He came back to himself slowly, in bits and pieces, stolen sensations and fleeting moments.
Touch, the pressure of a hand stroking his leg, the heat of a cheek against his thigh, the chill dance of air over his damp and slowly fading length.
Sound, the slowing pace of his blood in his ears, the crescendo of his heart softening, the distant call of a night bird seeking its mate.
Scent, sweat and sex and magnolia blossoms on the breeze, and the spicy undertones of mint crushed beneath their feet.
Taste, lingering on his tongue, his lips, the memory of honey beer he would forever associate with making love to Rory in the forest.
He opened his eyes at last, his body feeling strangely light and utterly relaxed. Looking down he found blue eyes watching him, and the oddly lost look in them was heartbreaking after the joy he had brought to the lonely fox.
There was no thought to his actions, only impulse, instinct, and a desire that had less to do with lust than other emotions too strong and sweet to put a name to. Jigano sank down in front of his lover, his legs shaking until he found his knees. Gentle hands stroked through tousled blond hair before he traced over the edges of Rory's ears and along his jaw, unflinching from the scars until the bard was cradling his face, watching him with blue eyes soft with adoration, white ears canted forwards with joy. He stroked the pads of his thumbs lightly over elegant cheek bones, humming softly to himself, a quiet rumble in his chest as words began to form, slow and languid, in his thoughts.
Not yet, though.
Instead he leaned forward to capture Rory's lips, heedless of his own seed that lingered there. He was careful, gentle still, reverent as he deepened the kiss slowly and slid a hand over Rory's throat, his shoulder, his flank, to rest at last on his hip, and then to draw his body close against the white-haired fox once more.
Only when the need for air became too great did he pull away, panting and a little dizzy. He licked his lips and smiled, affection tangling with gratitude and no little eagerness in eyes gone bright with starlight. "My turn," he purred, pressing forward, using his own slender body to slowly but firmly guide Rory to lay back onto the carpet of soft, living moss beneath them.
Touch, the pressure of a hand stroking his leg, the heat of a cheek against his thigh, the chill dance of air over his damp and slowly fading length.
Sound, the slowing pace of his blood in his ears, the crescendo of his heart softening, the distant call of a night bird seeking its mate.
Scent, sweat and sex and magnolia blossoms on the breeze, and the spicy undertones of mint crushed beneath their feet.
Taste, lingering on his tongue, his lips, the memory of honey beer he would forever associate with making love to Rory in the forest.
He opened his eyes at last, his body feeling strangely light and utterly relaxed. Looking down he found blue eyes watching him, and the oddly lost look in them was heartbreaking after the joy he had brought to the lonely fox.
There was no thought to his actions, only impulse, instinct, and a desire that had less to do with lust than other emotions too strong and sweet to put a name to. Jigano sank down in front of his lover, his legs shaking until he found his knees. Gentle hands stroked through tousled blond hair before he traced over the edges of Rory's ears and along his jaw, unflinching from the scars until the bard was cradling his face, watching him with blue eyes soft with adoration, white ears canted forwards with joy. He stroked the pads of his thumbs lightly over elegant cheek bones, humming softly to himself, a quiet rumble in his chest as words began to form, slow and languid, in his thoughts.
Not yet, though.
Instead he leaned forward to capture Rory's lips, heedless of his own seed that lingered there. He was careful, gentle still, reverent as he deepened the kiss slowly and slid a hand over Rory's throat, his shoulder, his flank, to rest at last on his hip, and then to draw his body close against the white-haired fox once more.
Only when the need for air became too great did he pull away, panting and a little dizzy. He licked his lips and smiled, affection tangling with gratitude and no little eagerness in eyes gone bright with starlight. "My turn," he purred, pressing forward, using his own slender body to slowly but firmly guide Rory to lay back onto the carpet of soft, living moss beneath them.
