Tell Draco that he has women that find him handsome and he might offer a smug smile. Tell him that his charm works and he might nod his head in thoughtful agreement. But tell him that he will fall for the wiles of a temptress? He might laugh in one’s face. Draco is planned, controlled, suited to knowing what he wants and when he wants it and how to get it.
Yet, women seem to bring him to his knees.
Of course, Draco laughs at the thought. He sits on the throne in his mind and thinks why I’ve got them all figured out. He doesn’t stop to think that the women he is drawn to play games just as well as he does; and he doesn’t stop to think that what he feels beyond lust and desire is the kind of emotion that runs lovers into the ground.
Draco—well, Draco might just be a goddamn romantic, because when Desire titillates he unwittingly falls under spell. She has black eyes to match the gentle glow of his red, depthless and charming in a way that draws even the coy close. He is undoubtedly curious about Desire and considers inching even closer to her. Some semblance of control is managed when he remains rooted to his spot, instead casting his gaze from Desire’s eyes to the curve of her cheeks and ears. He is close enough by memorizing the soft hairs and pretty lines.
“That’s implying I have one,” Draco says and starts to roll his eyes, but instead sharpens his gaze on the flicker of gray that passes over Desire. Strange magic, especially of the perceived mischievous kind, won’t go uninvestigated. A quick dip into Desire’s mind hardly reveals a thing, though it does reveal she finds him handsome; and that makes his heart race. He immediately forgets her illusion.
“I actually quite like you, Desire,” Draco drawls, dipping his nose to barely brush it against hers. “I won’t have you thinking otherwise.”
@[Desire]
