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reenkaSome people might say I'm being hypocritical by posting this bit of semi-fluff-- I just like to think of it as being... er... refreshingly multi-faceted. Anyway, ahahah, there was this post about how/why would canon!Draco say 'I love you', and whether he might say it more easily just to get stuff from people 'cause he's a brat. Heh.
So of course I couldn't resist. Especially 'cause presently I'm working on a long-ass dark!Draco fic, and I think I needed a break. I'm one of those people who have severe issues writing Draco saying that-- ever-- to anyone-- so it was a challenge, imagining how Draco would actually say that casually and remain in character. This bit of silliness resulted.
Those who do actually have a serious thing about er... non-angsty things should probably... er... stay away. Anyway, this isn't fluff, per se. Maybe. That is my story and I'm sticking to it!!1Damn all you temptresses, whittling away at my resolve.
Disclaimer: Draco's ass is so not mine. But then, I'm not Harry Potter.
Author's Note: this grew from a discussion on whether & how canon!Draco would say those three happy little words.
- gifts -
"You don't want to be a bad boy, do you, Draco Lucius Malfoy?"
Little Draco sat mutinously with his hands folded in his lap, glaring at his mum when he thought she wasn't looking. How was he supposed to know what she wanted? It was his shiny box of candy now, wasn't it? He'd already said thank you.
Narcissa kneeled before him, brows furrowed forbiddingly. Draco wasn't worried, of course, because earlier that day mummy told daddy that her baby deserved the very best. Daddy had been upset, but mum stood her ground, and now Draco could have candy any time he liked.
"What do you tell mummy now?" she said sternly.
"When one gets a nice surprise, one says thank you," Draco recited, starting to squirm. "Can I go now?"
His mum took Draco's fingers firmly in her own, forcing Draco to look at her, though he had to try hard not to flinch at her determined expression. That always meant bad news. "Don't you think your mother would like something else for her troubles? A woman needs to be pampered, Draco. You'd do well to learn that now, before the bad habits set in."
Draco's eyes grew wider and wider as she spoke, until he squeaked in barely-stifled confusion. "I-- I know how to please a woman," Draco said finally, sitting up straighter on the small wooden chair. "Dad told me that--"
"That's all right for tonight, though," Narcissa whispered sweetly, trailing the back of a soft, powder-scented hand across Draco's cheek. Inevitably, Draco sneezed.
"When a proper pureblood wizard wants to say thank you to a well-bred witch, he kisses her cheek and says the right words. Do you know what the right words are, Draco?" Draco shook his head quickly. "The right words are 'I love you', Draco."
"I love you too, mum," Draco muttered, the tips of his ears starting to burn. That was a bit of trouble to go to for some chocolate, but his mother knew best, he supposed. "Now can I go?"
"I suppose we have time," Narcissa said softly, smiling as she rose. "You should continue to practice, however."
After she'd left, Draco stared at his chocolates in barely-disguised resentment. 'Brilliant,' he thought. 'Something else to be the best at.' He did smile a bit when he ate the first piece of chocolate, however. The trick, he knew, was to keep his eyes on the prize.
--
Draco was fourteen and royally pissed. As usual, he was sharing the booty with the only non-plebian company that remained available for miles and miles.
Pansy was wearing a tiny skirt that barely covered her arse, and was currently lounging comfortably on top of Draco's premier Slytherin wool blanket. Draco was getting lost in thoughts of how the pattern of Pansy's green thong rather matched the blanket, stifling a series of giggles from his brilliant revelation.
"Do you fancy me?" Pansy whispered, her hand on Draco's arm. She smelled of honey-lemon and her new flyaway curls tickled Draco's cheek. He fought the urge to sneeze while he pondered this question, looking at Pansy's wide, falsely innocent eyes. Her mascara was never runny. Parkinson was a true Pureblood witch of the highest caliber.
Draco laid a casual hand on her firm little arse, squeezing softly. "You're completely pissed, you do realize?" Draco drawled, eyes crossing slightly as Pansy wiggled.
"But-- darling!" Pansy squealed. "I still need to know!" She pushed another grape into his mouth, and Draco swallowed thoughtfully. "Mmmm." He loved grapes.
"That's what you said yesterday," Draco pouted, running a lazy finger up the seam of her knickers. "And the day before. And the day before. And I -know- you're not bleeding, so either piss off or think of something more original. Merlin." His fingers didn't quit their work, of course; Draco merely felt he had to set limits as to what should be considered acceptable amounts of bribery.
He'd always considered Parkinson a sensible enough bird, but apparently every female went around the bend when she'd finally gotten her monthlies, no matter if they held Draco's favor or not.
Draco pursed his lips and winced as Parkinson began to flutter her eyelashes. One more glass and she'd be sprawled across his lap; not that she wasn't already sprawled half an inch away. "Maybe."
Pansy laid her head on Draco's shoulder coyly, sighing like she'd just aged before her time. "You are so cruel to your mistress, Lord Malfoy. I fear I shall have to have a cry soon."
Draco snorted. "You do that." A finger slipped under the flimsy green barrier, teasing at Pansy's 'feminine gifts'. As if on cue, Pansy squealed and relaxed even further. She was his to take. It was a nice feeling, which Draco was in no hurry to rush through right at the moment. Perhaps another glass first.
"So you love me?" she whispered against his neck, nipping slightly. "Tell me you love me."
"I love you," Draco said dutifully, rolling his eyes. "Shag now?"
"That's my baby," she mumbled. "After an itty-bitty nap, lover. I--" she hiccoughed-- "need my beauty rest, you know."
"Hey! No drooling before a shag, Parkinson!" he sputtered. "Oi!" But Pansy was already out cold. "Women," he sighed, flipping onto his back. "Always leaving a bloke to take care of things."
--
When Potter sprawled across him, face buried in the crook of Draco's shoulder and his leg flung over Draco's thighs, Draco began to feel rather used. "So this is what I get," he grumbled. "Figures." Potter seemed to purr in his sleep, he noticed without much surprise. "Oi. Potter!" He shook the other's shoulder roughly, but to no effect. "Sex now! Wake up, you fuckwit! It's almost dawn!"
Potter snored, burrowing tighter against him. He really was a menace-- taking up all of Draco's space and only shagging him when he felt like it, whenever he was both awake and not in a bite-Draco's-head-off kind of mood. Which happened more often than one would think, though the dilemma remained: why in the world did Draco put up with this rubbish?
He was rocking against Draco in his sleep and humming something that sounded like a nursery rhyme tune. His limbs started to twitch beyond Draco's control, and he shifted to achieve better friction. Nothing wrong with a free lunch, was there?
Draco was proud of his skills with his mouth: it was warm and wet and wide and there was always just the right amount of suction coupled with a spot of tongue action. Nothing too extreme; no one was going to get spoiled but him, but he could be generous if the mood struck him.
Potter woke up rather quickly, even considering. Besides cock-sucking, he was also talented at screaming. "Aaaaahhh-- Draco-- w-whhaaaahh-- fuckyes!" And sometimes he caught on quicker than expected.
Draco decided to take the whole thing as a compliment. "Awake yet?" he muttered around his mouthful, releasing the twitching cock apparently seconds from release (if Potter's yell of "put it back!" was any sign). "Good. Now give it to me."
On his fours in front of Potter should've felt like some sort of horridly extravagant punishment, but given the way that Potter was the one mewling and whimpering and carrying on, Draco supposed it was an okay trade. He had a well-used pillow for any particular noise emergencies, but otherwise he could listen to the symphony of Potter's utter abjection.
No normal person could be blamed for carrying on a tiny bit when they were being brought off so splendidly, could they? If Potter was a proper wizard at anything (and it wasn't much), apparently it was sex; even Draco was willing to admit he had some small amount of skill of some sort. If nothing else, Draco had always been able to appreciate proper quality in things.
Draco lost the plot a bit around the time Potter bit the particular spot on his shoulder and growled, picking up speed. He may or may not have screamed something which resembled, "Oh fuck-- H-Har-- yeah-- f-fuuuck-- loveyou-- oh yeah-- harder-- faster-- do it! Fuck! P-potter! GOD I-- LOVE YOU! FUCK ME!!"
He probably didn't, though. There was a lot of noise, and Potter was panting like a steam-train, and yelling things like, "Oh yeah, you're my fucking bitch, Malfoy!" If Draco was listening closely at times like these, he'd have to kill Potter before he even got off, which would have been pretty disappointing. Therefore, sex was a bit of a listen-free zone, he figured.
As usual, Potter collapsed on top of him, all sweaty and disgusting, and proceeded to torment him. "I knew you loved me," he said. "Feel free to say it again, Malfoy."
Draco froze, toes tingling with something that might have been panic if Potter wasn't playing with him. Potter was always playing with him.
Draco was a Proper Wizard in every way, and as such, he didn't make untoward noises or soppy declarations muffled by his pillow. Draco had always known Potter was a Feckless Git who'd say anything to curry favor, but this was almost impressive. And more than a little insulting; Draco was going to address that aspect when he was less sleepy.
"I said no such thing," he hissed, nibbling resentfully at Potter's nipple to help drive his point home. "You were hallucinating. As usual, I might add."
Potter sniggered darkly, and Draco would have done something Drastic and Final, but Potter's fingers were tangled in Draco's hair at the moment, and that would've pulled rather nastily.
"You're an oaf and a bloody awful liar, Scarhead," he huffed. "I haven't said anything of the sort to anyone my whole life. Or don't you think I would have noticed by now?"
"I love you too, by the way," Potter mouthed against his hair, doubtlessly wetting it with germ-ridden Gryffindor spit.
"And stop petting my bloody hair!"
"When you stop bloody purring, sure."
Completely scandalized, Draco jolted upright, wincing as all the blood tried to rush back to his head with limited success. "Bugger! This is all your fault!"
"I was awake, you know," Potter snickered. "You're such a silly sod sometimes, Draco. Really, I mean... who hums nursery rhymes in their sleep?"
Draco would've cuffed him on the head, but his arms were tired. Instead, he fell back down, sprawling on his back angled pointedly away from Potter's vile sweaty body.
"I hate you," he declared to the ceiling, frowning murderously. Potter said nothing, so Draco crossed his arms and glared harder. "Well?" he demanded.
Potter laughed, the evil git, and proceeded to kiss his cheek. "You know just what to say to a bloke."
"Bloody right I do," Draco said. "But you're mad if you think I'm thanking you for-- stuff."
~~
So of course I couldn't resist. Especially 'cause presently I'm working on a long-ass dark!Draco fic, and I think I needed a break. I'm one of those people who have severe issues writing Draco saying that-- ever-- to anyone-- so it was a challenge, imagining how Draco would actually say that casually and remain in character. This bit of silliness resulted.
Those who do actually have a serious thing about er... non-angsty things should probably... er... stay away. Anyway, this isn't fluff, per se. Maybe. That is my story and I'm sticking to it!!1
Disclaimer: Draco's ass is so not mine. But then, I'm not Harry Potter.
Author's Note: this grew from a discussion on whether & how canon!Draco would say those three happy little words.
- gifts -
"You don't want to be a bad boy, do you, Draco Lucius Malfoy?"
Little Draco sat mutinously with his hands folded in his lap, glaring at his mum when he thought she wasn't looking. How was he supposed to know what she wanted? It was his shiny box of candy now, wasn't it? He'd already said thank you.
Narcissa kneeled before him, brows furrowed forbiddingly. Draco wasn't worried, of course, because earlier that day mummy told daddy that her baby deserved the very best. Daddy had been upset, but mum stood her ground, and now Draco could have candy any time he liked.
"What do you tell mummy now?" she said sternly.
"When one gets a nice surprise, one says thank you," Draco recited, starting to squirm. "Can I go now?"
His mum took Draco's fingers firmly in her own, forcing Draco to look at her, though he had to try hard not to flinch at her determined expression. That always meant bad news. "Don't you think your mother would like something else for her troubles? A woman needs to be pampered, Draco. You'd do well to learn that now, before the bad habits set in."
Draco's eyes grew wider and wider as she spoke, until he squeaked in barely-stifled confusion. "I-- I know how to please a woman," Draco said finally, sitting up straighter on the small wooden chair. "Dad told me that--"
"That's all right for tonight, though," Narcissa whispered sweetly, trailing the back of a soft, powder-scented hand across Draco's cheek. Inevitably, Draco sneezed.
"When a proper pureblood wizard wants to say thank you to a well-bred witch, he kisses her cheek and says the right words. Do you know what the right words are, Draco?" Draco shook his head quickly. "The right words are 'I love you', Draco."
"I love you too, mum," Draco muttered, the tips of his ears starting to burn. That was a bit of trouble to go to for some chocolate, but his mother knew best, he supposed. "Now can I go?"
"I suppose we have time," Narcissa said softly, smiling as she rose. "You should continue to practice, however."
After she'd left, Draco stared at his chocolates in barely-disguised resentment. 'Brilliant,' he thought. 'Something else to be the best at.' He did smile a bit when he ate the first piece of chocolate, however. The trick, he knew, was to keep his eyes on the prize.
--
Draco was fourteen and royally pissed. As usual, he was sharing the booty with the only non-plebian company that remained available for miles and miles.
Pansy was wearing a tiny skirt that barely covered her arse, and was currently lounging comfortably on top of Draco's premier Slytherin wool blanket. Draco was getting lost in thoughts of how the pattern of Pansy's green thong rather matched the blanket, stifling a series of giggles from his brilliant revelation.
"Do you fancy me?" Pansy whispered, her hand on Draco's arm. She smelled of honey-lemon and her new flyaway curls tickled Draco's cheek. He fought the urge to sneeze while he pondered this question, looking at Pansy's wide, falsely innocent eyes. Her mascara was never runny. Parkinson was a true Pureblood witch of the highest caliber.
Draco laid a casual hand on her firm little arse, squeezing softly. "You're completely pissed, you do realize?" Draco drawled, eyes crossing slightly as Pansy wiggled.
"But-- darling!" Pansy squealed. "I still need to know!" She pushed another grape into his mouth, and Draco swallowed thoughtfully. "Mmmm." He loved grapes.
"That's what you said yesterday," Draco pouted, running a lazy finger up the seam of her knickers. "And the day before. And the day before. And I -know- you're not bleeding, so either piss off or think of something more original. Merlin." His fingers didn't quit their work, of course; Draco merely felt he had to set limits as to what should be considered acceptable amounts of bribery.
He'd always considered Parkinson a sensible enough bird, but apparently every female went around the bend when she'd finally gotten her monthlies, no matter if they held Draco's favor or not.
Draco pursed his lips and winced as Parkinson began to flutter her eyelashes. One more glass and she'd be sprawled across his lap; not that she wasn't already sprawled half an inch away. "Maybe."
Pansy laid her head on Draco's shoulder coyly, sighing like she'd just aged before her time. "You are so cruel to your mistress, Lord Malfoy. I fear I shall have to have a cry soon."
Draco snorted. "You do that." A finger slipped under the flimsy green barrier, teasing at Pansy's 'feminine gifts'. As if on cue, Pansy squealed and relaxed even further. She was his to take. It was a nice feeling, which Draco was in no hurry to rush through right at the moment. Perhaps another glass first.
"So you love me?" she whispered against his neck, nipping slightly. "Tell me you love me."
"I love you," Draco said dutifully, rolling his eyes. "Shag now?"
"That's my baby," she mumbled. "After an itty-bitty nap, lover. I--" she hiccoughed-- "need my beauty rest, you know."
"Hey! No drooling before a shag, Parkinson!" he sputtered. "Oi!" But Pansy was already out cold. "Women," he sighed, flipping onto his back. "Always leaving a bloke to take care of things."
--
When Potter sprawled across him, face buried in the crook of Draco's shoulder and his leg flung over Draco's thighs, Draco began to feel rather used. "So this is what I get," he grumbled. "Figures." Potter seemed to purr in his sleep, he noticed without much surprise. "Oi. Potter!" He shook the other's shoulder roughly, but to no effect. "Sex now! Wake up, you fuckwit! It's almost dawn!"
Potter snored, burrowing tighter against him. He really was a menace-- taking up all of Draco's space and only shagging him when he felt like it, whenever he was both awake and not in a bite-Draco's-head-off kind of mood. Which happened more often than one would think, though the dilemma remained: why in the world did Draco put up with this rubbish?
He was rocking against Draco in his sleep and humming something that sounded like a nursery rhyme tune. His limbs started to twitch beyond Draco's control, and he shifted to achieve better friction. Nothing wrong with a free lunch, was there?
Draco was proud of his skills with his mouth: it was warm and wet and wide and there was always just the right amount of suction coupled with a spot of tongue action. Nothing too extreme; no one was going to get spoiled but him, but he could be generous if the mood struck him.
Potter woke up rather quickly, even considering. Besides cock-sucking, he was also talented at screaming. "Aaaaahhh-- Draco-- w-whhaaaahh-- fuckyes!" And sometimes he caught on quicker than expected.
Draco decided to take the whole thing as a compliment. "Awake yet?" he muttered around his mouthful, releasing the twitching cock apparently seconds from release (if Potter's yell of "put it back!" was any sign). "Good. Now give it to me."
On his fours in front of Potter should've felt like some sort of horridly extravagant punishment, but given the way that Potter was the one mewling and whimpering and carrying on, Draco supposed it was an okay trade. He had a well-used pillow for any particular noise emergencies, but otherwise he could listen to the symphony of Potter's utter abjection.
No normal person could be blamed for carrying on a tiny bit when they were being brought off so splendidly, could they? If Potter was a proper wizard at anything (and it wasn't much), apparently it was sex; even Draco was willing to admit he had some small amount of skill of some sort. If nothing else, Draco had always been able to appreciate proper quality in things.
Draco lost the plot a bit around the time Potter bit the particular spot on his shoulder and growled, picking up speed. He may or may not have screamed something which resembled, "Oh fuck-- H-Har-- yeah-- f-fuuuck-- loveyou-- oh yeah-- harder-- faster-- do it! Fuck! P-potter! GOD I-- LOVE YOU! FUCK ME!!"
He probably didn't, though. There was a lot of noise, and Potter was panting like a steam-train, and yelling things like, "Oh yeah, you're my fucking bitch, Malfoy!" If Draco was listening closely at times like these, he'd have to kill Potter before he even got off, which would have been pretty disappointing. Therefore, sex was a bit of a listen-free zone, he figured.
As usual, Potter collapsed on top of him, all sweaty and disgusting, and proceeded to torment him. "I knew you loved me," he said. "Feel free to say it again, Malfoy."
Draco froze, toes tingling with something that might have been panic if Potter wasn't playing with him. Potter was always playing with him.
Draco was a Proper Wizard in every way, and as such, he didn't make untoward noises or soppy declarations muffled by his pillow. Draco had always known Potter was a Feckless Git who'd say anything to curry favor, but this was almost impressive. And more than a little insulting; Draco was going to address that aspect when he was less sleepy.
"I said no such thing," he hissed, nibbling resentfully at Potter's nipple to help drive his point home. "You were hallucinating. As usual, I might add."
Potter sniggered darkly, and Draco would have done something Drastic and Final, but Potter's fingers were tangled in Draco's hair at the moment, and that would've pulled rather nastily.
"You're an oaf and a bloody awful liar, Scarhead," he huffed. "I haven't said anything of the sort to anyone my whole life. Or don't you think I would have noticed by now?"
"I love you too, by the way," Potter mouthed against his hair, doubtlessly wetting it with germ-ridden Gryffindor spit.
"And stop petting my bloody hair!"
"When you stop bloody purring, sure."
Completely scandalized, Draco jolted upright, wincing as all the blood tried to rush back to his head with limited success. "Bugger! This is all your fault!"
"I was awake, you know," Potter snickered. "You're such a silly sod sometimes, Draco. Really, I mean... who hums nursery rhymes in their sleep?"
Draco would've cuffed him on the head, but his arms were tired. Instead, he fell back down, sprawling on his back angled pointedly away from Potter's vile sweaty body.
"I hate you," he declared to the ceiling, frowning murderously. Potter said nothing, so Draco crossed his arms and glared harder. "Well?" he demanded.
Potter laughed, the evil git, and proceeded to kiss his cheek. "You know just what to say to a bloke."
"Bloody right I do," Draco said. "But you're mad if you think I'm thanking you for-- stuff."
~~
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Re: *smokes*
Date: 2004-08-19 03:12 pm (UTC)i missed you <3
Re: *smokes*
Date: 2004-08-19 03:27 pm (UTC)*hugs*
i don't really mary sue them, do i? -.-
Re: *smokes*
Date: 2004-08-19 03:35 pm (UTC)And with that, ignoring the gargoyles mocking him for being – ghastly, short, skin and bones, sissy, queer if you get my drift, son – and the portraits of the matrons begging to touch his hair, Draco was outside. Outside the vault of the Great Doors and no longer subject to their paradoxical magic, outside the Hogwarts Castle and its false truth, outside the Slytherin House and its impenetrable heritage, his treacherous housemates and his own loss of the sense of belonging.
There was Pansy outside, propped over the balustrade which accompanied the stairs to their final end.
It was the only trace of the inside in a world that was, nevertheless, outer space.
She was smoking one of her smelly cigarettes, spots of cinders falling over the immaculate skirt of her uniform and immediately being brushed away by the wind. Her fringe fell over her eyes, and he couldn’t see her face, because she was looking downwards, at her own Mary Janes bouncing to and fro restlessly, or at the floor beneath. It had been walked upon by so many feet their number was incalculable and transformed so irremediably since when it had first been it was probably unrecognisable, and maybe Pansy was wondering about that.
Her hair was very neat, and Draco instinctively touched his nape, worried that with the rush Potter had put on him, he had winded up coming out all but presentable.
“So,” Pansy started typically, then let that hanging in the air, like it formed a full sentence or a question a child could have answered.
“So,” Draco echoed, refusing to play that game. As a rule, he liked games. He’d been Slytherin own Minister of Games when he still was the one they looked up to. Maybe that was why he’d fallen. Slytherins didn’t like to play as much as Draco had thought. He should have realised just by looking at his father.
“I hear you’re leaving.” Pansy took a drag from her cigarette, her feet still restless and her eyes still adverted.
Re: *smokes*
Date: 2004-08-19 03:46 pm (UTC)And with that, ignoring the gargoyles mocking him for being – ghastly, short, skin and bones, sissy, queer if you get my drift, son – and the portraits of the matrons begging to touch his hair, Draco was outside.
That's a great sentence and the Draco-Pansy thing is so... subtle and layered & visual & eeeee!!1
I think the visualness is something that's often there in your writing but it seems to -fit- so well here, making it not overly descriptive but just kind of opaque in an interesting way. Like you describe the surface of things rather than the X-ray vision a lot of fic has. Mmm yes.
and yeah i know, but i've been fighting it, with my draco anyway, 'cause you have NO IDEA how OOC a really Reena's-Mary-Sue!Draco would be.
stupid tag
Date: 2004-08-19 03:54 pm (UTC)Eeeeh, I know it's different and it so much to write but now I want to go back and change everything I wrote before.
More smoking:
“You hear…? My, is it official?”
Pansy rotated her shoulders. “Not actually. Mathilda brought me this message from Potter, but it was so ludicrous I had to come and hear him saying it myself.”
“He tends to do that,” Draco nodded.
“He’s not good for you, you know.”
There was another blow of wind, raising Pansy’s green and silver skirt just so, the curves at its ends rippling. Draco watched her legs, because Pansy wouldn’t look at him, and saw that they were still as rosy and tender has they had been when they were younger. He used to fantasise incessantly about the moment when one of them would have made a move and they would finally have sex. The sky was an intense blue, a blindingly clean colour that didn’t suit any of them. Pansy was not a pretty girl, she had never been. She was too thin, like Draco was, although to her credit she had always looked healthier than him. Her hair was naturally straight in a way Draco never had been, and ordinarily brown. But she was distinct. Her big lips and her big eyes, her hard jawbones and her curled nose – everything was beautiful, singularly, it was only looking at the whole that one had the impression something was off. As if she was a child trapped in the body of a girl, or a girl trapped in the body of a child. She grew too much or she grew too little, her bone structure sometimes a miniature and sometimes oversized.
They had finally slept together in fifth year, sometime after the last Quidditch match. They bargained an undisturbed night in Draco’s room with Tuscan cigars she had stolen from her father’s secret locker to make Nott father happy and, consequentially, Nott son as well.
Her body had been identical to his own, only ripe in that way girl bodies were, and it was as if he was making love to his female self. Both of them had pretended to be blind to the lack of enthusiasm their bodies showed, and continued to steal furtive, anxious touches under the blankets. Pansy had brought him off – his first shared orgasm. He had not found the process unpleasant, because he was no longer a virgin and because Pansy’s fingers had felt heavenly for the simple fact that they weren’t his own, but he didn’t try to return the favour. Pansy had not asked. They’d slept together, like sister and brother, hugging all night. Draco had felt safe and treasured the way he’d only felt as a child, only this child had just got off.
“Straight to the point, aren’t you?” But he liked that. Pansy was half and half in that too. Sometimes she managed to control her adult thoughts, sometimes she let them loose as soon as they crossed her mind, like a child. “He is quite crass,” he concluded.
“He is a twat.” Pansy scowled horribly into her cigarette. He had cracked her cool mask, at last, and that made him want to puff his chest. He didn’t.
“I always get you in the end,” he said smartly. “You pretend to be aloof and clever, but I am always one step ahead than you.”
“Are you?” she murmured, and then she finally let him see her eyes. Big, clever, apprehensive like a mother’s, like she knew she couldn’t stay angry long. “I don’t care if everybody else has gone mad in Slytherin. I only care about you.” Don’t go, her eyes said also, don’t be mad. But she didn’t dare order him. She stuck a hand in the pocket of her robe and produced a box of cigarettes. “Want one?”
“Why not.”
Draco jumped on the balustrade, sitting next to her, and his feet started kicking of their own volition. For a while, they just sat there, smoking grey in the bright sterile sky, their feet swinging to the same non-existent tune. Draco didn’t like cigarettes much, especially taking into account their Muggle provenience, but sometimes when he felt benign, he did these things for Pansy.
Re: stupid tag
Date: 2004-08-26 09:51 pm (UTC)I think if I wrote some sort of happy Draco/Pansy (hah) I'd have her take control after some great realization that he wants her to, and sort of push him into bed and he'd be too flabbergasted to resist at first, and. Maybe she'd tie his wrists to the bedposts and he'd look at her like she'd grown a new head or something, but he'd actually seem -interested- too. So she'd push and pull and watch his reactions to see what he -wants-, and then she'd -do- it, and she'd notice he liked a certain amount of pain, so she'd do it. Their relationship wouldn't change during the day, but at night (especially in the dark, maybe, it would have to be completely dark), she'd crawl into his bed and whisper the spell to tie his wrists and possibly blindfold him and/or gag him, and she'd give him what he wanted but wouldn't admit.....
Hmmm...
Re: stupid tag
Date: 2004-08-26 10:25 pm (UTC)Re: stupid tag
Date: 2004-08-26 10:26 pm (UTC)