Re: Second Class; Theater - Smoking Room
The brief show of hair, thick and messy, made her smile in a way that was less sly and more fond, as if the sight of it earned a different sort of affection. She wanted to reach out and bury hands in it, feel the texture of it between her fingers, but then he was moving, reaching forward, and there was no time.
She met the light eyes with her own, gazes steady to steady and nearly a challenge. But she didn't fight when he lifted the hat from her head again. His care, the delicate slide of hat against fur made her ears itch and tickle. Her expression stayed even as her ears moved, flicking forward and back until that itch was gone. And then she sighed at the hat's absence. It was a good one, yes. She knew good hats, she liked it, half wanted to keep it for her own. But she wasn't in the mood to steal it from him, not when she could see the easy way he settled once it was back on his head.
In that moment, she was certain that her daring thief fingers would cause him to leave - tip her to the side off his lap and go. But he sat back, letting her remain, and it made her shift, inch closer, tip herself so that she balanced on his thighs, legs tucked to one side like the days when women's saddles kept them carefully turned and nearly off-balance. It angled her back toward one of his hands, the closest she would get to asking for another stroke of his fingers down her spine. "I'm hiding," she admitted, though it came as a whisper to the smoke, only two words that she refused to follow with a third."