“Ugh,” Draco snaps back, rolling his eyes. “Yes you do. You would have banned me from Pangea by now if not.” He’s seen Desire play her games, knows how much she loves them—and knows that behind all of their wicked smiles and cheap shots, they appreciate each other’s company. A sort of understanding between them, seeing darkness manifested in each other and not caring it’s there (enjoying it, really).
And they don’t have to worry about hurting each other, at least. Unlike the fragile loves they keep tucked away from their enemies. Draco would go to war for Desire in the blink of an eye, not that she’d ever ask him to.
And not that he’d ever, ever tell her that.
The demon nods and swallows when she tells him Dove is living in Pangea. He looks away from Desire, thinking he should go find her while he is within the land. Though he knows some other silly whim will call him away before that (and perhaps—is that guilt he hides behind his excuses?).
Again, he rolls his eyes. “You’re so pretty with your rocks around your head,” he snipes back—but the smile on his face is wiped away as the rock sails back and hits him sharply in the cheek.
“Nice,” Draco admits, eyes dropping to the still-tumbling pebble. “I can do a lot more than that, actually. And I think a lot more I haven’t discovered yet.” He stops, eyes drifting back to Desire’s signature simper. “It’s a pity we don’t have anyone to go to war with. Don’t you think I’d be so scary?” he fake pouts as he asks, adding, “Maybe I should contract out my skills.”
