allgotrabies | IC CONTACT

Her knees cinch up tighter around his hips to help keep him in place. She isn't sure how Tiffany would take it if she had to stitch Sweeney up twice in one night, but if it's going to happen it won't be right now when they've barely started.

"Is maith liom thú," she murmurs, sinking down onto him in one deliberate move.

The squeeze of her thighs brings one of his hands back to her hair, trying to urge her mouth to his. "I gá duit." The words yield to a whimper when she indulges him.

Without his boots, the curl of his toes is easily noted. It takes a serious effort not to thrust up into her, but he's still trying to be mindful of his stitches and letting her stay in charge. Neither is easy.

As much as she loves to tease him, he's had a long day and she doesn't want him straining to get her. Which is difficult for her because she prefers being on top with most people, but she's come to trust him enough she enjoys the weight of him over her, holding her steady while he takes her.

She keeps her knees tight to hold his hips from arching and moves hers, lifting almost off him and sinking all the way to the hilt. "I really missed you," she whispers, and does it again.

This is weird. Wonderful, undeniably, but the indulgence is reined in by his inherent need to be more involved than he is. Sweeney wants to push, but her knees make it a futile effort. The frustration makes him want to yank her up and toss her on the bed to claim her. He tries to keep his focus and will, but it's difficult. Especially when she's doing...that.

He works to busy himself with clawing and pulling and trying to shove her down while he kisses her hard. Sweeney's not great at finding a middle ground when fucking is involved.

"Good ya found me." He presses the words hotly against her lips.

"Mm-hmm," she agrees, but it comes as a whimper as her hips work harder, faster against his. This, this is where she's safest, this is where her thoughts don't crowd in to hurt her. This is where she feels wanted as herself--knowing that even after this is over he'll like her just the same.

Fuckkk.

Sweeney can't tell if the new pace is better or more perplexing. Probably both at the same time. In the end, he doesn't have enough blood in his brain to reason through it. He just knows he craves more, hungrily and increasingly desperate. The muscles in his thighs coil tight as he prepares to thrust, then tries to walk back down.

"Ná stad," he growls, his shoulders rolling. Sweeney snarls through a wince as his back tenses. "Níos mó. Níos crua."

The tendons of his neck strain taut. He presses his eyes shut.

"Ná stad."

She wants to tell him not to hurt himself but only part of her mind is able to process that, and that part of her is already occupied with holding him down while she fucks herself on him. She sits up a little onto her elbows, propped on his chest so she can adjust the angle and take him deeper, have freedom to grant him what he's asking.

For a bit there, Sweeney worries that this won't work, that it's too much focus and not enough doing; leaving all the work to her is distracting, even though it's also delicious.

The change of sensation causes his breath to catch, and he chokes on his tongue for a second. He pulls at her, clawing his fingers down her back as he bites her neck in short, tight bursts. Her ear is warmed with grunts, whimpers, and winces. His back is burning, but he's so far beyond caring.

In the end, it doesn't stop him from finding his goal and losing himself in her, his cry sharp before it melts against her skin.

She takes a little longer, keeps riding him a minute longer before she joins him, laughing breathlessly against his neck. She licks from the dip of his collarbone to just under his ear, enjoying the taste of his skin and his sweat.

He pulls long breaths as he stills in the wake of her satisfaction. Sweeney rests his arm on her thigh as his other hand slips into her hair so he might press their foreheads together.

"Just what the doctor ordered," he murmurs with a tired grin.

"Gotta keep you active," she is still out of breath, all but melted up against him. She can hear the Barge and all the life outside these walls. It's so different when the ship is mostly awake.

"Can I stay here with you? For a little while?"

"Sure." It's a reflexive answer; he has no need to deny her. He pulls down a cigarette and goes to dig for his lighter, only to roll his eyes at himself after looking longingly to his trousers. Sweeney blinks with a touch of focus and flips it into his hand, getting to work at lighting the cigarette.

He pulls a long drag before turning it, brow lifted in offering. All she has to do is part her lips, and he'll place it between them.

She smiles at him and gently opens her lips. Her fingers trail along his chest and she lifts herself off him to lay beside him instead.

Still, she can't help but keep one leg draped over his; she's always laying over her people, finding comfort in it.

Sweeney, however, does not lay back, and busies himself with another cigarette. He doesn't protest her contact in the meantime.

"Feel better?" he asks around his cigarette as he flicks the lighter. Taking a drag, he snaps it shut.

"So much." The flatlining she'd felt, and all but heard in her mind, has been nudged away. If she's still unsteady it's at least not noticeable. "You- oh shit, how's your back?"

"Mm." Honestly, he isn't sure. He's still glowing, full of endorphins.

Sweeney exhales his smoke and twists. The bandage is stained, but given what he'd gone into the Infirmary with, he has no reason they'd done any serious stitch splitting. The depth that it is would leave little question about whether it was open or not.

"A'right." That's the best assessment he's got. It still stings, but that's pretty much an all the time thing.

"Good." And then an exaggerated sigh. "I guess I'll have to play nursemaid to you another time."

She knows a fair bit about treating wounds now, but has never had much practice with it. Partly it's because there are other, far more experienced healers around.

He gives her leg a brisk rub with his free hand, taking a slow drag with the other.

"Don't fret, Trouble. Ya still gonna have plenty'a opportunities ta fix me up." Sweeney peeks back at her.

"Might wanna put a kit next door." His expression holds tired playfulness, but the sentiment is honest.

"Yeah but I don't want you getting hurt." As much as she enjoys teasing at the sexy nurse trope, she actually takes medicine very seriously--and even more serious is making sure her packmates don't need medical attention. "Unless it's the kind of hurt you like."

Sweeney's brow arches suggestively.

"Pretty sure it's worth tuckin' one away o'er there," he notes more encouragingly. "Just 'cause I ain't lookin' ta, dunn't mean I'm not gonna find myself needin' one." He gives her leg a good pinch.

"'specially when I'm doin' stuff I like."

"Well. In that case," laying her head on his knee. "I'm excited to patch you up sometime. I think I'm pretty fast at it now."

She studies it daily. Between that and learning Gaelic, she's spending more time in books and listening to audio files than she ever thought she would. "You can tell me how my bedside manner is."

He peeks down at her with a slow drag. Sweeney's careful to tap his ash away from her as he exhales.

"Ya lookin' fer more time on one then? Fewer walls an' less grass?" And elevators and showers. His eyebrow arches cheekily.

"Oh I am not picky at all. I want you here and there and," a wave with her cigarette. "Anywhere you'll have me. But...I do like going in the elevator and remembering how hard you fucked me. I was in it a couple days ago with Godric, pretty sure my face was red the whole time."

She knows Godric can hear her heart beating so she'd breathed slow, kept it as steady as she could, and figured he probably assumed she was nervous because they were going up to the Deck.

"I wish I could take you to my bed though. It's big. It's mine."

There it is again. That temptation. The one that wants to fuck her hard against the door while Godric wakes and gets ready for his night. The one that wants to leave as much of his scent on her and in her as he's able so he can walk her home with her hand crooked neatly in his elbow. That's having his cake and eating it too.

But can he make peace with Godric enough to have it? And in the moment, it clicks. Fucking aside, if they were on the same page, they could both support Annie more effectively. And he can keep that knife in his hand the whole time. So unless Godric's a liar, there's enough to work with.

Hmm.

"That yer hammock?" he asks with a lick of his lip.

Unbeknownst to him she's thinking the same thing. Not because of Godric, but because it's as close to her den as she can get Sweeney. "Yeah. The hammock's mine, and most of the blankets."

She imagines lying there in the hammock with Sweeney, lazing about, smoking and watching some mindless procedural crime show until she tugs him away to her bedroom where he fucks her till she's crying out his name.

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