He won't beg. But he will fold his legs underneath them, so Gaius can set the pace but Estinien's powerful legs can bear the weight of him, rising and falling at a pace that brings his arousal up slowly.

A soft curse slips through his lips - no pillows to bite here, no leather. Maybe he'll stuff a towel or something in his mouth, he thinks--or maybe the rest of the inn can just deal. Another thrust, and what emerges from his lips is Gaius's name, harshly whispered.