Harry bit his lips, feeling the tug of flesh, as he suppressed an obscene sound. Maybe he was going crazy, but he could swear that his body was plotting against him. He was flushed and bothered, sweat making him sticky, clothes feeling tight as his breath quickened. A thought flitted past his mind that he was dying, but it was quickly quashed by the pleasant ache in his sternum. He smelt cinnamon and citrus, the diabolical smell of his arch enemy.

"Potter."

His nemesis drawled, words dripping from his lips, oozing with sex. Harry shuddered involuntarily, eyes narrowing as his pointy faced foe prepared himself for the verbal battle of a century. The room was empty apart from them, and with good reason, for this type of match could have serious casualties. Harry's pants tightened slightly as the blonde faced ponce continued to speak, his words rolling off his tongue, lips soft and delicate, pale and so delectable.

Harry needed to focus, or he would lose and never hear the end of it.

"I may be mad but I could swear that someone has stolen my body butter."

Harry kept his expression completely blank, not letting the other boy win over him in the slightest, no matter this pleasurable torture. He would not spill the beans. His lips were sealed.

Draco leant forward, eyes dark as they surveyed his prey, lips pulled back slightly, tongue poked out in concentration as he stared that smouldering icy stare. A stray hand rested against Harry's cheek, and his blonde rival titled his head so it rested in the crook of Harry's neck.

He sniffed. Harry stiffened. He was surely done for.

"You smell delicious."

Harry tried to conceal his arousal, his loss, but he was doomed as a hand drifted down his side and gripped him succinctly. His trousers were tented now, and they both knew he had lost. Harry's expression faltered slightly as fingers caressed him through his pants. His thin pants. His pants that smelt like Draco's body butter.

Draco's eyes had an evil glint.

Draco's stolen body butter.

The blonde hissed, a smirk painting him sinister in the sexist of ways,

"Game over."

A moan slipped past Harry's lips. He was a dead man.