The sobbing sound of his breath now is a slight concern. He's not sure if he's still recovering or if he doesn't actually want this part. Snape is many things, but he's not actually that much of a monster… his hand slows, stills, and he reaches into his mind, slow as he penetrates the jumbled mess of his thoughts, because he needs to know, needs to be sure, and he doesn't trust Draco to be able to speak right now, to ask him.
There they are. They're a mess, these thoughts, swirling and dark with need, the kind of intensity of a hormonal teen, that hard biological need, the snap reactions, but the things he wants are anything but adolescent. He wants to be hurt, he wants to be held, needs this and more. Snape's breath comes shaky as he sees that, feels it, need that hits him hard. Draco will feel his presence, but he won't see anything of Snape; he's locked down tight, but the shift of his hips that snugs the fit of their bodies, his cock pressed between sore cheeks through all those layers and his hand speeding up again betrays what his mind never will.
Draco is trembling beneath him and Snape's hand is skillful as he slips back from his mind, leaves him alone with his troubled, swirling thoughts. In a voice barely above a whisper, he silences the room, unwilling to risk the school overhearing what they're doing now, and it's a one-word allowance for Draco to make the sounds he must.
His thumb lavishes attention on the slick head, and the pace is growing faster and more urgent. He's playing to the tension in Draco's body, the way he shakes, the sounds he's making, and he's actively trying to bring him off, not quite able to remain impassive, hips very slowly, very subtly rocking against his raw behind.
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There they are. They're a mess, these thoughts, swirling and dark with need, the kind of intensity of a hormonal teen, that hard biological need, the snap reactions, but the things he wants are anything but adolescent. He wants to be hurt, he wants to be held, needs this and more. Snape's breath comes shaky as he sees that, feels it, need that hits him hard. Draco will feel his presence, but he won't see anything of Snape; he's locked down tight, but the shift of his hips that snugs the fit of their bodies, his cock pressed between sore cheeks through all those layers and his hand speeding up again betrays what his mind never will.
Draco is trembling beneath him and Snape's hand is skillful as he slips back from his mind, leaves him alone with his troubled, swirling thoughts. In a voice barely above a whisper, he silences the room, unwilling to risk the school overhearing what they're doing now, and it's a one-word allowance for Draco to make the sounds he must.
His thumb lavishes attention on the slick head, and the pace is growing faster and more urgent. He's playing to the tension in Draco's body, the way he shakes, the sounds he's making, and he's actively trying to bring him off, not quite able to remain impassive, hips very slowly, very subtly rocking against his raw behind.