faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

Èowyn drinks in every sound and twitch of muscle, warmth and satisfaction unfurling in her chest when Faramir finally gives in and falls back into the pillows with a groan that seems to shiver and echo through her whole body. She did this to him; she made him feel like this. It is an intoxicating thought, and she wants to give him more.

"Good is a fine start, my love," she murmurs, tilting her head to kiss the hand grasping her shoulder. But she's aiming higher still, tightening her fingers a little around his thickening cock and slowly starting to draw her fist up and down, pumping at first a little tentatively but soon gaining more courage in this, as well. He pulses in her hand, a fascinating dichotomy of hard and soft she cannot seem to stop marveling.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Edited 2018-10-15 19:51 (UTC)

He is killing her; for surely he's giving her so much pleasure she just might perish from it. All is liquid, molten heat and dizzying, unbridled passion unlike anything she had ever imagined could be found in marriage bed, for all that she desired her husband. But this? This is beyond any expectation or imagination she could have ever dreamed up. She cries out in pleasure and mounting need in his embrace as his mouth torments her in the most exquisite manner, her own hands grasping at his shoulders to ground herself somehow.

And then he is guiding her, gently but firmly, to find her perch once more; a riotous moan mingled with his name is muffled against his lips as he pushes inside her wet heat, clever fingers stroking that tiny bundle of nerves right above her entrance to ease her along. Heat builds up within her, a fine sheen of sweat already gathering up over her skin. With another moan that tapers off in a sharp gasp, she kneels heavily over his lap at takes him inside the rest of the way, thighs cradling his hips as his cock buries itself in her up to the hilt. There is no discomfort to speak of now, nor awkwardness, just burning need; sitting astride him like this already feeling pleasurable in a way lying on her back had not quite achieved.

Faramir's fingers are still working at that hidden spot of hers, sending warm ripples of pleasure through her and making her shudder. With a husky, breathless laugh of sensual delight, she rocks her hips slightly, once in an experimental little nudge, moaning at the pleasure that emanates outward through the rest of her at the movement.

"Oh! Oh, Faramir..." Trying to catch her breath, she leans her forehead against his and chuckles lowly, grinning. "I had not realized one could ride a man like this, also. I think I shall like this very much indeed."

There is no art to any of this, only unrestrained, unhindered need, and it is all the better for that. Faramir has imagined finesse, seduction, quick trysts, all sorts of things, but this...he could not have imagined such a messy and glorious tangle of limbs and skin and sweat.

He laughs at her words, a low rumbling chuckle, moving his hips a little. "So do I. And yet, proud daughter of the house of Eorl--" He stops, draws in a deep breath as she rocks against him. "I remember you saying that you did not ride stallions?" His grin is downright wicked. It could hardly be anything else, given how they are situated.

"Cheeky! You would remind me of this now?" Èowyn chides even as she bursts into laughter, grinning broadly. And this is another thing she never pictured could be-- such lightness and laughter during the act. Gods, how she loves him! There's an impish gleam in her eyes as she wraps her arms about his shoulders, licking her lips.

"Then, perhaps I will make this my one exception to the rule. What say you to that, my husband?" True to her word, she begins rocking her hips in slow, meticulous circles; as curious and exploratory in this as she was just previously, touching and discovering him.

"That I will agree to anything, so long as you do not stop," he manages breathlessly, his attention much distracted by the way she moves on him and the joyous ring of her laughter. His free hand rests on her hip, encouraging her, and the other continues its sweet work.

He groans again, his head falling forward to rest lightly against her. "So long as mount and rider are as one... Éowyn, beloved..." The profound sense of being joined to her in this act is as overwhelming as the act itself, the sharing of joy and pleasure and completion, and he gasps and his fingers move a little more quickly. "Éowyn--" She teased him so well before that he is not sure how long he will last, and this time he wants, needs her to come first, wants to feel it when she does.

She does not dream of stopping. If anything, instinct and Faramir's caresses, not to mention his words, soon have her quickening her pace, riding him harder and with intent, squeezing her eyes shut and crying out as his fingers follow suit and rub her swifter. It is very different and yet not really all that different that riding a horse, this movement, and Èowyn finds her stride in no time flat, her breath coming in sharp pants and little whines and noises of enjoyment falling from her lips with every rock of her hips.

"Faramir... Faramir, my love..." she moans in return, capable of no more coherency than that as she keeps moving over him. Heat and pleasure swirl and coil deep within her, ratcheting up with every pass of his fingers and buck of her hips; drawing them closer and closer to the inevitable ending. It does not take long, every single thing about this encounter winding her up tight. Desperate urgency laces her movements now, turning them rougher as she chases her completion, gloriously unabashed by the noises that trip from her lips as she does, interspersed by mindless, Rohirric babble. Fingers of one hand tangle in his hair while the other grips his shoulder tight, her head suddenly tipping back; she shatters with a sharp, loud scream of his name on her lips, shuddering from head to toe as she comes around his cock, her body gripping him convulsively in wet pulses and drawing out her blissful release.

He has little leverage to use, can only let her take him in and withdraw as he chooses. That is no hardship, not when he can watch her give herself so much pleasure, can contribute to it with mouth and hands and fingers swirling. It does occur to him that if he lay back and let her ride him more fully he could do more, could meet her with his own thrusts, hold her hips and push up into her--an idea that makes him bite his lip as a surge of lust rushes through him, and the hand at her hip grips harder, fingertips pressing into her skin.

Added to the rush of sensation are all the sounds she makes, for she is not quiet. He knows enough Rohirric now to understand her, but cannot quite hear individual words over the roaring of blood in his veins, over his own hoarse grunts and panting breaths. And then her head falls back and she lets out a ecstatic cry such as he has never heard, and it has his name in it, and he can feel her pulsing around him in shuddering waves, and it undoes him completely. His shout of release is almost as loud and sharp as hers.

They sit entangled, breathing hard and collapsed on one another, for several minutes. Eventually Faramir manages to free his hand from between them, lies back on the bed and pulls her gently down with him, all his body feeling limp and boneless. He brings up one hand to stroke the long fall of her hair, damp with sweat, and buries his face in the crown of her head. He feels oddly vulnerable now that the moment is done, awed by the intensity of it all.

"I love you." The words are so quiet the breath of them barely stirs her hair.

Belatedly, Èowyn gives thanks to the fact the revelry outside their chambers still goes on as boisterously as before, hopefully masking any sounds that might carry through the door. Self-consciousness for being noisy in the throes of her pleasure is short-lived, though, in the wake of feeling so wonderful. She goes easily when Faramir pulls her down him with, sighing long and deep in replete satisfaction as she lays on top of him like a lazy cat, cheek resting against his shoulder so she can feel his heartbeat against her skin. The rush of euphoria dissipates slowly, leaving behind a wonderfully sated but sleepy feeling, and she closes her eyes to enjoy it.

His words are quiet, but she just about catches them, humming softly and smiling as he strokes her hair. "I love you even more," she whispers back, a slight, slurring edge of pleasant exhaustion to her voice; it has been a long but utterly amazing day.

"That were impossible." He moves from stroking her hair to stroking her back, the heat of their bodies gradually cooling in the night air. The noise of celebration continues from outside, and their room is still lit with candles, which he should douse before they rest. But he too is sleepy, even drained, and not at all minded to move. Letting the candles gutter themselves out for once will do no harm, and if it is wasteful...well, it is their wedding night.

A thought that makes him smile yet again, and kiss her head, before catching the blankets at their feet with one of his legs and hitching it up until he can reach them with one hand and cover them both. Èowyn is a charming blanket, but does not quite cover him entirely on her own, much as he is enjoying having her resting on his chest.

He kisses her head again, purely because he can. "Shall we sleep for now?" Possibly they have no choice; he is not sure he can stay awake longer, though he would make the effort if she asked. He has certainly kept longer hours for worse reasons in his life.

Éowyn chuckles softly, sighing in quiet contentment at the way he strokes her back. She suspects she isn't making Faramir's efforts to retrieve the blanket much easier, but she is simply too happily situated and content to move. Humming a little in agreement as the blanket settles warmly over their bodies, she lifts her head enough to press a fond kiss to his chest before resting her head back down, another happy sigh on her lips as she settles.

"Perhaps a little nap might do us well," she murmurs, already half-asleep herself and clearly not about to make any contrary demands out of him. Worn out by the day and their ardent lovemaking, she sinks into sleep in mere moments.

The next time she comes to, slowly fluttering her eyes open, she realizes she has not moved an inch since falling asleep lying mostly on top of Faramir. Most pleasant manner to awaken, she decides. The candles have long since burned out and the room filled with gentle light beginning to pour in from the window; barely dawn, she judges. It is finally silent, even the hardiest of Rohirrim subdued by the long celebration. A little nap, indeed!

Éowyn is in no hurry to rise and start the day, she is so comfortable where she lays. And in any case, she estimates they have a good couple of hours yet until they ought to break fast with the rest of the household and guests, as Rohan's wedding tradition dictates. She closes her eyes again with a small smile, not so much to sleep more but to enjoy this feeling of peace and contentment, one hand idly stroking his side.

Faramir falls asleep not long after she does, lulled not only by his own warmth and utter contentment but by the sound of her quiet, even breathing. A sweeter rest he has never known.

Or a better awakening, when it comes. He has always been quick to wake in the morning, a necessary skill for a soldier. And while he has never woken in circumstances like this, he recognizes her smell even before he opens his eyes, remembers why he slept so well, knows who it is stroking his hip.

He notices too what she may not have realized yet: that certain other parts of his body are also very, very much awake. It is not uncommon to wake thus aroused, but this is the first time Faramir has ever had the possibility of taking advantage of the fact, and that idea rouses him even more quickly. He makes a small, pleased rumble of a noise, not unlike some great cat's purr, and wraps both his arms around her, stroking her back and sides in a way that is not at all idle.

Éowyn is less practiced in such swift awakening, particularly when there is no pressing need for it, some sleep still lingering upon her and softening everything about her; from body to tone and expression. But even so, she picks up on the change in his breathing before all the other, more evident signs make it clear he's very much awake.

A soft, pleased hum escapes her in return as his hands begin to wander with purpose, and she stretches a little like a lazy cat roused from a nap; if perhaps she rubs against him in the process, well, it's surely just a happy accident. She certainly discovers his plight whilst doing so...

"Good morning, husband." She is still not over the enchantment of calling him that. Lifting her head from his shoulder, she peers at him with a loving, if still a bit sleepy, smile. "How did you sleep?"

His breath catches audibly when she brushes against him, one of his hands skittering along her back in reaction. As a result his eyebrow is raised in something that would be admonishment if he didn't look so smug, when she peers at him. "Most well, my wife."

The smug expression turns into an outright suggestive grin as he bends his head forward and kisses her, sliding his tongue confidently into her mouth. "Although not as well as I have awakened..." he murmurs between kisses. His hands are definitely wandering with purpose now, caressing her hips and buttocks and what he can reach of her breasts, gently scraping nails down her spine.

Edited 2018-10-19 16:11 (UTC)

If she is not over calling him her husband, she also has not had enough of hearing him call her his wife-- she probably never would be. His lips cover hers and smother a smug smirk of her own; Éowyn can't help but chuckle into the kiss, though her sounds of amusement turn a little breathy at the way he touches her, a little quiver running through her body.

"Mm, you certainly seem in very good spirits this morning, yes," she murmurs back, pretending coyness, a trace of laughter in her low voice, her hands traversing his skin now with purpose of her own; stroking up his side and over his chest, fingertips brushing his nipple as she takes a moment to kiss him again, warmth building up within her and shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. Her teeth tug at his bottom lip gently before she teases, "One might wonder why..."

"Sweet dreams, perhaps?" He rumbles approval as she explores him in return. He nips at her mouth, then flicks it with his tongue, teasing until she kisses him again.

His hands, however, do not tease; there is growing urgency in those caresses. He captures one of her hands and brings it down to cover the hard length of himself, pressing up into her palm with a low groan. "For there were...most pleasant dreams, that I recall."

She sucks in a slow breath when he takes her hand and brings it to his erection, feigning shocked astonishment even as a grin spreads to her lips, a gleam of interest in her eyes. "Oh! So it would appear." There is no shyness or hesitation now in the way she rubs her hand against him, nimbly palming him up and down and smirking. "It seems I was right. I told you earlier perhaps it would be I who would have to keep up with you, rather than the opposite..."

"I but try to challenge you, proud lady of Rohan." His eyes gleam at her, and his breathing is more ragged and quick with her hand so deftly holding him. "For I know how you dislike being idle."

It would be unfair for him not to return the favour, and he's more than willing to pull her closer, run quick hungry kisses along her jaw and neck, nipping at her ear. "Did you dream at all?"

Éowyn laughs softly and with fond amusement at his response, grinning a little. "You are most selfless and considerate, my husband."

She is all too happy to be pulled closer, closing her eyes and tilting her head to grant him easy access to her skin, a quiet moan escaping her at his kisses and nips. "Alas, no-- I slept most soundly. You quite wore me out! But what need have I for dreams?" Sighing softly with pleasure, she nuzzles against him and murmurs, "When reality is so much better than anything I could ever dream of."

"Are you so certain we wake?" He turns them onto their sides, which dislodges her hand but lets him throw his leg over hers, tangling them closer. That is a fair trade. It also gives him more leverage for kissing her earlobe, flicking his tongue into it, another kiss on the sensitive bit of scalp just behind. A chance to continue explorations he barely began last night. "For to me this seems the sweetest dream of all, and all too likely that I sleep still, and but imagine you. You--"

He kisses his way back down her neck, her collar, swiftly moves down the bed so he can capture her breasts in mouth and hands again. "You, here in my bed, in my arms--so much joy as this seems impossible for any mortal man, and therefore I must dream still."

Edited 2018-10-20 18:22 (UTC)

Fair, perhaps, but Éowyn still regrets the loss of him hard against her hand. He quickly gives her other things to think about, and she trembles against him; from his caresses and what he is saying both. Always, her own words feel so clumsy next to his, unable to achieve such level of eloquence to describe her feelings. She hardly holds that against him, nor is all too concerned of it-- she knows she more than makes up for it in action.

Her breath catches slightly when his mouth brushes lightly across her sensitive collar, another little shiver running through her. The intensity from the night before is still there now, but not so much the same urgency-- in the pale light of the dawning day, they seem content to take things a little slower; more indulgently, almost. Éowyn twists at the waist when his explorations drift further southward still, turning slightly on her back to give him better access to her chest while their legs remain tangled, closing her eyes for a moment and biting her lip on a low hum when he caresses her breasts.

"Is that--" Her breath hitches audibly with a tiny half-moan carried upon the noise when his lips tend to her nipple, pebble-hard under his careful ministrations. Shakily, she tries again, one hand settling on his shoulder and sliding up to the back of his neck. "Is that truly so difficult to believe? That we are here, finally-- together? For this... this feels quite wondrously real to me."

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