Post by Noah St Cloud on Jan 18, 2023 17:48:25 GMT -5
Noah felt her roll away, and for a stomach-lurching moment he thought he’d said something to offend her – that she was withdrawing and didn’t want to share her bed anymore. But Tawny only turned off the light, rolling straight back to him before he could demand to know what he'd done and embarrass himself, and something twisted under his ribcage with a strange, unidentifiable relief. For a moment, the only thing his foggy mind knew was that he fiercely desired to clutch her close, to bury his hands in her hair and smother her in affection until she promised not to make his insides drop like that again.
The darkness they lay in was not as pitchlike as the dark he was accustomed to. At home, there were no streetlights near his bedroom windows and even the moon would struggle to cast a glow through the forest's towering trees (not that his blackout curtains would allow for any light to get through to him anyway), but he doubted the comparative brightness of Tawny’s apartment would keep him from sleep when his limbs were so heavy, his thoughts so sluggish.
She shimmied down to his chest and carefully, considerately, positioned his arm in such a way that no memories lured him. He could return her gift early, he supposed. Stop it from being a problem for him. But then it would be her problem and their dilemma would be much the same, the only difference being that he could selfishly draw her flush against him without concern of being distracted by the past.
The alcohol, he decided, was making him want things he usually didn’t care for. It made him sappy. Pathetic. As much as he enjoyed some physical affection, sleeping in the company of others – let alone cuddling – wasn’t a luxury he tended to indulge in. It was more commonly a mistake, one he’d rectify by tiptoeing away at the crack of dawn or by excusing himself with a lie. But with Tawny... he wanted to wake in the morning to the sight of her. He wanted to drowsily remember where he was and coil impossibly tighter around her like a possessive dragon guarding his treasure, content to stay, content to return to the depths of slumber and let the sun meander across the sky without acknowledging it. He wanted her to playfully shoulder him when she awoke, then pretend to wriggle away and complain that she had places to be even while she let him pull her closer. He wanted more kisses that were just kisses.
He almost didn’t realise when she started to speak again, momentarily too caught up in his imaginings to comprehend the sounds he could hear. When they processed, he felt torn. She’d only told him she usually cuddled, it was good news for him but... there was that word. ‘Usually.’ The implication that there were others –
Noah really needed to stop that. Getting so worked up over these little things would drive him mad. He knew she was a whole person. An individual with her own life, separate from him; he suspected it was part of why he struggled so much to stop thinking of her. She wasn’t some dormant toy, waiting to be picked from the box and wound to action for his enjoyment. All the time they weren’t together she was out in her own world – living, experiencing, growing – and other people would see her and want just as he saw her and wanted. Unless he could convince her that he was the only one worth her time, there was nothing he could do about it...
In any case, now wasn't the time to think about it.
It would be fine if he moved away for space, she assured him (no way was that happening by choice), and once again she offered to cover up with a onesie. His lips twitched into a faint smile, quickly forgetting his distress as he pictured her in one of those cute, fluffy ensembles that would essentially turn her into an oversized teddy bear. Snuggling her in that would be immaculate.
Maybe next time, he thought, dipping his face lower until her hair tickled his chin. Maybe during colder months, when she’d be less likely to overheat.
“S’fine,” he mumbled. He would keep himself still while he drifted off, as if settling into petrification, unbothered by memories due to the position she’d adjusted him into. In some ways stillness was natural for him; fidgeting and movement being something he’d partly had to teach himself to stop coming across as a weirdo. Hopefully, as he'd promised her, he would pull her closer as he dreamed, and they would wake much more entangled than they were now.
He smiled again as she bid him goodnight, unreasonably delighted by the sound of his name on her lips. It was dangerous how easily she affected him. How many different emotions she brought out of him. Would he ever get used to it? Did he want to? He exhaled softly, feeling his brow twitch, and he honestly couldn't tell if the sigh that left his mouth was contented or troubled as he returned the parting words. “Goodnight, Tawny.”
Tawny Vokes
The darkness they lay in was not as pitchlike as the dark he was accustomed to. At home, there were no streetlights near his bedroom windows and even the moon would struggle to cast a glow through the forest's towering trees (not that his blackout curtains would allow for any light to get through to him anyway), but he doubted the comparative brightness of Tawny’s apartment would keep him from sleep when his limbs were so heavy, his thoughts so sluggish.
She shimmied down to his chest and carefully, considerately, positioned his arm in such a way that no memories lured him. He could return her gift early, he supposed. Stop it from being a problem for him. But then it would be her problem and their dilemma would be much the same, the only difference being that he could selfishly draw her flush against him without concern of being distracted by the past.
The alcohol, he decided, was making him want things he usually didn’t care for. It made him sappy. Pathetic. As much as he enjoyed some physical affection, sleeping in the company of others – let alone cuddling – wasn’t a luxury he tended to indulge in. It was more commonly a mistake, one he’d rectify by tiptoeing away at the crack of dawn or by excusing himself with a lie. But with Tawny... he wanted to wake in the morning to the sight of her. He wanted to drowsily remember where he was and coil impossibly tighter around her like a possessive dragon guarding his treasure, content to stay, content to return to the depths of slumber and let the sun meander across the sky without acknowledging it. He wanted her to playfully shoulder him when she awoke, then pretend to wriggle away and complain that she had places to be even while she let him pull her closer. He wanted more kisses that were just kisses.
He almost didn’t realise when she started to speak again, momentarily too caught up in his imaginings to comprehend the sounds he could hear. When they processed, he felt torn. She’d only told him she usually cuddled, it was good news for him but... there was that word. ‘Usually.’ The implication that there were others –
Noah really needed to stop that. Getting so worked up over these little things would drive him mad. He knew she was a whole person. An individual with her own life, separate from him; he suspected it was part of why he struggled so much to stop thinking of her. She wasn’t some dormant toy, waiting to be picked from the box and wound to action for his enjoyment. All the time they weren’t together she was out in her own world – living, experiencing, growing – and other people would see her and want just as he saw her and wanted. Unless he could convince her that he was the only one worth her time, there was nothing he could do about it...
In any case, now wasn't the time to think about it.
It would be fine if he moved away for space, she assured him (no way was that happening by choice), and once again she offered to cover up with a onesie. His lips twitched into a faint smile, quickly forgetting his distress as he pictured her in one of those cute, fluffy ensembles that would essentially turn her into an oversized teddy bear. Snuggling her in that would be immaculate.
Maybe next time, he thought, dipping his face lower until her hair tickled his chin. Maybe during colder months, when she’d be less likely to overheat.
“S’fine,” he mumbled. He would keep himself still while he drifted off, as if settling into petrification, unbothered by memories due to the position she’d adjusted him into. In some ways stillness was natural for him; fidgeting and movement being something he’d partly had to teach himself to stop coming across as a weirdo. Hopefully, as he'd promised her, he would pull her closer as he dreamed, and they would wake much more entangled than they were now.
He smiled again as she bid him goodnight, unreasonably delighted by the sound of his name on her lips. It was dangerous how easily she affected him. How many different emotions she brought out of him. Would he ever get used to it? Did he want to? He exhaled softly, feeling his brow twitch, and he honestly couldn't tell if the sigh that left his mouth was contented or troubled as he returned the parting words. “Goodnight, Tawny.”
Tawny Vokes