In clear response to that moan, he rocks himself in deep again and holds steady waiting for Billy to make his decision. When he does the words alone are enough to make Draco's hips stutter a little desperately.

One of his hands finally abandons the table to find purchase at one of the thighs wrapped around him instead, helping pull them much more firmly together against each hard thrust, and taking at least a little of their momentum off the unsteady table.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he intones the promise when he drags his mind out of a pleasure-fog long enough to words, though that really doesn't last. "Fuck..." Billy is very hot, feels maddeningly good inside, and Draco is so dangerously close himself he is momentarily only capable of panting heavily. He gasps out a few more quiet curses, stubbornly fighting a heated, losing battle with his own control every time Billy shifts all around him, but he keeps going anyway. He even speeds up a bit.