Flushed pink and a glistening lightly from sweat, she braces her hands on his chest and grins back at him, easing herself down until he's seated fully inside her and she can rest her entire weight on him.
He exhales shakily, just reveling in the feeling of being so completely buried inside her, in the way she looks traced in the bright copper of the fireplace. He keeps one hand on her hip and reads the other on top of one of the hands that's braced on his chest.
It makes him dizzy, almost. If it wasn't for pure, passionate instinct he would be feeling fully out of his depth, looking up at this woman who looks back at him with pure want. He tries to think of some retort, but he finds if almost impossible to think, so he stops. His short fingernails bite into the flesh of her hip, tugging, encouraging her to move.
Meanwhile, Éomer lets her eyes drift shut for a moment to savor the stretch of his cock inside her, the fullness it brings that she so rarely gets to feel.
The fingernails pressing sharply into her hip are a clear enough instruction even without words, and so she starts to move, digging her knees into the mattress beside him and using all those muscles she's spent her entire life developing on horseback to send her rocking above him.
He cannot help but stare. Watching her muscles ripple under her skin as she rides him. It's beautiful. Not merely arousing, but beautiful. To say nothing of how it feels. A groan tears itself from his chest and his hips roll upwards to meet her.
Éomer laughs quietly, not because anything is funny, but from a pure upswell of joy inside her, a heady mix of selfish satisfaction at seeing him so well-healed after she had been half-convinced he'd die with his blood on her hands combined with the pleasure of making what feels like a true, honest connection with another human being sending little bubbles of happiness singing through her blood like the fizz of a particularly strong batch of ale.
With her hands braced on the sturdy spread of his ribs, she opens her eyes and grins down at him as she circles her hips, testing out what feels good and definitely trying to decide what she could do to make him make that sound again.
He gives up trying to match her and just lets her ride him, hands smoothing over her thighs, caressing her stomach, palming a breast. He feels like he's drunk. Everything is at once far away and hyper-sensitive. He feels...confused, with this beautiful, powerful woman above him, her hands braced on his body, her entire being alive with the pleasure of their two bodies. It's a lot to take in, but merely expresses itself in a ragged curse.
She laughs again, low and throaty, and curls her fingers sharply into his chest, not digging her fingernails in deliberately but just pressing, just to feel him as his calloused hands stroke over whatever part of her he can reach.
"Say my name," she demands, wanting to hear him shape the syllables of her name with his low growl.
She can't help but shiver when Eskel complies with her request, pleased both by the sound of her name on his tongue and also by how easily he did as she asked.
"Again," she breathes, pushing herself off from his chest so she can lean back and brace herself on his legs instead, moaning loudly as she shifts her body and subsequently changes the angle of how he rubs inside her.
It shifts the position a little for him to and he groans, hands moving restlessly over whatever he can reach. He pants her name like a feverish prayer as he rocks his hips, driving into her at an angle she seemed to prefer.
Pinning him down as she is, this position doesn't afford Eskel too much room to maneuver, but it gives Éomer all the room she might like and then some, room enough to rise up and drop herself back down, the slap of their skin meeting loud in the little cottage.
It's a good thing they're in Hjaroarholt in this little cottage Eskel has all but taken over, because had they reunited out on the road, there wouldn't have been nearly enough privacy to afford them the chance to do this together. Had they tried to lie together anywhere but within the privacy of these four walls, it would have had to be a quick, fumbling affair, half-clothed and muffled to avoid drawing too much attention. She certainly never would have had him flat on his back beneath her, his body laid out for her in the warm light of the fire like a feast, nor would she have ever braced herself above him like this without a stitch of clothing on, bouncing on his cock and moaning like she's being paid for it.
On the road, he simply wouldn't have dared. But here, he's warm and comfortable and how could he not give himself over to this woman? This person who had held his mangled body in her hands without flinching, sewed him up, carried him home. A few stolen moments, a night of passion before they both return to their responsibilities, to the people who are depending on them, seems right somehow.
His fingers tighten, as if he could hang onto this moment just a little harder.
Not that there's anything wrong with half-clothed and muffled liaisons, but this is better. This is something she hasn't let herself have in a very long time, something she didn't realize how much she missed until she had it again. There's definitely something to be said about having a powerful man pinned beneath her, watching her with something like awe on his face as he murmurs her name. It makes her feel invincible.
Maintaining her steady rhythm, she licks her lips and tries to gather herself enough so that she can do more than just make noise incoherently, returning her focus to his face and grinning at him.
"What do you need?" she asks. "Tell me what I can do for you."
"Just don't stop." He says, bright eyes closing. He clings to her and lets her ride him, racing him towards that peak. He clutches at what softness she has and she'll hear a familiar snarl as he gets closer.
This time, he doesn't even bother to hide his face, to focused on how she feels in this moment.
It's a good thing he forgets to hide his face this time, because she's actually paying attention right now, and watching the way he winds up as they get closer and closer is absolutely fascinating to her.
The scars on his face and down his chest are impossible to ignore. But like this, sheened with sweat, with the light from the dying fire painting him in reds and golds, she thinks he looks beautiful. Especially so when he digs his head into the thin pillows beneath him, the tendons in his neck standing proud beneath his skin as he jerks beneath her and snarls out his pleasure, his strong fingers digging sharply into her flesh as he clings to her.
She does her best to ride him through it, to keep herself steady and consistent so he doesn't have to think of anything beyond the immediate pleasure he feels, murmuring to him in her own native tongue.
He goes still beneath her, panting and sweating like a warhorse run ragged. Grinning smugly at her in the dying light. Just steadying her as she rocks above him.
"You're gorgeous..." He says, as his mirrored lenses flicker in the dark.
With his scarred side mostly in shadow, he looks almost like a normal man beneath her, if a normal man was as large and as strong as a bear, with cat-like eyes that flash eerily in the near-dark.
She doesn't find them disquieting, not after all this time looking at them.
Also, she's a little distracted right now, chasing her own pleasure now that she's seen to his.
"Am I?" she asks breathlessly, shifting so she can reach between her own legs and rub at her clit as she circles her hips in a deliberate grind, giving up on the bouncing of before now that she's focusing on herself and not on him.
He'll stay hard for a while longer, and he grits his teeth against the brutal sensitivity of it.
"Yeah." He pants. "Really goddamn gorgeous." It's not especially articulate, but surely she can't expect much there at the moment. He just wants to look at her, touch her, focus on how she feels as those inner muscles tighten around him.
She doesn't expect that much from him right now, because she can't really muster up that much herself, focused as she is on chasing her third orgasm of the night.
Bracing herself with one hand planted firmly on his belly, she rubs herself with quick, efficient motions until she stiffens with a gasp, her cunt fluttering around him as her knees pinch in close to his ribs, holding on to him as tightly as she can as she trembles.
Even spent, feeling her orgasm around him feels extraordinary and he gasps her name. He holds very still she's good and done and then he laughs, petting down her sides the same way he would to soothe a horse he had run hard.
Eskel's laugh sounds like a rock slide, low and rumbling in a way she can feel in her own ribs, and she grins breathlessly at him as she relaxes once the aftershocks have passed.
"Oh," she sighs, letting her knees slide out from beneath her a little as she laboriously lowers herself down to wind up lying draped across his chest, his cock still hard inside her. She shows no sign of wanting to change that, seemingly content to remain exactly as she is, motionless as she breathes against his shoulder.
In fact... "I don't think I will ever move again," she declares smugly.
"Alright." He agrees, reaching up to brush his rough fingers through her hair. "You're the one who has business to attend to in the morning." He buries his face in the golden waves, breathing deeply. He'll remember this in the long and lonely months ahead, the heat of her body to keep him warm in his rough bed on Kaer Morhen in the dead of winter.
He's not falling in love with her-- it's not practical and he's incapable-- but he is very fond of her, admires her, desires her. And in a way he hasn't let himself be with anyone in a long while.
"I got really lucky." He says. "That you found me and saved my life. And that you wouldn't let me miss out on...this." He gestures to their naked forms.
She hums, letting herself get nice and comfortable atop him like a barn cat sleeping on the back of a horse.
"I'll just conduct my business like this," she decides, smiling against his skin, rather enjoying the feel of his big blunt fingers stroking through her hair. It's probably a hopeless tangle, allowed to air-dry and not braided back into submission, but it feels nice to let someone else touch it. She's been setting her own hair since she was eleven.
She might fall in love with him, if she weren't careful, if she weren't quite so good at suppressing her own emotions. But she is, and she knows exactly what she can and cannot expect from him, and when they part in the morning, she will wave him goodbye with a smile on her face and only a small bittersweet twinge in her chest.
Stroking her fingers carefully over the raised red scars she had so recently sewn up, she hums again. "I did warn you I was rather stubborn."
"I think some of the townsfolk might find that objectionable." He jokes. "Besides, I have to head home soon. He gently disentangles himself from a knot in her hair as he watches her explore one of his scars. "Pleased with your handiwork?"
Humming in the affirmative, she trails her fingers over the scar on his chest again, tracing it up and down across his arm where she had to cut his shirt off of him to get to the wound. "It's truly astounding how quickly and how well you heal. I've seen soldiers permanently crippled from wounds like that."
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"You could start a new trend..."
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It makes him dizzy, almost. If it wasn't for pure, passionate instinct he would be feeling fully out of his depth, looking up at this woman who looks back at him with pure want. He tries to think of some retort, but he finds if almost impossible to think, so he stops. His short fingernails bite into the flesh of her hip, tugging, encouraging her to move.
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The fingernails pressing sharply into her hip are a clear enough instruction even without words, and so she starts to move, digging her knees into the mattress beside him and using all those muscles she's spent her entire life developing on horseback to send her rocking above him.
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With her hands braced on the sturdy spread of his ribs, she opens her eyes and grins down at him as she circles her hips, testing out what feels good and definitely trying to decide what she could do to make him make that sound again.
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"Fuck--!"
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"Say my name," she demands, wanting to hear him shape the syllables of her name with his low growl.
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"Éomer..." He growls.
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"Again," she breathes, pushing herself off from his chest so she can lean back and brace herself on his legs instead, moaning loudly as she shifts her body and subsequently changes the angle of how he rubs inside her.
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It's a good thing they're in Hjaroarholt in this little cottage Eskel has all but taken over, because had they reunited out on the road, there wouldn't have been nearly enough privacy to afford them the chance to do this together. Had they tried to lie together anywhere but within the privacy of these four walls, it would have had to be a quick, fumbling affair, half-clothed and muffled to avoid drawing too much attention. She certainly never would have had him flat on his back beneath her, his body laid out for her in the warm light of the fire like a feast, nor would she have ever braced herself above him like this without a stitch of clothing on, bouncing on his cock and moaning like she's being paid for it.
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His fingers tighten, as if he could hang onto this moment just a little harder.
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Maintaining her steady rhythm, she licks her lips and tries to gather herself enough so that she can do more than just make noise incoherently, returning her focus to his face and grinning at him.
"What do you need?" she asks. "Tell me what I can do for you."
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This time, he doesn't even bother to hide his face, to focused on how she feels in this moment.
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The scars on his face and down his chest are impossible to ignore. But like this, sheened with sweat, with the light from the dying fire painting him in reds and golds, she thinks he looks beautiful. Especially so when he digs his head into the thin pillows beneath him, the tendons in his neck standing proud beneath his skin as he jerks beneath her and snarls out his pleasure, his strong fingers digging sharply into her flesh as he clings to her.
She does her best to ride him through it, to keep herself steady and consistent so he doesn't have to think of anything beyond the immediate pleasure he feels, murmuring to him in her own native tongue.
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"You're gorgeous..." He says, as his mirrored lenses flicker in the dark.
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She doesn't find them disquieting, not after all this time looking at them.
Also, she's a little distracted right now, chasing her own pleasure now that she's seen to his.
"Am I?" she asks breathlessly, shifting so she can reach between her own legs and rub at her clit as she circles her hips in a deliberate grind, giving up on the bouncing of before now that she's focusing on herself and not on him.
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"Yeah." He pants. "Really goddamn gorgeous." It's not especially articulate, but surely she can't expect much there at the moment. He just wants to look at her, touch her, focus on how she feels as those inner muscles tighten around him.
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Bracing herself with one hand planted firmly on his belly, she rubs herself with quick, efficient motions until she stiffens with a gasp, her cunt fluttering around him as her knees pinch in close to his ribs, holding on to him as tightly as she can as she trembles.
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"Oh," she sighs, letting her knees slide out from beneath her a little as she laboriously lowers herself down to wind up lying draped across his chest, his cock still hard inside her. She shows no sign of wanting to change that, seemingly content to remain exactly as she is, motionless as she breathes against his shoulder.
In fact... "I don't think I will ever move again," she declares smugly.
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He's not falling in love with her-- it's not practical and he's incapable-- but he is very fond of her, admires her, desires her. And in a way he hasn't let himself be with anyone in a long while.
"I got really lucky." He says. "That you found me and saved my life. And that you wouldn't let me miss out on...this." He gestures to their naked forms.
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"I'll just conduct my business like this," she decides, smiling against his skin, rather enjoying the feel of his big blunt fingers stroking through her hair. It's probably a hopeless tangle, allowed to air-dry and not braided back into submission, but it feels nice to let someone else touch it. She's been setting her own hair since she was eleven.
She might fall in love with him, if she weren't careful, if she weren't quite so good at suppressing her own emotions. But she is, and she knows exactly what she can and cannot expect from him, and when they part in the morning, she will wave him goodbye with a smile on her face and only a small bittersweet twinge in her chest.
Stroking her fingers carefully over the raised red scars she had so recently sewn up, she hums again. "I did warn you I was rather stubborn."
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Humming in the affirmative, she trails her fingers over the scar on his chest again, tracing it up and down across his arm where she had to cut his shirt off of him to get to the wound. "It's truly astounding how quickly and how well you heal. I've seen soldiers permanently crippled from wounds like that."
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