There was something about holding Jigano—
The brief press of his strong body against his, arms encircling, touching, acutely aware of the shape of his chest and waist and hips, the warmth of his smooth cheek against his scarred one—
Dangerously, the breath caught in his throat, a single, dark moment of wishing it was only the two of them, but he genuinely, truly couldn't. He was so glad to see Amalia again, out of the Infirmary, not watching a man die, just here, in the sun, hugging his loyal old dog. It was just that in that one, brief moment, when he was so aware of Jigano, it was difficult not to wish for more of it.
But he released him. Everything had its time and place. The gaze that flashed to his face was difficult to read, both shy and elated, then he reached up to stroke Isuma, balanced so on his shoulder, as he made his way over to Amalia.
Oddly enough, she had turned away from them, almost away from Vaya too, and when he reached out to hold her it felt more like capturing her—as if she had been going somewhere, about to leave them behind. He felt her stiffen, turn, Isuma's feathers tickling his unscarred cheek again as she butted her face against theirs.
But then she relaxed, put her arms around him too, reminiscent of the hug they had shared beneath the Spark Bird. And oh, how different she was to hold from Jigano, how slender, but just as precious. He held her a little longer than he'd held Jigano—an embrace he had nearly fled from, in hindsight—as he mulled over what it was that felt so .. off. Slowly his arms relaxed, hands drifting up her shoulderblades to hold her upper arms as he peered in her face. "Are you alright?" he asked her softly.
Had he had mobile ears, one of them would've flicked back at Jigano's cheerful comment, but as it was, he couldn't do that. So he tilted his head to look at him, melting again at the sight of him in the sunlight, the way his fingers worked through his hair—
Ugh, you sappy ass.
He let go of Amalia, but tried to put a hand on her upper back, urging her to join them in more than just body, Vaya trailing happily at her heels. "I have a mangled feeding trough to fix, and Bakshi's kicked down a stall wall," he said with a grimace. "So you might as well help with that. Let me just see if I can scrounge up some fitting gloves.. splinters are a bitch." And with that he disappeared towards another outbuilding, return a couple of minutes later with an odd assortment of gloves of varying sizes, testament to the fact that others had lived and worked on the farm at one point or another. Some gloves were mended many times, and some had been torn, or just worn thin, and apparently the time nor motivation to mend them had not been found yet.
The brief press of his strong body against his, arms encircling, touching, acutely aware of the shape of his chest and waist and hips, the warmth of his smooth cheek against his scarred one—
Dangerously, the breath caught in his throat, a single, dark moment of wishing it was only the two of them, but he genuinely, truly couldn't. He was so glad to see Amalia again, out of the Infirmary, not watching a man die, just here, in the sun, hugging his loyal old dog. It was just that in that one, brief moment, when he was so aware of Jigano, it was difficult not to wish for more of it.
But he released him. Everything had its time and place. The gaze that flashed to his face was difficult to read, both shy and elated, then he reached up to stroke Isuma, balanced so on his shoulder, as he made his way over to Amalia.
Oddly enough, she had turned away from them, almost away from Vaya too, and when he reached out to hold her it felt more like capturing her—as if she had been going somewhere, about to leave them behind. He felt her stiffen, turn, Isuma's feathers tickling his unscarred cheek again as she butted her face against theirs.
But then she relaxed, put her arms around him too, reminiscent of the hug they had shared beneath the Spark Bird. And oh, how different she was to hold from Jigano, how slender, but just as precious. He held her a little longer than he'd held Jigano—an embrace he had nearly fled from, in hindsight—as he mulled over what it was that felt so .. off. Slowly his arms relaxed, hands drifting up her shoulderblades to hold her upper arms as he peered in her face. "Are you alright?" he asked her softly.
Had he had mobile ears, one of them would've flicked back at Jigano's cheerful comment, but as it was, he couldn't do that. So he tilted his head to look at him, melting again at the sight of him in the sunlight, the way his fingers worked through his hair—
Ugh, you sappy ass.
He let go of Amalia, but tried to put a hand on her upper back, urging her to join them in more than just body, Vaya trailing happily at her heels. "I have a mangled feeding trough to fix, and Bakshi's kicked down a stall wall," he said with a grimace. "So you might as well help with that. Let me just see if I can scrounge up some fitting gloves.. splinters are a bitch." And with that he disappeared towards another outbuilding, return a couple of minutes later with an odd assortment of gloves of varying sizes, testament to the fact that others had lived and worked on the farm at one point or another. Some gloves were mended many times, and some had been torn, or just worn thin, and apparently the time nor motivation to mend them had not been found yet.
