traintracks

Title: Dark Chocolate
Author:

traintracks
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirius/Harry
Rating: soft R (for non-explicit wrongness)
Word Count: ~725
Warnings: Chan (14), Sirius being completely inappropriate as usual.
Disclaimer: I don't own much of anything, least of all anything having to do with Harry Potter.
A/N: This is for adventdrabbles and prompt #20: Christmas cookies.

The cookies didn't arrive with the rest of Harry's presents on Christmas morning but rather that night by unfamiliar owl. Harry was the only boy awake, and he let the owl in and took the package, rather amazed that the box she carried was for him. Getting presents was still a bit flummoxing. Getting them in the middle of the night had never happened – to anyone. He pet the barn owl's beak and then let her out the window, shutting it tight against the snow flurries.

The note with the box was unmistakable. They might not have known each other long, but Harry already recognized Sirius' handwriting as instantly as his own.

Harry read voraciously, more awake than he'd felt all day:

"Dearest Harry,

Not a Firebolt, but… Well, I hope you enjoy them. But beware: these nibbles might nibble back.

Happy Christmas, my lad.

Yours,

S"

Harry read the note over three times, pausing significantly on the 'my lad' part, his heart going so hard and fast he feared it might wake the others. Then, when he could stand it no longer, Harry ripped into the plain brown paper and opened the box to find a plate of chocolate chip cookies. True, not a Firebolt, but Harry couldn't have cared less. Any gift from Sirius was glorious.

Harry took out the biggest cookie and bit into it. The chocolate tasted warm and melting, like they'd just come out of the oven rather than having flown through a winter storm clutched by an owl for Merlin knows how long. They even smelled fresh-baked.

But apparently that wasn't the only charm on the cookies. While he ate, Harry felt a stirring breath against his face. He startled, and there was a low chuckle very near. Then he felt moist lips on his cheek, kissing him. Harry shivered and closed his eyes, trying not to gasp and wake anyone.

When he'd swallowed the bite of cookie, the lips disappeared.

Harry looked around the room. No one there to kiss him. Just Ron snoring louder than a cheering Quidditch stadium.

Harry took a deep breath and then another bite of cookie. Same melting chocolate. Same rich aroma. Same warm breath. And this time a little nip just behind his ear -- then that tortuous chuckle.

Harry looked around again and then pulled his pillow over his lap. The charm was certainly working but perhaps not in the way Sirius had intended. Or maybe he had. Harry finished the bite, wondering if he was feeling how he should be feeling – or how he shouldn't. And if he cared right this moment when his senses were sharp with the cold night, his godfather's hot breath, and the taste of dark chocolate on his tongue.

Harry raised the last bite of cookie to his lips and popped it into his mouth. Then he closed his eyes, waiting.

It wasn't long until the breath was back, and this time with a whisper, "Harry," and then a mischievous tongue darted out and licked the chocolate from the corner of Harry's mouth.

Harry fought the urge to turn his head and kiss the magic that, too soon, was gone again.

It was awful…wonderful…awful. And he knew if this went on, he might not only get more of the a-little-too-good kissing but also a serious stomach ache and a trip to the hospital wing.

Harry decided to have just one more bite of cookie before he put the rest away and tried to sleep.

He sank his teeth into it and chewed slowly. This time there was the gentlest pressure of a hand just over his heart and lips at the sensitive shell of his ear. The voice whispered, "Yours…," moving on his skin. Then the pressure and the ticklish kiss were gone.

Harry stifled a groan. He shoved the charmed cookies into the drawer by the bed and got under his covers, keeping Sirius' letter. There was just enough light from the waning moon to see the curly S's and the sharp R's. Harry tried to imagine those wet lips once more on his cheek. He tunneled down in his blankets, shoved his hand between his legs, just holding himself, not stroking, not giving in. Harry just curled on his side, tasting chocolate and illicit kisses and hearing Sirius' affectionate chuckle on the whistle of the wind.