Draco flushes a little as Snape steps into the door, without his robes, and his coat, just his white shirt and the long dark vest. He wants to touch, hasn't been able to get him out of his head, hasn't been able to get what happened out of his head. His ass still aches, still pink and warm, and he's here anyway. Stealing would have made a point, soothed at that desire to be defiant and stubborn, but Snape made a point last time, and Draco can't quite bring himself to ignore that.

He nods, moving into Snape's room, letting the door shut behind him as he tries to focus his eyes somewhere that isn't Snape, looking around the potion-master's room. He's always fantasized about Snape, but not it's hotter, more insistent, makes it so there are other things he wants to ask him about that don't involve that potion. He knows it's not healthy; that the addictions caused by potions can be hard to break. He feels like he's falling.

It's just a little bit better, standing here, focusing on Snape's presence even if he's not looking at him. "I didn't wake you, did I?"