The way Draco relaxes into the embrace says that it's enough for now, it's exactly what he'd needed. Snape holds him closer, one arm tight across his shoulders. He feels Draco's fists clinging to his vest, feels his face pressing against his chest, and his expression softens, unseen against neck. He was as much solace to Snape as he was sure he was to Draco. Draco was someone who understood, who was there, who knew. Someone he didn't have to explain himself to, and Snape has been alone for a very long time.

He shivers when he realizes that the brush against his neck is Draco's lips on the collar of his vest and shirt, a tentative next step. He wants those lips on his bare skin, on his own lips, and he wants to touch him everywhere, wants to distract him from the nightmare that brought him here and bring him something that felt good to replace the pain. He shifts, brings a hand up to nudge Draco's chin upwards, guiding their lips together. It's slow and exploring, though it's not quite chaste, somehow manages to communicate that underlying desire to strip him bare and ravish him, worship him.