Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.

AN: I apologize for any mistakes, and please do inform me if you find any. I'm 85% happy with this fic, because I didn't try to improve it, cuzz I just didn't feel like it. Heh, I'm lazy that way, anyways, hope everyone enjoys this silly fic.
P.S. The chocolate here is Hershey's Kisses.

Warning: could induce a sudden craving for chocolate, and this contains slash

Pairing: D/H

Summary: Who knew something as innocuous as chocolate would spell Draco's downfall.

Draco was in a fix, and he knew it. The fact that this had all to do with Potter wasn't unusual or rare, but that didn't mollify him in the slightest, it only worked to annoy him all the more. Seeing that Potter getting on his few remaining nerves was a common occurrence, one would think that he would have gotten used to it by now, but sadly that wasn't the case, and he doubted it ever would be.

Despite the happy and no doubt feckless chatter buzzing all around him, he couldn't bring himself to sneer or even grimace in disdain, instead he breathed raggedly and occasionally choked. Saying that this wasn't normal Malfoy behavior would have been an understatement, and he was highly aware of that, but that didn't and couldn't stop him from letting out a few longing sighs. To his defense, he did reign in most of his inner turmoil and exempted himself from all the nearby conversations in the pretence of being sick, so that no one could detect his vulnerable shift of mood.

His body not being happy with just a shift of mood, also had to change the whole route of his blood flow, since it seemed that the majority of his blood was rapidly traveling to his nether region. Having a woody was a common occurrence for teenage boys, but being monumentally turned on by your arch-rival was not. This happening in the morning, a fresh start to a new day, only further aggravated his inner rants.

The said rival was sublimely oblivious to his rather pressing predicament, and continued to blissfully suck and lick the tiny chocolates in his hand, effectively digging Draco's grave deeper. The lucky chocolates being muggle and shaped outrageously like hardened nipples were of course, not helping his situation at all.

The dedication the git put into sucking the tiny chocolates was sickeningly gross to Draco, not to mention ridiculously time-consuming. Any sensible person would just plop it into his mouth and suck, and perhaps swirl his tongue around it, caress it, or better yet teasingly tickle it with feather-light strokes. At least then Draco wouldn't have to bear with the lewd visuals presented to him from right across the hall; he would just happily imagine it.

It was almost as if Potter was putting on a show, and if that was true, he would readily clobber the bastard it was intended for, after all it would be his fault for transforming Potter into such a flagrant exhibitionist. Not because he was jealous—why the very thought of him being jealous was ludicrously absurd—rather, he would be performing a public service by threshing the sod. The said public being unaffected by Potter's display wasn't his fault.

There, that should be illegal! Draco thought vehemently, as he heard obscene slurping and a popping sound; he conveniently forgot the fact that he had intentionally magnified Potter's sounds and words for himself.

Why don't the mangy weasel and bush-brain distract him? Now I know that they are utterly useless. Draco thought distractedly, as he spared them a quick glance, which he instantly regretted, for they were currently locked at the lips. His eyes immediately returned to Potter—specifically his luscious lips—and imagined his own nipples being given the same treatment.

Breath slightly hitching as a plethora of scintillating images invaded his mind, he inconspicuously slid his hand down, towards his throbbing flesh, running his finger pads along the slight distension in the robes. Slipping his hand between the folds of his robes, he deftly unzipped his cotton trousers, and cupped his clothed erection, prolonging his pleasurable movements, and watching Potter heatedly all the while. Each sight of the wet tongue and consequent leisurely hollowing of the crimson cheeks sending fresh waves of arousal and thrill through his thrumming and suddenly sweaty body.

Hums of satisfaction could be heard from Potter, and with added fervor he sped up his torturously busy mouth, finishing more chocolates than Draco thought was possible. Matching the new tempo, Draco plunged his hand into his underwear, and started fisting his wet prick, barely able to contain his groans and grunts. Smearing the pre-come over his head, he squeezed rhythmically, adding particularly vicious squeezes with every suck of Potter's, while his fingers mimicked Potter's sinuous tongue.

Except for his slightly flushed and sweaty visage, Draco was free from any incriminating indication of debauchery, and the fact served in assuring him to continue his ministrations in such a public vicinity—that and the knowledge that no one would be able to discern his line of sight, unless they looked really closely, since he had cast a nifty Vision Charm upon himself. He wanted and more importantly, needed to keep Potter in sight, but of course being a true Slytherin as always, he couldn't let anyone find that out, especially Potter.

His libido was further fuelled by the very real threat of being caught (in Slytherin standards anyway), and incited by such stimulants he knew he couldn't keep up much longer. His salvage came in the form of Potter's fingers which (digressing from the point) were delightfully covered in the dark chocolate. Potter's tongue dutifully licked up the creamy residue, alternating between quick flicks and long swipes. He mouthed his two forefingers, and sucked, whilst catching Draco's reluctantly hungry eyes for a fraction of a second. That was all it took for Draco to zip up his pants and hasten out of the Great Hall, away from the morning babble, and mercifully away from Potter's dangerous abilities to liquefy Draco's bones.

He sauntered/hobbled out, because he would be damned before he sprinted out like a plebian in front of the whole Hogwarts population; although he did run quickly when he reached a deserted corridor, to the nearby washrooms (in Draco's opinion at least) since it was a rather difficult task to run with an almost painful hard-on. Thankfully he didn't burst on his way, and so he slammed the cubicle shut, and gratuitously took out his swollen prick. With a few quick strokes—where he imagined Potter's lips replacing his vexingly unsatisfactory hands—he came spectacularly with Harry's name on his tongue, which he impulsively rectified with a hastily added "Bloody Potter who just won't die".

XXXXXXX

Harry chuckled indulgently as he watched Draco hurry out of the hall, with none of his usual graceful manner in tact. It still amused and amazed him that he could actually expunge Draco's carefully rehearsed cold mask.

He knew he would pay dearly for that impromptu act when Draco takes him hard and fast, but sometimes he savored those seldom moments when the Ice Prince would lose control, and let him see those hidden emotions.

He knew that the blonde aristocrat considered him to be more that just a "fuck buddy," as he so elegantly termed it. Today's reactions only bolstered his belief, and he was determined to hear that from Draco himself. After all, no wayward player would let himself be lured by such simple acts. Initially he had had no intention of practically making love to his food, but Draco's deeply glazed eyes had impelled him to toy with the blonde. Although it did irritate him that he couldn't catch Draco's eyes in the end, but he knew that the Slytherin must have spelled it to be that way, because he was positive that the aroused blonde was watching his every move like a hawk.

His plan had worked remarkably well, and he was quite pleased with himself. Surprising himself by actually enjoying his rather provocative performance, he definitely intended to do more—until the haughty brat would finally get coaxed into admitting his true feelings.

Now if only he could find those leather pants Seamus had gifted him.

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