Trying something different tonight. . . Oh, and it's for the Day by Day/Sheherazad Challenge held by Sinistra Black over at HPFC! to get the inspiration flowing ^^.
Prompt: Hair
Ship: Draco/Hermione
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Straws
By: Lumos Maximum
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Twinky, the house elf, rarely cleaned anymore. It was noticeable, Draco realized, as he entered his bedroom to see his bed in a mess of red lipstick, black mascara and brown hair after his regular morning shower. Just as expected Hermione had left, without goodbyes or pleasantries and just as expected he wanted nothing else. She was merely a tool of enjoyment between twilight and sunrise with slender legs that seemed to wrap themselves around him more out of habit than of lust.
He was her revenge against the fuck up Weasel proved to be and her moaning his name would be enough for her to feel the sweet taste of revenge, he assumed. When he watched his white, messy bed he could picture her with her hair frizzy, her eyes crazy and her lips slightly parted to catch her breath. Like in a rhythm he could hear her voice in repeat, whispering words of command and pleasure, and that only made him wonder what kind of fuck up Weasel had to be to make her seek him out.
Or what kind of whore that mudblood had to be.
"Twinky," he called, suddenly feeling the urge to disinfect the whole room to get the smell that just hit him out and despite his shower he felt dirty and shabby, like a worn out mattress.
Twinky appeared in a second, ready to oblige. "Should I clean this mess up?" Twinky asked with tennis ball eyes pointed at him.
He observed the orbs that almost jumped out with eagerness, almost like Hermiones did when he told her about something as silly as Medi-witches in his bloodline. The ugly and pathetic house elf reminded him too much about her, she who always left without goodbyes or pleasantries much to his annoyance. He was the real tool, a tool of her enjoyment and he was nothing more than a pit stop between Weasels Quidditch practice and work hours. The most annoying part of this deal was that it was her whispers of promises between her gasps of air that echoed in his head like a rhythm and it was her perfume that lingered in the room long after she had gone.
"Master," Twinky said, awaking him slightly and bowing her head to show mercy. A trait Hermione never had because she was merciless when she left him with nothing more than a mess of linen and feelings.
With a wrinkled nose he answered. "No, leave it be," he muttered and watched his messy bed where she had been sleeping last night. On her pillow, the left one, was the smudges of lipstick and mascara that were as fake as her words. It was not her, the make-up, it was a role she played and he was happy fulfilling her alternative ego but weather she liked it or not she always left small straws of hair all over the bed. They gleamed in a shade of light brown in the sun and were deep chocolate brown at night when he ran his fingers through it and it fascinated him more than he willingly admitted. She never colored it, she told him once, it would feel stupid if she pretended, she said, and he hated the fact that at the end of the day all he had left of the real her were those straws of hair.
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I dunno why my Dramiones rarely end happy in my head ..