”Ah well, perhaps we’ll do it again someday,” the fox murmured, stealing a glance – a smile, a heartbeat, fragile and wondering, aching and joyous – at the man at his side. Rory was quiet, but his eyes spoke volumes, the twitch of his lips a benediction, and Jigano’s hand slid into his more easily than breathing.
A silver brow arched at the sudden fierceness in their friend’s voice, a protective instinct he understood and lauded, and he placed his free hand over his heart as he offered her a slight bow and a promise. ”If I ‘fuck this up’ I’ll submit to your claws willingly, sister-mine,” he vowed, fingers flexing in his lover’s in a more personal echo of his words. In the moment he couldn’t imagine doing something to lose what he had found, not with Rory – and not with Amalia, either. He had starved his heart for so many years that now that the light was breaking through the cracks he found himself helpless against the affection that had grown and twisted between the three of them like flowering vines, beautiful and stronger than they looked, supporting rather than constricting.
If he lost this… if he lost them… what would become of him?
What would he become?
A question and answer he shied away from, throwing himself into the banter and laughter of their bartering game. ”If two cannot share… can three?” he teased back. ”Surely that’s better than one of us being left without light!” He looked out over the Wheel once more, though, and the solemnity of the lights of loss and hope slid through his laughter, tempering his humor and the fey, wild joy of the night towards something both sweeter and more serious. He reached up to tuck a loosened tress of silver back behind his ear as his expression softened – not at his companions, this time, but at the Wheel itself and all it represented.
”Ah well… if there are only two candles, then you two should light them. Songs really do have nothing on ponies,” he finished with a lopsided smile for Amalia as he brushed his thumb over Rory’s knuckles, stealing some of his offered comfort – or perhaps, giving some of it back in return. ”Another night I’ll sing for you, when my voice isn’t so raw from a day spent with the musicians,” he added, a flicker of self-deprecating lightness back in his smile.
A silver brow arched at the sudden fierceness in their friend’s voice, a protective instinct he understood and lauded, and he placed his free hand over his heart as he offered her a slight bow and a promise. ”If I ‘fuck this up’ I’ll submit to your claws willingly, sister-mine,” he vowed, fingers flexing in his lover’s in a more personal echo of his words. In the moment he couldn’t imagine doing something to lose what he had found, not with Rory – and not with Amalia, either. He had starved his heart for so many years that now that the light was breaking through the cracks he found himself helpless against the affection that had grown and twisted between the three of them like flowering vines, beautiful and stronger than they looked, supporting rather than constricting.
If he lost this… if he lost them… what would become of him?
What would he become?
A question and answer he shied away from, throwing himself into the banter and laughter of their bartering game. ”If two cannot share… can three?” he teased back. ”Surely that’s better than one of us being left without light!” He looked out over the Wheel once more, though, and the solemnity of the lights of loss and hope slid through his laughter, tempering his humor and the fey, wild joy of the night towards something both sweeter and more serious. He reached up to tuck a loosened tress of silver back behind his ear as his expression softened – not at his companions, this time, but at the Wheel itself and all it represented.
”Ah well… if there are only two candles, then you two should light them. Songs really do have nothing on ponies,” he finished with a lopsided smile for Amalia as he brushed his thumb over Rory’s knuckles, stealing some of his offered comfort – or perhaps, giving some of it back in return. ”Another night I’ll sing for you, when my voice isn’t so raw from a day spent with the musicians,” he added, a flicker of self-deprecating lightness back in his smile.
