Making Faces
Summary: Draco watches Pansy and realizes, despite all its imperfections, he really does love her face. A one-shot of Draco/Pansy goodness.
Rating: PG, for some raciness and implied sexual situations. But it's completely tame, so no worries.
Feedback: Yes please.
Author's Note: Gods, but I love this pairing. The snarky love, it pleases me so. This would definitely have to be my second OTP, right after Harry/Draco.
She tries to act so tough, but I don't think she realizes—her face gives her away. There really isn't anything she can hide. It's like her face is the storage closet for all her feelings, one big emotional warehouse, and it doesn't take much to pick the lock, swing open the doors, and see exactly what's on her mind.
Sometimes I love her face.
Like right now, as she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, getting ready for bed. I sit on the edge of the bathtub and I watch her as she examines her reflection.
She frowns at herself, and I know she's silently cursing the tiny imperfections of her visage. She's a girl who's used to getting what she wants, and that the laws of dermatology and facial bone structure have yet to realize this is a fact that annoys her to no end. She scowls at herself, convinced that the world must someday bend to her will.
But then she sees me watching and she smiles. She's wearing an old t-shirt of mine, something she dug out of the very back of a drawer that probably should've been thrown away long ago. It's faded and it's baggy and when she stretches, the hem comes up and I get a hint of black silk knickers and alabaster skin. She's had her hair up today, in one of those crazy arrangements girls do that's supposed to make all her friends gasp jealously and demand that she tell them how she did it. But now she's looking back at me in the mirror as she takes it down.
Her hair comes out all kinked and wild, and she musses it with her fingers and she laughs at me.
"Do you think I'm pretty, Draco?" she asks me, and there's no way I could possibly answer anything but yes. Because I know the moment I do, those lips will break into a smile. Those eyes will acquire a special glimmer. Those cheeks will pinken up with just the tiniest hint of a blush, and even as she makes some cool, nonchalant remark, her face tells me I've just made her entire week.
Sometimes I really love her face. That effortlessly open face is her greatest asset. But it's also her greatest downfall.
And it's also mine. And sometimes I hate that painfully emotional face.
We got into an argument the other night. It was both our faults really—equally too stubborn to concede on a point that was, in fact, rather pointless. Come to think of it, I really can't even remember what the fuss was all about.
But I remember her face.
I don't know what it was I said. Something icy and callous, no doubt, as I have a knack for cool condescension, even with the people I care about. Whatever it was, I wish to god I wouldn't have said it, though. Because I was staring right at her when the words passed my lips and even now when I see it in my mind's eye, I know it's the most awful thing I've ever witnessed.
In an instant, her face had fallen, but it wasn't just her face. She looked as though I'd just pulled down the foundations of the earth and all life lay in shambles at her feet. In her eyes were a thousand heartbreaks, the desperate thin line of her mouth trying to look so brave as she never even realized she'd already been given away.
She just couldn't hide the emotions on her face.
In a hurt little voice she told me, "I better go now." And no matter how high she carried her shoulders as she walked out of the room, I'll be damned if there weren't tears in her eyes. That was the moment that my heart broke, and I realized as long as I lived, I'd never be able to resist that face.
But there's something new that's come into her face lately. Something I've never seen before; probably because I've never thought to look for it. But it's there nonetheless, behind all her other emotions. A constant that lingers and grows stronger with each day.
Even now, I'm sitting on the edge of that cold porcelain tub, and she turns to look at me expectantly with hands on her hips. "Well? Do you think I'm pretty?" she demands. Maybe it's the quirk of her lips. Or maybe the smooth, even lines of her cheekbones as she tilts her head ever so slightly. No matter what it is, I can definitely see it there.
She's fallen in love with me.
I know if I ask her, she'll deny it. A Parkinson woman would never fall in love, let alone with a cold, heartless bastard like a Malfoy. She'll tell me our situation is one of simple convenience, and full of obvious benefits. Not to mention an excellent ploy to get our overly intrusive parents off our backs for a bit. She's a smart girl, and she'll give me every logical reason in the book to deny being in love.
But she can't hide her face.
"You're beautiful, Pansy," I tell her, and I stand up swiftly to kiss those lips that I know she thinks are far too thin. When I step back, I'm rewarded with the most brilliant glowing smile anyone's ever dared—or cared—to give me. She quickly tries to hide it behind a casual smirk that's identical to the one I've seen in my own reflection so many times. But even now, I can still see it.
She's fallen in love with me.
"Nice try, Romeo. If you're looking for a little action tonight, you're going to have to work a lot harder than that," she tells me, and slips out of my grasp and away into the bedroom. A few steps past the doorframe, she stops. A playful smile is tossed over her shoulder and in my direction. "Coming?"
I grin, and I follow her.
Because she's fallen in love with me, and she can't hide it in her face.
And sometimes I really love her face.
And, of course, if anyone knows of any other good Draco/Pansy fics, feel free to rec them. Thanks for reading, my lovelies!
-- Ginevieve