Disclaimer and Warnings: See first chapter.

Author's Note: Eh, hi again. It was brought to my attention that there was a rather huge mishap with the chapter I posted yesterday. Somehow it got translated into some vague semblance of German and well, that was clearly not the intention. So without further ado, I hope you will enjoy the real chapter two.


2. Remove the World

"Love removes the world for you, and just as surely when it's going well as when it's going badly."
- Alice Munro, The Beggar Maid: Stories of Flo and Rose

Horns were blaring, bells ringing to announce the arrival of the envoy from Gondor in Edoras. Éomer stood out on the parapet, his sister at his side, the crown still unfamiliar and heavy on his brow, surveying the long line of riders for his fiancé.

"It almost seems like you are eager for this marriage to happen, dear brother," Éowyn commented teasingly with a quick side-glance. "And here you had me thinking King Elessar forced your hand. Literally."

"Very funny," Éomer grumbled. "I just hope you realise that your lectures about propriety and duty lost all their credibility when you eloped with the stable boy."

Éowyn rolled her eyes, primly pushing a strand of long blond hair back behind her ear. "He is not a stable boy, as you well know. And I am not lecturing you, either. I like Faramir, from the little I know about him, and I like him even better for causing that spring in your step."

"You should have eloped with him and I could have absconded with a different stable boy every night," Éomer suggested, but his heart wasn't in it.

His sister, smart woman that she was, obviously didn't believe him either. "You're getting too old for that, anyway… and too important. You remember what happened with Théodred."

She didn't say it to be cruel, but Éomer still winced internally. Because the thing with Théodred - it had been a disaster on all fronts, hurt feelings all around. Even if he still had trouble adjusting to his new status, Éomer was well aware that there was a world of difference between a simple marshal propositioning another rider for a roll in the hay, and a king approaching one of his subjects in such a manner.

"I think this will be good for you," Éowyn said softly, resting one small delicate hand on his forearm. "There is no rule against kings being happy and loving their husbands, you know?"

"Thank you," Éomer answered, pressing a kiss into the crown of her soft hair before turning his attention back to his arriving guests. "It might be too soon to speak of love, but I do see a chance for it in the future."

He just hoped that Faramir saw it the same way. He had missed him in the days following their dalliance, had even ventured to ask on the third day of dull negotiations if Faramir shouldn't be present for them. But apparently orcs had been sighted in Ithilien, a small band only, but still worrisome enough that Faramir, as Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, had felt honour-bound to relieve his men. Éomer couldn't fault him for that decision, honour and duty being something he understood only too well, but he still wished that Faramir had found the time to make his goodbyes in person.

It was a relief when he finally spotted Faramir, his hair shimmering red in the sunlight. There was a shy smile on his face as if he didn't quite know how to handle all this attention, the Rohirrim excited to greet the heroes of the war and their future sovereign.

Éowyn dug a pointy elbow into his side. "You should go and welcome them."

Éomer rolled his eyes. "Please do not take your mood swings out on me. That is what you have your stable boy for."

He quickly turned around and strode down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, because for one, teasing Éowyn about pregnancy-related issues was becoming increasingly dangerous, and for another, he really couldn't wait to greet Faramir.

The riders had gathered in the square, some already dismounted, while the last of the envoy was only just arriving. Faramir and Aragorn were in the centre and Éomer had to duck around horses and men to reach their side just as Faramir was swinging from his horse. He stepped behind him, putting his hands on Faramir's waist to steady his descent and then spun him around to claim those inviting lips in a deep kiss.

Faramir's lips were slightly chapped from the long ride and the harsh wind on the plains, but he opened easily to Éomer's probing tongue and returned the kiss with endearing shyness. A pointed throat clearing eventually prompted Éomer to pull back, but he took a moment to suck on Faramir's full bottom lip before releasing his mouth and resting his forehead against Faramir's.

"My lord," Faramir said softly. "King Éomer." He made an aborted movement as if to bow, pressing their foreheads harder together for a moment before jerking back.

Éomer laughed, giving Faramir's hip another squeeze before drawing back. "Welcome to Rohan, my dear Faramir. We are very pleased to have you."

Aragorn cleared his throat again. "I do hope the rest of our party is welcome as well."

"Of course, my friend," Éomer assured him, reluctantly turning away from his fiancé to clasp Aragorn's arm. "I am glad you found the time to visit and attend our wedding."

"I would not miss it, though I fear Arwen is quite cross with me for forcing her to remain in Gondor to rule in my stead," Aragorn replied with a small smile.

"Please let her know that she is always welcome to visit," Éomer offered graciously, taking Faramir's wrist in a loose hold to steer him up the stairs towards his sister. "I know you must be tired from your journey. Éowyn has provided refreshments for you in the hall and your quarters are ready if you wish to lay down before the festivities tonight."

He waited just long enough to hear Aragorn's thanks before he left him and the rest of his men in his sister's capable hands and tugged Faramir towards his chambers.

"My lord?" Faramir questioned, slightly breathless as Éomer pressed him back against the door of his room. "Should we not… I mean, will you not be missed?"

"I missed you," Éomer gave back, framing Faramir's face between his hands and bringing their mouths together in a chaste kiss. "We will do enough socialising this evening that I can take this time to welcome my future husband to his new home, would you not agree?"

Faramir sighed softly into the kiss, growing pliant beneath his touch and spreading his legs a little so that Éomer could press even closer. "As you wish, my lord."

Éomer laughed at Faramir's formality, especially as the hardness between Faramir's legs told him that the young Gondorian was not as composed or unaffected as his words suggested. He pressed his nose into the soft patch of skin behind Faramir's ear, breathed in the scent of him, and felt something in him settle that had been taut and tense ever since he had left Gondor.

His frenzy calmed, he cupped Faramir's cheek gently, seeing the desire muted by embarrassment in his clear blue eyes. He traced Faramir's yaw with his lips, the soft stubble of his beard leaving them tingling and creating a delicious contrast to the velvet taste of their next kiss. Faramir gave a soft moan, his hands tangling in Éomer's wild blond mane as he pulled him closer to deepen the kiss.

Éomer was happy to allow Faramir's initiative, to slip into the kiss as if into a pleasant dream, and only pulled back when they were both becoming breathless. Before Faramir could find another bout of daring, Éomer sank smoothly to his knees, unlacing Faramir's breeches with nimble fingers. He half expected another timid objection, but Faramir was resting with his eyes closed against the door, his hand still buried in the young king's hair.

He carefully freed Faramir's erection, giving it a few leisurely strokes and then ducked down to mouth at his testicles, tipping them gently with his tongue before sucking them into the moist cavern of his mouth. Faramir made a sound like a sob, his hand tightening on golden strands before he released his grip and caressed the back of Éomer's head in apology. Éomer hummed in approval, sending pleasurable vibrations all throughout Faramir's body, and grasped the other man's hips to hold him steady, hold him up, as he switched his attention to the real price. He licked along the underside of Faramir's erection and placed a teasing kiss on its tip before taking him into his mouth without further ado, relishing in the moans Faramir couldn't contain, the taste of Faramir's arousal, the gentle hands in his hair.

Faramir came finally with a soft sigh, barely more than a breath released, his legs trembling with the effort to keep upright, and his forehead sinking to Éomer's shoulder when the king stood to support him.

"I apologise, my lord. I will have recovered my strength momentarily," Faramir murmured close to his ear, but it sounded as if he was drifting off to sleep rather than rousing himself from languor.

Éomer laughed, carding his fingers through Faramir's sweaty hair, and carefully steered him towards the bed. "I would hate myself if I deprived you of your well-earned rest. Sleep, my beautiful husband-to-be, you have a wedding to attend to tonight and a wedding night with a very eager husband."

Faramir blinked up at him with clouded blue eyes as Éomer pulled the down covers over his naked lower half. "I hope I have not disappointed you."

"Disappointed is the very opposite of what I am," Éomer answered, pressing a kiss to Faramir's forehead. "I will see you tonight."

"Thank you, my lord," he heard Faramir's soft reply as he pulled the curtains closed on the windows and then left the other man to his rest.

His breeches were still rather tight for a while and his face was probably flushed as if he was suffering from excessive heat, but he couldn't bring himself to regret his decision to postpone any further activities. To watch Faramir come, to be the cause of the other man's pleasure and to feel the intimacy of their budding relationship was a reward in itself.


The Golden Hall was truly golden tonight – lit by torches along the walls and a hundred candles on the long tables that had been strategically placed to accommodate all the guests and celebrants. Everyone in Edoras - from counsellors and marshals to common stable boys and washer women - had been invited to join in the festivities, to partake of good food and plentiful wine, and there was a steady stream in and out of the great double doors. In the middle of the hall there was a bit of open space, always in flux, where a few couples - among them his sister and Leofric - were dancing to the merry tune played on a multitude of instruments. He wasn't much of a dancer himself and when he had asked if Faramir wanted to take a spin, the Gondorian had blushingly confessed that he didn't know how to dance with another man.

Éomer accepted another hearty punch to the shoulder and grinned good-naturedly at the bawdy jokes that were made at his expense, waiting for the right time to make his rebuttal while looking around the hall for his husband. He finally spotted him closer to the door, deep in conversation with some Lothlórien elves, and couldn't help but think that Aragorn might have done him more than one favour with his suggestion. It was true that Faramir looked even more handsome than on any given day, in his deep black leather jerkin with the White Tree of Gondor stitched on his breast in fine silver thread, his hair shimmering in the light of the candles, his beard neatly trimmed to make him look younger and softer. But Faramir also knew how to talk with potential allies, how to be polite and gracious to their guests, listen to them with unwavering interest and make them feel welcomed and valued. Éomer had no such talent. He enjoyed the easy, uncomplicated comradeship with his men, the ribald humour, the straight-forward trials of strength, but diplomacy was beyond him. And yet, that was exactly what would be needed to strengthen his kingdom's position, to forge alliances with those who would be able to help him rebuild and defend the peace. He needed Faramir.

"Ah, just look at that besotted look on his face," Béorwine called jovially. "He can't wait to get the young captain alone."

"Who says I have to wait? If you will excuse me, I think I need to ravish my husband," Éomer proclaimed to a chorus of hoots and laughter.

He quickly made his way through the hall to where Faramir was still talking to the elves, slipping a possessive arm around his trim waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I hope you will excuse us, my lords, for Faramir is very tired and I would like to show him to our bed," Éomer addressed the elves, not suppressing his enjoyment at Faramir's embarrassment.

The taller elf returned Éomer's smirk. "We would not dream of keeping Lord Faramir from his husband. May your marriage be blessed and your lives long."

"Le fael," Faramir murmured witha small bow."Na lû e-govaned vîn."(1)

The elves appeared pleased and inclined their heads in farewell as the new couple excused themselves from the hall.

"Is it wise for us to leave so early, my lord?" Faramir asked hesitantly, but obediently followed Éomer along the corridors to their room.

"Early? It is well past midnight," Éomer replied, teasing a hand under Faramir's jerkin and caressing the small of his back, the top of his buttocks. "And no-one can fault me for finding you irresistible tonight."

Faramir was silent, a few hitched breaths the only acknowledgement of Éomer's touch as they hastened through the thankfully empty corridors towards their room. Éomer pushed the door open and bid Faramir enter first before closing and locking the door behind him. He wanted to have Faramir all to himself and didn't plan on being disturbed.

Faramir, meanwhile, had lit a few candles, just enough to avoid any unfortunate stumbles or undue delay in getting out of their clothes, and turned down the bedspread. The candles cast strange shadows over his handsome face, lending him a haunted quality that stirred Éomer's heart, made him want to protect and cherish his husband as he deserved.

"My lord, I did not mean to imply that I was unhappy to leave," Faramir said softly, probably uncomfortable under Éomer's admiring gaze. "I hope to please you."

"You will," Éomer replied, gently taking Faramir in his arms and kissing the corner of his mouth. "Starting by calling me by my name. You are my husband now, Faramir; I think we can do away with titles."

"Of course, my… Éomer," Faramir agreed readily, and Éomer was probably a bit too charmed by the possessive pronoun that had slipped in front of his name.

"Good," Éomer answered, reaching for Faramir's breeches. "In the interest of full disclosure, I will tell you that my ambition for tonight is to make you scream my name so loud that everyone in Rohan will hear."

Faramir blushed, toeing off his boots and stepping out of his breeches at Éomer's silent urging. "I am afraid I do not have the lung capacity for such a feat."

Éomer laughed, pleasantly surprised at Faramir's little joke. "I shan't hold it against you. That is, if you kiss me right now."

Faramir surged forward as if he had taken Éomer's words as an ultimatum rather than an invitation, smothering Éomer's surprised laugh with his lips and pushing himself against the king, arms wrapping around his waist and hands kneading the strong muscles in his back, slipping under clothes and caressing heated skin.

Éomer was glad to return the affection, his arousal from the afternoon renewed tenfold, flaring up with bright urgency. It was the most natural thing to push Faramir down on the bed, cover him with his own body, ruck up his jerkin and shirt, touch his warm, pale skin and follow the fine red-blond hair down to the hard length of his erection. He kissed the tip of Faramir's erection, the taste all the more appealing with how familiar it had become, and smirked when Faramir's hips bucked up involuntarily.

"Easy there, Faramir, we already did that this afternoon, remember? It is my turn for some pleasure now," Éomer teased, but still gave Faramir's erection a few deliberate strokes, breathed in his musky scent as he licked the inside of his thigh.

"What… What would you like me to do, Éomer?" Faramir asked breathlessly. "I… would not call myself experienced, but I wish to please you."

"And you shall, my sweet Faramir," Éomer murmured. "You shall indeed."

He moved up Faramir's body, undoing the lateral row of buttons as he went, before pushing it off the other man's shoulders. Even in the semi-dark Faramir couldn't hide the wince, the sharply indrawn breath, and Éomer belatedly remembered that the Gondorian had been hurt, had taken several arrows, one of them to his shoulders. He kissed Faramir in apology and silently resolved to leave Faramir's shirt in place unless the other man volunteered to take it off. He paid some attention to Faramir's mouth, engaging in a playful battle with Faramir's tongue that he won without question, and then suckled a mark into the hollow of his throat. A soft moan was his reward and he rubbed his fingers over Faramir's right nipple, until it pebbled into a hard nub under his thin shirt. He found it with his mouth, worried it between his teeth and wrung another keen from his dear husband.

"I have been fantasising about this," Éomer confessed, joining their mouths once more. "Lying awake at night, counting the days and imagining how you would feel under me, how you would smell and sound, all the things I wanted to do to you…"

He reached down beneath Faramir's legs, fluttered his fingers teasingly along the hot length of his erection and then pressed his index finger against the tight ring of muscles, pushing in only slightly and tugging on the rim whenever he withdrew. Faramir threw his head back, pressing it into the mattress and exposing the pale column of his throat, the red mark Éomer had just left there.

"You were made for this," Éomer commented, watching the muscles contract around his finger and gripping it tight for a moment. "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are like this?"

Faramir shook his head, hands fisting into the bedspread as if he needed something to ground him to reality lest he be swept away by pleasure.

"Good. I am a jealous man, you see," Éomer answered, placing a light bite on the inside of Faramir's thigh and pushing his finger in a little further; Faramir grunted, shifting to try to accommodate the sudden intrusion. "And no-one will ever get to see you like this again. You are mine now."

"Yes, Éomer," Faramir whispered, reaching out to link his right hand with Éomer's left. "I am yours."

Éomer smirked, leading Faramir's hand to his mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. Faramir's erection had wilted slightly at Éomer's overly eager jab and as much as Éomer enjoyed teasing his husband, watching him squirm and feel his muscles quiver, he wanted this night and all that were to follow to be to their mutual pleasure. He had no interest in hurting Faramir and while some of his past lovers had relished in a hint of pain to augment the pleasure, there was time enough to review that possibility once they had built up a level of trust, of intimacy.

He released Faramir's hand and sat up, pulling his vest and high-collared shirt over his head in one go. When he could see again, Faramir had sat up as well, his long legs folded under him, and was reaching out for him. Sword-worn hands caressed up his flanks and ghosted over his pectorals with reverent slowness, sending pleasurable shivers down his back. Faramir looked at him from under cinnamon lashes, then ducked his head to kiss a trail up his chest, criss-crossing over his heart before latching onto his neck, suckling a mark of his own beneath Éomer's ear.

Éomer enjoyed Faramir's attentions for a moment, but then buried his hands in soft strawberry blond curls and tugged him back. "Making your husband come in his pants does not constitute a proper wedding night, my dear Faramir," he reproached him playfully, delighting, as always, in Faramir's blush. "Lay back down. I will be right with you."

He rolled off the bed, pushed his trousers off his legs and flung them in the general direction of the chair. He had put some unguent aside earlier, atop his dresser for just this occasion, and he forced himself to get it without looking at the bed and its occupant, knowing that the sight would mesmerise him and inevitably delay his plans.

When he did turn around, the small jar already unscrewed, Faramir had positioned himself on hands and knees, legs slightly splayed and his pert butt sticking out in a clear invitation. Éomer only had to kneel down behind him and sink home. But there was something wrong with the picture, something tugging at Éomer's subconscious until he felt the tense line of Faramir's muscles, the strain of his shoulders as he smoothed his hands over his lover's back. He suppressed a sigh, smothered another by pressing his lips into the nape of Faramir's neck. He could just see the outline of the bandage wrapping over Faramir's shoulder and around his torso, felt the slight raise under his fingertips, and knew instinctively that Faramir would never admit to being in pain, being weak.

"I want you spread out under me," he whispered in Faramir's ear, grasping his wrists and forcing them forward until the other man got the idea. "I want to blanket you with my body."

"As you wish," Faramir agreed softly, stretching out on the covers under Éomer's guidance. "Should I take off my shirt?"

"No, I like you like this," Éomer decided, surprised to find it the truth. Half-clothed, the edge of his shirt falling over his buttocks, face hidden between his arms, Faramir looked like he had wanted to seduce his husband, had maybe even touched himself to thoughts of what they would do, but then drifted off to sleep for Éomer to find him like this, to wake him with kisses and more.

He palmed the smooth skin of Faramir's buttocks, feeling the minute tightening of muscles, and urged Faramir to lift his hips so that he could slip a pillow beneath. He then gently compelled Faramir to bend his right leg and give him a little more space to settle in. He slicked his erection and three of his fingers, kissing Faramir's neck, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, while he worked them into the other man, widening the snug passage piecemeal to soft sighs and sudden shifts until all three fingers were encased by Faramir's tight heat. He pumped them in and out a few more times, then pulled out and positioned himself.

"Éomer…" Faramir whispered a silent plea in his voice, and Éomer obliged only too gladly, thrusting forward, filling Faramir's emptiness, making him whole again.

Faramir jerked, burying his face in his pillow to muffle his pleasure as his hands curled into fists. Éomer rolled his hips, trying to find Faramir's special spot, a satisfied grin spreading over his face when he heard a muted scream. He leaned down, sliding his hands along Faramir's arms until he could grasp his wrists and cover his body with his own. The possibility of movement was limited like this, but there was something inertly gratifying in having Faramir so completely under his control, his own bodyweight pressing them ever closer until the lines between them blurred, until he was so deep within the other man that he thought he could feel his heartbeat, the cresting waves of his pleasure, the rippling approach of his orgasm.

He could feel his own climax building up, almost like an afterthought, the natural conclusion to their combined pleasure and he stilled deep inside Faramir, yielding walls gripping him even tighter, milking him of his essence as Faramir shifted restlessly beneath him, trying to create friction for himself. He would have dislodged Éomer if the young Rohirrim king had not stilled his hips with strong hands, accompanying the last spurts of semen with long, hard strokes into his husband.

When he was spent, he reluctantly pulled out, broke their connection and rolled onto his back beside Faramir. "Give me a moment and I will see to you," he murmured, feeling post-coital lethargy beckoning him to give in.

Faramir cleared his throat, gathering his limbs under him. "That will not be necessary, thank you."

"Ah." Éomer grinned, imagining the blush on Faramir's cheeks. "I am glad to hear that."

The mattress jostled slightly as Faramir got up, and Éomer sleepily blinked his eyes open. A few of the candles had gone out and Faramir was merely a shadowy silhouette in front of the washbasin. Éomer closed his eyes again, waited for Faramir to approach him with a wet cloth and then tugged him back into bed, performing a cursory wipe-down before throwing the cloth aside and pulling Faramir against his chest.

"You are too restless, my dear husband," he murmured, kissing Faramir's brow and settling an arm around his waist. "You are supposed to be too tired to do anything but bask in the afterglow with me."

"I do not like the sticky feeling," Faramir admitted in a whisper, following Éomer's lead and slinging an arm over his husband.

Éomer laughed, tracing Faramir's spine through his shirt, letting his fingertips explore every dip and rise. "That is par for the course, I am afraid, but I do not mind you cleaning up if you end up back here with me."

"Thank you, Éomer," Faramir replied softly, pulling the covers up around them.

"It was my pleasure," Éomer answered with a grin that slipped into a gentle smile at the peaceful way Faramir was snuggled up to him. "And welcome to Rohan, King Consort Faramir."


(1) Thank you. Until next we meet.