Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

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Brilliant ideas and clueless flailing all welcome.
AUs and cross-canon, drama and comedy and shipping.
Just throw stuff at me. It's all good.

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[freo]

"Oh," Èowyn utters again on the heels of Faramir's explanation, this time mildly chagrined. "I had no idea. Perhaps I ought to apologize to the maid, then. I thought she was simply being silly."

The mild stab of mortification soon transforms into wry amusement, and she huffs a tiny breath of laughter at her own expense. "Now I cannot help but wonder how many Gondorian customs I have unwittingly slighted already."

[whattheydefend]

Nienna's mercy, she learns quickly. It is different, very different from touching himself. Her fingers are more slender, calloused in different ways from his, her grip less firm, the pace slower than he would choose...mostly it is different because it is Èowyn's hand rather than his own, and the knowing that makes his head spin.

For a rare period of selfishness, Faramir simply lies back and lets himself enjoy the sensation, secure in the knowledge that she is content to be discovering what pleases him. His breathing becomes more ragged, his chest and face more flushed, and sometimes his grip on her shoulder tightens, or he wets his lips, his throat moving as he gasps. "If this is but a start, Èowyn..." The sentence is left unfinished as her hand tightens a little more, and he groans, his hips moving in time with her thrusts.

[whattheydefend]

"Perhaps," he agrees. "But you are not of Gondor, and are in the Houses of Healing besides. This is hardly a place where formal court etiquette is required--and even if it were, your own traditions should be honored as well. So whether your hair is up or loose has no siginificance, beyond practicality or beauty?"

Yes, he is actually interested. Partly because he wishes to know about Rohirric customs--and his motivations there are better left unsaid for now--but also he simply is interested in other cultures and their symbolism in general.

[freo]

Èowyn shakes her head a little with a small, helpless smile; again, she has to wonder at his forbearance and understanding. "No significance, no. I am trying to remember if Morwen brought any such traditions from the country of her birth with her, but am coming up short. Ours can be a harsh land and my folk pride themselves on practicality and straightforwardness above all else-- in all things."

There are traditions not related to personal grooming she could tell him about, certainly, but mostly they revolve around certain holidays or courtship-- not a subject she's that comfortable broaching with him.

"That is not to say we do not have some customs that, speaking frankly, must seem foolish to outsiders, but those often have to do with horses." Her smile grows a little crooked. "Much to your utter surprise, I am certain."

[freo]

Èowyn laughs softly at his words, grinning slightly to herself at the sight of her husband's obvious pleasure. "I take that to mean I am being an apt student," she teases, as if she cannot see the wonderful result that her efforts have wrought.

She keeps a close eye on Faramir's reactions, paying attention to what makes him groan and grasp her shoulder tighter, what has his hips bucking harder-- obligingly, she tightens her grip around his shaft and quickens her pace a little. It only feels natural to add a swipe of her thumb, brushing the head of his cock with the digit on every upstroke. It seems to her he is fully hard now, as he was when they joined bodies a moment ago, the transformation magnificent to her; she sighs her own joy at being able to give him this. He is not the only one affected, for wet heat is gathering at the apex of her thighs as she watches his enjoyment, a nameless ache coiling deep within her belly. Yet, she is too caught up in bringing Faramir pleasure to consider her own or to think of stopping-- she will no doubt keep going until he tells her otherwise.

[freo]

"I am glad," she says softly, her smile even softer. Of course she is happy to know any and all family that Faramir has left; especially ones he thinks so highly of. Too, she looks forward to making his family hers as well through their marriage. When Faramir speaks of his cousins, Èowyn laughs once more.

"Do not worry, Èomer and Théodred saw to it that I grew up with a thick skin for some teasing! To say nothing of returning fire. Perhaps we should recruit the dear hobbits to our cause regardless? It does not hurt to be prepared, after all."

For all her usual bluntness, let it not be said she cannot be cunning, too! She purses her lips some and dips her chin, attempting to hold back her mirth that nonetheless sparkles in her eyes and tugs at her lips. "I confess I was hoping your cousins might tell me of any embarrassing stories from your youth that you might have kept secret from me thus far."

This is a headcanon I have I am sorry except not really.

[whattheydefend]

"That is unfair, lady." His eyes twinkle at her. "And unwise, for it will prompt me to retaliate in kind, and uncover tales of your own youthful misadventures. Your brother has already warned me of once when you were wroth with him, and put slugs in his armor..."

[withoutswords]

If his hands had an effect, his mouth has a much greater one. Her breathing becomes ragged and quick as his mouth brushes along her collar and upper chest, down to the curve of her breast. Éowyn's hand slides up his back as he moves downwards, and her fingers scrape lightly against the back of his neck.

[whattheydefend]

Another broken moan is the only answer she gets, but no doubt it is a sufficient one. They have found a pace now, a rhythm that seems to be suiting them both, and the way she moves her thumb in addition to the rest is breathtaking and it would be so easy, so very, very easy to let her continue, or to join his hand to hers so that they might finish him together...

But that is not what he wants, so with another groan, this time one of some frustration, he reaches down and stops her wrist, sitting up. "Not...not like this." He leans over and cradles her face in his hand, bring her mouth to his and kisses her passionately, still more than a little breathless. "Another night, love, I will let you...but not now. I want--"

He kisses her again, brings his other hand up to her face, his tongue plunging in to dance with hers, hungry and longing. His hands slide down her arms, and then he pulls her into his lap, kissing her all the while, hands roaming over her hips, back up to her breasts, scraping his nails lightly down her back, everywhere.

[whattheydefend]

He laughs outright at that, a sound that rings in the courtyard as they walk outside. "That, I do not doubt! But I imagine there are good reasons for them, given the quality of your horseflesh. And remember I am a soldier, lady; practicality is less a virtue and more a thing unavoidable, in my life."

At least, his life as it was. Now that he is Steward...but that thought is for later, and he resolutely pushes it aside. They have had enough dark talk for a time.

"At any rate, yes, there are a number of Gondorian customs, no doubt many of them too seem foolish to outsiders. Still, in here I doubt you've run afoul of any enough to cause offense. Though as regards any involving hair or fashion, you will be better off seeking tutelage from your maid than from me."

Truth XD

[theywhowait]

"Well the word does mean 'the beautiful', and I would be quite content to follow in Thingol's footsteps and be spellbound by your beauty for years as the trees grew up around us!"

He muses, shivering with a gasp as she does.

[theywhowait]

There's a raw visceral pleasure in knowing he is the one inducing these reactions out of her, and it emboldens him to keep going, kissing his way down the curves of her breasts and even venturing to draw a nipple into his mouth experimentally. Her own explorations make him shiver, but he is too invested to stop, at the moment.

approved!

[freo]

Èowyn stifles a snort of amusement, only halfway successfully, her cheeks flushing a little pink at having her mischief so revealed by her own brother. "Why, if you meant to shame me with such knowledge, you have not succeeded," she insists anyway through a laugh that now breaks through despite her best efforts to hold it at bay. "For I stand by my judgment that my brother had it coming."

[freo]

"I do not know about that! I certainly struggle to find sense in some of the old beliefs that hold fast even to this day," Èowyn laughs a little herself, warmed to the core by the sound of Faramir's mirth in the wake of these past day or two and the dour news they have brought.

"For instance I might tell you that no king of Mark or captain of stature and sense would ever ride a gelding, for the horse and the rider are one-- and such would bode ill if the lord is to wish himself success in... that area." She purses her lips against a grin of sly amusement, glancing sideways at him.

[freo]

Very sufficient indeed, and more than! Èowyn opens her mouth to ask him what's wrong when he seizes her wrist in his hand and stops her, for it seemed to her they'd just found their stride; but when he kisses her and explains, she unhands him only with some reluctance, already shifting to edge closer to him again.

She cannot feel sorry for long for the interruption, for he steals her breath with another kiss, such a perfect storm of passion and love both that it leaves her dizzy, her heart beating like a drum inside her chest. Suddenly he tugs gently and she finds herself astride him in a startlingly intimate embrace, loosing a loud moan into the heady kiss at the way their bodies press together, the way he touches her all over like he can't get enough of the feel of her.

"Faramir, Faramir..." she chants breathlessly against the corner of his mouth as they part for air, if only for a moment before Èowyn takes the initiative to kiss him again, stroking his skin wherever she can reach just as hungrily as her hips roll languidly against his, her body knowing what it wants, another desperate moan reverberating against his lips at the sensation and making her quiver.

[whattheydefend]

There are no curious explorations now, on either part, only fervent need. In this position his cock is trapped between them, but teasingly so, with her rubbing against it every time she shifts her hips. He bends his head and captures her breast in his mouth, suckling and tonguing the nipple as he grips her hip and other breast, encouraging her to kneel up.

Once she has it's easier to worship those breasts, moving from one to the other, kisses and suction and careful bites between muffled moans and harsh breaths. One arm wraps around her waist and as his other hands slides down between her legs, squeezes her thigh, dips between. He groans against her skin when he feels how wet she is.

The arm around her waist pulls her back down, and he takes himself in hand, guides his cock to her entrance so she can sheathe herself on him. "Èowyn--" Valar, yes, that is what he needs, and he moans that need and her name into her mouth as the hand still trapped between them finds the nub where her pleasure waits and works at it, as he buries himself inside her.

[whattheydefend]

Faramir laughs again, a hooting sort of sound. It is more mirth than the conversation perhaps warrants, but the amusement feels as though it is unloosening something, some lingering tension or fear from the dreadful night that has passed. "Then I fear my own reputation in the Mark will suffer, for I always make a point of riding mares! They are more steady, more intelligent--and less foolish, in my experience."

He grins openly at her, unabashed. "Moreover...my brother Boromir, when he was younger, was of a similar mind to your folk, and wished only the most fierce and fiery stallions to ride. That lasted right up until the day when, during a practice sortie, his stallion scented a mare in heat and broke formation to get at her. Boromir landed flat on his rump in the mud, while remaining near enough to get...rather an educational view of the proceedings. He never lived that down, and only rode geldings thereafter." He chuckles, looking into the past without grief or regret, in this moment, only pleasure at the memory and the sharing of it. "I can only assume that, in accordance with your reputation, your people are better skilled at keeping your horses controlled when they are in season. Or at least wise enough not to ride them at such times. Though the foal that was eventually born of that day was an excellent one, and even worth the humiliation of the experience, or so Boromir claimed, no doubt to having been sired on a battlefield. So perhaps there is something to be said for it after all."

<3 I love them both so.

[withoutswords]

"Would you?" She sounds skeptical, though it does not stop her placing more kisses on his chest, apparently at random. One of her hands strokes down his side, rests at his hip. "To only look at each other for years uncounted, and do nothing else? When instead..."

This time when her hand slides between his legs she lets it linger, cupping him in her fingers through his breeches, squeezing a little.

[withoutswords]

"Oh..." She curls around his head as he continues, her fingers burying themselves in his hair, goosebumps rising on her fair skin. Then suddenly it is no longer a warm press of lips, but how, wet heat, and in the most sensitive place. "Oh! Faramir, love..." She gasps again, shivering, clutching at his head.

[freo]

"I would say you've made a wise decision. Mares are all of those things." The look she gives him is of quiet approval, returning his grin with a smile of her own that grows a bit crooked as she adds, "Were I to be pert, I would claim it may not only apply to horses."

But she would never! There is absolutely no knowing gleam of sly mirth in her eyes, at all. Faramir's tale of Boromir's misfortune with his amorous stallion downright startles a loud peal of laughter out of her, one of utter amusement, and she claps her free hand over her mouth to quiet her chuckles. She has to take a moment to recover from imagining such a scene, a trace of laughter still clinging to her voice when she does. "Your poor brother! Those proceedings can get rather... exuberant sometimes. But, least he was compensated for the injury to his pride with a fine new horse."

Èowyn can't help it, a little snort escapes her anew. Clearing her throat, she does her best to sober, humming a little as if conceding Faramir's point. "Perhaps. It is a silly superstition if you ask me, and not all hold to it, but some old beliefs die a slow, hard death in the Mark." Certain machismo was certainly alive and well in Rohan.

[whattheydefend]

Faramir gives her a solemn look, only his eyes and the faint curve of his smile betraying him. "But of course, you are not so pert. Even though you are correct."

Clearly, the lack of foolishness is a quality shared by both the man and the horses he chooses. And his pleasure at having made her laugh with this tale is obvious. "Alas, he did not keep the foal, for the mare was not his--though he did charge a handsome stud fee, and watched the resulting issue with interest, claiming himself as an honorary godfather of sorts to him by virtue of his having overseen the conception." His eyes are fond, remembing his brother with love and laughter for once, and no echo of pain. "Some did challenge his masculinity thereafter, when he stuck only to geldings. But that never availed them much satisfaction, for he had but to challenge them to a duel, and there was none who could defeat him in single combat, and few even who could match him for a time."

The smile fades just a hair. Such a warrior, and yet he had fallen in the end. Though Faramir knows, as almost no others do, that there were other reasons for that fall. Then he shrugs, dismissing the thought for now and turning his attention back to her. "So then, if the horse and rider are one, and therefore the men feel is necessary to thus make blatant their masculinity--" There is humor in his voice, but he is not unkind in how he says it. "In that case, what do the women? What of your own horses?"

Short timeskip seemed called for, will edit if you wish.

[whattheydefend]

"That, I do not doubt," he says dryly, a tone that says more about what teasing he has had to endure from his lawbrother-to-be than the stories themselves will do when he has leisure to repeat them to her. Still, it is not said without amusement or affection. Èomer is not another Borormir, cannot take the place of his own lost brother, and should not--but Faramir thinks they will do well as kin, if only because they both love and value Èowyn so highly. While they have that in common, all else will fall into place.

At that moment, to Faramir's quiet resignation, one of his own cousins comes to interrupt and be introduced properly. Faramir flushes a little as Amrothos makes a point of telling Èowyn just how besotted his cousin the Steward is, and reveals that he has been writing poetry about her, whereupon Faramir pretends to clout him upside the head and set Amrothos' own sister on him in revenge. This is apparently a potent threat, for the man subsides, and they all talk happily for a while.

And then another interruption, and another, and the hours pass. Pleasantly, he cannot deny that, but not as pleasantly as he would wish. Still, even though custom and courtesy should dictate he manuver around the room more, he does not leave Èowyn's side. Anyone wishing to speak to either of them must speak to both, for he will be damned if he parts from her now after so many months of impatient waiting, even if all he may do is stand with her and make small talk. If she must abandon him to fulfill her duties as hostess he will accept with good grace, but otherwise he will remain.

Yesssssssss

[theywhowait]

He groans, hands flexing on her hips.

"You...give a very convincing argument..."

[theywhowait]

He would answer, but mouth and tongue are currently...busy, although his smile can probably be sensed, as he industriously sets about learning what she likes.

[withoutswords]

"I know." It's a low, smug purr of a response. She leans up, looking down at him with eyebrow raised, her hand sliding back up to rest on his bare chest. He is a very fine view from here, with the shirt open but not off, and his strong, lean figure revealed. "Are further arguments needed, my lord, or are you persuaded?"