"But basically, given the choice between me and another bloke, you wouldn't touch me with a Nimbus 2000, Potter, isn't that right?" "No! Jesus, Malfoy, what do you take me for? It's you I've been thinking about, that's why. That's why, if you want, I'm saying we could try it." It's you I've been thinking about. The words bounced around in Draco's suddenly empty skull, and it felt like somewhere out there, someone great and powerful was laughing at him. He'd spent all those hours tossing and turning and coming up with all the reasons why he'd never have sex with Potter, most especially because Potter had to want him -- him, Draco, and not just a warm body. And now here was Potter, declaring that yes, indeed, he wanted Draco. "I'm not saying I fancy you or anything," Potter said quickly as he took in Draco's no doubt slack-jawed expression. "I still think you're a prat." "Don't worry," Draco said dryly. "If I thought you had just confessed to me, I'd be carrying you to St. Mungo's on my back." "You're not laughing, though." "Such observational skills," Draco murmured.

Draco meets a man. The man is from America; he chews loudly and talks a lot and Harry doesn't understand why the man makes him so angry until he sees the way the man looks at Draco. When he notices the way Draco looks back at the man, his rage becomes a pure white thing that clouds his judgement. Always second to someone when he wants to be second to none. That's it, really; his whole life was about sharing, about giving, about sacrificing. He just wants someone who won't ask him to do those things -- he thought Draco was that person, to teach Harry how to take and claim and keep. But Draco meets a man, and on December seventeenth, Draco says good-bye to Harry.

‪"Something don't taste right, cause it ain't right, like when you take a sip of water and it turns out to be Sprite."‬

Those Who Are Alike Will Fight