[Seasonal Event] For the Asking

He hadn’t known what Rory would taste like until it happened: a gentle heat, a whisper of honey beer, the memory of fire and a pinch of stardust. The wolf in man’s clothing might have kissed him fiercely, sharply, giving in to hunger and base lust, and Jigano would have responded in kind… but instead he was met with the same gentle reverence that he showed for this incredible creature who had touched his heart, and in that moment more than any other he gave himself over to Rory and the wordless, intricate web they had woven between each other, that seemed to wrap them in warmth and a limitless desire.

Fingers grazed his skin at last, leaving fireworks in their wake as muscles tightened in anticipation beneath that touch and his breath hitched into the kiss as he leaned forward, into the body that rose to meet his. Rory had already learned one way to get a reaction from him, and as a hand found its way back into his hair he didn’t try to stop his approving moan, lips parting to match the hunter’s hunger as hips pressed tight together and clothes remained frustratingly in the way, even as a wandering hand slide over smooth golden skin with silent promise.

No longer constrained by the pretense of a dance, Jigano’s hands were final free to wander as well, slipping beneath the blue tunic and lifting it as he spread his fingers wide to touch as much as possible, greedy in his newfound freedom as he slid from Rory’s hips to his back, tracing up along the bumps of his spine with a delicate touch while the other hand slipped lower, working beneath the hunter’s belt to explore what he had only seen demurely clothed before.

He didn’t know when his eyes had closed. All the world seemed alight around him, fire in his chest, in his blood, in every place their skin touched. His body sang beneath Rory’s touch, hyperaware of each breath and pounding beat of their hearts, and his ears flicked, furred and pointed atop his head where they poked from his white mane. He was losing control for the first time in what felt like a lifetime and it was exhilarating to trust someone so completely, to offer himself and hold nothing back.

A growl rumbled in his chest, and he rocked his hips forward, grinding against his lover with a delicious friction that left him panting into the kiss, wanting more, needing more, but holding back to savor the symphony of sensations Rory was stimulating in him. Rory was a wildfire, a wolf, confident and experienced in how he touched and kissed. Jigano was instinct and enthusiasm, and a quick learner, and his hands cherished every part of the hunter that he could reach as he lost himself in their shared passion and learned what would make Rory gasp.

Oh gods, it was everything—his fingers worked through the white hair, the moan against his lips sending a shiver through him. Wild and reckless he pressed his hips into Jigano, fingers exploring the slope of his spine, the warmth and the strength of the surrounding muscles; a compromise between his curiosity and the need burning hot in him—

But out from under the watchful eyes of the festival-goers Jigano seemed to have found his courage, and Rory's kiss stilled. His lips were still on Jigano's but he stopped moving for a moment, eyes closing as hands found his skin. Along with the cool air fingers moved across his quivering muscles, hungrily gliding across his body and onto his back, one trailing up his spine; his breathing grew more ragged, neither a moan nor a gasp, and gently he tried to close his teeth around Jigano's lower lip.

He definitely liked this version of Jigano, and how he began to help himself to Rory's body. His own fingers dug lightly into Jigano's back, pausing their exploration to give a happy little gasp as the hand slid below his waistband.

With a giddy smile he resumed the kiss, stroking along the base of one triangular ear before letting his hand drop—

And moaning unceremoniously as Jigano began to grind against him, sending sparks dancing over his skin and the back of his eyelids. He shifted slightly to find his own sweet spot, closing his arm around Jigano's warm waist—too much clothes—as he rocked right back against him, more than half-lost in the sensation. His breaths came in jagged bursts.

He didn't even think about the cold as he let both his hands wander to the hem of Jigano's tunic after a moment, gathering the fabric up in his fists as he began to pull it up. He drew back from the kiss to stare breathlessly into his (friend's? partner's? lover's?) face before trying to tug the garment off over his head.

Because he wanted nothing in between them.

Because he wanted to see, to touch and drink in every detail of the elegant creature he found himself both catching and caught by.

Rory’s stillness had the tension of yearning, not uncertainty, and so Jigano continued his explorations, and he was rewarded with the most careful of nips to his lip. A quieter moan, sweet and soft and low met his capture. There was no denying how readily his body reacted to the hunter’s rougher handling, but the softer seductions left him shivering with desire and begging without words for Rory to continue, even as he barely paused the slow strokes of his hands over his lover’s skin beneath his tunic, returning each favor in his own way.

And there was no question that the man liked the direction one of the fox’s hands had taken, his gasp earning a pleased, proud smile into their kiss. A smile which was interrupted at the play of fingers along a furred ear that sent a shudder from the tip of Jigano’s tailbone all the way up to those ears and back down again. A sound escaped that was not quite a whimper, but his fingers flexed hard against Rory’s back and ass and he returned pleasure for pleasure with the movement of their bodies, constrained only by the clothes that were definitely becoming a problem.

What had been delicious when he had instigated it was even better when it was reciprocated under Rory’s control. Jigano hissed into their kiss, knees going dangerously weak, and for a moment he leaned into the hunter as much for balance as for a desire to be closer to him. He was putty in his partner’s hands, and only murmured a faint, wordless protest when Rory tried to pull away. A token resistance was all he managed before his brain caught up with the rest of him, realizing that his partner meant to strip him, and he relaxed his hold on the lean, muscled form he was memorizing enough to pull back and free his shirt from the press of their bodies.

Rory was looking at him like he could devour the lorekeeper with his eyes, and Jigano shivered at the intensity of that gaze, not realizing his own was just as hungry. He reached a trembling hand up to touch his lover’s cheek again, feeling an ache in his heart at how handsome he was, how impossible it seemed that such a good man, strong and wise and kind, could want him…

But he did. There could be no room for doubt, no second-guessing, and a momentary wildness rose up in his chest. He wanted to be seen, wanted to be admired, wanted to bare everything and stand vulnerable before his feather-haired lover. He ducked his head, twisting and helping Rory to strip his tunic off him until his skin lay clothed only in starlight and shadow and the faint reflection of the glowing stones of the nearby Glade. Silvery scars traced his left shoulder, where a wolf’s jaws had once savaged a white fox. Fresher marks showed where falling debris in the Spire had left him wounded and weak until the healers had patched him up again. Furred ears canted back a little uncertainly as he reached for his belt, and now a blush rose in his cheeks and chased down his neck as he hesitated. ”All of it?” he asked softly, knowing the answer but needing to hear it from Rory’s lips – or his hands – before his courage abandoned him again.

He was barely thinking anymore, reduced to the frenzied need to claw his way closer and closer, through fabric and skin and flesh—

He wanted to be even closer than his hands on Jigano's skin, closer than the hand on his ass; close enough to find some way to convey the senseless, burning need in him. He wanted to growl and rip their clothes to shreds, fell them to the forest floor and just .. something, anything, until they were both screaming. He wanted to push them to the edge and stay there forever just as much as he wanted the release.

But he didn't rip into Jigano's tunic, just tugged it up, momentarily foiled by the fox's slowness at complying. A mindless growl rumbled in the back of his throat, not soothed by the hand stroking his cheek or the eyes mirroring his own; his tongue struggled to form the words take it off (a terse command), but in the end, he didn't need to remember how to use words, for Jigano ducked out of the tunic and Rory pulled it over his head with a certain lack of care. It was a nice tunic but it was in the way and it needed to go.

And there he was, in almost all his glory, bathed in the silver light.

Rory found the cool air held in his lungs, like storm clouds clearing for a moment, his mind settling in the confines of his skull again. He still quivered like an animal, reaching out with one hand to trace the muscular planes of Jigano's chest, chasing the scars from the wolf bite and the bruises from the Spire with both fingers and eyes.

Hands fumbled between them and with his newly reclaimed capacity to think (just a little) he rocked back, reaching up to cup Jigano's warm, blushing face in his hands. He was dying to feel his touch again, to feel it everywhere, but he found his interest thoroughly captured by what was being offered.

"All of it," he whispered huskily, his eyes hungry, his mouth smiling a dark challenge; they were tossing control and vulnerability back and forth between them, and it was exhilarating, leaving him breathless. He leaned in to offer an encouraging kiss before withdrawing a single step, his pulse roaring with anticipation in his ears.

He was learning that, beast-souled though he was, and human though Rory was, the hunter had a predator's heart in that warm chest that was the equal of anything the once-kitsune could claim. He half-expected a talon to tip his friend's finger as he reached out to stroke him, lightly, teasingly, tracing scars Jigano had shown no one else and leaving him breathless with anticipation. He gripped his belt with white-knuckled fingers to stop himself from reaching back and echoing the gesture in spite of the fabric still in the way. He wanted to see Rory too, ached to lift the tunic off of him and see him without bandages.

Wanted to kiss the scars he'd left on his dear one's body, a wordless apology and silent promise to replace the memory of pain with overwhelming pleasure.

But there were hands that raised to catch him again, to hold him as though he were something precious and when he looked in Rory's eyes he believed it. For a moment he stood frozen, helpless, not daring to even breathe as he waited for his lover's answer, and when it came it was so much better than he had imagined. The kiss was soft, a benediction on his lips as he tilted his head into it, letting the hunter retreat only reluctantly.

He had no sense of the cool night air on his skin. He was a fire, blazing from within and obedient to Rory's desires, as the beast in Rory answered to him. He had found his partner, his equal, his strength, and his weakness all in one man, and he could deny him nothing. It took effort to loosen his hands, to move them slowly to unclasp his belt and from there to the ties of his breeches. He paused, eyes locked on Rory's face, watching his lover watching him, and he licked his lips as he savored the moment. Then, with a flicker of wicked teasing, he shifted his weight and his hands to pull off first one boot, then the other. It was damnably uncomfortable as tender parts of him were caught and squeezed within the leather of his pants, but the ache of restraint was sweet in the promise of what was to come.

Only then did he loosen the final ties, skimming out of the breeches in a single liquid movement and straightening up again as he stepped forward, giving Rory only a moment to drink him in before he was pressed close to the hunter once more, hands on the blond man's hips and teeth nipping gently at his ear. "Your turn," he rumbled, in that echo of a fox's growl, and impatient fingers began to tug at the beautiful blue tunic, intending to strip it from Rory with a care to protect the feathers still braided into his sunlight hair.

It was too slow, this pause as they regarded each other; Rory's chest was rising and falling, his breathing still fast, his fingers clasped around his elbows to keep himself from assaulting Jigano and tearing the pants from him. He dug his nails through the fabric and into his skin, caught between frustration and anticipation (and a twinge of amusement, as Jigano got back at him). He was just standing there all by his lonesome as Jigano licked his lips so tantalizingly and then began to remove his boots.

With an inhuman, yet oddly appreciative, growl Rory brought his hands up, folding them behind his neck as he pressed his arms against his head. He had nowhere useful to put his hands, and something about watching Jigano so slowly, so teasingly get out of his clothes had him wanting to scream helplessly.

His eyes burned with dark fire as he stared at him, willing him to hurry up and just get the hell out of his pants already—

And he was rewarded; there was nothing elegant about grinding your hips against someone, not really, but for a moment elegance was back in the equation. "Showoff," he found himself breathing, trying to take in the sight of him, his gaze meaningfully sweeping down—but he had no time to stand and savor the sight of his lithe body, no time to withhold himself and tease or say something else, because his vision was once again silver hair and honeyed skin, pale in the night, pressed against him. "Your turn," Jigano told him and he shivered.

Fingers brushed against his skin as they began to haul the tunic up, and Rory was more than willing to have the shirt tugged up over his head, carefully sparing his feathers from rough treatment—a concern that was far beyond him, but he suffered through it.

The night air raised goosebumps on his hot skin.

He spread his hands over Jigano's waist, fingers spidering along his skin as he pulled him close, skin on skin; he buried his face against his shoulder again, lipping at his throat as he wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight for a moment.

Warmth. Warmth on warmth. His breath shuddered against Jigano's skin as he brushed one of his hands lower, following the contour of his backside to the back of his thigh. There, he traced little circles, before letting his fingers ghost around to the front and drift up, dangerously close to his groin as he leaned up to put his mouth at the base of a triangular, fuzzy ear. "All of it?" he whispered without a shred of doubt, letting his hand rest on the skin between his navel and hip.

Much as he hated to be parted from his friend – from his heat, his hands, his body – there was no denying a certain spice in being able to tease him in return. Just watching how the hunter fidgeted, tense and hungry, would have been worth every extra second of his own impatience to be back in those arms, but it was the control that Rory exerted over himself, in spite of the beast within him, that fanned Jigano’s flames and left him aching to get out of his pants.

”For you? Always,” came the rumbled response to the breathy compliment – or maybe it wasn’t, but the fox was going to take it as such anyways as he made his own request. Watching Rory’s own self-discipline while the bard had stripped made it easier to rein himself back now, not moving slowly, no, but careful still of his lover’s beautiful hair and the work he’d done in decorating it. It was a beauty that deserved protecting, even in the face of the primal need that coursed in his blood and begged for release with every shaking breath.

But then the shirt was gone, and he yielded gladly to the hands that pulled him close and the lips that claimed his skin. A breathy groan of approval escaped as he felt Rory’s moon-silvered skin against his – at last! – hot and silken and textured with scars he couldn’t see but could feel against his body. His own arms rose to wrap around the hunter and hold him close, protective and possessive as he nuzzled shameless kisses into blond hair and over the edge of an earlobe.

And then he was tensing in that strong embrace, gasping as a hand went wandering with nothing between his skin and that electric touch that roamed and teased and promised with a confidence that was as arousing as their earlier kiss had been. Rory knew exactly what he was doing when he whispered into a furred ear that flicked as Jigano shuddered and lost control of the moan he’d been holding in until that moment. He dragged himself back from the edge with difficulty, hands curling around the hunter’s shoulders with deceptive gentleness as he pulled back to regard his lover with eyes that held only the thinnest rim of blue around pupils blown wide with desire.

Very carefully, very deliberately, he leaned forward to capture Rory’s lips in a slow, deep kiss, taking his time as his body’s need crashed against the walls of his fracturing self-control. ”All of it,” he begged against the hunter’s lips at last, taking barely half a step back and wrapping his arms around himself self-consciously as he stood: naked, erect, proud, and vulnerable before his still-half-clothed mate, as intent on the lean, athletic body before him as he’d ever been on the sight of his prey.

He groaned into the skin that still tasted of sunlight and sweat, unconsciously rocking his hips against Jigano as the pressure in him mounted again; each breath over his ear sent shivers coursing through him, dangerous and delicious as he felt Jigano's pulse under his palm. He wanted to lose himself in the arms wrapped around him, his yearning strong and hot again, but somehow he pulled himself together, just a little, his husky whisper rewarded with another moan. Pleased, he smiled, hungry and sharp.

Though he was less pleased with the distance between them, the cool night swirling in and touching his skin with teasing hands, cooling off the thin layer of sweat. His breath shuddered in his chest as he stared into Jigano's eyes, wanting and defiant of this space between them, his hands on his lover's hips. Thumbs, rough from years of hard work, stroked the smooth skin as he waited, trembling and tense.

The kiss did nothing to soothe his aching need—a keening growl passed from his lips even as he kissed him back, running his fingers lightly over golden flanks, tracing his shoulder blades and teasing over his neck. He wanted to pull him close again, to run his hands properly over every inch of him, to memorize the way his body moved beneath his hands and his mouth, kiss the inside of his thigh in a path towards the center—

He wanted to do things just to feel Jigano's reactions, to learn what he could do to him, with him, until he was well and truly his; a possessiveness he usually left at the door, but this, this was different, and that was why he took a second to simply breathe when Jigano stepped back.

Rory had been naked in front of lots of people before. It didn't bother him. It didn't matter, because they had been a handful of liaisons, a couple of nights of shared warmth and pleasure, and then nothing. Just enjoyable things that were never expected to lead anywhere, or last beyond a few moments.

But this was Jigano. This was something else entirely and for a moment even his desire-addled brain found itself confused on how to move forward when he wasn't holding on to anything anymore. Rory didn't possess the skill to dance out of his pants, and he found himself oddly self-conscious about it as his lips finally remembered the shape of a wry and wanting grin.

He was just himself: he let his dark eyes roam Jigano's body now that they were a little apart, shameless, fingers undoing his belt even as he pinned the heels of his boots under the toe of his other foot and stepped out of them. Perhaps he was tempered by the self-conscious pose of his partner, for he curbed the wicked desire to remain half-clothed as he conducted his study, shimmying out of his pants without flourish and stepping away from them to stand naked and breathless in the dark.

He pulled in air through his parted lips, hissing at the cold slap of it in his lungs, and reached out through the darkness to grab Jigano's hands. His mouth quirked into a small, crooked smile as he tried to unwrap his arms and hold them out, to let both the air and Rory's eyes close to his skin. Don't be afraid he wanted to whisper, though he didn't think it was fear that closed-off posture expressed, but something else, something he couldn't put a name on but thought that he, too, felt in that moment. He felt oddly vulnerable, and—still holding on to one hand—stepped around until he was slightly behind Jigano. Much as he still yearned he felt a little stunned, as if the footing had been torn out from under him and he didn't quite know how to catch himself. As if he needed a moment to just catch his breath and get his bearings.

So he wrapped his arms around Jigano from where he stood slightly to the side and behind, holding him close; there was contact in the press of his hip against Jigano's butt cheek, and though his desire was still obvious, it lacked urgency in that moment. As he nestled his head on a warm shoulder he thought that he just needed a moment to let his mind catch up, to understand that this was real. "You're beautiful," he whispered into the neck he kissed, one hand flat on Jigano's chest as the other began to roam lower, fingers drifting over his thigh, stroking the smooth skin on the inside of it.

Although he might have agreed with Rory that the less space between them, the better, the fact remained that the hunter still had his pants on and there was something inherently unfair about Jigano being the only one standing naked in the night.

Besides, he needed to see his lover and be able to touch him as easily – as much – as Rory was touching him. The clothing was a barrier between them, something protective that they no longer needed, not anymore. He could be patient for that long, at least, or so he told himself, but the kiss nearly undid him as the hunter took back the control that Jigano relinquished yet again. Hands traveled across his body, exploring, coaxing, teasing, discovering with the lightest of touches, tender and eager to possess him. His muscles tensed beneath those fingers as the blood pounded hot and fierce beneath his skin, and he shivered in reaction as they caressed his shoulder blades and the memory of his raven’s wings before moving up to whisper over his neck. In the space of a few long moments Rory had reduced him to begging, but he felt no loss of pride over it, not when his partner’s skills were turned to bringing them both such pleasure.

And he learned with every touch, what his body wanted more of… and what to do to his lover in turn, when it came time for him to lead their dance again.

Stepping away was hard, and not just for the loss of contact and warmth that they shared. This was no public bathing, no sense of shared modesty and decorum at a hot spring. He was unusually modest for a bard, he knew, and he had never bared himself like this before, willing and wanton and eager. It was dangerous, thrilling, no little frightening – and hard to hold himself back as he watched Rory strip with a brisk efficiency that was more appreciated than any lingering showmanship. Blunt fingers dug hard against his ribs as he yearned towards closing the distance between them, eyes roaming what the hunter offered with breathless appreciation and a fierce desire to touch--

But not until he was invited.

He hesitated only a moment when Rory reached for his hand, a gesture more comforting than he had expected with how they ached for each other. Squeezing the hand that held his he let his arms slowly relax down, watching his friend with his breath shallow and shaking as he let the other man see him fully, ears pricked forward and flicking tiny, hesitant movements in the breeze, momentarily as tense and uncertain as he had been the first time the blond had touched him, all those months ago amidst the Leafchange forest…

He stayed still, quivering, as Rory slipped behind him and caught him close, a little sigh escaping his throat as he felt his lover’s desire against him and he pressed back into it, relaxing trustingly into the hunter’s embrace. He was still aching with need, with impatience, with uncertainty, but there was something in the way that Rory held him that soothed his anxieties and banked the inferno that they had been dancing in. Not enough to lose the fire, but enough to savor every sensation again, to drink in the feel of the body against his, the hands that cradled and caressed him, the lips that laid his soul bare and whispered directly into his heart.

One hand slid over the top of the one that curled around his chest, gently pressing Rory’s palm more firmly over his heart, even as he raised the other to reach back and tangle in blond hair, turning his head to nuzzle whatever part of his lover he could reach. There was a strange sort of strength in letting go and giving himself over to the hunter’s ministrations, letting that hand trace it’s way down his body and stroke over increasingly sensitive skin until he couldn’t stop himself from arching and rolling his hips back and grinding against the strength and stiffness that braced him from behind. ”I’m yours,” he corrected, his words escaping on a shaking breath. ”For the asking…“

Jigano was warm in his arms. Wild and alive, his heart hammering beneath Rory's palm; loud, like a storm, if he rested his ear against his neck. Precious and beautiful. Eager and wanting. In that lull he felt humbled by the creature trapped in his embrace, mystified and awed.

With a groan he buried his face into Jigano's shoulder, arms momentarily tensing around him. He almost wished for the wildfire to start in him again, for the brainless, primal desire to overwhelm him and direct him—but all he felt was that peculiar stillness, and only a distant echo of the need still running hot and rampant in his blood.

It was like finding himself with the bard unclothed in his arms was all he had wanted, and now that he finally had him, he felt afraid of ruining it somehow.

A hand covered his, warm; long fingers found the messy mane of his hair, unconstrained by the braids. The breath hitched in his chest, a sharp inhalation between his teeth and Jigano's skin, and he pressed himself closer. More he wanted to say, but instead he found himself giving yet another little bite, his fingers digging into Jigano's thigh as he shuddered against him.

All he needed—all he wanted—was hands upon himself, and having them tangled in his hair was good enough. And Jigano's face brushing against his, his hips pressing back into him, was all the encouragement he needed.

But he got even more: the words delivered on a shaking breath. He found his response in action, not words, his hand following the inside of Jigano's thigh all the way up. He handled him delicately for a moment, responding to the wordless begging of the body grinding into his by rocking into the motion, groaning at the sweet sensation. Excitement of a kind he had not felt in forever sang in his blood, urging him on; Jigano had said that he was his for the asking, but Rory, wanting to bite down on his shoulder and never let go, felt more like taking. So his free hand moved up, along Jigano's throat, his cheek, back into his white hair; panting into his shoulder as he rolled his hips against him Rory let his questing hand close around Jigano's erection. A thrill traveled up his arm and to his wildly pounding heart as he began to explore what Jigano liked, letting his lover's breath and body guide his hand.

The night was cool around them, but Rory’s body against his was hot and steady, holding him safe and secure in strong arms that he trusted more than any other. There was something deliciously possessive about the way the hunter nipped at his throat, a way of marking him as belonging that appealed to the beast within as well as the man, and Jigano growled soft approval as teeth and fingers both indented his skin.

He breathed his offer, wondering how many words were left between them as their bodies spoke so much more eloquently of what they felt for each other. Rory was hard against him, eager length pressing against his hip, and he wanted to close his hands around it, to no longer wonder what it felt like but to know--

He was in no position to follow through on that burning desire, but Rory was. The muscles of his ass and stomach tightened, hips tilting slowly forward into that initial exploration as his breath stuttered and blue eyes fluttered closed against the sweet electricity that seemed to burn in the wake of gentle fingers on the most sensitive part of his anatomy. His lover rocked against him – rocked with him – and the proud fox cried out, low and sweet, as wandering fingers slid into his loose hair again.

Everything he wanted was here and now, and his grip tightened in Rory’s hair, flexing as the hand that circled him so sweetly drew pleasure from him as deftly as he could draw song from his harp. He gave himself over to it, rocking to the rhythm that his lover set, his breath fast and shallow in the starlight. His free hand reached up for support, for something to brace against, but as his spine arched eagerly into the questing ministrations he let it fall to his side, talon-tipped fingers taut and half-curled in the shadows.

”M-more,” he growled, half begging, half demanding, as Rory’s hand grew slick along his length and began to move more smoothly, heat and pressure coiling in the base of his erection under his lover’s talented coaxing. Gods but he wanted to feel his partner beneath his own hand, joining him in the rising crescendo of stimulation and pleasure, together in every way that mattered. He couldn’t find the words to explain, however, and he was too inexperienced to turn the tables when he was so willingly helpless in the hunter’s hands.

It was intoxicating, this age-old magic that robbed them of their eloquence and stripped away their armor. Jigano's skin between his teeth tasted of salt and the memory of sunlight, the sounds he made raw, unfiltered: it took a certain kind of courage to be so vulnerable. Just witnessing it—causing it—made the breath stick in Rory's lungs, fueling his mounting hunger again. He dragged in air, using the hand twisted into the white hair to guide Jigano's head backwards, calloused fingers reaching out to stroke his bared throat.

A moan he had not expected filled his mouth when the fingers tightened in his hair, and he pressed himself harder, more insistently, against Jigano in response to it. He was aching and yearning, untouched in the ways that mattered the most, wishing desperately that there was some way for Jigano's unoccupied hand to find his body—just his hip or his waist or anything, really—

But part of not getting what he wanted now was what would make it all the sweeter when he finally did.

And having Jigano in his hand, turning his poise and silver tongue to growls, was just as good as any touch. Still he pushed himself against him, rocking to the rhythm of his blood, a half-formed whimper in his throat as he stroked his hand across Jigano's chest, down his hip, grabbing his ass; more Jigano growled and Rory growled right back into his skin, breathless and drunk on the body in his arms. More he could do, more was what he wanted—he lived for that shallow breathing, the instinctual press of his hips. His lips brushed across Jigano's shoulder as he shifted slightly, the rhythm of his hand steady as he used the other one to lift the white mane of hair and planted a kiss at the base of his neck.

And another, and another, lower each time, going down the groove of his spine as he began to sink to the ground. Only briefly did he allow himself to mourn the contact he abandoned before stowing it away, eclipsed by the pleasure he derived from what he did to Jigano.

With his free hand braced on Jigano's leg he traced kisses from the small of his back across his hip—scuttling gracelessly over the ground as he repositioned himself—and down towards his groin. Rory's hand slowed, but stayed where it was, as his eyes flickered up, dark and blue and wicked; his other hand traveled up the back of Jigano's thigh. With his heart crashing in his chest he tilted his head slightly, and kissed around the base of Jigano's shaft. Still he looked up, mischief in his eyes as they searched for the blue ones so far above him. "More?" he breathed teasingly against him, wanting to hear it.

He had found that he liked it when Jigano begged for his touch.

Control.

He had built his life around having it, hoarding it, over himself and his choices and the situations he found himself in. He held his secrets dearly, and he had thought the price of being what he was – oracle, lorekeeper, fallen hero, reluctant villain – had meant that he could never let them go – never let himself go.

Not willingly at least.

Then again, he had never thought he would trust someone as deeply as he trusted the man who held him now, who asked of him only what he was willing to give, who traced fingers over his skin and heart at the same time. He could still taste him on his tongue; the honey beer, the hunger that was mate and match for his own.

He felt the tug at his hair that sent fresh fire racing through him, felt the submission that the hunter asked of him, the surrender to his strength, and for just a moment Jigano resisted. Just enough to let Rory know that he could resist, if he wanted to.

And then he let go, surrendering back into that pressure, offering his throat to the predator who cherished him and letting go of the control he had shackled himself to all his life.

There was fear in his freedom, but it was quickly subsumed in the fierce passion that burned through them both, moans intermingling in the quiet peace of the Glade as they moved together and conscious thought faded beneath far more primal urges. The hand that stroked him so steadily, the lips that caressed him, the fingers that danced over his body until his nerves were alight and singing with tension all left him gasping and helpless in a way that he had never imagined could feel so good. He wanted more, needed to be closer, yearned for Rory’s body to be pressed against his, and this time he could not hold back the animal whimper of desire when a gentle kiss claimed the back of his neck and sent a shiver racing down his spine that the next kisses chased.

He lost his grip in Rory’s hair then, and not even the hand that worked him so expertly could entirely make up for that loss. He whimpered again, this time in wordless protest, until the handsome beast with the sun-graced mane shifted far enough around to the side for long fingers to tangle eagerly back in star-silvered tresses. The fox turned his head to look down at his lover, watching his path with panting intensity and an anticipation that had him shaking as each kiss brushed over his skin sent summer lightning crashing through his veins. His talons slipped away as Rory shifted around in front of him, and he reached out to work his fingers through that beloved blond hair as lips moved to press against him, hot breath ghosting over achingly taut skin. Blue eyes fluttered closed as another moan was drawn from him, low and guttural, but at the cruel pause Jigano looked down, drinking in the impossibly beautiful sight of the man kneeling before him, and those blue eyes he wanted to drown in.

Gods but he wanted to press that wild, wicked, magnificent creature down into the moss and do to him what he was doing to the fox, but in that moment it was Rory who held all the power. Held other parts of him, too, that were currently doing all his thinking for him, and Jigano flexed his fingers gently against his lover’s scalp. ”Please,” he begged, shameless and trembling in his hunter’s grasp, needing his touch and utterly oblivious to the world around them and anything that wasn’t Rory in that moment.

Rory felt the fingers slip out of his hair, burying the loss of it along with the other points of contact he had abandoned: sacrifices he was willing to make as he kissed his way around Jigano. He shivered, as much from anticipation as a stray breeze swirling up around him, not thinking so much as feeling something nervous coil in the pit of his stomach.

He had done this countless times before—taken and been taken in return—but it had been nearly a decade since he'd had a first time with someone he cared for.

He hadn't expected the fingers to tangle back in his hair again so soon, a startled, pleased growl rumbling in the back of his mouth. He could feel the hunger in the fingertips, in the pulse trembling beneath his lips, heard it in the breathing above him in the darkness.

There was no need to be nervous, absolutely no need to think. Their bodies were all the guide he needed, two hands twining in his hair, and Rory briefly pressed his face against the inside of Jigano's thigh, savoring the sensation sending fresh shivers down his spine.

He was wanted as much as he wanted, staring hungrily up Jigano's flat stomach to his blue eyes. Fingers dug pleasantly into his head and he tilted back slightly into the touch, eyes half-closing, gently nurturing the warmth coiling in his gut; a brief relinquishing of the control he held of the moment, despite the fact that he was half-kneeling in front of Jigano.

But power was about more than the physical, his warm breath against Jigano's skin a reminder of that.

”Please,” the proud fox whispered, and Rory shuddered, his stuttered breath reflecting back into his mouth. Slow, measured, he drew his lips along Jigano's length, his gaze bold and dark and unwavering and still turned up. His heart kept on crashing madly, on frenzied fire, high with daring, every nerve electric as he took Jigano in his mouth.

His eyes glittered as he began to coordinate the movements of his hand and his head, trying to pace himself for pleasure and not a finish, but he didn't know what Jigano's endurance was—hells, he didn't even know what his own endurance was, because it had been so long since last, and it felt like he had been on fire with desire for hours.

And besides, he wasn't sure he had ever wanted anyone like this before, so wholly, so entirely, with his heart as much as with his body.

He half-closed his eyes as he lost himself in it, deliciously trapped between the memory of the word please and the hands tangled in his hair.