“Oh, don’t be corny,” Draco snaps back, something like irritation flashing red and angry in his eyes. He thinks that he means it, but a nasty warmth blossoms in his chest—one he wishes he didn’t feel. The anger is hot and he considers allowing it to burn, but regret is swift when he sees the look in Dove’s eyes; he concedes with—
“I didn’t mean that. You’re the only one I can stand to be around for more than an hour.”
That he means for sure, the certainty hot and embarrassing. The demon shuffles and casts those mischievous red eyes over the surrounding party, a poor attempt at hiding his discomfort. He does eventually turn back with a smile to Dove. The chatter and endless stream of thoughts makes it hard for him to focus, but he does zero in on her when he connects with her thoughts.
“It’s definitely prettier. Dad used to say Pangea has its own unique aesthetic, but he’s always been full of shit.” A wry smile curls his lips as his heart twists. He misses that bull shit.
Draco takes a moment to comb through the thoughts of passerby, and when he reads them take notice of the pair, he tucks himself closer to Dove’s side. Without a word, he guides her down the beach to a quieter corner.
Water washes over the demon’s hooves when he kicks into the sand. He twists his neck around to peer at Dove with a soft smile, gaze briefly flitting to the tropical flower in her mane. After taking a few steps back to draw level with her, he nibbles at the skin where here jaw ends and her neck begins. Such shows of affection are rare, but when he is the spirit he gives them and gives them well.
“I wanted to mess with the party but . . .” he sighs, then presses his cheek to hers. “What do you want to do?”
