Another mushy Talbot and Marlowe fic that resulted from a conversation between my best buddy Del and I after listening to too much Neon Trees (this was written just for her for Valentine's Day!). I'm addicted to these two. This is ridiculously puke-tastic and I regret nothing. There will be more!

(ChloexCutter fans I still love you, I just need some time alone with these two for a little while...).

In the Next Room

Bare feet pattered against the hardwood floors, resonating throughout the deserted hallways. It was two o'clock in the morning and Talbot should have been sleeping hours ago... but instead his mind wandered and forced him into a state of anxious restlessness.

His own chambers could no longer contain him. He needed somewhere open, somewhere vast... and so he retired to the study, clad only in his sleep clothes. Books had occupied his restless mind for a time, but his focus was slipping. The clock tick-tocked upon the wall, seeming to echo the inner workings of his mind. It was a world of knowledge at his fingertips, any subject he could possibly desire to study...

... but the one burning question in his mind didn't seem to have an answer.

Talbot had read up on the subject, of course... everything from psychology books to Shakespeare. Anyone noteworthy had written about that oh-so-romanticized "l-word." But it didn't make it any less frustrating for the twenty-year-old, and it certainly didn't make his late-night-wanderings any more bearable.

When at last he felt as if he couldn't take the gnawing feeling in his brain any longer, Talbot stepped out of the study and into the foyer. Moonlight bathed the hallways, casting an ethereal glow through the windows. He tip-toed down the hall, not daring to make a sound for fear of being caught by the agents who guarded Marlowe's residence at night.

He passed bookshelves, priceless works of art and suits of armor... what had once been awe-inspiring scenery was now merely the everyday sights of living in a mansion. Despite being desensitized to the lavish lifestyle of an aristocrat, there was still one thing that never failed to amaze him.

His footsteps slowed as he reached his destination, arriving outside of the double-doors leading into Marlowe's chambers. Talbot paused, heart racing and palms sweaty. His conscience told him he shouldn't be doing this, it was wrong, it was filthy... but the thrill that rushed through his veins and the excitement pumping through his blood told him otherwise.

It was no surprise to Talbot what was occurring behind closed doors at this late hour. Marlowe was with another man. He'd never met most of them, as she reserved their visits for the early hours of the morning. Usually she'd go out, have a drink or two, and bring them back home.

Though she was unaware of his wanderings, Talbot knew all about Marlowe and the men that she bedded. Probably a lot more than he should... but he wouldn't dwell on that.

Sometimes he'd catch entire pieces of conversations. For the most part, it was work-related (Talbot heard enough of that on a daily basis) but other times it was just banter and smalltalk. Talbot liked those conversations best. Because of this, he knew all kinds of facts about his mentor that he wouldn't know otherwise... her favorite places to dine, the perfume she wore, and even her favorite flower, which happened to be the Tiger Lily. The tropical plant seemed to suit her, as its name was a mesh of something both dangerous and beautiful. A fatal attraction, just like her, and perfect in every conceivable way.

As his knowledge of the only woman in his life grew, so did the undeniable rage of jealousy. It was a quiet thing at first, something he could suppress and easily hide. But the more he observed night after night, and the more he heard the sounds of passion emitting from the other side of the wall, Talbot found himself consumed with envy.

Daring to press an ear to Marlowe's door on this particular morning, Talbot began to listen intently. He could hear Marlowe's laughter, high and pleasant, from the other side of the door... followed by a masculine chuckle. Talbot's hands unintentionally balled into fists. What made him so special? He didn't know her like he did... didn't watch out for her, didn't follow orders perfectly and without question. For the better half of three years, he'd done everything Marlowe had ever asked. Was it so bad to want something in return?

When his palms came to rest upon the smooth wooden door, pressing a hip against it for support, he was remarkably surprised when he suddenly found himself falling forward, face first, as he came toppling through the doorway. He was so intent on his spy game, he'd completely failed to notice that the door hadn't been fully shut.

From his position on his hands and knees, Talbot sat slack-jawed and wide-eyed at the suggestive scene before him. Marlowe was in the arms of a strange yet handsome man, straddling him as they sat upon the foot of her bed. Her hair was mussed up and her blouse half-undone...and both of them were looking straight at him. The man looked confused, his dark eyes fixed upon Talbot, while Marlowe's features transformed from annoyance to amusement as she regarded him.

The most awkward seconds of Talbot's life ticked by with remarkable slowness, as his pulse pounded in his ears. He blinked a few times, his body seemingly frozen in place. He'd have had more than enough time to make a run for it... but he couldn't will himself to do it, his eyes glued to the couple. God, he was in so much trouble.

Marlowe cleared her throat, patting her visitor on the chest and toying with the lapels of his jacket. "Can you excuse us for a moment please, Clive?"

"Of course," the man smiled, and gave her some space.

As she walked over to him with a pitying expression, Talbot felt his stomach flipping.

"Get up."

When he hesitated, she hefted him upwards by his elbow and tugged him out of the room. Talbot made sure to throw "Clive" a death glare over his shoulder, to which the man merely rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his blonde hair.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" Marlowe asked, her expression stern. Her grip on his arm tightened, and Talbot winced.

"I needed something," Talbot blurted. His words didn't even seem to register before he said them.

"What could you possibly need at this late hour?"

Oh God, now that was a loaded question. Little did Marlowe know, his true answer was standing right before him. If only he had the gall to say such a thing... to openly admit that he had wandered out of his room at 2am because he couldn't stop thinking about her... that it was driving him positively crazy if he couldn't see her, or hear her, or catch the briefest of glimpses until morning. But that would only serve to make things complicated... and Talbot couldn't risk that. So instead he said: "I couldn't sleep."

The words were muttered as he gave a shrug while Marlowe shook her head.

"What have I told you about mumbling? Speak more clearly."

Talbot threw a glance through the open door, and saw that Clive was still watching the scene unfold before him. Meanwhile, Marlowe's grasp on his arm was feeling like a boa constrictor's grip. Whether intentional or not, he wasn't sure.

"Let go," he snapped, pulling away from her. "You're embarrassing me."

"Oh, am I? Hah! You don't know the meaning of the word. Did you ever stop to think that maybe by this improper behavior, you're the one embarrassing me?"

Talbot's face felt hot. He hadn't considered that and so he remained silent rather than admitting it. He'd never want to do anything to embarrass her or make her angered with him. When Talbot crossed his arms moodily, still glancing over towards Marlowe's gentleman caller, she gave a haughty little laugh.

"You see my friend over there?" she asked, nodding her head towards him. "He's very important to me, and I've told him only the nicest of things about you."

Talbot was nearly stunned into silence as he allowed himself to look into her clear, no, crystalline green eyes. She actually... talked about him?

"You... have?"

He scratched idly at the back of his head.

"Mhmm," Marlowe nodded. "So, I think it's best that you don't make a scene, or else I can show you true embarrassment. Wouldn't want to spoil your perfect little reputation, now would we?"

Talbot certainly couldn't argue with that. He cast his gaze downward, feeling flustered and awkward.

"No, Marlowe."

"Good. We can't risk that with such a promising future, after all."

Marlowe stepped in close to him, cupping his chin in her palm and tipping it upwards so that he was looking her in the eye again. With her face mere inches from his own, he could feel her breath against his face. She smelled intoxicating, like some kind of wild flower, and Talbot couldn't help but fidget under her steely gaze. "Now, get back to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

With that, she let him go and he paced awkwardly down the hallway and back towards his own room. He threw a glance over his shoulder to see her return to her chambers, this time shutting the doors firmly behind her.

Talbot couldn't help but run his index finger along his chin, where Marlowe's palm had lingered just moments before. He could still feel her touch, so gentle and pleasant against his skin. He hoped that the memories would be able to sustain him until the morning.

Though his plans didn't quite pan out the way he'd have liked them to, and Marlowe had found out about his eavesdropping... he considered the encounter a victory. He was important enough for her to bring him up in conversation... so who was to say that he wouldn't be important enough to earn a kiss, a hug, or... perhaps something more one fine day?

There was always room for dreams. As Talbot hopped into bed, staring at the ceiling with a smirk upon his features...he hoped that he'd dream of her, his dangerously beautiful muse. If he had to wait an eternity to be hand and hand with her, then he'd willingly endure it. She was worth every second.

But next time... just to push his luck, he'd bring tiger lilies.