PROMPT: "There's only one bed..."
Lothiriel isn't sure if she wants to strangle Pippin or kiss him, for pulling such a stunt.
"Come to Hobbiton!" Her supposed friend had said. "Merry and I'll put you up!"
But Pippin had failed to mention that Merry had invited Eomer as well, and that both he and Merry had live-in girlfriends now, the pair of them wouldn't mind sharing the guest room, would they?
"Besides, we all shared a room for Eowyn and Faramir's wedding!"
Well, they had, but it had been a very large room, with eight separate beds for the bridal party, and three other women-Tauriel, a friend of Eowyn's from roller-derby, Wilfled, Eowyn's cousin, and Arwen, Aragorn's obscenely pretty and kind wife-there as well.
Eomer must be thinking something similar, if the muttered cursing is anything to go by.
"Eomer, it'll be fine," she finds herself saying. "We're both adults, the bed is plenty large. It'll...it'll be like a sleepover!"
"Lothiriel, we are not a pair of teenage girls," he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And I'll ask you to please refrain from referring to this weekend as a 'sleepover'."
"Well, fine," she says, determined not to let him catch on how much the idea of sharing a bed with him-Elbereth, just being in the same room as him-makes her pulse race, makes her think horrible, dirty things about her best friend's brother, "I'm taking the right side."
Dinner manages to be a pleasant affair, despite it all. Diamond-Pippin's girlfriend-and Estella-Merry's girlfriend-are exceedingly friendly, and balance out Merry and Pippin's tendency towards the inane with grace. Eomer relaxes after his third whiskey enough to smile at her, when she tells some story about Amrothos embarrassing himself at his latest sailing competition. His smile is as handsome as ever and she's very, very glad that the wine has already put color into her cheeks.
This is fine, she thinks, it'll be fine.
It is not so fine, however, when they manage to stumble their way to the guest bedroom after one last drink. Lothiriel has to nearly hurl herself into her suitcase in her hurry to look away when Eomer carelessly flings his shirt over his head. She shimmies out of her jeans, trying and failing not to notice how the noise from his side of the room abruptly stops as she wiggles into the big t-shirt of Erchirion's she usually sleeps in. She never sleeps in pants, but would have brought some if she'd known, of course. Damn Pippin.
Lothiriel crawls into bed, trying to ignore the frantic thrum thrum thrum of her heart in her ears. It's only made worse when Eomer slides in beside her, the heat of him nearly unbearable, even under the thin sheet.
"The light," he says, voice strangely hoarse.
She nods, flipping the switch and blanketing the room in darkness.
It does little to help: she feels hyper-aware of everything. The sound of his breathing. The smell of whatever shampoo he uses. The gentle brush of his hand over her jaw-wait.
"Eomer?" She asks in a tiny voice.
"Lothiriel," he says, and Elbereth, she can feel his nose nearly against hers, his breath a hot gust horribly, wonderfully close to her mouth, "tell me if...tell me if this isn't-"
She laughs, a quiet huff in the stillness of the room. "You are," she says, reaching out blindly and finding his shoulder, sliding her hand until she finds the back of his neck, "so incredibly thick-headed, Eomer Eomundson."
His kiss is exactly what she expected and not: passionate, of course, and achingly, wonderfully good, but infused with so much tenderness that she could nearly cry from it. The press of his mouth and the heat of his hands is made better by the dark, by the way he pulls back to kiss her forehead before trailing a string of kisses along her jaw, down her neck-
Merry glares at both of them, the following morning, bags apparent under his eyes.
Pippin, however, looks positively gleeful. "You're welcome," he tells her.
"Oh, eat your food," she says, half-heartedly, because Eomer's hand is in hers under the table, and she can't recall feeling this happy in a very, very long time.