She wasn’t strong enough to escape Rory’s pulling and prodding at her wing – even though his touch was gentle in spite of his firm intention to have his way. Isuma finally gave in, allowing him to look at the mix of baby down and first-molt juvenile feathers that were slowly replacing it without further fussing, but as soon as he released her wing she pulled it tight to her side and rolled over on to her back, peeping piteously for tummy rubs.
”Growth itch, I think,” Jigano agreed, amused at her attempts to coax an ‘apology’ from Rory. ”I’ve been reading up on every falconry book or journal on companions I can get my hands on in the Atheneum since she started molting, and the new feathers coming in can make birds irritable. But she’s also got some growing pains in her wings now that they’re getting bigger. It seems to be normal, and she doesn’t usually complain she’s just… well, touchy about having her wings touched right now.”
He basked in the warmth of Rory’s laugh, tucking it away in the special, bright place where other memories of his friend’s joy were kept, securely in his heart, where he could cherish them against darker times. He tilted his head in acknowledgment of the hunter’s preferences, grinning in shared humor and oblivious to the shadow that slid beneath the blond man’s skin in that moment.
He was very quickly distracted by what was on top of Rory’s skin instead: the clothing that barely separated them as they shifted together. His friendmore than a friend, be honest with yourself Jigano was still tense, but whether with cold or nervousness or both the lorekeeper didn’t know. In truth he was a little afraid of the answer, but that didn’t stop him from holding the other man close against him, trying a little awkwardly to shift his height and position to find the most comfortable fit for them both when he had spent so long without more than the touch of a hand. He cleared his throat a little self-consciously, wishing he had the same poise and confidence with Rory that he had with everyone else—
And then not wishing for it, at all. What he felt for Rory was deeper and more complicated and more dangerous and exhilarating and incredible and even when the other man made him feel weak he had a way of making the bard feel wonderful, too. He didn’t know what to say about Esaia, but his lips curved into a smile as he was taught about withers and he nodded in understanding. He could envision a horse well enough, and Rory’s description was easy to follow.
What he couldn’t do was leave to make tea, not with his friend snuggling close against him and finding the place where they both fit together. The white-haired man sighed in quiet relief at being asked to stay, some of his own tension easing as he slipped his arm more tightly around Rory’s shoulders. The smile in that sweet voice had heat rising to his face and rather than fight it he tilted his head to rest his cheek against blond hair. Isuma wriggled herself back onto her belly and crawled to curl up in Rory’s lap, purring loudly with her companion’s joy as well as her own. ”Good,” he murmured, his own smile widening slowly as he let his eyes close. ”I just got comfortable.”
”Growth itch, I think,” Jigano agreed, amused at her attempts to coax an ‘apology’ from Rory. ”I’ve been reading up on every falconry book or journal on companions I can get my hands on in the Atheneum since she started molting, and the new feathers coming in can make birds irritable. But she’s also got some growing pains in her wings now that they’re getting bigger. It seems to be normal, and she doesn’t usually complain she’s just… well, touchy about having her wings touched right now.”
He basked in the warmth of Rory’s laugh, tucking it away in the special, bright place where other memories of his friend’s joy were kept, securely in his heart, where he could cherish them against darker times. He tilted his head in acknowledgment of the hunter’s preferences, grinning in shared humor and oblivious to the shadow that slid beneath the blond man’s skin in that moment.
He was very quickly distracted by what was on top of Rory’s skin instead: the clothing that barely separated them as they shifted together. His friend
And then not wishing for it, at all. What he felt for Rory was deeper and more complicated and more dangerous and exhilarating and incredible and even when the other man made him feel weak he had a way of making the bard feel wonderful, too. He didn’t know what to say about Esaia, but his lips curved into a smile as he was taught about withers and he nodded in understanding. He could envision a horse well enough, and Rory’s description was easy to follow.
What he couldn’t do was leave to make tea, not with his friend snuggling close against him and finding the place where they both fit together. The white-haired man sighed in quiet relief at being asked to stay, some of his own tension easing as he slipped his arm more tightly around Rory’s shoulders. The smile in that sweet voice had heat rising to his face and rather than fight it he tilted his head to rest his cheek against blond hair. Isuma wriggled herself back onto her belly and crawled to curl up in Rory’s lap, purring loudly with her companion’s joy as well as her own. ”Good,” he murmured, his own smile widening slowly as he let his eyes close. ”I just got comfortable.”
