In a small flat in London...

Harry looked at the paper and squinted, trying to focus on the letters that bounced from one line to the next. He'd only had three – okay, maybe four – glasses of whatever that golden liquid was that George had brought. He didn't think he was that drunk. He sniggered and almost fell off his chair. "Okay, so maybe I am drunk," he said to the dancing letters. "But what could it hurt, eh?" He giggled again as one of the letters did a perfect pirouette.

"Young man, what are you doing?"

This time he did fall from his chair with a crash. "Fuck, Mariposa, why do you insist on startling me when I least expect it?"

The stern woman looked down from the mantelpiece and sneered. "It wouldn't be considered startling if you were expecting it, now would it?"

Harry sighed and lifted himself cautiously back into his chair. "I should sell you to the highest bidder, you know that?"

"Yes, you should, but you won't. Now tell me, lad, what is it that you're doing?"

Harry cocked his head and looked again at the letters on the page. Mariposa seemed to have startled them too, because they were no longer moving. "I'm writing a letter to Santa."

The scratching of Harry's quill was the only sound in the room until the woman in the portrait cleared her throat. "Santa, did you say? Aren't you a bit old for that, Mr Potter?"

Harry shrugged and finished his letter. "This will be my first. I was never allowed to write letters when I was a boy. My aunt said Santa had no time for wicked, useless children like me."

The woman in the portrait sighed. "So what will you ask this Santa of yours for, Harry Potter?"

Harry sniggered again and rolled the parchment tightly. He tied it with a bright green ribbon and attached it neatly to the leg of the small owl that was curled up in his lap. Montague was a strange owl. He'd flown through Harry's window a month ago and had decided to stay. Harry hadn't minded. He appreciated the company. "Take it to Santa, old boy. We'll see if he can make my wish come true." The owl cocked his head knowingly, and then took off without a backwards glance.



In a large manor house in Wiltshire...

Draco was dozing next to the fire when the window burst open, chilling the room with the frigid night air. "What the fuck...?" He sprang from his chair with his wand in his hand, then laughed at himself when he realised it had only been the wind. It was when he moved closer to the window that he noticed the tiny owl that lay on the windowsill, wet and cold.

"What's this you have here, little guy?" He picked the owl up and placed him on the sofa next to the blazing fire, carefully removing the parchment from his leg. "To Santa," Draco read with a chuckle. "You really are lost, aren't you, boy?"

He waved his wand over the owl to dry the soaked feathers and took the parchment back to his chair. "So let's see what the little brat wants for Christmas," he mumbled, snorting as he untied the satin ribbon. "Obviously, he won't be getting it this year anyway."

Dear Santa,

There are a lot of things I could ask for this year. Useful things, like a super-duper mega-reliable Sneakoscope. Altruistic things, like peace on Earth, happiness to the sad, or comfort to the sick. But Santa, I've never asked for anything for myself before, well, not completely anyway, and I thought maybe it was time.

There's this man, you see. I know, I know, this should be about some nice little witch who could give me children and make me happy, but I don't think a witch could ever make me happy. Frankly, I doubt this man ever will either, seeing as he thinks I'm an idiot, but, well, I guess that's where you come in.

We work together, you see. Not that he wants to work with me; it's sort of a condition of his parole. He's a fascinating bloke. Sarcastic and difficult beyond belief, but witty and as smart as they come, not that I'd ever tell him that. His ego's still bigger than the Atlantic. Anyway, I like him; Merlin knows why.

Actually, there's a lot to like about him, he just doesn't let anyone see it. I've worked with him for a year now and I see it. I see the little things he does when no one is looking, the wistful expressions he thinks no one sees, the sadness in his eyes, his humanity.

He makes me laugh when no one else can; of course, I've never let him know that. You're probably wondering why. It's very complicated and I don't have enough parchment to explain it all. There's just something about him. Something intoxicating, something so overwhelming that it makes my head spin even when I'm sober. It's not just that he's gorgeous, though he is. Merlin is he ever. And sexy as hell, but that's beside the point.

So what do I want, you're probably asking. I guess I don't really know. I want him to look at me with something besides indifference. I want him to know me, to take off that mask that hides the real man and let me know him. I want to kiss him and know what those thin, pink lips feel like. I want to run my fingers through his perfect hair and see it mussed and messy. I want to touch his pale skin and see it flushed with so much desire that he can't hide what he's thinking. I want to hold him and tell him he'll be okay. I want to protect him, so that no one can ever hurt him again.

I guess that's a pretty tall order, even for you, isn't it, Santa? Maybe I should just ask for a hot cup of coffee and a Hangover Potion in the morning.

H.P.

Draco's hand trembled as he set the letter on the table next to his chair. He doubted he'd sleep tonight.



In a small office in London...

Harry's head was still throbbing when he sat down at his desk in the office he shared with Draco. He wished he knew exactly what he'd been drinking last night so that he could avoid ever drinking it again.

"Rough night?"

Harry groaned as he looked up to see Draco smirking from the doorway.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

Draco approached Harry's desk and paused before setting down the cup of steaming hot coffee and the vial of Hangover Potion. "It's my own special brew. It'll help," he said quietly.

Harry's brows disappeared into his messy fringe. It was almost enough to make Draco laugh.

"Er, thanks."

Draco shrugged and walked around to his own desk. He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to do this. Killing the man with kindness would only make him think Draco had some nefarious scheme up his sleeve.

"So, I take it the party went well?" Draco asked cautiously.

"Yeah, I think so. You should have come. You were invited, you know."

Draco bit his lip when he heard the bitterness in Harry's tone. How had he been so blind that he'd missed this? How many times had Harry invited him out for drinks after work or asked Draco to join him for lunch? And how many times had Draco sneered and declined, thinking it was some sense of misguided Gryffindor pity? How many party invitations had he crumpled up and tossed in the bin, sure that Harry had only invited him because he'd invited everyone else in the office.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If he fucked this up, there would be hell to pay and he knew it. He dropped the mask he always wore when Harry was around. It almost hurt to feel so open, so vulnerable, but he knew it was now or never. He looked up and straight into Harry's eyes. "I'm sorry. I should have come."

Harry's eyes grew impossibly wide and his mouth fell open. Draco couldn't help but laugh, but it was the wrong thing to do. Harry's eyes narrowed and his expression chilled instantly. "Yeah, right, I can tell you're all broken up over it."

Draco's face hardened from instinct. They'd been playing this damn game so long now that anything else seemed unnatural. He stood up and headed for the door. He couldn't do this, not now, not ever. It would never work. Some things just weren't meant to be.

"Draco, wait."

Draco stopped, holding on to the door as he turned. "Wait for what, Harry? Haven't we waited long enough?" His voice sounded tired and he knew it, but he couldn't be bothered to cover it up. He was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of hiding how much he hated what his life had become. What did it matter now if Harry saw him for what he really was? A failure. Everything he ever touched fell to pieces. If Harry knew the real Draco, he'd probably be disappointed.

"Just wait," Harry said softly as he stood and crossed the room, closing the door. "Draco, are you okay?"

Draco looked up into the bright green eyes that he'd been trying so desperately to avoid until today. "No," he whispered, almost to himself.

"Is there anything I can do?" Harry took a step closer and placed his hands on Draco's shoulders. "Draco, tell me what I can do."

"What do you want to do, Harry?" Draco asked quietly. Harry's touch was burning through his robe and he was afraid to speak louder for fear he'd startle the man.

"I..."

The flush that coloured Harry's cheeks gave Draco the courage he needed. He moved closer, placing a hand lightly on each of Harry's hips. Draco thought about Harry's letter and he realised, finally, that they both wanted the same things. He leaned even closer and whispered into Harry's ear, "What do you want, Harry?"

Draco heard Harry's breath catch, then he felt the warm fingers threading through his hair as Harry's body pressed him against the door. "I want..." Harry began, but never finished because his lips were pressing into Draco's with such tenderness that it made Draco's body ache. One arm wrapped around Draco's thin frame and he felt safe – safer than he had in years.

He didn't realise he'd grabbed onto Harry's robes until the man started leaning away. "No." Draco didn't care that it had come out as practically a whimper. Now that he knew what this felt like, what it really felt like, not just what he'd fantasised it would feel like, he didn't want to let it go.

"Shh," Harry whispered as he cupped Draco's chin in his hand and lifted his face up. Draco knew Harry could see everything now, knew there was no hiding from it, not even if he'd wanted to. Harry's thumb traced the outline of his cheek and Draco fought the urge to press into it. Harry smiled. "So beautiful, just like I knew you would be."

They both jumped when someone pounded on the door behind them. "Potter? Malfoy? Are you in there?"

Harry put his finger to Draco's lips and shook his head. "Can we finish this at my place?" he asked quietly.

Draco smirked and nodded before Harry wrapped him in his arms and they Disapparated without the slightest crack.



Three weeks later...

Harry tied the note to the old owl's leg before climbing back into bed. It was Christmas morning, but he had no need to rush downstairs to open his gifts. Santa had already given him everything that he'd asked for. What more could there possibly be?

"Mm, you're cold. Where have you been?"

"I just had to send a note. I thought you were still asleep."

"I was until those icicles you call feet woke me."

"Sorry," Harry said without an ounce of apology in his voice. He traced the shell of Draco's ear with his tongue before whispering, "Would you like me to let you go back to sleep?"

A long, slender leg wrapped around Harry to hold him in place. "You are one evil wizard, Harry Potter."

Harry chuckled and settled in next to his lover. Draco had come home with him that day from the office and had never left. They'd been the best three weeks of Harry's life and every day seemed to be better than the one before.

"Quit thinking about how great I am and do something about this, would you?" Draco teased, rubbing his morning wood against Harry's hip.

Harry ran his fingers through Draco's soft hair, relishing how tumbled and messy it looked. He thought back to the letter he'd sent and tried to remember exactly what he'd ask for. Draco certainly didn't look at him with indifference anymore. No, now Draco looked at him with a passion like hot embers in his eyes. Harry now knew what Draco's lips felt like. Not just how it felt to kiss them, but how they felt as they roamed his body, kissing and caressing every inch, how they felt wrapped around his cock, moving up and down with the power to make him come harder and faster than anyone ever had. He'd seen Draco's body flushed with desire, heard him whimper and beg and call out Harry's name in ecstasy. He'd held Draco in his arms every night for the last three weeks and he knew, knew with a certainty that came from deep within, that he would never let anything hurt Draco again.

He ran his hand down Draco's chest and over his flat stomach. He threaded his fingers through the soft curls at the base of Draco's cock.

"Harry, stop teasing me." Draco's voice was almost breathless in its intensity. Draco wanted him. Needed him. Him. Not just a hand wrapped around his cock or warm body in his bed. Draco wanted him.

"Shh... it's Christmas. I want to make this last."

Draco shook his head and whispered, "I won't last two seconds if you keep looking at me like you..."

"Like I what?"

Draco turned his head away and closed his eyes, bucking up to try to get Harry to do something. Anything.

Harry took Draco's cock into his hand and kissed the man fervently. "Like what, Draco?" he whispered against the other man's mouth before tracing the pattern of his cheekbone. He kissed down the line of Draco's arched neck and then back up again to pause at his ear. "Like I love you?"

Draco's entire body tensed as he came, covering Harry's hand with pulsing hot liquid.

Harry chuckled against Draco's cheek.

"Bastard," Draco whispered with a chuckle of his own.

Harry looked down at Draco and smiled. "I do, you know. Love you."

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him down into another passionate kiss. "Then fuck me like you mean it, Harry. We've got all day."

Harry hummed against Draco's warm skin. They did have all day, and he intended to use it wisely.



In a quiet park across town...

Little Henry Clockhouse sat on the bench next to his grandmother as she threw food to the birds. He watched as the small owl flew into a shady patch of trees and disappeared from view. Only Henry had been watching closely enough to notice that the tall, bearded man strolling away from the same clump of trees had never entered. He stared as the man unrolled a letter and read it with a smile before tossing it in the bin as he passed. Henry, being the curious type, scurried off the bench and snatched up the discarded letter. His eyes widened as he looked from the letter to the retreating back of the large man with the long white hair. He smiled knowingly as he read the letter once more.

Dear Santa,

Thank you for everything. As I sit here, watching Draco sleep, I know that today will be the best Christmas I've ever had. I don't know how you did it, Santa, but you've given me everything I've ever wanted. You've made my holiday perfect, and I'll never doubt you again.

Forever grateful,
H.P.

The End!