Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

Want to tag someone? Tag someone. Put the character you want in the subject line.
Leave a starter, or leave a prompt and I'll start.
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.

Comments

[whattheydefend]

Faramir's eyes glint with mischief back at hers, not fooled for an instant by the mock-reproof. He knows her reactions well by now.

"A warg! I am glad you did not find what you sought--though I am not surprised you went in search." Faramir adores his new wife, but he is not blind to her shortcomings either, though it might seem so to others. He does trust that she would not be so foolish as to seek out and attempt to deal with a warg on her own these days, even if taunted beforehand. At the least, he hopes not.

His arm tightens around her a little in reaction to this tale of a near escape. "A boar of any age is no laughing matter either, particularly not if you were on foot. I am glad your brother learned better from the experience!" He would like to ask for more tales of her father, who is mentioned but rarely.

But he does not wish to shadow any part of this glorious morning with regrets, so instead he kisses her shoulder again. "You will have to show me that scar later, that I might kiss it. You began on mine, but I have yet to search for yours."

[freo]

"There is a fine line between fearlessness and lack of self-preservation," she chuckles, making fun of herself with ease now she could not have managed only a while back; such youthful follies she'd outgrown, thankfully. She does know better than to go looking for wargs nowadays, rest assured. Nor boars, for that matter. "I think Éomer was equally -- if not more -- frightened over the incident than I. We were both very young and foolish."

Everything changed drastically after their father's death, but she'd rather not go down that memory lane right now. She swallows another bite of apple and cheese, smiling knowingly at the words that follow his kiss to her shoulder.

"Mm, I will. I shall also have to finish my own exploration, I got very distracted earlier..." Her smile turns into a smirk. Not that she can ever regret that. "More bread, husband? Or perhaps you are ready for something sweeter?"

[whattheydefend]

"Mm..." Faramir kisses her skin again, more lingeringly, his mouth moving a little more towards her back. He is limited in what he can reach with her on her lap like this, but more than willing to make do with what's before him. He grazes his teeth along the curve of her shoulder. "I believe I already have."

[freo]

"Somehow I had a feeling you were going to say something like that," Éowyn laughs gleefully, even as she shivers a little at his kisses, at the graze of his teeth against her shoulder; her pale skin pinking slightly in response. In playful reproach (again, entirely nonserious), she thumps the back of her hand gently against his shoulder. "I meant the cakes, Faramir!"

[whattheydefend]

He mock-pouts at her rebuke. "But choosing between you and honeycakes...that is too cruel a fate to endure!"

With his free hand he reaches for the cloth of small cakes, taking one and holding it just in front of her mouth. He has of course been waiting to do this since the kitchen. "May I not have both?"

[freo]

She laughs again at his dramatic declaration, about to retort when he extracts one of the golden cakes and brings it in front of her mouth. Her brow hitches and a smirk spreads to her lips as she gives him a significant look under her lashes.

"Why, my lord Steward... how greedy of you," she chides in a murmur, mischief dancing in her eyes. Her fingers curl around his wrist as she leans in a little, taking a small bite out of the soft cake without never taking her eyes off his. She hums lowly in enjoyment at the taste, smiling a little slyly as she wipes off a few crumbs clinging to her lower lip-- and sucks the tip of the digit into her mouth, like she did earlier.

[whattheydefend]

"Insatiable, where you are concerned." He swallows hard as she keeps her eyes locked on his, and his own eyes darken. He cannot look away from her mouth, however, watching as she bites at the cake, as her tongue licks a few crumbs, as she cleans the rest with her finger and then sucks on the tip.

Silently, breathing harder, he pushes her finger away, instead offering his own fingers. Though they are still holding the rest of the cake, so she would need to finish that first.

[freo]

"Is that so?" It is a thrill, to watch Faramir's reactions; the way his gaze darkens and breath quickens, his words sinking under her skin and burrowing deep, sending a frisson of anticipation up her spine. The cake leaves a sweet coating of sugar and honey upon her tongue, but by now he offers her something she perceives tastier still-- she'd had half the mind to tease him fondly, but suddenly, she is in no mood for it; at least, not in the way she had first intended.

Gently and carefully, Éowyn takes the remaining cake from him and sets it back on the cloth on the table-- no longer hungry for baked goods. Some of the sticky syrup stains her own fingertips now, but she cares little about it as she grabs Faramir's and wraps her lips around his index finger, sucking on it as her tongue cleans away the crumbs, watching him all the time. Humming low from her throat, she lets his finger slowly slip out of her mouth, only to replace it with the other one and repeating the process, smiling around the digit.

[whattheydefend]

Her question is entirely forgotten, as is everything else, honeycakes included. If his life depended on it, he could not tear his gaze away from her mouth. He holds back a groan as she sucks on his finger, taking all of it into her mouth.

A second finger, and he licks his lips, still riveted, as she swirls her tongue around the tip. The hand resting on her hip kneads at her skin, then grips as she moves on to the next finger. He does groan then, the sound almost ripped from his throat, which is suddenly very dry. He's rock-hard already just from this, a fact which she can't fail to have noticed given where she's sitting. It's the most erotic thing he's ever seen, not least because seeing it he can easily imagine other things she could do with that mouth.

[freo]

It would be quite impossible indeed for her to miss the avid reaction of his body, a fact which flatters and pleases her immensely; as much as it sets ripples of warmth coursing through her belly, her own gaze darkening and turning sultry. She shifts a little restlessly on her perch on his lap at the sound of his deep groan, which likely does not help his situation any. Allowing his finger to finally slip out of the warm suction of her mouth, she smiles in a decidedly sensuous manner.

"Why suddenly so silent, my husband?" she teases, her tone pitched a little huskier than normally.

[whattheydefend]

"Am I?" His voice is low, and his eyes flicker from her eyes back to her mouth. He licks his lips absently. "I fear I became distracted."

He reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips, kisses her knuckles. His tongue darts between her fingers to taste the skin there. Slowly he drags his mouth along her index fingers, then kisses the tip. "I pray you will forgive me."

His tongue swirls around her finger, and he closes his eyes at the sweet taste of honey there. With painstaking slowness he takes it in, then sucks hard even as he removes it. When he opens his eyes to meet hers, as he moves on to the next finger, his gaze is scorching.

[freo]

He turns the tables on her so skillfully she can only marvel at it; if she had the presence of mind for such, that is. Her head is too overcome with mounting arousal as everything else fades away, her breath hitching and a faint little noise of pleasure escaping her as his tongue flicks sensuously in between her fingers. A jolt of sheer sensation snakes through her and centers hotly between her thighs; she squirms a bit at the feeling, eyes fluttering and lips parting. Her hands, she's discovering, are full of sensitive spots Faramir's mouth is diligently laying siege to, leaving her trembling under his tender onslaught.

Her tongue feels thick in her suddenly dry mouth, unable to produce an answer for him. Another noise, just shy of a moan, spills from her parted lips as he sucks on her finger. "Faramir..." Her voice is barely audible, breath coming in soft pants now, hypnotized by this sensual tease, stifling another moan when he switches to the next digit. Warmth pours through her and her nipples tighten beneath her robe, scarcely able to comprehend just how arousing she finds this.

[whattheydefend]

Once more his gaze is locked on her face, taking in the growing color in her cheeks, the way her lips part and the small noises she makes. All of him is stiff with tension, poised. She whimpers his name, and his cock throbs almost painfully in reaction.

He moves on to her third finger, then the fourth, then the thumb, paying each the same careful attention. When he finishes with those he kisses the palm of her hand, then the inside of the wrist. Something has to break soon, he thinks dizzily, aroused almost beyond his ability to bear. One of them. He doesn't know which. He doesn't care which.

[freo]

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

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

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

[freo]

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

Good. She does not want sweet and tender now.

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

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

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

[freo]

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

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

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

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

[freo]

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

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

[freo]

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

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

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

[freo]

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

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

[whattheydefend]

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

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

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