Chocky-phile

Notes: Inspired, as many things are, by chatting with Quill. And thus, expect the unexpected. And the weird.

Disclaimer: WEP owns Voltron. We just pervert them on a regular basis.

Chocky-phile

Sunday dawned bright and clear, and while usually, Lance liked to linger in bed and enjoy not having to be on duty, today, he had a mission. Not an official mission, to be sure, but a mission nonetheless. One that he was determined to finish successfully.

As quickly as he could, he dressed, tucking his shoes into his pockets. Just in case I need to make a quick getaway, he thought. Gotta cover all contingencies.

Thinking about contingencies made him aware of one more preparation he had to make. He hurried back to the bed and lumped his pillows together under the blanket, trying to make it look as much like a body as possible. After only a few moments, he stopped; his window of opportunity was closing fast, and it wouldn’t fool anyone who took more than a quick look, anyway. Then he was out the door and moving as fast as he could down the corridor. He paused for a moment by Keith’s door, but when he heard the telltale rhythmic breathing and soft snores that was Keith asleep, he nodded and moved on.

He slid down the banister into the main hall – with no one around, he could get away with it – and then, with less need to be quiet, ran down the maze of corridors leading to the kitchen.

Once the kitchen was in sight, though, Lance slowed, creeping up toward the open door with as much stealth as he could muster before peering around it.

Yes! The kitchen was empty. There were some remnants of the servants’ breakfast, but food wasn’t what he was after.

The tureen on the stove was.

A deliciously decadent smell filled the air – warm and sweet and sugary – and sniffing it like a dog, Lance drifted closer and closer.

The tureen was just warm to the touch; the heat was on low underneath it. And it was filled to the brim with the nectar of the gods: Nanny’s own recipe for hot chocolate.

Saliva filled his mouth. Oh, yes, gonna get me some...

Quickly, he went through the cupboards and grabbed the biggest mug he could find, then went through the drawers until he found a ladle. Armed and ready, he served himself. Noticing a jar of cinnamon on the side, he considered sprinkling some on top, then decided against it. Well... maybe on the next cup...

Holding the mug right against his lips, for a moment, Lance just savored the magnificent aroma, then took a sip. Nirvana.

The chocolate – thick and warm and otherwise wonderful beyond description – slid down his throat, and he actually had to stifle a moan. God, he thought, feeling almost delirious as heat stole through him, it’s almost as good as sex.

On his second sip, he wasn’t so sure that it mightn’t be better.

On his third – or maybe fourth – sip, he decided there was only one way to really find out.

Cautiously, keeping hold of his mug as if it were a lifeline, he pushed the kitchen door just to, refilled his mug, and settled down behind the kitchen island.

Something protested weakly in his head, saying that this was such a bad idea, no way to escape, and he was almost certainly going to get caught... but Lance was beyond caring. Instead, he struggled with the button on his pants for a moment, finding it difficult to open them one-handed, and then to shove them down a little so his dick wasn’t caught on the teeth of the zip. Somehow, though, he managed without spilling any of the chocolate.

He only pushed his jeans down to mid-thigh, then grabbed his cock, already half-erect. A few strokes brought it to full hardness. A sip of chocolate, a stroke of cock... Lance suited action to thought, one hand working busily on his erection, while trying not to spill his chocolate down his front.

All too soon, he was moaning and whimpering and arching up into his own touch, his other hand clenched tight on his nearly-empty mug. Somehow he managed another slurp of his chocolate, and then it was too much. He cried out, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen, and his eyes rolled back as he climaxed messily.

When he came back to himself, he discovered that he was in desperate need of a change; his shirt was spattered with gooy white fluid and – he couldn’t stop himself; he wailed – the remainder of his chocolate. Staring into the depths of his now-empty mug, he sniffled. What a waste!

So lost was he in the knowledge of chocky-loss that it took a moment for him to realize that there was still a cauldron-full on the stove. Immediately, he brightened, and scrambled to his feet, clutching at his pants to keep from tripping over them.

“Enjoy yourself?”

Lance froze at the words, and slowly looked back over his shoulder.

Keith stood leaning on the kitchen island, wearing his most amused grin. “Oh, never mind. I can see you did.”

Lance reddened to the roots of his hair. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

Keith laughed. “You give a whole new meaning to the word ‘chocophile’, Lance.”