For stryck‘s prompt “Kleptomania,” and @KissofJudas’ prompt “Karma, and what comes of it.
He liked to steal.
Kyrie had started small – pens and school supplies, cookies and lunch. He had been eight, then.
By high school, he’d moved on to small jewelry at the mall, and pick-pocketing in crowded places. By the time he graduated, he had three pawn shops that fenced his stuff for him, and an incredibly nice apartment in a building owned by one of the pawn owners.
Kyrie had a short attention span, and moved quickly on from small-change stuff to bigger things. Burgling houses was no fun – he liked the human contact, the actual threat and challenge of things where he could, at any moment, get seriously caught.
(Not that he wanted to get caught. Not that he’d liked it, the couple times early on when he had. He was still banned from the biggest mall in town – not that they ever noticed him, now, when he came in. Stolen gold necklaces bought a lot of nice clothes and a new haircut.)
Burgling the houses of the wealthy when they were home, now, that was fun. Tons of fun. Slipping in and out again while they watched TV, while they argued, while they fucked the cabana boy…
…that had been his mistake. The fucking (ha) cabana boy.
And now, now Kyrie was caught again. Now he was caught, and the fucking (ha, ha) rich cougar lady was, oh, fuck, a rich Cougar lady. These knots around his wrists and ankles were awfully tight, and the woman was licking her lips and, gods help him, purring, purring at him. Cougars couldn’t purr, could they?
“Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Sorry, ma’am?” He swallowed hard. Her teeth were sharp!
“You’ve been stealing for a while, I think, haven’t you?”
“A little while,” he allowed.
“And now I’ve stolen you.”
Continued – http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/530235.html
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