"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."
The kiss is welcomed and returned without hesitation, though in its wake he gets a bit quieter.
"Is it gonna bother ya if I say I rather ya not?" Sweeney's clearly worried about her feelings; he doesn't want to offend her, it's just a complication he doesn't want between them.
Sweeney's lips thin, and he takes several breaths to find words to give.
"Who I was then...that was my first story." He sighs and shuts his eyes. "Fuck, I only remember flickers an' that's only 'cause Ibis shoved 'em back in right b'fore I died." There's darkness there, for several reasons. Darkness he doesn't want in their night which has gone so well.
"I don't remember much, but...he ain't much like this me. He's..." Sweeney struggles for the feeling, much less the words. "Heavy. Obligated." He sighs, his eyes shifting to the grass.
"I don't know 'nough ta know what I'll be then." His jaw shifts to one side, hesitant to make the admission.
"He may hunt wolves." It's not a threat or a flippant jest. There's sincere concern for her. It would make sense that he would, Hound-son that he is. The Shining One, protecting others from the darkness and the dangers therein.
"I don't ever want to put you in a situation where you'd hurt me." She trusts him, the man under her arm, the man who bruised so much of her body, who makes her feel like she doesn't have to hate herself if she can't put one foot in front of the other some days.
She knows this is not all there is to him, too. She takes his fear seriously.
"But I like you. Who you were, because it's helped make you who you are. I don't want you to feel like you have to protect me. I want to become someone who doesn't need protecting." But even as she says it her smile falters. She believes she could lead a pack again (at least here, now, in this perfect night she does). But she has always been under someone else's thumb. Even when they ran for their lives, the boys tucked her up in the middle, took bullets and executions for her, and she could do nothing except allow it.
She chalks this one up to overconfidence, to too much enthusiasm for a future she doesn't really believe in. A misstep she would have made if she was drunk; happiness, it turns out, is as inebriating as a shot of tequila. She needs to rein that in.
To her credit--and Sweeney's, and even Godric's--she doesn't backpedal and doesn't yank the conversation away from tricky ground.
"Pick a day. But I don't want it to be just because I'm fragile." She's so tired of being fragile.
You don't know who I was. Fuck, I don't even know that.
He pulls her close, as if he's worried she might slip away, that he would lose her as an anchor. Sweeney presses his face into her hair, not a nuzzle, just a way to hide from an uncomfortable subject and fight to stay himself. No matter how well he's doing, thinking on the others too much is risky.
"It ain't just you I'm lookin' ta protect," he whispers, swallowing hard after.
"Hate myself fer a lotta things." His lips thin, but he forces his way further.
"Don't wanna carry that 'round with me. E'en if you'd forgive me...I'm not ready ta live with knowin' I did somethin' ta ya, thinkin' I was right ta do it." Righteous violence.
"Please, Annie." He swallows and kisses her head. "Just give me this one." The request is humble, for there's nothing else he has. The burden of the thought is already so much to bear.
"Just make it the second an' I'll be just fer you."
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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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"Is it gonna bother ya if I say I rather ya not?" Sweeney's clearly worried about her feelings; he doesn't want to offend her, it's just a complication he doesn't want between them.
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Sweeney's lips thin, and he takes several breaths to find words to give.
"Who I was then...that was my first story." He sighs and shuts his eyes. "Fuck, I only remember flickers an' that's only 'cause Ibis shoved 'em back in right b'fore I died." There's darkness there, for several reasons. Darkness he doesn't want in their night which has gone so well.
"I don't remember much, but...he ain't much like this me. He's..." Sweeney struggles for the feeling, much less the words. "Heavy. Obligated." He sighs, his eyes shifting to the grass.
"I don't know 'nough ta know what I'll be then." His jaw shifts to one side, hesitant to make the admission.
"He may hunt wolves." It's not a threat or a flippant jest. There's sincere concern for her. It would make sense that he would, Hound-son that he is. The Shining One, protecting others from the darkness and the dangers therein.
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She knows this is not all there is to him, too. She takes his fear seriously.
"But I like you. Who you were, because it's helped make you who you are. I don't want you to feel like you have to protect me. I want to become someone who doesn't need protecting." But even as she says it her smile falters. She believes she could lead a pack again (at least here, now, in this perfect night she does). But she has always been under someone else's thumb. Even when they ran for their lives, the boys tucked her up in the middle, took bullets and executions for her, and she could do nothing except allow it.
She chalks this one up to overconfidence, to too much enthusiasm for a future she doesn't really believe in. A misstep she would have made if she was drunk; happiness, it turns out, is as inebriating as a shot of tequila. She needs to rein that in.
To her credit--and Sweeney's, and even Godric's--she doesn't backpedal and doesn't yank the conversation away from tricky ground.
"Pick a day. But I don't want it to be just because I'm fragile." She's so tired of being fragile.
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He pulls her close, as if he's worried she might slip away, that he would lose her as an anchor. Sweeney presses his face into her hair, not a nuzzle, just a way to hide from an uncomfortable subject and fight to stay himself. No matter how well he's doing, thinking on the others too much is risky.
"It ain't just you I'm lookin' ta protect," he whispers, swallowing hard after.
"Hate myself fer a lotta things." His lips thin, but he forces his way further.
"Don't wanna carry that 'round with me. E'en if you'd forgive me...I'm not ready ta live with knowin' I did somethin' ta ya, thinkin' I was right ta do it." Righteous violence.
"Please, Annie." He swallows and kisses her head. "Just give me this one." The request is humble, for there's nothing else he has. The burden of the thought is already so much to bear.
"Just make it the second an' I'll be just fer you."
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