Title & Chapter Number: Brother/Sister 5/11
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website:
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters I just make them do rude things.
Warnings: Het, Incest
Betas: Nope
Cast: Éomer/Éowyn
Timeline: TTT/RotK
Spoilers: Maybe TTT & RotK
Summary: In a quest to be finally free their desire for each other, Éowyn and Éomer let it flame into fulfilment for brief sweet hours
Notes:
In the soft sweet candleglow that lit the forgiving dark, Éowyn’s mouth was moving over Éomer’s cheek, along his jaw line, to the lobes of his ears, his forehead, his eyelids, lips soft like the touch of angels, barely there…
“I claim you…”
She rubbed the tip of his nose gently with hers then began all over again, only this time he could feel her warm breath, her flickering tongue, feel the slow burn beginning…
“I claim you…”
She had arrived back at his mouth. Her teeth fastened upon his lower lip and a low growl escaped him.
“I claim you…”
She nudged his lips apart. “Say my name Éomer.”
He groaned. “Éowyn….”
She fell into his open mouth and the touch of her tongue upon his was like the flame that lit the fire, the final incantation that freed him from the long spell of his misery and self-doubt.
His broad hands came up to lose themselves in her hair and caress her scalp as he held her mouth against him, his hunger un-caged and testing its freedom, their tongues restlessly moving, touching, tasting, adoring.
Éowyn’s arms went around him and pulled him upright so she could hold him to her in their quest to go deeper and deeper inside until they moaned against each other. She tried to nibble softly on his full lower lip but found herself just wanting to bite and when he cried out she laughed through what she realised were with a jolt were her own tears, then licked him lusciously in apology before moving on to begin a gentle assault on his ears. Her hot wet mouth moved over him, tongue swirling and probing while he panted against her, and when she took a lobe between her teeth and dragged gently down his guttural growls made her gasp in arousal. Tangling his hands in her hair, he pulled her head back so that he could feast all along the graceful arch of her neck, pressing his face into the sweet scent of the golden tresses that fell about him in a cloud. When he let her go she returned to his mouth like a newborn foal to its mother as its lifeline, its whole world, and lost herself there for sweet hot minutes, taking him down with her.
Éomer’s hands roamed her back, even the velvet of her robe sensual beneath his fingers, and she traced circles on his broad chest and scratched him gently with her nails until she found a hard nipple. She broke their long kiss at last to dip her head and suckle it, taking it between her teeth and biting gently to make him wince with pleasure, moving over to the other to complete the sweet torture.
Éomer was no longer afraid to be the one to claim. He lifted her chin and captured her mouth once more, unable to taste her enough, sliding firm hands down her back to her buttocks and pressing them inwards so their hips met and the hard proud curve of his manhood reared between them.
“Too many clothes,” whispered Éowyn, laughing against his neck, which she took the opportunity to nip. Her deft fingers pulled loose the tie of his sleeping tunic and she reached up to slide it from his shoulders, exposing the broad landscape of his muscled back and arms to her hungry touch. Her hands were everywhere, kneading and caressing, but all he demanded of her for now was her mouth. He wanted to take a lifetime to taste every part of her, because he knew he would have a lifetime to remember her in when she left his arms never to return.
He realised her fingers that left fire everywhere they touched were moving lower, had reclaimed the hard belly where she had sweetly lain against him and were now tracing the blaze of red-brown pelt that flared above his pelvis. She twisted her fingers in the rough hairs and gently tugged, making his flesh twitch as he groaned against her mouth, and then all of a sudden she had slid down to her goal, palm curving around his cock, and he cried out as she gently squeezed him.
“You feel so good, my love,” Éowyn murmured against his ear. “Like silk under my hand, so hard, so hot my stallion.”
“Éowyn…” Gods, he was going to come just listening to her talk.
She reached lower to cup his balls, stroking, teasing, caressing, taking her time, while, captive in his kiss, she moved her tongue against his in a gentle mimicry of what her fingers were doing.
When she returned her hand to his cock, she rubbed gently around its head, wetting her palm and some of his length with the drops of moistness that had collected there. As she started to slide up and down him he growled appreciatively, but she wasn’t satisfied.
“Wait love,” she murmured, and slid her hand between the folds of her robe to seek out her own arousal. She coated her fingers and palm in the honey she found there, and when she returned to him her sweet grip on him was even slicker, and he hissed between his teeth at the pleasure, lifting his mouth from hers at last, and could barely make sound at all as she started to work his hot flesh in her hand. Her soft lips moved about his jaw, his neck, his ear, whispering sweet wicked words of encouragement in between nips from her teeth. She overwhelmed him.
“Éowyn… witch-creature… when did you become this woman?”
She purred against him. “You make me this woman.”
Hot, frenzied moments whirled past them into the night as her touch made him grind his hips against hers, and his cock reared harder and tighter in her firm grip, questing for release. In his delirium he felt her smiling against him, delighting in his pleasure reaching its peak.
“Yes love, you’re so close now… come for me…. let me feel you come…”
“Éowyn…”
“Yes… let me feel it….”
“Éowyn… Éowyn…. “
With a last jerk of his hips Éomer gasped in his throat and was coming as she demanded, pearly jets of his semen coating her hand and spilling against her velvet robe. In the final surge of his climax he gathered her desperately to him, kissing her madly and collapsing the pair of them onto his sleeping furs, squeezing her so tightly as the last of his tremors subsided that she could barely breathe, but finally he rested on her soft flesh between the deep vee made by the slash of her robe, and she tangled her hands in his mane as though to hold them there together for the rest of their days.
When he finally lifted his face to hers she saw that sweat had turned tendrils of his blond hair brown. His face was wondering. She smiled.
“You ran a good race, Éomer King.”
He looked at her blankly. “What did you call me?”
She looked at him quizzically. “Éomer.”
“Is that my name? I no longer know. I will answer to anything you choose.”
His face broke into a broad grin, and she cuffed him affectionately.
“Then I will call you idiot brother.”
He just grinned even harder, and snaked his head forward to steal a long, soft kiss. When his lips left hers and they were eye to eye again, his grin had faded back to a smile and yet it still lit his whole face. His brow had not been so clear and untroubled since - well, Éowyn could hardly remember. Those last years of Theoden’s unwitting bondage to the power of Isenguard, with Wormtongue’s insidious poison infecting their lives, brother and sister had lived in bleak, heavy tension: and when at last the world of men won through to new days of hope, Éomer had not joined it, lost in the wilderness of his passion for her. To see him smiling without shadow was like the miracle of a dawn at midnight. She stroked his cheek, her heart too full to speak its truth, and instead took refuge in gentle teasing.
“I think you’ve soiled my robe.”
The teenaged brother that lurked within him rose to the challenge. “Take it off then.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Maybe I will.”
“Let’s see you do it.”
“See if I don’t.”
They were laughing, but as he put his hand to the silky sash that bound her velvet gown they both fell silent. Éomer looked at her.
“This is where I either take the dare - ”
“Or tickle me until I cry, yes: that’s how it used to go.”
They both smiled in remembrance of carefree childhood.
“I’m scared to take the dare, love,” Éomer confessed. “I’m scared to have you naked in my bed at last. I’m frightened after all we’ve lived through I won’t be what you want…”
She understood him only too well, but placed her hand over his. “No more fear for us tonight dearest. Only love.”
She gently pressed downward so that his hand started to pull the sash away from her robe. As it came untied she took her hand away, and they lay on their sides facing each other. Éomer slid his hand slowly inside the velvet to caress the curve of her hip, breathing more deeply as he touched her soft skin, and made his way over the soft dip of her waist to cup a small, firm breast in his warm palm, tracing his thumb gently back and forth over the nipple until it was a sweet pink bud he longed to take in his mouth, but did not. Not yet, he told himself, not yet.
His hand travelled up to her shoulder and neck, and as he leaned in for another slow-burning kiss he slid the velvet from her shoulder, with her subtle help lifting the full sleeve away from her arm so that it slid to the bed behind her leaving almost every inch of her exposed to his touch. His hand stroked her back and pressed her to him as their kiss deepened, and when she started to moan softly, he lifted her against him so he could brush the other sleeve of her gown away. He buried his face in her hair as he held her fully naked against him for the first time, losing himself for long sweet moments in the sensation of skin warm against skin, breath pulsing against breath and desire flaming against desire before laying her softly back down onto the furs.
Silently he drank in the sight of Lady Éowyn of Rohan stretched out across his bed... her beautiful face wreathed in the golden halo of her delightfully tousled hair, the sweet curve of her breasts with their rosy nipples seeming to beg for his mouth’s attention, the soft swell of belly and hips, the golden curls that guarded the secret of her womanhood, making him tremble with the memory of slipping his fingers through them to make his way inside her that night in his room, all these unbearable delights laid out before him and searing his vision…. he was speechless before her beauty.
There was the softest trace of anxiety in her voice as she looked up at him.
“Do I please you just a little my love?”
He couldn’t believe, looking at her perfect body, that she should need to ask.
He gulped. “Éowyn, how could you not?”
She smiled. “You are like a god kneeling above me, my brother. I’ve had the image of your naked body burnt into my soul since the night I first saw it. I know not what you see looking at mine.”
Was that really what she felt to look at him? He could hardly believe it to be true. His hand drifted wonderingly to her soft belly.
“No god am I, but you are my goddess.”
She breathed out softly, and reached for him. “Then show me.”
She drew him gently to her, and he slowly stroked her shoulders and neck and along her arms, as though taking an imprint of her skin inside himself. When he cupped her breasts in his warm hands they both groaned gently. For long moments he did nothing more, letting his eyes close while he savoured their softness, but eventually he began to trace them with his fingers, then squeeze them, gently at first then harder and harder as her body began to undulate under his touch and her nipples pebbled teasingly against his palms, inviting him to take them between his fingers and pinch them into tight peaks. She gripped his wrists as she writhed beneath him, and he marvelled that he could make her feel this way. But then again, hadn’t the touch of her hand against his manhood all but driven him from his senses?
He realised her moans were forming words. “Put you mouth upon me… Éomer… please…”
He laid his body over her and kissed her mouth, the nape of her neck, traced over porcelain skin until he reached her breasts once more. He gently moved his lips and his cheeks over them, her skin like silk to his touch. He began to kiss their beautiful softness, and when his mouth fastened a sweet nipple she cried out. He teased it with his tongue and his teeth, loving to feel her body move beneath him and her hands come up to grip his blond mane. He let his mouth drift over to her other breast to perform the same tendernesses, but could feel the urge coming upon him to bite and bite hard, to feast upon her sweet flesh like a starving man. Again he forced himself to resist. When he lifted himself away from her she moaned in protest.
“Oh love… please more… please…”
Her grey-blue eyes flashed open to find his dark gaze already upon her. The love and passion she saw there was a palpable force, reaching out to envelope her.
“The night is long, love, gods be praised. I am going to take my time with you.”
“Going to?” she challenged with automatic pride, a soft smile playing about her lips.
He knelt beside her and she felt his broad hands slide under her shoulder and buttocks. He leant in close to whisper in her ear, sending a sweet shudder through her.
“Believe me Éowyn, I will deny you nothing.”
And with that she felt his muscles bunch and with the ease of the prime of his male strength he flipped her over onto her stomach as though she were so much baggage he was tossing across the rump of his mount before a long journey. Before she had even yelped out her protest her shield-maiden’s reflexes had her springing up on her elbows to face him, but he had no more indignities for her. He was stretched out beside her, laughter in his eyes.
“Ah, here’s a filly would take some taming if a man tried to break her, but I know better than to push my luck.”
“Éomer…” She didn’t know whether to cuff him or laugh back. She both knew and did not know him, felt safe and deliciously unsafe in equal measure as she sailed these uncharted waters in his company. This virile, compelling man who sought to choose how and when he touched her naked flesh was a stranger to her, and yet was the same beloved brother she trusted utterly.
He reached out and softly ran a strong straight finger right down her body from the nape of her neck, between breasts and over belly, to just above her dusting of golden curls, making her quiver.
“Éowyn, I want to this keep this night in my heart forever. I don’t want the memory of it to be just a blaze of sweet passion. I want to remember touching every part of you.”
He was so willing to be vulnerable before her, this man who had fallen upon Sauron’s hordes in a warrior’s cold fury, this man who was Rohan’s king, this man who could surely take any other woman to his furs and bed her exactly as he desired. Her heart swelled with love for him.
“Then I want us both to remember,” she breathed, and kissed him gently before laying her head down on her arms so he could do as he willed.
She felt him move until he was kneeling astride her, taking most of his weight himself, but even so just the sensation of his warm body over hers enough to excite her unbearably.
His hands drifted up and down her supple back for long moments, drinking in the feel of her, before moving up to her neck and head, where his strong fingers softly, deftly, massaged her scalp. He trailed her golden hair through his fingers, gathering it into soft sheaves and stroking the skin of her back with it before gathering it together in one soft tumble of tresses that he let fall beside one shoulder to clear the way for his mouth upon her skin. They both sighed as he switched positions, moving from atop her to beside her so lips and tongue could taste her neck, her shoulders, her back, her waist. When his hands stroked the sides of her breasts she whimpered and arched her body up slightly, wordlessly begging him to slide his hands beneath her and cup them fully. He laughed against her ear and indulged her, holding her breasts in his warm hands and teasing her nipples to soft peaks against his fingers, kissing her neck as she moaned beneath him. He slid one hand down over her belly and played softly with her blonde curls before lightly brushing her entrance with gentle fingers, but when she sought to press herself down upon them he withdrew.
“Not yet, love…soon…” he promised.
“Ah you are cruel,” she murmured, but further protests were stilled by pleasure as Éomer’s mouth and hands travelled over her small curving bottom, tasting, stroking and squeezing while she writhed in a way that only served to excite him further as he pressed the hemispheres apart with his palms and fingers, and reached down to trace over her womanhood once more, a sweet hint of further exploration to come of all her secret places, but continuing down. He licked and nipped at the soft creases between buttock and thigh, and ran his hands down the length of her legs, slender but taut with a horsewoman’s muscles. Finally reaching her feet, he gently took them in his hands one at a time and massaged them tenderly. As he took his time, his touch firm, protective, Éowyn started to drift away in the soothing comfort of it, the clear flame of need within her subsiding to quiet embers until without warning he bit gently at her instep and she was alert and on fire once more.
Hands curved up her legs again and then Éomer was lying fully over her, elbows holding his full weight from her but all the same she felt enveloped by his hot, hard maleness, wrapped in the heady scent of him, so familiar but charged now with his passion. She could feel his erection pressed between them as his mouth returned to her shoulders and neck and when he spread her buttocks apart and slid his hand down to touch her once more he felt her honey welling against his fingers. He stroked her outer lips gently and groaned against her.
“Oh love, you’re so warm… so wet…”
“Because I want you,” she breathed, and this time when she bucked back against him he did not resist but pressed into her, fingers sliding and teasing. They moved in unison for sweet hot moments, she revelling in the sensations he called up in her, he both jolted with the memory of the first time he had touched her thus and marvelling at the sweetness coating his fingers and sliding from her as though she were a bottomless well of desire.
“Oh love, that feels so good,” Éowyn whispered, “but please, now… all of you… all of you… don’t make me wait any more…”
With all his lingering explorations of her body slowly building his passion and now her words arousing him to fever pitch, Éomer felt he couldn’t have waited longer if he’d tried. He pulled her onto her knees and pressed her buttocks apart to position himself at her entrance. She reached around underneath with one hand to help guide him inside. Low, almost disbelieving groans escaped them both as he slid into her sweet, hot embrace.
This was the moment that had never come that night in Edoras, the point where they had whirled apart into their separate torments. When she had suffered Éowyn had suffered just as strongly, but Éomer had suffered longest, with no respite, no balm, no refuge. Now, sheathed in her slickness, he found he could barely move for both the wonder of it, and all the remembered pain.
“Éomer, love?”
“Éowyn… I can’t… I’ve dreamed… to be inside you… it’s too much…”
She could hear the tears in his voice, and felt them spring to her own eyes. She had freed herself from threatening madness that night when she had denied their passion. Now she had to free him from all the terrible months he had paid the price for her. And not just for his sake, but for hers, because she wanted him utterly.
“Come love… my darling… move in me, my stallion… don’t you know I’ve dreamt of this too?”
She moved her body softly but deliberately back against his, setting sweet pleasure shuddering at the core of her as she squeezed him in her body’s embrace. She heard him make a sound between a growl and a gasp.
“See love?” she crooned, like a singer weaving a song into a spell. “Does that not feel so good, so beautiful? Now you… touch me… move inside me…”
Gods be praised, she thought, her urging had the desired effect. With a low cry Éomer grasped her hips gently and thrust with his own against her soft behind, sending another burst of pleasure scything through them both as he buried his manhood deeper inside her.
“Ah, love… that’s it… that’s it… now more…more, my stallion…”
“Éowyn…” he murmured.
“Yes love… more, please, I want it…”
“Éowyn…”
Freed from the shock of being buried in her sweetness at last - the realisation of a desperately recurring dream he had thought could never be made flesh - Éomer began to move in earnest, making Éowyn gasp as he found his rhythm. He spread his hard chest across her slender back, taking in the sweet scent of her skin and her golden hair. His hands slid from her hips and cupped her breasts as his moves became stronger and deeper, and as her answering thrusts back against him become more frenzied they both moaned in their pleasure. He wrapped her more tightly to him and slid one hand down to tease the tight hot bud of her arousal, feeling her wetness against his fingers, feeling himself as he drove in and out of her.
Their soft cries built with the mounting sensations, and it was impossible, once it had begun, that this first coupling should last so very long. There was too much need, too much desire long-denied and now racing for fulfillment. It was as though they exorcised the ghost of that night in his room, as though again she pulled him to her but this time there was no cruel cotton shift between them, there was just his manhood pounding into her as she gripped him tighter and tighter the harder he lunged against her. Then, she had left him, and he had thrust against himself in desperate, useless release - now it was her he thrust into and her body’s thrilling response and the gasps that tore from her throat told him that this was all she wanted, that his being inside her was fulfilling a need as deep and urgent as his own. He wanted that sensation to last forever but the unbearable pleasure of it bested him, and he was suddenly spurting deep within her womb, holding her hips tight against him as he bucked inside her, the hard length of him and the questing fingers he rubbed along her tight wet bud making her join him in her own mad breathless climax.
For scant sweet seconds they teetered on the brink of eternity, then collapsed back into the now and onto the soft bed as Éomer withdrew from her with a groan, and they both lay gasping for breath until she reached for him. When he turned his head towards her his face was wet, and it took him several moments before he could speak to her, tentatively, wonderingly.
“Éowyn, I just made love to you.”
She stroked strands of his mane away from his face. “Yes you did, love, and glad I am of it. Are you not?”
When he seemed to hesitate she felt a sudden stab of fear. Since this strange passion had first flared between them his desire had never been checked, had never abated. If now in its consummation he recoiled, then she was a lost creature, utterly alone.
“Éomer?”
“Am I not glad of it? Éowyn, it felt so perfect it might just kill me.”
Relief flooded through her, and she gathered him to her, making her body a pillow for him and cradling him against her.
“Don’t die just yet love,” she murmured softly. “I may need you again before this night is through.”
He laughed into her soft breasts, softly rubbing his face against them as she stroked his hair.
Éowyn gradually felt him still beneath her fingers and knew he slept, his weight warm against her, his breathing finally steady and peaceful. She smiled to herself. He deserved to sleep.
Her eyes drifted toward the carved ceiling above her.
My brother, my lover.
She tested out the words in her mind and found no guilt or shame there, just a quiet joy that they had shared themselves at last. They had not chosen this love, rather they had run from it. So much denial, so much pain. And yet it had endured. It would soar tonight like a beautiful dragonfly that lives but a day and lights the water, and then it would be gone. She would not mar its brief life with regret.
She knew as she lay here now holding Éomer gently against her that Faramir lay stunned and disbelieving in his room, or maybe walked the gardens to still his troubled mind, and she mourned for him, her mate. But if the three of them did not live this night as it now unfolded, the mere possibility of it would forever flicker between them as a taunting spectre and none of them would ever be free. She had to trust that the heart that was brave enough to let her go this night would be strong enough to take her back.
Éowyn sent up a silent prayer for that heart and its owner as she felt fatigue steal over her. Her eyes gently fell shut, and for awhile she too slept.
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