Even educated fleas do it

Important author's note: to rate T or M? I've given a lot of thought to this. This is a comedy about sex, and about "the Talk". However, nothing explicit happens "on screen"; there are a couple of fade-to-black moments. Frankly if my son gets to his mid teens without knowing this sort of stuff (and having discussed its place within a loving, enjoyable, consensual, and mutually respectful relationship), then I and his teachers will have dropped the ball badly with respect to sex education. (NB, not that I want him doing it before the age of consent - but doing and knowing are two very different things). However, I am aware that there is an alternative school of thought which conflates innocence and ignorance, and mistakenly believes that ignorance leads to abstinence. If you belong to that school of thought, hit he back button now: this is not the fic for you.

Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it,

Let's do it, let's fall in love!

Cole Porter

~o~O~o~

"Enough about me, Éowyn. I really came to make sure you were happy about everything… and I know it is a bit late, but you have talked to someone about tonight?"

Her colour flared, and she put down the brush and grabbed a goblet from her dressing table, taking a big gulp. "Yes, of course, I talked to Faramir."

Lady Bluejay, Tides of Destiny

~o~O~o~

Faramir tucked Éowyn's hand in the crook of his arm, and together they walked across the greensward, lost in their own little world. Last night they had been trothplighted, and this morning, Faramir had revelled in the simple joy of breaking his fast with his betrothed. It was, he decided, something he could happily do every morning for the rest of their lives. Of course, it would be even better when they were married, because before breakfast, they would wake next to one another. And they would go to bed together, lie next to one another together, even...

Elbereth! His thoughts were on the brink of drifting into territory that it would be safer not to venture into. He had after all promised himself to treat his betrothed with all courtesy and honour, and he loved her deeply, far too deeply to press for anything beyond a kiss. A distraction! That was what he needed. He hastily looked around him. They were nearing the paddocks on the edge of Edoras, and as usual, within the fences were magnificent horses, unmatched in Faramir's native land.

As they got nearer, however, Faramir realised that perhaps this was not the best direction he could have chosen for their morning constitutional. It appeared that a stallion had been brought in to cover a group of mares, and the horse, a magnificent chestnut, was going about his business with aplomb.

"I'm sorry, my love. Let us go towards the river instead." He realised his cheeks were heating with embarrassment.

Éowyn surveyed him with amusement. "I have seen horses put out to stud before, you know. Growing up in the Mark, I could hardly not have seen it."

Faramir looked slightly sheepish. "You may blame my concern on my overly prudish Gondorian upbringing."

"In that case, in deference towards your upbringing, perhaps we will stroll towards the river," Éowyn answered.

They walked for a while, and it began to dawn on Faramir that Éowyn was uncharacteristically silent. She seemed deep in thought, a slight frown furrowing her brow. Faramir decided that patience was called for – he would wait and see what she said. Sure enough, eventually she broke the silence.

"It looks terribly uncomfortable."

"What does?" Faramir asked.

"For the mares... Well, maybe not so much for the mares, for they are used to being on four legs and it seems to go well enough. But..."

In his surprise, Faramir stopped abruptly, and Éowyn, set off balance by his sudden halt, bumped into his hip. She looked up at him, a look of open trust, and brushed her hair back from her brow. "I mean, I have overheard the women talking when weaving, or sewing, or spinning. They seem to find it pleasurable – the bedchamber, that is. I certainly find kisses pleasurable. But that..."

Faramir felt his mind spinning like a child's top. What on earth was he to say? Surely this not the sort of conversation Éowyn should be having with... Then it hit him. Idiot! Her mother had died when she was a child. She had no close female relatives. He swallowed. A sudden realisation washed over him: he was the person she felt most able to talk to, and he should not fail her. Taking a deep breath, he decided to address what he presumed to be the source of her fears.

"Men are not... well, they are not as large, in proportion to their bodies, as horses are. You need not fear on that front."

"Oh, I know that," came the surprising reply. He looked down at her, dark eyebrows raised quizzically. Éowyn continued, "I have seen men swimming in the river in summer. No, it's not that. It's that – well, it looks so uncomfortable. I'm trying to imagine being on all fours, and you behind me, and it really doesn't seem like it could be much fun at all." Éowyn turned rather pink, and stared down at the ground. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

Faramir took her hands and raised them gently to his lips. Then he placed his fingers under her chin and gently tilted her head upwards so that he could look at her. "My love, you can talk to me about any subject under the heavens. What value would our marriage be if we could not share our thoughts at need, or seek comfort and understanding and reassurance from one another?" He looked at her steadily with his grey eyes, and added, "A man and a woman can do it that way, but there are many other ways, and it is certainly not what I had in mind for our wedding night." Cursed cock of a kinslayer, did I really say that last bit out loud? Bugger! Now it was Faramir's turn to blush.

Éowyn of course picked up on his slip immediately. "So you have given the matter some thought?" Her cheeks still rosy, the embarrassed expression had vanished to be replaced by a cheeky grin. Faramir shook his head ruefully. The cat was well and truly out of the bag, and there was no shoving it back inside.

"Truthfully? A lot of thought," he admitted, with a wry half smile.

Once more Éowyn glanced down, but Faramir could see her face through the curtain of golden hair, still smiling. She said, very softly, "So what way did you have in mind?"

His bold shieldmaiden! He should have expected this. "Facing one another." Now what do I say? Oh well, I've started down this line, I might as well say what's in my mind. So long as she doesn't repeat it to her brother. Would he kill me swiftly with his sword, or drag me to death behind wild horses?

"I shall make you comfortable on cushions, and settle above you, my legs between your legs, and shower you with kisses and caresses, and when I am absolutely sure that you are ready, and that you want me as much as I want you, then and only then will I lie with you."

Suddenly Éowyn looked up at him, her whole face shining as brightly as the noon sun. She stood on tiptoes and kissed him full on the lips. "Thank you my love. I know that I will be safe with you, that you will cherish me."

Faramir quickly kissed her back, lingering a bit longer than was proper. And definitely with a lot more tongue than was proper. Then he couldn't help but surreptitiously glance over his shoulder. Yes! There was Éothain, a discreet distance away, giving him a stern glare. An unlikely choice of duenna, but an effective one... "I fear that, trothplighted or no, your chaperone thinks we should maintain more of a distance."

Éowyn looked towards Éothain, and burst out into peals of laughter at the sight of his disapproving mien. "Well, if we cannot steal kisses," she said, "We can at least have a conversation he would most heartily disapprove of. You mentioned that there were many other ways." She cocked her head to one side, looking at him in a quite uncharacteristically coquettish way. He had a suspicion she was doing it quite deliberately, and he began to laugh, only to have her giggle too, and relax into something much closer to her normal stance.

"Well, proud daughter of the house of Eorl, you could ride me." Inwardly, Faramir fleetingly considered the thought that he really shouldn't be saying this to Éowyn, but the gleeful (and somewhat aroused) look on her face made it more than worthwhile.

"How on earth would that work? If you were on all fours, and I sat on your back... your pintel would be underneath."

Faramir had to clutch the fence post beside him to keep himself upright. He started to laugh and couldn't stop, laughed until he cried. Éowyn wasn't quite sure what the joke was, but nonetheless his laughter was infectious – she too ended up quite helpless. Eventually Faramir managed to speak.

"No, no – I'd lie on my back and you would sit astride me. That's what people normally mean when they talk of the woman riding the man."

He could almost see the workings of Éowyn's mind as she considered this idea. It did not take the second sight of the Eldar to see that she liked the idea – liked it a great deal. Then she gave him a sly, sidelong glance.

"And would you like that?"

Faramir suddenly found it was hard to get the words out. He managed a hoarse whisper. "Very, very much indeed."

"But not for a first time?"

Faramir paused to consider. "I think the way I first suggested... would perhaps be easier. Though I am not sure. Maybe when the time comes, we can see what feels best to us. In any case, I mean to start by touching you, to show you what pleasure can be found."

"Touching me?"

"With fingers, and lips, and tongue." Tulkas' rod, I should not be saying this to her. But... but... she is so magnificent when she's like this.

"Where?" Éowyn's cheeks were flushed once more, though not with embarrassment, but rather with arousal. Her eyes grey-blue eyes glittered.

"Everywhere... your neck, your shoulders." The nagging voice of Faramir's conscience told him he should stop now. But the way Éowyn's lips parted somewhat undermined his resolve. And the sight of the tip of her pink tongue, running along her lower lip, undid his resolve completely. "Your breasts... your belly... your hips... that soft and hidden place between your thighs."

"Oh!" Those blue-grey eyes widened, the flush deepened, the pink tongue flicked along her lower lip once more. He could have sworn her body swayed slightly towards his, as if it were a compass needle drawn by the invisible cords of a lodestone. Then, "And you? What should I do to ensure your pleasure."

"It is your wedding night, beloved. Be assured I will find it pleasurable. But the most important thing for me is that you should find it pleasurable."

Éowyn reached out and took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. Her touch felt like the lightning laden air before a summer storm – her skin on his crackled with tension. He longed to reach out and draw her into his arms. In fact the longing seemed so strong it was as if it had taken on a corporeal form. He moved a fraction closer, only to be interrupted by a cough from a handful of paces away. While they had been standing hand-in-hand, it seemed that Éothain had come closer. Oh Morgoth's balls – was he close enough to hear any of our conversation? Hmm... head still on shoulders – probably not.

Éowyn looked at him and smiled. "I think perhaps Lord Éothain is hinting that we should return to the Golden Hall.

~o~O~o~

The next week was possibly one of the most confusing of Faramir's life. His emotions whirled like the coloured smokes and sparks of a wizard's firework display. For the first couple of days he felt utterly torn between lust and guilt.

Every time he recalled the conversation, he could think of nothing else but Éowyn's tongue between her parted lips, and what those lips would feel like against his. Well, maybe "think of nothing else" was an exaggeration – he could think of other things like the swell of her breasts, the sway of her hips, her cheeky smile as she enquired whether he had given much thought to their wedding night, the look of unabashed desire which lit her face when she finally realised what was involved in the sort of riding a woman might do with a man...

But at the same time he was aware that he had told her things that perhaps he ought not to have before their wedding night. Of course, someone had to tell her those things – it would have been unconscionable to let her go to her bridal bed in ignorance of what was to happen. But that someone should not have been him, should not have combined explaining what she needed to know with what could only be described as flirting. Flirting, what was more, in a blatantly lustful way with a woman who was a complete innocent. When he looked at the matter in that light, he felt like the lowest sort of scoundrel imaginable.

And to make things all the harder, while this war between lust and guilt took place, he had to get on with the job of being a diplomatic and friendly guest. He sparred with Éomer (wondering how deadly the man's blows would be were he to know the extent to which Faramir had sought to lead his sister astray). He discussed with Elfhelm the planning of the defences along the border with Dunland. He and Imrahil discussed trade agreements with Éomer's counsellors, roughing out a plan whereby grain could be advanced against a promise of wool and horses the year after. He played chess with Éowyn, or walked with her in the gardens (planted by their kinswoman Morwen, but run sadly to seed). And their walks were always attended by Éothain, looking sulky and ill at ease (the job of duenna did not come naturally to the man). When not with Éowyn, he took to avoiding Éothain: he strongly suspected that the rider knew exactly what sort of perfidious thoughts he had been entertaining.

The time spent with Eowyn, although delightful, did nothing to help his confusion. She would pluck flowers and lay them carefully in a basket to decorate her brother's chambers, looking the picture of innocent beauty, and he would feel a complete cad. At moments like that he could convince himself that her remarks were driven by nothing more than guileless curiosity and it was his wanton desires which had driven him to place an entirely erroneous interpretation on them.

But then, halfway through a chess game, she would make a particularly challenging move, her grey-blue eyes would meet his, and somehow the tension, the competitive drive of the game would flare into something more. She would catch her lower lip in her teeth and glance at him from beneath half-lowered lids, and he would realise that he now desperately needed to spin the end-game out for at least another couple of candle marks, not only because the sight of her offering such a blatant challenge was intoxicating, but also because he realised that right at that moment he could not rise from the table without disgracing himself.

After the game, there was nothing for it but to retreat to his chambers and have a cold bath. Another cold bath. He was having a great many cold baths.

Eventually, he decided that he would run mad if he allowed himself to continue spinning round hopelessly. The best course was to assume that the conversation had fulfilled the entirely practical goal of setting Éowyn's worries at rest, assume that the flirting had been one-sided, feel grateful that Éothain had intervened before he pressed his bride-to-be into any actions she would feel compromised by, then forget the whole thing. By the end of the week he had just about convinced himself.

He and Éowyn went for a ride. For once, Eothain was not in attendance. Elfhelm, his wife Hilde and their daughters, and a small group of riders came with them. And Elfhelm seemed to be content to allow them a rather looser rein than Eothain had been prepared to countenance. (Faramir suspected Hilde might have had something to do with this: he could have sworn he heard her say "Let them be, love. Young couples need to talk, and he is an honourable man.")

Faramir was doing his best to live up to this estimation of his character when Eowyn reined in her horse and turned to face him.

"Do you remember our conversation of last week?" Her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks had become slightly flushed.

Faramir felt as though he had been struck dumb. He nodded, not trusting himself to talk without his voice coming out in a most unmanly squeak.

"I have been thinking about it. Thinking about it a great deal." Éowyn's lips curved into an enigmatic smile. "You mentioned touching – with fingers, and lips, and tongue. And it has occurred to me that I could not get with child from that."

Faramir looked at her, eyes wide with surprise. Eventually he managed to speak, in a kind of half gasp. "No, I suppose you would not." Éowyn nodded and fell silent for a moment. Faramir waited, stomach twisting with a kind of tortured anticipation, to see where she was going with this line of thought. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to say. He also had a feeling he would like whatever it was. But at the same time, he had a nagging feeling his conscience would tell him he ought not to like it.

"You know, Éomer and I were rather naughty as children. Quite often I would get sent to my room. I became quite adept at climbing out of the window. The wooden frame stands proud of the daub and it is quite easy to gain purchase for one's fingers and toes."

Faramir swallowed. Was she really suggesting what he thought she was suggesting?

"Last night's feast and excitement has really quite tired me out. I think perhaps this afternoon I shall retire to my chambers to rest. And it is like to be a hot afternoon, I think. I shall have to leave the window open." She looked at Faramir, her eyes twinkling.

Faramir couldn't help the note of astonishment in his voice as he managed to frame a reply. "Am I right in thinking that is an invitation?" Even though he'd guessed where her thoughts were going, he still couldn't quite believe it.

Éowyn fixed him with the steely stare he knew from the sparring ring. Her voice was an odd mixture of affection and irritation. "Of course it's an invitation, you daft nit."

~o~O~o~

Later that afternoon...

"Nienna's mercy, I never thought you'd be so loud..." After being lost in sheer sensation for so long, Faramir blurted out the first thought that came into his mind.

He could have kicked himself. Éowyn's blissful expression of sated passion moments earlier was replaced by one of slight worry, her brows drawing together. "Sorry. I did not know I was... I wasn't really aware of what I was doing."

Idiot! "No, no, it is wonderful... you are wonderful... I could listen to the sounds of your pleasure all my life long. I intend to listen to the sounds of your pleasure all my life long. It's just..." Dammit, what is it about her that I seem incapable of coherent thought? "We left the window wide open."

"Was I that loud?"

"Yes, my love, and it has left me feeling very smug indeed."

"Oh." A moment's thought. "Perhaps if there were any people within earshot, they will think that we were sparring or some such, and I was merely out of breath from the exercise..."

Faramir laughed and drew Éowyn's head onto his bare chest. "Alas, my love, not only were the noises you made loud, they were very... distinctive."

"Oh." This time more drawn-out. Another pause. Then a downward glance towards the breeches he'd insisted on keeping in place, and the rather pronounced bulge at the front of those breeches. "I wonder whether you make a lot of noise..."

~o~O~o~

Some time later still...

A positively triumphant note in her voice: "I was right, you also make quite a lot of noise. And you were right – it is unmistakeable. And it doesn't sound in the slightest like someone out of breath after a vigorous fencing bout."

Éowyn smiled and nuzzled against his shoulder. Then offered another comment on proceedings. "Gods, that stuff is sticky..."

With thanks to Lady Bluejay for letting me pick up from Éowyn's throwaway remark in Tides of Destiny. And for letting me borrow the running joke about cold baths.