His laugh is short and pressed through his nose. "Don't know if most folk would call that a kindness." Sweeney lingers where he is, though his eyes slip down her in consideration.
Fuck, she smells good.
He wants to regret the proximity, but he doesn't. He wants to not tempt fate with all this shit up in the air. But at the same time--
"You cared about if I wanted to be hit," she says softly. To her that's a genuine kindness, one that always wrongfoots her, one she never expects.
This is such a bad idea, and she knows it. She should lean back, get them some breathing room. But he doesn't, and he hasn't, and all she has to do is lean a little closer.
She has ideas floating in her mind, as weak as gossamer, and she could maybe turn them into shapes if she could think, but he's looking at her like he is and it reduces her to instinct.
"That don't mean I'm kind." Kind to her, maybe. But overall? Fuck if he gives a shit about most folk.
"Ya said yerself...I've got plenty of selfish reasons." There's a slight ache in his heart, and he wants to cut it out with wickedness. He's just not sure which is the greater sin in the moment.
"I'm--" Bad. He wants to say it, but he's not evil. He's fought so desperately to believe that. "--not a good man."
Sweeney's eyes lift to hers.
"You know that."
There's solemnity in it, but also a request for confirmation.
"You are who you need to be to survive. And sometimes it means you beat people to a pulp. And sometimes it means you throw me on your bed and fuck me till neither of us can breathe. And sometimes it means you give advice to a girl who's never had any idea what the hell she was doing." She holds his gaze quietly. "You're not a bad person. A bad person uses, and throws away whatever they're done with. A bad person wouldn't even be talking about this with me."
Fuck, he can feel the warmth of her skin radiating, begging him to be inside her.
But her words aren't lost on him, and as such, his thoughts slip down the path. Reason keeps tugging him up from his base impulses, but he can't free himself enough to sit back.
"I think it means you can choose to be one." She doesn't necessarily believe everyone gets to choose. Whatever she is now, there was no thought involved, no planning and no real choices. The few things she has decided to do only made things worse--and that's why she lives moment to moment, doing what her impulses ask her to do, never slowing down to examine them.
Like for instance this impulse, when her mouth brushes his. "What do you choose to be right now?"
His lips tremble at the sensation, so acute it makes his scalp tingle. Sweeney's breath is shallow and hot against hers in answer. He shuts his eyes, his mind desperately fighting against his need.
But is it actually need? Or just overwhelming want? He's never been one to split hairs on that definition, but right now, it seems a fundamental to the situation. Can he actually choose?
Even with a deliberate swallow, it takes him a couple of seconds to muster the words.
"I think...I think I should probably go," he whispers, having found little more than breath to offer. That said, he hasn't convinced the rest of his body to move back, just resist urging forward.
She wants him to stay so badly that her nails are digging into her thighs to keep from pulling him to her. And she feels that pit of disappointment that she won't get him and, paradoxically, a surge of pride for him. For choosing when she knows he wants to have her as badly as she wants to be had.
It is still so hard to make herself be still, to not kiss him again. "Come smoke with me tonight," she whispers back. "In the Greenhouse."
Where the temptation is so much less than it is right here, where all he has to do is touch her.
It would take so little effort to get to her feet, to push him against the wall, to undo buttons she's slowly becoming familiar with...
She's aware of the way her gaze rakes over him and she can only imagine what he sees when he looks at her, kneeling on the floor in front of him, fighting these little thoughts.
Come back. If he could read her mind, the things he'd hear right now. The fact she isn't flirting, isn't teasing, must speak plenty about how hard she's working against herself.
"Well," she licks her lips, which feel dry. "I'll be there around midnight. If you're lonely."
Sweeney doesn't need to read her mind to know what his own is begging. He knows damn well how skilled she is on her knees, and it's no stretch to call up the image of stepping to close the distance between them so she can practice those tricks she keeps on about.
He takes the opportunity to shift his weight with hopes of some vague reprieve from the pressure, but there's little to be had. His eyes close again, and he sucks a slow breath in, grateful to be nowhere near her hair when he does. Setting his resolve along with his jaw, he manages to speak with more confidence.
"Make it ten."
He can do that, he decides, knowing there are fallbacks available if shit goes sideways.
"Ten," she agrees, and makes herself stand, makes herself open the door. Her hand brushes his hip and she almost shuts that door again to keep him here. "I'll be there."
It'll give her time to scrub the paint off of her skin at least, give her time to change into something a little warmer than she's got on now.
Just when he thinks he's got his momentum, her touch causes him to stutter. Not stumble or shift, but it's enough to make his mind waver, filling him with fresh thoughts of pushing her to the floor.
Cautious of taking another breath, he forces himself to tip his head in acknowledge as he digs his hand in his pocket for his keys.
Once he passes the threshold, things are a bit easier. Enough, at least, that he can get in his own door without looking back to her.
She puts her paints away and she goes home to Godric's cabin, where she scrubs under hot water until her head feels a little clearer. She's still thinking of him, but her thoughts drift back to Gerard and the flowers in a vase on her nightstand.
She goes to the Greenhouse a little earlier than planned, and she brings only one cigarette because by then she's browsed the network and seen the concerns about rationing. So much for the joys of chain smoking.
Sweeney's already there by the time she arrives, having arrived half an hour early to see if he was even capable of being there before he had to do it with her. Nothing implies he's changed or otherwise addressed himself.
He's not at the knoll, however. Instead he's meandering through some pots and bushes of flowers, perusing them with a cigarette in one hand and his other tucked in the pocket of his jacket. Sweeney's attention seems focused, noting various species with a keener eye. Some nearby are strikingly similar to those that had been tied with blue ribbon.
"Hey. Guess we had the same idea," she says, smiling despite the very obvious worry. She looks at the flowers and up to him, remembering what he'd said about not knowing what Gerard did.
Sweeney's brow furrows in confusion as he goes from processing flowers to her greeting to the confrontation of information. He looks from her to the flower and back.
"That's Devil's Flower," he answers plainly, one brow quirked as he's a bit unsure why that would be of interest to a prudish fuck like that Frenchman. Unless he's not so prudish after all.
With a tip of his head, he takes the opportunity to clarify. "Bachelor Button."
She shakes her head slightly. "I know palm trees and papaya and orange blossoms. And roses." Other plants are a mystery. "Why do they call it Devil's Flower?"
"So 'bachelor's button' probably doesn't have a reason either," she guesses. "It's like constellations, huh? None of 'em make any sense."
But even so she brushes her fingers along the petals and can't help a little smile. "I like flowers. I don't think I'd name them, though. If I was the first person to ever see them."
"Humans have an inherent need to name things." It's a truth he knows better than most, having been born of them time and again. It's a complicated topic for him.
"Those are fer love magic." He explains without strong affect. If the Frenchman is trying ta cast some bullshit, she should at least know about it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2021-11-03 11:10 pm (UTC)"Or how ta fuck ya 'til ya can't walk straight?"
no subject
Date: 2021-11-03 11:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-11-03 11:23 pm (UTC)Fuck, she smells good.
He wants to regret the proximity, but he doesn't. He wants to not tempt fate with all this shit up in the air. But at the same time--
She smells so fucking good.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 01:05 am (UTC)This is such a bad idea, and she knows it. She should lean back, get them some breathing room. But he doesn't, and he hasn't, and all she has to do is lean a little closer.
She has ideas floating in her mind, as weak as gossamer, and she could maybe turn them into shapes if she could think, but he's looking at her like he is and it reduces her to instinct.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 01:22 am (UTC)"Ya said yerself...I've got plenty of selfish reasons." There's a slight ache in his heart, and he wants to cut it out with wickedness. He's just not sure which is the greater sin in the moment.
"I'm--" Bad. He wants to say it, but he's not evil. He's fought so desperately to believe that. "--not a good man."
Sweeney's eyes lift to hers.
"You know that."
There's solemnity in it, but also a request for confirmation.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 02:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 03:52 am (UTC)But her words aren't lost on him, and as such, his thoughts slip down the path. Reason keeps tugging him up from his base impulses, but he can't free himself enough to sit back.
"But does that make me a good one?"
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 03:56 am (UTC)Like for instance this impulse, when her mouth brushes his. "What do you choose to be right now?"
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 04:07 am (UTC)His lips tremble at the sensation, so acute it makes his scalp tingle. Sweeney's breath is shallow and hot against hers in answer. He shuts his eyes, his mind desperately fighting against his need.
But is it actually need? Or just overwhelming want? He's never been one to split hairs on that definition, but right now, it seems a fundamental to the situation. Can he actually choose?
Even with a deliberate swallow, it takes him a couple of seconds to muster the words.
"I think...I think I should probably go," he whispers, having found little more than breath to offer. That said, he hasn't convinced the rest of his body to move back, just resist urging forward.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 04:11 am (UTC)It is still so hard to make herself be still, to not kiss him again. "Come smoke with me tonight," she whispers back. "In the Greenhouse."
Where the temptation is so much less than it is right here, where all he has to do is touch her.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 04:32 am (UTC)"I'll try," he whispers. His lashes flutter as he tries not to inhale too deeply. He might lose his resolve and be swept up in taking her.
"I can't promise."
There's too much in him. Too much want. Too much confusion. Who knows if he'll even be himself then? Or remember? What if he can't control himself?
At least he manages to push against the floor, allowing himself to move back from her and work on getting his legs under him.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 04:38 am (UTC)She's aware of the way her gaze rakes over him and she can only imagine what he sees when he looks at her, kneeling on the floor in front of him, fighting these little thoughts.
Come back. If he could read her mind, the things he'd hear right now. The fact she isn't flirting, isn't teasing, must speak plenty about how hard she's working against herself.
"Well," she licks her lips, which feel dry. "I'll be there around midnight. If you're lonely."
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 04:55 am (UTC)He takes the opportunity to shift his weight with hopes of some vague reprieve from the pressure, but there's little to be had. His eyes close again, and he sucks a slow breath in, grateful to be nowhere near her hair when he does. Setting his resolve along with his jaw, he manages to speak with more confidence.
"Make it ten."
He can do that, he decides, knowing there are fallbacks available if shit goes sideways.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:03 am (UTC)It'll give her time to scrub the paint off of her skin at least, give her time to change into something a little warmer than she's got on now.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:13 am (UTC)Cautious of taking another breath, he forces himself to tip his head in acknowledge as he digs his hand in his pocket for his keys.
Once he passes the threshold, things are a bit easier. Enough, at least, that he can get in his own door without looking back to her.
He can do this.
Probably.
Fuck.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:18 am (UTC)She goes to the Greenhouse a little earlier than planned, and she brings only one cigarette because by then she's browsed the network and seen the concerns about rationing. So much for the joys of chain smoking.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:25 am (UTC)He's not at the knoll, however. Instead he's meandering through some pots and bushes of flowers, perusing them with a cigarette in one hand and his other tucked in the pocket of his jacket. Sweeney's attention seems focused, noting various species with a keener eye. Some nearby are strikingly similar to those that had been tied with blue ribbon.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:26 am (UTC)"He gave me some of those," pointing.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:34 am (UTC)"That's Devil's Flower," he answers plainly, one brow quirked as he's a bit unsure why that would be of interest to a prudish fuck like that Frenchman. Unless he's not so prudish after all.
With a tip of his head, he takes the opportunity to clarify. "Bachelor Button."
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:45 am (UTC)Sweeney doesn't have an answer other than 'human's decided it so', but that doesn't mean he has to like it.
"Prob'bly why they rebranded it."
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:50 am (UTC)But even so she brushes her fingers along the petals and can't help a little smile. "I like flowers. I don't think I'd name them, though. If I was the first person to ever see them."
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 06:03 am (UTC)"Those are fer love magic." He explains without strong affect. If the Frenchman is trying ta cast some bullshit, she should at least know about it.
no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-11-04 05:14 pm (UTC)"Like...usin' them ta make ya fall in love with someone." What else would love magic be?
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: