…..
...
...
Who wants simple……
Unconnected train of thoughts racing through the tracks of his mental space,
…who
diving,
needs…..
dodging,
..it—
A roar of elevator pulleys jerked to a stop and a blaring of emergency distress signals going off right outside the cramped compartment woke him from his daydream. As he blinked the last spots of haze from his sight, someone shouted in a very pissed off manner.
"THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME THIS WEEK MAN!"
The person at fault snapped, albeit guilt-ridden, "I didn't do it on purpose this time! I just bumped it, I swear!"
Behind the shorter man with fashionably cropped blonde hair, the red button that read PUSH IN CASE OF EMERGENCY visibly looked smashed into the elevator wall.
With a little eye roll, Richard Greyson shoved his infuriated best friend aside (difficult task since the man with all 200 something pounds of muscles), and his flushing one (scrawny, too easy) to the other side to flick the tiny orange switch underneath the massive button up and roughly yanked the emergency button back into place. Within moments the elevator took a long sluggish groan before ascending up to the next floor with ease.
"There, problem solved," he shook his head, "No need to shed blood over it."
The taller man pointed to the shorter, eyes narrowed with a forewarning that promised much cruelty at a later point. The other man with ferocious green eyes sized him up, staring right back with a pure look of venom.
Seconds ticked by, in that time the young heir had went ahead with his decision to aggravatedly thump the back of his skull repeatedly into the paneling. His piercing blue eyes peeked up at the security cameras. He could bet everything he owned that someone, someone down on the lower levels was spying on the whole event, dying of suffocation from an inanimate object (most likely a cafeteria bagel) being lodged in their throats after laughing so hard.
"Boo-yah, you blinked!"
…..
...
...
No matter how outrageous or stupid those loons could get, he still trusted them with his life.
Richard knew those two since they were teenagers, and since then they had been thick as thieves. Victor Stone, his football buddy in their high school years, also middle class and a hard worker. He had no issues with money status. Vic had a tendency to watch his back, a big brother so to speak, and eventually he grew to accept it. Garfield joined their group later on, turning their fascination onto the world of video-gaming. He had a reputation of 'clowning-it-up' and it made their group of friends even more satisfying. After the teenage years passed on, after the petty disagreements, no three guys could be more of an elite. It was because they were his best friends that they worked in such a big operation like Wayne Towers.
That, and Victor knew electronics like no one's business, and Garfield surprisingly had the gift of smooth talking around company sharks; sadly the same couldn't be said for the situations with the ladies.
As the infamous trio turned in from work for the afternoon, on their way past the customer service desk, the 200 something pound man in the clean-cut black striped suit stopped dead in his footsteps to sharply glance left almost predatorily at a bypassing shapely figure. Victor grinned devilishly.
"Hey Karen."
The smartly-dressed employee purposely avoided eye contact with him, lip unconsciously twitching with displeasure before a soft smile swerved into Richard's direction, her easy voice lowering amiably, "Hey Rich."
He smirked, "What's going on Karen," and inwardly chuckled when Victor flipped him off behind her back. The woman never seemed to notice the hostility.
"I'm having a party next week, gettin' a few close friends together…wanna come?"
Richard's smirk weakened into a genuine apologetic frown, "Actually, I've got some wedding plans. Sorry Kar."
She winked coyly, "I forgot, no longer the bachelor of the year….too bad for us single gals, eh?" Karen one-arm shrugged and nudged the jut of her hip against his nonchalantly, making her way off to the opposite end of the building before anything else could be brought up.
Victor glared, "I hate you man."
The young heir only snorted, bringing his attention back from momentarily taking in the sight of his feminine coworker, his smirk returning a bit wider. Garfield exclaimed through the rotating doors, immediately after whistling high-pitched for a taxi, "Dude, Richard hikes up his pants and girls drool. He's a friggin chick magnet. I can't go anywhere without you messing up my game," he scoffed at Rich, "What's your secret?"
"I don't start a conversation with 'Are those puppies playful'?"
Their friend cracked up, collapsing into hysterics as quickly as he collapsed into the tacky leather backseat of the vehicle. A deep red lingered across his cheekbones, scowling as Gar plopped down next to his uproarious friend, "Once, man, once and you won't let it die. Convict me why don'cha?"
Richard remarked, slamming the bright yellow door closed for him, "I'll consider that offer." Victor sat up from his hysterics and knocked aside the agitated man to protest, "Yo, aren't you coming with us?"
"I can walk, it's not that far. I'll see you at Bruce's party Monday," he saw them off as the cab sped away without another moment hesitation, just knowing that somewhere inside that Vic was arguing with the cabbie.
The tails of his trench coat sharply drifted up from a gust of wind.
And so began his unhurried stroll to the penthouse.
Not that he didn't want to come home. Home was where the happiness laid, right? Home didn't ask you to do pointless tasks that didn't challenge your capabilities. Home didn't harass you with phone numbers, didn't include slinky ladies willing to give it up for the night, didn't ask anything out of you. Home.
He felt his facial muscles die of the usual cheerful veneer, hinting a newer more solemn expression he hadn't felt in a long time. A life of pleasure frequently kept his mind from meandering off into lonely.
Thoughtlessly, Richard grabbed a fistful of black hair before hustling his strides.
City drivers got on his nerves, now that he considered it deeper, his and Vic's. That was one of the things they could agree on over time. As the dark-haired man wandered by, he eyed the four people at the crosswalk nearby. A little boy in a private academy uniform with blue stripe shorts and a red button-on tie, he held onto what looked to be his grandmother's hand with a little wrinkle set on the center of his forehead. A business man to their left with tortoise-rimmed glasses, rubbing his nose viciously into a tan-colored handkerchief. And to his left, a shapeless reddish-purple hoodie.
His eyes floated serendipitously over the baggy form at the end of the human line, traveling downward to worn grayish brown combat boots enclosed over slender calves. Didn't see those around this side of town anymore.
Why couldn't Victor join him? The walk wasn't that far at all, why pay twenty bucks or more for a half a mile trip…the fare raising with every traffic delay…it was a city! For just an alternation of the norm, he wondered what it would be like to live in suburbia……
His windpipe clenched in anticipation. Something didn't feel right.
That person in the hoodie……too close to the edge of pavement…..sounds too sharp to place……cries for assistance……glinting bumper.
He saw it happen; his nerves filtered the premonition of a pricey Cadillac breaking the speed limit haplessly for the street corner, the driver running a sheer film of lipstick over her mouth in the rearview mirror for five seconds. Five seconds led to the hooded individual turning away from staring intently at the streetlight, the NO WALK sign supposedly signaling it to proceed across the busy intersection unoccupied.
Falling short of safety, of the white line. Waiting purposely. For. a. Collision.
Richard smacked a hand around a waistline in mid-sprint, thrusting that person onto the asphalt, cushioning the shock for the other body by enveloping it into his arms and landing out flat on his back, legs straight up in the air to spare them as the expensive automobile flew by without mercy. Screams echoed off the sidewalk, probably out of fright for the unmoving two still lying in the road.
His head swam; his lungs just began to register a command, to operate from the fall, sucking in a tight inhale before noticing the considerable amount of warmth cradled in one arm. His outstretched arm he drew to his chest and slowly, Richard sat up, blinking out the black threatening to overcome him.
He couldn't believe he just did that. Ran out into a street. Saved a life.
Did she want to be saved?
At first Richard had no idea why he thought this stranger was of the female populace before suddenly realizing the molding of the fleece material on the other person's physique was…definitely of the curvy category and a soft stray strand of blue poking out through the face of the—
Wait….what the hell…blue?
This strange female had rolled away from his grip on all fours, head bowed, and palms flat to the gravel. Voices drawing closer. Before they could become clearer— or be interrupted by them, he questioned uncertainly, "Miss, are you alright?"
In response, sleek black gloved fingers curled inward. Engagingly thin. Scraping. Fists thumped into the gravel.
"Miss…?"
Before he could repeat the question or move to help her...citygoers bustled, jogging and stumbling over with cameras and shocked faces, various going on with their business, crowding, distracting him. One second to look away led to her disappearance.
The back of a rounded hood teased him far off in the throng. He had all intentions of chasing her down when a yellow flash went off, cutting the vision of her path from his awareness and Richard ducked into the mob of useless standbys, using his skills of vanishing to escape without a single snooping glance. He scanned the crowd, the blinding sunshine reflecting off car tops causing his eyes to squint momentarily.
Long gone.
'…..you're welcome, I guess.'
…..
...
...
Chipped pink fingernails dug into the starchy white dough confidently, a jaunty tune whistled out of the corner of a pleasurable bow mouth.
Bow mouth sounded so old fashion. Pouting seemed more realistic. She was always pouting about something. She pouted when they kissed, pouted when offended, pouted when she wanted something and couldn't get it. Expressing her need, whatever need she needed…...fulfilled, didn't have to be spoken. Her body language said it all, her undemanding eyes, her…mouth.
At the same time battling his libido and the frequent pains in his lower back, Richard snuck in from the apartment hallway into the entrance without arousing suspicion. He had purposely ignored the door bellboy and several aghast residents upon entering the majestic building.
Good smells.
Home smells.
A lilac-hued apron fitted around her tennis-lean body, her too tiny hips losing their distinct contour within the jumbo fold of the fabric. He was a sucker for the finer details of a woman's body. Not being able to resist, his fervent arms wound around what was to be his soon enough and roughly pulled her hips back into his. She flinched up a moment before relaxing into his snug embrace. A shrewd smile too quick to catch, her following cheery exclamation never gave away the emotion.
"Your hands are so cold Richard! Have you been outside?"
Kory pointedly tucked a loose ringlet of auburn behind her ear and turned to the side so that her face leveled his and could have better access when his lips met hers chastely. He ignored the question, "What smells so good in here?"
"Chicken," her cheeks flushed slightly with pride.
"You cooked?"
"Yes," her perfectly-plucked eyebrow hovered upwards as she drawled out with her cute accent, one he still hadn't figured where she might have aquired it, "Why do you sound surprised?"
"That's funny…I didn't smell smoke…"
She ducked out of his grip to brandish a large wood object threateningly, "I should hit you with this spoon." He imitated a slight impression of a hurt child.
"But then you would mar my beautiful face."
"I wouldn't be aiming for your head." Richard laughed loudly at her sad attempt at looking dangerous with her spoon, when he stretched his arms over his head, her freshly salon-tanned face dropped heavily with apprehension, "My goddess, you're bleeding! Richard!"
Streaks of dirt were prominent on this morning's clean gray slacks along with a dark bruise of scarlet drying on his right calf. Kory knelt down to press a wet washcloth into his pant leg and he attempted to expel it, "No, no, I'm alright—I just—"
Bring! Briiing!
Richard pulled himself away to pick up the line, issuing a mental breath of thanks to whoever was calling, "Hello, Richard Grayson."
"Where are you Dick?"
Exchanging a placid look with his still-kneeling and confused fiancée, Richard turned his back and bear down his mouth closer to the voice piece, "Bruce? What is it?"
"Where are you? The party started without you."
"Party? Wha…" He scrunched up his face in frustration after a moment, "Fuck. Bruce, I'm sorry, I completely forgot about the birthday party. I-I'll be there. I swear." Richard hung up to glance at Kory, an vacant mask fell over her previous upset expression , "I'm sorry babe, I promised."
"He is family. You should go." He didn't look convinced, especially now that she deliberately was keeping the vacant mask set firmly in place. So she encouraged, pushing her body against his frame sensually, giving him a lying pretty smile, "I have plans. Enjoy yourself."
Richard squeezed her waist once and touched their mouthes briefly, shouting on his way out of the closet to retreive another jacket, "I promise I'll make this up to you. We're still on for Monday for the wedding planner!"
She told an empty flat, her bow mouth curling, "...sure…"
TBC...