hlaefdige | open rp post

There's a deep intake of breath and a tension in his muscular thighs in answer and the witcher moans, hips jerking.

"Fuck, that's nice." He pants, with a little laugh at his own need.

Pretty sensitive, then. She files that information away for later, too busy right now to make any sort of comment or even to smile at him about the way he jerks beneath her. Instead, she focuses on sliding down his shaft, letting her mouth get well and truly wet as she goes to ease the friction.

She moves up and down steadily, working her tongue over the tip when she comes up, swallowing around Eskel's cock when she goes down, using the saliva that dribbles past her lips to smooth the way for her fingers wrapped around what she can't fit in her mouth.

To say he was surprised at her enthusiasm wouldn't be quite right-- he figures she's the kind of person who takes pride in being very good at whatever it is they turn their hands (or mouth, he supposes) to. But it still catches him off-guard a little in a way that makes him gasp sharply and resist the urge to rock his hips forward.

It would be rather churlish of her to accept Eskel's best effort to make her feel good and not then do her equal best to return the favor. And he's right. She does take great satisfaction out of doing a job well, and having her efforts appreciated. Eskel's response to her attention makes her feel very pleased with herself, something that should be all too obvious when she eventually pulls off, licking her lips as she looks up his body to meet his eyes as her hand continues to stroke his cock steadily.

"How many times can you go in one night?" she asks. She's already told him she's heard various rumors about witchers' sexual prowess, but she wants confirmation. If he's not feeling strong enough for more than one round, which would be understandable, then they need to move on. "I want to still feel you tomorrow when I sit in the saddle."

"Heard that one too, huh?" He laughs. Who on earth had she been talking to, that was so preoccupied with the stamina and animal passion of the unnatural witcher. "That rumor is true." He promises her. "Having already worked all day in the fields?" He considers it, though it's very hard to think with her touching his cock like that, the sure steady stroke of her swordsman's fingers. He's sure he's going to be sore himself: his freshly scarred arm already aches somewhat from the day's labors. Not that he cares in the slightest, though he does avoid promising too much: "Two, three times? And then if we have time in the morning, I'll happily send you off feeling like you've already been riding for miles." He grins his lopsided grin.

It's like he doesn't understand what soldiers talk about around the campfire with nothing else to do. Once they've run out of stories of their own to boast about, they tend to move on to speculating about other people, even people they've never met. She'll probably be asked about this dalliance eventually, though she's fairly certain she'll keep all the details to herself.

Some things are meant to be enjoyed privately.

She grins back at him and swipes her thumb firmly over the crown of his prick. "Good."

Planting her free hand on the mattress beside his hip, she levers herself up on her knees and leans forward so she can kiss the edge of his mouth, remembering at the last moment that men seem to be more squeamish about tasting themselves than women are, and reluctantly lets go of him.

"Take off your trousers. We might as well be comfortable right from the start, if it's going to take three times."

You lose a lot of squeamishness when you've been fucking for over a hundred years. He threads his fingers through her hair and kisses her hungrily for a long moment before he rolls away from her to get his boots off and then his trousers. Standing naked in the firelight, she'll be able to see the scars on his hip and thigh from the wounds she had tended, as well as a few others besides, old white welts twisting into the muscular flesh.

Standing naked in the firelight, she can certainly see all of the scars that decorate his body, but she's a little distracted by the muscles beneath those scars, the powerful shape of his body limned in gold from the light of the hearth, as well as the hard cock jutting out proudly from between his thighs.

Sitting on her heels at the edge of the mattress, she reaches out for him. "Come here, darling."

He's more than happy to return to her embrace, now that he's free of the last hindering bits of clothing. He leans in to kiss her, as if he couldn't get enough of her now that they had started.

Well if he's going to stand in front of her like that, then she's going to take advantage of the opportunity presenting itself and run her hands all over his body, stroking her palms along his sides and up his back, down to his backside so she can give it a firm squeeze, and even slides her hands appreciatively along his thighs.

"Stop distracting me," she teases against his lips between kisses, fully aware that she's distracting herself as she gropes him.

"Sorry." He says, sounding perfectly unrepentant. He sinks down on the bed beside her, rolling onto his back, dragging himself up the bed to get some traction with his heels. "Come here, darlin'.

"No you're not," she counters, shifting back to allow him room to get comfortable before returning to his embrace.

Since he seems to like kissing her so much, she does it again, letting herself slow down as much as she pleases as she licks her way past his lips, teasing her tongue against the edge of his teeth and then withdrawing. Obviously the rumor about witchers having caustic fluids was wrong too; she's been kissing him all evening — and he's had his tongue on some very delicate parts of her body — and she's none the worse for wear.

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.

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