Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room
Fingers through her hair, twisting in the silk of it, drew another shiver from her, this one accompanied by a soft inhalation that might have been satisfaction and might have been surprise at her own reaction. She didn't care that he was weatherworn and rough around the edges because he was solid and true. She didn't need him refined or tailored or well-dressed, and she found herself very pleased that he wasn't. Pleased that he'd come to her, chasing her tail into the smoke and shadow, that he touched her honestly (if a little rough) and looked at her like there was something to look at. It wasn't an expression she was used to recognizing, but she knew she liked that he was looking.
His question was too much a twisty trick, memories she chased away with a quick shake of her head, and she found her brows sinking down into annoyed displeasure until she pressed padded fingers to his lips. "Different," she replied, though it would be her only response to the trick questions she didn't want to answer. "Always." The words held weight of certainty and her own sort of truth. She was glad to shift her attention to the firm press of his palm to her back, and she went easily where he pulled, feline grace abandoned for a moment to leave her spilling into and across his lap. The almost-tumble of it made a breath of chuckle escape from between her lips, hands anchoring herself at his arm and the back of his neck. Leaving the perch of his bicep, her hand moved and pressed her thumb carefully into the corner shadow of his smile, measuring its depth with careful pressure.
"Everyone hides," she said at his prompt, when she could again find the trail end of her lost thought. "Other than the very young and the very old. Those with nothing to lose." She moved again as she spoke, arranging pale legs around his, worn denim a gentle rasp against the soft insides of pale thighs. She again smiled at the strength and solidity of him beneath her, his support of her as easy and flawless as if she weighed nothing to him, as heavy as the smoke in the air. She smirked at the tip and tilt of his hat, and before she could change her mind, she slid her hand up from the back of his neck and snagged the back of its brim, drawing it from his head before twisting it around and setting it on her own, one ear flattened to the side and the other completely hidden by it. The lopsided feel of it made her laugh again, the same low chuckle that was tailor made to sit heavy and draw out shivers of its own.