Harry loved to watch Severus sleep. He enjoyed it so much that he would charm their alarm fairy to wake him just before dawn so that he could watch his lover for those few, uninterrupted moments before Severus would begin to stir.
In the few months since Harry had been sharing the Potions master's bed, he had observed that the planes of Severus' face were no less sharp in sleep; the lines there, no less prominent—yet there was a sense of dignity and depth to the wizard's repose that just seemed so . . . Severus at such times.
Knowing that he alone was the only one who had been privileged to see these things made Harry want to talk to Severus.
"I'm not very good with words," he whispered, leaning on one elbow while reaching out a wandering fingertip to travel over Severus' brow, down the curve of his jaw, and then over his relaxed mouth. "But I like you this way. How you trust me—trust me enough to touch you, to sleep next to you, to . . . be with you. I like you this way. I like us."
He sighed. These weren't the words he had wanted to say, but even in Severus' sleep, he found it difficult to find the ones he needed.
I'm afraid he won't want to hear it, Harry thought, twining his finger's in the man's hair and moving it out of his face. I'm afraid that he won't . . . that he doesn't—
A growl rolled up out of Severus' chest and formed itself into words then.
"Potter," he said, opening one glittering eye and fixing it upon Hary, "you're thinking rather too loudly this side of dawn."
"Oh," Harry replied, withdrawing his hand and turning over on his other side. "Sorry."
"Harry," Severus whispered, his voice smoother, almost caressing. "Harry," he repeated, moving to spoon the younger wizard.
"Said I was sorry."
"I don't want you to be."
Severus reached an arm over Harry's body and over one of his own until he had caught Harry's right hand in his and was massaging the fingers upon it.
Harry moaned at the contact.
"Have you never heard the Muggle marriage service before?"
The question sent a jolt of surprise through Harry's body; the rubbing, one to his cock.
"No," he said, feeling confused and aroused. "What does that have—"
"'With my body, I thee worship'," Severus whispered, adjusting his hips forward a bit as he kissed the top of Harry's head. "These fingers of yours, they worship me every day, every night. They have for months. Do you believe me to be ignorant of what that means?"
"So you know?"
"I know," Severus replied, his voice clear and low.
"That's good then because . . . because I'm not good with words," Harry responded, melting back into the other wizard and yawning.
"You should sleep. You won't truly be awake until after ten."
"True," Harry said, feeling more loved than he could ever remember having felt; though he was conscious enough to be curious. "Why'd you bring up the Muggle marriage ceremony?"
Severus stiffened almost imperceptibly before he, too, relaxed. "Because I'm not good with questions."
The "alarm fairy" idea belongs to stasia; I think she may have used "alarm pixie."