It all began with the Hallowe'en feast, as harrowing events often did. There was no troll in the dungeon this year, nor any escaped convicts in Gryffindor Tower, nor even the Hallowe'en Ball with which Dumbledore had cheerfully threatened the staff all term. No, Snape reflected, it took a truly insidious evil to leave him lying prone beneath a sharp-toothed, grinning werewolf, with a spoonful of hot fudge hovering over the palm of his wrist and a tremor shivering through him that betrayed rather more pleasure than he cared to admit.

If it had been any other sweet, Snape would have simply ignored it, along with the caramel apples, candy corn, and similar sugared confections that covered the staff table. The hot fudge, though: the elves had had the absolute impugnity to put it in little pewter cauldrons, surrounded by little glass flasks filled with biscuits and fruits for dipping. The indignity was simply too much, and Snape had expressed his disgust with a rather loud snort.

"Not fond of fudge, Severus?" Lupin had asked from his right side, eyes sparkling with an ominous twinkle.

Snape glared back. "I am not fond of these puerile attempts at decoration, most especially when they involve substances that will have the children bounding about the school all night."

A moment later, Snape almost jumped when a hand slid up his right thigh, teasing over his skin in exactly the way that made him tense and shiver and visualize decidedly non-school-appropriate thoughts. "Lupin," he said through his teeth, "not -"

"If you don't care for this presentation of the fudge, Severus," Lupin interrupted, smiling as though oblivious to the location of his left hand, "perhaps we could find some other use for it?"

"Y- yes -" he forced out, acutely aware of those damned dancing fingertips "- perhaps we could find something, after all."

Lupin's hand finally stopped its teasing progress, giving Snape's leg one last affectionate stroke. "I knew that you'd see the bright side of things."

Snape gave him another exasperated snort.

The rest of the Feast had passed in a blur of babbling pupils, chattering staff, and the frustratingly distracting display of Lupin picking up morsels of cake or fruit, dipping them in the fudge, reverently placing them in his mouth, and licking each slender finger clean. By the time that everyone began to disperse, Snape wasn't capable of much more than following Lupin, rather shakily, back to the werewolf's quarters.

Already waiting on the desk, presumably left there by quick-working house-elves, was a fresh cauldron of chocolate fudge. With his hazel eyes fixed intently on Snape, Lupin dipped his index finger into the cauldron, exhaling softly in pain, then slowly raised the finger to his mouth and sucked off every velvety inch of chocolate. He pulled Snape close, then filled his mouth with warm cocoa and moist, gentle tongue. After a slow, sticky kiss, Lupin withdrew again, then moved to his cupboard for a teaspoon. Returning quickly, he dipped it in the fudge, then gave Snape another of those wicked, laughing, disturbingly charming smiles. "Ready for your turn?" he had asked, then clasped one of Snape's hands and drawn it up close to his face, right beneath the threatening, fudge-filled spoon.

And there Snape was: trapped in the quarters of an unscrupulous werewolf, who stood before him with poised weapon and kiss-reddened lips. So he did what any valiant Potions Master would do: closed his eyes, sighed in resignation, and braced for the bite of heat.

The jolt made Snape shiver despite his anticipation. Hot, viscous fudge spilled over his sensitive wrist, but was quickly followed by a long, controlled lick, as Lupin's tongue swept the chocolate from Snape's skin in wet strokes, pausing every few licks to kiss and suck Snape's wrist gently. It felt like waves of fire and bliss. It felt like his whole body was drowning in Lupin's lips. It felt like heaven.

When Lupin looked up again, his eyes burning and his lips smudged with chocolate, and whispered "Shall we move to the bedroom?" in that throaty, hungry voice of his, Snape's legs practically gave way. He followed Lupin mutely, and felt himself succumbing to a deep, warm wave of gratitude for chocolate, fudge, house-elves, and the very institution of Hallowe'en itself.

One satisfying, tiring, and rather sticky hour later, Lupin lay curled around Snape, lazily dipping Snape's fingers into the chocolate fudge, bringing them up to Lupin's own mouth, and licking them clean again.

"I'm frankly amazed that you can stand to eat so much of that irredeemable syrup," Snape muttered, but something rather close to bemusement took the heat from his words. Lupin's neck tasted of the sheen of sweat that covered both their bodies, and somewhere in the back of his mind Snape reminded himself to do a cleaning spell before they both fell asleep.

For now, though: for now, chocolate still lingered on the werewolf's lips, and his arms were strong and careful and warm, and perhaps holiday feasts really weren't all that bad.

finis.

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