18241/Dinner with a View

Dinner with a View
Date of Scene:	08 June 2024
Location:	Felicia Hardy's Penthouse, East Side, Manhattan
Synopsis:	Felicia invites Peter over to her penthouse for dinner and a chance to feel out their budding relationship.
Cast of Characters:	Felicia Hardy, Peter Parker

---

Felicia Hardy has posed:
-- 3PM, Interior, Black & White Jaguar XK Convertible

The growl of the engine mingles with the wind, but the top-of-the-line noise cancellation mutes it to little more than a purr in the background. Felicia's long white mane flies up behind her as she drapes one slender wrist languidly over the steering wheel, the stripes on the road flashing past so quickly they're almost a solid line.

Her voice is raised a bit to carry over the wind in her own ears. She could put the top up to make it easier to talk, but she won't. She enjoys the air too much, and this isn't intended to be a long conversation.

"I had to run an errand out of town."

An 'errand.' She makes it sound like she was low on milk and she only gets it direct from the farm.

"But I'm on my way back now. I thought you might like to come over for dinner tonight. My place, this time? Say.. eight o'clock? I'll send you the address. Door or balcony, your choice. I'll leave them both unlocked."

-- 7:30PM, Interior, Felicia Hardy's Penthouse, East Side, Manhattan

This is how 'the other half' lives. Except it's not half -- it's a fraction of the top one percent of wealth in the entire country (which, in this particular case, offers absolutely no commentary on _legally obtained_ wealth).

The daughter of one of the most famous thieves in the entire world, a man who was caught and arrested seventeen years ago after a lifetime of successful thefts and accumulated an untold amount of wealth, does not want for anything. In fact, even if she had never picked up the mantle of The Cat and made it her own, she would never have wanted for anything.

The view of the New York City skyline at night, the dark sky and the twinkling buildings, is phenomenal. There are plenty of places to find comparable ones, of course, especially with certain 'gifts' that make getting to the more exclusive spots easier, but this particular one belongs exclusively to the Black Cat. The floor-to-ceiling windows do an amazing job of making anyone inside feel like they're part of that landscape, offering the illusion of hanging suspended in mid-air above the city if they stand close enough to the glass.

The decor is tasteful and professionally designed, if one had to venture a guess -- everything from spacing to lighting to contrast is taken into account, bringing balance and intriguing illusions to the space that wouldn't ordinarily exist. There are vases, statues, busts, art of all kinds, new appliances, expensive furniture, a top-of-the-line sound system... everything that one might expect to find in a New York luxury penthouse.

Tonight, the lights have been dimmed. The music is jazzy and pleasant, not slow enough to put one to sleep but not ruckus enough to be harsh on the ears or distracting from the task at hand. A glass of red wine sits within arm's reach on the counter while pasta bubbles away on the stove. She's still wearing what she was wearing earlier in the day -- a white blouse and black leather pants, though she's barefoot now.

It's still thirty minutes until Peter's due to arrive. Plenty of time to work on the sauce, to have another glass of wine while she cooks.

The thing about crime-fighters that you have to understand if this is the way things are going is that they can get... tied up unexpectedly. Pasta is something that can keep, in case he's running late.

And the wine?

Well, there are more bottles where that one came from, too.

Peter Parker has posed:
Being around Felicia Hardy -- regardless of the circumstances it seems -- is something of a heady rush. She has a gift, there is no denying. One that makes it hard to think about, well, almost anything else really.

Any other time Peter might be glad to lose himself in that rush of excitement, of new emotion. And really, he is, even now. How could he not be? It's just that the timing is a wee bit tricky. With one more final exam to write before he is done with the whole undergraduate thing, he can't really afford to spend every waking hour thinking about a certain white-haired catburglar.

But it is pretty damn hard not to.

Still, Peter has finally found the discipline to bear down, to get some actually studying done. He -- somewhat painfully -- turned down an assignment from the Bugle and Robbie Robertson that would have almost certainly have been easy money. He has found a quiet corner of the ESU library to sequester himself. He's absolutely going to bear down and get some serious work done...

...which is when his phone rings. While he might have found a quiet corner of the library, it is not completely deserted and a few glares are directed his way as he hastily mutes that ringtone, scampering up from the table he has claimed as his own and rushing towards one of the rows and rows of stacks that tend be little visited.

Darting between those walls and walls of books, he presses back against the one behind him and finally answers the phone just before it can go to voicemail.

"I won't even ask," he offers up wryly at the news that she's left the city and at the invitation to dinner he glances at his watch. Eight o'clock, hmmm? He can still get some studying in. He can still make productive use of the hours between now and then, surely.

Oh, who is he kidding. "I'll be there," he agrees almost before the words are out of his mouth.

Good thing he didn't try to play this whole thing cool. Clearly he would need a little more time and probably a whole lot more distance to manage that.

For now he returns to his table and books and notes, popping ear buds in to drown out the rest of the wordl. He does, however, leave his phone of vibrate. Just in case.

And he is definitely thinking about bio-chemistry. Nothing but bio-chemistry. Certainly not the night ahead.

...

The study session was probably not his best ever. Pretending that he was completely focused on the task at hand would be something of a lie. But he is feeling a little more prepared for the exam now and a whole lot less guilty about his continual avoidance of making time for prepping for it. He really can't afford to lose his scholarship, especially if he is going to continue on and do his Masters.

Still, he *might* have cut the study session a little short. He *might* have intended to take the time to stop back home, drop of his books. Maybe clean up a bit. Change into something a little nicer. He had *plans*.

And of course the world laughed at those plans.

He barely made it four blocks before running into the first problem -- just a perch snatching. easily dealt with. Then a couple of blocks later it was an our of control vehicle that he managed to stop just before it plowed straight through the window of a popular neighborhood eatery.

By the third such incident, it had become pretty clear to Pete that he wasn't making it home and back again. Not without being *really* late. So with some reluctance, those initial plans are abandonned and he begins to swing his way to her penthouse apartment.

There is a vague, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he swings his way closer and closer to her building. It's a nice structure. It's a really nice structure. And even as he arches high through the air, limbs flailing before coming down on the balcony beyond it isn't hard to tell that in addition to it's prize location, and favulous view, it's suitably lavish.

And pricey. Like, he could take pictures for the Bugle for abotu ten lifetimes and still not come clos

Peter Parker has posed:
close to being able to afford this place.

If there is one, small relief, a quick glance at his watch shows that in the end, he is a mere two minutes late. Pretty impressive for him. Of course he still has to take a moment to change. Somehow, just showing up in his Spider-Man suit seems somehow worse then changing back into that simple slacks and a polo shirt.

They already have a lot of blurred lines between them. Felicia Hardy invited Peter Parker to dinner tonight. Not Spider-Man. And while the distinction might be a small one, to Pete, after the past few days, it feels like it is an important one.

She said that she would leave the balcony door open, but even still he instinctively wraps knuckles on the glass before sliding it open. "Sorry I'm a few minutes late. And that I didn't get a chance to change. You wouldn't believe how many things can go wrong in such a short amount of time. I.." he begins before breaking off when he spots her.

"...wow. Is there anything you don't make look amazing?"

Felicia Hardy has posed:
-- 7:59PM

The noodles are cooked. The sauce is simmering. The garlic bread is sitting on a pan, ready to go in the oven. The wine bottle is... half finished with an extra glass sitting beside it in the kitchen.

One hand resting resting on the counter, Felicia lifts her wine glass to her lips and glances at the clock.

A little smile curls her lips. Almost time.

Tick-tock, Peter.

-- 8:01PM

Felicia stands in front of the touch-screen controls for the music that filters through all of the hidden speaker in the penthouse.

Too sad... skip.

Too happy... skip.

Too new... skip.

Is this what being anxious about a date feels like?

Surely she's felt this way before about someone else, but it seems to her that she should remember being this on edge where it came to a man. And she couldn't.

Maybe she'd never been this invested, before. After all, heroes tend to get boring rather quickly. Villains do too, just in a different way, and she has little patience for all-too-common psychopathic tendencies.

Still, she'd called and invited Peter Parker to her home for dinner. Not Spider-Man. Peter Parker. And that in itself was a step across a line that, up until recently, she wasn't sure she would ever take. She's still not positive it's such a good idea. The man in the red-and-blue pajamas is exciting, free, adventurous, confident. He challenges her. He thrills her.

Would Peter Parker thrill her, too? In some ways, he already had, but those few ways weren't nearly enough to build an entire relationship around.



-- 8:03PM

The balcony door opens, and there's a change in pressure inside the entire penthouse. A subtle 'fwoosh' of the air that stirs everything so subtly one might night even notice unless they were paying attention.

And Felicia's always paying attention.

She pours about a third-full of that wine into the empty glass and steps out of the kitchen, the nice, open floor plan making that mane of white easy to spot. There's a roll of her hips as she walks that's so distinctly _her_, even though she's in bare feet, those steps carrying her absolutely silently across the space.

"No," she answers with a Cheshire grin, crossing the space towards him easily and stepping boldly up in front of him to steal a kiss from his lips. Not lingering, but yet the intensity is still there -- an unmistakable claiming of her right to that kiss.

Only then is the fresh wine glass offered, stem between a couple of her slender fingers.

"Don't apologize."

An acceptance of the apology, a dismissal of it, and a correction all built into one. That smile lingers on her lips, not the least bit upset.

"Hungry? Or should we sit for a while?"

Peter Parker has posed:
It is not as if Peter has never gone on a date before. It is not like it's out in public, where all sorts of eyes might be on them. While they might have a lot to learn aobut each other's lives, they've known each other fore years, including things that precious few others know about.

Like the fact that they are both much more then Felicia Hardy -- wealthy socialite -- and Peter Parker -- student and intrepid photo-journalist. Those are pretty big, key revelations that each provide at least a little insight to one another.

While she might have invaded his thoughts to the point of distraction back at the ESU library, it is a little more intense as he steps through that door. That spike of adrenaline at the fact that he is seeing *her* again. Not the Black Cat, but Felicia Hardy. At the possibility that he might get to know her a little better. That they are actually going to try this, try to be more then just play out their flirtatious dance across the rooftop over and over again.

There might be a few butterflies involved as well.

Those don't exactly go away when she steps into view, so very composed. And again, while the surroundings might be incredible, the apartment lavish, all he has eyes for is her.

That backpack is set down by the calcony door -- about a metric ton of textbooks and notes packed inside along with his mask, gloves and webshooters. There's a good way to make a great impression. Have one of them accidentaly go off and blanket the table in a lair of webbing. With his luck? Nope. No sir, no way. They'll go in that backpack and he'll just have to take the chance that the Vulture or someone else won't suddenly take the opportunity to crash the party.

He holds his breth for a moment, then those first words come right along with that oh so appropriate grin. And while that kiss, brief and warm, might keep those butterflies stirred up, in another sense he calms a bit, that brief bout of nerves set aside. "Fair. Ask a foolish question..." he agrees wryly.

The glass is taken with a nod and the corners of his mouth twitches. "I'll try. It's a bit of a habit," he admits. Drilled in by a decades and a half of being raised by Ben and May Parker. It's the kind of thing that sticks.

Glancing down at the wine, swirling just a little in that sparkling stemware, he can't quite bite back another apology. "Sorry for not bringing anything. I should have picked up a bottle, or something," he says sheepishly.

Which would have been interesting. Pete's a genius. In a whole lot of ways. But his knowledge of fine wines? Mmmm, yeah, maybe not.

Leaning in, he grazes those lips across her cheek lightly and finally forces himself to actually look away, to take in the rest of the apartment finally, that soft jazzy music that fills it with a little extra warm ambience. "I'm happy to sit, but if it's ready and you're hungry I won't say no."

Felicia Hardy has posed:
That's what this was about.

It was about a _lot_ of things, but one of them was learning why Peter compulsively apologizes. She'd been around enough to know his general story, just like he knew hers. She knew better than to ask how his parents were, for instance. But she didn't know what it was like for him, growing up. She didn't know the details about Uncle Ben, only that he'd died and there was only Aunt May left.

And of course the last time MJ offered to introduce her to Aunt May, she'd declined. She hadn't wanted to get involved in that part of Peter's life.

Oh how quickly things change.

There's _another_ apology, though, and while there's a flicker of amused annoyance that ghosts across her bright blue eyes, it softens a moment later and that oh-so-confident air about her feels just a little warmer... just a little bit more approachable.

"You brought yourself," she murmurs, brows lifting ever-so-slightly. "I don't need anything else."

Unlike last time, though, that moment of genuine affection isn't followed up by a rubber-band effect of walls locking into place. Instead, she reaches her free hand out to slip into his, and her chin tilts up to receive that kiss with a warm smile.

"It'll keep. All I need is fifteen minutes for the garlic bread. Everything else is ready whenever we are."

And if they don't actually make it as far as eating dinner? Well, it's just pasta.

She takes a step back and tugs his hand along with her to guide her to the living room, a fire already lit in the large gas fireplace. The sectional is large and expensive, situated to face that fire with a coffee table in front of it and end tables at the side. Behind it, the reflection of the fire can be seen in the glass windows, making it look, at certain angles, like the city is burning.

"So."

Her smile is warm and casual, and she drops (gracefully) onto a cushion without releasing Peter or her glass of wine, curling her bare feet up underneath her and preparing to settle in against him.

"How was your day?"

And that's how he knew Felicia Hardy had lost her damn mind.

The Black Cat was actually trying to have some semblance of an actual, honest to goodness, normal relationship, and it both looked and sounded like she was playing a part in a 1960s sitcom. She was so completely out of her element. Her eyes were still searching him, filled with that predatory glint that made it so obvious at least some part of her brain was still fantasizing about ripping his clothes off.

But she was trying.

Peter Parker has posed:
They are definitely venturing into uncharted territory here. It is exciting to be sure, but there can't help but be something of a feeling-out process too.

They already know how to act with one another when the masks go on. They have years of that to fall back on. It's easy to slip all of that on, to react instinctively.

The rest of it? It's still something that they still need to learn. Those little details that, once learned, just open up new doors. That make things suddenly fall into place. To just click. To make everything understandable.

And that can't all be accomplished in one mad rush. It doesn't come from one signular decision to chase instead of waiting for their next encounter.

They have chemistry in spade -- and if there is one thing that Pete knows a little something about it would have to be chemistry. Now they get to find out if there is a little more there then just physical attraction and raging hormones.

Though both of those things have admittedly searched them pretty well thus far.

"Fair," Peter murmurs in return, the corners of his mouth curling up ever so slightly. He suspects that's rather true. She's already surrounded by luxury. Anything he could add to the mix would be, well, a pittance. "Also, I probably would have really, really screwed up on the wine selection. Shocking, I know, but I don't know a whole lot about wine. Good, bad or ugly," he concedes with a little grin.

While he might not be right on time, it appears that she has already accounted for that and Peter can't help smile at that. They have a lot to learn about one another perhaps, but they do have certain insights to each other that others they might have been involved with in the past could hope to know. Because they weren't privvy to their respective big secrets. "Well then, I think that sitting for a bit sounds like an excellent idea," he agrees, slipping his hand into her own and following her over to the living room.

An excellent idea indeed, though it perhaps makes it a little less likely that they'll make it to dinner. But it sounds like she's made contingencies for that too.

The entire penthouse -- that he has seen so far -- is undeniably amazing. The living room is no different, though the clever placement of that fireplace, the illusion it helps create when viewed from the couch is a clever little detail and again a little smile quirks over Pete's expression as he notes it. The sectional looks both comfotable and expensive, enough so that he might be a little wary about risking spilling any wine on it.

One of the good things about being Spider-Man though? He might be able to toss his glass up into the air, catch it and any stray drops without leaving any to stain the rich furniture.

So he sinks down beside her comfotably, leg casually brushing her own despite the ample space to spread out.

The question makes him smile. It's simple, but it, as much as anything else shows to him that she wants to make an effort. "I spent most of it at the library, so probably not that exciting. But it was productive for the most part. I don't feel bad about avoiding my exam prep-work any more at least," he confesses before fingers squeeze around her own.

"But I was still awfully glad to hear from you and for the distraction," he adds lowly.

"And you? Was your trip could?"

Is he deliberately careful not to ask her what took her out of town? That remains to be seen.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
Whether it was intentional or not, Peter was _so_ good at having two very distinct personas in-costume and out-of-costume.

In costume, he was so confident and in control, taunting bad guys while he effortlessly bested them and, frequently enough, made them look like uncoordinated jackasses in the process.

Out of costume, Peter Parker was a young(ish), adorable, unassuming, sometimes uncoordinated, nerd. Frankly, it was hard even for Felicia to reconcile the two sides of him at first, so she would begrudge anyone the difficulty of believing that Peter Parker _is_ actually Spider-Man until they see him rip the mask off.

She sips her wine while she listens to him, moving just a bit closer, until it's not just a touch but a press of leg against leg, knees resting on of his thighs.

"I'm always happy to be a distraction," she muses, her grin edging just a little too far towards 'wicked' before she catches with a pouty little press. It was so easy to fall into old habits with him -- so easy to get caught up in the chemistry of it all, that instinctual search for the next thrill.

Why sit and talk about their days when they could be _doing_ something?

Whether or not that something involved being clothed didn't even matter all that much, but she had her preferences where that was concerned, too.

"It was... productive." As enigmatic as ever.

But it does seem as though she realizes that leaving that little tease looming over them might be for the worse rather than the better of their relationship. She _is_ trying, and part of that meant that she couldn't just tease him relentlessly about how 'bad' she was without eventually wearing his conscience so thin that it was unsustainable.

"A friend called me to sit with her at an art auction so I could offer my opinion about the appraisals. And it was a nice excuse to get out of the city for a little while."

Her smile ticks a little at the corners.

"If it helps ease your mind, I haven't done anything more objectionable than a little harmless speeding since..."

There's a little tilt of her wine glass. Since 'that night.'

Peter Parker has posed:
On rare occasions, the possibility that Peter Parker and Spider-Man might be connected has come up.

It is certainly not an everyday occurence, but it's not unheard of either. Making the decision that taking photographs of himself in action was a good way to make money does come with something of a price. It gives a public tie-in between his real life and his costumed one. The truly perceptive, those extremely interested in Spider-Man, were always bound to take note sooner or later that few people get better shots of Spidey in action. And non gets more of them.

Even if that doesn't immediately make people suspect that Peter Parker *is* Spider-Man, it certainly suggests that he has some sort of arrangement with the costume-clad hero.

Or menace, if one's world view more closely aligns with Jonah Jameson.

He has been questioned by the police and skirted a pretty fine line to avoid out and out lying. Jameson has confronted him on more then one occasion, demanding that he share anything he knows about the wall-crawler. So it's definitely a thing.

But for all that, the fact that Peter is less snarky and playful once that mask comes off isn't an actual, conscious decision. Maybe it is a habit, lingering from his earliest days as Spidey. Maybe that mask just offers a sense of freedom.

Either way, those very diverse personalities leak over a little more then they used to. But some things might never entirely change.

He takes a sip of that wine and while he has already confessed not to be an expert, he's pretty sure that it is good. Very good. At least to him. Still, that rich red wine doesn't hold anywhere near the appeal that she does. It can't hope to be anywhere half as heady as she is just with her presence.

It might help obscure the fact that even now, conversing pleasantly on the sofa before the meal she made, they are just instinctively drawn towards one another. Shifting closer and closer without even seeming to be aware. At least on his part.

Then he's leaning forward, resting that glass on the coffee table before settling back, working pretty hard to resist the impulse to simply lift her from that cushion and plunk her down on his lap.

Spider-Man usually finds a way, the will, the determination to perservere. But this might be one fight that he's going to be on the losing side of.

"Fortunate, given how good you are at it," he replies with a low laugh. And if that grin edges towards wicked, it is still familiar, it still makes his own mouth quirk into a grin. So very much her. A part that has always drawn him towards her.

The enigmatic reply is likewise met with a grin, the pad of his thumb reflexively stroking back and forth over that pulse point in her wrist, barely aware that he is doing it. And while he doesn't press her for more, that grin quirks up a little further until she decides to fill in the rest of the story.

The curve of those lips is verging on irresistible, but Peter manages to catch himself, eyes tracing her features. Her confession keeps that smile there, etched across his expression, but he gives her hand another gentle squeeze. "I appreciate the reassurance," he admits, both wry humor and sincerity to his words. There's no doubt there, no question of whether or not she's telling the truth.

They're beyond that at least.

"I don't expect you to change, you know. Not entirely. I just think that... well, maybe there's somewhere in the middle we can meet. Find that happy medium," he says, his features growing a little more serious, the line of his mouth smoothing.

In his heart, he might throwing himself out into the dangers of the city because of a burden of responsibility. But he would be lying if he tried to deny that he felt the same rush that she seems to. That there is a part of him -- a big part of him -- that loves that surge of adrenaline. The excitement, even the risk.

The action.

It also occurs to him that nothing says that they can't get to know one another while doing other things, right?

Peter Parker has posed:
rThat grin appears on Peter's face once more and he does lean over a little, lifting her now, careful not to disturb the wine in her hand as he settles her in his lap. "Speeding, huh? Think I can convince you to take me on a test drive sometime?"

Felicia Hardy has posed:
I don't expect you to change.

Find that happy medium.

...and he wants to go for a test drive?!

It's a seamless transition, that movement from sitting on the couch to being draped across Peter's lap, her body curling instinctively up against his chest like it's simply where she was made to be -- a fit as seamless as a puzzle that had been missing a piece. Even her wine is at no risk. Between Peter's caution and her own cat-like grace, it barely moves in her glass.

"I keep thinking that one of these days I'll be able to predict what you're going to say next."

She's leaning up against him, because in this position, it's hard to keep from brushing her lips across his jaw, trailing her nose down the length of his cheek and placing a little kiss under his ear. There's a soft brush of that white hair against his neck, his shoulder, as she settles in and dusts a few more kisses back up towards his chin.

Catnip. He's like catnip to her. And the more she gets of him, the more she inhales that scent that is so uniquely him, the more she craves, the more he can feel her tense and cling, one hand on his shirt pulling herself a little closer.

Missing dinner entirely already seemed like a foregone conclusion.

Part of her wondered why she bothered.

"I think a happy medium sounds like a wonderful arrangement," she muses, lips still unrelentingly against his skin, slowly exploring and savoring the taste of him. "Maybe we can spend more of our nights together and you can show me how you work."

Just a whisper of a brush of her teeth.

"Because I would _love_ to take _you_ for a test drive," she purrs.

That low chuckle rumbles out of her throat as she nips at the skin of his neck just under his chin.

She's not talking about the car anymore.

Peter Parker has posed:
Sometimes words are easy. Sometimes they come a little harder.

They are also, like most things. Transitory. More often then not existing in the moment but not necessarily defining the future. There are always exceptions of course. Certainly he would like to think that this is one of those times.

Only time will tell that. Wanting to find a happy medium is a far cry from actually accomplishing it, but right here, right now Peter is sincere in that particular desire.

It could still end up easier said then done.

It is, however, a lot easier to see a future where that particular lofty goal can be achieved however, with her in his lap. The way she curls up against him instinctively. The way his arm slides up, cradling her lower back. The way that they just instinctively find a way to fit.

"You think so, huh? It's good to know that I can keep you a little off balance too. That I still have a few surprises you're not expecting up my sleeves."

The words are lightly, teasing and the sly smile that slips across his expression is ineed much easier to imagine coming from him when that Spider's mask is on. You know, if one could see beneath that mask. There might be a degree of seperation between those two lives of hism but clearly she has a way of bridging those two halves.

In bringing out a little more of the Spider in the Man.

Maybe it is a little soon to expect comfortable companionship instead of a whole lot more heat. Certainly the way his arm tightens around her, draws her in closer would suggest that.

And that dinner?

While a small part of him might feel just a little bad about the trouble she went to, the genuine attempt to create something approximating a normal evening that any other couple might have, clearly they are not, either of them, entirely normal.

He might also regret giving up a free meal too. Though the nice thing about pasta is that it reheats pretty easily. They might just need to recharge later so having food so readily on hand might not be an entirely bad thing.

So maybe he falls to nibbling just a little bit, sinking a hand into that silky white hair. "I hoped you might," he murmurs in reply. "And it does seem like a good place to start to find a... meeting of the minds."

Though they might have already found a seperate one of those.

It's possible that when Pete mentioned the test drive earlier he wasn't exactly talking about whatever slick sports car she has at her disposal either. Certainly the wicked smile that he flashes her -- not entirely unlike her own -- suggests that possibility.

"I was kind of hoping for that too."