The ledgers and papers on her desk lurch and some of them fall heavily to the floor. Eskel ignores them, completely focused on the moment. Finally, he can resist no more and he gives a terrible shudder and a snarl that he hides in her hair. Instinctively, he thrusts deeply and shivers in her embrace.
At the moment, Éomer cares not a whit for the papers or the ledgers on her desk; he could toss them into the fire and she'd hardly say a word, too busy focusing on the heat built up between them, on the sweat prickling her skin and the hot, damp caress of his breath on her neck.
He shoves his hips against hers, pressing as deep inside her as he can get, and Éomer lets herself moan in his ear as she grinds her hips in a little circle, her legs crossed behind his back and holding him tightly in place.
She can wait for him to settle before slipping her fingers between her thighs to send her toppling after him.
It doesn't take her very long to follow him, a few rough passes of her fingertips against her clit enough to send her clenching tight around him, and if there's a more pleasurable way to ride out her orgasm than by clinging to his broad shoulders, she hasn't found it in a very long time.
She holds him for as long as she can until he steps away properly, extricating himself from her embrace and grinning that charming, lopsided smile at her, and Éomer can't even find it in herself to be even slightly annoyed about having to deal with the mess between her thighs whilst wearing a gown she definitely does not want stained.
Sliding off the desk before his seed can start to dribble out of her to pool against her clothing, she settles her skirts around her legs again and tries to at least run her fingers through her hair to put herself to rights.
"The pleasure is certainly all mine, witcher," she responds with a laugh of her own, waiting until he's set himself to rights before stepping into his space again so she can cup his face in her hands and kiss him gently, all of the stress and worry of before melted away. "You will stay the night, won't you?"
His passion curbed for the moment, he returns her more gentle kiss, resting his hands on her hips.
"How could I refuse?" He says, resting his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes with a heavy, contented sigh. "Can we go now? Or do you need to finish anything here?" He gestures to the disheveled desk.
Waving a dismissive hand at the desk and its scattered paperwork behind them, Éomer lifts her chin slightly to press her forehead more firmly against his, craving the simple chaste touch more than she'd expected she might in the wake of their hurried coupling.
"Oh forget all that," she says, more than willing to shirk her duties for the rest of the night if it means spending a little more time in his arms. "It will keep."
"Alright. I'll help you tidy up in the morning." He promises. "You'll probably want to get cleaned up. Sorry about that." He steps back to take her arm, to allow her to lead him to her bedchamber. "And I won't lie to you, I'm glad to find you somewhere with real bedding. Miruvor and I have slept rough most nights. I mean, I couldn't spare the coin because I had to pay for her." It might not be readily apparent that Miruvor is the name of the barley-colored mare.
In his defense, he'd gotten sidetracked from that particular conversation.
Unless he decided to travel to Edoras with another woman in tow, one he's stashed somewhere so he could spare the time to fuck her, Éomer can figure out just fine who Miruvor might be.
Slipping her arm through his, she hugs it to her side and beams up at him. "You named her," she says, a statement and not a question. Obviously he's talking about the horse she gave him the last time they met. "Good. I hope she has served you well and did not embarrass her people in any way."
She guides him across the study to a door tucked away in the corner of the room, one that leads from the study into a smaller antechamber, and from there into another room, the royal bedchamber. Inside, the room is dominated by a huge carved bed, piled high with furs and blankets, velvet draperies hung all around it that could be drawn closed to keep out the cold air of winter. The wall opposite the bed is taken up mainly by a large stone hearth, laid in preparation for her arrival but not lit, a washbasin and an ewer of water sitting at the ready beside. The rest of the walls are covered with tapestries, both to illustrate the history of her House, but mainly to keep out the drafts. Her armor rests on a stand in the corner, at attention beside a large wardrobe that holds the rest of her clothing, and the chest at the foot of the bed usually holds blankets and the like, but is currently safeguarding her uncle's clothes, ones that were cleared from the wardrobe to make space for the formal gowns that were made for her. There are two chairs and a small table arranged in front of the fireplace, and it's in that direction she steers them both, reaching up behind herself with the hand not holding Eskel's arm to start to unlace herself so she can slip free from her dress.
He looks around a moment, thinking that this might be the nicest bedroom he's ever been invited into by a lover, and then proceeds to shed his clothes shamelessly. He wouldn't want to spread the dust of the road around more than he already has so it seems best to leave boots and leather trousers and his gear a on the floor in a pile.
He lets her see to her dress: he's probably already stained it, he doesn't need to tear it as well.
Maybe it's not very romantic, the way they let go of each other to undress themselves, but it is very practical. Éomer has become much better at getting herself out of the clothes she apparently must wear, even if she still sometimes requires help getting into them.
Whatever stains there might be on her gown are to the inner lining only, and hopefully easily enough washed out; she lets the thing slip off her shoulders and slither down her arms, stepping out of the puddle of fabric without shame and bending to pick it up so she can drape it over the back of one of the chairs.
"Will you light the hearth for us?" she asks, remembering the way he was able to send fire skittering over his fingers the day she met him.
"If you can want." He says, circling closer to the fireplace. A snap of his fingers and the fireplace is quickly lit by crimson flames that throw his scars into stark contrast. The sparks on his fingertips are easily shaken off and fizzle into nothing. "Neat party trick, huh?"
"I'm not sure I will ever not be impressed by it," she confesses, watching him as he shakes sparks away from his skin and marveling at it despite the fact that she's seen him do it before.
"Oh, have you eaten? I could call for some things, if you like," she adds, indicating the little dangling rope at the side of the bed, the one that connects to a series of bells deeper within Meduseld, that will ring to alert the servants that the royal family needs something. Her grandmother had them installed when she came to Edoras, and they haven't been used much since her death, but they still work. She could ask for a place of meat and cheese and bread to be brought.
"I'm alright. I'm not about to cause a scene like..." He gestures to the bulk of his naked form. "I mean if you're hungry that's one thing, but I'll be alright until morning." He glances back at the fire. "I hate to ruin the mystery but we can all do that." He laughs. "I mean, I'm the best at magic among the Wolves but all full-fledged witchers can start a fire. Probably."
She raises her eyebrows at him. "Do you think the serving staff have never seen a naked man before?" she teases, shaking her head. Perhaps they've never seen a naked witcher, sure, but Éomer can attest to the fact that, despite all the rumors she's heard to the contrary, he looks just like any other naked man she's seen, if perhaps more muscular and more scarred. "You can get into bed if you're feeling shy."
As for the fire, she waves her hand at him much like she did before at the mention of her paperwork. "I can start a fire too, that's not the point. I rather like being impressed by you, stop trying to ruin it."
"A naked witcher unannounced in the queen's bedchamber? The last thing I want is to have to defend myself with my dick out." He says, though he does stretch out on the bed, watching her with those gleaming amber eyes. "Come on, darlin'... been dreaming of curling up with you all goddamn winter."
Warmed by the fire and his frank gaze both, Éomer does as she's bid and follows him to the side of the bed, leaving her woolen slippers kicked off haphazardly somewhere off to the side as she climbs up beside him and drapes herself easily against his side.
Propping her chin up on one hand, she smiles down at him, and reaches across his chest to trace her fingers across the scars the sewed up for him all those long months ago. "If you think you are unannounced..." She laughs, bending her head to brush a kiss to his chest, mostly so she can hide her smile a little until it's less broad, less like she is making fun of him. She is, but only a little. "The servants knew you were here before even I did, my dear. Gossip spreads quickly within halls such as these."
"Yeah?" He says, looping an arm around her shoulders. He's not sure how he feels about that: she's a newly fledged queen, the last thing he wants to do is tarnish her; they say such awful things about women who lie with witchers.
They can say whatever the like about her, gods know they already do. If her decision to take a witcher for a lover is what will make some peasant farmer decide to disdain her, well. It matters little in the grand scheme of things. Her people may hate her if they please, but she will still do everything in her power to protect them.
"I am afforded no privacy, now," she says, shifting to rest her head on his shoulder and hook one thigh over his. "I gave it up for this." Her hand lifts off his chest to touch the torque around her neck, skin-warm but still all-too heavy.
He imagines she had little privacy to begin with, soldiers are often accustomed to such things. And he's certain she had plenty of little wine-colored impressions of Eskel's teeth on her neck and shoulders anyway when she had ridden out that morning.
He touches the torque admiringly. "You wear it well." He says, kissing her on the top of the head. "You will be a brave and fierce queen indeed." He promises. "The queen who tamed a wolf." He turns his tone to teasing, even if his face suddenly burns. Why had he said that? He suddenly knows why his brother is always saying dumbshit things around his variable harem of mages.
She certainly had, and she had been a little sad to watch them fade, to realize that the bruises on her hips and thighs from his grasping fingers and the edge of the table she'd been slammed into repeatedly stopped hurting and then disappeared after only a few days. It was like their time together ceased to exist as well, and only the lingering mocking she had to suffer through from her riders proved that she hadn't dreamed up the witcher whose life she held in her hands.
"Brave and fierce is all well and good," she replies, more pleased than she thinks she probably should be by the 'tamed' comment, though she lets it slide for his sake as well as hers, only letting herself nuzzle his chest for a moment before continuing. "I am called a lioness for a reason. But prowess in battle is not the same thing as the ability to govern, and I was never a very attentive pupil as a girl."
She sighs, shifting herself a little so she can settle her hand on his chest and prop her chin up on the back of it, admiring the dull red flush that's slowly fading from his face. "In any case, I am glad you have come back to me." Even if he won't stay very long.
He's hoping she didn't notice either the flush or the foolishness of the comments.
"You'll learn though. You're clever." He keeps paying her all these compliments when he barely knows her, but he doesn't think he's wrong. "And I'm glad to be here. And so warmly welcomed." He reaches down to squeeze her backside. "I won't distract you for too long, but I'd be honored to keep you company for a bit."
She absolutely noticed both, and has tucked both away to be considered at a later date, when she is feeling particularly sorry for herself and would like the reassurance that there is one man, at least, who thinks she is worth paying foolish and unpolished compliments made all the more sweet in their sincerity.
"I suspect I will always welcome you warmly, Eskel," she tells him solemnly, feeling the desire to reward him for returning to her with a few too-honest comments of her own. His big paw gripping her bottom sets her grinning at him, her eyes twinkling in the glow from the fire.
"Perhaps if you are not too tired, in the morning you could join some of my men in the training fields. I suspect they would be very interested to test their strength against yours." And, hopefully, him getting all sweaty and exchanging a few blows with them will endear him to them all the more, further cementing his welcome the next time he blows into town. Plus, as much as it pains her, she will need to get some work done eventually, and he will distract her far too much if he hangs around watching her struggle over her sums.
"Alright. I promise to be careful with them." He says. Truthfully, he might not mind a little sparring. As much an opportunity to show off as to exercise. "I am capable of restraint, perhaps I will just sit and read while you work." He might be more comfortable doing that then hanging about the chamber full of many staring eyes that he assumes the throne room to be.
"Do not trounce them too badly, they may never forgive you," she teases. She wants her riders to grow to accept the man she has taken for her lover, not to resent him. Witchers are rare in the Riddermark, which is both a blessing and a curse as far as their reputations are concerned, as tales about them are told less frequently but also there are fewer chances to correct any false assumptions. Eskel will have to be something of an ambassador while he is in her kingdom.
She sighs, scrunching her face up as she contemplates the day ahead. "You may wish to stay down with the éoreds at least until supper," she continues. "I must hold court tomorrow, and I fear it will be dreadfully boring to you. Property disputes and marriage applications, all things that must be brought to me to decide upon whether they interest me or not."
"It would be boring." He concedes. "And nothing I would be helpful with. I shall take in your soldiers and stables instead. I should see how Miruvor is settling in anyhow. Even if it will be hard to get up in the morning."
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He shoves his hips against hers, pressing as deep inside her as he can get, and Éomer lets herself moan in his ear as she grinds her hips in a little circle, her legs crossed behind his back and holding him tightly in place.
She can wait for him to settle before slipping her fingers between her thighs to send her toppling after him.
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He clings to her a while longer before he feels like he has to pull away, pressing a last kiss along her jawline.
"My lady..." He laughs, grinning at her as he laces up his trousers. "It is certainly a pleasure to be with you again."
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She holds him for as long as she can until he steps away properly, extricating himself from her embrace and grinning that charming, lopsided smile at her, and Éomer can't even find it in herself to be even slightly annoyed about having to deal with the mess between her thighs whilst wearing a gown she definitely does not want stained.
Sliding off the desk before his seed can start to dribble out of her to pool against her clothing, she settles her skirts around her legs again and tries to at least run her fingers through her hair to put herself to rights.
"The pleasure is certainly all mine, witcher," she responds with a laugh of her own, waiting until he's set himself to rights before stepping into his space again so she can cup his face in her hands and kiss him gently, all of the stress and worry of before melted away. "You will stay the night, won't you?"
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"How could I refuse?" He says, resting his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes with a heavy, contented sigh. "Can we go now? Or do you need to finish anything here?" He gestures to the disheveled desk.
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"Oh forget all that," she says, more than willing to shirk her duties for the rest of the night if it means spending a little more time in his arms. "It will keep."
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In his defense, he'd gotten sidetracked from that particular conversation.
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Slipping her arm through his, she hugs it to her side and beams up at him. "You named her," she says, a statement and not a question. Obviously he's talking about the horse she gave him the last time they met. "Good. I hope she has served you well and did not embarrass her people in any way."
She guides him across the study to a door tucked away in the corner of the room, one that leads from the study into a smaller antechamber, and from there into another room, the royal bedchamber. Inside, the room is dominated by a huge carved bed, piled high with furs and blankets, velvet draperies hung all around it that could be drawn closed to keep out the cold air of winter. The wall opposite the bed is taken up mainly by a large stone hearth, laid in preparation for her arrival but not lit, a washbasin and an ewer of water sitting at the ready beside. The rest of the walls are covered with tapestries, both to illustrate the history of her House, but mainly to keep out the drafts. Her armor rests on a stand in the corner, at attention beside a large wardrobe that holds the rest of her clothing, and the chest at the foot of the bed usually holds blankets and the like, but is currently safeguarding her uncle's clothes, ones that were cleared from the wardrobe to make space for the formal gowns that were made for her. There are two chairs and a small table arranged in front of the fireplace, and it's in that direction she steers them both, reaching up behind herself with the hand not holding Eskel's arm to start to unlace herself so she can slip free from her dress.
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He lets her see to her dress: he's probably already stained it, he doesn't need to tear it as well.
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Whatever stains there might be on her gown are to the inner lining only, and hopefully easily enough washed out; she lets the thing slip off her shoulders and slither down her arms, stepping out of the puddle of fabric without shame and bending to pick it up so she can drape it over the back of one of the chairs.
"Will you light the hearth for us?" she asks, remembering the way he was able to send fire skittering over his fingers the day she met him.
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"Oh, have you eaten? I could call for some things, if you like," she adds, indicating the little dangling rope at the side of the bed, the one that connects to a series of bells deeper within Meduseld, that will ring to alert the servants that the royal family needs something. Her grandmother had them installed when she came to Edoras, and they haven't been used much since her death, but they still work. She could ask for a place of meat and cheese and bread to be brought.
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As for the fire, she waves her hand at him much like she did before at the mention of her paperwork. "I can start a fire too, that's not the point. I rather like being impressed by you, stop trying to ruin it."
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Propping her chin up on one hand, she smiles down at him, and reaches across his chest to trace her fingers across the scars the sewed up for him all those long months ago. "If you think you are unannounced..." She laughs, bending her head to brush a kiss to his chest, mostly so she can hide her smile a little until it's less broad, less like she is making fun of him. She is, but only a little. "The servants knew you were here before even I did, my dear. Gossip spreads quickly within halls such as these."
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"I am afforded no privacy, now," she says, shifting to rest her head on his shoulder and hook one thigh over his. "I gave it up for this." Her hand lifts off his chest to touch the torque around her neck, skin-warm but still all-too heavy.
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He touches the torque admiringly. "You wear it well." He says, kissing her on the top of the head. "You will be a brave and fierce queen indeed." He promises. "The queen who tamed a wolf." He turns his tone to teasing, even if his face suddenly burns. Why had he said that? He suddenly knows why his brother is always saying dumbshit things around his variable harem of mages.
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"Brave and fierce is all well and good," she replies, more pleased than she thinks she probably should be by the 'tamed' comment, though she lets it slide for his sake as well as hers, only letting herself nuzzle his chest for a moment before continuing. "I am called a lioness for a reason. But prowess in battle is not the same thing as the ability to govern, and I was never a very attentive pupil as a girl."
She sighs, shifting herself a little so she can settle her hand on his chest and prop her chin up on the back of it, admiring the dull red flush that's slowly fading from his face. "In any case, I am glad you have come back to me." Even if he won't stay very long.
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"You'll learn though. You're clever." He keeps paying her all these compliments when he barely knows her, but he doesn't think he's wrong. "And I'm glad to be here. And so warmly welcomed." He reaches down to squeeze her backside. "I won't distract you for too long, but I'd be honored to keep you company for a bit."
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"I suspect I will always welcome you warmly, Eskel," she tells him solemnly, feeling the desire to reward him for returning to her with a few too-honest comments of her own. His big paw gripping her bottom sets her grinning at him, her eyes twinkling in the glow from the fire.
"Perhaps if you are not too tired, in the morning you could join some of my men in the training fields. I suspect they would be very interested to test their strength against yours." And, hopefully, him getting all sweaty and exchanging a few blows with them will endear him to them all the more, further cementing his welcome the next time he blows into town. Plus, as much as it pains her, she will need to get some work done eventually, and he will distract her far too much if he hangs around watching her struggle over her sums.
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She sighs, scrunching her face up as she contemplates the day ahead. "You may wish to stay down with the éoreds at least until supper," she continues. "I must hold court tomorrow, and I fear it will be dreadfully boring to you. Property disputes and marriage applications, all things that must be brought to me to decide upon whether they interest me or not."
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