Rory was an infinite dispenser of tummy rubs, at least when he wasn't working. And even then, he usually found calm and meaning in stopping, pausing, taking a moment to soothe a goat's itch beneath her ears, or hold Bakshi's head in his hands, stroking the loyal old gelding's forehead and assuring him that he was a good boy. They did, gave, so much, and asked so little in return. They were better than the whole lot of humans, truly.
"Good on you," he murmured, oddly pleased and completely unsurprised that Jigano took the care of Isuma so seriously. He wondered if there were books on horsekeeping, and if so, what they said, if they contradicted what he held for true. "I know some horses get irritable when they grow in new coats. But it's understandable, really. I'd probably be grouchy too if I was growing a whole lotta new things and someone wanted to poke and prod."
And that was, perhaps, that.
When Jigano cleared his throat, Rory was, for a very brief moment, afraid that he had changed his mind, that he would pull away, put the distance and chilly air back between them. While it would've hurt, it would've been easy enough to smooth over, pretend otherwise, move on from—but nothing else followed it. Nothing changed, their sides still pressed together, Rory's heart beating furiously in a way that made him deaf to Jigano's body. He couldn't feel, or hear, if his pulse was stampeding too.
In fact, the arm around his back tightened its hold as Rory asked him to stay, and in a way, it was all the acknowledgment he needed. Some of the tension bled out of him as they shifted, together, the gryphon wriggling on his lap as Jigano's cheek came to rest against the top of his head—
Something in Rory froze. It was like admitting to something, again, just as they had in the lantern-lit dark in the Infirmary. It was something that was exhilarating and so much less direct than what he was used to, a sort of fumble in the dark, and one that had his heart racing for so many reasons. He breathed in, feeling the vibration of Jigano's voice through their bodies, feeling his breath stir his hair... He suppressed a shiver the best he could, both wishing for the stew to be done now and never; he was hungry in a way that he could not work his way around, no matter how much he wanted, the lack of food a whispering sort of hollowness always on the edge of his awareness and resolve.
"Good," he murmured, not quite aware of how he mirrored Jigano's words, his hands curling around the purring gryphon to keep them from straying.
"Good on you," he murmured, oddly pleased and completely unsurprised that Jigano took the care of Isuma so seriously. He wondered if there were books on horsekeeping, and if so, what they said, if they contradicted what he held for true. "I know some horses get irritable when they grow in new coats. But it's understandable, really. I'd probably be grouchy too if I was growing a whole lotta new things and someone wanted to poke and prod."
And that was, perhaps, that.
When Jigano cleared his throat, Rory was, for a very brief moment, afraid that he had changed his mind, that he would pull away, put the distance and chilly air back between them. While it would've hurt, it would've been easy enough to smooth over, pretend otherwise, move on from—but nothing else followed it. Nothing changed, their sides still pressed together, Rory's heart beating furiously in a way that made him deaf to Jigano's body. He couldn't feel, or hear, if his pulse was stampeding too.
In fact, the arm around his back tightened its hold as Rory asked him to stay, and in a way, it was all the acknowledgment he needed. Some of the tension bled out of him as they shifted, together, the gryphon wriggling on his lap as Jigano's cheek came to rest against the top of his head—
Something in Rory froze. It was like admitting to something, again, just as they had in the lantern-lit dark in the Infirmary. It was something that was exhilarating and so much less direct than what he was used to, a sort of fumble in the dark, and one that had his heart racing for so many reasons. He breathed in, feeling the vibration of Jigano's voice through their bodies, feeling his breath stir his hair... He suppressed a shiver the best he could, both wishing for the stew to be done now and never; he was hungry in a way that he could not work his way around, no matter how much he wanted, the lack of food a whispering sort of hollowness always on the edge of his awareness and resolve.
"Good," he murmured, not quite aware of how he mirrored Jigano's words, his hands curling around the purring gryphon to keep them from straying.
