Destructive Desires

Chapter 2

The casino was bustling as usual, black suits in a sea of cigar smoke. Liquor filled the air, undistinguishable conversations fighting over each other as Draco's grip on Y/N's hand was almost painful. As most other things, he'd never disclosed his true feelings for the place, and that his hatred for it would give hers a run for its money. He knew she was uncomfortable, but games night was a priority. It wasn't about playing poker; it was about dominance.

Draco was unbeatable, taking more money than he arrived with each time he graced the dark, dingy casino. The room was crawling with wizard criminals; the ministry would have a hay day if they ever found the place. Their usual table was waiting for them, as Y/N tucked herself into Draco's side, as close as physically possible. He never pushed her away, which sometimes she feared he would in case her need for his protection tarnished his reputation.

She didn't know that her safety was his only concern. Anywhere, at any time.

A waiter, dressed in an all-white suit, placed champagne and glasses on the table before them, Draco's men getting ready for a serious money game. Throughout the night, others would challenge them, but each ended up leaving their coins in Draco's pockets. He was always ready, drunk or not. As the night dragged on, Y/N never left his side, leaning her head against his shoulder when tiredness soon took over. She felt his fingers gently brush the skin of her arm, his wrapped tightly around her.

Absentmindedly, she twirled the straw in her cocktail, closing her eyes contently. His scent was so familiar, so warming. In a crowd of scum, having him close was the most reassuring thing she could ask for. Draco was who he was, he did what he did, and yet, she was besotted.

She was in love with him.

"Alright angel?" He muttered into her hair, placing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. She hummed in response, two fingers lifting her head to face him. His eyes were unfocused, the river of whiskey taking its toll. Gently, he pushed some hair behind her ear, his eyes not leaving hers. Momentarily, all breath escaped her lungs.

"Good," he murmured, fingertips tracing her jawline, before he gripped the back of her hair lightly, his cold rings against her scalp. When his lips met hers, it was tender, almost loving. He tasted like whiskey and smoke. She couldn't help the sigh, melting against him like the rest of his men weren't observing the moment. "Tell me," he said between kisses, "if you're not, I'll take you home."

"Home," she muttered mostly to herself, "as in my place?"

He chuckled against her lips.

"Your home is with me."

Her heart stopped. He's drunk, she told herself. Don't take his words as gospel. He kissed her again, fingertips massaging her head lightly. It was heaven, being in his hands.

"Draco," she said breathlessly, "the others."

He wasn't usually touchy in public. Reputation, he would say, is far too important. The most she ever received was a hand on the thigh, or an arm around her shoulders. Never kissing, never pet names. That's for us only, he would say, no one else can see that, and yet here he was, kissing her so feverishly it was as if he might never get the chance to again.

"Fuck 'em," he slurred, "only care about you."

He's drunk. That's all this is.

She pushed him away gently, lips breaking apart and leaving her feeling empty. He looked back at her, a flash of hurt in his beautiful grey eyes.

"Did I do something?" He asked, his voice a little louder now he was no longer so close.

"Just think about what you're doing," Y/N said, "just stop and think, Dray. I don't want you to regret anything."