"When we go to ports and things... you're okay if like, Connor checks up if I'm stuck in a coma again, right?" She looks up at him. "Not because I think you need our help. It's just- if I wake up and something's happened, something bad, I just want to know everyone made it out okay. And that someone made sure you weren't just left to deal with it all alone."
The day to days of the Pack aren't his problem, but she's uncertain where the lines do exist.
His lips thin slightly, unsure exactly what she's asking. A silence hangs before he seeks clarification.
"You askin' me ta take care of them? Or ta accept them lookin' ta me ta take care of you when shit like that happens?" The answers clearly may be different.
She chews her lip. "I guess what I'm asking is what you're comfortable with them wanting to do to help you, or asking you to do to help me. So that if I'm death tolling or in a coma or something no one has to wonder if I'd want you there; now that you're pack they'll already know I do."
He's still not 100% on the expectations, but he's doing better.
"I'm here fer you. I don't expect them ta do fer me, like I ain't lookin' ta do fer them. But when it comes ta you..." Sweeney sighs. "Course they can come ta me." His gaze dips for a moment to her neck and back.
"Hope it ain't gonna be a secret that ya'd want me there."
"But it ain't like ya don't occasionally come home smellin' like fellas ya ain't lookin' ta bring with ya." There's no criticism; she should fuck who she wants. It doesn't mean he's not going to poke her about it in jest.
"Good, upstanding men," she jokes. Her type is rough around the edges but in practice she tends to end up with men who treat her delicately. "A whole platoon of 'em. They'd never dare tear me out of a dress."
"Well, I would be up-standin', but ya keep fuckin' it out of me."
He glances vaguely towards the dress and back to her.
"I ain't sayin' it should be anytime soon, but when the time comes, ya want me ta sew ya back in that dress, or just lend ya my shirt?" He makes a quick addition.
"Lend. Ya gotta give it back. I've only got the two."
"That's a hard bargain. If I go home in your shirt I'll fall asleep in your shirt smelling like you and..." How to explain to a non-canid? She steals things from her friends that smell like them, and stashes them in her blanket nest. Having a whole shirt?
"You might just have to let me find you a replacement shirt. I could even take you to that Wardrobe and I swear on my life I won't try to talk you into wearing anything dumb."
Sweeney shifts to push himself up. He brushes off his trousers and tussles his hair, loosening most of the grass he'd accumulated.
His first stop is to scoop up the dress, bundling it and sending it promptly to the Hoard. The next is his button-down and jacket. He slides the jacket over his bare shoulders and holds out the shirt to her in offering before collecting his tank.
She takes it but only buttons it half the way, leaving it open to the middle of her sternum, and open below the tops of her thighs. She winks at him. "Proper walk of shame dress, that's what this is."
He chuckles, his grin going wide as he looks her down and up again.
"Pretty sure that ain't shame," Sweeney observes with a cock of his head. "Edgin' a bit closer ta pride, if I do say so myself." He tucks the tank deep in his trouser pocket, but a chunk still hangs out.
Making his way back to her, he rests his hands on her hips, further looking her over. "Almost like someone provin' they could conquer a Leprechaun, fuckin' him 'til his knees give."
"I am not that kind of girl. If you don't earn it you don't keep it. I picked that dress just for you," and the playful flirty side of her turns more serious for a second. "I know you wanted white. But I thought, if I was home and going to a party, I'd wear black to try to look glamorous and like I belonged at a big, fancy New Year's party. It's what I would've thought I should wear." A sheepskin.
He lowers his head to purr in her ear, his hands not leaving her side.
"Were ya lookin' fer me ta unzip it?" Just because she asked didn't make it the goal. To be fair, she just may not have considered it either way as long as she ended up naked.
She is satisfied and sore and happy and still he manages to get her to shiver. "If I'd known you tearing it off me was on the table? I would've tried to get you to rip it off me in the hallway."
"All of this." She slips back a mere inch or two, so she can look up at him. "All of this was worth it. No one's ever..." She doesn't want to let herself become emotional right now, but it catches in her throat. "All of this was worth it."
Sweeney's grin widens wolfishly, and he leans back in to nip at her ear cheekily.
"Good. Is fiú duit é."
He presses his cheek to hers, keeping his breath warm against her skin."
"You're worth it."
His head dips so he can lick the Mark playfully, looking to release her from any emotional discomfort. He'd seen the look, heard her voice. It was enough. Plenty. A seed that's hopefully taken root. Everything he'd wanted and more.
"You could get me to do a whole lot just talking like that," she grins, committing that one to memory. She's holding onto as many of his phrases as she can, little scraps of meaning she can pore over when she's by herself and with her own thoughts.
She slides back, taking his hand. In a perfect world where neither of them have any obligations, she could curl up here with him. But in this world he is walking her home, and she gets to enjoy the simple pleasure of walking arm in arm.
"Good ta know," he offers with a grin, his gaze sliding down himself for a moment.
Given his bare chest under the jacket, the grass in his hair, and the general aura of raw fucking about him, he isn't sure if the missing trouser button is the straw that breaks the camel's back, but he had warned Tim. So only time will tell.
Sweeney wraps her hand around hers, starting to lift it to tuck it in the crook of his elbow. But he pauses halfway and looks to her with an unspoken question of 'do you want it like this?' before continuing.
She's as happy to tuck up against him now as she was the first time he walked her home like this.
"We look like we had a good fucking night," she grins, smoothing a hand over her now very mussed hair. She can't stop grinning, feeling jubilant and peaceful and finally satisfied.
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The day to days of the Pack aren't his problem, but she's uncertain where the lines do exist.
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"You askin' me ta take care of them? Or ta accept them lookin' ta me ta take care of you when shit like that happens?" The answers clearly may be different.
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"I'm here fer you. I don't expect them ta do fer me, like I ain't lookin' ta do fer them. But when it comes ta you..." Sweeney sighs. "Course they can come ta me." His gaze dips for a moment to her neck and back.
"Hope it ain't gonna be a secret that ya'd want me there."
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"But it ain't like ya don't occasionally come home smellin' like fellas ya ain't lookin' ta bring with ya." There's no criticism; she should fuck who she wants. It doesn't mean he's not going to poke her about it in jest.
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"Well, I would be up-standin', but ya keep fuckin' it out of me."
He glances vaguely towards the dress and back to her.
"I ain't sayin' it should be anytime soon, but when the time comes, ya want me ta sew ya back in that dress, or just lend ya my shirt?" He makes a quick addition.
"Lend. Ya gotta give it back. I've only got the two."
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"You might just have to let me find you a replacement shirt. I could even take you to that Wardrobe and I swear on my life I won't try to talk you into wearing anything dumb."
She kisses him. "Le do thoil."
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"Hmm." He mulls. He glances to the pile of black fabric. He mulls some more.
Sweeney looks back to her with a raised brow of bartering terms.
"Ya get me a new shirt, just like this. An' I keep the dress." Wolves aren't the only ones sensitive to smell and sentimentality.
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She stays curled up with him like that, eyes closed, and finally murmurs a reluctant sound. "You should walk me home or I'm gonna keep you here."
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Sweeney shifts to push himself up. He brushes off his trousers and tussles his hair, loosening most of the grass he'd accumulated.
His first stop is to scoop up the dress, bundling it and sending it promptly to the Hoard. The next is his button-down and jacket. He slides the jacket over his bare shoulders and holds out the shirt to her in offering before collecting his tank.
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There is no shame in her whatsoever.
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"Pretty sure that ain't shame," Sweeney observes with a cock of his head. "Edgin' a bit closer ta pride, if I do say so myself." He tucks the tank deep in his trouser pocket, but a chunk still hangs out.
Making his way back to her, he rests his hands on her hips, further looking her over. "Almost like someone provin' they could conquer a Leprechaun, fuckin' him 'til his knees give."
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She is very proud of herself. "Just between us, I'm pretty weak in the knees, too."
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He lifts his chin, forcing him to look down his nose at her.
"Ya sayin' I earned that dress?" Sweeney tilts his head to the side. "Or ya just tryin' ta protect my pride?"
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"Were ya lookin' fer me ta unzip it?" Just because she asked didn't make it the goal. To be fair, she just may not have considered it either way as long as she ended up naked.
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"Guess ya'll know better fer next time." He nuzzles at her roughly.
"That shit is always on the table."
There's a moment before he lifts his eyes towards the ceiling. "Course if I'd done it then, I couldn't have had ya on the grass."
He looks down at her with a tightly curled grin.
"Well worth the wait."
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"Good. Is fiú duit é."
He presses his cheek to hers, keeping his breath warm against her skin."
"You're worth it."
His head dips so he can lick the Mark playfully, looking to release her from any emotional discomfort. He'd seen the look, heard her voice. It was enough. Plenty. A seed that's hopefully taken root. Everything he'd wanted and more.
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She slides back, taking his hand. In a perfect world where neither of them have any obligations, she could curl up here with him. But in this world he is walking her home, and she gets to enjoy the simple pleasure of walking arm in arm.
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Given his bare chest under the jacket, the grass in his hair, and the general aura of raw fucking about him, he isn't sure if the missing trouser button is the straw that breaks the camel's back, but he had warned Tim. So only time will tell.
Sweeney wraps her hand around hers, starting to lift it to tuck it in the crook of his elbow. But he pauses halfway and looks to her with an unspoken question of 'do you want it like this?' before continuing.
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"We look like we had a good fucking night," she grins, smoothing a hand over her now very mussed hair. She can't stop grinning, feeling jubilant and peaceful and finally satisfied.
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