Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

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[whattheydefend]

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

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

[freo]

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

[freo]

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

[freo]

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

[freo]

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

[freo]

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

[freo]

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

[freo]

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

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

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

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

[freo]

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

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

[freo]

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

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

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

[whattheydefend]

His mouth goes dry. Between her raised eyebrow as she licks her fingers and the knowing smile that crosses her face as she watches him watch her, Éowyn comes dangerously close to being taken there and then, on the kitchen floor, and to Harad with the consequences.

It occurs to Faramir that she may be right and it may be he who is the insatiable one of the pair of them, rather than she. Though with such provocation, he doubts any would blame him--least of all Éowyn herself.

Exercising tremendous self-restraint, he picks up the tray on which they've loaded their bounty, which will keep his hands occupied and (thus well-behaved) until they are back in their rooms.

The trip back is almost as ludicrous as the outward journey, though they are more encumbered. Faramir stops to leave the hangover remedy by Anborin, smirking hugely as he does. They move more quickly, for dawn truly is breaking now, and it will not be long until the Hall begins to awaken. Faramir believes he hears the faintest whisper of footsteps as they turn the corner towards their own chamber, but they do not spy anyone moving save themselves.

As soon as they are back in their room, the tray on the table and the door once more barred behind them, he collapses into a chair as all the laughter they've been suppressing bursts forth.

[freo]

Éowyn muffles her giggles behind her free hand as Faramir leaves his gift next to the unsuspecting ranger, her shoulders shaking and gripping the bottle by the neck tightly. She quickens her pace just a little as they near their quarters once more, thinking she too hears quietest noises-- the maids and other servants, she is rather certain. Éowyn suspects they managed to beat Helga to the kitchens with only some odd moments, thanking their good fortune indeed. (And that they both had enough restraint not to start fooling around in the kitchens...) The moment they are safely behind closed doors once more, she too gives herself free rein to laugh heartily, placing the bottle on the table before she drops it.

But then, she sees fit to drop herself onto Faramir's lap sideways, wrapping her arms about his neck and pressing her smiling lips to his, kissing him softly but firmly. There's still a faintest hint of honey clinging to her tongue.

[whattheydefend]

His response cannot but please her. He wraps his arms around her at once, returning her kiss with fervour. Though the first few moments remain interrupted now and then by mirthful chuckles.

But he can taste the honey in her mouth, adding to her own sweetness, and he was more than half-ready even before she sat on his lap. Mirth is rapidly overtaken.

"Éowyn, love--" he murmurs into her mouth, as one of his hands slips inside her robe and cups her breast, thumbing the nipple. Such a wonderful garment, a dressing gown; so easy to put on and remove, to work around..."Mm...If you wish break your fast first, you had better stop me now."

[freo]

In retrospect, Éowyn realizes that perhaps she should not have set them down this road of temptation any further than they already were, but it was simply impossible for her to resist. She can only regret the fact that they must pause this, as hunger -- for food -- growls in her belly, as she knows it does in his, too. Faramir is not making it particularly easy, though; she looses a soft moan against his lips as his hand curves around her supple breast, the sound morphing into a veritable purr of pleasure as his thumb strokes her nipple, the nub of flesh perking up instantly under his touch.

"Food first, my dearest," she issues, albeit rather shakily, gently curling her fingers around his wrist though she's loathe to hinder his divine touch. "Then, we may... revisit this plan." Leaning her forehead against his, she grins. "Come now-- you will like those honeycakes, they are the best in the whole land."

[whattheydefend]

He sighs but subsides, too much a gentleman to protest her refusal. Besides, she is right, and he can hear her stomach rumbling. "They looked it," he agrees, twisting his hand in her grip so he may clasp her fingers. "But to ask me to resist two such temptations at once is truly cruel. I can hardly start with the honeycakes, after all."

Not if the goal is sustenance, at least. They are wondrous things, but will hardly give him the stamina he needs for certain activities.

He kisses her briefly, not a prelude to more activity but a promise to return to it later, then turns in the chair towards the table, keeping her firmly seated on his lap. His arm is still snug around her waist. Fortunately the various things they purloined may all be eaten one-handed.

[freo]

Éowyn laughs softly and squeezes his hand gently. "Thousands of pardons, husband. I did intend it as an incentive, not as punishment."

She's still smiling when he kisses her, her eyes closing briefly in enjoyment at the sweet contact. Her brow hitches a little when it becomes obvious Faramir has no intention of letting her up from her chosen perch, but hardly protests the notion-- indeed, she's quite comfortable right where she is, thank you very much. Reaching out her free hand, she hooks her fingers over the lip of the laden tray and pulls their bounty as close as possible on the table for easier reach.

"Does Gondor have this saying, or its like-- a stolen treat tastes sweeter?" she asks with a crooked smile as she prepares and offers him a piece of bread with a slice of roast on top.

[whattheydefend]

He takes the bread along with another kiss, smiling at her. Tall as he is, seated like this she has the advantage of him. It's a nice change from their usual angles, not least because he can rest his head against her shoulder now and then as he eats.

"Not as such, no, but I am familiar with the feeling." He chews his food carefully, trying not to bolt it down. Though it is easiest to be patient with her sitting so comfortably on his lap. He chuckles suddenly. "Boromir and I often raided the kitchens, as boys. Our cook was an indulgent one, full of sayings about how growing boys needed feeding and we were welcome to whatever we wanted, but it was so much more amusing to sneak in."

She had been kind, that worthy lady, and her indulgence had not felt as though it were merely for the benefit of the sons of the Steward. It occurs to Faramir that he has no idea what became of her over the years, and he wonders if he might find out.

Another time. Eowyn has two working arms, but he is limited to one, his other still embracing her. She brought mead, but there was a water pitcher and two glasses on the table already, and he can fill those one-handed and pass one to her. "And you? I take it this was not your first time risking Helga's wrath."