Laura relishes in being tugged closer. It's when she feels most like herself and she's relieved for it. That has to mean something, right? It's only ever felt with him. From that first moment they fucked to this exact moment she feels wanted and needed. And when the warmth of his hand is felt on her skin, it makes her lean more into him instinctively.
There's no playbook when someone tells you how they suddenly realize that things have changed in a significant way. Sweeney's admission was deserving of words, but at the moment, all Laura can do is "tell" him in physical ways.
She kisses him again, forcing his mouth open so her tongue could find his to wrap and twist into while a small hand winds its way up and around his neck.
Her touch, her taste; they make every inch of him electric. It's like the whole of the world is spinning ever tighter in a spiral, only leading to this place and this moment and being with her.
Kissing isn’t enough. The weight of her in his lap isn’t enough. He feels compelled to give more. Enough. And he only has one trigger left to pull.
He breaks the kiss, stealing a breath as he rests his forehead to hers. Sweeney sucks in the air, but it's only the fuel to the fire; the gust that shoves him off the precipice, and he falls in a whisper.
“I love you, Laura McCabe.” The words out, he can’t stop more from tumbling, unbidden.
“I don’t know how not to. I don’t know what it means or how ta do it proper, but I do know that I can’t stop it.”
Sweeney isn’t sure if he’s making it worse. He feels like he might be. It makes him try to rectify it before he knows if it’s actually an issue.
“I hope ya’ll forgive me if I do ya wrong in doin’ so, but I can’t help myself.”
There’d been that moment when he’d tasted what had been lost; remembered what it was to be a Faerie and a god with an Offering laid bare, if only he’d take it. But he flinched. He’d left it on the altar, having to sate himself with other, lesser, fare. It was wrong, anathema to what he was and had been, and there had been no way to make peace with it. It has been what he’s been chasing for so long: to be Believed in--truly Believed in--to the point of worship.
He had to face that whatever he is, it’s not what he was, and the only thing whose orbit he’s certain of is her. All roads lead to her Rome, and if he’s not with her, what good is he? She feels like the only thing Right he’s ever actually managed. It may not be true, but that’s the shape of the feeling.
He’s not a Leprechaun. He’s not a god. He’s Hers, and it feels like that’s all he’s capable of being, no matter how misshapen.
Up until that very second, Laura stays caught up in him. Her eyes on his lips, and forehead lightly pressed to his, feeling every cell in her body charged and eager. She wants him against her, naked and warm. But what she gets is something entirely unexpected. Words that will take longer than a beat to sink in before it all registers.
Suspended in her arousal, the buzzing in her ears cuts out completely as he says it. I love you and Laura sees the way his mouth and lips form the name. Not just her name, but her given name. The one that has isn't attached to a married name or that life left behind. It's the one that started off believing in things.
In love.
Of course, at that very same moment, comes a fleeting worry that she's about to lose him all over again and before she says anything Laura clings onto him a little tighter. It can't happen again like it did, could it? Yes, it could and there will be no fooling herself into believing that because he said it that it would be hers without some kind of cost. They are on the Barge, after all. And the Admiral wasn't much for promising Happily Ever After's.
Yet, as he keeps talking and admitting, Laura can't help interrupting his last sentence. "I love you, too."
It's soft, but without hesitation or uncertainty, though she's sure she'll replay and second guess everything that's being shared in that moment.
They were in the moment now, though, and it was right.
Sweeney had been so caught up in his own side of things; the complications and terror and unsureness. He didn't know where to start until the words just fell out, unceremoniously. He'd never dreamed that she'd find that answer on her tongue. For all that they undeniably share, they'd been mindful to dance around certain things, and even as they'd inched their way closer, Sweeney always thought there'd be a line that she would reach. If he tried to cross it, she would frown and step back, leaving him naked in his clothes. But here they are, and she isn't.
It's his turn to blink, trying to let it all filter through; his mind telling him he heard incorrectly. But then he can't make her statement into a different shape, so he doesn't risk mucking it up with more words.
If he's going to fuck things up, he's going to do it with a deep, hungry kiss.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
There's no playbook when someone tells you how they suddenly realize that things have changed in a significant way. Sweeney's admission was deserving of words, but at the moment, all Laura can do is "tell" him in physical ways.
She kisses him again, forcing his mouth open so her tongue could find his to wrap and twist into while a small hand winds its way up and around his neck.
no subject
Kissing isn’t enough. The weight of her in his lap isn’t enough. He feels compelled to give more. Enough. And he only has one trigger left to pull.
He breaks the kiss, stealing a breath as he rests his forehead to hers. Sweeney sucks in the air, but it's only the fuel to the fire; the gust that shoves him off the precipice, and he falls in a whisper.
“I love you, Laura McCabe.” The words out, he can’t stop more from tumbling, unbidden.
“I don’t know how not to. I don’t know what it means or how ta do it proper, but I do know that I can’t stop it.”
Sweeney isn’t sure if he’s making it worse. He feels like he might be. It makes him try to rectify it before he knows if it’s actually an issue.
“I hope ya’ll forgive me if I do ya wrong in doin’ so, but I can’t help myself.”
There’d been that moment when he’d tasted what had been lost; remembered what it was to be a Faerie and a god with an Offering laid bare, if only he’d take it. But he flinched. He’d left it on the altar, having to sate himself with other, lesser, fare. It was wrong, anathema to what he was and had been, and there had been no way to make peace with it. It has been what he’s been chasing for so long: to be Believed in--truly Believed in--to the point of worship.
He had to face that whatever he is, it’s not what he was, and the only thing whose orbit he’s certain of is her. All roads lead to her Rome, and if he’s not with her, what good is he? She feels like the only thing Right he’s ever actually managed. It may not be true, but that’s the shape of the feeling.
He’s not a Leprechaun. He’s not a god. He’s Hers, and it feels like that’s all he’s capable of being, no matter how misshapen.
no subject
Suspended in her arousal, the buzzing in her ears cuts out completely as he says it. I love you and Laura sees the way his mouth and lips form the name. Not just her name, but her given name. The one that has isn't attached to a married name or that life left behind. It's the one that started off believing in things.
In love.
Of course, at that very same moment, comes a fleeting worry that she's about to lose him all over again and before she says anything Laura clings onto him a little tighter. It can't happen again like it did, could it? Yes, it could and there will be no fooling herself into believing that because he said it that it would be hers without some kind of cost. They are on the Barge, after all. And the Admiral wasn't much for promising Happily Ever After's.
Yet, as he keeps talking and admitting, Laura can't help interrupting his last sentence. "I love you, too."
It's soft, but without hesitation or uncertainty, though she's sure she'll replay and second guess everything that's being shared in that moment.
They were in the moment now, though, and it was right.
no subject
Sweeney had been so caught up in his own side of things; the complications and terror and unsureness. He didn't know where to start until the words just fell out, unceremoniously. He'd never dreamed that she'd find that answer on her tongue. For all that they undeniably share, they'd been mindful to dance around certain things, and even as they'd inched their way closer, Sweeney always thought there'd be a line that she would reach. If he tried to cross it, she would frown and step back, leaving him naked in his clothes. But here they are, and she isn't.
It's his turn to blink, trying to let it all filter through; his mind telling him he heard incorrectly. But then he can't make her statement into a different shape, so he doesn't risk mucking it up with more words.
If he's going to fuck things up, he's going to do it with a deep, hungry kiss.