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Hungry Eyes and a Blade of Steel (NC-17) 
Written by December16 June 2018 | 18315 words | Work in Progress
Chapter 6.
Curiosity hitched anew her intimidated arousal, and Éowyn smiled. As she narrowed her eyes studying the unfamiliar disposition, her left hand slowly resumed its playful quest.
Faramir had shifted to the edge of the bed where he now lay on his side with knees bent, so that his thighs were on the mattress while his shins hung off. This position made his hind quarters perfectly accessible to Aragorn who stood before him on the floor, but Faramir seemed as though oblivious of his precarious state.
For a long moment the King remained straight and still, only gazing down upon his lover, as though to preserve the image in his mind. Éowyn may have grown used to the sight of Faramir in his nakedness, but for Aragorn it may have been otherwise – the men’s official schedule could not have possibly allowed them much time alone. Or else he was simply enjoying the anticipation game, which Éowyn, much to Faramir’s gentle amusement, had never quite mastered.
She thus had an undisturbed sideways view of Aragorn, complete with his desire proudly rising forth from his tough lean body. His expression stern and keen, he looked raw and unpolished, regal in some ancient, undistilled way, more like a chieftain of a proud war-like tribe than a magnanimous Elven-raised monarch. He stood unguarded in his unchecked ruthless nature, and this was exactly how she always preferred him in her thought, as the Dúnedain Ranger, the lone weathered warrior she had once known.
How strangely his energy counterpointed with Faramir’s. The Steward was made of much the same dough as his king, yet the obvious might and agility of Faramir’s stalwart physique only underscored the surrender of his pose, the curve of his pale backside so invitingly vulnerable, his seeming serenity so unwary in the face of the upcoming onslaught.
Between two men, or at least these two men, it was somehow different. Grit did not contradict pliancy, nor did similarity of make prevent a power-play. Which was fruitful soil for her fantasy, but perhaps too fruitful, as it was proving difficult to not look too deep into it, which could in turn be distracting. She should simply watch, as one does a foreign marvel. Let it speak to her on a more basal level, as one can be moved by a song without knowing the language.
Her own sensations were what ought to concern her the most. As to which, after the unplanned little break her intimate places responded to touch with doubled hunger. This provided little reassurance, for without the customary tools to quench it, and having never before embarked upon this task single-handedly, she was not fully certain how long it would take her in this limited manner.
Aragorn, unlike herself with double the tools at his disposal, clearly saw no need to over-exert himself. He slowly, as though unaware of himself, only raised his hand and gave his manhood a light unhurried stroke.
Éowyn could not see Faramir’s face, but he must have been watching intently, for at this he laughed.
“What’s keeping you, my lord?” His voice was like velvet – and he arched his back, as one basking in lazy dalliance after an undisturbed sleep, or a cat lying stretched out in a spot of sunlight. “Do come and claim your own. I may swear I shan’t lie idle.”
“I would indeed be surprised if you did,” Aragorn replied in like manner, but his eyes remained hard and unwavering. Nor did he hurry to fulfil Faramir’s request, and instead only brushed another stroke over his length. It was clear he was testing his own patience, for the muscles in his legs and buttocks visibly tensed in response to his own touch – but Aragorn, apparently, preferred to wait for the good things.
When Faramir spoke, she could tell he was grinning. “Ever so modest – always have to be asked twice.”
“You know that is not the point,” Aragorn replied with another stroke.
“Indeed. Ah, and why did I even bother oiling you up? For I see you are going to rub all of it off yourself.”
“Certainly not all of it.”
“Perhaps I should help then,” the seriousness in Faramir’s tone was threatening to burst at the seams. Without changing his pose, he only stretched out his top leg and with the sole of his foot ran a light caress over Aragorn’s hip and partway down his thigh.
Leaning into the touch Aragorn sighed, his eyelids lowering. Then the King’s lips parted and a lightest of shivers ran through him as with the next stroke Faramir brushed the man’s cock with the inner side of his foot.
“Faramir.”
“Yes?”
“You are asking for trouble.”
“Oh. Am I?”
Aragorn made a vague sound in the back of his throat as the move was repeated with greater pressure.
“You remember how this ended last time.”
“I could not sit down for three days – yes, I remember.”
“A week.”
“You flatter yourself. But regardless – I found it quite worth it.”
“Did you, now?”
“Most certainly.” Without breaking contact with the King’s manhood, Faramir turned onto his back and stretched out his other leg, his own erection thus coming into view as well. Éowyn could not see his face for the way he kept his arms bent, but she knew his expression spoke outright mischief as he caught Aragorn’s cock between the arches of his feet.
Aragorn tilted his head back, his fingers curling into his palm as Faramir slowly moved back and forth over him. The older man began to rock in rhythm with him, obviously trying to bring in contact with Faramir’s skin not only the sides, but the more sensitive underneath of his manhood. But each time Faramir swiftly avoided it, readjusting his hold if only a little.
Aragorn’s hand twitched, then twitched again – and suddenly he grasped Faramir by the ankle. The younger man snorted and pulled away.
“Oh no. Are you forgetting? No touching.”
“That’s a stupid rule.”
“Well, otherwise it wouldn’t be fun,” Faramir reasoned, with his toes painting a thoughtful line down the King’s hip.
“It would – for me.”
“That may be – but you are not the only one here.”
Aragorn shook his head. “Ah, the things I let you get away with. Were you not such a good lay, I would have long since had you flogged for all your impudence, I swear.”
“Promises, promises.” Faramir tilted his foot sideways, carefully massaging Aragorn’s balls with his heel. “Although, hm, perhaps you should, for sometimes it feels you’ve cockered all shame out of me.”
This time it was Aragorn who snorted. “Not that you had that much to begin with.”
To this Faramir only hummed noncommittally, then said, “Oh, but look – just like I said, the oil is all but gone.”
“If you are so worried, why don’t we slicken you up instead?”
Aragorn then knelt before the bed. Gripping Faramir by the thighs, he pushed the younger man’s knees up to his chest, which Faramir met with yet another delighted laugh. How much he laughed in bed with Aragorn – she could not remember him displaying all this mirth when lying with her. The laugh, however, changed into a strangled moan midway through, for Aragorn –
Éowyn stared.
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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!)