InsaneJournal

[Ficlet] While It Lasts (Draco/Theodore, PG(-13?))
Title: While It Lasts
Author: Envinyatar (aka envinyatar15)
Pairing: Draco/Theodore
Rating: PG (perhaps PG-13)
Highlight for Warnings: none
Canon-compliance: pretend it's somewhat DH-ish
Word Count: 895
Summary: They happened to end up this way often lately.

Notes: For shiny_crystal - happy birthday!!! *squishes* This is my small birthday present for you :) I hope you like it, and that in the end I didn't fuck up the Draco characterisation too much. Many thanks, as always, to zebraspots05 for the beta and help and encouragement.

For 50scenes: #18 embrace, challenge_the: #029 intense.


They lay side by side on the tangled bed sheets, legs and arms entwined, Theo’s face hidden in the crook of Draco’s neck. It was a relaxed scene – post-coital bliss – no words needed.
They happened to end up this way often lately. A simple conversation, a look drawn out too long, an argument – not one the two of them had, but that Draco had with others – would lead to this. Inevitably, unstoppably, and somehow Draco still hadn’t enough. This would come to an end soon enough, and he didn’t see why he shouldn’t enjoy what he had until then. Theo, at least, didn’t expect anything from him, and when did Draco have something like that nowadays? Everyone wanted something, waited for something.

Not Theo. Theo lived that quiet life of his, uninvolved and apparently uncaring; even more so since his father had been caught by the Ministry and there had been no one to force him to do anything - least of all take sides. Draco was almost jealous, except he knew Theo’s allegiance would sooner or later be questioned, now that his father had rejoined the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord held the power over the Ministry.

Still, he wished he’d have some of the freedom Theo had. Serving the Dark Lord wasn’t as glorious as he thought it would be, and sometimes… Sometimes he wished he could get out. He was aware thinking that was naïve, but still.

He was in and wouldn’t get out, and he’d make the best of it; make sure he’d be as successful as possible. Save himself, somehow, and his family. Perhaps he could save Theo, too, when - not if, because Draco didn't question that - it came down to it.

“Draco,” Theo’s voice mumbled against his shoulder, quiet and intense, just like he always was. It startled Draco from his thoughts, and too late he realised he must have tensed up while they’d invaded his brain. Shit. One muscle after another he relaxed, eased against Theo again, forced himself to think of something else. This wasn’t the time. He needed a plan, needed to persuade Theo to join him, but he knew he wouldn’t succeed if he didn’t find something really good that would make an impression on the other Slytherin.

It was too late already, though, for Theo shifted from his position and settled his head on his hand. Draco watched him, half trying to discern what would happen and half admiring how the lean muscles worked – Theo was like a panther, graceful and lithe. When he looked up with that gleam in his eyes he was relieved to find an answering look in Theo’s. Maybe this meant there wouldn't be the question about what the sudden tension had been about, now; because everyone would ask in this situation.

Not Theo, though. Again.

Draco reached out to draw him down for a kiss, but the other boy moved away slightly.

No. Theo wouldn’t ask, but he was certainly capable of waiting until he got his answers. Patient he was, and exceptionally perceptive.

Draco’s hands fell to his sides again, but his eyes remained steady. The silence changed, became heavy and oppressive, making Draco feel as though the air was sucked out of his lungs. He tried to fight the feeling that settled on his chest, but, it seemed, he wasn’t strong enough; not anymore. Not with Theo.

The realisation startled him, and he said what he had absolutely not wanted to say.

“I need to save you.”

Theo’s gaze grew even heavier. Draco closed his eyes, thought this is it, because of one thing he had learned: do not push Theodore Nott.

There was a light touch of fingers on his stomach, wandering up and down, tickling, and suddenly Draco could breathe again.

“Why?” Soft, unaccusing.

Draco threw his eyes open again. “Because you have not chosen sides!” Draco had not meant his words to be quite this vehement, angry, but it was obvious, wasn’t it? That was the problem that might, ultimately, bring Theo down. Draco wouldn't watch that. He wouldn't have it.

The hands on Draco’s stomach stopped. Theo clearly waited for more, but there wouldn’t be more. He’d get it or he wouldn’t. Wouldn't want to. Draco didn't have to explain.

After what seemed like an eternity Theo finally moved. “Wrong, Malfoy," he said flatly, and Draco knew he had lost the battle. "I have chosen my side – my own side. Do you think I will serve your master’s commands when I can just as well serve my own?” The voice was still calm, and Draco would have given a lot – not everything, mind you, but a lot – to make Theo shout at him just once. This answer was what he'd feared; this answer, so surely spoken, he couldn't fight. Theo wasn't someone to bend to anyone's will, least of all the Dark Lord's.

Still, Draco had to try. With steady eyes, he said "Then you will stand alone."

Theo nodded. "So I will."

The hands on Draco's stomach began to roam anew, and after a moment of stillness he wordlessly gave himself over to them.

He'd enjoy what they had while it lasted, and in the meantime he'd find a way. Losing the battle didn't equal losing the war, after all, and he was determined to win.

His flag wasn't the white one.