FIC: 7. Don't Inhale (The Royal Tenenbaums, Margot/Richie, PG)
7. Don’t inhale.
In the tent, the lights golden and low, they lay on their backs. Richie lights a joint, and Margot wrinkles her nose.
“Don’t say you’re not a smoker,” Richie says, and almost smiles. The bandages are still around his wrists.
“I was going to say, ‘What are we, fifteen?’” Margot says, and puts the tight-wound end of the paper cigarette between her lips. Inhales slowly, eyes closing, and Richie imagine he can see the smoke going into her lungs, through her veins, filling every piece of her.
Margot opens her eyes. She moves over him, her gold hair golder in this low light, all of her lit gold, like an angel. She presses her lips to Richie’s and blows, the smoke from her lungs filling his lungs, the stuff from inside of her filling every piece of him.
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