Title & Chapter Number: Brother/Sister 7/11
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: For Éomer and Éowyn, approaching day + guilt + longing = aaaangst + a bittersweet last exploring of love
Notes:
Although he slept only fitfully, when he awoke she felt as soft and warm and languorous in his arms as though they had spent the whole night at peace together. He clasped her against him, and she made a little noise in her throat.
"Are you awake my love?" he asked her.
"Yes dearest," she murmured and smiled up at him sweetly.
He started in horror. Blood was spilling from her mouth and running down her white neck.
"Éowyn!"
"What is it dearest?"
He saw that her naked flesh was covered in crimson wounds. One of her small gory hands held his dagger against her thigh, its point carving a fresh track through the skin there. Their bed was full of blood. She had lost her mind.
"Gods Éowyn…"
He went to spring off the bed, away from such madness, but with catlike speed she grabbed his hair and slashed the dagger through air to rest above his heart.
"Join me, love," she hissed, through blood, and drove the blade home.
Faramir screamed, and woke truly this time.
He was alone, of course he was alone.
He swung his legs off his bed, breath heaving, cold sweat covering his body. He passed his hand over his face and through his raven hair and tried to stop himself shaking.
It was the first time he had cast his tormented body down to sleep this whole horrendous night, and this was the result. There was no respite to be had.
He rubbed at his forehead and the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the headache he had given himself through a night of pacing his chamber, staring vacantly at stone walls as though they might speak and give him answers, and crying in great strangled sobs that had threatened to choke him. He poured himself a glass of water with trembling hands yet could barely drink it for the lump in his throat.
"Éowyn…" His parched lips formed her name in hopeless anguish, his sweet dream of a life with her lying in ruins about him.
He did not know why he wasn't appalled that she should desire her brother. Maybe it paled into insignificance beside the simple irrefutable fact that he was losing her to another man. And if that man was Éomer it mattered not that the world believed kin should not love kin, it mattered only that he was the man Éowyn had loved longest. Faramir loved her with his whole soul, but the time they had spent together was but scant when set beside the whole lifetime she had shared with the King of the Mark. It seemed to him that if the love of brother and sister was joined by desire, then that was a force besides which his own love was puny and weak, of no consequence.
If the love of brother and sister was joined by desire…
Bitch, whore, unnatural creature - why did he not feel these things towards her? Why had he not struck her and cast her from him when she took his hand and told him her heart? These were the questions the part of himself that was hurt beyond measure and wanted to be angry asked of him. But he loved her too much, and he knew her worth.
He knew she spoke truth when she said that she had fallen in love with him with a free heart, and that it was only recently these feelings for her brother had returned to haunt her and urge their fulfillment. And knew it not only because she never lied to him or anybody but because he had sensed it himself that her heart had become troubled by Éomer, he just had not divined - how could he? - the true depths of why this was so.
And she was brave, so brave, to tell him of it. A part of him railed against her for her strength. Why must he have known about what she was choosing to do? Why must he suffer the torment of knowing they were together now?
And yet… and yet… would he not feel so much the more betrayed if she told him after it was done? Yes, that was true. And this way, even if she did not know it, she was letting him prepare himself for what seemed to him their inevitable separation.
"I promise love, I will return to you, if you will deign to have me," she had said to him.
"You cannot make that promise, Éowyn. If this love can be strong enough to take you away from me it can be strong enough to keep you."
"I don't wish it to keep me, I wish to be free. Free again to be the woman who fell in love with you, who loves you still."
She did not embrace him when she left him, did not even touch his hand in farewell. He knew it was because she felt she had forfeited the right, and at that time he did not think he could have borne it. But he wished she had now, one last press of her sweet flesh against his.
For he did not see how she would return to him from the strong arms of her golden brother. He had been a fool to think she was his treasure in any case. Love always went to someone more vital and beautiful than himself.
Faramir softly, carefully, placed his glass back next to its jug and lay back upon his bed, weeping with no tears, crying out with no sound, and dying with the breath still in his body - for she had become his life, and now she was leaving him, as they all did eventually. His mother in her sorrow, his father in his madness, Boromir in his torment by a river far from his help. And now Éowyn, his beloved, his trothplighted, his fair golden ray of sweet sunshine who had lit his life with hope.
It did not matter that the candle still burned at his bedside, with his eyes wide open he saw only darkness.
~*~*~*~
Trained by years in bivouac, Éomer woke after the few hours he had chosen to sleep to find Éowyn curled against his body as though neither had moved since their eyes first closed.
"Love?" he whispered tentatively.
There was no reply. She slept still.
Éomer sighed softly. Part of him felt he could lie here with her forever, but part of him felt the tug of the approaching day, and their inevitable separation, and wished to start to embrace it, as though to lessen the shock of it when it came fully.
He kissed her warm golden hair and slowly slid away from her to sit up. Following his initial impulse he should then have arisen, but instead he lit a candle on his side of the bed and regarded his sleeping sister.
Ah, but she was beautiful. Her cornfield tresses spilled about her sweet face and her lips seems to call to his own to kiss them. There was no inch of her soft creamy skin that his wondering hands had not touched, and he felt it beneath his fingertips once more just looking at the small tantalizing portion of it that was visible beneath her untied robe - gods, he would never see blue velvet on a woman again without thinking of this night. She was as soft and vulnerable as a tiny creature sleeping on the forest floor, and he longed to be her lover and bedfellow all the days of his life, protecting her from all harm, but he knew that honour could not be his.
Éowyn, he called to her silently, I cannot see that there will ever be another I will love as I love you, and if it was just the two of us I don't see how I could ever let you go now, sister though you are. But you have made your vows to one who loves you as I do, and I know in my soul that you love him truly every moment I see you together. And thus I can let you go little one, even though it will go hard with me.
He realised his eyes were brimming.
Time to get up, he thought, before I wake her with my foolish tears.
He rose and walked to the window, pushed it open and breathed deeply of the night air, wiping his wet cheeks. Maybe not so very foolish, he consoled himself, maybe it is only one witless who would not cry to renounce such sweetness.
He looked out over the gardens and up into deep vault of the sky. He couldn't see his future, he didn't care. What did it matter if there was no true love for him? There would always be women willing to share his bed when he had need. What mattered was that he be a good king for his people. What mattered was Éowyn's happiness.
He closed his eyes. Gods, had they ensured that happiness or ruined it this night? Faramir had not stood in Éowyn's way. He will marry me a free woman or not at all, Éowyn had said. But it was one thing for Faramir to let her go, it was another to hold her again and believe her heart was truly his. To look upon her in Éomer's company and trust that all danger was past.
Éomer could not stop his thoughts, they galloped from him like a runaway steed, or one beneath the whip of a demon rider.
Have I done ill by her? I know she would never have come to me if she did not believe it was the only path to take, and she said as much herself. But was there another way? The way of holding her against me for brief sweet moments of gratitude then sending her back to her mate and returning to my familiar torment knowing I have done what is right for her?
I am weak, I am nothing, Éomer cried silently to the stars. My dearest wish was my greatest test, and I failed it utterly.
He laid his head against cool stone. The best thing he could do for Éowyn now would be to throw himself from this window and live no more to be a shadow between herself and the Steward of Gondor.
"Love?"
He felt a small warm hand at the base of his spine and turned to see Éowyn beside him. He had been borne away so far by self-doubt he did not realise she had awoken.
She searched his face, saw the traces of his tears, and touched his cheek with tenderness and hesitation.
"Éomer, are you sorry for this night?"
He struggled to make words come.
"To have loved you at last, dearest, how could I be? But if it should cost you everything… then I shall regret it for the rest of my worthless, wretched life."
She curled against him and looked with him out into the darkness.
"If you had sent me from this room tonight," she said softly, "I could not have returned to his arms to love him as he deserves. Not while a part of my heart belonged to you. I spoke truly when I said to come to you was the only path open to me. If he cannot suffer to be near me after tonight that is the risk I took. But I could not have remained with him otherwise."
Through both their minds curled the inevitable question: where was Faramir, and how did he fare at this moment?
Below them the ghostly shapes of the trees in the gardens were starting to take on more solid form.
"The sky is lightening," said Éomer. "It will not be night forever."
"Hush love," breathed Éowyn. "The day is his to decide my fate. These moments still belong to us."
She slid both arms around him and kissed the warm flesh of his shoulders. He gave a soft groan and closed his eyes, his mind crying, this must stop somewhere Éowyn, this beautiful sharing of yourself with me, when must I start to give you up?; his body curving into her touch and whispering, not yet, not yet. He breathed in the scent of her as her small hands smoothed and stroked him up and down his broad back, travelling lower and squeezing his tight buttocks, then re-tracing her path back over his skin and twining her fingers through his long hair.
She realised they had spent all their hours of loving on his bed. This whole night until now she had not stood beside his naked body, pressed against his deep-chested, overwhelming, hard male strength.
"I swear you are part Mearas, love," she whispered, "for you are surely more than a man, my stallion. You intoxicate me."
Éomer's arms slid up from where they had rested on her hips and held her to him.
"As you bewitch me, enchantress."
He bent his head and sought her lips. They were already reaching for his, and oh, they were so soft and sweet, rose-petals that yielded to his questing mouth. And yet that yielding was only half the tale, for she claimed him just he claimed her, her tongue teasing and tasting his and her teeth nipping at his full lower lip.
She melted into his form, he could barely tell where she ended and he began, the scent of her hair, the sound of her soft sighs, the warmth of her skin filling his senses. Without even realising it he had lifted his mouth from hers, and was crooning against her all the sweet words that filled his heart, that she was beautiful, beloved, that if he never found another love he had still loved truly with her this night…
… He was lost in her and content to stay so when he realised her breathing had changed, coming from her in quickening starts. She was suddenly frail in his arms, wetting his shoulder with tears.
"Éomer, Éomer, to hear you say such things, when I must leave you… and his face, when I told him of you, so stricken… all I have ever done is wrong, I can't bear it…"
He realised his words had pulled down fragile defences she had built inside herself.
"Oh love," he breathed, "don't cry, don't cry little one… not for me… little sister, it will work out for us, for all of us…"
He pressed her against his shoulder, stroking her hair, trying to sooth her as he had done all his life whenever she was in pain. But as the spasms racked her body he wondered how much comfort he could give for a sadness he had helped bring about from the moment he had accepted her kiss in Edoras.
"Éowyn, Éowyn… I'm sorry for my part in this grief. Is it time you must go to him? You know I would not stay you."
She looked out of the window, clinging to him, her voice barely a whisper.
"I can feel his soul out there, crying to me, lost and yearning and in pain…"
Éomer grasped her upper arms as though he might shake her.
"Love, will you not go to him then? You must if you feel his suffering…"
"I cannot go to him yet. I want… I want…."
Éomer felt his heart leap in wild, unthinking hope, was appalled at its treachery, and tried to forgive himself. I have wanted her so long…
"What I want," finished Éowyn vehemently, "is to know how this can be. Most women would consider themselves blessed to feel half as much love from one man as I feel from two. How can that be? And to feel it in return, for both. How can that be? Why must I make him suffer cruelly because I could not withstand my desire for you? Why when I have sworn and desire with my whole heart to mate with him should it feel so perfect to stand against your beauty, to have you hold me?"
"Éowyn - "
But she was in full, fierce flight now and she could not stop.
"I tell you Éomer, if there were no Faramir I would say take me back to the Rohan and let us both be damned, I care not. I would say take a wife to be queen for our people, to bear your heirs, to let all things appear right, and love her too if she pleases you, let me but be your palace whore or live alone in the wild hills and have you visit me when you are able, so long as I would never be parted too long from your sweet flesh…"
She buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing like a lost child.
Éomer was shaken by the depth of her feeling. He had thought she granted him a boon this night, and that any pain she would feel would be her sympathy for the mate that she hurt in doing so. It did not seem possible she should be in any pain or confusion for herself, and yet it was so. He held her gently as she cried herself out, stilling her wildness with soft, meaningless words, a Rider soothing a delicate, high-strung mount that had taken fright.
When her breathing was nearing calm again and he judged that she was ready for his words, he lifted her face to his and kissed her softly.
"Two things I would say to you, beloved, if you will hear me."
"Of course I will hear you." Her voice was small, her face fragile, and he loved her infinitely. He stroked teardrops away from her cheek and smoothed the strands of golden hair at her temples.
"Firstly, believe me love, I have shared those fruitless, frenzied fantasies of a life together in the Rohan. There is no twist and turn of it you could contemplate that I have not already in my long lonely nights thinking of you."
"Éomer, Éomer," she whispered, guilt-wracked. "So much pain have I given you…"
"What has been, has been, Éowyn," he said softly, "and you wash all the pain away with the sweet love you have given me this night. So do not think on it. Rather think on this: proud as we are, if we were forced forever to hide in darkness a love we would rather shout from the rooftops, that love would surely sicken and die for lack of honest light. We are not made for secrets and subterfuge, Éowyn - you have already shown that this night in your bravery."
She was quiet against him, listening intently.
"So many nights love, I promise you, I have pictured stealing you away and making you queen of the Mark, in my heart if not in name, but the truth is to never be together openly because our people could not accept it would be half a life, it would be no life. There could be no honour and no happiness in it, only shame and wretchedness for us all at last."
Her grey-blues eyes held his dark ones as she replied.
"I know… I know you speak truth, love…but…" He could feel her breathing constrict as though she might cry again and she was forcing the words through unshed tears "…but if we ran away… somewhere where we could…"
She could not finish but stood before him struggling for calm while her implication hung in the air between them.
"Somewhere were we could live together," returned Éomer gently, stroking the sheaves of her hair through his fingers, "as man and woman, not brother and sister, because nobody knew us. Yes, another sweet tormenting fancy of mine."
Oh by the gods, that one had been particularly seductive. To take her and journey with her through the realms of men far from the Riddermark, to make a life with her lost in some foreign city or small town, league upon league from the judgement of any who knew them as kin… how many nights had he been lost in the spell of that entrancing thought, taking himself in his hands as he imagined taking her sweet body forever as the wife no one would dream was his sister?
Éomer exhaled in a long shuddering sigh to think she shared these thoughts now for even for a moment. Give it up, man, he willed himself, give it up. This night is for tasting our impossible love, and then letting it go. It is not ours to keep, only the memory of its sad truth and fierce beauty.
He laid her to his heart again, feeling the warmth of her from her thighs to her shoulders, her breath soft against his skin.
"Éowyn, hear me: I am King of Rohan. That destiny should have been Theodred's, and it was never one I coveted, but it has come to me, and I accept it. I have been so miserable these last months at Edoras without you, trying to accept that you are to wed another and you are never coming home but to visit and remember the old days. And yet, even in my sorrow, each passing week I have felt my responsibilities there start to sit with me a little easier, like a new riding cloak whose weave is rough against the skin when first you wear it, and yet gradually it weathers and becomes pliable and moulds to your form, and you realise it has become an old friend. Who would have thought, loyal as we have ever been to the Riddermark, that I could fall in love with our people? All those hearts and minds and faces, the homely and the beautiful, the noble and the venal, the stouthearted and those whose courage must be aided - they look to me now, for good or ill, and I could never leave them and be whole."
There was silence. Éowyn clasped him tightly, almost painfully, and he realised that she pushed away in hard difficult moments the thoughts of a life together that after months of trying he had still been learning to renounce this very evening as he had laid himself down to sleep. When she finally spoke, it was with a soft mixture of wonder and what Éomer realised was regret.
"Blessed are our people, to have your wisdom and care, my brother."
Éomer laughed softly into the darkness. "I don't know if I have the one to give them, but they certainly have the other."
He realised there were fresh tears upon his warm skin that she had cried out silently in her struggle. He lifted her face and kissed her wet eyelids and spoke softly to her with all his love.
"Éowyn, dearest, this is the second thing I would say to you and you know it to be true: you could never leave him and be whole, not now you have given him your heart."
"My heart?" she whispered. "My heart is torn in two."
"No, love. Not really, this I know. I cannot tell you how it feels to have you say all the things to me I have thought all these months of longing for you. But you do not really offer to stay by my side now we have loved each other at last, you say 'if there were no Faramir' - but there is a Faramir, and you love him with your soul. You told me so tonight, but you don't need to tell me. I see it every time you are with him, and who has watched you both more closely than I? And if he did not cleave to you with equal passion, did not understand your mind, did not cherish you utterly, would I not have been the first to tell you? Not because I am a man who desires you, but because I am the brother who loves you."
She said nothing. He could not tell what she was thinking now, but he knew where he must lead her. He pressed his lips to her ear.
"Tell me about him."
"What?" She stirred against him.
"Tell me about your love, Éowyn. Describe him to me. Tell me how he makes you feel."
"Love, no…"
"Yes, Éowyn. You think you are torn, you think you are swinging out over a cliff with no lifeline, but you are not. Tell me of Faramir."
There was another of her silences, almost a stubborn one it seemed to him. Ah, his shield-maiden was strong, but here he was stronger he knew. At last her soft voice murmured against him, barely audible, as though it came from miles away.
"His eyes. His eyes won me first, so long ago it seems now, in the Houses of Healing. They are dark, and seem darker still in the paleness of his beautiful face, but they are not deep dreamless dark like yours my love, they have flecks of gold and grey within them. They fascinate me, they speak to me of his past and his pain, more than this, the pain of the race of Numenor. And thus, to make him smile or laugh, and see the pain disappear, replaced by love or joy or hope, makes me feel like a worker of magic, a healer of all hurts. I feel I am more than I was before…"
Yes, thought Éomer, yes. "More, love. Tell me more."
Her lips moved against his shoulder.
"His voice. It is deep and musical, it has a kind of caress in it when he speaks to me, and if he is touching me too when he speaks I vibrate as though I were an instrument he was playing. In his childhood, he spent every spare minute when he was not being trained as a son of Gondor in the palace library, his father deriding him for being soft and bookish, but it has made him thoughtful and wise, and full of tales to bewitch the ear, and I cherish every one he tells me with that voice of his."
Good, this was good. "Tell me what you see when you look at him."
"His face… haunts me with its beauty: high cheekbones, noble brow, and a firm jaw-line that speaks of a pride I understand. Though animated by the life that glows within him, his features seem to me cast in lofty marble like the statues of his forebears. I almost expect his sculpted lips to be cool when I press mine to them, and yet they are warm, and soft, and wreak pleasures equally soft upon every inch of my body…"
Éomer groaned softly, and felt his manhood stir against her. She could not fail to notice, but she was flowing where he directed her now, and he was glad of it, it was worth his discomfort.
"Tell me of his body…" he ventured.
She did not protest, barely even missed a beat, as though she were speaking from a book of love she had imprinted in her heart.
"Tall he is, he makes me feel like a child against him. He is lithe, but strong, like a tree that bends with the wind but does not break. He seems slender, but he is covered in lean muscle like a racing steed. His hair falls to his shoulders like a river of midnight, I twine my hands in it and lose myself in its softness, and its scent that is partly his own maleness and partly like a pine-forest on a spring night. His skin is pale like alabaster, and against it the dark hair of his body is almost startling. That sweet contradiction draws me, makes my hands and my mouth wander over his warm flesh in utter wonder…"
"And when he loves you?"
"Aahhh, brother, you would make me speak of it?" Éowyn's fingers traced softly down Éomer's body, and, like the flutter of a butterfly, over the taut curve of his aching cock.
He resisted the urge to take her face in his hands and kiss her and press his hardness into her yielding flesh. "Yes, love, I would, you must tell me."
She gave a long soft sigh, part memory, part yearning.
"My love is shy, and reserved, and carries past pain wrapped around him like a soft cloak. When he takes me with all those things, the gentleness and vulnerability of his loving almost kills me. But that is only half his story, as it is with us all, for are we not of the beasts who rut in the field and know only the fierce joy of the moment? And you know me love, you know my passion. Although his sweetness moves and fulfils me more than I ever dreamed was possible, I cannot let him hide behind his grace and consideration, behind the walls he has built around himself for protection. I must seek out his deep nature, stripped and laid bare for me, unashamed and animal and glorious, and make him take me with no thought but for hot pleasure and hard release, screaming my name over and over as he drives into me…"
Éowyn's breath shuddered from her in small gasps, while Éomer bit down on the inside of his lip and prayed she would speak no more lest he spurt his seed on her belly. There was a ragged silence between them while they separately struggled for control, and then he felt her small hands gently start to stroke his sweat-sheened back and he saw in the faint starlight that she was smiling at him, albeit a little shakily.
"So - these are the skills that kept so many Rohirrim alive on the field of the Pelennor."
"I don't know what you mean, love."
Deception was not Éomer's strong suit and Éowyn was not taken in.
"Oh yes you do, my cunning brother. Find the weak spot, press the advantage, fight hard and fight dirty if your enemy has no honour, and keep those you love from harm. That is why you are such a fine Marshal. So now you turn your tactics on me when you judge I need them most. You make me speak of him to remind me how deeply I love him, of how much is at stake."
"Your love, your life, your future, Éowyn," Éomer said to her softly. "You have found your mate. You must not lose him. You cannot sacrifice the whole world you have with him just because the love we have shared tonight has been sweet."
She touched his cheek. "If I know that now, it is thanks to your wiliness, you brute, not to mention your care for me which seems to know no bounds. But I may have sacrificed it all regardless. How can he bear what I have demanded of him?"
"I know you will have to win him back from his pain, but you will sister, because he cannot live without you."
"Yesterday he could not," she conceded, "but tomorrow he will look upon me and I will not be the woman he thought he knew."
"You were not the woman I was hoping I knew the day you sent word that you were to marry him," said Éomer softly, with remembered pain, "and yet I loved you still. Éowyn of Rohan, when you get into the blood of a man, you are not easily put aside."
He was looking at her in all the fierce strength of his belief in Faramir's love for her, but Éowyn saw something more.
"Stop it," she breathed.
"Stop what, love?"
"Your eyes," she said, brushing their lids closed. "When I would cling to you you show me sense, you show me my love for my mate, but your eyes - they burn me still."
Those eyes flickered open and Éomer regarded her from their dark liquid depths.
"I cannot stop desiring you all in a moment, Éowyn," he said huskily. "Forgive me."
She looked back at him, her own grey-blue eyes troubled as though conflicting emotions warred within her. Finally she spoke.
"I don't want to forgive you, I want to make love with you, Éomer. For the last time. The best time. If it is your wish also."
What, apart from the wish that he could love her forever?
He gathered her golden tresses in his hands and caressed them against her neck and shoulders, softly massaging her warm skin.
"Let it not be that the last time has passed without our knowing Éowyn. Yes, I wish it." He regarded the beauty before him he had been trying so hard to send away from his heart. "Although I barely know how to begin again."
Her smile was soft and shy.
"It is easy, love. First a kiss…"
Her sweet mouth tilted towards his. Without thought he found his head lowering to meet her, and in a few slow heartbeats he was kissing her, his tongue moving gently inside her mouth while his fingers still stroked her hair and her skin.
When they drew breath she whispered to him.
"Then a touch…"
She slipped her robe from her shoulders and as it fell to the floor she laid one of his broad hands against her soft belly, her hand staying upon his as he began to move it in warm circles over her. She stood on tiptoe to take one of his earlobes in her mouth, licking and teasing, and when she gave a gentle nip it seemed to fire him and with a grunt he swept her the few paces it took to reach the far wall of the window alcove. She was caught between the cool stone at her back and his warm mouth moving over her, her cheeks, her neck, and her shoulders.
He longed to bite her soft flesh, to claim her, to hear her gasp as his teeth seared her, but he refrained, though it cost him dear in self-control. He could not send her back to her mate with his mark upon her, could not torment Faramir with any reminder of the night she had spent in his arms. Instead he reveled doubly as Éowyn bit his shoulders and chest and scored his back with her fingernails, as though sensing his need.
He held her hard against him for a punishing kiss and then forced himself back to gentleness.
There is time, he told himself, there is still time.
He cupped her breasts in reverent hands, licking them slowly and taking them delicately in his mouth, but Éowyn pressed him to her, urging him on as though she felt the minutes fleeting away as he did, and soon he was feasting more savagely upon her, grazing her rosy nipples with his teeth and squeezing them hard between his fingertips as they stiffened under his touch.
"More, love more," Éowyn murmured urgently against him and pressed one of his hands between her soft thighs. He groaned to find how easily his fingers slid amongst her soft folds.
"You're so wet already, love."
"I am with you, how could I not be?"
He captured her in a kiss while he explored her, caressing her and teasing the tight bud of her arousal before pressing two strong, tender fingers within her, keeping them long and straight as he slowly drove in and out of her.
"Aaah," Éowyn cried softly, "that feels like… almost like your manhood moving inside me."
He smiled. "Does it, love?"
His smooth, even claiming of her womanhood didn't falter.
"Now help me, I beg you," he whispered against her. "Let us bring you to pleasure together. Will you touch yourself with me, love?"
Éowyn obeyed him without murmur, a hand drifting between her thighs to place two soft fingertips upon her wet bud. She fell into his rhythm, her hand curving over his as he touched her. While they could they kissed softly, their tongues teasing each other in time with Éomer's gentle thrusts, but as his speed began to increase Éowyn's breath became little gasps and she lifted her mouth from his when they turned to helpless moans. At her final cry Éomer felt her clench around him and a second wetness drenched his fingers.
He wrapped her against him and murmured into her hair.
"Ah it's so good to feel you come like that, love, so sweet."
Éowyn laughed weakly. "It didn't feel so bad to me either, believe me."
She kissed him in thanks and sank against the wall for support, weak from release, but Éomer was not done with her yet. He kissed her softly all the way down her body until he was kneeling before her, then gently lifted her right leg onto his thigh so he could lap at her sweet juices and run his tongue all over her and inside her.
For long moments she closed her eyes and savoured the sweet heaven of this intimacy, tingling whenever her teased her tiny bud and gasping when his tongue delved deepest inside her, but inexorably she felt need building inside her. She twisted his mane fretfully in her fingers.
"Éomer, all of you, give me all of you…"
He lifted his full mouth from her and looked up with the ghost of a grin.
"If that's what you want, love."
"Yes, that's want I want."
Éomer rose up smoothly from between her legs and gathered her into a kiss.
"Taste yourself love, are you not sweet?"
She gently licked his lips that shone with her own wetness then pressed inside to explore his mouth with her tongue.
"You are sweeter still to me, my love."
He pressed her back against the wall, and she was already raising herself against him as he cupped her bottom and lifted her. She hooked her legs around his waist as he entered her, clasping him as he impaled her fully.
He held her there motionless for a moment while they looked into each other's eyes. She felt imprisoned by cool stone, by his strong arms holding her and his thighs supporting her, and by his hard, hard cock buried within her, but it was a sweet capture. She held his gaze as he gently began to slide inside her, but once he was moving in earnest her head dropped back, her body rigid and her neck arching away from the wall as he took her. She realised how close she already was. His sweet full mouth upon her had been pleasuring her more than she knew, and now his firm thrusting of her flesh against his hot questing manhood and the cool unyielding stone was driving rapidly driving her to another peak.
Gods, surely her climaxes were going to be burnt into his brain forever Éomer thought, half in a kind of triumph, half in despair, as once more he watched her lids heavy with passion lower over her beautiful eyes, and heard her breath coming in little pants as he moved her to his will. Then the long drawn-out cry as her whole body convulsed, all the gorgeous muscles of her womanhood tightening hard around him before melting into softness and new wetness. Ah, it was exquisite to watch her, to hear her, to feel her. He was amazed he was nowhere near ready to come himself. Maybe it had been the effort with which he'd forced orgasm away as she'd spoken of Faramir taking her, or maybe the gods were granting him extra strength to pleasure her just a little longer before he must reach the inevitable fulfillment that would signal their parting, but he cared not. Just to be with her, to love her while he still could, was enough.
For a few moments she was like a little rag-doll sagging sweetly against him in the aftermath of her pleasure. When he went to let her down, she whispered against him not to stop, she loved the feel of him this way. He obliged her for a little, rewarded by her smile as she let the wall support her in her afterglow while he continued to press inside her. But with her urgency gone it was not the same, and light as she was, he tired of holding her in this position. Maybe if I'd had a little more sleep, he laughed inwardly at himself.
He held her to him. "Love, I can't get close enough to you this way."
She kissed him sweetly. "Then take me to the bed, beloved. Make me yours any way you desire."
He carried her, still ripe and moist around his manhood, back to the furs and gently withdrew from her as he set her down. On the edge of the bed while he stood before her she put her arms around his waist and laid her head on his belly, looking at the taut proud curve of his manhood rearing before her, slick with the juices her had drawn forth from her body.
She touched him gently with a single fingertip.
"Oh love, I want to put my mouth around you. But I have a feeling that when you reach your final pleasure our beautiful dream will be over. I don't want you to come until you are inside me again."
He rumbled low in his throat. "Put your mouth on me, shield-maiden. If you are soft and slow, I promise you will only feel my seed within your sweetness."
She lifted her head and smiled up at him, stroking the red-brown pelt on his belly before lowering her mouth to him. She licked him from base to tip in long, slow strokes, leaving time between each one so that there was pleasure but no frenzied build towards release, and likewise placed a soft warm hand upon the velvety skin over his balls but did not caress him. When she had lapped every inch of him, tasting her own musk along with his, she took him deep into her throat and held him there. His hands rested in her rich golden tresses and they breathed together. In… out. He couldn't believe another woman's mouth would ever feel so perfect around him. In… out. Their shared blood pulsed in their veins as they quivered against each other. In… out. He was blessed to have loved her this one night. In… out. He would never feel this again.
She slipped him softly from her mouth, her tongue flicking lusciously over him one last time, and the moment was gone. She lifted shining eyes to him and leant up while he leant down to kiss her softly with his whole soul, and then she pressed herself back onto the bed, slowing sliding herself up far enough so that he could come to her.
There followed a slow, sweet, last caressing of each other bodies: chest, breasts, belly, thighs, buttocks, back, shoulders, all the warm soft skin learned and known and beloved through this long night being worshipped one last time of farewell, kisses so searching and deep they didn't just feel lost in each other but that they had become each other, become one.
Finally when the moment seemed right Éowyn broke their kiss and lay back among the furs. She spread her thighs wide as Éomer moved over her body and surged into her waiting wetness with a deep groan of homecoming.
The slow build of lovemaking had already been fuelled in a thousand small ways leading to this moment and he was hot and hard and aching to claim her, just as she was longing to be taken once more. His thrusts into her were urgent and powerful from the first, and she instinctively raised her legs high and locked them around his back to grant him deepest entrance. He spread-eagled her arms outwards and a little behind her head, clasping her hands in his so they were connected all along their bodies. He rained kisses upon her cheeks, her ears, her neck and her shoulders while he bucked mercilessly against her soft inner flesh.
She nipped at his lower lip and whispered sweet obscenities in his ear that begged him to take her harder and deeper, and every fibre of his taut body strained to fulfil the commands that mirrored his own need. His swelling cock pounded furiously against her while he gasped out oaths he hoped never again to utter in a woman's company, but he knew she didn't care, rather she welcomed all evidence of his passion as it drove them both further and further toward bliss.
When he sensed his peak was nearing there was a moment of stunning clarity where he looked down upon the beauty of Éowyn his sweet sister, his body poised to explode, and ached to cry out his love for her, yet knew that if he did he was utterly lost. Perhaps she saw it all in his face, for she slipped her hands out from under his and clasped him to her, whispering sweetly to him while her body urged him onwards. There was no withstanding her desire or its effect on him, and in a final renewed frenzy his manhood ground against her most sensitive places as he drove it into the core of her. She was so hot, so tight, so abandoned to her desire and yet so attuned to him, her body meeting his every thrust and sending pleasure spiralling through him as her muscles gripped him. Her breath was tearing from her in ragged gasps, and every time the head of his cock hit home she moaned his name.
Oh gods, he wanted this forever, don't let it ever stop.
But at last he had to give up the climax that had been so long building inside him. With a last desperate pounding of her sweetness he growled for her to come with him, aching to bring her to pleasure as he found his own, and was rewarded, as her legs tightened around him like a vise, by her body bucking uncontrollably beneath him. Her moans gave ways to an a long, incoherent scream of fulfillment as Éomer, hot, searing pleasure all but blinding him, spurted his seed deep inside her in final majestic thrusts.
He lay upon her, chest heaving and struggling to draw breath. Sweat slicked both their bodies as though they were made of sealskin, and their loins quivered as the tremors and aftershocks of their volcanic lovemaking ran through them.
For an age of aftermath they did not move. Éowyn's head was thrown back and her eyes were closed, while Éomer lay with his head tucked at the crook of her shoulder, eyes open but glazed over in a kind of stupor.
Finally one of Éowyn's small soft hands lifted to twine through his matted golden mane, tenderly stroking the back of his head.
"Am I dead?" she whispered.
Éomer answered her through parched lips, his voice husky.
"If you are, love, then so am I, because you killed me."
Gentle laughter bubbled up between them.
"Ow," said Éowyn. "I may not be dead, but I think you've done me some serious damage."
"I'm sorry, love. Some bewitching creature was whispering terrible things in my ear that she wanted me to do to you. Shall I kiss you better?"
"No, just kiss me."
Éomer shifted his head and lifted himself up onto his elbows so he could reach her mouth. His manhood still inside her stirred as he did so and she moaned in soft delight.
He kissed her mouth, licking her lower lip gently, then their tongues met in the barest of touches, like two butterflies brushing against each other on a summer's day.
"I love you Éowyn. I love you. I wanted to say it… while we loved each other… but I could not. If I had my heart would have broken, or I could never, never give you up, I don't know which."
"You did say it, love, just not in words. I knew the moment. Your eyes said it. Your soul said it."
She stroked his dear face with gentle fingertips. "I love you also, my Éomer. And will always."
"Always," he murmured, and laid his head upon her breast once more.
She stroked his broad warm back as she looked beyond them to the window. It had become a square of violet-grey dawn. Soon it would throw more light than the candle.
The waking world was rolling inevitably back upon them.
But for now, brother and sister lay with each other, sated with loving, bodies still tangled and entwined, and felt their hearts slowly beating in time.
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