Draco's about to answer that question, but there's that catch of his breath as hands move down his back to rest against his hip, tugging against his jacket. His long eyelashes flutter over his pale blues as fingertips briefly tip into his trousers, and he leans in, presses a little closer because he needs to touch, needs to feel. There's a throaty gasp, his lips parted, trembling as Snape's hand presses between them, a light pressure at the apex of his thighs, just a brush of contact that hints at so much more.

His hands slide up Snape's body, hooking against his shoulders, tugging him a little closer as lips brush against his jaw, kissing down his neck to his ear. And then there's those words, dark and vulgar and they send a thrill through his body, even as his face flushes. "I..." His voice catches in his throat as he tries to answer, shy, timid, even through he wants so much. "I want everything," he murmurs, can't quite bring himself to echo Snape's words, not sure just how much he's giving himself away.