Faramir knew no better feeling than this. His hands framed his head as they pressed against the outer wall of the castle, hidden in the shade of night and trusted elms who kept well the secrets of this encounter and those before it. He cared not that his britches were slipping down his thighs, or that his face became hard-pressed to the cool stone, or the bruising grip on his hips. The consequences... the chill he could catch from the night air on his sweat-dampened skin, or the affects these acts may have on his posture... banished from his mind, clouded by his lustful need for more. He did not hear his voice as it whispered pleas - begging - only the breath panting strings of praise into his ear. Such words he would not hear on the other side of the wall that his hands sought to find their hold in the smooth marble, the stone he could taste now, but it did not matter. The sediment, the dust, whatever had collected on those walls paled to the thick musk flooding his senses pressing their marks in his memory just as the bruises would mark this night.