for withoutswords

[nearamir]

It has been some time now since the wedding revels, since he became a married man. It still comes as a wonder to him, his own good fortune. Some part of him still half-expects it to be taken away, for some higher power to tell him this is not meant for him, never was, that he must return to take his dues.

So far, that moment hasn't come.

Even so, he still has duties, duties which call him away from Minas Tirith and from her. Days away in Ithilien, evenings poring over maps with some of his men, and meetings with his father. Such meetings have a toll on him, though he tries to hide it; leave him taut and overly self-conscious, more careful than ever of every word and every step.

On this occasion, he is returning from such a meeting - not only that, but from some days away on the marches. He hasn't seen her since he left, and that is a grief to him, but now his duties are dispatched, his time his own. Their own. The thought brings a smile to his face, despite that air of tension, as he pulls his hair back over his shoulder and opens the door. "Éowyn?"

Comments

[withoutswords]

Eowyn has had duties of her own since coming to Minas Tirith, not all of them pleasant. Since the death of the Steward's wife, there has been no lady of the house, and many of the responsibilities that would fall on such have come to her. Most are tiresome, the same things she left behind in Edoras: housekeeping, arrangements, all the details of organization that keep a place running in good order. Gondor is larger and more populated than Edoras, the customs different, but the duties of women remain the same.

She does them all thoroughly and well, even the ones she most dislikes. A princess knows about duty, even if her time is not spent as she would wish had the the choice.

Gradually, she ekes out her place, and the men become more used to this woman who takes time every day to come to the swordyards and practice--on her own at first, and then eventually with partners as some of the more curious or reckless of the soldiers try her blade. Denethor disapproves, which leads many to abandon the exercise, but some risk their lord's disapproval.

Eowyn has not yet found much of which Denethor does approve, save his eldest son. There is much to admire in Boromir, to be sure, but it infuriates her how dismissive the Steward is of his youngest.

But the rest of the palace knows Faramir's worth, and it is not only Eowyn who rejoiced at the news that he was returning, though none has been as impatient at she. She waits in their room with anticipation held coiled in her body like a spring, and as soon as the door opens and she hears his voice, she moves to meet him. She barely manages to close the door behind him before their lips meet, her arms wrapping around his neck and her form pressing to his.

Only after that more urgent greeting has been accomplished does she laugh under her breath and pull back enough to smile at him. "Welcome home, my lord."

[nearamir]

Faramir stumbles back a half-step, surprised by both the suddenness and ferocity of her kiss, but his arms come up around her waist at the same time, pulling her close. Her mouth is sweet on his, her body warm and soft. When she pulls back, he smiles down at her.

"I can think of no sweeter welcome, my lady," he replies, gravely, and lets out a low, soft laugh. There's still some lingering tension to him, but he's visibly softened his posture since walking through the door, the cloud of his father's disappointment lifting a little. Unwinding one arm from around her waist, he reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair back off her forehead. "I have sore missed thee. And I am sorry indeed to have left your side so long."

It has only been a few days, yes - but it feels long, feels like an age, and if it felt so to him, she must have felt it more keenly, in a place not yet her home. He doubts she's been idle - does not see laxity in her, nor think she would be allowed it - but still, he wishes he could be at her side more fully, for these first few months.

[withoutswords]

She echoes his gesture somewhat, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear before cupping his cheek and jaw. "You were sorely missed indeed, my good lord. Days have rarely seemed so long, or passed so slowly."

She gives him another kiss, this one slower and sweeter, not made of pent-up waiting but of simple enjoyment in his presence. Something inside of her clicks into place, with his homecoming; something missing is made whole. They've been wed for so little time, yet already she feels the lack of him whenever he is away. It is not that she is lessened, without him; she is Eowyn, daughter of kings and shieldmaiden of Rohan, and she needs no man to complete her.

And yet she feels more completely herself when he is with her. If that is not love, she cannot imagine what would be.

"So long as you do not leave it again, or not soon," she says, laughing against his mouth. "Then you are forgiven." After another sweet kiss, she stands back a little, pulling him further into the room. "But need you aught? Refreshment of any sort? You have had a long day, I am certain."

[nearamir]

"You, my lady, are all the refreshment I could ask," Faramir answers seriously, letting her draw him with her. Then he smiles, lighter and more open. "I need nothing more. In truth, I want nothing more. I do not hunger or thirst, except to be rid of some of these too-heavy clothes, and to sit a while with my wife."

Such flowery language might come off as sarcastic, coming from another man - but by now, Éowyn will surely know that there is no deceit to the frank tone in which he says it, and no pretence behind his words. He says what is on his mind, as he always has.

His arm around her waist, he leans down to kiss her again, this time on the temple rather than the mouth, gentle and sweet. "If, that is, she will sit a while with me?"

That was teasing. He laughs low in his throat, and nods towards the bed, smiling.

[withoutswords]

Eowyn has learned to accept Faramir's poetry, instead of dismissing it as empty compliments, as she might have done in the past. It is partly because she knows he means every word, and partly because his flowery language is part of him, and she would not change him for the world. And in truth, her heart warms in response. Such language never touched her heart before, but Faramir's compliments are sweet, and she welcomes every one.

She closes her eyes and accepts the kiss on her forehead, tilting her face towards it as though it's sunlight, then laughs again at his unspoken intimation. She's already moving with him towards the bed as she answers. "Indeed she will. Or even lie beside you, if you wish."

The teasing suggestion in her own words is unmistakable. It was a very long time without him, after all, or felt long. And they are still newly wed.

[nearamir]

Faramir smiles, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling her down beside him, to kiss her again. "Churl would I be, indeed, to turn down such an offer." His hand lingers in hers, thumb tracing circles against the edge of her wrist, and for a moment, he just looks at her. The light catches in her hair, turning it to molten gold, and her skin is burnished by it. And she is warm, and she is close, and she is the fairest thing he has ever seen.

These moments, too, are becoming an established thing. Sometimes, he forgets how glad he is of his fortune, how richly he has been blessed, and then he sees her from a certain angle or in a certain light, and has to stop and stare again, remind himself that she is truly his wife, that this is not some dream. That she is his and he is hers, and if she feels short-changed in the exchange, she hasn't shown it.

Shaking himself out of that wonder, he clears his throat and bends to pull off his boots. "And what is it you wish, my lady?"

I suddenly felt like it was mid-afternoon. Er. Don't mind me.

[withoutswords]

His thumb circling on her wrist raises goosebumps, and her lips part slightly as she looks at him, as he gazes upon her. The light from the afternoon teases hidden warmth from his raven hair, banishes whatever shadows might still lie on his face from his meeting with his father.

Or perhaps it is her presence that does that, judging by the soft astonishment in his eyes as he takes her in. Eowyn still wonders at the depth of affection that has awoken between them. Sometimes it shakes her, almost frightens her, to have something so all-encompassing have taken her life over so quickly. To know she has so much power over another's happiness--and he over hers.

But not when he is near. Then it seems the most natural of things to be with him. In every sense.

So she watches with a small, secret smile as he removes his boots. "Why, to spend a few hours privately with my husband, of course." She's already informed their staff not to disturb them for a time, and short of being overridden by the Steward himself, she and Faramir should have the time to themselves. Tomorrow, further duties will interpose themselves, no doubt. But not today. "Could you not tell?"

She lets her fingers wander over his back as she says it, until she finds his neck and tickles it gently, her touch as playful as her words.

[nearamir]

"I dare not assume such fortune," he answers, smiling not with his mouth but with his eyes, as he sets his boots aside and straightens up. Her touch, feather-light on the sensitive skin of his neck, sets shivers dancing across his skin, his breath catching almost imperceptibly.

Turning to her, he brushes a fingertip against her temple, pushing back a few fine strands of hair, and inclines his head slightly.

"As my lady desires," he says, and the smile tugs at his lips again, his hand dropping to rest on her thigh. "All the hours in the day would I spend with thee, in a more perfect world."

[withoutswords]

She almost rolls her eyes. "I shall never cease to be astonished at how fearless you are on the battlefield, and how unassuming you are in our bed. You may dare any thing, and I will not say thee nay." Her eyes are fond, but fierce. "Not because you are my husband, but because I love thee. Do you truly think there is aught you could do that might drive me away?"

Her fingers fold onto his collar, so she can use it to pull his face towards hers. She's still smiling, but now there's a challenge in her expression. "You deserve all I have and more, Faramir of Gondor. And if you still do not believe it, perhaps I should show thee."

[nearamir]

It would not have occurred to him, before their meeting, that a woman's fierceness would have such an effect on him: that challenge, that fire in her eyes, only makes her the more beautiful, and his heart skips a beat at it.

He lets himself be pulled towards her without resistance, a smile tugging at his lips and a thrill running through him. If this is how she challenges him, well, what man could resist? He meets her eyes, his words considered, a challenge in their own right. "I do not believe it."

If this is the game she wants to play, he's interested to know where it will go.

[withoutswords]

Her eyes widen slightly, because she had not expected him to deny it so blatantly. But she sees the sally he's offered, the curiosity that drives it, and she knows it is no insult to her honesty.

She laughs, and it rings through their room like a trumpet calling an army forth as she pushes him down onto the bed. He's strong, but so is she--still a Shieldmaiden of Rohan, still untamed and ungentle, and the hint of smile on his face only spurs her onward. "You doubt my words? Fie! You shall learn better manners."

She hovers above him, her hands pinning his shoulders to the mattress, her hair a curtain cutting off half the world from view. She releases one shoulder in order to unlace his tunic; once his neck is revealed she bends and nips at the skin, a sharp press of teeth.

[nearamir]

Faramir lets himself be pushed down without much more than slight, instinctive resistance. For a moment, his laugh - too rare, in these dark days - mingles with hers, and then is caught in his throat at the look on her face. It seems both threat and promise, and it sends a thrill down his spine more strongly than he would have thought, to see her posed so above him, to feel her hands strong on his shoulders and her hair brushing the side of his face.

Her teeth are sharp and sudden, and he lets out a little gasp, one of surprised arousal more than pain. "Ai! You are an ungentle teacher, my lady."

[withoutswords]

"I have ever told thee so." Eowyn laughs again and repeats the bite further up, then soothes him with a press of her lips, brushing along his skin until she reaches his ear. "You did not wed a mild, timid maid, Faramir. Surely in your time away you have not forgotten."

It is a jest, no more; she has complete faith in his heart, and his understanding of her nature.

[nearamir]

He sighs in pleasure, turning his head a little to give her mouth more room. She has hold of his shoulders, but not his hands, and he lifts one now to trace his fingertips feather-light along her side. Despite his gentleness, there is an an undoubted lust in his eyes.

"I have not forgotten," he murmurs, and laughs, throaty and low. "I know thy blood is hot, thy passion a furnace." Pulling a little against her grip on his shoulders, he moves to try and catch her mouth. "And I would fain hold it close, however it may burn."

[withoutswords]

"Do you dare?" she murmurs, shivering at the light touch on her side.

Eowyn reaches back and catches his hand, pins it to the bed beside his head, preventing further exploration. "I may burn all away, and leave nothing left of thee." She pushes herself up a little, and her eyes burn indeed, her grey gaze intense and smouldering. She ducks down almost near enough for him to kiss her, almost, but pulls away before he can, deliberately teasing.

[nearamir]

Faramir arches up against her grip, chasing after her mouth as she pulls away, and makes a low sound of disappointment in his throat when he finds himself unable. But there is an answering light in his own eyes, and his cock is hard, pushing up against her hip. There is a thrill to this that he would not have expected, a rush of desire building at the base of his spine.

"Then it will be worth it," he answers, wetting his lips, "for there could be no sweeter oblivion."

[withoutswords]

Her smile is small and confident. "We shall see." She pins his other hand, bends down again and takes a kiss from his mouth, brushing her lips over his in a slow drag that scorches. It's so tempting, it would be so easy to thrust in her tongue, to burn with him, to make this quick and hot and easy...

No. Her will is firm. She can do better. She will do better.

Eowyn leans back up, keeping her grip on his wrists firm, her eyebrow raised. "Do you trust me?"

Not a game, this question. She looks all at once more serious.

[nearamir]

Her hands press into his wrists, her kiss still echoing on his lips as she pulls away. There is a tightness in his chest, an excitement unfamiliar to him, not fear but with some of its thrilling edge, not merely lust but something less easily-named. He mirrors her graveness with his own, meeting her eyes and holding them.

"With all my heart, I do."

And with all his heart, he means it. He has been accused by both his father and his brother of trusting too easily and too much, but the trust he has in her is deeper than that, and not so widely given.

[withoutswords]

This time when she leans to kiss him it doesn't have the same heat, or the same longing, only her deepest love. A slow, wondering kiss. She leans her forehead against his for a moment after, eyes closed, breathing him in, taking a moment to simply be astonished by their luck in finding each other, in loving each other.

Another quick brush of lips, then she abruptly stands and moves off the bed, crosses the room and opens a drawer. After a moment's rummaging, she pulls out a long length of wide, white ribbon. Whatever its original intended purpose, she has another use for it now.

She turns to face the bed. "Remove your clothes. All of them."

[nearamir]

He sits up, swinging his long legs off the side of the bed, and watches her with a slight frown, unsure what she intends. When she turns, there is a sternness in her look that he rarely sees. It sharpens her features - makes her, in an odd way, all the more beautiful, like a statue of some queen of days gone by.

At her order, he hesitates only an instant. He said that he trusted her, and he meant it: while he is not entirely certain he understands this, he has faith in her decisions. His jerkin is laid to one side, and his shirt soon folded over it, and he stands, looking at her from the corner of his eye, to pull off his leggings as well.

It feels strange. She has seen him naked before, of course, on many occasions now, but ordinarily it is less... decided. Ordinarily, they are naked together, and consumed by other matters. It is strange, he thinks, how much more naked a man can feel when faced with a clothed woman, especially when he is already erect. To his surprise, he realises he is blushing.

[withoutswords]

The sternness covers something that another might name nervousness, but which Eowyn refuses to acknowledge. There is no need for such faint-heartedness. He has said he trusts her, and Faramir is a man of truth, always.

Still, this is new ground for them both.

She flushes a little as she watches him disrobe. It is a new thing, to be a passive observer to such an act. They have disrobed each other many times, certainly, but such formal observation is not at all the same. But the heat in her gaze as she looks him over, the way she licks suddenly dry lips, that is the same as ever. She is near spellbound as she watches, admiring the long length of his body, the strength of him, his desire obvious and attentive.

When she realizes he is blushing, she laughs, breaking the enchantment a little. She walks forward, wrapping the ribbon around her hand, suddenly coy. "Come, my love. Surely you do not fear your own wife?" she teases, running her free hand down his arm, taking his hand and kissing the fingers. His index finger she draws into her mouth, sucking it delicately, and her eyes watch him with mischief.

[nearamir]

It is not so long ago that he would have scorned the idea of such a thing filling him with want - of any woman so easily waking lust in him, indeed. But when her lips brush gentle against his skin, when the warmth of her mouth wraps around his finger, it is not thoughts of gentle romance that fill his heart.

He sighs, low and throaty, and bites his lip. "Not fear, no," he murmurs, brushing the side of his thumb against her lip. There is a tight heat in the pit of his belly, his erection hardening a little more as he looks at her. His grey eyes are heavy with desire, drinking in every line of her face, the way the light catches her hair, the red of her lips against his brown hand. Her collarbone is visible at the neck of her gown, and he is seized with the desire to kiss it, to kiss every inch of her, to prove her beauty real and solid.

It is with an effort that he holds himself still, meeting her eyes, a smile pulling faintly at the corners of his mouth. "I was only thinking," he says, "that I have never seen aught so fair as thee."

[withoutswords]

"You are ever a poet." Her eyes twinkle up at him. She kisses the tip of his finger, then begins to wrap the ribbon she found around his wrist, binding his hands together. "Mayhap another time I should bind thy mouth instead of they wrists, and steal all thy words, leaving you with only actions to show me your affections."

[nearamir]

That pulls a laugh out of him, and he shakes his head. "What, my lady, and bind back my kisses too? Wouldst thou be so cruel?"

The ribbon slides smooth and cool around his wrists, and he holds his hands obediently for her to tie, wondering why such a thing should make his heart flutter this way.

[withoutswords]

"I had not thought of that," she admits, still laughing. "I would miss thy kisses sorely."

She pauses in her actions, tilting her head to take another long, teasing kiss, one that rouses heat in them both. Then she finishes tying his hands, knotting the ribbon so it will not come loose. He is not so tightly bound as to cause damage--and in truth, Faramir's strength is such that he could probably free himself if he had need. She trusts he will not.

And if she mistakes him and he does, it will at least be for most excellent reasons. That much, she will ensure.

She releases his bound hands and stands back a little, then slowly circles him, examining him from head to toe, still wearing a smile of equal parts desire and mischief. At his back she pauses, splaying her hands over his shoulderblades and kissing him once between them. "I have thee at my mercy, man of Gondor."

[nearamir]

He laughs again, but it catches oddly in his throat, comes husky and low. More out of curiosity than anything, he tests his bonds, pulling gently at the ribbon around his wrists. It gives, but only a little: her knots, as he had expected, are sound.

"You do, my lady," he agrees, turning his head as best he can, to try and catch a look at her. He does not move the rest of his body, though, feeling the cool of the air on his flushed skin, the warmth of her hands and her mouth. "And now that you have me so captured, what do you mean to do with me?" Feeling, as he says it, a thrill of excitement as well as humour, for it strikes him that he is truly vulnerable like this. Truly placing his trust in her.

[withoutswords]

"I must take careful thought to that," she says, her lips still pressed to his back, their movement teasing the skin there. She kisses her way along the spine, all the way down to the small of his back, and back up again, along his shoulderblade and forearm until she stands in front of him once more. Her mouth is swollen from its work, her gaze deep and thoughtful.

She places a finger on his chest and gently pushes him back towards their bed.

[nearamir]

It is a trial to stand still as she kisses him, as her mouth flutters against his skin, sends shivering trickles of want through him. His instinct is to move against it, either press back against her mouth or twitch away. But he holds himself still, biting his lip, as he holds himself back from the urge to lean in and capture her mouth when she comes back into vies.

When she pushes him back, he does not resist. One step back, two, and then the bed knocks against the backs of his legs, and he sits, hands still bound in front of him, heart thundering in his ears.

[withoutswords]

It would be pleasing to stay clothed, adding that much to the imbalance she's created between them. But skirts are cumbersome on a bed, and Eowyn knows from experience that before long, her dress will feel uncomfortably hot.

So she makes a virtue of necessity. Her dress unbuttons in front; slowly she undoes each one, all of them, then steps out of her rainment, letting it fall to the ground, leaving her bare save for a white linen chemise. It lays low on her chest and falls to just past her hips, giving a fair view but leaving much unseen.

Slowly, smiling, she walks towards the bed, climbs onto it and around him. Once again she kisses between his shoulderblades, but this time she moves up, placing long, open-mouthed kisses on his neck, the top of his jaw, the skin just behind his ear.

[nearamir]

He watches her as she undoes each button, watches her deft fingers and the slow opening of her gown, and there is a hunger in his eyes. When the dress pools around her, he swallows hard, wetting his lips. He loves to see her this way, her legs long and well-muscled, her arms bare, her shift hanging close against her skin.

His eyes stay fixed on her as she moves, until she is behind him again, out of his sight. Then he lets his eyes drift closed, as she kisses him, lets himself be aware more keenly of her touch and her warmth and the tickle of her hair. He does move, this time, as her kisses move: lifting his head, he tilts it, shaking his hair out of the way to bare more skin. Under his bound hands, his erection throbs with heat, and sweat prickles on his back, though it is not overly warm in the room.

[withoutswords]

She grows more bold, scraping her teeth against his skin, flicking her tongue into his ear, hot and wet. She listens closely to his breathing, taking any hitch in it as a cue to repeat an action, or intensify it.

She moves to his side and kisses her way along his jaw, then the delicate skin underneath, more cautious there than elsewhere. Here she could cause real pain if she used her teeth, and they both know it.

But he bares his throat to her all the same.

Thinking of it like that makes her more bold, and she pushes him down onto his back, moves his arms so that his bound wrists are over his head, kisses her way down his chest.

[nearamir]

Faramir lets out a little gasp as she pushes his hands above his head, as her mouth trails over his skin. His eyelids flutter briefly, and he looks down at her, breath catching in his throat.

It is an effort to keep his hands still. His instinct is to move, to sink his fingers into the rich gold of her hair, pull her in closer as he arches into her kisses. But he stays obediently pinioned, stretched out beneath her, biting his lip. His breath comes in light, shaky staccato, his cock twitching against his belly.

[withoutswords]

Eowyn is spoilt for choice with him spread before her thus. In a deliberate tease she continues down his chest, dipping her tongue into his navel, and then stops, looking up at him with a quirk smirk. His cock is already most anxious for her attention, but she goes no further towards it.

Instead she climbs off the bed entirely and places her hands under his feet, giving him leverage so her can push himself entirely on the bed. It feels foolish to have him only partly on, with his legs dangling over the edge.

And besides, she has ideas.

[nearamir]

It takes him a moment to get himself realigned, even with her help. It's startling how much difference it can make, being unable to use his hands - though, surely, his state of arousal is no help either.

He settles with his hands back above his head, his head turned to watch her. His hair spreads out around him, a raven-black cloud, and his heart is in his mouth.

[withoutswords]

Possibly she should have planned this better. Next time, she will. The thought makes her lick her lips with anticipation, both for now and later.

For the moment, since she's here, she kneels and kisses the sole of his foot, wondering how he will react. They have found, in their explorations of each other, that some most surprising places have great power to please. The inside of a wrist or elbow, or the small of the back. But she hasn't yet tested his feet.

Or his toes. Curious, she brings the big one into her mouth and sucks on it, silently thanking the stars that Faramir is a clean man and has already bathed.

[nearamir]

It is strange, to be touched that way. He would not have thought of it, would certainly not have considered it a sexual act - yet there is undeniably something intimate in it, in the very strangeness of it. A frown furrows his brow, as he tries to make sense of how it feels, the curious mixture of intimacy and alienation, the touch of her mouth on skin that feels, suddenly, more sensitive than he would have thought.

Biting his lip, he lifts his head to look at her.

[withoutswords]

She laughs a little, amused by her own experimenting, his peplexed expression, and moves back up the bed, stroking his legs and thighs as she goes. Her hand dips briefly into his inner thigh, a touch that might be ticklish if it were lighter.

Again she deliberately ignores the hard, trembling length of him, instead caressing his hips, abdomen, chest, palming the nipples, every so often using the slightest touch of her nails--not enough to mark, just a change of texture.

Then she stops, and instead strokes herself, her own chest, shoulders--a scrape of nails on her neck, where her skin flares pink in the wake of her touch--and back down again to her breasts, teasing circles. Her breath catches as she does it, and all the while she watches him watch her.

[nearamir]

Faramir bites his lip as he watches, taking in her expression and the movement of her hands and most of all, that little catch in her breath, which tightens arousal like a hard knot in his belly. He has held bravely still throughout her teasing, but now he arches up a little beneath her, up from the sheets, longing to replace her hands with his mouth, to be the one bringing that colour to her cheeks and those blushes of pink to her skin.

He catches himself, but holds himself there, his shoulders lifted off the mattress, his breath held in his throat.

"My lady..." He wets his lips, exhales long and slow. "Let me kiss thee, I beg of thee."

[withoutswords]

She has been kneeling over his thighs; now she laughs, a low, almost wicked sound, and bends over him, still holding herself high enough that their bodies don't touch except at the legs, though the fabric of her chemise brushes against him, light as a whisper. "You beg?" Her smile is as teasing as the rest of her, hovering only a few inches above him, just out of reach. "You, a man of Gondor, from the line of Stewards, with all its pride and nobility?"

[nearamir]

"I, thy husband." He shivers at the touch of her chemise, intimate as a kiss, and his tongue darts out to wet his dry lips. "I who am in thy power. Aye, I beg."

Though, from the way he is blushing, it is not so simple. There is a part of his mind, loud and hard to quash, which reminds him that yes, he is of Gondor; yes, he is of the line of Stewards; yes, to be so easily overcome is a weakness that perhaps shames him.

But he finds, to his surprise, that he is not ashamed. It is love, not cowardice, that brings him to this pass, and though he would be embarrassed if anyone else were to know of this, still he is not ashamed.

[withoutswords]

She has no wish to shame him; on the contrary she thinks him above it, so worthy that no shame could touch him. This is but a game, and the games of man and wife are of no consequence to any save themselves.

But for herself...it is a dizzying thing, to have his need for her be so great that he begs for the privilege of touching her.

She is a little merciful. She keeps herself held high but bends enough to brush her mouth against his, as lightly as the cloth of her chemise brushed him a moment before. If he wishes to do more, he may. For this moment.

[nearamir]

Of all things, Faramir has never been a greedy man. Still, there is greed in the way he stretches up to meet her mouth, to kiss her more soundly than she kisses him. Greed tempered by obedience, by the constraints of the game they play, but greed nonetheless. Nor will he pull away, although it is not an easy position to hold, stretching up as he is without the aid of his hands.

[withoutswords]

She gives in for a few moments, returning his kiss with as much greed, as much impatience. But she is a shieldmaiden, and knows something about willpower and when to hold back from a strike, and after too short a time for either of their liking she pulls away, wearing a small, satisfied smile. "I could find other uses for thy mouth." Her skin is flushed as she says it, not from embarassment but arousal.

[nearamir]

Faramir looks up at her with something like awe in his eyes, flushed and panting, sweat prickling at the base of his neck.

"It is thine to use as thou wilt," he replies, with a little smile of his own. "I am at thy command, lady." Lest that wasn't clear enough, by his place beneath her and his obedience to her orders. He finds there is something not only thrilling, but comforting, to that: a sense of freedom from the burden of leading.

[withoutswords]

"Then I must set you a task." Her gaze is scorching, her breath as quick and even as his. Her pale skin flushes more at the thought of what she is about to do, wondering if he will like it. "And see that you do your utmost to complete it."

She pulls herself off of him, moves up the bed, hesitates a little--then straddles his face, carefully lowering herself so that his mouth can reach those most secret parts of her, which already ache for attention.

[nearamir]

He hesitates a moment, only a moment, breathing in that thick and animal scent of hers, trying to catch hold of his thoughts and be sure he understands. But it is a hard move to misunderstand, in fairness, and he raises his head a little to meet her, running his tongue along the length of her sex. The taste is strong, intoxicating, her musk thick and sharp in his throat.

For a moment, he explores her with his tongue, running along the creases and folds of her, and then his lips fasten over her clit, half-kissing, half-suckling, and he sets to with a will.

[withoutswords]

She draws her breath in with a sharp hiss, closing her eyes and gripping the headboard of the bed with one hand. In this position she is entirely dominant, and he obedient to her wishes. And his mouth, ai, his mouth, hot and wet and finding the places that most ache. She moans, moving against him, rubbing herself against his tongue.

[nearamir]

She fills his mouth, his nostrils, the heat of her pressing down against his face. It is an ecstasy he would not have thought likely, this surrounding, until all the world is narrowed to the sweet-sharp taste of her and the muscles of her thighs against his face, the sound of her breathing and the wetness on his tongue.

He presses up against her a little more insistently, leaving her clit for the moment to push his tongue inside her, running along the ridges of her walls.