Once the room is silenced, Draco is less so. Snape wishes he were less obvious now, himself, and though he does have an exceedingly large amount of control, he can't quite get a hold of himself here. His breathing is ragged, it's obvious, audible, and maybe he can't stop moving his hips, or maybe he just doesn't want to. It's what he allows himself, because he's not going for more. He doesn't want to be touched, because today this isn't about what he wants, it's about what Draco needs. Punishment first, and now reward. He watches Draco move; he's fitful, head tossed back, trembling beneath him, pressing back.

Snape's lips part, and he means to tell him to come, perhaps to give him permission or to command him to come on cue through the power of suggestion, but he doesn't trust his voice. All that escapes is a low, strangled moan and he closes his mouth, jaw clenched, determined not to repeat that, not to give away any more of how he feels, that he wants. It's obvious enough by the hard point of contact against his trembling body.

He knows Draco is close, regardless of what he says or doesn't say, and his hand keeps moving, falling into a pantomime of how Draco's moving, hips rolling, pressing forwards, and how Snape is moving behind him. Soon. It's just a matter of time, likely a matter of seconds, and the last shred of resolve will wear too thin and he'll come, even if Snape can't muster the resolve to breathe the command.