Draco gasps, sucks in a slow, halting breath through his parted lips as Snape's hand cups him through silk boxers and expensive trousers. That declaration makes his eyes flutter, a slight smile curving his lips as he leans into Snape, one hand shifting to brush fingers through his hair. Gorgeous. It seems somehow meaningful coming from Snape. Draco has never been uncertain of his looks, more than a little vain, honestly. But he likes hearing it. He hasn't heard it since before the war, since Pansy and the other Slytherin girls that couldn't get over his fine blond hair, his blue eyes, his cheekbones, his long eyelashes or how kissable his lips were. Snape makes him feel desirable in that intense sort of way all over again, and Draco realizes that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like; words heated on the air, and it runs a slight tremble down his spine.

Hands move up his chest, and Snape makes fast work of his clothes, despite the numerous buttons of his jacket, his shirt, and then fingers are at the knot of his tie, unfastening it. Snape's strong hands move back down Draco's chest, brushing against the exposed pale skin. The more of his skin that's revealed, the more striking the flush of his cheeks becomes. Draco's hand still on Snape's shoulder moves softly to the top of his vest, and slowly pops the button free. He wants to touch, wants everything he wasn't allowed when Snape spanked him bent over a desk.