Things were different, even just in something as simple as the way they stood, the way they held each other's hands—but what exactly it was that was different was difficult to put your finger on. Perhaps it was something in how they angled their bodies without noticing, perhaps they were a little closer than before, or perhaps it was just the way in which Rory did not sneak quite so charged glances at Jigano anymore. Something had been sated (for now). Oh, he knew that he could prod it back into hunger with very little effort, found his eyes lingering too long on the way the firelight drifted over Jigano's skin, but he found that he could look away.
It was better that way, too, at least when in the company of others. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate or exclude Amalia, which he might very well have ended up doing if they had found her while his body and mind had been wanting one thing and one thing only.
Though, calling Jigano 'a thing' was hardly fair.
As it was, he walked in contented silence, warmed by Amalia's rather uncharacteristic exuberance, his heart welling with affection against the cool spring night air trying to encroach on them. It was good to see her like that—to see her smile so effortlessly, to watch the warmth in her dark, bright eyes, the way she broke into a little dance, carried by a stray bit of music. Rory's smile was warm and lopsided, and then they were by the Wheel of Fire.
And oh was she suddenly a devil: her eyes glittered, she was bold and brazen, not fooled by the chaste way they held hands.
He put on a straight face, fighting down the urge to either grin or blush (which was a strange reaction coming from him). "Yes, I had my hands quite full," he agreed, voice mild, but the corner of his mouth quirked rebelliously.
Then she spun in close, a whirlwind of mischief, quick and lithe, resting against Jigano for a moment before disappearing just as suddenly—Rory's laugh was warm, and he reached out to stroke the myriad of candle flames with his mind. They grew a little brighter, shifting and capering in a way that did not match the breeze. Contained, controlled, fire was beautiful...
"It is the Wheel of Fire," he said, watching Amalia, backlit against the night-sun: wild and wicked and adorable (he was practically her brother at that point, so he considered it his brotherly right to think of her as adorable). A wry, affectionate smile curved his mouth.
It was better that way, too, at least when in the company of others. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate or exclude Amalia, which he might very well have ended up doing if they had found her while his body and mind had been wanting one thing and one thing only.
Though, calling Jigano 'a thing' was hardly fair.
As it was, he walked in contented silence, warmed by Amalia's rather uncharacteristic exuberance, his heart welling with affection against the cool spring night air trying to encroach on them. It was good to see her like that—to see her smile so effortlessly, to watch the warmth in her dark, bright eyes, the way she broke into a little dance, carried by a stray bit of music. Rory's smile was warm and lopsided, and then they were by the Wheel of Fire.
And oh was she suddenly a devil: her eyes glittered, she was bold and brazen, not fooled by the chaste way they held hands.
He put on a straight face, fighting down the urge to either grin or blush (which was a strange reaction coming from him). "Yes, I had my hands quite full," he agreed, voice mild, but the corner of his mouth quirked rebelliously.
Then she spun in close, a whirlwind of mischief, quick and lithe, resting against Jigano for a moment before disappearing just as suddenly—Rory's laugh was warm, and he reached out to stroke the myriad of candle flames with his mind. They grew a little brighter, shifting and capering in a way that did not match the breeze. Contained, controlled, fire was beautiful...
"It is the Wheel of Fire," he said, watching Amalia, backlit against the night-sun: wild and wicked and adorable (he was practically her brother at that point, so he considered it his brotherly right to think of her as adorable). A wry, affectionate smile curved his mouth.
