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Yennefer's entirely aware of the tenuous position she holds, but she's been pleading with her father to allow her to take on more responsibility for years; of course it would be on the cusp of when she'd be considered marriageable age, when she's intended to serve the family more in the position of a wife, when he finally agrees to let her attend a meeting on his behalf. Even she's not ignorant enough to pick up on the fact that this is his version of letting the leash out by a limited length, so to speak, but she'd bit her tongue and agreed this time around.

She hadn't even tried to argue his insistence that she be accompanied by his most trusted bodyguard, who's apparently been sent ahead to scrutinize the hotel where she'll be staying, check every possible nook and cranny for potential threats. It means Yennefer ends up flying on the family's private plane alone, taking a car straight from the airstrip. On the drive over, she briefly examines her reflection via a small compact from her purse, touches up her bright red lipstick and straightens a few strands of her long dark hair. If she's going to have any chance of being considered part of this world, she has to look the part — and does she ever look the part.

The car stops, and through the tinted windows, Yennefer only has the slightest impression of a tall, imposing figure approaching her side before the door opens. She swivels to slide out feet first, extending one tanned leg and then the other, planting her high heels firm against the pavement before stretching out a hand with lacquered nails that match the color of her lips. The request is there, wordless, for him to give her a hand out of the vehicle, and violet eyes trail appraisingly up the length of his frame as she greets him with a mild air of politeness.

"Sweeney," she greets him, closer to a soft purr, and starts walking in the direction of the hotel lobby, her hand slipping free of his. The likelihood is that he already has the key to the penthouse she'll be staying in, and she expects he'll be trailing her wherever she goes this weekend. It's even more tempting, then, to add a slightly more deliberate sway to her hips as she walks, knowing the tight fit of her dress will only emphasize it in his view. But he'll be the one who has to beat her to the door to open it, beat her to the elevator and hit the button for them to ascend. It shouldn't be a problem, she thinks; with that height, his legs are twice as long as hers.

When she leads legs first, he's suddenly reminded how they go all the way up in the most shapely of ways. Sweeney works to keep his focus. This is work. He can do work.

Her hand's request is immediately met, and he stands ready to steady her, should she need it. Not that she does; no, she's got a confidence that speaks plainly to both her heritage and her upbringing. That doesn't mean he's prepared for the full sight of her. It becomes obvious in a moment that she's here to step up her game, and she has no fear of the plate.

"Miss." He tips his head respectfully.

Sweeney instinctively laments the feel of her hand when she releases it; it will be later when he realizes how exotic such a small thing is, and how it left a residual tingle for a few seconds more.

He does make it to the door and the elevator before her, without any appearance of rushing. Sweeney keeps at her side without active thought. It just is. Of course, it's probably for the best, lest he get caught staring at her ass.

Inside the elevator, he keeps his eyes fixed on the door ahead, save for one moment when they flick to the ceiling as he licks his lip. It's a quiet trip; it's not his place to make conversation. Just get her in the room and let her have a look around to see if everything is up to snuff before her luggage is brought up. Barring anything else, that's exactly what he intends to do.

Of course, Yennefer had made a point to size her father's latest soldier the second she'd become aware of him. There's something about Sweeney that sets him apart from all of the other grunts on the family payroll, and it doesn't only have to do with the fact that he towers head and shoulders over most people he encounters. The shock of his red hair, naturally, is another distinguishing feature, wavy and thick in a way that she's definitely imagined running her fingers through a time or two, maybe while his head is resting in her lap.

Sleeping with him would be a mistake in more than one sense — and not just as a way of sticking it to her father, to prove that she's just as capable of winding someone as impressive as Sweeney around her artfully polished finger, but also because it would be a severe error in judgment to indulge right when she's trying to focus her efforts on being taken seriously in this playing field.

The silence that stretches between them in the elevator is long, but not necessarily uncomfortable; still, she's sure she isn't imagining the tension that could potentially be cut through by at least one of the knives he's likely wearing strapped to his body. A few levels yet remain before they reach the penthouse suite, which is why she suddenly reaches out to pull the knob to stop the elevator altogether, slowly bringing them to a halt between floors.

"Before we get to the room, I have something I've been meaning to ask you, and I want you to answer it honestly," she finally says, turning to face him, her body positioned between him and the panel of buttons. She'll wait, patiently, until he meets her eyes, holding his gaze unflinchingly, her lips pressed together into a definitive line.

"You're not going to have any problems doing your job this week, are you? Protecting me?" If she purposefully, coquettishly glances up at him beneath her lashes, it's only in part to see if she can elicit any greater reaction from his end.

Edited 2025-01-26 20:21 (UTC)

The sudden movement has his hand instinctively in his jacket, but he doesn't draw the side arm; the next fraction of a second confirming it's just the pair of them here, and the car is secure. A flicker of adrenaline leave his eyes a bit wider, and the green is more noticeable. His attention instantly drops to her.

"Miss?" Then the rest percolates, and he straightens just a bit more.

"No. No, Miss." He shakes his head sharply to punctuate the confirmation. Of course, that does beg a question.

"Do you have concerns 'bout my abilities?"

Of course, Yennefer's gaze immediately drops to his hand disappearing inside the folds of his jacket — she should have expected that a sudden move like this, outside of the careful route he's planned to get them from Point A to Point B, would immediately have him on his guard. But she sort of likes that, likes that she's put him on his back foot. You can tell a lot about who someone is based on how they react to the unpredictable.

"Concerns? Of course not. You're one of my father's best. Probably even the best, if he sent you to look after his little girl."

Reiterating who they are to each other is best — not just for him, but for her too. It stops her from thinking about how long it would take if she climbed him right here in this elevator, wrapping her legs around his waist. He wouldn't even need to take her panties off first, just tuck them to the side and —

Yennefer clears her throat, audibly, a short sound.

"I just know I'm not everyone's preferred assignment."

"I don't have a strong preference 'bout the work I've been asked ta do, but it is a privilege ta be put on yer detail."

There aren't many spots available, so he knows he's high in the pool of those qualified. It's quite a compliment. Another moment passes before a question comes to mind.

"Is there anythin' you expect ta be wantin' while we're here, that I might provide?" His brow lifts politely.

"I can see the food tailored ta yer preference, if ya like."

There are a variety of details that might make the stay a little more comfortable. Sweeney isn't sure how long things will last. Just because the engagement has a set duration doesn't mean that will actually be the confines of the assignment. Plans change and contingencies need to be in place to adapt.

Funny, how in the moment, Yennefer's first instinct is to chuckle. There's no way for him to know precisely what she'd been thinking about in the seconds before he'd posed that particular question — and not even necessarily as a way to stick it to her father, although that in and of itself would be a bonus.

She doesn't laugh, though, doesn't do anything that would give herself away beyond a slightly coy smile.

"Some might consider that a dangerous question to pose to a woman like me," she points out, even though she's certain that once she does hint at that sort of want, he might be more embarrassed by the potential innuendo he's stumbled into.

The elevator's been stopped long enough that she expects they might get a call from the lobby soon, but her gaze slides up the length of him before she affords him a more assessing look, like she's trying to take the measure of him in that one glance.

"But I don't think your loyalty to my family extends that far," she adds.

He frowns slightly. Sweeney can't decide if this is a test, or if she's just fucking with him. Neither are implausible. Hell, it could be both in one bundle of full lips and batted eyelashes. Professional. Stay professional.

"Miss?" His slow breath offsets the fact he hasn't blinked.

"Are you puttin' my loyalty inta question?" Sweeney's voice is even, making the query sound more honest than defensive.

"Or suggestin' that you might look ta put me at risk of findin' it so?"

There's no reason that a question voiced as simply and straightforwardly as that should make her so painfully aware of him and where he's standing in this elevator in relation to her. Perhaps it also has something to do with his accent, Irish in that way that should make him sound closer to a character on a fucking Lucky Charms box but only leads her to wonder what it would sound like if he was whispering low, and close to her ear.

"I'm saying that fucking me isn't part of your job description, Sweeney," she finally murmurs. She could play coy, dance around the subject further, but what would be the point when she's never been the sort of woman who beats around the bush?

Besides, she's also well aware that the loyalty he prides himself on is devoted to her family, not to her specifically, so she's not convinced he would do anything to jeopardize that — not even allow himself to be successfully propositioned by the boss's daughter.

There's something to be said about the subtext being put out in the air. It makes Sweeney's cheeks dust pink, and he swallows for focus.

"No, miss. It was definitely not in the list of protocols I was given." He presses his lips slowly, trying to look as professional as possible when he meets her eyes.

"Is that somethin' yer askin' me ta do?" Or telling.

The difference between those is significant, so he doesn't want to go all in on the suggestion, when she could just want him to squirm before pulling back under the guise of a hypothetical.

To hear him refer to it as protocol, in the midst of all of this, is so amusing that Yennefer's forced to sink a bite into her lower lip to try and keep her smile from fully bursting forth. She hasn't fully propositioned him yet, but she very nearly has — and he's so damn professional that part of her wants to take him apart just to see what happens when he doesn't have duty to cling to.

Rather than moving closer to him, she takes a step back, and then another, pressing herself against the wall furthest from him — but there's a railing for her to brace herself against.

"What if I wasn't asking you to?" One hand strafes fingers over a stocking-clad thigh before drifting inward, even as her eyes never leave his. "What if I was begging you to?"

Something starts to ease as she steps further away, but it only takes a few seconds to understand that the repositioning hasn't helped all that much. It's only changed his struggle, and given her a better vantage point to see him do so. Sweeney swallows, allowing his breath to slowly escape as he reflects. He wets his lip, needing a moment more before he's forced to confess the truth.

"I would be in great temptation." The rest snaps in the afterthought. "Miss."

What's he supposed to say? That he'd fuck her here in the elevator before they even get up to her room? Sweeney can't decide if this is something she might actually do, or if she just wants to see how far she can push before he steps out of line. He swallows again to steady his voice and keep his eyes from straying.

"But I can't imagine you beggin' fer anythin'."

There's a compliment in it; she's always carried herself with a confidence that keeps her chin high. Sweeney could easily see her ordering him to do something lascivious, but not her begging for it.

His answer is more telling than she'd expected it to be on more than one front. It's not as though he's the first man she's propositioned — far from it, but the fact that he only considers himself in great temptation, rather than immediately jumping at the opportunity to touch her when she's practically offering herself up on a silver platter, leaves more of a sting than she anticipated.

She doesn't immediately recoil, as if he'd struck her, but what causes her to stiffen, to straighten from her lean against the railing, is the fact that he identifies her so clearly — that he doesn't look at her and see a woman who needs to be made to beg for anything, but wants someone else to beg for her for once.

"You're right." Because while this is a game, and one she thinks she would have a very enjoyable time playing, she also isn't prepared for him to have perceived her that openly, and he's glimpsed much more of her than she would readily let anyone else see. The sound of her heels against the elevator precedes her punching the button to resume the elevator's ascent, like a final bit of punctuation on the subject.

"I don't beg. Not even when I see something I want." And with that, she's willing to let the moment between them pass, to let them resume their previous roles, to stand here in expectant wait for him to precede her into the penthouse and sweep the place before he's designated it clear for the length of her stay. But she's all too aware of him in this space now, the scent of his aftershave, the bunch of muscles beneath the fit of his suit. She's allowed her attention to linger on him in a way that's going to prove very distracting while he has to serve as her shadow.

Hm. Sweeney doesn't think he's done something wrong, but he feels like he's made a mistake. Sometimes, there's no winning, only managing the damage. And if the damage is 'not getting Disappeared for fucking the boss's daughter', that still feels like coming out ahead. Of course, that doesn't mean it won't affect their interaction for the rest of the week. They'll just have to see.

Unfortunately, his mind is stuck on the 'something she wants' part, and it tumbles around, over and over again. Sweeney swallows, then his lips part, only to shut again. He repeats the process, more than once. The right words don't find their way out.

HM.

He watches the numbers increment up. Sweeney swallows once more, before he finds something to murmur.

"There's nothin' in my assignment that prevents me from touchin' you, Miss." It's offered as information, more than invitation; suggesting that he could still be in the same room or help her with a zipper or...whatever.

The bell digs, and he doesn't wait before stepping out into the hall, looking both ways before he presses the external button to hold the door open for her.

It doesn't dump directly into the room, as some hotels do, but there are only two doors on the floor: the service closet at the end of the hall, and the ornately carved one directly across from the elevator. The penthouse itself is multi-room, allowing for what will hopefully be a comfortable stay.

The rest of the afternoon in the lead-up to the meeting passes by somewhat uneventfully, which suits Yennefer just fine; she has important notes she needs to review in advance, scrolling through her iPad while studiously attempting to ignore the very tall distraction lurking in the corner of the suite. She can't afford to let herself be waylaid, no matter how many muscles she can see bunching beneath Sweeney's well-tailored dress shirt out of the corner of her eye. Knowing that she'll have him positioned as a silent threat over her shoulder in the boardroom is one thing; being alone with him in a penthouse that boasts a bed more than big enough to fit two of them is another.

Despite her bodyguard occasionally pulling her attention, the meeting goes about as well as she could have hoped, but by the time it ends after some overlong negotiations, Yennefer's in desperate need of an opportunity to put her feet up and spends the last fifteen minutes trying to inwardly make up her mind about what she'll order from room service.

Understandably, by the time she and Sweeney are back in the elevator ascending to the penthouse, Yennefer doesn't waste time before slipping off her heels, kicking one shoe off and then the other as she trails down the hall in the general direction of the en suite attached to the master bedroom.

"I'm taking a bath," she declares, mostly for his benefit rather than her own, but before she can cross the threshold, she turns back, one hand deliberately moving to reach for her hair so she can sweep it forward over one shoulder, away from the zipper of her dress, below the nape of her neck. There's nothing in his assignment that prevents him from touching her, as he'd said, and the tick of her eyebrow is the equivalent of throwing down that gauntlet. "Give me a hand, would you?"

Sweeney keeps busy during her prep, mindful to give her plenty of space while still being occasionally present, should she need something. It seems like a reasonable compromise that doesn't make waves.

The meeting is easier. A LOT easier. The comfort of the familiar has him sliding into habit without active thought. Sure, his client was different, but the practice is the same. His eyes are mostly on everyone else, tracking them as they move around the room and looking them over for tell-tale bulges where weapons might be concealed. Cool. Professional. It brings Sweeney comfort that he doesn't want to particularly dwell on.

But all good things come to an end, and soon enough, they're back in the elevator, and he's doing what he can to think about anything other than her begging him to fuck her in the confined space. His throat bobs as he works to clear his head, and he's glad that his default stance leaves his hands crossed in front of him. Even so, there's a bit of discomfort, and as they near the correct floor, he has to shift his weigh to resettle his inseam, as best as he's able, to accommodate the extra blood that's unintentionally started to take up residence in his prick.

Luckily, reprieve is offered by the soft chime of the elevator, and then it's all about following her down the hall.

Surely, a bath would buy him some time to get everything sorted before he saw her again. In the meantime, he bends as he walks, scooping up each abandoned shoe, in turn.

Truth be told, Sweeney hadn't expected her to stop before she was shutting the door between them, so when she does, his eyes instinctively dart up; her shoe hanging from two fingers. His lips part; an expression that could easily be explained away by the upward tilt of his head; before he straightens fully. Sweeney blinks once and swallows to make sure his voice isn't riding on a dry throat.

"Uh," he breathes before shaking off the shift in task.

"Course, Miss."

Sweeney sets the shoes down more carefully than she had, before he turns his attention to the long line that guards the soft skin of her back. He lifts his hands, but they hover for a second, as if he's unsure if he's putting himself in harm's way. It's just a zipper. A favor. A reasonable one, at that. It's not like she's naked.

His touch is delicate as he draws the tab downward, careful not to touch her, but at some point, he has to, to make sure nothing catches or snags, given the way the dress is fitted so tightly to flatter her figure.

The finger of his other hand dips beneath the neckline as the opening reaches her shoulder blades. The goal is to keep the pad of it on the other size of the zipper, so there's a buffer between her and the parting teeth, as he works the rest of the way down.

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