"Something else?" Her echo of his words is more teasing, feigning incredulity — even though she has a difficult time imagining what else he could gift her beyond what he already has, the willingness to surrender himself, to link his power with hers. Compared to that, she wouldn't expect anything else, but she understands his reluctance to completely extricate himself from her, even though they're still mostly dressed between the two of them.
Before she can encourage him to withdraw from her and retrieve whatever he's referring to, the threading of his fingers through her hair elicits a soft moan, one he immediately stifles by slanting his mouth against hers.
There's no intent to devour him anew as she kisses him back, but it's certainly not soft, nor innocent, but closer to mutually claiming, a natural extension of everything they've shared. She drinks him in, slowly, indulgently, and then finally breaks the kiss herself to murmur softly over his lips. "Show me."
For a second, Sweeney thinks he'll be able to get a second bite at that particular apple; her kiss meeting his like that; but then she makes her soft request. He sighs the rest of his breath and gives a quick flick of her cupid's bow with the tip of his tongue.
Leaning back, first with his head, he pauses for his eyes to narrow playfully, as if to make a note that she owes him for the sacrifice he's about to make. Then the rest of him follows suit. Sweeney winces silently as he slips from her, waiting a moment before shifting himself around enough to get a couple of buttons done for support to keep from bobbing about.
Taking the extra step, he crouches at the pile of clothes and digs through the pockets to find a flat box, about 4" square. Then he returns, stepping between her thighs but not leaning against her. A flicker of hesitation proceeds him holding it before her in temporary illustration.
"Ya know there's ta be a tournament, an'..." How strange it is, that after all they've just done, he can't shake a touch of shyness.
"Well, I was hopin'...things go well an' all, that you might--" He urges it towards her gently.
"That you might consider bein' mine." His cheeks go pink, and he stutters slightly.
"My Queen. Fer--the tournament." And all the days after.
Inside the box is a neatly-folded green sash, bearing an embroidered spearhead crowned with rays. On top of it is nestled a necklace, it's pendant a swirl of metal around a smooth amethyst stone.
Her own sound, as he slips free of her, is a soft inhale, before she reaches down to adjust the drape of her skirts across her thighs. Whatever she's still aware of in terms of the mess he's left there isn't enough to distract her from watching him, pull away, but it's also a pleasant reminder for her to wordlessly bask in, another piece of himself he's left behind in her.
The smile on her face lingers, faint and reflective, as he crouches to retrieve what he's been referencing from the pile of clothes that they'd quickly dispensed of in reaching for each other, even if both of them are still mostly dressed by comparison.
The announcement of the tourney hadn't escaped her notice, chiefly because it's being hosted by the Targaryens, and seems to stem mostly from a desire to affect positive relations with the Duchess and the village at large. Yennefer herself has every intention of attending, at least long before she's presented with the box, and her smile only widens, becoming more incredulous before she opens what he's gifted her, wordlessly marveling over its contents.
"Is this what you came here to ask me from the beginning?" she finally asks, brushing her fingertips over the necklace's smooth amethyst stone.
"You know you didn't have to lavish me with gifts to secure my acceptance." But that doesn't mean she isn't interested in keeping them as she reaches up to unclasp her own obsidian pendant, setting it down beside her on the table, and then moves to don his gift in its place.
"Please," he whispers, a touch too hastily as he lifts his hands in hopes of taking the necklace from her. Even in the quiet, mundane setting, there's a weight to the word that clings, especially through the magic on which it hangs; one of the most sacred faerie phrases, only to be used with reverence and clear intent. 'Please.' 'Thank you.' 'I'm sorry.'
It's important now, and there's no hesitation when it crosses his lips. His focus darts from her eyes to her fingers.
"Will ya allow me?"
To put it on. To mark her as His in a way that isn't secret. One that she doesn't have to be ashamed to show.
At first, she's not sure what he's asking her for, something unspoken in his gaze, before her own tracks downward and finds his hands extended outward in a clear request to collect the necklace from her. Wordlessly, she holds it out to him until the pendant drops heavy into his palm, so he can secure a better grip on it.
It leaves her hands free, an advantageous thing when she needs to use both of them to gather up the thick mass of her hair, longer than she's ever let it become in the past, and draw it to one side over her shoulder so it'll prove easier for him to put the necklace on her himself.
If it's important for him to do this, something that matters, a part of the ask that seals it more definitively, then she'll cede it to him, her head bowed in such a way that should enable him to be the one who first clasps the pendant around her throat.
Fuck, she has such a beautiful neck. The temptation of it bared has him wanting to put his mouth back on it, as if they hadn't just ravished each other thoroughly. Instead, he wets his lips and carefully shifts the chain so he can manage the delicate clasp with his large fingers.
Sweeney leans in more than he needs to to fasten the thing, and he runs two fingers beneath the chain, the back of his knuckles sliding over her chest as he sees it settled in place.
"I don't have the words ta tell ya how much it means ta me, havin' it against yer skin." A part of him, left near her heart. And her sublime tits. He nuzzles a kiss against her cheek before leaning his head back enough to put her eyes into focus.
"You acceptin' me as yers." Sweeney's gaze dips to the gem just long enough to confirm it's really there, before his attention darts back up to her face.
"You agreein' ta be mine."
There's no subterfuge; the necklace isn't just for tournament wear. He wants it to be hers in the way that he is, precious and shown off as often as she'd have it so. He will always treasure having her on his arm. Being seen with her. Being Chosen by her.
The moment does have more significance to it than her simply donning the necklace; it represents her embracing what she's already wordlessly promised him — a part of her, if not necessarily the whole. Still, she certainly doesn't open herself and her power up to many, and he's the first who has even come close to earning a connection like the one she's just established with him. It's likely that he can sense her more intimately now, the joining of her magic and his intensifying even the smallest, subtlest touch tenfold.
As a consequence, her neck arches slightly, chin lifting, as he arranges the necklace around her throat, sliding his fingers along the chain to graze against her skin, before letting it drop so that she can feel the gem's heavier weight resting over her sternum.
"Then don't say anything," she murmurs, not attempting to quiet him altogether but only reassuring him that she doesn't need him to have the right words. He's still hovering close enough to her for her fingers to comb across his beard, nails lightly grazing along the thicker hair, before she cups her face in his palm and leads him in for another soft kiss.
In the immediate aftermath, she nudges their foreheads together again, sighing lightly, almost more of a hum while her eyes remain closed, until the whisper leaves her.
"Yes." There's a reverence in the way he breathes the word. A moment later, he licks his lip and makes an amendment.
"If you wish to."
Sweeney can't be sure; just because he would choose to doesn't mean she's comfortable with the same, and there are still some complications about the blanket term of 'mine'. But they both understood each other's feelings on that front, and they are in a similar enough situation that he trusts her to mean the same as him in saying it. He leaves his head pressed to hers.
"Is..." There's a flicker of hesitation where he isn't sure he wants to know, in case the answer is no. But the words are already shaped, and if he doesn't say them, she'll hear them in his mind anyways, so...fuck it.
Yennefer retreats enough to be able to regard him directly, the softness of her gaze not lessening the certainty in it. The notion that she can't hold sole rights over him is something she's already well aware of, and not just because she has a cursory awareness of the connections he's established with others here. She has her own ties, ones strong enough to keep her from promising exclusivity, but that doesn't negate the very real fact that she's tethered herself to Sweeney now, established a link that she doesn't share with anyone else present.
But she also doesn't believe she needs to restate what's already been asserted, what they're both aware of — he has a piece of her that's exclusive to him alone, and all she wants in return is the assurance that she can claim a piece of him for herself. She doesn't need to have the whole when that much will more than suffice.
"And I haven't changed my mind." Her fingers stroke over the back of his head, bracing at his nape, as she levels him with a look.
When she pulls him into focus, he meets her eyes without reservation. He has nothing to hide as he stands in offering to her. Her words sink a quiet relief into his affect, and Sweeney leans in to kiss her softly. His hand cradles her neck as he parts enough to insure the clarity of his words.
"Then it would be both my honor an' my pleasure, that you should name me yers." He nuzzles his forehead to hers.
"Good." Yennefer pulls back again with an amused flicker in her gaze, her lips pursing slightly to mask a broader smile.
"I don't subscribe to the notion of anyone being able to claim me unless I get to assert my own claim on them right back."
She's teasing, of course, but even those words betray a deeper sentiment, the fact that she wouldn't settle for just being owned by someone without some kind of reciprocal attachment. Her fingers lightly rub against his nape, as she looks over him, expression softening.
"One of these days we might even make it to a bed."
Her warmth is easy to mirror, and though small, his smile is a touch playful.
"Pfft." Sweeney rolls his eyes up, as if to consider something before giving his answer.
"There's so much between here an' there," he sighs in mock lamentation.
"The chair by the hearth...bunch'a walls...the floor..." Sweeney will happily have her on any of them that she'll let him. He's eager to savor every flavor she has to offer.
"The chair," Yennefer muses aloud, casting a glance in the direction of that particular piece of furniture.
As she does, the briefest impression of her thoughts will be easy to discern, her naked body in a kneeling straddle across his as she grips the back of said chair for purchase and rides him slowly, eagerly, both of their bodies lathered in sweat thanks to the heat from the crackling fire nearby.
"That'd be one way to spend an afternoon," she teases, her smile lingering, though judging by the lightness in her voice it's not exactly a complaint. "Ensuring all the remaining surfaces in this cottage have been properly defiled."
"You should," she whispers, while their faces are still hovering inches apart, close enough for her lips to brush against his with nearly every syllable she utters.
And then she seals her mouth over his, and it might be clear, even in the moment, that she'd hardly protest if he wanted to take her again, this time while the amethyst he gave her is nestled at her throat.
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no subject
Before she can encourage him to withdraw from her and retrieve whatever he's referring to, the threading of his fingers through her hair elicits a soft moan, one he immediately stifles by slanting his mouth against hers.
There's no intent to devour him anew as she kisses him back, but it's certainly not soft, nor innocent, but closer to mutually claiming, a natural extension of everything they've shared. She drinks him in, slowly, indulgently, and then finally breaks the kiss herself to murmur softly over his lips. "Show me."
no subject
Leaning back, first with his head, he pauses for his eyes to narrow playfully, as if to make a note that she owes him for the sacrifice he's about to make. Then the rest of him follows suit. Sweeney winces silently as he slips from her, waiting a moment before shifting himself around enough to get a couple of buttons done for support to keep from bobbing about.
Taking the extra step, he crouches at the pile of clothes and digs through the pockets to find a flat box, about 4" square. Then he returns, stepping between her thighs but not leaning against her. A flicker of hesitation proceeds him holding it before her in temporary illustration.
"Ya know there's ta be a tournament, an'..." How strange it is, that after all they've just done, he can't shake a touch of shyness.
"Well, I was hopin'...things go well an' all, that you might--" He urges it towards her gently.
"That you might consider bein' mine." His cheeks go pink, and he stutters slightly.
"My Queen. Fer--the tournament." And all the days after.
Inside the box is a neatly-folded green sash, bearing an embroidered spearhead crowned with rays. On top of it is nestled a necklace, it's pendant a swirl of metal around a smooth amethyst stone.
no subject
The smile on her face lingers, faint and reflective, as he crouches to retrieve what he's been referencing from the pile of clothes that they'd quickly dispensed of in reaching for each other, even if both of them are still mostly dressed by comparison.
The announcement of the tourney hadn't escaped her notice, chiefly because it's being hosted by the Targaryens, and seems to stem mostly from a desire to affect positive relations with the Duchess and the village at large. Yennefer herself has every intention of attending, at least long before she's presented with the box, and her smile only widens, becoming more incredulous before she opens what he's gifted her, wordlessly marveling over its contents.
"Is this what you came here to ask me from the beginning?" she finally asks, brushing her fingertips over the necklace's smooth amethyst stone.
"You know you didn't have to lavish me with gifts to secure my acceptance." But that doesn't mean she isn't interested in keeping them as she reaches up to unclasp her own obsidian pendant, setting it down beside her on the table, and then moves to don his gift in its place.
no subject
It's important now, and there's no hesitation when it crosses his lips. His focus darts from her eyes to her fingers.
"Will ya allow me?"
To put it on. To mark her as His in a way that isn't secret. One that she doesn't have to be ashamed to show.
no subject
It leaves her hands free, an advantageous thing when she needs to use both of them to gather up the thick mass of her hair, longer than she's ever let it become in the past, and draw it to one side over her shoulder so it'll prove easier for him to put the necklace on her himself.
If it's important for him to do this, something that matters, a part of the ask that seals it more definitively, then she'll cede it to him, her head bowed in such a way that should enable him to be the one who first clasps the pendant around her throat.
no subject
Sweeney leans in more than he needs to to fasten the thing, and he runs two fingers beneath the chain, the back of his knuckles sliding over her chest as he sees it settled in place.
"I don't have the words ta tell ya how much it means ta me, havin' it against yer skin." A part of him, left near her heart. And her sublime tits. He nuzzles a kiss against her cheek before leaning his head back enough to put her eyes into focus.
"You acceptin' me as yers." Sweeney's gaze dips to the gem just long enough to confirm it's really there, before his attention darts back up to her face.
"You agreein' ta be mine."
There's no subterfuge; the necklace isn't just for tournament wear. He wants it to be hers in the way that he is, precious and shown off as often as she'd have it so. He will always treasure having her on his arm. Being seen with her. Being Chosen by her.
no subject
As a consequence, her neck arches slightly, chin lifting, as he arranges the necklace around her throat, sliding his fingers along the chain to graze against her skin, before letting it drop so that she can feel the gem's heavier weight resting over her sternum.
"Then don't say anything," she murmurs, not attempting to quiet him altogether but only reassuring him that she doesn't need him to have the right words. He's still hovering close enough to her for her fingers to comb across his beard, nails lightly grazing along the thicker hair, before she cups her face in his palm and leads him in for another soft kiss.
In the immediate aftermath, she nudges their foreheads together again, sighing lightly, almost more of a hum while her eyes remain closed, until the whisper leaves her.
"Does this mean I get to call you mine, too?"
no subject
"If you wish to."
Sweeney can't be sure; just because he would choose to doesn't mean she's comfortable with the same, and there are still some complications about the blanket term of 'mine'. But they both understood each other's feelings on that front, and they are in a similar enough situation that he trusts her to mean the same as him in saying it. He leaves his head pressed to hers.
"Is..." There's a flicker of hesitation where he isn't sure he wants to know, in case the answer is no. But the words are already shaped, and if he doesn't say them, she'll hear them in his mind anyways, so...fuck it.
"Is that somethin' you want?"
no subject
Yennefer retreats enough to be able to regard him directly, the softness of her gaze not lessening the certainty in it. The notion that she can't hold sole rights over him is something she's already well aware of, and not just because she has a cursory awareness of the connections he's established with others here. She has her own ties, ones strong enough to keep her from promising exclusivity, but that doesn't negate the very real fact that she's tethered herself to Sweeney now, established a link that she doesn't share with anyone else present.
But she also doesn't believe she needs to restate what's already been asserted, what they're both aware of — he has a piece of her that's exclusive to him alone, and all she wants in return is the assurance that she can claim a piece of him for herself. She doesn't need to have the whole when that much will more than suffice.
"And I haven't changed my mind." Her fingers stroke over the back of his head, bracing at his nape, as she levels him with a look.
"I want you, in whatever way I get to have you."
no subject
"Then it would be both my honor an' my pleasure, that you should name me yers." He nuzzles his forehead to hers.
"Whene'er it pleases you ta do so."
no subject
"I don't subscribe to the notion of anyone being able to claim me unless I get to assert my own claim on them right back."
She's teasing, of course, but even those words betray a deeper sentiment, the fact that she wouldn't settle for just being owned by someone without some kind of reciprocal attachment. Her fingers lightly rub against his nape, as she looks over him, expression softening.
"One of these days we might even make it to a bed."
no subject
"Pfft." Sweeney rolls his eyes up, as if to consider something before giving his answer.
"There's so much between here an' there," he sighs in mock lamentation.
"The chair by the hearth...bunch'a walls...the floor..." Sweeney will happily have her on any of them that she'll let him. He's eager to savor every flavor she has to offer.
no subject
As she does, the briefest impression of her thoughts will be easy to discern, her naked body in a kneeling straddle across his as she grips the back of said chair for purchase and rides him slowly, eagerly, both of their bodies lathered in sweat thanks to the heat from the crackling fire nearby.
"That'd be one way to spend an afternoon," she teases, her smile lingering, though judging by the lightness in her voice it's not exactly a complaint. "Ensuring all the remaining surfaces in this cottage have been properly defiled."
no subject
"Careful, lest I take that as a challenge." Sweeney nuzzles her nose softly with his.
no subject
And then she seals her mouth over his, and it might be clear, even in the moment, that she'd hardly protest if he wanted to take her again, this time while the amethyst he gave her is nestled at her throat.