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.
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.
