Faramir Fiction Archive

Hot Spring (R)

Written by sian22

04 March 2015 | 14732 words

Title: Hot Spring
Author: sian22
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Faramir
Warnings: oral sex, outdoor sex

Faramir shows Eowyn a green and lovely corner of their demesne she has never seen. Along the way they discover love and desire can conquer (most) fears. A Ranger, his Shieldmaiden, a cliff rated 5.2 and rope. A birthday gift for Annafan.
Thank you so much to JuneGloom and Wheelrider for beta’ing.
Chapter 4 and 5 now up! Its finally complete

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Chapter 5

A shriek of purest indignation echoed in the dell. The Prince defended his naked body from the blows but laughed so long and hard it was impossible to orchestrate a meaningful defense. Of course it was no contest. Éowyn had found yet another ticklish spot and Faramir could do nothing but writhe breathlessly and squirm.

Amidst the melee, quite by accident, two fine long fingers brushed the soft curve and dusky peak of one pale breast. All at once there was a shift upon the air. The sweet-scented warmth grew muskier, heavy with something altogether different and the sweetness of their laughter shifted too. She was the hunter, he the hunted, but now their teasing became sharper and more urgent. Caresses overflowed, poured across silken skin and sought to soothe the torment.

“Lie back, lie easy.” He had raised his head to find her lips, but she stilled him with a single touch, lay down and draped her softness across the supple taut muscle of his belly. Below her hips his length pressed warm and hard as any brand

At first their mouths joined time and time again, slowly, in little darting kisses that were playful, teasing, oh so very gentle. They stoked with every touch the little flame that flickered, danced slowly on the warmth and softness of lips that pressed and nipped and licked. There came a sigh and his eager tongue teased its way past reddened lips to dance gently with her own, to stoke the fire even more.

All at once Éowyn could not wait. She kissed Faramir’s lips hungrily, felt them spread into a wry and sudden grin. Of course he had expected she would be incapable of waiting; she was the impatient one. He was more thoughtful, instinctively tender, inclined to savor every moment. He had patience. Had learned and nutured it, along with hope, through the months and years of endless struggle, the daunting effort, the constant disapproval. She would never wish him otherwise.

Breathing deep and even, Faramir reached up and tenderly tucked one stray hair behind her ear. The warmth of his smile was blinding, caught also in his eyes that sparkled in the dappled sun.

Éowyn kissed the corner of his mouth and bent her head. Her low and husky voice whispered hotly against his throat: “What would you have…?”

“You.”

His hands had been upon her back but now they slowed and slowed again, lingered on her temple, threaded through the golden waterfall to spread her tresses around them like a curtain.

Their kiss this time called the sweet heaviness and the yearning drumbeat back within. When at last they broke apart, still hungry, she tasted Faramir on the side of his neck, behind his ear, on his small and improbably neat earlobes. She felt his breathing change, felt the pulse below her tongue begin to pound as the once languid river of his need now rose inexorably and surged.

The air was heavy, now filled with the sweet perfume of white gallet, crushed by the blanket and their bodies. His spicy musk and the warm, green sweetness made her delirious and dizzy. Pulled by scent and memory she followed with lips and tongue the smooth plane of his chest and lower belly, the gentle hollow at the curve of his hip and thigh. She inhaled his sharper scent, stroked the urgent pulsing beat cradled there. It was fast and mirrored hers, wild and trammelled in her blood. A raw power coiled, within her hands and in the hot throbbing of his muscled core.

She reached and her touch at first was feather light, played around him where he lay proudly nestled in soft dark hair. Hair as black and lustrous as the dark lashes that grazed his cheeks; lashes that laid down as he sighed with the pooling heat stirred by her now urgent touch. She could almost feel the tongues of warmth and desire flicker each time she dipped her head, each time soft lips and tongue melted kisses onto the pure fineness of his skin.

His length had risen, arched up over his belly, and her hands shifted of their own accord. Held both hollows of his hips as she nuzzled a cheek softly against the velvet of his cock. He was silk upon steel, warm and unyielding against her touch, the tip flushed as hotly as his cheeks and lips. Perfect; enticing.

A mischevious smile played about her lips. She peeked up from beneath the cascade of fine gold hair too see his head thrown back, lips parted in anticipation, pulse beating ever faster in the smooth hollow of his throat. She let her fingers trail lightly across his inner thigh, touched the secret and soft expanse of skin behind his balls.

“I think I could just stare at you forever, my love.” It was her turn to tease. The bright gold head dipped down again; the barest breath of warmth trailed over his trembling skin, but her lips did not touch the tip quivering but a fingers breadth below.

“Please…”

Faramir shivered and his quiet plea hung green and yearning in the humid air. It wound its way with the river of their desire, pooled around his straining length. Slim hips made tiny rocking motions he could not stop.

She smiled a secret smile. He was hers; her prince, dark and needy, and helpless now before her storm. He thought her incapable of any patience, but this time he was wrong.

The delicate pink tongue reached out and licked the dusting of fine black hair upon his lower belly, a bare inch above the trembling length. It twitched, called by the siren wet and warm caress. Faramir’s fingers clutched helplessly the blanket below and a strangled moan set an ache within her breast. Perhaps she should not torture him too very greatly…

She slid farther down to kneel between his knees and as she went, brushed the golden curtain across his skin, felt him shudder with the touch. Small fingers reached behind stroke the quivering muscles of both strong thighs as she sucked gently at their inner skin. A trail of small fluttering kisses coalesced as she moved still higher, toward his inner heat, lit now by a fire no less primal than the spring.

“Wyn….”

Oh so very gently she laved his balls, sucked and enveloped them, as one hand stroked and pressed the velvet space behind their heat. Back arched and lost, Faramir moaned and gasped, as one hand reached blindly to touch the surging length.

Now.

Éowyn, at times impatient for the need to simply feel, took always great delight in making her composed and calm husband lose all control. She would pause in running a wet stroke of tongue along his cock to watch as all the face he presented to the world, the unflappable, careful, logical mask, shattered in the face of her attack.

Sheathed in a cloak of softest velvet, the pink and throbbing tip now rose, too urgent to hide in its cocoon, as her mouth set a fire in his blood, roved rhythmically over the silken, heated skin. Up and back along the taut and singing length she played, wild like a summer storm, wild and just as inescapable.

The moans became a ragged groan. She picked up her pace and smiled around his surging need and watched as the hot wet cavern of her mouth, fierce and insistent, pulled need and song from every nerve, every straining inch.

Upon his face was the exquisite, almost painful fire that said she had caught him once again, tipped him from the fine edge of control to the abandon of utter need. The dark locks tossed and thrashed as groans and gasps and deeper breaths fragmented through the air. Tongue coiled upon the sensitive underside, she felt a shudder run, felt his hands grasp helplessly on her hair, maddened by too much and not enough at once.

And then she licked the slit.

With a jerk and strangled yell, he came and she welcomed the surge of his pure and liquid strength. “Oh love.” The words were a chant, song, a benediction.

Éowyn raised up, molded her body beside Faramir’s trembling flank. Longingly he sought her mouth and in the aftermath, their kiss at first was bitter, the taste of him was on her lips, but soon it was sweetness once again. Soft hands caressed and soothed the flame to quietude once again.

With an effort, Faramir opened his own eyes and met her darkened gaze. His own light grey was just the thinnest band about the great dark pupils, almost gone, lost to the ardor and delight. Those eyes, once dull with anguish, now ever shone. All their nights, their love, held safe in their longing tide of grey.

Faramir reached and brought her down to him, to cradle and to touch, to pull her toward his warm and solid chest. He could not help himself, raised a hand to a brush a single dark curly hair from off her cheek and a golden strand from off her shoulder.

“I love you, min heorte,“The words, a sigh of deepest longing, ran down with his caress to flow along her skin.

“As I do you.” Éowyn let herself relax, to lie beside, offer sweet nothings to the small neat ear that lay next to her mouth. Faramir’s cleanly shaven cheek against her chin was smooth and soft. The raven hair tickled her shoulder as delicate airy kisses began to fill her collarbone. He was so very gentle and she knew him, that he would do this, a tacit apology for teasing her.

Éowyn knew that their love for each other was deeply rooted, matured with each passing day, yet to her surprise their passion grew no less intense. It was to her so blissfully inexplicable: made of ardor and tenderness, sudden fire and lingering sweetness; kindled by the barest glance, or touch, or brush of lips. She had expected pleasure to come from loving, yes, but not that it would be a well for something altogether more intense: an abandon, a belonging, a oneness that even her husband could not dream of capturing in words, he who so often tried to catch dreams in words to hold them fast.

Faramir was, of course, the only man she had ever known, and if she had wondered at his past, he had so rarely spoken of it. She knew that for many years all his passion was subsumed in the need to be vigilant…shelved and stored, held in abeyance for another time. At first she worried it would put her at a disadvantage: he clearly knew how to make love to a woman when they wed. In time she came to understand that he was learning how to make love to her.

She knew and treasured, for he has told her, that all the passion they held between them is as precious and unexpected to him as her. She now knew what he wanted and needed from their loving, this man who had little interest in slaking his own need for the sake of simple satiation. Faramir’s desires at heart were gentler, more honest, more focused than that; strove always to bring the two of them together.

The world lay green and gold and warm around them, the only sound the soft sussurration of the falls and their heartfelt sighs. He had cradled her in his arms as they had dozed, had inhaled the fragrant wisp of thyme that lay upon the sharper lavender of her hair. It was the scent he loved, holding as it did a memory of belonging, certainty and whole.

A slow smile now quirked and warmed his voice, he felt again the steady throb of her, warm against his hip. “I could feel smug, be convinced that it is I that drive you crazy, Éowyn. But I am not sure. Perhaps you are a Maia made of fire after all?”

She laughed and shook her head but could not respond. His mouth came down to hers, hands reached to cup her bottom and pull her swollen, yearning heat against his own. His kisses, once sweet as the small, wild strawberries that burgeoned in the summer sun, now crushed hard against her lips, tongue delving for her own and setting the fire to tingle in her silken skin. They alone could make her wet, could make the sweet heaviness flow across her skin to settle, trembling, in her heated folds.

One callused hand now cupped a breast and the other reveled in the silkiness of her long fair locks as he devoured her breathy sigh. Éowyn wished to be fierce but the heat of the spring and her ministrations had made her feel boneless, lazy as the heated air. In that moment she was content to feel him pour himself, his mouth, his touch, his love and attention over her tingling skin.

“Ahhh.” She inhaled sharply and arched towards him. His hand had descended to hold her hip and his mouth had dipped to suck a nipple. The soft warm tongue licked and laved around the darker pink, so lavishly, with such sharp and pure focus, her shoulders twisted unconsciously. The other nipple was impatient of his attention.

She felt him smile, he gave the other rosy peak its due and then he trailed his tongue lower, along the freckles that spread from the gentle curve of breast to the hollow of her navel. As he mapped her body with tongue and hands, jolts of pure pleasure made her writhe and take yet more ragged breaths.

Her own pink tongue darted out and licked her slightly parted lips. She had to remember to exhale.

Faramir was in no hurry for himself and took his time. The slow, lingering caresses left by his mouth upon the taut curve of her stomach were nearly torture. They made her hips begin to press rhythmically upward, needily, wantonly. Seeking to keep the blessed balm of his lips upon her heated skin.

A fine, strong hand now moved to caress and still her questing hip. It played about the creamy skin in ever widening, slow circles. Lightly. Reverently. Striving with touch alone to unite both sense and soul.

The warm weight of him now slid down to lay his chest athwart her thighs. His hands followed, lifted from her hip to thread the long fingers gently through her golden hands that could wield a sword, be nimble with an arrow’s fletching, respectful with a map or page, were just as gentle with her soft skin and softer folds.

“Má, díere.“ Came the breathy, almost whimper. Her body sang under the music of his touch. She who has been wild and so impatient, stilled and whimpered once again before the onslaught of his mouth, the caress of soft raven hair across her hip and warm breath upon her thighs.

Faramir’s hands snaked up, left their hold upon her trembling thighs to clasp tightly her fingers where they lay upon the strand. Éowyn felt in that moment that his hands might be the only thing that held her close to earth, kept her from floating away with the rapture of his lips.

Suddenly the fire she had tried to resist for half the day flared up, towering and unquenchable. She allowed herself at last to surrender, to let the pure, white hot need course through her, consume her in its heat, and like a fire, rob her of her breath. She panted, hands roved searchingly, longingly over anything she could reach, his arms, his hair, hungry to feel again the shape of him. To assuage the greater need, though she knew it would not satisfy for very long..

Her hips quested upward once again, yearning and blind need all pooled together by the soft sucking of his knowing lips. She sighed as skillful fingers found her folds and lips were replaced by something more substantial. Like a prayer the great emptiness was filled but it was not enough; could only stem the torment for just a moment. She was not full, the empty ache flared around the stroking.

It was, Éowyn found, her turn to plead. “ Please, love, please.” Voice a husky moan, she no longer cared if she had become impatient. She needed him there.

From somewhere above there came a quiet chuckle. “Impatient one.”

The emptiness returned. She whimpered at the sudden lack, but then, at last, felt a welcome weight as Faramir shifted above her.

“Oh Wyn.” His hard hot length slid in as gently as his sigh. She held him fast, enveloped by her wet and warmth, as hungry lips claimed hers. They hung for what seemed an age suspended in the feeling; the fullness, the oneness, the perfect surfeit of completion.

And then he moved.

She gasped. Inch by inch his hardness and his warmth filled the endless void, thrusts slow at first and shallow. They both reveled in the simple feeling of being joined, let the pure and liquid heat flow between them like the spring. He set a gentle rhythm, rocking almost lazily, and all at once the shields were gone, she could hear in his thoughts all of their love and ecstasy reflected back again. Hearts and minds dissolved. She knew not nor did she care if it was her in him or him in her.

With a groan of greater need Éowyn pulled Faramir’s now grinding hips closer, urged him on. The thrusts sped up, their pressure and their fire brought her focus back: he was all hard smooth muscle and she all lustrous warmth. Her own hips tilted and ankles locked, she pulled him deeper and ever harder, strove to temper the raging need. Each time he drove she could not help but gasp. The small needy cries rose and fell as inside both the fire and its fuel combined and devoured bit by bit the emptiness.

“Harder.” she breathed, and so he pressed forward to meet each cry. Between them there was now only warm slick skin and licking flames of need.

Her panting cry became a keen. He knew that change, knew what it meant and soon the pitch of his hips had changed, driving deep and fast and far. His face above was tight, eyes closed, brow furrowed, focused, she knew, upon the feel of her muscles clenched around him. He could not hold much longer.

All at once with a longing, piercing cry, she clung to him, crashed upon his shore, and their heated fire burst, sent blazing rivulets to every toe and fingertip. She crashed and he too must fall, could not resist her sweet and pounding tide. His own long, ragged cry then broke down in helpless gasps and disconnected thrusts as he too came again.

A gentle smile lit the clear grey eyes as Faramir dipped and pressed their two foreheads close together. A sheen of sweat glistened across collarbones and hips and shoulder blades. They both took panting breaths. She felt his heartbeat gallop and start to slow. The smile against her cheek was hers alone again. He laid his head down upon her shoulder, kissed softly at the pulsing hollow next her collarbone.

They lay still for many moments, let the deep, neap tide of peacefulness surround them, wrap its cloak of oneness about two hearts still thudding quietly while world came back again.

Éowyn felt his expected shift of weight and held him still. “Not yet.”

She would not lose this. And so he stilled and they lingered on, molded heart to heart: dark to light, softness to steel, cool reason to temper’s fire.

At last she felt the fullness fade and drain and smiled a secret smile. He had shuddered for so long he would be sore upon the morrow. She wrapped her arms tightly round the broad and muscled back, captured all she could of their warmth and closeness before it too faded with slowing hearts and cooling skin. He felt that moment too and she sighed as strong arms held her tight.

“I love you, min heorte.” The words flowed down through her thoughts to tremble in her heart.

“As I do you, cariad.”

This was what shook him to the very core each time. That all their love could be held, ever growing, safe within that joyous, fleeting feeling. To her, whose feelings were once an early spring held fast by frost, it was it was more simple. What she felt she could no longer keep inside; the oneness, the rightness and belonging were never far from shore.

The waning light of afternoon slid across the dell and sent shafts of green and gold across the forest floor. It was, they knew, time to go. The world without waited and they must rejoin it once again.

Picnic packed, hand in hand, the Prince and his Lady wandered silently through the trees toward the rocky face. Éowyn sighed, it had been a nearly perfect afternoon. She tried as she walked to imprint each detail, every flower and mossy rock upon her memory, uncertain when they would come again.

They came back to the two lengths of rope and Éowyn looked at Faramir for instruction, wondered how they would ascend again. She noted the suddenly wistful expression on his handsome face, a far away look in the clear grey eyes. He was somewhen else, saw something and a time that was not then.

“What? What is it?” She worried for just a moment that some fleeting memory marred his happiness, called him back from to their secret green and golden world within the wild.

Faramir shook his head and broke the spell, reached for her hand, the wide and happy smile shone once more. “No, love. I am just amazed how different a place can feel when inside you that have changed.” He cleared his throat, eyes shining with emotion. “I have been here, surrounded by friends, comrades in arms and felt unutterably lonely. Now I am here with just one person. The spring is private, empty even, yet it feels more full and complete than ever it had before.”

Éowyn nodded, she thought she understood, knew it too, each time she rode the long straight road across the Pelennor. No longer did it feel a field of misery but a welcome link between two halves of their life and home. She reached for his hand. “We will come again, and in time that new feeling will replace the old.”

Faramir nodded and chastely kissed her brow, then turned to wind the ropes once more. Éowyn let out a nervous breath and looked up thoughtfully at the grey decline.

“Faramir, how ever did you get a half a troop of Rangers down this cliff?

“I didn’t.” he answered absently. The clinking of the iron rings and soft slither of the rope rose upon the air.

She turned, startled at the sudden dawning realization.

“A hiking path leads down on the far side of the waterfall.”

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