Silence now. Silence, but he's still moving, he's still shaking beneath him, and Snape is quite aware of the solidity of the erection growing beneath his robes. He is no stranger to this part of himself, the part that relishes bringing someone to their knees, stripping everything away until all that was left needed to hold on to keep from drowning. He liked being that anchor, he liked quieting the rush of that turbulent sea.

He continues, two, three, four, out loud in the silence. He knows Draco is beginning to struggle, that soon he needs to breathe, but he's holding off, biding his time, careful as he holds out.

"Five," and he's halfway, but Draco doesn't know that. Two things happen. His left hand opens and he lets up that touchless grip, lets Draco gasp for air before six, and his hand comes down to press gently against Draco's hot skin, soothing if it wasn't almost making it worse by the contact. He rubs slowly, soothing circles, and murmurs soft encouragement, "You're doing better…"