MAN & MONSTER

thief

The apartment was not quite as detective—well, possibly former detective—Mayson had guessed it would be. It was a cozy apartment with low, moody lighting and many, many homey touches. He'd assumed the 'noble thief' Black Rose would have an unassuming place to live, perhaps several, given that he was wanted by many agencies for the theft of countless priceless treasures.

But, the Black Rose's space was very lived-in and clearly loved, decorated from stem to stern.

Mayson had to grudgingly admit that it was a very comfortable apartment.

He sank down onto one of the cushy love seats, sinking down until he couldn't go any further, while a pair of glittering, sympathetic eyes observed him from above.

"I'll get something to drink," the noble thief Black Rose said, with acute understanding, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alone, Mayson gloomily contemplated his predicament. Not only had he mucked up the whole investigation into Black Rose, but he'd prevented the thief from being captured right at the pivotal moment. But he couldn't help it! It was strange, but through quips and even with his frustrations with him, Black Rose was not someone he could truly hate.

He was absolutely infuriating, but he did not deserve to die.

Which was exactly what one of his squad intended for him that night.

It was just supposed to be a regular job and, had Mayson known his coworker had smuggled a gun under his clothes, he never would've stood for it. They weren't brutes, and Black Rose had never, ever harmed anyone in any of his robberies. Physically, at least.

Arguably not even financially, for the organisations that owned such treasures weren't strapped for cash.

Still, the moment he'd seen the gleam of that gun raising upward, raising toward the black-beaked form of the thief, he'd moved entirely on instinct. He'd thrust his body against his fellow officer's arm, shouting at him to stop as the bullet pinged past Black Rose, missing him by inches. He'd remembered the startled flash of eyes as Black Rose looked towards him, wrestling his fellow detective down to the ground with a snarl on his face, blood rushing in his ears.

It had been a flurry of activity but, before he even realised, he had been swept up into Black Rose's chest and spirited out the same way the dashing thief had come in.

Now he was sitting in a chair, fingers digging into his temple, wondering how he should deal with this tomorrow.

"Here you are," Black Rose's cheerful voice said from above. "Whisky and soda."

Mayson didn't bother to ask how the thief knew his vice of choice, taking the solid glass wordlessly. The thief hovered over him, observing him, his head cocked slightly.

As a beastman and as a crow, his features were barely distinguishable in this low lighting. The most bright part about him were his playful eyes, bright blue as a summer sky. They seemed clouded now, observing Mayson closely, tracking from his face down to his toes as though Mayson had been the one fired at by a gun and not him.

Feathers brushed his cheek as Black Rose perched on the arm of the chair, very close to him, and stretched out his taloned toes.

"It'll be all right," he said comfortingly, placing a wing-like hand on Mayson's back. "All you've got to do tomorrow is tell them I took you hostage as a security measure and in the morning I'll take you to some shifty warehouse and you can 'escape' from there."

"Ha," Mayson muttered to the rim of his glass, sinking his shoulders down.

Black Rose said no more, but his hand remained in place, his body heat sinking slowly through Mayson's dark clothes. A pregnant silence fell while Mayson struggled both with his gloomy thoughts and with the ever-increasing awareness of the man sitting so close to him.

Yes, sure. Sure, Black Rose had flirted with him before, come so close he could feel the velvety slide of his feathers against his cheek, but this was very different. And it was very inappropriate to remember that at a time like this, when he was supposed to be figuring out what to do about his job.

He groaned, embarrassed, and heard Black Rose's throaty, cawing chuckle as he ruffled his own hair aggressively.

"Why don't you," said Black Rose, sliding from the chair's arm, "come in properly and get comfortable?"

Mayson jerked his head up slightly and saw that the winsome thief was shrugging off his long, dramatic coat and walking toward a door he hadn't yet noticed. His throat dried and his grip on the glass tightened when Black Rose glanced back at him, laughing again, and beckoning.

'This is so, so stupid,' he thought but drank the rest of his drink in one go and stood up with one sharp, decisive movement.

Black Rose's hands lifted to greet him when he arrived in the doorway of his low-lit bedroom, helping undo his tie and looking at him affectionately with those bright blue eyes.

"And," he said softly, "just call me 'Rose' tonight, Mayson."

Well, if he was already thoroughly in trouble, Mayson thought as he leaned in to kiss a neck covered with short, downy feathers, he might as well get in a little bit more.