fic: puce
Title: Puce
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: PG
Prompt: Challenge #56 for slythindor100; 'Colours'.
Word Count: 344
Summary: Puce is a colour between purplish-brown and dark red, and Draco Malfoy would like people to think that he looks damn good in it. Unfortunately, he doesn't.
The large mirror winked suggestively back at the real version of Draco Malfoy, and told him that it was very glad that mirrors were only pieces of reflective glass, because otherwise the mirror reflection would have climbed out of said mirror and thrown Draco onto the bed. The blond wondered briefly how that would look if Harry walked in to find a version of Draco having sex with the real Draco. It was an amusing idea to say the least... but it still didn't endear him to his outfit.
Draco cut a good-looking figure. He knew that. The clothes were fitted well, and he couldn't deny that they were of a good design and very expensive. However, there had been a few (only a few, mind you) occasions on which Draco had been forced to admit that expensive clothes were not necessarily always wonderful. This shade of puce made his skin look sallow. The shirt made his skin positively epicene, the tie was like limpid noose around a neck tinged purple with shadows from the colour of the shirt, and... he just didn't like it, however much his reflection flirted with him.
"Are you ready yet?" A voice filled with tinges of amusement, exasperation and impatience sounded through the door, and Draco started. With a last hasty glance, Draco grabbed the equally horrible jacket, and dove out of the door. Harry, having wrangled a comb through his hair, stood waiting; they were already ten minutes late for their table reservation. "You look lovely," the dark-haired man looked Draco up and down, and the blond could tell that Harry was trying not to laugh.
Draco smoothed down his shirt, and stepped next to Harry. "Of course I do," he replied smoothly. He would, of course, never admit to being wrong about a piece of clothing, and he would bluff his way through the evening, him and his puce, until they got home again, and then he could burn this horrible thing. Until then... "I always look lovely," he lied as they Apparated to the restaurant.
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: PG
Prompt: Challenge #56 for slythindor100; 'Colours'.
Word Count: 344
Summary: Puce is a colour between purplish-brown and dark red, and Draco Malfoy would like people to think that he looks damn good in it. Unfortunately, he doesn't.
The large mirror winked suggestively back at the real version of Draco Malfoy, and told him that it was very glad that mirrors were only pieces of reflective glass, because otherwise the mirror reflection would have climbed out of said mirror and thrown Draco onto the bed. The blond wondered briefly how that would look if Harry walked in to find a version of Draco having sex with the real Draco. It was an amusing idea to say the least... but it still didn't endear him to his outfit.
Draco cut a good-looking figure. He knew that. The clothes were fitted well, and he couldn't deny that they were of a good design and very expensive. However, there had been a few (only a few, mind you) occasions on which Draco had been forced to admit that expensive clothes were not necessarily always wonderful. This shade of puce made his skin look sallow. The shirt made his skin positively epicene, the tie was like limpid noose around a neck tinged purple with shadows from the colour of the shirt, and... he just didn't like it, however much his reflection flirted with him.
"Are you ready yet?" A voice filled with tinges of amusement, exasperation and impatience sounded through the door, and Draco started. With a last hasty glance, Draco grabbed the equally horrible jacket, and dove out of the door. Harry, having wrangled a comb through his hair, stood waiting; they were already ten minutes late for their table reservation. "You look lovely," the dark-haired man looked Draco up and down, and the blond could tell that Harry was trying not to laugh.
Draco smoothed down his shirt, and stepped next to Harry. "Of course I do," he replied smoothly. He would, of course, never admit to being wrong about a piece of clothing, and he would bluff his way through the evening, him and his puce, until they got home again, and then he could burn this horrible thing. Until then... "I always look lovely," he lied as they Apparated to the restaurant.