Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

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[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."

[freo]

Èowyn combs her fingers through his hair with one hand, breathing a throaty little noise into the kiss when he cups her breast once more.

"You know me so well," she murmurs back in a fond tease once they part, smiling as well. "It is far more than I ever could have imagined it being. Far more wondrous. Though... I did imagine you touching me just like this." She brushes her fingers over the back of his hand that is laying claim to her breast indicatively. Wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she goes on a little breathlessly, eyelids growing heavy, "And then, replacing your hand with your mouth."

[whattheydefend]

His smile widens, and he kisses her briefly one more time before moving down on the bed, kissing along her jaw and neck and upper chest, into the valley between her breasts. He looks up, his smile tinged briefly wicked, and very, very lightly kisses her nipple, then begins cirling the rest of her breast with open-mouthed kisses, while his hand continues to caress and tease the other breast, so neither is neglected.

When his mouth finds her nipple again he kisses it once more, less lightly; then he suckles, flicking his tongue against the hard nub there, glancing up to see her reaction. "Like this?" he murmurs before continuing.

[freo]

Èowyn's lips curve into a smile of her own, even through the light kiss, a tiny shiver rippling down her body as Faramir begins his descent. She hums softly her enjoyment as his mouth rains kisses down her neck and chest, her breathing picking up slightly. That downright roguish smile makes her breath catch, though it's the kiss to her pebbled nipple that truly makes her gasp-- and sigh again when he presses warm, slightly damp kisses across the soft flesh around. It is all so very pleasant, his free hand tending to her opposite breast diligently. She thinks she begins to see what all the fuss is about...

But then Faramir latches on and suckles, all wet, warm suction around the sensitive nub of flesh, and it's like a lash from a whip; only white-hot pleasure rather than pain. A sharp cry of pleasure spills from Èowyn's lips and her head goes back, arching her neck and digging the back of her head into the plush bedding and pillows underneath.

"Oh! Oh, yes-- like that," she exults amid a breathy laugh of sensual delight, her fingers running through his hair and stroking down his shoulders; touching, gripping. Unconsciously, her body writhes restlessly under his tender onslaught, yearning for more still. "By all the gods, don't stop..."

[whattheydefend]

When she cries out and arches beneath him, any desire on Faramir's part to hold back and not rush instantly vanishes. He groans against her skin, his motions suddenly becoming more urgent, sucking harder, squeezing her other breast more firmly. When the sounds she makes go up in pitch he switches, paying just as fervent attention to the other breast, scrapping his teeth over the nipple as he suckles her. Every cry she utters is music, shoots through him with a sweet, painful intensity, firing down to his groin.

She tugs at his hair and he draws in a low, ragged breath. "This--" he manages, somewhere between kisses and suction and gasps. "This is what I imagined, you writhing in pleasure under me, because of me--"

He surges back up and captures her mouth again, his tongue plunging in, breathing her in like air. "For months, Èowyn, for a year, every night..." His hand strokes over her breasts, down her abdomen, cups the mound between her thighs.

[freo]

Èowyn feels like she's going to burst; her body is on fire, her skin a size too small to contain the swirling, burgeoning pleasure that is swiftly overtaking her, spreading from her breasts and spilling along the laylines of her body ever southward until settling between her thighs as a dull, aching throb that matches her heartbeat. The world around her ceases to exist, shrinking to a sharp focus; all she sees and hears and feels is Faramir, his touch and his groans and his hot breath on her skin. She desperately needs more of him or she might just expire, she thinks.

She moans loudly at his almost desperate caresses, easily matching her own mood, and his ragged, heated words; she'd faint into a swoon at them if she wasn't already lying down -- imagining him, imagining this; and her, like this. It's so carnal and sultry she shudders at the mere thought.

She hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes, only becoming aware of it when she opens them heavily as Faramir leaves her chest alone, catching a glimpse of the intensity written across his expression as he claims her lips for a fervent kiss. Moaning again, she kisses back with hunger of her own, nails of one hand biting into his back and the other tugging at his hair -- she finds she likes touching and holding onto it, in this situation.

"Show me," she pants heavily, a bit of a whimper escaping her when his roughened palm strokes down her body again. "Show me all of it, I--"

Another cry overtakes words when his palm boldly cups her where she's grown wet and burning hot, her back arching off the bedding a little as the gentle pressure and warmth of his hand alone feel amazing, her eyes slamming shut again at the sensation. "Oh, Faramir...!"

[whattheydefend]

He spoke truth, before: this is better than anything he imagined, beyond his imagining, for it is real. This is his Èowyn, as passionate and unrestrained in her desire as she is in all things, and to him she is beautiful and desirable beyond all description. The ungentle scraping of nails on his back and the rough pulls on his hair only add to his hunger, a pain that blurs into even more pleasure. He never knew the line between the two could be walked so closely.

His finger carefully parts her, dips inside searching for the wet heat he knows must be waiting; he groans when he finds it. "Èowyn..." His finger slides up, searching for and finding the sensitive nub, stroking it carefully. He still kisses her, wanting to capture every gasp, every moan she makes with his own mouth.

[freo]

Her whole frame flinches gently when Faramir's finger slides along her soft flesh, at first a little startled by the foreign touch at the most tender part of her-- but such hesitation only lasts a second when he finds such hidden spot that makes her see stars, hot pleasure immediately blooming outward from where he strokes her with such care. She jolts again, a pitchy cry muffled against his mouth as she struggles the sustain the kiss from the heady rush of rapture threatening of overwhelm her.

She may be inexperienced, but her body responds out of primal instinct; hips beginning to rock gently into his touch, shuddering and breathing heavily through her nose, unhanding his back to grasp at the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. Her other hand clasps the back of his neck, another pleasured mewl escaping her and getting lost amid their questing lips.

[whattheydefend]

Her responses are beyond all his fantasies, and Faramir is enchanted by them. When she begins to move against his hand he notes the rhythm, matches it, works with it. He is still researching, even in this swirl of heat: how she reacts to a light touch, a harder press, to his finger circling one way or the other. What makes her gasp, what makes her almost scream...he has to stop kissing her in order to watch, and to let her breathe. The sight of her flushed face and clenched eyes is well worth the attention. "Beautiful--" he murmurs in Sindarin, not even aware he has spoken.

When needed he dips his finger back in search of more moisture, and then carefully adds a second finger to the first, stroking carefully inside her, a deliberate mimicry of the act he devoutly hopes will follow soon.