Everything about Draco is receptive, open, permissive. He knew that it helped, that sometimes - maybe more than sometimes - a point of pressure, of restraint was welcome. It gave him something else to hold on to. Two days prior, that had come in the form of punishment, of Snape’s voice holding him in place over the desk, of wandless magic stealing his breath. Tonight it’s hardly that dangerous, just the slow caress of his hand over Draco’s arm, silently asking how much he would be permitted, how much Draco wanted.
There’s no question; no one has touched this mark since it meant power. Still, nothing in his reaction is rejection. Far from it, Draco tilts his head, neck exposed as he silently asks for more, and his body yields for him, relaxing, permitting him entrance. Slowly, so slowly, he sinks in completely until their bodies are pressed together. Draco is impossibly tight around him, and he can tell in spite of the little movements, the shifting of his hips, that he’s still struggling to get used to this.
Snape lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, warm over Draco’s skin. In truth, he needs a moment as well, afraid that if he moves now, starts fucking him as he’s craving, that he’ll come too soon, and he doesn’t want this over that quickly. Belatedly, he goes for Draco’s other arm and pushes it to the bed like the first, fingertips skimming over the soft skin. He shifts, catches the second wrist beneath his hand as well, holding them both pinned together. It would be easy to restrain him with magic, but that wasn’t the point. He wanted it like this, Draco needed restraint and contact, needed to be able to lose himself in being held and the reassurance of his presence. Later, if Draco wanted more, if he wanted to explore the darker side of this, they could negotiate different restraints.
He waits until he can feel Draco start to move beneath him again, slow and fitful like he can’t handle being still any longer. Then Snape begins to move, a slow, purposeful grind of his hips at first and then a shallow thrust, and another, dark eyes sliding shut as he feels the way Draco’s body moves beneath and against his.
no subject
There’s no question; no one has touched this mark since it meant power. Still, nothing in his reaction is rejection. Far from it, Draco tilts his head, neck exposed as he silently asks for more, and his body yields for him, relaxing, permitting him entrance. Slowly, so slowly, he sinks in completely until their bodies are pressed together. Draco is impossibly tight around him, and he can tell in spite of the little movements, the shifting of his hips, that he’s still struggling to get used to this.
Snape lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, warm over Draco’s skin. In truth, he needs a moment as well, afraid that if he moves now, starts fucking him as he’s craving, that he’ll come too soon, and he doesn’t want this over that quickly. Belatedly, he goes for Draco’s other arm and pushes it to the bed like the first, fingertips skimming over the soft skin. He shifts, catches the second wrist beneath his hand as well, holding them both pinned together. It would be easy to restrain him with magic, but that wasn’t the point. He wanted it like this, Draco needed restraint and contact, needed to be able to lose himself in being held and the reassurance of his presence. Later, if Draco wanted more, if he wanted to explore the darker side of this, they could negotiate different restraints.
He waits until he can feel Draco start to move beneath him again, slow and fitful like he can’t handle being still any longer. Then Snape begins to move, a slow, purposeful grind of his hips at first and then a shallow thrust, and another, dark eyes sliding shut as he feels the way Draco’s body moves beneath and against his.