Chapter Text
“It takes great courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it. And even more courage to see it in the one you love.”
- Oscar Wilde, An Ideal Husband
“Come with me,” Éomer commanded, taking Faramir by the wrist and pulling him along the corridors. “I have plans for us.”
“There are still several petitioners,” Faramir pointed out. “Some of them travelled for days to be heard.”
“And they will have suitable accommodations for the night,” Éomer replied dismissively. “Besides, do you really think my reasoning would be just and fair when I could be ravishing my husband instead? Tonight I will be no-one’s king. I will be your husband.”
He stopped briefly to meet Faramir’s gaze and make sure that his words had their intended effect, satisfied when the furrow between Faramir’s eyebrows smoothed and his cheeks heated.
“This is not the way to our quarters, though,” Faramir said a few minutes later.
“Well, I mentioned that I had a plan, did I not?” Éomer said, grinning over his shoulder. “As it is, the first step to seducing your husband is to get him naked. And where better to do that than in the bathhouse?”
“The bathhouse?” Faramir questioned and Éomer was surprised when he stopped abruptly. “Éomer... I do not... I mean I would rather be alone with you.”
“Faramir.” Éomer gently caught Faramir’s face between his hands. “I had them close the baths for tonight. I promise we will have our privacy, but if you would prefer the familiarity of our quarters, I can work with that as well.”
“I am sorry, I did not mean to doubt you,” Faramir said with a soft sigh. “And I would like to go to the baths.”
“Thank you.” Éomer stole a quick kiss and offered Faramir his hand. “And thank you for telling me about your concerns.”
When they reached the bathhouse Faramir looked around curiously and Éomer wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he hadn’t been here before. Even now, with no-one there but Éomer, he seemed self-conscious and ready to retreat.
“The pools all have different temperatures,” Éomer explained as he lighted a few extra candles around the smallest pool. “And that last one is quite deep, but I thought we could try this one first. It is the warmest.”
Faramir nodded, but ducked his head when Éomer turned back to face him.
“What are you worried about, Faramir?” Éomer said, carefully approaching his young husband.
“It is just different than I expected,” Faramir answered. “Though I am not quite sure what I expected.”
Éomer could infer what Faramir had expected from the tension in his body, the way he had shied away from Éomer’s touch and startled when he was addressed the whole day. But he didn’t want to dwell on it and clearly Faramir was ready to move on as well as he began to undo his breaches and toed of his boots. Éomer quickly followed his example, not wanting Faramir to feel at a disadvantage, and had shed all of his clothes by the time Faramir was hesitantly peeling down his breaches.
“Do you need some help with your shirt?” Éomer asked, noticing that as always Faramir had left it for last.
“Why would I need help with that?” Faramir asked, his confusion momentarily overriding his embarrassment. “Do you not want me to take it off?”
“Of course I want you to take it off,” Éomer answered, stepping closer. “But you always left it on before – I thought your shoulder was still troubling you so I never pressed the issue.”
“My shoulder healed well, considering. I assumed you did not wish to look at the scar. You said you liked me with my shirt on.” Faramir pulled his shirt over his head, folding it into a neat square as he awaited Éomer’s judgement.
As he allowed his gaze to travel over Faramir’s exposed form, Éomer chided himself for never taking the time to admire his lover before. The clear, hard lines Faramir tended to hide beneath layers of clothing were now revealed, muscles sculpted by a hard life and harder training, accentuating his broad shoulders and his trim waist. Éomer could see the warrior in his posture, the pride of someone who would rather break than bend. But his eyes were vulnerable and his fair skin and cinnamon hair lent him an unexpected softness. And there was the scar. Contrary to what Faramir had said, his injury had not healed easily. The wound must have got infected and had left a mess of gnarled and puckered skin that still looked painful.
“You are perfect and you have nothing to be ashamed of,” Éomer pronounced, sliding one hand around Faramir’s waist, the other lightly tracing over his shoulder. “You survived this and so much more. Never apologise for that. Never.”
“It looks like we both assumed things about each other,” Faramir said with a timid smile. “A lot of things.”
“We will do better in future,” Éomer promised, leading Faramir to the pool and offering a stabilising hand for him to climb in. “We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other and correct any misconceptions.”
“I do like the sound of that,” Faramir admitted shyly, scooting further along the bench as Éomer followed him into the water. “This is amazing. How can it be so warm?”
Éomer indulged Faramir’s curiosity with a gentle smile, telling him about the water system and the warm spring that fed the bathhouse. He felt Faramir’s tension ease with every titbit of information until his young husband was leaning freely against the side of the pool, his long legs stretched out and floating against Éomer’s every once in a while.
“I am really enjoying this,” Faramir ventured eventually. “But is there a second phase to this evening?”
“Certainly, if you are interested. We could retire to our rooms and see what we are both comfortable with. But there is no pressure to go further tonight – let alone all the way. We are setting the foundation, Faramir.”
“I would like to go a little further,” Faramir answered. “And I wanted to say... Thank you for saying ‘we’.”
“You are very welcome,” Éomer replied softly, handing Faramir a sponge and a bar of honeyed soap.
They washed up in silence until Éomer offered to get Faramir’s back, gently running the soft sponge over Faramir’s broad shoulders and down the defined muscles of his back. He paid special attention to the nape of his neck, playing with the softly curling hair and massaging some tension out of his chorded muscles. He was surprised, pleasantly so, when Faramir relaxed into his hold, resting his back against Éomer’s chest and drifting lower into the water.
“This is the first time I have felt warm in... a long time,” Faramir admitted, his eyes closed and his hands drawing lazy circles in the water.
“The Black Breath?” Éomer questioned, dipping the sponge back into the water and then running it slowly over Faramir’s chest, along his arms, around his neck.
“Yes, but even before that. I was always in Ithilien, on patrol, defending our borders – no time for trivialities such as a hot bath or even a warm fire most nights,” Faramir confessed. “The few times I returned to Minas Tirith... there were other priorities.”
“From now on, your health and wellbeing will always be priorities for me,” Éomer vowed, tucking Faramir’s head against his shoulder. “Let us stay in the warm water a little while longer. I think we have some catching up to do.”
“All right,” Faramir murmured, growing a little heavier with his next exhalation. “This feels really good.”
Éomer chuckled. “We can come back whenever you would like.”
“Thank you, but I was not referring to the water,” Faramir answered, arching his hips just slightly so that the tip of his erection broke briefly through the surface of the water. “Could you... Would you mind...?”
“What do you want, Faramir?” Éomer asked, keeping his touch gentle and unobtrusive. “Tell me.”
“I... I do not know how to ask for... just more, more of this, please,” Faramir pleaded, arching again into his touch.
“Shh, I have got you,” Éomer murmured, drawing slow circles on Faramir’s chest, his fingers catching lightly on his nipples. “Have you ever touched yourself, Faramir? Have you ever imagined someone touching you like this?”
“Not on purpose,” Faramir answered after a short pause. “I had some dreams and... they aroused me.”
“Interesting,” Éomer purred, delivering a teasing nip to Faramir’s earlobe. “Tell me more. What happened in those dreams? Were you alone?”
“I do not remember them clearly,” Faramir answered evasively, but if the sudden red tint to his cheeks was any indication, he did remember something. But, Éomer decided, that was a matter for another day, for when they were more comfortable with each other and when the possible sting of someone else appearing in Faramir’s dreams would be lessened by the memory of many shared intimate moments. He returned his attention to lavishing Faramir’s body with infinite gentleness, allowing the sponge to drift from his grip as his touch turned into slow, long caresses, his fingers gliding over smooth, wet skin, trailing droplets of water over Faramir’s chest, creating soft waves whenever he followed the contours of his body beneath the surface of the water.
“You are beautiful, do you know that?” Éomer murmured, pinching Faramir’s left nipple while his right hand sneaked between his husband’s legs, urging him to spread them wider. “I would tell you all the things I admire about you – adore, really – but then I would not know where to start and where to end.”
His hand had closed around his price and he gave Faramir a moment to recover when he jerked in surprise. “Too much?” he asked gently, wishing for a little more light to better make out Faramir’s expression.
“No, it is fine,” Faramir answered. “I want this. Keep going. Please.”
Éomer was still careful, though, keeping his strokes slow and light, his free hand resting on Faramir’s hip without restraining him. And Faramir responded beautifully, his skin flushing, his breathing becoming more and more uneven and his erection growing heavy in Éomer’s grip.
“Do you want to come, darling?” Éomer murmured in Faramir’s ear, nuzzling his neck.
Faramir nodded, sloshing water around them when he shifted restlessly, trying to press even closer to his husband. Éomer nipped a soft kiss into the corner of Faramir’s mouth and picked up his strokes, adding a little twist on the upstroke and tightening his grip only to loosen it again when Faramir made a broken sound of displeasure. He apologised softly, steadying Faramir’s hips and trying to resist the temptation of rubbing his own erection into the crack of Faramir’s shapely bottom and focusing instead on keeping his husband’s chin over the water as the waves of his orgasm crashed down over him.
He probably hadn’t thought this all the way through, he admitted to himself, watching Faramir’s essence drain away with the intake of fresh water into the pool. Faramir was utterly lax in his grip, not an ounce of tension left in his muscles, blinking lazily up at the ceiling as his breathing slowly evened out.
“That was... not what I was expecting,” Faramir finally admitted, sitting up and taking his own weight as he turned around to face Éomer.
“How so?” Éomer asked, tucking a wet strand of hair behind Faramir’s ear. “This is not the first time I brought you to climax.”
“But this is the first time it felt like it was about me,” Faramir said, looking at him pleadingly. “I am not expressing this adequately. It came out as a reproach when I wanted to thank you.”
“You are welcome,” Éomer answered, kissing Faramir’s brow. “And I could not be happier that you enjoyed yourself.”
“Do you want me to...?” Faramir trailed off, instead making a vague motion with his hand.
“No,” Éomer answered, surprised at how true it was. “What I would like is to help you dry off and take you to our rooms where I will proceed to give you a leisurely backrub and then snuggle up to you in our bed as we both drift off to sleep.”
Faramir hesitated, already parting his lips to protest, but then seemed to reconsider and gave a small nod. “That does sound nice, thank you.”
They shared a smile and soft kiss before clambering out of the pool. And even if Éomer had to covertly douse his bobbing erection in cold water before he could pull on his trousers, it was worth it when Faramir settled trustily against his side, his breathing evening out after only a few short minutes, and fell into a blissful and dreamless sleep.
Éomer himself lay awake for a while still, observing the play of shadows over Faramir’s sleeping form or what was visible of it. Truth be told, he would have liked to see more of his husband, would have liked to study the soft golden planes of his smooth back, the dimples over those delectable buttocks. But Faramir, as always was wrapped tight in a cocoon of blankets, only his light hair peeking out from the top of the covers.
Éomer debated with himself for a moment, but then carefully tugged the blankets from underneath Faramir’s body until he could wriggle himself into that inviting space, carefully sliding his arms around Faramir. It took the span of a few bated breaths, but finally Faramir relaxed into his hold, curling Éomer more firmly around himself when he snuggled back into the blankets.
Éomer buried his smiling face in Faramir’s soft curls. Faramir might not yet be ready to shed his armour, but Éomer could be patient and he was only too happy to join Faramir behind the battlements for the time being. And he felt, for the first time if he was being honest with himself, a deep connection to his young husband, a degree of understanding and intimacy born not from acts of superficial passion but from shared experiences and a profound appreciation of who Faramir was a person and who they could be as husbands, as friends and when the time was right as lovers.
- THE END -