He hadn't intended for his ears to shift, but in his worry for the man he loved they had done so while he leaned against the door. His heart was in his throat (impossibly so, since his heart was in the house, and had been for all of LongNight), pulse racing with hope and fear in equal parts as he felt the rough grain against his cheek and closed his eyes, breath held as he waited for an answer.
Any answer, so long as it came in Rory's voice.
The ear against the door flicked at the whisper that made it through the wood. Relief weakened his knees as he fumbled for the latch, and slowed his step as he slipped inside. Deepfrost was not so quick to release its grasp upon the world, and he vaguely remembered to close the door behind him before he kicked off his boots and abandoned his cloak on the peg that waited for it, where it had hung for several seasons now, more often than not.
Rory was alive, but the giddy rush of seeing his lover's blond head again faded just as quickly as he took in the hunter's listless posture on the stool, fresh worry welling up to eclipse it. "I'm home," he said quietly. Unnecessarily, but it was true in so many more ways than one. Jigano padded on stocking feet to grab another stool and pull it up next to the farmer, settling onto it so that his leg pressed against Rory's and he could try to slip an arm around his lover's trim waist. He wanted to coax the blond into leaning against him, offering his shoulder for that tired head so that he could turn and press a soft kiss to a pale temple.
"What happened, love?" He had seen no claw marks on the door or shutters, no tracks in the melting snow. Not all monsters attacked with fang and talon, however; some were far more insidious in their hunt, and left wounds no healer could reach.
Any answer, so long as it came in Rory's voice.
The ear against the door flicked at the whisper that made it through the wood. Relief weakened his knees as he fumbled for the latch, and slowed his step as he slipped inside. Deepfrost was not so quick to release its grasp upon the world, and he vaguely remembered to close the door behind him before he kicked off his boots and abandoned his cloak on the peg that waited for it, where it had hung for several seasons now, more often than not.
Rory was alive, but the giddy rush of seeing his lover's blond head again faded just as quickly as he took in the hunter's listless posture on the stool, fresh worry welling up to eclipse it. "I'm home," he said quietly. Unnecessarily, but it was true in so many more ways than one. Jigano padded on stocking feet to grab another stool and pull it up next to the farmer, settling onto it so that his leg pressed against Rory's and he could try to slip an arm around his lover's trim waist. He wanted to coax the blond into leaning against him, offering his shoulder for that tired head so that he could turn and press a soft kiss to a pale temple.
"What happened, love?" He had seen no claw marks on the door or shutters, no tracks in the melting snow. Not all monsters attacked with fang and talon, however; some were far more insidious in their hunt, and left wounds no healer could reach.
