Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

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Brilliant ideas and clueless flailing all welcome.
AUs and cross-canon, drama and comedy and shipping.
Just throw stuff at me. It's all good.

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[freo]

"Oh, yes?" She smiles fondly and indulgently down at him at her marvels at her hair and stretches out a strand of it, to her such an ordinary, commonplace thing among the famously fair-haired Rohirrim. "You truly are a poet, beloved."

She presses a light kiss to his brow, chuckling. "Alas, I fear you indeed wedded a mere mortal, I'm fairly certain of it." Another kiss, but this time she leans down to press her lips almost reverently against his shoulder, where the scarring from the poisoned arrow lays-- as if she could erase the marks from his skin by doing so. "I do love to hear about your imaginings. I have myself long envisioned doing that."

[whattheydefend]

Faramir has seen many fair-haired Rohirrim during his time in the Mark, but still Èowyn's seems to shine brighter than any other's. Though he will acknowledge he is a little biased.

He draws in his breath sharply as he kisses the scarred part of his shoulder. He cannot feel her lips there, for little feeling has yet returned to the outer skin where the mark lies, but there is something profoundly intimate about the act, and merely witnessing it affects him. "I had forgotten that promise," he murmurs. He reaches out and captures her left hand, brings it to his mouth and brushes his lips along the scarring on her lower forearm, then kisses the inside her her wrist. "What else have you envisioned, my wife?"

[freo]

Her eyes lid as she watches him kiss her own scars intently, her pulse sent skittering under the soft press of his mouth to the tender skin of her wrist. My wife, he calls her, and it still sounds utterly wondrous to Èowyn, her smile deepening in quiet pleasure as the words sink warmly under her skin. Her cheeks blush a little at the question, though, thinking back on some of the things she has imagined during their long wait; for all her bravery, she is not sure she could speak of them.

"Should I rather show you? You know I'm better at showing than telling. First I would tend to the rest of you, though-- have you more scars for me to kiss, husband? For I have not forgotten. I think I ought to look for myself."

He has lead the life of a warrior, so she already knows the mark on his shoulder is not the only one he bears. The delight is in finding them -- she would know his body down to the last inch. She leans in to kiss his lips, but does not allow him to deepen it this time, pulling back with a teasing smirk. Instead, she begins to scatter soft kisses over his chest, moving leisurely downward. She makes a tiny, victorious noise from her throat when she comes across her first discovery, pale slash of a scar a couple of inches in length under his left pectoral, long since healed.

"Found one," she murmurs gleefully, and draws the tip of her tongue slowly along the angled line of minutely raised flesh.

does she have other scars? he has lots, feel free to BS them

[whattheydefend]

"You do prefer action to words," he agrees, distracted by the brief kiss and letting out a sigh of disappointment when she ends it so quickly.

But the diffusion of kisses on his skin is more than worth the loss, not least because of her obvious delight in thus exploring him. Then she finds her first, and he watches her tongue slide along the faintly raised skin. That mark is old and better healed, and more tender as a result, so his breath catches sharply.

He leans up a little, the better to watch her. "Am I a treasure hunt, then?" The words come out lower and huskier than before; already he feels a stirring in his groin, far sooner than he would have expected possible.

less than he does, but some for sure! and ditto

[freo]

Èowyn drops a soft kiss onto that selfsame scar in fond farewell, enjoying the way he catches his breath at her attentions. "My love, you are a treasure all on your own," she smiles a little lopsidedly, a teasing glint in her eyes at such flowery response though she means every word.

She has other scars of her own, though none as impressive as the ones on her shield-arm; mostly from girlhood misadventures, tumbles and falls, such as the jagged one on the side of her knee -- or neater ones from sword practice. Faramir's are more clearly from battles, cuts and slashes and arrow punctures; she's determined to kiss them all better, despite knowing what a childish sentiment that is.

There's hardly anything childish, though, in the way she kisses across his ribs, only to find another mark; this one is larger, more vicious looking. She frowns down at it, brushing it gently with her fingertips. "Whence came this one?"

[whattheydefend]

Faramir's gaze softens at that fanciful compliment, and he reaches out to lay a hand on her head, stroking her hair again as she continues her search. His breath catches as her mouth wanders across skin never before thus traversed, and her hair brushes along his chest.

He shrugs a little as she frowns, not discomfited. "An orc, wielding a jagged, saw-edged blade. Many years ago. I was less experienced, and didn't see him in time."

[freo]

Èowyn makes a tiny noise of dismay at the response, still stroking the patch of scarred skin with her fingers lightly. That must have been a painful encounter! It's such a silly thought over an injury years in the past, but she does not like to picture him in such pain. With due care, she replaces her fingers with her lips, covering the span of the scar with soft kisses while her hand brushes down to stroke across his stomach, fingertips eagerly tracing the definition of his abdominal muscles and delighting in being able to touch him this way.

"I must marvel at my fortune anew-- you are beautiful, husband," she murmurs with a little hum, smiling against his skin before tipping her head up to glance at him with an impish gleam in her eye. "If it does not offend your masculinity to say so."

[whattheydefend]

He raises an eyebrow at her, smiling just a little. "The most wonderful woman in the world is lying naked on my chest kissing her way down, and that after we have both given each other pleasure beyond my imagining. My manly pride has never been more secure than in this moment." The smile grows. "And I am not such a fool as to be offended by such a word, particularly coming from you."

[freo]

"It is well that I wedded a man both so wise and comely," she laughs merrily, grinning up at him for a moment before continuing, every word followed by another kiss to his skin; "And kind. Brave. Generous."

If he'll compliment her like so, she's determined to do no worse, certainly. Now she begins to get hampered by her position, as she can edge no further down his body lying where she is. Only with a small twinge of regret does she shift a little so she can get a knee beneath her to take most of her weight, better able now to move downward to keep up with her happy exploration. She makes sure to press her lips to every scar she comes across as she makes her way down to his stomach properly, letting her hair follow along-- though she's clearly no longer being that choosy; instead scattering kisses wherever she wants to, here and there flicking out the tip of her tongue too to taste the salt on his skin.

[whattheydefend]

"All these things?" he says, more than a little distracted by what she does. The variety as much as anything is effective, between the soft brush of her hair, the warm strokes of her hand, and the heated, wet press of her mouth. The flush colouring his skin has nothing to do with her compliments. "I think...you exaggerate a little..." He's still holding himself up on his elbows, and his hands clench a little at the sheets below them as she licks at his abdomen.

[freo]

Oh, how she likes his reactions to everything she's doing! Perhaps she may coax more out of him; she'll certainly delight in trying.

"No," she counters, sounding completely sincere. "Not even a little, my love." Smiling, she lines kisses from his abdomen to his hip, where her teeth test gently at the slight jut of bone, before soothing the nip with her tongue. She's been completely derailed from her initial quest now, but she does not think either of them mind very much. But now, right next to his lap, she is also distracted by the very male part of him she is most curious to learn more of.

"If I were to please you as you did me, how should I begin?" she asks, as direct in this as she is in all other matters; though she can't seem to curb her eagerness enough to wait for him to actually answer, brushing gentle fingers lightly along his cock, still resting against his thigh.

[whattheydefend]

He would protest, but then she grazes her teeth on his skin, and any arguments he might have made are entirely forgotten. His breathing is more shallow and rapid than usual, and he still watches her as though mesmerized.

Her question makes him swallow hard, her eyes going wide and dark, and then she touches him and he gasps. "That...is a good beginning," he manages. His cock is already stiffening under her careful touch, and he's dizzyingly aware that he will recover much, much more quickly than he would have expected. "You did say you wished to explore."

[freo]

"I did say that," she agrees with a small smirk, never one to turn down a challenge. For a moment, she contents herself to learning his shape with light fingertips, but soon she palms him with her whole hand experimentally, rubbing; a tiny hum of triumphant pleasure is at her throat at the way his manhood begins to harden further beneath her hand, responding to her touch. It's completely fascinating to her, and his reactions embolden her swiftly. Her caresses grow less hesitant, a clear intent behind them now. She flickers her gaze back up to watch his face as she curls her fingers around his stiffening length and squeezes softly, applying just a lightest amount of pressure.

[whattheydefend]

Faramir is held captive almost as much by her expressions as by her explorations. She looks delighted and curious, growing in confidence by the moment as he reacts to her. Of its own accord, his cock jumps against the palm of her hand towards one of those tentative caresses, and his breath catches in a noise that's almost a groan at the way her eyes light up in response.

At the same time, he's all too aware that this is a slow, teasing, almost torturous build of desire. He does not wish to hurry it, for either of their sakes, but by all the Valar, he also does...and then she wraps strong fingers around him and he does groan, letting himself sink back on the pillow, his hips bucking up into her hand despite himself. "Yes, that...that is good." He must touch her, even if only a little, and reaches down to grasp her shoulder.

[freo]

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.

[whattheydefend]

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.

[freo]

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.

[whattheydefend]

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.

[freo]

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.

[whattheydefend]

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.

[freo]

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."

[whattheydefend]

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.

[freo]

"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.

[whattheydefend]

"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.

[freo]

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.