Je suis heureux de faire votre connaissance.
"'I'm happy to make your acquaintance'? Perhaps you should be less enthusiastic for your first meeting with your future son-in-law. I suspect your fervid gushing might embarrass the boy." Severus's breath is hot and humid just behind Harry's ear, and with a light shift of his body Harry feels Severus's growing erection pressing hard against the base of his spine. The skin is hot, wet where it touches his own. The smell of spent come potent between them because they haven't bothered to wash up yet. They aren't expected at the Burrow for hours yet and Harry decides that, as much as he enjoyed the frantic pace of the holiday when his children still lived at home, there is little that he finds more pleasant now than a leisurely lie-in with his lover on Christmas morning.
"Fleur said that it would be a nice gesture for me to know a few standard phrases to make Lily's fiancé more comfortable, but that he wouldn't expect me to be fluent. And he's the same age as Al, hardly a boy." It wasn't all that long ago that Severus endured his own welcome into the family. Harry knows the overwhelming enthusiasm of his extended family can be intimidating and hopes his modest gesture will seem genuine but not excessive.
"Many people find the French language to be sensual, fluid. Even if your words are formal, Harry, your inflection, your intonation needs to be more facile, more stimulating. Je suis heureux de faire votre connaissance."
It's mid-morning, but the light inside the room is weak. Harry smiles as he watches Severus's red mouth, a mouth that tastes of his come, forming the words Harry hopes to speak with sincerity and welcome to his future son-in-law later today. Much later, if he has any say in the matter. Harry wants to press his lips against that thin, hard mouth, slip his tongue inside. There is more than enough time.
Harry repeats the words, letting them roll out of his mouth as Severus did just a moment before, knowing he can't imitate Severus's almost lyrical cadence, not caring in the least, hoping - wanting - Severus to stop him, hand traveling up his chest from where it's resting in Harry's lap, a caress more languid than arousing.
He shivers when Severus's fingers briefly touch his mouth to silence him.
"You are not paying attention." And, no, no, Harry isn't. Well, not to what he is meant to be, anyway. "The two main aspects to language study are learning and practicing, and they go hand in hand. Memorizing vocabulary words and stock phrases are useless if you are unable to master communicating the nuances of the words. You must supplement your studies with practice."
"I'm more of a hands-on learner. I like the idea of practice."
Severus says the phrase again, whispers it in Harry's ear as Harry wants him to do, then lets his mouth linger there instead of resting his face on Harry's back, as he's done each time before.
A light kiss and the puffs of Severus's breath tell Harry that Severus's mood has changed. So do his hands that, this time, do not stay still on his lap; Harry watches one of Severus's fingers as it traces his cock. Harry's voice trembles this time when he says the words, lips smile at Severus's nod of satisfaction.
"A slight improvement." Severus's hand wraps around Harry's cock, a light kiss and a matching stroke as a reward. Harry's eyes squeeze shut and he takes a short, sharp inward breath, holding it for longer than he should, then lets it out with a low, desperate moan. Harry knows he's flushing red by the heat he feels in the center of his chest, leans back into Severus to increase the contact, tries to focus on Severus's voice above the loud beating of his heart.
Severus always goes for his neck before his mouth. Harry obediently tilts his chin up, smiling as he feels teeth and tongue in a spot that will probably be hidden by his shirt collar, not that it really matters. His hands roam over Severus's back, fingertips pressing a hard path down his spine as Harry brings one leg over Severus's hip.
He pulls Severus's head away from his neck and forces their lips together. Harry loves the way Severus kisses. Severus kisses with the same single-mindedness Harry has seen him apply to everything he does.
He’s meticulous, insisting on precisely the right amount of time for each spot so that when he moves to a different one, Harry can still feel Severus's tongue on the previous one. The simple thought of being the recipient of such focus is enough to make Harry light-headed, blood pooling low. Harry whimpers faintly and feels Severus smile into the kiss as Harry's hips start to roll upward, lazily at first, but soon there's force behind it.
When Severus pulls back, seemingly as unwillingly as Harry - lips parted and breath loud - clearly more affected than he intended, he repeats, "Je suis heureux de faire votre connaissance. Now you say it."
Harry already knows how they'll end up: legs tangled up together, skin against skin. Harry is eager to taste Severus, but has to force himself to lie still, willing himself to match Severus's pace. It's harder than he thought, but he breathes deep and remembers they have an arrangement, Severus agreeing to once again play teacher only after Harry agreed in return to allow Severus to play out the lessons however he pleases.
"Je suis heureux," he begins, pulling himself together and focusing on the task at hand, letting the words roll off his tongue. "Je suis heureux ..."
Severus's eyes widen and darken. There is a pause, a beat, then an almost whispered, "Say it again." Severus's voice is rough with a want he can't quite conceal, and Harry knows he's not the only one who's finding things too slow; his voice breaks before he can get through more than the beginning of the phrase again when Severus scratches his nails over Harry's navel, where the skin is thin and stretched thinner because of the position he's in. Severus's fingers follow the smattering of hair there and stop only when he finds Harry's cock. He takes the weight of it on his hand, feels its shape on his palm, the beating, hot thickness of it.
"Say. it. again." Punctuating each word with a stroke of his fist, the hard ridges of callused fingers almost painful on sensitive skin, and Harry can't make his tongue work at all, the only sound he's able to produce a strangled moan that seems to fuel Severus's arousal.
Severus gives a push that feels born out of desperation to Harry, his cock pokes hard at his back, yet nothing but a gentle caress this time to his own cock and Harry feels Severus's hair tickling at the back of his neck, Severus's breath erratic and fast.
A bead of sweat makes its way from Severus's brow to Harry's back. Harry imagines it leaving a wet trail where it passes, has to suppress the urge to beg Severus to forget the lesson and just get on with it.
Time stretches forever for Harry before Severus speaks again; his voice, when he does, is muffled, his stillness a palpable weight on Harry's back, the words he says are not a surprise to Harry and this time when he obeys the command, Severus gently grabs Harry's hair, twists his head back, drowns the words with a kiss: mouths not quite touching, tongues straining toward each other.
When they are spent and their legs are tangled together, and Harry can breathe again slow and deep, and the scent of sex has saturated their bedroom, thick and so overwhelming that Harry thinks it'll never go away, Severus asks Harry to say the words once again.
The playful mood is gone, in its place a strange, almost desperate plea in Severus's voice that Harry recognizes. It tells Harry what Severus needs, what Severus hopes, what Severus wants.
And words come to him rightly, finally.
"Je suis heureux, Severus. É."Être avec toi me rend heureux." *"
(*) I'm happy, Severus. Being with you makes me happy.