she normally goes after without a second thought.
"I mean. Not that I want to wait a whole..." Month? Two months, three? She doesn't even know. "Uh, when is it?"
Sweeney manages to keep the chuckle silent, but it reads in his face for a moment before he sees it sobered. He knows damn well how long that is for her, and he doesn't want to burden her for her kindness.
"August."
He lifts his brow empathetically. "Ya know ya don't hav'ta wait that long. I'd love it any time ya'd like ta set it." Sweeney playfully scrunches his nose.
"'Cause that's longer than six months. An' ya know how we are."
She laughs and rolls closer into him as if to shield them both from that most awful idea. "Okay no I don't want to go without you for...shit, eight months? No, but, if we're both here I could do something like we did. Hold off for a month before. Surprise you. Hell surprise myself, too."
He gives her a firm squeeze, valiantly protecting her from so much waiting. After a moment, he peeks down at her, his voice gentle.
"I'd love that," he admits, almost embarrassed to say the words out loud, if only because they're genuine. "I'd be honored. Whenever ya'd like ta set it. Ya know...since it ain't a birthday, ya could give me a day that's special just fer you. Or us."
Sweeney nuzzles his nose into her hair before aimlessly, eagerly groping at her in jest.
"Ain't gonna make it any easier ta hav'ta wait a month, whene'er it is."
She laughs, playfully squirming under his hands--all play, the lust in her is quite sated now. "We'll see how fast I come up with ideas. And how impatient I get. But right now, I'm aiming for August."
She keeps her word, especially with him, so she doesn't make any hard promises about timing. It's good to have a goal; it's also good to acknowledge how impulsive she is.
"Y'know I haven't had this much fun on New Year's." Not in years; not that she can ever remember. It's not the first one she's spent sober, but it's the only one she's spent sober and clear-eyed and so thoroughly excited about.
"Maith." He gives her a quick squeeze. "Good." He allows himself a slow breath, taking in her hair. "I want that fer ya. I'm glad I helped ya find it."
There's a beat before he shifts the topic, his voice lowering a touch.
"Can I ask ya a favor 'bout it? 'Bout the next wait, I mean."
"Yeah. Of course." She tips her face up to look at him. Her fingers play idly with the stubble on his jaw. "It's gotta be fun on both our terms, right?"
The appreciation is in his features before he speaks.
"Don't set it on the first." Sweeney gives a small shrug. "That's the formal day an' all, but it's a Festival Day an'..." There's something like faint embarrassment. "I rather if it's gonna be ya doin' somethin' just fer me--fer us--I rather it not be on a holiday I gotta share."
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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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"So...aside from me markin' ya up, was there anythin' else ya got thinkin' 'bout wantin'?" Sweeney quirks a grin down to her.
"'Cause I ain't gonna lie 'bout it bein' hot as fuck ta see ya wantin' stuff fer yerself. Knowin' ya've spent so long pleasin' others...I love the idea of ya wantin' ta get pleased."
He tilts his head a touch. "I hope ya can keep at it." His eyes slip skyward. "I'm happy ta listen."
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"Adventures," she says, because she has plenty of other things she wants, too, and saying them lets her ease into those other requests. "I want to see places you like, I want to eat--to feast--whenever we're at a port that has some decent food. It's a big thing for wolves, y'know? Just doing things together. Eating and fighting and fucking and laughing. I want to listen to you talk and I want to watch you watch me dance. I want to let you hear that Irish band one of my old pack liked so much. See what you think of it."
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"That's a hefty list," he starts with a vaguely concerned expression. The dimple doesn't do it any favors either.
"Might hav'ta write it down or some shit. Ya know I can't remember anythin' so long." He sighs dramatically. "But it's a pretty good chunk'a wantin'."
Sweeney tucks a finger beneath her chin to urge her face up a bit more so he can meet her eyes and she can see his soft smile.
"Táim bródúil asat." He kisses her forehead, if only because the angle makes her lips hard to reach.
"I'm proud of you."
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"I know you don't have a birthday, exactly. But. You have a day that's like it, right?"
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"I do," he admits with a small nod, lids lifting so he can seek her out.
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It's not the same as her other wants. Yes, it's ultimately for another person; but it means thinking about the future. It means planning for something when she's terrified of planning a week in advance. It means sacrificing things she normally goes after without a second thought.
"I mean. Not that I want to wait a whole..." Month? Two months, three? She doesn't even know. "Uh, when is it?"
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"August."
He lifts his brow empathetically. "Ya know ya don't hav'ta wait that long. I'd love it any time ya'd like ta set it." Sweeney playfully scrunches his nose.
"'Cause that's longer than six months. An' ya know how we are."
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"I'd love that," he admits, almost embarrassed to say the words out loud, if only because they're genuine. "I'd be honored. Whenever ya'd like ta set it. Ya know...since it ain't a birthday, ya could give me a day that's special just fer you. Or us."
Sweeney nuzzles his nose into her hair before aimlessly, eagerly groping at her in jest.
"Ain't gonna make it any easier ta hav'ta wait a month, whene'er it is."
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She keeps her word, especially with him, so she doesn't make any hard promises about timing. It's good to have a goal; it's also good to acknowledge how impulsive she is.
"Y'know I haven't had this much fun on New Year's." Not in years; not that she can ever remember. It's not the first one she's spent sober, but it's the only one she's spent sober and clear-eyed and so thoroughly excited about.
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"Maith." He gives her a quick squeeze. "Good." He allows himself a slow breath, taking in her hair. "I want that fer ya. I'm glad I helped ya find it."
There's a beat before he shifts the topic, his voice lowering a touch.
"Can I ask ya a favor 'bout it? 'Bout the next wait, I mean."
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"Don't set it on the first." Sweeney gives a small shrug. "That's the formal day an' all, but it's a Festival Day an'..." There's something like faint embarrassment. "I rather if it's gonna be ya doin' somethin' just fer me--fer us--I rather it not be on a holiday I gotta share."
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Not something she would have guessed in a hundred or so years.
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"I'm not gonna be hostin' anything big or the like. It's not like that. It's just..." He rolls his eyes with some awkwardness.
"There's a pagan holiday that day. Lughnasadh. It's named fer me. But, ya know. I rather not have ta be that self when I'm with you."
His gaze shifts askew. "I just like who I am when I'm with you."
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Her smile softens and she kisses him, lets it linger just so he knows she's kissing him and not some ancient idea of who he is.
"Does that mean I shouldn't see you, on Lughnasadh?"
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