PWP, with lots of smutaliciousness.  Written for Melinda, who requested a Faramir, Eowyn and Boromir smut story. Don’t go "Ewww" yet—I don’t go in for that kind of brotherly love! All will be het, I promise you. And one more caveat—I don’t write LOTR fanfiction and this is my first foray, so if the characters sound funny, well, I am no Tolkien.

Disclaimer: I didn’t create any of the characters and I don’t own any of them, either. They are owned by the estate of JRR Tolkien, I assume. And I am making absolutely not a penny for writing this.

"He was a masterful man, and one to take what he desired." Gandalf on Boromir, the "Minas Tirith" chapter of The Lord of the Rings.

Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien, gave the spinning whetstone’s paddle one final kick, then laid her sword-blade against it, smoothing out the final notch that marred it.

How she wished her husband was here! But Faramir was three months gone on the road to Harad as an emissary from the King, and the entire last month had passed with no word. Then there had been that freakish storm a few hours ago, which seemed an ill omen.

So Eowyn, ever practical, sharpened her sword just in case. Who knew if she’d have to go out after him?

She was just reaching for a leather strap to put the finishing touches on the gleaming-sharp blade, when her ears picked out the toot of a horn in the distance.

The Horn of Gondor! Or, at least, Faramir’s horn. One long blast, then a short. Her heart leapt with joy. The White Company was simply coming home then, and not in trouble. Eowyn laid the sword on the smithy-bench, picked up her skirts and ran out to greet her husband.

She paid no heed to the spectacular sunset over the hills, but watched the dust and horse-filled road. As the Company came closer, Eowyn picked out her husband’s mount in front, and the man himself riding it. Her first thought was that he looked terrible. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead, and even from where she waited she could see the bruises beneath his eyes and the dust coating that gave his face a grey pallor.

"Ho," Faramir called as Eowyn ran down to the courtyard to grab the head of his horse. Looking up at him at close range, she could see the paleness of his face was not road dust, but exhaustion. He slid off his mount, stumbling as he hit the ground, to greet her.

"Faramir! Where have you been? There was no word of your returning--!" Eowyn blurted out before remembering her manners and nodding at him. "Welcome home, my lord."

Faramir barked a weak laugh, and nodded to her in return before putting his dusty arms around her shoulders. "I am happy to see you as well, my lady," he said, then planted a quick kiss on the eyebrow and released her. "Can someone find us some wine to warm us? We are bitten by cold and rain."

Off behind Eowyn, Beregond, Captain of the Emyn Arnen guards, heard the order and sent servants scurrying to find something alcoholic and fortifying. Eowyn just narrowed her eyes up at her husband. "Did you ride through the storm?"

"Yes," he said. "It was like none I’ve seen. If the Dark Lord still existed in this world, I would have thought he’d sent it."

"Fool," she cursed him, not unkindly, and not without relief. She really was very glad to see him. "Why did you not take shelter?"

"We tried, on the path through the canyon. We paused to take haven in the rocks there, but the horses would not be tied up. They fought and screamed and spooked the men. So we remounted and rode for home. We only cleared the storm a league or two back."

"It passed us only a half-hour ago," Eowyn said. She decided not to interrogate him further. "Go inside. And tell your men to get their wine and find their homes."

"Do not order me about just yet. We need to see to the horses. They have worked harder than we these last two days--"

"Do you think I don’t know how to care for horses? Or that the stablehands don’t know how to do their jobs?"

Faramir stared down at her for a moment, then puffed out a breath and grinned. "You are of course right, my lady. Men! Find your beds. We’ll compare reports tomorrow."

His gaze returned to his wife. "I may not make it to mine," he said to her, for the first time admitting his fatigue. "You may find me on the floor, and you will have to find guards to pick me up and throw me in it, fully dressed." He kissed her forehead once more and moved away up the entry steps.

"Not without a bath," Eowyn said to herself before leading the horses to the stables for brushings-down and warm hay.

***********************

Boromir was back in Ithilien. How, he didn’t know, unless that hellish storm had brought him here. One moment, he’d been camped and sleeping away the storm in a forest near Imladris. The next, he was searching for his horse in an Ithilien that was much changed from the battle-scarred one he’d left. Had the Nameless Enemy sent dark magicks to throw him off his quest?

And why did the people not recognize him and give him the respect he deserved? The last man, the fat farmer, rich by the looks of his dressing gown, had laughed in Boromir’s face from the gate of his farmhold. "Son of the Steward, eh?" he’d said with a cynical eye at Boromir’s fine but travel-stained fur-lined cloak. "You are dressed well, but you are not the Prince Faramir, for I met him myself when I moved here and bought this land two years ago. And you are not the Lord Boromir, for I’ve heard he’s dead. Any fool trying to pass themselves off as such will be dealt swift justice."

"I care not. I am the Lord Boromir, and I am not dead," Boromir had said with his best haughty glare. And there was something about the name the farmer had mentioned… "Who is this…Faramir?"

"Lord Faramir is Prince of Ithilien and governor of these lands, in the name of the King," the farmer had replied. "He was the younger brother of the Boromir that was killed in the war."

"I have no younger brother," Boromir had said, half to himself, as he’d given a mocking bow to the jeering farmer and turned away towards the path. "And Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king." Perhaps this was the reason for the storm, and his quick, unnatural trip of hundreds of miles. To do away with yet another evil plot of the Dark Lord, before he could finally get to Imladris and find out why he needed a broken sword.

Was his father dead, and replaced with the Nameless One himself? With this Faramir as his underling? Boromir’s sword banged reassuringly against his thigh as he walked away. He would find this man, this "Faramir," and he would kill him.

***********************

After seeing to the horses, Eowyn gathered her sword from the smithy and called for a bath to be brought upstairs to the master chambers. She then entered them herself to find her husband had done almost as he had threatened. He had fallen asleep fully clothed, but he had at least made it as far as the bed where he lay facedown with his boots half-hanging over the edge.

Eowyn set the sword and the wine she’d brought next to the bed and watched him for a moment, smiling to herself, before moving forward to grab one of the offending boots to pull it off. "Awake, my lord," she said, jiggling his foot.

A groan emerged from somewhere in the middle of the bed. "If you knew what we had ridden through…" the voice, muffled by the coverlets, drifted back to Eowyn’s ears.

"I know what you have ridden through, because I saw it and I can smell it. You reek of mud and damp horses."

Faramir half-rolled over at that. "I thought you liked the smell of horses," he mumbled at her sleepily.

"Not in bed," she said, and yanked with more force at his boots, finally pulling both of them off. "I have called for a bath and you may sleep there!"

She managed to get him standing and the upper half of his clothing off by the time the servants arrived with the big wooden tub and buckets of steaming water. She also managed not to stare at his naked chest too much while the room was filled with people.

After they left, she mostly managed to get his pants off without getting too very warm at the sight of the rest of his naked body. The gleaming, tanned skin of his back with little, pale scars, the lightly-haired thighs all muscled from hours on horseback--

Eowyn shook herself and pointed his somnolent form toward the bath. How pathetic was she? It had only been three months since she’d seen him. Three long months, all alone in their big bed—she cut off her thoughts and returned to the job at hand. Which was ogling her husband as she practically heaved him into the steaming water.

The tub was big, and the water reached almost to the top of his shoulders as closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wooden edge. She rose to fetch him the wine, which he barely sipped before setting it beside him on the water-spattered stone floor. Eowyn could tell he was tired because he’d hardly said a word to her. Usually when they were apart for more than a few days, he greeted their reunion with non-stop chatter and news, until finally dragging her off to bed.

She’d have to bathe him, then, a chore she found not too onerous. She hefted him forward with one hand on his shoulder, and with the other, she grabbed the bar of soap brought by the servants. She dunked it behind him in the steaming water, and then slid it over his dropleted back.

She heard Faramir breathe a quiet sigh as she slid her fingers over his bath-warmed skin, and she could nearly feel the tense muscles of his back unwind at her gentle touch. Suds ran in rivulets down his shoulders to drip in the water and release their fresh, herbal scent.

"That smells nice," he mumbled.

"Yes. I made it myself."

And she had, with herbs from her own garden, which she’d found time to grow and harvest in between her daily rounds of sword practice.

"It smells like you," he continued. "How I have missed it."

"Mmm," she said, reaching up to run her slick, sudsy hands through his hair. It had grown longer during his weeks on the road, and now reached below his shoulders. She gathered it up and massaged his scalp, hearing him give a happy moan as she rubbed behind his ears.

And how I have missed you, she thought, and found she was beginning to feel warm, and it wasn’t from the steamy water. Heat swelled in her chest and seeped its way downward through her limbs. Rather than suppress the desire, she let it flow, let it fill her with a peaceful languor. She was fortunate in her loving husband, and fortunate to have him alive, home and safe, solid and warm against her.

"Lay back," she said, and when he complied, she encircled him with her arms to hold him close, and lay her cheek on his wet shoulder. Her fingers traced light circles across his chest, remembering and memorizing every hair, every contour of his water-slicked skin.

Faramir’s light breathing in her hair half-lulled her to sleep. She languidly traced a delicate path down his breastbone, to curl lightly in the scattering of hairs across his stomach. She delighted in the almost ridiculous softness of her husband’s belly, when juxtaposed against the hard muscularity of the rest of him. She let her thumb explore the tender skin in the valley between one hipbone and abdomen, then across to the other, enjoying the flutter of muscles that played almost imperceptibly beneath her palm.

Lost in this exploration of masculine skin, Eowyn’s fingers continued their journey ever downwards, through the thatch of soft hair at the base of his abdomen, to curl around the shaft that nestled there

Both his slight gasp and the growing hardness she discovered alerted Eowyn that her husband was not as asleep as she had thought. She looked up to find his grey eyes open and gazing at her with frank interest and desire.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered, voice hoarse but with an unmistakable air of purely male smugness.

"You!" she said, and half-indignant, half-aroused, tightened her grip on the still-soapy hair at his neck and shoved, dunking his head between his legs.

When she released him, Faramir came up sputtering and turned to glare at her. His effort was spoiled by water dripping from his hair into his eyes, causing him to blink.

He looked pathetic. He looked wonderful. "Yes, I did," Eowyn said, then launched herself at him, half-over the tub and arms wrapped tight around him, to give him a kiss that would leave no doubt of her desire. His lips were dripping with water and soap, but the heat of his breath in her mouth drove away all other thoughts.

She slid the tip of her tongue over his bottom teeth, savoring the familiar taste of his mouth, and the breath hinted with wine. Dimly she felt his wet hands creep up her shoulders to loosen the braid coiled there. Soon her hair fell about her shoulders, dangling the ends in the water, but Eowyn paid no heed. She concentrated on him, his nearness, and the feel of his rough beard and slippery cheekbones beneath her palm.

She had nearly decided to climb into the tub fully-dressed just to get closer to him, when Faramir stood, dragging her up with him, still kissing her. He’d obviously had the same idea, because he hauled her against his naked body so tight that she could feel the hairs of his chest teasing her nipples through her wet gown. The hardness of his arousal pressed against her belly, and she squirmed against him, aching for more intimate contact.

She felt her husband’s hand slide up the side of her ribcage, its warmth creating a heated path to her collarbone. There, he skimmed is fingers beneath the wet fabric of her décolletage, teasing the hollow of her collarbone and brushing the swell of her breast with his callused fingertips.

Eowyn half-turned in anticipation, pulling her lips from his to nibble the hollow of his stubbled throat, eager to feel the warm skin of his callused palm against her breast.

Instead, he released her completely. She opened her eyes and released an "ah!" of protest. With an unrepentant grin he grabbed her around the thighs and shoulders to hoist her in his arms. Then, with a burst of strength she hadn’t known he still possessed, he turned and flung her halfway across the room onto the bed, where she bounced for a moment or two, stunned.

Her slight indignance bubbled into amusement hen she heard the tired "whoof" of exhaustion he released as he rested his hands for a moment on his bare hips. That effort had cost him, she thought.

"Now I supposed you’ve tired yourself," she said, raising herself on her arms to both glare at and admire him.

"Not in the slightest," he replied in a whisper, his grey eyes making promises.

"Good."

Eowyn flung out her arms and legs to burrow into the soft covers of the bed, waiting to be ravished. Within bare moments that seemed much too long, he fell on top of her, pressing her into the covers. After a quick kiss his warm lips traveled down her throat to her bosom. He fastened his mouth on one breast, breathing hotly against it, tongue pressing against the hard nipple through the wet fabric of her gown.

Eowyn moaned an "ah!" of pure lust and entwined her fingers in his wet hair, encouraging these attentions. Each breath, each movement of his tongue against her sent harsh chills of desire swirling through her nerves to pool in her abdomen.

As if reading her mind, Faramir groped his hand up the outside of her raised thigh, slithering under the cloth to press against her belly. She felt his slight cough of amusement against her breast as he discovered her lack of undergarments.

"‘Twas a warm day," she managed to mumble without breath.

"Mmmm," he mumbled in reply, lips snaking across her ribs to fix on her other breast, and she arched her back against him, seeking more. His fingers splayed on her belly, gripping her skin, and his thumb pushed downwards across the mound at her abdomen, at last brushing against the hard and swollen apex.

Her hips snapped upwards of their own control at the contact. As his thumb slowly circled it once, then twice, she moaned, feeling waves of pleasure so intense they were almost painful.

Somewhere in her haze of lust she felt his mouth leave her breast as he pushed his head upwards to lay it beside hers, never once ceasing the tormenting movement of his hand. "Eowyn, my love," he whispered, hot breath in her ear, and it was a plaintive question.

She had no voice to reply, but shifted her own hands from his head to tear at the wet hem of her dress, to pull the barrier from between them. As the bare, warm skin of his belly finally met hers, another ache of desire pierced her like a jolt. Breath coming in gasps, she slid her ankles up the backs of his thighs to curl over his buttocks and push him hard against her. She could feel the rigid tip of his shaft pressed against the entrance of her womb, just below where his brutal thumb continued to wreak havoc with her senses. Each touch was an agony. She could hardly bear it, if he would not--

With a grunt he pushed himself above her with one hand , then propelled his length inside, filling her at last, stretching her until she felt she could encompass the world. Breathing raggedly, he drew his shaft out slickly, only to drive in again, finding the familiar rhythm of their lovemaking.

Eyes closed, Eowyn arched her back and let her head slide against the coverlet with the movement of their coupling. She spun off into a night where there was only his rod moving slickly inside her and his thumb, still torturing her with its unrelenting demand of her passion. Dimly she heard him whispering ragged words of love while a fierce languor spread throughout her. She was sinking into the soft bed, taking him with her.

Just when each contact of flesh bordered on the edge between ecstasy and pain, her climax burst from her womb, the muscles inside gripping and releasing him as he buried himself over and over. She jolted awake from her cocoon of passion, to see and hear Faramir cry out his own release with one final thrust. He fell against her and she buried her face in the hollow of his throat, tasting the sweat that trickled down to salt her lips. A hot wetness seeped through her abdomen where his seed pooled inside her.

Eowyn let him lay against her for a few minutes while their breathing stilled. When she heard him emit what sounded suspiciously like a snore, she reached up to jiggle his shoulders. "Faramir! Awake!" she said.

Her husband mumbled an incoherent endearment, and Eowyn snorted and pushed him off her to the side. He awakened momentarily to wrap his free arm around her, then stilled once more. She waited for a few more moments to see if he was awake or asleep, but his even, deep breathing gave her the answer.

Eowyn stared at the ceiling, not knowing whether to be angry or pleased that she’d worn him out so completely. Finally she half-stifled a female giggle of satisfaction, and burrowed further into his sweaty frame to find her rest as well. She was content and happy with his presence in their bed, and with the valiant efforts he’d already put forth for her.

She had just closed her eyes to drift off when the bedroom door crashed open with great force.