Rory’s eyes were dark, forbidding, their clear blue sweetness hidden behind an almost feral intensity that Jigano didn’t know how to interpret. His voice had been so gentle, though, as his hands always were, and the fox felt Isuma’s silent reassurance through their bond. In spite of the pain that the hunter’s earlier words had sparked the white-haired man drew closer, as tense and ready to flee as any wild thing, and it was almost like their first meeting all over again, after the gourds had been laid to waste around them. He had crept close to the blond man then, too, on tentative feet. Had settled close enough to touch… to be touched.
Had trusted, on an impulse he couldn’t name and hadn’t regretted since.
A hand found his, chill against his warmth, and he turned his fingers to curl around the offered support on instinct. He shouldn’t, his mind warned him, and the fresh ache of his heart was a reminder of how much he had, somehow, somewhere between arriving in this new world and coming to visit a friend, gained to lose. But if he was to be sent away, he would go only when the words fell from Rory’s lips. Until then he belonged at the hunter’s side, as Rory had come to belong at his.
It wasn’t fair, what he asked of the man. That much he knew, as his friend began to speak as slowly as the bard, searching for the right words. Rory was in no shape to cope with the emotional weight that the loreseeker had let slip, baring it embarrassingly for his friend to see. Still the blond tried, and the effort touched Jigano even as he was afraid to hope again so soon. If his company was not needed, then what good was he to the hunter? If he could be done without so easily… His fingers tightened around Rory’s hand, seeking a lifeline even more than an anchor as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tell himself to hold steady, hold strong, and be grateful for what he had been given. He was greedy to think there could be any more…
And then there was a touch on his face, fingers sliding along his jaw, and he wasn’t strong enough to resist as his head was coaxed up to meet eyes like sunrise, blue and gentle and holding a brightness behind the shadows that had called to the fox from the first day they had met.
”I… don’t know…” I don’t know what it is to be wanted, he almost said, but that wasn’t true, was it? Isuma – the original Isuma – and Hiraku had both needed and wanted him. They had been loyal and brave, but Isuma had needed him for her revenge and Hiraku had been sent to guard him by his religious order. That friendship had sprung up, that want had grown from need, had been a happy twist of fate on a journey where such twists were too often bitter.
But to be wanted without being needed? How easy would it be for someone to walk away from him, if he was not needed? How much would he have to trust Rory, if they were bound by so little?
But the very pain he had felt – was still feeling – at the hunter’s words was eloquent testament to the power he had already freely given the other man over him. He was in too deep, now. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he had been able to touch the bottom.
He reached up with his other hand, capturing the fingers that lingered on his chin and bringing them to his lips, breathing warmth over their pads. ”Will you show me?” he asked softly, not looking away and hardly daring to breathe as his pulse sang like thunder in his ears. There was hope in his own eyes, and fear, and a shy anxiety he had thought lost a decade ago. ”Will you teach me? … What it is to be wanted?”
Had trusted, on an impulse he couldn’t name and hadn’t regretted since.
A hand found his, chill against his warmth, and he turned his fingers to curl around the offered support on instinct. He shouldn’t, his mind warned him, and the fresh ache of his heart was a reminder of how much he had, somehow, somewhere between arriving in this new world and coming to visit a friend, gained to lose. But if he was to be sent away, he would go only when the words fell from Rory’s lips. Until then he belonged at the hunter’s side, as Rory had come to belong at his.
It wasn’t fair, what he asked of the man. That much he knew, as his friend began to speak as slowly as the bard, searching for the right words. Rory was in no shape to cope with the emotional weight that the loreseeker had let slip, baring it embarrassingly for his friend to see. Still the blond tried, and the effort touched Jigano even as he was afraid to hope again so soon. If his company was not needed, then what good was he to the hunter? If he could be done without so easily… His fingers tightened around Rory’s hand, seeking a lifeline even more than an anchor as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tell himself to hold steady, hold strong, and be grateful for what he had been given. He was greedy to think there could be any more…
And then there was a touch on his face, fingers sliding along his jaw, and he wasn’t strong enough to resist as his head was coaxed up to meet eyes like sunrise, blue and gentle and holding a brightness behind the shadows that had called to the fox from the first day they had met.
”I… don’t know…” I don’t know what it is to be wanted, he almost said, but that wasn’t true, was it? Isuma – the original Isuma – and Hiraku had both needed and wanted him. They had been loyal and brave, but Isuma had needed him for her revenge and Hiraku had been sent to guard him by his religious order. That friendship had sprung up, that want had grown from need, had been a happy twist of fate on a journey where such twists were too often bitter.
But to be wanted without being needed? How easy would it be for someone to walk away from him, if he was not needed? How much would he have to trust Rory, if they were bound by so little?
But the very pain he had felt – was still feeling – at the hunter’s words was eloquent testament to the power he had already freely given the other man over him. He was in too deep, now. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he had been able to touch the bottom.
He reached up with his other hand, capturing the fingers that lingered on his chin and bringing them to his lips, breathing warmth over their pads. ”Will you show me?” he asked softly, not looking away and hardly daring to breathe as his pulse sang like thunder in his ears. There was hope in his own eyes, and fear, and a shy anxiety he had thought lost a decade ago. ”Will you teach me? … What it is to be wanted?”
