Her hand stays steady, giving him the space he wants and needs to get his feet sure. The thin linen sheet over the wooden tub stops splinters from catching on bare skin, the scent wafting as they move the water.
Once he is steady, she drops down into the water briefly to catch a cup that bobs on the surface and fills it. Then up to his right shoulder, she tips it to run down his body. It's done with a nervous, giddy smile. Then repeats it on the other side so there was water mostly covering him.
It's then she settles to the task more seriously of getting the soap, and taking a deep breath, kneeling in front of him in the warm water. Her eyes nervous up, perhaps the idea from last night in her mind but - not right now. She has planned this since she understood as a young woman, beginning to rub soap into the back of his leg. One then the other, around and over from calf to shin, and then up to his knees. Her fingers are soft, but firm, aiming not to tickle but clean and relax him.
With a hand perched on his hip to steady herself, she swallows. Getting the nerve up, to look at him again. Wanted to make sure she hadn't done something wrong or upsetting. Remembering what he said about the kisses being too overwhelming anywhere sensitive, she instead leans to kiss his hip.
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.
It felt... somehow... powerful? He was a man that stood fierce on the battlefield. She had been told every fearsome story on the way to her wedding of his deeds. He would wield sword and spear with equal pride, rode horses like the wind.
Yet her touches made him look starved, somehow, his eyes burning down on her like he could comprehend nothing but her. It made her swallow down, and remember his reaction the night before. His hands grasp her, and she listened to instinct.
Her hands went back to soaping him up again, running it across his hips and stomach, and then gently braced around the base of his cock. Not unlike this morning as she did her best to replicate what he taught her as she stroked his cock down - before she leans her head close.
And lays a line of kisses down the length, a little more sure this time that he'd like it. A lot in fact. But then she lifts up, letting him go free as she continues, now finally straightening up to begin cleaning his chest.
She doesn't shy away or pull back at his touch, so Sweeney just leaves his hand where it is. Truth be told, he's a little nervous to move it, lest he end up urging her towards him, instead of releasing her as he should. He does his best to stand still and take it, enjoying the act while trying not to be consumed with the desire to fuck her.
But then she wraps her fingers around his cock, and a small gasp escapes as he tries not to choke on his tongue. His eyes flicker wide for a moment while the wheels spin. Is this really part of the ritual?
Then she starts to stroke him.
Fucking hell.
At her vantage, she can see the muscles in his thighs tremble as he bites back a whimper, and she can feel the flesh throb in her hand, imploring. Sweeney had thought it a true test; at least, until she starts her path of kisses. Now it's time for him to cough, and his hand falls to her shoulder to catch himself. But he doesn't push her away. Sweeney'd made his comment the night prior; if she still wants to put her mouth on his prick, who is he to deny her?
When she abandons it to wash further up, it's left flexing, begging for more attention.
Compared to that brief touch, the rest is rather mundane, in so far as she roams over him. Her hands brushing over his body with the soap. Over his hips, his stomach, up to his chest. Give him time to breath and ease off that immediate contact. Until she is reach up to his shoulders. Carding away his red locks back so she can map across his clavicals to the base of his neck with even swipes. Cleaning him from top to bottom, and all the places her fingers could dance curiously between. In comparison to the rush of the night before, she can do as she fondly imagined she would - learn him, see all of him, begin to appreciate this man she has been thrust into marriage with.
Then, she finally stops, and short as her breathe feels, nervous and yet eager she brings up the soap to offer him.
"Now.. you.. me?" And she gestures down her body to indicate he was to do the same for her.
It may be mundane, but that doesn't mean Sweeney isn't awash with more than soap and water. His skin is alive, anticipating every touch, and yet, he does his very best to be patient.
All that waiting only makes the moment when she stops stand stark. It takes Sweeney a second more to follow along, but with a tight nod, he bends to chase the bowl. At his height, it's awkward at best, so he takes another approach. While it's uncomfortable to fill the bowl from standing, doing so from kneeling is much easier.
So he drops down on both, filling the bowl before he looks up at her, savoring the opportunity to do so at this angle. Then he follows suit; wetting her skin, even though there's no need, and starting the soaped washing at her legs. Sweeney does his best to make it meaningful, hoping he's doing it mostly right, at least. When he glides his hand over the swell of one hip, his eyes lift again in soft question.
Her breathe catches as he kneels in front of her. Sticking in her lungs at the sight of him that way, something so without guile between them, all her day dreams made true for a moment.
And Spirits, he was so tall, even like this.
"Good, yes." Gilia answers with a shakey nod of her head. Her skin felt alive all over again, warm under his touch in a way different to the steam of hot water.
"Am... am glad to do, with you. Like... like imagined... when... when girl. Handsome husband to... to share with." She encourages, letting her fingers drift to brush his red hair back over his shoulder as he moved.
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no subject
Once he is steady, she drops down into the water briefly to catch a cup that bobs on the surface and fills it. Then up to his right shoulder, she tips it to run down his body. It's done with a nervous, giddy smile. Then repeats it on the other side so there was water mostly covering him.
It's then she settles to the task more seriously of getting the soap, and taking a deep breath, kneeling in front of him in the warm water. Her eyes nervous up, perhaps the idea from last night in her mind but - not right now. She has planned this since she understood as a young woman, beginning to rub soap into the back of his leg. One then the other, around and over from calf to shin, and then up to his knees. Her fingers are soft, but firm, aiming not to tickle but clean and relax him.
With a hand perched on his hip to steady herself, she swallows. Getting the nerve up, to look at him again. Wanted to make sure she hadn't done something wrong or upsetting. Remembering what he said about the kisses being too overwhelming anywhere sensitive, she instead leans to kiss his hip.
"Good? Feel nice?"
no subject
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."
no subject
Yet her touches made him look starved, somehow, his eyes burning down on her like he could comprehend nothing but her. It made her swallow down, and remember his reaction the night before. His hands grasp her, and she listened to instinct.
Her hands went back to soaping him up again, running it across his hips and stomach, and then gently braced around the base of his cock. Not unlike this morning as she did her best to replicate what he taught her as she stroked his cock down - before she leans her head close.
And lays a line of kisses down the length, a little more sure this time that he'd like it. A lot in fact. But then she lifts up, letting him go free as she continues, now finally straightening up to begin cleaning his chest.
no subject
But then she wraps her fingers around his cock, and a small gasp escapes as he tries not to choke on his tongue. His eyes flicker wide for a moment while the wheels spin. Is this really part of the ritual?
Then she starts to stroke him.
Fucking hell.
At her vantage, she can see the muscles in his thighs tremble as he bites back a whimper, and she can feel the flesh throb in her hand, imploring. Sweeney had thought it a true test; at least, until she starts her path of kisses. Now it's time for him to cough, and his hand falls to her shoulder to catch himself. But he doesn't push her away. Sweeney'd made his comment the night prior; if she still wants to put her mouth on his prick, who is he to deny her?
When she abandons it to wash further up, it's left flexing, begging for more attention.
no subject
Then, she finally stops, and short as her breathe feels, nervous and yet eager she brings up the soap to offer him.
"Now.. you.. me?" And she gestures down her body to indicate he was to do the same for her.
no subject
All that waiting only makes the moment when she stops stand stark. It takes Sweeney a second more to follow along, but with a tight nod, he bends to chase the bowl. At his height, it's awkward at best, so he takes another approach. While it's uncomfortable to fill the bowl from standing, doing so from kneeling is much easier.
So he drops down on both, filling the bowl before he looks up at her, savoring the opportunity to do so at this angle. Then he follows suit; wetting her skin, even though there's no need, and starting the soaped washing at her legs. Sweeney does his best to make it meaningful, hoping he's doing it mostly right, at least. When he glides his hand over the swell of one hip, his eyes lift again in soft question.
"Good?" He's cautiously optimistic.
"Correct?"
no subject
And Spirits, he was so tall, even like this.
"Good, yes." Gilia answers with a shakey nod of her head. Her skin felt alive all over again, warm under his touch in a way different to the steam of hot water.
"Am... am glad to do, with you. Like... like imagined... when... when girl. Handsome husband to... to share with." She encourages, letting her fingers drift to brush his red hair back over his shoulder as he moved.