Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

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[whattheydefend]

"How fortunate I am, to have such a passionate wife." He does not hurry the unlacing, instead letting the moment draw out, his warm breath teasing at her skin.

Even once the laces are undone, he does not yet let the gown slide off her shoulders. Instead he steps forward again, wrapping his arms around her waist so he may embrace her from behind, his hands joining hers where it rests on her stomach. He kisses her neck again, and then again, his lips brushing gently up towards her ear, and then he kisses that as well. "Have you any concerns about this night?" he asks quietly, for they have not had much chance to speak of it in private, and from this close he can feel that she is a little tense.

[freo]

The gown is finally loosened enough so it could be pushed down, but rather than do that, Faramir steps close once more and embraces her from behind. She leans back into his firm, warm body and sets her free hand over his, sighing softly as he rains kisses up her neck, tipping her head to the side to give him better access. Every move of hers speaks of implicit trust, and the tension she'd felt a moment ago vanishes, the line of her body relaxing against his. How is it that he seems to know exactly how to handle her? Èowyn does not know, but she is deeply grateful he does.

"No," she denies bluntly in a somewhat mulish murmur, a knee-jerk reaction. "Well. Not... I am not concerned, I just." She cuts herself off with a tiny huff, frustrated with her own seeming inability to put to words precisely what she feels. If only she were as eloquent as Faramir! Alas. Taking a breath, she tries again, fingertips drawing errant circles against the back of his hand.

"It is only that I am not entirely certain how to... do this." Her face flushes with embarrassment at both the topic and due to admitting her ignorance, but she forges on-- who can she be completely candid with if not her husband, after all? "How to best please you, I mean."

[whattheydefend]

He chuckles a little at her automatic, defensive denial, well familiar with her pride; but he says nothing, giving her time to find words. Her fingers on the back of hand distracts him a little from her answer. Only a little.

"Truthfully, I think there is very little you can do that will not please me," he admits with a low laugh, kissing the top of her earlobe again. "Any touch of yours is a wonder." He moves back down her neck, his hands splaying on her stomach and sliding to her hips.

"But I will promise to tell you if you do anything I do not like, if you will promise the same. For I do not know what will please you, either." A convenient thing about her dress being unlaced: he can nose the sleeve out the way and move his kisses down to her shoulder. "Though I...very much look forward to finding out."

[freo]

"You are not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" But this time her tone is lighter, a definite edge of teasing in it now and a small grin on her lips, closing her eyes as his mouth finds her neck again. His hands are warm and sure on her body as they slip down to her hips, even through the fabric of her dress still clinging to her. Heat courses through her, and it isn't because of the fire burning in the hearth of the room.

Another shiver runs down her spine at the combination of Faramir's husky words and the way he nudges the loosened collar of her dress down-- this time hardly from apprehension. The complete opposite of apprehension, actually. She draws in a soft intake of breath as the fabric slips down her shoulder, looping about her upper arm and almost revealing the upper swell of a breast, her bare flesh even more pale and porcelain-like against the vibrant green of the gown. She lifts her arm and twines fingers into his hair gently as he kisses along her shoulder, trembling a little under his caresses.

"I think I shall too enjoy finding out," she finally manages to jog her suddenly sluggish tongue into speaking, breathing a faint, ragged laugh. "I think I should also enjoy it if you were wearing less, as magnificent as you look in those garments."

[whattheydefend]

"I speak only truth, as you know." One last brush of his mouth along her shoulder, and then he turns her in his arms, openly admiring the bare skin that his ministrations have revealed. "And I have not yet finished the task I was appointed, and would not leave such an important matter undone..."

He moves his hands from her hips to her arms, slides them along the rich velvet up to her shoulders, and then back down on bare skin, pushing the sleeves down her arms. They should take care with it, for it is a work of art, but he is far more interested by the woman it reveals.

Even so, his mouth twitches. "After that--well, I too may need a little help with laces. And other things."

That is mere teasing, for he has few laces to undo, though more layers to remove. There is a velvet surcoat, of Gondorian silver and black, the White Tree shining on his chest, belted around the waist with an intricately woven silver chain; under the surcoat is a shirt of fine white silk, and black trousers and boots. A little stark compared to the warmer colours Rohan prefers, but Faramir needed to represent his country today as well as himself. And, as one courtier laughingly pointed out to him, no one ever remembers what the groom wears. It is the bride everyone watches.

Faramir can only consider that wisdom, especially in this case. The vivid green of her dress is beautiful, but Éowyn is more beautiful still, and his heated gaze makes that plain as he looks at her, as the dress finally falls to the floor and his hands return to her waist. He leans forward and kisses her again, more slowly but with more heat than before.

[freo]

"Other things, you say? You delight in teasing me, husband," Èowyn points out the obvious, teasing him right back, but her voice comes out a little breathless as his warm, calloused hands slide beneath the fabric of her dress and caress down her bare back.

And then, as if it had been up by a force of will alone up until then, the dress falls heavily to the floor, pooling about her feet in green piles of fabric. Èowyn sucks in a sharp breath and shivers a little at the cool air upon her naked body, her mouth going dry as she forcibly tamps down on the instinctive urge to cross her arms over her chest for modesty. There is no need for such, she reminds herself.

If she had ever worried even a little what Faramir might think of her body in comparison to the slim and willowy Gondorian beauties he is more used to, the heat in his gaze would have dispelled such fears quickly as he looks over her bare body now. For tall as she is, Èowyn has a longer torso and shorter legs in comparison-- broader at the shoulders, stronger in the arms, narrow waist giving way to full hips. She'd never really considered her own body in terms of how pleasing it is to the opposite sex, but the way Faramir grasps her close and kisses her with such evident longing speaks for itself.

Closing her eyes, she grips his upper arms and abandons herself to his kiss, parting her lips for him willingly and inviting him sweetly, if yet slightly clumsily, to deepen the kiss still, her heart beating wildly in her chest as her bare body presses against his clothed one, inexplicably erotic.

[whattheydefend]

"Yes," he agrees, his voice lower and rougher as his hands trail down the line of her spine, as she calls him husband again, and then she opens her mouth to his and all other thoughts are lost. His tongue slides between her lips, seeks hers, slow explorations of wet heat and hunger.

He draws in a deep breath and pulls her in closer, deepening the kiss more still, his hands wandering over all her, back and hips and shoulders, all of her warm and soft and strong body, the long fall of her hair teasing at the back of his hands. The contrast of being completely clothed--impeccably so--while she is naked in his arms is surprisingly arousing.

But not as much as the idea of bare skin on bare skin, so Faramir breaks the kiss, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead on hers. "Would you do me the same favor?" he asks quietly, brushing his nose against hers, his breathing a little uneven. "For since I am now your husband, it would be as well if you had a look at your half of the bargain."

[freo]

Èowyn scarcely believes she issues such a noise of pleasure at the way his hands explore and caress her, caught between a moan and a whimper, lost in the fray of their heated kiss and swallowed by Faramir's lips. Hunger and heat pours through her, warming up her skin and evoking a maddening yearning for more-- her habitual impatience beginning to rear its head.

She gasps for breath as their kiss breaks, her chest heaving, mouth swollen and an almost glassy look of arousal in her dilated eyes. Her lips curve into an enthralled smile at Faramir's query, fondness and excitement mingling in her expression as she briefly touches a hand to his cheek.

"Yes-- oh, yes Faramir," she agrees most enthusiastically, fingers scrabbling gently down to his waist to rid him of the fine chain of silver, dropping it unceremoniously onto her dress to be enfolded in rich velvet. There was time later to tidy up. It's as if her own nakedness has suddenly ceased to register, far more concerned with rendering Faramir to the same state of nudity as her. The surcoat is downright princely and exquisite, but soon it too lays on the floor. The silken shirt underneath cannot compete with the lure of his bare skin, as Èowyn demonstrates; all too quickly slipping fleet hands beneath the hem to trail them up Faramir's stomach, a spontaneous little croon of delight at her throat at the feel of warm skin and firm muscle.

[whattheydefend]

Sweet Elbereth, the sounds she makes, and they have barely begun...already Faramir is beginning to have a sense of how sorely this is going to test his self-control, and what blissful torture that test will be. He manages to keep his hands on her shoulders as she undoes his belt, lifts his arms and ducks his head as she hauls the surcoat off and discards it, both items immediately forgotten once removed.

And then she slides her hands under the loose shirt underneath, warm fingers against his chest, and wherever she touches leaves burning heat in her wake...Faramir reaches for her and all but crushes her against him once more. This time his kiss is demanding, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth to dance with hers, hungry and impatient. His shirt is trapped between them, pushed up but still very much in the way, for all that the cloth is thin enough that they can feel each other's heat through it without difficulty.

[freo]

Faramir is built so differently than the barrel-chested, bear-like Rohirrim she's grown up around, and it is particularly fascinating. He's tall and lean, but well-muscled; of that, there can be no doubt as Èowyn's hands trail covetously up his chest, fingers spread to touch as much as possible. The sprinkling of wiry hair tickles her palms, spread across the firm planes of his pectorals; she's only caught glimpses occasionally so far, peeking out of a low collar and tempting her imagination-- how far down did it reach?

She opens her mouth to nigh demand they get rid of the shirt already, as fine as that, too, is. But before she can manage even a peep, Faramir's mouth steals her breath anew as he crushes her against him, taking her lips in a hot, hungry kiss that is no longer questing, but demanding. And by all the gods, his forcefulness is making her tremble in his arms, wild with eager anticipation knowing he wants to know her in this most intimate of manner as badly as she does him. She matches his fervor as she kisses back, feeling downright feverish as her bare breasts press against his chest, the flimsy silk hardly an impediment in between -- and yet, it's too much. It needs to go.

Her own impatience roiling, she tugs awkwardly at the shirt-- a bit too passionately, it seems, as suddenly a sharp ripping sound of an undone seam rends the air. Èowyn gasps in startled remorse and breaks the kiss, jumping a little in his embrace; did she just tear the pristine silk? For a beat, she looks like a deer caught in the way of a hunter's arrow, but a blink of an eye later, she laughs loud and unrestrained, mirth sparkling in her eyes.

"It is what you get for marrying a Northern barbarian woman! They tear the clothes right off your back."

[whattheydefend]

The enthusiasm with which she returns his kiss makes Faramir's head spin. He can feel her breasts pressing against his chest, the light material barely a barrier...but barely is still too much, and when she tugs at his shirt he tries to help her remove it, but he pulls one way and she pulls another and then it rips.

There's a moment of surprise, and then they both are laughing, and she shines with amusement. Her words make him laugh all the more, and he pulls her in for another kiss, this one more brief and affectionate, and interrupted by his chuckling. "I can see that marriage will be hard on my wardrobe!" he teases. "But even so, you are welcome to tear any clothes off me that you will, so long as you will also kiss me as you just did."

[freo]

Her shoulder shake with near soundless chuckles even as she kisses him back, lightly and fondly this time. "Such hardships you suffer," she teases back, affection shining across every inch of her face. "And a dangerous offer you make! For I might take shameless advantage. But mayhap I shall try to gentle my manners, if only to keep your coffers from running empty replacing your clothes."

Smirking, Èowyn leans back enough to help tug the torn shirt up and over his head, finally. But once the now ruined article falls away, her mirth escapes quite suddenly, struck breathless by the sight of her husband's bare torso. Her eyes lid a little heavily as she runs her gaze like a caress over his chest and stomach, the scars on his skin like badges of honor, to her. A warrior's -- an archer's -- body, and she's more than pleased with his shape. He's beautiful, though he might or might not appreciate that precise term.

"As for my kisses... I do think that will be a problem. Indeed, I may have trouble stopping," she confesses huskily as she wraps her arms around his neck, inhaling a shaky little breath as their fronts press flush against each other, with no barrier of clothing between them this time.

[whattheydefend]

He is still laughing as he helps her remove the ripped shirt, pulling it over his head, and is about to make another jesting comment in kind when he catches sight of her expression: the heat and appreciation in her eyes immediately set his blood racing. Faramir has never before cared much whether or not he was attractive, but knowing Èowyn finds him so, that she is affected by the sight of him...that goes to his head, in every sense.

He rests one hand on her hip as she embraces him again, and caresses her face with the other. "Do not stop," he says, his voice suddenly rough. "Be my ungentle, shameless, insatiable barbarian from the North always. Even if it means I never have unripped clothes again. Especially if that."

This time when he kisses her it is a slower thing, his mouth teasing, pulling and nipping at her lips and his tongue darting to touch hers, adding tinder to a fire that will not take long to become a conflagration. He pulls her in close, her curves against his chest, and that makes him gasp into the kiss with more urgency. Flush against him like this there is no disguising the hard length straining against his trousers, pressing against her.

[freo]

He's repeating her own jest back at her, but she knows he means every word; suddenly she feels like weeping, but from joy and sense of completion. Nobody has ever accepted her as wholly as Faramir does, without seeking to change anything in her -- nor have her change herself. To think how she once despaired, fearful of never being seen for who she is and what she's capable of... it seems a whole lifetime ago. If this sort of bliss with this man is her reward for passing under such shadows, she would endure it again in a heartbeat.

"Faramir," she whispers, moved by an overflowing of pure emotion, just before he claims her lips all over again for a slow and staggeringly sensual kiss. He's kissing her like she never thought one can be kissed at all, like he's making love to her mouth with his, making her shiver anew even as she does her best to return his caresses, learning from his example. Èowyn echoes his gasp as their bodies press into each other more firmly in their fervor, her pebbled nipples rubbing against his chest and sending pinpricks of pleasure tingling through her.

That isn't all, for she quickly become aware of the hot, hard length of him pushing insistently into her thigh through his trousers. Heat lashes through her, a flush spreading down her chest and her belly tightening; some of her nerves return, but more powerful is the pure, wanton excitement that draws a low moan from her into the kiss, one hand greedily stroking along his back while she clings to him with the other. They would need to finish undressing him, but she can't seem to tear herself away just yet.

[whattheydefend]

"Eowyn..." More a breath than a word, for his mouth is better occupied than with speaking. He slides a hand through her hair, over her shoulder, down the arm still marked by scarring from where the Witch-king hit her with his mace. They both have scars to bear, and he welcomes hers as part of her.

Then both his hands are at her waist, and she moans and the sound shoots down his spine, and he pulls her hips towards his, groaning into her mouth at the tantalizing pressure, the nearness of her. They should do something about the rest of his clothes, he realizes dimly, or at least make progress towards the bed, and yet..."Eowyn." His mouth wanders from hers to her jaw, trails a line of kisses to her neck, her ear, his breath hot on her skin.

[freo]

She issues another slightly pitchy noise into his mouth when he pulls her hips into his more firmly still, cheeks feeling hot and flushed. She pants for breath once the kiss breaks, sighing hotly as Faramir's lips take to trailing across her neck, tipping her head to the side to give his exploration more room. Her own hands do not remain idle, either, but take to running down to the base of his spine, before scrabbling suggestively along the waist of his breeches.

"Does Gondor call for aid?" she breathes a little slyly, grinning, altogether uncertain how she has the capacity for more jests when she feels so lightheaded and overheated.

[whattheydefend]

He chuckles, a puff of air against her ear. "It does," he confirms, before grazing her earlobe with his teeth, nibbling gently. Her hands feel wonderful on his skin. Her skin feels wonderful on his skin, and he lifts one hand and traces the curve of one breast lightly with a finger. "Will Rohan answer?"

[freo]

She closes her eyes when he nibbles at her ear, his laugh ringing in her head. She opens her mouth to respond, to quip back, but then his clever finger traces along her breast and her breath catches sharply in her throat-- before expelling almost immediately on a tiny, soft cry. "Oh...! Aye, Rohan will answer-- most urgently." There's a trace of an exhilarated laugh carried on her breath as she inches her hands in between them to tug at the laces of his trousers, determined to make good on her pledge.

[whattheydefend]

He chuckles again, continuing to tease her ear, alternating the use of his lips and teeth. "Gondor is fortunate to have so enthusiastic an ally." His breath hitches as she unties the laces at his waist, for that necessarily involves activity near certain sensitive areas. Probably she does not mean to brush against him as she does, but regardless it has an effect.

When the laces are undone he pulls away, helps shove the rest of his clothes over his legs and steps out of them, and then he is as bare as she. This time Faramir does look a little self-conscious as he stands before her, waiting for her reaction. That she will have seen naked men before, he does not doubt; she is a healer, among many other things. But he does not know if she's ever before seen a naked man in his present state. And even if she has, these circumstances are wildly different.

It's a strong body, lean but well-built, evenly muscled and tanned by sun. A light dusting of hair gathers in the middle of his chest and trails down, and rising up to meet it is his cock, standing proud and quivering a little. He flushes a little as she looks him over, his breathing quickening. "Is it well, lady?" he asks quietly, submitting himself for her approval.

[freo]

Èowyn backs a step away to give Faramir room to rid himself of the rest of his clothing, watching eagerly. Greedy gaze roams over every inch of his bared body once he is finally as nude as she is, unabashed in her appreciation of his body. She sucks in a soft breath as she takes in his cock, standing up tall and proud between his legs.

She has seen naked men, indeed. She grew up among people less concerned with such propriety; she has seen plenty of Rohirrim bathe out in the wilds. More recently, she has treated men in naught but their skin. She's quite familiar with that part of the male anatomy-- just never in such personal context, nor in such full state of arousal. Perhaps she ought to be intimidated, but nay, she is merely fascinated; and something else, heavy heat coiling sluggishly somewhere deep between her hips.

"Well?" she repeats softly, a bit of a breathless quality to her voice. The tip of her tongue peeks out to wet her lips unconsciously before she exhales a soft, shuddering breath. "It is beyond well, beloved. All of Middle-earth may envy my fortune, for my husband is the best of men and looking upon him in all his glory kindles a fire in my blood."

Biting her lip briefly, her lips curve as she takes a tentative step closer, touching a hand to his shoulder where the scars from the poison arrow mark his skin. "See how you inspire me into poetry, though my efforts always pale next to yours."

[whattheydefend]

Faramir laughs, reaching for her waist again as she steps towards him. "Glory seems too great a description, but if it is poetry you want..."

With his other hand he caresses her side up to the swell of her breast, circling over before finally taking it in hand, his thumb brushing lightly over the nipple. He breathes in deeply, looking at her with open desire and admiration. In a quiet, reverent voice he begins to recite in the Elven-tongue, his hands wandering over her skin, his fingers kneading and caressing. He pulls her closer, bends and kisses her ear again, her neck, punctuation marks in his recitation.

[freo]

"You are simply too modest, that is how I see it," she disagrees succinctly with a crooked smile. She breathes a soft sigh when his hand finds her breast, the rosy nipple under his thumb hardening further at the touch-- and how does such a small thing feel so wonderful? She's still trying to recover from the headiness of the caress when Faramir renews his gentle offense on her body and mind both, murmuring softly in Elvish as he goes.

It would be more lovely if she could understand all the words Faramir recites in their entirety, but what she can make out is beautiful and fateful and vaguely ambiguous the way all Elven things tend to be. In Èowyn's opinion, at least. Fleetingly, she thinks she ought to teach Faramir some of her own tongue; just maybe not now. The Rohirrim have no ethereal love poems to quote-- naughty limericks, more like. But again, later. Her own hands do not stay idle, one trailing lightly down his side and hip and the other brushing against his chest, fingertips stirring the hair there to graze against his flatter nipple; curious whether that is sensitive, too.

"Is this what you imagined it would be? Being together like this?" she asks in a soft tone of her own. She does not play coy and ask if he has pictured this in the first place; she certainly has, and plenty of times, so why wouldn't he?

[whattheydefend]

"No." His lips brush against her ear as he murmurs the word. He certainly has pictured this, often and in great detail, and it thrills him to the core to know that she has as well. "It is much, much better, for it is real."

With that he bends a little and picks her up in his arms, flashing her a quick grin before carrying her over to the bed, placing her on it, and joining her there, lying by her side and bending over to kiss her again.

[freo]

Èowyn parts her smiling lips to respond, but words get exchanged for a small gasp of surprise when Faramir suddenly bends to lift her up into his arms, throwing her own arm around his shoulders to hold on and laughing a little. Perhaps it had been the time to move this over to the bed-- except lying on her back like this feels a lot more passive than standing upright with him, and for a moment she doesn't quite know what to do, where to put her hands.

Fortunately Faramir leans down to kiss her almost immediately, solving her dilemma for now. Framing his face with her hands, she kisses back with the same heat as before, even if she doesn't hurry, now; the length of her hair still spills over one shoulder and breast, snaking onto the bedclothes next to her.

[whattheydefend]

For a moment Faramir is perfectly balanced between impatient desire and a tenderness that demands to be savored, as she frames his face and kisses him in return. A moment of being poised.

"Is this what you imagined, when you thought of it?"
Another kiss, a sweet teasing pull of her lips with his. He will not tease for much longer, but after so much time spent anticipating this night he is oddly reluctant to rush into it headlong. His free hand lifts and strokes her hair, follows the errant strands down her chest and back to her breast, which he once again takes in hand. He breaks the kiss and pulls away a few inches, enough that she can see his smile. "And you need not tell me you thought of it, for I know you did, my shieldmaiden."