RP with Mad Sweeney

[dawn_is_breaking]

It's cold when she finally wakes, cold and dark and for a moment or two she wonders if she's dead but then the pain starts to creep in, a dull ache at the base of her neck and skull and she understands that she is still alive. After all, surely there isn't pain like this when you're dead.

That would be very unfair.

Slowly things start to come into focus; she remembers going to the warehouse last night to bust up a mob deal, it was going well but then someone got the jump on her.

And then blackness.
Until now.

It's still dark but at least her eyes are adjusting and she can tell she has been stripped of her Dove costume, left in her panties and sports bra and tied up in a small, empty room. It smells damp, musty, and based on the lack of outside noise she suspects she's in a basement or maybe even somewhere deeper. Her hands are tied behind her back but her legs are free so carefully she shifts her back against the nearest wall, pushing herself up steadily until she is standing.

A sudden wave of pain goes through her head, along with a uneasy whooshing sound and she waits for it to pass before moving again. It's obvious she's sustained a head injury, probably has a concussion, but she needs to get moving to try and find a way out.

She's about to head towards the outline of the door when the overhead lights suddenly snap on, cruel and blinding, the bright lights send another jolt of pain through her head and she winces and staggers back against the wall.

The door opens with a rusty squeak and a soft, accented voice speaks up.

"So, you're finally awake."

Squinting, Dawn sees a stout older gentleman standing in the doorway. Behind him are two large men, obviously armed.

"It's rude to keep someone waiting, young lady. Especially when you've been causing that someone such trouble."

She doesn't say anything and the man continues.

"Three weeks ago you stopped a weapons sale, cost me a lot of men and money. Then, last week, you exposed one of my clubs to the police. I had to shut it down. And then, last night. You appeared at a very large deal between families to cause more trouble."

He takes a few steps towards her, spreading his hands open smoothly.

"Normally I would just get rid of a troublemaker like yourself but the fact that you seem to know so much about me and my operations is concerning. I've kept you alive because I want to know how much you know and more importantly how."

Her only response is silence.

"Perhaps, we'll try again later." He says, his tone much like a disappointed father and he turns to go. "Until then, Sweeney will watch over you, just to make sure you don't get any ideas about escaping."

Comments

[madaboutit]

Fucking hell.

There's something about these guys that's always the same. They lack...well, creativity probably isn't the word he's looking for. But that doesn't mean it's not apt. Some vigilante figuring out all of their relatively predictable schemes. One would think they might diversify that portfolio at some point. Maybe get into corporate espionage or insider trading or something. Guns? Drugs? Underground gambling? It doesn't take a mastermind to pull out some red string on this shit. Just need the time and the commitment, and it's not improbable that someone could figure it out. It's just nice that this particular someone happens to have a particularly nice shape.

He knows he shouldn't complain; it's the same predictablity that earns his keep. Know where a poker game can be found. Get lucky. Get too lucky. Get in a fight. Get in a bigger fight. Be the last one standing. And now he's standing here, with her, in this place that's specifically designed to be unpleasant. He can work with that.

With a sigh, he steps inside while the rest head out. Sweeney listens to the heavy lock as it turns, then continues across the room to a metal table on wheels that's against the back wall. He doesn't look at her, just sets a leather bag on the surface.

"Not sure how long ya 'xpected yer Luck ta hold, luv."

Hands free, he unbuttons the cuff of each sleeve and rolls them up to the elbow. His shirt is crisp and white, and the black vest over it is tailored well. Folk never expect a clean man ta be in wet works. Sweeney presses his lips.

"Just planned ta ride her 'til the wheels came off?"

He turns, at last, to look at her, brow crinkled up with the strangest hint of empathy. It's like he really did expect her to know better, yet now, here they both are.

"Ya should sit back down. We ain't goin' anywhere."

And a head wound will fuck your sense of balance something awful.

[dawn_is_breaking]

Whatever she is expecting, it isn't the giant redheaded man who literally has to bend to get in through the doorway. She's used to dealing with men twice her size, has taken more than her fair share of them down, but this fellow is three, hell maybe four times the size of her and there's no way she'd be able to fight him so she dismisses that thought immediately.

Instead she watches him, warily but also curiously. He has a sort of strange grace that one would not suspect of a man his size, the way he walks across the room and moves to roll up his sleeves doesn't remind her of bodyguards or goons.
It reminds her of a dancer.
Strong, fluid, confident.

But what's probably the most surprising is his voice, it's low, gruff and in a weird way almost conversational.

"You're Irish." She says at last, as if this is somehow important. It isn't, but her brain is having a hard time accepting the situation. She moved away from London over ten years ago, she hasn't heard or been called 'luv' in a very long time and now here it is, that casual little tag, being used in this horrible little room.

When he suggests she sit she doesn't, she stays standing with her back against the wall for support, her chin lifted up in quiet defiance. A long silence stretches between them where she continues to look at him, her dark brown eyes steady and calm.

"So, what now?"

[madaboutit]

"I am." As if he needs to confirm the obvious.

Sweeney pulls down a hand-rolled cigarette from behind his ear, nestling it between his lips. He looks as if he's mulling the question for the length of time it takes the flame to breathe life into the cherry at the end. Metal snaps shut. He takes a long drag, holding it as he starts to speak.

"Ya'll give me more of the silent treatment." Clearly. Sweeney exhales and continues.

"They'll come back in. Ya'll give them the silent treatment. Maybe spit at them if yer feelin' feisty. He'll tell ya ta talk. You'll say 'never'. He'll say it 'it'd be such a pity ta ruin a face as pretty as yers'." Sweeney pauses, the brief raise of his brow silently asking 'sound familiar yet?'.

"He's gonna look ta me an' tell me ta make ya talk. Ya'll give me the piercin' stare of 'not in a million years'." He sucks in a deep breath and narrows his eyes, as if it will help him follow the path of thought.

"They'll bind ya to a chair, an' I'll find somethin' on that table that's gonna be real convincin'. You'll hold out. As long as ya can."

But the end is always the same.

Sweeney sneaks a quick drag, then tips his head.

"So why don't we just skip ta that part without all the unpleasantness?" He doesn't give her the chance to answer before he preemptively lifts his hand, palm towards her and cigarette between two fingers.

"I know, I know." Sweeney's eyes roll towards the ceiling.

"'s why I'm standin' outside'a spittin' range."

[dawn_is_breaking]

Of course it sounds familiar, in a way it's a tale as old as time.
Interrogation, perseverance, a battle of body and wills.

And yet the way he describes the events to come it doesn't sound like he's eager to do it. Nor does it sound condescending, it's not the usual 'do yourself a favor and just give in, sweetheart' kind of spiel that she's heard before. His tone actually sounds rather sincere, like he honestly would prefer not to hurt her and it peaks her curiousity.

"You don't sound very enthusiastic about your job." She comments softly, looking at his hand for a moment before returning to look into his eyes.

"What would you suggest instead? That I play nice and tell them everything they want?" She lifts her own eyebrow at him. "If I do that then they'll just kill me."

[madaboutit]

At her observation, he tips his head in a shrug not brought to fruition. Sweeney doesn't have to be enthusiastic about his job; he just needs to be good at it. And he is.

It'd be nice to be able to tell her that they wouldn't kill her. There's no guarantee that they will; folk in this line of business seem to not have a consistent protocol about it, especially when the party in question has nice tits. They seem to find that shit harder to let go to waste. But at the same time, it's a distinct possibility, and he isn't going to lie to her about it.

Something's itching at him, but he's hesitant to let it loose. Sweeney spends a few second looking at his cigarette without bringing it to his lips. He continues to stare at it when he makes his inquiry.

"What if ya didn't have to?" He swallows. "Would ya tell them what they wanna know, if I could get ya outta here after?"

Sweeney isn't keen on killing folk. Hurting them is one thing, even if it's badly. But that line, it's complicated. Of course, it's not something that can always be avoided. He does make an effort for contingencies though, in case he can manage it. She's just got to meet him in the middle.

[dawn_is_breaking]

There's something strange about him and as he falls silent, staring into the embers of his burning cigarette, she tries to put her finger on it. He seems tired, and suddenly much older than he looks. Older than the man who is apparently his boss, older than Bruce, older than all of them.

It sends a shiver up her spine, goosebumps marbling her ivory white skin and she wraps her arms around herself. His question gives her pause, normally it would be an obvious play, a carrot on a stick. Give someone a little bit of hope and then watch them betray everyone and everything else to save their own skin and yet it doesn't feel like that.

It feels like he's asking her an honest question.

She opens her mouth and at first nothing comes out, part of her demanding that she do as she was trained to do. Stay silent, stay strong and don't give in, but in the end she gives him an honest answer.

"....yes." She says at last, her voice barely above a whisper. There's a hint of relief in her voice, five months ago she might have accepted death willingly, but she is both pleased and a little surprised to suddenly realize that she wants that no longer.

"Why?" Pushing away from the wall she hazards a step closer to him. "Why would you do that for me?"

[madaboutit]

The simple word on her tongue makes his lashes flutter as his gaze darts to her, though the rest of him remains still. He hadn't expected that. Especially so early on. Sweeney had expected it would take hours of this shit to wear her down, if it was manageable at all. But this? It puts a flutter of hope in his chest that he wishes it wouldn't. There are too many moving pieces still ahead. Too much that can change. Too many things that can go wrong. Luck's on his side, but that doesn't make her his bitch, and that means he rarely gets to see her face before she's ready to show it.

The girl's question allows the fluidity back into his body, and he brings the cigarette back to his lips. Sweeney holds the drag, shrugs a shoulder, and exhales, his eyes lingering on her.

"Maybe I just don't fancy killin' pretty, young things just tryin' ta do Right." It's the truth, after all. Perhaps not the whole of it, but plenty enough.

"That so hard ta b'lieve?"

[dawn_is_breaking]

She can feel his eyes on her and it sends a pulse of something through her body, fast and white hot, like a type of electricity. Her stomach tightens and she inhales sharply when their eyes lock for a brief moment. It's not quite attraction she feels, even though he is handsome and built better than any man she's ever met, and it's not fear because Dawn doesn't give in to that easily.

It's power.

A type of power that has nothing to do with his huge size or ability to torture her should it come to that, it's something quieter, more secret. But it is there, lurking beneath the surface of him and it makes her even more curious. Why someone like him would take orders from a mob family.

"A little, yes." She says and moves closer still. "You'd be risking quite a bit if you were to help me, so why else? Are you working for them because you're forced to?"

[madaboutit]

She moves. He doesn't. Sweeney takes another drag.

"I'm workin' fer them 'cause that's the Deal." There's an edge to the word that implies a level of complication. The 'force' thing is a little grey, truth be told. But that's why he tucks as many loopholes as he can into his contracts. He allows himself a moment to look her over appraisingly before his eyes return to hers, yet to blink.

"What is it, exactly, that ya think I've been hired ta do?" His brow lifts, and he taps his ash.

The devil's in the details, after all.

[dawn_is_breaking]

Of course there's a level of complication, there usually is with mob families, but it only serves to make her more curious and she takes a final step that places her right in front of him. She's a petite woman and barely comes up to his chest, but it's here her gaze rests for a moment. Focusing on his huge, broad muscles before slowly moving up to look at his face. Noting the line of his jaw, the heavy brows, the color of his eyes.

Giving him an almost identical look of appraisal.

"I don't know." She says softly, "Part of me wonders if you've been hired at all. Or if you're bound to this family by something or someone."

"You're strange."

[madaboutit]

That observation puts a lopsided curl in his lips, and it makes his dimples sink.

"That I am, luv." Sweeney wets his lip before taking a quick puff. "That I am."

With her so near, he can't resist another dip of his eyes. Not his fault they left her half-dressed. Okay. Less than half. His brow arches when his gaze lifts again.

"That why yer here, with me? Like a touch'a strange?"

There's a cheekiness to it, as if they might be meeting in a bar and not this hellhole with torture implements on the other side of the room. He doesn't mean 'here in the room', but 'here next to me'. Because that? That's her own doing.

[dawn_is_breaking]

Uh-oh.
He has cute dimples.

She's not expecting it or the charmingly cheeky tone and before she can stop it, a smile touches the corners of her lips.

"I guess so." She admits, not really minding how he keeps helping himself to looks of her. "Like calls to like they say, and I've never been good at being normal."

As if that isn't obvious from her career decision to be a vigilante, someone who willingly puts their life on the line for strangers.

[madaboutit]

His brow lifts in quiet amusement. Admittedly, this part of his job rarely involves this kind of interaction. It would be a lie to say it isn't a nice change of pace.

"Luv, folk that do what you do ain't exactly the nine ta five type." Obviously. Who would have the time, if nothing else? "Ya need more ta life that existin'. Ya need ta live ta know yer alive." Such were the kind who used to sustain him. Ambitious. Willing to cut corners and take alternative paths. That shit comes with a Cost and Risk.

"Yer addicted ta the rush." He bends to bring his lips closer to her ear so he can drop his voice in unnecessary privacy. Sweeney's breath is warm on her skin.

"Ya get off on it."

[dawn_is_breaking]

His breath sends another of those pulses down her spine but this one is more clearly actual attraction and her flesh breaks out in goosebumps again and before she can stop herself she shivers. Her nipples going hard against the thin material of her sports bra.

"I..." She starts to say in a hushed tone similar to his even though they are the only ones here. "I tried to quit, twice actually. But I came back to it. Had to."

Even after Hank died and she felt like she couldn't survive she came back and another shiver goes through her body with that admission and she licks her lips, continuing on. "Because of that rush. The feeling I get when I'm fighting someone, when I hear the sound of their bones breaking or the feeling of impact when I land a good solid blow."

"I can feel it in my veins."

She exhales softly, a combination of a sigh and a moan.

[madaboutit]

"Is that what ya want?"

There's almost a purr to the question, and Sweeney shifts to look at her straight on. He keeps bent, however, their faces close and his voice still low.

"Ta hit me?" He tilts his head slightly, brow raised.

"Break me?"

Because that? That could make for a fun time. The questions lack taunting; it's more like a temptation laced along their edges. Her answer will be informative, either way. Sweeney's still making sense of her. She's already surprised him once, so he's reevaluating what he should be expecting.

[dawn_is_breaking]

Being so close to her means she can smell him and yet again he is different than most, there's no heavy cologne or stink of acidic sweat, cheap beer or gunpowder. He smells like mulled spices, whiskey, soil, and grass. It's the scent of something outside this horrible little cell, somewhere with dense trees and lush moss, somewhere quiet and green and free.
It's intoxicating and for a moment she savors it, inhaling deeply as she keeps her eyes locked onto his.

"No." She answers softly, "I'd rather break them." Meaning the men who put her in this room, the ones he works for.

"You..." She pauses and moves her face closer to his, their lips just barely touching. "You I'd rather take home with me."

Assuming she ever gets back to that home but oddly enough she is feeling more and more confident about that, maybe it's the shred of hope he's given her in possibly helping her out of this or maybe it's the talk of breaking bones.

Either way it's put the fight back in her.

[madaboutit]

Yeah, there's that more he didn't expect. Sweeney certainly is complaining. His brow arches invitingly, and he's clearly intrigued by the potential. Of course, it comes with its own complications. Being able to have one's cake and eat it too is rare at best.

"Would ya sacrifice one fer the other?" Sweeney tilts his head in quiet curiosity.

"Would ya give up the chance ta hurt them, ta have me back at yer place?"

Because that? That's easier than the other way around. Realistically, either is possible, but she won't be able to have both.

[dawn_is_breaking]

Dawn opens her mouth to answer but the hard clunk of the lock on the door forces her attention away from Sweeney, breaking the fierce attraction that was building between them and she steps away quickly. The door opens and the older gentleman from before enters, giving her a polite smile.

"Feeling a bit better are we?" He asks, "Good. That means we can try having a little chat."

'Would ya tell them what they wanna know, if I could get ya outta here after?' Sweeney's words whisper in the back of her mind and she swallows her pride and shrugs nonchalantly.

"Fine, but you might not like what I have to say." She says and the man tilts his head slightly.

"Oh?"

"You want to know how I knew about your operations, the first answer is because you're predictable. It's not hard to figure out where a mob family like yours is going to hit, your lot is never exactly creative." She tells him evenly and he chuckles, spreading his hands open in a sort of 'guilty as charged' gesture.

"The second, is that you're a fool."

The man straightens, his eyes glinting dangerously. "I'm sorry?"

"There's someone in your family that is moving against you and he's shooting his mouth off all around town about your operations as a way to sabotage you and bring you down."

"Sweeney. Hold her." He orders, the good humor suddenly dropping out of his face and when she feels Sweeney's hands close over her she doesn't resist.

"Who is it?" He demands, moving in close to look her in the eye.

"Your son. Jorge."

Silence stretches between them where she can see in his eyes that he is trying not to believe her and finally he responds by hitting her across the face. The sharp crack echoing against the dirty walls and she turns her head slightly to spit blood.

"Lying bitch!"

"Why would I lie?" She asks, her voice calm and even and she leans back against Sweeney a little, finding a strange sort of comfort that he is there to help keep her up.

The man doesn't bother answering her with words, instead he hits her across the face again and again and then in the guts. Knocking the wind out of her.

"Tell me who it is." He hisses at her as she coughs and struggles to breathe. "Tell me or I will make Sweeney hurt you so bad you will wish you were dead."

Finally she manages to pull in a breath, exhaling her answer in a sort of tired sigh.

"Jorge."

"Have it your way." The man says and looks at Sweeney, his eyes furious. "Start with her fingers, break them for every wrong answer she gives you. I'll be back in twenty to check on you."

So sorry for the delay; life got away from me

[madaboutit]

At the sound of the door being unlocked, Sweeney pulls a deep drag and flicks the remnants of his cigarette across the room. He exhales out of the corner of his mouth, as to not blow smoke at her. A moment later, they start the dance.

When instructed, a large hand snaps up to catch her by the throat, and the other snatches her hip so he can turn her enough to get her flat against him when he pulls. The size of his hand forces her chin up by default. While his fingers and thumb hook under her jaw to secure her head back, he doesn't constrict her breathing. Though the size difference doesn't put her hands in the ideal location, the firming flesh beneath his trousers presses against her arm and makes it obvious that she wasn't the only one intrigued by the potential of him going home with her. The squirming she does isn't unpleasant either.

Sweeney waits another second after the door locks again before releasing her.

"I ain't gonna break yer fingers," he notes. Sweeney had found that, while it can be effective, a lot of the time, people will make shit up just to stop the pain. It's true for most flavors of torture, and yet...that shit never seems to go out of fashion with the criminal underbelly. He crosses back to the table and pulls a chair in front of it. The protest of metal legs scraping against the floor echoes for a moment. He turns to face her, then tilts his head towards the chair without breaking his locked gaze, implying she should come sit.

"But I'm gonna hav'ta hurt you." The statement is strangely neutral; a fact that's unavoidable but hasn't been fully defined.

ooc: no worries it happens <3

[dawn_is_breaking]

The power she feels in his grip is a little exciting and in a different situation, the one they were talking about just before his boss entered the room, she could see herself begging to feel it. To feel him pick or hold her up and roughly touch her all over. They're such big hands, littered with scars and callouses from years of fighting and it feels good to have them touch her soft skin even if it's to hold her in place for a beating.

When they are left alone again and he moves away to the table she finds herself missing the feeling of being held tight against him, she could feel his half erection nudging against her arm and while her face and stomach are sore from where she was hit the area between her legs is hot and almost pulses with it's desire to feel him.

Pain and pleasure, it's not the first time she's felt it but in a way it's scary how intense she feels it towards this near stranger.

"I know." She sighs and slowly comes over towards the table. "Even though I'm telling the truth you have to placate him in some way."

She sits down, watching him with those big, brown eyes. "Do I get to know how?"

[madaboutit]

He snips her binds before she sits, and he has two fresh zip-ties between his teeth to see her secured to the arms of the chair. Task done, his eyes lift to hers, though he remains hunch over. It leaves their faces close and his voice low.

"F'gured I'd see what ya want." Sweeney tilts his head in a faint shrug.

"Fist or knife; I can swing either." Or both, if that's her fancy. "When they come back in, I'm gonna put a needle in ya an' we're gonna make a point."

Seems generally straightforward; there's just a lot of pain in between.

[dawn_is_breaking]

The ties cut into her flesh a little but she knows it's necessary, as will be the pain, luckily Dawn has a high tolerance for it. A thing she learned not from vigilante work but from years and years of ballet, the ability to endure injuries, pain and levels of exhaustion that would send professional sports players to the hospital and all while still looking poised and perfect.

"I'd prefer fists but if you think you can cut me in ways I won't bleed out then I guess a few of those might help shut him up faster." She says but then pauses, looking up at him anxiously.

"A needle? Full of what?"

[madaboutit]

When she states her preference, Sweeney's eyes lift, and he squints at a tow hook hanging from the ceiling, but her question brings his focus back down to her.

"Belief."

He knows that isn't going to sell it, so he wets his lip, prepared to explain.

"They come back in, see I've been workin' on you." Sweeney tilts his head in turn as he walks through the steps. "I tell 'em yer story hasn't changed. You think they're gonna believe that makes it the truth? Or they just gonna think I need ta work longer? Harder?" His brow lifts.

"Now, I offer another solution. Somethin' that'll make sure yer tellin' the truth. But it's dangerous. Might...well, it might kill you." Sweeney leans in, as if to impart a secret.

"Which is why I don't start with it." He straightens again, his eyes not leaving her.

"Then would you believe me? That I'd squeezed the truth outta you?" And the other side effect, of course.

"An' then, left you, well...in a state in need of disposal." If she looks dead.

[dawn_is_breaking]

It all makes sense, that's the horrible part, the steps he is outlining all make a sort of awful sense and will help get her out of here. It's actually probably the best shot she has and yet the idea of getting shot up with some unknown substance sends a jolt of fear through her, the first that she's felt in this place.

No doubt he can see that fear reflected in her eyes, her pupils dilate and she inhales sharply over a lower lip that trembles. Her mind bringing up memories that never happened, a glimpse of a false future that a demon showed her years ago.

Her and her partner, Hank, in a dark living room. Surrounded by the smell of depression and defeat. She had tried so hard to bring them out of it and in the end the way Hank had wanted to deal with his pain was through drugs. Gently coaxing her to join him, begging her to come feel what he felt and in the end she had agreed and he had slid a needle in her arm.

"I..." She starts to say and then stops to exhale shakily. "I'm scared."

It's not something she likes admitting, usually she was the one who didn't get nervous before a mission or a fight but this, this hits harder.
Closer to home.

[madaboutit]

Sweeney takes a slow breath, then drops to one knee, his abdomen less than a foot from hers. It lets their eyes meet more comfortably; he doesn't have to look up to her by any stretch, but there are on a more level field.

"That's natural," he answers as gently as he can when providing such a blunt truth. "An' I'm not gonna lie ta you an' say ya shouldn't be. But I will tell ya that what makes it so dangerous--what would put you at the risk of death--is user error." His brow lifts slightly.

"Did ya know that a simple puff of air can cause an aneurysm if it's injected inta the bloodstream? It's why ya see folk flick the tips an' push 'til it comes out smooth." Sweeney urges back up to standing and goes to collect a small case from his bag. He kneels again, then opens it and sets it on her lap. Inside, secured neatly, are a couple of capped syringes, alcohol wipes, and two bottles of clear liquid.

If she stays still enough, he goes through the process methodically for her to watch. Uncapping the needle and pressing it into the bottle. Plunger pulled back, syringe raised. He flicks the tip and pushes the plunger until the the liquid squirts freely. Then he puts the cap back on and holds it up for her to examine.

"All ya gotta do is say 'yes'."

They can still do this the hard way and hope for the best.

[dawn_is_breaking]

She can feel her fear trying to rise up, to bloom into a panic that will not help her or the situation but then he kneels down and just his close presence does a lot to help calm her. His eyes and voice gentle but honest and she exhales again, watching as he goes through and explain the process.

His huge hands move smoothly and confidently through the steps and it's obvious he's done this before, a fact that should probably worry her since it could mean he's done this to actually kill people but it doesn't.
Because she knows she can trust him.

It sounds insane, and her old team mates would probably think she was just grasping at straws because she is desperate to live but somehow she knows that he's being honest with her. That he will help her, she just has to trust and believe this will work.

"Okay." She whispers and swallows what feels like a huge lump in her throat, "But before you rough me up and then stick me with that I need you to do something for me."

Her dark brown eyes look up into his, still scared but also gentle and warm.

"Kiss me."

[madaboutit]

He barely has time for the relief her agreement brings to suffuse into his expression before her terms bring one eyebrow up to arch neatly. Sweeney certainly wasn't expecting it, but as far as 'last requests' go, it could be worse. Or more unusual.

With nimble fingers, he gets the case closed and set to the side, his eyes having never left hers. Sweeney tilts his head and sucks his lip as her regards her, like he can already taste her there. Then he swallows and leans in, closing the distance enough that she can feel the warmth of his breath as the silence hangs. Finally, he breaks it, his voice low.

"You wanna be loose fer it?"

It's her Want; she deserves it fulfilled, given her leap of faith. And he's going to have to retie her anyways.

[dawn_is_breaking]

He leans in so close she can smell his skin, feel the warmth of his breath and the way it makes her own tingle and she nods. Licking her lips unconsciously before speaking softly.

"Yes."

She's putting everything on the line with this crazy plan and if it all goes tits up she doesn't want her last moments to be out of her control. She wants to be free, free to make a last request and free to experience some kind of sweetness.

[madaboutit]

Without further comment, he leans away and collects the case from where he'd set it. Sweeney stands and returns to the table, putting it down and trading it for some snips. Ones that are well-suited for cutting off fingertips.

He shifts his attention to her and bends down to cut each zip-tie loose in turn. His gaze remains on the task, and he doesn't come in contact with her skin when he makes quick work of it. Putting the snips in his pocket, he straightens and takes half a step back to give her some room, then offers her a large hand, outstretched with palm up, should she wish to take it. Sweeney won't be insulted if she doesn't. He is about to beat the shit out of her. It makes for a complicated situation.

[dawn_is_breaking]

His hand is so big that it practically swallows her own when she takes it, but she does and her grip is firm, confident and she uses the momentum of standing to help push herself up and towards him. Stepping lightly into his space and rising up onto the very tips of her toes in order to hook her other arm around his neck and pull herself up to kiss him.

It stings at first due to the blows Sweeney's boss delivered but that fades quickly and then it is nothing but sweetness and she presses in more. Kissing him fully and without any hesitation, her mouth opening slightly to encourage him to taste her. She knows that he's going to hurt her which is why she needs him to kiss her first, to show her warmth and desire in order to give her something to hang onto when the pain starts.

[madaboutit]

OH.

That, he was not expecting. Sweeney figured it would be on him to initiate the kiss, as if to properly give one. But he doesn't mind her taking it instead. The next surprise is the shape of the thing. He'd figured she'd want something passionate and hungry; a kiss to bolster her against what was to come. A precursor to the violence, just in a nicer shape. That's not what this is.

Sweeney bends down to make the task easier, cradling the back of her head and supporting her back beneath her shoulder blades so there isn't as much strain on any arching she might be left doing. His mouth answers in kind, ready to dance to her lead as he sorts out what the fuck is going on here. The tip of his tongue meets hers warmly, and he accents the sentiment with a soft suck of her lip.

There's no rush to be done with the act. If this is her proverbial last meal, he wants her to savor every morsel.

[dawn_is_breaking]

Dawn isn't really the type to wait for what she wants and as strange as it might sound, she wants Sweeney.

She wants him physically but what's more surprising is the realization that if and when she is free of this place she wants to know him in other ways. She's incredibly curious about him and wants to know how he came over from Ireland and found himself as part of this mob family, why he stays, but most of all she wants to know who he is as a person.

It's the same kind of immediate attraction that she had with Dick, a spark that was ignited through battle and connected them in a way that lasted for years.

Which might explain why this kiss is something he didn't expect, that it seems to be something a little more than just a base need born from fear. That there's a flicker of emotion in the way she kisses him, a genuine affection that is mixed in with the way she presses her body against his and tongues him deeper. Her one hand slides down to cradle his cheek as the other moves into his hair, her short nails dragging against his scalp as she moans softly.

[madaboutit]

It's a strange thing, the way she feels against him. There's the absurdity of the thing, obviously; tenderness a stark contrast to the violence that will follow, but there's the sensation somewhere in the back of his mind that she's running away from something by running towards something else. He's increasingly suspicious that the latter something is him. Sweeney doesn't know what to think about that. So he doesn't.

Instead, there's only the warmth of her mouth and soft skin that's all too available. The way she presses against him only gets his prick back on track to where her squirming had started to lead. But then her hands are in his hair, and it puts them both at risk of him tugging at the the reins of his crisp shirt and fitted vest. There's an animal beneath them, and it catches a whiff of temptation.

The growl is so low it barely rides more than air, but with a sudden bend and twist, he hooks one forearm under her hips and the other against her back to support her as he easily lifts her straight up. She can wrap her legs if she wants, but it's not required. Sweeney just turns and takes a step to set her ass on the cold, metal table, next to his bag of pain and the case that holds her salvation. Then it's his hands in her hair, chasing after her with increasing hunger.

ooc: sorry for the wait, had to deal with my cat getting dental surgery XP

[dawn_is_breaking]

A little gasp escapes Dawn's throat as Sweeney lifts her up as if she weighed nothing more than a handful of feathers but her body responds instinctively and she wraps her legs around him tightly, his bold behavior pushing her desire from tenderness towards a deep hearty arousal again.

She moans softly when his hands dig into her hair, she's always loved the feeling of people playing with it and her white blonde locks slip through his huge hands like ocean waves. She can feel his hunger, not to mention his growing erection and moves to meet it, licking into his mouth as her hips start to move against his.

Her hands meanwhile slide down the back collar of his shirt, touching warm skin and the plains of his large shoulder muscles. God, he's just so big everywhere and she shivers at the mental image that calls up. Of what he must look like fully naked and pushed deep inside her.

I'm so sorry for *my* delay; I hope your kitty is doing better

[madaboutit]

A kiss. Just a kiss. That was the arrangement.

Sweeney knows he needs to stop; there's a critical threshold that once he passes, there will be no truncating of his own volition. Even so, his breath trembles when she grinds against him. Fuck, how he wants to be inside her. He does his best not to ponder too hard on his fixation; she's gorgeous and half-naked, writhing up on him. Surely, there's nothing about the infliction of pain to come or the desperation in her eyes that feed into that craving.

Danger strides closer as his touch starts to wander, finding the bra binding her chest. Even though his hand holds her beneath her arm, the span of it allows his thumb to rub over the nipple trapped beneath the fabric. Sweeney reminds himself he can't take her clothes off. No, he shouldn't take them off. Then he'll only have to put them back on for the next part, and that's simply impractical.

Right?

He is, screaming for food like always XD

[dawn_is_breaking]

It's hard to keep things at just a kiss when he stirs a passion inside her she hasn't felt for a long time and when he rubs his thumb over her nipple he'll find it already hard from arousal. Her heart is beating fast and she wonders if he can feel it through her breasts which feel full and ache to have his warm hands all over them.

Her whole body aches for his and she would be lying if she said she wasn't thinking about reaching down to undo his trousers and have him fuck her right here and now but somehow that feels like a dying man's last request and she wants more than that. She wants to savor the feeling of him inside her, to be able to relax and fully pleasure one another and not worry if they have enough time before his boss comes back. She wants their sex to be a celebration not a last rite.

Slowly her hips stop grinding against him and she moves her hands up to comb through his thick red hair, her kisses becoming softer and sweeter again.

"Sweeney." She finally speaks his name and pulls back a little to look up into his face, her dark brown eyes looking into his as she strokes his hair.

"Can you tell me your first name?"

[madaboutit]

When she starts to pull back, Sweeney's first instinct is to chase her. It's not aggressive so much as he just doesn't understand they're changing gears, and he is still very much in the Want phase of things. He's starting to catch on and ease up by the time she uses his name. That sobers him significantly.

Sweeney leans his head back, blinking purposefully as he swallows. For a few seconds, he doesn't understand how she even knows it, but then he recalls her initial discussion with his employer. Right. Okay. His hand drifts from her hair, but he doesn't lower it completely.

The topic is a complicated one for any faerie; names hold power, and he's learned that giving his up can have very undesirable consequences. Honestly, in the moment, he's trying to figure out why it would matter to her. Is she just looking for a distraction to slow them down, or would it actually be meaningful to her?

"An' why do ya wanna know that, luv?" he murmurs, his eyes pulling her into focus.

[dawn_is_breaking]

"Because I'd like to know the name of the man who is willing to try and save me." She says softly as her hand drifts down to gently trace the lines of his face.

"And the man I want to welcome into my bed when all this is over."

[madaboutit]

The touch on his face doesn't distract from his unblinking gaze, though he doesn't shun it either. The idea is a welcome one; not the name but the bed, warm with her in it. She'll be bloody and bruised, but that's the cost of doing business. He'll make sure she has the time to rest and recover.

"An' what if I told ya Sweeney was the whole of the thing?" His head tilts slightly.

"Would ya still moan it in my ear?"

[dawn_is_breaking]

Some people might squirm under such intense eye contact but Dawn finds his eyes fascinating, there's something in them that is so different than anyone else's and she could stare into them for hours.

"Yes, I'd also cry it out loud all night long." She says, her lips curving up into a warm, beautiful smile. "But I suspect there's more to you than just that one name."

[madaboutit]

"Mm." The hum is low as he considers her.

You have no idea.

Sweeney comes to a decision, and with a quick lick of his lip, he offers an alternative.

"I rather you give me a name. Somethin' just fer us."

That makes it sacred, in its own way. Names have power. They can be a source of the divine if wielded well. Honestly, he rather her just not be crying out a name that comes with a lot of baggage wrapped in a bastardization of something the English refused to pronounce. But he'd accept it, if she'd accept him. That said, he hopes she accepts his request instead.

"Would you offer me such a name? One fer yer lips alone?" His eyes can't help but take a quick detour to said lips, accenting his sentiment.

[dawn_is_breaking]

That isn't the response she is expecting at all and a surprised but beautiful laugh escapes her lips, a bright spot in this dark place and she feels warmth bloom inside her chest. His request is charming, romantic and if it was anyone else but him she'd suspect it as a sly way to avoid giving his full name but she knows differently. She doesn't know how, but she does.

"Yes." She says, a smile still playing at the corners of those lips he seems so taken by and then falls silent as she considers what to call him. It has to be something special, something unique as he is.

Unique.
Like his eyes.

Her mind whispers and she looks into them again, falling into their depths with a small shiver. They're the eyes of someone who has seen more than any, more pain and joy and yet has found a way to endure.

"Cian." She says softly, pronouncing it easily and correctly since she grew up in England and heard more than her fair share of Irish names. This one in particular she remembers her grandfather mentioning because it was associated with myths and legends, 'a powerful and ancient name' he had said and even then she had been intrigued at the idea that a name could hold so much history.

"Cian." She repeats and leans in to kiss him softly. "My name is Dawn."

[madaboutit]

"Course it is," he answers with a hint of private amusement. Given his affinity with the sun, it seems a little too serendipitous. "I 'ppreciate yer gift." It's really more of a trade; a name for a name, but that's a complication he's not looking to get into.

He bends to give her another kiss, soft enough to border on tender. When he breaks it, he only pulls back a few inches.

"You ready ta get to it then?"

Last meal having been eaten.

[dawn_is_breaking]

That warmth spreads out from her chest to the rest of her body when he kisses her softly and while she'd love to just keep this up all day she knows they can't. There's business to attend to and she exhales slowly, steeling herself for what is going to follow.

"Yes."

Came back home with covid, and I'm so far behind. I'm sorry.

[madaboutit]

Time to get to work. The word is barely off her lips before he twists just enough to get his hand in his bag. Sweeney retrieves a coil of rope and starts to unfurl it with a snap of his wrist. He much prefers rope for actual suspension; zip ties cut too deep, and tend to keep a subject's focus up on their wrists instead of Sweeney's words.

He snatches her hands with cold precision. It's likely she would have just offered if he'd asked, but his thoughts are running ahead of him as he tries to plan, and it doesn't leave a lot of extra room for niceties. Nimble fingers have her bound in a knot that is probably a bit more than needed, but Sweeney knows it will support her weight without slipping.

With a quick tug, he urges her beneath the hook hanging from the ceiling.

"Deep breath," he instructs, but he doesn't wait before cupping the space between her hands and lifting her straight off the ground like she's a bag of feathers. The other hand guides the hook in place. Task completed, he eases his hand away, leaving her hanging free. Only then do his eyes seek hers again.

"I'm gonna punch you in the face. It bleeds a lot, an looks good fer the show." The explanation is straightforward, almost perfunctory. "Might end up breakin' yer nose, but I'll save yer teeth."

Realistically, she only has so much real estate in her face, and he has big hands. He'll do his best, but some things can't be helped.

"You want it at the start, or towards the end?" There will be other punches, obviously. But he's leaving it to her to decide when she'll take the one most likely to be distracting in the intensity of its pain.

Omg I'm so sorry to hear that, no rush on our thread. Rest up and take care of yourself <33

[dawn_is_breaking]

The sudden shift in his demeanor is a little jarring, his movements are still just as smooth but there's a cold calculation to them that sends a shiver down her spine. He's obviously a man who knows his work and is good at it.

She moves when he tugs at her to follow, taking a deep breath per his instruction and a moment later she is being lifted to hang off the hook. It's uncomfortable but not unbearable thanks to her years of training and gymnastics work, not that she wants to hang up here all day but hopefully they can get through this before the ropes start to dig into her skin too badly.

Then again, even if that does happen it will be the least painful process about this.

"I understand." She says, secretly hoping that he doesn't break her jaw either. She knows he could, he's absolutely massive.

His question is strangely courteous and she has to consider it for a moment, trying to judge her pain tolerance which is thankfully pretty high.

"Towards the end." She says at last, high tolerance or not this is still going to be hard.