the birds didn't die in the winter – spencer & bambi

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

► ► ►

I wonder where rich boys keep their hearts.

I checked the hem of Spencer’s sleeve when I held his hand – wrote my address into his palm, and found nothing but the moon carved into the marble of his skin. Somewhere, there must be a trick door, a locked treasure chest, a dangerous vault.

There were the flowers, the stars, the fountain bursting with moss. And there he had been at twilight, so soft and shy in the evening light that I couldn’t even kiss him.

I have an appetite for sweet things, for the little lamb that sleeps in the valley of the gods. I wonder where his heart is – if I can coax the ichor from his veins, if he blushes at the thought of sharp teeth, if I can make him love me.

A week ago, I gave him my address, told him to meet me at half past nine, and all he’s gotta do now is show up.

He is such a baby.

I’m scared I’ve scared him already.

Here are the infinite platitudes of romance – butterfly pulse, flushed cheeks, a puffy marshmallow heart. I light a cigarette, try to blow smoke rings in the shape of hearts, remember to feign the gentleness I was always told I lacked by Cassius, and wonder what it'd be like to be rich.

It's almost nine.

"Big dick energy time," I tell myself, "Big dick energy."

I cut a line of coke on a plastic bag, measure just enough so I've got all that when Spencer's here – butterfly pulse, flushed cheeks, heart on the verge of beating out.

Love, it tastes bitter, trickling down my throat.

I smoke another cigarette, lean on the windowsill, watch a light rain turn District Five into mud. The ashes from factory chimneys settle into a monochrome palette, sepia tonalities, mood maker. All that's light are neon signs and the end of my cigarette flickering gold to my breath. Exhaling, take a shot of cherry vodka – I think about kissing Spencer.

I learned how to kiss all those years ago in the Red Room.

My touch is power.

I think about all the secrets he'd spill from those lips.

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

— spencer st. claire.

( ✰ )

It isn’t a surprise, the rich boy not expecting the rain.

The downpour begins when Spencer’s mid-way to the planned meet-up pace and he gets caught in it instantly. Rain soaks his peacoat, soaks his shoes, soaks his hair. The only upside is that the coolness that trickles down Spencer’s spine makes him less nervous and more awake.

This date wasn’t supposed to happen. Bambi wasn’t supposed to be happen. Spencer may be knowledge but he doesn’t know the first thing about date etiquettes. When should they hold hands? When is the first kiss acceptable? What should he say and what should he not say?

Well, first, he has to say sorry for looking like a drenched puppy and that’s exactly what he does the moment he rushes up to Bambi, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and flecked with raindrops, out of breath. “S—Sorry if I—if I a— late,” Spencer huffs out, doubling over to catch some air. “R-Rain—forgot to bring umbrella—sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Oh dear, this was already going awry.

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

b a m b i

The coke kicks in and fades to the slow warmth of the alcohol. Outside, the rain turns into a downpour, the sound like a scattering of marbles from a memory buried deep of kids playing ring games on the pavement.

I wonder where I would’ve remembered this from.

I kicked Amoret out of the apartment for this -- paid her a whole fifty bucks to crash somewhere else, promising her I'd write her into my will, and name my firstborn after her, and blah blah blah, whatever it takes for the D, you know.

Spencer shows up a bit after nine, barely late, dripping, gasping for breath, a million apologies stuttered, words tripping over themselves.

See, I've never been soft enough, some perceivable hunger had grown up with me, into my blood that sometimes would give my intentions away to the clever, rich foxes, curled on their wealth built from that same perceptiveness.

But somehow, I don't need to feign gentleness here.

I brush his hair from his eyes, water collecting on my fingers as I linger near his cheek. "Well, you can make it up to me by taking off your clothes--"

Pulling back, laughing, his expression nearly killing me, "Because you’re getting the floor all wet. Come here, I'll get you some clothes before you get cold."

{ you light my fire like a cigarette }

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

↳ SPENCER ST. CLAIR

It’s a firework, the way his cheeks implode with color at those words, him stammering out a “oh, you—” and then Bambi laughs. He's teasing, huh? Spencer chuckles too, hanging his head for a moment before shaking it. “We’ve rainchecked this for so long that it actually started raining.”

Up close, Bambi’s skin is nearly opalescent and he can get a whiff of a perfume that makes him feel a plethora of things. Had he prepared for this, too? Made himself look nice for Spencer? The thought is strange to him, but he finds himself appreciating it strongly. He follows once beckoned, trying not to get things too wet. “It’s okay,” he replies in the middle of pulling his shirt up. “If you have a telephone, I'll ring someone to bring me another outfit.” The shirt, now removed, gets lumped together in a wet knot. Another smile touches Spencer’s lips, this one apologetic.

“I hate being an inconvenience to others. Especially my date.”

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

b a m b i

Spencer's a sweetheart, the way his cheeks flush, like a spring flower blooming in my hands. And like a spring flower, he's supposed to be here just for a season, fleeting, and yet –

He makes me feel some type of way.

And now here he is in my room; the fucking shirt comes off, the water clings to his skin, shining in the dimmed lights, and a memory of a flickering desire ignites. There's a high separate to the coke buzzing, separate to the pleasure of imagined wealth and indulgent power rich on my tongue.

His eyes are dark and burning.

I look away.

Anyways, um, that was weird.

I grab a towel from the bathroom, wrapping it around his shoulders and pulling him close to me, grin finding its way back onto my face. "Aw, that's no fun. Don’t call anyone – I want to spend time only with you. Just pick from my closet."

He's so close to me, so close and I search for his heart, wherever it is buried underneath all the splendor. Taking his hand, my thumb running across his wrist, and I can feel his pulse radiating. Silly rich boy. Should I kiss him? But should I make it special?

Wait why do I care haha.

"Inconvenience? Are you kidding?" I look him up and down, giving the cheesiest wink on earth, "What a view, babe."

{ you light my fire like a cigarette }