Chapter Text
And so the game began.
Competition had always been something that motivated the Slytherin boys. Hogwarts was seven years of intense rivalry—friendly, mostly—a silent mutual agreement to see who could come out on top.
Who would be the best at Potions? Who would score the highest in an Ancient Runes exam? Who would claim Pansy’s first kiss? Who would get to the last Yorkshire pudding at dinner? (the answers: Draco, Theo, surprisingly Theo, always Draco).
Now, at the age of twenty eight, as Ministry mandated spouses—who would be the first to break?
Draco had always been one to play dirty and, unfortunately for Theo, was the better Legilimens. He was firmly the winner in another past unspoken argument—Who would be Bellatrix’s star pupil?—so Theo could do nothing more than try and anticipate Draco’s next move.
Draco would start by lulling Theo into a false sense of security, acting like all was normal and well. Sometimes, everything was normal and well, and the two of them could be in each other's vicinity, laughing and joking with Blaise like nothing had ever changed between them. Other times, Theo would be hit with a thought, out of the blue, that would stop him in his tracks and send him reeling.
The first time—in the kitchen, making drinks, when Draco slowly poured a whole glass of water over his shirt. The material clung to him, translucent over corded muscles, clinging in all the right places. Theo watched a rivulet of water slide enticingly over Draco’s scarred chest and then blinked… to see the real Draco leaning against the sink, shirt bone dry, drinking from behind a highball of water with a knowing smirk.
Next—in the bathroom, as Theo was brushing his teeth one evening. Draco wandered in, hovering right over his shoulder, Theo’s back to Draco’s front. Theo watched in the mirror, pausing with the toothbrush still in his mouth, as Draco bracketed his arms around him to start slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Theo couldn’t tear his eyes away from the reflection of the two of them in the mirror as Draco’s long fingers deftly pushed button after button through holes, gradually revealing Theo’s torso, Draco’s breath hot on Theo’s neck. Draco reached the last button, directly over the buckle of Theo’s belt, and Theo’s stomach hitched and he closed his eyes… only to open them again to see an empty bathroom and to hear the jaunty whistling of Draco in his bedroom next door.
Then—in the orangery, Theo juggled ripe peaches plucked off a low hanging branch and tossed one high in the air towards Draco. Seeker reflexes saw it skilfully snatched and brought to Draco’s lips, and then Theo watched as sharp incisors pierced through the sunkissed skin, fresh juice snailing a trail down Draco’s chin and throat. Draco stepped forward and Theo was pushed down onto a small bench, peach juice dribbled on to the hollow of his throat as Draco leaned over him and laved a path with his tongue… and then Draco coughed and Theo looked around to see he was actually standing next to the bench, and Draco had sauntered twenty metres ahead, unmarked peach in hand.
All in all, Theo was finding Draco’s skills as a Legilimens very hard, literally, to cope with.
One morning at breakfast, six weeks into their marriage, Theo decided it was time to try to get his own back, lest he have to put up with the air of absolute smugness that Draco carried himself with for any longer.
“Have you seen this?” Draco asked, holding out the copy of the day’s Prophet over the top of Theo’s eggs benedict.
Theo peered down at it—Golden Girl Meets With Wizengamot shouted back at him, accompanied by a moving photograph of Hermione and Blaise walking hand-in-hand through the Ministry.
“Hermione is repealing the marriage law,” Draco added, obviously put out by the time it was taking for Theo to read the article.
“She did say she would try.”
“You knew this?” Draco’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Theo raised his own eyebrows. “Let’s just say I’ve been slightly distracted recently.”
The corners of Draco’s mouth tugged upwards slightly, but he quickly tempered them back down and shrugged in a faux show of nonchalance. “I’m not sure how even Hermione Granger can save us from certain death.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Theo said. He peered carefully at Draco. “I thought you’d be happy to hear the news, anyway. It’s not like you want this.”
“Of course not,” Draco replied quickly. “I’m thrilled to hear the news. In fact, I may contact Granger and see if she needs any help in her endeavour.”
“I’m sure Barnaby Jenkins will be just as thrilled to see your name in his diary again.”
Draco laughed, his grey eyes softening, and for the first time in a while the grin he gave Theo was pure and innocent. It hit Theo for six, stunning him for a second, and then he too couldn’t halt his own genuine smile.
Their eyes met, and Theo just couldn’t let this opportune moment pass by. It was easier for him, with eye contact, and he almost felt bad for what he had to do, for taking advantage of such a candid moment.
Almost.
Draco’s eyes flared steel grey as Theo slipped a thought through his defences. Over the castle wall went the thought—no, a memory—of the two of them wrapped in cotton sheets, of Draco sliding a warm palm over Theo’s stomach, his fingers moving below his waistband.
The Draco sat at the breakfast table let out a shocked noise from the back of his throat, and Theo was able to hurriedly send in another flash of the memory—Theo sat on top of Draco’s thighs, his hand pressed over Draco’s mouth, the whisper of I like that you care—before iron bars clamped down and Theo was unceremoniously shoved out of Draco’s mind.
“Fuck,” murmured Draco, and Theo saw how he gripped the ledge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.
Breathing a huff of a laugh, Draco looked up at Theo. “Alright, maybe you’re not as shit at legilimency as I thought.”
Theo sent him a wink and went back to his eggs.
“Game on,” Draco grinned.
********
“Shh! Everyone shush! I think I can hear him!” Theo scrambled down behind the sofa, next to a very perturbed looking Pansy.
Footsteps echoed on the hallway outside. “Theo are you in—”
“Surprise!”
A balloon full of pink confetti exploded and drifted down onto the top of Draco’s head where he stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still gripping the handle. He gaped around at the room full of people and then snapped his jaw shut. “Oh, you really shouldn’t have.”
Theo bounded forward and threw his arm around Draco’s broad shoulders. “Happy birthday, Mr Nott!”
There was a combination of cheers (Hermione and Luna) and sniggers (Blaise and Pansy), as Draco griped and batted Theo off of him. “You know I hate parties.”
Theo ruffled some confetti out of his hair. “Don’t be such a grouch, get a drink down you and you’ll be fine.”
Draco glared. “Payback will be a bitch, Theo.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I’m sure it will, now get over to the bar I’ve set up.”
He shooed Draco away and watched him grumble over to get a drink, when suddenly he was hit with the feel of Draco’s teeth right on his pulse point.
“Shit,” he breathed, hand clamping down on his neck as if he’d just been bitten. He glanced back at Draco to see him hold up his hand and give a little wave of his fingers without even turning around. Bastard.
“What’s up with you?” Pansy asked, eyeing him rather suspiciously as she appeared with a champagne flute in hand. She was wearing an extremely tight red dress that showcased every curve of her petite body.
“Nothing,” Theo said. “Just hoping Draco enjoys his party.”
Pansy’s eyes were still narrowed as she said, “So have you told him yet?”
“Told who what?”
“Have you told Draco you’re in love with him and have been since sixth year?”
Theo spluttered and pounded at his chest. “Excuse me?”
“Fifth year,” Blaise commented, appearing from thin air to hover at Theo’s side. “He’s been in love with Draco since fifth year.”
Pansy looked at Theo accusingly. “But you kissed me in fifth year.”
“Who kissed my wife in fifth year?”
Seamus Finnigan had just arrived, and he pressed a kiss to Pansy’s temple as he slid up next to her in the small circle. At least, Theo thought it was Seamus Finnigan, but he was a foot taller and certainly a lot more muscular than the last time Theo had seen him. He was dressed in smart black trousers and a form fitting black shirt, the collar of which was folded over a band of clerical white.
“Darling.” Pansy tapped the collar with a sharp black fingernail. “You forgot to remove this.”
“Jesus,” Seamus said, and unthreaded the collar from his shirt. “I always go forgettin’.”
“You’re a priest?” Theo asked.
“Aye, but only for a job,” Seamus grinned a perfect row of pearly white teeth. “Not that I should be tellin’ ya like.”
“Seamus works in the business of acquiring things,” Pansy said, stroking Seamus’ impressive bicep.
“Acquiring what, exactly?” Blaise asked.
Seamus chuckled, rubbing a hand over short sandy hair. “Ah ya know, a bit o’ this, a bit o’ that. What were you all chattin’ about, anyway?”
“Theo’s in love with Draco,” Pansy said.
Seamus eyebrows rose in surprise. “Is that right? I thought your marriage was a mix up?”
“It was,” Theo said. “It is. Please ignore anything that comes out of your wife’s mouth—I am definitely not in love with Draco.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the sensation of Draco’s palm directly on his cock hit Theo’s thoughts, and Theo jerked suddenly right where he stood. “Fucking hell.”
Pansy, Blaise and Seamus stared at him, and then Draco was there, clapping a hand on Theo’s shoulder and grinning broadly at everyone.
“I think you were right Theo, I do love parties afterall.”
Theo glared at him. “Hilarious,” he muttered, and tried to send back a memory of Draco gasping into his pillow, but with how shaky he was and no eye contact, it was easily blocked by Draco’s tight defences.
“Terrible,” Draco whispered, and volleyed the same memory back at him.
This time Theo felt the sure grip of Draco’s fingers on his thighs as Theo straddled him, the half crescent moons left in his skin as Draco dug in, groaning his release all over Theo’s hand.
Theo snapped his eyes shut and scrubbed at his head, as if he could physically shake Draco out of his thoughts. Fuck, now he was half hard in his trousers and the whole group was staring.
Theo cleared his throat, grappling for the upper hand once more. “Say, Blaise, what’s my middle name?”
“You’ve got two—Nicholas Paul,” Blaise answered without missing a beat. Pansy and Seamus’ eyes flickered between them like they were watching a tennis match.
“How many NEWTs did I get?”
“Six.”
“And what’s my favourite flavour of ice cream?”
“Mint choc chip.”
“And my favourite colour is—”
“Maroon,” Draco cut in, looking smugly between Blaise and Theo.
Blaise smiled, cat-like. “Burgundy.”
Everyone looked at Theo for confirmation with bated breath. He did a quick show of musing about the answer, tapping his chin, and then confirmed. “Burgundy.”
Pansy, Seamus and Blaise cheered, clinking glasses together in celebration of winning a game they didn’t even know they were playing, and then they fell back into conversation about how fantastic their own marriages were.
“No way,” Draco whined into Theo’s ear. “Maroon and burgundy are the same bloody colour.”
“They certainly are not,” Theo laughed at how pathetic Draco sounded, glancing down at Draco’s face close to his, grey eyes meeting blue. “Burgundy is—”
Suddenly a thought popped in Theo’s head of two hands, palm up, the sliver of a knife slicing, and burgundy soaking skin, mixing with the rain.
“Hey,” Draco said, reeling back like he’d been hit. “What was that?”
“You saw that too?” Theo rubbed at his forehead. “I didn’t actually mean to send you anything then.”
“Merlin, you really need some practice,” Draco said, but he was still frowning, as if trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t quite know the answer to.
“Cake!” Hermione’s shout tore through the din of the party, and the lights were dimmed as everyone broke into a tuneless rendition of Happy Birthday.
A few hours and numerous drinks later, the party came to a close, and Draco begrudgingly admitted to Theo that he’d had a good time. Theo had enjoyed it too, finding it easy to relax with their friends and forget about any stupid mind games he was supposed to be playing. Draco had called a cease fire and had managed to resist pouring any more impure thoughts into Theo’s head.
“That’s two thank yous and a sorry you owe me now,” Theo said as he collapsed on to the sofa, having just waved the last guest off through the Floo. The room was lit by a single lamp, a muted orange glow casting long shadows across Draco as he sat himself down in the opposite seat.
Draco tilted his head back against the brocade. “What for?”
“The party, the knuckles, the accusation,” Theo replied, kicking his feet up onto the low coffee table between them.
Draco’s mouth quirked. “Fine. Thank you for the party, thank you for healing my knuckles, and sorry for ever thinking you were clever enough to be able to mess with serious magic.”
“Not quite what I had in mind but I’ll take it.”
“You’re welcome, Theodore Nicholas Paul Nott.”
Theo barked a laugh. “Don’t be thinking that now you know my middle names you can claim you know something about me.”
Draco huffed air through his teeth. “Stop with that. I know plenty about you.”
“Oh yeah?” Theo spread his arms out as if in offering. He threw down the gauntlet. “Prove it.”
Draco appraised him from under half lidded eyes, the pale column of his throat exposed where he had his head tilted back. His tongue darted out to lick across his lips, eyes still locked on Theo, and Theo thought it was the most obscene thing he’d ever witnessed.
“I might not know your favourite colour, or how many fucking NEWTs you got, but I know a great deal of other things. In fact—” Draco tapped a finger to the side of his head. “I have an entire catalogue of things I know about Theodore Nott up here.”
Draco’s casual arrogance saw Theo relax back into the cushions, scepticism rife. “And what do you know about me, Draco?”
“All sorts of things, like I know that although you mainline coffee like it’s going out of fashion, you actually detest coffee flavoured things.”
“Anyone who spent eight years eating three meals a day alongside me would know that,” Theo responded coolly.
“Would they know that you bite your lip when you’re really concentrating on something?”
Theo shifted in his seat. “Probably.”
“And that you have this way of smiling at people, like when you find something funny, and it’s almost like you’re smiling with your entire body. Your eyes light up and you get this little dimple just on your left cheek that I just want to press my thumb into.”
Theo opened his mouth to answer, to say something teasing or biting, to fall back on the act he’d spent so many years perfecting. The virtuoso, once again.
“You have a smile that’s just for me.”
It was a punch in the stomach, a lightning bolt of surprise that had Theo’s eyes meeting Draco’s across the umbrous.
“And I know you go red,” Draco added, so low that his words almost didn’t register with Theo. “Right at the hollow of your throat when you’re hot or embarrassed or turned on.”
The top button of Theo’s shirt threaded itself out of its hole and popped open, followed by the one below, exposing the flush caused by Draco’s words. Theo glanced away from Draco’s assured face and saw his hand flexing wandless magic where it lay on the arm of the sofa.
Draco straightened his head, fixed sure on Theo, and regarded the effect of his magic.
Another button slipped out of its hole.
“I know you have these freckles on the back of your shoulders shaped like little constellations. I want to press my teeth to them.”
Another.
The words were barely more than a breath, a long held secret spoken aloud. “I know that you make the most incredible sound when you come.”
The final button slid from its confines, and Theo’s shirt tails were ever so gently pushed to flutter open, his entire torso bared to the room. Draco didn’t even bother to hide his admiration, cocking his head as he swept over the entirety of Theo like a tidal wave.
His eyes fell to Theo’s belt.
The hammering drum of his own heart was all that Theo could hear as they hovered on the precipice, but he jutted his chin, the final challenge. Draco held his gaze, grey eyes a thunderous storm, his own breathing shallow as he hesitated.
Theo took his belt in hand and pulled at the buckle, slowly extracting the leather and letting it drop to the sides with a dull thump.
A muscle feathered in the blade of Draco’s jaw, the hand that was upturned on the arm of the chair balling into a fist as Theo deftly pushed through layers of fabric and drew his hard length out into his palm.
On a hiss Theo’s head hit the back of the sofa once more as he melted into his own touch, running a thumb over the weeping head of his cock. Draco’s tongue ran over pointed canines, his own hands falling to his black covered thighs, watching every movement.
Theo widened his legs, pausing his hand, eyes issuing the dare as they dropped to the hard ridge he could see faintly through the material of Draco’s trousers.
The torment was clear to see. Draco’s stubborn fingertips clenched as if in pain, his defiance winning out once more.
Theo did what Theo did best in these situations, when Draco balanced on a knife edge—he gave him a little push. With his free hand, he picked up his wand and sliced a Diffindo, serrating Draco’s light grey shirt straight down the middle. Another quick wave and Draco’s belt was snapped from its buckle and gaping open to reveal black boxers and a very interesting bulge.
Draco actually had the nerve to look affronted, blinking down over smooth muscle at his shredded shirt.
“Either do something with that hand or stop fucking teasing,” Theo said, and the nudge was all it took for Draco to make the decision to yank down his boxers and extricate his hard length from its confines.
Draco’s self-assured hubris was once again in full force as he cocked an eyebrow, knowing Theo was drinking in the sight of him as their hands moved in tandem, up, down, gripping firmly. Theo’s eyes blinked shut under the weight of the sensations assaulting him, and the flicker of smoky magical wisps pushed gently at his thoughts.
Theo let them in.
The Draco in his head was on his knees, knelt at the altar between Theo’s legs, smoothing his hands up to push them wider apart, and then even further over the crease of Theo’s hips so he could place his hand over the one currently pumping Theo’s cock.
Theo almost jerked off his seat, his eyes bolting open to see the real Draco still sitting in his chair, open-mouthed as he wanked himself to the sight of Theo writhing and shuddering.
His eyes shut again and Draco was there, looking up at him with awe-filled steel eyes, hand squeezing Theo’s cock, moving up and down with intent. It felt tangible, the warmth of Draco’s hand flaring over the broad head, the wet slick of his tongue as he leant forward to take it in between his lips.
A litany of curses rolled out into the air as Draco hollowed his cheeks and sucked, any shred of resolve Theo was clinging onto bursting as he gasped and came into his own hand.
“Fuck.”
The harsh groan snapped Theo out of his hazy reverie, and he opened his eyes to see Draco quaking in the chair, white spend covering his bare stomach and ripped shirt.
They slumped identically against the cushions, breathing heavily. Draco’s hair was mussed, falling over his forehead, the entirety of him thoroughly undone.
“See,” Draco said, clearing his throat and shaking his head slightly. He tucked himself back inside his trousers. “It seems I do know quite a lot about you.”
********
Any of Theo’s hopeful thoughts that a mutual wank would push their relationship further were truly dashed by how Draco also seemed to be a master of pretence. He spoke nothing about what had happened after his party, and so Theo didn’t mention it either, the whole situation a hovering storm cloud, fit to burst.
The heaviness of Draco’s Quidditch schedule also helped drive the distance between the two of them, as training sessions for the Falcons lasted most of the evening and games took up every weekend. Draco teetered on the edge of exhaustion, only able to cope with quick chats over the breakfast table before stumbling off through the Floo.
Theo was getting quite fed up with Quidditch taking over Draco’s life, so he was rather delighted when it came to the final game of the season. He observed the game from Draco’s box seats alongside their friends, and although he was disgruntled with the sport, Theo was definitely not indifferent to the way in which Draco’s kit hugged his biceps or showcased his broom thighs.
“Hermione thinks she’s getting somewhere with having the law overturned,” Blaise commented as they sat side by side watching the end of the game.
Theo tried to make his expression seem unconcerned by this news. He rifled through his pockets and found an old cigarette, pulling it out to spin through his fingers as he kept his eyes on the game.“Oh, really?”
“She’s also working alongside the Unspeakables to find the reverse spell for the binding.”
Theo glanced at Blaise. “You’ll do that then, do you think? Be unbound from each other?”
Blaise nodded. “We don’t need it to prove we’re compatible.”
“Well, I won’t be taking the unbinding,” Pansy declared from Theo’s other side. “I’m quite happy to have the claim on Seamus so no other witches can think about getting their mitts on him.” She followed Theo’s gaze to where he was watching Draco swoop about the sky. “Have you told him yet?”
Theo sighed. “Not this again. I’m not in love with him.”
Pansy and Blaise both patted his shoulder sympathetically from either side.
“You do realise he’s also in love with you,” Pansy said, and Theo looked at her in surprise. “It might have taken him a while to realise,” she continued. “But he’s been in love with you since eighth year.”
Blaise wrinkled his nose. “Let’s not talk about eighth year. I’m still traumatised from what I heard back then.”
Theo gave him a sharp elbow. “Shush. Both of you, actually. No one is in love with anyone.”
He ignored the look Blaise and Pansy thought they were being surreptitious about giving each other and went back to watching the game.
Draco sloped up to the box after triumphantly catching the Snitch and winning the game for the Falcons. He was freshly showered, Theo’s favourite type of Draco, hair damp and skin flush.
“Can we go home?” Draco said, dragging his feet over to Theo. He scowled when he saw the cigarette in Theo’s hand, vanishing it with a wandless snap of his fingers.
The manor was dripped in darkness when they arrived back, shadowed hallways lit solely by muted sconces, and the two of them were subdued as they met their respective bedroom doors.
Draco slouched against the wall, watching Theo push open the heavy oak door to his bedroom. Theo hesitated for a second, fingers on the door handle, wanting more than anything to know the rules by which he was supposed to be playing.
Instead, he quickly said goodnight and headed into his room before he said something he’d later come to regret. Sleep didn’t come easy, thoughts of what Blaise and Pansy had said plaguing his consciousness, and he slipped into a fitful slumber wondering what might happen with the marriage law.
The next time he opened his eyes it was because of a dip on the mattress next to him, the weight of Draco pressing a knee onto the bed.
“I can’t sleep,” Draco whispered, pausing in limbo as he saw Theo’s eyes squint open.
There was a minute of silence that stretched an aeon, a moment in time where Theo weighed up the options in front of him and realised that he was only ever going to pick one. The fork in the road that always led to one person.
Theo peeled back the duvet, invitation offered.
Draco slipped in, head hitting the pillow next to Theo as he mirrored his sleeping position; spines curved towards each other, knees slightly bent, hands in the centre seeking like magnets but never quite brushing.
The space between them may have been infinitesimal, but it seemed like a step into the unknown abyss as they hovered on the edge and waited to see who would fall first.
Draco’s fingers slowly crossed the divide, the first to break the standoff, moving those few inches to trace across Theo’s hand in no man’s land. Theo fought back the urge to close his fist around it, to claim and admit to wanting.
The pale silver scar on Theo’s palm was lightly traversed, its jagged edges a path for Draco’s knuckle to slide down. Draco twisted his hand, his own scar flashing amongst the cotton as he tangled their fingers, the marks pressed together, silver bands meeting. Theo frowned at Draco’s vulnerable expression, at how he looked almost guiltily at the marr on Theo’s palm.
A blood edged knife. Roses. The moon at its fullest.
“What happened the night of the binding ritual?” Theo asked.
Draco met his gaze. “Let me in.”
The defences were already down, and Draco slipped into Theo’s mind like water on glass.
Moonlight flooded the gardens as Theo and Draco, clad only in black boxers, lay on their backs in the grass. A bottle of gin was passed between them, juniper on their lips, truths hidden on their tongues as rain started to fall.
Draco sat up, swaying slightly, eyes roving over Theo’s bare torso, lingering over the sleek muscle corded underneath smooth skin. The Theo lying in his bed could feel Draco’s drunken desire, and he squeezed the hand holding his across the mattress.
In his mind, the Draco in the grass grumbled, “What if I don’t want to do this? What if I don’t want to marry anyone?”
The rain grew heavier, fat drops echoing all around, hiding what Draco had said next. “I don’t want to lose you to someone else.”
Theo baulked, shoving Draco out of his mind and scrambling to sit up on his bed. “What does that mean?” he demanded, as Draco sat up, white sheet pooling at his waist, and put one hand on Theo's temple, pushing gently back inside.
They stood, moonlight glinting on identical small silver blades they held in hand, shivering under the deluge.
“We have to say the spell,” Draco said to a shaking Theo, whose drunken eyes glazed as he swallowed the last of the gin and threw the bottle down onto the grass.
The magic was recited sloppily and daggers dug across skin, red welts of blood opening up like zips in their palms. They faced each other, and Theo watched the blood drip drip drip, down on to the blush pink roses and spread out into the muddy earth.
Draco reached out and grasped Theo’s hand. “Whatever happens, whoever we’re married to, we’re still us, okay”
Cut to cut, blood to blood, mixed under a full moon and a magic spell. Draco clenched Theo’s hand and kissed him hard on the mouth.
The memory vanished, and Theo sat facing Draco once more.
“It was you,” Theo said. “You messed up the spell. You mixed our blood.”
Draco didn’t say anything, just looked down at the scarred slash on his palm.
Theo clenched his jaw, the weight of everything he’d seen in the memory pressing down on him. He was tired of the pretence, of not being able to have what he wanted.
“Admit it, Draco,” he snapped.
“There’s nothing to admit.”
Theo scoffed. He was finished, firmly surrendering. “You’re fucking joking, right. Give up the game, it’s done. It’s not losing to admit you want something.”
Finally, Draco looked up. “It feels a lot like losing.”
Theo rubbed his hands over his face, a small disbelieving laugh followed. “You’re so bloody stubborn you drive me insane, will you just—”
“Fine!” Draco practically shouted, fists curled at his waist. “What do you want me to say, Theo? That yes, I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I didn’t want to be matched with anybody else because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, of someone else having you. And you may say this isn’t losing, but it feels alot like my heart is being ripped out its chest.”
Theo pushed up on his knees, moving a hand around the back of Draco’s neck and yanking him forward. They crashed together, a tangle of lips and tongues, and Theo closed his eyes and thought finally as Draco’s hand slid up the side of his neck.
The kiss was punishing, the pent up emotion of the last few months, the last few years having built up to the most intense crescendo. Theo felt needy, desperate—he’d waited so long for this moment that he wanted it all, right now. His hands were impatient, roving over Draco’s chest, mapping over biceps and forearms and every single part of Draco that he could reach.
Draco was just as eager, working his fingers under the hem of Theo’s t-shirt, pushing it up his body until Theo got the hint and pulled it over his head.
“You’re beautiful,” Draco breathed heavily. The truth in grey eyes was unmistakable. “I want you.”
Theo wrangled Draco out of his own top, leaning forward to press soft lips to his clavicle. The tendrils of smoke started to nudge at his mind, but Theo shut them off with a shake of his head, pushing up his own defensive wall.
“No,” he said as he moved to Draco’s throat, dotting kisses, sucking at the skin to leave marks. “I don’t want you in my head for this. I want it to be real.”
The magic dissolved. It was just the two of them.
“What do you want?” Theo murmured, as Draco tilted his head back with a groan, hands landing on Theo’s hips to pull them flush together, pelvis’ connecting and grinding hard promise against each other.
“Anything. Everything.”
Theo muffled a laugh against Draco’s neck. “We have time for everything. ’Til death do us part, remember?”
“These off.” Draco tugged at the waistband of Theo’s soft pyjama trousers, and then obviously decided Theo was taking too long as he reached over to grab the wand on the bedside table, using it to vanish every stitch of material between them.
They pressed back against each other, unable to bear the distance any longer now that white flags had been waved. Draco urged Theo to the side of the bed, arranging him to sit so that Draco could fall to the floor on his knees.
“Here’s what I want,” he said plainly. “I’m going to suck you off, and then I want to fuck you.”
Theo found he could do nothing more than nod dumbly, and then Draco had Theo’s hard cock in his hand, lowering his mouth over the shining tip, feeding it into his own mouth.
Theo’s hand carded through blond strands, the silver of his wedding ring flashing as he moved. He gripped tightly as he tried to keep his eyes from fluttering shut. He wanted to see this, needed to see this.
Draco Malfoy, on his knees, taking him deep.
“Fuck,” Theo cursed, teeth piercing the delicate skin of his lip as he fought to hold on, hips rising slightly off the bedspread, forcing his cock further into the wet heat of Draco’s mouth.
The vividness of a blow job inside his head had been mind blowing enough—the real thing was enough to turn him into a euphoric mess, fuckdrunk on the exquisite feel of Draco’s mouth hollowing as Theo came with a shout, spilling onto Draco’s tongue.
Draco looked up at him, palm on his own cock, swallowing Theo’s spend like it was nothing. Theo leant forward to swipe a pearly drop from the corner of Draco’s mouth with his thumb, and then Draco opened his mouth for Theo to push it back inside. He bit lightly on the digit, a wicked glint in his eyes, delighted at Theo’s curses filling the air.
Pushing up tall on his knees, Draco used a hand on Theo’s jaw to angle his head down, kissing him gently. “On the bed. Turn over.”
The prickle of awareness of what was about to happen forged a path up Theo’s spine as he turned himself over on the bed. Draco was up behind him in an instant, soothing his palm up and over the bumps of Theo’s vertebrae, encouraging him to relax into the bed covers.
Preparation charms were cast, wet and warming, and then Draco leant over Theo to scrape his teeth at the sprinkle of freckles on the back of his neck.
“I told you I’d always wanted to do that,” he said, and Theo quaked under his touch as his fingers moved down, gliding across Theo’s backside, nudging at his entrance.
One finger, then two, tested the way, spreading and rubbing until there was the feel of something else, even wetter.
“Fuck, is that your tongue?” Theo gasped, wrenching at the sheets.
There was just a hum against him, and Theo thought that maybe this was just all in his head after all.
“Are you ready for me?”
Theo pushed back, growing more desperate by the second, and then Draco was aligning his cock, gently pushing inside.
There was a pause filled with staccato breaths, the slight shifting as they grew used to the sensations licking through them. Draco gripped at Theo’s hips, small thrusts to work him through it, and then they were connected completely, Draco’s cock pushed deep inside.
“Incredible.” Draco’s voice was tight.
“Fuck me,” Theo demanded, and then Draco was, hard and fast, hips snapping and pushing Theo further up the bed. Theo scrambled for the headboard, nails sliding on the wood, leveraging himself against it as Draco fucked him.
“I’m close,” Draco moaned, almost climbing over Theo with every thrust. A few more hard pumps of his hips and he was coming deep inside, dropping down onto Theo’s back to press kisses over every inch of skin he could find.
Draco pulled out, rolling Theo over so he could kiss him slowly and clean up the come dripping down Theo’s thighs. It was tender and sweet as he wound his arms around Theo, pulling him to his side and smoothing calming hands over his heated, gasping body.
In the aftermath of the battle, there was only quiet reflection.
“I love you,” Draco said.
“You have since eighth year, apparently.”
Draco looked mock offended, hands stilling on Theo’s chest. “Well you’ve been in love with me since sixth year.”
“Fifth year. And anyway, it’s not a competition.”
“If it was then I’d win,” Draco grumbled.
“From now on, I might let you.” Theo closed his eyes and gripped Draco tight, ensuring he couldn’t disappear out of the bed even if he wanted to.
********
Nine days later they lay in bed in an early morning tangle of limbs, connected in every way. They both still felt half asleep, Draco’s cock pushing slowly and lazily inside Theo as he moaned into his pillow. They were on their sides, Theo’s back to Draco’s front, and Draco was just starting to move that little bit quicker when an owl swooped in the window and dropped a copy of The Daily Prophet directly onto Theo’s head. It fell onto the mattress in front of him, the headline proclaiming it’s news.
“Oh, look! Granger managed to get the law repealed.”
Draco froze, and Theo whined and pushed back, urging him to continue.
“What does it say?” Draco asked.
Theo peered at the paper. “It says if we want to release the bond we just have to—hey!” He was cut off as Draco reached round and plucked the newspaper out of Theo’s reach. With a flick of his wrist it was tossed into the orange flames of the fire, the whole edition burnt to a crisp in a matter of seconds.
“We don’t need to know.”
Theo looked over his shoulder at him. “We don’t?”
“No, we don’t. Everything is just fine as it is.”
Draco punctuated this with a harsh press forward of his cock.
Theo was very much inclined to agree.