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Hungry Eyes and a Blade of Steel (NC-17) 
Written by December16 June 2018 | 18315 words | Work in Progress
Chapter 5.
Éowyn had never thought about whether Faramir was made better than other men, having had naught to compare with – and he had given her no reason to wish he was endowed otherwise.
Once the strange novelty of a man’s nakedness had worn off, she had even grown to find a certain degree of aesthetical harmony in the whimsical make of his sex. She forgot how grotesque it had first seemed, and had altogether become so used to it that she could no longer truly see it. The change in its moods never failed to stir the counterpart reaction in her own body, yet she had long since stopped paying attention to the actual way it looked. Much as she had long since let go of the worry as to what met Faramir’s eyes when she opened her legs before his face.
The sight of Aragorn in his natural state, unclothed and fully aroused, was swift to remind her. How sweetly bewildering it could be, to uncover all the private details of a man’s physique that previously were the realm of fantasy alone.
Aragorn’s manhood was not necessarily superior to what she knew as the benchmark – but it certainly was different, and in that difference it was astounding.
For want of evidence to the contrary, Éowyn had assumed that men would be made much alike in the loins, except what she had heard regarding the often regrettable variation in length. People had different noses, eyes, hair – so that other people could tell them apart. The sex, being nothing but a functional thing like a lung or a liver, had no need for the same degree of variety.
Even after sharing her bed with a man for many moons, how little she still knew.
Aragorn was not only gorgeous – he was gorgeous in his own unique way that demanded to be contemplated and appreciated. The lines of his chest, his abdomen, his hip bones, and yes, his cock, they all made so much sense. It was as though it had all been fashioned with the exclusive purpose to match his personality – was that how Illuvatar’s design worked?
She would have fain liked to get a closer look – keen as her sight was, the hearth did only so much to illuminate the room, let alone the sheer distance. Whereas Faramir had that treasure within the reach of his hand, and wasted little time coming to make use of the proximity. While she had been staring at the King’s cock, he opened the bottle, poured the oil into his palm, and now went on to rub it over the exact focus of her fascination. His touch light and loose, the main purpose was apparently not so much bringing pleasure as covering the length in this substance. All the same, the look of his hand, this hand she knew so well, fisting with easy familiarity another man’s cock – Aragorn’s cock… It was enough for blood to rush to Éowyn’s cheeks, and some other places as well, so that her busy fingers felt moisture seep through the thin material of her bloomers.
Faramir may have chosen to appear unaffected, yet surely it was nothing but a game of superficial pretense, for she knew how it took the breath away, each and every time. The joyful trepidation of the relentless intrusion. The dizzy anticipation, despite all the previous experience firmly assuring there would be no harm, no pain. The tangible, burning yearning to accept his might, to open up to it easily, eagerly, to give oneself over. The inebriating power that came with it – power over a tall, willful, fearless man. Power by some strange logic derived precisely from her inborn ability to submit to his dominance, to bestow upon him what he so direly needed.
It had never registered with her that men had their own version of this ability, let alone that they might choose to make use of it – and especially that someone like Faramir would. Even having witnessed him let Aragorn master him earlier, there had been too much going on for her to consider the technical specifics of how the men’s bodies had to fit together. Now with Aragorn’s erection in Faramir’s grasp, things clicked into place and she saw what exactly it was her husband was permitting another man to do to him.
Although permission was hardly where it stopped.
He craved this, invited it. Just to think of it.
Breath hitching, she squeezed her hand with her thighs.
Their way of mating, how sumptuously, unapologetically depraved.
Yet another wave of arousal rolled through her, leaving a lasting residue of ache between her legs.
Not all of it made sense at the moment, but did it need to?
No divine revelation was required to understand why Aragorn would want this. Men liked to fit themselves wherever it felt good for them. Although it had not occurred to her that this particular part of the body could be entered for such purposes, when it came to taking and taming a man like Faramir – a tall and strong man, one of high pedigree and even higher authority – of course it had to be done in such a harsh, pitiless way. Nothing else would suffice.
As for Faramir… How did he manage? How did Faramir, as a man, manage to submit with such complete lack of concern, why would he even want to?
True enough, when spending the night in her bed, he was very accommodating and happy for her to take the initiative when she wished. None of it was of any significance, however, for it never touched the fundamental allocation of roles between him and her. He took, and she gave – what did it matter who was on top of whom.
When both are of the same make, how does it work? Was it because Aragorn was king, because he was older, more experienced? Not that she could easily imagine Aragorn in the reversed role – but then again, she could not have imagined her own husband in it before tonight either, what did she know.
What Faramir held in his hand, what he wanted so much was such a good, sweet thing – could she truly begrudge him this perfectly relatable desire? Would it not be more than a little sanctimonious to scorn him for being subject to her selfsame hunger?
Éowyn slipped her hand into her panties. Down below her fingers were met with a slick, slippery heat and an expectant fullness. Much better than earlier in the night, this she could work with. Briefly, she slid into herself to then spread some of her inner moisture over the upper part of her sex. She would withhold from trying to actually pleasure herself on the inside. Not only would her current position render it uncomfortable to the point of exasperation, what worse, it would only serve to remind her she had to make do with a feeble substitute.
Meanwhile, Faramir had applied two more handfuls of oil, not stopping until Aragorn’s straining member was glossy and wet to the tip, all but dripping. They exchanged a knowing smile and, visibly careful not to smear the coating, Aragorn leant in to cup Faramir on the cheek and give him a quick teasing kiss.
It was then, when he drew away still holding the younger man’s gaze, in this last quiet moment before the ride, that everything went irreparably wrong.
Surely it must be a mistake, a trick of the light, it had no place here. But the serious, meaningful tenderness in their eyes was impossible to deny or misinterpret even from Éowyn’s position.
“O how I love you,” Aragorn said, and shook his head as if in wonder.
Faramir said nothing, for it was clear that nothing needed saying.
He only closed his eyes and leant his face into Aragorn’s palm, and his own hand came up over Aragorn’s and he laced their fingers together. She saw then the strangest expression alight upon her husband’s features – sweetness and peace but also, somehow coexisting, a great longing and great sadness.
She had stood unprepared, her guard down, and it pierced her right through. Unbeknown to herself, Éowyn drew her hand away from her intimate places.
Her king and his steward may have teased each other along the way, may have been rough, and hasty, and facetious, and for a while it had concealed from her the full nature of this connection. She had wanted to know the workings of this passion, why they could not have picked someone else. There was no need to wonder anymore.
It now seemed altogether shameful to be there, watching, intruding on something so intimate. This secret gentleness between two high lords, this trust beyond what even brothers in arms could share – the strange beauty of this unlikely bond made all the starker by its obvious hopelessness.
Except why should this be her problem?
When she had taken risks for hopeless love, what had been her reward?
Éowyn scowled. If this affair was so hard, how about just not have the affair then.
What in the world was wrong with her, see a sparkle of tenderness between two lying bastards and go all soppy at once. Poor Faramir, poor Aragorn. Eorl’s balls. Next thing she would be wishing Faramir had allowed a woman to seduce him instead, that would be by far less taxing on his precious feelings. And this monarch of theirs, it was not enough for him to have an immortal beauty for a wife, he had to come for the finest of the men as well.
Oh, Faramir had trained her well in his ways. Here was her husband, getting for himself the one man who would not have her – and she was standing there getting distracted by pity of all things.
She had meant to entertain herself a little the better to think it through with a clear mind, and ought not to forget that her enjoyment was not the reason the men got together on this stormy night. Let her intrude on their privacy if she had to. They, after all, were showing little remorse for walking all over her life.
No more of this sympathetic nonsense.
When Éowyn looked back with this new resolution, she saw that the tenderness that had unsettled her so, was gone without a trace.
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This is simply fantastic! I really do have a soft sport for Eowyn and you’ve written her wonderfully, I love how she goes from anger to disbelief to curiosity right through to arousal!
— Eora Monday 13 September 2010, 19:35 #This was very hot ;), and beautifully written, and I can’t wait for this to continue (I want to know what happens when Faramir and Aragorn realise they were being watched!)