Fire Call

Skinny Latte

“Severus,” Harry whined, successfully grappling the duvet from his bed partner and cocooning himself in it, “I know it’s your turn.”

Snape smirked and whipped off the covers again, gratified to unveil a rather interesting development between Harry’s legs. “You would rather I fetch coffee than take care of that?”

Harry groaned as the cold air enveloped his cock and made him harden further. It was really unfair that his lover took such delight in ridiculing him every single morning, just for waking up with a raging hard-on, as if Severus Snape would never succumb to the indignity of such a response, even one as predictable as the sun rising. Harry shivered and snatched the bedding back.

“Oh my god, why do you always do that? When it’s my turn to go you practically kick me out of bed! No hang on, last Thursday you actually did kick me!”

“Purely accidentally, I assure you,” Snape purred, sneaking a furtive hand underneath the covers.

“And then when it’s your turn, you seduce me, and I still end up going anyway! Seriously? That woman in the coffee shop knows exactly what we’ve been up to. It’s embarrassing. She always looks at me like I’m-fuck, what are you doing?”

Roving fingers brushed the inside of Harry’s thigh and scratched lightly through the nest of dark curls.

“Honestly, Potter, what do you think I’m doing? Harvesting coffee beans?”

“You might as well, because I absolutely refuse to go this time, okay?” Harry suppressed a smirk but couldn’t stop it turning into a soft moan when a single fingertip caressed the underside of his cock, tracing the busy veins.

“Do you really think me so churlish that I would indulge in sexual activity purely to-my, aren’t we enthusiastic this morning-circumvent the purchasing of our daily cappuccinos?”

Harry’s head fell back against the pillow with a gentle thud. “Oh that feels-yes, I think that’s exactly what you’re-God, do that again.”

Snape silently moved to close the gap between them, pressing his lithe frame along Harry’s side and lowering his mouth around a hardening nipple, all the while maintaining his rhythmic stroking of the silky shaft.

Harry arched his back, seeking more of the delicious dual contact, and all thoughts of coffee fled his mind, though they were replaced with the distant sound of warning bells clanging.

This slow, languorous pace could only mean one thing; he was being teased. Any moment now, Snape would suddenly sit up and announce his intention to procure hot beverages. Harry would be forced to renounce his thirst (for all things caffeine related, at least) and Snape would wait for him to beg like the pathetic cock-driven teenager he was.

Snape would then proceed to roll his eyes, fuck Harry senseless, and before the afterglow had faded, be demanding his skinny latte.

Harry cursed himself for once again falling into the Severus-sized trap, even as he moaned in approval. The last few jet-black strands of hair disappeared, the whispering lips moved on from his attentive nipples, travelling downwards, hesitating at his navel. Snape’s tongue dipped into the inverted hollow, provocative in its insistent poking, first pushing in and then slowly withdrawing, causing Harry’s toes to curl at the suggestiveness of it.

The hand around his cock let go and he whimpered in disappointment, only to suck that whimper back in when Snape’s tongue left his belly-button and licked the shiny head, running his tongue across the slit to catch each drop of desire as it formed.
Harry tried to keep his eyes open, not that he could see anything other than the rounded outline of Snape’s skull beneath the covers. But he could feel, oh yes, he could feel Severus leisurely drawing Harry into his mouth and using his other hand to cup Harry’s balls.

Pleasure skittered along his vertebrae when the tip of a finger brushed his hole, so lightly he wondered if he hadn’t imagined it; but no; there it was again, skirting his entrance in promise of all kinds of delicious, penetrative gratification. And Oh God, Snape was grazing the sensitive flesh with his teeth and swallowing him down and it felt completely —

All warmth and contact abruptly ceased as Snape threw off the covers and sat up.

“So,” he drawled, “one skinny latte for me, and I imagine you plan on requesting a frothy cappuccino with extra cream, yes?”

Harry covered his eyes with an arm and groaned. His cock was painfully hard and tenting the bedcovers in the most ridiculously comical manner, though he was far from amused.

Snape quirked an eyebrow, “No? You do not require a frothy cappuccino with extra cream this morning? Something a little more exotic, then. Iced Americano? Vanilla latte? Double espresso perhaps?”

Occasionally, Harry really despised that mocking tone. Principally when it was accompanied by a smirk, which although he couldn’t see right now, he knew the man wore anyway. He couldn’t say precisely when they’d fallen into this pattern: spending most eveningss and then by default most mornings together. It hadn’t been very long, but then again, it seemed as natural as if they’d been doing it forever.

And, Harry thought to himself, he’d be doing the coffee run forever too if he didn’t put his foot down.

“You don’t have to go out for coffee. You could finish what you started and then I’ll make you some here.” He lowered his arm just in time to catch the brief flash of outrage that traversed his lover’s usually indifferent facade.

“Are you insane, Potter? Imbibe that revolting concoction of instant granules? I think not.”

Harry swore internally. That had been his best idea. Actually, his only idea. “What’s wrong with it?”

Snape snorted. “What’s right with it, would be a more apposite question. Were you aware, brat, that the finest blend of coffee uses six parts Arabica beans and one part Robusta? That slow roasting them reduces the harsh and bitter acids naturally present, and that foil fresh wrapping-“

“Okay, okay,” Harry muttered, “Trust you to know useless information like that.”

Looking slightly offended, Snape rose from the bed and retrieved his clothes, laid neatly across the back of a chair.

Harry bit his lip. Once the older man was dressed, there would be zero chance of tempting him back to bed, before or after coffee. Stubborn git. Snape shook his pants out with a flourish and made painstaking pretence at pulling them on.

“Alright! You win. Put the pants down and come here. I’ll get the damn coffee.”

Snape glanced over his shoulder and appeared faintly surprised. As if they hadn’t gone through this charade every other day for the last month or so. “When?” he intoned flatly.

“When you’ve given me a mind-blowing orgasm.”

Harry smirked at Snape’s expression. Not even the greatest Occulmens could shield that look.

With exaggerated care, the pants were reunited with the other garments and Harry’s smile broadened as the mattress dipped under the returning weight.

“Instant coffee,” Snape mumbled in disgust before devouring him whole.

***

It was, Harry thought to himself, the perfect summer’s day. And being out so early in the morning to witness it afforded a certain sense of smugness. He happily welcomed the absence of roaring traffic and exhaust fumes on the five-minute walk from his flat to the coffee house, jovial whistles creating a duet with the chorus of birdsong emanating from the tree-lined street.

He diligently ran through the order of the day in his mind. Quidditch practice at eleven, a catch up with Ron at the Leaky directly after, and then he was due to spend the evening, under sufferance, at Witch Weekly’s award ceremony. Harry couldn’t stand the fawning sycophants who only ever bothered to introduce themselves so that they could be photographed with ‘The Boy Who Lived’.

The only redeeming feature of the whole event was that Severus would be there too, and that knowledge filled him with hearty relief. He could also admit, privately, that a very small, evilly gleeful part of him was wholly looking forward to seeing which one of them, if indeed either of them, walked away with the atrociously tacky trophy for ‘Best Smile’. The latest polls (not that Harry had been actively keeping tabs or anything) suggested that he and Severus were neck and neck. Harry’s drunken debacle had lost him a small percentage of votes and drawn him back into a tie, with Lockhart trailing by a relatively uncatchable 9%.

As he entered the coffee shop, Harry decided he would spend some time after training chatting up a few of the female fans that came down to watch, perhaps solicit a few votes, because if Severus won, there would be no end to the ridicule he would suffer from his friends, not to mention his partner.

“Large skinny latte and a regular cappuccino with whippy cream?”

The statement jolted him out of his unconscious ramblings; and it had been a statement, rather than a question. The girl gave him a shy smile, eyes flickering briefly to his head.

“Uh, yeah thanks,” Harry ran a hand through his hair, wishing he’d taken the time to look in the mirror before leaving, though he defied anyone to hang around and attempt to groom themselves when there was a Snape-with-caffeine-withdrawal in their bed.

Particularly one who was rather skilled in the art of throwing pillows with enough force to dislodge your frontal lobe.

She returned to the counter, sealing the plastic lids in place. “Here you go, £3.98 please.”

Harry rummaged in his pocket, only to bring out a handful of Knuts and Galleons, and cursed, quickly shoving them back again when she attempted to peer over to see.

“Shit. This is really embarrassing, I haven’t got any money on me.” Muggle money, he narrowly avoided saying.

The girl shrugged and pushed the cups towards him. “Left in a hurry huh? Well it’s not like you aren’t a regular, you can pay me tomorrow.”

Harry smiled gratefully and snatched up the coffees. He’d have hated to return empty handed. Merlin knew how much mileage Snape would have gleaned from this little display of stupidity.

“Good luck tonight,” she said quietly, though there was no-one else in the shop. Harry froze and turned around slowly.

“Tonight?”

“Mm. You do have an incredibly endearing smile. Don’t see how you could lose, really. Not that Severus Snape isn’t pretty hot, but well, you know, the man doesn’t actually smile.”

He couldn’t disagree with that; Snape was hot and he didn’t even need to smile.

Apparently though, that wasn’t a pre-requisite of the contest. The bastard would probably beat him hands down. Harry looked incredulous and walked back to the counter.

“You’re—“

“Yeah. A witch.”

“Wow...hang on,” he leant over the counter conspiratorially, “have you voted yet?”

She grinned and nodded. “Last night, actually. For you.”

“Oh, well that’s—great, thanks. I promise to get that money to you tomorrow. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble or anything.”

“No rush. Whenever you’re next in. If my boss freaks out about the till being short I just modify his memory.”

Harry snickered and opened the door. “Thanks again, I’ll er, see you around.”

***

“Well? Did the assistant allude to your ridiculously rumpled appearance today?” Snape enquired smoothly before licking the light froth that had bubbled out of the lid.

Harry squirmed at the action and sat down on the bed, slurping a mouthful of his own. “She doesn’t have to say anything, she just looks and her expression says it all. Did you know she was a witch?”

“Naturally.”

“But you never said anything? How did you know?”

Snape gave the duvet a good yank, smirking when it threw Harry off balance. “I taught her Potions, of course. Rather a good student, if I recall correctly.”

“Severus,” Harry grumbled, though secretly being forced off the bed wasn’t so bad; it presented him with an opportunity to shuck all his clothes and climb back in next to the older man. “Why would she be working in a Muggle coffee shop then?”

“Have I ever given you any reason to suspect that I possess Divination skills, Potter? Or that I have even the slightest modicum of interest in what ex pupils of mine do when they leave Hogwarts?”

“You took an interest in what I did after Hogwarts,” Harry leered.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, some brats need a closer eye kept on them. For their own protection, not to mention the safety of the Wizarding world at large.”

Harry watched him sip carefully, noticing how his pale throat worked just hard enough to swallow the liquid. It was pretty bloody sexy. As was the smattering of dark hairs that congregated between his nipples, just visible above the top of the covers. Snape’s nose, from profile view was beaky and huge, and Harry loved it, loved how it felt nudging his crack when that wicked tongue was pressing into his hole. Dark eyes that raged with passion, equal measures desire and sometimes wrath, yet always glowing with a muted approval. Thin lips, nearly bloodless until they pressed against his own, coming alive, warming as they explored his mouth with fierce, protective reverence.

“God, I think I’m in love with-“ Harry stopped, caught himself and blushed furiously. Snape inclined his head: a controlled, precise movement like an owl tracking its prey, pinning Harry in the direct beam of his scrutiny.

“I was just going to say, I think I’m in love with this coffee, it’s so good.” Harry smacked his lips together and took a gulp, exaggerating a loud ‘Mmmm’ as he swallowed it down too quickly. Fuck, it was scalding.

“In love?” Snape repeated, ignoring Harry’s chokes.

Shit, why had it suddenly got so hot in here? He put his cup down on the bedside table and fanned the duvet to create a cool breeze, absolutely not meeting the hard black eyes that were boring into the side of his head.

“Mm, yeah the coffee. So good. So...” damn, “coffee like. Love it.”

Snape eventually looked away and Harry quietly exhaled the breath he’d been holding. The ensuing silence was deafening though, but he was too petrified to open his mouth in case some other perceptive declaration fell out.

“I have appointments at the office this morning, but I plan to work from home this afternoon.”

“I’ve got training at eleven and then I’m meeting Ron.”

“Then I hope you do not intend to drink copious amounts of alcohol before the function this evening. I imagine even your adoring public might baulk at being regularly subjected to an in-depth analysis of intoxicated shenanigans.”

“It’s just a couple of pints. I won’t get wasted.”

Of course not, otherwise you will be attending the function alone. Irrespective of the fact that I have an accolade to accept.”

Harry turned his head to protest but was sideswiped by the vision of Snape’s lip curling upwards as it caressed the coffee lid.

Damn. What was it about the man that had Harry achingly hard pretty much all the time? Silly little unconscious actions like that-surely Severus was aware of the effect he had on Harry-drove him half mad with lust. Despite the fact that he’d been pounded into the mattress less than an hour ago.

Time for a cold shower.

“Right, well, ah, I should be getting ready,” Don’t be ridiculous, you have hours before Quidditch, “just remembered some things I have to do, shopping, er, feel free to stay as long as you like.” Harry backed out of the bed, desperate to hide his second erection of the day.

“Potter,” Harry faltered in the doorway, acutely aware that his bare arse was in full view of the ex Potions Master, “Do try not to drop the soap. I would truly hate for you to be left in a vulnerable position.”

***

Harry winced slightly and shifted on the stool again. It was a bloody wonder he’d managed to sit on his broom at all today, after two spectacularly intense rounds of sex. The second, by far his favourite, he mused, had to rank up there with the angry desk fucking a month or so ago.

The hot, needling spray had been marvellously refreshing, the perfect remedy for his vaguely achy body as he ran gel slicked hands across his chest, his abdomen, and down between his legs. He’d been about to reach up and turn the shower off when firm hands had seized his hips, making him yelp in surprise as he was turned and pushed up against the wall. His cheek made a light slapping sound as it pressed against the steamed tiles, quickly bracing himself with both hands, palms either side of his head as two more hands, not his own, firmly massaged and parted his arse cheeks.

Harry’s heart had sped up and his cock filled so suddenly that he was left light headed from the rush. Snape rubbed his rock-hard length along Harry’s cleft, and Harry could only part his legs and moan in invitation, deluged with a desire to feel the man pushing roughly into him as he alternated kisses and bites across his shoulders and neck.

The water had continued to drive down on them, as Snape drove into him, and Harry had shouted, begged, pleaded for relief, until his lover had given it to him - a few short sharp strokes all that was necessary to expound his climax - thick warm semen splashing the tiles, sliding down to mingle with the running water.

Harry had needed Snape to hold him up at that point, because his knees were worse than useless, and as Snape had thrust those few final times, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his waist, mouth sucking that spot between his shoulder blades, Harry had craned his neck to watch, to trace the drops of moisture that dampened the black curtains around his face, delicate rivulets of water cascading over his pale body and yes, he thought, as Snape gruffly said his name and pumped him full of his seed, yes, he was in love.

“Blimey, what’s up with you, mate? Look like you’ve lost a Firebolt and found a stick.”
Ron’s teasing tone made Harry’s head snap up and out of his daydream.

“Hey, I’m fine,” he lied, “thanks for getting the drinks in.”

A pint was placed in front of him as Ron took the seat opposite.

“You don’t look fine, Harry, has Snape been a bastard again?” Harry didn’t really like the fact that Ron looked faintly hungry at the idea.

“No, opposite actually. Everything’s great. Too great, I think.”

“Mate, how can everything be too great? You’re going out with Snape, remember?”

“For God’s sakes, Ron, it’s been three months now! Give it a rest, would you?” Harry hadn’t meant to snap, but the sudden realisation that he was indeed in love with Grade A snarky bastard Severus Snape, ex Potions Master who had despised Harry so actively; well, it was all still pretty confusing.

“Blimey!” Ron exhaled, “no need to bite my head off. You sure he’s not rubbing off on you?”

Harry snorted and sipped his pint, leaving Ron to ponder his amusement. A moment later, his face went as red as his hair, “Oh shit, I didn’t mean...eww. Come on mate, you can tell me anything, you know that. What’s up?”

Tracing his finger through the cold wet of the glass, mindless little patterns that served no purpose whatsoever but was almost as therapeutic as peeling the label off of bottles, Harry sighed.

“I’m in love with him, Ron.” There. It was out. Not ‘I think I am’, or ‘I might be’, a declaration, statement of face. Irre-bloody-futable.

“Well, yeah, we know that Harry, so what’s the problem?”

Harry’s head jerked up. “What? What do you mean you know? How can you?”

“Hermione,” Ron shrugged, “Knows everything, doesn’t she?”

There was no faulting that logic. Somehow though, the fact didn’t make Harry feel much better. Was it so bloody obvious to everyone else but him? Perhaps it was evident to Snape too. He tried to dispel that disturbing idea.

“How is she?” he asked brightly, desperate to get off the subject of Snape and love.
“Oh good, good,” Ron grinned, swigging down a healthy third of his pint. “Morning sickness is easing up and everything. Can’t believe it’s only been three months though. Honestly, I’m starting to feel like this baby will never come.”

Harry wanted to say ‘me too,’ but settled for “I’m sure Hermione feels the same way.”

“Probably. Mum’s knitted more tiny jumpers than we’ve got space to keep them in. Seriously, she even chucked out a load of Fred and George’s stuff so she could line them all up in a wardrobe. It’s scary,” Ron whispered, widening his eyes.

“Have you decided on a name?”

“Not yet. Anyway, tell me about tomorrow. What’ve you got planned?” Ron rubbed his hands together and leaned forward.

“Nothing, I think, I don’t know. Severus hasn’t mentioned anything, and well, to be honest, Ron, my birthdays haven’t always been the greatest have they?”

Harry hadn’t wanted a fuss made, nineteen after all was no big deal though he had been rather disheartened that Snape hadn’t so much as alluded that he was even aware that it was Harry’s birthday, despite the Prophet’s extravagant coverage when other news was thin on the ground. That blasted rag seemed to enjoy cataloguing the misfortunes Harry had suffered during his almost nineteen years of life, and inviting readers to speculate on what disaster this particular upcoming anniversary might bring. Harry just wanted to remember his mother, imagine how his birth had been and how she might have held him in her arms, his dad there too, a perfect family albeit for such a short time. No, he really didn’t want to celebrate it at all.

“Yeah, but that’s just because You-Know-Who was around. This year, well, we could have a big party, get everyone to come to the Burrow, what do you reckon? Fred and George are dying to show you their new range of Exploding Earwigs.”

“I dunno, Ron. Let me—“
“Harry Potter!” The shrill, seductive and distinctly feminine voice cut through the dank pub air like a sliver of glass.

“Oh God,” Harry groaned, thumping his head on the table.

“What an unexpected pleasure!” Rita Skeeter approached their table and sidled up next to Harry, the Quick-Quotes Quill hovering by her side,“how does it feel, Harry, to be in possession of the sure and certain knowledge that Severus Snape is going to win tonight? Is it terribly galling for you? A man that never shows any sanguine emotion, snatching glory from right under your nose? A man that has continually had to save you from fates worse than, and including, death?”

“Hey, this is a private conversation,” Ron started, but the furiously scribbling quill stopped quite abruptly, darted across the table and inserted itself into his protesting mouth.

“And your birthday tomorrow too,” she purred, leaning closer, “such a big boy now, twenty three isn’t it?”

“Nineteen,” Harry blurted before he could stop himself.

“Of course, nineteen, what a wonderfully...virile age...tell me Harry, have you found a nice young witch to share your time with?”

There was a snort from across the table and Harry glared up, but Ron was merely trying to spit out the feathers the quill had left behind.

“Come now, Mr Potter, my readers are positively dying to know who has you so well trained that you’re out at the crack of dawn, fetching coffee...two cups, wasn’t it?...unless...you’re just a greedy little boy...certainly understandable given your horrific childhood.”

“Right, enough, go on sod off,” Ron said angrily. He stood up and Harry was suddenly struck by how beefy his friend looked, it really was weird how they’d all grown up so much.

Skeeter rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue. “I’ll see you tonight,” she whispered, laying a hand on his arm before slinking away.

When she was out of earshot, Harry let out a heartfelt sigh, “Thanks Ron.”

“No problem mate, but...fetching coffee?”

Harry groaned and finished his pint, mumbling something that sounded like, “Arabica beans.”

***

Harry was tweaking his tie into place when he heard the Floo roar into life and familiar heavy footsteps approach the bedroom.

Snape stilled in the doorway, quietly observing Harry’s reflection in the mirror.
“Hi, how was your day?” Harry asked, ridiculously pleased to see the hungry look being levelled his way.

“Satisfactory. The publishers have approved the drafted version of my book.”

Harry smiled. The Dark Arts Defence book that Severus had been commissioned to write, seemed an adequate reward for a man who had spent years coveting the job at Hogwarts.

“That’s really great, congratulations.” Harry’s breath caught when Snape glided across the room and slipped his hands around Harry’s waist, bending down to inhale the smell of his hair before kissing his neck.

“You look...enchanting,” Snape growled hotly against his ear.

“Fuck, don’t—don’t do that, we’ll never get there,” Harry moaned, eyes transfixed on the mirror image of the two of them, his lover pressed against his back and looking positively, well, feral.

“Hmm. That would hardly be a tragedy, but since I have—“

“Yeah, yeah, an accolade to collect. Come on.” Harry turned around and gave him a quick kiss. “By the way, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Snape raised an eyebrow, “Why? Planning to keep me prisoner in bed for the day?”

Merlin, wouldn’t that be a Happy Birthday.

“If you like,” Harry grinned.

“As enticing as that sounds, I have something rather urgent to attend to. I’m afraid you will have to find a way to entertain yourself.”

“Oh.” Harry felt his heart sink to the floor. Even the prospect of a back up party with the Weasley’s wasn’t going to alleviate the sting of not having Severus around.
“Was there something in particular you wished to do?”

“No, no it’s fine. Nothing important. I got accosted by Rita Skeeter today.” Harry let his hands run through Severus hair, marvelling at how beautifully shiny and soft it was when the man bothered to wash it.

“That woman is a stain on the good morals of society. What was she after?”

“Wanted to know who I was buying coffee for.” Harry shrugged.

Snape tightened his grip a little, “And did you tell her?”

“Of course not. Unless...do you want me to?” Harry couldn’t help the little rise in pitch that made him sound hopeful.

“Harry,” Snape cupped his chin and tilted his head to meet his eyes, “I am a private man.” The soft tone made Harry’s stomach curl up; it sounded almost apologetic.

“No, I—it’s fine really. Look, we should get going, wouldn’t want to be late, you know...”

Snape claimed his mouth and pulled him closer, hands dropping to fondle his arse, caressing it through the soft cotton of his trousers. When he broke away, a small smile played across his lips.

“We will continue this later,” he vowed, and Harry couldn’t help but shiver at the promise.

***

“Ten votes!” Harry said in exasperation, “Ten bloody votes between us.”

He flopped onto the sofa and crossed his arms.

Snape moved to the kitchen area and put the heavy magnum of champagne down.

“Yes, but ten votes nonetheless,” he crowed, walking back to the settee to drop the trophy in Harry’s lap.

“Go on, show me,” Harry demanded, pushing the gaudy gold goblet aside irritably, “show me this dazzling bloody smile you’re supposed to have.”

“I’ll show you something, brat,” Snape growled, unbuttoning his thick outer robes. “Never in all my life have I encountered such a poor loser.”

“I’m not—that’s—why is my suitcase there?” Harry said puzzled, noticing the Gryffindor coloured trunk that sat next to the fire.

“My something urgent to attend to,” Snape said, moving to stand in front of him, “Is you.”

“Me?” Harry blinked.

“Yes, brat, you. I was under the impression that tomorrow is a day of celebration is it not? For managing to make it relatively unscathed to nineteen years of life.”

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t contain the bursts of excitement in his chest, “If you mean, is it my birthday, then yeah.”

Snape tutted, “Impertinent as always.” None-the-less, he held out his hand and pulled Harry up.

“Are we going somewhere?” Harry leant into the warm embrace, eyes shining as he searched Snape’s face for any kind of clue, though as usual, none was there.

“I had planned for it to be a surprise, but I suspect you will nag incessantly until I do.”

“Of course,” Harry grinned.

“Very well. For the sake of my sanity, we are going to Paris. First thing tomorrow morning.”

“Paris?” Harry squeaked, then coughed, “Paris? But that’s—“

“Foreign for you, yes I had realised. I am aware that you have never travelled further south than the Thames. However, I am rather hoping that this little foray will incite you to accompany me on other overseas trips. Perhaps we might both finally see some of the world. Together.”

God, this was like the most incredible dream ever, Harry thought. Surely it had to be a dream, because what Severus was saying was tantamount to—

“Don’t they call Paris—“

“The City of Love, yes.”

Harry swallowed and bit back the sneaking feeling that he was about to choke on his own tongue.

“Of course, it is also home to the Musée du Louvre, which houses the magnificent Mona Lisa, as you are no doubt aware,” Snape smirked.

“Oh yeah, I knew that,” Harry said casually, though the tone belied the frenzied thumping of his heart as he took a deep breath. “Severus...I...love you,” he rushed out, instantly dropping his eyes to the floor over the tangle of their arms.

“Really?” Snape drawled, his deeply amused tenor drawing Harry’s gaze back up again, “More than coffee?”

“More than coffee.” Harry confirmed, first with words, and then with lips.

***