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Summary
Draco's been getting off in secret every time Robards berates him for years. Sure, it's a bit fucked up, but who cares? Of course, everything changes when his partner finds out.
Draco moaned into his mouth wanting to take, take, take everything Harry was offering him. Wanting to let go of the control he so cherished and say to Harry, “No, here I am. I am not worthless—I am priceless. And you can have me.”
What he did instead was better. Instead, he took, then gave, then took more, then offered everything. For one moment, when they broke apart, a long string of spit stretching between their mouths before snapping back and hitting Harry's cheek, Draco thought he might cry.
“Yes,” Draco said softly, “I think I might be a little fucked up.”