9. Bedtime Story
Faramir wakes sweating in a pile of furs with a warm body curled against his back. Whether this is dream or memory, he cannot say, for it is too dark to see and he is not even certain whether he has opened his eyes. Sighing contentedly, he murmurs, "Aragorn."
There is movement, a shifting of skins and fabric, pulling the blackness from his eyes. Then a hand that is too small and soft to be the King's descends upon Faramir's arm. "Not exactly," Eowyn's high, musical voice breezes into his ear. "'Tis only your wife, my lord."
Grinning, Faramir turns and rolls on top of her in retaliation for teasing him with the title. "Yes, I remember you," he says thoughtfully. "Aren't you the woman who dressed up as a man to ride into battle?"
With a squeal of outrage, Eowyn pushes up, throwing him off. "Yes, I am, and very dangerous with a sword," she replies. Her eyes narrow with amusement. "Would you like me to put on armor again? Then you can pretend that I am Aragorn..."
She is not fast enough to leap aside as Faramir dives at her, catching her heavy winter nightgown in his hands and pulling her laughing down to the bed. While his mouth tastes the sweetness of her throat, he traces the curves of her body, lingering over the soft swell of her breasts and belly. "I could never pretend that you were a man," he breathes, "and I would never wish to."
"I suppose that I had better not call you 'Arwen' then," she giggles, pushing her long, soft hair back from both their faces. "Not that I have any difficulty telling you apart..."
"I am glad," Faramir begins, gazing adoringly at her, until she continues:
"...for the Queen smells sweeter than you."
"That may be true, but the Queen would not look nearly so handsome with a beard," Faramir retorts, rubbing his between his wife's breasts and wresting another giggle from her. Lowering his voice suggestively, he adds, "Nor could she fill out my breeches."
Eowyn presses against him, nudging his swelling cock beneath layers of clothing. "Oh, that is certainly true," she agrees. "Though the King could fill them." Her hands come around Faramir's body, squeezing his backside. "Is that why you long to feel him filling you?"
"Eowyn!" Faramir blushes, laughing with her. He wonders whether the wives of other men become so aroused imagining their husbands with other men, though whether it is common or not, he is deeply grateful to be married to such a woman. Arwen is at ease with Aragorn's affection for him but Faramir does not think that she derives the same degree of satisfaction as Eowyn from hearing the details of their intimacy; it is enough for the Queen to know that they are happy and devoted to one another, to their wives and to Gondor.
Faramir's own wife, however, is as flushed as himself, wriggling against him, licking her lips in anticipation. "Why are you embarrassed?" she asks. "You have never tried to keep it a secret from me. Well, you did try to pretend it was only being cold and naked that brought you to him the first time, and not that you loved him so much..."
"I was very foolish at the time," Faramir nods.
"And you thought I would be angry." Giggling, Eowyn strokes her fingers over his pink cheeks and tucks his hair behind his ears. "Perhaps I was a bit upset that you couldn't have waited until some time when I was there. But I don't suppose that could have been helped."
"It was rather spontaneous, as you know." The first time is Eowyn's favorite to make him recall, though she has heard the tale dozens of times now. For a while Faramir had tried to remember details he might have forgotten, lest she should find him tiresome in the retelling, before he had realized that the familiarity put her at ease even as the passion of the story thrilled her.
Tonight, however, Eowyn does not want to hear about the delicious warmth swelling between himself and Aragorn on the cold floor of a barn, nor about the first time Aragorn took him to bed and showed him things that he had never wanted to learn from any other man. Stretching out beside him and leaning her head on her arm, she says, "Tell me about the first time you made love to him."
Faramir blushes heatedly, turning his face downward though he is smiling helplessly. Remembering that night with Aragorn never fails to make him ache with pleasure, for it had felt like a slow, intense seduction, and Faramir now knows that Aragorn had intended all along to persuade his Steward to take him. "Would you like to hear the full story or only the enticing parts?" he asks his wife, knowing what the answer will be.
"All of it," she whispers, rolling her head back against the pillows, prompting, "He invited you to his rooms for wine..."
Settling against Eowyn, Faramir places a hand on her side just below her breast, rubbing his thumb up and down on the fabric of her nightdress. "And we drank," he assures her. "We sat before the fireplace, and we talked...of what, I do not remember, but then he reminded me of our night in the barn, when we could not make a fire."
Faramir's hand is moving, slipping beneath Eowyn's gown, stroking over smooth skin prickling under his fingers with excitement. "Aragorn laughed, and told me that I was blushing, though I told him that the fire must be the reason that my face was burning. He asked, 'Does this make you uncomfortable?' and I told him that it did not. Then he beckoned me closer, and I went to kneel before my king."
Eowyn shifts, letting Faramir's arm move higher, until his fingers are brushing the underside of her breast. "And did you...touch him? Unlace his clothing? Take him in your mouth?"
"First, he leaned forward, and he kissed me...like this..." Faramir leans forward to demonstrate, brushing his lips gently over Eowyn's. "And again...and again...then I pushed him back in his chair, and I unlaced his breeches." There are ties at the front of Eowyn's nightdress, and Faramir pulls his hand free to tug at them, pushing the gown down her shoulders. "He was hard already, and I touched him..." Her nipple, too, is rosy and warm under his fingers, and she moans as Faramir cups his palm over her breast.
Ducking his head to lick and kiss Eowyn's neck, Faramir wraps a leg over her body to press his cock against the softness of her clothed thighs. Breathlessly she laughs, arching upward, trying to bring her breast in range of his lips. "Then I took him in my mouth," Faramir continues, ducking his head to suck the firm pink nipple. For a moment he is distracted by the caress of her hands in his hair, the press of her thigh against his cock and the stiff bud in his mouth, imagining the wetness that he knows is pooling between her thighs. He is, he thinks for the hundredth time that week, the luckiest man in Gondor.
"And did...did he...what did he...?" Despite how rapidly she is breathing, Eowyn will not be content to be silent. "Did he tell you that he wanted you? Were you hard for him?"
"I was," Faramir admits, moving to lick her other nipple as his palm rubs away the wetness his tongue has left on the first. "He groaned my name, and asked me to stop, and said that he was almost too tired to move, and that I would have to do all the work. I was prepared to suck..." Again he pauses, mouth latching onto the nipple, until Eowyn gasps and squirms, pushing his hand down from her breast toward her belly. He slips his other arm beneath Eowyn's back, pulling her close against his body as he sucks on her nipple again for a long, sweet minute.
"Then he said, 'I want you to take me.' And I nearly spilled myself, though I did not even have a hand on my breeches." He chuckles softly, and rubs his nose over Eowyn's breast when she whimpers and pushes again at his hand.
As his palm slides into the hair covering her sex, Faramir thinks back upon the one conversation he has never shared with his wife. He had shivered at Aragorn's suggestion, and Aragorn had asked him why. When Faramir had pointed out that Aragorn had never made such a request before, Aragorn had said that he'd assumed that if Faramir had wanted to do it, he would have asked for it. Then Faramir had shivered again, replying that he had never thought to be so bold, and Aragorn had sighed, stroked Faramir's face and murmured, "Must I be the King all the time, even with you, my Steward who has stolen all my berries and my heart?"
And Faramir had drawn Aragorn to his feet, his fingers grazing Aragorn's cheekbone and lips, saying, "You must teach me how to rule your heart, for mine has been yours since the first moment I saw you." He does not know why he keeps these words secret from his wife, for he does not think that they would anger her, but he holds them like a private treasure, known only to the Steward and the King.
"We kissed again, standing before the fire, then I led him to his bed," Faramir whispers to Eowyn, her insistent rocking bringing his thoughts, and the aching desire in his groin, back to the present moment. "And he stripped away my clothes, and I helped him with his, though my fingers shook terribly. He asked me to wait, and he found a jar, and when he returned, he handed it to me. I had been with him often enough that I knew what to do."
"Aah!" Eowyn has been whimpering breathlessly while Faramir has been speaking, and now she spreads her legs wider as she tries to coax Faramir's hand between her thighs. "Is it...the same, for men...do you fear that it will hurt, the first time, or that it will change you? The first time you let him have you, did you wonder what he would think of you afterwards?" One of her hands wraps around the back of Faramir's head, bringing his mouth back to her breast.
Pretending to pause in thought, Faramir lifts his eyes to peer up at her with a naughty smile. "Very good questions. I should ponder these." And he slides his hand up Eowyn's thigh, his fingers slipping between her soft folds, teasing her with light touches. "I was a little bit afraid that it would rip my insides, the first time, and leave me weak," he says after a drawn-out hesitation. "But I had faith that Aragorn would not hurt me, and he did not. Then there was a moment when I feared that he would look upon me and see only this submission to him, but that moment passed, and I never felt it again."
"Then what...what did you see, when you looked at him..." Eowyn is soaking his fingers, warmer and smoother than the ointment he and Aragorn have used together in the past. Faramir cannot help but want to kiss her; he slides up to find her mouth and nudges her lips open with his, slow and hungry. When he had touched Aragorn with slick, shaking fingers, he knew that had been at first too gentle, then too rough, though Aragorn had pushed against him without complaint, telling him not to be afraid.
"I saw that he wanted it -- wanted me -- and that he trusted me enough to let me know it," he whispers to his wife. "So I kissed him again, and moved between his legs, and let my fingers tease him until he groaned, and I pushed one inside." As the words leave Faramir's lips, one finger slips into Eowyn, sliding easily in her copious wetness.
She cries out loudly, pressing down until Faramir's palm nudges the sweet spot just above her entrance, and her hands grope blindly at Faramir's nightwear. "Did you...kiss him there? Did you suck him? What did he...ohh!" she wails.
"Oh, no, I did not put my mouth there until sometime later," Faramir says as he moves his finger within her, his own breath now coming much more raggedly. "I pushed another finger inside him..." He does the same to Eowyn, feeling her arch and stretch around him. The opening to her body is so much softer, without the tight resisting ring of muscle beneath the flesh, though he knows that it will squeeze and clamp down on his fingers if he continues to stimulate it so. "Aragorn twisted his hips, trying to guide me to the spot he wanted me to touch, crying out to let me know when I had found it. And he kissed me all the while, so hungrily. Then...he pulled away, and rolled onto his belly, and said he wanted to feel my cock inside him."
With a cry Eowyn plants her hand on Faramir's shoulder and pushes, flipping him onto his back. Pulling away from his fingers, she straddles him while she works his clothing free and flings her gown away. "Please...let me..." she gasps, rubbing herself over his cock, hotter than the salve he had rubbed onto his skin to prepare himself for Aragorn. "Tell me...oh! What it felt like, and what he said..."
Aragorn had insisted on leaving the candle burning on the table beside the bed, twisting his head to look at Faramir, who had assured Aragorn that he would do whatever would make him the most comfortable. "The first time I did this, I was younger than you are now," Aragorn had confessed quietly. "You will not hurt me." Faramir had been less afraid at that moment of causing him pain than of spurting his seed over Aragorn's back before he could enter him, giving himself a brief, breathless moment before moving to cover Aragorn's body with his own.
"He said, 'This is one of those things, like riding a horse, that one does not forget when one settles in the saddle,'" Faramir recalls with a quiet laugh, squirming beneath Eowyn's urgent press. "He was clutching at the bedcovers beside his face, pressing up to me. Then he reached back with one hand and held himself open for me, and he said once more that he wanted me, and I began to push..."
Eowyn is breathing through her mouth, hair falling about her face as she leans over Faramir. Raising herself up with a loud gasp, she sinks down upon Faramir's cock, taking him deep into her heat in a single movement. Faramir gasps as well, staring up for several breathless moments as he presses blindly into her. "Oh, love, slowly," he begs, thinking that he will neither finish the story nor bring her to climax before he must burst.
With Faramir sheathed within her, Eowyn tosses back her head and touches a nipple with one hand, pressing the other where their bodies join. "Go on," she moans, "tell me..."
Faramir groans, his hips bucking upward of their own volition before he can gain some control of himself. It had been much the same with Aragorn, whimpers and murmurs of want, biting down on his lip, squeezing his eyes shut; after a moment he had pulled a pillow from above their heads and squeezed it beneath Aragorn's hips, raising him up. "I love you," he had gasped, gathering the King in his arms and clutching at his chest as he had begun to thrust.
Faramir thinks it unfair of Eowyn to expect him to be coherent now. He reaches out for her hips. "When...I moved...he kept pushing against me...I thought I would die of the pleasure..." The fingers of Eowyn's hand stroke over her own skin when she glides down on Faramir, over his shaft when she pulls up; she moans continuously, slumping forward against him, her hand flattening on his chest and then tugging at one of his nipples. Closing his eyes, he lets the sensation carry him back to the passion of making love to Aragorn, Elessar, his King, taking him, feeling his body beneath his own...he is shaking terribly, as he was then.
"Ah...he kept. Squeezing, with his inner muscles...so that I could not finish too soon...he said that he had dreamed of it, and waited for it. Eowyn!" Faramir shudders, wishing there were some way to describe this experience and think about battle tactics to distract himself at the same time, because he is dangerously close to losing what control he has. Gingerly he pushes Eowyn's fingers from his nipple. "He said--ohh! Love, please!"
Eowyn goes perfectly still on top of Faramir, keeping him deep inside her, nothing moving but the hand between her legs which rubs relentlessly, trapping her sensitive flesh between his cock inside her and her fingertips. She is contracting around him, crying out with each breath, and when Faramir nudges her fingers from his chest she pushes down on her belly just above the thatch of hair, rolling her hips. Then she spasms hard and shrieks, shuddering, her eyes squeezed shut, rubbing herself and clenching against Faramir inside her.
Faramir stares up at his wife, sucking in desperate gasps of air, now far past any ability to speak. As she clenches around him, he grasps at her hips, bucking shallowly up into her. Then he cries out wordlessly, spurting deep inside her, his hips jerking helplessly again and again. Afterwards he lies still, gasping for breath, and as soon as he thinks he can move, he lifts a shaking hand up to her face.
"Your passion is like nothing I have known," Aragorn had said to Faramir when he had come, too soon, to pour his seed into Aragorn's body with a sob. He had brought Aragorn to completion with his hand afterwards, kissing his neck, his shoulders, his back, and licked the King's pleasure from own his fingers as Aragorn turned to watch wide-eyed. With an odd wistfulness on his features, Aragorn had whispered, "I do not know, sometimes, when you look at me, whether you see me or the King to whom you have sworn an oath."
Then Faramir had replied, "The Steward's oath is to the King, my lord, but I pledge you my love." And Aragorn had closed his eyes to kiss him, but not before Faramir had seen the tears that glittered there.
Eowyn is leaning into Faramir's touch, gasping for breath. She lets her hands fall away from her own skin to stroke up Faramir's body, draping herself across him, letting her hair fall over her shoulder as she leans over with him still inside her. Their kiss is a sweaty, sticky affair. When she pulls back to breathe, she leans her forehead against Faramir's damp one and asks, "Did he tell you he loved you?"
Faramir wraps his arms around Eowyn, cradling her to him. "No," he whispers, "not those words, not that night."
She shifts, taking some of her weight off her knees and planting one hand on the mattress. With the other she strokes through Faramir's hair. "I am sorry," she says.
"There is no need," Faramir replies, catching her hand and pulling it to his mouth. "Because I know now that I have more love than any man could hope for. I do not know if I deserve such bliss."
Eowyn kisses his temple, his cheek, his wrist holding her hand. "We are very lucky," she sighs.
Faramir's other hand comes up to run his fingers run through her hair as he strains to meet her lips. "I love you, Eowyn..." He strokes her cheek, and her mouth, and he smiles teasingly. "Even if all you want to talk about lately are my exploits with Aragorn."
Eowyn laughs warmly, sliding her hand behind Faramir's head to lift it. "You know that is not true!" she insists. "I spent many patient hours listening to you describe to me your plans to resow the fields of Ithilien. And you are just as curious about what Arwen and I do when you are not there."
Faramir laughs as well, trailing fingertips lazily down Eowyn's back. "Oh, yes, that's true. I quite enjoy hearing about how you and Arwen occupy one another."
Sliding to the side, Eowyn disengages from Faramir's now-soft cock, leaking a wet puddle onto the sheets. There are already fresh ones piled on a bench near the window; the maids, having tired of changing the bedclothes at all hours of the night, have taken to leaving new sheets in a discreet stack before nightfall. Eowyn rolls Faramir to face her with a hand on his shoulder. "It is indeed a joy that we share so many hobbies," she says seriously, before breaking into giggles.
Faramir bites his lip and buries his face against her neck, his shoulders shaking with his own laughter. "Yes, though my fingers are too clumsy for embroidery. I am glad that Arwen has not objected to this."
"She is happy that we are happy, my love," Eowyn says, sighing contentedly. Her fingers move across Faramir's collarbone to his throat and up to his chin, teasing his lower lip. And then she wiggles, making Faramir groan.
"I see that I am not going to be permitted to sleep and recover."
"You could tell me a bedtime story," she replies earnestly before breaking into soft laughter.
"Do you know, my sweet..." Faramir smiles at his wife, though his eyes are falling closed. He draws her tightly to him. "I believe that it is your turn."
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.