PROMPT: "Um...it's not what you think..."

"Are you even trying?"

"Be nice, it's my first time!"

"Well, that explains a lot-"

"Can you just-no, a little more to the left-"

"Is that better?"

"Mm-"

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes them both jolt guiltily.

"I can honestly say, I never thought I'd see...well, this," Eowyn says.

"Um...it's not what you think?" Lothiriel says, from somewhere around Eomer's ribcage.

Eomer groans. "What else is she supposed to think, Lothiriel?"

"We," comes Faramir's voice, making Eomer groan again, "had no idea either of you were quite so, ah, flexible."

Lothiriel's huff of laughter is startlingly warm through the thin fabric of his shirt and nearly makes him topple over. He knees her shoulder in response and earns a smug grin for his trouble.

"You're just jealous," she says, contorting herself in a truly impressive position to smile at Faramir. "We must have played Twister hundreds of times when we were little, Fara, and you never won once."

"That's because you and Amrothos cheated constantly, not because of my lack of flexibility," he says, loping around to inspect the way they've managed to bend themselves around each other. "How exactly were you planning on spinning for the next turn?"

Lothiriel lifts her left foot gingerly off of a yellow space, nearly kicking Eomer in the face as she does so.

"Show off," he grumbles half-heartedly as she stretches a toe towards the spinner.

"Oh, for Bema's sake, let me," Eowyn says, snatching the spinner out of Lothiriel's reach.

She gives the arrow a hearty flick and watches closely as it spins, spins, spins, finally landing on 'Right Foot Red'.

Eomer groans again, trying to figure out how he can possibly maneuver himself without doing permanent damage to either of his legs.

Lothiriel, on the other hand, stretches out with ease, insinuating herself effortlessly under his much larger frame as she does so.

Eomer is abruptly grateful that she's so much shorter than him; if she were any taller, her face would be very near to uh...very inopportune place. As it is, she's still plastered closer to him than he'd like-or, more than he'd like with an audience. Especially when said audience is his sister and her cousin.

Once they've both placed a food on the correct dot, Eowyn gives the spinner another flick.

"Left hand blue," she announces, sounding entirely too amused for Eomer's taste.

"What are the stakes?" Faramir asks, abruptly.

"What makes you think there are stakes?" Lothiriel asks innocently.

"Because I know you and the sharks you call brothers," is Faramir's answer.

"If I win," Eomer answers, stifling a curse when Lothiriel arches her spine, pressing her back flush against his chest, "she has to do trash duty the rest of the time we're here-"

"And if I win," Lothiriel interrupts, "Eomer has to be responsible for Boromir, Theodred, and Amrothos the next time we all go out."

Faramir whistles lowly. Eomer lifts his head to glare at Eowyn when she gives his shoulder a sympathetic pat.

"Poor choice, brother mine," she says. "That's too big a job for any one man, even you."

"Which is why," he grumbles, "I'm going to win."

"Hah!" Crows Faramir. "Famous last words, Eomer."

He lifts his right hand from its yellow dot to shoot his brother-in-law a decidedly impolite gesture.

"Hey!" Lothiriel says, nudging his arm with her knee. "You can't take your hands off the mat!"

Eowyn snickers.

"Come on, 'Wyn," Faramir says, though there's obvious laughter dancing in his voice as well, "let's leave them to it."

"And close the door after you!" Lothiriel calls. "If we wanted an audience, we would have said so!"

They're both still until the distinct click of the door being fully closed.

"Eomer?" Lothiriel murmurs.

"Hm?"

"Can you reach the spinner?"

He looks up and curses under his breath; Eowyn has left it-likely on purpose-on the low coffee table that's at least half a body-length out of his reach. "No."

"Ugh!" She cries. "How are we supposed to finish the game?"

Eomer contemplates this for a moment. He's not as flexible as Lothiriel, nor as accustomed to holding his body in such static positions for extended periods of time. There's a good chance she could beat him, fair and square, without the spinner. Or…

Lothiriel yelps in surprise when he tugs on her ankle, moving her out from under him before he lets himself flop gracelessly onto the mat. He reaches for her arm before she can form a protest, hauling her up to his eye-level.

"Cheater!" She cries, but her eyes are sparkling and her smile is wide. "Of all the low, dirty tricks-"

"You'll get over it," he says and then kisses her for all he's worth.

Her body goes pleasantly pliant, her fingers winding into his hair. She sighs when he slides his hands under her shirt, pressing against the warm, slightly damp skin of her lower back.

"Good thing Eowyn and Faramir didn't walk in on this," she murmurs, pulling back just enough to wind a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck.

Eomer chuckles despite the sudden flare of heat he feels when Lothiriel presses her hips against his. "It'd be worth it."

"Hope it's worth taking care of the terrible trio tomorrow night," she says, voice going slightly breathy as he trails a finger up her spine, "because I won."

It is, in fact, entirely worth it.