Just after Harry has delivered his first of five Secret Santa gifts to Delia Gangledopple at the front desk, he returns to his own cubicle to see a festively decorated gift bag with a designer label as fanciful as the tissue paper peeking out from the bag. He turns the bag on its head, revealing a sampler of three aromatherapy massage oils. Harry looks around, face flushed, before opening the little white Christmas card attached to the bag: "Take some time to work out your kinks this season..." it says in elegant script. "Happy Holidays from your Secret Santa."
"What do we have here?" asks Malfoy as he leans in from the next cubicle, smirking because he knows-he knows how embarrassed Harry can get and Harry's cheeks are obviously not red enough.
"None of your business," Harry grumbles, because it isn't.
That night, Harry tries one of the oils, and the scent of apples and cloves warms his body and tingles along his skin. Harry is so sorely tempted to wrap those oil slick fingers around his cock, but he doesn't. He knows Malfoy will ask if he liked his present.
The next day he opens his gift in front of Malfoy in a fit of bravado that spirals quickly out of control once he's got a leather cockring in his hand and Malfoy's laughing silkily at his mistfortune. The note with the cockring reads, "Are you patient enough? Happy Holidays from your Secret Santa."
He refuses to use it... for the first hour that he's been home. But, even the's sneering voice in his head-the one that doesn't sound at all like Malfoy, no-can't stop him from teasing himself with the lavendar oil until he's hurting with the need to come.
He orgasms as soon as the leather has slipped out of its vicelike grip around his dick.
Harry is sure to open the next gift in privacy. Which is a good plan, considering it's a vibrator attached to the note, "This is what your imagination is for. Happy Holidays from your Secret Santa."
Harry is also slightly disappointed when Malfoy does not ask him about his gift the next day, because he did like his present this time, too. He liked it until the wee hours of the morning. However, his mood lifts considerably when his next-to-last present appears on his desk after a difficult interrogation.
The note reads, "Loosen up, why don't you? Happy Holidays from your Secret Santa." Harry wears the buttplug all through a Ministry auction, and when he's pushed himself just far enough, when his cock is leaking even as he walks back to get his coat before Flooing home, he runs into Malfoy. Malfoy cocks an eyebrow at him when Harry walks by a little too nonchalantly, and asks him how his Secret Santa exchange is going.
"Good," Harry offers, lingering too long on the vowels for it not to sound pleading and sex-hurt.
Malfoy smiles. "Glad to hear it," he murmurs, and brushes against Harry when he walks past.
When Harry gets home he makes himself silly with the vibrator up his arse and the cockring around his dick. He falls asleep with come splashed across his stomach, dreams about how Malfoy smells a little like the sandalwood in the third massage oil.
The last present comes as a surpise, because Harry's gone through his day waiting in anticipation to no results. He's frustrated when he Floos home, wondering if his Secret Santa forgot him on Christmas Eve.
A knock on the door startles him, and he surprises himself in his haste to open the door. Malfoy stands over him in the doorway, holding a pair of leather cuffs, the string mingling with the Christmas ribbon hanging below them.
"Wha-?" Harry says, and Malfoy just crowds him against the door.
"I'm going to strap you to the bedposts and make you come until you pass out," Malfoy says instead of greeting him. Then he adds, "Happy Holidays from your Secret Santa."
Harry is not disappointed.