Infuriating
It hadn’t been anything serious. At least, that was what Draco had always said, had always pretended. Even when his heart had told him differently. Even when his blood pounded in his ears, demanding he rethink his feelings. When his hands itched to reach out and pull Theo close to him; when Theo invaded his dreams every night.
Still, Draco would get up, sneer at himself in the mirror and tell himself that Malfoys produced heirs, not affairs. So he pretended it meant nothing. That Theo’s kisses meant less than Pansy’s inadequate blowjobs. That Theo’s smile did not compare to Pansy’s hand down the front of his trousers. That Theo’s simple arched eyebrow didn’t mean more than the insipid words Pansy whispered in his ear.
But then, Draco had seen Theo flirting with Blaise. Ignoring Draco utterly as he appeared to hang on every word that fell from Blaise’s monosyllabic mouth. Draco ignored him in return, shouldering forcibly past Blaise as he made his way out of the Slytherin common room - so what if he took the long way around to the entrance to do so? It meant nothing.
Theo meant nothing.
Then it had been Flint. Draco had happened upon them outside the Quidditch Pitch to hear Theo asking Flint if he could ride his broom sometime. Draco had reached for his wand, and it was only the knowledge he would find himself in a cell in Azkaban that kept the Cruciatus spell from his lips when Flint had merely smirked in reply.
But the last straw, the absolute last straw, was Potter. Draco had gone to the courtyard to study, as was his wont on a Thursday after a lesson full of incense and Divination induced headaches. Theo had Potter trapped in one of the alcoves and the boorish Gryffidors eyes were wide as Theo lounged suggestively against the wall next to him.
Potter had licked his lips, swallowed hard, and was about to utter some bumbling idiotic reply when Draco had enough. He stormed over to Theo and gripped his shoulder, spinning him around so that his back pressed against the wall. Draco tangled his hand in the brown curls at the base of Theo’s skull, wedged his knee between Theo’s legs and kissed him.
Reminding Theo as much as himself just who he belonged to. He nipped fiercely at Theo’s lips and found himself rewarded with an abject groan loud enough to be heard in Hogsmeade. He pulled back, breath short and hair dangling in his eyes as he stared at Theo.
Who had the absolute gall to look pleased with himself.
“You can go, Potter,” Theo drawled, “your services are no longer required.”
“Oh thank, Merlin,” Potter muttered and then hurriedly scurried off to snog the Weaslette, or get himself in detention, or whatever it was that Potter did for kicks.
“I know what you were doing,” Draco finally said, his hold on Theo never wavering.
Theo hummed. “And yet you fell for it anyway. At least this way you won’t have to tell your father. Pansy looks as though she’ll do it for you.”
Draco glanced over his shoulder, sure enough, Pansy stood there with absolute fury on her face, and he had no doubt she was about to head to the owlery.
Draco turned back to Theo and shrugged, playing off the ire he knew he would receive from his father. “It’s no matter, we both know who really rules the Manor. If Father tries anything, Mother won’t hesitate to use that old Black Magic against him.”
Theo’s smile told him he knew that before his words did.
Draco’s grip on Theo’s hair tightened, “I’m as much a Black as she is,” he warned.
Theo smirked this time, bringing his arms up around Draco’s shoulders, even as he tilted his head back for another kiss.
“Nah, you’re much more like your father.”
Draco would have protested, but Theo was strong, and his mouth was already on his. As Theo so often reminded him, Nott’s always did whatever it took to get what they wanted - and they never failed.