faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

"Faramir...!" She barely bites back a downright scream, overcome by the intense pleasure he's giving her with every pass of fingers; every deep, long thrust. Her back arches and her nails dig into his lower back, her head tipping back and digging into the pillow as her body squeezes and flutters around him, panting and shaking as he stokes the flames of her arousal higher and higher.

"Oh, my love, my love--" she chants breathlessly, crying out as his fingers keep up their merciless rubbing. "Please, yes..." She's only half-aware of her pleads and other impassioned words that fall from her lips as her hips buck against his, having arrived at the end of her rope. She has no presence of mind left to even think of muffling the cry of relief-soaked pleasure that escapes her next, when she finally reaches her peak and comes; seizing rhythmically around his cock, moaning and shuddering from head to toe as the warm waves of rapture wash through her.

"Yes, yes, like that, Éowyn, yes--" He is no more aware of what he says than she is, and it does not matter. He hears all he needs to hear in her breath, the pitch of her cries, the final near-scream of a release that pulls him along after her. His last several thrusts are harder, more manic, and then he too cries aloud, wordless and shaking, his head thrown back as he spends himself fully inside her.

He all but collapses atop her, gasping for breath and sweating, still flushed dark red. He may have marks on his back from her nails, he realizes, and will welcome it if so. Wearily he lifts a hand and brushes hair from her face, kisses her cheek. It will take a few more minutes for words to return to him, and he is in no hurry to move, not with her arms around him and his head pillowed on her shoulder.

Éowyn issues a softest cry of her own at the feel of his release, trembling in the wake of her own pleasure that his only adds to, stroking her hands up his back when he collapses; as out of breath as Faramir is. Smiling when he kisses her cheek, she wraps one arm around him and pets his hair with the other hand, enjoying this moment of absolute closeness. She turns her head and presses her lips lovingly against his forehead, content to let the silence stretch on as they both take a moment to recover.

The moment stretches into minutes as they lie entangled, warm and intimate. Faramir listens to the rhythm of her breathing and is entirely content, fulfilled in a way he has never known.

Eventually he sighs, turns his head a little and kisses her shoulder and lifts his head up a little to look at her. "Am I too heavy for you?"

Éowyn smiles fondly up at Faramir and shakes her head at the question, sliding a hand up to the back of his neck and tugging gently to draw him into a soft, slow kiss. She sighs against his lips as the kiss winds down, happy and wistful both. "I wish we could ignore everything else and just stay in bed for the rest of the day," she murmurs with a small smile.

"We could." His expression is open, filled with an infinite tenderness as he looks at her, thumb caressing her cheek. "Call for breakfast to be brought and just stay here. No one expects us to be thinking of anything but each other--which is fortunate, for I cannot." His smile quirks a little, amused and happy, and he kisses her again, then chuckles. "No doubt we would be relentlessly teased for it later, but that is likely inevitable regardless."

Éowyn's smile deepens, eyes alight with affection as she mimics him, sliding her hand from his nape up the side of his neck to cup the side of his face, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. She breathes a little laugh of her own after they kiss.

"I can promise you, under no circumstances will we escape the teasing. So much teasing." That is as certain as the setting and rising of the sun. So, really? They might as well. "You are a bad influence, my husband," she goes on in an infinitely fond tease, rubbing her nose against his. Pursing her lips slightly, she pretends coyness. "Whatever shall we do all day?"

"Why, sleep, of course," he says, his expression deliberately innocent. "I do not know about you, but I seem to have not slept much this night. I cannot imagine why not."

And if she believes that to be his honest answer, it is belied by him sliding one hand down her side, stroking her bare skin.

"How terrible for you," she commiserates, lips trembling as she battles a rampant grin, attempting to keep a straight face. A tremble of a different sort runs through her body at the slide of his palm down her side, warm and calloused and perfect. Licking her lips, she goes on, eyes warm with mirth, "In that case we should most definitely catch up on... sleep. After breakfast. I for one seem to have worked up an appetite, though I cannot imagine why."

"Yes, it was most hard." His mouth does not even twitch as he utters that innuendo, though his eyes are laughing. "And as a result I too have a great appetite this morning." He does chuckle a little at that one, try as he might to withhold it.

But while wordplay is all very well, especially when combined with foreplay, there are other needs that should be attended to as well. With a sigh he lifts himself off of her, lying on the bed by her side. The sheets and blankets are all a tangle around them, so that it is more as though they lie in some great cloth nest rather than a bed. "Though I think we are yet too early for breakfast, to judge by the light. And I do not hear anyone stirring." His eyes twinkle again as he looks at her. "Should we raid the kitchens?"

A tiny noise -- nearly a squeak -- escapes Éowyn as she struggles to hold back a peal of laughter at his double entendre by pressing her lips together hard, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. A small giggle lets loose anyway, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

She laughs without restraint at his suggestion, rolling onto her side and pushing herself up on her elbow; only to lean down and kiss him. "Bad influence," she accuses again in a fond murmur, smiling. "But I say we do just that." Pause, and she arches a brow with a smirk. "We should probably get dressed, first..."

Her smile is sunlight, her laughter a bubbling stream...Faramir returns the kiss gladly, carding fingers through her hair, and briefly reconsidering the idea of leaving the bed at all. It is very comfortable here, and she is so very fair...

But his stomach rumbles, which seems to decide the matter. With a last, rueful kiss he pulls away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he sits up. "We probably should," he agrees. "For confident as I now am in my manly beauty--" He looks over his shoulder and grins at her, boyish. "--I have no wish to display it to all and sundry. Or to freeze."

Éowyn is content to stay where she is for the moment, lying on her side propped up by her elbow, watching him while he sits up. She reaches out her free hand and trails a fingertip along a scar on his back, revealed to her for the first time; she'd gotten distracted in her quest earlier to kiss his scars. Clearly, she still has more work ahead of her... well, that would certainly be no hardship.

"I would not wish that, either. Your manly beauty is now reserved for my eyes only, my love," she quips with a little laugh, getting up on her knees on the bed behind him and dropping a kiss on his shoulder. "Shall we see whether or not you will have to don your ripped shirt..." she jests impishly, knowing full well the servants have supplied them with all the fresh clothes they could need upon preparing the room.

He sighs a little with pleasure as she runs fingers along his back. His breath then hitches when she kisses his shoulder, and Faramir turns his head, bending back enough to capture her mouth in another, teasing kiss, his tongue playing with hers. Their lips tug at each other as he pulls away. "Be careful how you tempt me, my heart, or we will find ourselves not leaving this bed at all."

There is heat in his eyes to lend force to the words, and he kisses her one more time, briefly, before forcing himself to stand. The pile of clothes they've left on the floor makes him chuckle, and he picks them up, hanging her dress over a chair before holding up his own damaged shirt. "Mm, I could wear it, but if my chest is now reserved for your eyes only it would be better not." His eyes glint at her as he places the shirt on the chair over her dress. It can be mended, most likely; the rip is largely along the seam.

The chuckle that escapes Éowyn at his warning is more husky -- almost purring -- than her usual; the look she gives him is teasing and knowing all at once. "It is only the fact that your belly is growling like a dragon that is keeping me from calling your bluff." She grins, still smiling as he drops another, briefer kiss to her lips. She knows he's not bluffing in the least. Watching him gather their strewn clothing from last night with a tiny sigh at the sight, she rues the fact that she's equally hungry; she would like nothing better than to stay in bed with him. But all in good time.

"Chest, and everything else," she reminds with a smirk as she finally gets a move on herself, slipping off the bed and making for the chest of clothing stowed by the wall so they do not have to brave their kitchen run in nothing but their skin. Humor edges her voice as she adds, "I told you, my love-- I make for a greedy, possessive wife."

Faramir raises his eyebrow, and the smile he gives her is downright dangerous. "I do not bluff, my wife. A thing you would do well to remember."

It takes serious effort to stay by the chair instead of returning to the bed and pinning her and demonstrating just how tempting she is. As it is she moves before he can, and he joins her by the chest near the wall, skimming his fingers along her spine once she is within reach. "What are the limits of your possessiveness? Should I begin wearing a bag atop my head, to prevent my face from being seen? That would make Council meetings more difficult. Or perhaps easier."

Éowyn can't help her thoroughly amused laughter at the mental image of Faramir attending Council meetings wearing a bag over his head, even as her skin tenses and ripples with a shiver at the brush of his fingers along her spine. Were they not both so hungry, she would absolutely push him further to show her the error of her ways, his smile and warning causing a heated quiver to lance across her abdomen.

"Perhaps I'll not be quite that draconian," she says playfully, snorting. "Though-- should you feel a bag might make your meetings more tolerable, you may always blame me." Smirking, she hands him a shirt and trousers, simple and comfortable; he would only need them for a while. Herself, she dons a dressing gown-- easily slipped on, and even simpler to remove.

Her laughter was of course the goal, and Faramir considers himself well rewarded as he listens to it, grinning at her as he takes the shirt and trousers and pulls them on, not bothering to do up the laces beyond what's needful. He raises an eyebrow at her choice. "I should perhaps mention that I too intend to be greedy and possessive where you are concerned, so mind that you tie that well. There will be consequences if it comes undone while we are on this adventure."

From the tone of his voice, those consequences would not be terribly unfortunate. Except perhaps for anyone who happened across them.

"Oh, indeed?" She arches a brow right back at him, a somewhat sly smile curving at her lips as she meticulously closes the robe about her body and ties the sash. "Every warning of yours only tempts me more, you realize..."

And they really, very much do, but she has no desire to make a public spectacle of them. In private, though? Now, that's a whole different issue. "Perhaps you could unbar the door for us?" The sooner they get this done, the sooner they may return... and turn their attention to other things, after sating their hunger-- for food, that is.

He sighs a little with regret as the robe covers her body, already missing her skin. It is more than a little tempting to instead push her against the wall and give in to all this temptation, to push these hastily donned clothes out of the way just for a few moments...it would not need long...

But his stomach growls again, so he behaves himself for now, removing the chair he placed in the way last night and unbarring the door as she asked. He opens it quietly, listens to hear if anyone else is stirring abroad, then turns to bow her through. "If you will lead, my lady, seeing as this is your house..." For the sooner one hunger is sated, the sooner they may indulge the other.

It is a good thing she cannot peer into the minds of others and see what he thinks; they would not be going anywhere otherwise, hunger be damned!

"Then do follow me, my husband," she grins, grabbing Faramir's hand and entwining their fingers as she tugs him out the door and into the silent hallways of Meduseld. The pale light of early dawn is pouring in through the windows in the great hall, but not a soul besides Faramir and Éowyn seem to be stirring yet. Here and there among the detritus of a wedding feast -- the maids would rise soon enough to tidy up -- lay a snoring Rider, too wearied by the celebration and copious amounts of drink to take to their own beds. Hardly an unusual sight, but coupled with the fact that Faramir and Éowyn are sneaking into the kitchens like a pair of naughty children, the absurdity of it all causes mirth to bubble up within her, and she presses her fingers against her mouth to stifle a sudden giggle, quickening her pace a little as she leads them the rest of the way to the kitchen and its laden larders.

"Quick!" she urges with laughter in her tone and eyes both as they finally reach their destination. "Helga, the cook, is a force more fearsome than all the éored put together-- we do not want to be caught red-handed here by her." It sounds like she's speaking from experience on this.

Faramir too has difficulty holding back laughter. Whenever their eyes meet--which is often--he grins broadly, and when they come across one of his own Rangers sprawled on a table next to one of the Riders, both of them obviously having defeated themselves in the drinking contest they were having last night, he shakes with silent mirth. Anborin will be wanting a new head when he wakes, that is certain...

And over it all is the delicious feeling that he and Éowyn are getting away with something in this clandestine spree. He remembers sneaking into kitchens more than once with Boromir, when they were but boys, or even as young men...the thought brings no sorrow, only fond affection, and pleasure at knowing how Boromir would have been delighted by his brother's marriage. By his brother's happiness.

He grins again at Éowyn, carefree and boyish, and once they do reach the kitchens he has to stop and lean against the wall for a moment, smothering his laughter, before he can join her in finding a tray and filling it with various footstuff to take bake to their room. "I have met such cooks," he says, keeping his voice low. Whispering is probably not necessary, but the secretive air of this endeavor requires it. "They are more fierce than generals when on their home ground, it is true! Shall we earn her wrath with this? I would not be limited to bread and gruel for the rest of our stay."

He jests, but works quickly; slicing bread and meat and cheese, appropriating a few apples from a nearby barrel. All at once he chuckles and leaves these tasks for Éowyn to finish, instead seizing a mug and filling it half with vinegar, half water, adding thin slices of ginger, then seasoning the result with liberal amounts of salt and pepper. "Ranger hangover cure," he explains, smirking. "Or most of it. Anborin will wonder if I somehow magicked it there."

They truly are like a pair of adolescents, giggling at their own brashness and cunning; Éowyn would not trade away this moment for anything, warmed by the boyish grin on Faramir's face.

"Worry not. She never holds onto her ire for that long," Éowyn chuckles as she clearly hunts for some specific item whilst Faramir tends to the bread and meat. "A saving grace of my youth in particular, as Helga makes the most irresistible honeycakes. Speaking of..."

With a victorious aha!, she extracts a tray of perfect little sponge cakes out of the pantry with a gleeful smile. "Bless her heart-- and predictability." She makes quick work of wrapping a few of the golden cakes into a soft cloth before replacing the tray in the pantry, sucking sticky, honey-flavored crumbs from her thumb even as she arches a brow at the concoction Faramir is preparing for Anborin. Wrinkling her nose, she teases fondly through a quiet laugh, "Béma! Is the poor man supposed to feel better after downing that?"

Faramir's eyes gleam with excitement as she produces, as though by wizardry, a tray of honeycakes. "Temptress!" he murmurs, for she knows that one of his besetting sins is a sweet tooth, and honeycakes are a particular favorite of his. His eyes darken a little as he watches her lick her fingers. That is an idea worth exploring, when they are back in their rooms...

The sight and thought distract him enough that he forgets to answer for a moment. "Not immediately." His expression is just a trifle wicked. "But he will feel better for it in some little while. We have various herbs we add that also assist, though they do not do much to aid the taste! But he must make do. Have we all that is needed?"

Though not professing to a particular sweet tooth herself, there exists one special exception for Éowyn; old Helga's honeycakes. They are the most sumptuous treats she knows, and she is only too happy to indulge Faramir's weakness in this instance. It is the first morning of their wedded life, after all-- if this occasion does not call for something a bit special, then nothing will.

Her brow climbs a little higher still at Faramir's silence, a knowing smile spreading to her lips as if she is aware of what he thinks. She does not, of course, but she can make a fairly good guess. Shaking her head a little dubiously at his explanation but not contesting it, Éowyn flits over to one of the shelves and grabs a bottle of mead with a quiet laugh of glee to add to their bounty.

"We do now," she grins. "Let us away, before we truly run into someone who is conscious and able to hinder our return to our room."

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