[Noah St Cloud]

From where he was standing, Tawny seemed relaxed. Which helped Noah to relax in turn, his worries of triggering her to have a panic attack or something drifting away to the very corners of his mind while she teased him back and followed him to the kitchen. With each passing second he felt more than a little hopeful that yes – this could work, he could have this, even if it were just for one night.

Leaning against the island, she confirmed that she had indeed been told off and Noah smiled wryly at the mental image the admission conjured: Belle, the tiny changeling shrieking and wailing unabashedly in her fairy wings, letting her displeasure be known to everyone who would listen, and Tawny beside her, shamefaced and cringing as a scene was made in the middle of the fairground, drawing curious looks from passersby who made no attempt to hide their gawking.

Yet Tawny also claimed to have been let off easy, to be deserving of more scolding. Her gaze (lingering on his chest, on his mouth, before raising to meet his) rocketed his pulse and made him feel warm all over, and he hoped to God he wasn’t visibly blushing like some inexperienced teenager. In the low lighting her blue eyes were almost indigo – closer to the dark shroud of night or the depths of the ocean than the summer sky he usually associated with her, with the playful glitter of stars or moonlight upon waves to match.

He sipped his drink so he had an excuse for swallowing, knowing that without it, the bob of his Adam’s apple would make it all too obvious that he was practically salivating simply because she was looking at him. He had to even the playing field. If he could make her feel even half as much as what she made him feel, he would consider that a victory.

“Oh, you’re owed it, are you?” he purred, slinking closer. His lips parted around another tease, prepared to make her bargain for the privilege, but another sip (perhaps better described as a gulp) of her drink made her grimace and swear, surprising him enough to knock those intentions clean out of his mind.

He breathed a laugh and shook his head. It felt like his face could split from grinning so hard. He wanted to pick her up and twirl her around and squeeze her. God. She was so cute. How could he feel so many things about one woman? How could she be so sultry one minute and so adorable the next?

“Spicy, huh?” Another step closer ensured there was practically no space left between them. Gaze lowering to her mouth, it was impossible not to think about how easy it would be to dip down, to capture it with his own and taste for himself, and he found himself slowly leaning forward as though to do exactly that, hand lifting to her chin to tilt her face up to meet his. Yet he didn't. As much as it pained him, as much as the temptation was most certainly there, he decided to wait. To give her just a bit more time to decide if it was what she really wanted.

His hand did not stop to coax her chin up, raising slightly higher to ghost his thumb from the corner of her lip to the middle of it instead, before bringing it back to his own mouth to allow a quick swipe his tongue over its pad. He hummed and tilted his head as he pulled back, eyes narrowed mischievously. “Tastes just fine to me; I don't see the problem, but you’re not a whiskey drinker, are you?” His grin returned in full swing. “You keep beers in your fridge. Far more refined.”

He took her free hand and gave her a soft tug, leading her out of the kitchen towards the door of his study which he nudged open with his foot. He flicked the light on with his hand still holding his whiskey glass, and stepped inside to let Tawny have a look.

“This is my office… It’s got a lot of stuff in it, including a very sturdy desk.” He blinked at her with exaggerated innocence but made no attempt to shepherd her towards it or move in that direction himself. He still liked the desk but the more specific professor/student fantasy was very much squashed after the whole ‘two-lies-and-one-truth’ game; he didn’t want their night to remind her of any previous lovers if he could help it. Especially since, upon reflecting on that particular hookup of hers once he was more sober and less hungover, he’d decided he liked it even less than he had upon first hearing it and had grown more than a little outraged on her behalf. Had wanted to hunt the creep down and might have, if it weren't for her gift. Not merely due to jealousy, but because even if Tawny had initiated, the professor should have known better. Probably did know better but decided to go through with it anyway.

Shoving those thoughts aside before his mood could darken, he scanned his surroundings, trying to imagine what the space looked like to her and what – if anything – might catch her interest.

His gaze fell upon the hefty law tomes on his shelves and he remembered there were still one or two things he was being dishonest about. Some of them were necessary. But others…

“I’m, uh, I’m not actually a consultant,” he confessed, looking down at the floor in a manner that was almost shy until he realised he was doing it and forced his gaze back to hers. He gave another wry smile. “I guess I’m what you’d call a full-time Blackstorm member but, well, obviously I can’t go telling people that when I first meet them, so – I lied to you. I’m sorry.”


Tawny Vokes
ooc: wowie this is a lil messy but fck it we ball B) lemme know for any changes~

[Tawny Vokes]

Noah laughed and grinned at her and, for her part, Tawny was able to smile with a healthy amount of untroubled self-deprecation, rolling her eyes and breathing a quiet laugh as she lifted the back of her hand against her dribbling nose, not feeling too embarrassed but only hoping she really didn't make a habit of doing that. It could only be endearing so many times until he started gifting her with bibs or came up with some imaginative names. 

The fumble wasn't a complete assassination of the mood, though — something Noah made clear a moment later when he stepped closer, forcing her to tip her chin a bit more to peer up at him. Close enough that, if she were to focus, she might feel the rise of his chest brush against her when he breathed. His eye flickered to her mouth and she let it part slightly under his gaze, feeling anticipation flutter in her abdomen as his hand lifted from his side, prompting quick imaginings of his fingers slipping through the hair at her neck as he ducked slowly to meet the invitation.

But he drew his thumb across her lip instead, capturing the taste of whiskey that lingered there before he brought it to his own. Then he pulled back, grinning wide as he teased, and she scoffed, disliking how it sounded a tad breathless. His hand slipped into hers just as she was thinking of what challenges or threats she might answer with, or whether or not she should just curl her fingers in his shirt and pull herself back to him (insisting that an honest house tour could actually wait after all). He tugged her forward, giving her just enough time to quickly abandon her whiskey glass on the kitchen island.

He moved them into the nearest closed room and Tawny coaxed her fingers from his as she stepped further past him to take a proper look around. At his comment about the desk's reliability, she hummed with clear interest, running her fingertips along the edge of it; contemplating and trying to make a big deal of the contemplating. She'd only wanted to make an obvious show of considering, but then she actually was considering, and she pursed her lips fancifully, taking a moment to imagine him leaned forward in his office chair, feigning disinterest as she moved aside all his things. But it was certainly a vision for a different day — one where he truly was busy, doing whatever it was he did in here, and when she might have to win his attention in earnest.

A different day. And when had she decided that?

Her lips quirked and she lifted her eyes from the chair to find something else to muse upon. She stepped past the desk and to the bookcase that lined the wall, peering through the glass at the neat rows of various colored spines and knickknacks presented to her through the cabinet windows. When he spoke again, admitting to lying about being a consultant, she angled to look at him — watching as he lifted his eyes from the floor to meet her own with a wry smile. She blinked at him levelly, then turned back to the cabinets to resume her searching. "And did you do anything before Blackstorm then?" She spared the law tomes only a passing glance and simply skimmed her gaze further down the rows, looking for other books. Something less academic and more telling. But most of it was non-fiction — criminology, psychology, law... large, intimidating volumes that reminded her too much of college and not enough of anything else.

She pouted, then visibly perked as her eye found a row of smaller books, a few of them with promising signs of wear (love) on their spines. She stepped over to give them a curious lookover, hoping to find something of interest. Something she knew. Something she could imagine him reading stretched out on his couch or tucked in his bed rather than slouched over a desk. Books that could be pulled down and enjoyed in the nook beneath the room's window or while curled up in the armchair in the corner. "Do you have a Kindle or an e-reader?" She asked after a long moment, turning her head to appraise him over her shoulder, quirking her brow a second later. "I'm not seeing many cracked spines or well-loved wear and tear here." She tipped her head, giving the shelves the slightest of nods. "These can't be your favorites."

Noah St Cloud
Lemme jus echo you: fck it, we ball~
And give me a nudge if I need to make any changes!

[Noah St Cloud]

She slipped her hand from his to move further into the room, running her fingers along his desk with a considering hum before turning to inspect the books on his shelves. It was so nice; seeing her in his home again, looking so at ease… Was it insane that he’d missed having her there? Even if she’d only had the one brief visit prior to this?

Was it insane that he wanted to see her in his home at all the different times of day? At all the different times of year? So he could see how she looked in different lightings, in different clothes, different moods. Blinking sleepily at the crack of dawn while sat at his kitchen island in summer, wearing one of his shirts. Wrapped up warm in layers in winter, a focused furrow to her brow while she painted a canvas in his study, with a pink sunset and snow-blanketed lawn outside the window…

Upon his confession that he wasn’t a consultant, she gave him a level glance that he wasn’t quite sure how to interpret. He didn’t think she was angry, though, so that was good. She asked him if he had a job before Blackstorm and he shifted his weight, struck by the thought that she could be trying to work out how he’d afforded a house in West Hook.

“Nothing exciting I’m afraid.” He drifted over to the room’s sole armchair and flopped down into it, lounging with his ankle crossed over his knee. “I had a few different part-time admin jobs while I was in uni, trying to take the sting off the massive debt I was getting myself into, and I worked in a restaurant for a while to help out a friend… But my first ‘proper’ job was as a business analyst. Sniffing out problems, offering fixes. Easy money. And so dull.” He wrinkled his nose before smiling lazily once more, head lolling to one side as he admired her slender frame and the spill of her hair over her shoulders. “At some point I started daydreaming about being a private investigator, and I guess Blackstorm gave me the chance to do that, in some ways.”

He took another sip of his whiskey, too adoring of the taste to refrain but mindful that Tawny had left hers behind. He needed to stay on her level of sobriety unless he wanted a repeat of their last encounter. “And you?” he asked. “Did you have much time between studying and the soup kitchen and being a Sector-agent-slash-therapist to do anything else?”

Having found his fiction books, she visibly perked up and Noah’s expression softened into something a little more blatantly fond at the sight. Of course the artist would have more interest in the stories than in the facts and laws. He remembered seeing a similarly full bookshelf in her own home and felt a pang of regret that he hadn’t made the time to note her favourite titles.

He nodded. “Yeah, those are more like… gifts and recommendations. Plus a few that my mom liked.” Austen and Brontë, Orwell and Dickens, Shelley and Plath – the type of authors that tended to crop up on school reading lists. He’d only ever seen his mom reading Classics, which he supposed was where he’d gotten his own preference for them from. But it was always sort of weird to think about any similarities he might have shared with his family. So he didn’t. “I do have a Kindle but I haven’t used it in ages. Guess I prefer having physical copies.”

Feeling that she’d seen enough of the study (and very eager to see how Tawny looked in other places around his home), he pushed himself up from his seat and set his glass on the desk, then held out his hand to her with an inviting wriggle of his fingers. “Shall we? The good stuff is upstairs.”


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Noah answered that he'd had no exciting jobs; plopping himself into the room's armchair before explaining further. Tawny listened idly as she looked over his things, considering absently that his shelves had room for more knick-knacks and more books and trying to imagine what gifts and trinkets might earn a space. Did he spend a lot of time in here? Look over these things often? The door had been shut, the space was neat, and he'd said the room was full of a lot of "stuff". There was no blanket thrown across the window seat or draped on the chair. But neither was there a thin sheen of dust collected on everything as if he neglected the space enough to not want to keep it clean.

Ultimately, she couldn't decide if it was a favored part of the home or not. Had she seen it in his memories already? Perhaps in those brief couple of seconds when she'd spied him whittling?

"Does Blackstorm pay you, then?" Tawny made an effort to keep her voice only lightly curious. Somehow, it felt like an unsafe topic. One that might nudge him toward something defensive or could earn an accusation. She'd agreed already not to look too far into his involvement with them and she didn't want to come across as suspicious or prying. But she had to wonder — was Blackstorm organized, large and funded enough, to have some sort of payroll? Did it really take up all of Noah's time? Like some sort of day job?

He turned the question back on her, asking if she'd done anything else before now, and Tawny tipped her head thoughtfully as she resumed her perusing of his book titles. "Not really. I suppose I did what a lot of college kids did. Worked during breaks or when I wanted to save up some extra cash for a trip everyone was planning for or for some upcoming campus party. Nothing I took too seriously." It hadn't been crucial for her to work through school. She'd had scholarships and grants and always had her father nearby when cafeteria meals lost their charm or she ran out of credit. While it was true, she worked when she wanted the money to spend, it had also just been a reason to pack her schedule. Working provided demands on her time that she could guiltlessly point to when her father asked if she was coming around. Excuses not to help out in the soup kitchen. Lies sometimes brandished to excuse herself from a friend's plans.

She shrugged a shoulder, eye dropping briefly before she turned to face him and scrunched her face. "Usually in those hipster coffee-shop types of places, y'know... where they're used to employing the flighty, distracted, and undependable youth. Where most of the workers and even the customers were other college students. That kind of thing."

As he answered about the e-reader, she nodded sagely, starting a slow, aimless stroll back in his direction. She preferred physical copies, too — loved the smell of pages, old or new, the feel of them beneath her fingers, and that very quiet, delicate fondness that came with dog-earring a page she might want to find later. But she couldn't forsake the ease and convenience of her Kindle. It had been gifted to her by a friend who'd noticed she had a difficult time seeing a singular book through to the end before starting another. And sometimes, when she settled down to read, the book she was in the middle of wasn't quite right. Sometimes she needed something mindless and easy to occupy her on more troubled nights. Just to keep her mind distracted. Other nights she wanted whatever she was reading to further that troubled ache in her. With her e-reader, it was a simple thing to switch between them.

Noah stood before she reached him. He set down his glass and offered a hand to her — prompting the house tour further along. She narrowed her eyes with just a touch of suspicion (meant to be sly and not openly eager, but she couldn't discern how successful the distinction truly was) and slipped her fingers in his without much thought. "More books, I hope?" She said, crooking a brow and letting the faintest hint of a smile tug at one corner of her mouth. "Are your favorites kept on a shelf in your bedroom? Actually — what are you reading right now? Is it on your nightstand? Waiting on your bed? I'm interested in that one the most."

Noah St Cloud
Give me a nudge for any changes!

[Noah St Cloud]

Maybe it was foolish of him, but he didn’t think Tawny was trying (or would ever try) to use him to gain intel for the Sector. If she were, she would have sought him out. Would have arranged to meet up a lot sooner rather than having allowed fate to decide whether or not it wanted to bring them together again. Besides, in this instance he’d been the one to bring Blackstorm up, and he didn’t see any harm in sating what was likely just curiosity.

“They do,” he told her. “They don’t pay everyone; Blackstorm is mostly made up of volunteers, people who want to support the cause in whatever way they can. Those they do pay tend to get their money for doing a certain job rather than a monthly salary, like if you were commissioned to paint a one-off art piece for someone.” He cocked his head, considering. “I probably get paid more than most. I do a lot of jobs; I have the time and… abilities for it. But I do put a lot of my money into the cause as well, so I guess it equals out.”

Tawny divulged that she had taken on some smaller jobs during college, including work at coffee shops. Immediately the image of her in a cute little barista apron came to mind and he briefly fantasised about what it might have been like if they’d met in such a setting, at that age. Maybe their fingers would have brushed when she passed him his drink, her sneaky attempt to peek at his memories, only to be thwarted by his own gift. Maybe he'd then glimpse her past and both of them would privately puzzle over what had happened, unable to outright ask each other yet. In that world, she would have been the first gifted person he’d met outside of his own family. He definitely would have become a regular after that.

The thought prompted an odd sort of pull in his chest and he chuckled at himself with a soft shake of his head, unsure why envisioning ‘what if’ scenarios involving her made him feel so strange. Like he had something to regret.

With her eyes slightly narrowed at him she took his hand. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it (and he wouldn’t be surprised if his fantasies were bubbling over from his mind and infecting his eyes, distorting the truth and painting the world rosy), but he thought perhaps there was a bit of excitement in her gaze, hiding behind the coyness. His stomach fluttered in response yet he forced himself to nod sagely, trying to keep his expression mild.

“More books,” he confirmed. He laced their fingers, giving her hand a very light squeeze once they were comfortably entwined. “And yeah, my favourites are indeed in my room. I’m very chaotic and unpredictable like that.” He shot her a wink and guided her out of the study, flicking the light switch off as they left. “I just started reading ‘Burning Your Boats’. It’s a bunch of short stories by Angela Carter – mostly fairytales but with darker tones, I guess. I like the way she writes.”

At the foot of the stairs, although very tempted to sweep her off her feet and carry her (either over his shoulder or bridal style or with her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck – all sounded incredibly enjoyable albeit in marginally different ways), Noah simply kept hold of Tawny’s hand as he led her up them. There’d be time for that later, he reminded himself. He wanted to save his energy in the meantime.

Trying not to think too much about how close he was to finally having her in his bedroom and the way that thought elevated his pulse and warmed his blood, he hummed. “I just finished ‘Oryx and Crake’ by Margaret Atwood. She tends to have a lot of creepy, dystopian ideas about the future that I find fun and, again, I like the way she writes, but honestly there were things in that book that were weird and messed up even by my standards.”

Three doors greeted them at the top of the stairs. His eyes only betrayed him once. Shooting down the hallway towards the two other doors – to his bedroom door – in a quick, furtive glance that he hoped would be dismissed as him casually looking around if she happened to catch it, rather than the eager, greedy impulse it truly was.

“Anyway, as far as home decoration goes, you’ll notice that creativity and imagination rapidly declined once I got around to the second floor – not that I ever had much of either of those things knocking around in my head.” He huffed a laugh, reaching for the handle of the middle door. “This room in particular is incredibly damning.”

Indeed, he opened it up and switched the light on to reveal a sizeable room with nothing in it. Just plain white walls and the same wooden flooring as the lower level of his house.

“Behold.” He flung his arm out. “Space.” He turned his gaze back down at her, letting his arm flop back to his side and grinning with his brow quirked. “Any thoughts on what I should do with it? Do your artistic pursuits extend to interior design? I could rent it out to you for cheap if you ever need extra storage.”


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Noah didn't show any sign of being suspicious or perturbed by her Blackstorm curiosity and Tawny, for her part, only tipped her head passively as he answered her question about pay, keeping her posture nonchalant and airy.

Incentivizing bringing people into a movement didn't strike her as a good look. Money tended to corrupt and it would be too easy to imagine a pyramid scheme with Noah at the top. Would more "valuable" people net a larger payout? Could the promise of compensation make recruiting more... aggressive? The motel scene flashed briefly behind her eyes and she bid it down before the visceral remembering could touch her face. Perhaps some recruiters (either greedy or desperate) would say and promise anything to meet their quota. Peddle Blackstorm as something it wasn't. Or people would join, not because they truly believed in the cause, but because it paid to.

But no, Noah said he was somewhat of a special case. Most people weren't paid. And Tawny had to wonder what sort of job would warrant compensation — presumably the type of compensation that could afford a mortgage, pay utilities, car notes, various insurances, and the like. Obviously, the implication was the jobs were above the norm; demands on him that weren't put on most others. He'd alluded to his "abilities" and, perhaps because of what she'd seen in his memory (and his numerous warnings about what she hadn't), the point — and the slight, telling pause before it — didn't inspire much confidence.

But, as she slipped her hand in his and he turned the conversation to books and led them from the office, Tawny forced the thoughts away with a steady couple of blinks. She wasn't here to wonder and guess about those parts of him — she was here (quite decidedly) to uncover and learn other parts of him. Though, she supposed it was something she'd likely be unable to stop. At least, not completely. It was more likely that she would distract herself, let him distract her, and the nagging thoughts would remain a quiet whisper in the far recesses of her mind. How much compensation would securing a Sector agent under one's thumb warrant, anyway? How big of an ask would it be, to allow their nieces to throw up in his lap? To seduce them into his bed?

Of course, they'd said it wasn't like that. Once on his couch and again in her own bed. But couldn't she be naïve to believe that was true? That his "abilities" weren't anything but his wherewithal to charm and disarm people who might have useful information to offer?

He led her by the hand up the stairs, divulging his most recent reads, and Tawny breathed an amused huff. "For someone hoping to change how the world works and looks, a 'fun' interest in creepy, dystopian futures is..." she scrunched her nose and widened her eyes, head tipping just a bit as she slipped past him into the new room he opened. "Vaguely alarming."

The words were spoken playfully and his comment about her possible aptitude for interior design (and then an offer of storage space for rent), earned a soft snort. He'd seen her apartment. "I suppose you know very well I could do with some storage space... and that my interior design skills can be called lacking."

Moving into the center of the room, she planted her hands on her hips and made an appraising turn; head nodding slowly and lips pursed. Finally, she clucked her tongue and voiced her assessment. "Yep, this is a room." Her gaze drew to the single window on the far wall, overlooking the front lawn, and she shrugged a shoulder. "Actually, this is just the kind of bedroom I always wanted as a child. Like a loft bedroom with the slanted walls? Very chic."

Since there wasn't much more to comment on, she turned back to him and moved into the hall. "I've already seen the bathroom. It was very nice, I have no notes." She said, stepping backwards and letting her head roll on her shoulders; eye drawing slowly and purposely in the direction of what she'd decided back then to be the master bedroom. "So... next?"

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Watching her move to the centre of the room, Noah chuckled as she made her appraisal. Perhaps he should turn it into another bedroom, one that she would've liked to have had as a child…

But he knew that would be silly. Already there were two extra beds in his house and a third would surely be overkill, especially if its sole purpose would be for him to point to and say, ‘look, isn’t this just like you would’ve wanted? Can’t you imagine a family living here?’ He gave an amused huff at the thought, shaking his head to rid himself of the strange idea and the confusing way it made him feel.

Tawny soon returned to his side, her gaze pulling down the hall to where his bedroom was. His stomach somersaulted. “Next,” he agreed, grateful that his voice didn’t betray how desperate he was beginning to feel (or perhaps had felt the whole night).

On the way to his room, he only pushed open the other doors for Tawny to peek through if she wanted. Not that she’d be able to see much when he didn’t bother to turn the lights on in them, but he was now too impatient to deliver his house tour the way he’d planned.

“That’s a laundry room, and that’s another spare bedroom, whereas this –” Finally, finally, he led her inside his own bedroom. He nudged the door lightly with his foot to make it close behind them, then moved easily through the familiar dark to switch on a bedside lamp.

He turned back to her. “This is mine.”

He couldn’t think what else to say about it. Not when Tawny was stood within it at last, being thoroughly distracting by being her. In his room. He could only stare, with darkening eyes almost black with desire as they drank her in. Perhaps he could simply pull her to him and kiss her hard without a word. Perhaps he could whisper, ‘and you are mine too,’ against her lips before laying her down on his bed.

Yet that would be too hasty, too aggressive, in light of how unsafe he’d made her feel before. This – whatever this was or would be – needed to be her choice. He needed to know that she wasn’t just giving in, wasn’t just allowing it to happen because she thought there would be consequences if she didn’t.

“Tawny,” he said softly. There were butterflies in his stomach again. He took a slow step closer. Then another. And continued doing so until he was near enough to rest a hand on her waist, so slim and delicate. His other hand lifted to her neck, his thumb gently tracing her jaw and then her lip. She was so achingly beautiful. Those impossibly blue doe eyes seemed specifically crafted to torment him.

His gaze lowered to watch his thumb's movements and his licked his lips. All he could think about was how she’d felt in his lap at her apartment. He'd been drunk, yes, but he remembered. He remembered how she’d tasted. How soft and warm her skin was and how she’d looked with his hands and mouth on her body.

And of course, there was still that idea in his head that he could be so freeing for her; that he could offer her what others couldn’t. If she chose him he would show her that he was perfect for her. She just needed to give him the chance.

Close enough to feel her body heat, Noah gently tipped her face up to his and leaned down so that their foreheads almost touched. “Would you like to give me your gift for a while?”


Tawny Vokes