He's doing his best not to feel like he's cornered her, though he knows he can't help the way his larger form looms over hers like a draft horse. When the breaks the kiss, his brow furrowed. "Feel...? That side of my face? No, not really. The cuts and tearing were so extensive even magic couldn't fix it. The mage had to save my life, couldn't spare time for the cosmetics. Sorry."
It's a bit of a shame, really, but it's alright in the long run. It's certainly not his fault. Éomer will just focus her kissing on the left side of his face instead, coaxing him into returning the gesture again so she can tease the tip of her tongue against the swell of his lower lip.
He makes a small noise, a low sound deep in his chest, his arms embracing her with ease as he returns her kisses. He holds her close, rather than pinning her against the boards of the paddock and she's so warm. She's not as soft as some women he's held, but he likes feeling the strength of her body under his broad hands, against his chest.
And she likes to be held there, at least for now. If things were different, and it weren't so clear from the beginning that this was a wholly temporary arrangement, she might chafe at being held like this, treated like some sort of delicate creature that needed careful handling, but for this one brief dalliance, it's kind of nice to pretend.
It's not often Éomer is made to feel normal.
She presses closer, letting one hand slide up and around to cup the back of the witcher's neck, her fingers delving into his exotic dark hair and curling appreciatively.
He wouldn't dare suppose to handle any woman roughly (when not half done-in by drink or fisstech, at least, as had been the case now and again in younger and more reckless days) without being told it was alright. Not even a woman as sturdy and unafraid as Éomer. He feels her fingers in his hair and growls, but it's a sound of pleasure rather than a warning.
"Shouldn't do this here." He says, when he pulls back enough to breathe.
She breaks away with a laugh, curling her fingers in his hair again just because she liked the noise he made when she did it the first time.
"You don't want to give the good people of Hjaroarholt a show?"
Disengaging reluctantly, she steps back and takes a moment to straighten out her kirtle before taking his arm again. "I think it's time you took me home, witcher."
"Don't want to give anyone any wrong ideas." He says, seriously. He takes her arm in his, gives one last fond look at the pretty barley-colored horse, and leads her back to the little cottage where he's been living. It looks only marginally lived it, as Eskel hadn't acrued many belongings and he lives pretty sparingly anyway. He closes the door and lights the hearth with a flick of Igni. He draws her closer again and his kisses are more passionate now, without the chance of someone coming upon them to think he's doing something untoward and with the spark of need that's come from how long he's deprived himself of a woman's touch (or anybody's touch, really).
Watching Eskel light the fire like that will never not send a little shiver of awe down her spine. She doesn't trust mages, soured on them as a concept by her uncle's unctuous adviser, but the raw power Eskel demonstrates with his fire trick is still terribly impressive.
Kicking the door shut behind her, she lets herself be drawn easily into Eskel's arms again, tossing her own over his shoulders and pressing herself close as they resume the kiss of before.
He settles his broad hands at the small of her waist, pulling her close enough that he can feel her pressed against the length of his torso. He likes the way she flings her arms around his shoulders, every gesture of enthusiasm assuring him that this was the right thing to do, that there would be no fear, no shame, no sense of regret.
No, Éomer is not planning on regretting any of this any time soon.
Of course, there's always the possibility that Eskel won't be gentle in bed, that maybe he'll hurt her more than she's willing to be hurt, that tonight will go badly and she'll walk away with emotional, if not physical, scars. But every encounter with a man runs the same risks, and she feels she has a good enough grasp of Eskel's character that she's not worried about that.
With her arms draped over his shoulders, she starts to gather up the back of his shirt, balling it up in her fists and yanking it up his back.
He releases her, but only to pull the shirt off over his head. He'd feel more self-conscious if she hadn't already seen everything outside of his small-clothes and under far less sexy circumstances. He pulls her close again, running his fingers through her hair, captivated by the novelty of it worn loose like this.
The firelight is kind to him, the warm flickering light lingering on the swell of his muscles, and even though Éomer has already seen all of this before, she lets herself look her fill once more as he pulls her back into his arms and plunges his fingers into her hair instead.
"Just...leave that side of my face out of it, okay?" He asks, lowering his wolfish eyes. It feels so ridiculous to be self-conscious but if she's looking at it, he's thinking about it and the last thing he needs to think about is the glaring reminder of his poor choices. "The injuries from the wargs healed alright, so I'm just fine if things get a little...uh. Athletic."
"Alright." She may not understand the history behind the injury — she definitely doesn't, because that doesn't seem like something she could just ask about — and she may be under the impression that the scars don't retain much feeling, but if he doesn't want her to touch them, then she won't.
What she will do is reach up to cup the unmarred side of his face in her palm, stroking her thumb beneath his eye until he looks back at her again.
He gives her his lopsided grin, butting his head into her palm like a great beast.
"Yeah? You heard anymore salacious rumors about witchers that suggest I might be in danger of pulling a muscle?" He rumbles. He runs his hands down her body, back to her hips (not lingering on her chest but not exactly ignoring it, either), pulling her snugly against him.
She grins at him in return, stroking her thumb over his cheek one more time before letting him distract her with his hands on her body.
"I was rather hoping to start a few salacious rumors myself, actually," she teases, arching into the press of his palms as he slides them over her body, debating whether she should undress herself or let be the one to do it for her.
At the very least, she can take off the belt slung low around her hips, unfastening the buckle and tossing the leather carelessly aside, leaving her in two loose layers that should be easy enough to dispose of.
Edited (omg what is language) Date: 2020-09-03 02:33 am (UTC)
The clothes are clean, but not so clean that he can't tell they don't belong to her. Which would make sense, what use would she have for a dress? So he doesn't tear them from her, even if he feels like that would at least amuse her. Instead, he very slowly and deliberately pulls the lacings out of the holes row by row while bowing his head to kiss her neck and shoulder.
Éomer has plenty of dresses waiting for her in Edoras, ones actually made for her measurements, one that turn her muscular body into something that might even have womanly curves, ones that emphasize the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips.
She tends to find them dreadfully uncomfortable, and vastly prefers wearing trousers and binding her breasts down to keep them from getting in the way, but there are some things to be said for how quickly she can be undressed when she's wearing a shift.
Lifting her chin, she makes room for the witcher to nestle his head in at the hollow of her throat, sighing happily as she strokes her hands over the warm skin of his shoulders while Eskel methodically undresses her.
He finishes disassembling the dress with those rough but clever fingers, pushing the straps down her arms and pulling away from her so that she's just in her shirt. He runs his hands over her again, more attentively this time, feeling her body through the thin fabric. Caressing her chest, moving down to her hips, and then her thighs. Then, with a growl of exertion, he picks her up, broad hands under her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him. "See? Arm's all better?" He informs her, with a grin.
Éomer, sadly, is not particularly careful about clothes, even ones she's borrowed from someone else. When Eskel pushes the kirtle off her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, she does nothing to make sure it doesn't get trodden on, focused instead on the feel of those huge hands of his caressing her with just the thin linen shift between his palms and her body.
He hefts her up into his arms and she laughs, more than happy to wrap her legs around his waist and to squeeze him between her thighs, her arms looped around his neck.
Picking her up is a silly thing to do, but she's so taken with the strength of his body, it seems a good opportunity to show off. And this does give him a good feel of her shapely legs and backside. He leans up to kiss her again, moving with a witcher's grace and ease back towards the bed while he does so. He finds it with the backs of his knees and they go tumbling across the roughspun blankets, Eskel laughing that rough laugh of his as he steadies her so she stays settled across his hips.
It's been a very long time since any man has carried her as if she weighed nothing to him, and Éomer is a little surprised to find how much she likes it. Eskel's body between her thighs feels like a war horse, all compact muscle and sturdy bones beneath, and Éomer lets herself squeeze him like she would a charger with no saddle on, just to feel the heft of him as he carries her over to his bed and tumbles back onto it.
"I could get used to riding you down to the bed like that," she teases, shifting and yanking at her shift to get it out from where it's caught under her knees. Once it's been freed from that tangle, she figures she might as well just take the whole thing off, so she grabs the hem and tugs it up and over her head in one smooth motion, baring her body to him completely and tossing the shift over to land somewhere across the room.
Her hair turns to liquid gold in the firelight, and the shadows trace the shapes of her lean muscles and Eskel makes a peculiar little breathless noise because she's gorgeous and now that she's given permission and showed inexplicable enthusiasm, he's not sure what he wants to touch or kiss first.
"You can ride me however you like, darlin'..." He laughs, sitting up and kissing up her breastbone, alone a collarbone and up her neck. Hungry, open-mouth kisses that stop short of biting her (that would be a bit much, he thinks) but are clearly motivated by a need for her that feels like a banquet after weeks of starving.
"I'll do my best," she promises with a breathless chuckle as Eskel shifts beneath her so he can curl up and press his mouth to her skin.
Shivering a little, something embarrassingly close to a mewl caught in her throat, she threads her fingers through his hair and tugs on it gently as she shifts in his lap.
"You can leave a mark," she murmurs, sounding rather distracted. "I don't mind." She certainly has enough of them on her body, though perhaps not quite so many as he. From the messy scar at the join of her neck and shoulder from that lucky arrow shaft, to a myriad cuts and gashes across her forearms and her thighs, to one particularly nasty scar that bites through her side, following the line of her hip down to her buttock that had taken months to heal from. Éomer's body is a testament to her profession; she is no gentle hothouse flower of womanhood.
Edited (i'm falling asleep at my laptop lol) Date: 2020-09-03 03:39 am (UTC)
He's been with rough women before, women who are strong and scarred and strange compared to the night-flowers that bloom in the brothels of the big cities, Eskel's usual refuge when it came to women, but he looks at her with surprise and reverence nevertheless. He'll never ask the orgins of her scars-- just as he hopes she won't be too nosy about his-- but he does trace them reverently with a calloused finger. He glances up at her and his yellow eyes glint mischievously. He bends his head and with sucking mouth and pinching teeth, he raises a wicked love-bite the color of a blackberry on the tender flesh of one of her breasts.
"Something to take on the road when we go our separate ways, eh?" He teases.
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Date: 2020-09-02 05:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-02 05:35 pm (UTC)It's a bit of a shame, really, but it's alright in the long run. It's certainly not his fault. Éomer will just focus her kissing on the left side of his face instead, coaxing him into returning the gesture again so she can tease the tip of her tongue against the swell of his lower lip.
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Date: 2020-09-02 08:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-02 08:13 pm (UTC)It's not often Éomer is made to feel normal.
She presses closer, letting one hand slide up and around to cup the back of the witcher's neck, her fingers delving into his exotic dark hair and curling appreciatively.
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Date: 2020-09-02 08:19 pm (UTC)"Shouldn't do this here." He says, when he pulls back enough to breathe.
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Date: 2020-09-02 08:24 pm (UTC)"You don't want to give the good people of Hjaroarholt a show?"
Disengaging reluctantly, she steps back and takes a moment to straighten out her kirtle before taking his arm again. "I think it's time you took me home, witcher."
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Date: 2020-09-02 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-02 11:35 pm (UTC)Kicking the door shut behind her, she lets herself be drawn easily into Eskel's arms again, tossing her own over his shoulders and pressing herself close as they resume the kiss of before.
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Date: 2020-09-03 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-03 01:40 am (UTC)Of course, there's always the possibility that Eskel won't be gentle in bed, that maybe he'll hurt her more than she's willing to be hurt, that tonight will go badly and she'll walk away with emotional, if not physical, scars. But every encounter with a man runs the same risks, and she feels she has a good enough grasp of Eskel's character that she's not worried about that.
With her arms draped over his shoulders, she starts to gather up the back of his shirt, balling it up in her fists and yanking it up his back.
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Date: 2020-09-03 01:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-03 01:57 am (UTC)"Is there anywhere you don't want me to touch?"
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Date: 2020-09-03 02:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-03 02:21 am (UTC)What she will do is reach up to cup the unmarred side of his face in her palm, stroking her thumb beneath his eye until he looks back at her again.
"I'm very glad to hear that."
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Date: 2020-09-03 02:27 am (UTC)"Yeah? You heard anymore salacious rumors about witchers that suggest I might be in danger of pulling a muscle?" He rumbles. He runs his hands down her body, back to her hips (not lingering on her chest but not exactly ignoring it, either), pulling her snugly against him.
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Date: 2020-09-03 02:31 am (UTC)"I was rather hoping to start a few salacious rumors myself, actually," she teases, arching into the press of his palms as he slides them over her body, debating whether she should undress herself or let be the one to do it for her.
At the very least, she can take off the belt slung low around her hips, unfastening the buckle and tossing the leather carelessly aside, leaving her in two loose layers that should be easy enough to dispose of.
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Date: 2020-09-03 02:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-03 02:58 am (UTC)She tends to find them dreadfully uncomfortable, and vastly prefers wearing trousers and binding her breasts down to keep them from getting in the way, but there are some things to be said for how quickly she can be undressed when she's wearing a shift.
Lifting her chin, she makes room for the witcher to nestle his head in at the hollow of her throat, sighing happily as she strokes her hands over the warm skin of his shoulders while Eskel methodically undresses her.
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Date: 2020-09-03 03:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-03 03:16 am (UTC)He hefts her up into his arms and she laughs, more than happy to wrap her legs around his waist and to squeeze him between her thighs, her arms looped around his neck.
"How marvelous."
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Date: 2020-09-03 03:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-03 03:27 am (UTC)"I could get used to riding you down to the bed like that," she teases, shifting and yanking at her shift to get it out from where it's caught under her knees. Once it's been freed from that tangle, she figures she might as well just take the whole thing off, so she grabs the hem and tugs it up and over her head in one smooth motion, baring her body to him completely and tossing the shift over to land somewhere across the room.
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Date: 2020-09-03 03:32 am (UTC)"You can ride me however you like, darlin'..." He laughs, sitting up and kissing up her breastbone, alone a collarbone and up her neck. Hungry, open-mouth kisses that stop short of biting her (that would be a bit much, he thinks) but are clearly motivated by a need for her that feels like a banquet after weeks of starving.
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Date: 2020-09-03 03:38 am (UTC)Shivering a little, something embarrassingly close to a mewl caught in her throat, she threads her fingers through his hair and tugs on it gently as she shifts in his lap.
"You can leave a mark," she murmurs, sounding rather distracted. "I don't mind." She certainly has enough of them on her body, though perhaps not quite so many as he. From the messy scar at the join of her neck and shoulder from that lucky arrow shaft, to a myriad cuts and gashes across her forearms and her thighs, to one particularly nasty scar that bites through her side, following the line of her hip down to her buttock that had taken months to heal from. Éomer's body is a testament to her profession; she is no gentle hothouse flower of womanhood.
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Date: 2020-09-03 03:46 am (UTC)"Something to take on the road when we go our separate ways, eh?" He teases.
{{Oh no! Go to bed!<3}}
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