It takes him a moment to match the word with the encouragement of her hands, but soon enough, Sweeney's following her direction onto his back. A wince heralds a hiss as the pain in his side flares; luckily, her balm is readily available. His hands find her hips, but it's only to anchor him; he doesn't make any attempt to steer her.

"Yes--yes--" he breathes, muscles taut in anticipation. The slick and the promise of warmth has his twitching in her hand.

"Fuck, yes."