musebox for Ashfae's minions

They are not perfect at this; sometimes he loses the rhythm or the place and she groans her frustration, or she gets briefly distracted by some stray thought that seems to set her back in a way she cannot put into words. But it feels astonishing, intimate and wicked and at the same time strangely precious, a thing just for her and Faramir. A sort of tension begins to build and coil inside her, and she longs for it to release, longs for something she cannot describe, even had she breath to speak of it beyond gasps and half-phrases and his name, which are all she can manage, and those not coherently. She continues to cling to him, sometimes pressing a kiss to his face or neck, sometimes pressing her fingers into his back harder than she realizes. She loses all track of time, of place, of nearly everything save Faramir and what he's doing to her.