peskywhistpaw (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} peskywhistpaw) wrote,@ 2008-03-30 17:15:00 |
|
The Clingy, Emotional, Sensitive Girlfriend Type
Title: The Clingy, Emotional, Sensitive Girlfriend Type
Recipient: airmidm
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Blaise
Prompt/Request: “And that’s why I’m a Slytherin.”
Rating: PG
Word Count: 596
Summary: But it’s quite hard, in spite of all this, to feel like anything but a Hufflepuff girl when you’re sitting at a boy’s bedside, wringing your hands together and hoping that he’ll wake up—and not so that you can kill him, which is what Blaise supposes is the traditional male response to these sorts of situations.
Author's Notes: for the ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
rarepair_shorts wishlist event. Beta'd by captainpookey
Blaise Zabini feels like a girl, and not just any sort of girl: a Hufflepuff girl—which, as anyone with brains knows, is the worst sort of girl there is. And not only that—oh, no—he feels like the worst kind of Hufflepuff girl: the clingy, emotional, sensitive girlfriend type. That, of course, is a lot more horrible than the flighty, ditzy, harmlessly stupid type—and he would know; last year, he made a list of all the subcategories into which a Hufflepuff could be placed, just because he was bored.
To clarify, Blaise Zabini is not a girl. Not judging by his looks, at least. He is tall, dark, and fairly handsome—there’s no point in denying what he thinks is blatantly obvious.
But it’s quite hard, in spite of all this, to feel like anything but a Hufflepuff girl when you’re sitting at a boy’s bedside, wringing your hands together and hoping that he’ll wake up—and not so that you can kill him, which is what Blaise supposes is the traditional male response to these sorts of situations.
Especially when you’re thirteen years old.
Not even Pansy has bothered to stick around as long as Blaise has, and that’s saying something, considering that she’s usually the clingy, emotional, sensitive girlfriend type, and that it’s Draco, her sort-of boyfriend, who’s just been mauled by a freaking hippogriff.
A freaking hippogriff.
Even though Blaise hates Hagrid as much as anyone, he’s still not the flighty, ditzy, harmlessly stupid type of girl—he knows who’s at fault here, whether he likes the truth or not. And he has to admit, what Draco did, provoking the thing like that, has to be the dumbest thing he’s ever witnessed. Honestly, you’d think he’d have got some brains out of all that careful breeding.
Blaise’s upper lip curls into a sneer—he wishes it would make his hands shake less.
“How is it even possible that you’re a Slytherin?” he demands aloud. He wants to kick something. Someone. He also wants to laugh, be mean, tell Draco he’s an idiot right to his face and then get the hell out of there.
But he can’t, even though Draco’s unconscious.
Because Blaise is such a girl.
When he catches himself looking at Draco all-too-fondly, his eyes tracing the lines of his pale face, he snarls and kicks out at the bed.
Draco gives a small groan and mutters something unintelligible. Without meaning to, Blaise leans forward, hoping to catch a few words.
He doesn’t, at first.
Briefly, Draco’s grey eyes flicker open. He seems to be waiting for something—except he can’t possibly be; he’s not lucid at all. Still, Blaise leans in closer, again, because he just can’t help himself.
And when he’s close enough, Draco kisses him.
It’s awkward and messy, and it ends after only a few seconds.
“And that,” Draco smirks, eyes unfocused, “is why I’m a Slytherin. Slytherins always get what they want.”
Promptly, he slumps back against his pillow, eyes closed.
Frozen, but not quite as horrified as he should be, Blaise touches his fingers to his lips. They’re a bit numb, slightly moist.
That definitely did just happen, then, however random it was—who does stuff like that while half-dead and mostly asleep?
In his mind, Blaise ticks off each adjective that describes… whatever it was. One by one. Until he runs out of words.
‘Unwanted’ is not on the list.
Blaise sighs and calmly thinks, before the panic sets in, that there’s really no hope left now for salvaging his masculinity.
