hlaefdige | open rp post

If he voices that wish to her, she will do her utmost to fulfill it; a ride out into the countryside sounds like the perfect cure for the restlessness that's been simmering under her skin lately, and if anyone tries to suggest she rides out with a guard to watch over her she's fairly certain she could overrule them.

For now, though, she's happy to remain here, pressed into the bed beneath him as he presses his mouth to her skin, prowling down her body in a way she's fairly certain will produce only good things for her.

She'd be right: Eskel shimmies down the bed until her thighs frame his face. He grins at her, keeping eye contact as he bites into the little bit of softness at the inside of her thigh, sucking a bruise to the surface. Now she'll have cause to think of him when she's trying to sit and attend to her royal duties. When he's satisfied with his handiwork, he sets his lips and tongue to far gentler and more precise work between her thighs.

Like she doesn't think of him anyway when she's trying to do her duties, knowing he's only a few rooms away.

Sighing, she lets go of his shoulders so he can settle himself between her thighs, a soft cry slipping past her lips as he bites at her thigh to raise a bruise blooming beneath the skin, squirming a little from the sharp spark of pain but immediately soothed when he switches to licking delicately at her cunt instead.

He builds things much more slowly this time. Ordinarily, he'd dive between her thighs like a starving man but he knows better. So he'll taste and tease her, enjoying all the little noises somewhere above him, his enormous hands wrapped around her thighs to hold her close.

Maybe it's because she's tired, maybe it's because they got the frantic coupling of reuniting over with when he first arrived, but Eskel deciding to take his time isn't met with any impatience from Éomer, who instead stretches herself out comfortably beneath him, slinging one long leg over his shoulders and letting the other splay open wantonly as much as she can given his big hands holding her as they are.

He hums and growls, running his hands over her thighs and hips, the plane of her stomach to enjoy the shift of her muscles. She's really beautiful laid out like this and it's a pleasure to take his time with her.

It's a pleasure for her as well, to feel his hands stroke over her possessively as his hot mouth presses so sweetly to her cunt. Reaching down, she cards her fingers through his hair, lifting her head just enough off the pillows so that she can look at him and marvel at the sight he presents, settled between her thighs.

"You really enjoy this, don't you?" she asks breathlessly, grinning at him. "Good."

"Mmhmm..." He laughs, lifting his head to kiss her thigh. "You make such pretty noises, how could I not?" He grins, licking his lips and leaning into the way she cards her fingers through his hair.

She's gentle about it, petting him like one would pet a favored pet, smiling down at him as she meets his cat-like eyes with their pupils blown wide and dark. It's probably because of the lack of light in her chambers, only a few candles providing illumination now that the sun has gone down, but she's going to be selfish and pretend it's because he's so taken with what he's doing.

"I suppose you inspire me."

"How so?" He asks, though it's clear he doesn't expect an actual answer, as he dips his head between her thighs again, intensifying his efforts.

To make those pretty noises he likes so much, is what she meant, but she lets the thought go when he ducks his head down and licks at her again, his tongue a welcome pressure against her clit that makes her want to squirm.

It could be mere seconds later, or maybe even hours, but eventually the firm press of his tongue isn't quite enough for her and she tightens her hand in his hair.

"Give me your fingers," she demands.

He'd been waiting for her to say so, more than content to try this and that, just enjoying the way she sighs and moans beneath him.

Not that he isn't also feeling a need for something more. Some time ago he'd begun a half-conscious slow grind against the sheets beneath them.

He indulges her. Sinking first one, then two of his fingers into her as he draws his clit between his lips.

It doesn't take her long after that. Eskel's fingers are talented, indeed, to be able to conjure up fire from thin air and her climax from her body so easily. Perhaps she should try to be a little less easy to please, but Éomer sees no point in it. Denying that he brings her pleasure is pointless, and it seems like all it would do would be to mean there would be less pleasure to be had.

The aftershocks last a long while this time, her muscles fluttering around his fingers as she catches her breath, uncurling her fingers from his hair and forcing her thighs to relax from about his ears.

He credits it far more to her being relaxed than to any skill on his part, but of course, he's never had a man fumbling all over him to compare it to.

He makes a very pleased noise when she pulls his hair, growling against her cunt. And when her grip finally loosens, he laughs and grins, lifting his head and licking his lips with an expression of supreme satisifaction.

"That was impressive." He says, kissing the inside of her thigh, carefully withdrawing his fingers.

"I think it is you who is impressive," she counters with a little laugh, not quite wincing when his fingers slip free from the clutch of her body. She immediately reaches for him, wanting him within kissing distance so she can slide her arms around his shoulders once more as she licks past his torn lip to tease her tongue against his.

He's happy to sink into the pillows with her, kissing her back with abandon, nipping at her lips. Not particularly restraining himself from grinding against her thigh, but more than happy to enjoy more of her kisses. He has a long journey north and a longer winter: he will need as many as he can get to keep him warm.

Feeling his powerful body hunch between her thighs as he rocks his hard cock against her through his smalls makes her feel powerful in a different way than anything else can. While she might be happy to kiss him for hours more, he deserves to feel the same pleasure she did, and so she lets go of his neck, slipping one hand between them to nimbly pluck the laces of his smalls so she can slide her hand inside them and curl her fingers around his shaft.

"In me, darling."

His breath hisses between his teeth with desire so acute it's alike to pain.

"Yes, my lady." The title used teasing as ever. He bats her hand away to get the fly of his smalls open enough. Thus unencumbered, he sinks into her with a snarl of pleasure.

Balling up the back of his shirt in her hands, Éomer arches into him as Eskel bears his weight down upon her, squeezing him with her thighs and sighing as he fills her.

Selfishly, in the privacy of her own mind, she wishes he would stay. The knowledge that he will soon leave Edoras and carry on with his life is a constant specter in the shadows of the room, and she wishes it wasn't so. She is well used to being referred to as 'my lady' these days, but it's not quite so painful coming from him.

Eskel's thought about it, in an idle sort of way. He'd never step off the Path, not for anybody, but he does think about staying longer than a week or so, maybe even a season. It's not as if there's not probably work close by: the area around Isengard is still plagued and poisoned by the evil which was done then. But he cannot bring himself to raise the notion, and he always puts it aside.

But he's not considering it now, losing all civilized sensibilities, given over to pure and joyful lust and instinct.

Maybe after another year has passed she will feel brave enough to broach the subject herself; for now, she just lets herself cling to his shoulders and muffles her cries with a bit lip. Not that there's any need to try and silence herself, since none would be brave enough to venture into her chambers unless the emergency was dire indeed, and it's not like it's a secret that Eskel is her lover. Still. Some things are meant to be relatively private.

Muffled to some ears but not to his. He bows his head so he can enjoy her little whimpers and cries, kissing blindly over neck and shoulder, eyes squeezed shut to focus on them. Absorbed in chasing his own pleasure but not heedless of her pleasure or discomfort.

He moans her name.

One day she will sit him down and have him explain his enhanced senses to her; right now, she just lets herself enjoy the intimacy of having his cock pressed so deep inside her as he nuzzles at her neck and shoulders, his mouth as hot as a brand against her skin as they rock together.

The sound of her name falling from his lips sends a shiver down her spine, and she clutches at him tighter, crossing her ankles around his back so she can drag him deeper into her with each thrust.

He curses, rough hands white knuckled clutching at her blankets. Encouraged by the way she clings to him, he drives into her again and again and again. Until the royal bed creaks in protest and even the witcher's breathing turns ragged.

His hips jerk forward, buried to the hilt when he finally comes. Pressing his face into the crook of her neck to fill every one of those senses with her and her alone.

It would be funny if her lover managed to break the royal bed his first visit to Meduseld. The carpenters who made the thing might not find it so humorous, but Éomer undoubtedly would. For now, the creaking is a detail easily ignored in favor of other, more important things, things like the tension she can feel mounting in Eskel's body between her thighs, tension that winds tighter and tighter until it breaks and he slams his hips against hers.

She strokes her hand down his spine in a gentle pet, the other arm wrapped securely around his shoulders as he shudders against her, keeping him close so she can press gentle, almost absent kisses to the side of his face as she lets him ride out his pleasure in the cradle of her hips.

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