One thing that was nice about having the time to prepare for this is that he hadn't been left in boots. It makes undressing easier, and he's happy to help her with the last bit of tugging. Of course, with her in the general proximity, his thoughts keep snagging on the feel of her lips on his prick, no matter how fleeting. Had he been wrong to stop her?

Sweeney doesn't have time to ponder it too deeply, because she's stepping back to give him room. His hand may be in hers, but he's mindful not to hold too tightly, lest things get extra awkward if he slips and pulls her down with him.

Blessedly, no such doom comes to pass, and makes it into the tub unscathed. He steps closer, but not touching, save for her hand. Sweeney swallows purposefully, waiting for further direction as if they are meant to sit or kneel, and if they should be positioned back to front or facing each other. He looks a bit sheepish, standing with nothing on and no charted course of action. Other than fucking her. Sweeney knows it's still a while off, but it doesn't mean it's not on the docket.