Chapter 8

Draco

Draco breathed in Theo's overwhelming scent and leaned into the hands holding him up, this kiss had been beyond his wildest dreams for all his life and he wanted to drown in the sensations. He wanted to drown in Theo.

...

Lucius wasn't the sort of father who tucked his child into bed with a story and a kiss on the forehead. In fact, the only times that Draco remembered his father touching him was in order to beat him. Lucius' hands only ever doled out pain and never comfort. It was Lucius' paternal attention that taught Draco at a young age that the world was unfair and often violent. If he expected violence then nothing would ever surprise him. He couldn't necessarily escape the expected violence, but expecting it meant that he could prepare for it. At least in theory.

Narcissa was never a particularly affectionate mother. Draco often wondered if it was part of her being English, the nature of the Black Family (a notorious British crime family in their own right - none of whom Draco had ever met) or if it was just her own nature. She was comforting enough when he was sick or after Lucius had laid into him, but it was never more than she felt was absolutely necessary.

His parents' marriage didn't seem particularly happy. There was no affection between the two of them that Draco ever saw. They kept separate bedrooms and ate at opposite ends of the long table.

Most frequently though, Lucius was absent, off doing whatever nefarious deeds he was up to. Draco wasn't a fool, he knew that his father and all his business partners were criminals; the morality with which he was raised was hazy at best. The line between the legitimate and the criminal seemed a semantic argument to Draco as a boy. Laws were created to control people and some people just didn't want to be controlled. As far as Draco's logical mind was concerned, crime seemed to only be problematic if you got caught. Draco was simply convinced that he himself would mess it up and get caught. Therefore, he should not commit crimes.

It didn't help Draco's burgeoning lack of traditional morals that he knew that the person he adored more than any other was involved in the same sort of illegal dealings that his father was.

If Lucius was brutal and Narcissa reserved, Theo was undeniably affectionate.

Lucius called Draco useless, pathetic and weak.

Theo called him his clever dragon and perfect. Not even his mother thought Draco was perfect. Or if she did, she never said so aloud. His mother would call him endearments in French and he did not know how he felt about being her cabbage or her flea. They didn't feel very loving to him. Who liked cabbage? Or fleas for that matter?

Theo ran his fingers through Draco's hair, squeezed his shoulder, gave Draco hugs, long ones. No one touched Draco other than kids jostling him in the halls at school, so Theo's touches were fondly remembered and impatiently desired. If Draco hadn't been afraid of rejection or driving Theo away, he would have always been hugging or touching Theo, too. On weekends when Theo was busy, Draco would go the whole day with no one touching him and sometimes, if he was lucky, no one speaking to him either.

Theo checked Draco's injuries, redoing bandages, using antibiotic ointment and just let Draco talk. After a particularly bad incident where a doctor had to come to the house and put his arm in a cast, Theo even threatened Lucius.

No one, not even his mother, had gone up against his father in front of him.

It was an overwhelming feeling to Draco watching Theo flash his gun at Draco's father, with no overt violence, but only the promise of it in Theo's blue eyes.

Theo told Draco later that he didn't make threats. He made promises. The words ignited something inside Draco's heart, something that he would later learn to call devotion.

No one else listened to him like Theo did. Theo was always so interested in Draco's thoughts and ideas. Theo willingly listened to Draco talk about Lord of the Rings for almost three hours once without interrupting nor complaining. He didn't do anything else either, just sat with his legs kicked up listening to all of Draco's theories and thoughts. Draco had no shortage of thoughts.

So Theo, who was the coolest person Draco knew, hung out with Draco in his home chemistry lab, listened to his science rants, gave him hugs, taught him curse words in Russian and Armenian, showed off his new tattoos when he got them. Sometimes Draco forgot Theo was only four years older than he was. Theo was so mature.

Sure he'd realized that Theo was dangerous. He wasn't an idiot or socially oblivious. He couldn't have lived with his father without being aware of the kind of dark shit both their families were involved in. Sometimes Theo's knuckles were bloody and once or twice Draco noticed blood in Theo's dark curls. Draco had no illusions that Theo was good. He knew he wasn't, but he was present and up until the moment that he boarded that flight to London, Theo had been the one person that Draco could always rely on. Theo was good to him.

It shouldn't have surprised him when Theo was his first crush. When he had a dirty dream it was Theo who played the starring role. When he bit his lip at night in the darkness of his room, it was always Theo who he pictured, Theo who he wanted to kiss him, Theo who he wanted to be touched by.

Draco never really got over it, that desperate longing for Theo to touch him. Draco wasn't sure that he liked men per se. He never dated another guy because how could they ever compare to Theo?

Theo was perfect to Draco because he was perfect for him when he needed him most, when he was lonely and isolated and in fear. Theo was always the one that would provide him comfort, company and keep him safe.

If Theo thought Draco was perfect, then Draco knew that Theo Nott was.

Draco just wants to make Theo happy. It was all he had ever wanted.

...

Draco loved Hermione, he did. She had been the one source of sunlight and happiness in boarding school. She was kind, brilliant and brave. She was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. He did not want to hurt her, but he found himself being guided to his bed. He let Theo pull off his shirt. He let Theo unbuckle his belt, the clunk as it fell to the floor making him pant with anticipation. Draco wanted to give Theo anything that he wanted, because Draco wanted everything that was Theo, every touch, every taste, every scent.

Every kiss was like Draco was being forged into a new person. Theo was a crucible and Draco was destined to melt in his embrace.