The magic was in the moment: the heat that simmered in his blood spitting sparks each time their eyes met. Every time his gaze sharpened and quested upwards, momentarily pulled from the focus of pleasuring, it sent a thrill through him, a shiver down his spine. Just seeing him—his face—painted in the starlight at that angle was intoxicating, more so with the expression he wore.
The tension in his body.
The hand Rory had upon the back of his thigh felt it as he braced and balanced.
But most of all: the sounds that he made. Knowing that he was causing them... He felt wild and dangerous and full of endless possibilities as he knelt upon the cold moss, his gaze flickering up again.
If he had to be honest, he usually imagined this kind of situation with reversed roles, but damn, the view was good this way too. The distance between their eyes made him feel electric, and every panted moan had him wanting more.
He wanted everything, and he wanted to give everything.
His pace increased, slowly, surely, chasing Jigano's breaths; he was light and breathless and aware of nothing beyond the body in front of him—in his mouth—another kick through his veins as reality reaffirmed itself with a surge of hot blood.
So he chased the next high, warned only by his growled, garbled name and a hand giving his head a surprising tug—
he was momentarily confused, conflicted, uncertain, the motion was so unexpected and counter-intuitive
—but before he had a chance to make up his mind about what to do with it Jigano's body settled things for them.
His cry was the sweetest thing Rory had ever heard.
He braced and held still until Jigano's shudders ceased, his brain trying to catch up and failing miserably. Gently, he disentangled himself, the hand on the back of Jigano's leg stroking soothingly in safe places as he leaned forward to rest his cheek against his thigh. He swallowed, not quite thinking about doing it, suddenly unsure of what to say, or do—it seemed too silent, and too cold, without Jigano's frenzied breathing and the sounds of his pleasure, and with a quizzical, slightly forlorn look Rory glanced up at him.
The tension in his body.
The hand Rory had upon the back of his thigh felt it as he braced and balanced.
But most of all: the sounds that he made. Knowing that he was causing them... He felt wild and dangerous and full of endless possibilities as he knelt upon the cold moss, his gaze flickering up again.
If he had to be honest, he usually imagined this kind of situation with reversed roles, but damn, the view was good this way too. The distance between their eyes made him feel electric, and every panted moan had him wanting more.
He wanted everything, and he wanted to give everything.
His pace increased, slowly, surely, chasing Jigano's breaths; he was light and breathless and aware of nothing beyond the body in front of him—in his mouth—another kick through his veins as reality reaffirmed itself with a surge of hot blood.
So he chased the next high, warned only by his growled, garbled name and a hand giving his head a surprising tug—
he was momentarily confused, conflicted, uncertain, the motion was so unexpected and counter-intuitive
—but before he had a chance to make up his mind about what to do with it Jigano's body settled things for them.
His cry was the sweetest thing Rory had ever heard.
He braced and held still until Jigano's shudders ceased, his brain trying to catch up and failing miserably. Gently, he disentangled himself, the hand on the back of Jigano's leg stroking soothingly in safe places as he leaned forward to rest his cheek against his thigh. He swallowed, not quite thinking about doing it, suddenly unsure of what to say, or do—it seemed too silent, and too cold, without Jigano's frenzied breathing and the sounds of his pleasure, and with a quizzical, slightly forlorn look Rory glanced up at him.
