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 3

“My own?” Éowyn turned a slow circle, marvelling at the colours and scent and sound of the hidden glade about her. Tiers of pink-gold travertine sparkled in the dappled sun. Glossy green and silver ferns waved gently; the force of the fall’s pounding spray made them dance, arrayed by tiny rainbows where the sunlight caught a thousand spinning drops. The air against her skin was soft and warm and so heavy with promise it almost felt alive. Wrapped in its green and humid embrace, the descent and its nervous moments seemed but a little thing in return for such a gift.

Faramir’s hands came to rest upon her shoulders; they stopped her twirl and with a sigh she nestled back against his chest. An arm snaked around her waist to hold her hip; a dark head bent to rest against her hair. For a moment, they stood together, mesmerized by the pounding of the falls. When he spoke again, Faramir’s voice was quiet, pitched for the just the world they two enclosed.

“Yes love, yours. This lies within the ancient bounds of the Húrin lands. My father bequeathed these woods and hills to me long ago, and now I have ceded half of them to you.”

“Truly?” Surprised, she turned within the circle of his arms. Hers alone? Did he understand how much that meant to her, having grown up in the loving charity of her Uncle’s house? In dread always of becoming a pawn to the politics of marriage?

She searched his face. Oh yes, he understood. How could he not? Faramir, she realized knew better than most the importance of being treated equally, he who had always been second best, deprived of his father’s fair regard.

“Truly.” Fine, long fingers tightened gently on her hip for emphasis. “This is our home; a new home for both of us. We will steward its lands together, equal partners in all things in practice and in law.”

A gentle kiss was pressed upon her lips, to seal with touch the promise Faramir had signed into law that very morning. Éowyn found her heart so full she could not speak, her tongue behind her tingling lips was yet tied in knots. A low chuckle filled the expectant quiet.

“It is not often that with words alone that I can render my feisty shieldmaiden speechless. You may now do with these lands as you see fit my Lady, although I very much hope you will let your Prince pass about them unhindered. I would hate to not visit here as often as I can.”

She matched his teasing smile. “On one condition.”

A black eyebrow raised in query. “Which is?”

“You teach me the trails and trackways and refuges so that I too may find my way about as well as you. I want to know how to find this spot again, to know these lands and all they hold.” The thought thrilled her, to ride freely about their lands, knowing their shape, their denizens and seasons. To know the land in her very blood. Aldburg had been so, but never Edoras.

A delighted grin greeted her fiercely earnest plea. “That is little enough to ask, my love. It would be well to share its knowledge much more widely. At the moment only myself and Mablung and maybe Damrod could find this spring.”

“They could? They have been here?”

A fleeting shadow darkened the pale grey depths. Madril. Madril could find it too, but he is gone. Almost she spoke of it. Watched with relief as the pain faded quickly, replaced by the happier memory of long ago.

“Yes, the last time I was here twenty sore and weary rangers were soaking their aches and pains within the pool.” His mouth quirked; black locks brushed her cheek, he shook his head wryly at the thought. “It was not nearly so peaceful, nor were they so very lovely.”

Now it was Éowyn’s turn to laugh. She pictured tired, dirty, rumpled rangers climbing down the cliff and spreading through the glade. No, it would not have been quiet and surely they would have been a rowdy lot, freed for a blissful few hours from their dangerous patrols.

“But they deserved the respite and I am sure they were very thankful to you for it.” She reached up, brushed a stray lock from off his cheek. “As am I.”

“You are welcome, min heorte.” This time the kiss he claimed was lingering, tasting faintly sweet; of apples and sun and morning dew. Éowyn found that her arms of their own volition had reached up, pulled his dark head urgently down and their tongues had swept together. A long breathless minute swirled away before Faramir sighed and broke the contact to speak again.

His gaze has strayed longingly towards the falls. “What say you my Lady? Shall we have a soak and then investigate Eilin’s picnic basket? The hand upon her hip caressed gently, insistently, tracing slow and languorous circles. The rough leather of her jerkin could not blur its message: what might happen should they found themselves upon the strand.

“I am hungry, but I think if I settled down beside you on a blanket I might not make it to the pool.”

“Hungry? What for, my Lord? Must I compete with Eilin’s honeycakes?”

The fine, long fingers ceased their circling to roughly pull her close. She felt his rising heat, twin to the flush upon her cheeks, stronger than the torrid air.

“You.” The hoarseness in his voice set her shivering. “If you keep tempting me Éowyn, I may well exact a punishment of my own. Then you will know just how very patient I can be, how very persuasive can be my tongue.” Grey eyes glimmered in the misty air.

“Is that a promise or a threat?” The creamy skin in the hollow of his throat was flushed. Pressed thus together, she could smell the salt of his sweat and a dusky maleness that was all his own.

“Both! But after we have a swim!” Black brows strove to meet across the furrow of his brow. His mouth was set. Éowyn knew that look: her husband fixated on something he simply had to do. She saw it when a new book arrived from Minas Tirith or some point of law sent him hunting in the archives. Now he must test the spring and nothing could move him from it.

Surrender, it seemed, was inevitable, but that did not mean she should throw all caution to the wind. “Is the water deep?” she asked, pleased to find her voice steady and not too high.

“No, chest deep is all. You will be fine.” With an encouraging nod, Faramir started towards the water’s edge, looked back, clearly hoping he had been followed. At the water’s edge he crouched down and ran a palm across the softly steaming surface; the ripples he made lapped against the coloured rime, joined the wavelets from the foaming cataract. His smile was so full of happy anticipation that for a moment she saw the wide-eyed, tousle-haired little boy Nera had described.

She followed the prints his footsteps had made in the damp green moss, but stopped a prudent few feet farther from the lip. Quickly she unlaced her clothes, hoped courage for the plunge could be found in speed. One by one she pulled off her jerkin and lighter blouse, folded them neatly and placed them flat upon a rock. Breeches, boots and smallclothes were next, until soon she was standing naked in the warm moist air. It felt soft against her skin, even sensual, and she revelled in the feeling. Almost, for a moment, she forgot her nerves.

Éowyn glanced over to find that her husband had not bothered to fold his clothes; the old worn jerkin now lay in a jumbled heap right beside the water. Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to comment, watched his shirt and belt fly haphazardly to join the pile “Faramir!”

He straightened, and suddenly she could no more have formed a sentence than fly herself.

The sight that greeted her was so familiar and yet no less enticing for it: broad shoulders wrapped in lithe and supple muscle, a drift of soft dark hair across his arms and chest, skin as smooth and fine as the morning’s cream and just as pale. This early in the season he was not yet tanned, the puckered mark of the Haradrim’s dart stood out red and mottled upon his chest. Other battle scars lay as raised white seams, the expected imperfections, the common map of twenty years of soldiering.

Faramir bent down once again to untie his boots and the muscles rippled across his naked back. She had to bite her lip. The heat of his exertion still lingered, it made her dizzy to imagine running her hands over the warm, hard ridges of his upper arms, across his chest and down the taut plane of his lower belly.

He sensed her longing gaze and looked up; smile curving slowly along his lips, half hidden by the black curtain of his hair. This was not the wry half-smile that the rest of Gondor knew as Faramir’s. That was his work-a-day smile, the one taken out on all occasions. This was the wide and warm, almost giddy grin that was hers and hers alone: the one that she would see when he made some private jest between them or would feel against her thigh as she lay shuddering from his tongue and had cried his name to the stars.

His voice brushed lightly on her thoughts, an eyebrow raised. “Am I undressing too slowly, oh impatient one?”

She flushed with the rising heat that even this smile could raise. “Oh no.” was all the thought she could put together in that moment.

He saw and the brilliant smile only widened. It amused her husband greatly that his blushing bride could not get her fill enough of seeing him unclothed.

Once more her gaze transfixed upon the very core of him. Slowly and quite deliberately he hooked his thumbs within his waistband; breeches and braies slid down athwart his hips, dark hair and soft pink skin exposed. The last of Faramir’s clothes landed in a heap.

The defiant teasing grin quickly softened as he, in turn, drank in the sight of her; golden amid the silver-white rising mist. Clear grey eyes widened to dark avid pools; only the barest sliver of grey still visible.

She flushed. Éowyn had yet to get used to being fully naked in the daylight. In truth, until her marriage, she had never given much thought to her own self. She would have said that she was rather flat, strong yes, too tall, even a little boyish. Faramir, she knew, would say that she was perfect; slender and strong and elegant, that her body’s beauty need not be showy for it could not compete with the glorious crown of her golden hair.

The sunlight that dappled through the trees played across her milky skin, cast little shadows that made duskier her gentle curves. She followed his roving gaze and flushed all the more. The sun had highlighted the constellations of little freckles that he delighted in mapping with his mouth. Wide eyes traced one curving band across her hip, lips parted in mute anticipation.

A flame of longing and desire crackled into life; she saw it flicker red-gold and pure within his eyes, felt it kindle in her core, ready to flare madly at his slightest touch.

Suddenly, she craved that touch, craved Faramir so intensely it startled her. How much she wanted him; how quickly again the craving rose again once slaked.

Standing rapt, her body singing like a harp within the wind, Éowyn wondered yet again how they two were so perfectly attuned in this. She had a temper and was admittedly impatient. He was precise until it made her want to scream and oh bema he was messy. They were both stubborn. But these were little indeed next to the bedrock of their love, the music they made together. Faramir had simply smiled and held her tighter when she wonderingly mentioned it late one night. For him, to come undone together, to be so vulnerable and in such need, was the purest reflection of their love.

Pulled inexorably by her longing, Éowyn reached to take his hand, sought again the warmth and softness of his mouth. Faramir smiled into her kiss. His hands quickly grasped hers, defending the territory they would have traversed. He shook his head, eyes shining, voice husky with ragged need. ”Love, I dare not, else we will never reach the water!”

It was the most natural thing in Faramir’s world to swim. He and Boromir had played for hours so when they were young, both at the sea and in the great river. To the Prince of Ithilien, steeped in the knowledge of its many waterfalls, creeks and pools, every body of water, however cool or deep or fast, was something to be explored.

He did not hesitate; lept and dove, disappeared under the steaming, blue-green water all at once. Éowyn held her breath, counting frantically in her head, relieved to find how quickly he resurfaced. Faramir shook his head to clear his eyes, the slick raven hair whipped and clung wetly to a cheek. With a whoop and a splash he had flipped once more, stood up and shook again. He looked, she thought, just like a river otter.

The Lady of Ithilien, by contrast, stood unmoving, upright at the water’s edge, a marble statue gilt by the shafts of sun and covered by nervous gooseflesh. The water lapped gently against a clear patch of dark stone before her. Her toes were almost in the water.

Her husband was not fooled.

Faramir had already discovered that his lady of the plains was more than simply hesitant when faced with deeper water: she was terrified. In her experience one waded quickly in the shallow, icy Sherbourne, one didn’t play in it. And although Éomer had assured him their father gave them lessons, they did not take. She does not know how to swim.

He did not laugh but reached out a hand, wondering how best to coax his nervous filly.

”There is no current ‘Wyn. It is perfectly safe and not deep at all. Come in. It is lovely and warm.” He stood straight up to show the water came only to his ribs; expression hopeful, but not yet insistent. It would not do to push too hard quite yet.

“Are there any fish?” she asked, eying warily the breadth of the pool. She, the valiant shieldmaiden who killed the Witch King, was, in truth, petrified at the thought. Wading in the Anduin had been an act of will. Only experience had proved its inhabitants had little interest in touching her.

A teasing glint flashed in the grey eyes half hidden by the stream. “No, no little fishes here to nibble at your toes.”

It was, of course, the wrong thing to have said: the very thought made her toes curl. Quickly, she stepped farther back. Her expression, entirely distrustful, spoke volumes about her experience with the lauded honesty of Gondor’s noble Steward.

“What is on the bottom?”

“Just sand. I promise.”

Her mutinous expression showed more encouragement would be required. Faramir waded through the mist, reached out and stroked his palm along her calf. The touch was feather light, gentle and caressing. His skin, super-heated by the water, felt like a brand upon her leg.

“Come down and I will hold you.” His gentle voice was heavy with things unsaid. Hold. A knowing smile graced his bow-shaped mouth. Hold and keep and cherish in all the ways that made her body sing.

That body, as usual, betrayed her. A tendril of purest need snaked up her leg to settle in her belly. Oh he was not playing fair. How could she resist a promise such as that?

Surely this was easier than Anduin, it was shallow and warm, no pools and eddies to worry on. Really, it was just like a giant bathtub. Éowyn took a deep breath, clenched her fingers and mentally shredded her reservations to little pieces. She let out a long slow breath and at last stepped down, met the surprisingly warm, rough sand of the hidden bottom.

Faramir now beckoned with both hands from the middle of the pool, careful not to disturb the surface too very much. She took a step and thrilled to feel the pure joy of the warm, soft slide of the blue-green water against her skin.

It was truly lovely, but there was still the issue of the unseen bottom. She moved toward him, wading with all the exquisite care of someone walking around dung in a horse paddock.

Faramir schooled his face to stillness with utmost care, moved a little closer with each step she took. “That’s it love, keep coming, you are almost at the deepest part.”

All went well. She moved slowly across the yielding sand; felt a tickle of little bubbles upon her feet as each step disturbed the layer underneath. The water played across her hips, then her belly and finally her breasts as the pool deepened toward the waterfall. Between the thunder of its spray and darker green about its base, she thought she would go no farther than Faramir.

Emboldened by the placid surface, relaxed by the water’s warmth, she took a longer step, placed her heel upon the one loose stone underneath. Unhelpfully, it jostled.

With a shriek of surprise she threw herself bodily at her husband. Faramir caught her quickly in his embrace; her legs wound tightly at his hips, her arms clasped desperately around his neck.

“What was that?” Éowyn gasped, when she could speak again.

“Just a rock.” he explained; strove to soothe her with caresses along her back. One hand tried to gently loosen the death grip that clutched his neck. “Min heorte, much as I love to feel you near, I cannot breathe.”

Chagrined, she relaxed her arms just a little but did not let go. Like a limpet upon a rock beside the sea, she draped upon him, moulded and pressed so close not even the water could slide past.

“Ok now?”

She nodded sheepishly. It was comforting to feel his lips move against her hair, feel his heart beat steadily against her chest. “It surprised me a little is all.”

“A little?” Smiling, he held her close and sank deeper into the water. As they drifted slowly across the pool the water warmed, the steam became a fog, blurring the pink and green to hazy shadows.

Faramir stopped just short of the foaming curtain and turned them both about in a slow and languid circle. Gradually, relaxed by the heat and the safety of his arms, Éowyn eased her grip still more. Her hips shifted a little lower. She brushed against his hard and velvet length, pressed against the taut plane of his lower belly.

She smiled. It appeared he was quite happy to have her close.

A sigh huffed against her neck. A nose nestled in her hair where the wild lunge had loosened the braids and bun. “I am not complaining, love.”

This close to the boiling churn of the waterfall, cascades of little bubbles rose up steadily from bottom of the pool, massaging her skin gently, tickling her back and buttocks, even as his lips nuzzled the ticklish hollow at the bottom of her throat. She wriggled her hips, delighting in the frizz of bubbles across her skin.

Faramir groaned. Her motion obviously had had rather an effect. The ardour of his lips and tongue intensified. She was lost in the sensation of strong arms across her back, strong hands that cupped her pert, smooth bottom. The liquid, blue-green and warm blanket lapped her tingling nipples, sent shivers to her very core. “’Wyn.” His voice was rough with longing, drowned almost by the thudding sheets of water right behind.

One hand released a buttock to pull fervently at her braids, fingers threaded through her hair, loosed the waving tendrils to float free upon the water. His palm reached up to hold her head, pressed her closer and held her fast, while his lips left a trail of fierce, demanding kisses along her throat and hair. She was caught, suspended in two bubbling pools, one blue-green; one dark and swirling with desire.

Faramir’s mouth at last claimed hers, hard and wild, devouring her and giving little quarter. Small moans of pure delight escaped her lips, as the fierceness of his need sent a cascade of tingling, yearning fire to settle in her belly. She wanted him, needed his beating, pulsing warmth to fill her, now.

She shifted her hips yet again, seeking blindly the smooth, hard length that bumped against her core, desperate to envelop him, capture and enclose him in her aching need.

The sudden shift took Faramir by surprise; he had been so lost in the moist, hot cavern of her mouth he was aware only of her, oblivious to the surface underneath. All at once a rush of bubbles signalled the shift of the sand. Not expecting the surface to move in any way, he lunged right, trying to regain his footing. It was too late. With splash and great whoosh of steam they were swallowed by the surface of the pool.

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