“Why not me?” Draco growled, so fucking embarrassed that he didn’t know how else to react. “Why? I know you better than any of those tossers ever did, and it was never me.”

Harry, strangely, stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. Draco could see the fight leaving him, seeping out of his pores and landing somewhere, probably in all the come on the tiles. His shoulders slumped pathetically as he replied.

“I haven’t been with anyone in over two years, Draco,” he said wearily, and maybe pointedly as well.

“And,” Harry continued in his low, quiet voice, “It has been you. It was always you, but I can’t compete. I never could.”

“Compete with whom?” Draco hissed. He was already tired of all of this fucking circuitous bullshitting. And the embarrassment. And the arousal. And the culmination of years of desire.

“Your mother,” Harry said quietly, but defiantly.
—  Men Who Had Mothers by zeitgeistic