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
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.