Chapter 12: Clean

17 April 3019 (Third Age), Minas Tirith

“No more. Please, I beg a moment.”

“You’re asking for respite? You? O joyous day! I would dance about the room in victory had I the slightest remaining energy.”

“A fine jest. Let me repeatedly impale you with a bludgeon too mighty for your delicate construction and we’ll see how enthusiastic your capering is.”

“Delicate?”

“I’m offended by your insinuation.”

“No doubt that’s why you’ve spent most of the last hour on top of my otherwise exhausted body, forcefully self-impaling your ‘delicate construction’ through several dozen moments of rapture while screaming the most deliciously lascivious enticements.”

“For your information, I was completely silent the entire time and have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Moreover, this is exactly what you did yesterday: feigning exhaustion before embarking on another stretch of vigorous sexual athletics. As you did the day before that. And the day before that. So here we are again. May I know the rationale behind this entirely transparent feint? Or is it a form of mockery too subtle for my weary constitution?”

“Not mockery so much as pity. The Rohirrim recover quickly from the sort of physical abuse I’ve suffered under your depredations. I suspect it’s the horse-mastery, for enduring the constant presence of a lumbering beast between one’s legs has most certainly helped me survive your repetitive blundering. Or perhaps we’re just made of sterner stuff than you soft Southerners. For are you not in fact exhausted, my sadly overrated Steward?”

“My Lady, it’s not amazement at your stamina that’s kept me from moving this past hour. Moreover I believe that by this point any orgasms you might wrest from my loins can only consist of unwept tears and dust, for certainly I’m long-drained of the nectar you so greedily pursue.”

“Greedily? Nay, I reluctantly yet dutifully act in the service of fastidiousness, good order, and the general commonweal. For one thing I hope to reduce the burdens of your launderers, which have undoubtedly increased since you first kidnapped me to your chambers. But if you must know, I find the entire matter repulsive.”

“Was that what you meant by, and I quote, ‘please, Faramir, fill my throat with your hot... ‘?”

She clapped her hand over his mouth. “I would never say anything so impossibly vulgar.”

Prying it aside, he continued, “you also said...”

She playfully replaced her hand and sniffed. “You hear what you wish to hear. I was only trying to find a way to manage your exceedingly messy perversions, despite your willful misconstruing of my innocent struggles against your depravity.”

“Speaking of which,” he mumbled through her fingers, “there would seem to be yet another ‘messy perversion’ with which you might need to deal.”

“Yes, I’m afraid you are correct. Remove your increasingly useless truncheon and allow me to cleanse myself, and it, of your foul issue.”

“You’re practically drooling. But I remind you that you’re still atop my supine frame, and my range of motion is quite happily restricted.”

Sighing in exasperation, she protested, “must I do everything?”

“That would be entirely acceptable.”

“Patriarchal brute.”

“I accept your characterization, though I suppose what you really mean is that it’s my turn to be on top.”

They rolled over, still joined. “Very well. But just know that I’m increasingly unwilling to accept further defilement ... ahhhhh ... defilement of my ... my ... oh, my love, yes!“

Éowyn pulled his arms tighter as steaming water gently oscillated around their reclining bodies. Her wet hair trailed across his bare chest, and he idly toyed with a swollen nipple as they relaxed in his bath.

“The perpetual warmth and constant refreshment of your bathwater is most ingenious, Faramir. We’ve nothing like this in Rohan.”

“It’s a surprisingly simple mechanism. Meltwater and spring water from the mountain flow through a cistern under which we keep a fire perpetually stoked, after which it’s piped into Citadel, both for the private use of my ... family” (there was, as ever, a catch in his voice when he was forced to recall his deceased father and brother) “and for the communal baths of the Guards. Spent water is gathered in another cistern and repurposed for cleaning the streets of the City. Constant warfare interrupted our plans to expand this system to the lower circles, but if the King assents I would see this done in the future, for it’s a luxury that should benefit all rather than just a few. As for Rohan: while Gondor would be happy to lend you our knowledge, in truth I believe it’s a Dwarvish invention derived from their smithies.”

“Then I shall entreat Gimli when I see him next. He has designs on the Glǽmscrafu, the Glittering Caves that rest within the borders of Rohan. I doubt my brother will object to his plans, but I deem we may justifiably ask this of him in return.”

“For my part, I’ve never properly appreciated this bath as I now do, for I’ve never had the pleasure of your company to enhance the experience. In any case, I find it quite restful after our exertions.”

“Indeed? I suppose it’s time for me to admit that this bath is the only reason I willingly come to your chambers.”

“I was already aware it had naught to do with me.”

“Surely not. For I can have you anywhere I wish, whereas this bath is a singular marvel.”

He chuckled. “I’ve lost both your heart and your body to my bathwater. So much for my keen mind, rugged charm, and patient devotion.”

She patted his thigh. “Let that be a lesson. If only you’d made a greater effort to capture my attention.”