His grace was feline, his touch soft and deliberate. His alignment was the in-between of whites and blacks and he was red. He was crimson, cherry, cardinal, rouge, vermillion and rose. That is what Raven sees, every time she fights him. Red everywhere, but never blood. Red X's, flying through the air.

She goes back tired, she's always tired. The crack of dawn is always beginning to rise past the horizon while she sits in her room as she has done for hours, the air feels arid on her skin. She shivers, this is the same routine she keeps up every morning- but only after fighting against him. She feels more desolate than ever. Of course they didn't catch him, nobody caught him; the definition of an illusive man. They were a hurdle he could always jump over, with his languid movements and long legs and strong arms and God, she really hated him. The only thief faster than her, stronger than her.

Those were her mornings and her late nights, before the window slid open and she forgot how to be alone.

It didn't take a genius to know there was something out of place when she opened her eyes at around three-thirty am. Amethyst eyes scan the walls, boring into the corners and the shadows in them; shadows too deep and too dark. It is raining outside; she can hear the distant crackle of thunder and the thump of rain on her window.

She doesn't even have to really look for him, he's made himself known. He steps into her line of sight, all confident swagger and languid movements. The moon illuminates lean muscle cloaked under black spandex, the skull mask is there, she knows, even if his face is shrouded in darkness still. In her mind's eye she sketches his outline, blurred by the shadows.

A synthetic laugh breaks through the air of her room, and she narrows her eyes. Raven asks him what he wants from her, instead of rationally flinging him out of her window. Three in the morning was not a time where being rational was part of the plan- she didn't even have a plan. She tries to explain to herself that letting him talk is the right choice. He smirks at her, she can hear it in his static voice.

His answer comes out taunting, and at the same time, vaguely tinny. He takes a graceful step closer to her. Does she not want him here?

Her retort is fast, predictable; a sharp 'no', because anything else would have been simply absurd. He reads her mind, asking her again, does she really mean that?

Acidly, her response just barely grazes him, like a blade, why should she bother telling the truth to a thief like him? He understands, of course, he hadn't expected anything less from her.

The words still sting. He swallows it, and fakes pain like a broadway actress, clutching gloved hands to chest in a shoddy impersonation. She's broken his heart, rightfully, she should kiss it better.

The Titan snorts and seethes out another reply, she would never touch him. He shrugs, of course, unhindered. It took more than words to deter a master thief. He steps even closer, leaning over the foot of her bed. There's a challenge in her eyes, he thinks.

He accepts it.

His reply comes out as smooth as silk. She should just admit her obvious attraction to him and his perfect body.

Her mind skids, and almost unwillingly she finds her eyes grazing the spots where the suit clings a little too well, using the dim stars as her flashlight. He knows he's won another point against her. No scathing retort is given time to form, because he's shimmying even closer now.

She knows she's in a precarious position; her acid tongue won't get her out of this. She tries to buy herself time to think of a good way to get him away from her, but nothing comes up. She presses him once again, why is he here?

The empath imagines that he rolls his eyes at her as if it were obvious. He's here to see her, cutie. She makes a gagging noise, "You're disgusting" but feels heat on her skin. She's glad it's dark, she doesn't want to be caught blushing like a schoolgirl over him. He doesn't buy it for a second, and she isn't that surprised. His knee moves over the footboard. It takes a moment for her to realize what he's doing. It seems she's a bit slow today.

Uncontrollably, the empath backs up, spine hitting headboard. Just what the hell does he think he's doing? She questions, coldly. He's almost crawling over to her, just one more foot. Panic sets in. What if she stands- no. He was already close enough to catch her no matter what. She could ring the alarm- she could throw him out the window, even, but a voice sweeter than chocolate whispers in the back of her mind. What if she wanted him here? It told her that was the only reason she hadn't gotten rid of him in the first place.

She told it to shut up. He replies to her. He thinks he'll be doing something, tonight. She flushes tomato red. No, a thousand times no way, she whispers the words, Azarath, Metri- but he hears her because that's not hard when there are only two people in a room. He darts over the sheets, clasping gloved hands to her cold lips.

He leans down to her level, they're too close, there is no way out and she's cornered. He's on her legs, her mouth is clasped shut and she's aching from sleep, he has feline agility and...

And she wants to be here, he whispers at the same time the chocolate voice does. She tries to punch him, almost sort-of, he catches her hand and pulls her to him, she resists, but the crack of lightning catches her off guard, makes her gasp. The Titan jumps, he wraps her up as she lurches forward with shock, she catches herself with her left arm, which has made its way next to his thigh.

She's almost resting in the curve of his chest now. His hand on her mouth releases pressure, and she finds herself chanting automatically. Out, is where he needs to be. The chocolate voice was finally smothered, but of course, he's already caught her.

The thief's voice whispered into her ear, not so fast, cutie. Warm breath graced her neck and she was shocked, had he taken off the mask? Her neck couldn't manoeuvre the way she was pressed up against him.

A gloved hand took the back of her neck just after unmasked lips caught her own. The empath froze. In fact, her train of thought completely derailed. Her eyes opened wide as a doe, he still had her right arm and legs restrained. She pushed with her left against a granite physique. Fruitless, because he has a hand on her back, she can't get any momentum.

He grabs her, pins her up onto the headboard. She feels herself fall under a siren song. He pushes her back into something solid, and she's actually working with him (he tastes like pomegranate). Her mouth is coaxed open, and she bites back a noise she's unaccustomed to making.

He's got her good, she thinks.

It was over as abruptly as it began. He pulls away, the final brush of his lips on hers a parting gift.

Sweet dreams, Raven. His true voice splintered the quiet, intoxicatingly arrogant, but at the same time, soft. He's gone out her window, and she stays in the exact same spot for a time, before walking over to close out the pouring rain. She hears another boom. Raven doesn't jump this time.

That damn thief, she almost wishes he were struck by lightning- except a pale hand brushes over dark lips and she wonders where he is now, she tells herself she wishes he were soaked in the street but she cannot bring herself to believe that. She turns away, and something flickers in the night behind her

Sleep overtakes her quickly, eyelids heavy; her dreams are black and cold and empty- until two intersecting, cardinal red slashes invade her mind. She blinks awake, why did she dream of him? There is a flower on her night table that wasn't there before, and she rubs sleepiness from her eyes and takes it in her pale hands.

It is not vermillion or rouge, crimson or any other fancy sort of colour. It is hers, just as he is now hers. He is simply red just as she is simply raven and she finds comfort in his arms many nights later, as the clouds fade away and the moon rises and the sun sets, all that matters is that they are together.

She does not know if this is love or if she could ever marry him, live with him or even call him her boyfriend. They are not even friends, not really. She fights him, he fights her, they are different but they are the same. Lonely and dark- somehow it fits; like how she fits, into the curve of his chest.

I hope that wasn't too painful to sift through. I don't own Teen Titans, woohoo.