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[hlaefdige]

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[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.

[hlaefdige]

It takes her a minute to come back to herself, for her breathing to return to normal, for her muscles to stop trembling, a minute that she gladly waits out with Eskel's breath hot and wet against her thighs, the rumble of his laugh practically vibrating straight through her.

Tossing her head to get her sweaty hair out of her face, she looks down at him and grins, flushed and very pleased with herself as she shifts her weight a little so she's not quite so close to smothering him.

"Looks like a hundred and fifty years on this earth has some benefits..." she teases, letting go of her death-grip on his hair so she can card her fingers through it apologetically.

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Over one hundred years of practice. And if I lack anything in technique, I'm at least enthusiastic." He says, licking his lips. He's going to be smelling, tasting her for days, with his keen witcher's senses. Far from looking winded or uncomfortable, he's grinning up at her.

[hlaefdige]

"You certainly are," she murmurs, removing her fingers from his hair so she can stroke them over his face instead, trailing her calloused fingertips along the ridge of his brow and down the side of his face until she can rasp her nails over the stubble that's cropped up along his jaw, the stubble that left her thighs pinked-up and sensitive.

"I'm going to make you do that again before we go," she informs him imperiously, already plotting out how many more times she can feasibly sneak away from her duties to fuck the witcher before she absolutely must return to her real life and he to his. At least once more, she thinks. Maybe twice, if she's lucky.

[wolfdogwitcher]

"I will be more than happy to oblige." He promises, tipping his head into the caress of her fingers. He's sure they'll both make the most of what little time they have. Selfishly, he wants as much as he can get, because he don't know when he'll have the nerve for such a thing again.

[hlaefdige]

Clambering back away from his shoulders is a little undignified — his fault for having them be so damn broad — but she manages despite the momentary awkwardness, because she wants to shift herself far enough down his body that she can bend to kiss him again, lifting one arm to toss her hair over to one side so it's not so much in the way as she cups her palms to his damp cheeks and presses her mouth to his.

If the taste of her on his lips bothers her, she doesn't show any sign of it, biting playfully at his mouth as she gets comfortable, draped across his chest.

"Let me return the favor," she says, like he's actively stopping her and not that she's simply allowed herself to get distracted with kissing him.

[wolfdogwitcher]

"Gods, could you?" He says, in a tone that's not quite begging but certainly speaks to his terrible need for her touch. Despite the passion of the plea, it's very difficult to stop kissing her, now that he's started though. He nips at her lower lip in kind, with a playful little growl of pleasure, one broad hand grasping her backside and the other coming up to knead one of her breasts.

[hlaefdige]

"With pleasure," she promises, kissing him again, sighing against his lips as he cups her breast in one huge palm. "But you'll have to let go of me, first."

Not that she really wants that, either, because the way he grips at her is only serving to fuel the burn of desire in her and she desperately wants him to continue touching her as much as possible.

She also really, really would like to get her mouth on his cock, both because he asked her so nicely, and also because she wants to feel the heft of it against her tongue, wants to taste him as he tasted her, wants to send that barrel chest of his heaving as she brings him the same kind of pleasure he brought to her.

[wolfdogwitcher]

A rumble of half-disappointment, but he lets her go. He's momentarily at a loss for want to do with his hands, settling on folding them behind his head. The last thing he wants is to pull her hair or anything, but perhaps he's being too cautious. He'd rather be too cautious, however, than exacerbate the witcher's reputations as brutes.

Besides, this gives him an unimpeded view of her pretty face.

[hlaefdige]

"Oh, hush. You can paw at me as much as you like in a minute." She winks at him to take away any sting her tease might have elicited, and finally starts to shift herself backwards when he takes his hands away and tucks them behind his head.

It's difficult for a man Eskel's size to look perfectly insouciant, but he does a very good impression of it like this, and she can't help smiling at him, fond and impressed in equal measure until she gets distracted by the body between her legs and beneath her palms.

Since he didn't say anything about avoiding the scars that decorate the rest of his body, Éomer lets herself map him out with her hands and her mouth as she retreats, smoothing her palms over the cage of his ribs and raking her nails down his sides.

Finally sitting back on his thighs, her palms braced on the ridges of his hips, she lets herself get a good look at what she has to work with and grins.

"So it would appear not all the rumors about witchers are entirely unfounded..."

[wolfdogwitcher]

He doesn't mind if she touches the other scars, they don't carry the same emotional baggage. They don't experience the same pleasurable sensation, but he doesn't mind. He groans when he feels her blunt nails drag over his sides, just a little reminder of the playfulness, the fierceness, of the woman kneeling across his thighs.

He lifts his head and cocks an eyebrow at her.

"I'd like to think that's because I'm a big guy in general, not because of magic." He snorts with amusement. Indeed, he's on the larger side-- thick and rising proudly from a nest of black curls-- but not hilariously so. "But I told you it looked perfectly normal and works as expected. I'm glad you agree."

[hlaefdige]

"Aren't you just." Big enough in general that Éomer has to look up at him to meet his eyes, big enough to grasp her by the waist and heft her into his arms without expending too much effort, big enough that straddling him is really rather reminiscent of throwing herself onto horseback.

Instead of making a joke about how she'd almost been worried his prick would be barbed, or knotted, or whatever ridiculous claim she's heard about witcher anatomy, she pushes all that aside and focuses instead of curling her fingers under the folded-back waistband of his trousers, getting a good grip on them and his smalls both and yanking them down past his hips, leaving him hobbled with them bunched around his thighs.

Her fingers don't touch as she wraps them around his shaft, she notes with some amusement. She won't be able to take all of him down her throat. But that's alright, she has two hands for a reason.

Bending her head, she licks a long line up his shaft, turning her attention to the task at hand.

[wolfdogwitcher]

A curse slips between his teeth as she drags that tongue up the full length of his cock, her fingers wrapped confidently around it. It's been so long it's almost embarrassing how strong his reaction is (not that he hasn't jerked off plenty in his travels, but it's just not the same as the touch of another person). His cock twitches enthusiastically in her hand, a silvery bead forming at the tip.