He can feel it, his presence as Snape slips into his thoughts, a feeling of warmth. But even if Snape wasn't better at it than Draco, the young man's mind was too lost, too scattered, tied up on Snape, this moment, the touches. There's that brief flutter of shyness at what Snape might find. He wants to be hurt, he wants Snape to hurt him, and oh but he wants this too. He wants that feeling of Snape's fingers around his cock as he groans softly. He doesn't stop; his hand speeding up again, stroking over Draco's cock, and he wants to touch, but he feels like he's not allowed. His hands clutching at the desk instead of against skin, muffling moans and murmurs, but the way that Snape presses against him is at least part of a consolation.

He shakes at that soft, single world, because Draco recognizes it, realizes that it's like safety. It gnaws at him, even just trying to quiet the noises on his mouth and not silence them completely. Snape's hand is moving faster, and Draco's head tosses back, his hips rolling, unable to keep from pressing into Snape's fingers. He can feel it, the soft way that Snape rubs against him, and oh, he loves that, wants it, has dreams of cool eyes, harsh hands, being held down and so many other things and then being fucked. No fabric between them, just flesh and flesh, though he's not sure he could take it, not with his ass still burning, over sensitive to the contact, making him press back and arch forward depending on the moment. He's not going to last long, can't help himself as he moans and gasps and whimpers. He almost says his name, but he holds onto that. The only piece he hasn't given away of himself is how much this means.