(Every word you say has magic powers—)
He watched with the intensity of a hunter: eyes dark and wild and hungry, though not yet as unfettered as he wanted to be. He tried to rein it in, to hold it back, the primal urge to push Jigano against the nearest solid thing and press against him and run his fingers through that white hair warring with his uncertainty of what was too much, too soon. He didn't want to frighten Jigano, but there, in the flickering lights of the Fiat Lux, his need ran deep and hot.
His nostrils flared as he breathed, caging everything inside of him as he watched the tankard rise. He hadn't know what Jigano would do with it—he somehow didn't seem the drinking type—but the way their eyes met as he drank deeply of it had a feral, pleased smile curving Rory's lips.
It seemed like a challenge, and a promise.
He felt electric.
He liked this version of Jigano. It felt dangerous and full of potential, and Rory accepted the tankard back. Still he said nothing, but when Jigano spoke, Rory raised the tankard to his lips. He didn't care how much was left in it: he felt reckless and restless and ecstatic, so alive he thought he might burst into flames.
So he drained it, eyes on the sky for a moment. Stars upon stars upon stars were coming out, brighter than he'd ever seen them—there was nothing between him and them, only air.
He put the tankard down. Turned to Jigano. "No," he breathed. Stepped close, almost touching, heart thundering. He reached up to run a finger along Jigano's sharp jawline.
"So don't keep me waiting."
He watched with the intensity of a hunter: eyes dark and wild and hungry, though not yet as unfettered as he wanted to be. He tried to rein it in, to hold it back, the primal urge to push Jigano against the nearest solid thing and press against him and run his fingers through that white hair warring with his uncertainty of what was too much, too soon. He didn't want to frighten Jigano, but there, in the flickering lights of the Fiat Lux, his need ran deep and hot.
His nostrils flared as he breathed, caging everything inside of him as he watched the tankard rise. He hadn't know what Jigano would do with it—he somehow didn't seem the drinking type—but the way their eyes met as he drank deeply of it had a feral, pleased smile curving Rory's lips.
It seemed like a challenge, and a promise.
He felt electric.
He liked this version of Jigano. It felt dangerous and full of potential, and Rory accepted the tankard back. Still he said nothing, but when Jigano spoke, Rory raised the tankard to his lips. He didn't care how much was left in it: he felt reckless and restless and ecstatic, so alive he thought he might burst into flames.
So he drained it, eyes on the sky for a moment. Stars upon stars upon stars were coming out, brighter than he'd ever seen them—there was nothing between him and them, only air.
He put the tankard down. Turned to Jigano. "No," he breathed. Stepped close, almost touching, heart thundering. He reached up to run a finger along Jigano's sharp jawline.
"So don't keep me waiting."
