A/N: yes, i know, it's another reluctant-dude-morning-after fic! but i wrote this a while ago and i'm kinda proud, so feel free to judge me.
WARNING: stop here if you're uncomfortable with innuendo and euphemisms. this is a morning-after fic, after all. for those of you who don't mind, enjoy.
'What's your favourite letter?' Pansy Parkinson asked sweetly as she rolled on top of Draco Malfoy's bare body. It was a Sunday—or a Saturday, or a day with a D—, and Draco could already tell in his half-sleeping phase Pansy was in an insatiable frisk. She placed a hand on Draco's warm nether regions and stroked them casually while looking expectingly up at the taller blond's sleep-covered face. The wizard sighed softly, suppressing a groan at the soft pulsing coming from his groin, and turned his head to face the black-haired witch.
'Why? Who wants to know?' Draco retorted groggily, his voice faltering with his indecisiveness. Replying to Pansy with a question was like wilfully jumping into a pit of Devil's Snare . . . but the situation was different if you were the woman's fixture of obsession. Luckily for Draco, that was the case.
'Well, me—' Draco took the energy from his lower body and summoned it, raising a hand to put a finger against Pansy's flat lips. With a tone as sweet as honey-coated salmon, Draco said, 'I, Pansy. Practise that grammar.' Draco set an extra syllable aside for the 'g' in 'grammar,' and an idea came to him.
He turned, letting Pansy's unnecessarily-thin figure fall off his muscled body, and tucked his hands under his head to think, suddenly, about everyone he loved. He loved the Greengrasses (more specifically, he loved their tits), Ginny (especially the way she screamed when he brought her in and out of paradise), good grammar, and he loved, more than anything, Granger, the one thing he didn't have.
'Well?' Pansy crossed her arms and stared at the creme-coloured ceiling of Draco's room, letting her temper rise as Draco's member fell. 'I've asked you a—'
'G. G's my favourite. I've got to go.' Draco was already out of bed, abruptly buckling his belt and shaking the last of the Pansy smell out of his hair. Pansy tried to roll out, too, but Draco was out of the room before she could go. A shriek at sounds only Pansy could manage was the last thing Draco heard as he Disapparated, with a determined spirit and his new favourite letter on his head.