thesunandthesea | morning after.

There is no delicate way to go about it - and what is more, where she wants to clean most, she cannot rightly see.

They're both naked, just laid with one another, surely this cannot be more debauched? That is what she tells herself, anyway.

"... could... could you?" Timid as ever, she pushes up on her elbows and shyly curls her legs in front of her and begins to part them. "Can't... see..." is all she manages with her nervous words, as her knees fall open and shows the mess he said he did not mind.

Mess it is, still wet and smeared on the inside of her thighs, and as she opens herself, she feels the trickle that was him, dripped out of her between her thighs. The mess he had left, twice now, in her. Her face will never be less pink, she's fairly sure, it's just her state of being now as she displays herself like that.

"The rest... I go to bathhouse, can clean..." They were nobles after all, she had ladies to attend her and take care of her more seriously.

Her request sounds easy enough, and with a soft smile and small nod, he lifts the towel to start to wipe the sweat from her throat. Sweeney hasn't had the chance to properly start though, before the rest of her comment is made.

He pauses. Then blinks. His gaze follows hers down. There's logically only one destination. But that seems strange for a lass who was shy enough to blush when he simply cast the bedding back enough to expose her. Now she's asking him to help because she can't see what she's doing? Sweeney swallows.

"Ya want me ta--"

Right.

"You want I look?"

Surely, not. How could she bear him examining her sex so blatantly?

Look made it feel too lurid. Is that what she meant? Probably not. She nearly ducks her head away and shuts her legs again. But it feels tacky and sticky on her skin.

"Messy." She says again, her eyes lowering shyly again, and maybe slowly starting to curl up again, worried under his gaze. "... can do self... if..." if she's asked too much, been too bold.

Sweeney isn't discouraged, though he tries to minimize his smile. He twists further to get a leg up on the bed and face her more fully.

"Come."

He hooks his hand under her knee, and with a fluid bend, he ducks his head under while lifting it over to set it on his lap. The position leaves her spread wide, but more importantly, unable to fully lock her knees together, no matter how much she squirms.

"Let me see."

Sweeney's already looking; not staring yet, just tilting to get a better peek at her.

It's much wider than she had started, spreading her open more completely to his gaze and the little nervous twitch runs up her limbs, her fingers curling up in nerves beside her to hold her courage in place.

But she nods, slowing her breath down to try and calm herself to the time of that inhale, exhale. It was just cleaning her up like he asked. What harm could it do? This is what the bathing ceremony was supposed to be, after all, a way for the new couple to see each other, begin touching without a rush into anything. It was just... happening out of order.

There's nothing overtly ritualistic to it, given that such a practice simply isn't a part of his culture, but Sweeney is dutiful.

He starts the wiping low on her belly, where they'd spent a fair bit of time rubbing against each other. Then over the top of her thighs, working down to the knee of each leg in turn. Easy part done, he turns his attention to the stickier business.

The strokes off the cloth are small and gentle as he works his way up the insides of her thighs. Sweeney only makes it to the upper swell of her them before he stops. He curls over to rinse the towel and refresh it, the position living her leg pinned firmly as he does so.

Her eyes flutter shut, and despite all the nerves and yes the implication of the whole thing, it feels good. Not in a rushing, sudden way, but in a slow, ebbing sort of way, made in contrasts. His touch is warm, so warm, as he manipulates her legs where and when he wants them. But the cloth is cool. A pleasant, familiar sort of tickling as he brushes her more carefully than even her maids might.

But as he goes higher, her eyes crack open, feeling the thump in her throat. Maybe this was a mistake. She didn't think just a clothe could feel so... so... when used this way.

Then he stops, and she isn't sure if she wanted him too, and an ebb of frustration crawls up her throat, making a soft little murmur of cut short wanting in her throat. But there was naught she could do, her leg trapped as he pleased. Her eyes watched his face, clear and bright, anticipation building in her throat.

She doesn't have to wait long; the delay is a matter of practicality. If he's going to get to the area that needs the most work, it seems logical to start fresh.

So, after the towel is wrung, he gets back to business. Sweeney wipes down each thigh, in turn, the tips of his fingers errantly tickling curls on the occasional pass.

Once there's nothing else to focus on, he gets to the most that which needs the most attention. The first pass is more about efficiency, but then he comes back around to do some detailing. Sweeney tilts his head a bit further as two fingers expose the slick, hidden flesh he'd left so abused. His strokes are delicate, mindful of her potential tenderness, as he keeps a keen eye on her most intimate nakedness.

Yes there is something erotic about it all. The touches. The care. The feeling of his eyes roaming her as no man had, or would, but him. Touching, coaxing, and so carefully cleaning her up.

But there is a relief to the cool, damp cloth as it swipes over tender, sensitive skin. Flushed and heated, it makes a sigh slip that distracted from the knowledge of where he was touching, where he looked. But the cool, mixed with the tickling and the surety of his firm hands made something uncurl, different to before - this let the tension in her shoulders loosen, her spine uncurl as she laid back into the pillows. Her breathe turning rhythmic and slow, her legs slipping apart further more out of relaxation.

Even if it's broken up with little hitched sounds as he spreads her more intimately, his fingers teasing faintly. But it was hardly as demanding as before, just a pleasant by-product that she doesn't even bother to fight the sighs and little breathless murmurs. Or the barely noticed cant of her hips up into his touch again.

Sweeney's careful; it's not hard to tell the abuse her sex has been subjected to when one is staring at it. Nothing seems damaged, just swollen and raw. He hopes he's not being unkind. He's trying really hard, but this sort of thing is new to him.

When she starts making sounds and shifting, he pauses, looking up to her face.

"You alright? Hurt?"

Her eyes flick open, slowly and contently with a quiet smile on her lips. For the first time since she arrived two days ago, she feels at ease. Herself.

"Good. Well." She answers in a soft warmth in his tongue. "Can stop... maid... maid will tend."

Though that follows an unpleasant understanding. "Should... be up soon. Be... expected." More was the pity.

For a moment, he's tempted to ask if she wants him to stop; after all, that's not the same thing; but in the end, he concedes to the facts she presents.

Carefully unhooking her leg, he sets it back down gently with its mate. Sweeney starts to twist to standing; instead of rising straight up, he turns and bows to place a soft kiss on her belly, as if it was the head of their unborn child. With any luck, it soon will be.

He doesn't linger, just collects the rags into the basin and returns to the stand they'd been on. Then Sweeney goes to a wardrobe, and from among the hanging garments, he pulls on a long robe. He doesn't bother tying it yet, but it manages to cover many of his scars. Then he brings her one of her own, clearly meant for her, shorter and covered with swirls of white on blue.

Sweeney offers it without speaking on it further, leaving it to his smile to encourage her.

The affection melts her, the smile pulling on her lips as she watched him get up, utterly unabashed in his nudity.

Well, he certainly had every reason to be proud of himself, in any matter. She'd have to be blind to not see the figure he made.

But then he turns back to her with a robe that - could only be for her, and that sweet warmth bubbled up again in her belly. Not the desire, but something kinder, her eyes softened with a little oh, as she sat up to take it from him.

"Thanking... thanking you." Her very best attempt to say it in his tongue, this time. Gently she put her arms through it, and stood up to let it fall and wrap around her properly. "... like... like home."

He must have had it made weeks ago for her in preparation, and she could feel her heart warm again, the smile staying where it was.

Edited 2025-03-22 17:19 (UTC)

"Yer welcome," he answers, the words drawn out a touch in sweetness as he keeps his eyes on hers for a breath longer.

When the robe is over her shoulders, Sweeney takes the opportunity to fuss with it. It's not necessary, but it lets him feel like he's doting just a bit more, making things neat with his fingertips grazing the edges where skin and fabric meet. Never mind that his cock is left uncovered, though at least shadowed by the drape of heavy fabric. It's far more important that she be tied up securely so she can feel covered and safe when there are prying eyes once more. Sweeney's voice is soft.

"I want ya ta feel at home." He nods slightly as he squints for the words that he means in kind.

"My home, you are. Here." Is that right? Hm.

"Together. With me. Home."

Close enough.

morning after.

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