kingdomcomes | MINGLE: THE SNOW QUEEN

[She fixes him with a withering glare, and brushes his hand off her muscular thigh.]

"Interesting" is not what I seek here.

[Yes, it is. It always is. But that's not the point.]

[She lets go of his wrist and pushes herself to her feet, tensed to fight if he shows any sign of aggression. Her eyes are fixed on him as she reaches up to unfasten her corset, lips pressed together.]

If you wish to help, then concede. Or, at the least, shed your drawers and go to the bed.

[Kaph rolls his eyes. What, so she's looking for a boring fuck? Yeah, right. She's just saying that for the sake of shutting him down, he bets. Oh, but he'll make himself come out on top yet.

Raising his hands in what's supposed to be a pacifying manner, he slides out from underneath her and sits on the edge of his bed. Then, giving her a very deliberate look, he teasingly pulls down the side of his boxer shorts.

It's clear that he means for the reveal of his hipbones to be tantalising - and, to be fair, there's something pleasant about the shape of them, and about the happy trail that is now more clearly visible - but maybe he should have thought harder about whether or not this was a bad idea.]

[She seems unimpressed. She is, in fairness, quite good at seeming unimpressed. Truth be told, there is something quite attractive about the look of him there, but it's more than counteracted by what an ass he's being about it.]

[For her part, she makes no attempt to be tantalising or flirtatious, just unlaces her corset briskly, sets it down along with her breeches in an altogether businesslike manner, then straightens up and shakes her hair back. Only the slight blush on her chest and cheeks gives away her awkwardness. She doesn't mean to show any weakness or uncertainty, not to him.]

[She is, in all fairness, a very good-looking woman. Naked, the firm muscle of her belly and her thighs is clearer; she is slender but not skinny, pale skin taut, a coarse thatch of golden hair between her legs.]

[Her hands rest on her hips, and she considers him for a moment, her expression hard.]

[On one hand, it's a good thing he can't really tell she's mildly uncomfortable. It would have been something else for him to try and use, to lord over her somehow - nothing to be scared of, baby, don't be nervous, I'll be real gentle, I promise it's not gonna hurt.

On the other hand? No point in putting that act on for Éowyn. Not that the words are the act, but his caring, his gentleness - some of the people he's met here probably wouldn't believe just how many sweet virgin hearts he's broken.

But Éoywn isn't sweet or naive in the slightest. She may not have seen what he's really made of, but she knows he's not a good person. Why even keep up the pretense?

He looks at her like he's waiting for more.]

Well? What's the hold-up? [Aaaand he gestures to his groin.] Come on, just go ahead and take a seat.

You disgust me.

[She shakes her head, crossing over to his bed, and looks down at him. Her face is taut, her arms folded. There's no way to get out of this with her dignity intact, but that doesn't make it worth throwing all self-respect out of the window.]

If hitting you again will take the smugness from your look, believe me, I shall have no qualms. I suggest you hold your tongue and end this with all your bones intact.

Oh, come on, what are you gonna do? You need this boner. [And he rushes to add before she can actually go and break his tibia or something:] If you wanna win, I mean! The goal is to get our opponent to come first, right? Think I'm gonna be in the mood for that if you beat me half to death?

[She scoffs derisively, mostly to hide the fact that he has a point, and reaches out to push him back down on the bed.]

Keep talking, if you will. When this is over, there will be naught to stop it.

Besides. You seemed happy enough over being defeated a moment ago.

[The look on his face as he falls backwards is defiant... but decidedly less smug than before.]

I can always appreciate a good-looking woman, even if she's got a rotten personality.

[Éowyn keeps her hand on his chest, holding him in place, as she comes to kneel on the bed beside him.]

Insulting me does you few favours, fool. A wiser man might think to keep a civil tongue in his head.

[She grunts low in her throat, and straddles his hips, wrapping her free hand roughly around his cock.]

[... Okay, he can acknowledge that it may be wiser for him to take it down a notch now that she's got his dick in her hand.]

Hey, I'm not kidding about that first bit. Nothing wrong with a woman who looks like she could fuck a guy up.

[She scoffs.]

You speak so crudely, even when you try to flatter.

[And with that, she arranges herself and pushes herself down onto him without preamble. It hurts a little, but frankly, she welcomes that. The roughness of it fuels her, helps her to see this as another kind of battle.]

[The hand that was on his cock comes up to grab his hair instead, and she releases his chest to cover his mouth with the other hand. She's had quite enough of his talking for now, thank you very much.]

Psh, c'mon, lighten up. If I wanted to pull out a thesaurus...

[But he doesn't get to finish that sentence, first because she takes him in so suddenly it's almost rude to a cock that hasn't felt the touch of anything but a hand for the past two months, and then because she starts manhandling him. It's clear that he wants to protest, but there isn't much he can do with his mouth covered, which only aggravates him further.

He doesn't look entirely unlike a muzzled dog, really.]

[There's something vicious in her smile, some sharp edge of victory.]

I told you. Hold your filthy tongue.

[This between grunts, as she rides him as hard and fast as she dares - the last thing she wants is to rip herself up inside, and she is still new at this, so there's some caution there - clenching around him. She also doesn't want it to be too pleasurable for her. She will not, after all, be made to lose to this man.]

[Even so, she's plenty wet enough, especially after a few thrusts. The pleasure is very different to what she felt with Remus: more ferocious, more feral. It is pleasure, nonetheless, and she lets out a little moan as she fucks him, biting down on her lip, her hand pressing firm on his mouth, her breasts jolting with every thrust, sweat starting to bead on her forehead.]

Mmmrrmph!

[His attempts at protesting make his hot breath clear against Éowyn's hand, but it may not be his frustration alone that's responsible for that. Even though he isn't in control of the situation, even if (~~or because?~~) there's something humiliating about how he's being completely dominated, he is undeniably aroused. Her rough thrusts certainly contribute to it - not only was he in sore need of this level of stimulation, but her motions give him quite the sight to lay his eyes upon, too. Plus, she is wet, and it's always satisfying to know he's had a hand in that.

Speaking of hands, he's going to try using his to pry Éowyn's away from his mouth. If he could, he'd be pulling a half-grin half-grimace by now.]

[She isn't entirely expecting that - in fairness, she's a little distracted right now - and he does manage to pull her hand off his mouth, at least a little way, before she reacts by pushing back harder.]

Nobody ever taught you to submit with grace, did they?

[wow what a fucking hypocrite]

[He tries to talk back, but by the time he does, her hand is back, so all he manages is a grumble.

So what the hell can he do to assert himself? He considers the possibility of slapping her ass, and then the possibility that she'd rip his dick off when she's done if he tried that. Not that he's scared or anything. Goodness, no. He just values his health.

But surely, there's no harm in placing his hands on her thighs and sliding them upwards, an air of defiance and possessiveness in his eyes.]

[She wants to wipe that possessive look out of his eyes, slap his hands away and remind him in no uncertain terms that she is in charge here. At the same time, though, there's something arousing about the fire in his look, his obvious frustration with the situation - and, yes, his refusal to submit. Submission would, she has to admit, be dull. Let him fight her all he will - it will only make victory sweeter.]

[With that in mind, not to mention the increasing build of pleasure as she fucks him, she dosn't force his hands away, even as they creep higher up her thighs, over hard, flexing muscle, to her ass. She leans in closer, letting out a low little sound at the change in angle, and meets his eyes with hers, her face scant inches from his. Her face is flushed, her eyes bright, and she hopes he can see the triumph in her face.]

No matter what happens, carry this with you, and remember it next time you are inclined to mockery: I did not try very hard to get you here. I need not. For all your silver-tongued certainty, you are weak.

[She drives herself down onto him with even greater intensity, a couple of times, groaning at the depth, the rawness, the near-pain of it. Then she slows a little, her face still close to his, and her gaze drills into him.]

Say it. Say you are beaten.

[And, yes, that means she's taking her hand off his mouth. Think before you speak, though, Kaph. She's still got a pretty good grip on your hair - not to mention your cock.]

[Weak, she calls him, and his mouth wants to contort into a sneer. Nobody calls him that and gets away with it. Nobody-- Nobody has called him that.

And yet - she slams down onto him; his grunts sound even deeper muffled - here he is, sweating and erect. He wishes his fingernails were still nothing but claws in disguise; he could leave a mark on her, even if she wins this fight.

... Which he does not want to concede. He takes a deep breath when she removes her hand from his mouth - it's mixed with a moan - and grins before he says:]

You're one presumptuous bitch.

[Wrong answer. Even more of a wrong answer than Eowyn anticipated, actually. She really, really does not like being called a bitch.]

[She slaps him again, front-handed this time, hard enough to leave a mark. Not without a degree of effort, she also stops fucking him, her hips stilling against his as she brings her face in close. Her hand tightens in his hair, pulling his head up until their noses are almost touching.]

And you are a vile cur in need of better insults. At the very least, come back to me when you have the strength to shore them up with action.

[Pulling back again, she spits in his face. This is, if she's honest with herself, not at all honourable or worthy behaviour - but it certainly is satisfying, after months and years of feeling her own lack of power and control.]

[Somehow, the most insulting part is the fact that she stops. Without the pleasure, a slap is just a slap and a hairpull is just a hairpull. Not appreciated--

And then she spits on him.

His sneer just about turns into a snarl.]

Vile cur? I'm not the one fucking spitting in people's faces!

[She goes a little red - mostly because he has a point - and thins her lips.]

You are, nonetheless, vile. [With a little grunt, she lifts her hips and slams herself back down onto him, just once.] And fool enough to insult a woman in a place to give you as much pain as pleasure.

[The motion draws a loud, breathy noise out of him, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. She may be right, but already, he's telling himself this is not the end. He'll come out on top one day, even if this isn't that day. Now wouldn't that be something, having an uppity princess like Éowyn at his mercy?

(And isn't THIS something too, this heated back-and-forth?)]

Oh, I hope you put your money where your mouth is.

[Kaph doesn't quite realise it, but the goal of the game he's playing right now isn't "get her off" anymore.

He may not have claws, but he can keep his grip on her ass tight, goad her on while reminding her that he'll have his way too, when the time comes.]

[She tenses her thighs and her cunt around him, her lip curled.]

Another time, cur. When I have no need to keep you in one piece.

[She hasn't thought about what that implies, to say another time. In fairness, she isn't exactly thinking much at all, giving herself over on one level to the fire in her blood and the frustration thundering through her.]

[Lowering her head, she bites him, teeth sinking into the join of his neck and shoulder. One hand, the one that was covering his mouth, fumbles back to try and pull his hand off her ass, to pin his arms.]

Ow, fuck! [It doesn't hurt that much - if it did, he wouldn't be as hard as he still is, he's pretty sure.

He tries to fight her hand, even making an effort to stretch his fingers far enough to reach the back of her vulva... but he's not in the best position to do that. It isn't long until she has him pinned. Regardless, he resists.]

[She's glad he resists her. As long as he's fighting her, this feels fairer, somehow, less dishonourable. It makes it easier not to dwell on the fact that she's holding down an unarmed, naked man and having sex with him.]

[Which, uh. Let's never mention this to anyone from her world, all right?]

[That's a guilt problem for future-Eowyn. Right now, she drives herself down onto him again, slipping back into a punishing pace, her nails digging into his wrists.]

MINGLE: THE SNOW QUEEN

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