His face doesn't bother her at all any longer. The scars are as much a part of him as his golden eyes, or the way his hair insists on falling across his forehead messily, or the low rumble of his voice.
His weapons and the padded and spiked jacket discarded, Eskel is left in a far more approachable chemise, and Éomer lets herself slide her hands over as much of him as she can reach, reminding herself of how his powerful body feels beneath her palms as she lets him back her up against her desk.
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Date: 2020-09-12 05:08 am (UTC)His weapons and the padded and spiked jacket discarded, Eskel is left in a far more approachable chemise, and Éomer lets herself slide her hands over as much of him as she can reach, reminding herself of how his powerful body feels beneath her palms as she lets him back her up against her desk.