When she bends down, Sweeney starts to lower as well, assuming that they're going to submerge for the process. But then she rises again, and so does he. A quick swallow and a searching gaze belies the fact that he's not quite sure what to be doing with himself. The longer she goes on though, the less it matters.

It's soothing and stimulating in equal measure, and she can feel the tension ease in the muscles below her fingers, even as his breath is forced deep to keep rein on his ramping desire. Of course, there's no way for him to keep his prick from swelling, and Sweeney is hyperaware of the fact, given how close it is to her face. There are times he'd swear he can feel her breath on it, even when she's not too near his skin. But then her lips find him.

Not on his cock, but near enough that it twitches in longing, leaving it bobbing a bit as his toes curl and bunch the fabric at the bottom of the tub. His hands had been hovering, unsure of what they were meant to be doing, but standing at the ready. The kiss is fire though, and one shifts to cup the back of her neck.

Sweeney doesn't push her away, or even apply much pressure. It was more instinct than intent, but it hadn't been about steadying himself. Or was it? Either way, his eyes are fixed on her and where they meet, and he fights valiantly not to press her against him. On him. The idea makes him want to swoon.

"Yes--" he whispers, not having enough air for anything louder.

"Nice. Very nice." That seems insufficient somehow, but the words are tricky to find.

"Very very. Very nice."