When Mercutio pulls back to catch a breath, she licks her lower lip, checking to see if they've managed to split it. No blood. Ah, well, the sun won't rise for hours. They have time.

Smiling, she wraps her free arm around Éowyn's waist to pull her close, and seeks to maneuver one of her thighs to press against her -- not entirely between her legs, in light of her skirts, but enough to give Éowyn something to feel.

"Come to the bed," she murmurs. "Or shall I have thee on the floor?" She ducks her head to mouth under the corner of Éowyn's jaw, lips, then tongue, then teeth, then lips again.