The embrace gets tighter, Snape pulling him in closer against his chest, an arm curling around Draco's shoulders. He couldn't help himself, the way he clung to him. Snape was the only one that would understand; not even his parents understood what he'd been through. They might care about him, but they didn't care about others, wouldn't have blinked at killing Dumbledore. They didn't comprehend just how hard it had been on him, how he'd only done it to protect them. The conflict between the fact that he had always wanted so badly to be his father, but he just couldn't. He didn't have the capability to be that cruel no matter how hard he tried. It haunted him, and they'd never understand that. It was the lack of power, their loss of respect that haunted his parents. There had been something in Snape, even before he'd known where his allegiance really lay that had carried him through serving under Voldemort, made it possible to keep from flinching, to hide his terror as he said my Lord.

Snape's fingers touch against his jaw, tilting his face upward as the man leaned in. His body tenses, wide-eyed and breathless, like he can't believe this is hapening. There's a soft murmur, Draco's eyelashes fluttering as their lips touch. Slow, not pushing, not forcing anything, but he can feel the want in the kiss. It's mirrored in how Draco leans in, presses into Snape's lips, clings tighter to his body. He wants it, wants this. He knows they need to talk, but he needs the touch, too. His blue eyes slide shut, breathless as he curls fingers in the cloth. Snape's clothes aren't obviously expensive the way Draco's are, but they accent his body, make him both beautiful and severe in the same breath. Not many seemed to share his opinion, however.