Snape isn't the only one with fantasies. Draco's are dark, confused, tangled balls of need and want and hormones. He wants Snape to touch him, to hurt him, to soothe away things he can't handle, he wants to feel skin and hands and pleasure. As much as he melts into the invisible hand at his throat, he wishes it was Snape's fingers, the touch, the contact, the feeling of it all. There's a moment when he expects another strike and it doesn't come, and there's that spike of fear that Snape's seen, noticed, and he just doesn't know how he'd react.
He's holding onto that deep breath, trying not to give into fear of it, and then Snape takes his breath away again, and that feels like a sign that everything's okay. Those hard strikes that flare against his skin, leaves his cheeks damp as his cries fall into nothing but silence. The friction of the desk as his hips jolt with every slap of Snape's hand against his burning red rear. His legs feel like liquid, makes it feel like he'd tumble to the ground if not for the desk; shaking with every slap and jostle of his body, every count where his breath pounds in his throat like his heartbeat.
Then it's ten, and Draco doesn't even know if that's the end, or if he's waiting on eleven. His breath still pounding against those invisible fingers. Draco would have hated to admit it, but Snape has touched him, pushed and broken so there are pieces glinting that no one was ever meant to see. He's so aware of it when Snape moves into his space, presses in until that erection presses against Draco's ass through the fabric of dark robes. There's an exhale of breath not his own, and then Draco's comes in a hot dragging gasp as that hand slips away.
Snape's fingers curling around his cock, and breath that's still uneven comes as almost a sob after the brief cruelty. Pulling him back from the edge, but then Snape's making up for it. Stroking him, and all Draco can do it arch his body, lean into it, trembling as his fingers try to cling to the edge of the desk because there's this impossible feeling like he's falling.
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He's holding onto that deep breath, trying not to give into fear of it, and then Snape takes his breath away again, and that feels like a sign that everything's okay. Those hard strikes that flare against his skin, leaves his cheeks damp as his cries fall into nothing but silence. The friction of the desk as his hips jolt with every slap of Snape's hand against his burning red rear. His legs feel like liquid, makes it feel like he'd tumble to the ground if not for the desk; shaking with every slap and jostle of his body, every count where his breath pounds in his throat like his heartbeat.
Then it's ten, and Draco doesn't even know if that's the end, or if he's waiting on eleven. His breath still pounding against those invisible fingers. Draco would have hated to admit it, but Snape has touched him, pushed and broken so there are pieces glinting that no one was ever meant to see. He's so aware of it when Snape moves into his space, presses in until that erection presses against Draco's ass through the fabric of dark robes. There's an exhale of breath not his own, and then Draco's comes in a hot dragging gasp as that hand slips away.
Snape's fingers curling around his cock, and breath that's still uneven comes as almost a sob after the brief cruelty. Pulling him back from the edge, but then Snape's making up for it. Stroking him, and all Draco can do it arch his body, lean into it, trembling as his fingers try to cling to the edge of the desk because there's this impossible feeling like he's falling.