Clair de lune

The man seemed to gain a little confidence as she opened herself up to him, offering a relaxed posture and open disposition. He ventured forward, asked her what she was up to, though from the flickering of his eyes to and fro and the wiggle of his nose at the overpowering scent of sickly sweet strawberry, she felt it was pretty obvious and he knew it, too. The woman picked up a small glob of the homemade paint at the tips of her small paws, not even asking permission before she smeared some on the white of his neck in a ‘v’ formation, the color bright against the paleness of the fur. “I suppose you can call
eet...mm, ‘ow you say…’arts and crafts’, she replied with an impish grin and a pleased flutter of her tail.

She sat back and looked at her work on him, her own head tilting, eyes roaming over her body before she gave a small shake of her head. “I do not zink zat zis is zee color for you, perhaps...mmm..violet,” she said, her eyes finally lifting to search his for his opinion.