The mansion on the edge of town sounded frightfully cliché to Craig, but here Heathcliff Manor stood in all its pristine glory. Craig had asked the cab to drop him off at a cemetery a mile away and told him not to come back. The cabby has left without asking, hopefully out of pity or pure apathy.
Craig circled the high walls of their gated land, finding a good place to grab on the wall. He easily scaled the ten foot wall, perching on the top of the brick to scout his surroundings. It was surprisingly empty, devoid of any traps, alarms or guards in any place. Craig rolled his eyes at the over-confidence of Richard Heathcliff, though he wasn't about to underestimate the fool. The landing on the way down was smooth as well, as he dashed to a long set of windows to peer inside. Shadows moving along the lighted hallway said that there were people inside, but none were close. It wasn't worth the risk, still, so Craig gripped the window sill and started to climb. He pulled himself up to the second floor, balancing himself on the ledge, gently pressing his fingertips to the window for balance.
There didn't appear to be anyone in this room, but upon inspection of the window, there was an alarm tucked into one of the corners. Too risky, he couldn't jam it from here and if he had to guess, there were more in all of the windows. He stretched as far as he could and climbed to the top floor, arching and stretching to his limit to scramble up to the rooftop. Even the shingles were pristine, Craig noted, like someone came up here to dust them as well as all of the pictures and knick-knacks.
He held his hands out once he'd maintained his balance on the roof so he could carefully walk along the pitched roof. He reached a skylight, peering down into what appeared to be a large kitchen. He skirted around the edges, searching for some kind of alarm or trip wire or anything. Nothing appeared to be there; how careless. Craig uncoiled a rope from his coat's many pockets, clipping a set of carbineers to the rope to fashion himself a sling. He lifted open the skylight window and expertly tied a secure knot around one of the gutters. He pulled the mask from his trench and tied it around his head, adjusting the eyeholes around his glasses. With a bit of quick positioning, the ropes were wrapped around him and he was ready to lower himself into the kitchen. Gloves were especially useful in these instances, allowing him to circumvent rope burn as well as whiplash.
Craig gently leaned through the window opening, careful not to begin this part too fast. He took the lead rope in one hand and the slack in the other, letting the slack slip through his fingers very slowly while he scanned the room for anyone. The room was dark and silent, so Craig began the descent to the ground, continually scanning the area. It was a huge kitchen, all covered in polished stainless steel. It resembled a five-star restaurant's kitchen, leading Craig to believe that he had a full kitchen staff as well. Spoiled rich brat, of course.
Craig's feet touched the ground and he quickly unhooked the carabineers, letting his full weight hit the ground without a sound. Leaving the rope behind, he stole through the kitchen, heading toward a darkened hallway. He picked a direction, recalling the majority of the house was the opposite direction. He wasn't entirely sure where Mr. Heathcliff kept his things, but Craig would be damned if he missed something. He could see a couple of lights underneath some of the several closed doors. A little bit of concentration kept his breathing even, though his heart was pounding. This was always exhilarating; being someplace no one expected, completely without permission was something thrilling Craig couldn't explain.
He stopped to press his back against a wall and shut his eyes so he could remember where the bigger rooms in the house were. There should be one down the hall to his left… Craig picked a door with the lights off, gently trying the doorknob. Locked. He pulled a long needle shoved on the inside of his belt and started to pick the lock. A few moments later, the door opened with a satisfying click.
"HEY, what are you doing?" a voice abruptly shouted from behind him.
Craig stiffened. He'd been caught.
He threw open the door and shut it behind him as fast as he could, locking it again. He flipped a couple of lenses on his glasses, moving to something that would help him see a little better in the dark. He was in a bedroom; a large and plus bedroom with a huge canopy bed and a wardrobe. The whole room looked about as big as Craig's sad apartment, minus restricting walls. He pulled himself away from the door and continued into the room, inspecting the furniture until a door suddenly opened, pouring light into the room. Craig dove to the floor and rolled under the bed as silently as he could.
A figure stepped out of the bathroom, flicking the fan off in the bathroom and the light on in the bedroom. Craig blinked a couple of times, trying to get his eyes used to the sudden light. He shifted underneath the bed to see the face of the person he was now trapped in a room with. Craig nearly groaned in frustration, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. The ruggedly handsome face he was looking at, he was all too familiar with. It was the face of Richard Heathcliff, master of the house, with a towel round his waist and a bare chest, face newly shaven and hair dripping with water.
Mr. Heathcliff didn't seem to notice that anyone had come in and surprisingly, no one was banging down the do—Craig thought much too soon as someone immediately began to pound on the door; their cries demanding that someone open up were muffled by the thick wood. Mr. Heathcliff raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer; instead, he disappeared into a closet and returned with just a pair of trousers on, mopping up his wet hair with the towel. He idly wandered around the room with a lofty expression on his face.
"Did we get a surprise visit from the neighborhood cat burglar?" Mr. Heathcliff asked in a sing-song voice, "Right on time, my friend. You're very predictable."
Craig bit down on his tongue until he could taste copper. If he hadn't, he'd be swearing up a storm right now. He simply watched as the half-naked man waltzed around the large room, peeking into closets, in wardrobes, to see if he could find him. He wasn't checking anywhere near the bed yet, but Craig was already pulling out the collapsible baton from the sewn-in pocket on his front.
"Gotcha," he suddenly heard.
The burglar could only yelp as his ankle was grabbed and he was dragged out from underneath of the bed. He pressed the button on his baton, making it extend as he swung it toward Heathcliff's face. Heathcliff made a noise of surprise and let go of Craig's ankle, jumping backwards before the metal connected with his face.
"Woah! Came looking for a fight, huh?" he said, grin very obvious on his face.
"Fuck off," Craig spat, rolling to his feet.
"Mmhmm, mask and everything. You're that cat burglar, just like we anticipated," Heathcliff said, looking pleased, "Name's Rick, sweetheart. You're a lot shorter than I thought you were going to be!"
Craig held the baton in a defense position, unnerved by the man's calm and also his size. Yes, Craig knew that the man was probably northward of six feet, but that was a whole other thing when that was staring you in the face, fists in boxing position. He stayed silent until Rick as he so cordially introduced himself, came at him, swinging for an uppercut. Craig trapped his wrist between his hand and the baton and twisted with all of his strength. The swing wasn't lessened by much and knocked the mask right off of Craig's face.
"Shit!" Craig swore as he saw the mask clatter on the floor.
His glasses were thankfully very firmly on his face, or they would have gone with the mask. Craig whipped around and made a dive over the bed, to avoid Rick seeing his face. He felt something yank him back by the ankle; his leg shot out, kicking Rick in the head.
"Getoffa me!" Craig cried, successfully dislodging the brute's hand from his ankle.
Thank god for decent boots, was all he could think as he scrambled over the mattress and lunged for the door. All the wind was knocked out of him suddenly and he stumbled to the floor, clutching his side. Foolishly, he glanced up at Rick, who was smirking at him winningly, fist extended.
"Aw, you're kinda cute for a little guy," he mocked, eyes roaming Craig's face for obvious reasons.
Craig swore under his breath at his negligence, but there wasn't anything to be done about it now. He leapt to his feet and swung the baton at Rick, aiming for the head, hoping for some head trauma so he'd forget or at least be unreliable. Rick, unfortunately, saw this coming and grabbed Craig's wrist and pulled him forward, pinning it behind him with a cruel twist.
"Fuck you! Let go!" Craig cried, trying to wrench himself from the bigger man's grasp.
Rick took his free hand and ran it across Craig's chest, apparently searching for stolen goods, which Craig had shamefully not acquired yet. Craig flinched, but didn't move, waiting for the opportunity while quietly turning his baton around in his hand. He nearly jumped when Rick's large hands grabbed his crotch as well; he heard a dark chuckle. Bastard. It didn't escape the burglar that Rick's hands were lingering a bit too long across his body, which just made it so much sweeter when he stabbed his baton in the man's ribs, getting him to let go.
"Aw fuck, you little—," Rick cried, grasping his ribs with a gasp of serious pain.
Craig bolted away and tore off his trench coat for ease of movement and glared at the man blocking the only doorway out. He flipped the baton back around expertly and held it over his head, expertly bending his knees, ready to strike. Rick recovered much quicker than Craig would have liked, but it wasn't something he couldn't handle.
"You're quite a scrapper for being so scrawny," Rick said, mirth completely out of his voice now.
"Full of underestimations, Mr. Heathcliff," Craig spat.
Rick balled his hands into fists and held them up again. Craig saw him carefully moving in a circle and followed suit, carefully crossing one foot over the other, watching Rick with a fixed gaze.
"Who are you?" Rick growled.
"Quite dense of you to think I'd volunteer the information so readily," Craig sniffed.
"Got an alias? Mr. Pink, perhaps?" Rick eyed the pink arm warmers and belt Craig sported with some amused disdain.
Craig searched his mind for a moment, "Call me Autolykos," he said, suddenly grateful for the unit on Greek history in his freshman class.
"Auto-what?" Rick snorted.
"You're just as simple as I thought you might be," Craig sniffed.
Rick halted, which Craig realized with some panic was right in front of the door. He normally wasn't this careless when it came to a heist.
"Simple maybe, but I got your ass cornered," Rick's mouth was in a lopsided grin that made Craig inexplicably angry.
"Fuck off!" he cried, lunging forward to jab the baton in his gut, but he was caught but the waist and hauled up.
He flailed for a moment before hitting something much softer than he anticipated; this spoiled and heavy millionaire on top of him, pushing his shoulders against a mattress. Craig bared his teeth at the grinning idiot on top of him, his wet hair hanging down in front of his face; he was cornered now and he'd be damned if he didn't get out of it. Craig inconspicuously parted his knees for an idea that struck him. This man wanted to be a molesting idiot, he would pay for it.
"Gotcha, kitten," Rick said softly, making Craig shudder for several different reasons.
If it came down to this, at least it would be somewhat enjoyable… Just as Craig had anticipated, Rick was shifting his weight from on top of his stomach to between his legs. He very carefully lifted a knee to nudge Rick's crotch.
"Look, you let me walk out of here in one piece, I'll do whatever it is you want," Craig seethed, taking a quick breath to turn his voice from angry to something more of a purr, "I'm fairly flexible, if not very strong."
Rick's soft chuckle was dark and obvious, but it wasn't a refusal. In fact, once Craig lowered his knee, Rick was positioning himself between the thief's thighs, very carefully sliding his own knees under Craig's legs. Craig bit his lip in an effort to hide the knowing smile that almost played across his mouth; Rick leaned down and bit at his exposed collarbone. The gasp that came because of it would have normally been faked, but Rick's strong hands, sudden teeth, and subtle scent made Craig's head swim before he remembered what he was trying to do.
The tense two moments too long after Rick's hand moved from Craig's shoulder to the button of his pants were all it took for Craig to remember: escape. He brought down the baton across Rick's head as hard as he could, kneeing him in the groin and shoving his weight off of him with all of his might. Rick clutched his head with a groan of pain, still unfortunately conscious, but it gave Craig all the opening he needed to run right through the door.
He burst though it and was immediately faced with several men in suits with ear pieces. He swore under his breath; he was completely trapped. He stiffened as he felt a stinging pain and then electricity shot all through his body, all of his muscles seizing up. He couldn't even scream, though it hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt. He suddenly relaxed and hit the floor, someone approaching to dislodge the Taser-gun pack from his back. All of his muscles betrayed him; he couldn't lift himself from the floor.
The door swung open again and Rick was standing there, rubbing his still damp hair with an angry expression of pain, "Thought you could get away that easily? I'm offended," he sneered at the fallen burglar, "Take him downstairs to one of the rooms without any windows, make sure you post people at his door, and do us all a favor and handcuff him to something that can't move. I already checked if he had anything on him and FIND OUT HOW HE GOT IN."
Craig felt two pairs of large hands lift him off of the floor, but he didn't have the energy to fight it. He'd never been shocked before and it was going to take him a second to recover. He almost smirked when he heard the order to restrain him; now he wasn't being underestimated. Small victory when he was about to be at the mercy of the fool millionaire Mr. Heathcliff.