hlaefdige | open rp post

He would find all this very amusing if she voiced any of this wondering. But he's just content kissing her for now, rolling her on top of him, giving himself ample space to caress along her spine and squeeze her muscular ass. She's the perfect-- in his opinion-- mix of curves and sculpted muscle and he loves it.

Maybe when they've exhausted themselves for the night, when they're curled up together, sweaty and sated, she'll tell him all the ridiculous things she's head about witchers and ask him to tell her if any of it is true. But for now, she doesn't want to bring any of that up. She's busy. Busy being kissed by him, busy letting him stroke his big hands all over her as possessively as he likes, busy draping herself across his chest.

"Eskel," she murmurs eventually, a little breathless, her skin tingling in the wake of all this touching. "Do you want to finish in my mouth or not?"

He laughs, as if he's forgotten, despite the achingly hard cock pressed between their bodies. It's just so rare to be able to take his time.

"Do you want me to? I can definitely go another round after. I want to, but I didn't want to assume you'd want me to: lots of ladies don't, even the paid ones." He says, sheepish of the way his cock twitches at the thought.

If he wants to keep kissing her and rocking his cock against her belly until he spills between them, she will be more than happy to oblige him. But she'd been enjoying the thought of pushing him over the edge with her lips and her tongue, and if he's got enough in him for multiple rounds in one night, she doesn't feel like there's any harm in indulging them both by trying everything at once.

It's not like they'll have that much time together to get through a whole check list, after all.

"I want you to," she confirms, her voice low and warm, playing it up a little bit for his benefit.

He grins at her, reaching to gently sweep her long golden hair out of her face, though he doesn't grab or push. Once again, he settles with one hand behind his head. He looks perfectly relaxed, though if he were to be honest, his normally slow heart is racing and he's aching with anticipation.

Watching him tuck his hand behind his head, she quirks her head at him a little and smiles.

"You can hold on," she says, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his wrist and tug his hand back up to settle behind her own head. "Just don't pull too hard."

She doesn't mind a little aching to go with her pleasure, but she's not all that keen on whole hanks of her hair getting yanked out. Not that she's that worried about Eskel losing control of himself, but it's good to establish boundaries.

Knocking his knees apart so she can kneel between them, she strokes her hands up his powerful thighs again before bending down and resuming her previous task with a satisfied hum.

"Alright." He does try to be a gentleman, at least nowadays, and her permission makes him far more comfortable. He slips his fingers into her hair, close to the scalp, a loose touch that's more of a steadying than a gripping. He trusts her to tell him if he pulls too hard on accident.

A deep, unrestrained growl resonates in his chest when she takes him in her mouth again, stroking with those deft fingers what she cannot fit.

The weight of Eskel's heavy hand in her hair, even though he's being very courteous and is really just riding the rocking of her head and not directing her in any way, thrills her, almost as much as the growl that rumbles deep in his chest as she curls her tongue around him once more.

It would be very difficult for her to forget that she has a predator in her bed (even though she's in his bed, technically, but that's not the point), but that sound just brings it all home again.

Reaching down between her own legs with her free hand, she starts to stroke herself with quick, rough motions, settling into the same rhythm she uses late at night in her bedroll when she wants to get off and go to sleep. She's already climaxed once tonight, but watching the way Eskel is enjoying her ministrations is making her want to go again, and she's fairly certain Eskel won't begrudge her being a little bit distracted as she multi-tasks.

He doesn't mind in the slightest, the more she enjoys herself the happier he'll be. Besides, he's only marginally paying attention to anything her free hand is doing, his yellow eyes fixed on where she moves between his thighs. Struck by the image of her sucking his cock so enthusiastically. It's good to feel genuinely desired and it gives him some deep, primal satisfaction to watch her. He's forgotten in the moment how anxious he was, how worried about hurting her or frightening her.

It doesn't take long, neglected as his prick's been and he pants her name, a desperate sound of half-warning before he comes with another one of those wolfish snarls. He does manage to turn his head, burying the ruined half of his face in the rough pillow to hide the way it twists grotesquely.

It's sweet of him to try to shield her, but she's too busy to notice the way his scarred face twists as he climaxes, all her focus firmly centered on the cock twitching in her hand, the pulse of bitter fluid across her tongue. Determined to be as good to him as he was to her, Éomer keeps her head down and sucks him through it until his orgasm ends, finally releasing him and shifting to press gentle, open-mouthed kisses to his hips and abdomen instead when all that's left for him to do is ride out the aftershocks.

"Fuck." He laughs breathlessly, his hands falling to his sides as he blinks down at her. He feels delightfully warm and there's a mix of adrenaline and pleasure flowing through his veins. He's mostly forgotten the ache in his recovering limbs from working in the fields all day. "Pleased with yourself?"

Continuing to press wet, stinging kisses to his skin as she crawls her way back up his body, Éomer grins at him and kisses his chin when she gets close enough, folding her arms across his chest and resting herself mostly on top of him.

"Very," she admits, winking at him.

He kisses the top of her head, looping an arm around her shoulder.

"I'd like you to ride me, though I might need a minute." He admits, with a deep breath. "But I've got two good hands and a tongue in the meantime. Your choice, my lady." He says, his tone teasing when he calls her such.

If only he knew how apt that title really was. Éomer is glad, as she always is, that she is but a lesser cousin to the throne, and not only that, but she is a woman. Things in Rohan would have to be dire indeed to place her in line for the crown. Even if her uncle never recovers from the wasting sickness that has plagued him these past years, her cousin has plenty of time to find himself a wife and produce an heir. The chance of her needing to worry about titles and bloodlines are slim to nonexistent. It makes it easier to laugh about them with a man who has no ulterior motives towards her, a man who has been kind, and generous, and genuine with her.

"My choice?" She makes a show of thinking about it, drawing her fingers in idle patterns across the broad muscle of his chest, toying with the dark hair growing there. "I choose for you to touch me, then. Put those good hands to good use."

He nods in agreement, more than happy to run his great rough hands over her body, tracing the shifting shape of her muscles, finding the scars. His lips and tongue following their path over her chest to lick and (gently) bite at her breasts. With a mischevious expression, he raises another bruise on the breast opposite of the first. "Had to balance it out." He explains, before he resumes his explorations. He traces the long scar along her hip and then slips towards the inside of her thigh and then between her legs. He makes a very pleased noise against her breastbone as he finds her soaking wet, teasing flesh he knows must be terribly sensitive by now.

She laughs breathlessly as Eskel takes the time to suck a fresh love bite into her skin, murmuring a quiet oh did you? without any heat to it when he explains his reasoning, but doesn't bother to come up with anything clever to say because the blunt fingers between her thighs are so distracting she can't focus on doing anything more than sighing shakily and shifting into his touch.

He watches her face with a crooked smile of satisfaction as he slips one of those rough fingers into her, using his thumb to tease her clit. He's got fairly large hands, so he'll wait to see if she wants more, just building up a rhythm for now and enjoying the sight of her, pleased that he had robbed her of whatever retort she had planned to throw back at him.

His hands are, indeed, large. All of him is large, really, so perhaps it's for the best that they're starting out with fingers first, because it's been a long while since Éomer has felt free enough to lie with a man, and when she gets herself off at night, she usually just rubs at her clitoris until she shakes through a silent orgasm and can fall asleep soon after. It's nice to feel the stretch again, and Eskel very kindly strokes at her clit while he presses his finger into her, so it doesn't take long for her to adjust as start to rock her hips gently to meet his hand.

Nothing kind about it, he just knows what he's doing and likes the people he's bedding to have a good time. He takes his time, kissing along her neck and jawline as he thrusts his finger into her, until her restless motions make him curious if she'd like more. He pulls out and adds a second finger.

"Good?" He asks roughly against her ear, free hand palming a breast.

Two fingers is definitely much more of a stretch than just one had been, but Éomer's already had one lovely orgasm tonight and she's not too far away from another, gods willing, so it isn't too difficult for her to accommodate the extra intrusion. It helps to have Eskel continuing to touch her, his hand on her breast and his lips on her jaw, his body warm and solid between her legs.

"Yeah," she agrees, a shiver crawling down her spine as she shifts back to meet his hand between her legs. "Good."

His hand shifts to her back, steadying her as she moves against him. He picks up the rhythm of his thrusts and strokes just a bit, not wanting to rush too much, but he can feel the way she shivers in his arms and he wonders if he can get her off again just like this. He buries his face in her hair. His speaking voice is harsh, but when he can lower it a whisper it's low and warm like a rough whiskey. And he's more than capable of spinning up some sweet nothings. About how beautiful she looks in the firelight, the way she feels, about the want and need he can feel in every wiry muscle, hear in each one of her shaking breaths.

If asked, Éomer would say that she is not the type of woman who requires tender platitudes in bed. She's spent well over half her life training to ride with, and then riding with, and then leading an éored. The majority of the people she spends any time with are men. She is tall, and strong, and ruthless in a fight. Her embroidery is atrocious.

Eskel's low, peat-smoke voice murmuring in her ear is making her wonder if she should rethink that stance, at least a little bit.

She wants to rock herself back onto his fingers and revel in the thick stretch of his knuckles inside her, but she also wants to come again, and after a few long minutes of trying to decide which option to pick, she winds up deciding on the latter; shifting her weight to brace herself on one arm beside his head, she reaches down with her free hand and brushes his thumb away so she can rub at her clit the way she likes best, winding herself up tighter and tighter until she cries out, clenching down hard around the fingers inside her and trembling through her second orgasm of the night.

He's fine letting her brush his hand aside, focusing on the thrust of his fingers inside her, seeking the right angle and speed, chasing her exquisite reactions. He kisses her, hard, swallowing that cry of pleasure, easing her back down from it before with drawing his fingers entirely. He grins with a shade do self satisfaction.

Humming happily, she lets herself slump forward once she's milked her climax as much as she cares to, letting her arm slide out from beneath her and using the other to shove all her hair out of her face and over one shoulder so she can drape herself across Eskel's chest and rest her cheek on his shoulder, nudging her nose in against his throat.

"Now I'm going to need a minute," she murmurs, shifting a little to get comfortable.

"That's alright. Worth the wait." He declares, too warm to fully embrace her but happy to rest his hand on her back, his chin on the top of her head. "I'll be ready whenever you are." He knows they only have so much time before day and her duties call. And one of them requires sleep, but there's no need to rush to the point of unpleasantness.

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