Tango * dramione

Chapter 8

Chapter 8: dietary restrictions

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"a balanced diet consists of chocolate in both hands."
~Unknown

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Center Stage: Blaise and Draco

Setting: Greengrass Estates

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"And then she just...falls? Into your arms?"

"That's the gist of it."

"I don't understand it. How are you the world's unluckiest twat, and yet you manage to find yourself in the luckiest of situations?" Blaise asked, sipping on a bottled butterbeer from a straw as he and Draco lounged on inflatable beds in the middle of the Greengrass Estate's luxurious inground pool. The Greengrass girls were nowhere on the property, opting to partake in traditional weekly tea with Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Tracey Davis. Though, the men suspected the afternoons had far less to do with tea and much more to do with who held the best bragging rights for the week.

Draco flipped himself over onto his stomach and reached down, dipping his hand into the lukewarm pool water - Then, he splashed Blaise in the face. "How the Hell am I lucky?"

Blaise peered over his aviator sunglasses and waved his arm around to the lavish pool, extravagant gardens surrounding it before gesturing to himself, as if that sealed the deal. "Oh, I don't know. You're only made of money, marrying into money, with a best friend made of money, not to mention we're all pureblood and sexy to boot." Blaise took another long sip from his straw. "And then you have women throwing themselves into your arms on the side!"

"One," Draco threw a finger up - the middle one, "and 'woman' is putting it nicely."

"So her tits don't wobble to and fro?"

"I never said that," he said, the words sort of falling out of his mouth like an unraveled rope. Realizing his admittance to checking out Granger's rack, Draco did the only logical thing one could do in the situation; he changed the subject. "I hear the Harpies are playing Bulgaria in the first set."

Blaise sat upright on his inflatable raft, pulling his glasses completely off now to display the intensity in his eyes. "So they're real?"

"The Harpies? Or the Bulgarians?"

"Granger's tits!"

"I'd much rather talk of Quidditch."

"Bollocks to Quidditch when tits are concerned."

Draco sat upright on his raft, slack jawed and mildly insulted. "Bollocks to Quidditch? You watch your mouth!"

"Ah, come on, mate. You know what I mean." Blaise smirked.

"You're married."

"Just because I'm on a diet and can't sample the sweets at Honeydukes doesn't mean you can't describe the texture of a chocolate frog to me."

"Better not. I don't want your slobber all over me. Besides, Granger isn't a chocolate frog. She's an every flavored bean - you never know what you'll get with her."

"Ah, to Hell with you." Blaise waved his arm dramatically, overdoing it and losing balance on his raft. It wobbled before toppling over and dumping him into the water with a splash. When he came up for air, Draco was hysterically laughing at his expense. And who could blame the Malfoy man? It wasn't often someone out-klutzed him. With a good humored shrug, Blaise swam across the water at full speed. Draco, sensing impending doom, jumped ship (or in this case, raft) before he could be tossed overboard. Blaise halted his assault, smirking triumphantly. "That's it, Malfoy! Pretend you're falling into Granger's arms, now!"