open post;

[choicely]

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open post for pic prompts, starters, and texts. f/f + f/m for shipping.
please link nsfw images.
compliant through season 4 of the witcher.

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[choicely]

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?"

[madaboutit]

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.

[choicely]

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.

[madaboutit]

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.

[choicely]

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?"

[madaboutit]

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.