Gods most fortunate, Rory was even more handsome close-up, with the shadows of the night giving him a mysterious air only underscored by the exotic hairstyle and feathers. His blue eyes seemed to glow for a moment with reflected firelight that caught the shining gold of his hair and teased hints of orange and red into it. Jigano wanted to reach out and run his fingers through it, his hands balling into fists as he reminded himself, forcibly, that they were in public and that Rory had given him no such permission to take such liberties. Liberties that he had never entertained so strongly before; the crushes of boyhood and the one he had admired from afar as an adult nothing compared to the nearness, the realness that was Rory.
Rory, who accepted him. Rory, who was gentle and kind to him no matter what shape he wore. Who was patient with the fox's secrets and his strangeness. Rory, who touched him in ways he'd thought he would never allow himself to be touched, who called out the softness and light hidden beneath all the lorekeeper's sharp edges and tarnish just by being by his side. Rory, who wanted him, flaws and all, and whose eyes were a song Jigano was drowning in... and learning that the water was as sweet as air.
"Thanks," he managed, hoping he didn't look quite as dazed as he felt. An afternoon of playing music had reminded him that he needed to keep up his harp calluses better, but he had lost none of his staying power as the light had faded from the sky. If anything he was aching to move, to be up and doing, and to not be so alone while he did... whatever it was he ended up pursuing.
No, that was a lie. He knew exactly what he wanted to do.
He lifted the tankard to his lips, drinking deeply in spite of knowing how strong the brew was. He watched Rory over the lip of it, and his eyes shone with fey heat even though the alcohol had yet to reach his system. He licked his lips as he offered the tankard back, capturing the drops that lingered and savoring them as much for the knowledge that Rory's lips had been where his had just been as for the taste of the liquid.
"Have you... had a chance to dance yet, today?" he asked after a moment that stretched too long. There was a note of yearning his voice, and perhaps just a hint of worried envy, that someone else had captured the handsome hunter's attentions while the bard had been helping others to make merry.
Rory, who accepted him. Rory, who was gentle and kind to him no matter what shape he wore. Who was patient with the fox's secrets and his strangeness. Rory, who touched him in ways he'd thought he would never allow himself to be touched, who called out the softness and light hidden beneath all the lorekeeper's sharp edges and tarnish just by being by his side. Rory, who wanted him, flaws and all, and whose eyes were a song Jigano was drowning in... and learning that the water was as sweet as air.
"Thanks," he managed, hoping he didn't look quite as dazed as he felt. An afternoon of playing music had reminded him that he needed to keep up his harp calluses better, but he had lost none of his staying power as the light had faded from the sky. If anything he was aching to move, to be up and doing, and to not be so alone while he did... whatever it was he ended up pursuing.
No, that was a lie. He knew exactly what he wanted to do.
He lifted the tankard to his lips, drinking deeply in spite of knowing how strong the brew was. He watched Rory over the lip of it, and his eyes shone with fey heat even though the alcohol had yet to reach his system. He licked his lips as he offered the tankard back, capturing the drops that lingered and savoring them as much for the knowledge that Rory's lips had been where his had just been as for the taste of the liquid.
"Have you... had a chance to dance yet, today?" he asked after a moment that stretched too long. There was a note of yearning his voice, and perhaps just a hint of worried envy, that someone else had captured the handsome hunter's attentions while the bard had been helping others to make merry.
