Dramione Diaries | Fluffy Oneshots

34 | whipped like cream

Blaise Zabini weaved around women in fancy dresses and men clad in luxury suits as he searched for a certain blond. He didn't have to look long and hard when he spotted a bright gleam of light reflecting off his glossy, platinum hair.

A discerning smirk stretched across Blaise's cheeks when he caught the longing look in the eyes of the man he was searching for. Blaise followed the man's gaze, and as expected, the blond's wistful stare was fixed on a particular muggleborn witch chatting amongst her two friends at the center of the gala. Blaise took a seat by him, the man completely unaware of his best mate situating himself right next to him quite noisily.

"Psst Draco," Blaise snickered, "You're drooling."

Draco Malfoy flinched off his seat.

"I'm not," He sneered, but dabbed a serviette to the corners of his lips with as much grace and furtiveness his pureblood education had taught him.

"Were you just... were you checking?" Blaise withheld a laugh behind his fists.

"Shut up, Zabini," Draco muttered, crumpling the serviette into a ball on his plate. Blaise noticed how his eyes never left the muggleborn witch.

"Seriously mate," Blaise patted Draco's broad shoulders, "You look a bit creepy right now."

"Hmm?" Draco hummed distractedly, his eyes flitting around every slender movement his girlfriend made and his gaze dancing across the exposed skin his girl's dress would allow.

"I said you're creepy. And stalkerish. And severely whipped."

"I'm not whipped," he denied fervently, his gaze ripping from his witch to glare heatedly at Blaise.

"Mate, you're staring at Granger like you're about to eat her alive."

"She's my girlfriend! Is it wrong to stare at my girlfriend?"

Blaise stared at him flatly, "You're alone at a table hidden in the darkest corner with that shit-eating grin on your face. Honestly, people who don't know you would assume you're thinking of doing some weird shite with her tonight."

"And so? They wouldn't be too far off."

Blaise blinked, incredulous.

"But I'm not whipped," Draco spat the word like salted bile, "Only weak wusses get whipped."

Blaise chuckled, eyeing the bright gleam shining in his eyes when Hermione Granger directed a pleasing smile in their direction.

"If you say so."

•••

Draco Malfoy couldn't take his mind off of his mate's accusation. He refused to accept that he was 'whipped'. In no state of mind would he ever be whipped for a girl. Ever. It would shame the name of the Malfoys when word goes around hearing that Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince and heir to the Malfoy industry, has been dominated none other than by Hermione Granger, War Heroine and smartest witch of her age.

That's a bit embarrassing. Isn't it?

Frankly, he didn't particularly mind—

No. Draco sternly eradicated all thoughts. I'm not whipped for her. I know when to draw the line.

It was the next day when Draco came out of the shower, his lower half wrapped in his Slytherin green towel embroidered with grey thread. Hermione was leaning against the headrest on their bed, reading a thick book with her bare legs outstretched and crossed over each other. She lowered the book she was reading when she heard Draco coming out of their joint bathroom and over to their shared wardrobe.