Disclaimer I do not own anything except the plotline.
PairingsSly x Carmelita, Bentley x Penelope implied.
Author's Note Well, while going through all of the Sly cooper fanfictions I noticed a drop in real, thought out, original plots. So, I came up with one. D I want to say this is AU, but it really isn't. This story goes along as though after the defeat of Dr. M, Sly had not been taken in by Carmelita under the assumption that he had amnesia. This story goes on to imply that Sly was taken back in by Bentley and Murray, nursed back to his old self, and things went back as they had been before with only a few alterations. Annnd... Yeah, I believe thats it.. Enjoy!
Oh, and for anyone who doesn't know, Ile-De-France is the province in which Paris is located.
Perhaps it was the allure of doing something so utterly wrong in the unwritten code of female privacy, or perhaps it was simply the idea of seeing her up close without altercation. Maybe it was the fact that it was his first night back in the fresh Ile-De-France air after being cooped up in the safehouse for such an extended amount of time. Whatever it was, he could honestly care less.
The illustrious, the handsome, the clever, the witty, the Master Thief, Sly Cooper was a man of many names. Some preferred to call him a criminal, but still others revered him and cataloged his every known step. For a long time, he had stayed close friends with the shadows just for this reason. Whether it was criminal profilers trying to find a pattern in his antics or just some stupid teenage drama queen hell bent on getting him as her date to prom. You know the type.
Dancing on rooftops and leaping across alleyways with ease, his thoughts had never strayed from his original endeavor. Carmel-chocolate eyes now quietly watched with a sudden pang of hesitation as a shadow flitted across a closed, curtained window. Should he really be doing this? He respected her so highly it almost seemed as though this would ruin any bond they had ever, will ever, could have ever had. But the urge in his gut was never wrong, and right now it was like a bloodhound hot on a trail, practically begging him to go.
His tail twitched behind him uneasily. Still, this was such a fantastic opportunity, he could practically taste how delicious it could turn out for him.
With these thoughts, his subconscious began to dictate his movements. A spire jump onto a lamppost, run across the flagpole over the sidewalk, latch onto a pipe conveniently located close by on the wall. It took him seconds to scamper up to the second story window. Carefully, cautiously, he peeked through a small crack in the curtains, watching as a dainty rust-red hand with a deep cream palm stretched out and grasped a small cord lightly, giving it a tug as the light switched off. Sly's night vision kicked in almost instantly as he saw the hand retreat to a body which he could not see.
He clambered onto the sill, not noticing as his gloved hand squished rather messily into the window box, crushing a few delicate gardenias rather mercilessly. He pulled his knee onto the small area of concrete with little effort, eyes trained on the small slit of the room he could see, tuned in to any movement that could possibly have been made. He didn't know how long he waited there in that gargoyle-like position, staring so innocently at the darkness with a growing need to enter. Could it be that she wasn't wearing that skin-tight uniform he always saw her in? What else would she wear? He honestly couldn't imagine. Silky pajamas? Perhaps nothing at all? He didn't notice the boyish smirk that upturned his lips that that thought and the images that came so distastefully with it.
Expertly, he examined the visible lock on the window. It was one of those old ones, where the latch simply had to be turned to come undone, but to his surprise there was no such need for the window was no locked. He heaved himself up onto the sill in a heavy squat as he worked his fingers under the thick wood, bringing it up slowly, carefully, ears swiveling and perking for any minute squeaks. To his further surprise, it made none. It slid upwards with gracious ease.
When he pulled himself in, his eyes had turned away form the figure in the bed now across from him, not he was set on slowly letting go of the window so as it wouldn't slam shut upon his turning. When he heard a light click he breathed a sigh of relief, feeling it lock into place. Only a good yank would bring it back down now. With this out of the way, he turned on his heel and was shocked to find a sound asleep lump in the bed, to which he crept up without any noise at all, the lush carpet giving to his every trained and precarious step. When he reached the side of the bed, he felt his breath hitch.
There lay Constable Fox in all her glory. Curly black locks were sprawled haphazardly across the pillow, the perfect blend of charcoal and cream. Her lips were parted slightly, doe-like eyes closed. One arm lay underneath the pillow, giving her a bit of tilt against the bed, while the other clutched at the blanket, holding it up to her chest to cover whatever she was or was not wearing.
The gentle rising and falling of her side signaled that she truly was conked out, ears twitching every now and again in her state of dreaming. As he watched she moved slightly and her eyes twitched shut a little tighter, then relaxed. Almost acting on pure instinct, he crouched down to her level and rested his weight on one knee, his face inches form hers. He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, watching her sleep. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours- he didn't mind either way. He was content to simply stay and watch her, study every little part of her face, embed it into his brain to dig out later.
Sly wasn't really paying attention to his own actions, and this might be how he eventually found himself wide eyed and flushed. He had, at some point, reached out to stroke the soft fur of her cheek, still damp form a recent shower it seemed. He watched his own actions as though he wasn't in his own body, that this was someone else touching his lovely lady, his one and only Carmelita. The vixen had captured his heart the first time they had met. Of course, not romantically at first. No, at first he thought of her as an amusing tidbit to add to the excitement of his jobs. But eventually she evolved into his equal, and at points she was easily his better. She had grace, stamina, poise, and elegance. She was the embodiment of a goddess, in his eyes. It hadn't taken him to long to feel strange emotions, things he hadn't felt before.
So he'd covered it up with other women, other emotions like lust and longing. Sly had been with a new woman each week, it seemed, since defeating clockwerk the first time and retrieving the entire Thievius Raccunus. By no means was he a womanizer- he respected and truly somewhat cared for every woman he had taken to his heart and bed, but no matter what, there had always been that small piece, that tiny speckle of oddity that perplexed him. Every time he would try and confront this problem, images of his sweet attacker would come to mind, and he would leave it at that. It had been a long time before he finally figured out his feelings.
But that wasn't to say he acted any different with women. Sure, he had scaled it down a bit as of recently, kept the dating to a minimum. It was necessary: he was only just starting to pull off jobs again, and though he was a man of flair and skill, he was not a man who needed to jump right back into the world and all of it's problems just yet. And now as he sat here, thinking these thoughts, the caress on Carmelita's cheek stilled. He was instantly jarred from his reverie, though, when he felt her move beneath him, giving a light groan of annoyance, it seemed to him, and pressed her cheek into his fingers. Not being able to resist, he continued stroking her fluffy cheek. When she had calmed and become still once more, he smiled lightly.
He bit his lip nervously, eyes glancing up and down her face for any signs of waking before leaning forward and closing the minuscule gap between them. He pressed his lips to hers, not really surprised when he felt no reaction to the tender move. But he was indeed shocked that she had woken and started reaming him out, grabbing some gun held under her pillow and blowing his brains out.
No, she didn't move, didn't make any kind of noise or snap from her dreams.
Sly was in seventh heaven.
When he pulled away, his eyes still half lidded, he watched her with the utmost care in his gaze.
In the blink of an eye, he had gone back out the window and was gone, claimed by the shadows once again.
Carmelita awoke that morning feeling highly refreshed. She sat up, stretching calmly, a smile tickling the edge of her lips. Why was she so happy? She couldn't figure it out, perhaps a nice dream? She remembered only bits and pieces, as most people do, and she knew for a fact that a certain thief had been in her thoughts most frequently. She licked her lips and crawled out of bed, pulling at her gray cotton night shirt.
When she had changed into her uniform and tied her tools securely at her waist, she set out that morning with a content demeanor.
It was sunny and bright out, as if the rest of the world was feeling her joy. She smiled lightly and watched the early birds bustle around the stirring market.
It was the perfect day to catch a thief.