3. Four Rings of Light Upon the Ceiling Overhead
She loved these times, so rare, when she would sit with him in his cabin, he lounging back in the chair with feet up on the table. How she would watch his face as the laid back head resting upon the chair back threw his hair over and down it. How she could almost see and feel him reclining instead on her lap as her elegantly trained fingers trailed through hair once so well trimmed and styled. Its current state begged for grooming by way of a woman's touch.
She was more than willing to give.
His hands would be folded over his torso, eyes closed in the bit of sleep he allowed himself when safely in flight among the clouds. His breathing was gentle and slow and face so beautiful as he dreamed of times long gone. Ice delicately chimed in warming whiskey and the sun shed its rays through the cubes to play against his features and above.