Each button is loosened in turn, and by the time he's halfway up, Sweeney's leaned more weight into the bed. When he finally finishes with the buttons, he takes his time sliding the shirt of his shoulders and tosses it carelessly behind him. Task done, the other knee finds its way onto the bed, and he crawls up enough to straddle her knees.

His eyes remain fixed and unblinking as he slides each of his braces off in turn. Pausing his efforts, he lowers his face that he might run a warm line up her abdomen with the tip of his tongue. Sweeney sits back on his heels and peels the tank off over his head. Casting it away carelessly, be bends forward to hands and knees, hovering over her as he moves up further. He stops where he straddles her waist, looking down at her. His voice is gravel wrapped in silk.

"The buttons are yers." To unfasten. The row is presented with easy access, and with the swell of the fabric, it's clear he's plenty eager underneath, not undergarments to restrict him.