It was satisfying to the boy to have her falter at his thrown out confession. Tardiness and a pension for other things than reading what was assigned. That kind of thing had been effective before, for him, and it was rewarding him now, with her reaction not too far from what he'd be able to draw from any given skirt here. But she was not one of them, and that's why her starting rebuttal held such weight. He dropped his shoulders as though disappointed, but it was just a preparation to look away, to the side without seeming like he was abandoning this completely.<br/><br/>Her lips brought to mind her and his brother's room, and lines of light cutting like rapier steel over her thighs in the unlit space. From almost all expected and inappropriate views, Kitato cared about her, so in the end, he couldn't have an argument with his teacher in front of everyone. He understood his supposed position, and knew how excited she'd been for this class. That didn't mean something juvenile didn't coiled in him when she reprimanded him. Yuri looked back and Kit lifted a brow to challenge. There came nothing from it.<br/><br/>"I will." he assured her, for what his compliance was worth with the others looking. He then turned abruptly down with the sound of his tongue to the roof of his mouth and a breath, and grabbed the pen again. This seemed to give attention back to her.<br/><br/>Kitato looked at the lines waiting to be weighted by his less-than-pageant quality handwriting. Then he abandoned the writing tool on his desk, inches away. He would not be making his passions understood, like Catullus.<br/><br/>When she took the word again, resuming her role, his head whipped like he'd been having a grand time in the absence of her voice. It could be upsetting maybe because he wasn't pretending. Kitato put his chin to his palm but stayed seated upright, looking her over. At first he meant to drift, he had a few imaginings he'd rely on when he was preforming his perfect distant stare, but he again remembered he'd never seen her like this before.<br/><br/>It was excruciating to have her for a teacher, really, and while she liked to play the role of a vastly grown-up sibling, she'd not corrected him often. It pooled petty with the complicated chemicals. Kit wondered what kind of relationship they could have, if he had to meet her so much without Nahoya. Once the boy grew enough sense without admitting inwardly to his liking, he'd found excuses to be away when Naho was. It had come around the time his aloof had been brandished into a lure for others, so the older brother had summed it up to that.<br/><br/>Yet here he was, reminiscing on the rounds that had been protected, barely in her underwear, and her uncaring nature toward him seeing her like that be the damned bed Naho slept in, too. It had done something to him, that he'd gotten to look but shouldn't want to. He was taking some of that back now, shifting a bit predatory when she moved to let her lines and dips show a little better. It was a bit like she was on display, and he'd just discovered her. It should be clear to her, the way his eyes were clean from distraction as he took her in, that he wasn't hearing a word she said, yet he was trained on her like he was 'with that hunger' and she was sustenance. And when their eyes met, maybe, he made a point out letting her now when his attention went from her face to instead remember her body. He'd make a game of it, in this accurate, torturous heat, to let her see she that if she was educating him, it was of how she wielded her mannerisms, and how she breathed, and where her legs went up that skirt, and not about poetry at all.<br/><br/>She'd probably feel it worse in the uncertainty when she turned around to write on the board, without knowing how he was choosing to lash her with his attention, then.