All things relating to Harry Potter remain the intellectual and legal property of JK Rowling.
Warnings: Explicit mansex situations, swearing.
Author's Note: Here it is at last: the final chapter. Well, this uhas/u been going on for a long time. I'm sorry for the wait for this chapter. I couldn't quite bring myself to end it. It has to be done though and – although they probably don't deserve it – I'm giving them a (fairly) happy ending. I hope it satisfies everyone. I'm not going to tie up all the loose ends, I like to leave something to my readers' imaginations.
Chapter 43: All Was Well
7.45pm 25th December, 2017
"The bed," George muttered, pulling Harry to his feet.
"You were afraid. Do you remember? The bed in the Head Boy's room." Harry held George's gaze and slipped to the floor again.
George ran his fingers into Harry's thinning, greying, black messy hair. "You were a child. We're grown-ups now – two middle-aged men whose knees will thank them for using the bed." He grinned, "Two middle-aged men who live together. We get to wake up together."
"I know," Harry said softly, grinning back, then, suddenly, pushing his face into George's groin and humming. As George moaned and closed his eyes, insensible in the face of the jolts of pleasure running through him, Harry resumed unfastening his robes.
"So fucking wilful!" George groaned.
Harry didn't answer in words, just ran his tongue over the tip of George's rapidly hardening cock. He manoeuvred his fingers into George's underwear and stroked his perineum, while licking all over his cock. George's fingers dug into his attacker's scalp and his thighs started to shake.
Grasping George's hip with his free hand, Harry eased him down to his knees. He sucked cock into his mouth, running the salt-taste of pre-come round his mouth, easing it further and further back, swallowing round its girth. George went silent, barely breathing even. Harry didn't have to look up to know that his eyes would be closed.
He moistened a free finger and swapped hands, to trace firm patterns over the places between George's sac and his hole. The other hand juggled and squeezed his balls, running his nails between the coarse hairs whose colour he dreamed of frequently. His head moved up and down, pulling pleasure and oblivion out of the man he loved: wordlessly saying 'sorry' and 'I love you' and 'stay with me'.
The elastic waistband of George's underpants cut into Harry's wrists, his jaw ached and his knees were pressed into the gritty carpet. He knew these things, but they didn't affect him. All he cared about was the scent and texture of his lover, the man that he had loved so long. His own frustrated cock, constrained by uncomfortable fabric, was ignorable. He didn't want his hands on himself, only on George.
He pushed his finger back, onto the puckered skin he had broached so often, pressed in and, with that familiar, adorable hiccup, his mouth was filled with hot, sticky liquid and he was swallowing, swallowing, swallowing to stop himself from choking.
George lay back on his heels and Harry's head moved with him. They panted into the silence for a few minutes. Then George eased Harry off him and, shifting to sitting, pulled him up for a kiss.
"That a housewarming gift?" he murmured after.
"Yeah." Harry took one of the big, freckled hands off his shoulders and shoved it between his own thighs. "Where's mine?"
"Bed," George said firmly. "And take your sodding clothes off. I didn't wreck two homes just to have my sex slave wandering around our lust pad fully dressed."
Harry stood, only wincing slightly at the stretch to his shoulders as he did so. He wiggled enticingly and started a slow strip, slinking backwards to the bedroom. George sat and watched him for a moment, marvelling at the dark-haired body which was being revealed, and loving the casual dropping of clothes over the floor. Nobody else was going to find them and it wouldn't even matter if they did. Not now.
Then he stood up, unbending his reluctant knees, and followed Harry to where he lay, naked and erect, flat out on the bed they were going to have to iengorge/i for sleeping in tonight.
"Our bed," George said out loud.
Harry thrust up his hips invitingly. With a chuckle, George sat down beside him. He looked into his eyes and put a fingertip to his cheek. Simultaneously, his right hand grasped Harry's cock: so hot, so firm, and just exactly the shape George always wanted to have in his palm. Harry swallowed and closed his eyes. George leaned down and brought their mouths together.
Stroke one – "Fuck, yes, George, oh Merlin!"
Stroke two - "Shit shit shit shit shit shit."
Stroke three – "That's it, that's the ... bloody hell ... it's all ... I'm gonna ..."
Stroke four – "I love you, I love you, I love you so much!"
The fifth stroke elicited only a feral scream and jets of burning hot come splashing onto the back of George's hand. He continued for a few, gradually slowing strokes.
Then he wasn't sure whether Harry was actually asleep or just recovering. He stripped off and lay down next to him, rolling into him and holding on so that he didn't fall off the edge of the bed.
"It's going to be ok," Harry said, unexpectedly clearly beside him. His chest rose and fell under George's arm. "I mean, actually, that it's going to be brilliant. But also, it's going to be ok."
"It'll be difficult. Some things. The children."
"Ginny says I can't see them."
George sat up and stared at Harry's serene face, shocked.
"I will, though," Harry insisted. "It's not up to her. I've talked to James."
"I'm really sorry."
"Not your fault."
They looked at each other seriously.
Harry shrugged. "All right. A bit. Mine mostly. And I'm going to sort it. I'm not going to lose my kids, she can't do that."
"Right." George wasn't sleepy any more. He wandered into the kitchen. It was cramped and there was no food. "Want a cup of tea?" he called out.
"Need to go shopping," George muttered. "I wonder where will be open on Boxing Day." Christmas dinner seemed a very long time ago.
While the kettle boiled, he wandered over to the front window, to look out over Diagon Alley. There was nobody out there. This only happened a couple of times a year. Normally, the crowds thronged down it, obscuring the dust and litter, the worn cobbles. He'd enjoyed the semi's view of parkland, though he'd never admitted it to himself at the time. It had always been Angie's place. Well, now it really was.
A naked body pressed against his back: a hard-chested, hairy naked body. Harry hugged him and they both looked out onto the street.
"I always wanted to live here. As soon as I'd been shown it," Harry said softly into his ear, warm breath against his lobe.
"Well, now you do."
"Everything I want is here." Harry turned George round in his hold, stretched up onto tip toes and kissed him. "We'll deal with everything else as we have to. We've got each other."
Things would have to be dealt with a little sooner than anticipated, because as George turned round, the street suddenly stopped being empty. A junior photographer from the Prophet just happened to be walking back to his flat above the Owl Office, after spending Christmas with his brother. He just happened to look up as he walked past Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and he happened to be gifted the scoop which would make his career.