faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

Any sassy response she may have had about her comfort not being all that dependent on houseplants dissipates at being subjected to that endearing grin, almost boyish in its earnestness. She only manages a soft laugh instead, shaking her head a bit helplessly. "You did indeed say so..."

She halts as well, nodding a little in acknowledgement as they slowly let the contact of their arms sever. "Of course. Join me in my quarters when you may."

It is naught but a polite invitation already agreed upon, but Éowyn turns quickly with one last, quick smile to hide the warmth of a faint blush on her cheeks, those foolish thoughts about propriety from earlier coming back to haunt her-- if only for a moment. She casts them out of her mind briskly, making her way into her room and leaving the door open, grateful for the moment alone just to make sure her quarters are in a proper shape to receive a guest. Not that she has any possessions of her own to be messy with, but still.

"Trust me; I know precisely what you mean." A faint breath of laughter follows, a tease on the tip of her tongue about her own impatience having rubbed off on him-- they had said as much in their letters. She does not wish to part even for a moment; to lose the feel of him against her, his strong arm wrapped around her waist. Leaning into the touch of his hand, she echoes his wistful sigh and nods her head.

"I know," she says quietly, curling her fingers around his wrist. Somehow, they would have to find the will to move away from each other and return to the polite pretense. At least after their trothplighting is made public, they would have a bit more leeway; not much, but some. They would have to endure. Lifting on her toes a little, she pushes in for one last kiss; murmuring tenderly once it ends, "I love you."

"You do not wish it?" Her grin is pleased and faintly mischievous as she sits up, stretching out her fingers a little and reaching for her dress. There was a cloth they could make use of in one of her pockets, she is sure.

She makes a short, sharp noise as his fingers part her and find what they seek, moving her hips against his hand. Her hand fists in his hair, and she uses it to tilt his head back so she may kiss him, deep and hungry.

"I love you," he answers, brushing his nose against hers before sighing and stepping back, reclaiming her hands and twining their fingers together. "And I am most glad to be reunited with you, even if this interlude is all too brief. Even if I may only look at you from across a room, it is still preferable to mere memory and words on a page."

He does not leave her waiting long. What little delay there is, is due to his taking care to be discreet, just in case. He is no elf, but he knows these halls well, and it is no great matter for a ranger to move silently when he wishes, even out of the woods.

And if his heart beats just a little more quickly when he knocks at the open door to her bedchamber, that is only his own foolishness, and not to be regarded. It is hardly an invasion of her privacy. For one thing, he is not uninvited; for another she has but little of her own here, and the room is spare. One of the better ones, for she is a distinguished guest of the city, and so is appointed a larger room with better fittings, a small bookshelf, a small table and chairs as well as the bed. His is much the same, but rather more cluttered.

Still, he waits for her to invite him in after he knocks, for it is her room for the moment. He does lean against the doorframe. "A great advantage of your room over mine," he says quietly, smiling ruefully, "is that mine is rather covered with books and maps, and other assorted things. I am not sure I would have a seat to offer you."

"Mm..." Faramir kisses her skin again, more lingeringly, his mouth moving a little more towards her back. He is limited in what he can reach with her on her lap like this, but more than willing to make do with what's before him. He grazes his teeth along the curve of her shoulder. "I believe I already have."

"Somehow I had a feeling you were going to say something like that," Éowyn laughs gleefully, even as she shivers a little at his kisses, at the graze of his teeth against her shoulder; her pale skin pinking slightly in response. In playful reproach (again, entirely nonserious), she thumps the back of her hand gently against his shoulder. "I meant the cakes, Faramir!"

"I feel the same," Éowyn sighs again, this time with a small smile. She squeezes his fingers gently. "Come-- this will not be forever." In more than one regard. She lets go of his hands, only to take his arm; one of them must make a move to return inside, or they will stand here prolonging this moment for as long as they can.

"We will have better opportunities to spend time together-- after uncle has been laid to rest." And once Meduseld gets a little less crowded with visitors; as honored as she is by such lofty company, it is only Faramir's that she longs for.

He mock-pouts at her rebuke. "But choosing between you and honeycakes...that is too cruel a fate to endure!"

With his free hand he reaches for the cloth of small cakes, taking one and holding it just in front of her mouth. He has of course been waiting to do this since the kitchen. "May I not have both?"

She laughs again at his dramatic declaration, about to retort when he extracts one of the golden cakes and brings it in front of her mouth. Her brow hitches and a smirk spreads to her lips as she gives him a significant look under her lashes.

"Why, my lord Steward... how greedy of you," she chides in a murmur, mischief dancing in her eyes. Her fingers curl around his wrist as she leans in a little, taking a small bite out of the soft cake without never taking her eyes off his. She hums lowly in enjoyment at the taste, smiling a little slyly as she wipes off a few crumbs clinging to her lower lip-- and sucks the tip of the digit into her mouth, like she did earlier.

"Insatiable, where you are concerned." He swallows hard as she keeps her eyes locked on his, and his own eyes darken. He cannot look away from her mouth, however, watching as she bites at the cake, as her tongue licks a few crumbs, as she cleans the rest with her finger and then sucks on the tip.

Silently, breathing harder, he pushes her finger away, instead offering his own fingers. Though they are still holding the rest of the cake, so she would need to finish that first.

They still stand closer to each other than they ought, and he does not care, even if it means they walk very slowly as they resume their circle around the Meduseld. Perhaps all the more so for that reason. "We will," he agrees. "In how many days will that take place? And is there anything I might do to aid you, either in preparation or more personally? I know it will be a day of many mixed emotions."

On the same day as Theoden's funeral will be Éomer's official coronation--as well as, Faramir hopes, their own trothplighting. Such, at least, Éomer has intimated to him.

He is right, and they have matters to discuss, leader to leader. She follows, matching his much longer stride as best she can and showing none of the effort it takes on her face. It is fortunate he walks slowly, being tired.

Even so, she finds breath to snort. "We need to eat after days of surviving on tree bark and river water. Our rations ran out days ago, and there is little left to scavenge. Bread and wine will be more than enough. Your hunters will not find game for some distance, though there are yet fish in the river."

"Is that so?" It is a thrill, to watch Faramir's reactions; the way his gaze darkens and breath quickens, his words sinking under her skin and burrowing deep, sending a frisson of anticipation up her spine. The cake leaves a sweet coating of sugar and honey upon her tongue, but by now he offers her something she perceives tastier still-- she'd had half the mind to tease him fondly, but suddenly, she is in no mood for it; at least, not in the way she had first intended.

Gently and carefully, Éowyn takes the remaining cake from him and sets it back on the cloth on the table-- no longer hungry for baked goods. Some of the sticky syrup stains her own fingertips now, but she cares little about it as she grabs Faramir's and wraps her lips around his index finger, sucking on it as her tongue cleans away the crumbs, watching him all the time. Humming low from her throat, she lets his finger slowly slip out of her mouth, only to replace it with the other one and repeating the process, smiling around the digit.

There's only one small camp chair, which he offers to her as he drops to sit on the bed and start at his boots.

"With the recent battle? No, of course not. But our horses rested overnight, so they will be able to go far enough afield to bring back decent game, although they like as not will not be back for several days yet." He agrees as their meal is brought. Simple rations are still rations, after all.

He grins, the satisfied smile of a husband whose wife is pleased with him, kissing back as he strokes her.

"As I said, exquisite."

"I did not say that." He still looks very shy, but he manages to attempt to sit up a little.

"I would be a fool to refuse such an offer!"

"You would." She grins at him again, finding the cloth and proceeding to wipe some of the...stuff...of his abdomen. Which is, to use his own words, passingly awkward. It really is sticky. "I have little experience of my own, but may at least tell you that the results for a woman are not so...spectacular."

"I think--" She gasps, then whimpers, still circling her hips against him as they find a rhythm. "Oh...you are biased."

She sits on the chair, eyeing his bed. So it was his. She had assumed as much, but still it is...irksome, somehow, to know that she was in his bed. Even though she doubts not that it was a gesture of respect, or apology.

"They did seem most wondrous horses," she says reluctantly. They had, beautiful beyond measure, waterfalls of grace and strength in horse form. The sight of them rushing into the battle during that final, dark hour will stay with her all her days, the startled wonder the sight engendered. It had nothing at first to do with amazement at being rescued, merely awe at their beauty. "No doubt they will make good time. You intend to remain here some days, then."

She manages not to savage the bread or gulp the wine. It takes effort.

Éowyn is in the process of carefully shrugging the starry mantle from her shoulders when Faramir knocks, mindful of her arm. She chuckles quietly at his remark, distracting herself from how handsome he looks standing there by draping the garment across the foot of the bed.

"Well then, you are welcome to avail yourself to one of mine. Please." She motions with her good hand at the table and chairs, indicating that he ought to take a seat. "Perhaps in return you might lend me a book that is not poetry, for that seems to be more or less all my shelf here is stocked with."

"A good portion of mine are poetry too, I'm afraid," he confesses, taking the offered seat and sighing a little. "A few books on tactics, and now far too many on infrastructure, in which I am gaining a rapid education. The rest are histories of various sorts. If any of those are to your liking, you are welcome to them." He looks up at her, head tilted just a little to the side. "Do you dislike poetry, then?"

"No. Well, not all poetry. But..." Éowyn trails off, her gaze roaming the walls as she thinks, biting her lip in thought. "I suppose I do not always understand it all. And I dislike having to labor so to unearth the true meaning behind the words and turns of phrases. I much prefer plainer speak."

Even as she says that, the words feel somehow hollow; a pretense of some sort. They make her feel a sudden, uncomfortable knot somewhere behind her breastbone. Hypocritical-- that's the word. A frown crosses her features briefly before she banishes it for a more neutral expression, moving to take a seat opposite of Faramir.

"So, what shall we play, then?" she asks a bit more lightly, changing the subject.

Her question is entirely forgotten, as is everything else, honeycakes included. If his life depended on it, he could not tear his gaze away from her mouth. He holds back a groan as she sucks on his finger, taking all of it into her mouth.

A second finger, and he licks his lips, still riveted, as she swirls her tongue around the tip. The hand resting on her hip kneads at her skin, then grips as she moves on to the next finger. He does groan then, the sound almost ripped from his throat, which is suddenly very dry. He's rock-hard already just from this, a fact which she can't fail to have noticed given where she's sitting. It's the most erotic thing he's ever seen, not least because seeing it he can easily imagine other things she could do with that mouth.

Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

no subject

no subject

Someday he'll stop being shocked by her, but really not this day...

Ah well, Eowyn is taking care of it for us.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

gosh I like that icon

no subject

XD

I would be jealous but she does such a good job it's hard to be

probably not until they're old and grey XD

She thinks it's hilarious/adorable. Prudish Gondorian. ;)

I can't be jealous, it's an OTP. =)

look it's a surprise to remember he's hot instead of grumpycatcartoon ;)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject