For Ashfae

[shieldofrohan]

There is a sadness to being married, a sadness that has hung around all things since the war - a sadness that comes from faces that are not present, spaces that are not filled. Neither of them have parents, and she feels the void at Faramir's side, the shape of a brother she will now never know. She feels Theodred's absence likewise, and Theoden - how he would have loved to see her wed!

But for all that, she is happy. A new day has dawned on her, like spring from a hard frost. The scars on her arm and side have begun to fade, and some of the grief is lifting from her eyes. And now, as she steps inside the Steward's chambers - their chambers - there is only joy in her.

Joy, and a little nervousness. They have kissed, of course, and there is passion there she had only dreamed of ere he came into her life, but they have done little more than kiss. She has her honour, after all, and though she may trust him more deeply than she would ever have imagined, she will do this rightly, or not at all. So she has kept herself chaste, and though she knows not what experience he has - and will not ask - she knows she has none. Nor is she certain of how he will react to the scars she now bears - he knows that she has them, but has not seen more than the edges of the knots of pink-white scars that mar her fair skin.

No. She will not be nervous. She is the Lady of the Shield-Arm, she is the hero of Rohan, the killer of the Witch-King... yet when she turns to face him, she is only a young woman, her cheeks pink and her eyes shyly lowered, her stronger right hand anxiously smoothing the green and white silk of her wedding gown.

"So, my lord husband..." She smiles, worrying faintly at her lip. Husband has such a pleasing ring to it, in this moment. "It seems you have tamed yourself a maid of Rohan."

It feels she has been waiting for this moment for an age. And yet, now it is here, she is unsure what she can say that has not already been said, what she can do that will not overstep the bounds of this unfamiliar new relationship. He has ever been the one of them who can find the better words.

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[whattheydefend]

"I do not know for certain," he murmurs, lips still against her skin. "Not yet dawn, I judge, so you may prefer more sleep."

Although he hopes she does not, judging by his body language against her. Or at least, not yet, for he judges there is ample time for both loving and sleep. And no one is likely to chivvy the new-wedded couple.from their bed this morn, whatever the hour.

[shieldofrohan]

As if reading his thoughts, she laughs low and soft, and presses herself back more firmly against him, her ass pushing back against the hard press of his cock. There is no shortage of time to sleep, but love feels new and nearly frantic, as if it must be fitted all into every moment.

Pulling his hand up from her hip, she kisses his fingertips, one by one, then settles his hand onto her breast, their fingers interlinked. "Tell me," she murmurs, her voice warmly teasing, "would you grieve if I said I would sooner sleep?" Craning back to reach him, she kisses his forehead, one bare foot tracing gently against his leg.

[whattheydefend]

He lets out another low rumble of approval, moving against her, his cock snugly fitted into the space between her buttocks, his fingers teasing at her lips as she kisses them. When she twists her head back to kiss his forehead he is quick to intercept her mouth afterwards, his tongue seeking hers as he breathes her in.

"Not grieve, no." His voice low and amused, husky with desire. "But I would have...a pressing matter to attend to, in that case." He pushes against her, his cock unquestionably ready and eager, as he squeezes at her breast, thumbing the nipple. "Of course, if you would rather I dealt with it on my own..."

From the laughter in his voice, he does not anticipate that outcome.

[shieldofrohan]

"Perhaps I ought to let you." She doesn't sound at all convincing, particularly not when she arches against his hand and presses back against him, laughing quietly. "But what kind of wife would leave her lord to aid himself, only to sleep a few minutes longer."

She kisses him again, deep and passionate. Sleep still clouds the edges of her mind, but it is quickly dissipating in favour of sheer hotblooded lust. Now that she is recovered from the night before, the possibilities are opened up anew. They have all day, and all night after - and the rest of their lives - to enjoy one another.

Rolling over, though holding his hand to her breast as she does so, she loops one leg over his hip. "Tell me what you would have of me, my lord."

[whattheydefend]

"Oh, what would I have..." The words are a heated rumble, muffled as he uses the arm trapped under her to roll them over, until he ends splayed half on top of her. His mouth seizes hers in long, hungry kisses, tongue pressing against hers.

"I would have you moan for me." He moves down, kissing her chin, her jaw, then biting her neck--small, sharp bites mixed with kisses that are almost as fierce in their own right. "I would explore you with my mouth until there is no part of you I have not tasted." More kisses and bites, tracing around to the other side. "I would have you use your hands on me, scraping and digging in your nails until I am left marked."

It is the dark, perhaps, that makes him so bold and free with his language. Or the memory of last night, or his own need, or her quickened breathing, or the feel of her body under him. He bites at her ear, then moves further down, kissing her collarbone in passing before settling on her breasts. "I would have you ride me, your head flung back as you take your pleasure. I would finger you and tongue at your quim until you scream, I would fuck you until neither of us can move, I would have your mouth on me..."

He groans, sucking hard at her breast, tonguing at the nipple. "I would have everything, Éowyn, I want--" He moves to the other side, urgent. "I would have--I want--"

Impossible to list it all. He surges up and kisses her again, covering her body with his, digging his hands into her hair.

[shieldofrohan]

She laughs, in wonder and in joy and because there is no other way to let out all the feelings that are bubbling up inside her, and as she laughs, her breath catches and shakes. Her hands curl against his shoulders, and she leans up to catch his mouth, kissing him back with unbridled passion. Her teeth graze against his lip, her body pressing upwards against his, as if to claim all the skin contact she possibly can. He is hot against her, and his breathing raw and warm, his hair tickling her bare skin; she can feel the press of his cock against her hip, and it excites her more than she knew such a thing could. No sleep lingers in her now; it is banished in favour of things far more urgent.

"Roll over," she tells him, in a rushed moment between kisses, and then catches his mouth again and loses herself in him for a moment more. Her voice is breathy and hoarse, her chest heaving. "Roll over, Faramir. Let me on top of thee."

[whattheydefend]

Easily done from this position, and he is willing, not least as he need not stop kissing her as he does. Her laughter is a triumphant music to underscore their shared passion, which burns all the hotter for that note of exultation in it.

The new position means that her legs automatically fall to straddle him, which places his cock right between her already spread thighs. Faramir groans into her mouth, shifting so they rub against each other. He can already feel how wet she is, how aroused for him, and it is almost more than he can stand. This alone could undo him--but it could be more, could be better if he can but wait a little, and he tries to slow down, to control his breathing and the movement of his hips.

His hands slide down her back and around to her thighs, and he presses his fingers into the muscles there--a rider's muscles, a rider's strength. "What would you have, lady?" He turns the question back on her, his voice raw with desire.

[shieldofrohan]

She sits up, slowly, enjoying the shift of her body against his when she does so. One hand trails down his chest, resting flat on his breastbone, and she wets her kiss-bruised lips, looking down at him. He is a dim shape in the darkness, but even in this low light, she can see the look on his face, and it fuels her want. Experimentally, she rolls her hips, and gasps at the press of his hard cock against her entrance, the feeling of him beneath her.

I would have you ride me, he said, and she wonders now how it would be to do just that, without any further preamble or foreplay, just to guide him into her and ride him as only a woman of Rohan could. The thought makes her thighs clench and her toes curl - and her fingers curl too, nails digging lightly into his skin.

But no. No, that is not what she wants, nor why she rolled them over like this. Another time, and hopefully one not too far distant, she will indeed ride him until they both scream from it - but now, what she wants is to explore him, to tease him as he teased her the night before, and see whether she can bend his will as she did hers.

"You will see, when I take it," she murmurs, smirking down at him, and leans in to kiss him again, rocking her hips against his. "Only hold still." And her kisses trail from his mouth down the side of his neck, down his chest, down to his belly, with no signs of hurry and no sign of stopping.

[whattheydefend]

He moans against her mouth as she rocks against him, and again with more frustration when she moves, taking away that wet heat from where it was most wanted...though he cannot complain, not when she kisses her way down his neck, his collar. At first he thinks it is mere turnabout, her teasing at his chest as he just explored hers.

And then she keeps going down, and he realizes what her intention is.

"Éowyn--" He knows about this. Of course he knows about this, every man has heard of it, though he has never experienced it himself. He has certainly thought of it, though he wondered if he would ever dare suggest or request it, even to his earthy, dauntless lady. "Éowyn--" Half-surprise, half-plea for her to continue. Faramir leans up on his elbows, watching her as much as he can given the darkness of the room. "Are you--would you--" He stops, swallows hard.

[shieldofrohan]

She looks up at him, from under the curtain of her hair, and wets her lips. It is hard to see in the shadows of the room - a fact she would be glad of, if she knew - but for a moment, doubt and concern flicker in her eyes. For a moment, she is unsure of herself. She has heard that men like this, and after the ecstasy his mouth brought her, she can well believe it - but perhaps he does not?

"I would only return the favour, my lord," she says at last, and her doubt has become something almost coy. She reaches for his hand, to lace her fingers through his. It is an anchor, a reassurance, as she goes back to her task, and now there is coarse hair under her lips, and she can smell the musk of him - and of herself a little, she thinks, and is strangely excited by the thought. His cock has traced between her breasts, over her throat, and now it lies against her jaw, a hard press that she cannot ignore and does not wish to.

She steadies herself with her free hand, bracing herself against his thigh, and looks up at him again. Her eyes are dark with excitement, her lip trapped in her teeth. In the darkness, she is blushing. "Tell me you wish it, Faramir. My mouth on you. Tell me you want me."

[whattheydefend]

"Desperately." It does not matter that it is dark, that she cannot see his face. There is no disguising the hunger and longing in his voice, or the way his fingers clutch at hers. It is a long, drawn-out tease, her breasts brushing against his cock (and oh, that is a thought, he must remember that idea for later), and then the hollow of her throat, her jaw...her breath teases at the skin of his abdomen, raising goosebumps and the words come out in a rush. "Sainted Lady of Mercy, Éowyn, yes, I want you to, please."

[shieldofrohan]

Her heart, she finds with some surprise, is beating a wild tattoo. Is this who she is, as his wife? She, the Lady of the Shield-Arm, the White Lady of Rohan, the king's sister? Is she a woman who will pleasure him thus, without dignity, as a whore might?

She thinks that yes, she is; thinks, further, that she does not mind it in the slightest, for he is her love and she is his wife, and all she wants in this moment is to make him moan and cry for more. Lifting her head, she guides his cock against her mouth, kisses the head slowly and gently with parted lips. She tastes sex on him, musky and salty and a little bitter, and darts her tongue out to lap it up.

Last night, for all their pleasure in each other, she never came this close to this part of him. Now - uncertain at first, but quickly giving herself over to curiosity and want - she explores what she can barely see; licks the ridge running along the underside of his erection, pushes back the hood of his foreskin with her lips, scrapes just an edge of teeth against the base of his cock. The taste and the smell are not pleasant, exactly, but they are pleasurable; intoxicating, even. She squeezes his hand gently, and slips her mouth properly over his cock.

[whattheydefend]

If asked, Faramir would not say this act is without dignity--at least, not for Éowyn. He cannot see her, and that he regrets, but he can feel her. Her touches and explorations are cautious but not tentative, and she clearly grows in confidence.

Now as for himself...Faramir is without dignity by this point, and well beyond caring, even with as little as she has done so far. He has explored himself, but not with such attention to detail, not since he was a boy--and giving himself pleasure never feels like this. His breath is juttered and uneven, and he grips her hand like a lifeline, his fingers spasming whenever she tries something new, a slide of tongue or teeth. His free hand clenches in the sheets.

And then she covers the tip of him with her mouth, and he cannot hold back his moan, cannot stop his hips from bucking up a little in search of more of that heat, that promise...he hisses, forcing himself to stay still with the greatest effort, an almost painful restraint. "Éowyn, please...do not stop...!"

[shieldofrohan]

She was unsure of this, in some part, but by the time he pleads with her not to stop, she would not even think of it. It is too pleasurable, too much fun, to feel how his hand tightens on hers and hear the ragged edge of his breathing, to feel his erection harden still further under her mouth and taste the dampness at its tip. To know that he is overwhelmed with pleasure, and that she is the architect of it - that is not a feeling she means to let go of any time soon.

Indeed, she lowers her mouth further onto him, slowly and experimentally, taking more and more of him in, until his cock presses against the back of her throat and makes her choke a little. It isn't pleasant, not in and of itself - it feels strange, intrusive, and she doesn't quite dare to push herself any further lest she gag on him - but the effect is more than enough to make up for any discomfort. She moves her tongue experimentally against the cock filling her mouth, lapping against the skin, while her hand traces the inside of his thigh and cups his balls, feeling her way around him in the darkness.

She comes up for air, then takes him into her mouth again. This time, she presses less deeply, but begins to move her head slowly, up and down, his skin velvety under her tongue.

[whattheydefend]

Oh sweet Elbereth...it is too good, what she is doing, it is too much almost to stand. If this is how she felt last night when he caught her by surprise with his mouth, it is no wonder he won so easily...Faramir groans, gasping for breath, tries to open his eyes and closes them again almost at once. Her hand roves as well as her mouth, cupping him even as she takes him in again, with less pressure but more depth.

He must touch her, reaches for her head, tries to let it lie their easily instead of pushing her further down, tangles his fingers in her hair, Valar how he loves her hair, her mouth, how he loves her. Her name is a strangled cry in his throat. "Éowyn--!"

It is perhaps a warning. He cannot last much longer, he cannot, this is too intense. He can already feel himself tightening, feel the build of pressure, the need overtaking him.

[shieldofrohan]

If it is a warning from him, it comes almost as a challenge to her. She hears that break in his voice, that desperation, and redoubles her efforts, for she wants to drive that need still further into him, wants to hear him groan out her name that way again and again.

She pushes herself further this time, taking him deeper and deeper until she feels the head of his cock bruise against the back of her throat, until she abruptly gags against it, her throat spasming and tensing around him, tears springing to her eyes. Still, when she pulls her head back - not all the way back, not far enough to release him from her mouth - she is smiling. Smirking, even. His hands are tangled in her hair, pulling on her scalp, holding her in place, and he's all but trembling for want of her, and it's intoxicating as she could hardly have imagined it could be.

She hums amusement, flicks her tongue up against his erection, and does it again.

[whattheydefend]

Faramir goes absolutely still when she gags, breathlessly waiting, lifting his head to see what he may. What she is doing is beyond wonderful, but if she dislikes it, if it is uncomfortable for her...how could he enjoy it in those circumstances?

But a glint of moonlight catches her face as she pulls back, giving him a clear view of her. He can see her smile, and the teasing confidence in it makes his heart turn over in his chest. There was never woman on Arda so alluring or desirable, surely...and then she hums, the vibration truly rippling through him, and the light pressure of her tongue, and he is lost all over again as she takes him back in. "Valar, Éowyn, you...Éowyn...!"

That is all he can manage before words abandon him. He breathes hard, moaning as she surrounds him with wet heat and pressure and oh Valar her tongue, and then suddenly it all breaks. He lets out a hoarse shout, his hips bucking into her mouth as he comes hard, his hands shaking where they hold her.

[shieldofrohan]

She doesn't entirely expect the force with which he comes, his cock jerking deeper against her throat as bitter salt floods her mouth, thick and sticky. She doesn't expect it, but nor - after the first split second of instinctive concern - does she mind it. It's giddying to know that she has drawn him to that point, so quickly, so thoroughly. She can feel his hands tremble against her, feel him slowly softening in her mouth, the twitch of muscle in his thighs. Oh, if she could catch this moment and hold it! If she could linger here, in that instant of victory!

It seems meet to clean him off, since she is already here; she sucks and licks at him until she's sure she's caught every drop that he spilled, and a little more after that. When she does crawl back up his body for a kiss, licking her lips as she goes, the moonlight catches the glimmer of his come on her mouth, trickling slowly down her chin where it overflowed from her mouth.

She smiles down at him, and kisses him on the mouth, so that he can taste that lingering sharpness on her tongue. There is a decided smirk on her face. "Well?"

[whattheydefend]

She tends him until he's entirely spent himself in her mouth, and then past it. It feels like nothing he has ever experienced, and intimate in some ways even beyond what they shared the previous night, for he is spent enough to be near-helpless with vulnerability and the echoes of rapturous intensity for a few minutes. When she does climb up for a kiss he gives it at once, briefly pausing to lick at the spent seed on her face and wondering faintly how she could stand the taste.

The kiss is languid but fervent with gratitude and amazement. When she smirks and asks her question, he laughs faintly, lifting a hand to her head. "I think I will have no more victories such as I managed last night, with that weapon in your arsenal. I am entirely undone." He looks at her with wonder, pulling her down for another kiss. "Thank you, beloved."

[shieldofrohan]

She lets herself be drawn down against him, tracing her hand against the side of his neck. His kiss is sweet, tasting strange against that lingering bitterness on her tongue, and she lingers on his mouth, closing her eyes. Even as she kisses him so sweetly, though, she is moving against him; his need is spent, but hers has been steadily mounting, and now she ruts her hips slowly but firmly against his thigh. She lifts her head, and laughs a little, low in her throat.

"I have been too hasty," she tells him, wryly, and trails her fingers down over his shoulder. "If you wish to thank me, my lord, you might take your victory back. For I have ended our duel too quickly for my liking."

[whattheydefend]

He recognizes the way she moves against him, and though he is filled with lassitude and would sleep, or at least would continue to lie in some blissful dream of satiation...well, Faramir is no fool, and it would not do to leave his wife wanting. Particularly not if he wishes her to do this again.

So he wraps his arms around her more firmly, deepening their kiss as he strokes along her back and sides, cupping her ass in his hands, and before long he is recovered enough to roll them over.

It is a well-traveled path now, from her mouth to her collarbone, tracing teeth and tongue along her neck as he goes, and then moving past her clavicle to her breasts. Mindful of her impatience he does not linger too long in any place, but neither does he leave anything unattended, none of the places he has learned since last night. Is it truly only last night? Surely they have known each other thus forever, since time began...

Down to her breasts, where he is sweetly attentive, kissing and suckling and grazing with teeth, and then down once more. When he did this last night it was immediate and unexpected, but now there is clear direction and deliberation in his actions. He flicks his tongue into her navel, clutches at her thighs as he parts her legs, drops further down to kiss the skin on her inner leg, until finally he brings his mouth to the place where all that aching need of hers is centered. He kisses the mound of her softly before parting the folds there, and the first touches of his tongue are delicate, mere hints of possibility, before he begins to lick at her in earnest.

[shieldofrohan]

She kisses him sweetly and deeply, and when he moves to roll her over, she gladly lets him guide her onto her back, arching her hips up to rut herself against him once more. And then he is trailing his mouth over her skin, lower and lower, and Éowyn bites her lip. When he did this before, she was surprised by it, and that aroused her in its own way. But now it is the anticipation itself that mounts her desire, the slow and unhurried way he explores her body, the press of lips and tongue on sensitive skin.

When his tongue darts against her belly, she gasps aloud, still biting her lip, and she needs little encouragement to spread her legs for him; her thighs are glistening with the proof of her want, as if any were needed, and her cunt clenches as his tongue presses against it. Biting down harder on her lip, she groans her pleasure and frustration at his teasing little touches, and then, as he finally relents and begins to work his tongue harder against her, she cries out, low and passionate.

[whattheydefend]

Last night he teased, deliberately refusing her release in an attempt to meet her challenge. This time he works steadily, long hard strokes and swirls of his tongue, all of it pushing her onwards. As before, he leans so that one hand is free to curl a finger inside her, gentle probing--first one, then two, then three, filling her, even as he continues to lick at her clit. He pays close attention to all the little noises she makes, every hitch of breathing, every whimper; there is a language to them that he must learn, and quickly, to find what best pleases her, what to do, what to avoid. When to flutter his tongue against her, when to lave, when to press harder with his fingers. He is still learning the art of this, and it will take time to master it.

Somehow he suspects Eowyn will not mind letting him practice, and he smiles and kisses her there, his fingers slick inside and his mouth filled with the taste of her.

[shieldofrohan]

The kiss is what pushes her over the edge at last. She has been hovering close to it for some moments already, for she was wet and wanting before he even touched her, and his mouth is relentless in its attentions. But when he kisses her, with his hand inside her and his breath brushing against her wet heat, with his hair tickling the insides of her thighs and his body warm against her legs - oh, that is more than she can bear!

She clutches at the post of the bed with one hand, at his hair with the other, anchoring herself to both as she bucks against him and cries out inarticulately. It could be his name, perhaps. Certainly, it was meant to be, but she struggles to master her own tongue, in the face of this crashing wave of pleasure and love.

[whattheydefend]

As she did for him, he holds her through the moment, gently continuing to pull pleasure from her with fingers and mouth, until she collapses limp on their marriage bed, sated and gasping.

He places one last kiss as he carefully withdraws his fingers, then climbs back up to lie alongside her, pulling her into a loose embrace. They are both of them sweat-marked, and now that they are past that point of ecstacy Faramir, at least, is growing cold, so he hooks one of the blankets with his foot and brings it up until he may pull it over them.

That is better; that is peaceful, as he lies holding her, stroking her hair. The lines of light on the walls gradually brighten as the sun rises outside. Faramir smiles and kisses Eowyn's forehead. "Do we declare this duel a draw?" he murmurs, a note of sleepiness creeping back into his voice.