Sweeney certainly doesn't mind her touch on him, bare-chested or not. It makes his skin flush. When it's clear that she'll be untying things, he lifts his hands out of the way, but leaves them hovering a bit off, in anticipation. He has to make a concerted effort to lift his eyes from her fingers to her face as he swallows and tries to follow her explanation.

"Am I bathin' you too, or 's it meant ta just be you, washin' me?" he whispers, as if the corners of the room held spies that might see him misstep.

He tries to keep his focus on the overarching activity, but by the time she's loosened his trousers, his prick already has the inkling that there might be touching, in short order. Sweeney's not fully erect, but there is plenty of swelling to make him grateful to no longer be trapped in the constriction of the lacings.