Hardly a model of patience herself on a regular day, Éowyn responds eagerly, inflamed by the feel of his hard manhood pressing against her belly and his wandering hands that so deftly stroke and caress her body. She can only breathe a little moan against his lips when he grinds against her, shuddering in a way the cool water is not responsible for.

"Faramir," she whispers reverently amid hungry kisses, clear yearning lacing her low tone. Her hands grasp at his back and shoulders desperately, blunt nails digging into his skin as she kisses him with fervor now, playfulness forgotten in favor of pure desire.