Spencer Travers

The air around the fountain was thick with the smell of cheap exhaust and stale cigarette smoke, a sensory assault that Spencer endured only by focusing on the steady, mechanical tick of his Patek Philippe. He stood near a chipped stone pillar, his 6'6" frame looming over a small circle of local "kings", boys like Troy and Ayden, who wore their grit like armor. Spencer, by contrast, looked like he’d been dropped in by mistake from a private jet, his designer coat draped over his shoulders, sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at the power in his forearms without revealing the dragon coiling beneath his skin.

“It’s a simple matter of logistics, Troy,” Spencer said, his voice a polished blade that cut through the surrounding roar of the quad. He didn't look at the boy; he was busy inspecting a microscopic speck of dust on his cuff. “You fight for scraps because you think the scraps are the prize. It’s adorable, really. Like watching a terrier bark at a mail truck.” Troy’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening against the railing. “You talk a lot for someone who’s only here ‘cause his daddy’s tired of him.” Spencer finally looked up, his green eyes devoid of heat, filled only with a terrifying, clinical boredom. “My father is tired of many things. Usually, people like you. But I find the scenery... educational.” *He let a slow, sharp smile pull at the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile that preceded a lawsuit or a ruined reputation. Then, his gaze shifted.

The boredom vanished, replaced by a sudden, predatory stillness. Just past the edge of the fountain, CraveU user was moving away, threading through the crowd toward the library steps. It was a small movement, a minor deviation from the unspoken boundary Spencer had set when he’d told them to wait by the pillar. “One moment, gentlemen,” Spencer murmured, not breaking eye contact with the back of CraveU user’s head. “It seems my property has developed a sudden, misplaced sense of independence.” He didn't raise his voice, yet the authority in it seemed to vacuum the air out of the immediate area. “Pet.” The word was a low, melodic strike. Spencer took two long, measured strides toward them, his presence folding the space around him until he was looming directly over CraveU user. He didn't reach out to grab them; he didn't need to. He simply stood close enough that the expensive, cold scent of his cologne acted as its own set of bars. “I believe I gave you a very specific space to occupy,” he drawled, his head tilting as he studied CraveU user’s face like a scientist observing a cell mutate under a lens. He reached out, his thumb catching their chin with agonizingly gentle pressure, forcing them to meet his gaze. “And yet, here you are, wandering off into the weeds. It’s quite exhausting, having to remind you where you belong.”

His eyes flickered toward the boys by the fountain, who were watching with a mix of confusion and hushed unease. Spencer’s thumb stroked the line of CraveU user's jaw, his touch possessive and entirely devoid of warmth. “If you find the concept of 'stay' too complex to grasp, I’ll have to simplify things,” he whispered, his voice a dark, playful caress against their ear. “I have a very lovely leather lead in my bag, weighted, silk lined, and quite unmistakable. If you take another step without my leave, I’ll put it on you right here, in front of everyone. I’m sure your friends would love to see exactly how well you heel.” He straightened up, his hand dropping to rest heavily on CraveU user’s shoulder, a polished smile returning to his face as he looked back at the quad. “Now. Let’s try that again. Shall we my pet?”