faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

It is exquisite torture, and Éowyn is left quivering from head to toe when Faramir finally kisses her palm, drawing a little gasp from her. But then his lips press against the inside of her wrist, more sensitive than she had ever imagined until now... a visible jolt has her jumping a little, an unabashed and unrestrained moan spilling from her lips. Her eyes flutter shut entirely, but only for a moment-- there is heat in their dilated depths when she opens them again, an expression caught between hunger and fierceness crossing her face.

A second later, she's pulled her hand from his grip, instead tangling her fingers none too gently in his hair and crashed her mouth against his in a hot, demanding kiss, wasting no time slipping her tongue in his mouth to meet his and kissing him as if her very life depends on it. Her other hand bunches into the fabric of his shirt, fisting it as if tempted to rip this one off of him, as well.

He's moving for the kiss as soon as she is, as soon as she rips her hand from his grasp. There is no telling which of them reaches for the other first. Heat and need pound through him with a ferocity that leaves him almost unable to breathe, which is fine, because breathing would only be a distraction from kissing her.

He already had an arm around her waist. It's easy to grip harder, to stand and lift her with him, to move his other hand to support her underneath. There's a bed in the room. There's a floor, walls. They're all too far away, all of them.

He turns just a little and sits her on the table, pushing the tray to the side. It goes over the edge and crashes to the ground, and possibly something breaks, and he is only barely aware of it because now his hands are free and he can push her robe open and find her breasts, her hips, all of her, everything kept hidden while they made their clandestine run through the Great Hall.

His mouth trails down her neck and shoulder, not gentle kisses this time but biting and sucking on her skin as he reaches a hand between her legs, finds the sweet spot there and works at it, inserts two fingers and curls them inside her. If she wants to rip his shirt off, she is welcome to do it, so long as they need not stop.

He lifts her easily, and oh, how the reminder of how deceptively strong he is has her blood quickening all the more. To say nothing of the way he drops her on the table; an impatient act, needy and hungry, like he can't wait a moment longer. It's an echo of her own eagerness, and she hums low from her throat in approval, shivering as the tray he shoves aside crashes to the floor. This is not gentle and careful-- this is something else entirely.

Good. She does not want sweet and tender now.

Crying out a little raggedly when he finally touches her bare body, her head tips back as his mouth devours her neck, her fingers digging into his arms, shoulders-- everywhere she can grip blindly. She spreads her legs wider when his hand reaches between them, like a complete wanton and not caring one whit. She's also beyond caring who might hear her, moaning her pleasure unabashedly when his clever fingers find her clit and rub. Arousal from before has her soaked and slick already, and his fingers slide within her heat with ease, drawing sharp little shout from her as he curls and presses them against her walls. It feels divine, amazing, but still not enough.

Once again, she is naked while he remains clothed, and this imbalance does not please her at all right now. A frustrated noise akin to a growl passes between her gritted teeth, one hand tugging roughly at the laces of his breeches. "Get rid of these right now."

He needs no further urging. He reaches for his waistband only a heartbeat after she does, not bothering to untie the laces properly, just shoving downwards and over. Fortunately he had only loosely tied them earlier, and even rigid and erect as he is he can manage.

But more than that, he does not do. He's undressed enough. He knows she's ready. The table isn't an ideal height for this, but it will serve, and neither of them can wait. Faramir takes himself in hand, pulls her hips forward, bends her back.

He thrusts in deep and hard, groaning loudly enough that anyone in the hallway outside will have stories to tell. He withdraws almost at once and pushes in again, setting a punishing pace with a ferocity he never knew he was capable of. Her hands grip him with the same desperation and roughness--neither of them wants sweet and gentle, not now--and he grunts against her neck, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. One arm is an iron bar of support against her back, and he leans on his other hand on the table. Her legs wrap around him, and he can feel the strength in her thighs--a rider's strength, a fighter's, clenching around him, a match for his own. Knowing that undoes him utterly.

He only barely manages to hold back until she comes first, and then crashes into his own orgasm with a harsh shout, clinging to her for dear life as it hits, harder than any he's ever known. It's a wonder his legs hold him afterwards.

Thank all of the Valar he is as needy and desperate as she; Éowyn is only too eager to assist, scooting to the very edge of the table even as Faramir pulls her forward. No less quiet than he, her sharp scream of gratification echoes in the room when he finally thrusts inside of her. There truly is no consideration spared for her comfort this time; not that it's needed, as ready as she'd been. Even the slight twinges brought on by the downright rough snap of his hips against hers only heighten her pleasure, moaning as he rides her hard. Everything about this encounter excites her to fever pitch in no time at all, her vocalizations turning more heated and climbing in pitch. The table creaks with every hard meeting of their hips, definitely not made for this purpose, but neither of them is in much of a state to pay that any mind.

Her fingers digging into his skin through the shirt he's still wearing, she urges him on amid moans and desperate cries with brazen words, wrapping her legs tighter around him and enjoying the force he's putting her under. Her gentle husband, inflamed to such hard passions! A side of him that only she would ever get to witness. The heady thought passes through her mind hazily at the same time as her body succumbs, her pleasure drawn to breaking point.

"Yes, yes... yes!" With that final exultation she shatters, squeezing and fluttering around his cock in hot, wet pulses, unsuccessfully muffling her deep groan of pleasure by biting at the join of his neck and shoulder, feeling him shudder against her a second before he shouts and spends himself against her deepest parts as he finds his own rapture. She holds him tightly through it, shivering herself and murmuring soothing nonsense, gently licking over the light teethmarks she left on his shoulder.

A quiet moment later, she begins to laugh; chuckling barely audibly at first before escalating into soft giggles, stroking his hair gently with one hand. "I am glad this table was sturdy enough to withstand us! It would have been awkward to explain why it broke..."

It takes a few minutes for any sort of coherence to return to Faramir, and when it does he's struck first by astonishment at the intensity of what just happened, and second by the absurdity of it. Éowyn is somewhat precariously balanced on a table, of all things, and he's standing buried in her with his breeches around his ankles. Before long he's laughing with her, as much as he can while still trying to catch his breath. "It would," he manages, kissing her lightly as he withdraws and lifts her off the poor, abused piece of furniture.

He manages to lower her back into her seat before collapsing in his own--still bare-assed, which makes him laugh again, even as he frees his feet from the tangled pile of his own breeches. There hardly seems any point in putting them back on. "And as it is, we will still need to explain--" He bends down and looks at the floor, picking up the various dropped items and returning them to the table: tray, a single plate, one of the mugs, assorted bits of food. "Hm. Nothing seems broken, actually. I am impressed. And relieved that your people make crockery as tough as themselves--and strong enough to survive randy visiting bridegrooms."

The grin he gives her is tired but decidedly smug, and he reaches an arm to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her in to an embrace and kissing her head. "Had you finished your breakfast, beloved? I admit I'm more minded to return to bed. Holding you is far more comfortable there."

Éowyn chuckles softly herself once she's seated, her robe still miraculously clinging to her arms and shoulders. Pushing some hair from her face, she grins a little and takes in her equally, wonderfully disheveled -- and half-naked -- husband as he picks up the items off the floor, feeling a fierce rush of tenderness well up within and crash over her. How did she get so fortunate?

She arches a brow and purses her lips against another laugh at his quip about randy bridegrooms, eyes sparkling, but it breaks through anyway. Dropping her forehead on his shoulder when he draws her into an embrace, she hums softly in amusement. She had in fact finished breaking her fast, which is probably a good thing as their food did take a trip to the floor... Lifting her head, she smiles and leans in for a soft kiss.

"It is fortunate, then, that I'm inclined to agree." She gives him another kiss before getting up, tugging him along by his hand toward the bed with a tiny smirk.

He follows her willingly, wanting nothing more than to lie down and wrap himself around her. He shucks off his shirt as she lays on the bed, tossing it on one of the chairs behind them. Once she is settled he stretches himself by her side, pulling the blanket over them before he rests his head on her chest, using her as his pillow. His arm is thrown across her waist in a loose embrace. After the sudden violence of their lovemaking, he wants something more soft, and he sighs with contentment once they are fitted together thus.

"I will not ask if you enjoyed that," he says after some few minutes, his breath tickling her skin. "For I know you did. But still I am...surprised, I suppose." A huff of a laugh, and he turns his head to kiss her breast, purely because it is there and he may. "I fantasized more than once about taking you up against a wall, but on a table--! In my wildest dreams that never occurred to me. And yet I could not wait."

Edited 2018-11-11 22:38 (UTC)

Éowyn shrugs off her robe as they go, letting it fall to the floor without much care for where it happens to land. Her fingers delve into his hair while her other hand strokes down his spine when he settles down himself, closing her eyes for a moment and echoing his sigh of contentment softly; she would be beyond happy to never move again, enjoying his solid weight and warmth against her.

Her breath catches just a little at that kiss to her breast-- and maybe a bit due to his words, too. She chuckles quietly, grinning. "I would not be opposed to being taken against a wall," she murmurs, torn between pretending coyness and outright slyness. In her mind, that sounds like an idea worth making into reality soon. Éowyn remains silent for a moment after that, corralling her thoughts into an answer for him.

"I have adored every time we have made love before now, but that was..." she trails off, shaking her head a little and breathing a faint laugh of delight. "To know you wanted me so badly you would not wait one more moment... how immensely that flatters and pleases me." Humming a soft, fond note, she presses her lips to his forehead. "My sweet, gentle Faramir. I love that I could inflame you to such fervor."

She can't help her wryness when she adds, "Not that I had any more patience left myself! I had not known my hands were quite so sensitive..."

He lifts and turns his head so he may look up at her, his gaze tender. "You and no other, Éowyn, my wife and dearest love." He stretches up a little, enough that he can steal a kiss, before resting once more on her chest. "I had not realized desire could be so overpowering. Not that I regret it in the least! I must remember that place on your wrist in particular, for future use."

He reaches up and captures her hand, brings it to his mouth and kisses her knuckles, more a teasing reminder than a precursor to more play. In time, but not just yet. He is enjoying being where he is too much to be minded to move yet.

The smile she gives him in return is just as soft, warmed to the core by his words. Closing her eyes as he pushes in for a kiss, she brushes her fingers gently against his cheek. Her free hand begins to wander idly once he settles back down again; softly stroking through his hair, smoothing along his back and shoulders, learning every curve of bone and slope of muscle. It is a feeling of contentment unlike any she's ever felt before, lying together like this, her lips curving into a smile at the press of his lips against her knuckles.

"And I must remember the look on your face when I took your finger in my mouth," she notes a little brazenly, chuckling. "I daresay you had some... thoughts about that."

If he were a cat, he would purr. As it is he lets out a long breath and melts against her, boneless and content as he relaxes under her gentle ministrations, her fingers stroking and wandering. If it ever ends, it will be too soon; he could lie here until the end of days and want for nothing.

At her words he groans, a rueful sound, burying a face suddenly flushed with heat against her skin. "I did, I confess it. But have mercy, Éowyn! Let me rest a little while before I tell you of those, or we will but begin again. And I do not wish to move again just yet. Indeed I am not sure I am able to."

The thought is not without its temptations, but truly he feels drained, though wonderfully so.

Éowyn laughs happily in fond amusement at his rueful answer, hugging him to her as best she can and dropping a kiss into his hair. Gods, how she loves him! "Peace, husband!" she says, a trace of laughter still edging each word. "Have your rest. I should not wish to run you quite so ragged so soon..."

Her lips curve into another, fond smile, evident in her tone even were one not to look upon her expression. Her fingertips trace lightly the length of his spine, almost so lightly as to be ticklish, but not quite. "I happily admit, it is very nice as well-- to simply lay here like this. I am looking forward to doing so every night."

his arm tightens around her waist. "As am I." He turns his head and kisses her skin again, hitting somewhere around the collarbone. "I enjoy lovemaking with you even more than I had anticipated, but part of me is even happier with this. To know we may spend all the nights of our lives together, thus entangled..."

He tilts his head again so he may look at her, his smile entirely unguarded. "It seems a blessing beyond belief, to be graced with such joy and such passion both."

"Yes," Éowyn agrees in a soft whisper; for once again, Faramir is more eloquent out of the two of them and puts to words more easily the feelings they both share. Her own smile is just as soft and loving, the expression on his face melting her heart. "My dearest heart. I adore you," she murmurs in Rohirric, fingers stroking through his hair before brushing gently against his cheek.

Faramir turns his head to kiss her fingers. He shifts up the bed in order to take her in his arms more fully, caressing her face and kissing her. It is unlike the other times they have done this, for sated as they both are there is no lick of desire to the action--or not yet. Instead there is unhurried, overwhelming love, no less intense but with a different feel to it. The warmth of it covers him like another blanket.

"Éowyn, my heart," he says quietly between kisses, also in Rohirric. "With you I am complete. With you I am content."

Éowyn sighs against his lips, the sound morphing into a quiet hum of pleasure as she kisses back; tender and unhurried, loving this closeness and sense of unity that fills her as they embrace like this. She holds him as best she can, one hand stroking over his shoulder and down his arm before trailing back up again; he has such lovely arms, delightfully toned from years of handling a bow. She could name them her favorite part of his body, but that would slight every other part of him-- how is she ever to decide?

She sighs anew at his soft declarations between even softer kisses; it still gives her a little thrill to hear him speak in her own tongue, moved by the fact that he made the effort to learn in the first place. Her own reciprocal efforts to brush up on her Sindarin have fallen shorter, but she determines to fix that-- if only perhaps after their honeymoon...

"I hope it will always be like this between us," she whispers, carding her fingers through his hair again and leaning her forehead gently against his, overcome with a rush of emotion.

He strokes her body with now easy, familiar caresses, one hand wrapped around her back and the other straying over her arms, her side, her hip. Her body is a joy to him, strong and lithe, soft but muscled, and so very responsive to any touch, so welcoming...he makes a small, wordless noise of contentment into their kiss, wrapping one of his legs around hers.

"As do I," he murmurs, nuzzling against her. "Likely it will not, not quite like this, for wedding nights are by all accounts exceptional. But I have every hope that any changes will be only for the better."

"Mm-- indeed. Though, I have heard a rumor that not all wedding nights are so pleasant to the bride," she says, a hint of teasing entering her tone. "But I am happy to say such rumor is either false, or other women have not been so fortunate as I in their choice of husbands."

She pauses, her lips curving into a crooked smile. "Personally, I'm inclined to believe the latter is more likely."

"If such husbands do not put in the effort to ensure their wives are pleased, more fools they," he murmurs against her mouth, not quite kissing her again. "But I am glad you will have no complaints."

His tongue slides back between her lips, languorous and thorough. "Do they say anything about the mornings after the wedding night?" he asks, after some minutes of this.

"Never," she whispers back with a smile that is difficult to strike from her lips, even when Faramir covers them with his, her eyes drifting shut as he does. A low hum of contentment escapes her as they kiss almost lazily, lips and tongues stroking until she is breathless all over again.

"Nothing about tables, that is certain!" she teases, a gleam in her eyes and laughter on her breath.

This unrushed series of touches and kisses, with no agenda but affection and mutual enjoyment behind them, is another tenor of bliss yet. Truly, Faramir muses, love is made of a multitude of pleasures, and the obvious ones are not always the greatest...

He breaks off with a laugh, pulling back far enough to look at her, that he might see the amusement on her face clearly. "No, and perhaps we shall keep that to ourselves!" His grin too is teasing, mischevious. "Unless we try it again later, and end up breaking it after all--in which case if there were no such tales before, there will be from this day forth. Not the legacy I had intended to leave behind me! Though I could hardly complain, given how pleasing it was at the time..."

Remembering stirs him a little, and his mouth drifts down to her chin, then her neck. Light, teasing kisses, still more affectionate than with intention. For the moment.

"It was a great deal more than simply pleasing-- I would hope you had no complaints... you certainly did not appear so at the time," she cracks a bit slyly with a grin, teasing him even as she tips her head back to allow him better access to her throat and neck, sighing at the sweet sensation of his lips mapping out her skin.

Humming softly in pleasure, she trails her fingers up and down his spine, letting her nails scrape ever so lightly against his skin. "Perhaps we ought to not be hasty in deciding our legacies without first testing the options..."

His laugh is a muffled vibration against her skin. "At the time I was far too occupied to think of complaints, even had I any."

He sighs in obvious delight as she caresses his back, arching into her touch. "Oh? What options had you in mind, sweet tempress?" He nibbles delicately at her neck.

"I am merely pointing out we ought to not dismiss the table so soon," she chuckles, enjoying the way he arches into her touches. "Or the wall. Or the floor. Or the--" Her words cut off on a gasping little noise of pleasure when he happens to nibble on a particularly sensitive spot right at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, just above her collarbone, her nails biting a bit more sharply into his back in unwitting reaction.

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