At A Glance
One look and his evening was consumed with the desire to find her.
The reason for the gala was unimportant; a who's who of the city had gathered to be seen with groomed fur blessed by a high caliber stylist and their fashion and jewelry fit enough to fund the tuition of a lesser mortal.
Equally unimportant was his reason for being there, as it was a necessary evil. The blazer, tuxedo shirt and slacks with their sensible shoes were no match for the glamour surrounding him. Nor was his heritage as upstanding as the purebreds; the dark facial fur and ears of a Siamese meshing with the tawny brown and darker stripes of a tabby. The guests milling around spared him no second glance. He went by Smoke there, because in their world, he was little more than a wisp, then gone.
Such disregard made The Lady noticing him all the more extraordinary.
The bar was the place to be. The samoyed bartender was a distraction in every sense of the word, with her paws flying like doves mixing and pouring, while her cheerful voice and icy eyes added scenery to everything. Waiters would drift through to drop off empty wine glasses and restock while trading gossip they'd overheard. There Smoke could ply useful hearsay amid casual flirtation and the occasional phone number.
As with all felines he was incapable of tasting anything sugary or sweet, which narrowed down the drinks worth his time. Lifting the glass to his lips, Smoke took a sip of a tart red wine, the evening's poison of choice.
A chance glance up the large stairway leading to the upper floor stopped his heart.
A vision of contrasts ascended the staircase's zenith. Among the wisps of a backless ebon dress glided the slender body of a mustelid of some kind, pale as snow with a tail dipped in ink. Long snowy arms eased from beneath a dark shawl. Hair cinched in a bun held closed by chopsticks, while the lissome curls of her black bangs softened the harsh angles of her face. Her profile was visible as she half turned, placing an empty glass on the serving tray of a passing waiter.
At that point the feline would have looked away, but The Lady's eyes met his and seized him by his breath. Black as an oil slick with the same promise to sparkle under the right light, the mystery of her eyes lurked beneath a dark mist of kohl-heavy lashes. From across the room she seemed to reach inside of him and caress the heart that had climbed into his throat. A smile painted the hue of frozen mulberries quirked in cunning amusement before, with the utmost poise of a queen at court, she lifted her chin and turned to drift out of sight, the last glimpse of her a tail wafting like some wind-caught steamer.
Dully he was aware of a numb ache in his mouth. Having forgotten to swallow the mouthful of wine, the alcohol had sat and stewed inside his maw. With a gulp Smoke sat the glass aside and walked forwards like he was snared in a dream.
He must find the noirish temptress.
Not for simple lust. Such a creature as The Lady, while beautiful, was no mere conduit for sex. The mystery that clung to her like dew on flowers had left him parched. He yearned to hear her voice, to see her up close, to know why she had looked at him so earnestly. Had she seen through his mere guise? Or was she who he had come for? Feline curiosity propelled him forward.
Moving through the crowd of milling debutantes and capitalist-princes proved time consuming, to the point that as he sprinted to the top of the stare, she was gone.
A moment's frustration bolted up his spine before he glanced around. Jogging left, he peered down a hallway that dead ended. Right took him through a hallway decked in artwork and fine architecture, opening into an antechamber with a piano, a player, and a pocket of party-goers. She was not there.
Past the conversationalists a door opened up into a wide lounge. Scanning the crowd he spotted the darting slink of a black-tipped tail wind around the corner of the door opposite him. Navigating the room proved easier; he ducked between chairs and around guests. And right over the rear appendage of a stately ringtail.
The resulting altercation cost him precious time. No matter the displayed anxious urgency in his demeanor his victim was indignant and incensed, drawing his date into the matter. By the time the transgression had been assuaged, he was in full flight from the room, although this time with much more care in his path.
Rounding the corner, he found himself looking over the railing of the upper floor along a hallway that stretched out before him. There he caught the glimpse of his quarry, the white creature with her dark dress gliding into a doorway. He found the stairs and took two at a time, sprinting down the hall into the room beyond.
And stopped dead.
His sudden, breathless entry drew most eyes in the room, including those of a snowy cat in a black gown.
With bared teeth he turned back into the hall. At the very least the doppelganger had no black-tipped tail, so his quarry must have come this way. None of the rooms down the hall to the stair bore fruit.
Back up the stair he went. Now in less of a hurry, the feline caught a scent. While the other halls had been traversed by too many to make one scent stick out, the lack of travel along this hall allowed fewer smells to linger. Mustelid earthiness mixed with copper and honeysuckle hung like a specter. This was the way.
He followed the upper hall down to its natural conclusion: a sitting room filled with artwork. Except that one of the walls was constructed of frosted glass, translucent enough to provide a misty field to spy the floating black and white femme fatale, her black-tipped tail swaying serpentine behind her. The Lady drifted forth and, opening a set of double doors, glided into the night beyond. The ivory creature was swallowed up like a snowflake fallen onto the sea.
The pursuer sped past the glass, bolting out of the doors and nearly crashed into his quarry.
A delicate gasp slipped past The Lady's lips, and as she skipped forward a step, her upper body gave a slight turn towards him with the fluidity mustelids are known for. Those oil-slick eyes shined over her dipped shoulder when she recognized him. Turning to face him fully, The Lady regarded Smoke with a perked ear and an expectant smirk quirking the edge of her muzzle.
Smoke was forced to relearn to breathe regularly. With so much of his focus having been put to finding her, the feline was lost on what to say now that he had caught her.
He did not have long to decide the next action; The Lady forced his hand. The mustelid began to step back at a steady pace, her shoulders weaving in a hypnotic sway while her tail played counter. Lifting her head, the woman met his eyes with a much stronger look of challenge.
Something stirred inside of him. Among other things, it was his job to pick up cues and hunt things down. In a way it was his nature. The literal chase had primed him, and now with her daring him to come get her, he accepted and prowled after her.
Smoke's darting steps were intent on cutting off her retreat, to circle around her, step in close. Yet she kept the distance between them, dancing back and weaving her body away, that streamer of a tail always acting counter to her motions. This new leg of the chase brought excited breaths to Smoke, who flared his nostrils, drinking in the perfume-spiked air.
The courtship of bodies led them off the stairs, upon the walk, and into the gardens surrounding the gala's entrance, cordoned off by immaculate hedges. Their dance mirrored the artful flow of violins and woodwinds filtering into the garden from some hidden speaker.
As The Lady circled a bird bath, Smoke lunged forth with a hand. He caught her just as the ermine slid away.
The shoulder strap to her dress remained within his grasp.
Because her gown was backless and the front was split to the top of her stomach, the sudden yank only drew her shoulder and arm from beneath the strap. Half of The Lady's chest was exposed. Yet there was no breast there; mustelids are rarely gifted with svelte curves, but even the most androgynous of females have some illusion. Here, there was nothing but slender, smooth torso, coated in ivory fur.
Both of them stood in silence. Then The Lady shrugged off the remaining strap of her dress. The garment slid down to her waist, held by a paw on her hip saucily, while she squared her shoulders, presenting the slender, toned line of her masculine chest. She then lifted her muzzle and looked Smoke in the eye.
While shock rode on Smoke's features, he did not yield to The Lady's challenge. Feline fingers swept down his shirt, slipping buttons free, before he could part the front in a wide gap. Beneath, bandages wound around his chest bound breasts, giving the vestige of a flat front. His hair was released with a flick, the lustrous curtain tumbling past his shoulders. The Lady received a regal mimic of her posture.
It was her turn to be gripped in surprise. Then The Lady's dark eyes, shaded by a lattice of lashes, shined with intrigue. She slinked forward, dress in disarray ignored as an arm wafted forth, the backs of her fingers smoothing across Smoke's flank. With that simple graze, she swayed and touched her gaze to his.
Taking the cue, Smoke stepped to the side, shoulder dipping, and draped an arm across her shoulders. The Lady moved in concert with his gliding form. Their dance continued as before, except their fronts mingled much like each breath, barely held, and ruffling fur as it came.
Smoke ghosted his fingertips from the beginning of her throat to the highest crest of her cheek. So delicate the gesture, he only brushed the tips of The Lady's fur, like some midnight breeze across her pelt.
A silken churr rippled from The Lady's lips. She arched her muzzle and nuzzled the air beside and beneath Smoke's maw, not so much making contact as allowing their whiskers to mesh. The vibrant tingle of the contact was electric.
Below, their hips and tails wove a sensual counterpoint to the two-step circling of their feet. The restraints reigning in their passion were unmade by an inevitable kiss.
The Lady's muzzle pushed in, laying into Smoke's lips as she rolled her maw in a tight circle. He took the barrage of his mouth in earnest while his tongue scored a rasping retort over, then past mulberry painted lips. She parted her mouth to accept him with a groan.
While lips mouths married unbridled, their bodies continued the vestige of a coquettish affection.
The flirtation of flesh, however, spiraled further away from seductive suggestion by the breath. It broke into a desperate symphony of touches; paws smoothing and swimming up flanks made bare by hasty motions, pressing and gliding of stomachs and thighs, and the twining of tails. Soon they were a tangle of limbs and motion, making music there in the grass. Smoke straddled The Lady.
She dipped her muzzle down, the forest of lashes not able to hide the longing, calling gaze presented to him.
Smoke did not hesitate to chase this yearning beckons. He filled himself with her firm arousal. They matched gazes, almost as they had in the ball room, while his paws pressed upon her chest. The feline began a most liquid roll of his pelvis, coaxing her elegant form to arch. She lifted a graceful hand, taunting his wrapped breasts with wicked manipulation.
Leaning down, the feline mingled his breath with the mustelid queen, the fire of their lips surpassed only by the sizzle of their loins' desperate friction, drawing noises from either end. It was a music born of two becoming one.
Voices meshing with the slices of violin music, like that elegant caterwauling, and their need soon reached for the crescendo. Their bodies cinched and twanged to a similar draw down, and the beautiful build petered out to beauty unlived.
It was some time before their hearts and breath were not frantic.
In languid luxury, Smoke lifted his weight from her. The Lady stretched out beneath him, satiated and smug. Their hands gave lazy caresses, both to smooth down fur that had been tussled out of place, and to relay the affection neither could speak. Close muzzles meant shared breathes, and the occasional bussing of whiskers.
Beyond the hedges, guests had begun to filter out of the gala. They were at the moment protected from the prying eyes of gawkers, but little time remained before they would be exposed.
While their eyes remained touching, the feline reached out, his expert fingers collecting the purse she had discarded in lustful haste. Slipping inside the miniscule bag, his fingers slid across a smooth, circular envelope. It was smaller than his palm, weighing less than a breath; the sliver of a flash drive inside like air inside the beige tube.
The Lady had been the one he had come for. But he had found much more with her. They both knew the meeting would be their first and last; repeated rendezvous with operatives is a dangerous, leaving a trail and a chink in one's otherwise slippery routine.
With the communication in hand, he rose to his feet. Blowing her a kiss, Smoke left his wintry queen in the grass, the taste of her mulberry kiss still on his lips.