Territory

Title: Territory (Alternate title: Kissing is Good)
Author: Haleth
Type: FCHet
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Eowyn/Eomer
Warning: Sibcest. But completely consensual, not to mention responsible, sibcest.
Disclaimer: In spite of the plethora of canonical details, these events did not actually occur in the year 3018, or at least Tolkien never mentioned them. The personages and places etc. belong entirely to Tolkien. I made up the naughty bits myself.
Note: Haleth does het. Blame it on the wicked Miranda Bell and her exceedingly inspiring "Brother/Sister". That porny Eomer-esque picture she sent me probably helped as well. Yum!
Summary: Takes place in the year before the War of the Ring, when Grima Wormtongue's influence on King Theoden is mounting. Grima desires Eowyn, but Eomer stands in his way.

*****

Cold wind whipped her white gown around Eowyn as she stood staring out at the dimming plains. The wind never really let up on Edoras, but the last few days had been unseasonably bitter. Eowyn scanned the field for some sign of life, anything to relieve the unrelenting grimness of the last few months, since her brother was last in the city.

The slow horror of watching her uncle sink deeper into this insidious torpor, and the ever-growing influence of the hideous Wormtongue, left her exhausted. Each dawn brought yet more duties, as her uncle was less and less able to care for himself and his people. The nights brought no respite; like as not, she found herself lying awake, alert for signs of Grima's approach. She cringed at how he watched her. She could sense his desire for her growing, although housed as it was in his foul mind and body, it did not blossom like love or even lust, but festered like some rank ulcer. She dreaded the day she knew would come, when Gima would lay his filthy hand on her and none would dare hinder him.

This day was more desperate than most, for it became clear to her that morning, when her uncle did not acknowledge the anniversary of her birth in any way, that the King's condition was graver than anyone suspected.

A shout from a lookout drew her attention to the East, and she spied a half dozen riders speeding across the plain toward the highland. Even in the deepening twilight, she could see the white crest of horse hair on the helm of the lead.

Eomer.

Eowyn thought of meeting him at the gate, but her uncle's Captain of the Household stayed her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Patience, Lady Eowyn. Rushing off in the dark will not bring your brother to you any swifter, or safer. And you know you are not supposed to leave the Hall after sundown," Hama said in a fatherly tone.

Eowyn shook his hand off. "By order of Grima Wormtongue?" she sneered.

"No, by order of the King."

"My uncle has not been fit to concoct such restraints of his own volition for some time, Hama. Surely, you can see that."

Hama spread his hands in sympathy. "My Lady, please, you would be better to see that The Third Marshal and his men will be well cared for when they reach the Hall."

Eowyn went inside, ignoring the baleful stare of the King's advisor from where he stood next to Theoden, beside the throne. Sinister eyes followed her every step toward the kitchen, but she refused to acknowledge the presence of Grima Wormtongue.

The flurry of activity eased her mind for the time it took Eomer and his men to arrive at the doors of the Golden Hall. She rushed out when she heard Hama announce her brother to the king, and was shocked to see the state of the small patrol. Eomer and another man held up the limp form of a soldier Eowyn recognized as a kinsman of her handmaiden. Each man bore some wound, although Eomer stood tall and did not let his injuries show. He briefly described a Dunlending ambush that afternoon, and then the healer arrived to escort the badly injured man to his chambers.

Theoden seemed to not appreciate what had happened. He mumbled about unannounced visits and the dangers of travel, then his voice drifted off and his head fell to his chest. Eowyn rushed to his side.

"Uncle, answer me!" she cried when he did not immediately respond to her.

Slowly, he raised a hand to pat her forearm. "Eowyn, you take such good care of me. Now care for your foolish brother." Theoden gestured to Gamling, and the aide helped him rise. Eomer bowed deeply to his king, and watched until Gamling had led the frail man from the Hall toward his chambers, before moving to join his men at the table set for them.

Grima followed him. "Foolish indeed, Eomer. You had no reason to endanger the life of you or your men coming here unbidden. Why do you risk so much when your presence is unasked for? Your obligation is to the Eastfold, not your petty whims."

"I am a Marshal of the Mark," Eomer said, "and I decide where my presence is needed, Worm. Watch you do not overstep the meagre limits of your authority."

"I think it is you who overestimates your worth to our dear sovereign, Eomer son of Eomund. Be careful that you do not overstep the limits of your liege's patience."

The men around the table moved as one to stand in their leader's defence.

"Enough, Grima! Save your scheming until the morrow. My men shall be taken care of and rested before you and I test the limits of each other's powers. The night is time for warriors to recoup their strength, and you would know nothing of that."

Grima snarled. "Watch whose territory you foul with your presence, Third Marshal."

He left with a sweep of his cloak. He was not yet powerful enough to risk an open quarrel with one of the King's favourites, not yet, and not in view of so many not yet loyal to Grima.

Eowyn stepped forward as soon as he was gone, and Eomer's grim countenance brightened when he looked on her face. "Dear Eowyn, it was you I hoped to see when I returned to the Hall, not that vile creature. How fare you?"

"Better than you, I fear," she said and tugged Eomer's cloak back to inspect the wound there. He'd borne it well, showing no overt sign of it, but she could see he was favouring his right shoulder.

He pulled back from her. "It is nothing a good night's sleep in a real bed will not cure. We will eat first, and then we will speak." He pulled off his gloves and sat at the table to eat. Eowyn winced when she saw his hands, reddened from long days of fighting and gripping the reins in the cold wind, from harsh treatment for so long.

Eowyn nodded, understanding that her brother could not afford any weakness made public knowledge. She helped the servants bring food and ale to the table. Before long, the men had satisfied their appetites for both food and brave talk of the day's events, and began to yawn.

The man who'd helped carry the badly injured soldier stood first. "To the barracks for me. The beds are hard, but anything will be better than another night on open ground, and we'll be setting off again at dawn, lads. Let's be off."

Eomer watched them go, but did not follow. He waited until the servants cleared away the tables and turned to face Eowyn.

"You understand, do you not? I must not show any infirmity, especially not in the presence of that…"

She lifted a finger to his lips, all too aware that the skulking advisor could be anywhere in the hall, at any time. "Will you come to my rooms, and let me tend your injury? I promise I will not gossip details of it to the household," she whispered.

He nodded and followed her out of the hall. Once past Eowyn's door, Eomer looked around the sitting room, meant for entertaining female guests when the men were taking counsel in the Golden Hall. It was obvious that the room had been little used for this purpose lately, for there were so few visitors in these dark days, but Eowyn kept it clean and ready for use at any time. It bore little evidence it was hers, being but semi-private. Eomer imagined that her personal belongings were in the bedchamber, which lay behind a small door to the right of the fireplace.

Several buckets of water stood by the hearth, and a large kettle already steamed above the fire. Eowyn opened a trunk and pulled out bandages and towels to put on a sturdy table next to a shallow metal bowl.

"Take off a few layers, and we'll see what damage has been done," she said in an efficient tone.

Eomer obediently tossed his gloves on the table and shed his cloak. "Our uncle does not thrive." He unbuckled his leather vambraces and greaves, relieved to have his limbs less constricted. "It is the influence of Wormtongue, is it not?"

"It is not my place to speculate. … How on earth could any harm be done through all this?" she muttered as she piled the leather-covered metal next to the worn gloves.

Eomer winced when he shrugged off his steel paultrons. "Will you not come to stay with me at Aldberg? I do not wish to bring you closer to the shadow in the East, but it would place you farther from Grima's reach."

Eowyn pushed his arms out of the way and began to unfasten the heavy cuirass Eomer wore. "I will not abandon the King. He has been like a father to us, and I will care for him as best I can. Do not worry about me so. I avoid the snake as much as possible."

"I only wish there was some way to warn him off you. Perhaps if you were to agree to a betrothal. I know that Lord Dunhere is fond of you, and Harrowdale is not so far from here."

"I don't need a husband; I can care for myself as well. Better than you can, it appears." She pulled the last strap free and lifted the front plate off her brother's chest.

"Then the appearance of a betrothal. I could speak to his uncle. I'm sure Erkenbrand could convince him to make it seem as if…"

She shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous, Eomer. I've known Dunhere since we were children. That would be like pretending I wanted to marry my own brother!" The back plate clattered to the floor. Eomer groaned when the pressure was relieved. Even through his mail shirt, Eowyn could see blood seeping from his left shoulder. "Eomer! How did this happen?"

Eomer growled and unstrapped the skirt of leaf-mail that weighed heavily on his thighs, then sat by the table so Eowyn could help pull the mail shirt over his head. She tried not to show how heavy the armour was as she laid it out on another chair. She turned to see her brother in leather tunic and leggings, staring down at his boots. He looked so tired.

"Let me see the wound."

"It is not serious."

"I can see the blood through your tunic! Show me the wound, now." Eowyn used her most imperious tone, and Eomer would have laughed at his younger sister being so officious, but he was too weary to protest. He let her pull the leather tunic off him. His woven shirt was stiff with dried blood, shiny with a newer layer.

"T'was nothing but a lucky blow. It looks much worse than it is, I'll warrant. I had to dismount to retrieve Telding when he fell from Greymane. A foul Dunlending speared me from behind. ..." Eomer gasped when his sister pulled the material off the wound. Not a small amount of skin came off with the sticky shirt. Eomer straightened and breathed evenly, if a little too deeply, and flexed his fists. "His moment of triumph was brief, I assure you."

Eowyn hushed him, for once not wanting to hear stories of glorious killing. She worked quickly and efficiently to cleanse the wound with a soft cloth and warm water from the kettle. It must have been a powerful stroke indeed. There was no clear entry wound, for the spear had not penetrated the chain mail, but the blow was sufficient to cause an area about the size of one of Eowyn's hands to split open in a webwork of small fissures. Once it was cleaned it would heal quickly, but it was not something to be left untreated. Eowyn pulled a leather bag from the trunk and scooped out some of the thick paste it contained. This she smoothed over the wound.

Eomer cringed at the sting from the salve, although he knew it would speed the healing. Once Eowyn finished cleaning and dressing the wound, he grew self-conscious of his half-clothed state. It was not that Eowyn had never seen him so in the past, but that was a far distant past. When he reached for his shirt, she snatched it away.

"That will be washed before it touches your skin again. In fact, I think all of your clothes could use a cleaning. I'll find you a robe." She took the garment with her as she left the room, so that Eomer was left alone, shirtless and becoming chilled. He moved closer to the fire, where a low footrest sat close to the welcoming flames. Eomer there sat and stretched his hands toward the warmth.

Eowyn returned bearing a linen robe, with a belt at the waist. "Give me your leggings," she said. "They can be washed and dried by morning." She politely turned her back. Eomer kicked off his boots and stripped the woollen leggings off his long legs. The robe was not quite large enough for his broad frame, but it covered him sufficiently. He handed the leggings to his sister.

She crinkled her nose. "When did you last find time to bathe?"

Eomer made a face not unlike the one he used to make as a young boy when he was told to bathe. It did his heart good to see and hear Eowyn's laugh. There was a knock at the door, and Eowyn handed all the soiled clothes to a young woman, along with instructions to boil them clean, if need be. A boy of about fifteen arrived, and soon tottered away under the weight of the various pieces of armour, with instructions to clean and oil it all by morning. At the last moment, Eowyn piled the boots on the top of the heap, taller than the boy's head.

Eomer sat back down on the footstool. Without clothing or footwear, he was trapped in this room for a while. He sighed. The fire was warm; the company was pleasant; there were worse places to be stranded. He started when Eowyn knelt beside him with a fresh bowl of water.

"Really, Eomer, do the warriors of the Eastfold live with the livestock?" She soaked a cloth in warm soapy water and began to wipe at the sweatstained skin of Eomer's neck.

"It has been a long two weeks on the plain. We were tracking a pack of Orc in the North, and had headed south to Edoras when the Dunlendings attacked."

She rinsed the cloth and pulled the neck of the robe more open, swiping at the streaks of dirt across his broad chest. "Perhaps you should travel with a larger guard."

Eomer shrugged. "We started as a larger group, but had to split up when the Orcs fled in two groups. I would have called for reinforcements, but there was no time. I had to get to Edoras."

Eowyn pushed the robe down over Eomer's shoulders and washed the pale skin that rarely saw the light of day. Always armoured, her brother was these days. Always hidden from sight by war. Her hands moved quickly, cleaning down one strong arm and across to the other. The hair on his chest was golden, wiry under her fingers. It tickled and teased her. She bunched the cloth in her hand so her fingers would not come in contact with the skin. "Surely your report could have waited the day or two it would have taken to find a few more men."

"It could have, but then I would have missed your birthday, dear sister, and I could not let that happen."

She stopped her ministrations and looked up into warm brown eyes.

"I remembered," he said quietly, "and I knew no one else would. I'm sorry I can bring you no gift, other than my presence."

Eowyn smiled. His presence was more than enough. "I knew, somehow. I knew you would come."

Eomer stared down at her. She took on a serious expression, as if concentrating on a difficult task. He pulled back a bit from the feel of her fingers on his skin, and she hushed him, saying that she'd bathed plenty of injured men before, and that he was no different.
Eomer wasn't sure how he felt about his sister bathing naked, or even semi-naked, men, no matter how injured they might be, but her brisk manner reassured him. She was being very professional about the task, so professional that his own reaction to her shamed him.

He closed his eyes and wished both that her fingers would and would not slip onto his skin again. He harboured no secret desire for his sister, but the touch of her hand was more soothing than he cared to admit. It had been long since he'd had any time to enjoy the company of a woman. Eowyn was working her way around his back now. She was no longer so careful about touching him as she scrubbed the skin and rubbed his sore muscles with the slippery soap.

With each touch, it became easier to enjoy the slide of her hands over him. Eowyn was glad her brother could not see the blush on her cheeks. She kneaded thick muscles, and felt herself grow warmer with every appreciative moan she earned. She remembered more carefree times, when other girls would whisper about Eomer, how handsome he was and how they desired him. Those girls were women now, married to knights or farmers. Only Eowyn was alone, doubly so since Eomer had taken up residence in the Eastfold. She smiled to think of what those women would say if they were to see Eomer like this, and grinned to think of how they would envy her hands sliding across the firm muscles of his back. He looked wonderful in the golden light from the fire, all long limbs and brawn, in spite of the too many bruises marring his skin.

She wet a clean cloth and set about rinsing his torso, careful to not press against any wounds. "Your skin is almost delicate, once the filth is washed away," she joked.

Eomer scowled. "It will be too delicate now – you've washed away all my protection!" He loved to see her laugh like that. Such a lovely smile she had. And how well her white gown fitted her slim body. How was it that Eomer had never noticed that before? Eowyn had nicely shaped limbs, the curve of her waist begged to be held by a warm hand, and the swell of her breasts under the soft wool dress beckoned. Eomer looked down at the floor. It was most unseemly to think of such things.

Eowyn emptied the bowl and refilled it with water from the kettle and one of the buckets, while Eomer tried to ignore the clinging of her gown to her backside when she bent to the task.

"Legs," she said as she turned back to face him. She tried to say it casually, as if she asked her brother to bare himself to her everyday as a matter of course. She stole a glance at the robe, pooled around his waist, wondering what it hid. It had been a very long time indeed since she'd seen her brother that naked. Her friends would be more than jealous to be in her position now.

Eomer gathered the linen closer to his waist and looked around the room. There had to be some way out of this. His body had responded to her touch a little too much, and he did not wish her to think him crude. She sounded business-like about the whole matter, but he knew her professionalism would not last were she to see the extent of his arousal. As if to emphasize the point, he felt a treasonous twitch under the robe. "I, um, what if I wash my feet?" He dragged the nearest bucket over and plunged a foot into the tepid water. She handed him a bar of soap and walked away. That was better. He could finish washing and she would return in a few minutes after he was done.

But she returned immediately, and stood behind him combing his long hair, making little `tsk' noises when she encountered thick tangles. Eomer willed himself to breathe calmly and finished washing his feet and the lower parts of his legs. Surely she would be satisfied and leave him to his own devices now. Eowyn worked silently until the straw-coloured hair flowed over his shoulders. It was too dull, she decided, and she disappeared into her private room.

Eomer, believing her gone, took the opportunity to stand, drop the robe and finish his task. Eowyn, having fetched her bottle of hair oil, stood in the door of her room watching his large hands spread the soap around his thighs and buttocks. Magnificent, she thought to herself, understanding exactly what her friends had seen in him. She'd always know her brother was tall, but not that tall; fit, but not that fit; beautiful, but not in a way that would make her want to touch him as it did now. She watched him rinse the soap from his legs, wash around his waist and lower down. His hands were in front now. She couldn't see them, but she imagined what he was washing now and heard him hiss a little.

Eomer felt terribly guilty about how good his hand felt on his cock. He couldn't risk fully relieving himself, but a few quick strokes lessened the urgency. He squeezed hard at the base, hissed, willed himself to calm. He reached for the bucket farthest from the fire, so he could rinse with the coldest water possible. When he sat down again, Eowyn made a noise at the door. Eomer wrapped the robe back around his waist. He rinsed his face and scrubbed at his beard for a while, pretending she wasn't there.

Eowyn pulled one of the empty vessels closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Bend over," she said. She couldn't help but think about minutes earlier, when he'd bent over to reach for the bucket. What a marvellous view, she thought to herself, only mildly disturbed that she was having these thoughts about her own brother. After all, she had no intention of acting on them, and he was exceedingly pleasant to look at.

Eomer frowned at her, and Eowyn pushed his head down. "Your hair is a mess. I don't know when you washed it, or even wet it, last. This will help." And without warning she poured water over him. Eomer yelped in a less than manly fashion. The water was not quite warm enough for hairwashing, but he leaned obediently over the bucket as Eowyn worked the fragrant oil into his hair and scalp.

Very strong fingers, his sister had, and a sure hand, with a gentle but definite touch. He closed his eyes; it was not to better enjoy the feel of it, he told himself, only to keep the water from stinging them. She hummed a little while she scrubbed and ran her fingers through the slippery strands. "Longer than a horse's mane," she murmured, too close to his ear. Eomer drew the robe yet tighter at his waist. Her voice sounded throughout his whole body. Perhaps he would sleep in the barracks after all, tonight. Having her in the next room would be torment.

"I could put plaits in it. It wouldn't tangle so."

Eomer took a few seconds to remember she was washing his hair. "I'll tie it back the way I usually do."

"Ah, but you would look like an Elf," she joked, even if she didn't really know what an Elf looked like. She'd heard tales, though.

Eomer laughed. "I am far too broad and coarse to be an Elf. Aren't they supposed to be delicate and fair?"

"You are fair enough, brother." Eowyn grabbed the handle of the kettle with a rag and mixed some hot water in with the final bucket of clean water. "Don't tie it just yet. Let me comb it out first. It looks beautiful loose." She lifted the bucket to rinse.

Too much hot water. Eomer whimpered, but did not cry out. It wasn't that hot. Really. At least the mild pain of it had caused his cock to settle down a bit. But then Eowyn was urging him to sit up, with a hand on his shoulder and her scent hovering around him. She patted a clean towel on his hair and wrung out the wet ends.

Eowyn combed through the wet hair with her fingers first. The thick clean strands felt like silken thread. "Beautiful," she whispered, and hoped it was quiet enough that Eomer couldn't hear. The front of her gown was soaked, and the warm water made the wool stick to her thighs, reminding her of how wet she was at their apex. But she didn't stop running her fingers through her brother's hair. And she did not pull away when he leaned back a little, so his uninjured shoulder pressed against her damp thighs.

"You spoil me," Eomer said, and his voice sounded low to her ears.

"No more than you deserve," she answered, trying to keep her own voice steady. She would have to retreat to her bedroom soon. The heat from his body, the temptation of muscle moving under smooth skin, it was all too improper.

Eomer reached back to still her hands. They were so soft, compared to his. Eowyn noticed as well, and knelt again in front of him, reaching for the salve. "Let me," she said as she smoothed the thick ointment into the roughened skin of his hands. Eomer stood it as long as he could, but the urge to reach down, grab her shoulder, pull her towards him, was becoming too strong to resist. He yanked his hands away sharply and pushed the stool back, standing away from her body.

The robe hung loosely on him, drooping down over one hip so she could see the bone jutting out slightly. All that bulk and muscle, but he didn't carry any fat to speak of. Her eyes were drawn to the line of thicker, darker hair on his belly that led down to the folds of the robe draped over the bulge of his cock.

He tried to speak, but she stood up and all he could see was the wet wool clinging to her thighs, and how water had splashed against one breast, so that he could see a shadow where her nipple hardened under the soft cloth.

He gave up trying to control himself and pulled her close. He would have an embrace, if nothing else. Her body curved against him, supple and lean. She threw her arms around him as well and stood on her toes so he would not have to bend too far down to kiss her. Lovely, he thought, as anyone would guess her to be. Her lips parted easily under his, tasted fresh and clean. He knew her back was strong, but it felt small under his hands, the way it bent under them when he drew her closer.

Eowyn moaned into his mouth. It didn't matter if it was wrong, it was what she wanted, and she was tired of never having what she wanted. He licked, tentatively, along her lower lip, and made her want more. When her tongue met his, his hands flexed on her back. One hand slid down to her waist and cupped the curve of it firmly. She ran her hand over his back. It felt different, now that she was touching it not because she was healing him, but because she wanted pleasure from it. The contours of the straining muscles were sharper, cleaner, and she wondered why they strained. He seemed to be holding himself back at the same time his tongue plundered her mouth. It made no sense to her, and she suspected her dizziness had something to do with her lack of understanding.

When Eowyn's arms pulled away from him, Eomer's heart fell. She'd reconsidered, and he would be honourable and leave at once. He closed his eyes, unwilling to witness the rejection in her eyes, and tried to step back, but was hindered by her hand, fisted in the loose robe at his waist. He opened his eyes, and saw that she was reaching behind her, to untie her gown. Cautiously, he reached around to fumble his fingers along with hers at the lacing. He finally grasped the crucial stay. One tug and the gown slipped off her shoulders. She pushed it with her free hand, unwilling to let go of him, and wriggled. The undulation of her body as she encouraged the gown to drop made Eomer's mouth go dry.

The last of her gown fell when she pulled his robe loose and let both garments drop to the floor. She pressed her naked body against his, and Eomer felt the last bit of fatigue melt away from his body. His hard cock jutted into her belly, her breasts nestled warmly against the curve of his ribs and she laid her head against his shoulder. They were both shivering.

"Eowyn," he whispered. He stroked her hair, long and golden, softer than anything he'd ever felt. He could not remember what he wanted to say to her.

She took a deep breath and tilted her head back to look up at him. "Don't say we shouldn't. Don't say anything. Just make me feel."

Eomer kissed her forehead. "Feel what?"

She had her eyes closed now, and her breath was hot against his chest. "Better." She kissed his throat. "Safe."

He gathered her in his arms and kissed her again, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in her sweet breath. His sister. He slid one arm down, under her legs, and lifted her up easily, never breaking the kiss. Her bedchamber would be safer.

He let her down gently on her bed and turned to close the door. Eomer frowned at the heavy bolt, lighter-coloured than the dark oak door. Newer. "You feel this necessary? In your own home?" he growled, almost forgetting why he was in the room.

"Eomer, please, just lock it, and there will be two doors between us and what is out there. Just for tonight."

The soft pleading in her eyes was enough to convince him to lock the door. "I will make sure you are safe, somehow," he vowed as sat next to her on the bed and pulled her onto his lap. He touched her everywhere he could, the soft curves of her breast, the firm lines of her thighs, while she ran her hands over his harder body.

Soft gasps and moans filled the air, and when she shifted to face him, drew one leg over the bulk of his thigh, pressed her breasts hard against him, settled on his lap, it seemed natural. She kissed his cheeks and throat, nipped at his lips playfully. Rubbed her cheek against his beard. He dropped his hands down to cup the full curves of her hips and ass.

"Please," he groaned when she lifted up her hips and brought her wet heat against his cock. It stood straight up, so hard that the slide in was excruciating in its perfection. She let her weight force his length inside, shuddering at the sensation of being stretched and filled at once. She didn't move, just sat on him, with him inside her, and licked his collarbone, licked up his neck, rested her open lips on the hard lump of his throat, felt his frantic swallows against her tongue.

Eomer could only feel the tips of her fingers where they pressed into his shoulders, and the tightness surrounding his cock. Then, as he'd feared since the first touch of the washcloth to his chest, it happened.

"No," she breathed against him. "This is not right."

She slid off him, the cold air of the room like a slap to his heated shaft. She pushed back so she sat on his thighs, and the wetness against his skin burned. She sat before him, naked and beautiful, her breasts heaving with the gulping breaths she took. In the dim light of the single lantern he could still see the wet curls matted between her legs, pink lips protruding slightly as if they had not wanted him to leave and yearned for his return.

"It is too dangerous."

He nodded, unable to speak, unsure of how to extricate himself from the situation. She sat between him and the barred door, and he could not imagine willingly moving her off him. Even were her to manage an exit from the bedchamber, he could go no further than the sitting room without clothes, and the need to relieve the intense pressure built up in his cock was too great to ignore. He had an unpleasant image of himself with one of the towels shoved in his mouth to muffle his moans while he worked his hard cock to completion, and Eowyn barring the door to keep him away from her.

"There are other ways, are there not?"

One slim hand glided down his chest and closed around him shyly.

"Ways that will not risk a child…"

Eomer's cock jumped in her fingers.

She stroked the length of it and had to take a deep breath. She couldn't believe all this had been inside her. It must have been so deep inside her. The darkness of it in her pale hand, the thickness; she shuddered. She wanted.

"Kissing is good," she said, and leant forward the kiss his lips. Her nipples brushed against his chest with the movement. His hair prickled at them. He made a sound in her mouth, a low rumbling sound that tickled her throat. She rubbed her lips back and forth across his, and her tongue darted out. She breathed across his cheek.

Eomer settled his hands on her waist. They fit so perfectly. If he stretched his fingers, they could almost meet. "Kissing is good," he repeated, not wanting to misunderstand.

She nodded. Her fingers trailed down and ghosted across his balls. "Touching is good."

He had to agree. If she did it any harder, it might undo him. He rubbed his palms up to her ribs, down to the soft width of her hips.

He could kiss. He could touch. He could do these things. "Fucking is bad."

Eowyn stared at him.

Eomer could not believe he'd just blurted that out loud.

She smiled. It was not the usual kind, gentle smile that shone down on Eomer. He had never seen a wicked smile like that on his sister before. She licked her lips and stared down at his cock. "Kissing and touching is good. Fucking is bad."

Eomer couldn't stop the moan when his sister said that out loud. He pulled her to him, a little too roughly he thought at first, but she responded by squeezing his cock. He moved one hand between her legs. Touching was good, she'd said, and he wanted to touch very badly. His finger slipped easily between slick folds, inside her where she was all heat and velvety softness, and while Eomer was disappointed that he wouldn't feel the tight fire of her around him again, the kissing and touching was exhilarating enough to compensate for it. He pushed another finger inside and felt the walls close around it. She ground down, trapping his hand between his damp thigh and her bucking body.

"Eomer," she said breathlessly and rubbed against him, "you set me afire." She churned her hips against his hand when he bent to suck a pink nipple between his lips

"Put your arms around my neck," he whispered and once she did, he lifted her with one arm around her waist and his fingers still inside. He laid her across the bed and gazed down at her graceful limbs, leant to kiss her shoulder. "So beautiful," he murmured against the soft flesh. "I could spend the next week just looking at you, and the week after that touching."

She blushed when his fingers twitched inside her. "I have not the patience for that," she teased.

"Then you do not want the week of me kissing you after that?"

"I do, but you ride in the morning, so perhaps you'll have to save some of it for another time." Her look turned serious. "I didn't mean…"

He quieted her with a gentle kiss to her lips. "Do not think of the world out there, remember? I will try to do a week of kissing in one night." With that, he trailed his lips down her throat and over the mounds of her breasts, pausing to tease the nipples and bring them to sharp, hard points. His mouth was hot on her, his tongue soft while his beard rasped, his lips fervent. She whimpered when he spread her lean thighs and kissed her belly, and through the golden curls, until he reached the hard centre of her pleasure. "Hmm, kissing is very good," he murmured, sending vibrations to her core. He stuck out his tongue and licked down the length of her swollen lips.

"Ah," she half-laughed, half-choked. "Licking is good as well."

Eomer set himself to the task enthusiastically. She responded to each lick and thrust of his tongue with louder moans, by spreading her lean thighs wider, by thrusting her hips to meet his mouth. He stroked her inside and out at the same time, with fingers and tongue.
When he suckled at the hard nub and curled his fingers, she cried out. He felt the muscles contract around his fingers and lapped at the sweet liquid that washed over them. He hauled himself up to lie beside her.

Eowyn gazed up at her brother's stunned expression. His lips were swollen red and his beard glistened with her juices. "Kissing is good," she reminded him and stretched up to touch his mouth with hers.

He drew back, but she caught the back of his head in one hand, sinking her fingers into the damp thick hair, tugging him forward. Eowyn was surprised by the taste of herself for a moment. She was unaccustomed to the sharpness of it, but sucking it off his tongue proved was divine, and she clenched her fist in his hair.

Eomer's cock ached. He pressed it against her hip and felt her sucking of his tongue at the very root of it. She rolled against him, slid a leg up over his hip, pushing his fingers deeper inside, where she still pulsed rhythmically. She shoved his hand down and he reluctantly let the fingers slide out. When she pulled his hand up and pursed her lips over the two drenched fingers he could only whimper.

Eowyn's eyes did not leave his while she sucked his fingers clean, licking between them lasciviously. Now that she was used to it, she found the taste invigorating. But she wanted to taste him even more. Before she could, he bucked against her, and his hard cock dragged over her tender lips. The heat of it, the length, the reminder of how she'd been stretched open by it… he groaned and pulled away.

"Fucking is bad," he said through gritted teeth.

She slid down his thigh, leaving a trail of moist fire. Licking and kissing as she went, pushing his thighs apart, she settled gracefully between his legs.

"Eowyn, I would not ask such a thing of you." He shifted uncomfortably, and even felt himself soften a little. This was something one would ask of one of the women in a tavern, even pay her for her efforts, but for his own sister to contemplate it was too much. He wondered how she knew about such things, but only briefly, because she leaned forward and hot breath flowed over him.

"Then do not ask, Eomer. Only receive." And her lips were on him.

The hint of her own taste lingered on the shaft and soon blended with the darker, earthier taste of his cock. She licked eagerly around the crown. Her moan was answered by his, and she soon found his cock bumping at the back of her throat and his fingers tangled in her hair.

Eomer was unable to stop the bucking of his hips. He pressed into the heat of her mouth and groaned. "Eowyn, oh gods, I can't…" She sucked him insistently and scratched her fingernails along his taut thighs.
She wanted him to spend in her mouth, and he didn't think that any more right than anything else that had happened this night, even if he couldn't help wanting it. She clawed at his thigh with one hand. The fingers of the other cupped his balls and stroked them gently, encouraging them to relinquish their treasure. Eomer thrashed on the bed, helpless. He tried to warn her, to push her away, but she slapped at his hands and sucked harder. He arched his back and hissed.

Eowyn grabbed the base of his cock to steady him when he began to pulse. Her mouth was flooded with salty bitterness, and she drank it enthusiastically. Eomer threw his head back and felt every ounce of energy drain out of him. She kept him in her mouth and swallowed his seed, so hot in her throat. His fingers tightened in her hair when she sucked a little too hard on the sensitive member, so she pulled away with one last kiss, and crawled up beside him where he lay across the bed, boneless against the furs.

"Was that not adequate?" she teased and played with the hair on his chest.

Eomer lay with eyes closed, mouth open. He took in a shuddering breath. "Adequate? I think you may have done me in." He opened his eyes to see her genuine smile. She wriggled up the bed to reach for a pillow. He nuzzled the soft curve of her breast and gave her nipple a playful lick. "I have never been so spent."

She lifted his head and placed the pillow under it. "I shall take that as a compliment," she said solemnly, "coming from one so experienced."

"What? How experienced do you think me?"

She draped herself over his wide chest and snuggled against him. "I don't really know. I know all the girls used to want you, and I would assume at least some of them had you, or else you would not have know to do that to me."

Eomer considered this.

And decided he did not really want to know how his sister had known to do what she did to him. He grabbed a fur from the end of the bed and pulled it over them. Eowyn was already relaxing against him, her breath slowing. He held her close and enjoyed a good night's sleep in a real bed.

When he woke again, Eowyn was no longer curled against him. He peered through the door into the sitting room and saw his armour, polished and gleaming on one chair, his clothes neatly folded on another. Eowyn entered the room with a breakfast tray balanced on one arm.

"It's well past dawn," she chirped, fresh and young looking in a pale green dress, hair tied back neatly.

Eomer sat up and let the fur fall from his naked chest to gather at his waist.

Eowyn made her `tsk tsk' sound and tossed his shirt and leggings to him. "Your men will be ready to ride soon. Rise, brother, and greet the day."

He could not tell if she was ignoring the events of the night before or pretending to ignore them. He dressed quickly, pleased that his shoulder pained him no more, but acutely aware of the thin red stripes on the inside of his thighs. He would not be forgetting about this night for a long time. He would be reminded every time he flexed his thighs against the saddle.

She was gone by the time he sat at the table to eat his breakfast. Soon the boy arrived, dark circles showing under his unrested eyes, to help him with the armour.

Eomer headed toward the Golden Hall to farewell his uncle, and became aware of Grima lurking behind him, glowering with unrestrained malice. He struggled to think of the perfect threat to keep Grima away from his sister. Ordinarily, these sorts of threats came easily to him, and he was frustrated by his inability to produce the right words. He grimaced when Grima crept nearer.

He opened his mouth to speak but Grima held up an ashen hand. "Your threats will do you no good, Eomer. Words do not frighten me."

Eomer drew himself to his full height, enough to threaten almost any man without a word being spoken. Grima cringed in a satisfying enough manner, but kept talking.

"I saw your fair sister this morning."

Eomer fairly growled. "You do not even deserve to gaze at her."

"You have made that abundantly clear, son of Eomund, for you have marked your territory well."

Eomer thrust his hand out to grab him by the collar. Grima tried to look as if being hoisted until his feet left the ground was no imposition at all. Eomer tossed him against the wall with a loud thud.

Grima twitched and pulled his cloak around his body. He smirked. "Your stench was all over her, horse lord," he spat. "Fear not, I will keep my distance." With that, the advisor drifted back into the shadows, leaving a stunned Third Marshal alone.

"Eomer, the men wait in the courtyard."

Eomer whirled around to see Eowyn, wide eyed in the dim corridor. She held his helm, and was winding the long white hairs in her fingers.

"Eowyn," he said, stilling her fidgeting hands. "Last night…"

Her mouth twitched.

"I… I hope I did not take advantage…"

Her silence was killing him. If she wanted him to forget, it would be impossible. But if she asked him to never mention it again, he would.

She raised herself up on her toes and brushed his cheek with her lips. "Kissing is good," she whispered. "I shall miss you very much."

He could not stop his hands from reaching and cupping her face. "I will be with you, in my heart," he whispered. "And I will return as soon as I can."

She turned her head and kissed his palm delicately, with the faintest lick across the edge of his thumb.

"And I shall look forward to it."

*****

THE END

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