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…“
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…“
