Donovan seemed bemused, which the kittenish fox found quite compelling despite her jeopardous circumstances. She should be nodding and retreating to the corner and making herself as small of a liability she could, hoping Dean kept occupied with the general and the harlot until Donovan could fulfill his promise and ship Aza back to the Spire. But he only blinked down at her and made a weak attempt at bargaining for the safe state of his blankets, after she'd somewhat teasingly proposed sleeping with him by way of<em>cooperating</em>. It was sort of adorable.<br/><br/>So she didn't move back, but brought her other hand up to flick away another bit of burnt safehouse from his shoulder, letting her palms settle over his chest after. He wasn't acting quite so obtuse as Dean had over the hair brushing, but he was still awfully uneffusive for a guy that had recently, as everyone knew, fucked a drow on the floor and then burnt the...<br/><br/>Wait. Aza paused, staring at a scorched spot on his leather armor, as some connection was unexpectedly made in her pretty little head. Dean had acted like a blushing virgin while Donovan had been downstairs with that drow, but now<em>Dean </em>was downstairs and all violently sexual, and here<em>Donovan </em>was trying hard to not glance down the front of what had once been his shirt. Dean'd said the two men were<em>opposite</em>, but<em>linked</em>, and... Well, it meant<em>something</em>, she was almost sure of it.<br/><br/>"But your hair is too short to braid," she observed, with a sly tilt to her head. Her hands slid down over his ribs to his hips and she pressed forward, to see if he would yield a step or let her further invade his personal space. "What else to do to you, then?"