Jigano hummed, a low growl of approval, as Rory's fingers slid and squeezed against his bare skin, reminding him of the pleasures he had so recently been gifted by the beautiful creature beneath his own lips and fingers and tongue. He wanted to bring his friend, his lover, his partner, his mate to the same heights, if not higher, and though he was woefully aware of his own inexperience every gasp, every whimper, every touch of those strong, work-roughened hands was an encouragement to try, and give Rory his best.
He would become better with time and practice - diligent and thorough practice - but that was a concern for a future he could barely begin to imagine even in the abstract. Right now his world had become pale skin and fresh scars, blond hair and blue eyes, and a body that sang with a fierce need for his touch as sweetly as his had sung for the hunter's caress not so long ago. The moss and stones beneath his bare legs, the cool night air across his back, neither mattered when compared to the overwhelming scent and taste and heat of the man he had given his heart to.
He wanted to savor and explore every inch of the man beneath him, his own selfishness on display as he teased and took his time with kisses and playful nips, but even new as he was to this intimate dance Jigano was alert and aware of the physical cues his partner gave him. When he felt he had pushed Rory as far as he dared he slipped down, shifting his body back and supporting himself on an elbow as he gave his attention to the most demanding part of his lover. A sliver of consciousness remained aware of the hand against his shoulder, and he sighed over kiss-dampened skin as he thought about asking for Rory to tangle it in his hair, craving that touch even through his own satiation.
That would take time and breath that could be better spent elsewhere, though. Finally hesitant, having only Rory's recent example to follow, he nuzzled the swollen tip of his lover's head, tongue flicking out to taste, to tease, to ask a question he already knew the answer to. He glanced up along that beautiful body, all lean muscle and graceful lines, scars and silken skin to meet lust-darkened eyes. His question was silent, no sound now but their breathing, quick and short and eager.
Please? his eyes asked, a little hesitant, a crack in the confidence that Jigano usually wore like a second skin, seeking reassurance, permission, encouragement.
A permission, once given, that earned a flicker of a shy smile before blue eyes drifted closed and a clever mouth parted to fill with something far more interesting than mere words, the moon-haired man making up with enthusiasm what he lacked in experience.
He would become better with time and practice - diligent and thorough practice - but that was a concern for a future he could barely begin to imagine even in the abstract. Right now his world had become pale skin and fresh scars, blond hair and blue eyes, and a body that sang with a fierce need for his touch as sweetly as his had sung for the hunter's caress not so long ago. The moss and stones beneath his bare legs, the cool night air across his back, neither mattered when compared to the overwhelming scent and taste and heat of the man he had given his heart to.
He wanted to savor and explore every inch of the man beneath him, his own selfishness on display as he teased and took his time with kisses and playful nips, but even new as he was to this intimate dance Jigano was alert and aware of the physical cues his partner gave him. When he felt he had pushed Rory as far as he dared he slipped down, shifting his body back and supporting himself on an elbow as he gave his attention to the most demanding part of his lover. A sliver of consciousness remained aware of the hand against his shoulder, and he sighed over kiss-dampened skin as he thought about asking for Rory to tangle it in his hair, craving that touch even through his own satiation.
That would take time and breath that could be better spent elsewhere, though. Finally hesitant, having only Rory's recent example to follow, he nuzzled the swollen tip of his lover's head, tongue flicking out to taste, to tease, to ask a question he already knew the answer to. He glanced up along that beautiful body, all lean muscle and graceful lines, scars and silken skin to meet lust-darkened eyes. His question was silent, no sound now but their breathing, quick and short and eager.
Please? his eyes asked, a little hesitant, a crack in the confidence that Jigano usually wore like a second skin, seeking reassurance, permission, encouragement.
A permission, once given, that earned a flicker of a shy smile before blue eyes drifted closed and a clever mouth parted to fill with something far more interesting than mere words, the moon-haired man making up with enthusiasm what he lacked in experience.
