I'LL TELL YOU MY SINS AND YOU CAN SHARPEN YOUR KNIFE
She was as fiery as her bright coat, and Atticus loved it. Not that he'd ever admit it. He draws his head up and back as she talks, an almost dragon-like angle as he stares down at her. Love. He could have scoffed, but he doesn't. He lets her continue, watching her every movement and hanging onto every word. His head tilts ever so slightly, noticing the tiny shifts in her behavior. He's not smart enough to know she's not talking about him, but he's smart enough to see there is something beyond all the bluster.
He turns to look out across the commons, "I don't see anyone," he turns his pale gaze back to hers, "Guess my company will just have to do." He presses closer again, turning himself parallel to her, shifting his shoulder in her direction, a gentle but insistent push in the right direction.
At least, the right direction as far as he was concerned.
"So you wanted me to stay?" The smirk returns and he dips his head down in an attempt to whisper into her ear, "All you had to do was ask." He exhales softly, pressing his muzzle closer to her neck; reaching out to press his nose against her if she'd allow it. Somehow he doubts she will, but it's worth a shot.
"I'm good at so many things," he flicks his tail, drawing his head up and back again. "And I'd just love to show you." |
|