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[hlaefdige]

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[wolfdogwitcher]

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.

[hlaefdige]

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.

"Is there anywhere you don't want me to touch?"

[wolfdogwitcher]

"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."

[hlaefdige]

"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.

"I'm very glad to hear that."

[wolfdogwitcher]

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.

[hlaefdige]

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.

[wolfdogwitcher]

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.

[hlaefdige]

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.

[wolfdogwitcher]

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.

[hlaefdige]

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.

"How marvelous."

[wolfdogwitcher]

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.

[hlaefdige]

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.

[wolfdogwitcher]

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.

[hlaefdige]

"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.

[wolfdogwitcher]

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.

{{Oh no! Go to bed!<3}}

[hlaefdige]

For a moment, she thinks maybe he'll refuse, that he'll decide he doesn't want to hurt her at all and tonight will only be gentle, reverent touches. She wouldn't be upset if that was his plan, because she was absolutely right and Eskel's huge hands are perfectly capable of gentleness when he puts his mind to it, but she equally isn't disappointed when he grins at her and puts his mouth to her breast, sucking and nibbling at her skin until he's left a livid bruise blooming beneath her skin, one she knows will darken to a very satisfying purple by the morning.

"Ah!" His heightened witcher senses can probably tell all too easily how much she liked that, the way her heart beat picked up speed, the sudden rush of slick between her thighs. "Something like that, yes."

(( shan't!! ))

[wolfdogwitcher]

Well that shatters the last of his doubts. He will probably remain hesitant to get too rough but he likes the noise she made, backed up by the physiological changes his keen senses pick up. He noses between her breasts, nipping playfully, his hands reaching to firmly grasp her muscular backside.

"Since you're so keen on taking me for a ride..." He offers, settling back on the mattress, encouraging her forward. "Come here, darlin' and make yourself comfortable."

Can't see his fucked up face if she's sitting on it.

[hlaefdige]

She really doesn't need to be told twice.

His chest is broad, and she has to spread her knees quite wide to shuffle up the mattress so she can plant them beside his shoulders, a stretch that just adds to the pleasant thrum of anticipation that's singing through her.

At the last moment, she bends herself in half so she can lean down and kiss him one more time, cupping his face in her hands so she can make him lift his chin for her, but then she lets him go and finishes her journey up the mattress, her ankles hooked over his arms so she can press her toes into the blankets beneath them for just that little bit more traction as she settles herself against his mouth.

[wolfdogwitcher]

Oh, that's perfect.

He waits for her to get settled, then reaches up to steady her at the small of her back before he buries his face between her thighs. He tastes her with enthusiasm, greedily even, to continue the metaphor of the starving man at the banquet.

He might be a monster, but he's a very attentive lover at least while he's at it.

[hlaefdige]

A monster would not lick her so thoroughly, would not carefully slide his tongue through her folds or find her clitoris and pay it such exquisite attention all while supporting her with broad hands at the base of her spine.

He is not a monster. He is an excellent lover, however, and the pleased sighing moans that vibrate up her throat is a blunt testament to that.

Even with his hands helping brace her, she can't keep still, and she winds up rocking her hips steadily, undulating above him as she curls one hand around his forearm, the fingers of the other slotting through his hair lest he maybe consider doing something as foolish as removing his mouth from her cunt.

[wolfdogwitcher]

He laughs when she grabs him by the hair (is there any better way of a woman showing how much she likes his mouth?) and he growls, burying his face between her legs. He leaves off teasing her, finding whatever makes her shiver and twitch, makes her give up more of those hot little noises she's making up there.

All of his senses are full of just her and it's the most satisfying thing he's experienced in a while. He's more than happy to steady her while she rides his face as he licks into her, moaning his fair share against the skin he's so enthusiastically enjoying.

[hlaefdige]

That growl of his gets a surprised little yelp out of her, but it's definitely not a bad thing.

Eskel seems determined to get her off with his mouth alone, and while she usually requires something of a firmer touch for her to reach her peak, it's been a rather long time since Éomer has enjoyed the touch of anyone's hand (or, in this case, mouth) but her own, and the weeks between their last meeting and today have been spent in idle speculation about just what Eskel would be like as a lover, leaving her frustrated and wanting long before they reunited.

Her teeth digging into her lip as she groans, she tugs at his hair and grinds against his mouth, chasing her pleasure with a single-minded focus.

[wolfdogwitcher]

He's intent on getting her off as much as possible. He wants to make it worth her while: they're going to part ways after this and she's been good to him. Beyond saving his life, she's been good to him, including not letting him bullshit his way out of something he's currently enjoying very much. She's got a good hold of him, leaning over him, lost in the pursuit of her own orgasm. Which is fine by him, angling his head a bit to draw her clit into his mouth, sucking and plying it with his tongue, which he often found did the trick. Since she's found her own rhythm, he gives up trying to hold onto her, loosely grasping one thigh while he fumbles with his belt, desperately needing to open his straining trousers.

[hlaefdige]

The evening air outside may be getting colder as the seasons turn, a little crisp bite to each breath, but inside this little cottage it's getting quite steamy, and sweat has started to crop up at the nape of Éomer's neck, beneath her breasts, along the crease of her thighs.

When Eskel starts to suck at her clitoris she can't help but cry out again, squirming because she needs to move but also trying very hard not to dislodge him. In the end, she winds up pressing her free hand against the wall behind the bed, digging her blunt fingertips into the whitewashed daub that coats the wattled walls as she braces herself so she won't tumble from her perch, the hand she has in his hair tightening its grip until it's surely getting painful for him.

It doesn't take long before she's gasping in earnest, her hips twitching restlessly as the tension inside her mounts, building and building until her muscles stand out beneath the skin of her thighs and she bucks hard, a gut-punched cry pushing its way past her teeth as she trembles through her climax.

[wolfdogwitcher]

He laughs between her thighs, warm and deep and self-satisfied. He opens those bright eyes and looks up at her to see the expression on her flushed face. He had thought her pretty before, but looking at her now was glorious. And painfully arousing. His belt jingles as he manages to get it undone, to unlace the flies of his trousers one-handed so he can stroke his aching cock.

He kisses the inside of her thigh, and then nips playfully there.