Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

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[shieldofrohan]

"I could hardly do so when I was hale and whole," she retorts, and his smile is reflected in hers, at least for a moment. She softens, and shakes her head. "I am only glad that he survived. I thought that surely he had fallen."

And it had grieved her more, in some ways, than anything else. It was her doing that he had been on that battlefield, that he had come so far - and she cannot regret it, but it would have been a great weight on her if it had led to the Halfling's death.

[whattheydefend]

For a moment Faramir is perfectly balanced between impatient desire and a tenderness that demands to be savored, as she frames his face and kisses him in return. A moment of being poised.

"Is this what you imagined, when you thought of it?"
Another kiss, a sweet teasing pull of her lips with his. He will not tease for much longer, but after so much time spent anticipating this night he is oddly reluctant to rush into it headlong. His free hand lifts and strokes her hair, follows the errant strands down her chest and back to her breast, which he once again takes in hand. He breaks the kiss and pulls away a few inches, enough that she can see his smile. "And you need not tell me you thought of it, for I know you did, my shieldmaiden."

[whattheydefend]

"I am glad to know you trust me to walk the few feet from this doorway to my bed without going astray," he says wryly, looking at her sideways. "And I thank you for your escort, without which I might have ended in a fishpond by mistake."

When she removes her hand he catches it quickly in his, looks serious once more. He has already thanked her--he can never thank her enough--must do something to show her what her company this night meant to him, even if certain of his instincts in this moment are better ignored.

Slowly, he lifts her hand and kisses the back of it, as he did that morning--an Age ago, he feels, given all that has passed since. This time it is less a courtly gesture, less perfunctory, entirely heartfelt and reverent. "Sleep well, Èowyn," he says quietly, his lips brushing the back of her fingers as he lowers her hand. Only then does he release her and step back. "I will look for you in the morning, if I may." A brief, rueful smile flickers across his face. "Or more likely in the afternoon."

[freo]

Èowyn combs her fingers through his hair with one hand, breathing a throaty little noise into the kiss when he cups her breast once more.

"You know me so well," she murmurs back in a fond tease once they part, smiling as well. "It is far more than I ever could have imagined it being. Far more wondrous. Though... I did imagine you touching me just like this." She brushes her fingers over the back of his hand that is laying claim to her breast indicatively. Wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she goes on a little breathlessly, eyelids growing heavy, "And then, replacing your hand with your mouth."

[freo]

Èowyn stifles a laugh at his wryness and wit-- fishpond, indeed! Determinedly, she does not imagine such a scene for fear of bursting into helpless peals of laughter. But her amusement flees swiftly when he captures her hand in his, his own expression now solemn. She's distantly aware that her lips have parted to draw in a deep, silent breath as he lifts her hand to his lips; same gesture as this morning, and yet so vastly different. Her skin seems to tingle under the warm press of his mouth that lingers reverently-- dare she say, longingly?

Then he steps back, and she feels momentarily adrift. Nodding her agreement belatedly, distracted and abashed both by the touch, Èowyn clears her throat slightly before smiling gamely. "I shall look forward to it, then," she says mercifully, instead of a teasing quip. Her smile softening, she bids, "Good night, Faramir."

Gathering the mantle closely about herself, she gives him one last look and a small smile before turning, resisting the urge to glance back as she makes her way to her own room. Once there, it takes her a long while to fall asleep again, but she slumbers until morning without disturbance; though her thoughts turn almost immediately to Faramir when she awakens a few hours after dawn. She breaks fast in her room and preoccupies herself with various tasks until afternoon tea-- consciously or no, knowing Faramir is unlikely to be up and about earlier.

She takes her tea in the garden atrium, the blue mantle drawn about her shoulders and a closed book lying on her lap, going ignored in favor of a cup of steaming tea; for once, her hair is not unbound but done up in neat coils at the back of her head. Her maid had been reluctant to put it up, but Èowyn had insisted. If anyone asked, she'd vehemently deny waiting for anyone, but she is most definitely doing just that.

[whattheydefend]

His smile widens, and he kisses her briefly one more time before moving down on the bed, kissing along her jaw and neck and upper chest, into the valley between her breasts. He looks up, his smile tinged briefly wicked, and very, very lightly kisses her nipple, then begins cirling the rest of her breast with open-mouthed kisses, while his hand continues to caress and tease the other breast, so neither is neglected.

When his mouth finds her nipple again he kisses it once more, less lightly; then he suckles, flicking his tongue against the hard nub there, glancing up to see her reaction. "Like this?" he murmurs before continuing.

[whattheydefend]

He watches her walk away, the way moonlight from hallway windows catches on the blue mantle, tangles in her hair, until she turns a corner and is gone. Only then does he seek out his room.

Try as he might, the weight of the day hits him again at once, for all that he resolutely thinks of other things. Faramir is an old hand at making himself sleep even when his mind would have it otherwise; it is a trick most soldiers learn. And he does sleep before very long, exhaustion and wine make that certain.

But he does not sleep well, and his dreams are dark. As a result he wakes earlier than he should, with a raging headache and an all-over ache that reminds him too pointedly he is recovering from poison and a weakening fever. He calls for water, food, and for the Warden of the House. All three arrive in haste, and the Warden makes his displeasure most clear. Faramir answers with mroe authority than good grace, though he explains the outline of the situation to the Warden, who is not unfamiliar with grief. But the Warden wins the argument by reminding Faramir that his actions affect others, and that Èowyn and Merry, themselves still healing, were much troubled by his absence; surely the Steward, however careless he might be with his own health, would not wish them to damage themselves with concern for him?

An unexpected shot, but one that hits dead in the back, Faramir thinks ruefully. Èowyn herself may or may not realize where his interest lies, but clearly it is obvious to others. He is too honest a man for subterfuge. After that he accepts his chiding more meekly, and agrees to return to bed after his meal and not rise again until the afternoon.

He sleeps better with the sun on his face, and remembers no dreams, but wakes disheartened all the same. It is mostly the thought of seeing Èowyn that causes him to leave his bed and dress, formally but with more care for warmth, and he walks more slowly than he has for the past several days, looks more pale.

But it is not hard to find someone to inform him where the Lady of Rohan is, and the smiling apprentice offers to bring the two of them hot tea and sustenance in some little time, and if there is a slight knowing edge to her smile, Faramir chooses to ignore it. Not good at subterfuge, indeed. Small wonder his father, whose subtlety of thought was deep and legendary, could not approve of him.

A passing thought that makes him wince, and Faramir forces it aside as he takes the last steps into the atrium. The crown of golden coils is easily spotted, and raises his eyebrows, for it is the first time she has done such during her time here. Formality, armor, or something else? "Good afternoon, my lady," he says quietly, approaching from behind and taking a seat near her, sinking into it with obvious relief. "You see that I still have not fallen into a fishpond. Though I make no promises for the rest of the afternoon."

Light words, lighter than he feels, but that is all the more reason to utter them.

[freo]

So lost in thought Èowyn is, staring out without seeing anything, that she startles the slightest bit at Faramir's greeting, quiet as it is. Internally scolding herself for her inattentiveness, she sets aside her half-empty cup on the small tray set up next to the bench and looks up just in time to see the strain on his face, clearly relieved to be off his feet. She's seen a similar look many a time before in riders coming out of a long campaign, consumed by soreness and an ache of the whole body. Concern pierces at her heart, even as his gently jesting words draw a small smile from her, following his lead for a moment and choosing a lighter response.

"Is there a fishpond to be found in these gardens? Perhaps it needs guards about it, not unlike the White Tree itself, to stave off such incident."

She is glad to see him dressed more warmly today, but at the same time worries about the need of it; he looks pale and worn down, yesterday's news no doubt weighing him down, setting back his recovery. But Èowyn expected no less, for all that seeing it with her own eyes now leaves her ill at ease. The urge to put forth some tangible form of sympathy is strong, and she does not stop herself from reaching out a hand to touch gently at his sleeve in wordless offering; there for him to take, if he wishes.

"How fare you?" she asks with quiet sincerity, though she already guesses at the answer.

[freo]

Èowyn's lips curve into a smile of her own, even through the light kiss, a tiny shiver rippling down her body as Faramir begins his descent. She hums softly her enjoyment as his mouth rains kisses down her neck and chest, her breathing picking up slightly. That downright roguish smile makes her breath catch, though it's the kiss to her pebbled nipple that truly makes her gasp-- and sigh again when he presses warm, slightly damp kisses across the soft flesh around. It is all so very pleasant, his free hand tending to her opposite breast diligently. She thinks she begins to see what all the fuss is about...

But then Faramir latches on and suckles, all wet, warm suction around the sensitive nub of flesh, and it's like a lash from a whip; only white-hot pleasure rather than pain. A sharp cry of pleasure spills from Èowyn's lips and her head goes back, arching her neck and digging the back of her head into the plush bedding and pillows underneath.

"Oh! Oh, yes-- like that," she exults amid a breathy laugh of sensual delight, her fingers running through his hair and stroking down his shoulders; touching, gripping. Unconsciously, her body writhes restlessly under his tender onslaught, yearning for more still. "By all the gods, don't stop..."

[theywhowait]

He laughs in delight as he catches her, kissing back with equal enthusiasm.

"That is well, for I love thee, my match in all ways and completer of my joy."

[theywhowait]

"A-ah! N-no. True it is that.. one should investigate... thoroughly. If the lady would...not mind a little experimentation!"

[whattheydefend]

When she cries out and arches beneath him, any desire on Faramir's part to hold back and not rush instantly vanishes. He groans against her skin, his motions suddenly becoming more urgent, sucking harder, squeezing her other breast more firmly. When the sounds she makes go up in pitch he switches, paying just as fervent attention to the other breast, scrapping his teeth over the nipple as he suckles her. Every cry she utters is music, shoots through him with a sweet, painful intensity, firing down to his groin.

She tugs at his hair and he draws in a low, ragged breath. "This--" he manages, somewhere between kisses and suction and gasps. "This is what I imagined, you writhing in pleasure under me, because of me--"

He surges back up and captures her mouth again, his tongue plunging in, breathing her in like air. "For months, Èowyn, for a year, every night..." His hand strokes over her breasts, down her abdomen, cups the mound between her thighs.

[whattheydefend]

He smiles a little at her for the question, his eyes resting on her face with pleasure. "Not in these. As you must have guessed, or else we would have found it by now." They have surely wandered every inch of the gardens these past days, two or three times over. "There are in other areas of the city, however, and a large fountain on the seventh circle. Though I am not sure any still contain any fish."

Food supplies are not low, precisely, but all the city has been on siege rations for some time, and if none are hungry neither is anyone sated. Faramir suspects any ornamental fish will have been turned into dinner, if only by feral cats. Truthfully, he does not begrudge the loss.

"But there are no guards to be spared for water fishponds, so I will live yet in risk." Unless you should guard my steps again, he wants to say, but it crosses the line from jest into truth a little too far for this morning. Perhaps it is merely the strangeness of regrouping after such a painfully intimate interlude last night; perhaps it is how different she looks with her hair bound up. More regal, certainly, and elegant. But Faramir thinks wistfully that he rather prefers it down.

Then Èowyn leans over and touches his sleeve in obvious concern, and some of that awkward feeling of distance dissipates. He reaches over to grasp her hand, smiling at her again, and if it is a little pained...well.

He must consider for a moment before answering, and finally shrugs. "In truth, I hardly know," he admits, his voice low. "Better in some ways, worse in others..."

Faramir hesitates, then rubs his forehead with his free hand and even more quietly says, "My father's authority weighs more heavily now that I know how it came to me."

[withoutswords]

She laughs a little, giddy at his distraction. "How many times must I say 'yes' before you take me at my word?"

[withoutswords]

"Faramir, my Faramir." She caresses his face, radiant as she looks at him. "I love thee, my match in all ways and the wellspring of my delight."

[theywhowait]

"How blessed I am, we are, how fortunate." He kisses her softly, deeply, reaching up to draw her to him. "Oh Eowyn! I am so happy it feels as if I might burst from joy."

[theywhowait]

"Well," He manages breathlessly. "One must make sure that you are aware of my inexperience, of course. Here? Now?"

[withoutswords]

"Anywhere." She turns his face back to hers, kissing his mouth once more. "Here and now under Eru's sky, or tonight in Aldburg on a mattress. Or both."

[withoutswords]

"Do not, beloved." She leans up just a little, enough to smile down at him. "For surely you would not be so unkind as to leave me without a husband, or your unborn babe without a father."

[theywhowait]

"Well," He murmurs agains the kisses, hands fiddling shly with her laces.

"Practice makes perfect, they say..."

[theywhowait]

"Good point." He pats her stomach.

"Ignore father being a silly, little one." He stretches a little and pulls her close.

"I will refrain from bursting, and content myself with feeling smug and pleased with my good fortune to have my very lovely wife in my arms."

[freo]

Èowyn chuckles softly at his initial determination. "If anything is true, it is that." She thinks they might be able to name the placement of each stone, plant and a blade of grass to be found in these gardens. And truthfully, she has never really understood the point of fishponds to begin with, for they seem, well... wasteful? So really, it is no significant loss. "Then, perhaps our incarceration here is a blessing in disguise-- if only to keep you from straying into any ponds, fish or no fish."

It is a wan jest, though, soon giving way to a sigh as she gently squeezes his hand in hers.

"Oh, Faramir. I am truly sorry." There is such empathy in her voice, wishing she could do something more tangible to ease his torment and consternation, hating that pain that laces his smile and glints in his gaze. But she knows there is no such magic that she can wield to make the things that haunt Faramir go away. Perhaps nothing but time could. She's quiet for a beat. "I hope the Warden was not too wroth with you."

[freo]

Èowyn feels like she's going to burst; her body is on fire, her skin a size too small to contain the swirling, burgeoning pleasure that is swiftly overtaking her, spreading from her breasts and spilling along the laylines of her body ever southward until settling between her thighs as a dull, aching throb that matches her heartbeat. The world around her ceases to exist, shrinking to a sharp focus; all she sees and hears and feels is Faramir, his touch and his groans and his hot breath on her skin. She desperately needs more of him or she might just expire, she thinks.

She moans loudly at his almost desperate caresses, easily matching her own mood, and his ragged, heated words; she'd faint into a swoon at them if she wasn't already lying down -- imagining him, imagining this; and her, like this. It's so carnal and sultry she shudders at the mere thought.

She hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes, only becoming aware of it when she opens them heavily as Faramir leaves her chest alone, catching a glimpse of the intensity written across his expression as he claims her lips for a fervent kiss. Moaning again, she kisses back with hunger of her own, nails of one hand biting into his back and the other tugging at his hair -- she finds she likes touching and holding onto it, in this situation.

"Show me," she pants heavily, a bit of a whimper escaping her when his roughened palm strokes down her body again. "Show me all of it, I--"

Another cry overtakes words when his palm boldly cups her where she's grown wet and burning hot, her back arching off the bedding a little as the gentle pressure and warmth of his hand alone feel amazing, her eyes slamming shut again at the sensation. "Oh, Faramir...!"

[withoutswords]

She chuckles but willingly uses him as a pillow, resting her head on his chest and settling herself in his arms. "A difficult task indeed. I wonder how my lord will manage such a challenge."

[withoutswords]

"I am as inexperienced as you, my lord, and as much in need of practice." This dress laces in the back, so she cannot help him, but instead tugs at where his shirt is tucked into his trousers, loosening it until she can slide a hand under and splay it against his bare back. "And there is no one else with whom I would learn."